overjoyed_logs | Closed(ish) | Guarding Mr. Daisy

Entry tags:

Closed(ish) | Guarding Mr. Daisy

Who: Sion, Lavi, Kanda & anyone they meet at the Summit
Where: Springhill Compound, Peace Summit
When: W6D2 - D6
Summary: Guarding Sion during the summit should be an easy warrant. Unfortunately, nothing with Sion is ever actually E A S Y.
Restrictions/Warnings: Kanda's fine command of language, as usual.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Later than they'd intended, but they'd arrived without incident to the set of suites allotted to Sion and his guards - not much. Two sleeping rooms, a bath, and a central sitting room.

They'd split once inside, Lavi to check the bath and the room designated for them and Kanda the sitting room and Sion's. After a long moment, he poked his head out the door and waved Sion in before disappearing back in once again to go through the closet more thoroughly.]

Everything seems to be in order, Sion, but there are a few places left to check, just to be sure.

[Once he can hear the other's footsteps enter the room, he calls back over his shoulder, the perpetual scowl still in place.]

...I don't get it. You're high enough in the Company to have commissioned a security detail. So why'd you ask for us specifically?

Edited 2017-02-20 01:33 (UTC)

[Closing the door behind him, Kanda sighs and crosses to one of the beds, pulls the katana from the clip on his hip and lays it carefully on the bed before flopping down onto his back.

Reaching up, he runs a hand over his face, mind still assessing defenses, choke points, the myriad of ambush points he'd seen between entering the compound.]

Sion's settled for the night.

[Dropping his hand, he turns to look at Lavi, a slight frown on his face. ]

I'm going to walk the compound, try to make a more complete assessment. You coming, or are you already in 'Bookman mode'?

[Because he knows, doesn't he? Kanda's here for Sion, but Lavi - he's here for the history in the making.

And honestly - he can't fault the man for doing what he's been trained to do. Besides, he should be enough to guard Sion's back for a few days.]

[Takasugi isn't alone as the delegates dissemble for the night, drinks already in hand for many. From the side of a Leithan who recognizes him from a bar - congratulating him on his talent - to accompany a bar owner from Old Town who is looking for nothing but profit.

His family died in the chaos, he says. But Takasugi knows his wife and child left years ago - the barkeep's complaints had been loud enough for every patron to hear. Likely with the hope for extra tip.

Setting up a fund with this man should funnel some of the relief money away nicely. With platitudes and vapid assurances of understanding, the deal is made - and Takasugi sets his sights on a perfect transition.

He joins Kanda's side with no veneer of stealth, an arm drifting around the other's shoulder - not resting it's weight but raised to point to the bar.] Sobriety doesn't suit one well in this place. [Oh, but-] Not that you're suited to talks of peace... [The brat is made for war, he suffocates himself by dampening it's imminence.]

[ Security had been swept, but only on a precursory level. Gone, at least for this venture, is his propensity to be meticulous about the minutia of their personal activities. Gone, likewise, is his concern for such boundaries as personal and professional. From the moment they'd stepped into the compound, he'd divorced himself from everything and everyone that wasn't tantamount to his tasks as a Bookman.

Not that it was an obvious shift for most; indeed, he had been affable as ever, a smiling face among a sea of straight-lined mouths. And he had been observant, he had watched the faces that passed by them with the keenest eye of detail, but the intensity of his gaze and his careful questions were not that of a security agent.

(It's an unconscious display, this trust. While he may relish in the chance to truly fulfill his duties and forget the confusing, overly-attached nature of his relationships with the people here, he could not do so if he didn't know Kanda would carry the slack.

But they've always trusted each other in this way, haven't they? That's hardly been the problem.)

When Yu turns to look at him, Lavi is already at work at the stationary desk meant to accommodate light writing, a sheaf of clean paper to one side of him, empty journals to the other. His handwriting is precise and painstakingly laid down, though to an outside eye--as all of them are aside his own--the scrolling text resembles nothing of a spoken language.

He hears something, a soft buzzing at his eardrums, but he ignores it at first, continuing to lay down his thoughts as if he fears that any time spent away from the task will siphon the clarity.

