(Untitled)

[victrixs]

WHO: Mello and Kusuriuri.
WHAT: Late night imposition.
WHEN: After this.
WHERE: Kusuriuri's storage unit.

Comments

ignore my tense

[auburn_ivory]

He had never had much use for homes, too many times over his endless years had he seen the filth and terrors that men invited into their seats of power. The atrocities they committed. He had no need for it. His home was within him, cradled in the arms of a dark skinned demon whose golden markings writhed like hydras. Thus laid his heart, better protected than four walls could ever have hoped.

However, it had been a long time since he had been forced to stop anywhere and this... Eronum had stopped him. He did not understand the nature of it and that vexed him, but the novelty of perhaps living amongst these creatures for a while intrigued him, amused him, though he knew the boredom would return.

And thus this place. A square gray building, its insides lined with a labyrinth of small rooms. One of those storage units was his, though he spent no time there. Yet, Mello had asked. He approached from the West, spotting the boy and pinning on an amused expression.

"Shall we go in?"

/ignores

[victrixs]

Eyes embedded with reinforced blue-steel cant toward his evening company, and he doesn't reign in curiosity, hasn't since their introduction and won't until he's satisfied. It burns bright in the vigor of his expression. Nothing gives him away but that lift of lips, wry tension at the narrow cat corners of his mouth. As if he's very tickled.

"Don't tell me this is the most convenient address you could dig up," Mello ventures. He's not sure how he likes the thought of cold concrete, intermittent doorways like pocket dividers, hallway after hallway of gaudy paint. "Not too luxurious for your guests." Mello places emphasis on guest, stressing his own importance with an arrogant look.

In the dark, Mello notes differences in how the medicine man fits his surroundings. Under florescent lights he's sure it'll be stranger. "So, Kusuriuri." The name rolls off his tongue like a foreign flavor, succinctly delivered. "Had any customers?"

[auburn_ivory]

Gracious and smiling, he leads the way inside. The man at the front desk does not notice them. The camera in the hallways do not catch them. His dated wooden sandals do not click on the tilted floors, do not echo off the cold concrete blocks

ashamedly late

[victrixs]

The decoration stands out to him immediately, a swarm of paper symbols he doesn't recognize, wonders if he should have expected such an odd accumulation. As far as his expectation goes, he's not surprised at the lack of furnishing, is more struck by the wallpaper, as it shows his company hadn't chosen any nondescript room. He'd already picked this, lucky 77. The forethought is a little interesting.

"What are these?" the boy asks, blue eyes already on the prowl of the area; a habit that's clung since he hit the streets as a barely-teen. He's brought his gun with him, a shiny pistol tucked into the band of his own pants in favor of a proper case, and Mello's wrapped in the same leather he wore during their first meeting, white undershirt peeking below the collar of that well-worn jacket.

Prying, plucking fingertips reach for one of those seals, intent to tear it from the concrete wall of the room.