(no subject)
Who: Easy Raub (BIG BAD WOLF) and Ryoko Hashioko (QUEEN OF HEARTS)
What: Easy drops by unannounced to hand over Ryoko's new identity.
When: Evening, around dusk; about a week after this and the subsequent phone call. (Therefore backdated a week or two.)
Where: May's house, where Ryoko is living.
Rating: PG-13, except for that whole threatened castration thing.
Easy: The sun had just disappeared over the horizon, leaving behind the eerie lingering light of dusk as Easy sauntered his way up the front walk to May's house. He had a tattered manila envelope tucked under one arm, though after pausing to scan the house (and spot a couple of lights on), he didn't drop it in the mailbox. Instead he cracked a wry smile moved up to the front door, which received three leisurely knocks. With his presence announced he turned to lean his back against the doorframe, propped at just an angle that he couldn't be fully viewed through the peephole, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
Ryoko: Ryoko thought she was quite done with company for the weekend. She'd spent Friday at a rotating sushi bar, Saturday writing and getting drunk, and Sunday morning sending Toby home to nurse his hangover while she took care of her own. Those efforts occupied most of the day, alternating between sleeping, drinking a lot of water and cayenne-spiced, unsweetened lemonade, and entertaining Mr. Bumbles, the one-eyed, slightly retarded lizard. In the afternoon her nausea and dehydration ebbed, and until the knock interrupted, she'd been writing.
She is upstairs when she hears it, and has to pause, fingers hovering over laptop keys. There's no more sound, but still she shuts her computer and stands, walking to the window and pushing it open to look down onto the front steps. Her hair is messy, pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, and from where she can be seen, from the waist up, she's wearing an oversized t-shirt printed only with "The Black Stones" in bold letters. Alone, she hadn't bothered with makeup, though from first story to second story the only real difference is how visible the dark circles under her eyes are.
"Mr. Raub." She has a cigarette in hand, and she taps the ash over the window ledge. "Leave it in the mailbox."
Easy: Easy glanced up as he heard the voice call his name from up above, and Ryoko received a mischievous smile. He held his position leaning against the door, one foot lifted against it. "Well now, ain't this just downright Shakespearean." A playful wink followed the comment from ground floor to second, though he made no move to do as he was told. Instead he cradled the envelope in one hand and began to rifle through the contents idly, while continuing to address his 'customer' on the second floor.
"This ain't FedEx, Geisha Doll." He teased sardonically, "You want your package, y'all can come on down to take it. Might even offer me the common courtesy of invitin' me in for a nightcap." His lips curled, and he added. "Heard that you Japs were downright famous for your hospitality. Don't wanna go leavin' a smear of your international reputation, now do ya?" His voice was both teasing and challenging, as though daring her to do so - an ominous tone played at the corners of his words, making it perfectly clear that there was still at least some risk in accepting such a dare.
Ryoko: "Mr. Raub, is that really how you think of me, or is that just how you talk to all women?" Ryoko crooks her arm, resting her elbow on the window sill, cigarette poised between her fingers. She seems about to say something more, then thinks better of it, and takes a drag on her cigarette. "I don't give a fuck about Japan, or you, or fucking you. I'm going to come down and accept what I've paid for like a civilized human being, and if you try anything I'll cut your dick off with a steak knife." She taps her cigarette. "Also pollute all your channels of business so the best career path you can hope for is late-night street cleaning, but I imagine you will, at first, be much more worried about your dick." The snuffs the cigarette out, and disappears inside, closing the window behind her.
There's a few minutes of shuffling about, but when all is said and done Ryoko does not come to the door especially better dressed than she seemed to be upstairs. She still has the oversized t-shirt on, along with a pair of men's boxers and flip-flops. She's lit another cigarette, and holds it in the same hand as a plain white envelope. Though her size generally prevents her from blocking the door in any real way, she positions herself such to make at least that intention clear, her shoulder leaning against the inside of the door frame and her arm hidden, ready to push her back and close the door in his face if need be.
"For you," she says, cocking her wrist so the envelope is towards him.
Easy: Easy listened to these threats with an expression of patronizing approval; much the way one would look at a small child who had just managed to recite a particularly difficult book report. "I take it back," he mused with a chuckle, "that was Shakespearean." He's still chuckling when she disappears inside, though he does lean forward to call out after her, "Y'all keep talking dirty like that, I might just have to climb up there after ya!"