But then the noise hums again, and he finally lifts his head, blinking himself back into awareness. He twists--a little too sharply, the stitches in his ribs protesting this pivot--and recalls the sounds. Words, he realizes upon replay, questions.

Barely a smile, distracted and away from the world, as he waves a hand in dismissal. (He has time, at least, to notice that Yu's too perfectly tied back hair has started to slump from the wear of the day, and he's pleased to see this, because soon it'll be far enough down to fetch the tie that binds it painlessly.) ]

Yeah, sure.

[ It's not precisely an answer, but the promptness with which he turns his head back down and resumes writing is, he'll realize in the hindsight of solitude, enough of a reply. ]

[Kanda has the distinct impression that he could be standing there naked and shouting ridiculous declarations of love like those pointless movies and he would have gotten the same 'yeah sure' answer.

And the image that thought evokes is enough to let a soft chuckle out as he pushes off the bed in one swift motion.

Rather than reclaim his sword, however, he crosses over to Lavi's bag and reaches into a side pocket, takes a few of the items therein out. Because times like this, there's a pattern to Lavi's actions, to the way he looses his awareness to everything but the task at hand, and three years is plenty of time to give him a script for this particular play.

This time, however, he decides to modify it - just a little bit.

He waits until there's a break in writing - barely more than a pause between lines - before stepping up behind Lavi's chair. Oh, he could have done as he has before, moved to the side and set things in place without disturbing the man, but this is just a little more fun.

At least for him.

Which is why he leans over that shoulder, sets the spare inkwell and quill down on the corner, well within easy reach once the bookman invariably breaks the tip of the other and needs it, and then starts to withdraw. He pauses though, the tail of his hair sliding against Lavi's arm, lips just shy of brushing the curve of an ear.]

I'll leave you to focus, but try to keep an ear on the room while I'm gone. Radio if you need me.

[ Humble, the quarters assigned to their party of three, the space evocative of a blank canvas; the bare bones of a loom, ever a reminder that it is here at Spring Hill Compound where hope for a brighter future will be painted, the tapestry binding sister moons together in strength woven anew, and...! That even so unvarnished a location, plain and guileless to the eye, might house threats of its own, for there are those in the Quad who would wish to see the summit fail, and perhaps on a more personal level, see the Director himself fall.

(As he almost had during the riots which had set the wheel of good-will into motion.)

Still, where there is a scowl upon Kanda's face, there is a smile upon Sion's own, the Director shifting his weight to the toebox of his boots so that he might have height enough to peer over the other man's shoulder and into the void of the closet.

It seems clear—there are no bugs, no monsters in sight. ]

Truly, did you not expect for me to take you up, upon your offer? [ Falling back a step, he sets his luggage down, a hand raising to his lips to muffle the sound as he clears his throat, commencing with his best impression of the other man's voice in three, two, one...!!: ] "You can request us for a contract any time."

[ Or so it had been said. (And that impression had been terrible, hadn't it? Sion is left wincing in the aftermath!!) ]

Though, if you are after a honest answer... [ Sobering with a shake of his head, he speaks his next words easily: ] ...I trust you.

[ And as much should be of no true surprise, even after all this time. Sion's heart... it hasn't changed. ]

Lavi...?

[ —Sion's voice is a light, fluting thing, his smile triumphant if only because he's managed to get the other man alone at long last, securing a moment to...! Extend to him a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with red string. And even if the trimmings should do precious little to hide the contents of the offering itself—books, no doubt, from the size and shape—isn't it the thought, the sentiment behind the gift which counts?

Gratitude, for the time when Lavi had needed no warrant to protect him; relief, in knowing that the man has made a swift recovery; and ...happiness, in seeing Lavi again.

These three simple, small notes, had come together in a chord so profound that it had prompted Sion to scour through the relics left to him by his late father, that which hadn't been scavenged by others in the wake of the man's death: history. Journals and other accounts of the early colonization of Leith; stories, revolving around how the moon came to be. ]

I hope you can accept this as a 'thank you'.

