loch lemach gives zero fucks (cutandthrust) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-07-27 22:32:00 |
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Aisling Wilde had never really lived with anyone, not since her father died. Sure, she’d just managed to spend a few weeks staying with Cian without them killing each other, and yeah, she’d offered to let Loch stay, but as she waited for the ninja to arrive, she was starting to have second thoughts. Not that she regretted it - she had actually liked the company that Cian had provided and hadn’t been looking forward to a large, empty house - because she didn’t. It was just that she had realized that she had no idea how to live with Loch Lemach, paranoid bitch extraordinaire. She doubted it would be anything like living with Cian. “I should have replaced the booze,” she muttered to herself. In the spirit of long tradition, Loch had a hand on the pouch containing her machinist's toolkit before she stopped mid-motion, and rang the bell. She could go about this the civilised way, instead of just letting herself in the way she usually did, since Ash was the only thing standing between herself and a week of living under Philip's roof again. Two bags full of groceries hung from her other hand (never would the world see Loch Lemach do such a thing as eat food prepared by others, especially takeout). She'd cook--whether Aisling wanted to share the food or not was not her problem. The doorbell startled her - she hadn’t been expecting it, and it sounded different from the way it had in the past. So much of the house felt foreign and unknown. It had had to be rebuilt from the ground up, which meant that there had to be some changes to the design; she had spent the last few hours in the only room that felt the same. She left the living room and opened the door, frowning at Loch. “The fuck didn’t you just let yourself in?” Loch rolled her eyes and lifted the bags for her to see, then said, “Since I’m gonna be living with you, and it’s all about new experiences, thought I’d ring the doorbell.” For all the pretense of social ritual, she still let herself in, slipping past Ash and making her way up to the kitchen without requiring an invitation. She dumped the bag over her shoulder, with the few clothes and possessions she had been able to salvage, on the couch, before getting to work. After an instant’s hesitation, she rolled up her sleeves. Her left forearm was bandaged from her wrist almost to her elbow. (In time, Ash was bound to notice, which didn’t mean she was going to offer any explanation if she could avoid it.) “Probably been living on take-out,” she said, taking the groceries out of her bags. “I’m cooking for two. You don’t want it, I’ll freeze it and have it tomorrow.” “Cian doesn’t cook often,” she confirmed, leaning back against the wall. She eyed the bandage but didn’t think anything of it. She’d had bandages up until a few days ago. Not uncommon, especially not after the clusterfuck that had happened to the city or in their line of work. “And if I don’t have to cook it, I’m happy.” She watched as Loch removed groceries from the bag, paying attention to the other woman’s movements. Cian had died, and he’d told her - she doubted Loch would if the same had happened to her. “How’d you heal up?” Loch glanced at the other woman, then began to pluck kitchen utensils and pots out of cupboards and drawers alike. She lined them up on the table like an army going to war. "I healed out of spite," she said with a slight smirk. "They wouldn't let me smoke inside the Cathedral. Might've offended Faram or some shit." Ash shook her head. “Can’t believe you were holed up there of all fucking places. At least you have Faram’s healing light upon you.” She rolled her eyes to show what she thought of the idea. Aisling was Pharist, but she had never been stupidly devout. Her father had gone, and so she had gone, and she agreed with some of the tenets and not at all with others. The new kitchenware was better than her old set - leave it to Neil to make sure he had what he wanted in the kitchen on her gil. Not that she cared - if he cooked, she’d gladly foot whatever bill necessary - but she was still going to give him shit about it later. “Neil’s gonna be pissed if you fuck up his shiny new presents to himself.” “Neil’s a big boy. He can share.” But Aisling—or Neil—had nothing to worry about. The care that Loch put into her machinist work (every beaker handled with the gentlest touch, every movement calculated and efficient) translated into her cooking. Neil himself wouldn’t have taken better care of the kitchenware. Water boiled inside a pot, and Loch retrieved the last item inside the grocery bags, a package that gave off a slight saltwater scent when she opened it. “Didn’t bring icecream today,” Loch said, amusement plain in her voice as she inspected the hake chunks inside