He's still smiling to himself when the door swings open, though he's turned around so that he's leaning on the frame facing inside now. He's leaning far enough in he's almost over the threshhold, and if she wants to block the doorway properly, she runs the risk of stepping inside of his personal space. Her outfit gains a slow, obvious up-and-down lookwhich culminates in an impressed nod. He reaches out for the white envelope, though makes no gesture to offer up his own package just yet. It remains in one hand resting against his hip, tucked just slightly behind his body so as to indicate that it was momentarily being held hostage.
"Y'know," he begins in a conspiratorial tone, one eyebrow raising, "I don't wanna go lettin' you in on too many industry secrets, but there's certain ways to get yourself a pretty little discount." A further waggle of his brow ensures that there is no margin for misunderstanding here. "Just FYI."
Ryoko: Ryoko remains standing where she is, uncomfortable proximity or not. What she lacks in physical power she has to make up in presence, so backing up or backing down is not an option. She returns his once-over with a decidedly disinterested, dead-on stare. When she sees his envelope is not being offered out in turn, she flicks her wrist back, and the envelope is pulled out of his immediate reach.
"The envelope has your full payment, like we agreed. Call me business stupid but somehow I'm not interested in a discount."
Easy: Easy's form practically loomed over Ryoko's slight frama, and his posture seemed to be actively trying to drive home the fact. There was still a hint of menace in his stance, the way he leaned into her and emphasized his size and relative power. However, when she met him unflinchingly, the patronizing edge to his impressed expression subtly melted away. It was like a silent conversation, enacted only through two immobile bodies. It plays out during a long moment of silence, at the end of which Easy acquiesces by holding up his thick manila envelope with a flick of his wrist. The gesture is subtle, but seems to have a congratulatory air, as though the envelope is offered up as a barely-earned reward.
"How 'bout a bonus, then?" He added slyly, holding onto the envelope just tight enough that she'd have to tug it to get it out of his hands - a small and petty demonstration of superior strength. "Consider it a goodwill gesture for a new customer. And a proper American welcome, to boot." He held his palm out for the payment envelope, though his hungry eyes don't leave hers for a moment.
Ryoko: Ryoko puts the cigarette in her mouth, freeing up just enough fingers to pass off her envelope and take ahold of Easy's. He gets a quick, sharp-eyed frown at the envelope's resistance, and she holds it for a moment before giving it a tug. It seems examining the contents is left for later, as she does have a lamentably predatory man on her doorstep well inside her personal bubble, and it's really not the time to take her eyes off him. She passes it to her hand inside the door, and sets it down, presumably on a table. Then she's able to remove her cigarette, and, unless he backs away, blow a gentle line of smoke at Easy's face.
"If you deserve a bonus," she says, apparently missing who was giving one to whom, "you'll get it, in cash, when everything checks out." She flicks her cigarette slightly, loosening the collected ash.
Easy: Easy weathered the plume of smoke to his face without so much as flinching; if anything his head cocked just enough to acknowledge the gesture, erroneously or no, as flirtation. The smoke itself billowed across his cheeks and dispersed, and all the while he merely smiled that secretive, predatory smile. "Not quite what I was talkin' about." He countered diplomatically, "But I suppose them's the pitfalls of cross-cultural communication like this. Somethin's bound to get lost in translation." He chuckled, then added quite earnestly after a thoughtful pause, "'Course, if you did want to offer up a bonus for a job well done, I ain't gonna go arguin' with that." Because if he wasn't going to score some sweet Japanese lovin', he'd certainly accept monetary compensation instead.
Ryoko: "I'll consider it, Mr. Raub," Ryoko says simply, and reaches her arm out to take the door. She doesn't say anything else, just gives him a look, and steps away only enough to close the door - the look meant to suggest he was to be so kind as to do the same thing. In the opposite direction.
Her face doesn't change until the door is shut, and bolted, and chained. Then there something like a soundless explosion, all the indignity and rage of being intruded upon and propositioned like a cheap whore by some testosterone-addled sore-infested little maggot - UGH. The arm that, for the entire exchange, hung half-hidden inside the door frame, the same arm that was holding a butcher's knife all that while, lifts up and comes down, just once, with equal force. It wasn't a particularly sharp blade, but is even less so, now, protruding by its tip from the wall.
Ryoko gives the knife one last good push, then lets it go. Taking the manilla envelope, she turns, and hurls it across the room - but after everything has fluttered to the ground and is still, she lets out a breath, and follows it, picking up the documents that spilled out. To be fair, she promised him a steak knife.