[ Coming to a "peace summit" on a moon that recently rioted, for the purpose of the people doing the rioting is not exactly Rhys's ideal vision of a week well-spent. He might not have a head for danger or when hes about to get into it and he certainly isn't keen on being back so soon after that whole bandit ordeal, but...it could be useful. There will be people there for Westerley and Leith, people who could maybe be of some use in getting his plan off the ground.

Rhys lives a cushy lifestyle. There's no doubt about that. He has access to money and funds from his family's accounts and his own stake in the Company, but it's not enough to fund what he's got in the works, and he can't exactly see either his family or The Company being big on lending their Joy to the cause. He needs resources and backers beyond his own personal scope, and a way to make some profits fairly quickly.

So...networking. He can do this. He may be a Kendry in name, but that's really about it in the scope of evil genius levels of manipulation and competency. He's better at talking the talk than walking the walk. So he's hoping that helps him out here as he stands around and tries not to look too uncomfortable with this whole thing...

Until he spots Kanda and his stomach promptly drops even more because he sure did get his...husband? Partner?? Into a lot of trouble earlier. And while Kanda isn't exactly the nicest guy around Rhys feels like he should at least...say something. Right? So he swallows his drinks, clears his throat a little, and decides to head over. ]

H, heeeeeyh, [ yeah he may have burped a little mid-word don't think about it ] --sorry that was the water. Ho uh...how you doing? You're what? Working?

Edited 2017-02-21 03:51 (UTC)

[Less than five feet away, Sion is deeply engaged in what looks to be a healthy debate - not that Kanda cares. Oh, he can hear the words well enough, but he's not here to pay attention to what people say.

He's here to watch this idiot's back, and infer the intent of those daring to get close to his charge.

So when Takasugi sides up to him and throws an arm over him?

He glances down to the hand at his shoulder, the direction it indicates, then turns to arch a brow at the other, a slight hint of annoyance marring the otherwise stoic expression.]

I don't give a shit about what they're saying. Sorry, Pops. I'm working right now.

[Turning his gaze back to Sion, he nods towards the white-haired diplomat, the hint of exasperation and warning there all at once.] Personal security warrant.

Edited 2017-02-21 06:56 (UTC)

[ Even at his most removed, Lavi is a creature of war and habit. At first, he ignores the shuffling around him, mildly irritated by the intrusion to his senses the way one might feel towards a gnat: not particularly malevolent but not especially endeared, either. When he's forced to let the ink dry on the page and reaches once more for the inkwell, the intrusion becomes louder, and he finally tears his gaze away from the carefully inscribed pages to address it.

His expression softens immediately when he does, another smile offered in wordless thanks as he turns his focus back to the pages--

Except their well-worn pattern is broken, and rather than the usually unobtrusive distance, Kanda leans over him to deposit the extra supplies. His attention scatters in the process, hand tightening slightly on its precise grip around the quill while hair slides across his arm like silk.

His head lifts slightly, intent to keep to his task until lips murmur at his ear. Quicksilver heat flashes through him, lights the pallor of his face in a faint hue of red, skin shivering in the wake of whispers.

(Looking down again, Lavi realizes he's soon to break the quill just by the force of his grip, and slowly, carefully, he loosens his fingers, ignoring the tingling waves of anticipation that threaten to drown him.

Suddenly, he's both immensely grateful and remarkably reluctant about Kanda's departure.)

Eventually, after what feels like years, he nods shortly, glancing up to offer a mildly strained mirror of his earlier smile. ]

Will do. Enjoy.

[ Reassembling his broken focus with a monstrous exertion of his will, he finds himself even more eager to dive into the words on pages and quickly disappears down that literary rabbit hole again.

He'll wait until Yu leaves the room properly, and then some, to reach an idle hand up to his ear, tracing the curve of it in a not unpleasant recall with a softly whispered curse about terrible bastards being the end of him. ]

[ Damn.

He'd been doing remarkably well to steer clear of Sion so far, or at least, avoid any moments of solitude with him, but as they say..

All good things must come to an end.

Cringing to himself, Lavi heaves a soft breath and turns around at that gentle call, a vaguely strained smile offered in reply to the more overt display of his companion. There's little time to worry on masks and appearances, however, as his next expression is more genuine, eyebrows rising and knitting together in surprise. It takes him another moment to accept the proffered parcel, fingers finding purchase in the well-worn grooves between covers as he does so.

