rin. (buyo) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-09-15 23:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, miles baines, rin yukimura |
if you'll be my boat, i'll be your sea.
WHO: Rin Yukimura & Miles Baines.
WHAT: Hangover smoothies.
WHERE: A tavern far outside of Emillion.
WHEN: Backdated to 9/8. Morning, after this.
RATING: PG-13.
STATUS: Complete.
Rin woke to soft light filtering through the blinds. The late morning breeze ruffled her hair as she sat up, stretching, and a dull ache thudded through her skull at the movement. She squinted her eyes at the rays of sunshine fanning across the bed sheets. This morning, they were less than welcome. She rose and dressed swiftly. The blinds she closed with a tug on her way out, and crept silently past her still slumbering roommate. In soft, woven shoes, Rin padded down to the tavern. At this hour of the day, there was only one patron -- an old, bearded man drowning his sorrows at a corner table. Perfect. And the bartender, a gangly teenage boy, was even better. She sidled up to the bar. A warm smile, accompanied by a playful toss of her hair, did the trick. “Smoothie, please. With whatever fresh fruit you’ve got.” Moments later, she was perched on a stool & sipping her concoction -- strawberry, banana, apple: served in a colossal ale mug -- while the young bartender rattled off his life story. It was interrupted, somewhat rudely, when the back door clattered open and closed as another patron came shuffling grudgingly down the stairs and into the tavern proper. Miles looked like hell heated over, rumpled and disheveled, still wearing his clothes from the night before (and that, indeed, was a gaping flaw in their coverup plan—he hadn’t noticed it yet). When he recognised Rin at the bar, his grimace shifted slightly – it wasn’t a smile, not that far, not yet – and he immediately set across the room to join her, slipping onto one of the stools with a miserable sigh. He leaned against the bar, elbows propped against the wood and hands scrubbing at his face. The youthful bartender, still agog over Rin, tried to keep on with his story but Miles cut the boy off with a sharp clearing of his throat. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he said, fishing some gil out of his pocket and tossing them onto the counter, to forestall any possible objection. The bartender scowled, but pocketed the gil and moved toward the kitchens. “You’re crushing his dreams!” Rin said, teasing. She gave Miles a quick once-over from behind the shade of her large, brown sunglasses. The clothing, she noted first. Interesting, but not too unexpected. Then the hair, and the sleep lines still lingering on his face. He looked like a wilted flower -- or perhaps, one that had been watered in ale. After a moment, she removed her sunglasses, and gently pushed them onto Miles’ face. He looked like he needed them more than she did. The boy returned, and set the smoothie on the bar with a loud slam. Rin and Miles both winced. Oversized sunglasses now balanced precariously on his face, Miles shoved them further up the bridge of his nose before gratefully accepting the mug, drawing it closer like a weak and enfeebled thing. He cradled it to his chest, just as an old infirm man might. But with each sip, he seemed to regain a little bit of his strength, plying himself with fresh fruit and ice-cold refreshment rather than the poison that he’d already upchucked before trudging down here. How did he never learn? After all these benders and binges to celebrate each job, how did he never learn? “Let’s just stay here forever,” he finally proclaimed over the former ale mug, staring broodily at the counter. “We don’t need to fly anywhere today. In fact, I highly doubt I can move from this stool, let alone all the way back to Emillion. It’s done. Sorted. I now officially live in…” Miles now raised his eyes and blinked blearily around the tavern from behind the shades. “... whichever town this is.” “Not Damia, then?” Rin had been the first to leave the tavern last night, keen to take the stairs and catch up on some beauty sleep. And evidently, Miles had chosen a wildcard to end the night with. Or so she assumed. The sex couldn’t have been that bad, surely. He snorted. Trust her to have picked up on it. The more that time went on, the more unnerved he was by these instances of his crew reading him like a book. “Am I really that obvious?” Miles asked, sidestepping the question for the moment with another despondent sip of the smoothie. “This is delicious, by the by. Good call. Didn’t see it on the menu.” “Oh, it isn’t,” she responded, with an idle wave of her hand. “I made a personal request. I was going to follow it up with an order for a less greasy omelet, but I do believe you’ve scared him off.” The lilt of her voice, light and airy, made it clear she was teasing. Rin stirred the remains of her smoothie with her straw, and then continued: “You going to