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 Posted: Mon Oct 17, 2005 5:26 pm
"I have a mission for you. Report to the Conference Room at the Nest, if you please," Tatsumi rolled his eyes-- he didn't really have time or reason to want to deal with Tsuzuki's ramblings or road blocks.
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Posted: Mon Oct 17, 2005 5:28 pm
"You... what?..." Tsuzuki repeated, never having been that quick on the uptake when it came to work. "We have a Conference Room?... We have work?--On a payroll, right? Who's employing us, anyway? You? What mission?"
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Posted: Mon Oct 17, 2005 6:57 pm
"There is a Conference Room at the Nest, which I have procured the keys to. Meet me and your partner there, if you have any interest in this. Otherwise, I'll ask Kurosaki-kun to take this by himself," Tatsumi informed the wolf curtly.
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Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2005 6:07 pm
Oooh, did he think he was being clever? Probably not, but that was no excuse for Tsuzuki not to feel a little bit spiteful. "Do we get cookies? And coffee?" he asked hopefully, fully expecting Tatsumi to hang up as he went about finding his trenchcoat--so he hadn't bothered to do the professional thing today, big deal, he might as well make an effort with some sort of trademark, ne?
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Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2005 9:07 pm
"Miss raven will provide whatever refreshments she feels like providing, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi sighed. "I expect to see you here in half an hour." With that, the coon hung up the phone and glared at the blank walls of the Conference Room-- why did he have to deal with Tsuzuki?
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Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2005 11:17 pm
Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind
Roles: Edmund, Tsuzuki, Madison, Wolfe
Time: 11:ambiguous am, the day after Edmund and Mordred's conversation, same day as the phone call.
Location: First, the hall to the door. Second, Marks' room, where neither character have any business being.
==========
Edmund rarely looked at mirrors. He found no need for them, thought them base and vain. Appearances were important, yes, but only to the stupid, and he could wrap the stupid around his claws regardless of what he looked like. And yet now here he was, fishing for the contours of his face in a window, though perhaps his reason for investigating his reflection were not of the vanity persuasion.
What might Sajar's first impression be, if he were to let the other coon take it on his own, without Edmund's manipulations? For he felt the strangest urge... to merely allow impressions to happen, rather than be created. Perhaps it was a ing hope for a chance to respect Sajar. It was nigh on embarassing to find yourself of similar aspirations to someone so... unrefined. No, not in the way of ettiquette, but in mastery of the tongue and... well, impressions.
There was nothing more to gain from staring at himself, he decided finally. Turning away from the window pane in the library he made his way to the door with a deliberately quiet thought resting about his shoulders. Oddly enough, he found he was not about to exit on his own. A somewhat disgruntled Asato Tsuzuki was attempting to simultaneously fumble his way into a trenchcoat and out the door. Maintaining the quiet but allowing himself a touch of amusement, Edmund opened the door for them both, though he earned the barest of thanks in return as the wolf left hurriedly in the direction of what Edmund could only presume to be the Nest.
Well then.
He'd have to give it a wait. It wouldn't do to let too many know where he'd headed off to, and that Tsuzuki was disturbingly talkative. Someone was bound to found off if they ventured to the Nest in one another's company. What's more, Edmund preferred schemes simple, which meant the fewer involved the better. Thinking of which...
Something had to be done about that unicorn...
======
Madison was pretty damn sure he had no business in this room. He was also pretty damn sure he didn't care.
It smelled like him. Or at least, he imagined it smelled like him. Madison's sense of smell was unarguably average, so he was just going along with the dramatic supposition. Then again...
He'd caught waves of the same 'supposition' off of Wolfe, little hints of something-not-quite. It wasn't the same something-not-quite as Arthur, who was more of an I'm-f*cking-dangerous smell than anything else. But getting back to the point, Wolfe knew Marks, and as they both gave off that little feel of weird... something or other, Madison was inclined to believe it wasn't just his imagination.
Besides all that, it reminded him of the Wall, which was the really important thing. And really, Marks stank of it, if it really was a smell.
The room was simple as of yet, Jan favored the old-traditional way of fashioning your living space, not like the weird ways of interior decorating the other people around here seemed to fancy. That meant going out and putting it together on your own, using your own income. He was beginning to wonder how some other members of the Townhouse had managed it, seeing as they had no... jobs... or more importantly, payrolls. Jan was kind enough to provide basics, of course. Bed, lamps as you wanted them, any furniture you could drag from other parts of the Townhouse that she wouldn't miss... Didn't look like Marks had been up to that yet, though considering his initial destructo-fun greeting, Madison wondered whether Marks' adventure interior decorating would involve assembling or disassembling the room.
Okay, maybe the initial greeting hadn't been destructo-fun, but it had involved a gun and Arthur attempting to hurt someone, which involved as much destruction and "fun" as Madison ever wanted to experience. Ever.
Still... room smelled like him. Taking a cursory check to see if he was alone, Madison slipped a different ring than the shimmer he'd used on Asteil a couple days prior and flipped it into the air, drawing a similar sigil in the air before catching it in his hands.
Nothing.
Still a cold lump of metal with a pretty thing stuck on one part of it. Just a ring. Fine, so there wasn't any spirit magic... what was it then? What was the smell?
"Find what you're looking for?" a voice cut across his attention like a line of fire.
Thankfully, not the wrong voice--wrong meaning Marks. Madison twirled on his heel and tilted his head in an amused grin at the mistrustful look on Wolfe's face. "Nope," he answered cheerily, ring slipped back onto his finger the moment he'd turned. "What're you looking for, lover-boy?"
Wolfe was silent for a moment, standing a pace back from the door with half a hope at being accusing though not quite sure why... "Why?"
"'Cause I'd gotten the impression you wanted less to do with Marks than I do," Madison replied simply, moving from the room and allowed easy passage by an relenting Wolfe.
"Why?"
...What the hell kind of question was that? "You look liable to set him on fire every time you're in eyesight for one."
Luckily, Madison wasn't looking at Wolfe and thus didn't see the momentary wince at mention of 'fire'. "Why?"
"Look, third time's not the charm--whadda you mean, 'why'?"
"Why?"
Snappish. "What?"
"Why?"
Think fast, Maddie... "Pick a card."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"Why?"
"Because I told you to."
"Why?"
"Because it'll be fun."
"Why?"
......Look, if he's not asking anything else, it's not important. Just leave him alone.
But... so... annoying...!
"Magic."
"Why?"
"A magician never tells his secrets." Not to you, dumbass...
"Why?"
"Promises."
"Why?"
"Because promises are important."
".....You don't believe that."
Stupid, stupid, stupid Maddie. Stupid. You knew, you knew he could hear things. Just walk away and... and shut up for once in your life.
"Where are you going?"
"Why?"
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Posted: Fri Nov 11, 2005 12:06 pm
Courtship
Roles: Wolfe, Roman
Time: The 23rd of October, easing through the middle of the day.
Location: Any of the myriad roads within walking distance from the Nest and Townhouse but not leading into the populated parts of Gaia.
==========
Wolfe: *has been silent for an uncomfortably long time--he got out of the Townhouse to do something, not brood! Okay. Do something. No, say something.* Something.
Roman: *automatically* Nothing.
Wolfe: *perks up* Nothing and nothing?
Roman: Nothing from nothing.
Wolfe: *makes a face* We sound like him.
Roman: Who?
Wolfe: The tall one. *waves hand in the air at just above his own height* Well, sort of tall. Taller than you. Er... *thinking, trying to remember name* Edmund.
Roman: *considers for a moment* Oh. Him. We do?
Wolfe: Nothing, nothing, nothing, it's all he talks about! Well, it's all he says. It's about something.
Roman: *considers for a moment, now that his mind is on track with what's going on at the Townhouse* You have interesting people at your place.
Wolfe: Interesting's not a really good word. I mean, it can be good, but it isn't always and I really don't like to think that--*stops* You're right.
Roman: I mean... there's you. And then there's this Edmund. There's the coon Beta... there's that green rat... the unicorn... and then Marcus, of course.
Wolfe: We have a Marcus? There's a Marcus? We have another one? No one tells me! Why doesn't anyone tell me?
Roman: ::blinks:: But you know Marcus, don't you? I mean... from New York? The ex-Ravnos, I suppose...
Wolfe: Who? From what--where--Marks? His name's Marks. New York?
Roman: *blinks* 'Marks'? Is that what he's going by? He was a ghoul in New York-- Elias' ghoul, and then Ramon's ghoul... Marcus Giovanni.
Wolfe: *looks at him oddly* Marcus who?
Roman: Giovanni?
Wolfe: Giovanni? Like the dead guys?
Roman: ...yes.
Wolfe: Marks is a Ravnos.
Roman: Yes... Embraced by Monsieur Reeve after an idiot shot Marcus in the head.
Wolfe: *distractedly* I know a Reeve...
Roman: *blinks* Did I... say something wrong?
Wolfe: *muttering to himself* Don't think so... Wrong means wrong, wrong isn't right, wrong means not Marcus, Marks, but if Marks is Marcus than Marks is Giovanni but Marks is Ravnos, so...
Roman: ................... /I said something wrong. Again./ Wolfe...
Wolfe: *still thinking, apparently* Uh huh?
Roman: ...I'm sorry?
Wolfe: 'bout what?
Roman: You're upset.
Wolfe: Not upset. Not yet. Might be. Not at you. You're weird like that.
Roman: *blinks* What's the matter?
Wolfe: Weird... Just... not sure... Marks was in New York?
Roman: *nods* He went by the name 'Marcus Giovanni'. He was a ghoul who was later Embraced by Reeve.
Wolfe: ...When was this? When were you in New York?
Roman: I was only in New York once, Wolfe...
Wolfe: Besides 18... 189... 1897?
Roman: ...no, that was the only time.
Wolfe: But Marks couldn't have been there then...
Roman: But he was...
Wolfe: *absolutely uncomprehending to this possibility* But why didn't I know?
Roman: He was a ghoul-- he probably slipped past your notice?
Wolfe: But--but he does things, and you can't help but know about them because they're things.
Roman: 'Things'? What sorts of things, Wolfe? I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're saying...
Wolfe: *determined not to go into it, has reserved it for the 'tainted' section of his thinking* Nevermind.
Roman: *blinks* ...I'm missing something, aren't I?
Wolfe: Doesn't matter.
Roman: ...all right then...
Wolfe: Agh--no--it's not all right--you know him? His name is Marcus? Marcus Giovanni?
Roman: Yes...
Wolfe: *puts hand to forehead, wheels turning s'more* This isn't good. *under his breath* Should have him locked in a tower, or cage, or somewhere real small and out of the way... under the sea? Coast isn't too far off...
Roman: *blinks* Wolfe?
Wolfe: How much is it to hire a boat? Big boat? Or small boat, doesn't really matter.
Roman: Wolfe, you can't put someone under the sea-- they'll die. Well, unless they're a mer...
Wolfe: ...oh yeah. We breathe... keep forgetting...
Roman: ...yes, we breathe, Wolfe.
Wolfe: Weird.
Roman: ::nods slightly:: It is, actually.
Wolfe: ...yeah... Did you know I came out here to try and get away from him?
Roman: *blinks* I'm sorry... I didn't realize. /Did Marcus do something I'm not aware of?/
Wolfe: Not like you should've. ...Let's do something big.
Roman: *blinks* All right. Like what?
Wolfe: Distracting. Big and distracting. Can you swim?
Roman: *blinks* I haven't tried in years...
Wolfe: Me neither.
Roman: Did you want to?
Wolfe: Dunno. Just came to mind.
Roman: Well, there's water. Or there's a forest at the Nest right now, if it hasn't become a tornado again.
Wolfe: *looks at him, somewhat concerned* Tornado.
Roman: It doesn't hurt anything Miss raven doesn't mind.
Wolfe: Why?
Roman: Because she controls it.
Wolfe: ...Why?
Roman: It has something to do with it being part of her land.
Wolfe: Why?
Roman: She maintains that she has complete control over everything in her Domain.
Wolfe: Why? Why would you want to do that?
Roman: Miss raven's very controlling.
Wolfe: But... but why a tornado?
Roman: That happens when she's in a bad mood.
Wolfe: ...oh. ...'m glad Jan can't do that.
Roman: It's mildly terrifying living in a place with a girl who has that much control.
Wolfe: ...Yeah. ...It's 'mildly terrifying living in a place' with a girl who does her best not to either. I mean... Marks......
Roman: *blinks* Something big and distracting.
Wolfe: *didn't quite get that* Not him. *somewhat disbelieving*
Roman: *sighs* Wolfe.
Wolfe: What?
Roman: Do you want to go swimming?
Wolfe: Dunno.
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Posted: Sun Nov 13, 2005 5:55 pm
Doubt
Roles: Roman, Marks, Wolfe
Time: The 24th of October, before noon.
Location: The Townhouse kitchen, for the most part.
==========
Roman: *has been contemplating this for a while and has finally decided to show up at the Townhouse... he knocks at the door, just because it's polite.*
Marks: *being the closest to the door, due to it's proximity to the kitchen, decides to answer--it's not that bad scaring away the unneccessary people* *opens the door, tilts head to the side, eyebrow raised* Cavalier.
Roman: *blinks* Marcus Giovanni.
Marks: *leaning in the doorway, looking upwards contemplatively* Been a while since I heard that one.
Roman: *blinks* Oh? I didn't realize.
Marks: Fancy that.
Roman: How have you been? It's been quite a while, and the last time we spoke it was... rather awkward.
Marks: Was it? *not being terse, just not offering much for conversation*
Roman: *shrugs* For myself at least.
Marks: Really now? Thought you had the run of the town back then.
Roman: *blinks* Whatever gave you that idea?
Marks: *brief smile* I suppose that was the general impression I had of most of you.
Roman: *blinks...* I suppose that's only natural-- though truth be told, I was one of the less informed.
Marks: Not entirely surprising, upon reflection... So, what brings you here?
Roman: Actually... rumors of you. And... concern.
Marks: *appears mildly surprised* I wasn't aware I'd done anything warranting rumors yet.
Roman: *blinks* Rumors of your presence, actually.
Marks: And again, I wasn't aware I was so interesting...
Roman: *smiles slightly* It's not often I run across someone I've previously met.
Marks: Point taken. Odd to see you too, Cavalier.
Roman: What have you been up to, if I may ask, Marcus?
Marks: Here? This and that, mostly cooking. Want breakfast?
Roman: *blinks* Breakfast? ...all right.
Marks: *stands away from the door for the first time, ushering him in* You gotten into the habit of eating yet? Got preferences?
Roman: *blinks* Not really... and no... *enters, a bit bewildered. Why doesn't Wolfe like him? He's pleasant enough...*
Marks: Why don't we start you off on the mild things, then? *rummaging through cupboards for the ingredients for French Toast--heehee, he's making a pun in his head*
Roman: *blinks and smiles* Thank you...
Marks: Welcome, sir. *touch ironically* And what have you been up to?
Roman: Here? I ran a theatre before Miss raven took me to her home... and since then I've merely been staying there...
Marks: *bemusedly* You thespians. Never really understood it.
Roman: *blinks?* What's not to understand?
Marks: What's the point of doing something on stage? Why not just do it?
Roman: ...on stage you can be someone you're not? You can do things you would never do in reality?
Marks: If you can do 'em on stage, my bet's on you being capable of them in 'reality'. *stress on the quotations of reality, he's still an illusionist at heart*
Roman: *shrugs* Some things aren't permissible in reality, Marcus.
Marks: /Oh look, scruples. How cute./ Point again. Cavalier: 2, Giovanni: 0.
Roman: *smiles* Do you like it here, Marcus?
