Stopping to Smell the Roses

by Mortal Anonymous

Neal the Eel and Mime Bomb had an entire day to spend before their heist that night in Venice. Spending it together might have ended up being more fun than it had any right to be.

4. Chapter 4

After a hearty scrub in his own shower upon waking - he'd had one before bed too, but Neal tried his best to keep his oiliness to a manageable level in regular daily life - the Kiwi threw on his clothes for the day. This time a loose powder blue button-up patterned with flamingos, and the same kind of oversized shorts he'd worn yesterday, this time bright pink with a thick blue stripe up each side.

Once dressed, he knocked on the door dividing his and his cohort's rooms. "Mime Bomb..?" he called, moving to press his ear to the door, "You up yet? Knock something over if you can hear me..!"

Silence.

Lips shifting, Neal wondered if the other was a late sleeper. Putting a hand over his eyes, he reached for the knob and opened the door anyway. "Oi'm comin' in!" he announced as he stepped through, "If you're indecent or sleep naked or something, Oi apologize, but you're gonna miss breakfast if you don't get up soon. Also that's kind of what Oi wanted to talk about. If you've only got the one outfit, Oi can loan you some shirts or something. Least you know they won't be too small." An off-handed chuckle as he put his free arm forward. "Lemme know when Oi'm good to look, ok?"

Silence.

"Mime Bomb? Mimey?" Expecting at least a smack for using the cute form of his name that Mime Bomb was not fond of, Neal let out a short 'hm' when nothing happened. Deciding he'd better see what the situation was and that he could apologize later, he lifted the hand from his eyes and put both hands on his hips to find himself standing in an empty room.

The bathroom door was open and the room was not in use, a hotel bathrobe was on the neatly-made bed, and a used coffee mug was on a shelf by the room's provided coffee maker, but aside from that, there was no sign of anyone having been here.

"Oh. So that's why you're not answering," Neal noted, "You're not here." A little disheartened to learn this, he scratched the back of his head as he turned back to his own room. "Guess you did give me what Oi asked for, but Oi'd really hoped you weren't the type to date and dash." Alas, it looked like the other man hadn't been serious about joining him in Canada. Maybe he'd gotten cold feet. Maybe he'd decided he'd rather be on his own after all. Oh well.

Unable to say this hadn't been expected on some level, Neal just took a deep breath and chose to be glad with the time he'd gotten, and to head downstairs and get breakfast on his own. He enjoyed many conversations with total strangers there before heading back to his room and sitting on his bed, cracking open his laptop and deciding he ought to finalize some paperwork on the new house before working out the most scenic route he could take around Europe before he hopped across the pond.

As he was doing this, he heard a knock on his own door. Curiously, he looked up, and naturally went to answer.

There, standing in the hall, looking down at a smartphone, was Mime Bomb. He looked up when the door was opened, and his brow went up as his gaze swept over the ensemble even less fashionable then yesterday. Was he sure he found this attractive?

"Mimey!" Neal stunned, earning the irritated expression he was used to seeing, "You're still here! Oi thought you'd left!"

Quirking his brow now, Mime Bomb gave a silent scoff and moved to step into the room, pausing to give the taller man's forehead a teasing rap with the back of his first two knuckles, accusing him of being silly for that idea. Why wouldn't he be here?

"Oi." Rubbing his forehead reflexively, even though the strike hadn't stung, Neal watched Mime perk to spy his laptop and beeline right for it. Not really having a complaint about that at the moment, the Kiwi pressed, "Well what am Oi supposed to think when you're not in your room? Where'd you go? And why didn't you tell me?"

Pausing as he sat cross-legged on Neal's bed, Mime Bomb looked up with a heavily sarcastic quirked brow. He tipped his head and closed his eyes, mouth forming a graceless overexaggerated snore. One index finger pointed accusingly at Neal. Just to emphasize, Mime turned to fall onto his back like in a hospital bed, one hand somberly on his stomach while the other narrated the blip of a heart rate monitor before flatlining.

Neal's brow pinched in a hint of distaste at the display. "Ok, ok..." he waved off, "Oi get the picture." Maybe he was a heavy sleeper. Maybe his first assumption shouldn't have been that the other had run out on him, but he'd already been nervous about it. He didn't think he could be blamed. "So what were you off doin', then?"

Sitting back up, Mime traced an imaginary necklace around his neck, waggled the smartphone he'd arrived with before taking a short plug out of his pocket and using it to connect the phone to the laptop, and pulled some money out to wave briefly in show. After putting that away, while waiting for the phone to install, he pinched his shirt before miming a scrub. Then he simply started poking away at the phone with one hand while using Neal's laptop with the other.

"Ok, yeah...makes sense." Mime Bomb had simply run some errands, hocking the necklace he'd stolen, getting a new phone, doing his laundry, and acquiring some pocket money. Seemed like he'd thought ahead even faster than Neal. Rolling his eyes at himself, Neal did start to feel a little silly for jumping to conclusions.

Coming to sit on the edge of the bed with a sigh, Neal passed the moment off and leaned to look at the laptop screen. "And what're you doing now?"

Bringing his fists together, Mime Bomb turned them like snapping a twig.

It was Neal's turn to quirk a brow. "You're...breaking your new phone. Why? No wait. Breaking into somewhere...with the phone. Oi thought you were going to wait on things like that."

Lips thinning in annoyance as one of Neal's rare, random moments of miscommunication arose, Mime took a more conscious effort, looking at him and pretending to crack his knuckles. Then he opened a new tab and searched up a quick image of a tree, circling the cursor around the base of it before closing out and returning to the incognito window he'd pulled up.

Shaking his head a bit heavily, Neal sighed. "Right. Rooting. Cracking your phone. Gimme a break, mate, it's early. And Oi half-expected you to not be here anyway."

Eyes shifting, the painted clown supposed he must have worried Neal more than he realized. The man did not tend to show weakness, so Mime didn't actually think he had worries like that. Maybe he could have left a note.

Pausing to look at Neal again, he passed him a sympathetic shift of his lips and reached to pat his shoulder. He didn't plan on bailing. He'd said he wanted to come along on Neal's journey and he still did. Neal was the only piece of V.I.L.E. he had left.

Neal didn't get all of that from just a look, but he got the consolation and the apologetic nature, which he appreciated. "By the way, it was very polite of you to ask for that." He nodded at the laptop.

Glancing at it himself, Mime's face turned guilty and he shrugged. He was going to...but Neal already had it out. He accepted the chastising, though. It was fair.

Watching in nosy interest as Mime surfed, recognizing the path but not the specific site he was logging into, Neal noted, "You're on the dark web? Oi didn't realize you were so...techy."

The silent man lifted one hand and wobbled it in a so-so motion. He dabbled. One of his specialties was code breaking, and this wasn't too far off from that.

Watching as the other went to his own profile and began grabbing folders, Neal blinked in further interest. "This is your site, too? What do you do on here?" He turned keenly to the other, finding this information to be quite fascinating about the other.

