[Incomplete.]
Who: Shu, Schuldig.
When: Tonight, after Sunde closes.
Where: Sunde.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: References to strippers, the usual.
Summary: Shu is introspective. He's also teaching Schuldig how to play Chinchorin.
Accounts always took longer than Shu had anticipated. One would think that after this long, he would've adjusted, learned what to expect, but he never did.
It was after he was done with a particularly long session of calculating and number-crunching that he emerged from the back, stretching out long arms, his bones cracking loudly and his eyes sore from the weak light he'd been working by. He found Sunde silent, emptied out hours ago but for the one man at the bar.
He was a familiar shock of fire-red hair from behind, arms braced across the counter, and Shu was surprised to see him up at all. He was normally in bed by now, or else resting unseen in the bedroom, reading or daydreaming, snuggling Elena or waiting for him to come. So little energy, and Shu wondered when it had all come to be expected, when it all happened in the first place.
It hadn't taken long. The degeneration was moving at breakneck pace, and it was frightening, disturbing to see a man who could've run rings around the strippers where the poles were concerned mere months ago suddenly reduced to this. It disturbed him more that, consumed in work, he was surprised every time they got a moment together to see another black mark crawling under the surface of the skin, leaking the inky, foul-smelling blots like he was rotting from the inside out. It consumed him, advanced across his body like an army. Shu got chills simply looking at it.
All the power in Purgatorium couldn't stop its advance. Something so small, something that'd once been mistaken for a mere bruise.
He put a hand across Schuldig's back - light and careful, frail as he was these days - and rested his chin on Schuldig's better shoulder. He smelled of smoke, felt warm. The room was still thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat and the heat of the bodies that had so recently fled; it wouldn't really fade until about midday tomorrow, when they opened the windows in the morning to let a little breeze pass through.
Elena was going to be gone for some time. It was just them, then, and though the place might be quieter, though he would certainly miss her and had nothing but a most intense dislike of ShinRa's commandeering of her, part of him was glad for the time with Schuldig. Part of him knew with painful clarity that he wasn't there enough. Wasn't good enough, these days.
Old warhorses, he supposed.
No excuse was that.
He spotted a small, bowl-like ashtray - clean, presumably thanks to Sylar - and he pulled it forward. From his pocket, he drew three dice, depositing them in it.
"First," he murmured near Schuldig's ear, his voice low, soft. "First, you place a bet. If you get two of the same number on two dice, the spare number on the third dice is what you multiply your bet by, and I pay you that. If it's a 1-2-3 or a 1-1-1, you pay me three times your bet. If it's a 4-5-6, I pay double your bet."
He smiled, thoughtful. "... I suppose it is a game you could strip by if you simply removed a layer with each loss, rather than paying money. It can be quite expensive to play, with all the multiplication."
When: Tonight, after Sunde closes.
Where: Sunde.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: References to strippers, the usual.
Summary: Shu is introspective. He's also teaching Schuldig how to play Chinchorin.
Accounts always took longer than Shu had anticipated. One would think that after this long, he would've adjusted, learned what to expect, but he never did.
It was after he was done with a particularly long session of calculating and number-crunching that he emerged from the back, stretching out long arms, his bones cracking loudly and his eyes sore from the weak light he'd been working by. He found Sunde silent, emptied out hours ago but for the one man at the bar.
He was a familiar shock of fire-red hair from behind, arms braced across the counter, and Shu was surprised to see him up at all. He was normally in bed by now, or else resting unseen in the bedroom, reading or daydreaming, snuggling Elena or waiting for him to come. So little energy, and Shu wondered when it had all come to be expected, when it all happened in the first place.
It hadn't taken long. The degeneration was moving at breakneck pace, and it was frightening, disturbing to see a man who could've run rings around the strippers where the poles were concerned mere months ago suddenly reduced to this. It disturbed him more that, consumed in work, he was surprised every time they got a moment together to see another black mark crawling under the surface of the skin, leaking the inky, foul-smelling blots like he was rotting from the inside out. It consumed him, advanced across his body like an army. Shu got chills simply looking at it.
All the power in Purgatorium couldn't stop its advance. Something so small, something that'd once been mistaken for a mere bruise.
He put a hand across Schuldig's back - light and careful, frail as he was these days - and rested his chin on Schuldig's better shoulder. He smelled of smoke, felt warm. The room was still thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat and the heat of the bodies that had so recently fled; it wouldn't really fade until about midday tomorrow, when they opened the windows in the morning to let a little breeze pass through.
Elena was going to be gone for some time. It was just them, then, and though the place might be quieter, though he would certainly miss her and had nothing but a most intense dislike of ShinRa's commandeering of her, part of him was glad for the time with Schuldig. Part of him knew with painful clarity that he wasn't there enough. Wasn't good enough, these days.
Old warhorses, he supposed.
No excuse was that.
He spotted a small, bowl-like ashtray - clean, presumably thanks to Sylar - and he pulled it forward. From his pocket, he drew three dice, depositing them in it.
"First," he murmured near Schuldig's ear, his voice low, soft. "First, you place a bet. If you get two of the same number on two dice, the spare number on the third dice is what you multiply your bet by, and I pay you that. If it's a 1-2-3 or a 1-1-1, you pay me three times your bet. If it's a 4-5-6, I pay double your bet."
He smiled, thoughtful. "... I suppose it is a game you could strip by if you simply removed a layer with each loss, rather than paying money. It can be quite expensive to play, with all the multiplication."