a&n: Hey! It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm back from the dead with asleeponatrain in my sleeve - yep, starting from this chapter, Adagio is a collaboration between me and him. Collabs are pretty tedious work, especially when one half is lazy and the other gets bored easily xD We'll see how it turns out! In the meantime, if anyone is still tuned in, feel free to leave some feedback! Peace.
Last edited: 7.9.10
•3•
Sighing, he looked through his window at the layer-cake city. Skyscrapers cloaked in ethereal white shot up from the churning fog that the city lights made as they blended into the darkness; high up as he was in the ShinRa HQ, he seemed completely isolated from this glowing precipice of raw industrial forgery. It was as if he were in a completely different place than the megalopolis directly under his feet. The only close-observation he made of the city was through records and video clips from the security cameras on every street corner: he found himself stuck in his office day in day out, one eye on the screens, the other tacked onto the self-replenishing stacks of papers. Filing, reading, signing, stacking; rinse and repeat. An exhausted sigh escaped his lips and reverberated into the room. How long have I been trapped here?
Blink. Blink. Blink. The word 'incoming' flickered in jade pixels from the desktop. Not even bothering to look up from his scribbling, he barked "Answer" at the monitor in question. Another blink and the dark void of a monitor was illuminated, displaying only a nameless face.
"Sir, subject A has just left the premises and is heading toward Terminal E4. Is with two individuals, one Zack Fair and another unidentified," each word uttered in perfect monotony.
"Unidentified scum," he muttered, brushing back a lank black strand that had come to brush his mouth as he spoke. The infamous subject was always out with folk who didn't register in the regular lists; how was one to keep up with all the slum lurkers, after all? It was a whole other world down there; it was useless to try and keep up with its flow unless you were bathing in the context. And much as he enjoyed studying the human activities of this strange city, he would be much less eager to actually blend into the lives of the folk down there in order to obtain a more vigorous understanding of them.
"Alright," he sighed, "Shut down surveillance for the night. It's getting late, you should go home to your family."
"Yes, sir." The man let some vague semblance of joy escape from his humdrum façade, and the screen turned black once again.
… He still found it sad that the information collected concerning the girl's entourage always revealed oddities and the most bizarre kind of people. Certainly it wouldn't do her much good to let that kind rub off on her.
That girl… what an odd taste in men. With an irritable grunt he threw back the drifting coils of hair incessantly dangling around his face.
His eyes grew weary of looking at hyper-pixelated images of reality and scroll upon scroll of text; distractedly they wandered towards an open file that he'd recently rifled through. Pictures of a young woman with long chestnut tresses tumbling past her shoulders. Doll faces with moss-hued eyes, dotted across the desk, all of them identically unique. Shaking his head, he slapped the thin stack of papers he'd been clutching on top of them. Enough of her for one night.
• •
The clock struck three, and only several streetlights illuminated the decrepit, poverty-stricken slums. She clung onto her jacket as the crisp wind meandered through rifts in the myriad of buildings, screaming through torn seams in the night's glittering, frost-ridden skirts. What an idiot she'd been to wear such frivolities to the slum's nocturnal masquerade; everyone knew how cold it got, how the electricity couldn't be counted on, how danger always reached its most sensual peaks in the heart of darkness such as this. Her hands clung to her clothing as tightly as her teeth clung to her lower lip to stop it from trembling. She didn't want to look as pathetic as she felt – though, the thought of the moon chafed her moodiness a little. How many pieces of the white mask would She have assembled tonight? Would She be peeking out from the void, squinting down at the fume-vomiting city, far from fooled by the scintillating cloak lain down by winter as She offered her pity to the upturned faces of those who venerated Her far down below?
Aeris was almost jolted out of her reverie by the kook's elbow rudely knocking against her. She turned to see him pulling a cigarette from his inner pocket.
He'd been watching her.
Abruptly, she forced herself to relax her shoulders. It's boiling hot. It's boiling, boiling, boiling… Right. The temperature surely didn't stand a chance against the degrees her reddening cheeks were reaching.
