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Judgement Day [Vesna\Private]

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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Tue Aug 16, 2011 5:27 pm

Sniffling, she nodded, for she certainly did feel emotionally exhausted. Even if she didn't feel like sleeping until morning, a nap would do her good.

Holding his hand, she went back inside the women's car, making sure to pause slightly in the appropriate places so that he could duck his head--even without being able to see what hung from the ceiling, she knew him and the car well enough to know where he could and couldn't fit. After pulling off her shoes, she climbed into her too-large bed, hiding all but her face under the sheets. Never letting go of his fingers.

"I love you," she murmured, already drifting off. Being the kind of sleeper that she was, it took but a minute for her to pass out entirely.

--

Piter was displeased. Extremely so.

He poked tenderly at his right eye, which had become all purple and red, and was bleeding slightly. This was completely outrageous. He'd never been so much as pinched by another human being in his entire life, let alone punched in the face. At first, the shock had made it almost too much to comprehend. It didn't help that he had just gotten over his mental breakdown, either--it was a miracle he hadn't relapsed, really.

But how could Ditya do this? Piter practically idolized him, and for what? To be given a black eye. Hadn't he rescued his whore? Hadn't he always made it clear how much he respected (well...as much as the spoiled Russian could show 'respect' for someone) him and wanted his attention? He treated nearly everyone like shit, but the one person he didn't rejected him in the most blatant way possible. And it hurt.

So he'd automatically gone back to the ragtags to demand that Franze make it better.

The only problem was, he couldn't find her. She didn't seem to be in her usual spot. So he'd asked for directions to the women's car, on the off-chance that she'd gone back to it, for whatever reason. Approaching it, he knocked firmly on the door (with the hand that wasn't burned, as the other one was still tender--Christ, he'd gotten more physical injuries in the past few days than he had in years).

"Is Franziska inside?" He called, as loudly as his monotone would allow for.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Tue Aug 16, 2011 7:28 pm

It never ceased to amuse him how easily she'd learned to maneuver around. Though he was still partial to carrying her, but she was happier this way.

She was asleep before he could return the sentiment, so he could only carefully pull his hand away and make sure the sheets were around her tight enough. After that, he took on a less loving demeanor as he reached to feel the weight of the pike in his hands.

But before he could, there was a knock at the door and a vaguely familiar voice announced that it was looking for that stick-thin whore.

Not feeling up to being quiet, he opened the door just a crack, --making sure it wasn't someone who would chastise him for being in the women's car-- and then stepped out, closing the door behind him. Being quite drunk when he'd met the man in front of him and the fact that a large portion of his face was now black and bloody, he replied gruffly, "Not sure. Check the animal tents." Wherever Itakshir was. "...There's a car with nothing written on it a ways down the line. It'll look empty... But it's not."
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Tue Aug 16, 2011 8:31 pm

...Wasn't this supposed to be the women's car? It clearly said 'LADIES' on the side. And this was certainly not a lady. But he decided not to ask--it wasn't what he was interested in, anyways.

"My, my, comrade, it has been some time. By the lack of recognition in your tone, I can only assume that you don't remember me?" It was understandable...all things considered. Still, he couldn't help but be amused by the fact that he would meet this man again, and in such an unlikely way. Of course, it hadn't been necessary to attempt to stir the drinker's memories--Piter had already considered this, and decided it could only be disadvantageous not to. He didn't know if the giant would ever be useful to him again, but for sure, he would like to be on his good side, just in case. It was his nature to want to have a finger in every pie, after all.

Glancing at the stake in the man's hands, he raised an eyebrow slightly, "Oh dear, I do hope you weren't planning on hitting me with that." (It was a joke, but honestly, he wasn't going to put it past people to physically injure him, anymore.) "If that's the case, I'll be out of your way. My sincerest gratitude for the directions." He stepped aside pointedly, and made to turn around, but paused for a moment.

Pretending to suddenly remember something, he looked back.

"On the off-chance that you recall our conversation that day..." He held the taller man's gaze in his, lying through his teeth as easily as he drew breath, "I suppose you might be interested to know that we've succeeded in our plans...for the most part. Some things have unfortunately not panned out the way we expected, and therefore, I have no choice but to leave Miss Schuetzeneur here, for the time being. It is the only way."

He couldn't very well have the man recalling Piter's promise to take Franze back, only to see him doing just the opposite. When things didn't work out quite right, he always had to make sure to at least cover his tracks.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Tue Aug 16, 2011 9:29 pm

He blinked for a moment, trying to remember. It wasn't often that he was approached while drunk, so he should remember... aha. He remembered the face. He remembered the clothes. But hardly anything else.

Except one thing. He realized that he had no idea where this dutch monster was staying. And this man was supposedly from Mystique. And on the lower-class side of things. And maybe sympathetic to the freaks.

"Oh, no--" He laughed and stored the pike back in his belt. "I just have to get back to work. By the way," There was no easy way to segue into it. "Would you happen to know where the man who deals in the freaks over at mystique is staying? I heard he was in town." The man before him knew he wasn't too fond of whoever was selling the freaks. He had to cover for it somehow. "He's a friend of a friend." Technically true. He just hoped that 'friend' wouldn't be there to see it. She would either beat him away (which, despite his considerable growth since his childhood, he was still afraid of) or never want to see him again. He didn't know which was worse.

He also didn't remember what those plans were or what that conversation consisted of. "...I hope you find her. She... stands out quite alot."
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Tue Aug 16, 2011 10:06 pm

Piter's mind was already racing, thinking of the possibilities that this simple request for information could present. He was no fool, he knew that this man was not inquiring into the freak trader's whereabouts for any good reason. If there was one thing he knew about people, it was that they did not take kindly to those that hurt their loved ones. But...'friend of a friend'... Could it be?

Earlier, Ditya had come pounding at Piter's door, demanding to know where his whore was. Of course, he hadn't known, so he told him as much. (Perhaps not in the most polite way possible.) And had gotten punched for it.

His whore was gone... The whore who was goldfish's sister. The goldfish that was romantically involved with this man. 'Friend of a friend'... Had the whore come to visit her sister, possibly betraying the fact that Ditya was in town to this giant, in the process? Piter had used the car, so he knew that she hadn't used it--she must have gone on foot. And he hadn't seen her on the way here...she must have been heading back...

And if he acted quickly enough, he could carry out a new plan before she even made it back to the inn. He didn't know for sure what this man wanted with the Dutchman, but he was willing to take a gamble.

"Yes, I know exactly where he is," he replied, turning his full attention to the strongman, "I should. He's the one who gave me this, earlier." He indicated his black eye.

"You know the woman named Vesna? The sister of...Sofia, is it? Anywho, Van der Linde--the freak trader--you know, he's fond of Miss Vesna, whose car just recently burned down at Mistique. I pulled her out from the fire...and I suppose a punch to the face was his idea of a 'thank you'." He didn't bother to hide the trace of bitterness in his voice; it was all part of the plan.

"I can't fathom what his problem is. I shouldn't like to insult your friend, but...that man is really just a horrid person, in all honesty. Besides that he trades people for money, he can't even be civilized when people do him favors." He faked an irritated sigh, then, "In any case...were you wanting to see him? I have a car, I can take you there, if you wish."

Franze could wait. He usually held it to be true that revenge was a dish best served cold, but...he was willing to set aside that ideology for now. Whatever this man wanted with the Dutchman was of no consequence to Piter, either way. Might as well take the chance that it was for vengeance.

After all, Ditya had rejected him; he was asking for it.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Tue Aug 16, 2011 10:28 pm

((Somehow I think piter would think in the same thought pattern while watching soap operas with Franze XDD))

This man was proving to seem worse and worse by the minute. Vesna just couldn't see it. She was caring, she was strong when she wanted to be and sometimes even when she didn't mean to be (she stood above just about every woman he knew, for christ's sakes--), and she could call out such disguised malice when she saw it between another couple... But not herself. For all he loved and respected her, she was stupid.

