'Slack'? Why would I do that. [he's a critical man, after all, not only with others but himself]
[and quiet, too, finding little ways of saying things without ever really admitting to them, using the blind spots in Gaius's conversational knowledge of Japanese to make confessions he doesn't fully comprehend. it's not a boat on the water, isolated but rocky shelter, and it's not a weekly cleaning spree of free board or shared pets]
[but when you're here, you're welcome, and please come again]
Aa. She's been up a lot lately; I think it's the winter. [is it a manakete thing? does she just know how much he hates the season and it's not only because of the cold? he can't tell and isn't bold enough to ask]
Here, come on. [grabs the pot from the kitchen and guides him back to the room he's seen many times, chaotic with books and knives and every other weapon in between]
Because I just bought you a sandwich. [Like that'd actually make Takasugi nicer. Not that it really bothered him that he wasn't, rather, the reason why he enjoyed the others' company more than he'd admit--
Well.
He gives the other a half-smirk, shrugging his shoulders. Perhaps this wasn't home, or the place he lay his things to rest, but somehow it still felt like a home of sorts all the same.]
She's a dragon, you know. Unlike most dragons I see in films, she breathes cold ice. Not fire. [Then again, she was a goddess in tune with people. Who knew what she was thinking. He certainly didn't try. He follows the samurai out into that usual room, moving to sit down in his usual spot, dropping down the heavy bag he's carrying with a low 'thud'.]
Remind me to never lug around so many books again, criminy...
I'm paying for it. What, you want a delivery boy tax of kindness? You should've spat in my food instead of holding your breath for that. [all with that quick, mumbling ease, harshness on a platter always ready to be served. grabs his own spot, burrowed out amongst cushions and well-read books, like a throne of softness and spines]
Tch. I know. She uses it against me when she thinks I'm being too 'testy'. [grumbles...]
[and he reaches for the books well before the food, leaning up with a knee tucked against his chest, flipping through a few titles]
...hohhh. Our fat cat has a taste for 18th century satire. [tosses at least three books into another pile, decidedly an 'already read' one... and then picks up a copy of Beer Street and Gin Lane. hm.]
Maybe you shouldn't murder her after all. [apparently your to-do list for this house in my head is rape, murder, and pillage]
Most people tip the delivery man when they bring you pizza. ...Do you not tip delivery boys? You've a colder, blacker heart than I was even ready to believe. [He sighs over-dramatically, tipping his head back a bit before he's reaching for the coffee and cup, looking around for the sugar. Tell him you brought it with you.]
Surprise you aren't frozen all the time then. [He gives a little snigger, looking over the pile of books he's pulling out.
His expression is a little flat at the suggestion. Gods, what do you think he is, an ordinary brigand? Please, he's got standards now!!]
I said I was gonna' rob her blind, I didn't say shite about murdering her. If you like her selections that much, maybe I'll polish off the bookshelf next time I pay her home a visit.
Of course not, they're doing their job. Doesn't their establishment pay them? Why the hell would I tip? [SCOFFS, the idea sounds ludicrous to him, and the comment about being frozen ears a one-eyed glare that certainly isn't divided in power or animosity]
[just gives a little grunt as he returns to looking at the book, a vague gesture at a canister on the table that has sugar in it, and his feet slide under the kotatsu blanket with finality]
[all settled in]
Mm, I don't mind. If you don't complain about carrying them, anyway. [takes his sandwich right to himself, opening it up on the table and a marking a page in the tome he's elected to begin]
Apollo let you out so late? He's going to get you a shock collar soon. [a tease]
From what the complaints on the news say, 'Minimum wage is a trap', and jobs like those don't pay enough for people to live on. Have a heart. [His voice is nearly flat, monotone--clearly not into the argument simply because he didn't agree with it. Arguing for the sake of arguing--this was normal as blue skies and green grass.
He shifts where he's sitting to grab the canister of sugar, applying the perfect amount to his coffee before taking a drink. Finally pulling out his own sandwich to take a large bite out of it.]
Mm. Might have t'make a few trips, bu' with how shite her security is, it won' be hard. [With a mouthful of sweet chicken and pineapple. He swallows, letting out a snort, followed by showing his teeth. A clear show of disgust at that tease.]
