(Untitled)

[mafiaissrsbsns]

Who: Dahlia & Gokudera
What: Retrieving medical supplies.
When: Backdated to a few days ago.
Where: Gokudera’s apartment room.
Rating: PG-13, for Gokudera’s potty mouth

Comments

[pieridollie]

Dahlia followed that aura of fuck off, I'm badass into his apartment, just managing to get her parasol through the door. It was disappointing how simple the place seemed - at the very least Gokudera had the luxury of living on the seventh floor. A quick glance at the room list in the corridor told Dahlia that, unfortunately, she would be stuck with a replica of Gokudera's room at the other end of the building without a beautiful view to make up for it.

She had such rotten luck, really. Not that she knew.

And it was a weird sensation, not knowing anything. There was a pressure to be careful and watch her step coupled with an odd inclination to forget it all and just start dancing, as if she was walking for the first time. There were instincts, too - you're a piece of candy, Dahlia, cause some cavities; but do so sweetly, don't let anyone know until they start hurting - and that was all she really had to work with at the moment. Apparently she had no previous connections to this place bar some defense attorney who had barely met her to begin with (and that was just slightly worrying because this obviously wasn't her home in that case) but could the situation really get any more convenient?

Besides the fact that, you know, she was practically a stranger to herself.

And speaking of strangers, where was her medical assistance? Was he just going to leave her standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, fiddling with her parasol, face the very picture of hurt and helplessness? Keyword here being picture. To think that she was as familiar with this man as she was with herself. Though at the very least, she knew her name.

[mafiaissrsbsns]

Was she disabled or something? Stepping inside, the very picture of discomfort radiating from off of her in waves; as if suddenly she had something to play the doe about? Tch; she was into the middle of fucking Neverwhere with some guy she'd only just met, and she chooses to be nervous about lack of etiquette in having a guest over?

Keh; whatever.

Jutting a hand out to the side, awkward and forced and mewling pleasentires, Gokudera gave, rough around the edge and well meaning and the faintest bit embarrassed-- "Well? Go on, take a seat or something."

His apartment was clever chaos theory; Memento had chosen to starve him, so he'd chosen to amass food. Those vending machines had been spitting out plenty, and well-wrapped; so long as he didn't touch the food specifically, it didn't disappear. So, he'd stocked up. Packaged noodles and canned goods littered the apartment, making enough appearances in odd spots to make it seem like a hazardous mess... if he hadn't so neatly categorized and tied and stacked it all. A little anal, apparently, a little paranoid. And a little bit kind, too, as he went to fetch his store of medical supplies; having obviously used them recently, judging by his roughed up appearance.

[ooc: Ughugh excuse my late. Finals snuck up on me. D:]

[pieridollie]

But Dahlia always had something to play the doe about. Previous experience she couldn't recall but could certainly tap into said that it was best to act the delicate and gentle damsel-in-distress, have that mask wrap up her intellect and plans and that default contempt that she... didn't quite know why she had. Perhaps it was just in her nature but there was really nothing about other people she could find worthwhile. She wanted out of all of them, an independence that she knew she could only (unfortunately) gain through the manipulation of these pests...

And Gokudera could not have made a better case for that description.

As she quietly took the seat that had been offered to her (and in such a predictable way, too - this would be a good thing in the long run), she gave Gokudera's apartment more of her attention. A pigsty, she sniffed, glancing at the piles and piles of wrapped food around the room. Had someone not told him they were provided meals or something? How many times had this guy been duped? And, well, this guy - what had happened to him? A fight? An accident? A botched escape from the supposed cannibals on the island that had resulted in him tripping over his own feet and sending himself flying?

She had to stifle a laugh at that last thought, turning those thoughts to waiting for her savior and looking like the sick, innocent thing she was instead.