Shrugging modestly, Mime Bomb didn't think the interest was warranted. It wasn't the most exciting business in the world. He sold decryption services and file batches for phone rooters. These files would allow a phone to go off-grid and perform region-free activity, mimicking what their V.I.L.E. tech had been able to do, and his decryption service was pretty much just for credit cards. That was the main business he'd started with. People would send him cards, and he would make them untraceable. A free swipe to spend anywhere.

Neal couldn't believe Mime Bomb would think he shouldn't be interested. His face was bright the entire time he was told about it.

"You are a clever cookie," he praised, "Oi never would have guessed you were such an entrepreneur."

Again, Mime shrugged, but he couldn't help a bit of a flattered smile. He hadn't been running the service nearly as much as he had a few years ago. He simply hadn't needed it after V.I.L.E. came along. Running missions for them had been far more lucrative. Fulfilling. Varied. Exciting.

His face slowly fell again as he thought about how he wasn't going to get to go on those missions anymore. He'd already thought about returning to the dark web, too. This may well be where he would end up again, just running his one-trick pony of a business out of some dark room somewhere.

Seeing the crestfallen look he'd seen on the drive out of prison reappear, Neal's brow pinched acutely as he picked up on it. "Alright, bruv. Spill." Seeing Mime look at him, he nodded once. "What's been eatin' you? You only just got out, and already every time Oi try to talk about you in any real way, you get all...moody. Do you not like me bein' into you so forwardly, or what? You'd prefer if Oi just had a casual interest? 'cause sorry to say, my interest is one hundred percent genuine, and Oi very much meant when Oi said Oi like learning about you. Oi'm lookin' for a real deal here, Jack."

Hearing such a blunt, adamant statement spelled out for him with unyielding eye contact made Mime Bomb's cheeks red in a big hurry. He was glad his pancake makeup hid most of it. Well. If there had been any shred of doubt about Neal's intentions, they had no right to remain.

The redhead must have resembled a deer in headlights as he frazzled over the demand for a real talk. Catching himself frozen as Neal continued to gaze at him with scrutiny and now folded his arms, Mime quickly motioned a silent clear of his throat, and then waved both hands in a negative, saying that that wasn't it. He had been perfectly fine with...letting Neal like him. His own developing opinion was something he was working on, but it had nothing to do with the brooding he hadn't realized had been so obvious. Then again, with Neal, he might have been more readable on average anyhow.

Lowering his hands in thought, he supposed the simplest way he could put it was to move them to his heart, displaying a wistful frown, before forming a V with one of them.

Neal blinked. "Oh. You...miss V.I.L.E.?" That was a completely different ballpark. Having put the organization so far behind him attachment-wise, he hadn't even considered that Mime Bomb might still have some feelings beyond fun memories and anecdotes to share.

Letting out a weighted breath, the other nodded, and used his hands to trace out a house before gripping his own upper arms in a wistful hug.

Leaning pensively on one hand, Neal sent the other a sympathetic look. "Oi didn't even think to think about that," he admitted, "Oi guess to me you just seem like the unattached type. Wouldn't expect you to miss it when the time came to move on. Oi mean Oi'm not lookin' back, but Oi suppose that's me, eh?" He'd been too in the moment to think the other wasn't on the same page there.

Tilting his head and furrowing his brow as a thought came, Mime gestured to Neal before hugging himself the same way, curiously. Did Neal really feel nothing?

Neal's brow pinched as he let out a short, strained breath, finding that a difficult question. "It's a little more complicated for me," he tried to explain, "Sure V.I.L.E. was family to me too. Oi never would have turned against them under regular circumstance. Ehh, but sometimes family pushes you away, y'know? And for me, well, Oi've always kind of just swum with the current. Oi cut bad ties pretty easily. Forge ahead. Don't regret. Find the best way to stay happy for me."

Mime's head turned away and he looked down as he digested this. The way Neal spoke, it sounded like he tethered himself to others even less than Mime did. Either that or he truly just lived in the moment and enjoyed what he had while he had it, meaning he could save himself regret if and when he lost something. But then...wait. Did that mean Mime was something he would be alright throwing away just as easily? Was Mime some kind of exception if he was looking for a relationship as real as he claimed? If the taller man was willing to do so much for him? Or did he also just really not see what he was doing as all that grand?

Turning a gaze of scrutiny towards Neal, the redhead turned a hand to indicate himself, then lifted both to his eyes like holding imaginary binoculars.

Neal blinked. "Well, Oi think you're a cutie," he replied easily, though not sure why the other wanted to know what he saw in him all of a sudden. Mime did not react to the light-hearted smile, either, seeming to take this under serious consideration, so Neal simply carried on, "You're sharp as a whip. Sharp with your wit. Know what you want and how to get it. You put up with me. You're the most fun Oi've ever had casually. And you're the most unique person Oi've ever met. Ya kinda stand out, mate, even if stealth is your strength. And considering the eccentrically-themed kooks we've worked with, that's sayin' something."

Mime Bomb did have to admit this was flattering to listen to. He really had meant a lot to the other.

Putting the dots together as he spoke, Neal addressed, "And no, Oi don't want to walk away from that. But Oi was already gonna be content letting you go on your way when Oi thought you'd run out. Oi had no idea how into all this you were. And it wouldn't be the first time someone's had enough-a me. But the only reason Oi'd be so ok with it is because Oi already cherished what Oi've gotten, so if it makes you happy to go solo, so be it. That make sense?"

It seemed Neal really did take the approach of living in the present and adapting to each moment. And in a way, his approach made sense. At first Mime had thought it sounded like he was disposable after all, but in the end it sounded more like Neal just wanted what was best for both of them. And he really sounded like he'd rather keep the silent one. Perhaps his ability to move on did not suggest a lack of being genuine. Another flattering confirmation.

"My advice to you about V.I.L.E.," Neal speculated, returning to the main point, "Is to hold onto those memories, but don't try to relive them. Try and think about the good that can come from a new horizon. Don't let the memories go bad. Be glad they happened. But now you can find family all over again." A beat. "And hey! You still got me! Although...maybe calling myself part of your family would make dating a little weird. Unless you're into that. Muh-uh." A light shrug there. He wasn't going to judge.

This last part made Mime involuntarily snort and promptly bite his lips at how suddenly the awkward taboo was brought into the conversation.

Neal beamed. "Hey, a laugh~. That's a start..!" A response to humor was a good sign that someone was ready to cheer up.

Mime rolled his eyes, but also had to agree that Neal had effectively punched a hole in the heavy atmosphere. As well, he...did give some good advice. The quiet man was not sure he was going to be able to follow it exactly, for V.I.L.E. held a special place in his heart Neal did not know the full extent of, but he would like to try and move forward. Make the best of his new life.

"And as much fun as it is reminiscing about things we both remember," Neal added, "Oi'm still curious about the you story. The whole shebang. Are you gonna mind talkin' about yourself? Oi'll share if you will~."