(He knows, as all lovers of a thing do, the shape of his source of affection, and would know the contents even if the wrapping had gone to great lengths to hide it.)

But where his smile falls is at those words, his expression softening into something a little more bittersweet. He shakes his head and offers the still unopened package right back, because: ]

Nah. You lived, that's thanks enough.

[ There's the sound of laughter in his voice, though it's not a sound that reaches his eye. His free hand rubs anxious circles at his nape until he bids it to stop, instead reaching out as if to grab Sion's hands and transfer the package himself. ]

Here, I can't accept this. Thank you though.

[Kanda actually manages to refrain from smirking until he's stepped away from Lavi, belted his sword, and started for the door.

He allows it, for the briefest moment, and then schools his features to something more appropriately neutral before stepping into the central room of their suite. He waits just long enough to step over to Sion's door on silent feet, listen to the faint whisper of normal sounds within, and then heads out as quietly as he could.

And his 'sweep' happens to take hours, because he makes his way to the highest common access point, checks the security measures at all secure points (has to flash his badge on several occasions, until the facility security finally assigns an escort to him), and spirals his way down to the underground levels.

He takes the time to verify escape routes and grill his escort on the security measures being taken in the kitchens, cleaning facilities, banquet and conference halls, the gardens. He makes the same escort walk him through the reaction plans for bomb threats, hostage situations, and system security measures.

He's surprised that he's one of the few killjoys assigned to this dog-and-pony show that's done so to this extent (at least, as of yet).

By the time he returns to their suite, he's tired, his escort had likely gone somewhere to both pull out his hair and ask who he'd pissed off to get stuck with him, but he's carrying two mugs of steaming tea into their room and a premade sandwich.

Stepping into their room, he casts a quick glance at the desk, utterly unsurprised to find his partner in the same location as he'd left him.

Crossing the short distance, he steps around closer to the desk, carefully sets the snack and one of the mugs out of Lavi's way without a word, and then retreats back to the small couch in the corner of the room. His own mug is set on the table before he crosses to the beds, props his sword against the headboard, and then unhooks both thigh holsters.

These he hangs off the bedside table, both firearms laid neatly on the table's surface before he crosses to the closet. Belt, boots, and jacket get neatly stored (Lavi's too, once Kanda goes back to retrieve them) before Kanda takes a few things out of his bag, slips out of the room once again.

Fifteen short minutes later he's back in their room, sleep pants hanging low on his hips and a towel over his head as he settles on the couch to sip at his tea.

This, at least, is a familiar routine. This, is something they both trust in, regardless of the more nebulous changes between them.

Because through it all, this has never faltered.

It's his last thought before he drifts into a light doze, the towel still around his neck and hair caught in a careless knot at the back of his head save for the mess of bangs sticking to his forehead, his cheek.]

[Between them, irritation greeting a dull smile is the standard for enthusiasm. For Kanda to ever meet him eagerly would be a sign of danger - one of the most euphoric states of mind is to come face to face with an object of hatred. As source of muted annoyance, opinion only beginning to coalesce, there's no cause for caution.

Takasugi lowers his arm only after a pause to tilt his head toward the Killjoy's mark. It's a brief acknowledgement, the burial of a challenge to lash out at the white-haired man only to dig a shallow prickling into his companion.]

Aa. [He spares a second glance to the diplomat, long enough to feign interest - he has no plans on contacting the vivacious Company man.] The annoying ones are difficult - so many enemies - discerning true threats a sharp eye. [He looks over the thinning crowd of milling diplomats and laughs, shrill and sudden.]

You may even want to mangle them yourself.

Edited 2017-02-22 04:24 (UTC)

[This assignment, it's lousy. There's too much waiting around and skulking about and keeping quietly out of sight and it's not the kind of thing he excels at, all this sitting on his hands. He understands the reasons for it (no one wants to be overtly confronted by the murder squad at a peace summit of all places), knows how to be subtle and silent and unseen, but there's still a significant part of him that hopes shit will hit the fan, that he'll be needed for something other than frequent security sweeps and covert listening in.

