Futuristic Perchance to Dream

[Kiroshiven]

Isaac Faust

​

Isaac could tell the woman didn't feel right. The vomit covering the floor was only a confirmation. The smell of whatever was in her system permeated the air and left Isaac feeling a bit nauseated himself. Focus you dipshit. She needs help. Isaac quickly pulled out some of the threads that held the patches on his coat. Using these scraps he quickly managed to clean up the vomit, while still keeping an eye on the woman. He didn't recognize her, but she looked a bit exhausted. Stress pile up. He sighed as he threw out the last of the vomit coated cloths. His jacket now looked like swiss cheese, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about getting on the janitorial staff's bad side.


"You feeling any better?" Isaac knelt beside the woman and gently rubbed her back. He reached out to her phone. As he handed it towards her he caught sight of the same message. She got that shit too? He slipped it into her hand, but said nothing about the message. "Okay, well let's get you to the infirmary at least. You need some promethazine. Heard the docs saying that it helps nausea once." He threw the woman's arm over his shoulder and then scooped her up into his arms. She wasn't exactly light, but nowhere near as heavy as some of the boxes he had to move for the restaurant. "C'mon now. Let's go." He started on his way when the announcement came over the speakers.


"Ass likes to hear himself talk doesn't he?" Isaac mumbled to himself when it was over. Mandatory therapy?! Alright, I'll need to send a text to the boys to hold the fort while I deal with some bull shit. Isaac sighed. "Being the manager, chef and owner of a restaurant ain't easy." Walking into the infirmary, Isaac gently laid the woman down to be seen by the nurse and doctor. "Just rest up til you won't vomit again okay? I'll catch you around, maybe even at the therapy session." Isaac waved goodbye to the woman before walking away.


The day went by rather quick and although Isaac was able to get his work done, his mind was on several things. The first was the letter he received. That alone was troublesome, somebody knew he was falling asleep. The second was the suicide. Why did someone kill themselves when they didn't seem miserable as far as anyone knew? Then the fact that he got a text from some stranger and that he wasn't the only one who got it. There were too many questions and not enough answers. Isaac was so caught up in thought he nearly forgot about the therapy. Shit. Better get going.





Isaac walked into the therapy session and saw that there were five people already in the room. He recognized each of them, but didn't really know any names. Maybe they had come to Beautiful Mess, the name of his restaurant, but he doubted it. He sat down in a corner and pulled out his butterfly knife that was ALWAYS on him. He was cleared to have it in the Warehouse because he used it for work. It was also his stress reliever. Too many fucking people. This really is just going to be an assembly line therapy session. Pull out some fake shit and move us back into the lines tomorrow. Ultimately it won't amount to much of anything. Isaac merely watched as he continued to mindlessly twirl his blade in fanciful patterns.


@LadyMatsudai

 

[LadyMatsudai]

Sage whimpered as she tried to calm her breathing after getting sick on the floor. She curled up in a smaller ball against the wall from the shame of having been seen to getting sick on the floor from a mixture of both her disgust of the crime scene and her fear of the text message and what it implicated. Her brown eyes, however, opened to see Scraps working quickly to clean up her mess, using patches from his own jacket to ensure the mess was cleaned up quickly. The gentle touch to her back made Sage jump a little, sniffling with a shaky nod, one of her shaking hands moving to rub the snot from her upper lip, too shaken for words. Unaware of Isaac having seen the text message on her phone, Sage became submissive to Isaac's leading hand, letting him throw her arm over his shoulder and gasped a little to the lift, her other arm resting across her lap while her feet bounced over his arm. Nodding to the mention of being given a drug to calm her stomach, Sage leaned her head against the cook's shoulder during the trip to the infirmary.


The booming voice of the VP echoed through the hall, making Sage cringe to the high pitched tone and buried her face a little more into Isaac's shoulder, closing her eyes with the hope it would just disappear quickly. Fortunately it did. The trip to the infirmary did not take long, feeling Isaac lower her down onto the bed to be quickly examined by the nurse and doctor on call, her hand reaching out towards Isaac before he quickly waved goodbye and was on his way.


It had been a couple of hours for Sage, getting paperwork signed, being given a small dosage of medication to keep her stomach calm, the usual works with the infirmary. Just papers papers papers. Still a little shaky in the legs, the nurse was kind enough to offer to wheel Sage down towards the room where the mandatory therapy sessions were taking place. The wheels squeaked with each rotation, the inspector sighing heavily as she hugged a small doggy bag of medications against her chest. The entire day had just been exhausting and the threat of falling asleep or even so much as a yawn loomed on the horizon. She just had to go straight home as soon as she was done with the damn therapy...just be short and to the point and leave. That was the goal. Being turned into the room, Sage had glanced up to notice other people sitting on the couches, waiting patiently for the sessions to begin but her eyes immediately caught a familiar figure.


"It's you..." she said softly towards Isaac.


@Kiroshiven @Poe @Elle Joyner @Sunbather @Master Attano

 

[Master Attano]

Mathias Pembroke


Mathias paused only for a moment as the voice of the Warehouse bigshot himself, Silas Reid, addressed the crowd. The merest mention of some kind of mandatory counselling section causing a snort to erupt from Mathias, as he continued to the exit. Like hell he was going to let some pumped up shrink rattle around in my head. The exit finally coming into view after a short moment.





The last thing I need today is someone shooting me inane questions in a pointlessly false sympathetic tone as they compile an endless list of drugs to bomb my senses into oblivion. Not that I need any help with that, he smirked, pushing his weight against the door. However, just as the frame cracked open a hand slapped down onto his shoulder from behind, freezing him in place.


“Mathias.” a deep voice said.


Jerking his arm up, he slapped the hand away as he turned, a snarl on his lips as he came face to face with a strong jawed African American man who stood at roughly an inch or two higher than himself, but looked like someone who visited the gym often, sprinkling protein as an additive over every meal in addition. The uniform of New Miami Security tight around his bulging muscles.


“David.” he growled, staring intently into the other man’s eyes.


“Long time no see my friend.” David said, concern touching the corners of his eyes as he looked Mathias up and down. “How have you been?”


“Spare me the pleasantries,” Mathias replied, gritting his teeth as his hands curled into fists. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”


“Listen Mathias!” the big security officer exclaimed, spreading his hands with an exasperated look. “I know you’re still devastated over what happened, anyone would have the right to be, but the guys and I aren’t responsible for what happened to Fi-“


“Don’t say their names.” Mathias interrupted his eyes flashing as anger choked his voice. “Don’t even speak. I’m sick of your lies.” Turning back towards the door he reached for the handle, only to feel David’s hand once again fall on his shoulder, pulling him back.


“Mathias, listen to me I’m not ly-“


Before he could finish however, Mathias slammed a fist into the side of his face, turning in the direction he was being pulled.


“I warned you.” He growled, lightly shaking his throbbing hand as David staggered backwards, a stunned look on his face. God that’s one hell of a cheekbone.





As quickly as the stunned look appeared on David’s face however it vanished, replaced by a flaring anger. “I’ll let you have that one.” he spat, wiping blood from his cheek. “God knows you probably needed it, and perhaps I did deserve it, but if you come at me again I’ll put you down like the mad dog you are. You hear me?” he hissed, unclipping the holster at his waist and holding his hand on the grip. “Now, you heard the boss, counselling isn’t negotiable, it’s mandatory; and in your case very much necessary you sick fuck.” he growled, tenderly rubbing his bloodied cheek.


Tense for a long moment Mathias stared David down, finally relaxing his pose after a deep breath. Remember the message damnit, you can’t get any answers if you’re dead or hospitalised, he thought, glaring. “Whatever you say, you’re the man with the gun.” he said coldly, his teeth gritted as he pushed past him; rolling his left shoulder as he walked away, the comforting shape of the concealed M9 strapped to his side digging into his arm as he moved. He was your friend once, a quiet voice seemed to say.


Finding the counselling room didn’t take long as a streams of nervous people seemed to scurry to in that direction. Snorting with disgust, he took a seat on a nearby bench and lit a cigarette, content to wait a couple hours until the flock had passed.


After the most of the crowds had cleared and several cigarettes lay burnt to their last cinder he supposed enough time had passed. Standing before the door he took several deep breaths, let’s just get through this without hitting the therapist and we’ll call it a job well done, he thought, before gently pushing it open and stepping inside.


Casting his hooded gaze around the room he made a mental note of the people and things he could see, thankful the room wasn’t filled to bursting with self-absorbed upstarts who couldn’t wait to fill someone’s ear in with their inane chatter. You’re such a ray of sunshine. Avoiding anyone in his way he lent his weight against the window frame in the back corner of the room away from anyone else. Lighting up another cigarette as he settled in to wait, ignoring the looks anyone might have given him.

 

[Jays]

Kirstie was not in a good mood.


After the girl's death and the commotion of the Warehouse, mopping dirty water out of a not-so-expensive carpet was the last thing on her mind, but there she was, doing exactly that, with Mr. Mery's assistant, a middle-aged blond woman glowering over her shoulders. Why an IT counselor needed an assistant, she didn't know, since the man did everything manually and the assistant was never around. I would have thought witnessing a suicide is an experience traumatic enough to excuse some spilled water, she sulked mentally, carefully wiping the barely visible wet mark on the obviously average carpet that, if not for being a gift from Mr. Mery's wife, would find suitable beneath some homeless person. Not to mention she never finished cleaning that glass wall like she was supposed to, or the five offices next to this one that were marked for her for the day.


Worst of all, she was forced to cancel the meeting with her mother that she had been looking forward to the whole week. The whole ordeal with the mysterious messages had had her on edge for the entire month, and every time she woke up from a blackout, Kirstie felt more and more lost, like parts of her were stolen each time she slept. The only thing keeping her together was the thought of relying on her mother. Mary Anderson always know what to do. But now the possibility of such mental dependency seemed further away, with her having no time and little inclination to face her mother. Some issues, she decided already that morning, must be solved alone.