Oh, fuck off. He's not my keeper. He'll complain, but he complains about everything. If it ain't about me bein' late, it'll be for lazin' around the house all day.
....Tell me about it. [It was a point of conversation he actually couldn't disagree with. As much as he appreciated the benefit of a free home and the company, Apollo was pretty much the definition of nag. How loud he could get, or how harsh he could get with his daft house rules...
Sometimes it was fun to do things he knew would annoy the short male on purpose just to see him explode. Catharsis.]
I pity whomever he grows up and marries, he'll be a better housewife than any lady he'll wed, hands down.
Tch, 'grows up', as if he isn't older than both of us. A shame he indeed has that much growing to do. [disdainfully, ripping off a piece of white meat with his teeth, a few annoyed chews before a swallow of yakult]
...Anyway. I don't want to talk about him. You only did the one job today? Or did you busy your hands in the dirt too.
Haaa, it's too early to have gone onto more'n one job. [After all, the wee hours had only just started, and he'd had that target in mind ever since he'd found out where she lived.]
Suppose I could go out on another one before I go home, give or take a few hours.
...
'Busy my hands in the dirt', what does that even mean.
[Sometimes there's no-one in the city he hates more. Sometimes the things you say make him angrier than he's ever felt. But at the same time, there's no person in the city he feels more natural around. It's a frustrating balance.]
...Hah. [He finishes off the end of his sandwich, washing it down with a mouthful of almost gritty, sugary coffee.] Well on our way to doing all three of those.
[He shifts where he's sitting, locking a piercing, emerald gaze up at the other man. An expression that would be mostly unreadable for near anyone else. For the Samurai, he's almost certain he knows what it means.
I really hate you sometimes.]
Still here, aren't we.
[There's an almost bitter tone in his voice, as if he's challenging the other. 'Shifting through the wreckage,' there was a lot of truth in that, sure. But he'd stubbornly stayed. Despite being chased off, numerous times. Here they were.
[It was hard to miss, a flicker of something in the others' eyes. He saw it in Lucina's eyes often enough. Someone touched by the power of Naga. Someone trying to access something.
Memories only Gaius could remember.
He moves a knee up, resting an elbow against it, his chin rested against an open palm. A relaxed pose, one that wordlessly says I'm not using the fucking door.
The lack of retort was a surprise, to be honest. He expected there to be some harsh words thrown, then a few fists. But instead, the tension in the air dissipated, like a window being opened to clear out smoke.]
You should go with me sometime, yanno. [Time for a subject change.]
[the slower and more patient eater, this is when he finishes up, wrapping trash together and stuffing it in a bag as decisively as he wanted rid of this baggage to]
[(he can't let go, he can't see past it, he can't get over it, why the fuck is he still here--)]
[looks up abruptly, eye shaded by heavy bangs, backtracking over their conversation]
[He's still here because he can't let go. Funnily enough, he was capable of burning every bridge he had, but this one, he'd refused to let any fire claim it.
Odd, that.]
On a job. You're clever enough, I doubt you'd muck it up.
Hah? [BLINKS, head drawn back for a moment of open surprise -- and then consideration]
Sneak into people's homes and steal their belongings? Why the hell would I...
[to see what this man does? to feel what he feels? to observe him in his best lighting, doing what he's skilled at? ...maybe there's more to think on it than his knee-jerk reaction says]
'You'd get bored doing just one thing'. Thought you'd appreciate something new. [And perhaps because he did want a moment to show the other what it was he did, something no other person had ever observed, save for perhaps Chrom or his son, Gerome.]
If it ain't up yer alley, then fine. Offer's there.
... [has to concede it's an equally good point, turning his head away for fingers to touch at his hairline contemplatively; it smells too much like what could be a missed opportunity for him to pass so easily]
[but...]
I'll think about it. [eyes scour the other man's presence -- armor, leather, cloak, candy -- and his lips form a tight seal, frown etching his features]
[just how close does he want to let him]
Whether or not I'm capable of not 'mucking it up' seems irrelevant. You trust me?
[He shrugs his shoulder, moving to pull his satchel of items closer, digging around in it quietly for something sweet now that his sandwich was gone.