And of course, it only added to the desire to kill the man already set afire by how Sonya had been treated, how scared she was. The anger was just boiling over.

"Yes--" he stammered, trying to unclench his teeth enough to speak. "I would really like to see him. A ride would be... Appreciated."
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Tue Aug 16, 2011 10:49 pm

((LMAO, yes--and he wouldn't mind the wooden acting, because it seems like normal behavior, by his standards. /shot XD))

If he were a less stoic person, he might have been extremely tempted to rub his hands together in wicked delight at his newest dastardly scheme. As it was, he just found himself noting the strongman's visible rage with deep amusement.

"Well, then, I shouldn't like to waste your time, so--my car is this way," he gestured for him to follow, making his own pace quick. If he just drove a little faster than normal, then they could likely make it there and back before Ditya's whore had a chance to show up. He didn't want to take the chance that she would throw any wrenches into the hastily made plan.

Unlocking the vehicle, he got in, wasting no time in starting it up and taking off. He couldn't be sure what the speed limit was here (it wasn't like there was an abundance of signs), but he was willing to bet that he was going at least thirty over. Oh well. If anyone asked, it was because everyone drove like this, where he was from. Which was true.

He didn't speak on the way there--he was preoccupied with trying to imagine what the giant was going to do. Hit him? Stab him? Kill him? He got goosebumps at the last one. He'd never concocted a plan in which anyone died before... At least, not in any life that he could remember. His dreams suggested otherwise.

It was exhilarating.

Coming to a screeching halt squarely in front of the inn, he unlocked the door for Cosim to get out. "His room is on the first floor, down the hall next to the bar, second door on the right," he informed him, calmly, "Ah...and if you don't mind, I'd rather you not mention that it was me who brought you here. I'm trying to avoid having any further interactions with him..." He pointed to his eye, "I'm sure you understand; I don't care to receive any more of these."
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Tue Aug 16, 2011 11:16 pm

From the moment Cosim entered the car, he was as quiet, as still as a stone. Only weeks since he had found his own wanted poster...and he was going to kill again. This one was long overdue.

The way there the only movements he made were running his hands over the metal stake. He suspected it would get less than halfway into the man's head due to its width. But, once the eyes were done with, he could always go for the temples. That was usually effective. He wasn't considering at all if this man had the means to fight him off or not-- a man who acted in such a way was always weaker. He didn't even consider if the man had backup. He'd heard something about a bar but it was only filed in his mind as a blueprint to get to his goal.

Not acknowledging Piter's request (he didn't hear and was sure he didn't even remember the man's name anyways), he made his way into the bar, stowing the stake in his pocket to look less suspicious. Eyes were drawn to him, but he wasn't the kind of man the rough men in the bar would really pay much attention to. So he slipped through the crowd and down the hallway with ease, stopping at the door, vaguely surprised he wasn't smelling fire and brimstone from it. Only pipe smoke.

He threw his elbow against the door, not wanting to have to knock twice. It made a dent-- the cheap wood splintered-- not enough for him to see inside, though.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Wed Aug 17, 2011 12:59 am

Piter watched him go, wishing he could follow to witness...but knowing it was safer not to. Oh well, he'd find out later whatever results came out of this.

As for Diederik, he'd been pacing the floor all morning, wondering what had happened to Vesna. He'd awoken to his usual metronome and no injured woman in his arms, nearly making him wonder if it'd all been some crazy dream. But it couldn't be, because a nightgown had been left in the room...and some of his clothes taken in exchange for it.

What was going on? Had she gone to her sister's, as she'd mentioned? Why hadn't she told him? Was she walking all the way there, alone?

There was a cloud of smog thick enough to cut through, in the room; he'd been smoking nonstop while he waited. Coughing slightly (his height didn't help; if he were shorter, he wouldn't be breathing in the worst of it), he figured he'd better open the window before he asphyxiated himself. But before he could, there was a sudden banging against the door and the sound of wood splintering.

Forehead creasing, he went to go see what it was, leaving his pipe on the table. If the boys were getting too rowdy, he was going to have to put a limit on the alcohol consumption...

Opening it, he was surprised to see a man that: a) he didn't know, b) was nearly as tall as him, though better-built, and c) apparently trying to break down his door.

"What the hell is this??" He demanded, gesturing at the damaged wood. It wasn't his property, but still...he didn't want to pay for it.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Wed Aug 17, 2011 8:42 am

Cosim was brought out of his stony hypnosis when smoke engulfed him, sending him into a coughing fit. He wasn't able to see the man clearly until the smoke cleared but... That changed things too. He wasn't some five-foot-something businessman. For once, Cosim had to look up to address someone. He wasn't comfortable with it.

And those lackeys were in viewing distance. There were...alot of them. One shot. That's all he had.

Without saying anything, he grabbed the taller man by the shoulder to pull him down to eye level and punched him back as much as he could, tackling him to the ground (which he had never had to do before with shorter people--) and staring him straight in the eyes before plunging the stake in the man's left one. He hoped it would hithis brain but... It was unlikely.

Hearing commotion from outside, he stood and spat on the man, muttering harshly, "An eye for an eye-- be glad you're alive with one left." There was no way he could get back out through the door, so he opened the window with some difficulty-- finally fresh air. In a last minute moment of a boy naively trying to protect his role model, he growled, "And stay away from Vesna. You're ruining her."

And with that, he just barely managed to fit through the window, covered in spattered blood and looking for Piter's car. Had he just left him there?
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Wed Aug 17, 2011 3:19 pm

Diederik didn't even know what had hit him until he was already down. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about when he was suddenly stabbed through the eye. He didn't care if it'd hit his brains out--actually, that might have been preferrable. At least he would have died, and the pain would have ended quickly.

But no. It didn't end. It seemed to bloom forth from the point of the stake, flowing out like a fountain... A red, red fountain... The pain flowed and it didn't stop, making him forget everything but it, save for a few strange thoughts that floated past his mind.

If I have to start wearing an eyepatch...I'll be hearing pirate jokes for the rest of my life...

It was strange what one could think about when in excruciating pain.

Cursing and gasping for breath, he struggled to his feet and over to the door, holding his eye as the blood seemed to spew forth from between his fingers. He wondered if it would ever stop, if he was going to literally cry his heart out... He wasn't sure what he was doing, just that he needed help--staggering into the bar, unable to speak through his clenched teeth.

It happened slowly. The man closest to him noticed first, an expression of horror slowly dawning on his face. Then another, and another. And then, the cries started.

"Captain!"

"What happened?"

"Captain! Captain!"

He was only able to utter one order, voice strained like never before: "Get the goddamned doctor!"

--

Piter had been anxiously watching the sidewalk for any sign of a tall, blonde floozy, wondering if this would take long. Apparently not. The strongman exited the building...through the window--and appeared to be looking for him.

The sight of the blood made an excited tremor go down his spine. Had he killed him? Had he? He wanted to know--if he'd orchestrated the death of another human being. Of course, one could argue that Cosim would have eventually done it anyways...but Piter had figured out his intentions and used them for his own bidding, without ever having to get his own hands dirty. It was the kind of power he longed for.

Starting up the car again, he pulled over to where the giant was and leaned over to throw the door open. Something glinted in his eyes...some excitement or fascination that wasn't there before. But his expression and tone remained the same as ever: unfazed.

