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 Posted: Sat Dec 24, 2016 2:42 pm
The whole affair felt a little hopeful. Scholomance felt disinclined to hope anymore, however, and each time he did so he felt like he cheated himself - or that, by hoping, he chased away the possibilities for which he looked. This time, he told himself that he wasn't interested in specific company, that he waited not for Scylla or Blue or Eros or anyone else. He told himself he waited to finish his cigarette, knowing the no-smoking laws printed inside of every building in the city.
His cigarette acted as a weather balloon atop the tea shop. So often the blue smoke vanished despite itself as a short gust stole away its plumes. Another draw, and he would add to the short cloud of nicotine to be carried toward the horizon. He wondered, briefly, for how great a distance someone could spot the business end of a cigarette. Was it a football field like in the old ads? Was it a mile? He knew not, and he wasn't sure that he cared.
The cigarette wound down, nearing its end in a thick spiral of ash that puffed across the tarmac. He scuffed it out of habit.
The tea shop closed soon, he knew. Ever on schedule, they shut their doors at 11PM and turned the lock for cleanup. His watch read 10:40.
No one will come, he reminded himself gently.
So many daily affairs proved a palpable analogue to that moment. The dying cigarette, the doors to the tea shop closing in minutes and yet smoking held him back. No - not the smoking. A cigarette took no longer than two minutes to finish if he went about it slowly. No, hope held him back. Hope that someone might emerge from the liminal spaces to bring him out of this twilit lull. Hope that he would know autonomy again.
Hope that perhaps, among all the unknowable powers of magic and technology and space, he might make himself whole again.
Scholomance dropped the butt of the cigarette and ground it into the tar paper with the toe of his shoe. He moved to descend the parapet, yet hope told him to wait.
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2016 6:44 pm
The last few days, she had been.... distracted. How could she not be, knowing what she had learned when last she had seen Scholomance? Intending to sacrifice one of her own to be slaughtered- or worse. On one hand, she couldn't blame him; on the other, she abhorred the knowledge. In her silence regarding what was potentially going to happen, she was complicit in whatever happened. But who could she have told? She knew none of them well enough to try and get the word out. It tore her, making her wonder for whom she worked. The emotion had bled into her civilian life, distracting her there, too. Wondering what she could do, who it would be. And yet she heard nothing. The news didn't scream that someone new had died, no more than any other faceless losses. They didn't scream she was to blame, or that she had been complicit in it. Whatever it was. Maybe the knight had changed his mind? Maybe he had been killed himself, still thinking he had a chance at recovering something taken from him? Ugh. Her heels clacked across the cement as she made her way from roof to roof. It would be so much easier if she stopped doing... this. Scylla was another life, one that made so little difference in the greater scheme. But as Jada? She could so so much more to help people who needed it. So why could she not let it go? She sighed, making her way along another odd path, getting to know the paths of a city she barely remembered, from this angle. The signature warned her first, though she noticed it too late, wrapped in her thoughts; the puffs of smoke told her next. She'd wandered too close to the other that they probably couldn't miss her own energy signature, so she continued towards the puff of smoke until it disappeared. Then, she could have left. It was never too late to walk away. Or was it? At what point- as she passed another roof, and saw who it was- that was the point it was too late. The person she found at the end was a mixed bag of feeling. Scholomance. Was she looking at the man who had made a martyr of a lamb? Or had he sought another way? She could smell the nicotine on the air, wrinkling her nose with the tang of it. She'd never smoked herself, but she had spent plenty of time with those who had. The smell was another mixed bag of feelings for the friends and acquaintances she'd left behind she could identify with the habit- wistfulness, longing, mild disgust, affection. So many people did it, though. "Smoking will kill you, you know," she said before he could move off the roof. "Something around 16 thousand people a day or something. I don't know if magical powers prevent cancer." Strickenized sorry for the wait, hope it is ok
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2016 7:17 pm
Scholomance glanced skyward when he first felt the boon on the horizon. Vast it was, promising of power matching his own. Soon, a more pleasant sight arrived at the parapet upon which he once stood. The discrepancy in their distances left Scholmance an almost-enlightening view up the deep blue skirt, and he clicked his tongue on his teeth when cast shadows prevented him from seeing much.
