Welcome to Gaia! ::

Lead the conversation.

Yeah, it was the least Eurydike could do for her. But what a ******** task it was, huh? He was s**t at talking to begin with, and he knew it. Even now, he was fidgeting, all but gnawing at the inside of his cheek, hands winding and unwinding in his lap as he struggled for the right words.

"Never was good at minesweeper, " he remarked, coughing a little to try and clear the dryness out of his voice. "Only ******** around with it at school, never won a game. Always blew s**t up."

Great start.

He sighed, running hands roughly through his hair. "Sorry, I - ********, y'mind if I smoke?"

He kind of half chucked at that, glancing at her once out of the corner of his eye before fidgeting again. He usually had a pack somewhere before he transformed, then tucked it away for safe keeping until he needed it. The lengths an addict would go to, right?

Eurydike lit it up, the orange glow reflected in his eyes as he took a long drag. ’Cause I always feel like that. But he wouldn’t say that. Instead, he exhaled, letting the smoke trail out through his nose and mouth at once.

“‘Cause s**t with you was always so easy, “ and it was the worst explanation, probably, but, “You were always so just - well, Olga, I guess I mean - just invited herself into my ********’ space, an’ sometimes it was a lot, but - “ He struggled with the words. “I’m s**t at explainin’. I don’t know. That’s the thing though, it’s - I don’t know what to do with this, I don’t know - “ If they were going to like each other. If Still was going to see through him like Olga hadn’t. Not accept the drunk and depressive and borderline suicidal loser he’d been that night like Olga had.

She’d seen him at one of his lowest points, and it hadn’t ******** their friendship. It had made them closer if anything.

“I don’t even know how to start. I don’t even know what s**t you like anymore.”

Then he winced, leaning back against the bench and groaning.

“An’ now I’m ramblin’ too damn much. ******** me.”

Hearing that just hurt, and it showed on his face, along with traces of annoyance. "I don't know who the ******** got off sayin' that s**t, " he almost snarled, "but... all that might've been true, " and to some extent, it was; he'd been worried as ******** when he realized she was a senshi of all things. "But nobody's ********' perfect, an' you - she, whatever - she was thoughtful an' fun, creative an' outgoing, an' she didn't take 'no' for a goddamn answer, an' - "

Eurydike exhaled hard, red in the face as he crossed his arms, puffing hard on his cigarette. Not that you ********' told her that. He winced a little, rubbing at the scars on his face and clearing his throat. Had she known? - if he'd said something, would Olga still be here?

Was he making this harder than it needed to be? Probably. ******** s**t up was kind of his forte. You're -not- a new friend, though. Not really. You're wearin' my friend's face, but you ain't her. Eurydike wouldn't say that. Wasn't fair to. Wasn't right.

Books weren't really something he could relate to. He was s**t at reading, and he hadn't had a TV most of his life. His cheeks burned a bit at the thought, but at least there was one thing - "Well, the illegal s**t aside, " he kind of laughed, "Troublemakin' ain't anythin' new."

At least there was something. Maybe a glimmer of hope there. She murders people. He took a deep breath. "So, uh - what else you like? Books an' movies an' illegal s**t..."

Eurydike was trying. Really.

That kind of made him laugh, more half-baked than a soft cookie. “Gettin’ into? Nah. More like trouble follows me. Even when I keep my ********’ head down, it always finds me.” Sometimes it wasn’t such a bad thing. If not for trouble, he’d have no Rhys, and probably no one else he gave a s**t about.

He did smile in spite of himself about the cookies, because really, who couldn’t relate? They’d been a special treat for him back when he was a kid, just every once in awhile. Now he had some more money and a husband and friends to enjoy that stuff with. Granted, that friend should’ve been Olga...

“Volleyball, “ he grunted with some disdain, “Right. ‘Cause you’re tall.” No bitterness there at all. As for the marina, “Can’t say I’ve really hung out there; maybe you gotta show me next time, huh?” See. Look at him trying. Even talking about a next time.

He wanted Rhys to be right. He wanted to be able to win her back, no matter what it took.

So he really had to ******** calm down.

Which was so much ******** easier said than done when she asked about him. Eurydike immediately fidgeted, because anyone who knew him knew he ******** hated having to talk about himself. But even if his face immediately burned, he tried.

“I, uh, like cookin’. Not amazin’ or nothin’, but my husband likes it, so, “ and then came the rather obvious, “Gay, if you missed that.” His face burned hotter when he said it. It’d been hard to actually say the words up until recently, even if he’d been married to a man.

“Used to drum, but haven’t much lately. Been ********’ busy an’ all. Workin’ a lot, gettin’ s**t in order with husband, “ and he’d kind of destroyed his drum set which made practice kind of hard. “He’s great, my husband I mean. Sweetest ********’ guy you’d ever meet. Amazin’. Uh. Yeah.”

He shrugged. “I’m not really very interestin’, I don’t know. Uh. I like music, but - yeah. No drummin’ for awhile. So.”

What kind of trouble, “Really?” And he just kind of gestures widely at the scars on his face. “You’re gonna ask a guy that looks like this what kinda trouble he gets in?” He tried to sound annoyed, but it looked like he was trying not to smile.

Felt like a conversation he would’ve had with Olga, really.

