ᴄʟᴇᴀɴᴇʀ (garcian) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-08-17 19:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, garcian smith, kenzi malikov |
Who: Garcian & Kenzi
What: Meeting face-to-face, in prep for any potential death experience
When: Today
Where: House of Disney Villainy
Rating/Warnings: Mostly safe - some talk of their odd respective dreamworlds and death (plus mention of dildos and zombie hookers, how great)
Status: Complete
Volunteering his resurrection services - alright, fair enough. Was it some good deed, pay it forward shit? Maybe, maybe not. Garcian didn’t do many good deeds in his day, so he wasn’t sure how it worked. He also wasn’t sure if he could even do this, as in, physically - he hadn’t tried here in whatever world this was supposed to be, something real or something fake as memories of another existence trickled in and burned like acid. All he knew was that he remembered being sent in to collect the dead body of whatever Smith had taken a fatal blow, bringing it back to Harman’s room and then fixing the situation good as new. I can feel no remorse when seeing a dead body. To me it's merely cold, rotting flesh. Trying to resurrect someone without the ISZK television might be a problem, since that was how he went in for the purposes of retrieving the corpse - but then of course the television showed up, and his conversation with Dan about randomly switching places was itching at the back of his skull. Who knew if that would happen, but it would seem things were in place for his powers to work - he could still hope he didn’t have to use them, however. Arriving at the address Kenzi had given him, he knocked on the door and stood on the front stoop admiring the motherfuckin’ huge mansion in front of him - definitely nicer than any place he’d lived before, that was for sure. He didn’t blame homegirl for wanting to meet him first though. Garcian just wasn’t used to meeting people like this. The worst part was not knowing. Not knowing if it’d really happen, and if it did, how would it happen? Would she die getting sucked into the portal? Did she have to slit her throat and bleed over it in the ultimate sacrifice? Would her body even remain so someone could actually get here - it was a lot that haunted her mind. Uncertainty was an unforgiving cunt nugget, just sayin’. Asking for help was the only thing Kenzi thought she could do. Seek someone who, in the scenario that someone woke up and found her dead in her bed, could come over and work their ‘magic’ (or whatever the shit it was when it came to Garcian here) to bring her back. Maybe it’d work, maybe it wouldn’t. But, hell. She would try. There was too much to live for. She had family here, legit family - she had friends, she had a place where she belonged and didn’t feel so alienated. Unless, say, the portal actually showed up here and there was no other choice (like, all options exhausted and oh crap the world was ending or whatever)? MacKenzie Malikov was not drifting off into the sunset, fuckyouverymuch. Her request to the overprotective brother and sis-in-law was space for the moment. Then, later, they could ask Garcian any question they wanted. Their first meeting needed to be - and she found it weird in thinking this - sort of intimate, in a way? This was the dude that could bring her back to life if shit rolled down hill. Getting a feel for him and what he was about was important, and she didn’t need anyone to hover. “You must be Garcian,” greeted the mini-pirate, always so uniquely dressed. Leather boots with too many buckles and too many spikes, fishnets that crawled up her legs all the way up to the black-and-white dress - and the final touch was a skull belt that cinched her waist. The epitome of a gothic fashionista. Gotta look fabulous at all times, right? If she randomly died then she had to make sure her ghost would come back wearing something good. “Garcian. Garcie. Garcie’s a good nickname.” Yeah, sorry, Garcie. “Come in - the dog’s cool, the cat will ignore you, and the cobra’s in her cage.” Welcome to Casa de Villainy, home of Captain Hook and the Evil Queen. It’d make a bangin’ museum with all the crap McTits kept in her crypt like a deadly witch hoarder. She didn’t look like what he expected, then again, Garcian wasn’t sure what he expected. For him, it was pretty standard - tall (he was 6’3, probably could have gone for an NBA career if he had a better taste for coke, not the beverage), black, carved from stone (heart and everything else). But no, he didn’t expect the fishnets or the skulls or really, really bright blue eyes. They looked like fire, complete combustion. “You’re not the first to call me Garcie,” he chuckled, deep and velvety. Dan did too, for some reason - so Garcian just decided to get used to the moniker. “Nice to meet you, Kenzi. You got a cobra?” That was an interesting choice for a pet. The dog was cute, when he came to investigate - Killian was so sure Prince knew the attack command, should it be necessary, but Prince really only knew how to attack with slobber-tongue. Useless, yet adorable. Garcian had on a t-shirt and tailored pants (with the right shoes, you didn’t wear tennis shoes with tailored pants) but he didn’t mind dog drool too much, getting on Prince’s level to bestow chin scratches on him. “Not mine, but one of the many interesting characters that live under this roof -” And oh, don’t forget her sweet wittle baby niece! Almost a year old! They really do grow up way too fast. But