Haze-
eternal brainrot™
Dante Aguilar
CS Link
SCENE:
If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again
TIME:
May 6th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
LOCATION:
Central District
INTERACTIONS:
Nao
If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again
“That must have really hurt,” — It was funny how caring words, even from complete strangers, would always make him feel tight at the throat. Knotted. Paused. Very funny.
He stood there, wondering if he still had it in him to flush silly whenever a pretty girl showed true concern for him.
“…” — Nah. He knew better.
“Eh…” — He drawled, looking off and hissing low, pretending like a stray gleam from the streetlamps cornering the parking lot had checked him in the eyes. The trick was in not letting anyone see that pause in his eyes, he’d learned. You can hide a lot, just trading glances and not full-on stares.
“Nah, I eat my veggies— I can tough that shit out easy,” — Being a moron also helped to hide it — “Like, I’m a big guy, y’know?” — He cheekily clicked his tongue and hit her with an idiot smile— flashed it with such confidence that it made you wonder why the serpents hadn’t knock a couple teeth out of him last night— flexing one his one good gun (the one that wasn’t wrapped taut on bandages) like a school jock; Hercules pose, twisting the wrist a little. He held it surprisingly long, but it wasn’t surprising when one of the stitches lining his core pulled on the strain.
He felt another string snap out of the few, as if the world itself had told him ‘fuck you’ on big, bold letters, times new roman. Dante feigned a chuckle to hide that low hiss threatening to come out of his mouth. Shrinking, clutching at his side — “Agh…fuck, I’m so fuckin’ funny…” — Punching in another chuckle to further mask that burning sting jabbing at him under the bandages.
Then he finally processed what she’d just said to him — ”If you want, I can try and redo some of them,”
“Oh.” — There was that pause again. Was he flushing now? He had no idea.
Very funny.
“You don’t have to get your hands all leaky on me,” — His usual droopy, baggy eyes softened to allow an easy smile to crease under them. He stood beside the car wondering just how dumb he looked right now. Chest almost bare on the wind, all bruised up, smiling at a random woman he’d just met a couple minutes ago. Yet, it was oddly comfortable-feeling to be half-naked smiling at this girl.
“You don’t have to, but I’d sure as hell appreciate it. You don’t know how many times I’ve ripped through half of these cheap ass bandages just trying to tighten them up again.” — He added.
“I mean,” — He means — "It’d probably take me about 10 more crashes before my coverage gets that high. I’d have a heart attack if I owned this pretty girl and some asshole totaled it.” — Dante placed another curious hand on the top of Nao’s ride, already half-curious. The one side of his brain, the grease monkey, wanting him to pop open the trunk and splay out the innards for him to see. The other side of his brain, the compliant one, telling him that he one day he would have to stop thinking about randomly changing someone’s spark plug upon seeing their car. He really needed to get that tick out of his system. Sooner, not later.
He caught a glimmer of focus crossing her eyes as he laid the question on her, as lazily thought out as it had been. He quirked a brow, one corner of his mouth upturned to an awkward smile— she was really about her fashion, huh? — “Yeah, I don’t sweat easy, should be good.” — Dante hefted both the revealing bodysuit and the blue dress shirt with a tentative look, a short beat before he placed them both back on the trunk and got to loosening the last piece of his top.
Fingers pried on the v-neck, he bent with an effort, another groan. Once it was off, Dante simply stared at the trunk of Nao’s car with that twinge of half-annoyance writ blatant on his glare. He played it off, though. Getting dressed in spite of his cast wasn’t anything he hadn’t gotten used the night before, he started talking with an arm already slipped inside the bodysuit— “You wanna bet on whether or not Tak’s already wooed some babes by now? I bet my one good hand that dumbass’ on his own at the bar makin’ a face. He’s probably just waiting on us to get back”
He chuckled, his other arm already sliding over the armhole of the dress shirt. And there he was. His chisel showing on the long-sleeves, the revealing black slits under the outer layer tossed shade on the plain whiteness of the bandage-work. Almost hid them, but they still showed if you looked past the shadow hard enough. Dante looked down on himself, one ugly glance turning begrudging.
A tug on the lips, he smirked — “Eh, guess looking like a zombie’s the new heat at the parties anyways. Whaddaya think? Gonna have all the chicks saying…” — Dante turned to see eye to eye with the half-blurred reflection on the car’s window, drawling as that begrudging look turned to genuine surprise once he got a good look at himself — “Damn, I wanna take this guy home…”
He checked himself for longer than he should’ve; seeing how the trademark orange shades he always carried around would look on him, even if they mismatched the blue dress shirt and the gold on his eyes.