"I hope it does," he called back. Cancer meant no powering up, and for good reason. Cancer meant a reason to blow all of his money on cruises, flights to Tahiti, and indulging on all the drugs he could still name on the streets. Cancer meant closure to the bad, even if it neutered the good.
Hands in pockets, Scholomance leaned against the sodium lamp. "I had a dream once where I had cancer. In it, the Negaverse took over the city. I still smoked, you know. Didn't change much." He still understood very little about the dream, and if it had any meaning, it escaped him. He suspected, however, that some accuracy remained in the Negaverse taking over Destiny City. They made an effort of it about the place that left most corners tainted with iniquity, and chased most people out of childhood homes and familiar parks. Destiny City remained an analogue to Detroit now, with all industry fading as violence rates rose. No one dared regentrify a warzone - and in his dream, the Negaverse reigned supreme over this shithole.
"Come down from there. Let me buy you some tea." I can't even see up your skirt from here, so you might as well stop tempting me to try. I wish I had a flashlight. "They're fairly friendly here. They'll serve anyone as long as you don't make trouble."
I doubt they'll frown at that cleavage, either.
Scholomance wrung his hand in his pocket as he tried to invite some warmth. He licked his lips, considered a fifth of Pendleton over a cup of green tea, and the right decision never felt truly right. This city was too good these days - like bad decisions went out of style years ago. What happened to drinking away one's sorrows, to destroying a part of oneself to quit the unending guilt? Or had all these do-good decisions pushed out what guilt was left to the place? Was everyone committed to excusing themselves with a positive tweet, a compliment to a colored person? He didn't know.
His mind drew wide with the possibilities, and each felt as displaced as the last. He knew what he wanted, and it wasn't a fifth of whiskey.
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2016 9:04 pm
"You hope it kills that many people a day, or you hope it kills you?" she let herself fell from the height to be on his level, landing in her heels with moderate grace, curls bouncing around her shoulders and ribbons slapping at her leg. She pulled her shoulders back and gazed up at him as he leaned back, idly wishing that she stood more than about 5'4 in her heels. She supposed the hair made her a bit taller, but it really was like people got taller every time she saw them. "I had a dream where the Negaverse was the cancer," she told him, "and they executed everyone who fought them. I didn't fight them when it counted. Wouldn't have changed much if it had." her lips curved, and she tilted her head to look the knight over. "Sounds like we probably both ended our nightmares ********, and not much enjoying it." The last thing she could remember of that nightmare was her tears. But he'd offered her tea, and Scylla eyed the golden-eyed knight with a small purse of her lips, considering the offer. "And what if someone else starts the trouble? Am I allowed to finish it?" She hadn't thought to bring a coat, but she wasn't going to power down just to go in and get tea. She'd made risky wagers with her identity before, but what little she knew of Scholomance... it would have a 50/50 chance of being suicide. After a moment she snorted out a laugh, a low puff of humorless laughter through the nose. "If they'll serve a senshi, then what the hell. Buy a girl a drink, Scholomance. I don't have my wallet on me." Strickenized my posts: getting progressively shitty since 1985
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2016 9:44 pm
Scholomance never answered her initial question. In truth, he wasn't sure that he knew the answer - and if he did, perhaps he found it better to keep it to himself. Instead, he offered a smile which failed to translate from behind the garish mask.
"I wish I ended my nightmare ********." Finally Scholomance tugged his mask down, and the rippled mass collected under his chin. "I'm quite certain I wasn't getting any at the time. And that, to me, is a life not worth living. If the Negaverse ever wanted to curry my favor, the least they could've done was send a few hookers my way. Though, I guess I would've ended up with magical STDs at that point." He wondered, briefly, if chaos doubled as a magical STD. Regardless, the whole line of conversation felt too full of whimsy in the face of despair. They both knew the sum total of the intention to swallow the planet whole.
With a quick nod, Scholomance beckoned for Scylla to follow. "If someone starts trouble, I don't think either one of us will be in any position to finish it. The owner keeps a double-barrel Remington behind the counter, fully loaded. Says it's for the terrorists. He's never told me exactly who he means by terrorists."