tell me who it was, or will I have to play Twenty Questions?” “No, please don’t.” Miles was cringing again; the idea of playing Twenty Questions with the identity of last night’s bedmate was uniquely, utterly agonising. Why had he ever allowed this group to become so estrogen-heavy? The man finally readjusted, tipping the glasses down to meet Rin’s eye. His own were bloodshot and bleary. “Yukimura, swear on your life that you’ll take this tidbit to your grave.” He wasn’t supposed to say anything. Secrecy was the supposed watchword of the day, and he didn’t want to complicate things any further with the delicate equilibrium of their crew – but of all the ragtag group, Rin was the one most like family. If he had to put up with her daily rambles and thoughts and feelings and updates, then the least she could do was repay the favour. One hand went over her heart, and the other was extended forward. Four digits curled into a fist, with only her pinky raised upward. “I swear,” Rin said solemnly. Though the grave ceremony of it all was played for Miles’ amusement, the young woman was serious. She’d made it a habit to guard the secrets of others with careful vigilance. “Now spill.” Miles detached one hand from its vise-like grip on the mug and waved vaguely in her direction – not fully reciprocating the joking pinky swear, but acknowledging it, at least. “Leradine,” he said, flatly. “Audrey?” A hushed whisper, flush with shock & excitement. That, she hadn’t expected. Although antagonistic sex acts were good for the soul, or so she’d heard. It wasn’t anything Rin made a habit of doing -- how could she extend such intimacy to someone she despised? -- but to each their own. And such things were said to relieve tension, although Miles didn’t look very refreshed. “I’m guessing it’s not going to be a recurring fling?” “No,” came Miles’ immediate response, almost snarled into his poor innocent smoothie. “Not at all. It was a mistake. An accident. She’s too young and a pain in my arse besides.” A pause, a readjustment: “Well, you’re all a pain, but her to a greater extent than the rest.” He levelled another look at Rin. “We’re keeping this under wraps. A mistake, as mentioned. It would unnecessarily complicate things.” Rin nodded. “My lips are sealed,” She went back to her smoothie, mulling over the news she’d just received. This was sure to make the next job an awkward encounter, even if all parties kept their mouths shut. Still, better to deal with that when it arose. “Are you going to go after Damia, still?” she asked instead, curious. And a little disapproving, though she masked it. Rin wasn’t one for mixing business with pleasure. Too much turmoil, as Miles’ mistaken dalliance with Audrey already proved. The question was obviously one he didn’t quite want to answer. He broke eye contact and shifted to redirect his annoyed stare to the counter, as if it had personally affronted him. “We’ll see,” Miles said, shaking his head. “It’s not the same, anyway. Damia and I don’t throw things at each other, plus she’s a grown woman, she can make her own—Faram, why am I defending myself to you?” “There’ll be trouble if you break it off on a sour note,” Rin reminded, gently. Miles was aware of this already, she was sure, but she had a tendency to act the mother hen when it came to the group. They were her family too. “There won’t be anything to break off. Pursuit does not equal a relationship. Blowing off steam does not equal a heartrending experience, worthy of teeth-gnashing and hair-pulling.” Miles’ voice was stubborn and sharp. Because these were the things he told himself at night, the platitudes that led to a life of aimless non-attachments – because relationships were the sort of thing that led to knives in backs and poison in the tea and, yes, complicating the job and the crew. Rin paused, going after the last dregs of her smoothie before responding. “All right. As long as she feels the same way.” What Damia did or didn’t feel, Rin had no idea. She and the corsair had never been close, and she suspected Damia found her to be overly naive. But she was sure the other woman wasn’t as icy as she seemed; no one wore sarcasm the way she did, like a coat of armor, without having been injured first. And then she backed off, waving over the now surly-looking bartender to order the omelet she’d wanted. Miles almost followed suit – one hand up, ready to order a matching meal – but soon fell back into his grumpy silence, ordering a second smoothie instead. They nursed the morning away like that, with Miles folded over his drink and eyeing the world balefully through Rin’s ludicrous sunglasses, Rin chattering easily away on other, less-contentious topics until their companions finally started to materialise. By then, both thieves seemed more functional, and Miles less likely to throttle someone on his way back out to the airship. They’d get through this awkwardness. They got through everything, this lot. |