Three sheets to the wind
I can't do that again. Last time. I swear it. I mean it.
Fire and snow. That'll be fun nightmare material. I can hardly wait.
Holland was reading some book about that when I saw her last. Something about snow and ashes. I don't remember. My head hurts.
Hydrate. Take a shower. Go to bed. Pray to an nonexistent God that the dreams do stay away.
Fire and snow . . .
2/15/2006
Logfile from Shaw of X-Men MUCK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bar should be smoky. It's that kind of room -- low-slung, dim, noisome -- but the smoking laws in New York City . . . alas. The ambience will have to be shouldered by the few patrons clustered at the spill-blotched bar up front and a couple tables scattered around it. The booths are all empty at this time, with this weather, except for the one occupied by two men with a table full of bottles and glasses between them. One of them, the lanky Chinese-American, clutches a beer uncomfortably and divides his sloe-eyed attention between the room and the other man. He -- Shaw -- is all fierce focus on the daunting task of weeding out the empties from the fulls. He fishes out one of the latter from the forest of the former, twists off the cap, and drains several long swallows on a single breath.
And in through the door, a mismatched pair of women, one tall and sliding past forty and the other short and barely beyond twenty. Both are dressed in businesswear and carrying briefcases, and both look eager at the prospect of a drink. Sabitha turns a wry smile to her companion, a response to some comment on the way in, and the pair of them direct themselves toward the bar to ask after specials.
"Don't," Shaw tells his companion without looking up from his beer. The other man's hand freezes on its way to pulling back (so subtly and sneakily!) the open whiskey bottle away from the boss. Who finishes the beer, sets it fastidiously aside into the stand of empties, reaches for the whiskey, and then, only then, looks at him. Dark eyes meet dark. Shaw's aren't the first to drop, so with a smirk, he pours himself a glass. Victory. His hands don't even shake. Much.
Sabitha and companion are at the bar just long enough to acquire two cocktails, fruity mixtures involved flavored vodka and juice, before Linda's cell starts a high-pitched chirping in her pocket. Sabby's frown creases her features and then relaxes into grudging understanding as she waves Linda away and settles in at the bar with her (now two) drinks and a sigh. Linda, cell attached to her ear, disappears back out the door to deal with some emergency or another.
"/Don't/," Shaw repeats, more loudly, firmly, as if he were addressing a dog about to crouch for a piddle on the good rug. The other man doesn't exactly lay his ears back, but he does cringe and mutter something. "--Fine. Go sit at the bar, then. You can see me fine from here, can't you?" He looks that away, judging the lines of sight -- and gets snagged on Sabby's shape. He blinks. Looks back at the pawn and drops his voice. "On second thought, stay here. /I'll/ go to the bar. We're out of gin, anyway."
Sabitha braces elbows on either side of her drink and lowers her chin to her hands while she makes momentary smalltalk with the barkeep before he's called away to attend to another patron. A sigh lifts her shoulders and echoes through her frame. She lowers one hand, stirs her tiny straw through her drink. Mutters something under her breath about forcing Linda to pick up the tab next time round.
Shaw's stance doesn't shake any more than his hands did in pouring the drink, but he does walk a touch /slowly/ across the floor and has aimed himself at Sabitha's back with the cold, aloof precision of an ICBM missile. Under the anxious eyes of his pawn, he stops himself beside and a little behind the woman (the faint wave of alcohol fumes might serve as his calling card) and asks cheerfully, "Is this seat taken?"
Sabitha lifts her head. Turns around. Frowns. Decides, in mild disbelief, on the evidence of cheerful inquiry and alcoholic fumes, "Sebastian Shaw. You are drunk."
"How can you tell?" Shaw starts to put his hands in his pockets, under the flap of his dark sports coat -- frowns, reconsiders, and braces himself with fingers curled around the edge of the bar instead. There. He smiles at Sabby. Hi. "It happens. From time to time. Are you here alone?"
Suspicion slithers across Sabby's smile, and she considers him for a moment before she lifts an allowing hand, palm up, to indicate the abandoned seat next to her. "I wasn't," she shares. "And now I am. You?"
Shaw jerks his chin over his shoulder, back at the booth. "Watchdog," he sighs. "Can't go anywhere without one of 'em. Oh, well. He's behaving himself, and I suppose I am, too, since he hasn't called in the SWAT team to get me back home." His teeth shine out a pleased, wet grin. "That'd be a splendid way to end the evening, though, I have to say."
"Fighting with a SWAT team?" Sabby questions blankly, and swivels her drink up for a long sip.
"Sure. Why not?" Shaw puts more of his weight into his braced lean, and his grin thins out into narrower and meaner pleasure. "If it's good enough for /Magneto/, it's gotta be good enough for me."
Sabitha regards Sebastian with a sense of heavy disbelief and slides her drink back to the bar. There's a moment in which she finds herself with absolutely nothing to say. Eventually she leans sideways against the bar to ask, "Is there some sort of scorecard? Do you call each other up now and then and compare ratings?"