Marks: *smile halfway between anyone's normal expression of pleasure and a smirk* Wings, theatre boy. Wings are great.
Roman: *smiles* They're quite beautiful, Marcus. *oh the artist in him recognizes it. The sensible part of him doesn't recognize that Marks is dangerous. >_<* Have you experimented with flying much?
Marks: I'd be crazy if I hadn't. It really is a different perspective. You got a sweet tooth?
Roman: *blinks* I... suppose? I haven't really... eaten much. *eats pretty much whatever people get him to eat-- which isn't that much, considering how many people deal with him*
Marks: Hm. *has been making the toast this entire time, poised with syrup over a bowl where he appears to be making something different to put on the toast besides just powdered sugar and the like* ....hm....
Roman: *blinks* What are you preparing, Marcus, if I may ask?
Marks: Don't know... yet... *makes up mind, puts a little in* Don't really want to give you a sugar high or anything though. Not much into the culinary arts, are ya?
Roman: *blinks* No... I suppose it's a habit from the centuries of not eating...
Marks: Indulge, why don't you? It can be fun.
Roman: *blinks* ....if you say so. It's not something I'm particularly... used to.
Marks: What? Indulgence or breakfast?
Roman: Both?
Marks: *taking on a slightly scolding tone* Breakfast's the most important meal of the day, Cavalier.
Roman: *blinks* Is that so? I wasn't aware.
Marks: You don't seem to be aware of a lot of things... Tell me, how much MTV have you seen in the past decade?
Roman: *blinks* What's 'MTV'?
Marks: CNN?
Roman: *blinks* Pardonnez moi?
Marks: FOX? Discovery Channel? Nickelodeon?
Roman: *blinks* Are these some of those awful 'musicals'?
Marks: *laughs* No. Not quite. Do you know what a TV is?
Roman: ...no...?
Marks: Hallelujah! You've been saved! *shaking his head in amusement, arranging French Toast*
Roman: *blinks* ...Marcus, I'm afraid I don't understand...
Marks: Perfectly fine, means your clean.
Roman: ...'clean'? Of what?
Marks: Hm... Modernity? Hip-ness? Pop culture? Kudos, kid. *puts the plate in front of him, along with fork and napkin* Want a knife?
Roman: *blinks* ...yes, please...?
Marks: *as he's about to get one...*
Wolfe: *slightly strangled noise of surprise* *STARE through the doorway*
Roman: *turns* Ah, Wolfe... we were just having breakfast.
Marks: Morning, sleepyhead. *perfectly cheery--well, cheery as he gets o_O*
Wolfe: But--you--food--kitchen--this kitchen--but--death--food--what are you doing here?
Roman: *blinks* Wolfe... is there something wrong?
Marks: Maybe he needs a shrink?
Wolfe: *bluntly* Yes.
Roman: *blinks and stands* Wolfe... what's wrong?
Marks: *rolls eyes, goes to get the knife*
Wolfe: You can't honestly eat his food! You don't know where it's been! Do you know what's in it??
Roman: *blinks* He said it's breakfast? I don't really know-- I haven't experimented much with food...
Wolfe: Death! It's got death in it! *slightly hysterical--not really in the bad way, just 'dealing' with this as best he can*
Roman: *blinks and moves over to the distraught boy* Wolfe, what's wrong? I don't... understand?
Wolfe: *insistently, pointing at Marks, who looks sort of bemused* He's wrong. Bad. Wrong. Mean. Got stuff wrong with him.
Roman: *blinks* He does?
Wolfe: Yes.
Marks: *affected melancholy* He's right, you know.
Roman: *blinks* ....?
Marks: *jumping in before Wolfe goes nuts again* I mean, sheesh, I'm alive. Pretty nuts, but.... pretty weird.
Wolfe: *muttermutter*Not what I was talking about.
Roman: *blinks* ...yes... that's very true. *he's... missing something... isn't he?*
Marks: Hey, look, if you two need to go and 'sort things out', that's cool with me--toast can go in the fridge.
Roman: *blinks* ...Wolfe...?
Wolfe: *staring at Marks in disbelief* Just... don't... get it... *leaves in the direction of the door*
Roman: *follows* Wolfe... what's wrong?
Wolfe: Lots of stuff! *focused mostly on getting away from the kitchen, it seems*
Roman: *following* Wolfe... am I missing something?
Wolfe: *stops, pauses, looks at him* Dunno.
Roman: Well, why are you upset?
Wolfe: He's bad. *as if that explains everything*
Roman: *blinks* Why?
Wolfe: He--he does things--and sometimes they're okay, yeah, but not always--especially at the end! Then things go real bad, no matter what you're trying to do or what he's trying to do, everything just goes wrong.
Roman: *blinks* Wait... what?
Wolfe: *groans* I don't know! I never know!
Roman: *blinks*
Wolfe: *slightly irritated sigh, looking at the ground about a foot to the right of Roman's feet* Sorry.
Roman: *blinks* Why are you apologizing?
Wolfe: Don't make sense... That's... not good enough.
Roman: *blinks* Wolfe... what's wrong?
Wolfe: Nothing. Just nothing... *rolls eyes* There's something wrong with me.
Roman: *blinks* ...no, there's not...
Wolfe: See? Case in point.
Roman: *blinks?* I'm confused.
Wolfe: That's not so bad... *looking at him sort of worriedly* You should eat though...
Roman: *blinks* I was going to...
Wolfe: *mournfully* Yeah! I know!
Roman: *blinks* ........... *oh so confused!!*
Wolfe: Never mind, this isn't so bad, it's the beginning again, you know? He's not so bad at the beginning... *wanders off into the Townhouse*
Roman: *blinks* .... *calling after Wolfe* Am I supposed to stay away from him?
Wolfe: I don't know!
Roman: *blinks* ....do you want me to?
Wolfe: *stops, turns, and stares at him for a moment* Yes.
Roman: *blinks* ...all right then.
Marks: *poking his head out of the kitchen, notices Roman* Huh... I thought you two'd be on a walk by now.
Roman: *blinks* ...he's upset.
Marks: Not really surprising. He doesn't like me much.
Roman: ...why?
Marks: *shrugs* I'm dead. *goes back into the kitchen*
Roman: *blinks* ....I'm confused...
Marks: *calling out from the kitchen* Get used to it. You gonna eat?
Roman: *blinks* ...he wants me to stay away from you.
Marks: I can stay... on the far side of the kitchen... if you'd like?...
Roman: *blinks* ....all right... I don't understand why he doesn't like you...
Marks: *staying on the farside, as suggested* Plenty of things happened between us. Conflicting interests, you might say.
Roman: *blinks* .....really? Like what?
Marks: What to do about a little revolt out in the middle of nowhere, for one. Things... got interesting pretty quick. Eat.
Roman: *blinks, but eats, confused*
Marks: *providing conversation, because he gets the feeling Roman would consider it rude to speak until finished with the munching business* I've had more relations to Stoker than Wolfe, actually. Alliance and conflict both--hard to keep it straight with those two.
Roman: *blinks* Stoker? Who's that?
Marks: Bram? Stoker. You know--oh yeah... Cervantes. Michael Cervantes.
Roman: *blinks* He changed his name? To that writer...?
Marks: Hey, Miguel Cervantes is a writer too. And... he's a little touched in the head, if you get my grip. Nothing too surprising there, yeah?
Roman: *sighs* ...I feel like I missed a lot.
Marks: Things happen pretty quickly, kid. You shouldn't be surprised by that either.
Roman: *blinks* ...I suppose not...
Marks: So? You like toast?
Roman: *nods* It was very good, thank you.
Marks: Welcome. I get it if you're not going to stop by, you know. Don't feel obligated.
Roman: *blinks* ...I'm still confused.
Marks: What about this time?
Roman: *blinks* Why Wolfe doesn't like you.
Marks: *appears slightly amused* He doesn't like me because I didn't do things the way he wanted them done.
Roman: *blinks* How did you each do things?
Marks: *simply* Better.
Roman: *blinks* Pardon?
Marks: He's not much of a mastermind, if you catch my drift.
Roman: *blinks* ....oh?
Marks: Yeah. Got a bit of a problem with... talking to the wrong people, and telling them things they shouldn't know.
Roman: *blinks* ....I'm afraid I don't understand.
Marks: You say that a lot... He tell you anything about it?
Roman: *blinks* ...no...
Marks: ...huh... Well, you might want to hear it from his perspective first... You like him and all, you see.
Roman: *blinks* ...well, if you both have different stories, I should hear them both at some point though.
Marks: Hm... *bland sort of sarcasm* His is more interesting?
Roman: *blinks* ....perhaps you'll tell me more later?
Marks: If you're still curious, don't see why not.
Roman: *smiles* ...thank you, Marcus.
Marks: Hm. Haven't heard that one in a long while... But sure, okay. See you later, I take it?
Roman: *nods* ...thank you again. *stands and slips off, going to try to find Wolfe*
(Hm... for sake of simplicity, Wolfe is in the library. Seems a likely enough place for Roman to look)
Roman: *slips into the library* Wolfe?
Wolfe: *re-alphabetizing a random shelf according to the year they were published* Nn.
Roman: *goes over* ...Wolfe... are you mad at me?
Wolfe: *shortly* No.
Roman: ...you're upset.
Wolfe: Uh huh...
Roman: ...is there anything I can do?
Wolfe: Nope.
Roman: ....do you want to talk about it?
Wolfe: *actually looks at him* Do you?
Roman: ...only if you're willing to.
Wolfe: ...What's there to talk about?
Roman: Why you don't like him?
Wolfe: *muttering* He's bad.
Roman: What did he do?
Wolfe: Stupid stuff. Came back.
Roman: From where?
Wolfe: Other side. Dead. Dead-dead.
Roman: How dead?
Wolfe: He's been killed... um... two times now, I think. Not counting Kindred-dead.
Roman: ...how killed?
Wolfe: ...Dunno too much about the first one. Nobody does. It's unclear. Fuzzy. Can't tell the truth, because there's nobody to tell it... Second one was... well, soul-eating. Diablerie. Dead-dead, you know?
Roman: ....what?? He was... but....
Wolfe: *edge of hysteria again, keeping control but he really doesn't get it, and that bothers him* Yup.
Roman: .... *softly* ...Wolfe...
Wolfe: Uh huh?
Roman: ...is there anything I can do for you?
Wolfe: *honestly curious* Like what?
Roman: I don't know... a distraction or something?
Wolfe: ...Huh?
Roman: ....let's go for a walk.
Wolfe: *eagerly* Okay! *abandoning the shelf half-alphabetized, someone's going to have a fit later*
Roman: *smiles and leads Wolfe off, out for a walk*
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2005 9:15 am
Karma
Roles: Marks, Roman, Renjyo, Wolfe, Arthur.
Time: November the 12th, early mid-morning. Approximately in the 9:30-ese.
Location: The Townhouse.
===========
*there's a hurried knock at the door to the townhouse before the door swings open, Roman actually going in without waiting for a response, eyes darting about in a mixture of suspicion and fear. Making his way to the kitchen, since Marcus is probably there and probably has a better idea of what to do than Wolfe, the poor violinist focuses on trying to calm himself down*
Marks: *not actually doing anything, he just happens to hang out in the kitchen as it's easier than wandering anywhere else in the Townhouse as people tend to object to that--besides which, he's amused that it's so difficult for Wolfe to get food when he's around, and he doesn't even do anything about it* *looks up at the sound of someone entering* Cavalier?
Roman: ...Marcus. *glances around-- well, there are sharp, pointy objects here that can be used if SHE shows up*
Marks: *raises an eyebrow* Can I help you?
Roman: *blinks as he glances at Marcus* ...there's a new arrival at the Nest.
Marks: ...Uh huh?
Roman: .....she knows you.
Marks: ...she? *actually surprised*
Roman: ...yes. *glances around again*
Marks: ...That's a new one on me. She pretty?
Roman: *turns to stare at Marks before blinking a bit* ....I suppose so. She's............ yes, I suppose she is.
Marks: ...Then why're you so freaked out about her?
Roman: ...she and I... don't... or won't... get along.
Marks: What, she some sort of anti-thespian?
Roman: ...no, it's not that....
Marks: You not into girls?
Roman: *blinks* W-what? No, it's not that...
Marks: So what's the problem?
Roman: She's... ah......................... well, this goes back to when we all were Kindred...
Marks: Wait--when we were all vamps? Meaning she's one of 'em too? Or was, as the case may be.
Roman: *nods......*
Marks: Who is this chick, anyway? You haven't given me a name yet.
Roman: Ah... oh, that's right... she said she's going to come see you later...
Marks: So you're going to tell me her name now, right?
Roman: *blinks* Miss... Renjyo?
Marks: ..................********: *blinks* ...Marcus? Did I... say something wrong?
Marks: I don't know yet--what's got you running?
Roman: *blinks* ...she's... ah... a member of my bloodline... and female.
Marks: ...You know, I'd forgotten about that. You're trying to hide, I take it?
Roman: ......yes.
Marks: Second floor's empty for the most part.
Roman: *blinks* .......thank you. *darts upstairs as fast as he can, opening a random door*
*behind door number one is... a rat! Do you want to change your pick? Oops, sorry, too late.*
Arthur: *pauses in writing the article Jan has forced him into writing for the World Weakly, to stare balefully at the intruder*
Roman: *blinks* Ah............. I apologize.....
Arthur: *STAREs at him, doesn't say a word*
Roman: *blinks slowly* I... ah... I apologize. I was looking for a place to hide.
Arthur: *flatly* From what.
Roman: ....a girl who wishes to kill me because of what I used to be as a vampire?
Arthur: /That's bizarre. Worth an article./ On the condition that I interview you later, you may hide beneath the bed. No one likes to look beneath my bed.
Roman: *blinks* Thank you. *darts under-- he's desperate*
*and meanwhile....*
*Marks went to the room he barely uses, raided a couple nearby rooms for anything he might need to survive on his own for a week or two and stuffed it all in a backpack, heads for the door*
*and just as he opens the door.... a little asian girl is standing there, smiling*
Renjyo: Hihi, Marks~~~
Marks: *leans against the door frame, head hanging* For ******** sake...
Renjyo: *giggles* Marks not happy to see Renjyo~?
Marks: Think of the proportion of times we've met that I've been happy to see you versus the amount that I haven't.
Renjyo: *giggles* Doko iku no?
Marks: *lived around Waikiki long enough to pick up that much* Elsewhere.
Renjyo: Awww~~~ Naze? Doko?
Marks: To get groceries.
Renjyo: Renjyo mo iku~!
Marks: No, that's okay.
Renjyo: *giggles* But Renjyo wants to~~~!~
Marks: Why?
Renjyo: *giggles* Haven't seen Marks in long time~~
Marks: I wonder why. Maybe it's because you killed me.
Renjyo: *giggles* Ate Marks. Didn't kill Marks. But Marks is back now! Naze~? Marks doesn't stay dead...
Marks: It's a habit.
Renjyo: Sad~~~!
Marks: I imagine you'd think so.
Renjyo: But Renjyo ate Marks. Marks is back. Renjyo didn't think that supposed to happen~~!
Marks: Generally it ain't.
Renjyo: *cocks her head to the side* Does Marks always come back?
Marks: I try.
Renjyo: *considers* So if Renjyo killed Marks, Marks would come back?
Marks: That wasn't an invitation.
Renjyo: *blinks* Renjyo was just asking~
Marks: Uh huh.
Renjyo: *giggles* Renjyo will follow Marks around.
Marks: Will she.
Renjyo: Ha~~~~i~!