Mime Bomb offered a sarcastic lop-sided smile there, both of them knowing Neal had no problem talking about himself. But he realized the other was softening the question with more humor. It was a legitimate one. Was Mime going to be alright with letting such unashamed interest in himself persist? He was finding himself drawn to Neal, and even among his old classmates, no one had actually wanted to know about him. That had been fine since his work thrived on being dismissable. That was why it felt so strange to have someone express this interest.

But it was nice to be heard. Maybe this was a place where indulging Neal would be good. Mime Bomb's only concern was that it would change some of those flattering opinions the other had expressed about him.

With a steeling inhale, the silent clown gestured for himself again, and once more formed a house with his hands. For the full impact, they were going to have to visit his original home.

"Oh?" The Kiwi certainly took interest in that. "Well, sure..! Oi'm up for the Full Mime Experience. We can take a stop by Ireland before we head over to Canada. Sound good?"

It should not have been surprising how readily Neal accepted this, but the extent of his breeziness still made Mime take note. Well. If they both wanted to take this chance and see where it took them, then he supposed he was onboard.

"Super," Neal answered his nod, "Speaking of, if you don't have anything else you'd like to get off your chest, Oi was going to ask if there's anything you need to pick up before heading to the house. Oi've already sent my things." He assumed Mime Bomb must have personal belongings somewhere in the world he would like to collect.

Not, in fact, wishing to linger on a negative topic, Mime Bomb did take note of another very fair question. He nodded and mimed out checking a very nice watch before playing the role of a bank teller at a desk.

"Switzerland, eh? Good place to pick, really," Neal approved with a dip of his head, "Central hub of Europe, too, so we can take a few side stops to sight-see. Oi was gonna do that on my own, but if Oi've learned anything from my time with you so far, it's that playing the tourist is a lot better with you around. Whaddya think, sound fun?"

Well, Mime Bomb tended to be business-minded when there was a goal to achieve, but he had to agree that sight-seeing with Neal was enjoyable for the whole two times they'd done it. He supposed stopping to smell a few more roses along the way wouldn't be so bad. They were not in a rush, and it would only take about a day to reach Switzerland from France.

At the beaming nod he received, Neal's own smile widened. "Peachy. Oh, by the way. You wanna see the house Oi bought? Oi just finished up finalizing the whole thing. You uh...done with what you're doing there?" He nodded towards the phone Mime Bomb had hooked up to his laptop.

The painted clown had nearly forgotten that was there and sheepishly hurried to disconnect it, the files having downloaded some time ago. He closed out of the window he'd been using and passed the laptop over to Neal, shuffling on his knees to come behind him attentively. Of course he wanted to see where he had signed up to live.

Gladly taking his laptop back, Neal navigated back to the seller's page he'd first found the house on. "Et voila..! Whaddya think about this, then? Big enough for you?"

Mime's brow went up, once again pleasantly taken aback by an area Neal appeared to have taste in. It was a very large house. Modern and sleek, the walls almost entirely window and the three stories separated by thick black bands of stylistic framing between the tops and bottoms of the glass panes. The horizontal stripes of wall and window formed a striking rectangular structure, a smaller garage of grey stone accenting the building, complete with paved drive and walkway. The surrounding area appeared to be neatly-trimmed lawn and a line of trees, but not too far from civilization.

The shorter man nodded. He was not going to be cramped in something like that.

Neal smiled more and moved to click through a slideshow of pictures. "Great! Oi'm not sure what to do with all these rooms yet myself. Maybe you'll have some ideas. See, they've got a nice living area right inside the door. Kitchen opposite, and this here Oi think would make a great training area - don't wanna get rusty~. No basement, but Oi suppose Oi can always find some other place to enjoy a spot of damp. How do you feel about a sauna? Maybe over here. Comes with a pool, so it'd be a fair addition, Oi'd think."

Every word out of Neal's mouth was only selling Mime Bomb on this place harder. Enthusiastically, he leaned sideways and threw his arms around Neal's shoulders, jostling him with affirmation at the suggestion. A pool and a sauna? Uh, yes he wanted this place!

A chuckle met the excited hug. "Perfect. Oi'll even let you have first pick for bedrooms, ok? So, anything you still wanna do here, then, or shall we head out on the road straight away?"

Not twenty minutes later, the two men were checked out and back in Neal's car, and the next fourteen hours became a leisurely road trip. If they had been direct and hadn't stopped, it would have only taken them eight hours to find their destination, but they held true to their intentions of making the most of the journey.

If either party - usually Neal - spotted some attraction that looked interesting, they would pull off to meander and ogle and goof around. A couple of detours were planned, such as a stop in Lyon on their way out of France to enjoy a breathtaking walk around the Place Bellecour.

Paris was too far north to count as a detour, Neal wishing they could have stopped in the biggest pull of traffic the country had to offer, but he did not complain about the city they stopped in. Lyon might not have been Paris, but it was still gorgeous.

The Place had everything from fountains to large floral displays to antique statues, a riverside view, and even a massive Ferris wheel. In Neal's opinion, it was very romantic, and best of all, there were no red-hatted do-gooders to interrupt the appreciation of the public square like there had been in Italy.

Mime felt so much freer now that he'd left the city where he'd been held prisoner. The world felt so much more open to him. The sights were so much grander than in Fleury-Mérogis, and, he did have to admit, viewing them with Neal was just a little more special than if he'd been alone. Having someone to banter with made quite a difference.

The pair ended their walk full of beautiful sights by riding that Ferris wheel. Neal simply refused not to take advantage, and Mime Bomb had no complaints. They were quite lucky to still be able to ride it, as it was about to be taken down the next week with the exit of the Winter season.

Seated inside, Neal wasted no time in taking the other's hand, lacing their fingers gingerly. Mime had no reaction to Neal this time when he felt it, but as he turned and pretended to look with total disinterest out the window, he let himself smile warmly. Seated as far away as he could be on the bench, Neal propped his head on his other hand and smiled out his own window just the same, knowing that any snub that was not outright rebuke was a green light from the other man.

And, his silent patience was rewarded, as when the wheel began to slow, Mime Bomb leaned into his side of the car and gave him a peck on the cheek. Neal smirked at him knowingly and asked if he behaved at this rate, could they go for second base on another go around? His answer had been a very unimpressed raspberry and a gloved hand shoving his face.

Neal just laughed.

They took a similar stop across the border in Lausanne to appreciate some medieval Swiss architecture, art and shopping, but could not dally. They would be able to see even more of this in their destination, Bern, anyway.

It was night when they arrived in the country's capital, and both men were yawning as they entered their hotel. Neal was teasing Mime Bomb about not being so loud because loud yawns were more contagious. Mime Bomb was rolling his eyes before silently yawning even larger as he waited to be handed his room key.

