SILLY GAMES THAT U R PLAYIN EMPTY WORDS WE BOTH R SAYIN LET'S WORK IT OUT BOI LET'S WORK IT OUT BOI
[swallow.ran]
it looked like someone had died.
every mirror had been cloaked in fabric. bathroom, bedroom, hallway. the small one on the nightstand. the decorative tryptich in the living room. the guest bedroom. beside the front door. all those tiny, empty picture frames laid face down. the coffee table and the antique cabinet-- too reflective. the stainless steel appliances would just have to be avoided. he drew the curtains too. just for good measure.
swallow let a deep breath out and he opened his eyes.
today really wasn't a good day.
There sounded a knock at the door -- permanent, strong. There had been frenzied admissions -- or lack thereof, for there was, technically, no knowledge to dispense -- via a dialed proximity, though the sharpshoot was never really that far away.
Cigarette stench still lingered on his fingers, mixing with a gunpowder trace that never quite lifted despite cologne and thorough cleaning. Still, he breathed deeply himself, wondering how bad, exactly, it would all go down once the latches released.
swallow unlocked the door without cloak or shadow. without any expectation of sympathies and without a greivance to address. and when it unlatched he let it fall open and stood there with a simplicity of character that words could not bear to alter or correct.
"hey."
to be fair, he didn't know what to do with himself. didn't know if words were good enough for the moment. but from the doorway, there were mirrors to be not-seen, and those were word enough for the purpose of his invisibility.
"Hey." He brushed his way in, close to the walls. Force of habit, maybe, but one that only lasted thirty-one seconds. He turned once the door had been closed behind them, taking it -- the man, his alteration -- in.
"So." You got fitted. You're holding a funerary procession in your house. All of the above and every other 'nice weather' bullshit. But still, there was an air of concern to it, however deeply buried it happened to be.
the killer shifted uncomfortably. he felt the concern loom but he did not address it, did not strike it down.
"... want a beer?"
"Uh, sure." It took a moment. He ambled into the living room, looked to mirrors that were begging not to be there. He studied them like fine paintings, rolling words and thoughts over with his tongue.
"Somethin' about you this time, huh?" It resounded against stark settings.
"yeah, i... uh." to the kitchen for the beer, two of them, and to the living room to hand them off. "i woke up this morning and didn't recognize myself."
the mirrors, the glass, the windows all covered. hiding his reflection from himself so he could have a calm moment even though there was no way to stop thinking about what had happened. swallow popped the cap off his bottle and dropped onto the couch. he felt the gravity of the situation and didn't try to dampen the blow-- to niran or himself. putting sugar in this wouldn't make it any better.
"You think covering the mirrors is helping?" It could have been skeptical. It wasn't. It was just a question -- one posed over hands exchanged. When he lowered to the couch beside his accomplice, it was slow and deliberate, much like the words that spilled from those lips in times like these.
"not really," the assassin replied as he lit a cigarette to counteract his nerves. "but it felt like i was doing something."
Ran nodded, mulling over the response offered. He leaned back, took a sip.
Stared ahead.
"Hey." It was a murmur, a velvet exchange. His eyes slid sidelong to the man beside him.
"what?"
swallow remained tensed, poised, without an explanation to himself or the other man in sight. he took a swig, he took a pull, and though the nervous action of his hands hadn't reached that face he couldn't remember, still he felt threatened by what he'd lost to the sickness of time.
"C'mere." He craned his neck, sharp as tack. Rising from the couch with strained limbs, he took his beer along for the ride. He stopped in the hallway, just short of many rooms they could pass into, but entered none.
the assassin narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing. he trusted the other man but there was always something to be called into question when such brief statements passed between them. "... why?"
he'd risen but hadn't moved otherwise. it was enough for the moment.
"Just do it. C'mere." He waved the man along, a smirk managing to surface before impatience broke it. He shifted his weight to reach into a back pocket, lighting up in the time it took Swallow to reach him.
swallow did as requested, albeit cautiously. this was going to have to do with a mirror, wasn't it?
Bingo.
With an assassin's precisions Niran pulled at a covered mirror, unsheathing it and exposing the butterfly's insecurity. He looked at Swallow -- in person, through the mirror. Smoke plumed between visages -- matched and otherwise.
"Don't freak out." It was said hurriedly -- preemptively. He watched Swallow carefully through polished glass, his cigarette between his lips.