"You could have just given me directions," he smirked just slightly, though his tone was rather conversational. They'd been trudging on in silence – well, no, not trudging, though she'd tried to stay as feminine as possible in her demarche. He possessed an effortless grace most 'gentlemen' only dreamt of having, his steps unperturbed by the packs of snow and a limp body slumped on his shoulder, the way he held his composure despite the frigid weather...She shook her head, grinning at his comment and trying to forget aesthetics for the time being.
"Ah- back to square one," she said, gaining self-confidence now that he'd been the one to initiate dialogue. "Now that we're on the road, you're back to making me question whether or not I should trust you." But her tone was an amused one. His thoughts raced immediately to clichéd bad-guy quotes, each more ridiculous than the next. He couldn't help but smirk, though maybe his smile held other implications. He noted her confident stance, walking side by side with him completely oblivious. Or maybe not completely …
"You seem keen with the idea that I'm a criminal," he uttered, seemingly amused. "If I was presently abducting you, if I really had certain ideas in mind… what could you, in all honesty, do about it?"
She stared at him.
"That playful tone could be your demise," he added as a comforter, cocking his head at her as though saying, too bad, "If I'm the deranged stranger in the scenario, and you the victim."
What's he playing at? Aeris could feel her pulse quickening, though it was very much like the effect a well-told tale could have as it reached the scary parts. She didn't rightly trust the man, but she wasn't afraid of him either. Call it pride, self-confidence- she didn't know. It was like having a hunch about a person you don't know; you just follow your instinct, and if there's a booby trap at the end of the road… well, at least you'll know who to blame. It's just a game, so why not play along?
She opened her mouth, but another thought came to mind. "What about Zack? What part does he play?"
"The ornament."
"Okay."
There was a grunt from said flowerpot. Maybe he was nearing consciousness ~ regardless, he remained in the background for the time being.
"I may look weak, but I can manage alright, you know. Slum life can do that to you. Years spent fighting off men sometimes burlier, sneakier, sometimes more dangerously eloquent than you…"
"I'm disappointing! Now there's something admirable." The kook laughed a strange sort of sinister cough, nothing full throated and warm. Then again, what could she expect of him? "I'm not sure you'd have the mental coherence to compare your past murderers when you're trapped in a net."
"But that's the thing, the net falls gradually. You do have time. And isn't that what makes it enjoyable? The victim's innocence slowly eroding, the gradual realization – first she's lulled by your alluring illusion, then the seams start to stretch and tear, and just as she begins to understand -" She gasped. Her eyes widened with the story, "- the net's too tight for her to struggle."
He was laughing, more genuinely now. "I thought I was the killer here."
"Well, I suppose sometimes the painting takes hold of the painter and makes him understand instead of it being the other way around."
"Miss." The kook's eyebrow was raised- they turned a corner and began climbing the uphill street that lead to the station, and just as she opened her mouth to explain herself, she caught him muttering 'fascinating' under his breath. What? There was nothing fascinating about trying to understand your enemy. Which is precisely what she told him.
"Well," His voice was distorted by the cigarette hanging from his lips- he'd been carrying it in his fingers all the while, heedless of its existence as they delved deeper into conversation until he felt the ashes fall from the exhausted end. "Now that you have shown your understanding of a killer's logic, which is quite something, I don't think you have to further convince me of your… efficiency."
"Ah! I've intimidated you," Aeris grinned, playfully victorious- though she was a little taken aback as he slowly, eerily turned his face towards her.
Gloved fingers uncoiling like sleek black serpents, he momentarily removed his unlit cigarette from his lips, blood red neon light ominously splattering his shades.
"Not," he purred, "in your wildest dreams".
…one distressing systole later, the young woman had gathered enough of her senses to counterattack.
"Gaia," she let out in one rushed breath, "I'd hate to have you on my heels."
"But you already do," the kook continued in his frighteningly believable act, "You invited yourself, remember?"
It's just a game, she reminded herself, shocked that she actually had to. This man… what was up with him? And that tone… she was beginning to feel a little edgy, as though she was having some kind of deja-vu. Uncomfortable, unsatisfied, and wanting to know more…what was this? She was never like this. She never stirred the silt. She was pragmatic, reasonable, and knew when to mind her own business - tact was her way of life. Had he influenced her in some diabolical way? In any case, it had to stop now before she got too carried away.
