Catching Up
| Catching Up | |
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| Players | Razi's Townhouse Razi and Fiametta catch up about recent events on both side. |
It's a bit later in the evening by the time Fiametta returns home, and she finds Razi in the living room, in a very nice leather armchair he's rather fond of. Dinner is likely already finished, and he's idly working through the day's crossword puzzle with ruthless efficiency. There's music on in the background, something low and classical. Fiametta stalks in, an oversized hoodie disguising much of her form, thrown over comfortable leggings. It's probably more Razi sized than her sized, but probably he would never be caught dead in one! Or /alive/ for that matter. Maybe especially not that. She's got her tote over her shoulder too, one he's familiar with her taking with her when she works. It's not a magical bottomless bag, but she can pack a lot of shit in there when she has to, it's quite impressive for someone who isn't a wizened. Her hair is bound up in a lazy bun, her skin unembellished. So maybe she hasn't been working, at least not in the way she usually does. And she's got two cups in her hands--one with a straw already poked into it, the other one with the straw still in its wrapper next to the cup. She is, of course, immediately drawn to the nice reading light in the living room. She doesn't speak, immediately, though perhaps this is a familiar and comfortable habit. Instead she sets her bag down by the leather sofa first, and then sets her milkshake-to-go down, and then tiptoes to him with the other. Without a word, she settles onto one of the armchair's arms, leaning over to touch a kiss to the top of his head as he works. But she then watches in contented silence, until he puts down his pen. He certainly hears as soon as the door is opened, but, expecting her some time in the evening as he is, Razi does not immediately lift his attention from his task at hand. He lets her settle as she likes, shouting no words of immediate greeting. It's not until she's settled onto the arm of his chair that he finally looks up, a hint of humor suggested at the very corner of his mouth. And then he sees the milkshake, and a quiet little breath escapes him. Almost an "Ah," but without enough voice. "Trying to fatten me up?" he wonders, as if he has any protest at all. In fact, he reaches immediately for the cup. She rubs at her chin lightly, with thumb and forefinger, after he takes the cup. "You'll just have to figure out a way to burn those extra calories," she teases him. "But I was more thinking along the lines of /spoiling/ you." Fi flashes a bright grin at him, still comfortable on the arm, her head right at his shoulder. It's an odd place for her to be, from the outside, but for her it seems right in a way that she doesn't quite remember why more often than not. "It's from kind of a dump of a diner. But the shakes and fries are good. I saw a friend there the other night. I hadn't been in a while, but I was craving one on the way home." "I already do exercise quite regularly, yes," Razi replies in that mild, unbaited way of his. "I even ran into Solomon on one of my morning runs this weekend. Ended up with a swarm of Changelings. Very odd." He carefully peels the paper from the straw and then delicately stabs it through the opening of the cup. If one can be delicate with such things. "I thought being a dump was a badge of honor for diners." "Solomon goes running?" Fi asks, perhaps a little surprised. But it's not in a mean way or anything. She leeeeaaaaaannnnns over to retrieve her shake too, from the scent of it, hers is strawberry, of course. "I'm going to have to get a little more exercise, myself," she admits. "I did well in my interview, but...I think there's going to be a much higher caliber of performance there that I'll actually have to work at to sustain." She doesn't seem down about that. "And it is. There's always interesting people, late night. I think even Javi was a little weirded out when the guy who was near us started talking about regrowing limbs. But I mean...I can't knock anyone for being strange, right?" And Razi's choice of milkshake? Salted caramel, if they have it. Coffee or chocolate if only more mundane flavors are available. "Apparently," he says. "I suppose we all have to take care of ourselves in one way or another." His brow arches a touch when Fiametta mentions who she was out with, and he gives her a more appraising look for a moment. "You and Javi are friends now?" "He's nice," Fi says. "We keep running into each other. I'm careful though," she says quietly. "I don't want him to get into more danger than he has to, you know? He's an easy person to want to look out for." Proooooobably salted caramel is a little upscale for the diner. But that coffee shake is going to be spot on. "Don't worry, I wouldn't invite anyone back here that you didn't want to. But if you /did/ want to, even just to hang out sometime whether I was here or not, that'd be fine. I don't feel uncomfortable around him." "He's very earnest, yes," Razi agrees after a moment's