He turned to Nao with a wide grin, outstretching the good hand and giving her a spin for good measure — “Thoughts?”
“That must have really hurt,” — It was funny how caring words, even from complete strangers, would always make him feel tight at the throat. Knotted. Paused. Very funny.
He stood there, wondering if he still had it in him to flush silly whenever a pretty girl showed true concern for him.
“…” — Nah. He knew better.
“Eh…” — He drawled, looking off and hissing low, pretending like a stray gleam from the streetlamps cornering the parking lot had checked him in the eyes. The trick was in not letting anyone see that pause in his eyes, he’d learned. You can hide a lot, just trading glances and not full-on stares.
“Nah, I eat my veggies— I can tough that shit out easy,” — Being a moron also helped to hide it — “Like, I’m a big guy, y’know?” — He cheekily clicked his tongue and hit her with an idiot smile— flashed it with such confidence that it made you wonder why the serpents hadn’t knock a couple teeth out of him last night— flexing one his one good gun (the one that wasn’t wrapped taut on bandages) like a school jock; Hercules pose, twisting the wrist a little. He held it surprisingly long, but it wasn’t surprising when one of the stitches lining his core pulled on the strain.
He felt another string snap out of the few, as if the world itself had told him ‘fuck you’ on big, bold letters, times new roman. Dante feigned a chuckle to hide that low hiss threatening to come out of his mouth. Shrinking, clutching at his side — “Agh…fuck, I’m so fuckin’ funny…” — Punching in another chuckle to further mask that burning sting jabbing at him under the bandages.
Then he finally processed what she’d just said to him — ”If you want, I can try and redo some of them,”
“Oh.” — There was that pause again. Was he flushing now? He had no idea.
Very funny.
“You don’t have to get your hands all leaky on me,” — His usual droopy, baggy eyes softened to allow an easy smile to crease under them. He stood beside the car wondering just how dumb he looked right now. Chest almost bare on the wind, all bruised up, smiling at a random woman he’d just met a couple minutes ago. Yet, it was oddly comfortable-feeling to be half-naked smiling at this girl.
“You don’t have to, but I’d sure as hell appreciate it. You don’t know how many times I’ve ripped through half of these cheap ass bandages just trying to tighten them up again.” — He added.
“I mean,” — He means — "It’d probably take me about 10 more crashes before my coverage gets that high. I’d have a heart attack if I owned this pretty girl and some asshole totaled it.” — Dante placed another curious hand on the top of Nao’s ride, already half-curious. The one side of his brain, the grease monkey, wanting him to pop open the trunk and splay out the innards for him to see. The other side of his brain, the compliant one, telling him that he one day he would have to stop thinking about randomly changing someone’s spark plug upon seeing their car. He really needed to get that tick out of his system. Sooner, not later.
He caught a glimmer of focus crossing her eyes as he laid the question on her, as lazily thought out as it had been. He quirked a brow, one corner of his mouth upturned to an awkward smile— she was really about her fashion, huh? — “Yeah, I don’t sweat easy, should be good.” — Dante hefted both the revealing bodysuit and the blue dress shirt with a tentative look, a short beat before he placed them both back on the trunk and got to loosening the last piece of his top.
Fingers pried on the v-neck, he bent with an effort, another groan. Once it was off, Dante simply stared at the trunk of Nao’s car with that twinge of half-annoyance writ blatant on his glare. He played it off, though. Getting dressed in spite of his cast wasn’t anything he hadn’t gotten used the night before, he started talking with an arm already slipped inside the bodysuit— “You wanna bet on whether or not Tak’s already wooed some babes by now? I bet my one good hand that dumbass’ on his own at the bar makin’ a face. He’s probably just waiting on us to get back”
He chuckled, his other arm already sliding over the armhole of the dress shirt. And there he was. His chisel showing on the long-sleeves, the revealing black slits under the outer layer tossed shade on the plain whiteness of the bandage-work. Almost hid them, but they still showed if you looked past the shadow hard enough. Dante looked down on himself, one ugly glance turning begrudging.
A tug on the lips, he smirked — “Eh, guess looking like a zombie’s the new heat at the parties anyways. Whaddaya think? Gonna have all the chicks saying…” — Dante turned to see eye to eye with the half-blurred reflection on the car’s window, drawling as that begrudging look turned to genuine surprise once he got a good look at himself — “Damn, I wanna take this guy home…”
He checked himself for longer than he should’ve; seeing how the trademark orange shades he always carried around would look on him, even if they mismatched the blue dress shirt and the gold on his eyes.
He turned to Nao with a wide grin, outstretching the good hand and giving her a spin for good measure — “Thoughts?”