"And then measure our penises, yes. That's usually how it's done."
Sabitha lifts her brows, just slightly. "And who wins?"
Shaw smiles. "Screw him, and then you can tell me, can't you?"
Sabitha meets smile with smile, sharp and wicked. "Ever so sad we can't just ask Sabella."
Shaw laughs. "Yes. No. You're right. Good one. Clever Ms. Melcross. But she's dead. Thank God," he huffs. "Too many evil dramatic mutants running around this city for my taste."
Sabitha slides her glass up for another drink, hiding the beginnings of a laughing smile. "Maybe there's a hellmouth," she suggests.
Frowning, Shaw turns from her to rest both hands on the bar, the heels taking his weight. "What's a hellmouth?"
The beginnings slide into a full-fledged laugh, quiet but brimming with amusement. She shakes her head, lowers her glass to rest against her thigh. "Probably not your sort of thing, Sebastian. Don't worry about it."
Peevishly Shaw wonders, "Is it something secret? Does it have anything to do with hellfire?" His voice keeps the capitalization off the word, but the Black King still has all of his precious, pride-poked dignity on. "Don't taunt me. It isn't nice."
Sabitha presses fingers against her mouth, containing her laugh behind them before she allows him the easy explanation, "It's from a television show. There are vampires involved. Hellfire too, occasionally."
Shaw sniffs haughtily. "/Vampires/."
Sabitha tilts a shoulder up in unrepentant apology. "You asked," she points out.
"But vampires aren't even /real/," Shaw persists, rounding wide black eyes on her with soaked (fumey!) reproach. "How can you watch a show about something that's so fake? Do the actors lisp around their stupid pointy teeth?"
"That's why it's television," Sabby suggests, meeting wide eyes with wide eyes, all innocence if you can ignore the dancing amusement there. "It's quite interesting. Ask your Bishop sometime. I'm sure he'll be quite happy to loan you the DVDs."
Shaw's gaze cuts away for a fast scan of any listeners in the area, and paranoia fairly comes off him in waves. "My -- right. Sure. I don't watch TV. Except for news and sports." He shifts to graciousness, however: "All the more left for you. Enjoy it."
Sabitha watches Shaw's paranoid gaze with mild interest and meets graciousness with easy dismissal. "You watch news and sports and I'll wallow in things with less prestege and far greater entertainment value, hm?"
"To each his own," agrees Shaw and then looks around more slowly, with another frown. "I had a drink. Didn't I bring it over?"
Sabitha nudges her extra glass toward him with lifted brows. "You can have this. It might insult your masculinity, though. There's fruit involved."
Shaw gives her a heavy stare. "It isn't as if you're askin' me to deep-throat it," he points out. "Are you?"
"Would you?" Sabby asks with great interest.
Shaw's eyes drop to the glass, which gets an engineer's analytical study. "I don't think," he finally concludes, "that I could get my mouth around it. So, cunnilingus 'stead of fellatio. Oh, well. Thanks; I'll take it. What is it?"
Sabitha tsks, tongue against the roof of her mouth as she shakes her head. "What sort of business tycoon are you, honestly? Never had to do a favor or two to get to the top, Sebastian?" She leans sideways, elbow bracing against the bar, and tilts a shrug. "Not a clue. There's watermelon vodka in it. That's all I've got for you."
Shaw decides, "Vodka's all right," and picks up the glass for a cautious sip. It doesn't kill him on the spot, so he has a full swallow. "--Favor? Jesus Christ. No." He stares at her with fresh fascination. "D'you really think that's what my job's like?"
Sabitha meets his gaze with even acknowledgement. "Well," she answers blandly. "Mine is. Aren't they all?"
That pauses Shaw for a moment (and another swallow, downed as if the drink were water). "I don't know," he admits. "I made my own company. Never worked for anyone else in my life. --Isn't something I /require/ from employees, though. I run a clean business, dammit."
Sabitha's lips curl at the corners, amused reaction to the pause, and taps her fingers around the curve of her glass. "Do you? Not an inch of corruption or sexual politics anywhere in /your/ realm, Sebastian?" Her smile broadens, full, and she lifts her glass for a sip. "How ambitious of you."
Shaw's voice chills, thickens with disdain. "EEO laws would have me drawn, quartered, and left out to dry, /Sabitha/. If I didn't run a clean business, I wouldn't have a business, period." He shakes his head, loosening strands of flyaway hair, and finishes the drink on another few swallows. He blinks reaction-reddened eyes that strike off her like flint. "My realm is something else," he says more casually. "Different realm. Lots of realms. I have a lot of realms."
Sabitha is not-quite laughing again, with a serious expression that nods at each of his points and eyes that absolutely refuse to behave. Another sip. "Many hats," she acknowledges. Does not add, despite her intense desire, 'crowns.'
Shaw rolls his eyes. "Having fun?"