Marks: *resisting the urge to groan, damnit!*
Wolfe: *has been distracted from whatever he was up to by the noises...* *makes one of those surprised/dismayed noises he's prone towards in real shock* *pointing at Renjyo* But--
Renjyo: *blinks* Malkie?...... Wolfe.
Marks: *trying to slip out the door if she's distracted enough*
Wolfe: But--but-- *still pointing, still staring*
Renjyo: *attaches herself to Marks' arm* Wolfie?
Marks: *stops in his tracks, not abruptly, just stops* *muttermuttercursemutter*
Wolfe: Why?
Renjyo: *smi~les* Why what, Wolfie?
Marks: *has settled for just not moving and staring at Wolfe in a bland sort of irritation*
Wolfe: Why're you here?
Renjyo: *blinks* Renjyo not supposed to be here?
Wolfe: *bluntly* No.
Renjyo: Why~?
Wolfe: 'Cause--'cause--why're you here?
Renjyo: Renjyo wanted to talk to Marks~
Wolfe: No, not here-here, here.
Marks: Master of communication that one is.
Renjyo: *giggles* Why's Wolfie here? Why's Marks here?
Wolfe: *in a 'not fair' sort of tone* Dunno.
Marks: Because I said so.
Renjyo: *smi~les*
Marks: Wolfe, you wanna go tell your boyfriend we really did end up with company?
Wolfe: Wha?
Renjyo: Koibito nano? Dare~~?
Wolfe: What?
Renjyo: Who~~~?
Wolfe: What?
Marks: Theatre-boy, stupid.
Renjyo: *blinks* Oh..... him?
Wolfe: *trying to figure out the implications of this* ...What?
Renjyo: *giggles* Marks~~ where is he?
Marks: Don't really need to be telling you that, now do I?
Renjyo: *giggles* But if Renjyo knows where he is, Renjyo might go talk to him instead of Marks~~
Marks: Might or will?
Wolfe: Wait--Roman?
Renjyo: *giggles* Depends where he is~~
Marks: How close is convenient?
Renjyo: *giggles* Near~
Marks: How near?
Renjyo: Very near~
Miles or feet?
Wolfe: *beginning to catch on* Don't you dare!
Renjyo: *giggles* Meters?
Marks: Fine, metric, if you like. How many meters? Hundred and under?
Renjyo: Less~
Marks: Make up your mind.
Renjyo: Fifty and less~
Marks: Fine. Upstairs.
Wolfe: *shouts upstairs almost as he says it* Roman! Run! *apparently none too clever when it comes to immediate escape plans >>;*
Renjyo: *giggles and presses a kiss to Marks' cheek before slipping upstairs quickly on those delicate looking wings...
Marks: *heads out the door*
Wolfe: *trying to beat Renjyo up the stairs, though she's got the advantage with, you know, wings and all...*
Roman: *under the bed, shifts further back*
Renjyo: *opens door #1!....rat*
Arthur: *looks up at the second intruder balefully*
Renjyo: *blinks~~~* Hihi~~~ Renjyo's looking for a boy~~
Arthur: *stares*
Renjyo: *bounces in* Seen him~? *pulls out a picture of Roman*
Arthur: *stares at it* Are you sure that's a boy?
Roman: *glares at Arthur from under the bed*
Renjyo: Ha~~~i~
Arthur: I could've sworn I saw that girl at the theatre by the nest... several weeks ago.
Renjyo: *giggles* Not a girl. And here somewhere~
Arthur: Good luck. *goes back to writing*
Renjyo: *bounces* Ne, ne~~
Arthur: *stops, turns, stares at her balefully again*
Renjyo: *giggles* Whatcha writing~~?
Arthur: Nonsense.
Renjyo: *laughs* Why~~~?
Arthur: It pays.
Renjyo: Renjyo wants to read~
Arthur: *gives Renjyo a mistrustful look* Why.
Renjyo: 'cause Renjyo's interested~~
Arthur: *simply stares*
Renjyo: *giggles* Namae wa~? Anata no?
Arthur: *stares more*
Renjyo: *giggles* Ne, ne?
Arthur: *stares*
Renjyo: *giggles and takes a seat on the floor*
Arthur: *rolls eyes, last thing he wants is for her to stay.* Arthur.
Renjyo: *giggles* Arthur~ pretty name~
Arthur: *doesn't respond, goes back to writing*
Renjyo: *stand and bounces closer* Whatcha writing~
Arthur: An article.
Renjyo: For why~?
Arthur: A job.
Renjyo: Arthur has a job~? Why~?
Arthur: It's something to do.
Renjyo: Lots of things to do that aren't jobs~
Arthur: And none of them interest me.
Renjyo: *giggles* Why~?
Arthur: They don't.
Renjyo: Why~?
Arthur: Because. They don't.
Renjyo: Why~~?
Wolfe: *finally centered in on their room, not having found Roman in the others close by and naturally attracted by the sound of questions* *pokes head in, looks at Arthur* Well?
Arthur: *ignores him for the most part* They don't.
Renjyo: How come~?
Wolfe: Why what?
Arthur: Because they don't.
Renjyo: Nothing~?
Wolfe: *glances at her warily at the word, but remains silent*
Arthur: Nothing.
Renjyo: *giggles* Absolutely nothing~?
Arthur: *stares at her balefully once more*
Renjyo: *giggles*
Arthur: *stares*
Wolfe: Ah... is Roman...?
Renjyo: *giggles*
Arthur: *goes back to writing*
Wolfe: ...*leaves*
Renjyo: *giggles and bounces after Wolfe* Ne, ne~
Wolfe: *looks at her sharply, in that quick agitated way*
Renjyo: What's wrong, Wolfie?
Wolfe: Nothing.
Renjyo: How come Wolfie doesn't like me?
Wolfe: You... ...cause.
Renjyo: .....why?
Wolfe: *not looking at her, but can't look for Roman if she's right there...* You... don't forget.
Renjyo: Forget what~?
Wolfe: Stuff.
Renjyo: Like~?
Wolfe: Just stuff, okay?
Renjyo: No~~ not okay~~ Why doesn't Bram's descendent like me? *sounds a bit more... sane. Less high-pitched and squealy*
Wolfe: Because you were frightening.
Renjyo: When~?
Wolfe: Always! Whenever things were happening. Big things. Had to be careful because of the stupid things that happen, like Andre and stuff.
Renjyo: *blinks* Oh, him. Renjyo didn't like him.
Wolfe: Well I do.
Renjyo: He's not here~~~
Wolfe: That's not important.
Renjyo: *giggles* Isn't?
Wolfe: No. Presence is nothing compared to... to what happens. Actions more than words.
Renjyo: *blinks* Wolfie doesn't understand why Renjyo doesn't like him?
Wolfe: No--no, I do, but--but I don't. Don't... don't... It's... you don't like him. I do. You could've left him alone.
Renjyo: *softly* Renjyo couldn't.
Wolfe: And you didn't.
Renjyo: Couldn't. So didn't.
Wolfe: *not liking where this is going, starts for the stairs*
Renjyo: *follows* Renjyo knows about Wolfie.
Wolfe: Doesn't matter.
Renjyo: *follows* Wolfie doesn't like Renjyo because of Andre? Or other reasons?
Wolfe: Doesn't matter.
Renjyo: Does.
Wolfe: Why?
Renjyo: *smiles* 'Cause Renjyo knows things.
Wolfe: *looks at her warily* Like what?
Renjyo: Bram let Renjyo see.
Wolfe: *insistent* See what?
Renjyo: The important things.
Wolfe: *just stares, question's already out in the air and it's up to her to answer*
Renjyo: *smiles* Bram woke Renjyo up. Gave Renjyo his blood-- blood carries memories.
Wolfe: So why's it matter?
Renjyo: *smiles* Wanna get to know Wolfie better.
Wolfe: *muttermutter* Don't wanna. *mutter* *continue down stairs*
Renjyo: *follows* Renjyo will make a deal~
Wolfe: What kind of deal?
Renjyo: Involving Roman~ -- Wolfie likes him.
Wolfe: *watching her closely* .....
Renjyo: *smiles* He shouldn't exist. But does. So Renjyo should make him not exist. But won't, if Wolfie plays nice with Renjyo~
Wolfe: ......You can't hurt him.
Renjyo: *smiles* Can. But won't if Wolfie plays nice.
Wolfe: ..............fine.
Renjyo: *giggles and gives Wolfe a kiss on the cheek* Sankyuu~ Renjyo's gonna go find Marks now~-- be back later~~~! *skips off*
Wolfe: *watches her leave reluctantly... He's still extremely wary of her, but if she's going to be bothering Marks instead of trying to find Roman for these undefined reasons, he's all for it*
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2005 9:16 am
Karma Sequel or Planned Parenthood
Roles: Roman, Arthur, Mordred, Edmund.
Time: November the 12th, early mid-morning. Approximately in the 10:15-ese.
Location: The Townhouse.
===========
Arthur: They've left the house.
Roman: *creeps out, glancing at Arthur in a sort of disgruntled way* ...I do not look like a girl.
Arthur: *actually pauses in writing but doesn't look at him* You do.
Roman: I do not.
Arthur: I will stoop to immaturity to make a point: prove it.
Roman: *blinks* How do I look like a girl?
Arthur: *reorganizing his desk, mostly to find something solid he can put paper on so he can look at Roman while 'interviewing'* If I said 'hair', I'd be a hypocrite--it's the eyes, for the most part. And the mouth. Too sensual.
Roman: *blinks.....* ...I'm afraid I don't understand.
Arthur: It isn't important, just rest assured you're quite feminine. What do you mean, 'vampire'?
Roman: *blinks* I'm not feminine... and I was a vampire before I came here-- upon reaching here, I have become... part animal? instead of such.
Arthur: I assume from your familiarity with Wolfe that you're not the only one.
Roman: ....yes...
Arthur: Now how did this come about? Where is the 'there' as opposed to 'here'?
Roman: 'There' is... 'Earth'? 'Here' is this 'Gaia' place...?
Arthur: *doesn't know what to expect of vampires, he's dealt with so many different planes of existence--if these one's jump worlds, whatever* Ah ha.
Roman: I'm... not actually sure why there are so many of us here, or what the connection is. At first, when it was only Marcus, Wolfe, and myself, I thought it had something to do with New York, but then Alan arrived...
*suddenly the window bursts open-- yes, that window that you thought you sealed shut, Arthur*
Mordred: *swoops in, in all his shining glory* Arthur~~-- oh! You have my housemate here. How interesting-- I didn't think that he was your type, Arthur!
Arthur: *blandly* He isn't. Too short.
Mordred: *laughs* Run along, Roman. I'm sure your precious little Wolfe is dying to know where you've gotten to-- Arthur, I have things that we need to discuss. *plops himself on Arthur's bed*
Roman: W-w-what?
Arthur: *gives him a look of 'you're filthy... and on my bed...' though to Arthur's mind it's probably 'you're slightly clean... and on my bed... sucks to be you, but I'll sneer anyway'* You might want to catch him before he catches up with Marks, Roman.
Roman: *blinks before realizing Arthur has a point, graciously excusing himself and searching out Wolfe to take him on a long walk*
Arthur: *continues staring at Mordred*
Mordred: *lies there a moment, staring at the ceiling before speaking* Arthur, I have a problem.
Arthur: I've been telling you that for centuries.
Mordred: ...a problem I've never had to deal with before.
Arthur: I hope it's fatal.
Mordred: I don't know yet.
Arthur: Go experiment, why don't you?
Mordred: I don't know what to do, Arthur.
Arthur: Does anyone? Does anyone really? *sarcastically*
Mordred: I can't think.
Arthur: I know.
Mordred: ...well, that's not entirely true. I do think. But not about what I usually think about.
Arthur: What a lovely change.
Mordred: ...I wonder what he's up to.
Arthur: He.
Mordred: Yes, he.
Arthur: At the risk of sounding foreign, 'he' who?
Mordred: The one who's messing up my thoughts.
Arthur: I ought to commend him.
Mordred: ...then again, I doubt he realizes I'm thinking about him.
Arthur: I'm confused. He is preventing your cognitive abilities a'purpose or by accident?
Mordred: ...he isn't trying to.
Arthur: More's the pity. I suppose I won't like him after all.
Mordred: ....but I'm thinking about him when I should be planning for our war.
Arthur: 'Our'? As in the important one or whatever you've been getting up to with... *smiles maliciously* Aha.
Mordred: ...It's very strange, Arthur.
Arthur: I'm mildly surprised, Mordred./
Mordred: ....I think about him a great deal. Does that mean something significant?
Arthur: It does.
Mordred: ...like what?
Arthur: *smiling, which in itself is pretty strange* You poor b*****d.
Mordred: *blinks....?*
Arthur: *has been waiting oh so long for the day that Mordred would be so malleable--well, confused. It feels great* *but.... beginning to realize whoever Mordred might have fallen for is bound to be more than a little scary* Is it someone from that despicable... what is it, 'Roost' of yours?
Mordred: *blinks* ...what? The Nest? Oh, no. Of course not.
Arthur: *appears somewhat surprised* Really. I thought surely one of them would meet your standards. I can't imagine where else you might find someone appealing.
Mordred: ....he lives here.
Arthur: *silent for a long moment. A long moment*
Mordred: It bothers me, Arthur. That I think about him.
: It's beginning to bother me as well.
Mordred: ...I even started thinking about what would happen if I spent more time with him.
Arthur: In fact, it's beginning to bother me to the point where I am going to suggest you stop talking about it.
Mordred: ...I can imagine it, you know. Spending more time with him. What would come of it.
Arthur: ...Is this a joke?
Mordred: *blinks* Why would I joke about this?
Arthur: It seems like exactly the sort of 'fun' you might come up with if you'd been bombarded with... I have no idea. You're broken.
Mordred: I've been thinking about babies, Arthur.
Arthur: *just--just can't comprehend that. The jump is too big, the thought is too horrid--too--* BABIES?
Mordred: ....well, yes.
Arthur: You can't have babies. *somewhere between disbelief and a command*
Mordred: ...why not? It's physically possible.
Arthur: I don't allow it.
Mordred: What's that got to do with anything?
Arthur: You can not have offspring.
Mordred: It's possible. I can just see them, Arthur...
Arthur: This has gone too far...
Mordred: ...they'd be adorable... I could train them...
Arthur: They'd be far from 'adorable', Mordred. And you can't train babies, they're too small.
Mordred: ....why not?
Arthur: They're tiny, you need to give them care, not weapons!
Mordred: ......I was born with a sword...
Arthur: You were hardly a baby.
Mordred: .....so?
Arthur: There is a distinct difference between babies and you. That's 'so'.
Mordred: ........I want babies.
Arthur: Well you can't have babies, especially if you don't have anyone to have them with.
Mordred: ............there's him.
Arthur: Oh, I'm sure he wants to have babies with you. *heavily sarcastic*
Mordred: .............................
Arthur: *STARE* ............................
Mordred: ........what if he is with someone else?
Arthur: *STARE* *really can't believe he's hearing this* .............................................
Mordred: .....Arthur, what do I do?
Arthur: This is a joke, isn't it?
Mordred: .........why would I be joking?
Arthur: To--to bother me? I don't know why you do the things you do!
Mordred: ...........I'm thinking about him.
Arthur: That's hardly comforting.
Mordred: .......I wonder what he's doing.
Arthur: *irritation rising...* Likely having babies with whoever it is he's seeing. Who, exactly ARE you thinking about?
Mordred: .................what if he is with someone?!
Arthur: Then I imagine you'll be rather tormented now, won't you. I relish the thought.
Mordred: .....I'll kill them.
Arthur: Enjoy yourself.
Mordred: ........... *sighs* .....I want babies.
Arthur: *twitch* Go out and get them, then.