When he passed into the tea shop, the ambience spoke of asiatic influences. Each room formed a microcosm endemic to a region, starting with indian at the fore. The front stand and ordering area sat to the left by a couple of chairs around a square table. Beyond that, to the right, the remaining rooms each formed a space and sanctuary of study for late-night businessmen and students alike. In the most distant alcove, the russian-themed space, one student sat alone behind the glow of a laptop. Scholomance wondered if he watched them in his peripheral vision, or if he simply found that keeping attention off them altogether guaranteed some safety.
Scholomance approached the counter tentatively, and flashed the middle-aged clerk a smile. "Evening," he broached, though the other man gave no response. He turned to Scylla.
"There's a couple of rules here. I pay in cash, and we must take our tea to-go. Now, they have a whole binder full of tea choices, from black tea to white tea to green tea to orange tea to any color of the rainbow you can possibly imagine. If you don't find something you want, then the something you want doesn't exist." Standing to the side, Scholomance slid one of the binders out from the small organizer to the left of the ordering area. "Pick anything you want. My insurance finally paid out, so I've got a few dollars burning a hole in my pocket."
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2016 11:48 pm
The laughter bubbled out of her into the night air. "Well, I'm sure you know that's taking it in a different sense than I meant. In that case, neither of us wound up ********. Perhaps I should change it to ********." she brushed the hair off her neck, considering. "Though if you already had cancer, I doubt you'd be worrying about a few STDs. Magical or not." Then again, who knew; perhaps under that toothy mask, Scholomance was a health nut. It was better than the s**t she'd been tempted with in Europe. Enough people offered her illegal substances to make her feel better, and she'd taken more of them than she cared to admit. It was a past that stood behind her, never far from the corner of her mind, carefully ignored, unopened. Between when her mother died, and Hope, so much was a blur that she wasn't as proud of as she could have been. "I pity the person who decides to pick a fight with the owner," she admitted. "As I'd rather not get my head blown off, I'll try to quail and look non-aggressive if the trouble starts." Or she'd just tentacle everyone and scream Don't Shoot! Both were valid options. Carefully, Scylla followed Scholomance into the shop, giving an audible hiss as the warmth of the shop hit her goose-bumped legs. Bless, she hadn't realized how frozen-through she was. Heat prickled through her arms and legs and she shuddered as it stabbed through her flesh. "Interesting decor. Eclectic. I like it." bright violet eyes peered around with interest, and she beamed a smile at the old man, waggling her fingers at him politely. Now that the moment was actually drawing more near, the thought of actually having tea with him was.... well. As strange, she supposed, as sharing hot cocoa with Wolframite. Even knowing what Scholomance had potentially done (and knowing what Wolframite had done) she seemed to have a taste for making dangerous acquaintances. "Simple enough rules," she agreed, "Though a shame about not being able to take a seat. My thighs are going numb, and clearly my legs are going to fall off." She moved closer to him, peering at the binder. "I can hold it and you can read over my shoulder," she offered, finding it rather hard to miss that either he had a very noodly appendage, or was missing an arm. "Unless you already know what you want, but I quail in the face of options." and she did quite want to soak up what warmth she could while she could. "And hopefully you got more than a few dollars burning a hole. I know there are things like bills to pay, but if they only gave you a few dollars, you need better insurance."
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 12:28 am
Scholomance always wondered if the owner proved less taciturn when faced with more normal customers. Instead of responding in kind to his senshi companion, the man only supplied a guarded remark. "Pick what you want, pay, and find somewhere else to go. I'm not looking for trouble." Both hands remained hidden from view. Scholomance knew to respect this.
Instead, the knight kept his attention on Scylla. "Oh, I don't need to hold anything." Scholomance left the binder open on the counter, displayed on the house specials page. "I already know what I want. They have an oolong I've been craving for weeks." He leaned against the counter, anxious to take some of his weight off his less capable hip. Placing the necessary order was a manner of short suggestion, and extra time taken for Scylla to determine her choice. He carried more than enough money for drinks - even to this day, twenty dollars proved capable in carrying beverage choices - and he offered the owner no reason to consider him a problem.