"I take it things went well?" He asked pleasantly (as pleasant as monotone could be), as though he couldn't clearly see the blood that stained the other man's hands.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Wed Aug 17, 2011 5:18 pm

He got into the car as easily as if nothing had just happened and his face wasn't smattered with someone else's blood. "It went well enough." He grinned-- not mirroring any emotion Piter was feeling. He just felt... better. And Sonya would too, once she'd heard. "I don't think he's dead. But it could happen." He almost wished he could have taken out the eye and given it to her. but that would have taken too much time and with the other man's height, it wouldn't have been so easy.

"Get me back-- I really actually do have work to do." And he probably needed that stake. Oh, well. He'd find something else that would work.

----

The night had been uneventful for Vesna-- in that nothing had happened that she hadn't expected. Her meeting with her sister went as she thought it would have (even still, what gave her the right to talk-- scientist was as crazy a dream as actress, in the abandoning home life department). Getting drunk in a movie theater went as she had expected, even predicted. And of course, the time spent with that man (what was his name?) for the tickets and the what seemed to be, (after she'd thought about it almost on the way to the bottom of the glass) cooking sherry, was expected.

She didn't exactly expect a car to go speeding by and nearly hit her as she stumbled along the edge of the street, reciting monologues she thought she had forgotten long ago. She didn't expect it to look familiar, either.

Still, she thought nothing of it. She would get back to the inn, and go to sleep, and wake up not having anything to remember the prior day by except a hangover and maybe a bruised cheek. Maybe. Her sister couldn't hit for shit. But that was to be expected also. Especially coming from a woman who was so genuinely unassuming until crossed the wrong way. Not many former brothel girls lasted long if they talked badly about her or those she'd called her friends. Ungraceful, sure but... who ever said she had that in the first place? Not to mention now, wearing men's clothes, drunk and bitter, with a mess of a braid that could hardly even be called one.

Finally she reached the inn (how long had she been walking, anyways?), and swung the door open, not expecting much except to be groped a few times on the way to the room, and... was surprised. Instead of the bar being filled with laughing men who were just as drunk as her (she might have joined them, had they been) half of the room was in some sort of silence, with a static tension around them, and the other half was in a state of panic around one table and chairs.

She was about to think nothing of something significant again and walk past it all to the room when, as she passed it, she got a glimpse through a sliver of space between bodies and saw him. Well, it seemed to be him. It looked like him. But she didn't want to think so.

She was drunk, that was it, she thought. She should go to the room and sleep it off and it would all be better in the morning. Yet she found herself pushing through the crowd, and once she finally saw him, not even processing why, or how, or even quite what, she could only scream as the glass bottle shattered at her feet.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Thu Aug 18, 2011 12:39 am

Not dead, but it was in the realm of possibilities? A slight disappointment washed over him, but... At least that blood meant something. It meant that someone was in worse pain than him. Rightfully so.

As he began the drive back (at a normal speed, this time), he touched the purple spot on his face absently. The blood had coagulated, but...it was still quite sore. Even blinking was uncomfortable. He didn't know how to treat a black eye--his knowledge in medicine was limited. He doubted that Franze knew any better, but it wasn't as though he had anyone else to turn to.

Pulling up to the carnival for the second time, he got out along with Cosim and locked the door.

"So interesting to see you again, but now I must excuse myself," he said, already walking away, "I have some unfinished business."

Making his way to the main tent (surely she was there by now--if not, he would be terribly dissatisfied), he let himself inside and walked right up to her sewing table.

"Franze, my eye hurts. Do something about it." ...Was his childish excuse for a greeting.

--

There was no morphine. There was no goddamned morphine. Just some whiskey he'd barely choked down, a rag to bite on, and several crew members to hold him down so he didn't writhe too much.

This was his own stinginess, come to bite him in the ass. Certain drugs were expensive, and they rarely needed them. Better just to 'man up', anyways, was his philosophy for handling a bunch of sailors. Well, he was manning up, now. Whether he liked it or not.

The eye was beyond saving. The only thing to do was extract what was left of it, sterilize the cavity, and sew it up. The extraction part was what was happening, at the moment. If the pallor of his face (whitish-gray, sharply contrasted with the dried-and-fresh blood that rolled down from the hole like layers of paint) and the way his fingers dug into the armrest of the chair were any indication, it wasn't pleasant.

He heard a woman scream, and something break, but he couldn't process anything in his mind, at the moment.

The antiseptic was applied, and in the midst of the burning sensation it created in his eye socket, one of the armrests was broken off. Another thing he would regret having to pay for, later. A lattice of stitches, and his eye was no more.

Finally relaxing in the chair, now the the worst of it was over, he breathed shakily, a sheen of sweat on his pale and strained features. Pulling the rag from between his teeth, he attempted to wipe some of the dried blood off (they'd only had time to clean the area around the eye), but found his fingers unwilling to cooperate in holding the cloth steady. Giving up, he opened his good eye at last, staring straight ahead for a while.

There was a silence in the room, punctuated only by a few concerns muttered under the breath here and there. His gaze finally fell on Vesna. Dully, he remembered that she'd been gone all this time.

"Hej..." Was the best he could manage. He was obviously tired.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Thu Aug 18, 2011 9:18 am

He could have told him he lost an eye, but the man was already gone. So, with his hands and face still wet with blood, he went to go tell Sonya that his eye was gone. That he would have gotten the other if he had the time, so that he could feel like she had, but he didn't have the time.

Reaching the women's car again, he poked his head inside. She was still there, alone. Going in as quietly as he could (which meant not exclaiming when he hit his head on something, but it wasn't going well), he leaned down to kiss her. "How do you feel...?"

He certainly felt better. But it was more about her. And if she wasn't better then, she would be when he told her the good news.

Piter and Franze's exchange, however, began on a bad note. He'd barged in, unannounced, and her finger very nearly ran into the needle. She knew it was Piter before she even saw him. "Goddammit, I don't have time for--!" And then... She saw him. "Oh my... God..." Not that she hadn't expected it... But it was worse than she'd expected. She got up immediately and gestured for him to follow her to the icebox.

------------

She saw it all. Even though stitches covered it, she could still see that dark abyss under it in her mind-- the pain he was in. And what was she doing while this happened?

"C-can somebody help me... He needs sleep..." she mumbled, forcing herself not to cry for the umpteenth time that day. He didn't need that now. So she followed behind to disguise the few tears that fell as a few of the crew members helped him to his room and onto the small bed. She couldn't even compose herself enough to tell them thank you as they left.

She busied herself with getting his shoes off and whatever else would make him uncomfortable before she even felt up to saying anything. "I'm gone for just a few hours," Or was it the whole day? She didn't remember. "and I come back to one less eye." A pathetic attempt at a joke. "What're you planning on losing next time I go, huh...?" She attempted to laugh, but it just sounded strained. She didn't want to know how or why it happened. It could have just been an accident.

She headed into the even smaller bathroom and soaked a towel in water, returning to sit on the edge of the bed and wipe the blood and sweat from his face, though her burns wouldn't allow much movement still. "Look at us," She smiled sadly, but had nothing to say afterwards. She was too drunk, too sorry, too sad. So she said the only least harmful thing she had in her head.

"...Are you going to get an eyepatch...?"

Funny what thoughts pass through the mind in times of crisis.

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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Fri Aug 19, 2011 12:47 am

Hearing him from the first time he'd hit his head, she nevertheless kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady, knowing that he was attempting to be quiet. When he was next to the bed, she rubbed her eyes and opened them--perhaps as any sighted person would have done. For her, it was practically a formality.

Kissing him back, she smiled, "Better..." Not completely, but better, yes.

That was, until her delicate nose got a whiff of what had stuck to his clothing. The faint scent of smoke, but also... Mouth turning downwards, her nose wrinkled in distaste, "What is that...? It smells like..." She wasn't sure if she wanted to say what it smelled like. ...Let alone know.

--

"Ditya punched me," he stated flatly as he followed her, pleased that she was doing as he'd asked. ...Rather, 'ordered'.