the package. “Damn, I thought that’s how you were going to express your gratitude,” she replied good naturedly, pushing away from the wall and headed towards the cupboards. Inside was gleaming white plates and bowls and mugs. Neil had even taken care of that. Some days, she didn’t think she deserved him. (But then she’d hear his voice in her head, telling her he chose her, thank you very much.) She grabbed two plates and two bowls, opened the silverware drawer (brand-new silver) and grabbed utensils. “I figure since you’re cooking, I’ll set the table.” Loch nodded and Ash left, only a little trepedatious of what kind of table Neil got for her. The guy Cian sent over to install the new security was not Porter. He was some fidgety kid who looked like he might have a nervous breakdown at any moment. Which clearly meant it was Loch's responsibility to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't mess up. Ash wasn't home, and this was as good a way to pass the time as any. And seeing the guy freeze and stutter whenever she asked him what he was doing (and proposed a different way to do it, just for the sake of argument) was pretty damn amusing, too. She was lighting her third cigarette when she heard the click of the door downstairs. Aisling had forgotten Ci was sending the security guy over and nearly tripped one of the damn traps opening her own fucking door. This was why she didn’t want the damn things - this series of them seemed more complicated than the last, and she’d barely activated the ones she’d had before. Why the fuck were they even wasting their gil on it, again? Oh, right. Cian was a paranoid fucker. She sighed and closed the door behind her, giving the room a cursory look. No one, and the only sounds she heard were coming from upstairs. It didn’t take long to find them, and she couldn’t say she was entirely surprised to find the poor guy practically shaking in his boots under Loch’s watchful eyes. Ash batted the cigarette smoke away and rolled her eyes. “We really need to get you a hobby.” Loch returned the gesture. “I have hobbies,” she said, and nodded at the younger machinist, who seemed to have broken out in a cold sweat. Ash’s sigh came out more as a laugh before she turned to the guy who was supposedly installing her security. “You done yet?” Her voice was only a little annoyed - not at the machinist, but at the people who insisted she have the damn thing - and he shook his head. “Then get on with it.” To Loch: “Neil sent over cake. There’s ice cream in the ice box.” “Sounds good.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she thought she saw the kid relax for a half-second, perhaps thinking she would choose sweets over torturing him; in his defense, he didn’t know her at all. Loch nodded at Ash but did not move. “I’ll be there soon as we’re done here.” Ash rolled her eyes. “Don’t frighten him too bad,” she told her friend before disappearing out of the room. For all his nervous twitching while installing the new security, the kid had done an alright job. There was room for improvement, and a machinist determined and experienced enough could break through without triggering any of the traps — a fact which she was in the process of proving, deactivation key stored inside her pocket for another day when she did not require a distraction. Her new friend's interest in her seemed to wax and wane; the rumblings and echoes of the old god inside her head washed in and out like the tide. Hashmal was quietest when she worked, but though the alien presence would step aside to make room for thoughts of gears and chemicals, it was still there, tendrils of its power wrapped firmly around her consciousness, like a growing sickness. The invasion made her skin crawl, but for the moment it was far wiser to focus on the task at hand, lest she wind up hanging from the ceiling by her ankle and need to resort to the deactivation key. This was a familiar dance, this subtler side of destruction, the tools wielded with a surgeon's steady pulse to extricate silent-as-death obstacles. No treasure or unattainable prize lay on the other side; only the satisfaction that Cian Wilde's best (and she had no doubt he would have assigned his best to this particular job) was well within the scope of her own ability, fully under her control. Once her path was clear, she tucked her tools away inside the pouch tied around her waist and checked the stopwatch inside her pocket, and smirked. The key turned in the lock. It was around the right time for Ash to be coming home. "Security's deactivated," Loch called, and turned to head into the kitchen. The thrill of her success was enough to focus her attention away from the shift of something ancient inside her, waking. She was sitting there, staring at her comm device. Between settling in, taking care of her end of the business, and dealing with Neil-the-busybody (for fuck’s