Ah, but she hated it when her good side got the best of her.
"You're gonna end up dropping that," she said, nodding at his cigarette.
He stared at her, stubbornly, and then she realized they'd stopped, and she'd turned a fraction to face him. Zack's backside could've been a brick in the wall behind the kook for all he counted.
And then the tension suddenly dropped, as though one of them had heaved a huge sigh, and the kook lifted a hand to his cigarette, a tiny spark accompanied by a slither of fire leaping from his palm to ignite it.
"You're no fun."
"And you were starting to scare me." She leered at this little performance, noting how natural it was for him to openly use magic. Brutish company in the slums had often made her feel special about her gift with magic and materia- but whenever she was around SOLDIERs, their casual performances of blatantly superior skill always deflated her. Still, she never gave up trying to show she wasn't completely worthless.
"…do you mind if I have one?"
The kook glanced at her from under his top hat. What, did he think Zack hadn't told her about his explicit disdain for girls with 'tarred lungs and chimney perfume'? It should've been fairly evident that Zack held no authority over her… even though there still persisted that submissive side of her that every woman has, urging her to adapt to herself to her significant other's tastes.
Tonight, however, that side seemed to have been buried alive. A second later there was a cigarette dangling between two satin-clad fingers. She took it, wedged it between her lips.
"Pass me your materia," she said with a small grin, as though she knew she wouldn't really impress him, but wanted to try anyway, to show him she wasn't just the measly side of a SOLDIER's couple.
"Don't have any on me," the kook said casually with a shrug, but then his jaw seemed to quirk, as though regretting what he just said. And he certainly had reason to. He didn't use materia! What kind of gift was that? A mere SOLDIER couldn't pull a damn rabbit out a hat without a few colourful orbs in his pockets. Talk about dependencies. But then… surely they wouldn't keep such a useful asset in the same ranks as the other grunts… he probably had some importance in Shinra's army. What the hell was she doing, fooling around with a man like that?
Keeping these thoughts bottled up, along with it the friendly playful arrogance she had somewhat developed around him, Aeris took a discreet breath to stay calm and nodded her head at him, asking him to work his magic. He didn't seem to mean her harm after all.
With one stride he moved directly in front of her, lowering his head towards hers and cupping the cigarette with his hands, the warmth of his breath grazing her wind-burned lips - too close, much too close. She found herself on the verge of panic. If she lifted her lashes, she would have seen the iridescent Mako-stained glow of his eyes through his cheap shades - she would see that that strand of hair that fell across her cheek was silver, and she would see skin so smooth that it was difficult to believe that there wasn't something artificial about it.
But she was staying herself. Minding her own business. She'd had enough of wild speculations and games a little too believable to be amusing. All she saw was a spark of fire, his hands blending into the darkness- and as he drew back, she took a deep drag to refrain from looking at him, and to help herself regain consciousness.
Whoa. What was all that about?
"You know," the kook smiled crookedly as he walked on, "You really should be more careful."
They reached the terminal headed to the upper plate. There was no snow littering the streets, no transient homeless men sleeping on the bench, no graffiti on the pavement. The terminal was spot clean and was maintained despite the lack of transit. Very few from the slums could afford to ride up, and very few from the industrial upper half dared come down.
The kook dropped Zack onto a bench, startling him and awoke him. Instantly he lost his ornament status, which had proved to be rather relaxing for the two others. "Women are just too compilcating," he managed to gasp out in his drunken stupor, "gen'ral get me another drink –hic- it's too damn cold in this place." His eyes shifted around and met Aeris' gaze, "babe, what're you doin' here? Care for a –hic- drink?"
A pang of chagrin ran across her face. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she clenched her fists, trying best not to exacerbate herself.
"Zack, you need some sleep," the man explained to him.
"Yes sir –hic- but first, the latrine," he stood up and took a few steps, turned to face away and unzipped his trousers. He let out a sigh of relief as his bowels discharged the alcohol, hitting the concrete with a plash.