This night passed much more pleasantly than the last, each man sleeping soundly after a highly enjoyable outing and with a renewed sense of security regarding their plans. They awoke with the same atmosphere, and this time coordinated their morning, sharing breakfast. Neal still spoke jovially to every fellow guest around him. Mime Bomb simply let him, focusing on his bagel.

From here, Mime Bomb was the one directing Neal as he drove around the bustling city. Mime Bomb had asked if he could drive with an overly sweet innocent pose, but Neal didn't think he was quite ready to hand his steering wheel over in such busy traffic. Maybe he'd show Mime the finer points of handling his car in Canada. Or, maybe the clown could even get his own ride.

That being one appealing thought about having a permanent place to settle, Mime had to relent without too much sulking. Instead he pointed out where Neal needed to turn, until a storage unit lot came into view. After entering, it was simply a matter of walking the rows until the bereted man halted in front of one rolling door and moved to unlock it.

Neal paid close attention as the door was lifted, quite keen to see what sort of belongings Mime would have accumulated over the years.

He was not disappointed.

The large concrete room was lined with shelving units overflowing with a variety of oddball items, and two overburdened clothing racks held a surprisingly assorted wardrobe. Neal wondered which had been costumes for missions and which were actual layman's clothes. Against the back wall was a desk with a large computer on top, surrounded by and hooked up to several servers and assorted chunky gear Neal assumed must have been related to Mime's old business.

Approaching the shelves to scan them with an interested smile, Neal could feel his companion turning a little apprehensive behind him. Was he nervous about what Neal might say?

Neal let his gaze drift over the shelves containing several books ranging from travel guides to codecracking to Agatha Christie novels. Then there were handmade weapons including garrotes, punch knives and Molotovs, which then led into a solved four-by-four Rubik's Cube, black ballet shoes, a West African shekere, a handsome dark wooden model of the Golden Gate Bridge, a musical snowglobe sheltering London Bridge beside it; then there was a boomerang, an Indian woven wall scroll, an authentic Finnish dreamcatcher right next to a Native American one, and finally something that made Neal take enough note to address: a pair of sizable daruma, one dusty with both eyes filled in, and the other clearly newer with only one eye sporting a pupil.

"A man of culture, Oi see," the slippery man said conversationally, "And Oi mean that literally. Very interested in the heart of a country's craftsmanship." Mime Bomb glanced to the side and tipped his head fairly. He did like authentic, handmade crafts. He appreciated craftsmanship and what made cultures unique.

Neal went on, picking up the daruma with only one eye. "Oi can relate to that. Oi'm a bit of a collector myself, as Oi'm sure you've gathered from my souvenir shopping. Always fascinating to learn about a new place. So these fellas...Oi'm guessing you already had an interest in the Asias before our last mission. What was the first goal you had?" He flicked his eyes for the one still on the shelf.

Clearly a little tense at the question, but finding it interesting that Neal seemed to know what the egg-shaped Japanese dolls were for, Mime obliged to answer and lifted a hand to move an imaginary tassel across his head.

Neal beamed. "Well, you sure aced that one. Flying colors all the way through the academy, right?" Well, unless it was Gym.

Modestly, Mime clasped his hands behind his back and smiled proudly at the praise. Then he was reminded of what Neal was leading up to when the man held up the single-eyed doll, asking, "And how about this one? This from your last mission?"

Now Mime appeared frozen for a second, but quickly ducked his head and looked away, holding his arms in clear embarrassment, not wanting to say.

Impishly, Neal's smile turned lop-sided. "Aw, come on. Now you've got to tell me." He stepped closer and pushed the daruma out, nudging the clown's arm. "Oi'll help ya out with it~. What is it you wanna do, eh~?"

This carried on as Mime Bomb's lips wavered. He felt pressured and torn, knowing Neal was just pestering him to tease, but also wanting to share on some level. It was embarrassing, but he also knew the answer would probably be well-received.

After a handful of seconds, the silent man sighed and dug into his pants pocket, reaching to snatch the daruma in tandem. Neal stepped back, eyebrows going up and thinking he must have overstepped, but then Mime Bomb simply bit the cap off his lipstick, scrawled in a quick mismatched pupil, and shoved the doll back at Neal's chest, still looking away in a huff.

Now Neal blinked, and he let his eyes flick between Mime Bomb and the doll in his hands for a few more silent seconds, processing this.

Then his smile returned.

"You were hoping to run into me again?" A short laugh when Mime Bomb rolled his eyes and lifted one hand out of his defensively crossed arms to wave that off, telling the other not to read too far into it. "Well Oi'd say you aced that too. You old romantic. Oi knew you had a soft spot for me~," the Kiwi quipped, and moved to ruffle the other's hair.

Mime Bomb fought him off and hurriedly fixed his hair, putting his beret back on properly and motioning his hand like a flapping mouth, indicating Neal was yammering into unwanted territory.

This display of irritation only warmed Neal's heart further. Mime was always stingy with emotional openness and that didn't bother him. It was cute. Just knowing the redhead had been keeping this in hopes of the off-chance that they'd meet again told him that Mime didn't want to forget him. Admitting it to Neal already spoke volumes.

"You're sweet," he informed the grouchy puss aimed his way, and it only hardened as Neal moved to place the daruma back where he'd gotten it from. Willing to let the topic rest at that, the black-haired party indicated at Rubik's Cube with an extra row. "Oi did have a couple lesser curiosities. Like this. Solved? Or you never touched it?"

Straightening as his puzzle solving skills were challenged, and very glad to not talk about what his hopes had been after seeing Neal hadn't been brainwashed, Mime Bomb quirked a stern brow and held a hand out like waiting for a toss.

With a playful smirk, Neal took the cube, and with only a coy glance over his shoulder, turned his back as he twisted the sides up. Then he turned back and merrily tossed it underhand into a waiting palm.

Calmly and with an air of pointed confidence, Mime Bomb observed the changes for a couple of seconds, and then steadily began rotating the cube's sides.

Neal hadn't doubted the other, but enjoyed pretending he had and was glad to let the other take the chance to show off and distract from any fuzzy feelings he might have been experiencing. He watched with interest at the methodical and consistent way Mime's hands moved. He wasn't acting with blinding speed, but he very clearly knew what he was doing, and within a couple of minutes, he smirked smugly and lobbed the completed cube back to the older man.

A small chuckle as Neal admired the re-completed puzzle. "My mistake," he granted, putting that back now too and then thumbing for the dance slippers. "Last thing Oi'm gonna ask before we pack up. Ballet? That more your dance than hula?" Were those just decoration or did the other man have actual training?

Looking at the shoes himself, Mime Bomb let himself smile now and nodded, letting one hand wobble to indicate he had some experience. He found it very handy body control to have while stealthily breaking in somewhere or evading capture. Not to mention it helped to build some form of muscle on his lanky frame.