"But all is well," he informed her, "I've extracted revenge in record time--I'm informed he might die. That would be rather exciting, don't you think?" If it wasn't usually easy to tell if he was being joking or not, it was now. He was clearly deadly serious, and looked to Franze with the expectation that she would share the sentiment. After all, she didn't like the man, he knew that.

He did wonder, though, how she would react to this latest escapade. She didn't exactly seem to approve of the arson, kidnapping, and grand theft auto, when he'd mentioned it to her. Well, now 'assisting in assault' and 'assisting in attempted murder' (or, as he hoped, straight 'murder') could be added to the list, as well. 

As for him...he rather liked it.

--

He hardly knew what was going on, anymore, or what had happened. Maybe now that he was in a bed, he'd wake up to realize it was just a nightmare. He couldn't hear the metronome, after all, so how could he be sure? Maybe he'd never wake up. 

He couldn't even grapple with the fact that he'd just lost an eye; the shock wouldn't let him. It had happened so suddenly, and for no reason... Other than karma. That was all he could come up with.

And he deserved it, really. Maybe worse, even.

He watched her for a while, then stared at the ceiling when he realized that with one eye, he couldn't see anything to the far left, over his own nose. And he never would again. The prospect was almost maddening.

"A hand," he finally responded, "So I can put a hook on it." A joke for a joke. He said it so dryly that it could have been taken seriously, though. But he'd never been one for humor.

"Look at us."

He looked at her. He couldn't see himself, but he could guess that he'd looked better. So he looked at what he could see. Reaching up to wipe some of her tears away, as she cleaned his face up (blood, sweat, and tears; they really were a match--), he paused midair when he saw that it was the hand he'd used to staunch his own blood. He hadn't gotten to wash it, yet.

So instead, he sat up briefly (he probably shouldn't have), leaning over to kiss her once, tenderly. For the first time as a person, not a customer. He lied back down, decidedly exhausted. Before he drifted off, he mumbled, "Ja...probably..."

He didn't want to think about himself in an eyepatch. Jokes, ahoy.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Fri Aug 19, 2011 10:16 am

"It's a good smell, see?" He placed his bloodied hands in front of her face. "It's the man you were afraid of--" He paused, for drama, or maybe it was because he was just giddy over the whole thing. "I took out his eye."

He wiped his hands on his pants, not worried at all about the fact that it would later be in full view of everyone and that those were one of only three pants he owned. "I would have killed him-- but I might have gotten caught for that." He vaguely wondered what had been done with the eye. Or if Vesna would find him too ugly to stay with.

Then he uttered the words that she had probably always feared about his criminal escapades. "I did it for you... Because I love you."

-----------

She just made a dissatisfied "Mm." at his explanation of the black eye while looking for something no one would miss. Hadn't she told him? She pulled out a row of Popsicles wrapped in wax paper and placed them over his eye.

She almost dropped them when he said what more he'd done. It was true she didn't like Diederik but... It wasn't him she worried about. "What in the world is happening to you." It was more of a statement than a question. She knew he was a bit sadistic... But not so much to ever take pride in killing someone else. She didn't want to know the story. As far as she was concerned, she wasn't going to see Diederik again. But Piter she expected quite often. "You can't... You can't just do that...!" She left the Popsicles for him to hold while she got a grasp on the situation. She waited for him to say he was kidding. But he wasn't a kidder. "For punching you in the face...?!"

--------------

She laughed quietly, finding it odd but relieving how he could joke then but not normally. "No," She drunkenly half pouted. "Those hands are special. You think I'd still be with you without them?" She joked right back but... It was half true.

That kiss held more than others before it. She couldn't put her finger on it but... He was out cold before she could ask. So she just dragged herself up after cleaning the blood from his hands and pulling the covers up over him as much as they would go, and went to use his bath, taking the nightgown with her so it could be washed too. If he wasn't awake, he couldn't object, right?

Her burns were an issue... But it felt better to just throw soap in the bath and soak. Finally she felt the fire, the sherry, that other man, and the stress of the past few days leave her. Periodically she would drain the water and add more to get the grit out of her and the nightgown.

She left it on the bathtub's ledge to dry afterwards, figuring she would just have to sleep in his shirt. She'd slept in less. This time she wasn't just holding onto him to keep from falling off.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Fri Aug 19, 2011 10:54 pm

((Sorry, had to respond out of order. Had to. :I /SHOT))

She drew back slightly, the stench nearly making her gag. Her eyes were wide with confusion. He did...what?? She found herself having trouble comprehending what she'd just been told. Desperately, she wanted it to be a lie, but...it didn't sound like one.

She sat up, hair falling around and framing a face alight with fear. Her head shook...slowly, at first, then more vigorously.

"You--why...? I don't want you to hurt people for my sake..." Not that she cared about the Dutchman. He deserved whatever he'd gotten, surely. "What if he reports you? What if the police come looking for you, now? What if you'd gotten injured, or...or worse?" Then, more quietly, more afraid, "And...it's not okay, to hurt people..."

It was hard to explain. Van der Linde deserved it, but it was because he was the kind of person who hurt people. She didn't want Cosim to be that kind of person, too (despite that his record clearly indicated otherwise).

--

Franze's method of deeling with the situation turned out to be more than satisfactory. He held the popsicle to his eye, already planning on eating it as soon as the opportunity arose. Soothing his pain was not nearly so tempting as the prospect of frozen sweets.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he remarked coolly, "I can do anything I want, if I have the means and so long as no one interferes. People deserve to be punished twofold, when they hurt me." 

There was a definite note of childish self-centered cruelty in his words, but even beyond that... There was more to it. To have masses of people slavishly loyal to him, yet hold the power to determine their fates at the same time. To smite them at will, when they displeased him. Some might have erroneously labeled him as having a God complex, or megalomania. But he knew that he was simply born to be in power.

The big question was: had he always felt like that, or only since his dreams had opened his eyes? He couldn't remember.

--

Diederik did not sleep peacefully, despite his exhaustion.

He had nightmares of screaming, fire, ships blasted to pieces, a murmur ("Where is God?"), bitter starvation, an endless blue sea, bloodshed, (Where was that familiar clicking that reminded him to never fear what he saw behind his eyelids?), a smell that was unforgettable, and a man brandishing a stake--

Gasping, he jerked out of his sleep, sitting upright automatically in bed, eyes flying open--and yet, one did not. Reaching for it in a panic with his fingers, it took the feel of the stitches to remember why. 

Collecting himself, he got out of bed and repositioned Vesna so that she wasn't in such danger of slipping off the side (thank God he hadn't accidentally knocked her over, just now--). Taking a tired glance out the window, he could see that dawn was breaking. No point in going back to sleep, then.

It took a considerable amount of willpower to look in the mirror for the first time. It wasn't as bad as he'd dreaded, but still...the last time he saw himself, he had both eyes. Now suddenly, it was like looking at a different person. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed, not sure how to feel about the events of the previous day. Maybe just relieved that they were over.

Glancing at the bathroom, he noticed that the door was open, and went over to close it... Before spotting the nightgown. Stepping inside, he picked it up, as though he'd never seen a dress before--really, he was thinking about what it meant. 

She had no clothes. And she couldn't keep wearing his. What was he supposed to do? He didn't know anything about women's clothing, and he didn't know how to approach her on the matter. (Maybe he would just get his brother to deal with it--) And for that matter, how was she bathing? He hadn't really thought about it before, but wouldn't the bandages make it difficult?

...Did she need help--

No, no, he pushed that thought from his mind. It wasn't like he could ask her about that, anyways. First things first: address the clothing problem.