"Oh, for the love of-", Aeris' turned away, bringing her hand to her head in repugnance. She could feel the blood rushing to her face more, so mortified at him she had to bite her lip to keep from beating him senseless. Not only she felt foolish, but her boyfriend had to go out of his way to make things worse! You idiot, she wanted to scream- but no, stay composed, stay composed.
"All done now, gen'ral. Awaiting yer orders," Zack saluted the man.
The man was amused at the fact that, despite his insobriety, Zack recognized him and still managed to follow protocol, albeit rather poorly. The train finally arrived, screeching to a halt. "Get in."
"Aye aye, Captain!" he attempted to walk as straight as he could, reaching the foot of the entrance before falling face first into the train. Aeris followed him in, stepping over his prostrate form, and the man followed, dragging the rest of Zack's body inside. Unlike the sober one, she was anything but amused by her boyfriend's antics. And what was this about 'general', 'captain'? Clearly his brain was still floating in alcohol. She only hoped he wouldn't offend her …guest with his wild blabber.
"He should be fine there. No one usually takes this train," the kook offered, trying to justify his recent action. Well, he probably did occupy a higher rank than Zack, but to then feel it was in his right to drag the poor drunken guy across the floor…? It was a bit cruel of him, Aeris thought. But then, reconsidering, it was equally cruel on Zack's part to humiliate her like that, when she was feeling queasy enough. He could be dragged up the three billion flights of stairs that lead to ShinRa HQ's highest level for all she cared! It served him right.
"If you think I'm going to leap to his defense, you've got it wrong," she snapped, still too wrapped up in vehemence to keep herself in check in front of her strange companion.
"Really? I thought there was more charity in you," the stranger said, clearly enjoying himself. Aeris looked up from where Zack was lying- Crisis, the train floor- meeting those round lenses with a suspicious air about her.
"You thought there was more charity…? And what made you think that? Do I seem like your average, nauseatingly sweet girl trying to scramble her way out of the slums by means of a respectable SOLDIER?" She surprised herself with the harshness of her tone. Maybe she'd been wanting to vent all this time. Maybe she was expressing herself with a little too much passion, now that she had a relatively smart interlocutor who cared to listen, which was increasingly hard to find. Or maybe she should just shut up and try to be reasonable- there was a man lying unconscious on the floor, for Planet's sake.
"You just seem like a woman who doesn't take lightly to injustice," he interrupted her when she tried to elaborate.
She… nodded. What else could she do? That was practically the easiest description that might be given of her- it didn't take genius to figure that out about her. It wasn't like he was seeing through her soul from behind those shades- call it being smart.
"Curious." The train rattled in its rails, and the kook leaned his elbows back on his seat, black trench-coat parting slightly to reveal a satiny, midnight blue shirt, buttons straining with the movement. Warily, the young woman watched him. So he has a queer kind of taste, she allowed herself to speculate, resolutely averting her eyes when he peeled the scarf from his bare throat. "So you stubbornly cling to whatever principles your tutors taught you, even while the slum's way of living grates against every moral that man tried to carve into his children's minds?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. Now what? Was he implying that he knew the secret of how to lead the ideal slum-life or something? Everyone had their own view of what the 'ideal' slum life was, according to their experiences, and especially according to their Sector. What was so bad about fighting against bad influences? It wasn't like rubbing shoulders with cut-throats and tramps robbed you of all hope to bring things to a better end; on the contrary. There was a certain solidarity in the slums that a plate-dweller wouldn't understand, a respect of hierarchy that went so much further than the kill-or-be-killed philosophy.
"The army has the same 'grating' effect," she said slowly, careful to keep from saying too much, as she'd been doing in past hours. "There's an irony in writing a letter to your loved ones back home before marching out to kill- just as there's an irony in privileging your own weak kin over the ones with prices on their heads." She took a breath. "You say that morality is something that is carved into our minds, like etched in stone. But then you say we cling to it. So what am I supposed to understand? That our learned principles never change, or that we choose to hold onto them?"