With money exchanged, the wait for tea was a short one - the owner cleverly kept some of his teas from earlier in the day, and while doing so made for lower quality teas, they ended potentially strained customer-owner relations rather quickly. Scholomance passed Scylla her drink before he picked up his own.
"Out the door we go," he urged with a quick nod. "I know there's a 24 hour laundromat about a block and a half from here. They keep the heat going, and it smells like Tide and Gain had about sixteen lovechildren." Going out into the cold provided him no comfort, but the heat of the tea guarded against a systemic loss of body heat. He imagined Scylla endured far more exposure to the cold, given her scanty outfit.
"I'd lend you my coat, but you'd have to unbutton it for me." The small talk felt simple, easy, straightforward. Navigation proved a breeze; he know the road led straight to the laundromat. They could talk of anything - the war, Caedus, their shared hatred of the cold. He could dazzle (or bore) her with dry jokes. He could make a pass. With magic at hand, the art of dodging sordid subject matter grew ever vast, and far more seductive. What use was the truth but for self-flagellation?
"So," he started, his breath a cold husk in the dead of winter. "You probably want to know how it all happened."
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 1:09 am
Well. This was definitely someplace that she'd have to come back in civilian form- if she needed to. Scylla raised a brow at the proprietor but said nothing, instead turning her attention to the options on the presented menu. What with the proprietor not showing his hands, it was a safe bet his grip was on his double-barreled little friend, and she really liked the fact her boobs were still natural. Reconstructive breast surgery (if she survived being shot in the chest- though he could be aiming for the gut) was not on her To Do list. Her lungs were still in place, and the rest of her intestines were still hers, even her gall bladder. If the guy actually kept a Remington there, that might not be the case by the time she was done. But it was one of the only places that would serve them a drink. Small blessings in thorny, possibly shooty, packages. Her companion was right- there were a lot of drink options. Jasmine and Chai and oolong and chai, hot, cold. Sliding her eyes over the colder drink options, Scylla decided that sometimes simplicity was for the best, ordering a simple green tea with honey. The wait was stilted and almost uncomfortably silent, however; she took the opportunity to rub some feeling back into the side of her calves, reaching out gratefully for the warm drink when it arrived, and accepting it from Scholomance's four-fingered grip. "Thank you," she told the proprietor, politely, before the knight ushered her back out into the cold. "Laundromat it is," she agreed after a moment of hesitation. Going somewhere with him when there was a 50/50 chance he had changed his mind, and maybe he was going to kill her. Then again, maybe the tea was as poisoned as she'd wondered about with Wolf, all those years ago. Maybe next time we'll have tea and discuss funeral arrangements. Should be downright cheery, I expect. Well, they had the tea. She'd consider her chances of bring the lamb severely diminished. "Gain should shape up," she said after a moment. "16 is a lot of lovechildren- It isn't Tide's job to take out all the stains by itself." she took a sip of tea, face straight and calm. At least until she actually tasted the tea, when she made a soft choking noise, pulling a disgusted moue. "Seriously, it's nice he served us tea, but how much were we- well, you- overcharged for this swill?" Maybe she was just spoiled; maybe the tea really did suck. "Are you trying to get me to undress you, or was that a serious offer to loan me the coat?" her shoulders shook for a moment, before she remembered she was supposed to not be enjoying his company. Scholomance was a Bad Man (tm) until proven otherwise, and while she could apparently be bought for the low, low price of a warm drink in the dead of winter, she really should behave since he didn't have much chance of proving such. And it took her right back to the emotional joy-suck that had taken up so much of her last few days, the humor dripping off of her face like a mask. "I have questions," she agreed carefully, considering the taller figure. "I promised you I'd try not to preach. I can extend that to trying not to judge, if you'd like."
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 8:06 am
Simple exposure taught Scholomance a few details about Scylla's personality. She accepted half-assed jokes, for one, and carried them easily. She evidently had tea standards, as she complained about her free tea. And, in addition to all her physical perks, she at least tried to enjoy his company. Scholomance quite liked the people who could pull that one off. Their number grew few these days.