What: Easy drops by unannounced to hand over Ryoko's new identity.
When: Evening, around dusk; about a week after this and the subsequent phone call. (Therefore backdated a week or two.)
Where: May's house, where Ryoko is living.
Rating: PG-13, except for that whole threatened castration thing.
Easy: The sun had just disappeared over the horizon, leaving behind the eerie lingering light of dusk as Easy sauntered his way up the front walk to May's house. He had a tattered manila envelope tucked under one arm, though after pausing to scan the house (and spot a couple of lights on), he didn't drop it in the mailbox. Instead he cracked a wry smile moved up to the front door, which received three leisurely knocks. With his presence announced he turned to lean his back against the doorframe, propped at just an angle that he couldn't be fully viewed through the peephole, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
Ryoko: Ryoko thought she was quite done with company for the weekend. She'd spent Friday at a rotating sushi bar, Saturday writing and getting drunk, and Sunday morning sending Toby home to nurse his hangover while she took care of her own. Those efforts occupied most of the day, alternating between sleeping, drinking a lot of water and cayenne-spiced, unsweetened lemonade, and entertaining Mr. Bumbles, the one-eyed, slightly retarded lizard. In the afternoon her nausea and dehydration ebbed, and until the knock interrupted, she'd been writing.
She is upstairs when she hears it, and has to pause, fingers hovering over laptop keys. There's no more sound, but still she shuts her computer and stands, walking to the window and pushing it open to look down onto the front steps. Her hair is messy, pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, and from where she can be seen, from the waist up, she's wearing an oversized t-shirt printed only with "The Black Stones" in bold letters. Alone, she hadn't bothered with makeup, though from first story to second story the only real difference is how visible the dark circles under her eyes are.
"Mr. Raub." She has a cigarette in hand, and she taps the ash over the window ledge. "Leave it in the mailbox."
Easy: Easy glanced up as he heard the voice call his name from up above, and Ryoko received a mischievous smile. He held his position leaning against the door, one foot lifted against it. "Well now, ain't this just downright Shakespearean." A playful wink followed the comment from ground floor to second, though he made no move to do as he was told. Instead he cradled the envelope in one hand and began to rifle through the contents idly, while continuing to address his 'customer' on the second floor.
"This ain't FedEx, Geisha Doll." He teased sardonically, "You want your package, y'all can come on down to take it. Might even offer me the common courtesy of invitin' me in for a nightcap." His lips curled, and he added. "Heard that you Japs were downright famous for your hospitality. Don't wanna go leavin' a smear of your international reputation, now do ya?" His voice was both teasing and challenging, as though daring her to do so - an ominous tone played at the corners of his words, making it perfectly clear that there was still at least some risk in accepting such a dare.
Ryoko: "Mr. Raub, is that really how you think of me, or is that just how you talk to all women?" Ryoko crooks her arm, resting her elbow on the window sill, cigarette poised between her fingers. She seems about to say something more, then thinks better of it, and takes a drag on her cigarette. "I don't give a fuck about Japan, or you, or fucking you. I'm going to come down and accept what I've paid for like a civilized human being, and if you try anything I'll cut your dick off with a steak knife." She taps her cigarette. "Also pollute all your channels of business so the best career path you can hope for is late-night street cleaning, but I imagine you will, at first, be much more worried about your dick." The snuffs the cigarette out, and disappears inside, closing the window behind her.
There's a few minutes of shuffling about, but when all is said and done Ryoko does not come to the door especially better dressed than she seemed to be upstairs. She still has the oversized t-shirt on, along with a pair of men's boxers and flip-flops. She's lit another cigarette, and holds it in the same hand as a plain white envelope. Though her size generally prevents her from blocking the door in any real way, she positions herself such to make at least that intention clear, her shoulder leaning against the inside of the door frame and her arm hidden, ready to push her back and close the door in his face if need be.
"For you," she says, cocking her wrist so the envelope is towards him.
Easy: Easy listened to these threats with an expression of patronizing approval; much the way one would look at a small child who had just managed to recite a particularly difficult book report. "I take it back," he mused with a chuckle, "that was Shakespearean." He's still chuckling when she disappears inside, though he does lean forward to call out after her, "Y'all keep talking dirty like that, I might just have to climb up there after ya!"