"Hoo-ee, you really are the whole package, aren't ya?" Neal marveled, impressed. Ballet was hard. "Oi love. Absolutely all of this." He spread his forearms to indicate the entire interior of the storage unit. Everything he'd learned from looking at Mime Bomb's belongings told him the silent one was very much a fascinating man he wanted to stick with. He could have sat here all day and asked for stories, but did want to stay focused. More stories would come.

It was very flattering to hear all of this was received so well. Mime Bomb hardly knew how to take someone being so invested in him. It warmed his chest. Though he had to wonder what it would be like when Neal finally found something about him he didn't agree with.

Moving to crouch by one shelf, the bereted man started gathering homemade weaponry into his arms, glad this personal hobby hadn't been one of the things Neal saw fit to inquire about. It was actually kind of notable that he hadn't. Why? Did he really not think anything of that shelf, or was he just being polite? They were both criminals, but most of their tools had been provided by V.I.L.E., and Mime Bomb was just slightly on edge, not knowing what small thing might completely change Neal's opinion about him. Strangely enough, he liked that Neal liked him, and he couldn't help but be self-conscious about sharing so much with him.

He had to hold off on feeling any real attachment, though. At least until Ireland. That would tell him whether or not investing his own feelings would be a good idea.

But even so, if Neal changed his mind now, Mime was sure it would still hurt. Dating was weird. Wanting to care about someone was weird. Even though it had only just begun, this relationship seemed like the biggest thing in the world, and he wanted it to be.

Soon enough, all of Mime Bomb's belongings had been packed up, escorted to a post office, and sent on their way to the pair's new address in Canada. The pair themselves spent the next few days lazily taking the long route through Europe, just touring and taking the time to get to know how one another functioned.

It was an incredibly comfortable companionship, and one Mime Bomb could not believe felt so natural so quickly. It was like he'd never spent months apart from Neal. Perhaps much of that had to do with how Neal himself became right at home so easily no matter where he was, but for Mime Bomb he just couldn't believe how instantly he wanted to keep the presence of someone who read him, related to him, and made him smile so well. He might have been used to being ignored and loved frustrating people with pantomime, but this change...this was just nice.

However, the closer Ireland got, the more gloomy Mime Bomb's demeanor became. He communicated less, hiding his nerves and assuring Neal that it was fine, but not being able to keep them completely at bay. And nerves aside, he just felt the weight of the story he was going to tell increase as the destination approached. As they boarded the car ferry from England to Ireland, he just kept telling Neal it would make sense once they got there.

The car actually ended up being left in a lot once the green shores had been reached. They weren't going to need it. Instead, the two men took a trek through a small village in the countryside, where Neal attempted some of the casual side-tracking he'd been doing during the entire trip, but seeing the other keep a stony face and just keep walking, he registered the set, serious atmosphere and adopted a matching seriousness, following Mime Bomb to the outskirts and past a couple of fields until at last, the redhead's steps came to a stop.

Neal looked from where his companion stood, hunched with hands in pockets, a brooding purse of his lips in place, to the unidentifiable, condemned pile of char and rubble he'd stopped to glower at. The sign in front of it informed that it had once been a Catholic orphanage.

"This was...yours?" Well, Neal had pegged it right that the other had been an orphan. Classic V.I.L.E.

Evenly, the silent man nodded.

"What happened? Why do you look so resentful about it?" The aura Mime Bomb radiated made the taller man feel like he was treading on eggshells.

Looking to Neal, Mime Bomb warned that the story was long and threatened to alter some opinions, but if Neal really wanted to know about him, he would tell the other, and in turn make him understand just why he hated the idea of being a civilian so much.

Face attentive and set, Neal craved to know the other's secrets more than ever. And he would not take this lightly. Just as slowly as Mime, he nodded back. "Oi wanna know," he confirmed, "Tell me."

Drawing in a deep breath, the silent party closed his eyes in preparation, before taking the plunge and beginning the longest Charade he'd ever performed.

This burnt-out husk of a building had been where he'd lived for as long as he could remember as a child. He'd never known his parents.

It was here in this orphanage that he'd learned to give up on being adopted or making lasting friends because no adults wanted him when he didn't speak, and any other children he might have liked got scooped up in front of his eyes. Liking other children was something he fast lost interest in, however, as most other children mocked him for not talking, and he became resentful of them getting to go on to happy homes, and of how they would blame things they did wrong on him, finding him an easy scapegoat for the same reason.

Quickly developing detest for being a target, Mime Bomb also developed a taste for tattling back. The start of his ingenuity being used for sneaky means, he recalled, was when he happened to overhear one incident of theft from the nuns being planned by the other children. He took advantage of his silence, and moved ahead of the other children to the kitchen, planting his phone to record as the others broke into the pantry and nicked their goodies. This time when was confronted as the scapegoat, he was ready with counter-evidence. The looks on the other children's faces had been delicious, and wanting savor it, Mime had followed and watched from shadow as the others were taken away and beaten for their lies. Something he'd experienced far too often in their stead until this point. It was so satisfying. He wanted to tattle more. Catch them all in their own lies whether they'd picked on him or not. Punish those who were wrong.

Scaring them was fun too. The other children started to keep away from him both because of his silence, and because he made them uneasy as a threat. Mime did not mind. He took advantage, hiding around corners or under a table and jumping out, or simply waiting in the wings and smiling when a door was opened on him. It felt like he was starting to gain control of something by keeping others in line. It was certainly better than rolling over and taking others' judgement. No matter what the nuns said, God was not in control in that house. He was.

As an observer falling into the background, he also learned that if you watch someone for long enough, you could tell when they were weak, and how shockingly vulnerable they were, self-absorbed in their own world. Their valuables were often left exposed, and he started to fantasize about stealing them, just as he'd been accused previously. He was owed something to balance out those false accusations. Eventually, he did take some money left on a nightstand. It felt good. Like a start.

He surprised himself when he started fantasizing about harming them as well. When he watched others he'd ratted out be beaten, he began wishing he was the one harming them, and by age eight he had begun his hobby of making small weapons, though he kept this a secret.

Soon he was older than all of the other children, and given his own room, and although he had earned a reputation as a trustworthy tattletale with the adults, he would still hear them talk about him as a difficult problem child who would never be adopted because of his silence, which Mime would overhear constantly through eavesdropping. He would continue to resent his caretakers, too. No one believed in him. No one listened. Not really.

And it ended up being true. The nuns were right. As he entered teenhood, Mime had stopped getting any offers to even try adopting him. He spent most of his time holed in his room, scouring the internet and learning about the world. Places he wished he could be because they were anything but where he was. He'd begun sneaking out. At any time of day, he would leave to commit petty crimes in town to make this dull place more exciting. It was by this point that he'd begun crudely painting his face. Yes, it was to avoid being identified, but pantomime had also been one of the things he'd studied purposefully online, and he felt a connection to it. He began practicing it. He liked miming because he thought it was fun and the body language was more universal than sign language. Also he liked being difficult because nobody wanted to listen anyway. So if they really wanted something out of him, they would have to work for it.