"Oh," Scholomance shrugged, "Five thereabout. I've been trying to work on that man for a while. I've tried his tea while I'm not Scholomance and it's actually quite good. I figure if he can associate my face with 'honest customer' after a while, I might get something better than leftover noontime brew. Really what I could use, more than a tea shop, is a great bar. I think someone's been killing all the decent bartenders around here." And Scholomance, at least, knew he wasn't contributing to that problem. No, he picked a far worse profession to eliminate, as he learned from the outgoing news reports. Lately not just any corpse made the news - they grew standards of 'upstanding citizen' and 'contributor to the community' and 'promising youth'. He couldn't just drag out and murder an ex-methhead and expect that to make the news.
The knight took a sip of his own tea and found it a shadow of its true potential. Still, he found it drinkable - likely because his tastes lay in the business end of a whiskey bottle and not in the fine art of teas. "It was an honest offer to loan you the coat. Undressing me just happened to be a nice side-effect. You'd be surprised how layered one is as a Saturn knight." The comment fell short given the broach of further topic.
He rather agreed with her after another few sips, and Scholomance poured the remaining tea into the nearby storm drain. He then tossed the cup into the nearest bin he could find - and it happened to be the recycling.
Right. I'm going to melt my shitty dentures if I keep drinking hot tea, anyway.
"You can preach if you want," Scholomance offered, his gaze carefully level toward the horizon, "you can judge if you want. You wouldn't be the first, won't be the last. I will say this, though - for all the plotting and planning and predicting I did, the end result turned out much more desperate and last-minute than I had intended." He sighed through his nose, and his breath formed a hot fog that escaped into the air. "… I'm not much of a martyr-maker." The admission hung in the silence, stale like the air they breathed. "So, ask away."
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 2:20 pm
Five dollars. Jada stared at her tea, trying not to be too sad about it. It wasn't like $5 was bad, considering it had been a brief stop of warmth and they hadn't gotten shot for showing their "terrorist" faces in a cafe. She'd paid more for less, she supposed, not that she'd share that information. "It tastes like dishwater," she said with a sigh. "I may go back as... me. Just to compare." and to take a closer look at the decor. The thought of going to a bar made something low in her belly clench. She'd been doing so well, limiting her alcohol, since- But the thought of being able to go out and trust herself to enjoy a good drink was still a dream. There was too much at stake in her personal life to allow herself to overindulge. Now, she gauged her intake carefully, pacing herself. "An old-fashioned," she said wistfully. "I drink wine, sometimes, but port and whiskey are my loves. I have a bottle of 50 year old Balvenie my father and I work our way through when he's in town." She was still trying to convince him it was a good idea to waste some money on some other rarities. She probably shouldn't. "Well," she said after a moment of considering him- the width of his shoulders, the slender frame- "I appreciate the offer. I'll let you keep it until we get the the laundromat though, no use in both of us freezing." and it wasn't like it would take too long to get there. They moved on in the silence of his offer to let her preach and judge, while she pondered her response. It would be... easy, to take that road. Pretend that she was better than he was, for whatever his crimes and sins. Maybe she was, in the eyes of the impartial. Her only crimes were inaction. Enabling. But there was still blood on her hands, there was still -
This is the mansion that God willed me
And no other. The ceiling is glass
And the sky is unreadable
And what pass for stars stare blankly
At something just over my shoulder and I
Am standing in the grand hall of mirrors
Like a chess-piece on the tiled floor;
A blind and insignificant player in a game
That the other has already won but I
Am trapped on my square while you
Are making love to another who is
Shivering but not with the cold
And I am laid bare against the world.
Her lips quirked into the cold air, her poetry obsession paying off yet again, and she shook her head. "I'm rather glad you decided it isn't your line of work," she told him, "Though I'm sorry if they didn't give you your signet back." she sucked in a breath, releasing it into the cool air. "I can't really judge you for it." In the distance, she could see the the laundromat sign's one last letter flickering on and off. Or, she figured that was it- she'd never actually been inside a laundromat, and that was a 'U'. She rolled her shoulders, feeling them pop as she tried to let some of the stress drip free. "Tell me." it wasn't a command, but it wasn't a question, either. She needed to know.