"And I'm not even drunk," Sabby points out, smiling.
The corner of Shaw's mouth twitches upward. "If you get judgmental on me -- hell. Might as well go back to drinkin' with the idiot back there."
"Is that what I'm doing?" Sabby asks, marveling. "Interesting. You really are quite drunk, aren't you?"
Shaw pushes the emptied glass aside on the bar so he can lean over it on folded arms. A sidelong glance at her; a puzzled study. "Not that much. Steady buzz, although that vodka, now, I can feel it. Not my favorite, vodka, but it gets the job done."
"Ah. Working toward drunk?" Sabitha questions, bland and absent curiousity as she twists her straw through vodka and juice and ice.
"No." He looks sour. "I do have work in the morning."
Sabitha leans to pat at his shoulder, consoling. "Me too. Bitch, ain't it?"
Shaw flinches away from the touch, and his head draws back like a startled cat's. At least his lips don't draw back in a hiss.
Sabitha's brows fly up as she retreats, and she watches him with sudden increased interest. Her hand falls to her lap and she sits in thoughtful silence.
After a tense second or three, Shaw forces a shrug and looks to the bottles lined up behind the bar. "Haven't seen you in a while." It's an observation.
"No," Sabby agrees, and watches him. Teases, smiling, "Missed my smiling, joyful presence, have you?"
Shaw's mouth twitches again. "No," he answers, deliberate echo. "You haven't missed mine, either."
Sabitha tips her head in smiling acknowledgement. "Busy times," she answers.
The near-smile transmutes into a scowl. "You have no idea."
Sabitha lifts her brows again, silent question and suggestion, and falls back to her drink.
Shaw snorts, but softly. "Nothing we can talk about here. You know that."
"Oh, mm," Sabby acknowledges, and lifts her glass in a half-toast. "Shifting shadows. I'm telling you. New York's sitting on a Hellmouth."
A slouch puts a valley in Shaw's spine. "I guess. Do Hellmouths possess people? Can it work like that?"
Sabitha shifts to cross one leg over the other and notes, "Anything can possess people. Feeling a bit bewitched, Sebastian?"
Shaw is quiet for a minute, during which time one hand drums arrhythmic fingers on the bar. "Bewitched, bedazzled, and bewildered. --No. It's not . . . no. Never mind. I never said anything."
Sabitha responds in allowing silence, and turns to the bartender to wave a requesting hand.
"I had a drink," Shaw says abruptly to the gesture. "But I didn't bring it with me. Shit."
Sabitha flicks her fingers at the approaching 'tender. "Buy another one," she suggests. "You're not lacking in funds."
Shaw snorts his way into a tired chuckle. "That's true, but I really might tip over into full-blown drunk, and then there'd be all kinds of trouble. Thanks, anyway. So kind, looking out for me."
Sabitha requests her second drink and glances sideways at him. "Do you need a babysitter now?"
"I need," Shaw mutters, "a cigarette."
Sabitha smiles bitterness. "Illegal," she points out. "Buy the bar. Private establishment, you could light right up."
Shaw slants a smile back at her. "Already have one of those. Could've stayed there tonight. Cigars are there."
"Ah," Sabby points out, twitching fingers through the air in mimed grasp of a cigarette's smooth form. "But /we/ are here."
A moment of silence greets this wisdom, which Shaw turns over and over visibly through liquor-drenched thinking. Then he brightens. "I have half a pack in my coat. And there's an alley. There's always an alley."
"There's snow in the alley," Sabby points out practically.
Shaw's face falls. "If only I had a pyrokinetic around," he laments.
"If only." Sabby glances at the bartender and her arriving drink and then inclines her head. "Pay for my drink," she requests. "And we'll brave the snow."
Shaw grins and straightens up. "I can do that," and he manages a courtly nod. Stops short of the full bow -- probably a good thing, since even that movement has his hands tightening convulsively on the bar's edge until his balance is surer. A swift glance dares her to comment, then he goes digging in his pockets for his money clip.
Sabitha does not comment, but she does offer a look, eloquent unto itself. Sabby stands on steady feet and shrugs back into her coat. Questions, "Can I leave my briefcase with your lackey, do you think?"
"Ohhhh, he's coming with us." Shaw peels off a careful fifty and splays it flat on the bar. There. He looks proudly at his work before blinking back to her. "I can't go anywhere without 'em. But he can stand guard at the alley mouth. And hold whatever you want. He's very good at holding things." A secret smile brushes his mouth.
Sabitha murmurs something inaudible and turns away from Shaw's smile to heft her briefcase herself and disappear toward the door while he worries about bill and lackey.
Shaw catches up after a minute, coated and pawned as is perfectly proper. "His name's Wang," he tosses Sabby-wards. The pawn just blinks at his counterpart, woeful and mute, and holds the door open for them.
"Oh," Sabby quips, dry. "Do they get names, now?"