Mordred: ...........but I don't know where he is.
Arthur: Then go out and find him. If you noticed, all these activities involve going out and finding him, whoever he is.
Mordred: .....what if he's with someone?
Arthur: Then GO OUT and do something about it. *particular emphasis on--you guessed it >>;*
Mordred: ...................................he lives here.
Arthur: Then it shouldn't be too hard to find him.
Mordred: *quietly* ....I don't know what I'd say.
Arthur: Confess your literally undying love.
Mordred: .....I'm not... in... l... l... love.
Arthur: *challenged by the idea as well* Doesn't much matter. He'll like it.
Mordred: ................why do you say that?
Arthur: It's something people with emotions appreciate.
Mordred: ........I don't have emotions.
Arthur: That's part of what makes this all so disturbing.
Mordred: .............I'm thinking about him.
Arthur: *almost defeated--not entirely, but getting there* What a surprise.
Mordred: .....I want babies, Arthur.
Arthur: Please stop talking.
Mordred: .....but Arthur... I don't know what to do...
Arthur: Where did you get the idea I could tell you?
Mordred: ...I don't know. Out of all of us, I thought you might know.
Arthur: *genuinely surprised* ...really.
Mordred: Well, who else was I going to ask?
Arthur: Not one of your relatives?
Mordred: *blinks* ....then who?
Arthur: I imagine it would be very difficult for anyone to refuse you, should you press for conversation. *heavily sarcastic, even if it's true*
Mordred: *blinks* ...............but I need to know what to do.
Arthur: And I can't help you.
Mordred: ....I want babies.
Arthur: *tired, very tired* Lucky you.
Mordred: ..........what if he's with someone?
Arthur: Unlucky you.
Mordred: ......can I kill them?
Arthur: *vicious* Not if you really love him.
Mordred: .....not him. Kill the other one.
Arthur: No, you thick-head. If you really love him, you won't kill whoever he's with.
Mordred: .....why? And not 'love'!
Arthur: Because you ought to be happy if he's happy.
Mordred: ....why?
Arthur: That's the way love works.
Mordred: ......I'm not in 'love'!
Arthur: *mimicking childhood teasing* Are too.
Mordred: Not!
Arthur: Are too.
Mordred: Am not.
Arthur: Liar.
Mordred: Am not!
Arthur: Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Mordred: *pokes Arthur with his sword*
Arthur: *winces* Fine. You don't wear pants.
Mordred: You're not helping!
Arthur: Then I will. *gets up, takes staff, heads for the door*
Mordred: *flies in front of the door, stopping Arthur* ...you're still not helping.
Arthur: Not yet I'm not.
Mordred: ...what are you going to do?
Arthur: I'm going to find him.
Mordred: Who?
Arthur: Him. It shouldn't be entirely difficult. Someone in this house has been flirting with War.
Mordred: We do not flirt!
Arthur: The equivalent then.
Mordred: ....I talk to you more than just about anyone.
Arthur: And I imagine you talk to him a little less than you talk to me.
Mordred: That's not true...
Arthur: Then you speak with him more often than the other members of this household. I imagine you've yet to meet at least one of them, so we may exclude him. Anyone else will be questioned. As soon as I find him, you will talk with him again. And not with me.
Mordred: *blinks* ............no.
Arthur: No what?
Mordred: That's not going to work.
Arthur: Why not.
Mordred: Because... it's not going to work.
Arthur: You don't know that, do you?
Mordred: No, it won't work!
Arthur: That's not a very good excuse.
Mordred: ..............I'm thinking about him.
Arthur: And neither is that.
Mordred: ...........I wonder what he's doing.....
Arthur: Let's find out.
Mordred: No......
Arthur: *heavy sigh* Would you druther I start shouting for a head count? Then we can have an audience for your proposal.
Mordred: You wouldn't. *pokes Arthur with his sword*
Arthur: *bares teeth at being poked* Try me.
Mordred: *thinks about it as he pokes Arthur again* I'm going to find Edmund.
Arthur: *blinks* *pauses* ..........this defeats the purpose of me leaving. Good show.
Mordred: *softly* .....I want babies.
Arthur: Go tell Edmund.
Mordred: ...what do I say-- you're going to be an uncle if I have babies.
Arthur: I don't care. *STARE, giving him a look that says quite clearly "What are you still doing here?"*
Mordred: ................ *thinks about it*
Arthur: *STARE*
Mordred: *thinks about it some more*
Arthur: *STAREs s'more*
Mordred: *thinks before sighing* ................I miss him.
Arthur: There's a way to remedy that. *STARE*
Mordred: ........
Arthur: *STARE*
Mordred: .....................what do I say?
Arthur: Confession of undying love should do it.
Mordred: I don't... I'm not... in... l-love!
Arthur: That doesn't stop most people from saying it.
Mordred: I'm not!
Arthur: Does that really matter?
Mordred: I'm not going to confess anything if I'm not in... in that!
Arthur: Ad lib.
Mordred: What do I say?
Arthur: I don't know.
Mordred: I can't say that?
Arthur: You can say anything you like, Mordred. No one's going to stop you.
Mordred: ........no, I can't say that.
Arthur: You're thick.
Mordred: ................Arthur, I don't know what to do.
Arthur: Neither do I.
Mordred: ....could you at least pretend to be helpful.
Arthur: Since when have I extended that favor to you?
Mordred: ........since it's the only way to get me out of your hair.
Arthur: It hasn't often helped.
Mordred: ....come on, Arthur.
Arthur: I don't know what to do. Why can't you accept that? *STARE*
Mordred: ...he's... what do I say?
Arthur: I. Don't. Know.
Mordred: ..........
Arthur: *STARE*
Mordred: ............................. *considers*
Arthur: *STARE*
Mordred: *finally sighs* You stay here. *slips out, jamming the door with one of his feathers*
Arthur: *blinks* *sits back down, really doesn't mind it all that much though there's a little twitch at the back of his head that... Mordred told him to stay... so he doesn't really want to...*
Mordred: *goes walking around the Townhouse, looking for Edmund*
*Edmund is coming up the stairs, as he's beginning to wonder what the ruckus was up there and where everyone's disappeared to--seriously, the only one's left are Tsuzuki and Maddie, the latter is about to go to his show in town*
Mordred: *blinks* ....Edmund.
Edmund: *nods respectfully and stops* My lord.
Mordred: ....ah. Hm. Can we talk?
Edmund: Of course, my lord.
Mordred: .... *glances around* ....................in private.
Edmund: Pardon, but there really isn't anyone about. *descends to lead the way to the library in any case*
Mordred: ............. *once they're in the library* ........I was talking to Arthur.
Edmund: Were you?
Mordred: ....yes. He has no information for me though.
Edmund: He is an... informant? *somewhat surprised*
Mordred: ....not really. More of... well, he's my brother.
Edmund: *not just somewhat surprised, but hides it well* I hadn't even begun to guess.
Mordred: ...well, one of my brothers.
Edmund: Are they all green?
Mordred: ...no. Ah... well, I think that one wears green...
Edmund: ... I can't say I understand, my Lord.
Mordred: ...it's a very long story. And not really the point...
Edmund: *curious, but doesn't press - of course* And the point would be, in that case...?
Mordred: ........well... ah... I was talking to Arthur about families. And so forth.
Edmund: *nods, not imposing questions*
Mordred: And... it's difficult to say what he was telling me.
Edmund: That is... unfortunate.
Mordred: ..........I don't understand what he said. Like... we were talking about babies, and he doesn't want to be an uncle. I think. Or maybe he does. I'm no longer sure.
Edmund: ...Babies, my lord?
Mordred: ...yes.
Edmund: .... pardon?
Mordred: ...we were discussing babies. And.... what they would look like.
Edmund: ...*puzzled* ...You don't know what babies look like?
Mordred: ...well, it depends, doesn't it? I mean... parents determine what babies look like.
Edmund: ...Does this concern an expecting couple?
Mordred: ...no.
Edmund: ...I'm afraid I still don't understand, my Lord.
Mordred: .....I don't know that I do either.
Edmund: ..............*beginning to wonder what this is all about--seriously wonder* Forgive me, but was this what you wished to speak on?
Mordred: ....ah... yes.
Edmund: ...........babies?
Mordred: ...yes. I should do something...
Edmund: About babies?
Mordred: .....yes.
Edmund: ....of course.... *mostly a filler*
Mordred: .....babies... yes. That's what I was talking to Arthur about. Babies and... relationships.
Edmund: ....yes. *just agreeing, still not sure where this is going*
Mordred: ....Arthur's never been in a relationship.
Edmund: *beginning to wonder if this is about Mordred... and Arthur... and a relationship... and is alternately disturbed and somewhat jealous, which he isn't quite reluctant to admit, not really >>;* Aha...
Mordred: ....so he couldn't give me any information.
Edmund: ...pardon?
Mordred: ...he's never been in a relationship, so he couldn't give me any information about what to do.
Edmund: ....You are... thinking about babies...?
Mordred: ...yes.
Edmund: ..........*beginning to catch on* *a little more self-satisfied* Aha.
Mordred: ...yes. Ah...
Edmund: And what do the children look like, my Lord?
Mordred: ....I'm not sure yet.
Edmund: Understandable, of course... *visibly smug now*
Mordred: ....................I'm not sure about this.
Edmund: Are you, my lord?
Mordred: ....where was I?
Edmund: Relationships, infants.
Mordred: ...oh. Ah, yes... Arthur said that I should talk about it.
Edmund: With me, my lord?
Mordred: .............well, yes.
Edmund: *sounds actually amused, though not unpleasantly so* ................ babies, my lord?
Mordred: ..............well, yes....
Edmund: That is... remarkable for something you're not sure about.
Mordred: .................is it?
Edmund: Quite.
Mordred: ....oh.
Edmund: ...Shall we procure a name book?
Mordred: Well, that would be a logical step... *doesn't seem to quite be paying attention*
Edmund: ...my Lord?
Mordred: *blinks as Edmund's words actually reach him* .......'we'?
Edmund: It would be unseemly to decide alone, my lord.
Mordred: ............. *blinks* ...that's very true.
Edmund: Well, my lord?
Mordred: I suppose... we... should then?
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2005 5:01 pm
Deja Vu
Roles: Marks, Alex; Marks, Tsuzuki
Time: November the 13th. Early afternoon. The sun is still high and the insects are screeching.
Location: A country road and field farther from the Townhouse than from Barton.
==============
If this is the best of all possible worlds, why, oh why are there so many of them?
________________________
But now that he'd gotten away from it all... It mattered less. She seemed less of a threat, more of an irritation and maybe even less of that. It mattered less. When it was just you and the field and that cigarette you wonder if you've got the guts to light and the road and your steps and the dust and the sun and your steps and your steps.
He'd left the backpack in that low-key motel or bed and breakfast or inn, he hadn't sure what to make of its old wooden walls and two storied intricacy, bedrooms over the bar. An inn through and through if such things existed anymore, which he was still inclined to believe against. Then again, he hadn't seen a car yet, which suggested technology was at a fair low. Perhaps that was just on this side of town, he'd seen a gas station after all. And there were trains. Bound to be planes and the like, for that matter.
This place was ridiculous. Really, just ridiculous. Travel of the weekend had taught him that much at least. Skyscraper and cottage back to back, suits of armor and Armani side by side, a regular America of a fantasy.
He really hated Americans.
It mattered less. She wasn't here. And even if she was, he could take her. If he wanted to, that is. There were different rules in this world and heck, he had wings--even if she did too, he could bet he was faster.
No, screw fighting - it wasn't like he was going to be picking one any time soon. It'd really been mostly that old paranoia kicking in when he heard her name. The doomed repetition of 'She killed me'. A stupid, unfounded fear that she might be able to do something about the reversal, that she might have some lasting influence over everything he'd sought, worked for, took. But... despite any concerns of her intentions or whatever, there was something in her... something that was familiar now, even if it hadn't been there before... it was now, as if she really had taken part of his soul, made them closer than anyone else could ever be...
Tsch. Thoughts for the ickle philosophers, nothing he really wanted or needed to think about. Heck, who needed to think? He didn't need to worry about fighting Renjyo, not at all. She was just there now. There and here. It didn't matter how she'd done it, why she did it even. Just a comment on the sick irony of the powers-that-be. And she wasn't a problem. It mattered less.
Nice day. Nice being on his own again too. Just the crunch crumble of natural gravel underfoot, crickets uncaring of whether you're two or no feet away as long as you're not in their grass. Country roads and country roads... Despite how much he preferred cities and the people inside to, say, a cabin in the middle of Hell's nowhere, this... wasn't bad. Not bad at all. No responsibilities, ties, nobody and nothing. Nothing but the insects, maybe. And animals. The stupid, furry kind. Cute, stupid, furry kind.
He needed a pet. Maybe a bird...
Speaking of birds, what the hell was that?
Marks stopped in his walk to nowhere in particular, turned ninety degrees to face the field directly and finally put that cigarette he'd been contemplating to his lips, remembering belatedly that you need a lighter to make the damn things work. Oh well. More lungs for him. The body part that really interested him at the moment, though, was that wing. Those wings, rather. Plural. Not beating, not still... stretching. Slowly, achingly, and curved all the while. Like a bulbous, feathery ball breathing in with meticulous...
What was that thing Dickinson said? Hope is a thing with feathers. Struck by a moment of extremely rare literary whimsy (yes, damnit, he could read) Marks began to walk towards the feathered curiosity so far away from the road. There weren't many trees about. He guessed this had been farmland, whenever it had struck the whimsy of the resident Gaians to be farmers in some ancient lifestyle. Wild now, with flowers every so often, in patches or solitary and combating with the remnants of grains or weeds. No, wild flowers were weeds, right? Whatever, he'd never been an agriculturist.
The closer he drew to the wings (more notably, the wingspan), the bigger he realized this bird must be. Still, the wings had yet to stretch out, still, curling up in a balloon of tension--tension... maybe the creature (it just couldn't be a bird) had broken something? It'd make a hell of a big pet. Be nice if it turned out to have sharp, pointy teeth, the better to intimidate intruders in the kitchen with. This was assuming A- it didn't die and B- he could actually take it with him. When had he decided to keep it, anyway? Something about those stretching wings...
Funnily enough, they weren't stretching anymore. Contracting. Like the thing really was breathing, and all in that semi-spherical huddle and cringe. Maybe it'd heard him coming? Well, it wasn't flying. That was a good sign. Good for him at least, because it meant either that the creature wasn't afraid of him or that it was stupid enough to think it'd win if it came down to 'you or me'. On the other hand...
He could catch little hints of other colors now, other shades of feather through the wind-shimmer of long-stemmed flowers and old grass. And from the angle and spread of these feathers... he was beginning to think there were more than two wings on the beast. What kind of bizarre creature... His memory flicked back to the tales of childhood, of storybooks and whispers that not everything in there was just a story, just like how not everything done behind closed doors was really safe. Vampires had turned out to be real, why not a sphinx? No, sphinxes didn't have wings, did they? Griffons, maybe? Naw, that was two per normal. What had more than... what had need of more than two wings? Marks wasn't too keen on anatomy as a study, but he was pretty sure there wasn't a use for more than one set of wings. Then again, maybe it was like the Medici and their heraldry as far as whatever this creature's species went. You didn't really need the extra, but heck, if it was there you might as well flaunt it.
Closer now, the creature had to have heard him, unless it was sick or, as previously wondered, just stupid. Marks paused. Time to size up what you may have to tackle: More than one set of wings, feathers the color of graying black, white and red, but not much of that red. Great. Not a bird, probably. Might have four legs too, and talons. Oh yeah. This'll be fun.
