(no subject)

[sleazeoverstyle]

For years now, he's been the kind of guy to sleep with one eye open. He doesn't trust anyone, sleeps with a weapon in reach, even after a night like the one he and Sin had and it ain't nothin' against her. It's just how he's wired. That don't mean he doesn't wake up with his arm thrown over her, the warmth of her skin seeping in. She's friggin' fun, and he knew he wasn't gonna regret it.

Fuck no. She's got this thing in her tongue that's just... yeah, the memory of it makes him smile right into his pillow.

He might not be much for lyin' around, but he ain't quite ready to get out of bed yet.

Comments

[abyssum_invocat]

There are many things that register fairly immediately when Sin wakes up every morning; whether or not she's in her apartment, if she's got someone with her, whether or not she's bleeding or about to be, and where her glasses are. She certainly remembers sleeping with Reno and being at his place, and so it doesn't shock her to wake up in unfamiliar surroundings this time, though she stays still and quiet for a minute before moving, feeling a warm male body at her back.

She yawns once, and is only mildly surprised to still have her piercings all filled after sleep. A lazy smile creeps up on her mouth as she remembers she was hardly in a mood to take them all out.

"Mmmmnf."

[sleazeoverstyle]

"How you doin'."

It ain't a question, not really. His fingertips move over that scar down low beneath her belly, treat it like it's somethin' worth investigating. It is, for sure, but he's gonna let her steer the ship this morning. They're in his place, so he kind of automatically is in the power position but he'll make things equal and even. It ain't something he always does; it ain't something he even usually does.

But Sin's cool. Besides, he's got the feeling if he doesn't, she'll kick his ass, and that ain't his thing.

[abyssum_invocat]

She blinks, and smiles as she runs a hand over her face, very aware they're both naked, and not bothered by it. Sin tilts her head to look over her shoulder at him, turning onto her other side, and when everything's blurry there's a tiny laugh. "Blind without my glasses."

Everything past about his shoulder is completely out of focus. "Hey."

[sleazeoverstyle]

She's pretty. Pretty in a weird sort of way, but pretty. It might be he ain't the type to trace the lines of her face with his fingertips; they're too rough for that. But since she was nice enough to turn toward him, he helps himself to a kiss.

His eyes are good, so he has to narrow 'em and half-shut 'em to blur things and he can't keep it up for long, but he reaches over and picks up her glasses from where they are on the floor, hands them over.

"Just in case you wanna see if you still like my hair by daylight."

He can be nice when he wants. Right now, he wants to. There ain't no rush to get up and get goin'. It's Sunday. He's off the friggin' clock, and that's a real good thing.

[abyssum_invocat]

The way she sees without her glasses, not reaching for her face is a very smart decision on Reno's part. Sin slides them on, and lays her head back down; he's not in a hurry to go anywhere and neither is she right now and it looks like a pretty good morning so far.

"I still like it. Suits you." She tugs very lightly on the long loose tail of it, letting it tangle around her fingers. In the slanted light other scars are visible where they cast tiny shadows--one thin one around her neck, one just under her ribs. "Still like mine by daylight?" It's sticking up in places until she runs a hand through it.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Fuck yeah I do." She's gonna play with his hair, then he's gonna play with hers. It's a couple different colors: red, yellow, black, and his fingers find the strands, test them, separate them, run through them. It's almost more close affection than he can stand, but he likes the different colors and if he looks at 'em as just that, it doesn't need to be some friggin' expression of fondness or nothin'.

'Cause he ain't that way, and got no intention of ever bein' that way. He ain't even sure he could be one of those guys.

Nah. He friggin' knows he couldn't.

[abyssum_invocat]

The only reason she's playing with his hair is because it interests her, and she rolls her eyes up in an attempt to watch his hand. Or his wrist, as it happens. Sin rarely expects declarations of fondness; she figures him sleeping with her and not booting her out yet is enough of one, words don't need to come into the equation.

"Nice. 'M gonna say you like the tongue bar, then," she murmurs with a twist of her mouth.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Guilty."

Ain't no point in not admitting it. But the bigger question, he thinks -- seein' as how he's actually thinkin' with his brain this morning (at least so far) -- is does she like it.

