InsaneJournal

One Hundred Per Cent Medically Accurate
Who: Pia & Samuel.
What: Banter, bonding and B-movies, oh my!
Where: #707.
When: October 18th, late evening (after this).
Warnings: Language, gore, innuendo...


Perhaps it was Samuel's preoccupation with certain ill-starred amorous goals that had kept him from having sought out Pia's company earlier. Perhaps the unexpected redecoration was to blame, or the equally unexpected retraction of same. Perhaps it was the fault of their hectic work schedules. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, sexually frustrated as he had regularly found himself of late, any argument they fell into - good natured or otherwise - ran the risk of turning into something far more questionable and wholly detrimental to his continued pursuit of his upstairs neighbor. Though Samuel's conscious consideration of this last point was only fleeting at best, it seemed to inform his choice of viewing for the night: The Human Centipede, a libido-killing work of bad cinema he had not yet had occasion to watch in full. The disc sat benignly on his coffee table as he fetched a half-full bottle of Jameson from his kitchen, his thumb sliding over his phone to send off Pia's text.

Door's open.

One trip back to the kitchen and Samuel returned to the living room, setting tumblers alongside the bottle. He settled back into the couch, one bare foot resting on the low table before him as with a quiet whirr the PS3 switched on.

He had only a short wait until Pia showed up, opening the door without knocking. Despite the radio silence on his end, she still seemed comfortable enough to treat his place like her own.

"I was beginning to think that you didn't like me anymore," said Pia with an arched brow. There was only a hint of annoyance in her voice, since she was just as likely to drop off the face of the earth. She didn't sit down immediately, instead draping herself over the back of the couch and dangling a bottle of scotch in front of Samuel. "I even bought a PS3 so we can go PvP."

He quirked a brow, turning to throw her a look over one broad shoulder. He grinned, as much at the sight of her as the bottle in her hand. "Don't expect me to go easy on you just cos you brought this." He plucked the scotch from her grasp, turning it in his hand to give the label a once-over. "Not bad, though. Maybe I'll give you a little head start."

Rising from his chair, he opened her bottle first, curious to sample someone else's wares - his own had been sorely depleted after Charlie's late-night call, and Samuel was in no rush to run through what little stock he had left. He poured their glasses with two full measures; slightly more full, really, than they had any right to be. "Sorry I've been kinda M.I.A. I kept meaning to stop by or something, but you know." He glanced up, their glasses dangling loosely from his rough fingertips. His wolfish grin flashed as he handed one to her. "Don't worry your pretty head over it, Pia. You are and ever shall be solidly on my short 'like' list."

She took the glass delicately. "Clearly I can die happy now, having earned your good favor," she replied dryly, one eyebrow cocked. A small smile ruined the effect, however. She swirled the amber liquid in her glass for a moment, thinking. Curiosity quickly got the better of her.

"I would pretend concern over your absence, but you know me better. Were you seriously just busy, or did your Viagra prescription run out?"

His eyes narrowed darkly over the rim of his glass, the little wave of liquor at his mouth neatly concealing a pleasant smirk. Before attempting an answer he let the lengthy sip of scotch burn its way down his throat, setting its liquid heat coiling through his limbs. "A little of both," he said, with a curious nonchalance he did not wholly feel. Leaning down to the table he picked up the disc, shuffling across the carpet to queue the film up. "Work's been busy, lots of late night call ins and shit. But there's this girl, too. Fuckin' frustrating as hell." He shrugged, chuckling as he moved to retrieve the controller. "Why? Miss me already?"

"Honey, if I missed you, you wouldn't be upright," she replied with utter candor. He laughed aloud at that, nodding perfect understanding. Pia set her empty glass on the coffee table before flopping back on the couch, using the controller to zip past the ridiculous amount of previews to the main menu. "Human Centipede, huh? Sexy," she pressed play and then snagged her bottle back to refill her glass.

"So you finally found a girl who's got you by the short and curlies? Must be some kind of dominatrix amazon or maybe a tyrant queen from Mars in disguise."

"I'd believe either." He took his place beside her on the sofa, topping off his drink before properly settling in. Nursing his drink for a moment, he tried to think of how best to describe his tumultuous relationship-that-wasn't and the woman it solidly hinged upon. Between the film and the liquor it was proving a tall order. He cut Pia a sidelong glance, curious already as to her assessment of the situation. "She's a sex advice columnist," he said. "Has a radio show, too, or something." His broad grin returned; he rubbed idly at the nape of his neck, an unconscious little tell. "She's already slapped me, called me a neanderthal baby-killer - something like that - and all but jumped me upstairs when the building got redone. I can't get her out of my head."