After getting dressed himself, he draped the gown over a chair and sat down to smoke, waiting for her to wake up.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Aug 20, 2011 8:26 am

This was not the reception he'd expected. Quite the opposite. He just watched her fear in pitiful confusion. She should have been happy, she should have felt safer. "I... No one saw me long enough to make a report..." But really he didn't know that for sure. Then, more quietly, "And if Vesna's still with him she won't let him do anything to me." Callous, but it was her sister Vesna hated, not Cosim.

"You told me yourself... He's not a person." He'd slayed a monster for her. Or tried to. "I didn't want you to be afraid anymore..."

---------------------

"You can't do anything you want." Had his parents never told him so? ...that shouldn't have even been a question. Of course not. "It's not right." And she couldn't think of a real reason why, but it wasn't. "Especially not what you're doing." She was all for revenge but not his kind.

Seeing he was eyeing the Popsicle more than listening, she pried it out of his hands, getting frantic like a mother. "Are you listening to me?? Piter-- you could go to jail!" Not for as long as those who'd executed his orders, but long enough. One day in jail was probably long enough for Piter.

She calmed herself with a little pacing. "Jesus Christ... I never thought you'd end up like this..."

-------------------

It took a while for her to sleep off the alcohol. But a headache had woken her up eventually, and her eyes opened on a ceiling clouded with smoke. Following it to its source as she sat up, she found him in a chair, looking somber as always. "Good morning, handsome." It was best to bolster his self esteem. She got out of bed, having to hold her head for a moment when she stood up, and made her way over to him, kissing him like he had the night before. The eye bothered her... But if he was going to cover it once it healed then there was no problem.

Her clothes were a problem, she remembered when she caught sight of her nightgown. "Sorry... I had to wash it-- I hope you don't mind..." it was difficult to find a correctly fitting dress in normal circumstances, let alone when she had nothing. Most were too short, too small in some places but to big in others... And the one's that did fit were usually ugly. It gave her a headache to think about. Then again, everything would give her a headache, that day.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Aug 27, 2011 8:44 am


He didn't know that no one had seen him. Van der Linde himself must have gotten at least a glance. "What if he sees one of those posters? What if he recognizes the picture?" She was working herself nearly into hysterics, now, "You don't know if Vesna could stop him! He's not human; he might not listen to her!"

Gulping back a choked sob, she scrambled frantically to find and hold his face, "I am afraid...for you." It was much worse than being afraid for herself. She was always afraid for herself, because she was handicapped. But Cosim was strong. It felt awful to think he could be in real danger.

--

"Pray tell, Franze, who's going to tell me 'no'? You?" He asked softly, challenging her, "Are you going to stop me?" He doubted it. Franze couldn't stop a fly from trampling her if she'd tried. ...Of course, he didn't consider that physical prevention wasn't the only way of stopping a person. And he didn't think that anyone was capable of 'manipulating' him into doing anything he didn't want to. 

But then, no one he cared about had ever tried.

He could have laughed, though, when she suggested that he might go to jail. "Not to be egotistical, but I honestly doubt that any hick lawyer in this backwater country could outwit me," he leaned over and calmly took the popsicle back, unwrapping it, "Out of sheer curiosity, how did you think I'd end up? With my personality, and penchant for becoming bored?"

--

The somber look didn't change, especially when she had to hold her head so suddenly. He hadn't paid much attention to her drunkeness the previous night--all things considered, it hadn't been the first thing on his mind--so he was really just now thinking about it. Why had she been drunk? What exactly happened when she was gone? He knew he wouldn't just ask; it wasn't in his nature to pry. Still, he would wonder, secretly.

At least, for the sake of her inevitable hangover, he wasn't a talker. He likely wouldn't have much to contribute to the headache.

His countenance did improve somewhat when she kissed him back. Glancing at the supposedly offending gown in question (Why would he mind?), he spoke around the pipe in his mouth, "You don't have anything to wear." It probably should have been a question, but it came out as a statement. "We'll go see a tailor. I have to get something for this, anyways." He tapped a finger to his eye.

Remembering that she'd been drinking the night before, he quickly corrected the statement, "When you're feeling up to it...we'll see one." There wasn't much room left for compromise. She couldn't just not wear anything, and if she didn't have money...well, there wasn't much choice in the matter, was there? For either of them, really.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Aug 27, 2011 11:52 am

He was still confused as to how she could be so upset. He could take good enough care of himself, or so he assumed. He'd run from police 6 times successfully. And the time he didn't run fast enough, he ran right out of their chains. But telling her that probably wouldn't help.

Gently taking her shaking hands off of his face, he held them tightly. "You remember what we talked about before? If I hear there's someone after me, we could be gone in a day. Gone and safe." He never thought about whether or not they would be further hunted down. He'd just suspected he wouldn't have been worth it to anyone. Not only that, but he acted on what she needed rather than thinking about how it would affect him. Everything for Sofia. His world belonged to her, and he would do anything to make it peaceful. Outside of her he'd lost the ability to worry for himself. And in a way, he preferred it that way. But it seemed she didn't.

"I did it because I love you..." He reiterated softly. As if he was afraid she didn't get it the first time.

----------

"No one can stop you." She told herself more than him. "Because you don't listen to anyone. I didn't know how you would turn out but I'm more than disappointed it was like this."

But perhaps there was something she could do about it-- try, at least. If she was the only one he could go to for comfort, well, he wouldn't be able to anymore. "So I'm cutting ties with you. I don't want any part of what you're getting into." She pulled him up and directed him towards the exit. "And I don't think you should come back here again."

The last thing she wanted was to hear that he had somehow died from some quagmire he'd gotten himself into. So maybe it was better that she never see or hear from him again.

--------

"Normally people say 'good morning'," She smiled quietly, but soon realized, "But I don't think it is... For either of us."

She frowned at the disheveled braids over her shoulder and decided to just circle them around each other in the usual bun and pin it together with bobby pins she'd saved on the front of the shirt, with considerable difficulty from the burns. She was about to get back to the bed and sleep it off more when he mentioned her lack of wear, and a tailor.

The fact that he would care enough to want to put clothes on her instead of off seemed significant enough. But he would take her to get proper clothes? She stared at him, befuddled, for a moment. Yet, as usual, there were no clues in his face.

"I'm not going to feel better any time soon..." If she didn't take the chance now... maybe he would change his mind. "We can go now--" She immediately threw off his shirt and hastily pulled on the nightgown without any thought. "I'm dressed." Technically it was backwards, but... They couldn't very well be seen outside wearing the same thing, could they?
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sun Aug 28, 2011 11:39 pm

"I know," she said softly. Don't be worried, I know you love me, I know... "But if you love me, you have to take care of yourself, too..."

She kissed him, holding it for just a second or two before practically begging him, "Promise you won't put yourself in danger, unless there's just no other way...okay? Please..." If one didn't know any better, they might have said that she was looking into his eyes imploringly.

She knew they could run away, go somewhere together where it was safe... But that was the key: together. If he put himself in danger and was taken away, then they wouldn't be, and... And she didn't know what.

--

He almost smiled (almost) when she correctly stated that he didn't listen to anyone. Having somehow managed to swallow the popsicle in all of three bites, he was now focused on attempting to bend the leftover stick without splintering it, as she spoke about his unstoppability. It was like music to his well-tuned ears.

But then the record scratched and the song came to an abrupt halt. The stick snapped in two between his fingers.

"You can't do that!" He blurted out automatically, slightly panicked, eyes wide. She was abandoning him!? She wasn't allowed to do that! She was supposed to be there for him, whenever he was lonely. He wouldn't permit her to push him away so easily.