And fuck yeah, she likes it or she wouldn't have done it. Kind of like getting tattoos, and she's got plenty of those: no one forces you to get your tongue pierced just like no one forces you to do the kinds of things with it she does. Well, maybe that ain't true, but at least he wouldn't force anyone to do anything. He figures it's enough someone puts out for him. Why be an asshole on top of that?

Besides, there's always someone else willing and able. That's been his thing for years.

Years.

"Hey. I know this good breakfast place. If you're hungry." He's only over there three, four times a week. "'Cause I sure as fuck don't cook." Plus, Midgar's so friggin' pretty after Meteor, half destroyed and everything. He knows his way around it good enough, though, and he's a Turk. No one fucks with him.

Only the little kids.

[abyssum_invocat]

It took a while to really like it--and she fuckin' hated the way it made her lisp for a good two weeks. Sounded like a retard as well as looking like a freak, back then, but she grew into it from a punk-ass tomboy with too much attitude and not enough muscle into a young woman with enough ferocity to carve her own niche and beat out everybody else in her business to win it. But none of this gets vocalized; Reno didn't ask for her life story and she's not gonna heap it on him like he's a therapist or some shit.

"I could go for food. Gotta find all my clothes, unless you're aiming to see me walk around naked." She probably won't put all of it on, but pants and something to cover her from the waist up would be nice to avoid giving everyone she walks by a show. (That, and she doubts Reno has enough tape to make pants and strategically-placed suspenders work.)

[sleazeoverstyle]

That offer makes him laugh, a little bit, but he sits up and reaches for his clothes, a small smile playing over his face.

"Seein' as how I ain't got no pets to tear 'em apart or nothin', all your clothes should still be around. Might be like a little treasure hunt finding 'em." They did get strewn about with a little bit of reckless abandon. "You want a shower or anything, let me know. Walkin' around naked is okay in this house. Do it as much as you want."

He can always grab his own shower later, and he looks at the shirt he wore last night, decides against it, goes to his closet for a new one. That's better. (The cleaner down the street loves his ass.)

[abyssum_invocat]

Sitting up makes her pleasantly aware of soreness in not-entirely-bad places, which makes her smile slowly as she climbs out of his bed and sets to finding clothes. The first thing is pants, suspenders still attached, and so she tosses them into a chair for relatively easy retrieval after a shower.

Eventually, all of the outfit from last night gets collected and ends up in the same chair after some shaking out, sans underwear. Sin isn't worried; it's not like she wears them obsessively or anything, because sometimes she's just in a hurry. "A shower would be nice if you have one. If you don't, no biggie."

[sleazeoverstyle]

Running a brush through his hair, he's gotta laugh. "Yeah, I got a shower." At least this part of town's been rebuilt some. Things work. It almost looks like a normal part of the city. He's still got that obnoxious blue front door. The lights work, it's cool. Get into the heart of the place there's still a fuck of a lot of work to do, but Midgar, it's his city. It's home. It's where he grew up. It's where he caused the most friggin' havoc. He hates it here; he's indifferent to it here; as much as he loves anything, he loves it here.

"Come on." Shirt hanging open, he pulls his hair back and grabs a clean towel. "Right in here."

For a guy who lives by himself, his place is relatively clean. The model airplane his brother's kids gave him for his birthday last year sits on top of the bookshelf; copies of a couple aviation magazines litter the desktop. A box of building blocks and other shit sits next to it on the floor. "For when my nieces and nephews are here," he offers by way of unnecessary explanation. The kitchen cabinets are well stocked with the kind of shit that don't need cookin', and one's even better-stocked with alcohol.

He doesn't cook. Take-out is his second best friend. Eating out is his first.

"There. Regulation shower for you. The hot takes a little while, so don't give up on it." And since he does this kind of thing a lot, he points out where the new toothbrushes are ("help yourself if you want") and goes ahead to use his while the water heats up.

He ain't much of a romantic, but never claimed he was.

[abyssum_invocat]

She usually takes cold showers; they're quicker, and efficiency is everything when you've pissed off as many people as she has--and hot water makes her skin turn pink, which...is just not her color. But she showers off quickly, letting the water run lukewarm so she's not freezing when she comes out into room where air is actually moving better.

