synanthrope | (no subject)

(no subject)

Quiet week, isn't it?

[Saya will never be the first to say no curses but she's thinking it]

I remember something, from long ago. An invasion. Around this time of year. I remember locking the Warehouse.

It was a long time ago, but I was only twenty-six.

I'm sorry the warm weather didn't last longer.

[That's how one uses I'm sorry, right?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Generous of you.

[She also buys women who date guys she wants to fuck expensive designer shoes. Go figure]

Not many people let me dress them up.

[ Strange woman. No wonder he likes her. ]

Just don't go too crazy. I'm not wearing a fucking dress for you.

I wouldn't make you wear a dress. You don't have the body to pull it off.

[She knows.]

Good to hear. [ Pause. ] And I'm keeping my boots.

I hope you don't want to keep that shirt, though.

[The bloody one]

No, that can go.

I already got rid of it.

I figured. Couldn't find it when I went to leave.

[The feed goes private and unhackable]

The stitches?

[ His follows automatically. ]

You could always see for yourself.

[ He hasn't exactly been following the doctor's orders and not exerting himself -- not that he had a doctor anyway. ]

I could. Would you mind if I did?

I wouldn't offer if I did.

[ Besides, it might be a good idea to have someone who can see it without looking down and who doesn't want to take the stitches out to play look at it. ]

Come to the Warehouse and I'll take a look.

Now?

Unless you have something more pressing that you're doing.

I'll be there soon.

Good.

[ Sure enough, a while later, here comes Mr. Blonde with a cigarette in one hand. ]

[Saya is, as usual, wearing something expensive, including a pair of heeled boots that could probably double as a weapon.]

Hello, Mr. Blonde.

[Today she's moving a bit easier, more human, but she's still a little awkward even though she's clearly not going to fall.]

[ Blonde's just gone for something easy, jeans that don't fit quite right and a t-shirt. Saya wants to dress him up, after all; might as well give her something to work with. ]

Saya.

[ He gives her a nod, not bothering to put out his cigarette; if she wants it out, he figures she'll tell him or do it herself. ]

Couldn't find jeans that fit?

[She's smirking, but she doesn't move to put out the cigarette. Instead she takes his hand - Saya burns a little hotter than most people, that's the shifter physiology - and leads him through the Warehouse. She's heading back to the autopsy room]

They don't belong to Carla, do they?

I'm still on a limited budget.

[ He follows, noting that hot hand -- was she this warm when he was bleeding out on the floor? It's hard to remember. ]

If they did, I doubt I'd be wearing them.

Rent and food come first, I suppose.

[In some worlds. Saya doesn't pay for either.

She opens the door to the autopsy room with a key that she takes out of a pocket of her jeans and lets him in]

Does it look different now that you aren't dying?

[So neat and precise.]

[ Half the time Blonde doesn't pay for food either, not after slipping to Rosella that he isn't sure he or Carla can cook. ]

It's still the same room.

[ He does look around, though. ]