likely, Garcian could hear the baby babble and giggles from the other room. “Come in, though. See? Told you the dog’s cool.” Prince was such a good pupper. Friendly, adorbs, didn’t shed too much so her clothes were safe. Kenzi snapped her fingers a little to get his attention, though, and the four-legged beast was obviously more than welcome to follow them up the set of grand set of stairs. Regina had given her permission to do whatever the hell she wanted to her bedroom, and she did - inside, there was an entire accent wall covered in black glitter paint. Mannequin heads all around with different wigs set on top, hooks for all her rainbow-colored extensions, a vanity area with a mirror aligned in bright bulbs (looked like what a movie star would get ready in front of) covered with all sorts of cosmetic paraphernalia. And there were splashes of bright colors to accent her room too in contrast to the darkness, a bed with canopy posts, and in front of it was a well-appointed station that involved a flatscreen hoisted on the wall and gaming consoles. Kenzi was an adult, yes, sometimes immature for her age but overall, a free spirit. Fuck ‘grown up bedrooms,’ she’d make her sanctuary comfortable and uniquely her. “I got a little mini-fridge over heeere for drinks, if you want something!” she motioned. Mostly miniature bottles of booze she got from a novelty liquor store. They were cute and purse-sized. “Since, you know, we’re talking about death and maybe beating video game NPCs with massive dildos?” Or they could shoot hooker zombies. She had no preference. The room was a hell of a lot more put together than Garcian’s was, so he definitely didn’t judge. His own room was bare bones - not much in there, except for the necessary furniture (bed, dresser, end table) and a closet for clothes. Oh, and he had a cactus plant too. Right on the windowsill. But otherwise? He didn’t really care what it looked like (as long as it was clean - growing up with a slovenly mother meant he despised messes now), since he didn’t bring anyone to see it. Ever. “Nice digs - but you only live here half the time?” he asked and - should he sit on the bed? Alright, he’d sit on the bed. On the edge. Yeah, that worked. “I wouldn’t say no to a something either, whatever you’re having’s good.” Shit, he wouldn’t even know where to start with the video games so he’d follow her lead there too. “Don’t think I’ve played much of these,” he nodded toward the likely expensive consoles. “Maybe when I was a kid, in arcades or something.” Those cost money - which he never had much of - but they were good escapes when he found a few quarters to use. “You nervous about things?” About death. He thought it was a legit question. Hrm, let’s see. A baby bottle of Jameson? They were known, technically, as ‘budget bottles.’ Super stylish for a budding collection of sorts but Kenzi preferred to drink the merchandise and look, she had two of them. One for him, one for her. “Only half the time,” she explained, extending the offering - she was a hospitable host and all. “Found my half-brother not too long ago and we’re making up for lost times so I stay, enjoy the family atmosphere, babysit, and then the other half I spend with Birkhoff.” Her recluse of a significant other, who was probably hyperventilating in a brown paper bag at the news of her potential death. He didn’t take shitty news well, but who did? “And I’m nervous as hell, mostly because I don’t know.” Kenzi heaved a sigh and sat next to him at the edge of the bed. Where else, besides the floor? Prince settled by their feet after he circled the spot, twice, pawed at it, and then flopped with his head down and blinking up at them with those pitiful pup eyes. “Don’t know if it really is gonna happen, don’t know how it’s gonna happen, don’t know if there’ll be a body to resurrect or if a valkyrie’s going to swoop in and take me away. And asking for the kindness of strangers to help in a situation I’ve no idea will manifest is the only thing I know what to do, so, cheers?” Oh, and one other thing - “Cheers and thanks, even if it doesn’t go right.” “Ain’t no thing,” Garcian replied, holding up the mini bottle (which was dwarfed in his hand - he didn’t drink these often) in a toast before taking a sip. Jameson was good, it was smooth - it was the only whiskey he knew of that tasted like both tobacco and vanilla at the same time. “I don’t do a lot of good deeds. Kinda feel like I should be doing more.” He wanted to do something, anyway - something with his life. Before moving here, he really didn’t have any friends. Family was a joke. At least he kind of belonged now and like he told Kenzi before, there was something fucked about how he even got this ‘skill’ in the first place. Something he already felt like he needed to make up for. He didn’t blame her for being apprehensive about the situation though. Most people would be, and she was too young and full of vigor to just accept that her dreams may or may not kill her. “But it’s something you’ve accepted in a dream?” he lifted an eyebrow. Not judging, just curious. “You’re ready to make the sacrifice?” Good deeds were usually like, oh, volunteer at homeless shelters or help an old lady cross the street and carry in her groceries - but raising a hand to resurrect someone you’d never met? Yep, only in the OC. Kenzi would happily drink to that, knocking back at least half the bottle. An entire one would equate to, what, two or three shots? Something like that. “She is, I’m definitely