As un-romantic as it might be, Sin appreciates it. It's not that she's never been shown affection like that, but it's rare enough that the lack of it is routine and comfortable now. "Thanks for the shower," she calls, towel wrapped around her until she drops it to dress. It's evident that she's been in a fair few fights by the marks on her aside from the tattoos, though they get covered up with her trousers and undershirt fairly quickly. She runs her fingers through her hair and it does pretty much what it will, though she lacks the gel to make it spike in the back.

"You got many? Nieces and nephews," she asks.

[sleazeoverstyle]

Entirely unsentimental though he is, he smiles at the mention of his nieces and nephews. "Six of 'em. Four boys, two girls. And I'm" -- pride's measurable in his voice -- "their favorite friggin' uncle." He can count 'em off if she wants a roll call, but he ain't one to go about shoving cute kids in no one's face, 'cause he hates it when it's done to him. Normally he could give a fuck. Kids, yeah, great, get the fuck away from my stuff, but he's got this stupidly abiding affection for those six rug-rats. Probably because he ain't the youngest no more when they're around.

"You got family?"

Now that the fucking portion's over, it might be time to get to know her just a little. Or not, depending on what she wants; he ain't gonna push it.

[abyssum_invocat]

There's an infinitesimal hesitation before she answers that one; not because she's unhappy with the fact, but she knows her life story sounds like shit, and she doesn't particularly ever want to subject anyone else to hearing it. "Not by blood, but got a pretty huge one by choice." It's not the same--even if they're as close as they're ever going to get you can't replace the bond that only comes with being genetically linked on a level you can't change. "Only child. Dad was an only child, mom's dead. Never knew her. Such is what happens when they die in childbirth," she says.

[sleazeoverstyle]

He gives her a little bit of a critical look, but he ain't the type to sit around and weep over a life story or nothin'. If anyone was gonna, he could claim he got the right to do that but crying never did no one any good and he's got the marks on his face to remind him about that every friggin' day.

"That's the problem with people. They die." He shrugs in a what're you gonna do kind of way, but fuck it if he ain't got his brother's knife still tucked at the back of his waist like always. "Anyhow, you turned out okay."

She definitely gets the Reno stamp of approval. "You're smart. You got a killer body. You ain't afraid." There's also that tongue thing, but enough friggin' accolades for one moment or they'll take away his cynic's license. "So come on. I'll buy you breakfast."

Then they can sob into their friggin' coffees together all they want before they each go off to do whatever the fuck they're gonna do with their day.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Thanks." It's simple enough, and lighthearted as she laughs, pulling her vest and shoes on and the thigh holster with knife--she doesn't go anywhere without something that could function as a weapon. (And she figures she might as well collect all her shit before she walks out his door.)

Then again, she can use a barstool as a weapon, she usually she's safe. "Lead away," she smiles. "People know you around here?" she questions.

[sleazeoverstyle]

The pair of deadbolts and four chains on his door ought to be enough of a testament to the fact people do know him around here, so he has to laugh at the question. "Yeah, they know me. Lived in this city my whole friggin' life." But it's a big city and he's always meetin' new people. As he locks up behind them, keys on a chain attached to his belt, weapon holstered 'cause he goes friggin' nowhere without that thing, he leads her down the couple flights and out the door. It's a nice day out here in Midgar. Sun's shining, people goin' about their business. Hey Reno, hey Reno.

Yeah, they know him. Morning, Reno and friend. "Is it still morning?" he counters, but it's good-natured and they only have to step over one guy on the way. In fact, he stops and drags the guy to a sitting position, back propped against a nearby wall, so he doesn't get run over or nothin'.

It ain't what Sector 7 used to be before he destroyed it, this part of town, but none of it's what it used to be before friggin' Sephiroth decided to play God. But, he reminds himself, that's what happens with psychopaths, and the guy's gone now, and the place is gettin' rebuilt, slow but sure.

A couple blocks away, he leads Sin into this place that just says COFFEE on the door, but it's actually his favorite breakfast place, entirely kick-ass.

"Morning, Reno. Morning, Reno's friend. Coffee for two?"