“I’m pretty much king of wrong place, wrong time. In this goddamn pink thing an’ out, ‘less you count - “ He almost said Rhys. Thank god he didn’t. “ - my ******** how he fidgeted. It was goddamn mortifying. “I know, “ he groaned, leaning back hard against the back of the bench and huffing. “********, like, I get that, just - it’s weird. Either I can’t ********’ string words together, or I ramble like a jackass. Like I’m doin’ now.” And he wasn’t really worth talking about. But he didn’t say that.

The congratulations felt so bittersweet. After all, she’d -been- there. But that’s smile on her face - He sort of smiled, blinking faster than needed to for a moment before clearing his throat roughly. “Over a year now. Heh, yeah, “ and his cheek flushed in a more pleasant way, and it was probably the first time in Still’s presence that he actually smiled. Not a half-smile, or something forced or weak with the tone of something heavy behind it. It was just a smile, plain and simple without any of the baggage, if even just for a minute. “New Year’s bash. Before I was this, “ and he gestured to the Eurydike get up. “Negas attacked. Me an’ him hid in a bathroom an’ smoked while everything went to s**t. Couple of months later, he ran into me at work an’... yeah. Just kinda went from there.”

She was relaxing. It was kind of hard not to do the same; even if the situation was ********, Eurydike had always been too damn casual. Part of his problem. He didn’t say anything else about whether he was worth talking to or not, but music -

“Grunge. Loved it since I was a kid.” Different smile. Truly bittersweet. “Mom loved it, so it was always playin’. Got older, understood it more. I like a lot of music, but ********... can’t listen to Alice an’ tell me you don’t feel somethin’.”

******** him, it actually made him snicker. "I mean. A cat shot a goddamn laser at me before I got these, so maybe you're onto somethin' there, " and he said that before adding, after a heavy pause, "by the way, can I just say, like, I don't know how they are for you guys, I guess, but these talkin' cats are kinda jackasses? Ain't met one I liked yet. If they didn't ********' come along an' start whippin' their magic sticks all over the damn place like ********' cat litter, pretty sure we'd all be better off, " and whether he really meant that or not was anyone's guess. Eurydike had a flair for the dramatic whether he realized it or not, but <********> if he'd ever met a cat that hadn't dicked him over somehow. Plus Rhys was allergic, so there was that too.

Course he'd just gone off on a tangent about cats and probably looked like a bigger jackass than any of those furry assholes. So. Whatever.

His cheeks burned hotter, and again, he cleared his throat in that rough way, fidgeting on the bench. Even Rhys had trouble getting anything out of him sometimes, and they were married for ******** sake. Still. It was kind of funny, if sad, how it was and wasn't like the first time they'd started up talking in that deli, or on the street when he'd first found out they'd slapped a fuku on her too.

Even if she'd been corrupted, at least it hadn't like - he'd felt like he was staring at a stranger last time. This time, he was getting traces of her. Little things and traits that made Olga Olga.

It was still s**t. But it was like Rhys had said, not <******** yeah; then he swooped in an' old off some b***h givin' me a hard time at work, an' we just went from there, " and it really was a funny story, one he was proud to tell. Speaking of smoke. He went ahead and put out the one he was smoking, then lit up another one almost immediately.

Eurydike paused, tilted his head to a side, and eyed Still kind of warily. "Sorry, uh - d'ya smoke now, or...?" If she did, he kind of looked like a rude a** for not offering her one. Common smoker courtesy. "You didn't before. So."

Again. Trying.

There were a handful of topics that immediately made him perk up, and music was definitely one of them, almost like an eager dog being swayed with a steak. "Alice in Chains, " he cleared that right up. "It's a band that got big in the 90's, when the grunge s**t really took off. There's a ton of great s**t around then. You got Nirvana an' Pearl Jam, an' - sorry, I'm goin' off, but - " He paused push his hair out of his face, " - Dirt an' Facelift, those are both really good to start with, uh - I'm s**t at describin' s**t, so I'd say you just gotta give 'em a try to get what their deal is. The singer, though, Layne Staley, his ********' voice though." He hummed low in his throat, kind of smiling at the thought of it.

"Oh, did you? You met a sweet cat?" He wondered if that one, Itsuki, had been the one to wake her up. 'Sweet' his a**. Olga would still be Olga if not for a goddamn cat. "I'll believe it when I see it. Nothin' but trouble for me."

It was nice to hear her talk about him and Rhys like that, and it did make him smile - a little more with everything else, the lack of smoking and the seemingly genuine interest in the music that'd made him who he was today. "You don't have to go crazy or nothin' if it's not your thing, " and he was offering that to be polite; he didn't want to push her too hard or anything, or anyone, but it'd be nice if she did like it.

Then his cheeks burned a bit and he fidgeted, glancing down with a light shrug of his shoulders. "Probably not. I'm nothin' special or anythin', an' I kinda - my drums got busted, " by his own hand. Those kinds of things, if she didn't remember, he was in no damn hurry to tell her. "New set like my old one would be a lot." It ached still because his mother had worked so hard to get them for him. It'd been the one really big tangible gift she'd ever surprised him with, just before the sickness had really taken hold. "'Sides, I got a husband an' a home now, so that's... he got me a kitchen, " and Eurydike laughed a little. "Big ********' kitchen for me to go to town in. So I can cook whatever the ******** I want."