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 6:07 pm
The laundromat loomed into view. Seedy and tucked away, the glass front offered a flickering 24-hour in neon red, searing right to the back of his retinas. Few cars remained in the tiny, slanted lot before it. Perhaps they had good timing, or most people decided that 3AM laundry no longer benefitted them as much as it risked their lives. Scholomance erred on a combination of both.
"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," he returned with all the levity he could manage. For now, he paused beneath one of the dying sodium lights. The story was short, assuredly, but he loathed the thought of eavesdroppers. Or perhaps the juxtaposition of welcoming warmth to a sordid tale felt too abrasive, even for him. "Alright then."
A sharp breath, and he began. "When I talked to you, I had three days left to look for the right fit. I spent… Roughly half that day drinking. The next day I went scampering about through any senshi hotspot I could think of to try to find someone I could use. Most of the senshi I met were… I don't know. It's hard to gauge martyr material, you know? You look at them, and they're mostly teenagers who don't understand enough of the world they're trying to protect. They're all easy targets - they're all pompous sons of bitches that think their way is the best way and how dare you tell them to think otherwise. And for me…" He paused, laughed. "It's a little too easy to throw someone like that under the bus. And I like easy, but… All that does is destroy a family. Doesn't go much further than that, I wager.
"When I did finally find someone, he was still young. I don't know what it is with senshi and being young, but I'll be damned if I've ever seen someone my age. You look… Nevermind." Scholomance banished the idea with a wave of his hand.
He dug around in his pocket once more for another cigarette. After pursing the stick between his lips, he lit it up with the click of a jet lighter. A breath, and he continued. "I didn't get much out of him. Who he was, I mean. Instead, I gathered that he was a super senshi with this… Self-destructive urge to help other people. You could see it in his eyes. The damned things looked sunken straight into his skull, like he never heard of sleeping before in his life. I approached him with this short tale about a hostage situation, and he seldom asked a question about it. Just asked me where to find this general, what he should know in case Benitoite attacked. Seemed too easy. Was too easy, I found, when Benitoite just disposed of the kid after he tried to fight. Not a lot to it, just… Well. You've seen it before.
"I kept an eye out for the obituaries, and that didn't take more than two days. I knew the kid's name from his wallet after he powered down. Turns out he was enrolled in medical school, junior surgeon type. The obit read like he just spent his whole life working or helping people. I think his parents wrote it, so I took it with a grain of salt. If this kid was as good as the paper said he was, though… I suppose a lot of people were affected." Another puff, and he resumed his trajectory toward the laundromat.
When he reached the door, he pulled it open for Scylla in an easy gesture. His foot blocked it open. "After you." The cigarette grew bright with another draw.
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 10:41 pm
He paused, and Scylla moved in closer to him, trying to unobtrusively leech his body heat. The story was something he wanted told here, then it would be told here. She was flexible enough on such matters, even when she was about t start creaking from cold. She crossed her legs, wrapping her arms around her middle in a self-hug, and leaned back against the light, ignoring the cold metal pressing along her spine in favor of the extra support. "You told me I could judge you, I decided I would just ask you invasive questions instead." You look at them, and they're mostly teenagers who don't understand enough of the world they're trying to protect. the truth behind it stung her, and she closed her eyes. Scylla knew the faces he spoke of; not well, and not by name, but the generality of them. Easy targets, argumentative and superior, each wanting to rail their opinions over the others until she couldn't get a word in edgewise, even if they would have liked her opinions. All that does is destroy a family.He laughed over it, but it didn't seem a laugh of any actual humor, more a short scatter of sound to fill the empty places. Benitoite. It was a name that seemed vaguely familiar, but there was no face to go with the name. It was a name she wouldn't forget, however; the mental exclamation points that went next to it made sure of that. If his name came up in conversation