"I never pegged you as a masochist," said Pia with arched eyebrows. A little bit of her was jealous that someone else could elicit such a reaction in Samuel, but she knew it was more a desire to be superior than to have him to herself. She had no shortage of amusements in his absence; she simply liked being the best.

"Let's just say I like a challenge," he said, grinning against the rim of his glass.

After reaching over for the bottle, Pia refilled her glass thoughtfully as the latter part of his statement finally rolled home. "So..." for a rare instance in her life, Pia actually sounded almost unsure and hesitant, "there really was a remodeling of the building?"

"Far as I can tell," he said. He shifted against the cushions, looking back to his bare walls, so recently hung with heavy tapestries, blooded axes and thick, chipped swords. "Charlie - she lives just down the hall - was here at the time, and swear to God, neither of us noticed any changes. They've got a hell of a crew working here, I guess, but they pulled it off. Even stocked the eleventh floor with mead, if you can believe it." He arched a brow, looking back to her. "Did your place not look different?"

"No, no, it definitely looked different," she said slowly. Pia often worked odd and long shifts, so the sudden changes to her apartment were first dismissed as overwork, or perhaps that she'd been drugged. That the changes maintained themselves for more than just a few hazy hours was what bewildered her. "I just... it kinda stumped me. Like, I know I'm away a lot, but it was a little weird that they'd go out of their way to get a night crew and redecorate, if you can call it that, for just a week."

Samuel nodded. "I'm sure they were reading the forums," he said. "Maybe they saw the reaction it got and took everything down. Not everyone was as thrilled with the changes as I was." He left unaddressed, of course, the question of how such a vast overhaul had been managed in so short a time, with tenants awake and yet entirely oblivious to it all. This was a mystery for which he had no ready answer, a scenario that potentially called into question his very sanity - a possibility that simply could not be borne, and would therefore instead be ignored utterly. He cleared his throat, sipping again at his drink. "I still can't figure out why, but a while back some people were talking about problems with their mirrors in the building. Seems like the management here just kind of like fucking with people."

"Yeah, that is a tiny bit of conundrum," Pia said, dryly. Strangely, now that she observed Samuel's dubious thoughts on the matter, her own denial was brought out into harsh scrutiny. It simply was not normal. It didn't even have the right air to be an episode of some reality show. She could imagine a wealthy prankster changing an apartment complex to mirror a themed Vegas casino, complete with staff, or to cover over half the doors in the building. Anything with a modern feel to it, really. That didn't include animal pelts, nor an inconsistency between floors. She sighed, "I'm pretty sure that it is not April, nor is it common operating procedure for any prank to include so much..." Her voice trailed off and she gestured with one hand, "fuck, I don't know. To include so much SCA recreation bullshit."

He quirked a brow; it took him a moment to catch the reference, but soon enough his brain supplied the meaning behind the acronym. He laughed, nodding again. "One of the tenants has family in Egyptian studies or something," he said. "He seemed to think the jars in the lobby were legitimate, or at least very good reproductions. That forum clusterfuck had people telling me I ought to call homicide over some apparent organs down there." He snorted, a derisive little laugh. "Good thing I didn't, or I really would be fired for mental instability, with everything having disappeared again."

Shrugging, Samuel moved solidly on, content to talk about something perhaps less unsettling than the Twilight Zone-remodeling. "Building concerns aside," he said, "what else have you been up to? Met any other neighbors yet?"

"A few," replied Pia, her tone of voice indicating that if anyone else had asked the same question, they would have received a pert and scornful reply. Pia never bothered with intentionally meeting her neighbors, and would often rather they never know she was there. "My other neighbor... Rick, I think. I keep thinking he got lost on his way to his frat house. I can't imagine you've avoided his acquaintance."

He laughed again at her description; he had no doubt it was apt, but her unforgiving wording amused him more than it should. "Somehow I have," he said. "Maybe it's the shift work. Should I go over and say hello? I've already met and semi-cleared the felon down the hall, I don't think your Rick would be too much trouble."

"Oh, I'm certain he wouldn't bother you," she said, flicking the air with her free hand. Then, as alcohol-slowed recall brought back the events of her first meeting with Rick, she hastily finished off her glass. Three was plenty, even in the light of that debacle. After that, she practically super-glued her apartment key to her hand. "He's just so," she made a face, "chipper. Like a golden retriever puppy. On uppers."

"Criminal," Samuel agreed. His smirk was almost obscenely pleasant. Visions of the eventual interaction between the reportedly effervescent Rick and the decidedly less-so Charlie danced through his head; Samuel made a mental note to keep an ear ever attuned to the hallway, lest he miss such assured entertainment when it came. "How did you manage to not gut him then and there? I imagine conversation had to be a bit of a challenge."

