miles baines: riff-raff! street rat! (![]() ![]() @ 2013-11-05 23:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, loch lemach, miles baines |
alone on a stage in the reflective age.
Who: Miles Baines & Loch Lemach.
What: Another unexpected guest at Godot leads to irritation, then discussing certain items of business.
Where: Their stage door in the Theatre District.
When: Tuesday evening.
Rating: For language, obviously.
Status: Complete.
One unpleasant surprise was bad enough. Two was Faram (or, more likely, Lionel Baines) playing a horrible trick on him. Those were the thoughts flitting through Miles’ head when he exited the stage door, then ran to an abrupt halt as he recognised the blonde waiting just at the edge of the flickering gaslight. She stood behind a few others, but he’d be able to pick that woman out in absolutely any crowd, his gaze immediately flitting to her as if tethered there. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said, patting down his coat for a cigarette to no avail. Miles paused to scribble an autograph for a small brunette who’d lunged forward as soon as he appeared — it was a small production and there weren’t that many people braving the frigid Scorpio night air to catch a glimpse of these actors, so he might as well indulge the ones who did. His stage reputation still turned out a few. A few pleasantries exchanged with the fan, that done and settled, he stepped over to where Loch waited. “You too?” “Figured it’d be sad if no one came to see the play. Wouldn’t wanna see you cry.” Loch smirked and pulled out her cigarette case. She tapped out one for herself and offered the case to Miles. “No poison, pinky promise.” As if to prove it, she lit up her own and took a long drag. Relieved, he accepted the cigarette and leant over to ignite it from her lighter. She blew out a twisting coil of smoke before nodding in the direction Miles had come from, where the girl he’d just been talking to was screaming and hugging her friend. “Don’t go expecting me to hyperventilate on your account, though.” “You went to all the effort of showing up,” Miles said, “so the very least you can do is hyperventilate. At least a little.” He lingered a bit too close, hands cupped as the cigarette flared, but then stepped out of her space after a considering pause. Loch raised an eyebrow at him and tugged at the neckline of her shirt, undoing one of the buttons, and fanned herself with her free hand. “Consider me overwhelmed to have the attention of the prima donna of the show,” she said, in a vaporous tone. “Now, I’d faint, but hitting my head on the cobblestones ain’t on my agenda today.” A smile glimmered on Miles’ face and then spread. “Fantastic,” he said, waving his cigarette slightly. “Have you ever considered a career in the performing arts, my love?” The amusement was like a small warmth in his chest and trickling down to all his limbs. So long as Miles was entertained by Loch’s antics, he didn’t have to think about her lodged in the audience of the theatre, watching his show, his completely non-criminal normal show, two disparate corners of his life meeting headlong. For some reason, it was easier seeing her involved with the Merry Women than this. “I’d be fucking unpopular as an actress,” Loch said, smiling as he did. “I’m told you’re supposed to be nice to the patrons that come to see you after the show. How the hell would I do that?” “Ah, you’re been nothing but sweet as pumpkin pie to me,” a lie if ever there was one, and they both knew it, “so clearly you’ve got the skills and capacity, Lemach.” “Ah, you get special treatment.” She didn’t bother straightening her shirt. “These people, though,” her eyes went to the fan again, “they couldn’t be duller if they tried. So normal.” She met Miles’ eyes as she said the word that was practically a crime for them; a taunt. “What are you doing among them?” He winced, temporarily swinging his eyes skyward—the cold and unfeeling stars looked like a slightly more forgiving conversational partner at the moment. “Making money,” Miles said. “A pittance, comparatively, but it keeps the paperwork straight. And I know you know the importance of that.” “Ain’t saying I don’t.” Keeps the family from wondering too much, he didn’t say. Miles’ foster father was Guild too—Bards’ Guild. It was almost comical how ill-suited Elayne and Cole Baines were for Miles. Lionel, too, for that matter, friendly oaf that he was. She took another drag from her cigarette before she said, “Lionel invited me to come. He said your parents were coming to see you on opening night.” She was angling for the next bait, the next carefully-constructed sentence to get Miles’ back up. “Thought I might as well check in on you to make sure you’re not about to turn respectable on me. Be a damn shame if you did.” Miles seemed to shudder where he stood, a ripple running from fingertips to the tips of his toes. His metaphorical buttons weren’t all that visible – he worked very, very hard to keep them hidden away – but Loch played them with skill, like a Faram-fucking flautist. Twenty years had saddled them both with that unfortunate intimacy. “If I haven’t yet, I think we’re quite safe for the foreseeable future, darling. Even on my deathbed, I’d cheat them out of my inheritance. The job