Kirstie left work aching and hurting all over, to find strangers already filling the lounge outside the Counseling office.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Grier Davis


Location: Mandatory Spillfest
​

Someone with a sense of consideration for others might have made room on the couch. It wouldn't be crowded, sure, but there weren't exactly a ton of seats available and the couch was large enough for at least two... maybe three. But in the end, Grier couldn't have cared less, and she had no intention of giving up her comfortable position for anyone.


Or at least that was how she felt until the behemoth of a man sank down beside her, giving her next to no time at all to slide her feet out of the way before they were crushed. It wasn't so bad, she supposed, as she slipped her legs down to the floor, instead. At least he was decent looking, and it wasn't like he smelled... And really so long as he didn't try to get chatty, or make any mov--


He... pet her. He actually physically pet her. There weren't a lot of things in Grier Davis's life that surprised her, anymore. But that, that certainly was off the curve. As that large mitt of a hand brushed over her crown, Grier's thoughts seemed to halt for a moment and she tipped her head to look at the half-stammering man beside her, "...Grier..."


It wasn't what she'd meant to say. What she had meant to say had a lot more venom... and potentially a few four letter words behind it, but there was something about him, about that dopey smile, that was strangely disarming... charming, even. Maybe it was the events of the day, putting her into some sort of sentimental, emotional state. Or maybe she was just too damn tired to invest the energy in caring. It was probably the latter.


It was definitely the latter.


"Thanks..." she murmured, brow arched, "It's nice, I guess. Chai, huh? Like the tea?"

Finn Carver


Location: Emotional Vacuum
​

It wasn't all that big a deal. These things happened. People dealt with pain in different ways... and sometimes, people just couldn't deal at all. So Dolly had never given any indication that she was suicidal... so she hadn't even ever seemed that unhappy. Who was he to make those judgments? He'd just dated her... it wasn't like he really knew her.


Or at least those were the thoughts he dwelt on, as he tried to justify what exactly had happened. He didn't want to think about it, and he certainly didn't want to talk about it to a bunch of strangers. It wasn't going to help him, or clear up any emotional confusion. But in the end mandatory in New Miami wasn't some sort of code word for 'if you want'... It meant exactly that, and not showing up... trying to sneak out, well, that wouldn't be so beneficial, either.


The room steadily began to fill, but Finn paid little mind to those around him, until the red head took a seat near his, company kept with a small sprite of a girl, who appeared too young to be working at the factory - except Finn knew better than to assume anyone in New Miami was too young for anything...


He gave the pair a small, polite nod, but his eyes lingered for a moment on the red head. She looked the type a man could lose himself in... and if Finn didn't have a fight that same evening.. hmm.


The door opened one more time and a narrow, severe looking woman stepped through. She had dark hair, pulled back too tightly, tiny bead like eyes and a stripe of a mouth, painting a dull beige color. Crossing the floor, her heels click-clacking on the tile, she sank into a seat, smoothed out her skirts and smiled in a way Finn imagined was meant to be warm, but instead made it appear as if her face had cracked.


"Welcome... thank you for coming." She started, as if they'd had a choice, "I'd like to begin by having everyone introduce themselves... and then share a little about how you're feeling right now. We'll start with you... young man?" A finger, like a blade sliced through the air, pointed in Finn's direction. Sighing, he shrugged, leaning back in his chair.


"Finn Caver... and I feel..." Horrible? Devastated? Tired...? "Fine. It's sad and all, but crap like this happens, right?"


"Hmm. Yes. Well then... Who's next?"

no slide

no slide

 

[Mordecai]

Chai

Opportunity wasn’t something that knocked on the doors of the people of New Miami, at least not the people in this crowd, so when the question of ‘Well then… who’s next?’ echoed through the room, Chai jumped on it. Being able to make a decision, even one as small as deciding if he did or did not go next in the sequence of sharing ones emotions was a big deal, funny enough. Every day, his life was directed by others. He was told when to punch in, when to punch out, and when to go home. Even the Nudge Patch had tried to tell him what he could and could not do, though ‘tried’ was the operative word in that sentence.


Decision making was a rare opportunity, and Chai was eager to experience the power that came with making up one’s own mind. “My name is Chai… like the tea,” he shot a sideways glance towards the young woman—Grier—sitting immediately to his side. “And I feel slightly hungry. I could go for something like… maybe a burrito with beans… and chile verde. Hold the onions.” Probably not what the woman meant. “I also feel a little too warm right now, but most important, I feel…” God, Chai was way too in touch with his emotions, more so than the average individual, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what emotion was blossoming through his chest in that moment. It was excitement, devastation, sadness, and joy… all at once.


In the moment of pondering, his Rootbeer brown eyes wandered through the room, looking at the faces of the people as if they would give him some answers. He found himself staring at a young girl with fierce dark hair cut into a bob. She had a lovely indigo core: a sad, dark colour that was beautiful nonetheless. She was less than half his age, yet her facial expressions and the movements she made spoke to a maturity level of someone twice his age. In fact, everyone in that room looked a little dejected, a little too old for their skin. Tired. They looked tired. Instinctively, he reached up and touched the tanned skin below his left eye, wondering if he looked that way, too.


“I feel worn-out.”


The metal that he worked with every day, welding, had a property commonly referred to as fatigue point, which could be described as the point when metal becomes so overworked it bends, breaks, and breeches a limit where it will never be the same as it once was. “That’s all.” He concluded, lacing his fingers, all singed, burnt, and scared, together in his lap. It was actually rather comforting that the young woman, Grier, hadn’t been polite enough to try and give him space on the couch. He did almost squish her, but besides that, human contact was oddly heartening.


After all, he wasn’t really grieving for the woman who had died, but all the people in that damned room who had reached their fatigue point and would never be the strong, resilient metal they had once been. His stomach grumbled at once. God, why did he bring up burritos? Now he was starving.

@Elle Joyner @Sunbather
​

 

[Kiroshiven]

Isaac Faust

​

Isaac barely got a chance to smile at the girl he helped earlier before the therapist came in. The first answer went as expected, sort of. He was as blunt as could be, but held the attitude that you needed to survive in this world. Then Chai happened to speak. His jokes nearly made Isaac bust out into laughter and he had to cover his mouth with his free hand. After taking a deep breath he finally felt like he could speak his part.


"I guess I'll go next. Not that this meeting is really going to do shit as our previous speaker demonstrated." Isaac had heard about the carefree welder and had even helped him on occasion when something needed fixing. So a playful jab at his personality wasn't too uncommon. He flipped his blade closed as the therapist seemed uncomfortable. "Please, if I was going to do anything violent you think I'd keep the blade out in the open. It's a nervous twitch. I don't like being in mixed company." He looked at the red-head and the small child that seemed rather close. Then to the blonde on the couch that seem intrigued by Chai. Good for him. Then there was the woman that he'd helped earlier and one of the janitors here. Women were fine to deal with on a superficial level, but Isaac just wasn't comfortable around them. A LOT of women worked the streets at night and a lot of his customers at Beautiful Mess spoke about the girls and it just made him uncomfortable around them.


He finally got himself back on focus with a vigorous shake of himself. "Sorry, got lost in thought. Simply put, it's a tragic thing and I'm actually sorry that youngins like that little one over there had to see something so fucked up like that. Honestly, they shouldn't have been allowed to see." Isaac took a look at the young girl. "Though I bet you've seen a fair share of messed up stuff by your composure right now. You're a strong kid, I'll give you that." Isaac started to flick his blade around again, letting the metal clink and fill the silence while he waited for the next person to speak, though the lady seemed to expect more.


"Oh, right. I forgot to mention my own feelings about this." He laughed dryly at his own avoidance of the question. "I'm not really feeling much of anything. The most I dealt with whats-her-face was some minor interactions when I went to fix her fax machine. So honestly, it's like a stranger just died. I feel bad for the family, but I'm going to be over it by tomorrow. It's just a fact of life. If you didn't know her, you'll move the fuck on." Isaac was blunt about the situation they were there for. The other emotions, the fear of someone knowing he was sleeping, the curiosity about the text message, none of that mattered here. They just wanted to make sure that the Warehouse's production wouldn't decrease come tomorrow.


@Mordecai @LadyMatsudai @Sunbather

 

[Sunbather]

Ava Sadaat

? Her vaguely unhealthily bent spine nestled into the backrest, the ends of her hair - uneven thanks to the dilettantish endeavour of a powdery smelling prostitute with a hanging, red face - not touching the cheap furniture due to the curvature. Though it may seem trivial, it actually lends her an unresting appearance, which usually is significant in interpersonal contact. On the spot, they say. Like she has to run somewhere soon. People notice these things, even when they don't notice it. Subconsciously, that is. While her right hand was inside Skye's, a sight making her seem even younger than she was to begin with, her left one could not find a position that felt natural, and so she decided on the not completely awkward feeling spot on top of her dress, inside her lap, where the thin fingers crumpled the fabric into folds.

Tenser than the grip on her terribly desaturated looking piece of clothing however, are her brows. It's a common thing for her. Glare so dark that her mug rivals those of the fighters at night. The forwardly deployed mouth which movements reveal clenching teeth. The pulled back skin, a result of predetory facial expressions, through which her cheek bones seem much harsher than usual, and the not only (like beforementioned) tense, furrowed brows, but their lowered position, swallowing half of her amber eyes. The opening stories didn't have much affect on her mood, except possibly making it a little worse by association. Opening up was a.) not simply not gonna happen, but b.) made Ava feel actively, noticably and consciously uncomfortable. Waves crashed underneath her temples, like a faint and pulsing headache. The feeling vanished for a second, then came back in amplified strength after one of the attendees talked to her more or less directly.