But so, so worth it if you can take it down.
Taking that final step closer into the swath of grass the creature had crushed with its... crash landing? Shouldn't there have been more of a streak as it skidded, or had the thing really just thudded straight down out of the sky? Whatever the case, it was quickly becoming clear that the creature didn't have four legs. Or at least, he was going to assume that for the moment--because it had a head. A remarkably humanoid head, that is, at least from the back and what else he could tell of it's insistence on a huddle. It was as if... he could compare it to a Muslim prayer, crouched, knees drawn up below and arms, instead of outstretched as they would have been had this been a real Muslim, tenderly cradling the head.
Whaddaya know.
Human.
Human enough, at least, to have arms and head and torso and, he assumed, legs. Which probably meant no pet.
Come to think of it... considering the fact the creature had a third set of wings atop its head... Well then. An anthropomorph. Or something like it, at least. Marks was willing to bet the angelic persuasion of anthros weren't the be-all-end-all of winged 'races' on Gaia. "Hunh..." he said, wondering whether the... could he call it creature now?... had noticed him yet and whether it needed an extra nudge.
Like his foot 'nudging' its head.
Gently, of course.
Surprisingly, it didn't recoil.
The 'creature' raised his head slowly, hands moving in stages from cradling an aching skull to clenching fist and gripping ground, as if to ensure that the wings would not lift the body away in one mischievous swoop. Finely proportioned hands. Bones like a bird's, in more ways than one now...
The 'creature' raised his head slowly, hair hanging in his eyes like tangible Tired.
But upon seeing the face of his disturbance, he immediately regretted looking up at all. Eyes went wide in a battle of mystification, betrayal, recognition...
And yet, all he could think of to do--not that he could think at all--was blink. Not out of embarrassment, surely, just a puzzlement and double-take. "Rob?"
No... no, no, no... not this, why this? "I'm dead." The only explanation, only reason why things could possibly decide they wanted to return to what had been. You can't live in the past, can't rely on it, can't remember it too fondly lest it become everything you are. Must defeat it, rise past it, never forget surely but stop dwelling on it--no, no, no--
"Really, now?" Marks mused in sardonic response. You know, it wasn't all that surprising when you got right down to it. Why not? Why the hell not? If the rest of them had started coming over, for reasons known, pursued and otherwise, why the hell not?
But Alex would have none of it. Sarcastic - no, mocking - as to be expected, of course. Marks had no tolerance for the weak and though he certainly didn't go out of his way to persecute those he didn't tolerate, he had no qualms of ignoring them. "No..." he insisted quietly, tearing his stare away with an unpleasant reluctance, "No... you're dead, so I can't be here... or I can only be here if I'm... I'm..."
No use. There couldn't be. "This is a <********> dream," he moaned, neck sagging with the weight of his thoughts, shoulders raising above it by default and those wings, those foreign, aching wings...
And the amusement just held. Different degrees of it, surely, but more than any other echoes, there was the amusement. "I thought swearing was weakness of character," he teased. So yeah, it wasn't too much of a surprise. That didn't make it any less... what was the word, the one he preferred to forget? No, better to leave it in the dust.
"It is," he affirmed bitterly, hands resting, holding the ground in trembling intensity. Can't leave. Can't stay, can't leave. The wings. They hurt. Some sort of pain. But it isn't sharp, not like seeing him again.
Marks laughed, genuinely charmed that he should still have such an impact on someone, when he had long since made the decision to leave them behind. "Good to know I'm still special," hadn't that been what Alex insisted on so clearly? That what we desire more than anything is to have our existence affirmed by others, to be validated in the eyes of someone else. So good to be on the receiving end.
The boy grimaced, turned his head to glance at that painfully remembered face through his peripheral vision. This wasn't fair. Every time things seemed they might start to work themselves out, to smooth for once, to fall into a pattern of... of something better--something else happened. "What's going on?" he found the words slipping out of his mouth, simultaneously pleading and demanding--he knew so few other ways when it came to Marks, and the majority of those few didn't work.
"Beats me," he shrugged, curiosity rising as the initial surprise dipped. Of the four of them, the only ones who'd arrived without explanation were Wolfe and Cavalier... And neither of them were quite sure how any of that had happened. However, neither of them had been 'found' within minutes of arrival--which Marks was beginning to think he'd stumbled across just now. Arrival. The 'crash landing' he'd supposed. "I'm the one with a taste for spirit travel, you got some explaining to do."
Unfortunately, it didn't seem Alex had much more of an idea than anyone else. "I don't understand," he insisted quietly--not fair at all. Especially if... no, Marks didn't always tell you what was going on, either because he didn't feel like it... or he didn't feel like it. That was the upsetting thing, really--that he had the ability to conform to decency or morality, but only if he made that decision...
Oh well. "Guess that's not too surprising. You didn't usually." Which wasn't entirely true, but the words were coming out of his mouth anyway. What was the point of stopping them?
He shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the grass and the silence surrounding them. "Why are you like that?"
Funny how it was the things said after you say whatever it is that comes out first that mean just as much. Maybe not so funny, as the rules of reflection or reciprocation go. Slightly frustrating, though, when you think you had it all and realize it's starting to slip away again. You're free, damnit, nobody's got a hold on you. Ignore it. It matters less.
"Why not?" he provided for an answer. Because there wasn't a better one, if he hoped to retain that Free.
Too much. Too many things had happened without him knowing, too much to pay attention to no matter how hard you try and now this. Remember. Memory. Telling you everything you missed, everything you ignored because it wasn't important enough or ran away from because it was too important when it shouldn't have been. All your mistakes, all your attempts to fix them, everything you couldn't do. And always those little hints of 'I know, I know, I know'.
He shuddered, the wings remained. "One too many words there..." he whispered, almost praying he'd lost the ability to speak, lost the propensity for screwing things up just because you don't know everything even if it's the knowing of everything that hurts so, so much.
One too many what? ...Oh. Right. That annoying, repetitive (literally) habit of Wolfe's. He hadn't intended to push their 'chat' in that direction, though it didn't really matter if it went there anyway. Only it did. Because it got so much harder to talk to him when the rift of remembrance showed up once more. Guilt. What a waste of time. "Wasn't teasing, Rob," he muttered, not sure whether that insistence was born of irritation or... something else.
The sigh of laughter that followed was quick and shaky, almost hysterical but far too exhausted for such expenditure of emotion. "Everyone teases about that," he insisted, not angrily, not upset, "They can't help it. It's funny." Just too...
Tired, wasn't he? Marks squatted down, poked him in the head with the unlit cigarette. "Really, how'd you get here?"
There it was, more of the unbearable. Familiarity. He couldn't deal with this, not now, not ever. Didn't want to deal with it, at least--because anyone can deal with anything if they really have to, right? It's all a matter of will... and having enough of it, because that can't be true if there are failures. "Dunno," he muttered, pulling closer, into himself, once more, tired and tired of having to talk and see and remember and always the wings.
Wings shouldn't have to hurt. Not fair.
Not one to allow someone to escape if curiosity remained, Marks pressed for an answer once more. "Seriously, what's up? More trauma?" Same thing had happened--no, only close to the same thing--what was it, two Christmases ago? Close enough, it was almost December. Not cold yet though, pleasantly autumn. So more like crisp than freezing. Green grass and withering trees. Nice weather.
He just... didn't... wasn't going to bother... "Hurts," he confessed petulantly, giving in to all childish urges to just go fetal and let someone else do something, if they would at all. Considering current company, the likelihood of anything positive getting done was a dim hope on Alex's horizon, though it was still a hope, regardless of its improbability. Adams fans are inclined to an existential optimism that way.
Ah. So that was it. Almost strange how quickly he knew exactly what he was talking about. Then again, not so strange when it came to circumstances... Marks poked him again, though at one of those odd little headwings than just the back of his skull. As expected, the boy cringed slightly, as if he had expected the aggravation, though made no further verbal complaint.
Marks smirked in amusement as he stood, "Pansy." And, no more words, turned, walking back to the road.
He didn't have to look back. Didn't have to affirm that he'd be followed. There was no way Rob would leave him alone with that kind of farewell. It was the one thing about the kid Marks still managed to appreciate; despite all those high-strung emotions and intense attachments, he'd slug through anything, anything that stood in his way. If that meant walking, staggering, crawling, following the one guy in the world he probably had no more interest in 'saving', so be it.
It isn't that odd that Marks was right. After all, you find yourself in a completely foreign atmosphere with wings of all things and you see a familiar face, what choice do you have but to pursue?
========
Good for him. He'd made it all the way to the inn, all the way up the stairs, all the way to the landing and just when Marks was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he could forget about all those times the kid had relied on him and be satisfied...
He'd gone down.
Stupid, trusting little b*****d of Kindred...
Marks hadn't watched him coming down the road behind him, though had noticed once he caught up and started using those ridiculous wings for balance, to keep himself afloat. That tight, pained expression in his eyes had faded the moment they reached the town, for some odd reason. Maybe he'd smelled other people, felt an onslaught of compassion that disappeared in a void whenever someone was alone with Marks.
Whatever the case, Marks couldn't help but be a little disappointed. After all that walk, the kid's seeming refusal to rely on him for support of any kind (though admittedly, none was offered), he'd let himself hope that maybe, just maybe... But no, the kid still did it. Assumed that just because Marks hadn't chased him off, he wasn't going to abandon him.
So here the slightly ticked-off demon was, unconscious caitiff (in the true meaning of the word) face-down on the bed of a rented room, bag packed, phone in hand and wondering why he didn't just leave after all. Maybe it was that lingering hope that since Rob had made it so far on his own, he could maybe be weaned into going farther. Probably more a feeling of someone getting more than a little ticked in return if they found out he'd up and left the kid. But that kind of thing shouldn't bother him... so the phone in his hand remained a mystery.
"You'd better be worth this trouble some day," he muttered at the sleeping boy, even more irritated by the gentle, self-satisfied smile tugging in hints at the edges of that mouth. Christ, the kid was asleep, right? People didn't smile when they were asleep!
Disgruntled, Marks paced and dialed the Townhouse's number, more than a little grumpy.
Unsurprisingly, it was Tsuzuki who responded. No one else at the Townhouse seemed inclined to answer phone calls and they tended to glare and/or snarl at the wolf until he did it for them. The other local mentally-challenged-canine wasn't allowed to pick up, being as he painted a bad image for most other resident's reputations with his inability to answer like a normal person. Not that anyone in that madhouse was normal.
"Hello...?" Tsuzuki half whispered, as if dreadingly certain the opposite end had called to complain, loudly, violently and accusingly.
Well, at least he'd be agreeable. "Hey, Tsuzuki, I need you to make a bed--"
"Marks!"
Or not.
"Marks, there hasn't been any food!" the shinigami whined. "Well, there's been food, but it's been the kind of food there was before you showed up. All pre-packaged. Home-made is so much better--you went to get groceries, right? Did you get lost?"
"Tsuzuki," Marks said, slowly, instructively, "I, need, you, to, make, a, bed."
There was a long pause, as if he had forced his train of thought to a screeching halt and was trying to figure out where he'd missed the last turn. "What?" Translating, basically, to: Why? What could Marks possibly need with a bed? He had a room, didn't he? "Where?"
"Wherever."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, I'll never cook anything edible ever again. Make the damn bed, Tsuzuki." If he wasn't going to shut up and do what he was told, Marks was going to have to threaten. It was simple as that. As threats of bodily harm seemed to slip off Tsuzuki like water off a duck, he had to sink to either actual bodily harm or threats about food. As direct physical violence was impossibility over the phone, the latter would have to do.
That did, fortunately, seem to catch the idiot's attention. Mayhap he thought the making of the bed really did have something to do with Marks' mystical ability to cook well, an ability everyone else in the Townhouse mysteriously lacked.
"Where?" he whimpered, defeated.
He really was beginning to lose patience with the whole business. Irritated that he was bothering so much, even if by other people's standards it was little enough, and aggravated even more by Tsuzuki's usual lack of comprehension and inability to stop asking questions, he snarled, "Anywhere. I don't care."
Now that was just plain weird. How could he not care at all if he cared so much that it got done? What was the new bed for anyway? "You can't really mean anywhere," he pointed out after a pause, creeping away from the routed edge of fear earlier.
"Fine--a new room. Somewhere unoccupied, far away from everyone else," ******** obvious, that was. Maybe not the latter, but whatever.
"...Why?"
Ugh. Not that one again. Even if it was coming from someone else, Rob was right. That Malk had turned an innocent word into a joke, trigger word, twitch-worthy irritant... "He doesn't always like company," he scowled at the phone. Damn memory and its tendency to make things stick...
"--who? Wait, who?" it made sense that it should be someone, stupid! Of course he's got a guest--or something--or whatever counts as 'guest' in Marks' mind. Why else would he want an extra bed? And yet... the idea of Marks bringing someone home sent chills down his spine... When he really stopped to think about it.
"Forget it," Marks commanded crossly, "Make the bed or you're eating granola for the rest of your stay on this pitiful plane."
He hung up without bothering to wait for the puppy's complaint--which any response likely would have been. Nothing of substance, just further confusion and whining for answers. He looked to the bed once more, that grating, smug hint of pleasure in the kid's expression... "Trouble," he repeated, shaking his head and sneaking down the stairs to find out what passed for a cab service on this forsaken world. Hell if he was going to carry the b*****d home.
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Posted: Sat Nov 19, 2005 10:28 pm
Rip-off
Roles: Marks, Veda
Time: November the 13th, the day is fading.
Location: Outskirts of Barton.
==========
Marks: *getting a bit more than frustrated at this point, contemplating cornering a random Gaian and holding them at gunpoint till they tell him how to hire public transport, though he's not entirely sure how the average Gaian would deal with a gun and thus hasn't tried it yet* *pauses at what appears to be a bulletin board outside a shop, scanning it for useful notices*
Veda: *blinks at the stranger before realizing he's seen a picture of that particular demon... hm... this might be interesting...* *slips over to Marks, glancing at the boy* Looking for something?
Marks: *somewhat surprised--he's had a few people try to initiate conversations but most have been repelled by the aura of "ARGH"* Yeah. Taxi service. It exist?
Veda: *shrugs* Don't think so. Never tried.
Marks: ...Excuse me?
Veda: Till that raven-lady took me in, I never had the cash-- now I just don't see the point.
Marks: Right. *goes back to scanning the board*
Veda: *considers* You're Marks. From the Townhouse, right?
Marks: *stops again, looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something else and not about to confirm* ..........................
Veda: *smiles easily enough* Thought so. Recognized you from the pictures.
Marks: ......You're not looking for me.
Veda: Should I be?
Marks: Excuse me for being paranoid.
Veda: *laughs* Maybe you should be. Hiding from the bug-girl?
Marks: Naw, ya think?
Veda: *smiles* She's an interesting girl.
Marks: That's one way to put it.
Veda: Heard she killed you.
Marks: Twice.
Veda: Impressive. *considers* Heard that your house mate, Wolfe or whatever his name is right now, doesn't like you.
Marks: *half-muttered* Funny you should mention that.
Veda: Though I heard his boyfriend doesn't mind you.
Marks: What can I say? My first impressions are to die for.
Veda: Literally, I assume. *thinks about it* Where were you trying to go anyway?
Marks: Back to the Townhouse, presumably.
Veda: You lost or something?
Marks: What makes you think that?
Veda: You're either lost or you just don't wanna walk.
Marks: The latter.
Veda: *blinks* Why?
Marks: Picked up a lot of excess baggage. Didn't quite foresee it.
Veda: *shrugs* Want help carrying?
Marks: ........That's all right.
Veda: *considers* ...so you were a vampire?
Marks: Were?