The kook listened thoughtfully. "It depends on your experience. Though in the end, I believe it's always a matter of choice."
"Is it? Is it really? Can there still be a choice between compassion and money, when you live in such a place? Between compassion and social hierarchy? Between choosing allies out of respect or out of fear?"
He smiled. "You touch it with a needle. Necessity can make any principle crumble - and you know, I don't think it's a matter of where you live. In the end, necessity always prevails."
"Not with me, it doesn't," she said stubbornly, "There's always a way around it. Always."
"…Hm." Yet another cigarette escalated to his mouth, and he tilted his head back and to the side to let the toxic fumes pour into his lungs, eyes closing behind his shades, the greenish glow fading out of existence. She forgot to look away as his throat seemed to extend from the deep blue collar, the perfect white almost ghastly in comparison with the surrounding grey scale- without thinking, she noted the clutch of his lips on the prized drug, the lithe gloved fingers… how the smoke unfurled from his mouth in spectral curls, lazily caressing his face as they drifted up, up… how his eyes parted only slightly as if a small measure of pain couldn't be excluded in such wantonness.
There was definitely something feminine about those fine lines of his, no doubt about that. But more pressing matters were at hand- she'd forgotten what she'd been talking about, and she'd been gaping, and Zack was still on the floor and Gods, she must've been more tired than she thought, going off her rocker for no reason like this – she really hoped they would be arriving soon. It was the first time that someone's simple presence had made her feel queasy, instead of it being the usual pressure of intelligent conversation. Oh, why wouldn't Zack just wake up and serve as the diversion again, just so that she could get a grip on what little mind she had at these ungodly hours?
The kook's double-moons were flashing in the strobe lights as he watched her. He seemed to want to carry on talking- he probably hadn't noticed how exhausted he was making her. The corner of his lip turned up, and she felt the bottoms drop out of her lungs. No more huge questions. Come on.
"I'm curious," said he, referring to her faith in morality, "If you constantly skirt around the safest, most vital option… how then can you hope to survive?"
• •
It's been three weeks and two days now since I was posted here. They told us that the enemy could strike at any moment, but we have only come across the usual mountain dwellers and vagrants. The men here have become restless, eager for blood and have begun to torment passers-by, interrogating them relentlessly as if hoping for the enemy to jump out from what little luggage these wanderers carry. They are knees deep in their own delusions and lust for bloodshed. Some sit in front of the campfire, dreary and lethargic. These men are completely aware of what's to come. Their jaded eyes gaze at the flickering flames as if peering into the happier days, their arms outstretched towards the flame sluggishly, heavy with grief…and yet just right behind them, their shadows dance. As their hosts dawdle away, too exhausted to revel in their last hours, their souls dance in their stead. However, there are others who spend the days drinking and singing songs of fortune day in and day out. Alcohol seems like the only thing the supply trucks bring in nowadays, thanks to them. We've yet to fight, but the way they carouse gives me the impression that we've already won. It does do the morale of these men some good, though, and who's to blame them for drinking all night?
It's odd that despite that this encampment is rather small, it's a difficult task to bring everyone together. The bloodthirsty soldiers only want to train and scout, the 'living dead' only mope and drink themselves to sleep, and the more festive group stay near the storage barracks, going in and out for more and more drinks.
I have somehow managed to retain my sanity by thinking of her and I have started writing to occupy the time, but it pains me to be apart from her for so long. I would ask for a leave of absence for the holiday, but reports say that the enemy is now on the move. It seems that the chances of war are only escalating higher and higher, and more troops arrive with each passing day.
In a moment's time, our world will change.
It's funny how dispensable we are. We come and go just as snow falls and dissolves. We are fed to believe that each and every snowflake is different, that not one single speck is identical to another. But at the end of the day these small facets of individuality go completely unnoticed. At the end of the day, each flake is lumped together in an infinite expanse of white.
"It's freezing out there! Hey, it's your shift now. What are you writing there? A letter to the mistress?" A burly man walked into the barracks, snow blanketing his shoulders. He brushed them off and trudged to his bunk.