Her name's Daphne, and she's cute. She's overnighted at his place a couple times, but she's about as jealous as a friggin' Mandragora and knows the drill.

"You know it. Cream and sugar."

He takes his seat across from Sin and nods to the waitress. Yeah, another day, and business as usual.

[abyssum_invocat]

It's entirely similar to the way she works in a lot of cities; she's the international sort, and it's easy to world-hop when you can literally blink and be a continent away, thanks to genetic abnormalities. She's hoping that by keeping her mouth shut about that it won't cause problems as sometimes happens.

Sin follows Reno along, confident in letting her eyes wander as they pass through the city: it's like Prague, half-crumbling in places, but not from age in this place. She makes eye contact with a lot of the commenters, nodding, but her hands are tucked in her pockets as she replays scene after scene of walking people she's slept with to the corner of the square or the road or just out the door if she's actually in town. Morning, morning, morning, hey who's the new bait? Morning. The similarities make her laugh to herself.

When they get to the breakfast place she just seconds the request for cream and sugar--and by accident her arm knocks the sugar container over the edge of the table. It's second nature to her to catch it, suspended at an odd angle in midair until she lifts it back up without lifting a hand.

It's only after the glass touches down on the table that she looks up; that's gonna get noticed, she knows.

[sleazeoverstyle]

HEY.

The fuck was that? He's got reflexes and he's friggin' fast, but he ain't so fast he's invisible or nothin'. The fuck, the fuck, the fuck.

Magic? Maybe.

"Nice... save."

Fuck it: there's a million things people keep to themselves. So long as she ain't tried to kill him or nothin', it ain't his business, right?

Maybe. The menu serves as a distraction, even though he knows it by heart. He's gonna have his usual, but Sin don't know that. Over the edge of the coffee-stained curling plastic-coated page, his eyes flick to her, then flick back. Good thing he already likes her.

[abyssum_invocat]

Yeah, she knew that one was coming. "Thanks," she says softly. "It's weird, I know. It's called telekinesis...the ability to move things with your mind. Among other things it is what makes me good at my job."

The others she'll demonstrate if and when he asks, but right now, she puts both hands on the table where he can see them, after picking up a sugar-substitute packet and laying it down between them. It begins to wobble, and rises slowly as she stares at it, levitating up to about eye-level for them both as it spins in a slow circle, the result of the crystals inside the waxy paper packet being uneven. "My doing that? Case in point."

[sleazeoverstyle]

"That job you never exactly told me about." It's cool, they're even. He never exactly told her about his either. Setting down the menu, he rests his chin on his hand and takes a good look at her. What he saw last night at that party is still what he sees and daylight ain't faded it none, which is good. That happens sometimes. Nah, she's okay.

"That's cool." He friggin' channels electricity, but it ain't like he goes around tellin' people that or nothin'. Everyone's -- well, no, scratch that, not everyone, but enough people here -- got their own magic, and if she ever fights against him or beside him, she'll get to see some of his. "I only got one question."

The coffee shows up; he takes one of those little cream containers and peels back the lid, dumps it into his cup, adds a spoonful of sugar and stirs it up.

"How come you're hangin' around with some lowlife like me?" He laughs when he says it, not entirely serious but not entirely jokin' neither. Shit, half the time he don't even know why he hangs around with some lowlife like him.

[abyssum_invocat]

"'Cause I like you." It's a simple answer for a simple question, and one she delivers with a crooked grin.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Good answer."

It makes him grin too, the kind of grin he usually reserves for seein' somethin' blow sky-high.

"They got a weekend special here that's real good." He don't mean himself, but he ain't countin' that out either. "It's what I usually get. Eggs and potatoes and bacon and cheese and all this other shit all mashed up together. Fuck of a good meal."

Far as he knows, she'll be able to levitate it all into her mouth without even usin' a friggin' fork. Won't that make the staff here happy.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Sounds great," she says, glancing around before she lets the packet drop into her waiting palm. "Don't worry, usually I act completely human unless I'm around people who already know what I am."

Sin shrugs. "Telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation and voluntary intangibility. That's what I have."