And speaking of security sweeps, that's what he's engaged in right now. Again. He finds himself being sent out on them more often than is strictly necessary, sometimes just to get him out from underneath Sui Feng's feet or to shake loose the dangerous restlessness that builds up in him whenever he has to remain inactive for too long. And perhaps this is a good thing, perhaps this is what he needs right now, something sedate after all the chaos of the riots and the hollowed-out madness it had caused in him. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.

He's been sent off with a Handler on this sweep, the woman assigned to him just a few corridors away but close enough to catch up soon-- he's being watched a little more closely right now (which is to say, he's barely let out of the sight of someone positioned above him) in the wake of the riots incident, and it's just one more thing that skitters and slides beneath his skin like the movement or tiny ants.

As things stand, he's not exactly feeling chipper. So when he rounds a corner and comes face to face with a certain killjoy (he'd thought he'd caught a familiar scent of flowers and metal and blood), he almost turns on his heel and goes back the way he came. Almost.]

Edited 2017-02-22 12:50 (UTC)

[ Time, the root of every historian’s bane and pride, marches on around him, though he is not a part of it. Cloistered within his scholar's world, he does not notice the gentle shift of lights or the dying of distant sounds as the morning eclipses the night. Every so often, between a sentence or page where he must take pause to let ink dry, he'll lift his head, distantly aware of the ache building in muscles held tense throughout his work.

Such is the moment when Kanda returns to their room; he's aware, at least on a basic animal level, that he is no longer alone. There's a brief glance that follows, a quick scan of the room and its contents to confirm that nothing has drastically changed since the nebulous time between Yu's departure and arrival. Satisfied that he need not rejoin the stream of time just yet, he resumes his work, ink stains limning against pale knuckles but miraculously never marking upon paper.

As such, Lavi does not know how long it's been since he last lifted his head and now, though the ache that was once dull and easily ignored flares sharp in his joints. Though the bookman may leave time for a spell, it does not truly leave him, and his devotion is met with punishing tension throughout. There's a mug near him, a new artifact on the landscape of the desk, and he smiles upon seeing its accompaniment, a tightly wrapped bit of bread and--since this is a Company facility and not Old Town proper, he reminds himself--likely real protein.

Stretching his shoulders and rolling his tortured neck, he decides, albeit with some reluctance, that he's done his duty for the night. Observation without rest or food is a common problem in these situations, but that's as much because of his channeled focus as it is because of the environment. But this is no war zone, there is no need to burn the midnight oil within himself. Not yet, at least. When the next day arrives and the summit begins proper, he'll likely have even less hours in the night to complete his work.

The tea is room temperature when it touches his lips, though it's not quite cold yet. It's likely only been half an hour or so since it was set beside him, although the insulation of the cup makes that a hazarded guess at best. Twisting (and wincing, the whisper of flesh pulling against medical thread sharp against the dull ache of stiff muscles), he turns to offer his thanks to Yu.

But it seems he's the only creature still conscious in this room. His smile warms momentarily--he's glad Yu has managed to sleep on his own, even if exhaustion surely drove it--but ah..

So recently reunited with his physical being, it takes a moment for the full implications of the picture to register within him, mind shifting from sleepily grateful to acutely aware. It's hardly the first time he's seen Yu without a shirt, but everything about the man has become a source of distraction in more recent times, and the sight of pale flesh marked with intricate black is.. decidedly harder to ignore than it once was.

He stares for just a moment, tea gripped with a hand already tired from writing instruments. Tracing the hollows of collarbone to the smooth stone of chest with his sight, he follows the lines of muscle until they converge and hollow again at the precipice of sleepwear.

Trees he has to get this under control. It would be one thing if he were merely observing, as he once did, at the aesthetics of his partner, but he's not just looking as an impartial party. If he were, he wouldn't feel his stomach tightening and the slide of fire down his spine, through his chest and lower still.

Wouldn't imagine himself tasting and touching every inch of exposed and hidden skin.