Shaw promises her, "Just the very good ones," and stomps into the snow crusted against the threshold, thrown up by shovelers. Wang takes point for the great quest for the alleyway. His boss hunches up his shoulders toward his ears. "I never wear a hat. I should. My head gets cold. Not very smart, is it?"
"Not if you're wanting to stand in an alley for a smoke," Sabby suggests. She's already dug a pack from her coat pocket and taps a cigarette out to place it between her lips. She glances sideways at Shaw. "Did you smoke under the bleachers at school, too?"
"Hell, yes. And behind shop class after fourth period. Stole lots from the corner store. And my father." Shaw nods curtly to Wang, who does indeed take up guard position at the head of the alley, which is indeed choked with snow that makes white humps of the mysterious occupants already there (trash cans? bodies? vampires and demons and slayers, oh my?). He frowns at the sight, then at the woman. "Fix this," he declares.
Sabitha slants a startled glance at Shaw and then promptly ignores him. Her cigarette flares to life; that's as far as her mutation is going, at the moment.
Shaw scowls. "You're no fun."
"I'm not a pyrokinetic, Sebastian," Sabby points out evenly. Smoke trickles through thinned lips.
Shaw waves a dramatic hand. "Fire. Whatever you do with /fire/. Do it to the snow." He pauses. "Please."
"No." A cloud of smoke fogs the space between them.
Shaw sighs. "/No/ fun," he repeats, but resigned and kicks through the snow to the other side of the alley. He fiddles with his coat's buttons. Fights them, point of fact. Bad buttons! Open! Now!
"It'd be less fun with all the water," Sabby points out. She watches him curiously. "Are you having difficulty?"
"No," Shaw growls and gets the coat /open/, /there/. He turns his back on her. He does more fiddling, and then he sighs happily. Liquid starts splashing near silently (oh, but the snowbound city is so quiet!) against the next building's wall.
Sabitha watches Shaw a moment longer and then shakes her head in mild disbelief. "Right," she answers, and hefts her briefcase to head out of the alley. An aside to Wang notes, "Might not want to let him drink more, if he's hoping to be useful tomorrow."
Wang ducks his head (which is topped by a practical hat, to go with his practical coat and practical gloves). "It's been a rough time," he confides sotto voce, pawn to pawn. "You get used to it, and at least there's no throwing up. Or worse."
"My ears do work, you two. Knock it off." Shaw shakes off, zips up, buttons up, and turns around with a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His scowl hits Wang primarily, but there's enough left over for darling Ms. Melcross, too. "Can you light this for me?"
"Just not your brain," Sabby mutters in irritation. A glance over her shoulder sends his cigarette spiraling up in too-eager flames. Perhaps she misjudged her control.
Shaw yelps and shakes the flaming death-stick away from him. "Son of a /bitch/, girl! Was that really necessary?"
Sabitha lifts her brows and nods toward the alley wall. "Was /that/?"
Hissing, Shaw brings up his hand for a close inspection of any singed skin. "No idea you were that squeamish, Melcross. Just as well we never got into golden showers, huh?"
Sabitha rolls her eyes upward. "Oh, come off it, Sebastian," she retorts. Her eyes drop to his hand. "And stop being a baby. I didn't come close to getting you." She steps backward several paces with an impatient air and plucks her cigarette from between her lips to extend it to him in offering.
"I don't like fire," Shaw tells her tightly, nearly sober in his intensity, and doesn't move for the offering. His hands clench at his sides instead (and he sways, a bit, whee!). "I don't like fire coming /at/ me out of /no/where. I don't think that's being a 'baby,' so fuck off."
"Tsk," Sabby answers seriously. "Such language. Do you want a smoke or not?"
"Not if it comes with your prissy little missy judgment, no, thank you."
Sabitha laughs shortly and shrugs, replacing the cigarette between her lips. "You /are/ in a mood. Having trouble with one of your realms?"
Shaw thrusts his hands into his coat pockets. "I'm hardly going to confide in you," he tells her silkily.
Sabitha smiles sweetly. "Just bitch at me, mm?" She exhales spiraling smoke, directed politely to one side while she taps ash into the snow.
"Well, you /are/ good for that, you have to admit. You take a lot of abuse." Shaw smiles back. "I admire that in you."
Sabitha shakes her head over a quietly amused laugh and tips her head in acknowledgement. "My role in life," she responds, and steps toward the alley's mouth. "Try not to fall into an unpleasant puddle on the way home, Sebastian. I'm sure Wang has no desire to pick you up and wipe you off."
Wang's expression looks sneakily like complete agreement. Shaw just grumbles and goes digging for another cigarette in his coat. And for a lighter this time, too. "So very nice to see you again, too," he carols after her, false and uneven and thick. The lighter flicks; new smoke rises into the puffs of his fumey, fuming breath.
"You are an odd, odd man, Sebastian Shaw," Sabby returns, and her smile is somewhat genuine at the last before she departs and starts her way down the street.