Well, fuck you, man.


With an abrupt motion she jolted forwards, almost awakened, her bent spine making her look like a comic book character loafing around atop a little creek. The ones with shakey little bridges, made single-handedly by a generous but poor old man with a fuzzy white beard, boat shoes, a pipe and a nice smile. The kind of bridge you would sit on and dangle your legs through the fragile posts. That kind of position. Ava tilted her head, giving a bright smile. She had adopted to extend the smile into her eyes so that little wrinkles spawned on the edge of where her eyebags ended and the lighter, harshly-peeking-cheek-bones covering skin began. Or ended, depending how you look at it.


"Oh, gee, Sir, that's very kind of you."


Ava's voice was never pitched an octave too high when she lied, like people do so regularly. She once heard that women speak a little higher when flirting (aka lying, in her experience) with men, and subsequently paid an unneccessary amount of attention towards her own voice, ensuring she'd never sound squeaky. Nevertheless, Ava spoke with an (admittedly superfluous) baby tone most of the time. You know, the kinda tone where each appreciative or happy exclaim ends in an "Ah-hnha" sound, as if she was swallowing saliva while trying to gulp out a laugh right when her breath hitched..


"I'm sure everythin' will be a'ight. My mom says, Sir, she always said: Mary, she says, sit down for a second and give me ya hands. And then, I'm tellin' you, she says, Mary, everythin''s gonna be a'ight. The bad comes for a few days an' looks around, 'n' then it stays for three days, and then leaves on the next day."


She paused, the fictionlly bastardized southern belle accent of her non-existent mother had a tendency to exhaust her mentally. The people she modeled it off just seemed so needlessly chipper, and on top of that, abhorrently genuine, something Ava for the life of her could not understand, and barely comprehend, if only theoretically.


"So now, Sir, I'm tellin youuu, I say, the bad dun' came to our house, that much is clear! But it's gonna just, just gonna, you know, it's just gonna stay for a coupl'-a-nights and then wave goodbye. And I'm sure our dear lost friend..."


Ungrateful fuckin' pig, she is.


"... would not want us to be sad about her for too long, right?"


So. Pretty.


"Oh yeah, and I'm Mary! And I might be young, but I says to myself sometimes, we just gotta chin up 'n' look forward and I'm..."


DIDN'T YOU SEE HER? YOU WOULD LOVE TO BE SO PRETTY, WOULDN'T YOU?!


"... and maybe we should... uh..."


And dead, right? Dead and pretty!


"Uhh... sorry, I... I lost my thought..."


A weakly pulsating finger requested for assurance inside a certain redhead's grip.


@Kiroshiven @Poe

 

[Poe]

Skye Fiera

​

Skye did not, under any circumstance want to talk, but the moment Ava opened her mouth next to her…sorry, Mary, she could not stop the way she clutched back against the girl’s hand for reassurance. What she was doing here — Skye had no idea — but she was aware of just how young she really was and that her presence here meant she had some goal in mind. It was not her place to know, but she’d made a promise to herself a long time ago to look out for two damn people in his world. Herself and that little slouched girl next to her with her fingers buried in the fabric of the folds. Hell, in this kind of world Skye couldn’t protect anyone from much, but the least she could do was make it bearable, manageable at the very least.


Finding her mother dead didn’t change Skye, but being alone did.


The trick with a knife in his hand was her biggest source of frustration in the room, while everyone else seemed rather content with half-hearted answers and pretty lies to make the time pass quickly. “Y’know, the world out there isn’t pretty,” Skye spoke, her voice filling the room though she remained as composed as ever. “You think that little ones shouldn’t be allowed to see, but man, this? Yeah, it’s fucked up but it’s what happens. That’s what everyone is saying, right? Suicide is never a surprise, just the person who falls victim to themselves. That’s the problem, though. ‘It’s what happens,’ doesn’t stop it and if you’re not willing to change anything, there’s no use in talking about it.”


“Pretty girl, but we’re not here to talk about her. Are we?” Skye looked up at the woman moderating the session, “We’re here because you’re worried about how death affects us. Well, no one worried about how death affected her until she was on the damn pavement. So I don’t know what it is you want me to say. Or any of us, for that matter.”


Her father had always told her she lost control of her mouth, that she was a little firecracker if the occasion called for it. A little revolutionary, trying to protect and stay completely unattached at the same time. The words had always come after some long, drawn out argument or physical altercation but they were always the same. He was right though, her hair was not the only part about her that was fiery and this whole therapy thing just tugged on her last nerve. Whatever lives these other people had did not need to be interrupted by a little thin lipped wannabe-therapist trying to unearth feelings that didn’t want to be unearthed.


That was the thing about grief, though, it never hit anyone the same way.


All Skye wanted to do was to leave work and get Ava back to wherever she was stayigo nowadays before trying to lose herself in the next handsome little thing that came along. She wanted to carry on with her life because she wasn’t dead. Another day where it wasn’t her red mane streaking through the air before her body cracked on the pavement was a good one in her book. Always moving forward, always moving on, because she couldn’t change it. She couldn’t change the world around her and she couldn’t change the darkness she had known.


And all the preaching about who should and should not see whatever was just exhausting.


“I’m Skye,” she realized she hadn’t introduced herself. With a bit of an exhausted sigh, she brought her hand up and brushed back through the small pieces of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.

@Sunbather @Kiroshiven
​

 

[LadyMatsudai]

Sage felt a hint of a smile curl up on her lips to see Isaac start to grin before she blinked to the therapist making her grand entrance, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. The inspector simply readjusted herself in her wheelchair to distract herself for the moment, eyes glancing down to the small paper bag in her hands that rattled with the medication inside. Upon the man named Chai explaining how he felt, Sage tried to plaster on a hint of a smile in the hopes that his attempt to make light of the situation would make her happier. Even when Isaac had done his own little quip about not being very comfortable with a mixed crowd, Sage still did not feel better, the smile immediately disappearing as quickly as it appeared moments before.


With the other two women not really saying much, Sage shifted in her seat again and cleared her throat to indicate she would take her turn to speak. "Um...I am...Sage Thompson, an inspector of the final products here at the Warehouse..." she stammered, fingers crinkling the paper bag a little more in the hopes it would provide her at least a little bit of comfort. "And as for how I feel...I...I feel...terrified..." she finally confessed, her eyes glancing right into Isaac's for some sort of visual comfort like how he had taken care of her just moments before. There were of course other factors regarding her fear with falling asleep and the text message...but no one could know about that...no one.


@Kiroshiven @Poe @Mordecai @Sunbather @Elle Joyner @Jays @Master Attano

 

[Master Attano]

Mathias Pembroke


As far as group therapy sessions went, this one was turning out almost exactly like Mathias had expected. Person after person awkwardly addressing the open air, the details of their heartaches, or lack thereof, of little interest to him. The little girl who sat nervously on the couch, her hand clutching the redhead’s beside her, was of interest however. Just from looking at her he could tell she’d been through a hell that extended beyond the little pantomime they were witnessing today.


Her cheerful and quirky spiel a contradiction to the darkness that veiled itself, like a predatory creature avoiding the light, within her brown doe eyes. A darkness he recognised in the mirror every day. Or maybe he was just projecting. Adjusting his weight against the wall he took a long draw from his cigarette, scrunching the butt on the window as he looked out into the dark courtyard below. A sudden wave of tiredness that washed over him, staring out into the neon lit night, causing his hands to quickly tighten.


Pushing his face away from the window he focused back on the room, locking his gaze on the therapist. “How much longer do you plan to keep us here lady?” he grunted, rubbing a twitch out of his left eyebrow. “As fun as all these heartfelt introductions are, some of us have places we need to be.”


____


@Kiroshiven @Poe @Mordecai @Sunbather @Elle Joyner [COLOR=rgb(86,86,86)]@Jays[/COLOR] @LadyMatsudai

 

[Elle Joyner]

Grier Davis


Location: Mandatory Spillfest
​

Bunch of liars.


A smirk twisted the corner of her lips as she watched the people around the room explain their feelings. They were all full of crap, one way or the other. Trying to looks strong or tough or encouraging or brave. Only totally honest one among them seemed to be the hunk of man sitting beside her, but she was pretty sure that was because he didn't have a whole lot going on in that pretty head of his. Fact of the matter was, that was life in New Miami - you got through it by pretending to be someone you weren't. Here, the group meeting, they were supposed to feel safe to express themselves, to talk about their feelings, but it just wasn't true.


And that was the funny part. The folks on top - like the thin-lipped woman, telling them to open up. She was the biggest liar of them all. She didn't care. She didn't have to, because they were just the worker bees - and as long as they could still do their job, well... that was all that mattered in the end. The hive could function, and they could continue with their luxury and their decadence, while the world crumbled around them.


"...I'm Grier." She finally said, straightening her legs to splay them across the lap of the man sitting beside her. It was a blatant invasion of personal space, but she didn't care and something told her he wouldn't, either, "And I think is all a steaming load of crap. I think we're here so you can judge whether or not that girl jumping off the roof is gonna affect production. And I don't think a single person here is gonna tell you a damn thing that's honest, cause let's face it... why should we? This ain't therapy... it's a test. And the way I see it, as long as we can keep up the good work, you don't care how we really feel. So maybe let's just stop wasting time? Me... I'm fine. I got all my fingers and toes, I got this here brain in my head and I made quota today. Can I go, now?"


Frowning, the severe woman shifted, and there was an expression that passed across her face, which for a moment might have registered as annoyance. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared and with a stripe of a smile, she nodded, "...Very well. Thank you all for your time. I think this was a healthy and satisfactory meeting. You are all free to leave."

