[This isn't what the old man wanted to deal with about now. Thank god he's back in action. Laying down earlier was a fucking good idea.]
I don't believe this bull.
[Setting a date and a time and what happens? It's not easy trying to do this. Pink deserves to know, sure but this whole process isn't for their health. They could go on for forever and not tell the piece of shit if they really wanted to.
Except they do.]
Think he pussied out?
[As they make their way to the bastard's apartment. Their old apartment. What would be the first logical place to look if he didn't show up at the greed restaurant.]
[Or is it supposed to be forward at this time of year? Though if the former were the case then Pink would've been there waiting for an hour, but just as well believable he might have left in frustration. Weird. Either way he's with the old man on this one, the guy should know, it's just a step to make because he was going to find out eventually.]
The guy doesn't have much of a reason to pussy out.
[Freddy rationalizes. At the door he knocks.] Hey. Pink.
[That was not something that the old man saw coming. He looks into the apartment. It's not some haunted house. They used to live here. So...there shouldn't be a problem with coming in.]
Hello?
[He's reaching for a gun, just in case. Let him go first, kid.]
[ It's colder out than he expects when he leaves the casino. He can't see his breath hanging in front of him or anything but he rubs his fingers together for warmth in his pockets anyway, his stride the even, unhurried kind of pace most people employ when the mind is elsewhere. Arthur's mind in particular is on the oddness of one Henry Eames in the apartment lately, the cagey behavior (cagey being the vaguer, milder term) that seems downright animalistic in certain respects. But Eames says he's fine, and won't say anything else so Arthur has just been watching, which hasn't really revealed much other than the initial observations
( ... )
[Ah. Night air. For the old man it is an alternative afternoon. He lights up a Chesterfield. Though really, he's hungry. It's been hours after all. Tacos, the typical go to just do not fit the bill. Besides that, even the most customer loyal establishment is closing its doors at this hour of night.
Puff. Puff. Through the familiar smell of tobacco burning there's a new scent. And it smells....very good.
Shadow to shadow he moves fast. Where is it coming from? Where isn't a place. It's a person. Coming up fast he recognizes a figure and falls into quiet stride behind like a wayward alley cat.]
[ Other hand still in his pocket, he turns his device over thoughtfully, no real intention of using it since he knows they don't need anything, but that's another thing he's started doing lately - especially when there's something bothering him, something like Eames though it's not whittled down to just their issues before the strange behavioral shift. He's considering a different approach of questioning when there's something like a push of breeze at his back, reminds him of opening a door - the way the air pulls in.
Then it's footfalls and his brow furrows, eyes going sidelong. Nothing in his peripheral vision immediately but the sound is close. Whoever's dream this is, needs to get their imagination under control, he thinks, and is mostly beyond wishing he was relaxed enough to just find it novel or enjoy it - the weirdness, the downright otherworldiness, stuff out of movies and comic books.
Right now what he feels is the familiar pitch in his stomach of not good, the kind of gut feeling that doesn't require him to have eyes in
( ... )
( 11 / 17 )specificsNovember 18 2011, 07:52:49 UTC
[ Regular day, or regular enough in a place with 'magic' (Ariadne seems to have taken to none other than Harry Potter and his friends) Arthur steps into one of the side-rooms for his break, but he opts for filtering through the rest until he finds a familiar face. It's been enough time that they don't have to talk about it, and really it's not a matter of time down here anyway. A good percentage of him would rather not bring it up, there being reason enough of more than mild mortification on his own part, jacked up reaction or not. But the practical part of him (that's the entire surface) says knowing if it had anything to do with Arthur specifically, the night White took it upon himself to reenact a vampire right down to the teeth, or if it was just that Arthur was there and White was quite literally hungering
( ... )
[Days can move smoothly around here. It's something that a guy can forget with all of the crazy, messed up things that go on.
Arthur strolls on in. Larry of course notices him. He's not the type to read on a break. It's go out to grab something, sit or simply smoke. Having already eaten, there's a Chesterfield between his lips.]
Sure.
[He can have one as long as it doesn't involve blood of any kind or discussion of the lovely chat that he had with Mr. Eames. On guard he is sure not to be too openly friendly.]
[ Given the go-ahead, Arthur sits on the couch, hands folding in front of him in a default posture of that same ease. ]
That night in the alley, [ He mutes his own sigh, and if anything Arthur's look has gone even milder than before, this mostly to keep from showing anything else, and it's been effective for him for years, so it doesn't waver now ] was just 'cause I was there. You would've gone after anyone in the vicinity. [ It's blunt but all he wants is confirmation, no explanation necessary, yes or no and he'll take it from there. He doesn't have it in him to look apologetic about asking because he's not - annoyed that his own mind won't let it rest, maybe, but not about putting it to rest either way. His eyes flicker to the lazy trail of smoke before shifting back to White himself.
Arthur could ask him about Eames too, about Orange, but he's not.
