[he stops by the shack first, but doesn't find him there, grafted to the couch or tending his babies like usual. it occurs to Badou that he could just text him, instead of trying to sniff him out (more like a bloodhound with a cold than anything else), but for some reason he doesn't want to]
[shifting Yoshimori's package under his arm, he makes his way to what they jokingly call The Office, but what's really just another festering hole in the slums, perfect for snakes and bugs of all kinds to slitherscuttle into]
[he's an often enough visitor that he doesn't get much more than some surly looks and pointed hisses from the aliens out front, leaning against the building like it's actually valuable territory to protect]
[for all his mangy fur, Badou's never understood that mentality of This Land is My Land, doesn't suppose he ever will]
[heading through to the back, his shoddy boots are distinct on the cold meatpacking cement floors, announcing his presence long before he deposits himself onto the edge of Genkaku's desk like a particularly ill omen]
[pulling the (new) cigarette from his teeth with motions that speak of wound-up energy, he tosses the box of cds in front of the other with a rattle]
[ he isn't surprised when his forearms are shoved right off the desk's surface, vision jilted up from A Dealbreaker to a Steal, but it's clear in the way his mouth suddenly quirks, loud and obvious, which of the two he finds more entrancing ]
[ it's rare that Badou makes office calls without a definite purpose, and he seems to make that known with clanking plastic; the monk reads the lid's note and recognizes the handwriting immediately, and notices the seal's been broken on its edge ]
I hope this's one'a your monthly jobs just so I can say ya lost your tip.
[ there's a brief glance inside: The Scorpions, The Clash, Guns N' Roses, The Dead Kennedys (is that Barry Manilow?), even some new stuff Genkaku himself had recommended: Jimi Hendrix and the ironiciconic Nirvana (though grunge was never the monk's favorite genre, he felt the need to educate in all fields) ]
[ there are a lot of signs wandering around right then, and the monk looks up like he's grasping for straws (or can't figure out which one he wants to grasp first); Badou slouched on his desk with a package from the Recently Been Acting Strange Yoshimori, not to mention a few things he'd meant to bring up as he barely missed the fox's company during You-Were-Asleep-When-I-Left-For-My-Jog and You-Were-At-Work-When-I-Got-Back and You-Didn't-Stay-With-Me-Last-Night intervals ]
[ instead, his mouth vaults shut, and he leans back in his creaky chair and gives his visitor a beckoning red gaze ]
Yeah right. Like I'd sign up t'be some FedEx grunt? Reports of topless housewives are hella exaggerated.
[absently, he scuffs a heel against the desk and it's bemusing that there's no spark, with all the static crackling almost audibly around his head]
[he digs in his coat with fingers not tending to fire, and pulls out his own cryptic gifts (admittedly, one of his favourite kinds of gifts), baring them to the other]
This one definitely goes to the meat freezer at his place, I'm guessin' the other two're front door an', I dunno, maybe storage. You know what's goin' down?
[ he barely even scans the items, eye contact lingering heavily on Badou's bruised face, somehow... thicker and more insistent than it normally is, even for him ]
Nada. S'been a real fuckin' weird week.
[ his hands pillow his head mouth twitching down and tightening in one corner ]
[ Yoshimori was the anonymous poster on the Guides; he doesn't know if Badou knows, or if he even cares, but the monk figures, if nothing else, maybe somebody'll wake up from their dream sometime soon and the universe'll stop throwing cosmic roadblocks ]
F'real. Can you explain to me why every asshole thinks it's just a awesome idea to go skipping down the corridors of a creepy-ass abandoned space station? In what fucking movie did that ever work out okay?
[the smaller man leans forward over himself, bony elbows jutting up against bony knees like interlocking jaws]
[the complaining is breathed out along with the ash, just as mindlessly]
[ he doesn't contest it because he'd rather not even discuss it; the Sigrun has little baring on himself, his Fox, or his business -- outta sight, outta mind ]
[ instead, the bones of his forehead thunk on the sharper bones of a skinny knee, baring a part on the back of his neck where his hair sticks and his collar lowers and his beads roll (the start of a scar and the jut of his spine) ]
You are a dumbass.