[Log ends.]
Fire and snow. That'll be fun nightmare material. I can hardly wait.
Holland was reading some book about that when I saw her last. Something about snow and ashes. I don't remember. My head hurts.
Hydrate. Take a shower. Go to bed. Pray to an nonexistent God that the dreams do stay away.
Fire and snow . . .
2/15/2006
Logfile from Shaw of X-Men MUCK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bar should be smoky. It's that kind of room -- low-slung, dim, noisome -- but the smoking laws in New York City . . . alas. The ambience will have to be shouldered by the few patrons clustered at the spill-blotched bar up front and a couple tables scattered around it. The booths are all empty at this time, with this weather, except for the one occupied by two men with a table full of bottles and glasses between them. One of them, the lanky Chinese-American, clutches a beer uncomfortably and divides his sloe-eyed attention between the room and the other man. He -- Shaw -- is all fierce focus on the daunting task of weeding out the empties from the fulls. He fishes out one of the latter from the forest of the former, twists off the cap, and drains several long swallows on a single breath.
And in through the door, a mismatched pair of women, one tall and sliding past forty and the other short and barely beyond twenty. Both are dressed in businesswear and carrying briefcases, and both look eager at the prospect of a drink. Sabitha turns a wry smile to her companion, a response to some comment on the way in, and the pair of them direct themselves toward the bar to ask after specials.
"Don't," Shaw tells his companion without looking up from his beer. The other man's hand freezes on its way to pulling back (so subtly and sneakily!) the open whiskey bottle away from the boss. Who finishes the beer, sets it fastidiously aside into the stand of empties, reaches for the whiskey, and then, only then, looks at him. Dark eyes meet dark. Shaw's aren't the first to drop, so with a smirk, he pours himself a glass. Victory. His hands don't even shake. Much.
Sabitha and companion are at the bar just long enough to acquire two cocktails, fruity mixtures involved flavored vodka and juice, before Linda's cell starts a high-pitched chirping in her pocket. Sabby's frown creases her features and then relaxes into grudging understanding as she waves Linda away and settles in at the bar with her (now two) drinks and a sigh. Linda, cell attached to her ear, disappears back out the door to deal with some emergency or another.
"/Don't/," Shaw repeats, more loudly, firmly, as if he were addressing a dog about to crouch for a piddle on the good rug. The other man doesn't exactly lay his ears back, but he does cringe and mutter something. "--Fine. Go sit at the bar, then. You can see me fine from here, can't you?" He looks that away, judging the lines of sight -- and gets snagged on Sabby's shape. He blinks. Looks back at the pawn and drops his voice. "On second thought, stay here. /I'll/ go to the bar. We're out of gin, anyway."
Sabitha braces elbows on either side of her drink and lowers her chin to her hands while she makes momentary smalltalk with the barkeep before he's called away to attend to another patron. A sigh lifts her shoulders and echoes through her frame. She lowers one hand, stirs her tiny straw through her drink. Mutters something under her breath about forcing Linda to pick up the tab next time round.
Shaw's stance doesn't shake any more than his hands did in pouring the drink, but he does walk a touch /slowly/ across the floor and has aimed himself at Sabitha's back with the cold, aloof precision of an ICBM missile. Under the anxious eyes of his pawn, he stops himself beside and a little behind the woman (the faint wave of alcohol fumes might serve as his calling card) and asks cheerfully, "Is this seat taken?"
Sabitha lifts her head. Turns around. Frowns. Decides, in mild disbelief, on the evidence of cheerful inquiry and alcoholic fumes, "Sebastian Shaw. You are drunk."
"How can you tell?" Shaw starts to put his hands in his pockets, under the flap of his dark sports coat -- frowns, reconsiders, and braces himself with fingers curled around the edge of the bar instead. There. He smiles at Sabby. Hi. "It happens. From time to time. Are you here alone?"
Suspicion slithers across Sabby's smile, and she considers him for a moment before she lifts an allowing hand, palm up, to indicate the abandoned seat next to her. "I wasn't," she shares. "And now I am. You?"
Shaw jerks his chin over his shoulder, back at the booth. "Watchdog," he sighs. "Can't go anywhere without one of 'em. Oh, well. He's behaving himself, and I suppose I am, too, since he hasn't called in the SWAT team to get me back home." His teeth shine out a pleased, wet grin. "That'd be a splendid way to end the evening, though, I have to say."
"Fighting with a SWAT team?" Sabby questions blankly, and swivels her drink up for a long sip.
"Sure. Why not?" Shaw puts more of his weight into his braced lean, and his grin thins out into narrower and meaner pleasure. "If it's good enough for /Magneto/, it's gotta be good enough for me."
Sabitha regards Sebastian with a sense of heavy disbelief and slides her drink back to the bar. There's a moment in which she finds herself with absolutely nothing to say. Eventually she leans sideways against the bar to ask, "Is there some sort of scorecard? Do you call each other up now and then and compare ratings?"