Cursing softly, Lavi reconsiders his earlier decision to cease work, yearning for the safety of a world of data and empirical observations. But it's useless; even as he turns his head down and tries to throw himself back into those pages, he's powerless to stop himself from studying his peripheral and delving right back into very bad, terrible, absolutely enticing images.

He draws a breath, holds it, counting off in his head before release, taming the quickened beat of his heart. He's no hope of finishing his work or sleeping, he thinks, if he can't get himself under control. At the very least, he should get Yu a blanket, serving the dual purposes of preventing illness (a touch of folk medicine that persists; those who sleep cold will expose themselves to weakness) and giving his mind less ammunition for exceedingly detailed dreams.

Resolved to this end, Lavi pushes out of the chair, carefully extending muscle groups one at a time until he feels some measure of his coordination return. Downing the tea in one fell swoop, he turns to the nearest bed and pulls its top comforter off before padding to Yu's side.

(At first he's mindful to keep his lashes down, but when that provides a wider lens of viewing, he directs his sight to the wall ahead, carefully navigating around tables without actually looking at them.)

It takes some effort--effort he scarcely has the energy to expend--to layer the blanket over Yu without further stares, but he's dutiful in this, and once he's arranged it so that it provides both ample cover and shielding from cold or vision, he hovers in momentary triumph. Momentary in that he notices the towel, and with his own neck protesting a fixed position, he's sure that leaving it there will result in an exceedingly grumpier Yu by morning's time.

Frowning, he swallows his breath and leans down, one hand slipping behind Yu's neck to provide support where the towel currently resides and the other grabbing the cloth by the tail end to begin very carefully sliding it away. If he'd thought it was difficult to focus before this, he's given a new lesson in what precisely difficult means as this action brings him within breathing distance to the lips he's already thought far too much about.

pleasedon'twakeuppleasedon'twakeup ]

[Kate is actually weirdly in her element here. Her father forced her into enough galas and fundraising events that Kate is used to the social niceties and subtleties of something like this, even if there's so much more at stake. The problem comes from the fact that there are a lot of people from Leith here, and a lot of people who recognize her, so she's near constantly dodging them while trying to actually get things done. It's exhausting, and by mid-afternoon, her ribs are absolutely killing her, and she's forced to duck into a stairwell, leaning against the wall as she struggles to catch her breath.

She doesn't expect to see Lavi there, and she stands up so quickly that her injuries scream in protest and she winces, swallowing. Play it cool, Bishop. Stand up straight and suck it up.]

Hey. Fancy seeing you here.

You cannot or you will not?

[ Falling back a step (just out of Lavi's reach!), Sion clasps his hands artfully behind his back, rocking back and forth precisely once upon his heels with a deliberate shift of his weight. But for all that his stance is playful, the Director's voice rings with solemn intonations, white lashes veiling over golden eyes as he speaks— ]

And how is it that you are able to say 'thank you' to me, but I am not to be allowed the same measure of courtesy?

[ No, it hasn't gone unnoticed by him, how the other man seems keen upon doing anything (and everything) to keep both himself (and others) at bay, no more than the strain to Lavi's smile has escaped his eyes. Strain, and nervous energy, giving way to... a heartbare look, Lavi's expression shifting from something practiced and structured by route to a by far more vulnerable thing.

(Do I cause you so much pain, Lavi...?) ]

You are fathomless to me, someone who can be so selfless and yet so fearful of others in turn. [ What sort of man is it who risks life and limb to protect another they would have nothing to do with, were it only their choice? A remarkable one, is the answer; a man deserving only of respect. ] You saved me, I owe you my life, and yet--...

[ There is the question which had lingered with the Director since the moment they'd met, and Lavi's gaze had drifted elsewhere, far beyond Sion himself, past the Noah, focused upon something which only the mind's eye might see. ]

Why is it that I feel you cannot bear to look at me, Lavi?

[ Little recesses taken here and there, moments of reprieve stolen between conversations and guard rotations. Every day gets a little bit harder, a heavier sleep debt waiting for collection like a reaper of productivity.

He can go without sleep, he can weather a lack of food, he's done worse and in certainly less favorable conditions--but it's getting to him. Between the constant distraction of Yu's presence and the constant threat of Sion, he's started to run ragged.