He shut his journal. "No, I'm just passing the time." His words flowed almost fretfully. He got up, tucking the small pocket journal into his overcoat as he walked out of the barracks.
Two men sat around a campfire, their expressions glum. Their lackluster eyes gazed at the flames, shadows dancing behind them. The living dead - men who had already accepted that their days were numbered, preparing themselves for eternal rest.
• •
The scent of Zack's flat was too overwhelming for her to be comfortable with another man. The aroma was akin to the leftovers of a fantastic orgy, the scent of sweat and other secretions mixed together into some indecent concoction of bodily fluids, though she doubted such was the case. With war approaching ever closer, couples systematically tightened their holds on one another, marrying or remarrying in a desperate attempt to fabricate some deep and inexplicable connection through a titular agreement. It was as if these couples were enraptured by the idea of 'love' whilst listlessly staring at absent spaces, the forgotten bits and pieces ~ jewelry sprawled over the bedside table, letters scrunched up at the backs of drawers, an empty bed undone the day after… The lonely others seemed to only be recording memories of what love looked like in preparation for the days ahead, readying their ghostly shells to shackle themselves in, body and soul.
Not that the idea of being far from her would stop him lifting his head from his obligatory pining and jumping between the legs of the first pretty Wutain he'd get his hands on. He just had too much of a weakness for women… she'd accepted it, hell, she'd had to accept it, even though he was always making sweet promises that he'd change for her, whenever she got grumpy about it. She wasn't about to snivel over their twisted love ties. They suited her fine as they were.
Except when he pees in front of his superiors, Mother in heaven.
They'd dropped Zack in his bed and the kook was shuffling through the apartment as if it was his own, going behind the bar to take out a bottle of deep, sanguine wine bottled up in blue glass, as well as two wine glasses.
"Wow," Aeris crooned, standing in front of a stylish marine-blue leather armchair, hesitant. "It's a token of intimacy to rummage in a man's wine collection. I didn't know SOLDIERs got so tight between ranks."
Having delicately extricated the crystal stopper, the kook poured them both a glass.
"Oh, but the game of dominance and submission simply requires a level of intimacy to function properly," he grinned crookedly, toying with her as she was with him, "Some believe in cold orders- I prefer it when it's their lives that they surrender to you, not just their services."
"Strange business, sounds like," Aeris laughed, albeit a little nervously. "Zack never talks about it like that."
A glance over the lenses. "Intimacy allows you a better insight into your men's minds: it shows those who dare to speak what they feel, and those too choked by their own pride, too dazzled by what their face looks like when reflected in dead eyes, in cold steel, in blood-streaked windowpanes…" He brought his fingers to his teeth to tug off the gloves. "Some say army is honour, but what is that? I believe to be honourable is to be without passion- and if honour is all that you share with your men, all that you let them believe war is, then it makes for pretty cold mind frames. You don't feel when you're trying to live up to some ideal standard, some image. Your gaze is set too high for you to notice what surrounds you, standing at your level, begging to be noticed."
Aeris frowned. "You're talking about victims? Mercy?" Maybe it was the brightening hour, but she was having a hard time following his train of thought.
"Of course not," The kook stepped around the table, loping elegantly towards her, glass in hand. "I wasn't talking about human eyes, human presences. I was talking about everything that your average arrogant soldier will fail to notice whilst in the heat of battle; every beautiful thing that surrounds him that he cares too little about to take in account. All that counts for him is his honour, his allegiances… his medals."
He handed her one of the glasses, before retreating to lean against the bar, enjoying the enrapt expression that she was accidentally letting show.
"Having a standard of honour leaves you with a tight rope to walk on. You ignore everything that's natural and instinctive to keep yourself from falling, even when your body aches and your heart screams- you just put up with it out of pride. It's one of the two extremes that you can let yourself fall into; either this selfish archetype that offers your mind protection from your own nature, or the wild abandon of those who let themselves feel too fully. Anyway, that's what happens when soldiers end up mirroring the attitude of too-strict, too-dry corporals and lieutenants who only know how to crack a whip to have what they want."