again, she'd know exactly who they were talking about. "You should have taken me," she told him, and there was a hint of genuine sorrow in her voice. Whatever Scholomance thought of his decision not to drag her into it, she could have at least made sure that this Benitoite rethought a few of his poor life choices. She knew the obituary of the boy of whom he spoke. Two days. Jada had missed it, in the fuss and bustle, but she'd read over each of the obituaries. "People are always better, when they're dead," she said after a moment. "Their death absolves them of the sins that make them human. They turn from the most dastardly sinners that no one even wants to speak to, into blessed saints who were able to do no wrong. Flaws erased, until all they are is the bones of who they aspired to be." He had aspired to be a doctor. So how many people had she killed? Him, and all the people he would never save? No; she wouldn't make herself the martyr. "But yes. I've seen it before." Never been at the end of it. Always had backup. Someone willing to watch her back, protect her as she did theirs. The scent of the nicotine dripped into her nostrils, and she was impressed to watch him perform the action all one-handed. She wouldn't have that kind of dexterity. "So," she asked him as they resumed walking towards the laundromat, "You say the senshi look young? How old do I look, then?" He may have told her to nevermind, but she did like the opportunity to get a compliment. It was a compliment that didn't come. Scholomance pulled open the door, and she took the opportunity to reach up, stealing his cigarette and considering it. "I've never smoked before," she told him conversationally, "but it's kind of one of those damn depressing nights you just want to give it a shot." she slid she stick between her lips, taking a cautious inhale- and choking a little bit. "That's disgusting." But she kept his cigarette.
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Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2016 11:05 pm
She stole his cigarette, and while the move exacerbated his grumpiness, he didn't complain. How could he? The senshi was the best damn piece of a** he laid eyes on this side of the gender divide. She could steal his remaining fingers without any resistance from him - provided there were proper rewards in store.
You know, I wasn't really holding the door open for you. I wanted to finish my smoke first. All these no smoking signs give me the worst nic fits.
He followed her inside, however, and swept past some of the smaller washer units stacked up near the entrance. The vast initial space sported wall paintings of popular laundry logos - Snuggle and its creepy stuffed bear, Tide, Gain, Purex - and a host of warm, sunny colors surrounded each with impeccably crisp painting skill. Each washing machine was of the same brand and sported stainless steel housing that remained relatively untouched by use. The machines looked clean, and the floor spotless in its epoxied finish. While the outside still looked like a dump, this section of town received loans from an incoming business to regentrify the area - which led to one fine laundromat. The trouble was, regentrification stalled before it reached the exterior of the buildings, which left the business a best-kept secret from the outside.
"You know," he started while he walked past the initial row, "maybe I should bump off my old man. If he made it into the obits as some damned saint then it'd clear up a helluva lot of trouble for me. Or I could just get killed, I suppose. That'd ende the Negaverse's slow dance of ******** me sideways." An index finger touched the pristine chrome curve of the washer door as he passed by. At the zenith, he tapped the machine lightly.
When he passed through a small archway, he entered another stretch of the building. This time, shoddy christmas decorations sat atop some of the taller machines. A light-up santa waved at them, its chipped paint face ever smiling. He stopped when he reached the greater fluroescence in the second area. The scent of intermixed fabric softeners formed a sweet overtone to the cigarette, and he hoped the cloying smell might smother out his choice of nicotine for the evening. "You asked me how old I thought you were. Now that we're in better lighting…"
He leaned forward, studying her for a time. Careful structure of model proportions grew clear under the overhead light. Her eyes looked a deep velvet, her hair a lustrous black that curled against her face, and porcelain skin formed a stark contrast against the previous pairing. If he still had his right arm, he would've offered to draw her. Now, his only offer was of the carnal sort. He could still do with tongue and piercings what he couldn't do with fingers.
