mirror mirror, on the wall, what do you give someone who has it all?
Hiroto is bored. He's spent awhile, a week or so, learning the ins and outs of this Chicago place, and so far what he's learning is that he doesn't like it much. Too many rules, not enough outs for when he breaks them. And as far as he can tell, his family isn't nearly as powerful here as they were back home, which means he can't just go back to
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He is greeted to a collection of marker drawings as he enters the train and that's puzzling in itself. Extremely industrious child? Or is it....
A BABEL.
Des slides into the section just in front of Babel's little hidey hole and pokes her a few times in the shoulder. "The Art Institute of Chicago thanks you for your efforts," he teases.
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And that might be one of the most cheerfully cynical things anyone has ever said. Of course, to Des it's not cynicism- it's a harsh part of reality that might as well be pointed out.
He accepts the drawing and holds it up to the light from the window, considering it Very Srsly before handing it back with a toothy smile. "I'd save it for the coffee shop. Maybe it'll bring them good luck. ...They need it."
Oh, how they need it.
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She takes the drawing, tucking it into her notebook with an equally toothy smile. And then puts the pile of paper and notebook on the seat next to her, where all her markers were, and gets up to give Des a hug. "Haven't seen you in forever!" she chirps. "I see your house more than you!"
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"I work!" He protests with a slight, nervous laugh. "Chasing cases and killing monsters doesn't always bring home the bacon, but it's definitely enough to keep me occupied. Chicago sleeps for no man. However, I do kinda feel bad that I've been neglectin' the company of other people."
Especially people he hasn't seen in forever, some of whom are either dead or God only knows where right now. Dmitri, Dante, Dresden... It leaves a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he's covering it up nicely.
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When he describes the things he does at work, she starts doodling again, little monsters that look suspiciously like twin monsters and a werewolf starting to dominate one side of the page. The other side will probably have a Des (or, well, a Des-like person anyway) eventually, if she doesn't get distracted by a train stop.
"Work keeps one sane, or drives one insane as the case may be. What sort of cases? Interesting ones? Or can't you say because of confidentiality?" Sure, she doesn't exactly know what he does, but hey, he mentioned killing monsters. How, exactly, that relates to patient confidentiality is a jump of logic that only Babel brains can make, apparently ( ... )
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He shifts a bit, so that he's sitting sprawled across the seat with his back to the window and his chin resting on the seat so he can continue to watch Babel. "Me too, sunshine." He notes the hair on his marker-drawing avatar and promptly runs a hand through his as if to make sure it isn't doing weird things.
"I guess the plagues got everyone twitchy, huh?" He adds after letting his hand drop back to his lap, even though that's the least helpful conversation piece.
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She nods at his question, a little sombre all of a sudden. "Tastes of the apocalypse tend to do that to people, make them look at their mortality," she says, eyeing the drawing and then sticking it to the seat across the way from them. "Stare at the abyss, it gives you the evil eye and then suddenly everyone remembers there are things in heaven and hell greater than their philosophy." Ignore the fact that she mangled that quote. She cares not.
"But the fog's clearing, now," she remarks, leaning on the back of the seat Des is leaning on, gesturing to what you can see of the city between the papers she's tacked on the windows. It's not the prettiest sight, but it's there. " ( ... )
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