The Talk
Title: The Talk
Story Continuity: Returning Away
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,011
Summary: Emilie catches Tom rehearsing lame pick-up lines. She can't stop herself from teasing him, naturally.
"So...uh, Fuma...I was just thinking..." Tom's hand twitched, but with an effort, Tom managed not to start fidgeting. Or begin growling in frustration. No one liked that. "You know. I've known you a long time now - three months and four lifetimes, basically - no, God damn it. Fuma, I was thinking - I like you a lot. I might even call it an obsession - but I won’t, because that’s just over the edge of insanely creepy. Do you - do you want to see a movie, or something?” Tom sighed noisily, giving in to the urge to pull on his hair in frustration. “Christ on rye, why am I so bad at this now?"
The mirror in his bathroom gave no answer, just gave as good as it got in glares.
Someone snickered outside the door. Tom groaned, "Emilie, tell me that's not you."
Emilie sauntered in, a voodoo doll with a pen through its neck in one hand and a horrifyingly amused sparkle in her eyes. She said, "Can't tell you it's not me unless it is, baby. So, when you have boy troubles, you consult a mirror? How very Evil Queen of you. You know what works for me?"
"Bashing your quarry’s head with a cudgel and carrying him back to your cave?" Tom said, leaning against the sink. Emilie said, "Thomas Brand, I'm shocked! No, that's more Audra than me. I'm much more subtle. Ever try flashing some skin and luring him into a dark, barely-used area? By which, of course, I mean your-"
"What part of that is subtle, exactly?"
"Oh, come on, you social vegetable!" Emilie said. "He's a guy! He's a guy you've seduced and killed, like, forty thousand times before! Just 'cause we've all transcast ourselves as teenagers because Alex is a freak of nature and can't get over her girlfriend doesn't mean anything! You're technically older than Jesus, he's technically older - wasn't he thirty the first time he manifested, and you were, like, twenty-something?"
“Things have changed,” Tom said softly. Emilie laughed at him, and said, “Yeah, sure. Like how not-Miharu has changed, right? What’s her name again, Motisha? Nagisa? You people, honestly. We’re icons, time stands still for us. Nothing has changed in millennia.”
“I want to get it right this time,” Tom said. Emilie smirked, and said, “You got it right every time. Including this time, trust me. You see the way he eyeballs you? It’s hilarious - it’s like he thinks you hold all the answers to every dilemma he’ll ever face. Clearly, he hasn’t known you very long.”
“I’m not sure I can kill him this time,” Tom said. Emilie smiled - a mix of both friendly cheer and casual animosity - and said, “Don’t worry, honey. I’d be more than happy to kill him for you.”
Tom wasn’t sure what to say to that - someone would kill him, someone had to - and so said nothing. Emilie’s smile dimmed a bit, and she walked over to him, and, predictably, began invading his personal space by caressing his cheek and leaning against him. Whenever she wasn’t being amused at him, she was either elsewhere, being amused at someone else, or getting all up in his space.
“You know,” Emilie said, “nobody’s ever told me they loved me. Why is that, you think?”
“Wow, I’m not sure I know,” Tom said, tone flat. “Who wouldn’t love your cold, black heart?”
“I know!” Emilie said, smiling. “I’m awesome, right?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Oh, baby, don’t you bother denying it,” Emilie said, and patted Tom on the shoulder. “I already know. You looove me. Don’t you fret, non-boyfriend, I love you, too. You’re kind of like an armless baby. You’re kind of useless, and I certainly don’t want you, but you’re so cute when you’re, shall we say, on a roll.”
Tom gazed down at Emilie with blatant disgust in his eyes. Emilie smiled, as if he were a small child who had done something particularly adorably stupid. She said, “Silly boy, I wasn’t the one who made the kid armless. I saw it on an educational documentary. When Fuma gets you pregnant - don’t look at me like that, you’re the one acting like a schoolgirl with a crush - name it after me, and whatever you do, don’t take hydrocodone to help with the pain. Or, you know, any pills.”
“Good to know,” Tom said, glaring, prying Emilie off him. “Look, if you’re not going to say something useful-”
“Look, if you love him, tell him. If you just want some sweet Asian cock - which, by the way, no idea why you would - then tell him so,” Emilie said. Then she cocked her head to the side, reconsidering. “Or rip his clothes off and dig in. That tends to get the idea across pretty okay.”
“Emil-”
“Tom,” Emilie said. “No one likes a tease. Make your goddamn move before one of you dies, please. I loathe a moody man. I’ll even let you borrow my Marvin Gaye record, so long as you just get it on and over with already. God!”
Tom eyed Emilie’s hand suspiciously. “…Is that doll supposed to be me?”
“Yes,” Emilie said sweetly, twisting the pen in its neck. “And here you are, neck and all. When it starts hurting, though, might I suggest you get Fuma to give you a neck rub? Because for a few days, it’s gonna hurt. A lot.”
“One day,” Tom said, “One sweet day, I will light you up like so much kindling.”
“Right. And one day, I’ll have wild, kinky monkey sex with a clone of Humphrey Bogart and make him like it,” Emilie said, rolling her eyes. “You so need me, Brand.”
Emilie smacked Tom on the ass and flounced out of the bathroom, as innocently as if she’d given him a bag of Reese’s pieces and left.
Tom stared at the door, and then back at the mirror. Mirror Tom had a slightly traumatized look on his face.
“Right,” Tom said, slowly. “Time to find the phone, then.”