During his internet adventures, he found the dark web. Immediately he liked it. An entire network of underground crime, bigger and more connected than anything he could do in his backroads little town? How could he not?

He explored this vigorously, eventually having the idea of starting his own business venture here. Looking to his nightstand, he'd dug out a credit card he'd already found and altered, cracking this being the highlight of his puzzle solving and criminal careers at the time, and lighting up with the idea of making money off of this by doing it for other people. Shortly his business had been set up, but he did not stop delving deeper into corners of the dark web.

The kinds of crimes hidden under layers of secret web links and coding was shocking, but somehow still more exciting than anything. Illegal animals for sale, a booming drug market...human trade. His eyes had widened when he learned that even humans, in part or in whole, could be sold in this place. But he didn't even think of clicking away. He was fascinated. And in only a few more clicks, he'd found snuff. He had to be invited, and he had to follow a certain link at a certain time only, but he was too curious not to attend.

He was shocked again when the link jumped to life in the late hours, becoming a chatroom with a video feed, two men with their faces covered flanking a third man tied to a chair. Instantly the chat sprang to life with the most horrible things, users simply saying things like "thumbscrews", "slice his lids off" or "how pink is he inside".

Transfixed, Mime Bomb had continued watching, seeing the masked men waste no time in complying to their favorite suggestions. This was not fake. The blood was real. The screams were real. Mime Bomb blinked to find a familiar form of guilty gratification spring forward to realize this.

This was...like when he watched his fellow orphans punished...but more. This was...nice. A slow smile crept onto his lips as the tortured man begged, no one listening to a word he said. It was cathartic.

And, when he was dead, Mime Bomb couldn't feel sorry for him. That man was everyone who had looked down on him his entire life. He just kept smiling, feeling like death was an incredible mental release. He would have to come back. Maybe throw some of his own suggestions into the ring.

Death became a bit of a fixation of his for a while. Locally, he developed a bit of a fascination with Tuam, an Irish city with a famously cruel Catholic home for mothers with child, known mainly for the mass graves of these children, though the home had not been in use since the 1960's. Mime started to dream of recreating those graves, wishing his own home could make his peers vanish so thoroughly. He wanted an outlet like murder.

When he was eighteen, he left that orphanage as fast as he could, buying a cheap place in town, but living just the same and never losing his bitterness. He continued keeping to himself, getting a job, using his mime act to pick up cash on the side, saving up to leave. And of course, entertaining himself with thievery along the way. It made for a nice bonus, to boot.

It was when he was twenty, during his excursions onto the dark web that a V.I.L.E. recruiter happened across him and his talents, finding those, his callous cruelty, and his availability as an orphan to hold great potential, and scouting him. The anonymous recruiter offered a chance to hone his skills, learn a multitude of new ones, and even learn how to make his catharsis a reality. He would have to become part of an international family of thieves and leave the world he knew behind, but he would gain much reward.

Mime Bomb did not even hesitate. A family? A family dedicated to taking back from the world what they were owed? A family that did not hesitate to cut down opponents? A family that wanted him?

His response was an immediate yes, followed by an insist that he was already prepared to prove himself. To show how ready he was to take that step into a criminal life. The recruiter sounded pleased.

For the first time since the story had started, Neal responded, starting to get a foreboding sense. "And...how did you manage that?"

The smaller man looked at him with steady, dull expression, then cupped one palm in front of him so he could strike it with an imaginary match. Holding that up, he turned for the burnt-out building and evenly stepped toward it. He stopped beside the door, and flipped his wrist over, opening his fingers and letting the invisible flame fall.

Neal's inclination about the fate of this place was confirmed, and his brow pinched as he let out a somber sigh. He followed to where Mime Bomb was sending the ashes a dirty look, and paused nearby behind him. "Anyone make it out?"

Turning to face him, but maintaining that stoic expression, Mime Bomb drew a finger across his neck. Not a one. Every single woman and child in that building had been unable to escape the speedy flame in the dry night air. Many of the bodies hadn't even been identified or recovered. He'd finally done it. He'd created his own Tuam, and cleansed himself of his old life.

It felt very good, and the blaze was enough to earn him an escort to V.I.L.E. Academy that very night.

Shifting his lips at Neal, the redhead silently asked with that expression alone if the other had some different ideas about him now. He'd wanted to know, and Mime had told him.

It was clear to Neal that Mime Bomb expected him to have something negative to say. He could have, but sarcasm was not the way to go here. Instead, knowing Mime needed confirmation now more than ever, he just opened his arms and softly told, "Come here, luv."

The smaller man's shoulders tensed visibly, his lips going taut and his lower eyelids pinching as an emotional punch struck him in the gut, creating a pressure he'd long stuffed down behind his eyes.

Neal's response was...compassion? Not disgust or claims that he'd been rash? Immature? He just...wanted to let Mime know he still cared for him.

Hardly knowing what to think, but feeling like having Neal was the luckiest thing to ever happen to him, Mime Bomb just acted on impulse, drawn into that hug like a magnet and clutching clawed fingers into the back of the yellow and green zig zags Neal was wearing. His pinched face crushed into the crook of Neal's neck.

Gingerly, Neal's large hands landed on Mime's back, one caressing the small of it while the other slowly massaged a shoulder blade. He definitely understood what Mime Bomb had seen in V.I.L.E. now, and why he had hated civilian life. Being a civilian was dull and frustrating and unrewarding, offering nothing but building resentment, while V.I.L.E. had swooped in and saved the younger man from it all. Offered him that out he'd always wanted. He couldn't help being attached, or finding it hard to move on.

The taller man shushed and assured the other with vague sounds, swaying lightly with him until he felt those claws relaxing, then noting quietly, "Oi get it. And if you knew half the people Oi know, you wouldn't even be asking what makes me bat an eye."

Mime looked up, puzzled and still feeling on the edge of crying. He hadn't, but he was so relieved and touched by Neal's actions that such a dormant action still threatened him.

Neal nodded. "Oi watched you snap a man's neck, remember? One thing Oi don't do is judge. Like and dislike, sure, but not judge. And Oi don't think any less of you for killing a few kids. You think Oi never killed anyone?"

With a sniff, Mime had to give that yes, Neal was also a criminal and had likely had to remove a living obstacle at some point, but even among his classmates, killing had still had lines that most agents would not cross. Part of why Mime Bomb had been considered unnerving was that he had the highest death toll in his class. He didn't go for it when it was unnecessary, but if he had an opportunity, he did take it. And kids were generally considered going too far. Even Mime Bomb's ex-favorite teacher, Shadow-san, had been unable to kill a baby, instead bringing her to the academy's island to be raised...and become their worst enemy. Not killing Carmen Sandiego as an infant was something Mime Bomb saw as a terrible mistake on Shadow-san's part, and he was incredibly betrayed by how that man had turned to her side. He would not have made the same mistake. He'd watched children punished since he was a child himself. He'd endured unjust punishment. There was no mercy in his heart based on age.