Which is why Lavi can be found in the stairwell, back straight against the wall to alleviate the pressure on his ribs, eye pressed closed as he shuffles information around his head. When he hears the door open at the landing closest to him, he wants so badly to just ignore it. Pretend it isn't there, just another passing dignitary..

But a decade and a half of battle isn't forgiving, even for a man so in need of rest as him.

Straightening his back against the wall, he cracks an eye open in time to see her straighten a little too sharply, a twinge of pain on her face.

Immediate big brother frown. ]

'Ey.

[ He considers reaching out to hug her, but given his own state and that wince.. instead he just lets himself slide down to the floor carefully, breath held to prevent a cringe when he settles down. ]

You okay?

[Kate waves him off dismissively.]

Fine.

[So, so fine, considering the way she slowly sinks down to sit beside him. There's concern etched all over her face, and now that she's anticipating it, she does a decent job of hiding another wince.]

Are you okay? Did something happen?

I'm fine.

[ Reflexive, if a bit sarcastic in its mimicry of her tone. He can't exactly reach out to hug her so he settles for leaning his shoulder against hers, head hanging.

Man, what he would give to have those tiny robots in his blood to knit up wounds like they're nothing. Why did he get stuck with this stupid human body?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he studies her for a moment--her breathing is mostly normal, calm enough, but there's a little catch in it, and the way she'd slid down.. was pretty much exactly the way he did. ]

Let's just say if I were a cat I'd be down to seven lives. What about you? And don't tell me "nothing".

[ The air changes, just barely, charged with the presence of swift movement as Sion recoils from his reaching hand. He lets his fingers fall through the now empty atmosphere, find home again in the back of his neck with the ready melodies of anxious laughter. Prone to periodic bouts of youthful impetuousness, he considers seizing the space between them and forcibly returning the package, but he stays that thought almost as soon as it rises.

They are neither friends nor enemies. That kind of contact is something that should be limited to the familiar or the opposed, not to a man he'd prefer to keep a stranger.

(Why had he even thought to reach out? A foolish notion that goes against the poorly held doctrines of his upbringing.)

Sion's voice, like the trill of a violin tortured beneath artful hands, evokes more emotion than understanding, though he's careful to keep this buried in his expression. The face that turns to Sion is one crafted in smooth stone and polish, smile wavering there at his lips until his mouth settles into an impassive line.

Why is it that I feel you cannot bear to look at me, Lavi?

Even at this, he remains unmoved, his posture frozen as if locked in a cavalier form of stasis. Of all the questions, this is the one that sounds the most alarm within him, because this one.. he doesn't have an answer to provide.

Oh, he could claim it the man's manner or relationship to Yu, and indeed, it had been the call for his first wariness. But there's something deeper there, and he knows it, unable to sink into denial after his feats in the week past.

Sion is to him a source of emptiness where there should be fullness, a sense of loss so deep and devastating that it chokes the breath out of him if he dare pay it mind. But that makes no sense, none at all--Lavi has a memory trained for faces, even as he learns to forget his own, and he's certain he's never met or seen Sion prior to the warrant that first brought them together.

(When you can't explain something, when something hurts so potently and deeply that you feel as if your soul is splintered by it, there are few paths left to pursue. You either go mad with trying to find the phantom that's carved a hole out of you, or you... just agree not to look. Not to ask.

Push it away and eventually it'll be just a blink in the record of a well-traveled life.) ]

Maybe..

[ The informal drawl colors the word, but it's cooler than his usual tone, a brush of quiet damnation. He steps forward, but not towards Sion directly, coming up at his side to offer the bound books once more. ]

You just can't bear to look at yourself.

[ Head tilted so that the ocher fringe slides over his visible eye, Lavi offers a new shade of smile, something distant and empathetic. He's been told his gaze is like a mirror pane, reflecting back the image of others while offering nothing of himself--so this is what he lets Sion see now. Not the pain and longing Lavi can't name. A reflection of gold against green, silent judgment there for the blood his gilded boots track over Westerley's soils.

