[Pangaia] somewhere in the Olfridulfr complex . . .
Title: nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! the doorman
'Verse/characters: Pangaia; Dutch and Yasha
Prompt: 53B "lust"
Word Count: 720
Notes: So zero_pixel_coun handed me "skinned knuckles", and klgaffney wanted Yasha. Apparently this means I needed to write in someone else's universe. Go figure!
There was snow drifted up to the second level windowsills--downstairs had to be dark, but Dutch's key-signature aimed them at one of the empty rooms people dropped cots in for naps.
This one had all of two cots, shoved up to opposite walls, with the door and a window between them. Dutch was pacing the length of the room on the window side, boots wearing a track through a light scattering of dust.
Aodh trilled the rising tones of a foxish hello, and Dutch paused in pacing, turned away from the window, gave them both a nod. Aodh grinned back, then did that creepy not-door fadeout where you could see the wall behind him before he was completely gone.
"Kid," Dutch gave the fingertips salute of a teacher to a student, and Yasha echoed with the proper fist of student to teacher.
"Captaen," he replied, essayed a grin that Dutch echoed with a faint quirk of lips and eyes.
Then Dutch went back to pacing, muttering under his breath and waving his hands occasionally. If he'd been--well, anyone but a doorman--Yasha would've figured him for holding up one end of a conversation, but doormen went completely still when they were talking for themselves, and relaying made No Sense for the situation.
Then one of Dutch's hands went by at eye level and Yasha's brain froze.
"Wait, Dutch--" three pop-in pop-out doors slowed Dutch's hand enough for him to grab the sidhe's wrist and flip his hand over to peer at . . . raw, seeping knuckles.
He let go instantly--Dutch left his hand in range--showed his empty palms in quick surrender. "What happened?"
Dutch glanced down at his hand, then coughed a small dry chuckle. "Funny thing about magis training--they forget they have noses, too."
Yasha blinked. Blinked again, re-running the calculations that led to "You punched a magis in the face."
"And the ears. And the kidneys. And the ribs." Dutch looked . . kind of smug, for a doorman. "Oh, and that diaphragm shot was good--he choked on 26.45% of a word."
Yasha tried to project the tangle of emotions banging around in his head, which, as usual, just knocked Dutch out of whatever his train of thought had been and made him look like he was starting on a headache.
Yasha made a face for a click, then tried "What happened?" again, to see if the results were different.
"Magis Saulnier figured he could talk Ceannard Shanghai into bed."
Well, that was differen--wait. "Doesn't Ceannard Shanghai only like girls?"
"He said he'd change her mind."
The words were even, but--oh. Oh.
"Oh," he said out loud. "And he didn't notice you were standing right there?"
"His unit's got a standard-issue Door," which meant one of the ones who couldn't maintain personality protocols well off-duty, let alone on, "and it's possible he didn't notice anyway, yes."
"51%?" Yasha guessed, and Dutch laughed again.
"62--he'd consumed most of a pitcher."
"You totally saw it come back up, didn't you," Yasha muttered, mildly disgusted. "Ew. You didn't see Erlan?"
"For scraped knuckles?" Dutch half-challenged, then flopped down to sit on one of the cots, raising a small cloud of dust that hung in the pale winter sunlight coming through the window. It made Yasha barely the taller of the pair of them--sandblasted tall sidhe--and he squinted at his teacher thoughtfully.
Then reached out, made a couple of doors, snagged disinfectant and cotton balls, let the doors pop closed again. "You or me?"
Dutch snorted, but his eyes were a little warm. "You're the one stuck on the thought, you can do the work."
"Kay," he replied, and sat down cross-legged next to Dutch on the cot, bottle propped between his knee and Dutch's thigh, and snagged the sidhe's wrist again.
He'd last done this for his mother, when she'd scraped up both her hands clearing a new courtyard of fallen trash. Aodh never showed hand-scrapes--Yasha had a feeling that Aodh had a tendency to punch with his boots and use his hands to set things on fire--but he hadn't completely lost his touch.
The scrapes really weren't all that deep, and there was no swelling that suggested bruised or broken bones, thank whoever looked after crazy doormen, but Dutch let him work in silence, the faint buzz of his constantly running calculations a soothing white noise in Yasha's head.