Quickly pulling himself together, he regarded her with pressed lips and eyes that betrayed how wildly he was scrambling for a way to force her to change her mind. As cold as ice, but with a definite note of fear, he threatened, "If you send me away, I'll become so bored, you know... I might decide to do much more terrible things than I would have otherwise. I'll join some organization--the Russian mob, perhaps. Why not? They're in New York, I hear. Everyone knows their higher-ups are intelligent people. I could easily be one of them. I could easily use them to do awful, gruesome things to people. For any reason that seems most amusing to me."

Scores of people could die for his sins, and he wouldn't give half of a damn. Just as long as he got his way. Just as long as Franze knew she couldn't just make him go away.

"You can't do that..." he repeated, more quietly, almost (almost) pleadingly.

--

He ran a hand through his hair (he got the vague notion that that could become a habit, soon), but didn't say anything. The fact that she had to go out in her bedclothes just proved how much she needed new ones. In any case, they'd make for a strange sight. Heights aside, there was the one with the sewn-up eye, and the other with mummy arms and wearing a nightgown.

Nevertheless, he lead her out and locked the door behind them. 

After asking the innkeeper where the tailor was (and reassuring him that he was fine, and yes, he would (grudgingly) pay for the damages to the inn's property from the previous day), he turned to her and asked, "Are you hungry? Or do you want to get fitted, first?"
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Tue Aug 30, 2011 2:01 pm

((GUESS WHOSE LIBRARY HAS WIFI B)))

"I promise," He replied automatically-- he never thought about anything she asked. He just complied. But really, after the fact, he realized he could try all he wanted... it didn't mean it would make it any easier. He had disguised his own pain and guilt in not thinking about his actions. He could say, 'I wasn't thinking, I'm not sure I could have meant it, I have a problem'. But he was capable of thought, like anyone else. He just would rather go without it.

Looking down at his now bloodstained clothes (that she would probably have to wash. Must have been cruel irony, or something like it. He didn't know. He didn't think about those things) and retreating back to an unthinking happiness, he offered, "I want to spend the rest of the day with you, is that okay?" If she said no, it wasn't, and he couldn't. But she rarely said no. "But first I think I have to switch clothes." Again he wasn't thinking. How many people there had already seen the blood that covered him?

-------
"I can do whatever I want." She replied calmly (but she couldn't lie that she was wary of how this episode would turn out. He had gone as far as shouting previously), "You said you could. Why can't I?"

His threats were empty-- empty in that she suspected that was what he would do anyway, with or without her. If he was trying to scare her... she had already scared herself enough. And she had a feeling, though she didn't know, that to order violence in the mob you first had to become a violence enforcer. And he couldn't do that (perhaps it was because he wouldn't do that?), because people were unpredictable face to face. Piter was a man that felt safe only behind a wall of expendables.

She scoffed at the threats, though the thought of what he could have gotten into terrified her before, "Oh please. You don't give a shit about people you don't know and you know very well I don't, either." Perturbed as she was by he and his actions, it still held true that she did in a way, love him like family (or whatever was closest) and knew that throwing his problems back at him would only make him more unstable. "I'll tell you what. I won't make you leave. I'll always be around. Because you have to stay here." If his parents never disciplined him, someone had to. "You'll get food, and water, and things to read" Not that many, just what she had. "But you never leave my sight." She wasn't really that worried about sleeping-- she could use Itakshir's empty car-- and Piter wasn't exactly known for hounding women around. "Agree to this--promise me-- and I won't leave you bored. But if you break it once, if you make a mess of this place even once, then we will pack up and leave without you."

That was more authoritative than she'd been in... ever, probably. "Understand?"

-------

Eat before someone would measure her waist? She laughed a little. "You don't know anything about women, do you?" But, if it was offered, she would take it. And maybe he was hungry, too and was, well... quiet about it. "I'd like to eat afterwards though." They would be showing themselves off all over town that day. She wondered if he got self-conscious. "Do you get self-conscious?"

Of course, when she was on a roll, there was little room for any one else. "I don't. Not anymore. So it doesn't take that much to dress me. Well-- more than most women if they wore the same thing-- you know what I mean. I just don't usually wear much." During the day it was too hot for any respectable dressing (she didn't know how that Franziska woman could stand it. But she had hardly anything on her bones, and if Vesna's mother was right, would always be cold) and so she would only wear a bandeau and some women's trousers cut short (everyone knew she was a prostitute-- why bother). The nice dresses were saved for her job. "So you don't have to buy much. But then again I don't know how much it costs."

Gently, she slipped her hand into his and tightened it around his fingers as much as she could (not considering if he wanted to hold someone's charred hand) and watched pebbles pass by on the ground, in thought and for once not about to share it with anyone. The way they were (if they were any way at all-- how was she supposed to know?) was quite like her hand in his. it would probably never be able to grasp his hand fully-- they'd probably never really be in love. He would never say 'I love you' (and so neither would she-- without an equal response that feeling would just be taken from her forever and not exchanged with his), it was even too early to say so-- but then again it was too early to just take in a prostitute he'd seen just once. He would never say she was beautiful, or even if she wasn't. They existed in some kind of purgatory of grateful admiration and somehow meaningful sex. But perhaps it was better that way. She wasn't sure, but if he did love her, she might have to quit her job. And he would have to leave anyway, most likely when they reached the coast. Then she would be alone and unemployed and unwilling to look to anyone else for help but him. And he would be gone. That was where her future would end. There was nothing else to think about.

That was, until she saw a wind-crinkled paper nailed to an electrical pole. With a picture of someone familiar. A picture that didn't promise she'd be proud of the man on it. Without slowing her gait, she ripped it off of the rusted tack (the N on 'WANTED' was missing-- that tripped her up for a moment--), but was having trouble accepting what she thought she was reading. Could it be right? No. Not about her sweet Cosim.

So she held the paper up to him. "Can you read, with just one eye?" It was a legitimate question. "What does this mean?"
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Fri Sep 02, 2011 10:05 pm

“Of course it’s okay,” she replied softly, finally calmed and comforted, in lieu of his promise. She assumed he would go through with it—she didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t. Being a person that thought so much (perhaps too much), it never crossed her mind that perhaps some people preferred not to—even if it wasn’t in their immediate best interests. And she needed to believe that he was perfectly capable of not doing bad, dangerous things, that he was truly the saint-like figure she’d built him up to be.

Using the mattress as leverage, she leaned up to kiss him again, more sweetly (she tried to imagine that she had sugar-coated lips—she didn’t know if this helped, but she liked to think that it might). Getting up, she attempted to make her bed (inevitably doing a poor job of it) before taking his hand.

“Do you need me to wash them?” She asked quietly when he mentioned needing to change his clothes. The question of why was something she didn’t really want to know. She could smell why. She already had a good idea of why. But she didn’t want to know for sure. It wasn’t hard to pretend like that rusty, sickening smell was anything other than what it really was. In her heart, she knew the truth.

But blindness occasionally gave her the strange freedom of deciding whether or not to accept some truths.

--

Though his basic expression did not change very dramatically, his complexion went white with fury, and some muscle spasmed in one of his hands, as though he would have liked to strangle her into compliance. The old Piter would have scoffed; he considered physical violence to be beneath him, not to mention too risky. But the old Piter wasn't always there, these days. And hurting someone as weak as Franze would not put him in much immediate danger—

(She was just a little woman, not much unlike the little women he saw in some of his darker dreams. Four little women, two with little corsets that curiously deflected his attempts to kill them. So he spilled their blood on those little corsets, staining the royal jewels hidden inside. Those jewels belonged to him, and they’d tried to keep them away from him. They deserved to die.)

'Immediate' being the key word. Later on, he knew, he would realize what a mistake it would be, when he himself would begin to suffer from it.

So instead, he considered her suggestion.