[sleazeoverstyle]

A case of utter friggin' lack of conscience, that's what he has, but he ain't dipshit enough to go tellin' anyone in public. Not that Sin's dipshit: her business is her business and ain't a friggin' thing he'd do about it or suggest she change. He's shallow, but not that shallow. Soon as Daphne gets back he orders up a couple of the specials, then turns his attention back to the lady across from him, those pieces of art all over her body just peekin' out like some sort of promise.

He likes it when stuff's suggested that way. It's cool. "The three tees and an i. Or is that a v. Grammar was never my strong suit." With a laugh, he helps himself to his coffee 'cause the only way to drink it is while it's hot.

And just 'cause she's got those three tees and the i, that don't mean she ain't human, right? Unless she ain't, in which case she could've fooled him.

[abyssum_invocat]

Technically speaking, she isn't fully human by DNA. But for all intents and purposes she might as well be, and isn't bothered enough to correct most people. "Something like that. I, V, doesn't really matter. But hey, you're takin' it better than most people."

Most guys who find this out? Want to treat her like one of two things: a piece of spun glass, or a tiger that might rip their heads off.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Hey, I ain't most people."

That's one thing. And another: "I could give a fuck, really, 'cause it ain't like it matters, exactly, does it." After today they're probably gonna go their separate ways, no harm, no foul, and whatever's happened is gonna get relegated to that fond memory filing cabinet in what passes for his brain.

"You said you like me. I could say I like you. Right about now, what's the point in askin' more questions? Anyway, I like surprises."

It ain't that he doesn't care, 'cause he does, after a fashion, as much as he ever does in a situation like this one. And what does she want him to do, let his jaw drop to the ground, pick up the pieces of his dignity and ask her a million questions? Nah, that ain't his thing. He's been around enough friggin' people who ain't exactly normal.

He ain't exactly normal.

"Normal's boring, anyhow."

[abyssum_invocat]

She's actually quite liking the smooth acceptance Reno gives her; it's a hell of a lot easier to handle than the jaw-dropping route. "No, clearly you aren't."

And hey, maybe they'll meet somewhere else, maybe not; if they do, another night would be fun, but she's not gonna go looking for him. "I like surprises sometimes." In the right situations they can be great.

[sleazeoverstyle]

Since they're playin' get-to-know-you, he could tell her a few things.

"I like explosions."

That's honest. His partner's kind of an expert at makin' 'em, but he just likes how pretty the flames and shit are.

"They're usually surprises." Yeah, yeah, he knows he's kinda psycho. Ain't had no complaints about it, though. And before he can reveal any more secrets -- like he's got a lot of 'em -- Daphne shows up with their food, puts it down real nice in front of Sin, a little less nice in front of him. HEY, he almost says, but instead he just laughs.

"It's about friggin' time." He could eat a chocobo, he's just about that hungry.

[abyssum_invocat]

Sin just chuckles, and gives the waitress a small smile as she sets the plate down; Reno making explosions--surprise explosions at that--somehow doesn't surprise her, but it certainly amuses her.

"To you, or to everyone else?" she asks, in clarification, picking up a fork: see how normal she can be? Even eating like a regular bog-standard human. (Not that she eats any other way aside from with her fingers, really. She'd try the levitation thing if she wasn't hungry and felt like fucking around with people.)

[sleazeoverstyle]

Like always, he laughs down into his food, which is as good as ever and better than most anyplace else. "Not to me, Sin." He's the one who sets 'em. "Fuck, if I got taken off guard by some friggin' explosion, I wouldn't be earnin' my paycheck."

He's a friggin' Turk and everyone knows it. They know it here 'cause they know him, but they know it everyplace else 'cause of what he wears. It ain't no secret; everyone here knows Shin-Ra and everyone who knows Shin-Ra knows the Turks, and everyone here who knows the Turks knows him and Rude.

So it ain't somethin' he usually offers up. It's just the way things go here, 'cause this was the center of business for Shin-Ra until the city got destroyed.

