tɦɛ iɳquiรitѳʀ (freemarched) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-04-11 11:31:00 |
|
|||
Breath ceased on the hour exactly. We felt his absence in that moment, and were ready. It was gentle, and all were calmed by the signs of spirit entering, knowing there would be no chains on their loved one. Unfettered, he would find the side of the Maker. The words were murmured under his breath, whiskey-colored eyes focused on the pages of his book - Max had started reading, and he couldn’t quite stop. There were a few books received from whatever Dream fairies decided to drop things through this particular Veil (he thought of it that way, something gossamer yet strong separating one world from the next) and he’d read what he needed to, for the sake of the ritual entitled Way of the Necromancer - but he didn’t have a tutor here, really, not to help him absorb the gravity of what everything meant and explain to him the nuances of this craft. He had to learn on his own, straight from the mouth of that skull, smoky whispers revealing the tricks of the trade. Well. Revy was there too - she had her opinions on things. Her particular unique brand of wisdom. Having her there had helped; Trevelyan didn’t feel like he was flailing around in dark water in the fog - because learning from scratch wasn’t what he would call easy. One day, he’d teach her how to throw fire too. As a way to thank her, and because he’d promised. He took public transportation when he could, and so that was why he read on the light rail to the stop closest to where she worked - there was no actual stop by the porn studio (clearly), he had to walk a few blocks, but when everything slowed to a halt he tucked his book away in his messenger bag and then began the brief trek to the shady warehouse lit up by pink lights as a beacon of...womanly genitals. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind him showing up - he even brought decent coffee because she said the studio-provided brew was shit, and what was in the to-go cups seemed a little healthier than beer for breakfast. Now to walk in and find her office. Easier said than done. Were there pastries today, he wondered? Or just pasties? Pastries and pasties. Trevelyan walked into a studio of scantily clad men and women, tits n’ ass out, dick and balls everywhere - all of it free to roam. Around the corner, not far from the open office (supervision purposes, she also doubled as muscle in case a catfight broke out between bleach-blonde porn stars with dorrito skin) was the ‘break area.’ A long, foldable table with fixings. Shit coffee, ‘great value’ creamers and sugars, a display of chocolate-glazed donuts with sprinkles. And a vegetable tray for those more conscious about their figure. Which Revy wasn’t. This mercenary was fit, round in all the right places and finely toned throughout the rest. Physical fitness was a priority when your skillset was primarily invested in violence, making sure you were quicker and stronger than whoever the fuck you were trying to shoot up - even if these days lately weren’t what her days used to be, it was a habit she couldn’t kick, and she preferred to be prepared in case she was ever called upon to royally fuck someone up. Her regimen burned enough calories for her to frankly not give a shit about what she ate. Her initial glance up was to check how everyone was doing outside at first, and then there was a double-take when those tawny-gold eyes landed on someone that clearly did not belong. “What the fuck,” was what she said around the puff of carbs - it actually came out all garbled but she chewed, she swallowed, and then got up to poke her head out. “Hey, shithead. You do know this isn’t the library, right?” Being greeted in such a fashion was almost endearing. One glance at Revy and most would probably write her off as a criminal, or run in the opposite direction because all that muscle and all those tattoos were intimidating - but not Max, he actually liked her. Maybe he saw something in her too, a person who believed she could change for the better and was legitimately trying. Many would have given up - he didn’t know much about her background, but if she ever wanted to tell her story she could probably do a lot of good, similar in the ways he did (or tried to). But that was a discussion for the moments before she kicked him out of her place - those philosophical, static moments. “You said the coffee was shit, so...” He offered one of the cups. “Hopefully that goes with the donuts? And it was on the way to the office.” Not really. A porn studio wasn’t on the way to the office, but oh well. He was here now, he could see the master at work - admittedly, he was a little curious. The dicks flying free and the tits n’ass on display sort of confirmed exactly how he’d imagine a sexy mecca like this to be. It was shit. It wasn’t a hint for decent java, though - the gesture made her blink those tigress eyes that looked like they were caught in headlights, confused, but when he said it was on the way… “You’re so full of shit,” Revy snorted, wiping the sugary crumbs off her mout with the back of her hand, then swiped the offered cup. “Your way to work doesn’t involve this fucking trainwreck of passing scenery, but thanks.” Well, if he was here, might as well invite him inside her cramped, cigarette-stinking office. Despite the perpetual case of resting bitchface she didn’t mind his company, as unexpected as it was, and motioned him to the chair across her desk. Donuts were available, a paper plate of them on the cluttered surface of her workspace - he could take some if he wanted, she wasn’t greedy when it came to processed junk. “It’s good,” she told him after a taste of the caffeine, sounding a little surprised. “I half-expected some new age organic bullshit in a cup.” Well, of course. He had a radar for where to get the best brew, roasted there on the premises and perfectly at that; the recommendations he got from people when he first posted on the network helped too - residents who frequented Valar seemed to drink a lot of coffee (and drink a lot in general). “It’s sort of a requirement in Seattle to have good taste in coffee, Starbucks aside,” he said with a