sake, you’d think she’d never lived alone before with the way he was constantly checking up on her, but she had a feeling part of that was because she was in a coma for damn near a week), she hadn’t had time to message Cian. At least, that’s what she told herself. Bullshit, of course. It wouldn’t have taken more than a minute to tap out some stupid, inane message and send it. But she wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck was going on, and he was as busy as she was. Not like he couldn’t reach out first. Ash sighed in disgust. She was acting like some fucking sixteen year old. “How the fuck do you and Miles deal with your on-off shit?” The look Loch gave her over the rim of her book seemed to waiting for the question to be withdrawn; when it wasn't, Loch looked back down and pointedly turned a page. She was sitting in a chair by the table, the ashtray a permanent accessory by her side. "Not by glancing at our communicators every five seconds like teenagers," she said. "You still wanna take advice from me and Miles?" “I keep thinking I should message him or something,” she said, shaking her head. Faram, wasn’t she over this shit yet? It’d been nearly two fucking decades. (That she could still feel like this probably told her something, but that could be filed with all of the other shit she wasn’t thinking about right now. Going through all of the issues she’d been having while Loch was around just seemed like a bad idea.) “And you two are the closest thing I’ve seen to a functional relationship, which really says something. I need new friends.” Loch let out a low laugh. "You could try asking Neil. Might not live it down, though." “Neil thinks that Cian and I are being fucking idiots and should get over ourselves.” She’d tried to broach the subject with him earlier and all he’d said was message him and stop dicking around. Not exactly her idea of good advice, but what did she know? "Always knew I liked Neil," Loch said, amused. Her eyes were on the book again (the Encyclopedia of Poisonous Herbs and Fungi of the Valendian Plains a useful prop for her affected casualness). "So what's wrong with his advice? Just send whatever fucking message you wanna send, Ash." “I’m not even sure I want to send him a fucking message, but I feel like I should,” she muttered, tossing the comm device onto the couch next to her. They weren’t teenagers, so it wasn’t like she could just shoot off a message saying hi how are you? because fuck if they weren’t too busy for that shit. “So,” she said, turning to look at Loch. “How much of a fucking idiot am I for doing this again?” Loch snorted. "Having second thoughts already?" “Not sure,” she admitted. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and I sure as hell don’t. I just.” Her sigh was one of frustration. How could she explain it so that Loch of all people would understand? “I tried letting him go, I tried dating other people, I even fell in love with someone else but it didn’t do a damn fucking thing. It’s like I’m cursed to want him, and now that I do, I worry that every fucking little thing is gonna drive him off. And then what do I do? I don’t have the options everyone else has. I can’t just up and leave for a while.” Even though that would probably help, but her responsibilities wouldn’t allow it. These words were followed by a moment of silence; then, eyebrows raised, “Cursed to want him. Really, Ash?” The book was forgotten as Loch said, “First of all, tone down the drama. Getting caught up in your own damn head.” Of all the things she’d never thought she’d do, giving relationship advice was at the top of the list. “And if you’re an idiot for trying, well,” she smirked, “he’s an idiot too.” With that, she returned her attention to the book in front of her and took out her cigarette case―a necessity if the conversation was to continue in the same vein. She scowled but couldn’t argue; a week ago those damn words wouldn’t have crossed her lips. “It’s easier to focus on this shit than everything else,” she muttered, leaning back against the couch. “And yeah, he’s a fucking idiot.” But even if they were both idiots, and even if they had both done this before, the nagging feeling that maybe this was a mistake was still there. The feeling that she wasn’t capable of being anything outside of being used, and if he was using her, then what? It would just prove it. Prove that that was all she was good for. (Sforza’s jackasses flittered through her mind, and for a moment, she could feel the gravel pressing into her knees.) Loch glanced up at her. She lit her cigarette and both silver case and lighter disappeared into a pocket again. "What else you worrying about?" she said. "Hope it ain't the monsters. Long as you can stay out of their way, and you ought to see about that, they ain't your problem." She gave a low chuckle and thought about the tattoo-like mark on her