What he does now? A little different, but it's his day off and nothin' he needs to think about. 'Cause if he does, he'll realize how much he misses the good old days. Yeah, bring him some mayhem, some death, some murder, some terrorism, throw in a little kidnapping, blow up a thing or two, and he's a real happy camper.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Awesome," she chuckles, eating her food while it's hot--and she doesn't do the usual girl thing of picking around, 'cause she's hungry and it's not like Reno's stupid enough to think she doesn't eat like a normal person. She's been taken off guard by a couple explosions, but none she's set, and none that really needed to happen to begin with: someone fucking around with the shiny stuff and a block of plastique explosive damn near took her arm off her once, and she wasn't too happy about that.

It's a lot like her job, this Turk business; you do what you get asked, you get paid, and you make sure anyone liable to run their trap about a job doesn't, or can't, whichever's easier to ensure. She's far from as universally-known as Reno, but in the circle of people who are apt to hire a hit on someone they need dead, her name is the one brought up when you really, really need it to go right the first time and not be traced back to you. But she's not going to tell anyone that unless they already know, or are soon going to die anyway, so she settles on the rather more innocuous for conversation. "Good breakfast choice."

[sleazeoverstyle]

No one's ever nominated him for Deep Thinker of the Year or none of that shit, but even he ain't stupid enough not to know there's a fuck of a lot more goin' unsaid here than goin' spoken, and he's okay with it. He likes her. He knows enough about her to like what he likes, and he ain't plannin' on makin' this a long-term thing so it's cool. A little mystery's a good thing.

"Best breakfast in all Midgar." At least in this sector. For a while he just eats 'cause that's what he's here to do. Last night was the time for foolin' around but by daylight he's all business and sorry if that ain't what some girl was expectin', but he told her he was the least marrying kind ever and he meant it. He ain't even one to hang around much when a thing's been done, and it ain't 'cause he didn't have fun. He just ain't that kind of emotional person or whatever.

No room for it in his business.

"So what plans you got for today?" Might as well ask.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Probably go home, check out a few temporary employment opportunities, try to figure out if I have time to kick back before I work tonight." She plans around when she works; sleeping over with Reno was hardly a problem as she'd planned for her op to go down tonight with a smooth plan and just her working it.

"Past that, fuck knows."

[sleazeoverstyle]

Fuck, he knew there was a reason he liked her. Basically, she ain't worried about a friggin' thing and that's good. That's real good. She might be able to do the telekinesis thing -- which is cool -- but he's got his little thing with electricity and lightning, which she ain't seen yet and won't unless he has to use it.

Everybody's got somethin' that makes 'em different. Even if he's all cut-and-dried, not the least friggin' bit sentimental.

"Well, for the record, since it looks like we're gonna go our separate ways for now after this, I'm havin' fun with you." There. That's out, not like he had some big load to get off his chest over it or nothin', just wanted to tell her. "I'm glad I parked my skinny ass next to you on that couch last night."

It ain't quite an offer of I'd do it again, but it ain't far off from that either. He'd do it again. She's got that tongue thing.

[abyssum_invocat]

She smiles slowly at that. "I'm glad you parked your skinny ass next to me too," she says, less an admittance than a simple agreement, genuinely glad and a touch amused that it came out this way, surprisingly easy and casual, and really nice. She's not getting sentimental about it, but it's good to have a harmless roll a couple times a month, keeps things from getting wound up tight or her from being distracted.

"Maybe we'll see each other around. Have fun again." And she means just that; relationships in their line of work paint great big targets on them both, and she's not looking for that. Besides, he's a fun guy, and knows how to cut loose in bed. So many guys are all uptight about sex. Reno, not so much. Sin likes that.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Sure. We could do that." No promises, but if they ever run into each other again he ain't gonna say no. First, though, he motions over for more coffee. Daphne ain't got nothin' to worry about; he'll leave her a big tip. "That party we met at? Every Saturday night."

He ain't there every week, but at least he knows where to find it. And when to find it. "And usually I don't work Sundays. Just sayin'."

It ain't a promise; he shoots Daphne a smile and a nod of thanks when she refills their cups. What, just 'cause she's been to his house a couple times? She heard the same see you around speech he gives everyone. Ain't his fault if she's got a thing for him.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Saturday. Gotcha." Her work schedule is as offbeat as it gets; she can go weeks without doing a damn thing and then it all hinges on one night, one hour even. But that's how the life goes when one of your more frequent requests is assassination and the setup for that ain't hard.