[ less complaining and more bemoaning, a breath-hot sigh exhaled into denim ]
[he wobbles as an elbow is nudgerammed off, and puts that hand back on the desk, bristling uncomfortably at the contact]
[although his (off-skew) center of balance shifts backaway, he doesn't shove the monk off, as if he doesn't have the concentration he needs to start another bullshit fight]
[eventually, the Undergrounder taps ash onto the topmost bone at the other's neck, as if to add a bit of normalcy the the casual rasp that follows]
Rammsteiner's back again.
[his cigarette is crushed back between his canines]
Only this time he's from a unkillable zombie future an' suddenly ain't scared'a tits an' gives a shit about -- I dunno, people. Yeah, it's been a real weird fuckin' week.
[ he stays quiet at that for a moment, long enough to keep exhaling like he's a sheep dog in the middle of summer, the room feeling oddly stuffed and crowded despite the fact it's just the two of them ]
[ his head rolls off, obligingly giving the space back, as if he doesn't have the energy to fight for the claim. it plants on the cooler surface of the table, and bloodshot eyes are looking through the curtain of his own hair at him with a nod ]
[ he listens sort of dumbly, and gives little more than a shrug ]
So don't.
[ there's no poke and prod and fight for answers; he doesn't ask who the female voice with the mutt was; hell, he hadn't even responded to the post himself and attempted to lure Heine into that fight ]
[ he just didn't care -- a lazy and unfamiliar apathy settling in his chest ]
[he seems to be very honestly considering those two simple words, and after a moment, gives a short nod, some sharpness of now returning to a swampy green eye]
Yeah, I might not.
[looking back over, he adds, as if the topics had been mentally stacked beside one another]
[ Genkaku had never been overly concerned with Gojyo's safety or whereabouts; he'd always come and gone as he'd pleased, done moreso of the latter and stuck to his word and promises just enough to keep the monk emotionally tethered ]
[ figures it'd end just the way Genkaku knew it would. ]
Unh.
[ knowing doesn't seem to have softened the blow, evident in the way his eyes lilt with a sudden, dark weight ]
[ might as well get all the harm out while he could; ]
[ he waves it off; it's not the right kind of burn he wants and he doesn't really think it's going to singe off that dull ache anyhow ]
[ Badou probably needs it more ]
[ what he does instead is raise up his hand before the other man, palm facing him as if he were pressing into the pane of glass that separated them, like that barrier around Badou had been made physical ]
[ and he lingers there, mouth tight, brow ridged, not playing fox games that lure him over with smoke or tricks -- just the need for some sheer human fucking understanding ]
[shifting Yoshimori's package under his arm, he makes his way to what they jokingly call The Office, but what's really just another festering hole in the slums, perfect for snakes and bugs of all kinds to slitherscuttle into]
[he's an often enough visitor that he doesn't get much more than some surly looks and pointed hisses from the aliens out front, leaning against the building like it's actually valuable territory to protect]
[for all his mangy fur, Badou's never understood that mentality of This Land is My Land, doesn't suppose he ever will]
[heading through to the back, his shoddy boots are distinct on the cold meatpacking cement floors, announcing his presence long before he deposits himself onto the edge of Genkaku's desk like a particularly ill omen]
[pulling the (new) cigarette from his teeth with motions that speak of wound-up energy, he tosses the box of cds in front of the other with a rattle]
Delivery for the Super Monk.
Reply
[ it's rare that Badou makes office calls without a definite purpose, and he seems to make that known with clanking plastic; the monk reads the lid's note and recognizes the handwriting immediately, and notices the seal's been broken on its edge ]
I hope this's one'a your monthly jobs just so I can say ya lost your tip.
[ there's a brief glance inside: The Scorpions, The Clash, Guns N' Roses, The Dead Kennedys (is that Barry Manilow?), even some new stuff Genkaku himself had recommended: Jimi Hendrix and the ironiciconic Nirvana (though grunge was never the monk's favorite genre, he felt the need to educate in all fields) ]
[ there are a lot of signs wandering around right then, and the monk looks up like he's grasping for straws (or can't figure out which one he wants to grasp first); Badou slouched on his desk with a package from the Recently Been Acting Strange Yoshimori, not to mention a few things he'd meant to bring up as he barely missed the fox's company during You-Were-Asleep-When-I-Left-For-My-Jog and You-Were-At-Work-When-I-Got-Back and You-Didn't-Stay-With-Me-Last-Night intervals ]
[ instead, his mouth vaults shut, and he leans back in his creaky chair and gives his visitor a beckoning red gaze ]
Reply
[absently, he scuffs a heel against the desk and it's bemusing that there's no spark, with all the static crackling almost audibly around his head]
[he digs in his coat with fingers not tending to fire, and pulls out his own cryptic gifts (admittedly, one of his favourite kinds of gifts), baring them to the other]
This one definitely goes to the meat freezer at his place, I'm guessin' the other two're front door an', I dunno, maybe storage. You know what's goin' down?