It's not fair. It's not even particularly kind. But Lavi isn't the saint Sion seems to think him, and he intends to impart that lesson swiftly to the prying Director. ]

I'll give them to Yu if you don't want them back. He saved you. Not me.

[She makes a face, leaning into him gently.]

I'm just a little banged up, okay? I've had worse. The riots sucked.

[That's more than an adequate explanation, clearly!]

[For all that Kanda's language is absolute garbage, his mannerisms, natural grace, and general sense of refined control means it's not actually that hard for him to blend in with the mixed bag that the summit turned out to be.

Even so, all he can really do is blink and scowl at bit at that - did Rhys really just burp a greeting at him?!]

...For a Qreshi, you can be pretty damn Westie, you know that?

[And then a roll of his eyes and a nod to where Sion is chatting with two other delegates, his eyes bright as he talks. ]

Bodyguard warrant. [A beat and a sidelong glance before his gaze goes back to scanning the room around his target.] Guessing you came to this shitshow because you wanted to, though.

[ It's a thing Rhys canonly does, Kanda. I'm sorry. He's also narrowing his eyes at that Westie comment, wow??? ]

You could say that. It wasn't my first choice, trust me. But something good's got to come out of this whole mess. We're not exactly popular right now.

[ And by "we" he means him and the other Qresh nobility. Rhys has gotten more than a few stink-eyes since his arrival in Kendry colours. ]

[ Really...? Lavi, you want to leave it at that? You're running away again, and you expect Sion—tenacious, willful, stubborn Sion—to wither and wilt beneath the weight of scary words (scary, because they are true: the Director is a compassionate man, able to love a great many people and a great many things, if only because that one thing he most despises is himself; the person he's become, and the monster he is destined to be, for want of protecting everyone) when you are so obviously hurting? When... there is nothing more unbearable (unfair, upsetting) to him than the way you feel must retreat back, behind a mirrorglass gaze and a faraway expression.

Crestfallen, the Director moves as if to say something, but then presses his lips together, deciding against it. Lavi is... terribly fragile, isn't he? At least, in this one small regard. The other man is protecting himself from (Sion) a threat which is not and will never be, and so--...

Delicately, then.

Gingerly, he reaches out to Lavi's second offering off the books, not to take, but to reinforce the sentiment which he'd voiced before: gratitude, shown by way of touch, Sion's fingers molding to the back of Lavi's hand, curling once in a gentle squeeze to secure Lavi's grasp about the parcel.

Then, playfully, with a huff and the mildest sort of admonishment: ]

Take responsibility for what you've done. [ And for the way Sion is smiling, now, melancholy and serene in turns, his hand still enveloping Lavi's own with willowed fingers and a glowing sort of warmth. ] That I am able to stand here now is thanks to only you. Regardless of whether you were acting on behalf of another's wish...

[ Kanda's wish, and the thought is sweet. Perhaps Lavi is not a saint, but he is kind, tenderhearted in his actions which protected not just one, but by extension, another: a partner held in only the utmost regard, esteemed and dear. ]

...it was your choice to make. "Lavi's will".

[ Running away and leaving something like that behind--... It's like forgetting one's own heart, isn't it? ]

Let me know what you think, after you've read them. [ His touch falling away, he looks up, knowing precisely what he might find in Lavi's gaze (judgement, dispassion, whispers of pain), and accepts it. All of it. Because truly, what else is there to do? There is profound sadness within the other man, and Sion cannot help but worry for him, Lavi who smiles through hardship and sufferance just as the Director himself is wont to do. ] And in return, I'll...

[ A soft, breezy hum, a cant of his head as though considering...! ]

Endeavor to stay out of trouble, meanwhile. I will not put you at risk because of my own inability again.

Edited 2017-02-25 20:42 (UTC)

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Closed(ish) | Guarding Mr. Daisy

W6D2 - For Sion

W2D2 - Lavi

teach it to others til your knuckles bleed ❁ W6D2

W6D2*

what I meant, really*

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Lavi; W6D2

W6D3 - Kanda

W6D3 Instead!

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W6D4 let's say? - Kanda

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w6d5, if that works? for lavi!

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