pause. "I think that quality is at least part of why I've declined his...overtures." The word is said with particular delicacy. "I don't think he's the sort of human who needs the mess of one of our kind." A beat. "Or just me specifically." He sips carefully at the milkshake through the star. "But no, he's very likable. You don't need to avoid the house on my account. He does have some idea that I'm not quite ordinary now." "You're allowed to make your own assessment of what you want to deal with right now," Fiametta says gently. "But you're right. It's why I'm careful too. I'm not sure that everyone he comes across will be, but--I mean that's something we don't have any say over, I guess." She squints down at him. "Razi, I think that most people are not going to think you're quite ordinary, unless they're dull. But you're most important. It's--well, maybe we can actually build a home here. This has been my refuge, and you. Making sure that things are comfortable is more important to me than anything else." She smiles at him. "But if you are making friends, of whatever nature--you don't need to avoid the house either. And I can vanish for an evening too, if you need me to." Suddenly her eyes light up. "We should make up a fun signal," she decides. "Fi, I don't mean ordinary in the /human/ way," Razi says, the slightest, /mildest/ hint of exasperation touching his voice; he's always more expressive with her than with others. "I know you're just trying to flatter me, but what I /meant/ is that he asked for my assistance in a decidedly /un-orindary/ problem, and so some of my solution was un-ordinary in turn." The look he levels on her is a touch bland. "The arbitration between human and ghost. You remember?" And /then/ she makes /that/ particular suggestion. "Fi, this isn't a /dorm/. Can't we just be adults?" "I didn't either," Fi counters, stubbornly. "And I'm not trying to flatter you. You don't always know /everything./ There's people who can probably sense something, even if they don't know why." She slips off of the armrest, returning to the couch, and tucking her feet up underneath her. "I wouldn't know what a dorm is like," she says, after taking a sip of her milkshake-though she seems to remember something, and straightens her legs again, slipping off her shoes. And then more quietly and gently. "I'm sorry. I'm trying. I don't even know how to be, most of the time." It's an observation, made from a distance. And for that moment, she really does look like the early twentysomething that most mortal eyes would see, or caught between that and the just barely 20 year old that was taken. "I don't act like I know everything," Razi claims, /mildly/ affronted. But it eases soon enough, particularly when Fiametta settles in that particular sort of way, all gentle and young, and he looks away with a quiet breath that's almost like a sigh. "I'm sorry, too. Socks on the door handle, that's what people do in college. I don't think it would exactly work as well in this setting. But, if you like, I can text you on the rare possibility that I might be bringing a guest home. And, if you like, you can do the same." "I like it when friends are here," Fiametta replies softly. "There's a lot of places to go if I just want to fuck someone." And it's true, for all her diffuse sense of sensuality, it is actually rare that she brings anyone actually home, or wants them to stay. Whether that is the carefulness that comes from hypervigilance, or something more, it's hard to say. "I know that how I am doesn't bother you but I--I don't know." She shrugs, lightly, drinking more of her milkshake. "Javi sees ghosts?" she asks, frowning slightly. "I guess that makes sense now. One of the places I saw him. I helped him plant some flowers, in a cemetary. But I didn't see anything. That's the thing about you Razi, that I wish you could see more, sometimes. There's got to be some trust there. A lot of trust." "Nothing about who you are bothers me, Fi," Razi says, and his voice is gentler now. "I want you to live as you enjoy living. Whatever that means. You deserve that much." And then he sucks down a more grim mouthful of coffee milkshake, taking a moment to swallow before answering. "Apparently," he says. "And he thought a /lawyer/ is what he needed for this particular dispute." A beat. "He wasn't entirely wrong, I suppose." But his mouth twitches downwards in a faint frown. "Trust where?" "Why he picked you. I mean, I guess we'll never really know. But even if someone was the ONLY person I knew who had a particular kind of job, I still wouldn't necessarily call on them for something that endangered me, with what they knew about me after." The willowy redhead drinks more of her shake. "Maybe it's not as risky as it is for us, if the wrong people know who we are. And I know he's sweet and earnest and all that shit, but Javi isn't stupid, Razi, you know that. Everyone's got their armor, you know? Maybe part of his is being that sweet. But maybe it is also knowing who he can talk to that won't actually eat him alive. You...you get that sense sometimes. To survive. Especially if you're