One could almost see the fan whirring behind his eyes, like a computer that was used to operating a certain way (albeit one that had recently contracted a virus or trojan horse) that had suddenly been thrown a new set of logistical commands. He had to process the information and decide how best to respond to it. He had no prior experience or emotional intuition related to this situation, which with to base his next actions on. There was no equation--no set of operatives saying "if x suggests this, within such-and-such parameters, then go to data: 'most opportunistic response'," etc.

It had been a long time since he'd last found himself with no collected data to work with. He had the same look about him now as he had for most of his childhood: when he observed everything with the same neutral, blank curiosity, building up his mental archives. As a young child, he'd once seen a peasant criminal that had been badly beaten by the police. The bloody sight didn't faze him. It was mildly interesting, and he peered at it with the same unfeeling indifference he would have shown towards anything else. What had caught his attention, though, was the reaction it incited in other people—in particular, the disgusted look on his governess’s face. He observed it carefully and later attempted to replicate it himself, in the mirror, for later use. So that he, too, could generate 'normal' responses.

After his father's funeral, he stopped trying to practice making any expression that didn't show boredom, contempt, or anger. Mostly anger. He was an angry child, in his own, cold way--except when Franze agreed to play with him.

And he could and would still be a cold, angry child, if he lost the last person he had.

Displeased and unsure what reaction would best benefit him, he finally replied, “As much as the idea of living in,” his eyes flicked around pointedly, “what might as well be mud huts thrills me, I’m inclined to think that you are only inviting me here because you are so wildly unpopular. I expect you’re hoping to win them over with my charm.” He paused, the outward signs of irritation gone and replaced by his usual contrariness, “Clever, but you can’t fool me quite that easily. …Nevertheless, declining the invitation could be counter-productive.”

Amused already (in the same way that a badly-behaving child is initially amused when presented with someone intent on setting them straight), he gestured towards the opening of the tent, “Am I allowed to fetch my things from the inn, or do I need to be supervised?”

--

Did he get self-conscious? Not about his appearance, really. His height made him stand out so much, so often, that being self-conscious about it had eventually gotten old. It was more of a nuisance, by that point in his life. As for his clothes...his were well-kept, but still obviously old and worn to a degree. He didn’t invest in new ones unless the old ones were unwearable. Looking fashionable or attractive wasn’t as much his priority as just being presentable.

But he did get self-conscious about other things. Like the fact that he sometimes found himself tongue-tied when it was most imperative to speak. And that people accused him of being greedy and cheap—which he was, but he didn’t need them to point out what he already knew. There was a reason for it, just as there was a reason for why anyone was a certain way. He just didn’t feel he was obligated to go about explaining himself to everyone.

…Which was perhaps why he wasn’t the most popular man, save for around the crew (and even then, he was an authority figure, not a friend).

And which was also why he only gave a simple, “No.” He couldn’t say that he got self-conscious about things other than appearance without explaining himself, so it was more prudent to just say ‘no’. It was, after all, the honest response to the original question. Besides…she didn’t leave him much room to say anything else, anyways. So it worked out on both sides.
He did appreciate, though, when she claimed to not need much. Given his aversion to both the non-essential, and spending, he could only hope it was true. Incidentally, the Austrian woman also crossed his mind: he thought it would be a nightmare to date someone like that, who could probably run a bank dry in a matter of minutes.

When she held his hand, he didn’t say anything, but neither did he make any move to pull away. It didn’t particularly bother him, though it was certainly nothing that he was used to. Tentatively, he curled his fingers over hers—nearly covering them entirely—making sure not to squeeze her injuries. It was strange, how quickly they were tumbling into…whatever the hell this was. Maybe that was how it was meant to happen: so quickly that you weren’t sure what was going on, so that you couldn’t stand back and think that maybe you were making a mistake. That maybe it could turn out badly. He didn’t like to think about love. He didn’t know how to think of it. So he didn’t.

That said, he did wonder about how much the crew was poking fun at him behind his back for all this. But he supposed if it bothered him more than he wanted to be with her, he would have cut the relation short by now. And that, too, in a way, was something he wasn’t sure what to think of.

It turned out he didn’t have to, though, when he was suddenly handed the torn poster. The already permanent line between his eyebrows deepened as he immediately recognized what it was. Disgusted, he handed it back to her, grunting, “It means the guy who stabbed me was already wanted—for murder.” Why had it caught her eye, though? It wasn’t like she’d been there when it happened.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Sep 03, 2011 12:10 am

All of the pent up stress from her unexpected response left when she seemed to forgive him (he was so attached to her every word that anything less than praise was condemnation). In his mind, it meant she would always forgive him, for any wrong. And, since she was the only one that mattered, if she would always forgive him then he could do no wrong, and even if he pulled a man's heart out of his chest, it wasn't wrong if she was still happy. Thus, he would always be able to abide by her rules.

He was living in a constantly volatile world-- the world of Sofia, where nothing else existed except her changing emotion, like weather, or the seasons. This episode had been a near disaster, it had shaken her up so. However, he had yet to realize he controlled the world that controlled him with his actions.

After prolonging the kiss as much as he could (incidentally that was why he liked to give her sweets-- literal sugar coated lips--) he took her hand (meanwhile tried to straighten up the bed with his other hand) and led her out-- she probably knew the way out better than he did, he hit his head on things so many times-- and wondered if really she should have the burden to wash out the blood of someone who'd so tormented her. Not wanting to think, like always, he replied, "Not now... I could always get someone else to do it. I can do it myself." He was still under the impression that she did too much. And it worried him.

But luckily, her blindness had made it easy to keep an eye on her, and also made it easy to keep her close. No one would care if he took her into the men's car just for a moment-- after all both cars were usually empty during the day (having no way to cool down the air inside from the heat outside), and she was blind.

"Watch your step," He told her gently up the stairs and into the car. He was probably watching her step more than she was. He left her by the door and went over to his trunk of meager belongings. Two outfits (though they could hardly be called that) sat on the musty bottom, one of them including prison trousers. Given the choice, he opted for the other, virtually the same as he had been wearing, sans blood. Cosim wasn't much for change. He discarded the bloodied clothes (neatly) on his bed to remember to wash later, unafraid anyone would discover them, before donning the 'new' clothes (there was a chance they were dirtier than the prior ensemble-- he didn't like giving her more work to do).

It was hard to find something to occupy a blind woman's interests at a carnival. Many times he felt inadequate, uninteresting, not enough to keep her occupied. She couldn't have too many sweets, she was too skittish for a ferris wheel, and she wouldn't enjoy watching him practice his act because... she couldn't watch. So instead, he offered, "Why don't you take me somewhere you like to be?" He followed her when she thought herself independent. She went into an empty car for... something, he couldn't know. But from the sides he always heard a scratching, etching noise, as if something was being carved into the wood. He had always been afraid she would hurt herself in there, but could never go in to see. This was his chance.

-------------------

Something was wrong with him. For that reason, she had to supervise everything he did, ignoring her fear. There had to be a reason he just snapped. Snapped and then became his normal self. It was confusing, frightening, and... somehow her heart ached to have back that cold, unfeeling, yet stable person. Because as much as he thought he needed her, she needed him, for the same selfish reasons-- she was everything he wasn't, and he was everything she no longer had, emotional inhibition. Well... not anymore. She had to get him back.

And though the notion was there that she might be killed in her sleep... she was glad he was complying. Marching ahead of him, she told him, "If you think I'd let you drive a car again, you're wrong." He didn't exactly have a spotless driving record, anymore. But in his eyes, of course it wasn't wrong. One couldn't get a traffic ticket for kidnapping. So he had driven fine. "And someone has to keep you from getting another shiner."

She got in the car-- driver's side (she didn't want to be kidnapped as well)-- and turned the key, waiting for him to get in. The car was hers, from Mystique. She hadn't had the heart to get rid of it. It doubled as a place to sleep sometimes, too.