Finn Carver


Location: Emotional Vacuum
​

It was interesting, to say the least. Not informative, but interesting. His eyes bounces around the room at the many faces, answering subjectively as possible, sharing as little as they could, whether intentionally or not. All in all, it had been a giant waste of time and he couldn't blame the people who called it what it was - they were bold, maybe too bold, but genuine. In particular, his eyes hovered on the red head and he knew by now he was staring, but damn it all if he cared. It was her words, more than any of the others that echoed in his mind...


Suicide is never a surprise...


But this time it was. Yet he couldn't say it out loud, he couldn't admit that, because admitting it to them meant admitting it to himself. That something felt wrong about it all, that something felt off. Dolly was happy and successful and she had made a life for herself. It just didn't make sense for her to take a leap like that. And that text message... He had no doubt who it was from, but the impossibility of that was too much to wrap his sleep deprived brain around.


Looking down at his hands, his thoughts dissolved into confusion and he became vaguely aware that the voices around him were starting to blur together. Eventually, the sharp, dark haired woman dismissed them, and without hesitation, rising before she'd finished speaking, he was up out of his seat. He had a fight to lose, and for this first time in a long time, he was looking forward to that challenge.

no slide

no slide

 

[LadyMatsudai]

Sage Thompson

​

Sage could not imagine for the life of her what to do after everything came crashing down in the past few hours. The woman's body found in the Warehouse Courtyard, the text message just days after she had received the haunting letter, and now this therapy session. All of it was just too much to handle at once...she just needed to wheel herself out of the Warehouse. Maybe the trip to the Red Light District to see the kids would be a good idea now...Sage just knew that waiting until the end of the week was not going to happen. The inspector jumped a little in her wheelchair as she saw the one named Finn quickly jump up and march right through the door upon the mention of the meeting being adjourned and left the others in the dust to go to wherever he needed to be alone. She could only imagine as she glanced at each of the other figures in the room what their safe places would be. Sage could only guess that everyone was disturbed about the events, whether they confessed or not. While it has sadly been normal...there was always something off with suicides. Something unnerving that just does not go away: a pair of heavy hands on your shoulders with dark whispers in your ears.


Sighing to herself, Sage settled the medicine bag in her lap carefully before starting to wheel herself in the direction of the door, handling the wheels a little awkwardly. She just had to get to the Red Light District...the kids would be a good distraction and would keep her active. Going to the Colosseum was too risky, if she got tired there would be thousands of people to see her and potentially report her. The bar was the exact same story and going home was just not an option either. Wheeling up to one side of the double set of doors, Sage struggled a little with pushing the wheels of her chair over the door frame's bottom portion, grunting at the effort as her weakened arms shook.

 

[Kiroshiven]

Isaac Faust

​

Isaac listened to Grier and smirked. Chick's got balls, I'll give her that. He chuckled to himself as he listened to her put the therapist back in her place like everyone wanted to. "Way to put it Grier." He said when the blonde had finished her little monologue. He couldn't have said it any better himself. They were cogs in a machine and all that they were there for was to make sure that the cogs would keep spinning minus one more. Isaac leaned his head back as he listened to people starting to walk away.


"Well, I'm going back to work. You're all welcome to come over to Beautiful Mess in downtown. I'll give y'all a discount, 50% off on the food." Isaac smiled to each of them as he slipped his blade back into his pocket and started to walk for the door. "Don't get mixed up in any shit now." He waved over his shoulder as he called out to them. It wouldn't be much for him tonight in terms of work. He'd forgotten about the new club opening up not far from his restaurant. I'll have to stay open a bit later so that I can make quota tonight. Fuck. And I've been barely able to fight the sleep when I'm closing at a regular hour. Tonight is going to be a loooooooong night. A heavy sigh escaped form his lips as he walked out into the night air. He looked around, making sure nobody was around as he stifled a yawn. "Shit. Was holding that back the entire time. I need some coffee. Think I'll go for some of the good stuff tonight. Those beans that were brought from Colombia have quite the kick."


@LadyMatsudai @Elle Joyner @Mordecai @Master Attano @Poe @Sunbather

 

[Master Attano]

Mathias Pembroke


Mathias’ lip twitched at the blatant hypocrisy that poured from the ‘therapist’s’ mouth, the term therapist used in the loosest possible way. Her tight lipped smile and blank stare not so subtly belaying a complete disregard and even disgust for everyone in the room.


An offer of cheap food and drink from a notably pale, but well built, scruffy man was tempting, but ultimately Mathias wasn’t looking for company; and even in the off chance that he did it was far too dangerous in his current condition.


With the group’s dismissal he waited for a few moments, allowing the bulk of the group to move out, staring at the therapist through hooded eyes as he waited. He couldn’t place a finger on it exactly, but something about the woman made his gut twist, the way she held herself, the way she looked at them, examined them; it wasn’t right.


Tearing his eyes from her he made his way to the door, pausing to look back once more before disappearing into the night. Good riddance. He would have loved to say he stepped out into a night that cooled his cheeks, each breath cleansing the grime of hopelessness that had poured into the room through the masked emotions and facades that each person had put forward; but he couldn’t. The city reeked of despair born from a mindless immutability that defied human nature; the oppressive warmth that wrapped itself around every living thing seeming to rise up from the glowing heart of the city. A mephitis that clung to the skin and soaked into the pores.


Lighting up another cigarette he let the pure warmth of the match warm his face, shaking it out only when the flame began to lick at his fingers. Left hand in pocket, while the other held the cigarette he strode off into the city, the Warehouse disappearing behind him.


Darkness curled at the corners of his eyes as the neon signs and flashing lights of downtown set the shadows dancing with their colourful displays. Crowds of people laughing and dancing with them, hurrying to and fro like moths seeking a flame; their steps quickening from the shadows that lurked in the tight corners and alleyways, repressed by the dazzling light.


The murky blackness calling to him as he strode through the greyer areas of the district, twisted figures and shapes seeming to reach out to him, fading to nothing when he turned to look. The whispered cries and moans of pain growing ever louder with each step taken.


Fervently rubbing his eyes Mathias pulled himself to a stop, jerking his head around to stare fully into the dark alley beside him; whispers and moans echoing out towards him as he stood his ground, a hand rising to grip the handle of his gun as the shadows seemed to lean towards him. A moment of silence passing before a woman’s blood curdling scream shook him to the core, flames surging from the dark alley, illuminating not the stone walls of the buildings beside it, but a wasteland of death and devastation; the whispers and moans reaching a screaming crescendo as the hungry fire wrapped itself around him, soaking into him as his skin melted to nothing at its touch.


With a throttled gasp his eyes shot open, body jerking as his arms shot to shield his face, impacting the street lamp that had been lining up his face. Snorting as each breath tore through his throat he could only cling to the lamp post until his racing heart began to calm. What the fuck was that? The sight wasn’t new, the vision of the strange land had haunted the edge of his mind ever since the nudge patch had stopped working, coming out to play when his mind began to doze or the few times that sleep had caught him.


Never like this though…


Quickly glancing around, staring suspiciously at the few people that graced the back alleys of the downtown district, he took off at a hurried walk. Not looking anywhere but directly in front of him as the vibrant atmosphere of downtown gave way to the muted squalor of the lower class district.


With a crash the old wooden door to the dingy basement bar, nestled in the heart of the LCD district, flew open. The few customers present gripping their cups tightly, head’s spinning to face the door; the bar tender, an older man with greying hair and a scared face, resting his hands beneath the counter at the sight. With staggered steps Mathias entered the room, casting his hooded gaze at the various people sat in the shadowy alcoves to the left and right of the door as a wave of relief seemed to spread throughout all present, the bartender grimacing as his hands returned to the counter.


While dingy was the first word that sprang to mind to describe theElsewhere bar, dreary, drab and even dilapidated were also words that could be used. The worn and torn red leather that adorned the seating having long lost its shine. The shape of the room having the main door directly facing the long bar as one entered, alcove seating with worn leather diner-like couches on either side of a table spreading out along the wall; terminating where the bar began. Stained wooden floors and peeling wallpaper the decorum of the day.


Clenching a fist, he slowly made his way towards the bar, neck tickling as stares from people slouched around the room bore into his back. A quiet buzz of conversation starting once again as he reached the bar.


“I’ll have a large whisky with the special if you please.” he growled, leaning against the bar as he rubbed his forehead. “Actually,” he said, pausing as whispered cries floated at the edge of his hearing, “make that a double of the special.”


The bartender stood still for a moment, giving him a hard look, the exact expression unreadable through his thick grey brows and pockmarked features. The left side of his face possessing various nicks and cuts, but in particular was marred by a large, but faded, burn scar.


“Don’t give me that look Solomon, I’ve got the money. That’s all you need to worry about.” Mathias said flatly. The two men staring each other down before Solomon shrugged, grabbing a cup and two bottles from under the bar. The golden glow of the whisky decorated by two inches of another pale blue liquid when he handed the half full cup back.


“Thanks.” Mathias muttered, taking a long moment to quarter the glass, sighing as the liquid energy rushed through his veins.

 

[Mordecai]

Chai

tl;dr : Discussions of Feng Shui turn awfully friendly between Grier and Chai.

​

Well, that was certainly bold. Chai's arms came to rest across the woman's ankles, seeing as her legs were now splayed across his lap. The young man didn't really find it all that unusual truthfully, though he probably should have, then again he also had two nickels in his pocket for the sake of atmospheric balancing. Truthfully, nothing was too out of the ordinary for Chai. Invasion of personal space aside, how did one even begin describing the words that spilled from her mouth? They were rude, obtuse, painfully blunt, and delightfully perfect. Few things caught his wandering attention quite like the pearly blonde woman next to him, well, on him.


The gumption that led her to place her legs across his lap and to not punch him when he had given her a pet had been the same gumption that seemed to get them an early dismal from the whole event. Shame, really, he was really starting to enjoy himself. "Well, Grier," he gave her knees a small thumping with his two pointer fingers, "I can't rightly move to go o't on the lash if you're just use me as fancy Bohemian furniture."