He was comfortable here. Even if Takasugi remained conflicted about this for the rest of his life, this was the most he could ask for. He'd already broken his trust once. Part of him crowed about how he didn't deserve to be even this close.
And yet...]
More than I trust anyone else. [An answer that isn't a direct 'yes', he barely gave those to anyone about things like this. But it's an answer that's heavier than any other simple answer he could give anyone else.]
I can't say that's particularly wise. [as he's proven time and time again, with memory and without it -- they both have, haven't they?]
[sifting through the wreckage, it's really all they're doing. what to do with smoking rubble, what to salvage and what to discard, which (and whose) scars carry the most weight and where to sink in a new hook, a new anchor, a new wound]
[is this the kind of man he is? it feels like desperation, and it's so familiar, and he hates it]
Maybe I'll get you arrested again just for the fun of it. [an attempt at levity]
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[and quiet, too, finding little ways of saying things without ever really admitting to them, using the blind spots in Gaius's conversational knowledge of Japanese to make confessions he doesn't fully comprehend. it's not a boat on the water, isolated but rocky shelter, and it's not a weekly cleaning spree of free board or shared pets]
[but when you're here, you're welcome, and please come again]
Aa. She's been up a lot lately; I think it's the winter. [is it a manakete thing? does she just know how much he hates the season and it's not only because of the cold? he can't tell and isn't bold enough to ask]
Here, come on. [grabs the pot from the kitchen and guides him back to the room he's seen many times, chaotic with books and knives and every other weapon in between]
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Well.
He gives the other a half-smirk, shrugging his shoulders. Perhaps this wasn't home, or the place he lay his things to rest, but somehow it still felt like a home of sorts all the same.]
She's a dragon, you know. Unlike most dragons I see in films, she breathes cold ice. Not fire. [Then again, she was a goddess in tune with people. Who knew what she was thinking. He certainly didn't try.
He follows the samurai out into that usual room, moving to sit down in his usual spot, dropping down the heavy bag he's carrying with a low 'thud'.]
Remind me to never lug around so many books again, criminy...
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Tch. I know. She uses it against me when she thinks I'm being too 'testy'. [grumbles...]
[and he reaches for the books well before the food, leaning up with a knee tucked against his chest, flipping through a few titles]
...hohhh. Our fat cat has a taste for 18th century satire. [tosses at least three books into another pile, decidedly an 'already read' one... and then picks up a copy of Beer Street and Gin Lane. hm.]
Maybe you shouldn't murder her after all. [apparently your to-do list for this house in my head is rape, murder, and pillage]
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Surprise you aren't frozen all the time then. [He gives a little snigger, looking over the pile of books he's pulling out.
His expression is a little flat at the suggestion. Gods, what do you think he is, an ordinary brigand? Please, he's got standards now!!]
I said I was gonna' rob her blind, I didn't say shite about murdering her. If you like her selections that much, maybe I'll polish off the bookshelf next time I pay her home a visit.
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[just gives a little grunt as he returns to looking at the book, a vague gesture at a canister on the table that has sugar in it, and his feet slide under the kotatsu blanket with finality]
[all settled in]
Mm, I don't mind. If you don't complain about carrying them, anyway. [takes his sandwich right to himself, opening it up on the table and a marking a page in the tome he's elected to begin]
Apollo let you out so late? He's going to get you a shock collar soon. [a tease]
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He shifts where he's sitting to grab the canister of sugar, applying the perfect amount to his coffee before taking a drink. Finally pulling out his own sandwich to take a large bite out of it.]
Mm. Might have t'make a few trips, bu' with how shite her security is, it won' be hard. [With a mouthful of sweet chicken and pineapple. He swallows, letting out a snort, followed by showing his teeth. A clear show of disgust at that tease.]
Oh, fuck off. He's not my keeper. He'll complain, but he complains about everything. If it ain't about me bein' late, it'll be for lazin' around the house all day.
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[oh, what thread to chase: the woman with no security or the man with a masters degree in it. what temptations.]
[his sandwich seems the better option, ruminating on the response]
...You're the one who lives with a woman, not me. What a nag.
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Sometimes it was fun to do things he knew would annoy the short male on purpose just to see him explode. Catharsis.]
