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 Posted: Tue Nov 15, 2016 5:19 pm
She was laying on her stomach, arms stretched out and folded beneath the pillow her cheek was resting on, bright hair in a tussled halo against the soft fabric of the pillowcase. The rest of the sheets were in a complete disarray, the thick comforter kicked down by her feet, and only the black and lace band of the satin boy shorts kept the woman from looking entirely debauched. Clothing littered the floor, as if she'd stripped off one article at a time on her walk to the bed, before finally just collapsing into it. Which is exactly what she'd done. The apartment had been empty when she'd arrived. Slate was out, on patrol she imagined, and Lenore had been sleeping on the couch. It had been quiet, the only sound filtering up from the traffic of the streets below, and Porsha hadn't wished to disturb it. The moonlight streaming in from the open blinds of the window beside the bed made already pale skin seem to glow in the late evening darkness. Everything but the scars, those numerous imperfections that dotted, traced, and rippled across her body. Marks of battle, wins and losses. Marks of survival that lay beneath the fresher wealth of scattered bruising. Each and every one carrying the weight of memory. Then there was the tattoos. Dark washes of artfully applied ink. One old, the edges beginning to blur just a touch with age. One so new the red irritation that surrounded it was still bright and shining, the image subtly lifted. The latter had been a long time coming. A design that had bounced around in her mind for well over a year now, changing and morphing, until finally, tonight, she had settled.
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Posted: Wed Nov 16, 2016 5:41 pm
As soon as Slate stumbled through the door, panting, he made a grab for the handtowel next to the sink. Immediately he pressed it to his sweaty forehead and dabbed at the rest of his face. For several long moments, he huffed ragged breaths into the cloth while it sat over his eyes. Training in the evenings proved immensely difficult, but he knew no other time where he could slip it under Porsha’s radar. He intended to impress her in their next spar, and he couldn’t do that with Porsha looking over his shoulder all the time.
After dousing himself with cold water and patting it out, Slate surveyed himself in the microwave reflection. The silhouette of himself suggested windswept hair, flyaways, and redness in his face. Quickly he patted down as much as he could, and even went far enough to rebraid his hair. He hoped it was enough to cover his tracks. The training only recently started, evidenced by his flushed and breathless features, but he knew he would feel their improvements by the time they next fought. Lately Porsha busied herself with other members of her team, which he actually preferred, since doing so distanced the time between spars. Perhaps in the next month they would try again, and by then he expected to see some results.
Slate passed through the living room, pausing only to give the cat a few thorough pets, and approached Porsha’s room at the back of the apartment. On his way, he closed blinds against the setting sun and turned on lamps to provide decent ambience. He liked the look of a home lit up and ready for the night.
Fingertips sprawled over the wall when he crossed through the hallway. They paused only when they found the doorframe to Porsha’s room, and Slate leaned against the open door. „Hey,“ he called softly, when he realized Porsha was awake. And mostly naked. But awake. „Wasn’t sure you’d be home.“
Slate entered the room without bidding; they had long since grown accustomed to invading each other’s spaces. The teen sat on the edge of her bed, and his gaze drew immediately to the fresh ink outlined in red. „When did you get this?“ He asked as a finger traced the reddened border. He knew the pain of tattoos; touching them dead-on when so fresh sucked something fierce.
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Posted: Wed Nov 16, 2016 6:09 pm
Very distantly she heard his arrival, the sound of the door closing behind him, and only then had she realized how close she'd come to dozing off. Comfortable and warm, her mind had drifted, attention drifting from the smears of orange and pink she could almost see beyond the shadows of buildings that stood outside her window. She listened to the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet. The transition between tile and plush carpet as he made his way from the kitchen into the living room. No doubt he'd pause to greet the cat. It was his voice in the doorway that had her finally opening her eyes before turning her head against the pillow to look up at him, body turning slightly as he took a seat beside her on the bed. The half hidden smile his presence earned was automatic and warm, and she nuzzles her cheek into the softness of the pillow as the light brush of his fingers made her shiver. "About two hours ago." Her voice was heavy like molasses as she rolled her eyes to glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Where have you been?" He was back too early for him to have been on patrol.
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Posted: Wed Nov 16, 2016 6:58 pm
“Two hours ago? Wow. Uh, did you want some ice? I can go get some…“ He trailed off, then realized if she wanted ice, she could’ve gotten some herself about two hours ago when she came home. The same held true with painkillers. „Um. Anyway. I was just, uh, out having lunch with a new agent. He sounded like he could use some pointers.“ He scratched the back of his head. Yeah. Pointers. Like you’re one to talk. When did you spearhead any operations? Never.