Nina Aguilar
SCENE:
If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again
TIME:
May 6th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
LOCATION:
Central District
INTERACTIONS:
Tak
LIMIT BREAK RANK:
F
If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again
“Eh-heh…boners…” — She chuckled at the word itself; like a child turning to that one page on that one book in bio-class; just remembering what the guy had misinterpreted about her eye.
She leaned back slightly on the stool, both hands gripped on the cushion as she stared at the bartender pour their drinks. Free drink for the guy, maybe. But free info for her, she practically had him dancing under her thumb. It was a detective-extraordinaire trick Dani had taught her, back when she’d first nagged her own into these wild escapades. You goad your target into giving you what you want by giving them a lick of what they want. Well, not exactly worded like that, but that was about the gist of it.
Nina was a natural at it by this point. Smooth, but harsh, like one of those riverbed pebbles that get jammed under your shoe.
“No need to thank me, m’kay? My pockets are as deep as my heart." — She placed a hand on her kind, graceful heart— not realizing that he hadn’t thanked her once.
Nina leaned back in; one elbow propped on the counter as the free hand whisked the shot off it. She stirred the clear liquid on clean, slow circles. Watching it shimmer on the throbbing lights, with a narrow, hardened gaze before taking a steady swig of it— trying not to give away too much of the fact that she was imitating a character from a black-and-white noir flick. She didn’t know what the hell it was on the glass, but it sure as hell burnt on the way down.
She still had to work on being a lightweight when it came down to drinks; made her less intimidating.
Tak clinked his glass down on the counter, sharing the same intensity in his stare. Nina matched him as he spoke, glaring intently once his hand reached down into his pocket. The tension rose, her eye felt like it was searing her skull split, and then…
A pack of gum.
…
A pack of gum?
“Hah. C’mon now…Y’ must think I’m some sorta rookball or somethin’,” — She grinned, looking off at the assortment of drinks lining the other end of the bar, flashing her fangs. Nina pulled a hand inside her jacket. Flinging out not one, not two, but three whole sticks of gum, blowing the one already in her mouth and popping the bubble right in front of Tak’s face, as though flaunting it — “Don’t go disrespectin’ me like that again, ‘kay? That’ll tarnish my street-rep, y’know?”
“Here, learn from the best,” — She slid the trio onto the counter, flicked them towards him — “That’s premium flavor too. Imported.”
She sat there drinking the mere droplets of alcohol still mingling in her glass; there wasn’t any left to make her look cool while she drank, so she settled for what she had. Punting the counter lightly, she spun on her stool to face him — “That ain’t really what I meant, though. I was talking ‘bout the real stuff, y’know…?” — Nina spun on the stool again, this time to gesture behind them at the mass of waving bodies under the disco lights.
“The, ehh, stuff all these creeps are here for. You know…” — She hushed her tone, not knowing who would be listening in — “The em—ai—arr—ee—cee—ele—ee…!” — She whispered, not realizing that she’d just spelled out “Mirecle.” instead of “Miracle.”
Smooth like a pebble, Nina.
“Eh-heh…boners…” — She chuckled at the word itself; like a child turning to that one page on that one book in bio-class; just remembering what the guy had misinterpreted about her eye.
She leaned back slightly on the stool, both hands gripped on the cushion as she stared at the bartender pour their drinks. Free drink for the guy, maybe. But free info for her, she practically had him dancing under her thumb. It was a detective-extraordinaire trick Dani had taught her, back when she’d first nagged her own into these wild escapades. You goad your target into giving you what you want by giving them a lick of what they want. Well, not exactly worded like that, but that was about the gist of it.
Nina was a natural at it by this point. Smooth, but harsh, like one of those riverbed pebbles that get jammed under your shoe.
“No need to thank me, m’kay? My pockets are as deep as my heart." — She placed a hand on her kind, graceful heart— not realizing that he hadn’t thanked her once.
Nina leaned back in; one elbow propped on the counter as the free hand whisked the shot off it. She stirred the clear liquid on clean, slow circles. Watching it shimmer on the throbbing lights, with a narrow, hardened gaze before taking a steady swig of it— trying not to give away too much of the fact that she was imitating a character from a black-and-white noir flick. She didn’t know what the hell it was on the glass, but it sure as hell burnt on the way down.
She still had to work on being a lightweight when it came down to drinks; made her less intimidating.
Tak clinked his glass down on the counter, sharing the same intensity in his stare. Nina matched him as he spoke, glaring intently once his hand reached down into his pocket. The tension rose, her eye felt like it was searing her skull split, and then…
A pack of gum.
…
A pack of gum?