grin, shutting the door behind him (how scandalous but Max didn’t want anyone else to get jealous of the delicious ambrosia he brought!) and making himself comfortable in Revy’s office. Bag came up and over his head, and he sat in one of the chairs near her setup to consider the donuts - hm, why not chocolate with chocolate frosting? A sugar coma seemed like a good beginning to the day. Trevelyan took a glance around, getting a feel for the place. “So, this is where your own brand magic happens? It’s not bad.” The lack of windows and the shoebox feel to it, well, that was actually sort of cozy? It was previously a storage room renovated into, well, this. They didn’t have the budget to expand the place just yet, so there you go. A hovel. Splicing x-rated footage together required a degree of concentration to make sure it all flowed together smoothly - hence the need for her own private space - and while she didn’t have a degree (or even a diploma, or even a fucking GED), learning the software wasn’t rocket science, nor did it take a lot of effort to click a mouse and drag things around on the computer screen. Revy wouldn’t lie that the hole she spent most of her day in could use a little sprucing up, but it was functional and had what she needed - a place to work at, an ashtray, and a mini-fridge that stored beer and leftovers detrimental to her cholesterol. “If that’s what you want to call it,” she sneered, her fingers holding the coffee in some kind of embrace, and she sipped again. It got a little warm in here, hence the cut-off belly shirt and shorts, and the freedom of flip flops. None of those tattered military boots with shoelaces perpetually undone. “Saw something outside you like? They’re not prostitutes but if you want to watch a porn about someone specific…” She had the hook up. Obviously. Oh, Maker. Of course she’d say something like that. Max actually laughed - but thanks for the ‘they’re not prostitutes’ clarification, Revy. Not that he was even going that route anyway. “I think I’m good,” he assured her. “For now, at least. But I’m always taking recommendations from you - that pirate one really wasn’t bad. I was somewhat into the story.” Yes, he’d watched it. For science. A piece of the donut was picked apart, chocolate frosting sucked off the edge of his thumb so he didn’t make a mess or end up smearing his mouth. “Though I had a question for you? Mainly involving - “ He motioned to the computer, and her editing equipment - the computer itself looked to be a sleek model, and probably had decent programs on it so at least she wasn’t using a dinosaur from the early 90s running Oregon Trail, “...this. Do you want to edit other things? If so, I could use the help there. It’s not really my area of expertise. You happen to be the only editor I know, as luck would have it.” Pirates was popular. Nothing her studio (it was a smaller, local one) produced, but it was the prized film throughout the entire industry - it had even been converted into a Rated-R version because the fucking storyline was that riveting, or something. Go figure. “I’m no professional,” Revy began, brows furrowed, and she propped her elbows atop the surface of the desk. “I learned from the crazy cat lady that was in this position before me, but, uh, sure? The fuck do you need?” Weird request. Most favors were in regards to enacting bouts of hostility; that’s what she was good at, that’s what she was known for - she still did a couple ‘errands’ for Chang here and there, whenever he was in the area (and out of loyalty, the fucker had gotten her out of prison much sooner than anyone could have expected). Obviously the gig at the Rear End, too, where she was asked to bestow the strength of muscles onto the creeps that came crawling in. No one really asked her for anything else. Oh, fuck, she was going to bomb this, wasn’t she? Interesting that a crazy cat lady had done this job before. Now Revy was in the hotspot. Funny how life turned out, wasn’t it? “I’m giving a series of talks,” he started, dusting his hands off to potentially avoid crumbs on his shirt. The coffee was then picked up, since it had definitely cooled enough to begin sipping without scorching his tongue, but he kept talking. “For a program run by the organization I do a lot of work for, but it’s a program that educates high school students on mental health conditions. So all sorts of schools, across the county - they have a lot of volunteers to speak and share their stories, I’m just one of many. But the talks are usually recorded and then posted online - they just have to be edited first, right? So if you’re interested...” Max took a drink, letting her mull that over. It was a really good program, and he felt strongly about it - his volunteer organization was also partnered with one that served as an advocate and a means of support for victims of crime and their families; she’d get a lot of exposure to different types of people, but maybe it would be good? And he really did need the help. The Herald of Andraste had absolutely no talent with editing programs, sadly. Oh, thank fuck. It didn’t sound complicated. Everything described was everything she already did minus the shitty acting and all those viagra-pumped dicks getting shoved into all those different orifices. “Only because you’re the one doing the asking,” Revy told him, and tore off a piece of his donut to pop into her mouth. They’ve swapped spit and other things, it was acceptable. “Give me the shit, let me know when you need it done, I’ll do it.” And she could do other things, of course - add sound, change a couple things, make his voice sound like he was part of Alvin and the motherfuckin’ Chipmunks. All that was basic editing. Don’t expect fancy CGI, like dragons bursting out from behind him or whatever the hell. Or cheesy blue fire for hair. “Do I have to be there to watch you lecture about how talking does the soul good?” Wait, there wasn’t going to be any cheesy blue fire? Forget it, then. “No,” Max fought a flicker of a smile, surrendering part of his donut. They were technically Revy’s anyway - or sugary fried dough, property of the porn studio. “Not unless you want to be. Otherwise, I’ll just give you the shit - as you put