[ if Badou's looking for a reaction, then it's most fortunate for him that Genkaku is already halfway through his Lazy Day. his day off where the junkies don't bother him and he's left with his own twitches, where it's his own dirty bootsmears in his cushioncouch, where he's kicked Hibana and Kenga out (read: persuaded), where he's got no tells and no plans.
just him and the background static of the T.V. playing some shitty Love-Scorned movie (but it has noise and guns in it and that's what's important) while he clips his toenails.
[the grin that'd come to his lips sometime during Junkie pieces of shit and continued to grow wider as the door opened, turns over into an open-mouthed gape at the question]
What? Did you just really ask me what the fuck 4/20 is? What kinda pothead are you?
[ he fills the silence of his own with not outright disgust at the personal space invasion, nor revulsion at the act of being sniffed, but instead a sort of distant admiration.
[ and when he laughs, the only scent that rolls off of him is nicotine.
(he had put them down and picked them up and rolled around in a bed with them, but he's accidentally hopped the Regular's Train via Platform Because Of Badou.) ]
[he brightens, long strides taking him into the shack]
[in the kitchen, the cartons of cancer on the table get a downright lecherous once-over, and he shakes his head as he opens the fridge for a beer]
[ -- except there isn't any?]
Hey, you're outta...
[the cartons on the table are suddenly too loud]
[he frowns, the junkietwitch grin fading again, and his sentence switches entirely, as rapidly as the light in the closing fridge]
These oughta be the last ones you gotta get. I got more'n half saved now, been doin' two missions this month an' a bunch of odd jobs. I'm this close, I got it picked out an' all, too.
[ he's already flopped back down on the cushions by the time Badou turns around to speak to him, drowning out the sounds with final toenail clippings as he kicks off his other boot and slides on twine flip-flops. ]
Unh? What're you on about?
[ and as if he were punctuating the fact he couldn't hear or just didn't care, the TV volume dials up a few notches. ]
( ... )
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just him and the background static of the T.V. playing some shitty Love-Scorned movie (but it has noise and guns in it and that's what's important) while he clips his toenails.
snkt. takatakaclippit-- snkt. ]
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Hn?
[ and with one boot on and the other forgotten on his couch, he stomp-tap stomp-tap's to the door to investigate. ]
Swear t'fuck, if one'a you junkie pieces of shit foun' me--
[ maybe it's a better call to paranoia than he ever really gives away in his body language. that is, after all, something he's far more greedy about.
and the indeed self-serving fuck does just that, giving an uproarious laugh at the doodles above the caricatures.
the door slides open with Genkaku clutching his stitched gut. ]
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The fuck is 4/20? I know it ain't my birthday 'cuz I ain't got one.
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What? Did you just really ask me what the fuck 4/20 is? What kinda pothead are you?
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[there's a small pause, and he takes a step forward, sniffing hard]
Unless yer so high already you forgot what the fuck you was celebratin' -- !
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[ he fills the silence of his own with not outright disgust at the personal space invasion, nor revulsion at the act of being sniffed, but instead a sort of distant admiration.
his fucking fox. ]
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(he had put them down and picked them up and rolled around in a bed with them, but he's accidentally hopped the Regular's Train via Platform Because Of Badou.) ]
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[well, shit, maybe he's telling the truth]
[hands go on his hips, scowling absently]
You tellin' me you dunno what 4/20 is, for real? It's just about the best goddamn holiday there is.
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All my holidays are Buddhist, Fox.
[ and he narrows on looking cross and steps aside, letting him pass into the shack without his blocking body. ]
Good ya came by, anyway. There's smokes on the table.
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[he brightens, long strides taking him into the shack]
[in the kitchen, the cartons of cancer on the table get a downright lecherous once-over, and he shakes his head as he opens the fridge for a beer]
[ -- except there isn't any?]
Hey, you're outta...
[the cartons on the table are suddenly too loud]
[he frowns, the junkietwitch grin fading again, and his sentence switches entirely, as rapidly as the light in the closing fridge]
These oughta be the last ones you gotta get. I got more'n half saved now, been doin' two missions this month an' a bunch of odd jobs. I'm this close, I got it picked out an' all, too.
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Unh? What're you on about?
[ and as if he were punctuating the fact he couldn't hear or just didn't care, the TV volume dials up a few notches. ]
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What, ya blow out ya hearing with your own shitty guitar playin'? I said you ain't gotta buy any more cartons. It's nearly all squared.
[it's obvious he doesn't particularly care what Genkaku's response to this is, as he switches gears again]
[climbing onto the arm of the couch, his boots mark a few more smears into the cushions as he faces the other man]
We're wastin' artificial lighting, here. It's a sacred day.
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... well at least it ain't circular. he can't deal with more fucking unbroken cycles. ]
'Ey, don't waste the word "sacred" with your EuroTrash bullshit; I got real holidays to live, y'know.
[ but before he can snap back, he fills in quickly, looking up at the suspended higher undergrounder (ain't that somethin'). ]
... What is it.
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National Weed Day, you fuckin' barbarian of the East.
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We ain't in a nation. The Nation'a Thor?
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