Looking him over, Grier smirked and slid her legs to the ground, "If I were gonna use you for furniture, chair wouldn't be my first choice."


Rising to her feet, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her overalls, "Where you headed? Split a cab?"


"Hah... Chai-r," he commented idly, his brain clicking the two words together with a split of amusement. Free from the trap that was the weight of her legs, he also got up to his feet, dusting off the front of his shirt as if he could magically remove the splatterings of mechanical grease by doing so. "I was headin' out to that Vantage," he hadn't originally planned on going out, but he was hungry after his little comment about burritos earlier, "If you're going out thatta way, I'd be happy to split a cab."


Looking up at him, she rolled her eyes, but not without a measure of amusement, "...Pieced that one together, hmm?"


Giving him a quick once over, she bit her lip, then shrugged, "Beats sittin' at home, anyway." She gestured to the door, before heading that way, herself, "So, Chai... you uh... You pet everybody you haven't met before?"


For as long as Chai could remember, people teased him. He wasn't very smart, not that he was a complete idiot either, but he was slow and enjoyed smelling the roses on the side of the road instead of sprinting to the finish line. Nevermind he was also a bit strange in other ways, too, like his fascination with sounds and colours. Therefore, her comment didn't really do much and he sort of let it gloss off of him like water off a duck's back.


"Not everyone," he answered, "Your hair just seemed worth petting."


"Well, thanks, I guess." She chuckled, and it felt strangely genuine, which for Grier was a surprise, "I didn't even use conditioner, today. Hell if I had time for it." Glancing up at him again, she smiled faintly, "Well, it's definitely a way to meet folks, that's for sure. I can honestly say it's a first for me, and I don't have a whole lotta firsts left."


"Oh, you should always use conditioner," he remarked, his eyes, two little pools of melted chocolate, flickered in her direction with a silly grin, pulling down on one of his curls before letting it bounce back into place, "That's how you get nice curls like that." He was teasing, of course. Stepping out of the main entrance of the Warehouse, Chai was met with the warm, stuffy air of New Miami. "Letsa go grab that cab. Where ya headed?"


Grinning, Grier shook her head, "I'll keep that in mind... not that it'll make a difference with this mop."


Following him out, she paused, raking her fingers through her hair with a small shrug, "We're sharin' the cab... might as well split a tab, if you're up for it. Vantage, hmm? Opening night, right?"


"Sure," he agreed, "Yea, openin' night. I hear they have Burritos 'n the menu, and after my lil' spiel, I'm hungry." Funny, the only thing he really took away from the counseling session was a lovely blonde and an appetite.


Chuckling, Grier shook her head, "You know... you might've been the only one in that ridiculous meeting who wasn't completely full of it. Not that I'm surprised. How they expect any of us to be honest after a show like that is just... goes beyond me."


She gestured to the curb as the shuttle cab pulled up along side, "...Anyhow. Ready...?"


"I'll tell you what I'm not full of-- I'm not full of burrito, and that is just a sad day," he explained idly, approaching the shuttle cab that pulled up to the curb. He opened it for her, the gentleman that he was, and motioned for her to step inside first.


Shaking her head with another laugh, Grier slipped into the cab, sliding across the make room for him, "And I'm definitely not full of some form of very strong alcohol. Let's rectify that, hmm?"


"Let's," he agreed, sliding into the seat next to her with some discomfort (he hated sitting in normal seat). It was an unfortunate evil he had to face though in order to conquer the distance between the Warehouse and the Vantage.


Vantage, as it turned out, was predictable neon. Everything downtown was, bright and loud - the perfect escape from the ordinary, and with such a pulse it was almost possible to pretend you weren't exhausted. As Grier followed Chai inside, she grimaced at the tacky blues and red and pinks and purples that flashed and writhed in the bouncing streams of the strobe lights. The music was a generic pumping bass sound that may or may not have carried lyrics, but in the end all the songs sounded the same, and she wasn't really there for the music anyhow.


Reaching down, she grabbed Chai's hand - not because she was feeling particularly possessive, but because it was impossible to get across the thriving dance floor without losing a person. At the bar, she released him again, before sinking down onto a stool, "So... gonna buy me a drink, Chai...?"


The Vantage had a heartbeat, and its bass was enough to keep Chai's heart beating, too. It was loud and uncomfortably, sweaty and hot, but over the years, Chai had grown used to the ways of the city. She had tucked her hand in his, Grier that was, and he tugged her along through the crowd, all smooshed into the small space like sardines in a can before appearing at the bar. There was only one stool available, though Chai was perfectly content standing (again, he didn't like normal seats).


A cool smile tipped the corners of his lips as he eyed her from the corner of his eye, "Depends whatya get. I make it a point to ne'r buy anything that ends in 'Colada.'"


Grinning up at him, Grier shook her head, "Do I look like the kinda girl who orders the frilly things? Scotch... on the rocks."


"You never know. I don't judge a blonde by the crinkle in her nose," he recited, as if he was pulling out Shakespeare. The bartender sauntered their direction and after Grier had ordered, Chai had put in for a Lager, himself.


A brow quirked, and she sank back to a lean against the bar top, her elbows propped against the faux wood paneling, "Crinkle in my..." Rubbing her nose, she frowned, "Whatever. So what's a normal night for Chai like in the city, hm?"


"I don' go out much," he answered, leaning on his elbows much in the same way she had, though his left foot was hooked behind his right. "You may not believe this, but I don't have many friends. I prefer my apartment, honestly." It was safe there. "What about you?"


Looking around the crowded bar, she smirked a little, her shoulders rising and falling in a pointedly innocent shrug, "I'd probably prefer your apartment, too."


Their drinks were delivered and Chai's hand curled around his glass instinctively, but he didn't drink from it yet. "I'm sure you'd make for a prettier centerpiece than the coffee table I have at the moment-o, lass."


As she plucked up her glass, her eyes flickered to his and she smirked, "...I'm sure as hell a lot more fun than a coffee table."


"You may be surprised, little lady," he said with some playful notes in his tone, taking the first large gulp of his beer and expressing his contentment iwth the taste with a small 'aah' of pleasure. Whether he was catching on to the flirting or not was entirely impossible to say.


For the second time, her brow shot up and she watched him for a moment with a certain element of scrutiny, "...That a challenge? Cause that sounded like a challenge."


"Depends-- daya like challenges?" something about her choice of drink hinted otherwise, but Chai, as he explained, was never one to judge a blonde by the wrinkle in her nose.


Grinning, she tipped her glass at him, "I love a challenge. Not sure you could handle it though..." Bringing the glass to her lips, she watched him over the rim as she took a sip, her eyes a tease, "...But I could be wrong."


"Challenge is my middle name... no, actually, no, it's not... it's actually Van," he explained very thoroughly before swallowing down a good portion of his beverage, long have since forgetting about his desire for a burrito.


Shaking her head again, Grier took another sip before setting her glass down, "...There's something ain't quite right about you, Chai Van... Whatever. But I like it. Club's nice... loud. Wanna get outta here?"


"Maybe," he finished off his beer, spinning the glass between his palms, "But there ain't much right about anything in this city, now is there? Sure, let's skadaddle." He pushed off the bar.


Rising to her feet, she held out her hand and with a shrug, smiled faintly, "...No truer words, friend. Lead the way."


With that, he took her by the hand and led her out of the crowded bar and on to the equally crowded sidewalk just out front. He didn't really have to ask where she wanted to go, though he had loosened his grip on her hand so just their pinkies were tangled up, just barely enough to keep them from separating down the busy streets.


He was quirky. Just quirky enough that he wasn't boring, and that made him alright in her book. Following along, Grier looked down at their twined pinkies and rolled her eyes, but not without a chuckle. The day had been trash... but maybe the night was looking up a bit.


"Well, this is my flat building," it wasn't far from the Vantage, then again, nothing was really all that far in New Miami, anyways, not with how connected the world was. "I'm happyta walk ya home, or you can come compete with my tea table for the leggiest lady award."


Looking up at the building, Grier smiled, "...Might as well see what kinda table we're talkin' about, here. I mean... I can't give up without trying, right?"


Chai, all considered, didn't have a bad apartment. It was a bit cluttered with general 'things'-- but in an organized and clean sort of way. There wasn't a bed, there was no need for one (usually), but there was a sofa in the living room, a small kitchen, and a few other nice amenities. It seemed to speak volumes about Chai-- a bit of a confused gaggle of belongings, yet somehow organized and homely. And, of course, the infamous tea table. "Need anything ta drink?" he asked, gently pushing the door shut behind them.


Eyeing that table for a moment, one might have sensed jealousy in Grier, but it was ridiculous, of course... There was just no competition. Turning to Chai, she shrugged, "I wouldn't say no to a drink. Nice place. I don't think my apartment has a floor anymore. But half of that's my kid brother. For someone who's never home, the kid is a disaster."


Looking between her and the table, a sly smirk caught him in the lips. "I dunno, miss. That's an awful fine table but it doesn't got the same charm," he commented idly, moving into the kitchen to pour them both a drink. He failed to have whisky on hand, but he did have Scotch, and that would do in a pinch.


Grinning, Chai dropped down onto the couch, looking up from the table to watch as he poured the drinks, "...First time anybody's called me charming. Either the world don't know what it's missing... or you got a funny version of that word in your head."


"If I believe what I'm told, I hava funny version of everything in my noggin." He offered the drink out to her, taking a seat adjacent to her on the tea table. "Scotch'll do ya alright?"


"Perfect..." Taking the glass, she leaned back and as she had back at the Warehouse, she propped the legs up with no qualms otherwise, right on his lap, "Well, I for one like the way you think, Chai. Ain't like all the other drones and that's a good thing."