Veda: Well, I'm assuming you're not now. *shrugs* Am I wrong?
Marks: Nope.
Veda: *smirks slightly* You're interesting.
Marks: That so.
Veda: Or at least, everything I heard about you is interesting.
Marks: ......uh huh.
Veda: You're one of the few people I hear gossip about. You should be proud of yourself.
Marks: I'll take the time for that once I've found a--Christ's sake, do you freaks use carriages or something?
Veda: Actually, I think people just walk.
Marks: Actually, I think no one does anything useful on this stupid world.
Veda: Nothing useful for anyone beyond themselves, at least.
Marks: ....*slightly irritated that he agrees, also that in agreeing he's a hypocrite--but that doesn't usually matter anyway* So no cars.
Veda: *shrugs* Haven't seen any.
Marks: No carriages.
Veda: Again, haven't seen any.
Marks: ......There has got to be a better way to do this....
Veda: ...still don't want help?
Marks: Not particularly.
Veda: *shrugs and stretches*
Marks: ............Not even wagons.
Veda: Nope.
Marks: .........That's sick.
Veda: Healthy.
Marks: They haven't the sense to make life easier with wheels. It's sick.
Veda: *shrugs* Keeps you from getting sick.
Marks: ...........I need help.
Veda: Finding a car or heading back to your place?
Marks: You said there weren't any cars.
Veda: Well, I know what they are, and I've lived on Gaia all my life, so they exist... I just haven't seen one.
Marks: ......are you blind?
Veda: Nope.
Marks: .........I need help finding a car.
Veda: *shrugs* Okay. Well... we're going to have to get to a good part of town to look for a car.
Marks: Lead on.
Veda: *starts walking in a direction, glancing towards Marks to see if he follows*
Marks: *doesn't follow so much as keep up beside...*
Veda: *after a while, it becomes very clear that the area is getting better-- richer* ...you don't have any qualms about stealing, right?
Marks: What gave you that impression?
Veda: *shrugs* Thought it'd be prudent to ask?
Marks: Kind of you.
Veda: *after a while-- hey, look, there's a car...* That look good? *it's an older car, but still looks like it runs*
Marks: What the hell. *more surprised to see it than anything else* *busy street?*
Veda: *no busy street* Sounds good. *slips over to the car, using his claw to pick the lock* Hm...
Marks: .....I'm assuming you don't drive. *leaning against the car beside him, just watching*
Veda: Nope. *gets them inside and uses his claw to get the car started* ...right. That'll do it, I guess.
Marks: Gotta get me a key for this thing eventually. *taking the wheel somewhat reluctantly--he still doesn't like driving*
Veda: *blinks slightly* That shouldn't be too hard, right?
Marks: Not really. *speeds off down the street, almost hoping the owner notices - he needs to build up a reputation, after all...*
Veda: *after a while of driving* ...I think he saw us. That was the idea, right? He was coming out of the coffee shop.
Marks: Good for him. *silent for a bit, quite clearly thinking of asking something*
Veda: *just relaxes a bit in the car*
Marks: You do this kind of thing often? Meet someone you've heard of and indulge in crime?
Veda: *shrugs* Depends what you consider 'often'. Lived off the streets long enough to hold with the 'reputation is everything' stuff, so... figured I might as well help out.
Marks: Hunh. And you think I'm out for the reputation?
Veda: Not really-- but I've heard of yours.
Marks: .......Right. What have you heard, out of curiosity?
Veda: Enough to keep an eye out for you? *shrugs* Seems you got quite a reputation as a vampire for doing whatever you felt like doing.
Marks: ...Nice to hear that.
Veda: What do you think I might've heard?
Marks: No idea.
Veda: *laughs* ...well, Roman has nothing against you, though Renjyo does. Alan's heard of you, but he has only good things to say about everyone.
Marks: So you've got all your info from the bug?
Veda: No-- a great deal of it's from Alan, though I draw my own conclusions.
Marks: Who the ******** is 'Alan'?
Veda: He said that in your vampire days, he was in the 'Sabbat' or something...
Marks: ..............*HATES the Sabbat with a fiery passion* ...................uh huh.
Veda: *shrugs* Weird though-- from the way everyone else talks about it, the Sabbat's evil, and Alan's... weirdly nice.
Marks: ......right. *extremely skeptical*
Veda: *shrugs* Anyway... this is weird.
Marks: Whyso?
Veda: ....no, this car... I've never been in one.
Marks: I'd guessed as much.
Veda: *shrugs* Do you like these cars?
Marks: Not a lot.
Veda: You like cars in general?
Marks: Nope.
Veda: But you like the convenience?
Marks: ...yeah.
Veda: All right then. *shrugs*
Marks: *kind of glad they've reached the inn by this point--these conversations are... would be nice if he were in a better mood. But he isn't. So, like everything else in the whole damn world, they're making him irritated* *pulls over* ..... Now what? *in reference to what Veda plans to do*
Veda: *shrugs* Guess I'll head home.
Marks: *gets out of the car, waiting for Veda to do the same*
Veda: *gets out as well, glancing at Marks curiously* ...can I come by again?
Marks: I hope you're not planning on dropping by here if that's your plan.
Veda: *smirks* Later then. *and then he walks off*
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Posted: Tue Nov 22, 2005 4:05 pm
Algebra
Roles: Alex, Marks, Wolfe
Time: November the 16th. A Wednesday. Smells like morning.
Location: Marks' domain. Not his room.
___________
~~~~~~~~~~
As fate would have it, morning broke. Still somewhat surprised to be awake, Alex R. Sanders descended the Townhouse stairs to the rhythm of muddled daybreak and the scent of waffles. He didn't recall this place, this staircase--he could've sworn the ones he'd followed Marks up had been wooden, this was... something else. Something more artificial. Funny that he couldn't quite place the stuff. Was he really that sleepy? No, tired. Difference.
A watch might've been convenient. Failing that, any clock at all. But there hadn't been one in the room he'd awoken in, no alarm clock, no grandfather piece or even a reluctant cuckoo. And while to escape time was certainly a treasured rarety, to be deprived of the sensation of control due to knowing exactly when you are even if you don't know the where was somewhat... distressing. All the same, he was sure it was morning. There was the smell of it, after all.
That self-same smell led him straight to the kitchen, not a difficult place to find from the base of the main staircase as it was only a hallway's width away. Moving slowly and carefully as ever he had since discovering how best to get through a door with his cumbersome, new, feathery appendages, Alex paused in the doorway to take in the measure and step of any inhabitants of said kitchen. Ah... only one.
The lone presence didn't really surprise him all that much, when you got right down to it, though... Reality cared nothing for dramatics--or was it the other way around? Either way, there was only one person he should've expected to see, only one familiar back. The slight twinge in the back, the flick of feathers you controlled as much as your time, it meant nothing in the face of that which is. It's all useless, meaningless, feeling. Just an impression, not an expectation--get it straight, start thinking...
Marks could hear him. Couldn't be anyone but him that'd stand in the doorway that quiet and not be glaring. So he'd finally woken up, had he? Finally was the right word too. However, upon acknowledging the boy's presence to himself, Marks went back to doing a very thorough job of ignoring him completely.
Oh, never mind. There came the staring. He could feel it creeping up about the nape of his neck. Could feel the surprise, though no... anger... this time, like it tended to be from other residents of the Townhouse. None of that increasingly familiar hostility.
Regrettably.
"Yes, I cook," he announced without looking, knowing without having to confirm by inquiry the subject of the boy's curiosity. Still knew him and hist thoughts... knew him too well for comfort.
With the air of a curious sand piper approaching the biggest crab it has ever seen, Alex crept into the kitchen and took a seat at the counter, moving gingerly and constantly, repositioning his posture and wings in hopes of not aggravating the new muscles any further. He hadn't moved much in his sleep, thankfully, and thus hadn't done much to disturb the wings while lying on his stomach, pillow clutched firm to support his head. And yet they persisted to ache. Time wasn't dealing with this wound...
Setting down a whisk to support itself in batter, Marks placed his hands on the counter across from the boy and stared at him full on. Did the kid realize how long he'd been staring? Full minutes and not even a syllable of sigh or greeting. What was the point of coming in here now, other than to provoke more irritable exchanges? All right, fine, the one verbal exchange they'd had so far had only been... no, it hadn't been very irritable at all. In fact, it'd been right to his own advantage which meant the kid had either figured the scales had changed or was here for another round of verbal whoop-a**. Considering the fact that in the past, the boy had referred to their more hostile arguments as attempts to 'bring Marks in line' by means of 'verbal beating', he was grudgingly beginning to fear any further conversations.
However... the docile look the kid met his stare with was anything but argumentative... Hardly even expectant. Yet all the same, he felt compelled to say something, "You think I'm going to feed you?" he asked in the end, for lack of any other subject coming to mind.
Alex blinked, as if the thought had narry occurred to him. Perhaps it hadn't. "Will you?" he returned curiously.
Never relenting with the stare, Marks searched his eyes, his face, for some hint of those old traits he'd grown to hate so much. For some sign of that aquiescence or fear of rejection, that need to please or help or apologize for something out of anyone's control. But... But nothing. There was neither expectation nor hope in the kid's look, nothing of the familiar weakness... And something stronger to replace it, stronger... but not insistent. Though it didn't have to be. It just... was.
And furthermore, he liked it. Well, he appreciated it. And he did like it more than he'd liked the ever-yielding kid from before... But he was getting tired of liking Rob. Sick and tired. It never amounted to anything in the end anyway, or if something... something troublesome. "You like the bland stuff, right?" he confirmed, turning away and towards the cupboards, intent on forgetting the discomfort through work. Idle hands, wasn't it?
He had to admit, it was something of a surprise to see that remembered. Though admittedly... finding he'd had an appetite again had been a signficant, if rather unsurprising effect of mortality. It would make sense if it had stood out... Things had been complicated, hadn't they? "Mm..." he affirmed neutrally, shifting position again upon realizing the wings were indeed unhappy in their current arrangement. To better suit their stretching needs, he leaned forward on the counter, elbows planted firmly forward and chin resting on the back of interlocked fingers.
It seemed Marks had oatmeal in mind... which was appropriately tasteless and, therefore, exactly to his taste. Mild foods. Random fact: Spiciness is not a taste, it is your tastebuds in pain. Ah, trivia. Perhaps not so random and thus inappropriately named because it derives from the subject at hand. Or at least it tends to. Trivia. Mind wandering...
"You'd rather cook for someone than have that someone else do it..." he commented off-handedly, eyes on Marks' almost robotic in consistency though not precision movements.
Glancing over his shoulder for a brief moment and still somewhat baffled over the kid's tendency to create metaphor out of reality, Marks shook his head in negative. "No," he responded shortly.
"Why couldn't I do it, then?" he pressed. "It's just oatmeal."
It's got nothing to do with other people. "Think I want you fooling around in my kitchen with those things flopping about?" he asked. Nothing at all to do with people. Maybe you. But not necessarily them.
Half choking on a stifled laugh, Alex smiled at the tiled counter. Of course it was awkward. There's too much to forget now. But that doesn't mean it has to be somber... After all, if time heals all wounds then wounds must be subject to time. And time flies when you're having fun, to mix cliches... "I get it," he said cheerfully, "On that subject, how've you been putting on shirts?" Because really, he was beginning to wonder about anatomy alongside physics...
Never having been the more talkative of the two, Marks place the bowl firmly in front of him, "Carefully. Eat," he commanded. Sooner this was over with the better. Open hostility... wasn't an option, for one reason or another. Feed, don't pet. Don't encourage.
He would've done better to remember that his shortness had always intrigued Alex more than offended him. Shrugging compliantly, he took up the spoon.
Heard the voice. Don't believe it, of course. Can't believe it, because if it's true then something new has happened and he's here and here's no good, especially if Marks is here because things have never been good if there's Marks and... And no, you're hearing things. Follow it to be sure, of course, but don't believe it.
Not until you see, and it's far, far too late...
On the far side of the Townhouse, Wolfe had been quite happily occupying himself with a daily rummage through a randomly selected room's secret hoard of Jan's packrat books. Renewed passion for literature and a certain need to escape from other concerns through the printed word had sparked itself in his mind of late, and there had been no better outlet for the revived obsession than to explore the uncatalogued books that had long since escaped the library to other parts of the Townhouse. But today's field trip had been quite rudely interrupted by a sound.
It'd been a specific sound, not the kind that he'd learned not so long ago to filter into mere white noise. A voice. Voices were always important. As were footsteps, breath, fingertips on table tops and that little intake before the voice ever escaped - but that was breath too, right? A voice. A familiar voice. A familiar voice of also not so long ago, one unexpected and... and almost feared, at this point. Because if that voice could be hear, anything could happen, and the world could fall apart without anyone watching it and the pot could boil even if you stared at it long and long and hard. If that voice had stayed elsewhere, in the confines of imagination and bittersweet reminsce, things might've been hard but ordered, things might've eventually gone back and been good, but if that voice, that voice, that voice...
He followed it, to the whisper of its origin, all the way to the kitchen he was so loath to enter or even pass if he could help it.
"Alex!" It was everything in a word, a name. Kingsley might've been thrilled. Question, plea, demand, prayer, oath, challenge, everything but a greeting.
All the dramatics he'd half expected upon first entrance to the kitchen came flooding back in tumultous glee. Overwhelming.
Alex turned in his chair, half hoping he was wrong, that all the time he'd spent making sure he never forgot again had been wasted after all because he was making a mistake, making a mistake, that he was wrong this time, like maybe before... All thoughts of Marks and crossing chasms disappeared as the chasm became all that much more clear again. Now this was a surprise. Irony - or maybe not, just a choked and wasted hope. He might've preferred to meet Wolfe first, had he known there was a choice. But things go as they go and if you can't control them there's no point in wishing otherwise.
Yet still, the surprise, "...You're... here..." Simple and true. The surprise of quiet and pause before the affirmation. A momentary fear that you're wrong, wrong, wrong.
Though there were many that could claim Wolfe wasn't what you could call 'quick on the uptake', he'd had a little more time to adjust the possibilities of the situation than his hapless friend, "I'm here?" he protested, "You're here! When'd you get here??"
It wasn't in his nature to deny possibility once it was certainty. Wolfe's world was constructed of these certainties, whether true or imagined. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to delve into questions of whether or not that really was Alex, intent instead on figuring out why exactly the worst - really? - thing possible had happened at all.
No... not the worst. Marks had been the worst. Then why did this churn the stomach so much? A sudden jerk at the heart and all that...
"'bout three days ago," Marks interjected to the stunted exchange offhandedly, "give or take twelve hours." Not looking either in the eye, though certainly not out of shame, he went back to his waffle iron.
He should've expected the reaction, the stunned stares, disbelieving for different reasons but both accepting his words as truth, if for likewise different reasons. "Oh, come on, Rob," he teased, glancing at them with an amused smirk, "You're not what's commonly known as 'tough'."
Wolfe shook his head. No - three days? Why hadn't he known? Why hadn't anyone told him? Where'd he been - was 'here' the Townhouse or this place, this 'Gaia'? Both? When, how, why--
"...I've been asleep for three days?" Alex asked carefully, as if worried the wrong inflections would earn a false answer. Not... surprising... again... But to know that all this time, he'd been missing things... and that was the worst part of being out of it, that you did miss things. Like, for example, the presence of old friends.
Marks shrugged in return, apparently finished with the breakfast arrangement as he turned the most of his amusement on the two of them, "What is it, Wolfe - Wendesday? Got back Sunday night, didn't I?"
The return was far more rapid than he'd expected.
"That's two," he snapped. "Two days. You can't add."
