[he scoots away from the tub for a moment, long arms reaching to the sink where the undergrounder had left his guide, unfolding the thing and tapping open his MUSIC file, all caution signs and carefree invasion]
[there are few things they agree on here -- Genkaku likes chewed-string guitar screeching and Badou likes the arbitrary uncomfort of anything fast&quick, but he re-shelves the Guide when he finds an acceptable artist neither of them will bitch about]
[surprised he wasn't already needing it (all headaches instead of lungaches), he offers a pack of smokes from the tuck of his robes, lighting up his own and then firing Badou's by hovering and smashing cancerburn ends together]
Your idea'a fun better not be drownin' me again, or we gonna have a problem. And then we'll have another problem, when I can't shower this shit off 'coz your stupid fuckin' arm's crammed down the drain.
[slack, exhausted lips pull upwards as he holds the cigarette steady for collision, expression half wry and half indulgent as the monk closes in]
[though as much as he's indulging Genkaku, Genkaku is indulging him; it's not that Genkaku isn't busy, doesn't have Better Things to Do than sit around a crime-scene bathtub and smoke. it's that he'd rather be here, catering to a sick hound]
[he enjoys that first inhale, aching eye clouding comfortably, aching temples thrumming at the chugging bass line]
[he laughs again, more carelessness and wind, a statement of the obvious 'it wasn't.']
[slumping back down on the tub's edge, clearer-than-usual eyes (lethargy without the drugs, who'd'a thunk it?) still admonishadmire as his chin rests on the tattered flames barely ratting his forearm]
[despite the tenuous acceptance of the concept (only true in heaven or hell, hot or cold naraka, never limbo where the sufferers still reigned), despite his tongue too heavy and swollen in his teeth, despite his head feeling as light as the smoke he tumbles out in a rolling fog cloud over the red ocean of the tub -- the admittance is... gentle and murmured;]
S'gotten easier.
[filter stuck between two wide fingers, he jamtaps at his own temple, oddly remembering the nose of one of Badou's guns and how it had split him open -- thus beginning the slow, steady drain of anguish from then on (bloodloss taking him ever paler though he sports a sunburn now)]
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[dust red from the flames on his shoulders]
I ain't gonna catch nothin'. Ten times healthier'n you. -- You got clothes on?
[digs a sudden, seeking hand down into the tub]
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Naw, I usually take my veggie-baths in full goddamn uniform! The hell would I be wearin' clothes for?! Knock it off or I'll spit in your mouth!
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[grins, folding his arms on top of the ledge and giving the undergrounder a hooded look, almost admiring]
Promise?
[his fingers ripple the surface without purpose, now and then brushing a knee]
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[harrumphs, leaning back down into his bath (with one hand still very securely on the side and knees perched up, thank you)]
What'cha doin' here?
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[it's not malicious -- hell, it's not even intended to be a point, just an idle and content rambling]
Just... checkin' in.
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[it's not a warning shot, or even a rebuff, as idle as Genkaku's rambling]
...M'not sure how long m'actually s'posed to keep marinatin'.
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[he scoots away from the tub for a moment, long arms reaching to the sink where the undergrounder had left his guide, unfolding the thing and tapping open his MUSIC file, all caution signs and carefree invasion]
[there are few things they agree on here -- Genkaku likes chewed-string guitar screeching and Badou likes the arbitrary uncomfort of anything fast&quick, but he re-shelves the Guide when he finds an acceptable artist neither of them will bitch about]
[surprised he wasn't already needing it (all headaches instead of lungaches), he offers a pack of smokes from the tuck of his robes, lighting up his own and then firing Badou's by hovering and smashing cancerburn ends together]
I got nowhere tuh'be. Might as well make it fun.
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[slack, exhausted lips pull upwards as he holds the cigarette steady for collision, expression half wry and half indulgent as the monk closes in]
[though as much as he's indulging Genkaku, Genkaku is indulging him; it's not that Genkaku isn't busy, doesn't have Better Things to Do than sit around a crime-scene bathtub and smoke. it's that he'd rather be here, catering to a sick hound]
[he enjoys that first inhale, aching eye clouding comfortably, aching temples thrumming at the chugging bass line]
What fun d'invalids get ta have?
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[slumping back down on the tub's edge, clearer-than-usual eyes (lethargy without the drugs, who'd'a thunk it?) still admonishadmire as his chin rests on the tattered flames barely ratting his forearm]
Get busy livin' or get busy dyin', right?
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[his own chin falls back, a cloud of smoke spewed over his head like pollution from a factory's smoke stack]
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[soup-splashed, gnarls of bones on ivory, a comfortable and dumb situation]
[he closes the noiseless parts of the(ir) world out]
I got a bit'a good news.
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[and despite the dampness and the decay, he perks up at the drawl (still enough life to flop on deck, limbo be damned)]
Yah? Whuzzat?
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S'gotten easier.
[filter stuck between two wide fingers, he jamtaps at his own temple, oddly remembering the nose of one of Badou's guns and how it had split him open -- thus beginning the slow, steady drain of anguish from then on (bloodloss taking him ever paler though he sports a sunburn now)]
In my head. For sleepin'.
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[he thinks of rolling credits in Korean, of a heavy sagging weight against his side]
[he thinks of sweaty red tendrils sticking to foreheads and wild red eyes, greeting him as if startled]
[he thinks of a phone conversation, lowly rasped over the tumblegrowl of domestic machinery]
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[it's not from foreign disease, but from home contentment]
That right? M'real glad.
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