Her feet falling in his lap, Chai ended up tugging at her shoelaces until they pulled free. "Hm," he snorted with a small smile, "You ain't half bad yourself, Grier. But whatdya think... the tea table worth visiting?" Or, perhaps, the man on the tea table had been more worthwhile. He held his tongue.


Smiling, she shrugged and took another slow sip from the glass, her eyes following his fingers as they unlaced her shoes, "I like parts of it... Couch is comfier."


Patting the spot beside her, she added "You oughta try it..."


Normally, Chai would have declined the offer, but having tugged her shoes off her feet and gingerly dropping them off to the side, he obliged and swept out from underneath her feet, collapsing into the seat next to her. His arm rather... inconspicuously spilled over her shoulders. "Is not so bad."


"Hmm." Leaning back into that arm, Grier nodded, "Definitely has it's appeal."


"I s'pose," he agreed. Normally, he only rested down on the sofa when he was about to take a very sinful nap, but it was hard to feel tired when the heat of the young woman next to him was permeating into his chest. All odds aside, Chai had had a fair number of lovers, and if there was one thing he learned, it was better to do less talking. Talking got things all sorts of confusing and muddled, and Chai's brain was enough of a confusing and muddled mess without any further additions. "I'm gunna say you didnae come up here to admire my tea table and sofa though, did ya?"


Shifting, Grier's shoulders rose and fell again, her lip curved upwards in a sassy little smile, "I mean... we could, if you really wanna discuss furniture. Got any end tables? I love end tables..."


Chai might not have been the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but he wasn't the town idiot either and when she teased, a soft chuckle rippled through his chest. "I do. I even hava book shelf you could admire." Though as she shifted, he caught that silly little smirk in a kiss. No point in giving his nonexistent book case any more time of day.


"Oh. Slow down there, Chai... I dunno if I can take a coffee table and bookshelf in one night..." But as his lips claimed her own, talking suddenly had less appeal. Sliding to the side, she repositioned her legs on either side of him lap, burying her fingers in that wild mane of dark curls.


Now was no time discuss feng shui, he decided, and clearly she must have agreed because the second their lips met, she had sort of curled in to him allowing his hands to march properly, and without refine, down her spine.


She made a noise, somewhere in her throat and moved her lips to the outside of his jaw, pausing by the shell of his ear, "Coffee table's got nothin'..." Grazing that same ear with her teeth, she smirked and let her hands drop to free the man of his shirt.


"Hmm," was his only guttural response, tilting his head a bit to press up against her teeth with a shaky breath of urgency. He barely knew the woman's name, though she knew his middle name and that-- that was more than enough familiarity between them for whatever was about to follow. He had pulled away from her only for a moment to let her pull the shirt off from over his head before his hands, singed from his work, expertly worked the buttons of her one-piece, pushing the rough fabric down and off her shoulders as his lips met with hers once more.


Laughing softly at his insistence, Grier let him pull her back in and collided, unhesitantly against his lips, looping her arms around his neck without complaint.


It was hungry, lustful, and not very romantic-- but how could something be tender between two people who had just met? It was entertainment, a chance encounter of personalities that were compatible enough. In the way they approached it, sex was not very intimate-- but that didn't make it passionless. There was a lot that could be learned about a person from their body language and Grier's was just about unrefined as his was. It was strangely comforting-- two complete strangers tangling up for a fleeting moment, likely never to encounter one another again, but Chai certainly didn't mind meeting her once.

collab with

@Elle Joyner
​

 

[Poe]

Skye Fiera

​

The entire meeting did nothing but edge on Skye’s last nerve. What was the fucking point? You may go, the woman had said evenly as if they had made any progress at all. Shaking her head in disbelief, Skye pushed herself from her chair and walked knowing damn well that Ava would tote alongside her. The young girl’s hand was still enveloped in Skye’s, gentle and a bit cold, but still there. Truthfully, Skye didn’t know where to go after a day like that. She probably needed to get the kid back, but hell if she wanted to go to work directly from work. Instead, Skye tugged the girl back in the direction of her apartment. If anything, she needed a new change of clothes and to let her hair down.


After that, the night was young.


Managing to slip into something a little more enticing, though not overly so, Skye walked alongside Ava in the ever-bustling streets of New Miami. It was an enjoyable silence, truly, as Skye never felt quite as at ease as she did in the company of the young girl. That was the thing about people who had endured real trauma, there were no words for it anymore, just the unspoken bond that hung in the air like a protective barrier. Skye couldn't stop the world from trying to break Ava, but she could make sure there was someone there to always pick up the pieces in a way no one had ever offered Skye.


Glancing up from the ground, Skye almost cracked a smirk. Downtown was one of her favorite places to be. It was so loud and vibrant that it was impossible to fall asleep, but most of all she enjoyed being a part of the crowd. As a prostitute, she never quite stopped gaining attention, but if she could ignore the lustful glances of the other men around her, she could convince herself that she was a wallflower. At first, she’d come down here seeking a bit of a different client to those who made their way around the red light district like snakes. No, catching eyes the real way was even better. No desperation, just igniting a spark that otherwise would never have been lit.


But then the Colosseum caught her eye and a singular head of hair heading to the arena. It was the man from the session, the one who had nearly stared a hole through her soul with his intense gaze. Finn Caver. His words had been darker, revealing nothing though his eyes had revealed more than he anticipated. He was certainly her type, rough and tough, the kind with a secret or two and needed somewhere or someone to bury it in. She should have turned around and stayed far away, but there was something about him that intrigued her.


Whatever her intention, she couldn’t stop her feet.


“What do you say to a little entertainment, kid?” Skye smirked, putting her hand on the back of her shoulder affectionately. “What better way to follow a suicide than watching humanity beat itself silly?”


Her heels clicked against the pavement as they approached the entrance to the arena. She doubted he would notice her in a crowd or even remember her, but Skye couldn’t seem to stop her feet from moving forward.

@Sunbather @Elle Joyner
​

 

[Elle Joyner]

Finn Carver


Location: The Colosseum
​

It was a full house in the Colosseum that night. Spectators lined up outside to purchase tickets, credits waved high, voices raised higher. It was a mad house, and everything that Finnegan Carver needed. He was signed up for the forth round fight - facing a giant of a man named Mill Spencer. Mill would pound him, he was certain, but it would be well worth it... and might even dull a little of the horrible dread he'd been feeling since he'd found out about Dolly that morning.


Heading into the locker room, Finn tugged off his work shirt and grabbed a tube of oil from his bag, parking himself on a bench. Rubbing the oil into muscles still sore from the fight the previous night, he frowned softly as his mind returned to the text message... to the sight of Dolly, lifeless and limp in the courtyard.


His eyes stung and with the back of his hand, he rubbed them dry again, as the locker room door opened, admitting Darius inside. He was dressed in a fine linen suit, his close-cut hair slicked back from finely chiseled features. Grey eyes, the color of smoke, drifted here and there with casual disinterest, before falling on Finn.


"...Heard you volunteered for this one, Finnegan. Something you wanna tell me...?"


"Just... got some bad news, is all. Need to feel it, you know?"


"...Ah. This have to do with that girl from the Warehouse? The jumper?"


Brow quirked, Finn looked up, "How did you..."


"I've got eyes and ears everywhere, Mate. You know this. Anyhow... Not that I need to remind you of our little deal, but I've got a lot riding on this one. You aren't plannin' on takin' out your aggressions, any, are you?"


"...Not tonight, sir. Won't be hard to lose this one, trust me."


"Good." Darius nodded, running his fingers through his hair, "I'll see you after then, kid."


As he stepped out the way he'd come in, Finn sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.


All that is Gone is not Lost. -- D


"...Sorry, Doll... I think I might be lost for good on this one..."


From the locker rooms, it was a quick walk down a long hall and to the auditorium door, which would, when the light turned green, give him access to the fighting floor. The Colosseum was made up of several of these floors – The Big Money came in at the Gladiator Dome, a massive floating dirigible, which rose high above the city, but there were also seven smaller arenas, where fighters could still earn a nice penny in a smaller crowd. Finn, with the deal he’d made Darius, would never make it to the Dome, but he’d often wondered if he were allowed, if he could qualify.


That was probably the most ironic aspect of his losing streak… He was good – He was really good, but good wasn’t surefire, and Darius wanted surefire, so Finn continued to lose, and Darius continued to make the big bucks… And no one caught wise, cause Finn was just so fine and charming…


A buzzing hummed above his head and Finn looked up with a smirk as the light flashed green. Cracking his knuckles and his neck, he took in a deep breath, then, exhaling, opened the door to the arena. It was a smaller room - the spectator section roughly three rows of about twenty chairs on each side of the center ring. Still, a fight was a fight and as long as there was money to be made on the loser, people flocked to see it.


Mill Spencer stood in the center ring, already disrobed to his shorts, bouncing back and forth from foot to foot to warm up his muscles. He seemed somehow bigger than Finn remember, but that might have been the prospect of having his face mutilated by the man talking. The smile, though, did not fade from Finn's lips as he pushed himself up through the ropes, taking the stage.


"You two know the rules..." The ref muttered, "Keep it clean, keep it fair."


"Right..." Finn added, smirking. It would be clean, anyway.


With the clang of a bell, Finn's fists met his opponents and the fight began. The trick to throwing a fight without appearing to throw a fight was that it couldn't be over too quickly. Allowing your opposition to blast you in a sucker punch and knock you out ten seconds in might work once or twice, but every time and people would start asking questions. Finn had perfected giving a good enough show, without running the risk of accidentally downing his adversary - Tonight, though, he wasn't in much of a mood to put on a show. The frustration over the morning's events made it too tempting to try and he didn't trust himself not to swing too hard or strike too quickly.


