Jul 20, 2011 18:14
osceno: jacques gérard caillier,
lmaoherlife: sasha,
- members,
#candlejack,
*action,
typeblight: jules grumley ( au. ),
inonebody: fenrad,
switchgun: riley,
makhairai: facon,
creepinginmy: jack gibson & cerbos,
jemerite: zinc,
wantsakitteh: andël vlcěk
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She reflects on it quietly while he's out. She's gone to sit on the landing of the stairs leading up to the studio, her legs dangling over the street, arms folded on the knee-rail. The door behind her is open, should she need to disappear inside with expediency for some reason. He'll probably be annoyed she's letting bugs in again... Oh well. They can be killed.]
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She isn't sure why she's there, but it doesn't matter. She doesn't question things. Not usually. She keeps to herself, walks with her head low, hunched over, looking smaller than she is, thinner than she is, a sack of flesh and bones under large hoodies and jeans too big for her. It's very unattractive, but she prefers it that way. Less glances towards her. People don't like looking at homeless people, even if they are as harmless and skittish as Sasha. It's like a they're a disease you will catch if you do look.
She's sitting on the stairs, rolling a cigarette, hood falling upon her face, head leaning against the rails. She's tired, like always, but not high. ]
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She sniffs curiously, curious to know if it's tobacco she's rolling or something else. If it's the latter, Zinc does not want to be downwind from it. She catches the scent of something else though, and sits up a little straighter, her intensity focused on the girl.]
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Finished with the cigarette, she closes the bag and the filters, shoving it on her worn out, dirty backpack, putting it on her lap and wrapping her arms around the thing like a child does with a teddy bear, setting her chin on it. She takes a small lighter out of the pocket of her hoodie, flicking it and touching the tip to the flame it emits, letting a cloud of smoke out.
Finally, she takes a time to look around. It is a rather empty street. Sasha has no qualms with that. She likes it that way. Her head turns and she looks up and jumps when she sees the girl watching her back. Quickly, she turns her head down, like a dog that's out of order. ]
S-sorry. I didn't, hm, didn't know s-someone else was h-here. [ Such a pathetic lispy stutter. ]
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You're human.
[Her brows furrow. That's obvious, skin and dirt and sweat, but what is the rest.]
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Maybe if she obeys, she won't hurt her.
Head low, she nervously rolls the cigarette between her index and thumb, staring at it quite intensely so she won't have to look at the girl on her hands and knees. ]
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Is your Frenchman here?
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No.
[Her legs swing for a moment, considering how long he's been gone already. It's never extended, and she doesn't complain, as long as he comes back.]
He'll be back, if you want to wait.
[She motions to the open door. Facon is the only person she would say that to. She's the boss, she can come in if she wants, otherwise Zinc will take her messages and pass them on when Barbet returns.]
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She climbs up the stairs without a response, thinks maybe she'll have a poke around the studio while he's away anyway. Zinc was a special kind of guard dog, but Facon knew how to handle her if she got snappy.]
Where has he gone?
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[They both needed to eat, and he never did like anyone else buying his paints either. She wasn't any help on such excursions, just something else to worry about, so she's here, sitting and waiting. She's a very good guard dog.
She uses the rails to help pull herself up to her feet.]
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[Barbet was an investment, there was no other way to put it. He was lucky he actually did the work he was needed for, but then, Durban probably would have gotten rid of him years ago, if he'd been as useless as he often seems.
She doesn't help Zinc up, just slips past her, walking into the studio. It's as much of a mess as always, but it isn't as if she has to spend much time there. The first port of call is of course, the wall of faces.]
It surprises me he doesn't have you openly displayed somewhere, Zinc.
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I am not a toy.
[She is not for display. She is his to have.]
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[She remembers Zinc's ego. She wonders if this situation feeds it, or if it disappeared with her life, left her crushed by captivity and undeath.]
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You think I'm pretty, Facon?
[There's amusement in her voice, dry and teasing.]
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What I think doesn't matter much, does it?
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[And one of incredibly few living humans that Zinc was allowed to interact with openly. A few more puzzle pieces are put into their places before she pushes back up to her feet. She wanders over to the windows without even thinking about it, gazing out onto the street again.]
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