"Drinking age," he decided at last. "Barely." He straightened up. "Now, weren't you going to undress me?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 27, 2016 12:33 am
He didn't complain that she had stolen his cigarette, and if Scylla was disappointed in the lack of reaction, she tried not to show it. She took another drag of it briefly, wheezing again, before carefully putting it out, attention on the No Smoking signs. She could be a rebel, but some manners were too deeply ingrained. Still; she didn't drop it to the ground, only put it out, and led him inside. the ramshackle building. He could relight it, or make her do it. Smells assaulted her nose, and she made a face, looking around. It was so.... common. Was this how the other half lived? "Are you sure they only had 16 love children?" she asked Scholomance with a grimace, pert nose twitching in affront. Honestly, she'd almost rather go back out and brave the cold. Her eyes slid over the building in open curiosity, attentively taking in the few civilians, feeling out for energy signatures. The inside was... neat. And no one seemed overly attentive to them beyond a glare. It seemed that Scholomance had an idea where he was going, and after a moment of hesitation she followed him deeper. "On one hand, I want to tell you not to bump off your old man, but on the other I know nothing about him, so I'll defer to your judgement in the matter." her voice was dry, humorless. "But I'm growing rather fond of your face, figuratively speaking, so I'd appreciate you not getting killed anytime soon. The Negaverse is ******** you a bit more harshly than some of the rest of us, but I'm sure you're not completely alone. Are you?" The sight of Christmas lit her face, and she let her movement slow, chin tilting up to get a better look at her. It was the first time she'd had the opportunity for an uninterrupted look at Scholomance in the light, so she took advantage of his perusal to reciprocate. Narrow, as she'd noted before, tall, and golden eyes. A wolf's eyes. His voice startled her, and her eyes flicked to focus on him, not just... at him. "Drinking age," she confirmed, lips quirking, "And I like your guessing. Keep going." She lifted one ungloved hand, offering the remainder of the cigarette to him, now that he could relight it. "You were going to give me your jacket," she confirmed, "Because I'm cold, and it's amazing how layered one is as a Saturn knight."
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Posted: Tue Dec 27, 2016 6:38 am
Scholomance shrugged. "Normally I like getting ******** harshly. The Negaverse just has a way about it where no one gets off but them." His mouth pulled taut in a crooked line. He wondered, then, if he should mention Blue or Hy-Brasil. Because I'm certain that mentioning my currently-off-again-girlfriend is going to win me any smiles. Or a b*****b, but that's aiming high for now. And if she complained about that tea, then I imagine she wouldn't be happy about choking down all that metal. "There's a lot of aloneness to it, actually. That's mostly my own fault.
"I assume you know something of knights, so I'll spare you the basic drivel. I'm not like most of them. I've been attacked by senshi for looking like a Negaverse agent, and I've been befriended by Negaverse and Dark Mirror senshi. Not that I'm perfectly cozied up against Chaos, obviously." The hanging sleeve still bothered him. Was his Wonder so incapable of providing him with a rudimentary prosthetic? "But, assistance from the White Moon is seldom and spotty. Same with other Knights. I made deals with the useful ones, but the beginning of my career didn't find a lot of use in the White Moon side of things - no offense - because the White Moon didn't operate with any coherence or organization. If I made a deal for backup from one knight, or one senshi, that's all I've earned. But if I worked with the Negaverse, or even the Court of the Dark Mirror… Now we're talking faction-wide tie-ins here. We're talking diplomatic immunity from an entire force.
"All that's to say, I don't have a lot of friends on this side of the war." And trust grew wan with the Negaverse's discovery of his duplicity. "Anyone that's known I've dealt with the Negaverse hasn't taken kindly to it."
He left out the basic dangers of associating with him now, especially since Benitoite's captain wasn't in their purview at the moment. Speaking of constant watch and scrutiny only served to run her off, and he much preferred to spend more time admiring her cleavage now that the extra light added better depth of shadow and highlight. The rest of her fuku mattered too, of course; one must appreciate the full form for the rack to have any context. Plus, her giving free reign of an age guessing-game to keep their conversation somewhat light only invited further staring.
"Twenty-two," he guessed again. He accepted the cigarette and pursed its remainder between his lips. He hoped it tasted faintly of her, but so much of taste seldom transferred on an item as strong as a cigarette.
"And I should warn you, this coat doesn't take itself off. And that's not even a ploy," he added with a chuckle. "I can do pullovers, but buttons take eons of fighting." He'd seen his clothes on a number of lovers before - he had enough experience to imagine his coat over the top of her dress - and he wondered if she might still take that opportunity. Perhaps, perhaps not. He'd light up again and make a big deal about it afterward, of course.infinities no matter how late i stay up i can't seem to sleep past 5am
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