He's still smiling to himself when the door swings open, though he's turned around so that he's leaning on the frame facing inside now. He's leaning far enough in he's almost over the threshhold, and if she wants to block the doorway properly, she runs the risk of stepping inside of his personal space. Her outfit gains a slow, obvious up-and-down lookwhich culminates in an impressed nod. He reaches out for the white envelope, though makes no gesture to offer up his own package just yet. It remains in one hand resting against his hip, tucked just slightly behind his body so as to indicate that it was momentarily being held hostage.
"Y'know," he begins in a conspiratorial tone, one eyebrow raising, "I don't wanna go lettin' you in on too many industry secrets, but there's certain ways to get yourself a pretty little discount." A further waggle of his brow ensures that there is no margin for misunderstanding here. "Just FYI."
Ryoko: Ryoko remains standing where she is, uncomfortable proximity or not. What she lacks in physical power she has to make up in presence, so backing up or backing down is not an option. She returns his once-over with a decidedly disinterested, dead-on stare. When she sees his envelope is not being offered out in turn, she flicks her wrist back, and the envelope is pulled out of his immediate reach.
"The envelope has your full payment, like we agreed. Call me business stupid but somehow I'm not interested in a discount."
Easy: Easy's form practically loomed over Ryoko's slight frama, and his posture seemed to be actively trying to drive home the fact. There was still a hint of menace in his stance, the way he leaned into her and emphasized his size and relative power. However, when she met him unflinchingly, the patronizing edge to his impressed expression subtly melted away. It was like a silent conversation, enacted only through two immobile bodies. It plays out during a long moment of silence, at the end of which Easy acquiesces by holding up his thick manila envelope with a flick of his wrist. The gesture is subtle, but seems to have a congratulatory air, as though the envelope is offered up as a barely-earned reward.
"How 'bout a bonus, then?" He added slyly, holding onto the envelope just tight enough that she'd have to tug it to get it out of his hands - a small and petty demonstration of superior strength. "Consider it a goodwill gesture for a new customer. And a proper American welcome, to boot." He held his palm out for the payment envelope, though his hungry eyes don't leave hers for a moment.
Ryoko: Ryoko puts the cigarette in her mouth, freeing up just enough fingers to pass off her envelope and take ahold of Easy's. He gets a quick, sharp-eyed frown at the envelope's resistance, and she holds it for a moment before giving it a tug. It seems examining the contents is left for later, as she does have a lamentably predatory man on her doorstep well inside her personal bubble, and it's really not the time to take her eyes off him. She passes it to her hand inside the door, and sets it down, presumably on a table. Then she's able to remove her cigarette, and, unless he backs away, blow a gentle line of smoke at Easy's face.
"If you deserve a bonus," she says, apparently missing who was giving one to whom, "you'll get it, in cash, when everything checks out." She flicks her cigarette slightly, loosening the collected ash.
Easy: Easy weathered the plume of smoke to his face without so much as flinching; if anything his head cocked just enough to acknowledge the gesture, erroneously or no, as flirtation. The smoke itself billowed across his cheeks and dispersed, and all the while he merely smiled that secretive, predatory smile. "Not quite what I was talkin' about." He countered diplomatically, "But I suppose them's the pitfalls of cross-cultural communication like this. Somethin's bound to get lost in translation." He chuckled, then added quite earnestly after a thoughtful pause, "'Course, if you did want to offer up a bonus for a job well done, I ain't gonna go arguin' with that." Because if he wasn't going to score some sweet Japanese lovin', he'd certainly accept monetary compensation instead.
Ryoko: "I'll consider it, Mr. Raub," Ryoko says simply, and reaches her arm out to take the door. She doesn't say anything else, just gives him a look, and steps away only enough to close the door - the look meant to suggest he was to be so kind as to do the same thing. In the opposite direction.
Her face doesn't change until the door is shut, and bolted, and chained. Then there something like a soundless explosion, all the indignity and rage of being intruded upon and propositioned like a cheap whore by some testosterone-addled sore-infested little maggot - UGH. The arm that, for the entire exchange, hung half-hidden inside the door frame, the same arm that was holding a butcher's knife all that while, lifts up and comes down, just once, with equal force. It wasn't a particularly sharp blade, but is even less so, now, protruding by its tip from the wall.
Ryoko gives the knife one last good push, then lets it go. Taking the manilla envelope, she turns, and hurls it across the room - but after everything has fluttered to the ground and is still, she lets out a breath, and follows it, picking up the documents that spilled out. To be fair, she promised him a steak knife.