[ prp ] Education Noir (Taymerica)

[Rejam]

Taym watched her fashion a makeshift lock pick with an appraising, professional eye, vaguely wondering what her motives had been to learn that particular skill. His, of course, had been the acquisition of money (or things that could be exchanged for money, or if he was really lucky, the things he needed money for) that was not strictly speaking his.

"To see what we need to avoid doing, according to Edith," he returned mildly as he lit his cigarette, the shimmer of Fiona's runes exchanged for the flicker of a lighter, and then traded back as he exhaled and idly swung the knife back and forth around a finger hooked through the antlered handguard. "She suggested that they were--I think the words she used were 'impersonal and traumatic.' So it might be educational, just--not directly. That's easier with some paper clips, I think," he added. "And a clip off a pen for a tension wrench."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Ooooh, traumatic," the redhead cooed as she worked. "Then I guess it'll be fun to watch too." There were various traumatic experiences her fellow hunters may have, but America generally had little to no interest in knowing about them outside of the handful of friends she cared about on an almost viciously intrusive level. The rest was other people's problems.

But the shared trauma of being a new hunter on Deus was different. It was something, when you looked back on it, that you could share grins of unspoken commiseration over. And the idea of seeing the more veteran hunter's orientations, like Scotland or Bix, well, that sounded delightful.

"Don't have a fancy pen, and didn't bring paperclips, though I s'pose I coulda gone upstairs for some." The accompanying eyeroll was impressive, and could be felt in the air itself if not seen.

The angle was good, and there was that fleeting moment of satisfaction in being a hunter, in having that extra strength in her fingers to easily bend the pin at a sharp angle without the assistance of a tool. Those moments had been tempered with others as of late, but they hadn't left. And maybe it was better now, to begin feeling the cost of it all.

Finagling the lock didn't take long, hair like hers demanded sturdier pins and it stayed firm throughout the process. It also helped that the lock wasn't especially good. The door opened with a soft click, and America turned to smile triumphantly at Taym, all eager and preening and full of Did you see that? I did a thing and it was awesome!

rejam

 

[Rejam]

That grin was contagious, twisting up the corner of his mouth, and of course he went to duck his head and hide it and this was how it was that he saw the shape of America's shadow in the empty room behind her--shifting in the unsteady lights of her flashlight beam and his own weapon's dim sunlight--do something (he would later not be able to define exactly what) that banished all thought of smiling. Time obligingly stretched to give him enough time to process his own instincts and Fiona's abrupt state of high alert, and for him to assess that this was both not a shadowling but also (and he wasn't sure how he knew, but Hunters developed a sort of sense for these things) much worse.

In the desert she'd gently but with seriousness told him to never again do what he'd done when Lurks had crawled up out of whatever horrible hole he'd been in. He'd wanted to fully explain to her then how little he could help it, how much it had been raw, uncontrollable instinct that had him digging his fingers into her arm and shoving her violently away, putting himself where she'd been, weak little barrier that he was. It was a pity he hadn't said anything then, as she was abruptly treated to a repeat performance, although at least this time he kept his wits enough to bark at her: "Out. It's big."

HP: 52
DMG: --
CHG: 2/3  

[lizbot]

She made a small yelp as Taym swiftly reached, grabbing and pushing her behind him. Turning to see what was happening, her light joined his, revealing not it, but them. Hundreds of shadowy bodies surging toward them in a huge mass. America's body moved on instinct, thought no longer a process required for the purpose of immediate survival.

There was no Can we take it?

No Let's stay together! or Split up! or This way! or strategy at all.

All that she had was movement: a grab at his elbow, a tight pivot, and then a race across the basement, smoothly leaping over boxes and rubble in the straightest path possible.

Wise-eyed at the top of the stairs, panting slightly, America barely registered the passage of time. One moment she'd been turning to smile at Taym and now she was here, the inbetween all but lost to her.

HP: 48

rejam

 

[Rejam]

She wouldn't have much time to try and remember it: Taym darted gracefully and nimbly out of the seething mass of moving darkness that was rapidly overtaking the basement, past her with another yanking grab at her elbow, and into the upstairs hallway, the door banging shut behind them. He had the presence of mind to turn the lock--if they hadn't broken down a locked door down there maybe they wouldn't up here either--and moderated his gazelle-like sprint into a brisk jog down to the other end of the hallway without letting her go.

"Right," he said. He had, it must be noted, not lost his cigarette. "Plan B."

It became obvious after a couple of seconds that there was an implied question mark at the end of that, and not a pending explanation.

HP: 46
DMG: --
CHG: 2/3  

[lizbot]

The girl stared at him, still a bit shell-shocked and then began to laugh. A genuine, head tipped back laugh. Tears in her eyes, she grinned and, forgetting herself, clapped Taym on the shoulder. "B stands for Bring a ******** of people."

Not at all distressed by the threat currently lurking beneath their feet, America grabbed the poncho and draped it over the box of film reels and the picked up the heavier projector, clearly intent on carrying it back to the dorms. "Glad you were at my back," the girl admitted, "...ugly a** situation to venture into alone."

rejam

 

[Rejam]

Such was his mingled relief and frustration and weak-kneed charm at her sudden laughter that when she clapped him on the shoulder he experienced a brief moment of insanity, fueled by what little pop culture he'd ever managed to absorb, contemplating, giddy, what it would be like to seize her by the arm again, this time to shove her back, hard, into the bank of lockers, and to finish in this storm, with this danger under their feet, what he hadn't had the courage or the willpower to do the first time he'd found himself breathless and relieved with her amid the sound of leaky roofs and thunder.

The moment passed. She reached for the projector, Fiona's unease settled, and the madness left him. Tired, subdued, he picked up the box of reels, nudging the corner of the poncho aside to examine the peeling, much-faded label on the side. Most of it was long since effaced, but there were glimpses of what must have been a list of titles. After a contemplative pause, he read aloud around his cigarette: "The Trouble with Women. 1959."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Oh goody, let's watch that one first," America laughed again on the way out. She had the whole ******** day free for exploring the damn basement, Konstantin was away and there would be no sunny sprawl in a backyard with book in one hand and joint in the other.

America was fairly sure she could manage to set the old thing up without too much trouble.