'Verse/characters: Pangaia; Dutch and Yasha
Prompt: 53B "lust"
Word Count: 720
Notes: So zero_pixel_coun handed me "skinned knuckles", and klgaffney wanted Yasha. Apparently this means I needed to write in someone else's universe. Go figure!
There was snow drifted up to the second level windowsills--downstairs had to be dark, but Dutch's key-signature aimed them at one of the empty rooms people dropped cots in for naps.
This one had all of two cots, shoved up to opposite walls, with the door and a window between them. Dutch was pacing the length of the room on the window side, boots wearing a track through a light scattering of dust.
Aodh trilled the rising tones of a foxish hello, and Dutch paused in pacing, turned away from the window, gave them both a nod. Aodh grinned back, then did that creepy not-door fadeout where you could see the wall behind him before he was completely gone.
"Kid," Dutch gave the fingertips salute of a teacher to a student, and Yasha echoed with the proper fist of student to teacher.
"Captaen," he replied, essayed a grin that Dutch echoed with a faint quirk of lips and eyes.
Then Dutch went back to pacing, muttering under his breath and waving his hands occasionally. If he'd been--well, anyone but a doorman--Yasha would've figured him for holding up one end of a conversation, but doormen went completely still when they were talking for themselves, and relaying made No Sense for the situation.
Then one of Dutch's hands went by at eye level and Yasha's brain froze.
"Wait, Dutch--" three pop-in pop-out doors slowed Dutch's hand enough for him to grab the sidhe's wrist and flip his hand over to peer at . . . raw, seeping knuckles.
He let go instantly--Dutch left his hand in range--showed his empty palms in quick surrender. "What happened?"
Dutch glanced down at his hand, then coughed a small dry chuckle. "Funny thing about magis training--they forget they have noses, too."
Yasha blinked. Blinked again, re-running the calculations that led to "You punched a magis in the face."
"And the ears. And the kidneys. And the ribs." Dutch looked . . kind of smug, for a doorman. "Oh, and that diaphragm shot was good--he choked on 26.45% of a word."
Yasha tried to project the tangle of emotions banging around in his head, which, as usual, just knocked Dutch out of whatever his train of thought had been and made him look like he was starting on a headache.
Yasha made a face for a click, then tried "What happened?" again, to see if the results were different.
"Magis Saulnier figured he could talk Ceannard Shanghai into bed."
Well, that was differen--wait. "Doesn't Ceannard Shanghai only like girls?"
"He said he'd change her mind."
The words were even, but--oh. Oh.
"Oh," he said out loud. "And he didn't notice you were standing right there?"
"His unit's got a standard-issue Door," which meant one of the ones who couldn't maintain personality protocols well off-duty, let alone on, "and it's possible he didn't notice anyway, yes."
"51%?" Yasha guessed, and Dutch laughed again.
"62--he'd consumed most of a pitcher."
"You totally saw it come back up, didn't you," Yasha muttered, mildly disgusted. "Ew. You didn't see Erlan?"
"For scraped knuckles?" Dutch half-challenged, then flopped down to sit on one of the cots, raising a small cloud of dust that hung in the pale winter sunlight coming through the window. It made Yasha barely the taller of the pair of them--sandblasted tall sidhe--and he squinted at his teacher thoughtfully.
Then reached out, made a couple of doors, snagged disinfectant and cotton balls, let the doors pop closed again. "You or me?"
Dutch snorted, but his eyes were a little warm. "You're the one stuck on the thought, you can do the work."
"Kay," he replied, and sat down cross-legged next to Dutch on the cot, bottle propped between his knee and Dutch's thigh, and snagged the sidhe's wrist again.
He'd last done this for his mother, when she'd scraped up both her hands clearing a new courtyard of fallen trash. Aodh never showed hand-scrapes--Yasha had a feeling that Aodh had a tendency to punch with his boots and use his hands to set things on fire--but he hadn't completely lost his touch.
The scrapes really weren't all that deep, and there was no swelling that suggested bruised or broken bones, thank whoever looked after crazy doormen, but Dutch let him work in silence, the faint buzz of his constantly running calculations a soothing white noise in Yasha's head.