forearm; she'd need to find a permanent solution for it, soon. “Monsters are par for the course these days,” Ash said, rolling her eyes. “I’m done playing hero. That shit just ends up with me unconscious somewhere.” And when it didn’t, it usually ended with a pissed off Cian, or an assortment of injuries. “Unless I’m told to go and get involved, I’m staying out of it from now on.” For as long as she could, anyway. She didn’t answer Loch’s question, though, and hoped that her friend wouldn’t notice. Loch did--but if Ash didn't want to talk about whatever was on her mind, that was that. Loch wasn't the type to push for soul-baring conversations, never had been. "Good plan," she said. "Now send that message or stop fiddling with your communicator, ain't getting nothing solved by acting like a fifteen-year-old." “I’ll see him later,” she decided and picked up the book she’d discarded to fiddle with her communicator. The book would be distracting, and that was just what she needed. She’d been keeping an eye on Loch’s wrist. Quick checks to see if the stark white bandage peeked from beneath her sleeve. It had been a week, and despite the rest of Loch being in tip top shape, that damned bandage was still there. And it was starting to drive her fucking nuts because either Loch was doing stupid shit that kept injuring her in the same fucking place (and with the tinkering that she did, and the poisons she made, it was possible) or she’d gotten a new tattoo and wasn’t showing. “So,” she finally said once she couldn’t contain the curiosity anymore. “Did you get drunk and tattoo Miles’ name on your wrist?” Loch frowned. Her hand moved to pull her sleeve down over the bandage; she realised this and stopped the motion halfway, but the damage was already done. “Not his name. His face,” she growled. “It’s so ugly I’m keeping it hidden.” Ash eyed her from across the table. “Ugly as in badly done or ugly as in his face is ugly period? Because if it’s the former, go to Reed. He’ll fix it up.” She wasn’t stupid though, and she knew Loch was lying. Still, if she didn’t want to talk about, she wasn’t going to press. But she sure as hell was going to keep an on it because with all the fucking magick around? Nothing took that long to heal. “That’d be something to see,” Loch said. Her problem, unfortunately, was beyond Reed to fix, no matter how good he might be. Not that she was going to explain to Ash why that was―nobody knew the monster that had wrecked half the city had taken up residence in her head, and she intended to keep it that way. Sure, Ash probably wouldn’t break out the torches and pitchforks like half of Emillion’s population might, but Loch wasn’t looking for sympathy either. She could tell, though, that Ash wouldn’t just put it out of her mind. She was stubborn that way. “Look, I’m fine,” she said. “No need to overthink the bandage. It’s nothing.” “If you say so,” Ash agreed, backing off for the time being. Pushing Loch just pissed the other woman off, and she wasn’t looking to find a sleeping potion in her coffee later. Loch had told Ash she’d be moving out that morning, purely to notify her; in hindsight, perhaps she should have expected her friend to hang around to―whatever this was. Felt like a send-off―but at least there were no tears. She stood in the doorway with her bag slung over her shoulder (what meagre possessions she had retained after the destruction of her former office-cum-residence had been transferred to the new place, excepting a few changes of clothes). “Ain’t moving to Kerwon, you know,” Loch said, amused in spite of herself. “Ain’t like I won’t see you every other day.” Aisling rolled her eyes. “Simply making sure you don’t fuck with the security on the way out so that when Ci comes by” if he ever fucking does “he gets zapped.” She paused. “Not that it wouldn’t be amusing as fuck, but.” Not that she thought Loch would do it, but there really wasn’t any way to explain I’m going to miss having you around even if you’re not actually going any-fucking-where. “There’s a thought.” Loch gave a look around as if she were considering it, then said, “You change your mind, it could be arranged.” There was really nothing else to be said. Privately, Loch felt she deserved a pat on the shoulder for having succeeded at civil cohabitation. Hell, she had even enjoyed it to some degree, but she couldn’t deny it would be a relief to have her own space again. “Get out,” she laughed. “Neil’s making you a pie. He figures you can throw it in Miles’ face when he comes calling. I’ll drop it by later.” They weren’t the hugging type, so she leaned against the wall, waiting for Loch to open the door and take off. “Works for me. Been looking for a chance to practice my throwing skills.” Loch grinned. “See you around, Ash.” A wave, and she was out of the house. There was no point in drawing it out. They both had other things to do. |