„Does it stand for anything?“ Slate traced a delicate fingernail around one of the falling feathers before it arced down her side and to the sheets. There, it curled into a fist while he leaned back a bit. In truth, he never asked Porsha much about her tattoos, and she never asked him about his. He preferred it, mostly, since he never liked addressing the origins behind his ink. Porsha knew him well enough now to avoid asking, so he saw no further harm in posing questions to her unless she wanted him to quit. And all that took was a glance.
Communication had gotten so much easier between them.
He wished it were so between him and his now-distant brother, though he knew not what he would say to Shale now. The care between them still existed, but something else grew wretched in that bond. Slate hadn’t yet learned what it was.
He gave it no room for thought now, however.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2016 5:37 pm
She didn't have to answer him, not when he answered himself, but she did smile, grateful for the offer, even if she didn't need the assistance. He was always so sweet to her, attentive, if a little on the softer side. That was alright though, with Layne and Dustin in her life, softer was just fine. She appreciated the gentleness and peace she found in his company and in his bed, and she wouldn't have traded it for anything. With a soft hum, she shifted one arm out from beneath the pillow, laying her hand over his. Silver eyes drifted closed against as he ran a finger along the curved design that stretched down the length of her back, and a soft, content sigh passed her lips. His question was simple, but the answer was not. For a moment the fighter mulled it over. Arranging her thoughts as best she could before even attempting to explain. "A few things," she said at last, finally opening her eyes again, gaze settling on his leg, unfocused. "First and foremost its a tribute to someone that had meant a great deal to me. Someone that's no longer with us." Her features pinched, breath leaving in a small, bittersweet huff of a breath. "He's the one that gave me Lenore. The mouse in the living room on the tv stand, the bird skull necklace." She ran her thumb over the backs of his knuckles as she spoke. "And the faint burn scars on my thighs." There'd been matching ones on her hands, but they were all but lost under the abuse they took from years of fighting.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2016 6:56 pm
“Oh… Sorry for asking. I didn’t know.“ Slate couldn’t imagine what it felt like to lose someone, for he seldom endured the severing of close ties. To tattoo a tribute upon her body meant a great deal in regards to this person, and for that, Slate thought silence was the best respect. It wasn’t his business.
But, where curiosity got involved…
„Was this person um… Were you… Together?“ Slate fumbled awhile on determining the proper expression. He wondered, then, about all the people that drifted through Porsha’s life and what they might’ve been like. Here, as a part of the Negaverse, she knew many solders. Trained plenty of them, he was certain. Maybe she opened her doors to a few more that hadn’t yet established themselves in homes, or came from broken ones. Maybe she worked with some, jogged with others. Maybe she met a few good people in her life and they turned out to be knights, senshi. Maybe this person was one of them - he didn’t know. He hoped not, but he imagined that heartache would’ve been awful. If his brother was a knight, if they had to corrupt him, what would that be like?
„He wasn’t a senshi, was he?“ Slate asked at last. The mention of the burn scars led him to believe it was so - for what else would manage that kind of damage? He never met a knight or an agent with a fire weapon.
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Posted: Sat Nov 26, 2016 5:02 pm
Slate's apology had Porsha curling her fingers around his to give a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright. I don't mind." It didn't hurt as much to talk about the half-youma general anymore. Years to dull the pain, connections to mend the cracks. She would probably always miss him, but she no longer felt as empty. Shale had been the first to help her begin to move on from the past, and Slate had followed soon after. Piece she hadn't quite realized were missing had all begun to fall into order, and before she knew it, another year had flown right on by. She was quiet for a moment after, considering what to say. The simplest answer to his question was yes. They had been together, but they'd been more than lovers, and less. What they'd had, in Porsha's mind, had always been complicated and tricky, and she wasn't sure, even now, what she had meant to him. "I suppose you could say that. We lived together for a little while. "But no, he wasn't a senshi." Thumb sliding between his palm and the blankets, she gave a little tug, drawing his hand close enough for her to lay the warmth of his skin against her cheek. He always felt so alive. So warm. She loved it. "He was an agent. We met as equals, and then he was my general." Turning her head, she lay a tender press of lips to the center of his palm. "I learned a lot from him, including the importance of not holding back."