[Puff. Puff on the cigarette. It keeps him mellow so in theory now is a great time to talk out whenever. And honestly, it is a treat to do it with Arthur. He seems to be on an even more even keel than Eames. Someone's got to.]
Mostly [ahem] yes. [Oh fucking. Fucking. Fuck fuck fuck! Are they really going to talk about it In a flash the memory is on him. Arthur has a slim frame, and super powered the old man could put him where he wished, how he wanted it. That's a full out assault. Sure no one wanted any of it, but that is the nature of curses. And it doesn't sound like the man is reaching for an apology.]
[Hunting and pecking as he goes. Look at what a modern writer he is, complete with the cigarette between his lips. It's what you call deep concentration.
[Now they're both authors except there's a big ol' detail called genre that sets them apart. The old man comes on home without slowing at all. Where is the kid? Door shuts. Kinda noisily. It's not all anger. Oh no. Just the desire to see the face of the man who has the balls to do that.]
Comments 1771
I don't believe this bull.
[Setting a date and a time and what happens? It's not easy trying to do this. Pink deserves to know, sure but this whole process isn't for their health. They could go on for forever and not tell the piece of shit if they really wanted to.
Except they do.]
Think he pussied out?
[As they make their way to the bastard's apartment. Their old apartment. What would be the first logical place to look if he didn't show up at the greed restaurant.]
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[Or is it supposed to be forward at this time of year? Though if the former were the case then Pink would've been there waiting for an hour, but just as well believable he might have left in frustration. Weird. Either way he's with the old man on this one, the guy should know, it's just a step to make because he was going to find out eventually.]
The guy doesn't have much of a reason to pussy out.
[Freddy rationalizes. At the door he knocks.] Hey. Pink.
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Pink didn't forget or chicken out, but he's currently not really visible or even tangible.
The entry way is empty.]
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[That was not something that the old man saw coming. He looks into the apartment. It's not some haunted house. They used to live here. So...there shouldn't be a problem with coming in.]
Hello?
[He's reaching for a gun, just in case. Let him go first, kid.]
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Puff. Puff. Through the familiar smell of tobacco burning there's a new scent. And it smells....very good.
Shadow to shadow he moves fast. Where is it coming from? Where isn't a place. It's a person. Coming up fast he recognizes a figure and falls into quiet stride behind like a wayward alley cat.]
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Then it's footfalls and his brow furrows, eyes going sidelong. Nothing in his peripheral vision immediately but the sound is close. Whoever's dream this is, needs to get their imagination under control, he thinks, and is mostly beyond wishing he was relaxed enough to just find it novel or enjoy it - the weirdness, the downright otherworldiness, stuff out of movies and comic books.
Right now what he feels is the familiar pitch in his stomach of not good, the kind of gut feeling that doesn't require him to have eyes in ( ... )
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In a flash, he is beside Arthur falling into stride.]
Hello.
[The smell of him is more potent this close. It's different than Freddy. The way that a tenderloin is different from a rib eye.]
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Arthur strolls on in. Larry of course notices him. He's not the type to read on a break. It's go out to grab something, sit or simply smoke. Having already eaten, there's a Chesterfield between his lips.]
Sure.
[He can have one as long as it doesn't involve blood of any kind or discussion of the lovely chat that he had with Mr. Eames. On guard he is sure not to be too openly friendly.]
What's on your mind?
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That night in the alley, [ He mutes his own sigh, and if anything Arthur's look has gone even milder than before, this mostly to keep from showing anything else, and it's been effective for him for years, so it doesn't waver now ] was just 'cause I was there. You would've gone after anyone in the vicinity. [ It's blunt but all he wants is confirmation, no explanation necessary, yes or no and he'll take it from there. He doesn't have it in him to look apologetic about asking because he's not - annoyed that his own mind won't let it rest, maybe, but not about putting it to rest either way. His eyes flicker to the lazy trail of smoke before shifting back to White himself.
Arthur could ask him about Eames too, about Orange, but he's not.
Well not yet at least. ]
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Mostly [ahem] yes. [Oh fucking. Fucking. Fuck fuck fuck! Are they really going to talk about it In a flash the memory is on him. Arthur has a slim frame, and super powered the old man could put him where he wished, how he wanted it. That's a full out assault. Sure no one wanted any of it, but that is the nature of curses. And it doesn't sound like the man is reaching for an apology.]
I could smell things then.
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Quarry. Q-U-A-R-R---shit where did Y go?]
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[So there was a beak over his shoulder. He pushes the y-key and is able to turn away from his work.]
Thanks.
[Cigarette gets moved aside.]
So....uh, you been reading?
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[Freddy calls down from upstairs though he isn't leaning out into the hall and over the railing or the steps to actually see Larry.]
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When did you write that?
[Don't ask what kid because they already started to talk about it.]
I read that at work.
[Along with the rest of the network.]
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[Whoops. Mistake Number One maybe.]
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