“Hah. C’mon now…Y’ must think I’m some sorta rookball or somethin’,” — She grinned, looking off at the assortment of drinks lining the other end of the bar, flashing her fangs. Nina pulled a hand inside her jacket. Flinging out not one, not two, but three whole sticks of gum, blowing the one already in her mouth and popping the bubble right in front of Tak’s face, as though flaunting it — “Don’t go disrespectin’ me like that again, ‘kay? That’ll tarnish my street-rep, y’know?”
“Here, learn from the best,” — She slid the trio onto the counter, flicked them towards him — “That’s premium flavor too. Imported.”
She sat there drinking the mere droplets of alcohol still mingling in her glass; there wasn’t any left to make her look cool while she drank, so she settled for what she had. Punting the counter lightly, she spun on her stool to face him — “That ain’t really what I meant, though. I was talking ‘bout the real stuff, y’know…?” — Nina spun on the stool again, this time to gesture behind them at the mass of waving bodies under the disco lights.
“The, ehh, stuff all these creeps are here for. You know…” — She hushed her tone, not knowing who would be listening in — “The em—ai—arr—ee—cee—ele—ee…!” — She whispered, not realizing that she’d just spelled out “Mirecle.” instead of “Miracle.”
Smooth like a pebble, Nina.
Daniela Nazario
SCENE:
If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again
TIME:
May 6th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
LOCATION:
Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Nao, Tak, Dante, Nina
If Something Tastes Funny, Try It Again
The outside had gone muted now. Quiet, sterile. Only booming and sighing a fading echo around the walls, every now and then when the door creaked a little. She was in the restrooms. All the thrill-junkies were right outside, the music was still printed on her eardrum even all the way out here.
She felt alien. Like she was only here carrying herself through inward jeers and a vague sense of duty. Whatever the fuck that meant anymore.
Dani reached out for the sink, ran a hand over porcelain. She’d let the faucet run a bit to drown out those thoughts. She should’ve gotten her info by now. Gotten out before shit hit the fan, made things easier for her when she had to do the legal part of the investigation, on the aftermath. On another occasion, maybe that would’ve been the case. But it was always some shit with Nina.
On every single one of these under-the-counter, mockery pass-ups they’d call ‘investigations’, Dani would always end up being the one to try and see things through with Nina. To the very end. She didn’t know what the hell it was that got to her with this girl, but she just couldn’t get her brother out of her mind in these.
There was no way not to think about him.
She stared off into the mirror, the woman on the other side didn’t look like the one in those memories with him. Back at the church, in the orphanage, he was the only case she’d never managed to solve. Even after all these years, she still didn’t know what happened.
The memories, though twisted, were cloudy and full of hope. Just two kids held together, tooth and nail.
He was the empty space in the night. The darkness wedged between the glimmer, among the stars, filling the gaps. And she was the light itself, holding him together in the endless. Together they were the firmament. On their own, years apart; the night sky was either too dark or too bright.
Some lovey-dovey bullshit like that.
For her, after the numbness of the years had passed her by, Dani had grown out of it. She wasn’t the light anymore; she wasn’t up in the shade either. She was grounded, anchored on the gravity that hits you when you’re an adult. Him? She had seen it in his eyes the last time they saw eye to eye.
That was all he was.
Darkness. Just peering back. Hollow and without purpose
An old mosaic of nightmares she had yet to re-live, didn’t want to. Faded memorandums lost to a damp eyed church boy. Orphan boy. Son to a bastard; bastard himself. Tucking bloodstained hands into his pockets, hiding the bruises on his face from her and the nuns, too fearful to look down upon what the hell he’d done.
To just tell her what the fuck he’d done wrong.
She wanted her voice to be advice and warning then; never put your one solemn prayer on the hands of old saints, little Dante. Don’t cry out for the heavens to weep and wash away the red slipping between your fingers. You'll grow bitter when they disappoint you. You'll never change.
"And you haven't changed a damn bit, have you?"
Yet her voice never came out the last time they were together; teary-eyed and yelling at each other.
That time she froze still, just peering back at him. Grasping at thin air, madly. Looking. Looking for her voice, her advice, feeling out for it. Yet it was gone. The darkness wore her silence like a vow now. She wanted to heal him, like she knew she could. But she couldn’t bear to see him after what he’d done. This orphan, church boy. This bastard. With his blood-stained hands.
"No, you can't change."
No, he was a mosaic of everyone she's ever hated. An almanac of busted lips and broken hands and scars under black hoodies, of blood red rage. Simmering at the seams, cracking his skin open. Carried over from his father, probably. That other bastard.
