[the shack's kitchen shows signs of a recent mop, counter and rickety table wiped free of (most of the) slime and gremlin innards]
[to the fridge is taped a photograph, which depicts the redhead holding up a camera -- presumably in front of a bathroom mirror, by the flash off one corner and the toilet in the other. the camera is chunky and black, certainly not a sight-seer's camera or a myplace addict's]
[unlike the rest of the photo (unkempt orange hair, toilet in desperate need of a scrub, ratty t-shirt with something that's either taco sauce or old blood 'round the collar, cluttered bathroom sink, worn checkered wristband, bruisedburned scarredscabbed skin), the camera looks pristine]
[the sharpness of the lens is only rivaled by the crooked smirk beneath it, all teeth and fierce, excited pride]
[the back of the photo has, scrawled in a marker that was running out of ink;]
[ the deal hadn't gone down as expected. Taliast's murder hadn't eased off the minds of the alien inhabitants in the least, leaving the fish ... amphibious ... whatever-the-fuck-they-were creatures any more trusting of outsiders. it seems suspicious, they'd said, that the Old Buggar pops his gillies and you show up with the best bang for our buck a couple weeks later. still, Genkaku never wavered, never lied, so good at wielding questions against others' sense of self-awareness that he never even felt the press of struggle. ]
[ -- until he got outside. he was just glad it didn't turn into an all-out gunfight; he still needed those fuckers to get his name in the bright lights of the black market underworld
( ... )
[ the cleaner mess is still a mess and thus goes unnoticed, plucking open the fridge door without looking in and cracking open a beer. he wasn't the type, no, but when push came to shove (or Genkaku had to bite back from doing neither of the two), he could grind right down with them. ]
[ -- he doesn't see the note until he notices the floors are cleaner than he left them, glancing down at the lack of black sludge quizzically. ]
Ahn?
[ bending over to collect the white square he's found, he sees the note first, the ridge of his brow quirking in questioning. as if the order had been spoken aloud from another person in the room instead of written with a dying marker on some slick paper, he follows it to a T; ]
[ the seconds trick by for a few moments of agonizing silence, and finally a gremlin carcass crunches under his boots. ]
[ he flops down on the sludge covered couch, not bothering with the wince when a mysterious substance squelches under a thigh. with the bottle of beer clinking down more appropriately on the (cleaner) table, he more closely inspects the mysterious new treasure. ]
[ and finally flips it over to the sheen of the picture, the nicotine gnash of a smile that's more teeth than joy. oh, but he is happy, Genkaku can see plain as day (another Secret between them, because someone else might mistake this expression for that of a monster {but maybe it is}). ]
[ his fingers rake over the image, smudging blackness over the pristine camera (what you keep clean, I'll destroy), making it match the background and the chaotic jumble as a whole. ]
[ when eyes finally tear from the image (uncountable minutes later), he looks around his broken shack with a newfound twitch to the muscles of his mouth. only then does he notice any of the work Badou had put into ... this space. Their Space. ]
[ explosives go off, but it's not for this lonely pile of ashes. ]
I'll keep it.
[ it's a generalized statement. he's always burned Badou's notes, ever since talks of funeral pyres and ... and being burnt out and fucked up and -- ]
[ burning has always meant something. ]
[ but maybe being burnt and embers and (the fire) staying alive is starting to mean more. ]
[ tucked into the Flying V's case with all the intimacy of his fox digging his fangs right next to his heart (past the scar on his chest, because only he -- they could cut through so many calluses to make the other feel again). ]
[ with resolve (and resignation), he turns his guide on and texts him; ]
[ the word someday is starting to mean something, too. ]
[ (the beer is forgotten, lonely and cold and pooling sweat on the table. he doesn't need it anymore.) ]
[to the fridge is taped a photograph, which depicts the redhead holding up a camera -- presumably in front of a bathroom mirror, by the flash off one corner and the toilet in the other. the camera is chunky and black, certainly not a sight-seer's camera or a myplace addict's]
[unlike the rest of the photo (unkempt orange hair, toilet in desperate need of a scrub, ratty t-shirt with something that's either taco sauce or old blood 'round the collar, cluttered bathroom sink, worn checkered wristband, bruisedburned scarredscabbed skin), the camera looks pristine]
[the sharpness of the lens is only rivaled by the crooked smirk beneath it, all teeth and fierce, excited pride]
[the back of the photo has, scrawled in a marker that was running out of ink;]
SAY CHEEESE, SHITHEAD
-B
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[ -- until he got outside. he was just glad it didn't turn into an all-out gunfight; he still needed those fuckers to get his name in the bright lights of the black market underworld ( ... )
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[ chkkkhh, clnk, gluglug, ahhhh. ]
[ it usually went something like that, right? ]
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Ahn?
[ bending over to collect the white square he's found, he sees the note first, the ridge of his brow quirking in questioning. as if the order had been spoken aloud from another person in the room instead of written with a dying marker on some slick paper, he follows it to a T; ]
... "Cheese"?
Reply
[ he flops down on the sludge covered couch, not bothering with the wince when a mysterious substance squelches under a thigh. with the bottle of beer clinking down more appropriately on the (cleaner) table, he more closely inspects the mysterious new treasure. ]
[ and finally flips it over to the sheen of the picture, the nicotine gnash of a smile that's more teeth than joy. oh, but he is happy, Genkaku can see plain as day (another Secret between them, because someone else might mistake this expression for that of a monster {but maybe it is}). ]
Reply
[ when eyes finally tear from the image (uncountable minutes later), he looks around his broken shack with a newfound twitch to the muscles of his mouth. only then does he notice any of the work Badou had put into ... this space. Their Space. ]
[ explosives go off, but it's not for this lonely pile of ashes. ]
I'll keep it.
[ it's a generalized statement. he's always burned Badou's notes, ever since talks of funeral pyres and ... and being burnt out and fucked up and -- ]
[ burning has always meant something. ]
[ but maybe being burnt and embers and (the fire) staying alive is starting to mean more. ]
Reply
[ ... and he'll keep the picture. ]
[ tucked into the Flying V's case with all the intimacy of his fox digging his fangs right next to his heart (past the scar on his chest, because only he -- they could cut through so many calluses to make the other feel again). ]
[ with resolve (and resignation), he turns his guide on and texts him; ]
[ the word someday is starting to mean something, too. ]
[ (the beer is forgotten, lonely and cold and pooling sweat on the table. he doesn't need it anymore.) ]
Reply
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