Story Continuity: Returning Away
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,011
Summary: Emilie catches Tom rehearsing lame pick-up lines. She can't stop herself from teasing him, naturally.
"So...uh, Fuma...I was just thinking..." Tom's hand twitched, but with an effort, Tom managed not to start fidgeting. Or begin growling in frustration. No one liked that. "You know. I've known you a long time now - three months and four lifetimes, basically - no, God damn it. Fuma, I was thinking - I like you a lot. I might even call it an obsession - but I won’t, because that’s just over the edge of insanely creepy. Do you - do you want to see a movie, or something?” Tom sighed noisily, giving in to the urge to pull on his hair in frustration. “Christ on rye, why am I so bad at this now?"
The mirror in his bathroom gave no answer, just gave as good as it got in glares.
Someone snickered outside the door. Tom groaned, "Emilie, tell me that's not you."
Emilie sauntered in, a voodoo doll with a pen through its neck in one hand and a horrifyingly amused sparkle in her eyes. She said, "Can't tell you it's not me unless it is, baby. So, when you have boy troubles, you consult a mirror? How very Evil Queen of you. You know what works for me?"
"Bashing your quarry’s head with a cudgel and carrying him back to your cave?" Tom said, leaning against the sink. Emilie said, "Thomas Brand, I'm shocked! No, that's more Audra than me. I'm much more subtle. Ever try flashing some skin and luring him into a dark, barely-used area? By which, of course, I mean your-"
"What part of that is subtle, exactly?"
"Oh, come on, you social vegetable!" Emilie said. "He's a guy! He's a guy you've seduced and killed, like, forty thousand times before! Just 'cause we've all transcast ourselves as teenagers because Alex is a freak of nature and can't get over her girlfriend doesn't mean anything! You're technically older than Jesus, he's technically older - wasn't he thirty the first time he manifested, and you were, like, twenty-something?"
“Things have changed,” Tom said softly. Emilie laughed at him, and said, “Yeah, sure. Like how not-Miharu has changed, right? What’s her name again, Motisha? Nagisa? You people, honestly. We’re icons, time stands still for us. Nothing has changed in millennia.”
“I want to get it right this time,” Tom said. Emilie smirked, and said, “You got it right every time. Including this time, trust me. You see the way he eyeballs you? It’s hilarious - it’s like he thinks you hold all the answers to every dilemma he’ll ever face. Clearly, he hasn’t known you very long.”
“I’m not sure I can kill him this time,” Tom said. Emilie smiled - a mix of both friendly cheer and casual animosity - and said, “Don’t worry, honey. I’d be more than happy to kill him for you.”
Tom wasn’t sure what to say to that - someone would kill him, someone had to - and so said nothing. Emilie’s smile dimmed a bit, and she walked over to him, and, predictably, began invading his personal space by caressing his cheek and leaning against him. Whenever she wasn’t being amused at him, she was either elsewhere, being amused at someone else, or getting all up in his space.
“You know,” Emilie said, “nobody’s ever told me they loved me. Why is that, you think?”
“Wow, I’m not sure I know,” Tom said, tone flat. “Who wouldn’t love your cold, black heart?”
“I know!” Emilie said, smiling. “I’m awesome, right?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Oh, baby, don’t you bother denying it,” Emilie said, and patted Tom on the shoulder. “I already know. You looove me. Don’t you fret, non-boyfriend, I love you, too. You’re kind of like an armless baby. You’re kind of useless, and I certainly don’t want you, but you’re so cute when you’re, shall we say, on a roll.”
Tom gazed down at Emilie with blatant disgust in his eyes. Emilie smiled, as if he were a small child who had done something particularly adorably stupid. She said, “Silly boy, I wasn’t the one who made the kid armless. I saw it on an educational documentary. When Fuma gets you pregnant - don’t look at me like that, you’re the one acting like a schoolgirl with a crush - name it after me, and whatever you do, don’t take hydrocodone to help with the pain. Or, you know, any pills.”
“Good to know,” Tom said, glaring, prying Emilie off him. “Look, if you’re not going to say something useful-”
“Look, if you love him, tell him. If you just want some sweet Asian cock - which, by the way, no idea why you would - then tell him so,” Emilie said. Then she cocked her head to the side, reconsidering. “Or rip his clothes off and dig in. That tends to get the idea across pretty okay.”
“Emil-”
“Tom,” Emilie said. “No one likes a tease. Make your goddamn move before one of you dies, please. I loathe a moody man. I’ll even let you borrow my Marvin Gaye record, so long as you just get it on and over with already. God!”
Tom eyed Emilie’s hand suspiciously. “…Is that doll supposed to be me?”
“Yes,” Emilie said sweetly, twisting the pen in its neck. “And here you are, neck and all. When it starts hurting, though, might I suggest you get Fuma to give you a neck rub? Because for a few days, it’s gonna hurt. A lot.”
“One day,” Tom said, “One sweet day, I will light you up like so much kindling.”
“Right. And one day, I’ll have wild, kinky monkey sex with a clone of Humphrey Bogart and make him like it,” Emilie said, rolling her eyes. “You so need me, Brand.”
Emilie smacked Tom on the ass and flounced out of the bathroom, as innocently as if she’d given him a bag of Reese’s pieces and left.
Tom stared at the door, and then back at the mirror. Mirror Tom had a slightly traumatized look on his face.
“Right,” Tom said, slowly. “Time to find the phone, then.”