"As if I'd be able to avoid charges," she said, gently pushing the SWAT team member, who gave a noncommittal roll of his eyes in response. In all honesty, she rarely considered violence as an answer to any of her problems. It might mean finding out that she would not be successful, and she didn't really care to know. "I'd never clean up the mess in time."

Suddenly one of the whimpers from the television caught her attention. Pia watched for a moment, then turned to Samuel with one raised eyebrow, "Seriously? Face to ass surgery?"

"Hey, I didn't write it." He turned his wicked grin to the screen, his brow showing an amused furrow. The film's gore left something to be desired, though more due to its implausibility and relative tameness than anything else. He and Pia both had seen far worse in their line of work, without the benefit of stage makeup and lighting tricks. Samuel found himself a little disappointed; he hoped it would take a turn for the better - or at least the more interesting - as it progressed.

As the film went on, though, this seemed a dim and dwindling prospect. At last Samuel heaved a bemused sigh, whiskey sloshing the sides of his glass as he gestured to the screen. "This is completely ridiculous," he said, wrinkling his nose at the scene, awash with blood and other, less readily identifiable bodily fluids. "So much evidence lying around. I mean, I swear, I think it's on the ceiling. Even you couldn't clean that up."

She turned to him, eyebrows raised, "Is that a challenge? I could most certainly clean that up, even if the bodies were left to rot for a month." The time period during which the bodies would putrefy but not decay. "Not that it would take that long to be found, the police would go and check after their officers, as useless as they were. The dead girl should count herself lucky."

"If you say so," he said, a dubious note in his voice. "I'm not asking to be let in on trade secrets or anything. I'm just saying it looks like a pretty bad scene from here." The film seemed to be drawing to a close, and for a number of reasons Samuel was pleased that was the case. Rather than being the mere deterrent to base instincts he had intended, it had in the end been just a regrettable choice of viewing material even on a B-movie scale. "I'd say I'm glad they didn't leave it open for a sequel, but I'm sure they'll find a way, even with the doctor dead."

"Tragically, yes. The sequel is to have, hm... ten? twelve? people stitched together," replied Pia, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. The first thing she did after hearing about any movie or any book was to log onto the internet and see what Wikipedia had to say on the matter. She skipped the synopses, of course. "It's supposed be far more grotesque, but I always find the imagination is a far better tool than special effects." She gave Samuel a long, lazy once-over, her thoughts wandering far away from horror films and into more pleasant territory. "How into that other girl are you, anyhow?"

He had opened his mouth to comment on this planned further foray into heinous cinema, but now his jaw closed so hard it made a faintly audible clack. He saw that shift in her look, reading it perhaps not for what it was, but for what it had often been in the past; even now it got to him, and set his thoughts to wandering. Quickly he twisted this damning expression into a sharp little smirk, leaning up to the coffee table to top off his glass. Less liquor, not more, was probably the best answer, but Samuel appeared to have thrown at least this much caution to the wind. "Pretty damn," he said, chuckling quietly. He skirted altogether the dangerous issue of emotion, ignoring even the memory of the damnable feelings their few interactions had roused. "Such mixed signals." He sipped at his drink, giving a shake of his head. Bluntly, he added, "I thought I'd have her by now."

"Poor baby, not getting your new toy right away," she said with a wry smirk, though consulting her libido at the same time. She was not desperate, by any means. Nor was she interested in appearing needy. Pia shrugged, leaning back and weaving her fingers, stretching and cracking her knuckles at the same time. "If she's a sex advice columnist, I would suspect she has no shortage of suitors," she waggled her eyebrows to emphasize the point, "Maybe you're just an amusement in between."

He narrowed his eyes at her patronizing accusation, but it being entirely true there was little he could say in his defense. His own sharp smile unconsciously mirrored hers as he watched her languid stretch with no small appreciation, though the motion did not seem to drag his attention fully away from the maddening topic at hand. "Yeah. And I'd be fine with just that," he lied, "if I was getting any amusement out of it. But it's just these fuckin' epic fights and pawing at each other and then her backing off, every time. Foreplay and no payoff." He shook his head. "We'll see. I'm not giving up just yet."

"You must be so... frustrated," she dragged the word out langorously, gazing at the ceiling for a moment before looking over at Samuel with heavily lidded eyes that usually promised so many things. Instead, though, she stood, arching her back and stretching a bit more. "Hm, is it that time already? And me with work in the morning..." Pia began to walk over to the door, trailing her fingers across his neck and shoulders as she passed. He canted his head toward her touch, his smiling eyes following the motions of her hip-swaying exit. "See you later, Captain Blueballs."

In one fleeting pang of weakness he considered stopping her; but soon the moment passed, and they remained where and as they were. He smiled softly as she reached the door, tossing her a small and boyish wave. "Later, Pia."