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Posted: Sun Nov 27, 2016 10:55 am
Somehow, Slate found it surprising that Xenotime ever answered to anyone. He always knew her as a general, and often forgot that she had to rise through the ranks to achieve that status. So often he just considered her a general for all the time she spent in the Negaverse, as her combat prowess and levelheadedness earned her easy respect. But here, someone else gave her orders and led her through the ropes of becoming a better officer. And from the sound of it, this person placed an emphasis on pain over patience.
Slate was uncertain how he felt about those methods himself. Shale learned through similarly harsh methods, and Slate knew how much this changed him. Shale never regretted it, however. Slate supposed that some learned better by the stick, while people like him worked well with the carrot. He couldn't fault the teaching meathods that Porsha was subjected to, though, because he liked the way she turned out - even if said methodology involved burn scars on her thighs.
After she kissed his hand, he squeezed her shoulder gently. She felt soft, and smooth, and cool to the touch where the autumn air wicked away the surface heat. "Sounds tough to live with someone who gives you a cat and gives you burn scars." He could relate to that, though, for how his relationship with his brother changed over the years. Protectiveness remained a nonverbal understanding between them - regardless of their current feelings about one another, Slate knew that Shale would come if he needed him - but close ties and coddling never gained a foothold in their relationship. Shale pushed him, sometimes too hard, and this left Slate frustrated. But, he supposed he would not have the strength he kept today if he didn't endure such challenges.
"So this is kind of like your funeral for him, huh?" Slate wasn't sure whether to apologize or tell her he thought the tattoo idea was cute. He settled for neither.
"At least now you've got a team, and Umber's your peer, and you've been doing a lot in the Negaverse. I think that says a lot about how good you are as an officer." Inwardly he hoped she didn't blame herself for this officer's passing, or thought that somehow she didn't stack up. She seemed too confident to fall into such holes. He hoped she was, at least.
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Posted: Fri Dec 16, 2016 1:19 pm
She smiled, and he'd feel it against his palm before she tipped her head against the pillow again to look up at him. It had been tough, but that was part of why she'd loved liked him so much. Why they'd worked so well, for the short time she'd been able to keep him in her life. Why it had hurt so badly when that was no longer the case. Tough was a very appropriate word. "Maybe a little bit, but it was always worth it." Her shoulders moved under his hand. "But yeah, I suppose this is. Remembrance, as well as a reminder." She had to grin at his praise, and it had her raising up on one arm so she could reach for that thick braid, drag him down into the nest of blankets so she could settle across his chest, like she'd been laying on the pillow. Her nails tickling along the thin fabric at his side as she turned her face in to breath in the familiar scent of him. He smelled like home. They all did, in their own way. Slate was home cooking, old blankets, and a gentle wind creeping through an open window. Hips turning, she drew her legs up, knees resting against the side of his thigh, and as she exhaled she rubbed her cheek against his sternum. Porsha did blame herself, she always had, but that was why she was so fiercely protective now. Slate and the others, they weren't just her team, they were her family. She refused to lose another of them to this war.
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Posted: Tue Dec 20, 2016 3:27 pm
Porsha would find no qualms in him when she reached for him, and when he laid down for her to use as a pillow. Slate grew quite familiar with Porsha's tactile habits, and he never rejected them - touch provided a great part of his lief when he was younger, one that he remembered his brother catering to for quite some time. Slate recalled Shale bringing home some furs for his perusal, and their tactile thrills provided the greater part of that memory. So, when Porsha wanted to cuddle, he often complied.
Slate liked that he did not know everything about Porsha - that so much of her past still remained a mystery. So much more of her remained unexplored, undiscovered, uncharted - and this left her infinitely complex for a roommate. He considered himself rather simple by proxy, as he seldom concealed any parts of his life from her, and she knew well how little he cared for his upbringing. So, to lay with her like this, and to explore the few pieces of her past that she found herself willing to share felt like a treasure, and Slate was careful about pressing for more.
An arm snaked around her waist, and his hand rested on the valley between her hip and ribs. Her skin felt slightly cool compared to his own, likely due to the exertion he faced before coming back here. He felt the heat of her tattoo against his arm, however, and he took care to elevate it away from touching her.
"Hey, so I was thinking about eventually maybe finding a lieutenant to work with. Someone who could use a little guidance, you know? I just thought it'd be nice to pass on what I learned from you and some of the other agents. Corrupted senshi get a bad enough rap around here and I kinda caused some of it." In a sense, Slate gathered that Porsha used her leadership skills to give back what she gained from this person, and the idea sounded perfect given his own tumultuous relationship with the Negaverse in his early days.
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