He was knots in a cord, links in a chain, violence and violence upon violence. Nothing else. Couldn't be anything else.
That’s what she’d spun her restless nightmares to be, just a by-product of what he’d done, whatever happened back at the church. Maybe that’s why she’d grown to always look for answers, dig her nose in where she shouldn’t.
"You won't change."
But she wanted to believe that he had, somewhere along the line.
“Fuck.” — Dani sighed, the faucet had run for long enough. The woman in the mirror looked all the same as before. There was no point in thinking about it right now. She came here for other answers; something more tangible, something she could grasp. This wasn’t, and couldn’t be, just another night thinking about Dante.
“Party’s just getting started, huh…?” — She huffed, sobered up — “Make your first move then, fuckers… I’ll be watching.”
The outside had gone muted now. Quiet, sterile. Only booming and sighing a fading echo around the walls, every now and then when the door creaked a little. She was in the restrooms. All the thrill-junkies were right outside, the music was still printed on her eardrum even all the way out here.
She felt alien. Like she was only here carrying herself through inward jeers and a vague sense of duty. Whatever the fuck that meant anymore.
Dani reached out for the sink, ran a hand over porcelain. She’d let the faucet run a bit to drown out those thoughts. She should’ve gotten her info by now. Gotten out before shit hit the fan, made things easier for her when she had to do the legal part of the investigation, on the aftermath. On another occasion, maybe that would’ve been the case. But it was always some shit with Nina.
On every single one of these under-the-counter, mockery pass-ups they’d call ‘investigations’, Dani would always end up being the one to try and see things through with Nina. To the very end. She didn’t know what the hell it was that got to her with this girl, but she just couldn’t get her brother out of her mind in these.
There was no way not to think about him.
She stared off into the mirror, the woman on the other side didn’t look like the one in those memories with him. Back at the church, in the orphanage, he was the only case she’d never managed to solve. Even after all these years, she still didn’t know what happened.
The memories, though twisted, were cloudy and full of hope. Just two kids held together, tooth and nail.
He was the empty space in the night. The darkness wedged between the glimmer, among the stars, filling the gaps. And she was the light itself, holding him together in the endless. Together they were the firmament. On their own, years apart; the night sky was either too dark or too bright.
Some lovey-dovey bullshit like that.
For her, after the numbness of the years had passed her by, Dani had grown out of it. She wasn’t the light anymore; she wasn’t up in the shade either. She was grounded, anchored on the gravity that hits you when you’re an adult. Him? She had seen it in his eyes the last time they saw eye to eye.
That was all he was.
Darkness. Just peering back. Hollow and without purpose
An old mosaic of nightmares she had yet to re-live, didn’t want to. Faded memorandums lost to a damp eyed church boy. Orphan boy. Son to a bastard; bastard himself. Tucking bloodstained hands into his pockets, hiding the bruises on his face from her and the nuns, too fearful to look down upon what the hell he’d done.
To just tell her what the fuck he’d done wrong.
She wanted her voice to be advice and warning then; never put your one solemn prayer on the hands of old saints, little Dante. Don’t cry out for the heavens to weep and wash away the red slipping between your fingers. You'll grow bitter when they disappoint you. You'll never change.
"And you haven't changed a damn bit, have you?"
Yet her voice never came out the last time they were together; teary-eyed and yelling at each other.
That time she froze still, just peering back at him. Grasping at thin air, madly. Looking. Looking for her voice, her advice, feeling out for it. Yet it was gone. The darkness wore her silence like a vow now. She wanted to heal him, like she knew she could. But she couldn’t bear to see him after what he’d done. This orphan, church boy. This bastard. With his blood-stained hands.
"No, you can't change."
No, he was a mosaic of everyone she's ever hated. An almanac of busted lips and broken hands and scars under black hoodies, of blood red rage. Simmering at the seams, cracking his skin open. Carried over from his father, probably. That other bastard.
He was knots in a cord, links in a chain, violence and violence upon violence. Nothing else. Couldn't be anything else.
That’s what she’d spun her restless nightmares to be, just a by-product of what he’d done, whatever happened back at the church. Maybe that’s why she’d grown to always look for answers, dig her nose in where she shouldn’t.
"You won't change."
But she wanted to believe that he had, somewhere along the line.
“Fuck.” — Dani sighed, the faucet had run for long enough. The woman in the mirror looked all the same as before. There was no point in thinking about it right now. She came here for other answers; something more tangible, something she could grasp. This wasn’t, and couldn’t be, just another night thinking about Dante.
“Party’s just getting started, huh…?” — She huffed, sobered up — “Make your first move then, fuckers… I’ll be watching.”
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