The first punch hit his midsection with such precision and speed, he wouldn't have been surprised at all if a few ribs had cracked. He managed to duck the second, which just clipped the corner of his ear and land a hit of his own in Mill's shoulder, but he was slow on the upswing and the third strike slammed with full force into the side of his jaw. He went down hard onto his hands and knees, spitting a mouthful of blood - just blood, thank God, no teeth - but the victory was short lived. A foot collided with his stomach and the air expelled from his lungs as he flipped over onto his back, the crushing weight of Mill's knee landing against his collar bone. Finn cried out, gripped the man's shin and shoved, but the grin on Mill's face was pretty indicative... he'd already lost.


More weight pressed down against his throat, and his chest tightened as his air supply grew suddenly sparse. From the corner of his eye he saw Mill's fist coming in from the right.


It was the last thing he saw.


Fifteen seconds passed, before the ref woke him with the smelling salts. His vision swam into focus, and sucking in a breath, he bolted upright - regretting it instantly for the pain that shot through him.


"To the lockers with ya..." The ref grunted, and held out a hand to help him to his feet, "Doc'll swing by to take a--"


"I'm fine." Finn hissed, the words escaping in a wheeze, as he clutched his rib cage, "Thanks, Chuck."


"You got it, kid." Leaning in, the ref's voice lowered just slightly, "Darius says thanks." And with a pat on the back that set fire to Finn's aching muscle, the ref slipped between the ropes to prepare for the next fight. With a groan, Finn moved to the edge of the ring and dropped down to a seat on the steps.


He didn't feel better. Not even close.


"Damn it, Doll..." He mumbled, rubbing his jaw.

 

[Sunbather]

Ava Sadaat

There wasn't really such a thing as trance. It has always been and will always be superstution, convincing, and a bit of trickery. However, the bliss of humming silence came eerily close to what Ava imagined trance must feel like. It was possessive, in a way. Like a pecking order. The freely billowing silence, not disturbed but freed by the lack of compulsion to speak between the two females, owned the both of them. Or at least she assumed so. She knew very little of the world as a whole, but she had essentially grown around the knowledge of belonging to something. Someone, mostly. And this was no different. An undeniably stronger entity owned her, just like different darkness owned her before. Like dark men owned before her.

Then there was the moment of holding onto Skye. Though Skye was undoubtedly stronger and much more versed in the world's cruelty than Ava, and though there was an essential lacking inside of the girl that sentenced her to an existence in Mauerbauertraurigkeit, Ava often felt as if she is actually in possession of these moments. Why? That's a good question. It's not out of some sort of derogatory opinion, rather than the belief of holding onto these tiny bits of humanity stronger than anyone ever could.


And there was the night. The night owned Skye, and Skye owned it. That was a weird observation to Candy whenever it dawned on her, but Ava understood with relative ease. Like a king rules over his citizens, he needs them to be a ruler. It was nice to see her so uniquely energized, and the circumstances made it easy to follow her without hesitation, until, finally, the very second of entry hit her right in the face. "The Colosseum... Skye?" The question lacked any demand of being answered, and served more as a way to express a faint feeling of surprise. Not that Ava ever opposed to where Skye wanted to go, seeing how her simple presence was the solitary goal.


Inside, noise reigned surpreme, blasting over a sea of spastically moving heads and stretched out arms, mixing with the guttural resonses of the fighters that...


Wait...


Ava, not keen on making aquaintances amongst her coworkers outside of Skye recognized a youthful face she had seen just shortly before. The same man who back in the therapy session bore the facial features of an unhealthily attached client, though he lacked the desperation. That, in turn, gave him an air of confidence that, quite frankly, made him even less likable. Ava found herself tightly balling her free hand into a fist, subtly jerking her arm around whenever physical contact ensued in the arena, and soon enough she realized she was silently cheering for the unknown fighter just because.


"That's the guy from therapy, isn't it?" she eventually mumbled towards her fiery friend. "He has no chance..."

 

[Elle Joyner]

Just a Dame


Location: A Run Down Bar
​

The woman was on the shorter side, and thin, but very lovely, ivory skin in contrast to the dark mahogany brown of her hair, which was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wore a black pencil skirt and a red blouse, buttoned up her slender throat, and a shade of lipstick that matched her shirt almost exactly. As she sank down onto a stool at the bar, she looked towards Mathias with a polite smile.


"...You look like you've had a hell of a day."


A pregnant silence filled the air as he drained his glass, motioning to Solomon for another. "Funny," he growled, staring into the depths of his empty cup as it was once again filled with liquid ambrosia. "I thought this day had been going pretty well so far." He said, taking a long draught.


A brow quirked, but the smile didn't fade as the woman gave a slow shake of her head, "Yeah? Buy a girl a drink and you can tell me about it, hmm?"


"I'm draining whiskey from a fucking drinking glass lady." He said, shooting a look at her, brow furrowing as he took in her features. I've seen that face before. "That's all you should need to know about me and my story before you walk away."


Turning to the bartender, the woman smiled warmly, her pleasant expression unfazed, "...I'll have what he's having. Extra ice, please." As the tender poured the glass, she took hold of it and cocked her head back in his direction, "Everybody's got a story, Mathias. I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours."


If he hadn't been staring at his glass for nearly the entire conversation, he could have sworn someone had slipped ice I to his drink, a chill racing across his body as he pulled the cup away from his lips.


"Who are you?" He growled, turning fully to search her features. "Nobody like you simply wanders over for a chat with someone like me. Unless of course they have to; and I sure as hell didn't give you my name, miss...?"


He couldn't place it, but something about her called to him, as if all the piece of the puzzle were before him yet he was too clueless to put it together.


Come on you fool, think.


"Dolly..." She murmured, and took a sip from her glass, "Over time you find a lot of things make sense when you have the proper perspective. But I believe we had a deal. You first...?"


"Mmh" he grunted,turning away from her slowly as he returned his gaze to his drink. "I've yet to find that at all." he said bitterly, an old ache flaring up once again like a thin scab being picked clean.


"What's to tell really. I'm just man who’s lost it all in this cesspit of a city, nothing interesting, nothing particularly unique about my story either. Everybody here has a similar tale." he said, loosely gesturing at the room.


"We'd all rather be Elsewhere." He muttered, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.


Sitting her glass on the bartop, the woman smiled, "You sure about that, Mathias? About being elsewhere? Because sometimes the thing we think we want the most... when we get it, it's not quite what we expected.”


Collab with @Master Attano : Part One

 

[Poe]

Skye Fiera

​

“You’re right, there’s no way,” Skye remarked, leaning over the railing to watch the fight ensue. The lean man with jet-black hair and the piercing blue eyes, he wasn’t as strong as his opponent but was he a fast little thing. There were openings for swings on his part, but he took the punches and hits with gritted teeth and slowly became nothing more than a human punching back. One hit after the other until he was sprawled out on the ground. It was a hard hit from the right, the kind that made everyone in the arena wince but Skye didn’t even bat an eyelash. She was no stranger to violence, to anticipating the punch and knowing the sound of fist against bone.


Ava’s tightened grip pulled Skye out of her thoughts and her eyes followed Finn’s form making his way out towards the steps. What had gotten into her…she wasn’t sure…but she could not help but watch attentively. “Didn’t think I’d see a pretty little thing like you out here,” a sleazy voice crept up behind her and Skye felt a hand snake around her waist, “How’ve you been, Skye?”


“I’m off the clock,” she shot back at him, though somehow she always managed to have a charming edge to her voice. Just firm enough to make a point, but smooth enough that you hardly felt the wound. “I’m not here looking for clients, Troy.”


“After last time, I’m surprised you’re not back here begging on your knees,” he smirked, “You know I always like you best like that.”


“Really? You’re the one who looks desperate to me,” Skye breathed out and slipped out of his hold, “It was nice seeing you, Troy.”


“You really are just like they say,” he chuckled, watching as Skye tugged Ava away and towards the steps where Finn had gone. Skye did look back at him as her fiery red hair bounced with every step.


“Everything and more.”


Breaking free of Troy’s gaze, Skye and Ava made their way through the crowds towards the steps where Finn’s figure was plopped down and tired. Of course he was, he’d just gotten his ass handed to him. How had she expected to find him? “Give me a second, kid, alright?” Skye said gently, her fingers giving Ava’s hand a squeeze before letting their fingers slip apart. She needed a drink more than anything, but she found herself moving step by step towards the man without hesitation.


“If the goal was to lose,” Skye said, her hand running through her red locks, “You did a damn good job of it.”


“Finn, right?”

@Elle Joyner @Sunbather
​

 

[Master Attano]

Mathias Pembroke


Collab With: @Elle Joyner


"What makes you think I've got anything to lose?" he replied, taking a sip of his drink before slamming it back down on the table with a grimace. "There's nothing left for me in this world, and even if there was I don't deserve an inch of it." he spat. "But enough about me." he said, turning to face the strange woman,Dolly...Why did that name sound so familiar? "You've loosened my tongue far enough, it's your turn."


"Everyone has something to lose, even when they aren't aware it's there." Shifting, the woman finished her glass and set it neatly on the counter before she rose slowly to her feet, "...And sometimes, that means you have to stop working off the assumption that this is the only world there is. We're programmed to follow a certain path, and when that path is no longer linear, we can stumble into confusion. But sometimes, we can also stumble into the truth. Sometimes, the only way to know that you're not where you're supposed to be... is to jump." Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small envelope and set it on the bartop, "...Bring this tomorrow night. Don't open it. Everything will make sense, soon, I promise. Goodnight, Mathias."


Turning on her heels, the woman made for the door, slipping out without so much as a glance back.


The letter sat heavy with expectation on the cool bar surface. A chill creeping across him as the woman strolled away, disappearing as if she had never been there, his brain spinning at a million miles an hour as the woman's face whirred through his mind.


Where do you know her from?