She's going to remember it; maybe next time they'll go to her place, which is a bit better stocked for not needing to go out as early. She cooks--not with any great skill, but she can manage breakfast at least--and has the same amenities that his place does, shower and toothbrushes and that shit. Sin thinks it could be fun, and her definition of fun is as unique as she is. She glances at Daphne, notes the way she looks at Reno, and knows she'll never look like that, never really feel the fluttery stomach feeling that goes with meeting someone and letting yourself get in over your head. But she likes just plain old sex and chatting fine enough, keeping it easy and lighthearted.

Sin ducks her head for a second at those thoughts, smiling. Oh yeah. This could be fun.

[sleazeoverstyle]

Okay. So. Fucking? Check. Breakfast? Check. Check? Don't need one; he knows what it costs, reaches into his pocket, comes up with a handful of gil that'll more than cover it. HEY, he ain't a complete and utter asshat all the time. If he's gonna take someone to the place where one of his fuck buddies works, he's gonna at least make it worth her while to take good care of 'em. Kind of like an IOU.

And it ain't that he's eager to get rid of Sin or nothin'. If that was the case, he wouldn't have done the whole overnight thing, or at least not the whole friggin' breakfast thing. Nah, he's got his ways. It's just he ain't no good at sittin' still, not for any length of time. Take him to a movie? Friggin' torture: he's up, he's down, he's over to the concession stand, he's sittin' again. The only time he stays still for any length of time is when he's behind the controls of a chopper, 'cause that ain't like sittin' still at all.

But he does take a final sip of his coffee, and he does stand, and he does wink at Daphne, and he does pay good attention to Sin 'cause she can kick his ass or make his hair stand up even worse than it already does with the power of her mind or maybe even make other things stand up, and that's somethin' that's gotta be protected.

"So. Do I get to walk you someplace?" Not 'cause it's a dangerous city out there and he lives in a shit section. Just 'cause he wouldn't mind doin' it, or he wouldn't have offered.

[abyssum_invocat]

She almost takes him up on it, but it'd be more rude than she really aims to be--sometimes, with people she likes, she's not such a careless bitch all the time--to be walking down a sidewalk one second and the next second be gone without so much as a bye for your trouble. So she shakes her head, standing with him as she downs the last bite of breakfast (and won't need to eat again until dinner with all that).

"Nah. Think I'm gonna head back to my place," she says. It's not meant to say she doesn't want him to know where she lives; he'll find out sooner or later, she's sure. Just that she's going one way, and he likely another. "Tell you what, though, you can walk me to the door and from there if we split, we split," she says, the same way she says it to everyone. It's an equal share of things that way; no one's leading or leaving the other and there's not even potential for awkwardness, not that she'd pay attention to it if there was.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"That's cool."

He's easy: easy to get together with, easy to leave, and he don't mind. And he likes a lady who could take care of herself, 'cause fuck knows he ain't got the time to do it for 'em.

Pleasant as any asshat in his position can be, he walks her to the door. Opens it up, 'cause someone's got to be the gentleman and anyhow his sister don't live far away and if she sees him not doin' it, she'll kick his ass even if Sin don't. And despite the familiarity from a night spent together, he ain't all over her or nothin', not even once they're outside.

He nods in the direction of his place. "I'm goin' that way." It ain't an invitation, just information.

[abyssum_invocat]

Roughly ninety degrees to the left is the way she nods. "I'll see you around."

She'll wait until she finds a nicely hidden alcove before she ducks away and disappears; it's not flashy, there's no sound or light or anything when she teleports, but it's definitely attention-getting when no one else can do it. But she smiles, once she finds a good place in a dim alley notch between two buildings that have crumbled into each other, and thinks she's definitely going to see if she's free for a couple Saturdays here and there.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Yeah."

Leaning forward, he gives her what could be one of those awkward see-ya-around kisses to the cheek, but there ain't nothin' awkward about it. It's intentional, plain and simple, and his hand on her arm ain't tight, just friendly, just by way of sayin' thanks for a good time.

He'll see her again.

Sometime.

Maybe.

When he wanders off, he notices the guy he propped up ain't there any more. Good. Guy got on with his day, and so will he. There's no friggin' shortage of things to do.