Three sips of wine later and Aeris was saying idiotic things like, "Crisis. These people would make pathetic lovers." And Zack is one of them. No wonder! But she smiled, knowing she was being unfair. It wasn't as simple as that.
For some reason the kook raised his glass to her, lips twisting into a grin. "Symbiose! We are on the exact same wavelength." He leaned toward her, wine dancing in its blue crystal prison. "Making war should be as impassioned and magnificent as making love; which is why there's no sense in the old witty expression that separates the two. Humans are repulsed by the empty rancor that the strict obeying of orders makes them feel, but some are also too indolent to pave their own paths; that's why it's so important for the leaders to captivate them, to speak of the enemy as a fascinating reunion of creatures that live for your destruction- hunters that want your blood, that exist solely to take your life- is it not similar to what you call love? You want to take Zack's life, don't you? Stronger than mere possession- you want to melt yours into his, don't you? But isn't that really some form of death? Some form of surrender?"
"You have the man in your grip," Aeris huffed, impatient with all this talk that she was struggling to understand as the wine started to make everything whir around in her head. "Victory without surrender is only for the selfish."
"But being selfish is a way of clinging to life," the kook countered.
"You certainly weren't clinging to life when you served me this wine," Aeris smiled.
"I wasn't being selfish," he counterattacked.
"I shouldn't accept your generosity if it's actually a death-wish that you're too kind to keep for yourself," Aeris said, pointedly setting her glass down on the coffee table. She hoped it would stay put for longer than a handful of seconds- just to keep herself in check, she folded her hands in her lap, on foot tucked under her thigh. Wait. Since when had she sat down and made herself comfortable? She was being too lenient… way too lenient. Oh, come on. War's coming. Might as well make the most of it.
The kook coughed a laugh. "A death-wish that you're too kind to keep to yourself. You could almost say that was a proposal."
"Marriage?" How did he manage it- bringing all these things together whilst sticking faithfully to a given subject? "You're just bizarre."
Uh-oh; the glass had left the tabletop.
"Speaking of bizarre," Aeris glanced at him from over the crystal rim, pupils dilating, lids drooping only slightly, "I know you probably don't want to reveal yourself, but it's just plain rude to keep your hat on indoors."
She was being sly, now was she? Well, that aside, he had been starting to consider the possibility that she'd never ask his identity at all. It was about time.
"Clever of you to give a SOLDIER indirect orders," he sneered, "I might've guessed that you'd already learned about the consequences of direct orders given from a woman to a SOLDIER."
"Not really… I was trying to give an example of tact, so that you might take the hint," Aeris grinned. "Do you really think that you can take the liberty of talking to a woman like you've been talking to me, without even once giving your identity?"
The wine slipped down his throat, and he set his glass behind him on the counter before taking off his glasses- his face drew away from them as though resurfacing from some abyss. Then… he looked over at her, square in the eyes.
"You never asked."
"I shouldn't have to," Aeris huffed, once her heart had stopped skipping beats irritably- those eyes. She wasn't up close but, Gods, their suffocating grasp once you'd unwillingly ventured towards them. They bore an almost reptilian luxury, and she was sure she'd find interesting blemishes if she took a closer look.
She found that her eyes were beginning to travel over his face- achingly smooth, like a wax mask with delicately carved lips- his eyes were overshadowed by his brow as well as the rim of his top hat. And that went without mentioning that he was looking at her from underneath- one of those intolerably suggestive gazes that she would've hated, had it not been performed to such perfection. Eyes framed by purplish wreaths of veins, etched into that skin like a crime of colour, though it made his gaze all the more tortuously vindictive.
Wax mask. She was half expecting that faultless jawline to start dripping. But there was something more unsettling than the mere flawlessness of his face- just staring at him, the awe gradually seeped away to leave room for the cold sweeping breath of some great ominous feeling, crawling towards her mind like some grotesque creature… it wasn't just the wine that was making her vision tremble as she watched him, unable to rip her eyes away. What was it- what was that devilry that she couldn't seem to detect-
You never asked.
I shouldn't have to…
No…
"…Where do I know you from?"