"Nothin's getting better until you get used to yourself again. So just breathe."
swallow sighed. inadvertantly dropped those dark, sullen eyes. "so it is that i just forgot, right? and not some weird john travolta face off bullshit, right?"
he met niran's gaze through the mirror, all jokes aside. the pair of men on the other side felt nothing like how he felt right now. his positioning was off, his brow too concerned. his cigarette smoke plumed in a trickle opposite the way he felt it move. he didn't connect. even when he met his own eyes, he couldn't connect.
but he said nothing. another uncomfortable shift. another nervous drag.
"I don't know who the fuck John Travolta is, but no, you just forgot." He reached out, gently inclined Swallow's chin so that he was forced to look at himself in the mirror. Concern leeched forward now, pressed through all the cracks in that veritable surface.
"Ry, it'll stay worse if you don't force it better."
"or i could address it over time like a normal person coming to terms with not remembering what their fucking face looks like," the killer spat as he tore his chin away, moved away from both man and mirror as he took a champion's swig of his beer. "oh hey, looks like you've got some cancer. let's give you all your radiation right fucking now. who cares that you've got a couple months to do this safely, right? it'll just get fucking worse, here you go, don't die--"
lashing out wasn't like him, but then, the circumstances were a little unusual.
He stood, eyebrow raised.
"I don't think they're really on the same fuckin' level. You think I want you to live in front of that thing? No, but give yourself more than ten fuckin' seconds in front of it." He ashed on the floor, flicking that filter like it didn't deserve. Nevertheless, his voice was calm, as comforting as it could be.
"totally the same thing, fuck you," the assassin grumbled half heartedly.
"Hey, fuck you too princess. You think we all don't have shit like this to cope with you're in as much of a fantasy world." It was calm, but he walked forward, taking the sheet that was over the mirror with him.
"It'd at least be a good idea to keep one uncovered. Maybe not that one, because I don't want you jacking up your hand cuz you caught sight of yourself in the middle of the night, but it'll remind you that you've gotta look sometime. Y'know. Check to make sure the chemo's not makin' you go bald or some shit." It was malignant, spat with the beer that was sitting sick in his gut.
while the immediate reaction was violent, physical, the man calmed both his fists and his heart, cooled his head. resolved himself in not destroying this apartment with his lack of anger management. "yeah. sorry. i don't know why i called-- i thought i might listen to you. guess i'm not listening to anyone."
he would've moved to the window, but his reflection was there. instead, he leaned against the wall, hands over his eyes, nursing that headache like a newborn child.
"Riley," it had that same countenance -- cool, almost lethally. He didn't move, but the petty remarks ceased, made way for that head that had cleared.
"I'm not talkin' to get you pissed. I know how hard it is; we've all been fitted." He paused. For a thousand years, he paused.
"I'll stay if you want, I'll go just the same. But shuttin' it all out's no way to live."
"a fitting's never stared me in the face like this one has. it's just..." he sighed. "sorry. i guess."
"Don't apologize." Brief, astute.
"Just... get back on track. You can get used to it again -- it's not like you've got this face to stare back at you." He pointed to himself with a grin, cheeky and stupid.
"yeah. that would just be fucking terrible. probably would have to kill myself." the familiar tesseracted the jovial and the assassin seemed to relax.
"See? You're not in a greek tragedy yet, kid." He smirked, wandering over to an ashtray to snub the dead filter. He looked up, felt the ease of ordinary conversation and the burden it lifted, if only slightly. He set his beer down, hands to pockets to idly play with a cheap bic lighter that made him a little timesick.
"I wanna help if I can. You know?" Click, inhale.''
"i don't know that you can. native american spirit journey and all that shit." one cigarette made way for the next and he pushed off the wall. snuffed one filter for the new one in favor. he fell to a graver tone of voice. more serious this time. "we may be partners in crime, but there's a line that's gotta get drawn. can't get too involved. it'll get bad if you know me too well."
Ran grinned, smoke slithering between his teeth like some serpent's tongue.
"Did I offer girltalk all night?" He shrugged.
"Either way. You know where to find me."
"thanks for giving it a shot." a low grumble. girl talk. pfft. pfft. "you should probably go. your nails might get did if it's gonna be like that."
"Well, shit." He frowned, turning towards the door. Before exiting, he stopped.
"Just consider what I said, k? It might help after all." A hand fell to the brass.
the assassin wallowed in his disconnect, having already removed himself from the moment. "yeah," he replied without looking. "i'll be good. don't worry."
"Good boy."
The sound of the door left the hollow one standing stark, one mirror closer to defeats.