Focused little bugger, wasn't he? " I said give or take twelve hours," he waved his hand negligently, wiping away the calculation error for nothing more than it was - petty.
And still the accusation in those disturbingly light eyes remained. Madman blue. Like being beaten over the head with a cliche. "You--you brought him over, didn't you?" Wolfe glared, certain beyond a doubt that Marks had something to do with the order of his world tattering away. "This is all your fault! What're you trying to do --"
But Marks would have none of that. Let them believe the worst of you if they'd like, but if they're going to accuse of doing something that has to do with other people than you're just going have to draw the line, you know? "Hey," he cut the wolf off, staring hard at him past a edgingly still gray-black wing, "If I'd had it my way, Rob would've stayed wherever it was he came from--"
Apparently, he wasn't the only one interested in clarifying details of the crash landing, "He's telling the truth, Wolfe," Alex interrupted clearly, voice rising though somehow keeping to the same low decibel. "He's no happier to see me than you are..."
He was looking at the oatmeal contemplatively, as if waiting for it to spell something out a la Ouija Board. Beneath that surface of general calm, the ever frenetic search for reason resumed.
Unfortunately for Wolfe, he'd spent a tad too much time around a certain romantic interest of late, leading him to second guess just about everything anyone (or he himself) said to be misinterpreted in the worst possible way. Because words were important, right? And nuance and everything - and you can't expect someone to know what you mean just by the tone, the words have to be just right and - "I--no, I--" he looked pleadingly at Alex, "I don't not want to see you, I just--"
Somewhat perturbed by his friend's lapse in understanding, in acceptance that Alex understood in turn, the boy frowned at Wolfe in that gentle, contemplative manner, "Don't fret about it," he said firmly. What had happened to that delicate level of... of unfiltered truth? That bridge between them... it'd never been tangible, no way to see it... but they'd always understood these things in the past. No harm done, no offense in words as long as you know what you mean.
"Hunh..." Marks said, "Don't let me interrupt the sunshine, but if you two are going to chat, you're not going to do it in my kitchen." No more excuses, discourses, that'll make it seem silly. Because it gets worse the longer there's two of them... Two of them together... Is this why you didn't say anything? Not because you don't care, but because it gets worse.
He'd forgotten. It'd been too long. That old, familiar, unconditional quality... the one he'd grown to rely on so heavily and felt the loss of so deeply. But even if it'd been too long... to have it come back, with all the consequences of 'back'... And if Marks had nothing to do with it, they were 'back' to the old mystery of wherefore and where from. "Why're you here?" he managed to pull together, through the muck of so much muted despair.
Alex winced slightly, a guilty half smile creeping up to cover the frown in manufactured cheer, "...I don't..." say it "...remember."
Words hurt. They do. No, not so much. It's admittance. You're weak. Mistakes repeated. That hurts. Well, that and wings.
"Now ain't that a familiar feeling," Marks muttered, feeling ignored and irritably so at that. He'd rather they be chatting with him than each other, if they insisted on being around him too.
The effect was as he'd hoped for, at least on one end of the scale. Wolfe's glare probably could've set him aflame had optics anything to do with the incendiary.
Unfortunately for hopes of sparking any sort of fight, Alex was still intent on playing the voice of reason - or, if not that, some variation of calm.
"He made me breakfast, Wolfe. Can we be civil until lunch?"
Oh yes, and the old hint of sarcasm. Lovely.
"I am being civil," Wolfe muttered, crossing his arms and looking at Marks as a petulant child might look at the other kid on the playground, the one the supervisor has just favored in some dispute over slide rights. "I haven't hit him yet. Not even when he got here."
Marks raised an eyebrow, more than slightly amused now. "That's the most coherent you've been in weeks," he informed the wolf lightly, "Ah, the healing presence of Saint Rob."
"Alex," the name was a retort more than anything else, one that led the owner of the name to hang his head in a comic sort of defeat.
"All right," he said acquiescently, glancing up at Marks disapprovingly, "We'll talk somewhere else." He stood gingerly, the wings once more a priority of attention as he attempted to disentangle himself from the chair and not knock over the still steaming oatmeal. Picking up the bowl with a deceptively graceful move amidst the jumble of feather and limbs, he spoke again, clearly not addressing Marks, "Tell me more about this place?"
However, despite Alex's clear attempt to distract from any incarnation of the subject at hand, Wolfe was not quite that easily thrown off-track. He digested the movements, stiff and sudden and stretching and fearful of anything more than an inch at a time... "You're hurt," he observed clearly, not so much concerned over the fact but why he hadn't been told.
Alex half smiled at that, sardonically, with an indelicate snort of amusement. "Not in the way you think, I'll warrant," he advised, "And I'll get used to them eventually." ...He would, right? Because Marks didn't seem entirely surprised by wings, or anything like that - was that a tail? So much for the sensical. After all, here he was with four wings - and that was just on his back. It didn't make any anatomical sense. "Where are we?" he continued, more to distract himself than Wolfe at that point.
Perhaps more energy should've been expended on the distracting Wolfe bit, as his response was to stare at his friend somewhat disbelievingly and quite admonishingly, however admonishing Wolfe may be allowed to look without being laughably hypocritical.
Once again, ironic as it was, Marks swooped down to save the conversation, though his intent was more along the lines of chasing them out of this kitchen for good, damn it. "Hey, I could give him the tour," he suggested, eyebrow still quirked at the silent boy in the doorway.
That apparently did the trick as, without looking at Marks though half his attention quite probably focused on him, Wolfe took Alex by the hand not holding the oatmeal bowl and led him decisively away from the kitchen.
Marks shook his head, rolled his eyes, and hoped it wasn't going to take that much energy to chase them out again, if it came to a repeat performance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wolfe: *returns to the kitchen around mid-day, Alex having professed to still being somewhat tired and, if not that, at least needing time alone to mull things over* *stands in the doorway, staring at Marks' back*
Marks: *has had enough time to sort things out for himself, also considers only one of them at a time to be no threat at all* *proffers a spoon* Minestrone? *smile*
Wolfe: In a bowl?
Marks: *quirks an eyebrow* Where else, you dirty little boy?
Wolfe: *growls at him, taking a seat at the counter, staring at him hostilely*
Marks: I thought you'd've gone running for comfort from theatre-boy by now.
Wolfe: *still glaring at him silently*
Marks: You trying to make me uncomfortable or something?
Wolfe: *hurts him to do this, but...* Did it hurt?
Marks: Excuse me? *smile*
Wolfe: The wings--did it hurt?
Marks: Did the tail? Oh, I'm sorry, is that personal? Sore asses are more embarassing than aching backs, I guess--not around here, maybe, but--
Wolfe: *snarls* I didn't feel a thing! It didn't happen like--like--it was just there, okay? I woke up and--and I was here! Nothing different except for, well, you know--but it didn't happen the same way for him--or you. *insistently* Did it hurt?
Marks: *shrugs* Maybe he's just weak.
Wolfe: *hostilely* Is that a 'no'?
Marks: *smiles infuriatingly* No.
Wolfe: *mind works around all the connotations of that, decides (rightly) that Marks is just trying to make him upset* You cared about him! You did! *glare*
Marks: *bemusedly, wonderingly* You think so? *sets a bowl down in front of him, having arranged some vegetables into a smiley face atop it*
Wolfe: *shoves it away and leaves quickly*
Marks: *pulls the wings in close... remembering the ache of when he dove through the rip...* /He is weak, you know. It didn't stop me for a second./
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Posted: Sun Dec 11, 2005 12:19 am
Rubik's
Roles: Madison, Yagil, Alex, Marks
Time: The sun has left us. Walk home.
Location: Everywhere in Madison's life.
============
Madison: *packing everything back into its' battered suitcase, having already put the collected money somewhere safe that no non-magickal pickpocket could ever get to*
Yagil: *had watched the end of the performance, and kept a good eye on Maddie. He's fairly certain he recognizes the unicorn from somewhere-- probably that chart raven's got up in the Nest-- so he bounces over, his tail curled around a bright, golden-yellow ball* Hihi~~~!
Madison: *looks up, performer's smile still glued right on* *not displeased to see a kid, he rather likes them* Heya.
Yagil: *smi~les!* I liked your show!
Madison: *grins a little more casually* Thanks. It's always great to hear that.
Yagil: *smile widens a bit* I think I know you from somewhere. Never got to see you perform though.
Madison: *never really likes being thought of familiar - he's under the impression he's one of a kind, so if someone thinks they know him...* Heh, well... One magician's not so different from the next. Maybe you've seen my long-lost twin?
Yagil: *giggles* Have you been to my house? Miss raven's house?
Madison: Oh, you're from there. Naw, I haven't been there in ages. Don't think I met you, though...
Yagil: *smiles* But you're on the board.
Madison: *blinks* Of directors?
Yagil: *laughs, bouncing his ball around* No, Miss raven's board! Where she keeps pictures and charts of everyone who's met someone in the house!
Madison: *a little surprised* Really? Everyone?
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: *whistles, impressed*
Yagil: *giggles* So you're on the board, since you said you've been there, which is why I know you!
Madison: That's the general rule of cause and effect. *smiles easily*
Yagil: *smiles* You're the one who made the mess in the lab.
Madison: *has the grace to look mildly abashed* Was it really that significant?
Yagil: *shrugs* It's on the chart. But you're not a key, so it's ok.
Madison: *quirks an eyebrow and sits back down on the curve, looking up at Yagil curiously* A what?
Yagil: *giggles* I like to read the charts on the board.
Madison: *not looking at him suspiciously, just sort of... bemused* Yuh huh?
Yagil: *giggles and nods* They're pretty fun.
Madison: *nods in agreement* Yeah... knowing statistics is sort of like knowing trivia. Fun when it doesn't really mean much.
Yagil: *giggles* Not statistics. Information!
Madison: They're not the same thing? *can't be sure if he's serious o_O*
Yagil: Statistics are information but information's not always statistics!
Madison: But it's all measurement, yeah?
Yagil: No...
Madison: Definitions then, right? Words are measures of ideas.
Yagil: Maybe. Depends. Sometimes? *giggles and bounces his ball high into the air, catching it in his hand*
Madison: *watching the ball, trying to figure out how old the kid is* When aren't they?
Yagil: *giggles* When they're not saying anything!
Madison: Then they're measures of nothing, right?
Yagil: Not necessarily~ Sometimes when you think something's nothing and not saying anything it turns out to be something and saying everything or anything!
Madison: *didn't follow that at ALL* *just nods*
Yagil: *giggles* Why're you here?
Madison: *laughs* Oh come on, that's not obvious?
Yagil: *laughs* Not here here-- there here!
Madison: Come again?
Yagil: You're not a key, but you're making yourself important!
Madison: ......hunh?
Yagil: *smiles* Teil's back.
Madison: Who?
Yagil: Asteil~
Madison: Oh yeah... that guy... back from where?
Yagil: *giggles* He ran away after his mind cracked in the lab.
Madison: Yeah, I heard about that.
Yagil: But he's back now!
Madison: That's great. Wouldn't want to think he was still running around being crazy at people.
Yagil: *smiles* Not mentally uncracked.
Madison: ....ooookay.
Yagil: But not dying anymore!
Madison: He was?
Yagil: *nods* Can't live for too much longer. Needs his key.
Madison: ...What's a key? *completely baffled*
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: Was that an answer?
Yagil: Keys are keys, silly! They open doors and locks! *giggles*
Madison: So... Asteil needs to.... open a door?
Yagil: *giggles* Why would he need to do that?
Madison: You tell me. What are you talking about?
Yagil: *blinks* Talking? *giggles*
Madison: Is that not what we're doing?
Yagil: Yes~~!
Madison: Okay. I'm lost.
Yagil: *giggles and bounces up to press a kiss to Maddie's cheek* Will you be someone's key?
Madison: *tilts his head to the side somewhat curiously, beginning to get the idea* Uh....
Yagil: *giggles* I'm a key!
Madison: Never mind. I don't get it.
Yagil: *giggles* Get what?
Madison: This 'key' thing. What's a key? Because I know it's possible for you to open doors and locks and stuff, but you're saying something else...
Yagil: *blinks* Saying what?
Madison: *takes a breath* Okay. Why are you a key?
Yagil: *giggles* Dunno~
Madison: Er.... Actually, I meant: what traits do keys have in common?
Yagil: Don't know~
Madison: ....That's not entirely descriptive.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: Uhuh... *looks at him funny*
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *trying to figure this out... because it's getting weird* *just looks at him*
Yagil: *giggles* Whatcha going to do now?
Madison: Go back home, I 'spect.
Yagil: *giggles* Home? Where your friends are?
Madison: *teasingly* Friends?
Yagil: *giggles* Everyone has friends, even if no one thinks they do including themselves.
Madison: Really?
Yagil: *nods!*
Madison: I don't get it.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *honestly* You confuse the hell out of me.
Yagil: *giggles* Do I?
Madison: Yeah.
Yagil: *giggles* Are you thinking?
Madison: Can't, really. You haven't given me much to think on.
Yagil: *giggles* Do you want to be a key?
Madison: I have noooo idea.
Yagil: *giggles* Aww~
Madison: No, really, I don't. What does being a key mean?
Yagil: *giggles* Depends?
Madison: What would being a key mean for me?
Yagil: *giggles* Depends?
Madison: This is going nowhere fast...
Yagil: *giggles* Is it really?
Madison: Yeah.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: ....So how do you become a key?
Yagil: I don't know~
Madison: Then why'd you ask if I wanted to be a key?
Yagil: *smiles* It's good to know?
Madison: Okay...
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: ....Right. I'm going to head back now. *stands up, taking his suitcase* *has decided that the Nest breeds creepy, even if you think it's cute at first*
Yagil: *giggles and bounces after Maddie*
Madison: *curiously* Hello?
Yagil: *giggles* So we're going back to your place?
Madison: Not really mine...
Yagil: *giggles* Townhouse place!
Madison: Yeah, but that doesn't make it mine at all.
Yagil: *giggles* You live there.
Madison: Yeah.
Yagil: *giggles* So it's partially yours.
Madison: Kinda, I guess. My room, maybe. What're you coming back for?
Yagil: *smiles* Going to follow you for a little bit?
Madison: Why?
Yagil: *shrugs and giggles*
Madison: Right... *continues walking*
Yagil: *follows, bouncing*
Madison: *doesn't really like walking in silence, never has, probably never will - but he really doesn't know what to talk about with this guy...* Where'd you come from? Before the Nest, that is.
Yagil: *giggles* Before the Nest? *giggles* Nowhere?
Madison: *teasing again* That can't be right.
Yagil: *giggles* Why not?
Madison: Everyone comes from somewhere.
Yagil: Not me~
Madison: Fine, if you don't want to tell me... *looks upwards amusedly*
Yagil: *giggles* you came from somewhere though~
Madison: 'course I did. I'm one of everyone, aren't I?
Yagil: *giggles* Of course!
Madison: And so are you.
Yagil: *giggles* Yay~
Madison: /Hm. Also went nowhere. I'm sensing a pattern./ Tell me about yourself?
Yagil: I'm Yagil~
Madison: *just realized he hadn't known the kid's name* *surprise leaks into his voice* Oh.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *tips his hat in response* Madison Square Garden, street magician extraordinaire.
Yagil: *giggles* I know who you are.
Madison: Oh yeah... Well, couldn't be too sure you knew my name too, could I?
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: /Doesn't do much more than laugh, does he? Yeesh./ You come to town much?
Yagil: *giggles* Nope!
Madison: What brought you there today, then?
Yagil: Looking for things~
Madison: Did you find 'em?
Yagil: No.
Madison: Awww... Think I could help?