Understanding this, Neal just smiled gently and rubbed the other's shoulder again. "'s all the same, really. Problem's a problem and a kill's a kill. For you? You needed this to be at peace." A glance towards the orphanage ruins. "And really. Oi can relate to your story more than ya might think possible. Oi was only askin' about it 'cause Oi was curious." At the other's processing blink, he added, "Oi'll share my own story if you'd like to hear. Oi did say Oi wouldn't mind a little quid pro quo."

Thinking about it for another moment, Mime Bomb then nodded. Neal's comforting was astonishingly effective. He could not believe the man saw where he was coming from, and was alright with every way he'd reacted to his own experiences. Mime wanted to know how Neal could be like that. How his life had compared.

With another friendly smile, Neal let the other out of his arms and stepped to the stone base of one of the orphanage's eroded walls, moving to sit down. "Sure thing. It'll prob'ly be a bit more comfortable like this, though. Just sayin'. Oi want this to be comfortable for you."

Appreciating that Neal was both trusting him and trying to keep the mood as relaxed as possible, the silent man did feel at ease and moved to join the other, sitting on a higher portion of the crumbled wall.

Neal began his tale, "Well, one major difference is that Oi didn't start out as an orphan. Oi had parents until Oi was, oh...sixteen, Oi wanna say?" He scratched his cheek as he squinted in thought, and Mime found it curious that was something he would have a hard time recalling. Neal went on, "Anyway, Oi did start crime at a young age like you. It was a fun game, nicking sweets and things from shops with friends. We all thought it was quite a thrill. Oi was a stand-out, though, 'cause even if we got caught, Oi was great at hiding in cramped areas the grown-ups wouldn't find me - under a car, hollow of a tree, trashcans - and Oi'd always have the spoils to show off later. Unless Oi'd already eaten them, that is~." A fond chuckle at the memory.

That sounded about right to Mime, starting out as a boyhood hooligan and becoming the star of his own little gang. He nodded for Neal to go on, wanting to know how this had escalated into elite V.I.L.E. membership.

"As Oi got older, Oi graduated to things like money Oi'd see stickin' out of purses, or to the purses themselves," the Kiwi explained, "The thrill never got old for me, and especially not the thrill of the chase. Oi preferred snatching, finding it a way bigger challenge, and far more rewarding. Money can buy a lot more than sweets, that's for sure. Only problem was, as Oi was growin' up, Oi stopped being able to fit into so many of my old spots. But, on the flipside, Oi was starting to develop a bit of a glandular problem. To me, that seemed like an answer to balancing things out more than anything."

A wistful hem. "Once Oi put that together, Oi was back in the game with a vengeance. Oi'd worm under a fence like nobody's business. Inspired by my own sweat, Oi started taking routes Oi knew were slippery, training myself on things like how to stay up on ice, or at one point Oi decided to try greasing up beforehand. Lemme tell you, worked like a charm. That, and choosing to hide in spots no one would even want to look, like a nice slimy compost heap. Figured Oi was already slimy; what's the harm in a bit more? And well, Oi got away with it, didn't Oi~?"

Mime Bomb would have to assume so. But he did have to think that even back then, Neal had been gross to just dive into the world of slime like that. Even if it was admirable in the tactics department.

"Oi put a lot of effort into nicking and running," the black-haired man reminisced, "Unfortunately, my mates from early on had kind of outgrown the game by that point. They didn't want to go stealing with me anymore. They said they felt bad about it. They said Oi shouldn't be taking money. And they ratted me out. They told my parents what Oi was up to on my spare time. Needless to say, Oi was not happy." A dour expression crossed Neal's face there.

"Got all the old lectures, all your standard fare about how that kinda life'll get you nowhere...Oi didn't hate my folks - they were nice people and all - but Oi'd already seen them proven otherwise, and let's just say Oi got really good at sneaking out my second floor window." A soft chuckle. "Oi was always pretty headstrong, Oi'm sure you can tell. And Oi was not happy with the utter lack of indulgence from my family. We were at odds a lot over my behavior. See, since my old friends had moved on, Oi was more than happy to cut 'em loose. Oi'd been startin' to fall in with a new crowd anyway. The more gang-related crowd."

Mime Bomb's eyebrows went up at this. Wait...Neal really had actual gang affiliation? Not just some ragtag bunch of miscreants he'd hung out with?

"More of 'em in New Zealand than you might think," Neal nodded, "It's been a rising problem, or so the news would have ya believe. But sure, Oi found my way into one of their clubhouses by accident during one-a my getaways, and we actually hit it off rather well! Can probably thank my slick tongue for that. They called me 'spunky'~." Another short laugh here. "Oi've always been a bit of a talker, too. Surprised? But well, impressed by my steal and my young age, they actually scared the coppers offa my slippery tail for me. Then they asked for my story. Nice buncha mates."

The redhead could hardly believe what he was hearing. Neal. This Neal. Had chatterboxed his way into being friends with a proper notorious gang.

"Oi came back loads after that," Neal kept yarning, "My fluid friendliness actually allowed me to be on good terms with multiple gangs in the area, even if they were at odds. Which, let me tell you, is very handy and a very unique privilege~." He seemed awful proud and smug there, and Mime Bomb couldn't blame him.

"Everyone in New Zealand's seedy underbelly just seemed to like me as the rascal Oi was. Oi'd do anything they asked, no questions, smuggle whatever they needed, and they gave me lotsa nice presents in return. No reason to kill me when Oi was such a ready and willing, unbiased gofer, y'know?" He was unashamedly on everyone's side in the criminal industry, and his cohorts had simply had to respect his stance, willing to make an exception for him and letting him help them all.

"Oi loved spending time with the gangs. They were more my family than my real family ever was. That's why when they died, Oi really couldn't be too torn up about it. Honestly, it was kind of a relief. Freedom."

Mime Bomb stared in stun again. Wow. Neal had gotten to experience having a family, and he really could say he hadn't been upset to find out they were dead? He could definitely see why Neal had cherished the family that had made him feel more welcome and more at home, but how could he both not hate his birth parents and not miss them?

"Yeah, Oi know. Kooky, right?" Neal tutted with a lop-sided grin. "They got run down by a train when the safety gates didn't close, and for me, it was just a free pass to start living my life my way."

Face turning a little somber as he reflected, he noted, "Oi remember staring at their caskets at the funeral, not feelin' a thing other than a spot of boredom. Never even shed a tear. That was the first time Oi realized just how little Oi actually value other lives."

Dumbfounded, the bereted man facing him had to grant Neal that with an admission like this, he certainly should not have been worried about Neal judging him just for burning down an orphanage. He saw what Neal meant. He could relate to acting so cruelly because he was callous at heart himself. He did not view people as people. Merely playthings that could or could not benefit him.

It was just so...weird to hear this view from a buck-toothed goofball who liked wearing gaudy tourist clothes. This over-sharing, extroverted, sunny man legitimately did not value human beings?

