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

[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. ]

Yes. But this time I don't need to lower the table for you to get on.

[She hopes.]

Have a seat and take off your shirt, please.

You got it.

[ He sits, pulling his shirt off as directed. Blonde is armed, of course, but there are no suspenders waiting today. There is, however, a stitched up mess of a wound. It doesn't look like he's been shot anymore, simply because having amateurs stitch you up, rip the stitches out, and stitch you up again will do that. Either way, it doesn't seem to bother him -- if it is, he's doing a good job ignoring it. ]

[Her fingers press the area around the wound - it looks clean, uninfected, but messy, like he was mauled instead of shot.]

They'll never come out if she keeps picking at it.

[Not judging, just factual. Her hands splay over his chest]

But at least it doesn't look infected.

She's always pickin' at something.

[ His stitches, her neck, whatever. ]

I'm not surprised. She's a neat freak. Cleans the apartment with bleach.

[Saya's hands are spanning his ribs, now]

Don't let her clean this with bleach.

[ He's enjoying it. ]

I won't.

[Her eyes flicker up, light brown]

I think I'm satisfied that you're not going to die, then.

Feel like celebrating?

It depends on the celebration you had in mind. I don't particularly eat cake.