never ends. And speaking of—” He snapped his fingers, suddenly shifting gears. Miles was restless, like he almost always was. And if he could swerve this topic away from the ones that discomfited him, this encounter need not be an embarrassment and a thorn in his side. He glanced at the small crowd of people clustered around the stage door (moths to the flame, currently chatting with his strutting costar Edwin). “Walk with me,” he said, looping his arm through hers and escorting them down the road, further from prying ears. She saw the deflection for what it was, but rather than press the issue, she nodded and allowed Miles to lead her away from the theatre. She had expected him to plead some sort of excuse to return backstage and shake her off, or provoke her in turn. Not this. Still, that didn’t make this turn of events any less entertaining. They turned onto the main thoroughfare running through the Theatre District, arms looped as if their relationship was as simple as that. Around them, street performers of all kinds showed off their skills to awe passersby into parting with their gil. Urchins and pickpockets weaved in and out of the crowds, plucking wallets and cutting purses. “A walk in the moonlight? How romantic.” Neither of them had ever been the type for that sort of thing, even when they’d been together—for some definition of the word. She leaned into him as they walked, an amused smile playing on her lips. “I might just swoon after all, darling.” This proximity was another weapon against him, warmth and smell and familiarity setting off all sorts of alarm bells in the actor. This was how so very many of their relapses began: one too many jokes, a few too many friendly touches (whether delivered in jest or not), an echo of past times that could so easily echo one more time. Cyclical. Repetitive. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, in and out and off and on, perpetually. It was always hard to pinpoint what made Miles and Loch go back on (‘off’ was much, much easier to define), but they spoke the same language whenever it did — they read the same signs, picked up on the same cues, fell back into the same old steps of their dance. As usual. But not tonight. Tonight, he had some business in mind. “Your sleeping poisons,” he said, with a flash of teeth as he remembered the last time they’d been used. “I know – quite intimately – how effective they are. I need to purchase some of your stock for the next job. My other job.” She couldn't help smirking. "I always strive to make sure my clients are happy with the merchandise." And although that time she had cheated him out of his spoils, he couldn't deny he'd come out on top in the long run. Had Lord Basil Norwood been called out as a thief, that persona of Miles' would have been rendered useless. Surely keeping his connections was worth a few thousand gil. Her expression eschewed this playfulness as her thoughts turned to business. "Care to be more specific? I have dozens of compounds to put people to sleep, but you'll need to give me some details about what you want." “Not dead, but incapacitated for at least thirty minutes, though longer would be better. No need for memory loss this time. And something that can be delivered at range: perhaps by dart?” Loch nodded. “Sounds simple enough.” As a rule, time of onset appeared inversely related to potency, but such rules did not need to be cause for worry, if one knew how to use them to one’s advantage. Miles would want something that could act at once, and remain powerful for at least a half-hour; her mind was already running through the different possibilities. “You’re thinking of delivering it by dart exclusively, or would you also like something that can be breathed in?” “Inhalation’d also be fabulous.” They kept strolling down the street, arm-in-arm and leaning into each other and casually discussing methods of incapacitation on their not-so-romantic walk. “I considered gaseous. Anything that could take guards down from a distance before we’re noticed, really. Some of them are stationary, others patrol.” “I’ve used gas bombs before. You can throw them from a distance and they’ll be asleep before the smoke clears enough to see your face.” It was an amusing thought, to know their appearance now was so far from the truth. A small smile made its way onto Loch’s face. “You’ll need gas masks too, just in case, if you’re going that route. You inhale that and fall asleep, you’re gonna be there a while. And if you have the darts already, you can bring them by and I’ll give them a coating.” “Wonderful.” His words were brisk, the ringleader instinctively slipping back into the mode he used for planning, conceptualising, and scheming. “Whip them up, quote me a price, and I’ll bring the gil.” “Am I preparing masks for seven people? Or will you be embracing larceny all by yourself?” “My solo days are mostly behind me. All seven. We might not all need it, but best be on the safe side, hm?” “Right you are.” She gave him a sideways look that may have almost been an approximation of fondness. The amusement was clear in her eyes. “I’d say, long as you can make plans to disable guards and rob their employers blind, there’s no risk of you turning grey and dull.” “Then, consider my mission accomplished.” |