Reply
Nada. S'been a real fuckin' weird week.
[ his hands pillow his head mouth twitching down and tightening in one corner ]
[ Yoshimori was the anonymous poster on the Guides; he doesn't know if Badou knows, or if he even cares, but the monk figures, if nothing else, maybe somebody'll wake up from their dream sometime soon and the universe'll stop throwing cosmic roadblocks ]
Reply
[the smaller man leans forward over himself, bony elbows jutting up against bony knees like interlocking jaws]
[the complaining is breathed out along with the ash, just as mindlessly]
An' I'm the dumbass, ffuh.
Reply
[ instead, the bones of his forehead thunk on the sharper bones of a skinny knee, baring a part on the back of his neck where his hair sticks and his collar lowers and his beads roll (the start of a scar and the jut of his spine) ]
You are a dumbass.
[ less complaining and more bemoaning, a breath-hot sigh exhaled into denim ]
Reply
[although his (off-skew) center of balance shifts backaway, he doesn't shove the monk off, as if he doesn't have the concentration he needs to start another bullshit fight]
[eventually, the Undergrounder taps ash onto the topmost bone at the other's neck, as if to add a bit of normalcy the the casual rasp that follows]
Rammsteiner's back again.
[his cigarette is crushed back between his canines]
Only this time he's from a unkillable zombie future an' suddenly ain't scared'a tits an' gives a shit about -- I dunno, people. Yeah, it's been a real weird fuckin' week.
Reply
[ his head rolls off, obligingly giving the space back, as if he doesn't have the energy to fight for the claim. it plants on the cooler surface of the table, and bloodshot eyes are looking through the curtain of his own hair at him with a nod ]
Knew the first part.
[ as for the second part, ]
So what? He's still your partner, yeah?
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I'unno. I guess. He'll probably book after two weeks like usual. I mean, it ain't like I'm not used to him flakin' out, but...
[he scratches the back of his hair, making a small haystack of orange crest over his part]
S'just sorta annoyin', I guess. An' the paradox timeline quantum-fuck you bullshit is stupid, I don't feel like dealin' with it.
Reply
So don't.
[ there's no poke and prod and fight for answers; he doesn't ask who the female voice with the mutt was; hell, he hadn't even responded to the post himself and attempted to lure Heine into that fight ]
[ he just didn't care -- a lazy and unfamiliar apathy settling in his chest ]
Reply
Yeah, I might not.
[looking back over, he adds, as if the topics had been mentally stacked beside one another]
Sorry 'bout Gojyo.
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[ but it comes right back at the name, and he almost jerks at the conversational whiplash ]
-- Huh?
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[shit. for some reason, he thought Genkaku would have been keep better tabs on the Chinese man.]
[rolling his cigarette over the spiny bumps of his fingers, he recalls the conversation he had with with a recently returned Hakkai]
He got wormholed back ta India. Or... yeah. With Hakkai. Hakkai's back, but Gojyo didn't take the second trip, I guess.
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[ figures it'd end just the way Genkaku knew it would. ]
Unh.
[ knowing doesn't seem to have softened the blow, evident in the way his eyes lilt with a sudden, dark weight ]
[ might as well get all the harm out while he could; ]
...I ain't heard from Envy in a while neither.
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[at a loss for anything more helpful to say or do, the smaller man offers out his cigarette]
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[ Badou probably needs it more ]
[ what he does instead is raise up his hand before the other man, palm facing him as if he were pressing into the pane of glass that separated them, like that barrier around Badou had been made physical ]
[ and he lingers there, mouth tight, brow ridged, not playing fox games that lure him over with smoke or tricks -- just the need for some sheer human fucking understanding ]
Reply
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