"And then measure our penises, yes. That's usually how it's done."
Sabitha lifts her brows, just slightly. "And who wins?"
Shaw smiles. "Screw him, and then you can tell me, can't you?"
Sabitha meets smile with smile, sharp and wicked. "Ever so sad we can't just ask Sabella."
Shaw laughs. "Yes. No. You're right. Good one. Clever Ms. Melcross. But she's dead. Thank God," he huffs. "Too many evil dramatic mutants running around this city for my taste."
Sabitha slides her glass up for another drink, hiding the beginnings of a laughing smile. "Maybe there's a hellmouth," she suggests.
Frowning, Shaw turns from her to rest both hands on the bar, the heels taking his weight. "What's a hellmouth?"
The beginnings slide into a full-fledged laugh, quiet but brimming with amusement. She shakes her head, lowers her glass to rest against her thigh. "Probably not your sort of thing, Sebastian. Don't worry about it."
Peevishly Shaw wonders, "Is it something secret? Does it have anything to do with hellfire?" His voice keeps the capitalization off the word, but the Black King still has all of his precious, pride-poked dignity on. "Don't taunt me. It isn't nice."
Sabitha presses fingers against her mouth, containing her laugh behind them before she allows him the easy explanation, "It's from a television show. There are vampires involved. Hellfire too, occasionally."
Shaw sniffs haughtily. "/Vampires/."
Sabitha tilts a shoulder up in unrepentant apology. "You asked," she points out.
"But vampires aren't even /real/," Shaw persists, rounding wide black eyes on her with soaked (fumey!) reproach. "How can you watch a show about something that's so fake? Do the actors lisp around their stupid pointy teeth?"
"That's why it's television," Sabby suggests, meeting wide eyes with wide eyes, all innocence if you can ignore the dancing amusement there. "It's quite interesting. Ask your Bishop sometime. I'm sure he'll be quite happy to loan you the DVDs."
Shaw's gaze cuts away for a fast scan of any listeners in the area, and paranoia fairly comes off him in waves. "My -- right. Sure. I don't watch TV. Except for news and sports." He shifts to graciousness, however: "All the more left for you. Enjoy it."
Sabitha watches Shaw's paranoid gaze with mild interest and meets graciousness with easy dismissal. "You watch news and sports and I'll wallow in things with less prestege and far greater entertainment value, hm?"
"To each his own," agrees Shaw and then looks around more slowly, with another frown. "I had a drink. Didn't I bring it over?"
Sabitha nudges her extra glass toward him with lifted brows. "You can have this. It might insult your masculinity, though. There's fruit involved."
Shaw gives her a heavy stare. "It isn't as if you're askin' me to deep-throat it," he points out. "Are you?"
"Would you?" Sabby asks with great interest.
Shaw's eyes drop to the glass, which gets an engineer's analytical study. "I don't think," he finally concludes, "that I could get my mouth around it. So, cunnilingus 'stead of fellatio. Oh, well. Thanks; I'll take it. What is it?"
Sabitha tsks, tongue against the roof of her mouth as she shakes her head. "What sort of business tycoon are you, honestly? Never had to do a favor or two to get to the top, Sebastian?" She leans sideways, elbow bracing against the bar, and tilts a shrug. "Not a clue. There's watermelon vodka in it. That's all I've got for you."
Shaw decides, "Vodka's all right," and picks up the glass for a cautious sip. It doesn't kill him on the spot, so he has a full swallow. "--Favor? Jesus Christ. No." He stares at her with fresh fascination. "D'you really think that's what my job's like?"
Sabitha meets his gaze with even acknowledgement. "Well," she answers blandly. "Mine is. Aren't they all?"
That pauses Shaw for a moment (and another swallow, downed as if the drink were water). "I don't know," he admits. "I made my own company. Never worked for anyone else in my life. --Isn't something I /require/ from employees, though. I run a clean business, dammit."
Sabitha's lips curl at the corners, amused reaction to the pause, and taps her fingers around the curve of her glass. "Do you? Not an inch of corruption or sexual politics anywhere in /your/ realm, Sebastian?" Her smile broadens, full, and she lifts her glass for a sip. "How ambitious of you."
Shaw's voice chills, thickens with disdain. "EEO laws would have me drawn, quartered, and left out to dry, /Sabitha/. If I didn't run a clean business, I wouldn't have a business, period." He shakes his head, loosening strands of flyaway hair, and finishes the drink on another few swallows. He blinks reaction-reddened eyes that strike off her like flint. "My realm is something else," he says more casually. "Different realm. Lots of realms. I have a lot of realms."
Sabitha is not-quite laughing again, with a serious expression that nods at each of his points and eyes that absolutely refuse to behave. Another sip. "Many hats," she acknowledges. Does not add, despite her intense desire, 'crowns.'
Shaw rolls his eyes. "Having fun?"