With a jerk the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, his head snapping up in realisation. No...it's not possible. Throwing himself off the stool he sprinted towards the door. You God damn fool, how could you be so thick? Images of a broken form amidst a sea of people; a lifeless body of a woman, smashed to pieces against the cold concrete, searing through his mind as he crashed through the door and up onto the street.


Dolly.


The humid air of the city curled itself around him once again as he stood, alone, on the dark street. In the distance loud music could be heard, someone on a mega speaker blaring something incomprehensible to a roaring crowd. A warm wind sending loose trash spinning and twirling along the pavement, rustling his clothes as it swirled past him.


But despite the warmth of the night, a chill had seeped into his veins, one even the suffocating heat of the city couldn't touch. Whispered screams and cries of agony slithering from the darkness, a shudder passing through him as he slowly turned his back on the night.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Finn Carver


Location: The Colosseum
​

Normally there was at least some degree of satisfaction in a fight - maybe it was that he survived. Maybe it was just that he was one step closer to paying off his debts. That night, though, no amount of adrenaline surge or excitement could cover up the soul shaking pain. Physically, he felt like he'd been the one to jump thirty stories to his death, but emotionally...? He wasn't sure there was a word for it, except awful. Just... awful.


And he'd been relatively sure that there was nothing that could assuage it any. But a voice, one he didn't initially recognize, but that felt so familiar, reached his ear and turning his gaze towards the source, for just a moment he thought maybe things were looking up. A smile twisted the corners of his lips upwards, and with the back of his hand he reached up to stem the small stream of blood coming from the edge of his left eye, as his shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.


"... You must not come here often, if you're surprised to see me get my ass handed to me. That? That was nothing." Even through slightly blurry vision, she was stunning. That fiery red hair haloed flawless, pale skin, and molten brown eyes stood out like warm pools beneath thick black lashes. The rest of her wasn't too hard to look at, either, but damn if he couldn't get lost in that gaze.


"Finn, it is. And you were Skye, yeah?"

 

[Poe]

Skye Fiera

​

“That would be my name, yes,” Skye smirked a bit. Even battered and bruised, this kid was looking at her with the edges of his lips upturned and even wiped away the blood as though it would make his appearance any better.


“Nah, can’t say that I frequent the place…” she took a few steps forward and almost sat down beside him, but as always her subconscious managed to keep her out of arms reach of others, “But I take it you lose a lot then? That’s quite a talent, quite a good couple of bruises too.”


"Sometimes it's just more beneficial not to win..." He muttered, and there was an edge of bitterness to his tone that was hard to miss, "So what brings a girl like you out here, then?" Chuckling, he pulled himself to his feet, raking his fingers through his hair, which at this point was probably the only part of him that wasn't in pain, "...Sorry, that was dangerously close to turning into a bad pick up line. I just mean, cause you don't frequent?"


"A girl like me, huh?" Skye said, a bit of a playfulness to her tone, "Believe me, even if it was -- I've heard worse."


"Just got around to feeling a little stir crazy today. Sometimes a girl needs a change of pace, but you find the people don't really change much wherever you go," she shrugged, her eyes managing to remain even though she certainly did not miss his proximity to her now that he was standing. He was much taller than her, towering over by what had to be eight or nine inches. Maybe today was looking up, both figuratively and literally.


She purposefully ignored his first statement about the benefits of losing, as the bitterness in his tone was clear, as she knew it was true. Sometimes...winning didn't make anything better. At least the pain of losing was something you could feel and it was a hell of a lot easier to let someone else beat you, than to beat up yourself. "But this is what it's like to be a fighter, huh? Bleeding on the front steps? Seems like a glamorous life. I'll have to look into it," she joked, trying to keep the air light.


Shaking his head, Finn smiled weakly, "Oh yeah. It's real glamorous. The stuff of dreams..."


Glancing down at her, the smile brightened, just slightly and his shoulders rose in a shrug as he rubbed his aching jaw, "If I had a face like yours, sweetheart... I wouldn't put it anywhere near somebody's fist. But if it's a change you want... maybe it ain't the pace or the scenery that's the problem. Sounds to me like you just need to make some new friends. Buy you a drink?"


"For a guy who makes his way by losing, you sure do take a whole lot of swings," Skye remarked at his forward compliment, but her tone was light. It was against all of her better instincts to even entertain a guy like him. Scrappy underdogs had nothing to lose.


"I think maybe I can put off my lifestyle change just long enough for you to take this pretty face out for a drink," she agreed, "I'm not so great at friends, but drinking I can definitely manage."


"You and me got somethin' in common already, then..." With a small gesture, he motioned her to the doors, "Just gotta run to the locker rooms to get cleaned up and change. Meet you out front?"


"Yeah, sure," Skye nodded and took his lead to walk back towards the arena. She had to go talk to Ava and even though she commanded whatever room she was in, she did not want to hang around too long. A lot of unwanted attention.


"Don't take too long, though, it's not polite to keep a lady waiting," she glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled.


Returning the smile, he shook her head, "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart." And with a wink, he turned in the opposite direction to make for the lockers.

Collab with

@Elle Joyner
​

 

[Sunbather]

Ava Sadaat

(A collab with

@Poe) ♦ With Finn's words still buzzing in her head, Skye made her way back through the doors where she had left Ava to fend for herself. The crowd was still intense, the gaze of quite a few men diverting their attention to her as she walked past, but her entire focus was on the little bob-haired girl who'd been clutching her hand just moments prior. "Hey, kid," Skye said, sliding her hands into her pockets, "Sorry about that. Just had to talk--"


"Eh, doesn't matter," she shook her head and glanced down at the girl. It was strange that a part of her wanted to go with Finn, but she couldn't just leave Ava and she sure as hell wasn't bringing it up. If there was one thing that was a touchy topic to people like her and Ava, it was men. "What'd you wanna do? Head out?"


Ava, hands in front of her body like a tame public speaker, looked up at Skye only as the redhead's words reached her ears, previously stoicly biding her time amidst the rowdy crown. The girl shook her head, making her lazily cut, deep brown skeins wiggle back and forth. Pausing, maybe realizing what an odd way to answer she had chosen for this particular question, the girl looked into Skye's face apologetically and gave it another shot. "I don't know." As usual, her words were sparse and had a defensive quality to them, much like the almost instinctive refusal she had expressed before - Without even making sense. "Do you want to watch another fight?" The question was vaguely interrogating. Non-chalantly, she added "Or did you want to see that fight only?" She was prodding, yet wasn't, maybe coming across too apathic to have such a side to her.


Skye shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her and glancing out at the crowd. They certainly stood out among the crowd, two young women in the midst of all these beatings and bruises. Ava was wearing her usual apathetic expression, though Skye knew better than to take the girl’s appearance at first glance. People like them…their minds were always working and grinding the gears. “Not really, I think after watching that guy get the hell beat out of him, I’ve had my fill of these fights.”


“He invited me out for a drink,” Skye breathed out almost on the tail end of her comment. She was never able to be as honest as she was with Ava sometimes and it just came out. “It’d be useless to go, you know how men are. I just—“


Skye sighed, “Men without agendas never quite rub me right.”


Ava's face tightened up ever so subtly. The skin spanning her temple and cheekbone area seemed to suddenly press against the skeleton below and the faint shadow of furrowed brows appeared. Nevertheless, she continued to stare into Skye's glimmering eyes without pause, now slowly and rather softly pinching the flesh of her hand with the other one, to not stay still entirely. With a slightly tilted head, she feigned cluelessness, though in such an obvious way that, while criticizing, failed to transmit any sign of condescending behavior.


"Does he... the guy from therapy, I mean, have an agenda?"


"Probably," Skye breathed out, her fingers snapping at one of the men just a few paces away and gestured for his cigarette. At her command, he immediately pulled one out and handed it to her, lighting it before she turned her attention away from him entirely. It was a long deliberate drag, but she needed the relief.


"After today, I'm not sure I care," she let out a dry, cold chuckle before taking another drag, "Hell if I'll ever learn anyway."


"Would you hate me if I went?" Skye asked, raising an eyebrow down at the girl.


A dark twinkle bored its way through Ava's eyes, immediately changing her expression to the well-known indifference she carried so pridefully. Her left hand let go of her right one, now standing almost comically straight and proper. "I wouldn't." The girl seemed to have to kind of force the words to come out in an audible manner, but she managed to remain relatively composed thus giving off a slightly awkward vibe. "I don't like him." she suddenly added with toxic sincerity. "Really not at all."


Standing in front of her essentially only friend, she rubbed over her arm with visible pressure. "I should go back. Demitri is gonna worry." A finality coated her speech. Ava was convinced that this strange man was a mistake. Or a threat. Either or, it was hellishly wrong in her mind, but it was a hellishly wrong thing to decide for Skye.


"I'll see you then?"


Skye let out a dry chuckle at her words and tossed her cigarette to the ground, putting out the burning embers with her shoe. "I know you don't," Skye said knowingly, having spent enough time with the small girl to notice the venom in her tone when speaking of him. She couldn't blame her and instead placed her hand on Ava's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.


"Give Demitri my best. If you need me, you know how to find me," she smiled, her hand rubbing Ava's arm just for a moment before finding its way up to her fiery mane, "I'll see you later, kid."


Ava gazed into the nothingness emerging from Skye's disappearance. That was that then. The small girl inhaled calmy, then forced an audible squall of warm air out of her nose. Back to the district then. An attempt at exiting in grim grace failed for a multitude of reasons, one of which was her slightly stubby, repressed gait of the likes of pubescent cheerleaders in high school movies hurrying towards the bathroom immediately before an unfortunate accident.


There was no Demitri worrying back in the brothel. There was nothing as of right now. Well, there was a rather chilly metal blade inside her pockets, and a pulsating animosity towards that boy. But still...


That was that then.