Yagil: *giggles* It's ok~
Madison: *teasing* Don't make me feel left out.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *makes a hurt face at him*
Yagil: *presses a kiss to Maddie's cheek*
Madison: *sniffs, turns away* You won't use me!
Yagil: *giggles and bounces the golden ball*
Madison: *returns to normal expression easily* So what're you after?
Yagil: *giggles* Stuff~
Madison: What kinda stuff?
Yagil: *giggles* Lots of stuff!
Madison: Where can you get it from?
Yagil: Dunno~
Madison: Well gee. You're going to have an awful time looking all by yourself.
Yagil: Nuh uh~
Madison: Yuh huh.
Yagil: No~ I'm not the only one looking~
Madison: Why can't I help then?
Yagil: *giggles* You don't know what it is.
Madison: Yeah, cause you won't tell me.
Yagil: You don't know already, so there's no reason to~!
Madison: But what if I wanna join in?
Yagil: Then you have to figure it out yourself!
Madison: Put me on the right path.
Yagil: *giggles* Something you're not thinking about!!
Madison: Hey, I don't do a lot of thinking - that could take all day.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *makes a face*
Yagil: *bounces the ball in the air and catches it with his tail*
Madison: *ponders how he does it so precisely on a dirt road* *realizes the road is dirt, and that they must therefore be getting closer to the Townhouse* You're staying for dinner?
Yagil: Okay~
Madison: /Wasn't an invite, was a question (XP)/ You sure 'bout that? Our cook's not what you might call 'safe'.
Yagil: *giggles* Neither is most of the Nest.
Madison: But do you eat the food they put in front of you?
Yagil: *nods emphatically*
Madison: *bluntly* That's smart?
Yagil: *giggles* Maybe.
Madison: How so?
Yagil: If they're bad they're not good. But if they're not safe they can be good.
Madison: Okay... Still don't think that's healthy.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: Well, it's not.
Yagil: *giggles* To you.
Madison: Not my body, silly.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: Yours, though.
Yagil: So?
Madison: It's the only one you've got. Better start looking out for it.
Yagil: *smiles* It's fine~
Madison: Not if you keep putting dubiously treated edibles in it.
Yagil: *giggles* Not your problem~
Madison: No, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't give you advice.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *opens the door and calls inside as he makes his way for his room* Company~~
Yagil: *watches Maddie walk off before bouncing towards the kitchen-- is Marks there?*
Marks: *apparently done with whatever it is he threw together, appears to be napping, leaning back in a chair with his feet on the counter*
Yagil: *stares at Marks for a second before turning around and bouncing away*
Marks: *could swear he smelt a rat* *opens a single eye to watch him leave, but does nothing to stop him - can't help but think, though...* /What the hell is that?.../
Yagil: *bounces off in the direction he noted Maddie go*
Madison: *has a room on the first floor, and didn't bother to close the door. humming as he taps his finger to his mouth, wondering whether there's something he's missing...*
Yagil: *bounces in* ...he's not safe.
Madison: *glances over* Oh yeah, forgot about you. What was that?
Yagil: *looks kind of upset* He's not safe.
Madison: Hunh? Is someone hurt?
Yagil: No.
Madison: So who's not safe? Is someone in danger or dangerous?
Yagil: Kitchen demon.
Madison: Marks? Heck, I could've told you that.
Yagil: Something's wrong.
Madison: With him? Well yeah, he's a psychopath with access to ammunition and butcher knives.
Yagil: *sighs* But he's a key.
Madison: He's a - waiiiitaminute. I remember that. --he's a key? But you're a key. How're you two alike?
Yagil: Not.
Madison: Alike? So what's the whole 'key' thing, then? Whadda you both got that others don't?
Yagil: *sighs* Time.
Madison: Come again? What kind of time?
Yagil: Time time.
Madison: Yeah, that helps. Really.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *rolls eyes* Here, pick a card.
Yagil: Nuh uh.
Madison: *sad face!* Why not?
Yagil: Too many things to do~
Madison: Oh come on, if you're going to stay for dinner, you've got time for magic tricks.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: *still proffering the deck*
Yagil: *goes about trying to bounce on Maddie's bed*
Madison: *laughs, scrambles up to join him* Hey! Not without the host!
Yagil: *giggles*
Alex: *having ducked in to see if Madison's home (he still hasn't met this 'Maddie' guy Wolfe doesn't like so much o_o) and tell him that dinner's ready* *watches the bouncing for half a minute or so, highly amused* Dinner's ready?
Yagil: *turns and a huge smile lights up his face* Shiny key!!
Alex: *appears mildly surprised but nothing more*
Madison: *still bouncing, giving him an odd look* Who're you? What're you doing in this house?--*looks at Yagil again* Key? Another one?
Yagil: *giggles and bounces over to Alex* Hihi~
Alex: *can't figure out which one is 'Maddie'* *smiles at the littler-one as he approaches* Hello?
Madison: *feels slightly left out, being abandoned to the bouncing, so jumps off the bed* No, who are you?
Yagil: I'm Yagil-- key from the Nest. That's Maddie-- not-key from here.
Alex: *tilts head to the side in momentary contemplation* So the 'key' idea carried over?
Yagil: *blinks?* Over?
Alex: *shrugs slightly* Nothing. Nothing much, I don't think. Just an idea. Does the word 'Tzimisce' mean anything to you?
Yagil: *blinks* No...? *giggles too quickly though*
Alex: *might not be terribly talented at lying, but tends to know when other people are doing it* *let's it go though, it's up to Yagil to share* Oh well. The idea needs tweaking then - you're Madison? Dinner's ready.
Madison: *still feeling a little excluded with this 'key' stuff - he's important too, damnit!* Caught that. We'd better go eat before Tsuzuki gets in the kitchen and it's dinner-on-fire. *heads out of the room, attempting to guide Yagil in front of him*
Yagil: *giggles and bounces along*
*the kitchen counter has been cleared off with an array of salad and coldcuts - apparently Marks has decided to experiment with the idea of other people making sandwiches. perhaps he is skeptical of the other's sandwich-making ability*
Yagil: *glances warily around, looking for any hint of Marks*
Marks: *is, of course, in the kitchen. Sitting on the far end of the counter, away from the various items for creating dinner-ness and waiting for the first person to fail miserably so he may make note* *sort of zoning out for now, it seems - not saying anything at least*
Madison: *to Yagil* You lose something?
Yagil: *bounces his ball rapidly* ..............
Madison: Yeesh - not so close to the counter! *moving to prevent any ball escape from disrupting the plates, trying to gather food for himself simultaneously*
Yagil: *bounces it more rapidly, though it seems he has a perfect handle on it as he takes a plate, always keeping an eye on Marks*
Marks: *not paying him much mind, not any more than he is the others at least* *still not saying anything*
Alex: *watching the apparent tension in Yagil, wondering if this is a comment on Marks' innate character and hoping it's not, though if the suspicion's there...* *keeps his distance from either of them, to better keep an eye on the situation*
Madison: Damnit, I hate bread. *apparently... can't make a sandwich >>*
Yagil: *takes the bread and makes himself a sandwich, taking charge of Maddie's after a little while*
Madison: *relinquishes control without regret* *more to say something than start a conversation* You'd think my wonderfully dexterous fingers would see a sandwich like a deck of cards...
Yagil: Different. *bounces the ball high, catching it in his tail*
Madison: Apparently.
Yagil: *sighs as he hands Maddie back his plate once there's a very nicely made sandwich on it* Done now?
Madison: *kind of weirded out by the sighs* Sure.
Alex: *off-handedly, just looking out for everyone's health >>;* No salad?
Madison: *makes a face at him and leaves the kitchen*
Yagil: *takes another plate, puts a good amount of salad on it, takes two forks and goes after Maddie*
Madison: *waiting to see if anyone comes out of the kitchen besides Yagil, but upon he being the only one to emerge... heads outside, because heck, it's not snowing yet - might as well eat out there*
Yagil: *follows handing Maddie a fork* Salad?
Madison: *takes the fork curiously, twirls it in his fingers, makes it disappear, reappear, opens the door and heads out to sit on the steps* *as if he was thinking about it the whole way* Naw.
Yagil: *smiles and sits next to Maddie* Okay. *it's so much... nicer away from Marks*
Madison: *eats in silence for a few minutes* ...How're you going to eat all that? *points at the salad on Yagil's plate with his fork*
Yagil: *giggles and just shrugs, eating some of it slowly*
Madison: Ah, slowly. Okay.
Yagil: *giggles softly*
Madison: *had noticed the quiet in the kitchen, or rather, absence of giggling... and feels the imperative to ask. so there* So... You think Marks isn't 'safe'?
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: Why?
Yagil: He's a key.
Madison: So're you...?
Yagil: He's a bad person.
Madison: You know something I don't? *always ready for more info about Marks*
Yagil: *softly* He's not doing anything.
Madison: That makes him bad?
Yagil: ...no.
Madison: What does, then?
Yagil: ....things.
Madison: Things like...?
Yagil: ...he makes other people unhappy.
Madison: Not on purpose, I've seen. They've been more determined to be unhappy than he's been to make them that way.
Yagil: Not here.
Madison: *thinking* You met him before?
Yagil: No.
Madison: So how do you know?
Yagil: Because.
Madison: Because what?
Yagil: Charts.
Madison: What?
Yagil: Charts.
Madison: I kinda remember this... but you lost me again.
Yagil: ...the charts say what happened.
Madison: What happened where?
Yagil: Wherever it was. An island lately.
Madison: Come again?
Yagil: Ask your housemates.
Madison: Which ones?
Yagil: The ones who were there.
Madison: Like... Wolfe?
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: Don't know if you've met him or not, but he's not what I'd call... a viable source of accurate information.
Yagil: ...wait then.
Madison: Oh come on!
Yagil: He'll be here?
Madison: What?
Yagil: He will be...
Madison: Who? Wait, who're we talking about now?
Yagil: Someone who's not here.
Madison: Right now?
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: So he's here some of the time.
Yagil: No.
Madison: ...He's never been here before.
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: How do you know he's coming?
Yagil: They're here. So he'll show up.
Madison: Okay, lost again.
Yagil: *smiles*
Madison: No no, keep talking.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: Hey! *pout*
Yagil: Everyone's coming.
Madison: Everywho?
Yagil: Everyone.
Madison: From where?
Yagil: Places.
Madison: ........you've become unhelpful. *sulk*
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: So there's an island, an everyone and a 'him'.
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: And 'he's' coming, along with 'everyone', at least eventually, from this island.
Yagil: *considers* Not quite...
Madison: Where'd I go wrong?
Yagil: Not everyone's coming.
Madison: All right, so why'd you say 'everyone'?
Yagil: Because everyone in a group is coming.
Madison: So it's a group from the island or they're coming in a group?
Yagil: From the island.
Madison: ...Okay. And this guy coming from the island, he knows about Marks?
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: So he knows Wolfe too?
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: Do either of them know he's coming?
Yagil: *shakes his head*
Madison: Why not?
Yagil: He hasn't told them?
Madison: So he's in contact with them?
Yagil: Nope.
Madison: Then of course he can't have - they're not expecting him?
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: ...Hunh. Where is this island, anyway?
Yagil: *giggles* Not here.
Madison: 'course it's not here, this is a little too big to be an island.
Yagil: Not Gaia.
Madison: *silent for a long moment* They're not from Gaia...
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: That would explain the smell...
Yagil: *giggles* Smell?
Madison: Yeah... there's a scent of it off Wolfe, but Marks positively reeks.
Yagil: *giggles* Marks was dead.
Madison: They're crossing... ah, that explains it. Not just boundaries of worlds, life and death. Yeah, that'd do it...
Yagil: *giggles* 'Leech'. 'Bloodsucker'.
Madison: Leeches?
Yagil: *nods!*
Madison: Not to disappoint, but there aren't many swamps hereabouts.
Yagil: From there. Not slug-leeches. Leech-leeches.
Madison: /Leech... leech.../ That's slang. For something.
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: All right, why're we talking about leeches?
Yagil: That's the life and death. But Marks was dead dead.
Madison: Leech as life... so like... vampires? Marks was a vampire? Is he one now?
Yagil: *giggles* Yes, yes, and no~
Madison: No wha--ohhh... Is that why Wolfe doesn't like him? Some grudge against vampires?
Yagil: *giggles* No, silly.
Madison: ...Okay. I still have to ask the guy that's coming then.
Yagil: *nods*
Madison: Whoo. How do you know all this stuff, anyway?
Yagil: Charts!
Madison: Right. And the chart-maker?
Yagil: Raven.
Madison: *not going to ask questions about her* When's he coming?
Yagil: Don't know.
Madison: Yeah, not like he'd tell you either. *nods*
Yagil: *giggles*
Madison: Great. I just have to wait for him to show up?
Yagil: Yup!
Madison: Yeah... on another note: why tell me anything?
Yagil: Because?
Madison: Good enough.
Yagil: *giggles*
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Posted: Sun Dec 11, 2005 12:20 am
the art of conversation is DEAD
Roles: Marks, Alex
Time: Dinner
Location: Neutral ground: the kitchen.
==============
*Maddie and Yagil have gone out, Alex is eating dinner in the kitchen and thumbing through a book of Jan's he found*
Marks: *making himself a sandwich lazily*
Alex: *realizes, suddenly, that there's no tension in the air at all. They're comfortable* Hm.
Marks: *doesn't ignore it, oddly enough* What is it?
Alex: *thinks about that for half a moment before laughing*
Marks: *feels something being broken - sort of?* *irritable* What?
Alex: *catches breath and rests elbows on counter, chin on palms* I want to take you out.
Marks: *looks at him oddly*
Alex: *as if he has to explain* Of the kitchen. Somewhere you can eat someone else's food for once.
Marks: I'll pass.
Alex: *makes a funny, amused noise and shakes his head* Or I could bring something. It's not fair that you're always stuck cooking.
Marks: 'Stuck'? Think I'd do it if I didn't want to?
Alex: That doesn't mean it's not ungrateful not to do something in return.
Marks: Should I put it nicely? I don't want anything from you.
Alex: *easily* Likewise.
Marks: *skeptical, but on the deep inside... and... skeptical of what?* Don't make this altruistic, Rob. It's food.
Alex: Well... I could say food is the source of all life and one ought to be thankful to one's life-giver... but it's more a want to return the favor? And since A- you won't let anyone into the kitchen and B-I can't cook anyway. It's easiest just to take you out.
Marks: *looks at him over the sandwich* I didn't think we were on lunch terms. /And I don't want to be./
Alex: *shrugs* Dinner, then? Breakfast?
Marks: I'll pass.
Alex: *curiously* Why?
Marks: *ignores the twitch-ness* I thought I made it pretty clear I don't care about -
Alex: You didn't care about my well-being. That doesn't mean we can't have lunch.
Marks: /Not didn't, don't./ ......Why are you trying so hard?
Alex: *glances away, but doesn't back down from the question* ...I remember you.
Marks: So?
Alex: *simply* That's important.
Marks: *because Wolfe's not around, feels indulgent and lets it go* Tell me...
Alex: *perks up*
Marks: ...What was that... thing... that came in here?
Alex: *blinks* Madison? Or Yagil?
Marks: The... thing. Not the idiot.
Alex: You're terribly specific sometimes.
Marks: Haha. ...Well?
Alex: Agreements to engagements come before information may be divulged.
Marks: Like hell they do. I'm not that curious.
Alex: ...Here's where you have me puzzled, Marks: you won't say yes, but you haven't said no.
Marks: You're overanalyzing. Again.
Alex: *teasing* You remember.
Marks: ....... /Why is he so insistent on renewing... everything?/
*the meal continues in silence*
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