Is that right? I figured you'd just try to arc the stream towards your face. It'd be like a renewable resource.
Fine. Turkey, spinach, tomato, extra pickle, mayo, mustard. Wheat. Or if they have like... seedy or oaty bread. The good stuff. If you get me rye, I'll punch your esophagus. There's some Yakult chilled but if you don't want that or water/tea/coffee, grab a drink.
...Drinking your own piss would just dehydrate you more, Gaius. I thought you were a survivalist.
It's fucking rye. No one likes rye, not even women. And yeah Tiki bought some last time she went shopping. [aka it's been in the cupboard for 3 months]
[And as promised, within a half hour, there's the telltale sounds of the thief pushing the door to the dojo open, his huge sachel thrown over one shoulder, a plastic bag with sandwiches in the other.]
[...almost offers a snappy reminder about how Gaius is older than him, but instead just leans over and plugs his phone into the energy cube Tony gave him two Christmases ago]
[the smell of coffee will greet Gaius before Takasugi does, the man following its trail out of Tiki's room shortly after, paper door sliding shut behind him]
You're using your interjections wrong again. "Ojama shimasu" is more correct in this setting. [the whole hall is chilled and dimly lit, appropriate for a winter evening, and Takasugi himself is wearing a juban under his kimono as well as a haori when he emerges from the gloom]
[...offers him a scrutinizing look] I suppose you can use "tadaima". You're here often enough.
[It's a pleasant smell, coffee. Back home, coffee was something that only nobles drank, funnily enough.
He gives the samurai a bit of a wry smirk as he's scolded for his bad manners--likely not the first time it's happened, and he gives his shoulders a little shrug.]
You guys have long words for everything you do. Cut me a little slack, I'll get'm eventually. [He moves to pull his cloak a bit tighter around his shoulders, holding the bag containing their sandwiches forward for the other.]
'Tadaima', eh. Sounds a lot easier than 'Ojama shimasu'. [Meaning, he'll probably use that one over the other one, despite the fact that he doesn't know the difference between the two sets of words.]
'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.
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I have a theory that Americans gained a mutated genome that allows them to ingest horrific scum.
But I mean. I'm sure you piss straight caramel too.
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bite ur tongue i do not
id never b able to look @ caramel again if that were true
...
its late as shit and there's hardly anythin open
how does deli sandwiches sound
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Fine. Turkey, spinach, tomato, extra pickle, mayo, mustard. Wheat. Or if they have like... seedy or oaty bread. The good stuff. If you get me rye, I'll punch your esophagus.
There's some Yakult chilled but if you don't want that or water/tea/coffee, grab a drink.
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id have 2 be about to die of thirst in the middle of a plegian desert 2 even consider such a thing
...isnt rye oaty bread jesus christ ur harder 2 please than most women
aight ill be by in like
half an hour
...
do u have any sugar? i can do coffee but it needs sugar.
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It's fucking rye. No one likes rye, not even women.
And yeah Tiki bought some last time she went shopping. [aka it's been in the cupboard for 3 months]
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just tells u 1 thing
ive never had 2 drink my own fuckin piss
...
whatever they have honey oat ur gettin that
u can keep ur weird vendetta w/rye bread after all
also aight chill coffee it is then
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Door's open, Crook.
text > action
aye.don't fall asleep on me, old man.
[And as promised, within a half hour, there's the telltale sounds of the thief pushing the door to the dojo open, his huge sachel thrown over one shoulder, a plastic bag with sandwiches in the other.]
Ooooi.
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[the smell of coffee will greet Gaius before Takasugi does, the man following its trail out of Tiki's room shortly after, paper door sliding shut behind him]
You're using your interjections wrong again. "Ojama shimasu" is more correct in this setting. [the whole hall is chilled and dimly lit, appropriate for a winter evening, and Takasugi himself is wearing a juban under his kimono as well as a haori when he emerges from the gloom]
[...offers him a scrutinizing look] I suppose you can use "tadaima". You're here often enough.
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He gives the samurai a bit of a wry smirk as he's scolded for his bad manners--likely not the first time it's happened, and he gives his shoulders a little shrug.]
You guys have long words for everything you do. Cut me a little slack, I'll get'm eventually. [He moves to pull his cloak a bit tighter around his shoulders, holding the bag containing their sandwiches forward for the other.]
'Tadaima', eh. Sounds a lot easier than 'Ojama shimasu'. [Meaning, he'll probably use that one over the other one, despite the fact that he doesn't know the difference between the two sets of words.]
She sleepin' again?
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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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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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