"I'm sure you'll be sensational around here." She laughed dryly, rubbing some dust off the mirror before pulling away. "But... now that we're on the subject of people, I have a few more rules. Just as serious as the others." She didn't remember how long she'd known him, but it had been a long time. He forever seemed critical of any man who wanted her attention. He passed it off as saving them from the trouble of dealing with her, but she'd had the suspicion it was just to keep them away from her so he could have more time. It was a selfish thought but... it was also selfish of him to do. And she could never put him past selfish. He had a mind like a steel trap. In that he quite literally would try to trap them in it, confuse them, scare them off. And poor, poor Itakshir. He had none of the mental integrity to stand up to it. "You are not," She repeated, "never allowed to speak to any man that speaks to me. You can think whatever you want, no one can hear your thoughts. I stay around you, and you are decidedly unlikeable. So, unless the man is even more unpleasant than you, abstain from talking to him. At all."

---------------

In some ways, she felt like she had just crashed into his life. He had met her with the intention of spending one night. Only one. But she had returned to him to insult his generosity, to make him feel guilty. Then ensnared him with a deal that should have had no emotion connected to it. She had gone home, only to be forced out and back to him. And she hadn't even thought of leaving since then, not even now when he was forced to buy her clothes and food (and though she could wear so little clothing, she couldn't just eat so little food). She wondered if his opting out of speech was meant to push her away, as sometimes it could, whether he intended it or not.

Which was why she was glad she felt his hand warm hers up, even if it might have been out of pity. It meant it was okay to impose affection on him, that he wouldn't oppose it, but neither would he ask for it. It was true she didn't mind her nine-to-five, but what prostitute didn't dream of playing house, playing at love? But she couldn't be sure she was still playing. She should have been. So that was what she went with.

Yet nothing felt like imposing on his life-- no, crashing; destroying-- as much as her newest discovery had. She didn't want to know what had happened to his eye, preferring to pretend it had always been that way. "No..." She stopped in her tracks, shaking her head at him as if he'd made a preposterous misunderstanding. "He wouldn't. He didn't. You're thinking of someone else." Murderer. Surely it wasn't the same person. Couldn't be. "You didn't read it right, you only got it half right. You only have half your eyes." She was futilely struggling to push away a truth she couldn't rationalize ever coming to be. "And it's printed wrong. It's the wrong person." Pulling her hand out of his with a wince, she followed the cables to the next post. The same paper was there. She compared the two quickly, her eyes dancing from one to the other frantically. The second one came off. Tightly crumpling them both in less than agreeable hands, she was in pain in too many ways. "Help me-- Diederik, help me," Help me, I don't understand. "These are wrong. Get them down, they're trash..."

She could take care of herself just fine. Better than most women. But when her troubles leaked into the lives of other people, she couldn't do anything. She couldn't make him forget the man who'd taken his eye. She couldn't go back in time and taught Cosim that might wasn't really right. She wanted to be angry with Diederik. He saw someone else. And so had police. Six times they saw someone else. She quickened her pace from one to the next, her heart beating faster than her feet hit the ground, she could feel it in her fingers as the sensitive burns pressed down on the stiff corners of thick paper.

"I... I can't breathe...!" All the emotions she didn't know how she was supposed to feel, she'd stuffed into her lungs to exhale and forget, as usual. But none of them would leave.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Sep 03, 2011 10:36 am

Curious, she felt his new clothes, wondering what else he wore--wait. Her lips puckered into a pout, "These are exactly the same." She couldn't say she wasn't a bit disappointed. ...But then again, anything else might have seemed less 'Cosim'.

Pushing that aside, her face lit up when he invited her to take him somewhere she liked. She immediately knew where--as it so happened, she'd been waiting for the opportunity to show him 'her' car. She'd divided it into two sections: top and bottom. Now that the 'bottom' was finally filled, she felt that it was ready to be shown off.

Taking his hand, she quickly pulled him outside, only stumbling a little on the unfamiliar way, eager to take him to her secret place (and, admittedly, to get out of the men's lodgings, which smelled like sweat). ...Or, what she thought was a secret.

Counting the number of her steps on the way, adding ten or so for the added distance of the men's car, she was able to easily find her car. Addressing him before going inside, she put a finger to her lips and smiled, "It's a secret place...okay?" Sliding open the door, she invited him in.

She had not actually gotten around to working on any equations yet--that was reserved for the 'top' portion of the walls (for which she'd found a crate to use as her way of reaching it). The bottom half was what she'd used to document all of her formulas, the periodic table, and the laws and theories of how everything operated. She'd painstakingly carved it all so that she'd never forget. Letting go of his hand, she ran hers over the walls, feeling the universe. 

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction... Humans are made from oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, and other trace elements... Human beings can not fly, they can only fall, because the earth draws them closely to it, never letting go... 

All of the numbers and symbols spoke a language to her; a language that was defined, not by culture or nationality, but by the universe.

Still facing the wall, she addressed him with a small smile, "Cosim, did you know that the universe is the sum of space, time, everything that exists...and everything beyond that? The universe never ends, never dies, and is governed by set, rational, absolute laws." She rested her forehead against the wall, murmuring, "I love that about it..."

Pausing for a moment, she turned back to him, giggling lightly, "And did you know another name for the universe is 'the cosmos'? It sounds like 'Cosim'."

Perhaps for her, in a way, it was symbolic.

--

He scoffed, "My driving is perfectly adequate." In his mind. Nevertheless, he got inside, content to let someone else do the driving, so that all he had to do was watch the road fly by and think.

Which was good, because he wanted to be the one with the slight upper hand, in this particular conversation.

Clicking his tongue, one finger tapping on a knee crossed over the other, relaxed, he replied straight off the bat, "I find all men that talk to you to be more unpleasant than myself. As well as all the women." Maybe he was being difficult, but in his mind, it was also truthful. All people that tried to take away the time that was, to him, rightfully his, were unpleasant. And should be disposed of. Especially the men.

And it was more than easy to come to the conclusion that there must have been a new man in her life. Immediately, he was contemplating ways around her orders, ways to get rid of this mysterious fellow, and yet keep her from being angry with him. There was always a loophole to be exploited. But first, he'd have to find out who the other 'he' was.

"So, according to your judgement, who is this less-unpleasant-than-Piter person I am meant to avoid?" No sooner had she made the rule, and already, he was intending to break it.

--

He stopped when she did, frowning, "Who else could it be?" The man in the photo wasn't exactly easy to be mistaken for anyone else. He was about to question why she even cared, why she was so insistent that the poster's information was wrong, when she suddenly pulled away and rushed off to the next pole.

Eyebrows furrowed, he followed after her, with no clue what was happening. What on earth was she going on about? So what if the man was also a murderer? It wasn't exactly improbable--all it meant to Diederik was that he was right in thinking he'd narrowly escaped a dance with death. And that he hoped the man on the poster would be caught so that he wouldn't have to worry about that waltz ever again.

Clearly, it did not mean the same thing to her.

Quickening his pace to catch up with her, he stopped her by taking her by the upper arm. Prying the crumpled pieces of paper from her hands, he discarded them onto the street, so that she couldn't hurt herself. Then, with his free hand, he ripped the poster off of the pole next to them and held it up for her to see.

He could have said a lot of things. He could have told her that she was being stupid, that this person was a vile criminal and deserved to go to prison. That by ripping down the wanted posters, she was enabling his freedom, and thus also committing a crime. He could have told her to calm the fuck down and just breathe, and stop acting crazy. He could have said that.

Instead, in the same calm, authoritative tone he used with his crew when rough weather hit, and everyone was prone to a little panic, he said, "Who is this person." 

Not who was the person on the wanted poster, but who was the person, to Vesna. Obviously, that was the root of the problem.
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