young." "Ah." Razi allows himself some time in silence to sit with her words, interrupted only my his attempts /not/ to squeak the straw in his drink as he sips from it. "Well, I won't say you're /wrong/." His finger taps lightly against the side of his milkshake. "But I think that's more than enough about me. Tell me about this audition. You sounded rather pleased about it." "There was another one of us there, as one of the people sitting in on the interview," Fiametta says, her eyes lighting. "I'd never seen her before but..." she shivers, ever so slightly, but it doesn't seem to be out of anything negative at all. "The club is still under construction, but it'll be done soon. There's two clubs, I guess, in one. Satin is the one I'll be working at. Classiest place yet I've worked at. And they take care of their people. I guess that's the one drawback, I don't think I'm going to need to turn the tables on any asshole that tries to intimidate /me/," She laughs, a silvery sound. "But definitely an upscale place, I think. And the owners, they're not our kind, but they're definitely /another/ kind of something, I don't know what. Something delicious, though." she says. "I didn't let on that I knew. But I think that place might be a good spot for people to meet up who aren't exactly...normal." She pauses for a moment more. "There's gonna be an underground sport fighting place. If I'm right that there'll be some friendliness to a gathering place for other abnormal people, then that's going to be something to see." She studies him for a long moment, and then she crinkles the bridge of her nose at him, playfulness starting to re-enter her being. "With your day job, you're exactly the kind of patron that would be looked to, you know. Make business connections while blowing off steam. And they really liked me. They want me to headline. Under a stage name of course." It's quite a lot to take in, but Razi is nothing if not patient, and he still has milkshake left to savor. And so he listens with quiet attentiveness, taking in every detail -- the fellow Lost, the classy nature of the establishment, the protective management, the second club. But the end, there may even be a subtle upward twitch of his brows. "So potentially another neutral ground, albeit unofficially?" he surmises by the end. "Perhaps the management will be understanding if you wish to terrify your own harassers, in that case." The words come with that particular solemnity that is difficult to identify as humor. "They have an eye for talent, at least." And /that/ is entirely, earnestly sincere; there is nothing a person can do to gain greater esteem with Razi than respect and recognize the talents of Fiametta. "I don't know that I /relish/ the idea of bringing my colleagues around to carouse with; I think most of them would be shocked at the suggestion coming from me. But if you think it would help, I could manage." "Maybe not your colleagues," the flame haired young woman concedes. "Though I don't know them! I trust your judgement anyway, but definitely in /that/. But I'd like /you/ to come. Once. More if you want. Maybe not on the night I dance unless you'd like to see it. But just to see things, once they get going. Upstairs or Downstairs. We've been meeting more and more strange people, it seems. If this ends up being a safe-r ground where people can more be themselves, it might be useful. Or...relaxing." She grins at him. "I don't think they'd mind, though I think most of them enjoy that stuff too, scaring the shit out of people who are used to being the predators." Razi pauses a moment. He's not exactly known for his excursions of /fun/ or /relaxation/. But then he says, "Yes, all right. If you'd like me there, and think that it's worth investing the time in. If nothing else, I can meet the people managing it and see...whatever it is that they are." The corner of his mouth twitches. "If nothing else, maybe we'll see them the next time there's a larger gathering and be able to judge from there." That seems to cheer her, and with a impulsive burst of energy she's out of her chair to dance along the back of his, so she can slip her arms around his shoulders from behind for a hug that will neither disturb his penmanship nor risk squishing and splatting his shake. Is the wizened truly ready for the blazing brightness of that hug and the kiss brushed to his cheek? Maybe if there was anyone that could be, it's probably Razi. "OK," she says. "Thanks, you're the best. And I love you. I know that probably it's not gonna be your thing, but you never know. But it means a lot for you to come one time." The impulsive squeeze of her arms and kiss to his cheek actually does earn a low, warm laugh from Razi. "Of course," he murmurs, reaching up a hand to clasp one of the forearms wound about him, giving it a squeeze, and then a little pat. "You can put on something, if you like," he tells her, tipping a chin to the television. Or, really, the stereo, if she wants a change. And he'll just settle into quiet, occasional conversation, finishing his crossword and all that jazz, as they relax for the evening. | |