"And I'm not even drunk," Sabby points out, smiling.
The corner of Shaw's mouth twitches upward. "If you get judgmental on me -- hell. Might as well go back to drinkin' with the idiot back there."
"Is that what I'm doing?" Sabby asks, marveling. "Interesting. You really are quite drunk, aren't you?"
Shaw pushes the emptied glass aside on the bar so he can lean over it on folded arms. A sidelong glance at her; a puzzled study. "Not that much. Steady buzz, although that vodka, now, I can feel it. Not my favorite, vodka, but it gets the job done."
"Ah. Working toward drunk?" Sabitha questions, bland and absent curiousity as she twists her straw through vodka and juice and ice.
"No." He looks sour. "I do have work in the morning."
Sabitha leans to pat at his shoulder, consoling. "Me too. Bitch, ain't it?"
Shaw flinches away from the touch, and his head draws back like a startled cat's. At least his lips don't draw back in a hiss.
Sabitha's brows fly up as she retreats, and she watches him with sudden increased interest. Her hand falls to her lap and she sits in thoughtful silence.
After a tense second or three, Shaw forces a shrug and looks to the bottles lined up behind the bar. "Haven't seen you in a while." It's an observation.
"No," Sabby agrees, and watches him. Teases, smiling, "Missed my smiling, joyful presence, have you?"
Shaw's mouth twitches again. "No," he answers, deliberate echo. "You haven't missed mine, either."
Sabitha tips her head in smiling acknowledgement. "Busy times," she answers.
The near-smile transmutes into a scowl. "You have no idea."
Sabitha lifts her brows again, silent question and suggestion, and falls back to her drink.
Shaw snorts, but softly. "Nothing we can talk about here. You know that."
"Oh, mm," Sabby acknowledges, and lifts her glass in a half-toast. "Shifting shadows. I'm telling you. New York's sitting on a Hellmouth."
A slouch puts a valley in Shaw's spine. "I guess. Do Hellmouths possess people? Can it work like that?"
Sabitha shifts to cross one leg over the other and notes, "Anything can possess people. Feeling a bit bewitched, Sebastian?"
Shaw is quiet for a minute, during which time one hand drums arrhythmic fingers on the bar. "Bewitched, bedazzled, and bewildered. --No. It's not . . . no. Never mind. I never said anything."
Sabitha responds in allowing silence, and turns to the bartender to wave a requesting hand.
"I had a drink," Shaw says abruptly to the gesture. "But I didn't bring it with me. Shit."
Sabitha flicks her fingers at the approaching 'tender. "Buy another one," she suggests. "You're not lacking in funds."
Shaw snorts his way into a tired chuckle. "That's true, but I really might tip over into full-blown drunk, and then there'd be all kinds of trouble. Thanks, anyway. So kind, looking out for me."
Sabitha requests her second drink and glances sideways at him. "Do you need a babysitter now?"
"I need," Shaw mutters, "a cigarette."
Sabitha smiles bitterness. "Illegal," she points out. "Buy the bar. Private establishment, you could light right up."
Shaw slants a smile back at her. "Already have one of those. Could've stayed there tonight. Cigars are there."
"Ah," Sabby points out, twitching fingers through the air in mimed grasp of a cigarette's smooth form. "But /we/ are here."
A moment of silence greets this wisdom, which Shaw turns over and over visibly through liquor-drenched thinking. Then he brightens. "I have half a pack in my coat. And there's an alley. There's always an alley."
"There's snow in the alley," Sabby points out practically.
Shaw's face falls. "If only I had a pyrokinetic around," he laments.
"If only." Sabby glances at the bartender and her arriving drink and then inclines her head. "Pay for my drink," she requests. "And we'll brave the snow."
Shaw grins and straightens up. "I can do that," and he manages a courtly nod. Stops short of the full bow -- probably a good thing, since even that movement has his hands tightening convulsively on the bar's edge until his balance is surer. A swift glance dares her to comment, then he goes digging in his pockets for his money clip.
Sabitha does not comment, but she does offer a look, eloquent unto itself. Sabby stands on steady feet and shrugs back into her coat. Questions, "Can I leave my briefcase with your lackey, do you think?"
"Ohhhh, he's coming with us." Shaw peels off a careful fifty and splays it flat on the bar. There. He looks proudly at his work before blinking back to her. "I can't go anywhere without 'em. But he can stand guard at the alley mouth. And hold whatever you want. He's very good at holding things." A secret smile brushes his mouth.
Sabitha murmurs something inaudible and turns away from Shaw's smile to heft her briefcase herself and disappear toward the door while he worries about bill and lackey.
Shaw catches up after a minute, coated and pawned as is perfectly proper. "His name's Wang," he tosses Sabby-wards. The pawn just blinks at his counterpart, woeful and mute, and holds the door open for them.
"Oh," Sabby quips, dry. "Do they get names, now?"