I pity whomever he grows up and marries, he'll be a better housewife than any lady he'll wed, hands down.
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...Anyway. I don't want to talk about him. You only did the one job today? Or did you busy your hands in the dirt too.
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Suppose I could go out on another one before I go home, give or take a few hours.
...
'Busy my hands in the dirt', what does that even mean.
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[dirty money.]
You're like me, you know. You get bored with just one thing. [a librarian, an instructor, a bouncer; a thief, a pastry chef, a money launderer]
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...Ya ain't wrong. [As much as he hates to be an easy read.] Just a pity half of the jobs I can do are pretty much useless here.
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That's the frustrating thing about this place. There's nothing to do except make bonds, break bonds, and go crazy.
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But at the same time, there's no person in the city he feels more natural around. It's a frustrating balance.]
...Hah. [He finishes off the end of his sandwich, washing it down with a mouthful of almost gritty, sugary coffee.] Well on our way to doing all three of those.
...
's better here than home, at least.
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[the wounded animal who's shed every bond he knows wants to sew his mouth shut forever]
[both sides want to watch him bleed]
'On our way'? More like sifting through the wreckage.
['better than home'... tch, he'd rather be in Kyoto]
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I really hate you sometimes.]
Still here, aren't we.
[There's an almost bitter tone in his voice, as if he's challenging the other. 'Shifting through the wreckage,' there was a lot of truth in that, sure. But he'd stubbornly stayed. Despite being chased off, numerous times. Here they were.
Like a bad habit.]
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[he weighs his words heavily: if you're unsatisfied, the door's right there]
[thanks for that]
[he was the one who called him over]
Guess so.
[that's it. no sharp retort, no threat of violence.]
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Memories only Gaius could remember.
He moves a knee up, resting an elbow against it, his chin rested against an open palm. A relaxed pose, one that wordlessly says I'm not using the fucking door.
The lack of retort was a surprise, to be honest. He expected there to be some harsh words thrown, then a few fists. But instead, the tension in the air dissipated, like a window being opened to clear out smoke.]
You should go with me sometime, yanno. [Time for a subject change.]
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[(he can't let go, he can't see past it, he can't get over it, why the fuck is he still here--)]
[looks up abruptly, eye shaded by heavy bangs, backtracking over their conversation]
Yeah, where's that? [home? on a job?]
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Odd, that.]
On a job. You're clever enough, I doubt you'd muck it up.
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Sneak into people's homes and steal their belongings? Why the hell would I...
[to see what this man does? to feel what he feels? to observe him in his best lighting, doing what he's skilled at? ...maybe there's more to think on it than his knee-jerk reaction says]
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'You'd get bored doing just one thing'. Thought you'd appreciate something new. [And perhaps because he did want a moment to show the other what it was he did, something no other person had ever observed, save for perhaps Chrom or his son, Gerome.]
If it ain't up yer alley, then fine. Offer's there.
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[but...]
I'll think about it. [eyes scour the other man's presence -- armor, leather, cloak, candy -- and his lips form a tight seal, frown etching his features]
[just how close does he want to let him]
Whether or not I'm capable of not 'mucking it up' seems irrelevant. You trust me?
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He was comfortable here. Even if Takasugi remained conflicted about this for the rest of his life, this was the most he could ask for. He'd already broken his trust once. Part of him crowed about how he didn't deserve to be even this close.
And yet...]
More than I trust anyone else. [An answer that isn't a direct 'yes', he barely gave those to anyone about things like this. But it's an answer that's heavier than any other simple answer he could give anyone else.]
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[sifting through the wreckage, it's really all they're doing. what to do with smoking rubble, what to salvage and what to discard, which (and whose) scars carry the most weight and where to sink in a new hook, a new anchor, a new wound]
[is this the kind of man he is? it feels like desperation, and it's so familiar, and he hates it]
Maybe I'll get you arrested again just for the fun of it. [an attempt at levity]
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1/2
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I DO NOT HAVE A PROPER ICON FOR THIS NONSENSE
I BARELY HAD ENOUGH SMIRKING ICONS
i love that face lmfao
that scene is sO GOOD
the perfect amount of sour sulk-face
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