it. And if you want me to pay in sexual favors, I can do that too.” Maybe he’d stock her kitchen with real food as payment in addition to whatever the stipulated terms were - though granted, he’d probably do that anyway. That poor fridge and pantry, they were so unfortunate. “I do a lot of classes too, for parents and caregivers of kids living with a mental illness - hits close to home, for me, so I promise my other talks aren’t all just me blabbing about the benefits of talking,” he explained, taking another swig of coffee. “Sometimes listening and silence are just as effective.” He had a few clients where they arrived early on purpose and just needed those moments of not talking to center themselves - anything to take the pressure off; when they were relaxed, then the juices flowed better (wasn’t that true in many avenues?). Revy in turn would argue there was nothing wrong with her fridge and pantry, fuck you very much - as fucking desolate and pathetic as they were. Half of it was beer and rum, the other half was leftover pizza (she fucking loved pizza) and pudding cups, the kind that had the vanilla sandwiched between two layers of chocolate. There wasn’t much for regular breakfast fixings; no bread for toast, not even slices of bacon. Also because she just didn’t cook. “So you’re willing to prostitute yourself for video editing,” she huskily chuckled, stretching her leg underneath the desk - it was a cheap thing with barely a back to it, which was how she was able to stick her foot between his legs and right on dem nuts. “I’ll keep that in mind. Everyone’s got their kinks.” Sexual partners were rare for her; she’d gone a long stretch without indulging in the sweaty art of fucking. Not that she craved it on a constant basis but when it’s been that goddamn long, sometimes you were ready to pop. For what it was worth, she’d take what she could while she did want it. Right on the balls! Honing in to where the important stuff was, fair enough. “Hm, when you put it that way...” The Inquisitor gave a bit of a chuckle, patting the outstretched leg - well, gliding his hand to right below the knee and back down, calf muscle kneaded gently. “Yes, I guess I’m prostituting myself for video editing. That gives me an odd thrill.” It was said in a deadpanned sort of way, jokingly. Not like he really had sexual partners for the sake of getting off often either - but they were adults, consenting to it, and sometimes casual just worked best at certain points in time. Could also be filed under ‘stress relief.’ His dreams were filled with political strife (amazing what shit went on, despite the threat of a crazed Darkspawn wanting to blow up most of southern Thedas) and ridiculousness for miles - Trevelyan was there to lead the charge and be the figurehead, whereas he would probably never have the strategic skills Cullen did or the diplomatic skills of Josephine, or those eyes and ears in every nook and cranny like Leliana. But there were good things too, and good things here. He was building a solid circle of companionship, all different types - seemed like history was repeating itself. “Should I let you get back to work?” he asked. “I don’t want to interrupt the porn editing flow.” Touch wasn’t something Revy often let people get away with. Her bubble was something she considered fucking sacred, even hugs were a rarity - but she had her reasons that she picked at and dissected, tried to rationalize instead of letting the rage creep into her veins like poison. Trevelyan’s hands were were welcomed, actually felt kind of nice (when she could appreciate them outside the heat of the moment, anyway). Pushing the cheap chair on wheels back, Revy rose and took a whole three steps to the door. There was a bunch of noise outside, socializing and laughs, the occasional mocking of sex noises, but instead of opening the door she merely ensured the shit was locked. “You brought me coffee, might as well give you something back,” she snorted, glancing over her shoulder with a wolfish grin as the door clicked. Prime location, considering it wasn’t the sort of place awkward attempts at spooning could take place. “What time do you have to be at work?” The telltale locking of the door, well, not what he expected - but Max wasn’t going to complain. And the ‘eying dinner behind the cage bars’ look Revy had on her face made him grin a little too, a crooked smile. “I don’t have my first session until the afternoon, I was just going in earlier to finish up some notes,” he said, but obviously those could be tossed by the wayside for the moment. Then, in a quick cobra strike that lashed out, he was up - not even giving himself time to think about it before his hands found her and they collided against the wall, her back against the surface. “So I think we're good,” he added helpfully, touch taking a stroll north and up along her ribcage, beneath clothing. A fuck against the wall was its own version of a power breakfast - better than sweeping all that shit on the desk to the floor in a dramatic movement; it looked breakable, and some editing needed to get done today. Thanks a fuckton for the consideration of her desk valuables - that computer was one of the most expensive things of equipment in this studio. Not to mention the chocolate-glazed donuts, the coffee. That wasn't a mess she'd want to clean and Revy would have probably been obligated to punch him right in the throat if that happened (it wouldn't have exactly ruled out the continuation of this recreational activity for her but hey). But her back into the wall, umf, it was a roughness that riled her up, bronze eyes lit with that flicker of lust. Lucky him her clothes were always very minimal - easy to take off, or move out of the way - and lucky her all she needed undone on him were his pants, pressed so neatly that she was going to make sure he walked out of her all disheveled. Clothes wrinkled in the best way possible. “I won’t make you too late,” she chuckled, teeth snapping at his mouth as her fingers yanked down the zipper, undid that button, and tugged the rest down for that freedom. Also so she could grab a handful of balls n’ cock for some stroke and play, because that sort of thing was important. |