Shaw promises her, "Just the very good ones," and stomps into the snow crusted against the threshold, thrown up by shovelers. Wang takes point for the great quest for the alleyway. His boss hunches up his shoulders toward his ears. "I never wear a hat. I should. My head gets cold. Not very smart, is it?"
"Not if you're wanting to stand in an alley for a smoke," Sabby suggests. She's already dug a pack from her coat pocket and taps a cigarette out to place it between her lips. She glances sideways at Shaw. "Did you smoke under the bleachers at school, too?"
"Hell, yes. And behind shop class after fourth period. Stole lots from the corner store. And my father." Shaw nods curtly to Wang, who does indeed take up guard position at the head of the alley, which is indeed choked with snow that makes white humps of the mysterious occupants already there (trash cans? bodies? vampires and demons and slayers, oh my?). He frowns at the sight, then at the woman. "Fix this," he declares.
Sabitha slants a startled glance at Shaw and then promptly ignores him. Her cigarette flares to life; that's as far as her mutation is going, at the moment.
Shaw scowls. "You're no fun."
"I'm not a pyrokinetic, Sebastian," Sabby points out evenly. Smoke trickles through thinned lips.
Shaw waves a dramatic hand. "Fire. Whatever you do with /fire/. Do it to the snow." He pauses. "Please."
"No." A cloud of smoke fogs the space between them.
Shaw sighs. "/No/ fun," he repeats, but resigned and kicks through the snow to the other side of the alley. He fiddles with his coat's buttons. Fights them, point of fact. Bad buttons! Open! Now!
"It'd be less fun with all the water," Sabby points out. She watches him curiously. "Are you having difficulty?"
"No," Shaw growls and gets the coat /open/, /there/. He turns his back on her. He does more fiddling, and then he sighs happily. Liquid starts splashing near silently (oh, but the snowbound city is so quiet!) against the next building's wall.
Sabitha watches Shaw a moment longer and then shakes her head in mild disbelief. "Right," she answers, and hefts her briefcase to head out of the alley. An aside to Wang notes, "Might not want to let him drink more, if he's hoping to be useful tomorrow."
Wang ducks his head (which is topped by a practical hat, to go with his practical coat and practical gloves). "It's been a rough time," he confides sotto voce, pawn to pawn. "You get used to it, and at least there's no throwing up. Or worse."
"My ears do work, you two. Knock it off." Shaw shakes off, zips up, buttons up, and turns around with a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His scowl hits Wang primarily, but there's enough left over for darling Ms. Melcross, too. "Can you light this for me?"
"Just not your brain," Sabby mutters in irritation. A glance over her shoulder sends his cigarette spiraling up in too-eager flames. Perhaps she misjudged her control.
Shaw yelps and shakes the flaming death-stick away from him. "Son of a /bitch/, girl! Was that really necessary?"
Sabitha lifts her brows and nods toward the alley wall. "Was /that/?"
Hissing, Shaw brings up his hand for a close inspection of any singed skin. "No idea you were that squeamish, Melcross. Just as well we never got into golden showers, huh?"
Sabitha rolls her eyes upward. "Oh, come off it, Sebastian," she retorts. Her eyes drop to his hand. "And stop being a baby. I didn't come close to getting you." She steps backward several paces with an impatient air and plucks her cigarette from between her lips to extend it to him in offering.
"I don't like fire," Shaw tells her tightly, nearly sober in his intensity, and doesn't move for the offering. His hands clench at his sides instead (and he sways, a bit, whee!). "I don't like fire coming /at/ me out of /no/where. I don't think that's being a 'baby,' so fuck off."
"Tsk," Sabby answers seriously. "Such language. Do you want a smoke or not?"
"Not if it comes with your prissy little missy judgment, no, thank you."
Sabitha laughs shortly and shrugs, replacing the cigarette between her lips. "You /are/ in a mood. Having trouble with one of your realms?"
Shaw thrusts his hands into his coat pockets. "I'm hardly going to confide in you," he tells her silkily.
Sabitha smiles sweetly. "Just bitch at me, mm?" She exhales spiraling smoke, directed politely to one side while she taps ash into the snow.
"Well, you /are/ good for that, you have to admit. You take a lot of abuse." Shaw smiles back. "I admire that in you."
Sabitha shakes her head over a quietly amused laugh and tips her head in acknowledgement. "My role in life," she responds, and steps toward the alley's mouth. "Try not to fall into an unpleasant puddle on the way home, Sebastian. I'm sure Wang has no desire to pick you up and wipe you off."
Wang's expression looks sneakily like complete agreement. Shaw just grumbles and goes digging for another cigarette in his coat. And for a lighter this time, too. "So very nice to see you again, too," he carols after her, false and uneven and thick. The lighter flicks; new smoke rises into the puffs of his fumey, fuming breath.
"You are an odd, odd man, Sebastian Shaw," Sabby returns, and her smile is somewhat genuine at the last before she departs and starts her way down the street.
[Log ends.]