But then...how could he claim to be interested in love?

Neal kept talking, expanding on his statement. "It was a shocker, believe. Oi thought Oi musta been broken. Or maybe Oi was in shock. Or Oi just didn't see the point in empathizing with someone who wasn't alive. But then Oi looked around the room, thinking consciously about all these other people. Noted how Oi thought about them. They were sad, or sobbing, some Oi knew, some Oi didn't...but no matter who they were, Oi just didn't care. All Oi wanted was to be back with the people Oi loved. The people who made me happy."

A shrug. "So, that's what Oi did. First chance Oi got, Oi slipped away out the door, only stopping to grab a nice handbag someone had left on a seat."

A soft sigh now. "Thought plenty on what made those groups different while Oi was walking. Oi wasn't an emotional husk. Oi felt plenty of emotions. Oi'm an emotional guy. Never afraid to share, either. Then Oi figured, Oi just only really cared about people Oi could connect to. Didn't matter who they were otherwise. My gang pals were my true family, so they were my family. That make sense?" One cheek pinched, Neal unsure if he was conveying himself properly.

Mime Bomb had to think about it for an extra moment, but he supposed...yes. Neal was not devoid of emotion or attachment. He just processed it in a unique way, and the person he loved most was himself. It was like how Mime poured all of his hatred into wanting to watch someone die. He didn't value the person who died. And he was always looking out for himself.

Eventually, Mime nodded. He did understand. And he didn't find the philosophy offensive.

A beam returned to Neal's face. "There, see? Knew ya would. So sure, Oi more than relate to not caring about people as a whole, even if Oi have found myself drawn to the odd one now and again." A small smarmy smirk went keenly at the man opposite him, and Mime had to smile just a hint in response. Neal was assuring him that he had real feelings for him. It was appreciated.

"Right, so," the Kiwi continued, "Coming to realize how little Oi thought of other people, Oi started to wonder if Oi could actually kill one of 'em. Oi knew my mates had killed plenty, but Oi never heard anything but stories and numbers. Never saw it yet. Just knew Oi wouldn't be seein' some of those guys around anymore. Oi asked my main crew, who Oi'd chosen to bunk with after the orphan situation, if Oi could give it a go. Soon enough, they had some bloke who'd crossed them brought out behind the hideout, and were holdin' him for me while my best mate Jibbs was holdin' out a switchblade for me."

With a slight shrug, the oily-haired man admitted, "Well, Oi was touched. Excited. They went outta their way to help me see if Oi was fit for the big leagues. Oi took that switchblade up and hugged that big oaf like you wouldn't believe." A short laugh. "Once that was done, though, Oi studied that knife good. Looked at that fella held hostage good. Pictured it in my head. Everyone around me was rootin' for it. And well, Oi couldn't let 'em down. Oi stabbed."

Another light shrug there. "Oi didn't hit anything important the first time, but the reaction sure was interesting. Talk about a struggle. This guy was like a fish on dry dock, and oof! What a potty mouth!"

With a more alert smile, Neal perked, "So Oi stab him again. And a few more times. Then finally Oi just jab him good in the belly and yank that blade up, gutting him like the fish he seemed to think he was."

Now a pleasant sigh. "It was a fascinating experience. Oi found out Oi sure could kill someone, and as Mr. Fish bled out on the ground, my mates gave me loads of helpful pointers about how to do it better next time. Like Oi said, very nice bunch. Maybe Oi wouldn't put murder in as more exciting than a great chase, but Oi'm perfectly capable and Oi find that fact interesting."

He glanced up thoughtfully, finding his own relationship with the human race curious.

Back to Mime, he explained, "For the most part, Oi just roll with what comes and goes and follow my whims. Find it the easy route. And the crime circle's always been good to me, so Oi never saw any reason to try being good or not trust them. No gang's ever ratted on me, at least. Oi was making money and the company was enjoyable. Oi only met more and more criminal types over the years through those connections, and it was through this ever-growing library of links that Oi met my own V.I.L.E. recruiter. They found me an interesting case, and since Oi was the usual twenty when they finally asked me to join up, Oi was just thinking it was about time to leave the ol' nest. The gang was very supportive. They thought specialized training sounded just as good as Oi did, and wanted me to move up in the world, be happy, all that rigmarole. So long as Oi didn't lose touch. And well, Oi never have."

One more breezy shrug as Neal finished on a conclusive tone.

Mime Bomb blinked. Neal was still in contact with these people?

"Of course!" Neal answered happily, "You think Oi'd drop my roots just because some shiny new big-headed organization comes along? Or V.I.L.E. was my one and only? Oi never stopped making connections, bruv. Oi know all sorts of seedy types. How you think Oi got you out of jail so easily? Oi know who to bribe and who to sweet talk~."

Oh. Mime had just thought that crack about knowing people had been just that. A crack. But wow, the older man actually had his own network of contacts around the globe. He was far more set than the redhead, and obviously had many avenues open to continue crime. Honestly, it was very impressive. No wonder he had once almost made V.I.L.E. faculty. And, Mime had learned that Neal most certainly had never second-guessed anything about himself. Even if he could be quite gross.

Feeling much better to have heard this story, the silent man leaned forward to pick up Neal's hands, and smiled warmly at him in thanks. He couldn't believe he could connect to someone like this. Someone really did understand him, deranged tendencies and all, and he understood right back.

He realized he must have caused Neal some of that worry he'd thought of in turn, about being thrown away, acting a little too flippant sometimes. But right now he could not consider their connection trivial anymore. He wanted to assure Neal equally that he was willing to declare that officially. He wanted to date.

Neal paused in surprise as his companion moved to hold his hands so sweetly. Mime looked on the verge of tears again, but this time...happily.

Matching the wide smile as fondness found him, Neal preferred to cherish the moment rather than waste time questioning Mime's choice to give affection. It was obvious that the redhead was feeling better, was pleased with him, and that was all that mattered.

"Oi wanna love you, too," Neal promised, and couldn't help but enjoy the light hue of pink appearing under Mime's makeup. No doubt the younger man hadn't been thinking quite such sugary words. Neal chuckled. "Did Oi just sweet talk you into reciprocating my romance~?"

Defensively, Mime Bomb took his hands back and curled his arms, head turning away slightly. Slyly, however, his eyes stayed on Neal, and he carefully let one hand move forward enough to waggle a 'so-so' motion. Maybe a little. But that was the best Neal was getting.

That was plenty good enough. Neal gave a good-hearted chuckle. "A-course, bruv. Never easy-to-get with you. Always baby steps. Well, how about we take one right now? Move in with me~?"

Standing, he offered his hand forward with a wink.

Mime Bomb sighed and rolled his eyes at the corny gesture, especially since they both knew this agreement was already set, but couldn't help finding it still charming on some level. The hand was taken, Neal pulled the other up, and the two headed back the way they came, the link remaining between them.

"So you're local. About that cheese shop we passed on the way here..."