not,” she snorted, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “It’s a long, boring story of not finding my place among a circle of supernatural people, losing my siren of a fiance, and being fed up, and just going out in one dramatic bang. You know, dream things. They get worse before they get better.” Or, you know, get worse before you die. That was a thing too. The front of her shoe nosed Prince’s side - it had him roll onto his back and expose that belly for rubs. Don’t get to close to the weener, though, he might accidentally red rocket. “And what about you, huh? You clean up crime scenes, you’re an assassin in the dreams, so…” A slow squint of her eyes. “You’ve probably seen yourself do some really shitty things over yonder. Maybe here too? Uh, look - not like I’m judging. I’m not the squeakiest clean person out there.” Shitty things. Well, yeah. But then again, it wasn’t so black and white - how to explain it all without Garcian looking like he needed to be committed was fun too. “Dream you is frustrated, and everyone’s got their breaking point,” he rumbled thoughtfully. He knew a few things about reaching that point, and dangling over the edge of sanity and reason. “For me? It depends what you consider shitty - we fight against a terrorist organization headed up by a guy named Kun Lan. Our leader’s a guy named Harman Smith, he’s an old man in a wheelchair. But it’s weird, I’m the only one who can walk around and interact with people. The rest of the killers are kinda...personas. In Harman’s head. We all switch places occasionally, depending on the mission and what needs to be done. He’s kind of, you know,” Garcian took a drink, hoping this was making some amount of sense. “One side of the coin, and Kun Lan is the other. Eastern culture versus western, destruction versus creation. The world will tilt one way or the other, given how close we are to nuclear war.” Wasn’t gonna end well, he knew that much. A man like him wasn’t careening toward any happy ending or a satisfying conclusion. “Here I’m a cleaner for various crime syndicates too,” he shrugged, a casual admission to another person who wasn’t so squeaky clean herself, as she proclaimed. “They pay better. I guess that’s kind of shitty but a guy needs to eat.” It kept him away from the bleak depression of where he grew up - the further, the better. It was an easy conclusion to make. Lives mirrored one another. Their actions here were echoes of another life somewhere else - imperfect reflections, together in some places but cracked and disjointed in others. “That’s…” A brow of hers distinctly quirked (she and Killian just had those majestic eyebrows, didn’t they, that were super expressive) as she leaned back on an arm against her bed. “That’s pretty trippy, Garcie. So you’re a crippled’s extra personality?” Look, not to be insensitive but that’s what she was gathering from her synopsis, okay? She was laying it out as she saw it, albeit kinda crudely. And as for his confession to the dirty things in life, color her surprised. But not at all, actually - she got it. Kenzi had done less than moral things to survive. Swiped credit cards, committed grand theft auto, fenced some goods, did ‘favors’ in a back alley for some cash. She had to dig herself out of the homeless pit somehow, but she wasn’t proud of it either. Who in Satan’s Testes was she to judge? “You’re not going to wake up suddenly and think you’re an old guy in a wheelchair, are you?” “Nah,” he let out a puff of air in a laugh. “Or, I don’t know, I really kinda hope not.” Because he was the only one who was able to walk freely and interact with people (Harman’s room was in his trailerhouse, there’s where Garcian ate breakfast every morning, where he left from and where he returned to), Dan idly postulated that maybe they were all in Garcian’s head instead. But that was just Dan being snarky - no way that could be true, right? It didn’t make sense. Harman was their leader, the organizer, it was him who rallied the Smith’s. Garcian was just kind of the spokesman for the public, or something. He reached down to let Prince sniff his hand, and the dog decided he wanted to jump up on the bed and get some cuddling in with his bulky, furry body. Alright, then, guess Garcian would have a dog in his lap for now. “Though I guess it could happen. I don’t remember anything before joining with the syndicate. Killing to keep the peace in a world about to fall apart is all I know - more shit oughta reveal itself in due time, I guess.” Bruh. That sounded like a weird mindfuck of a thriller ride, honestly. “But there’s something - something a little more going on if you’ve got the skill to resurrect somebody, though?” Unless Garcie here was withholding the deets, the whole crime-syndicate-assassin-thing didn’t totally jive with whatever magics would, say, fuel the power to bring someone back from the dead. “Are you the only one who can do something like that??” That’s right, pet the pup, Garcian. Prince was therapeutic to Kenzi lately - animals had a way of cheering someone up, and his spooning abilities weren’t too bad. He’d get ear scritches and attention from both of them, then, the spoiled ham. Nope, he wasn’t withholding anything - honestly, he’d shared what he already knew which seemed like puzzle pieces with the connecting ones missing, so a lot was disjointed. The rest was just kind of a big fat blank. “I’m the only one,” Garcian confirmed, giving Prince ear scratches too, and some under the pup’s (well, he was full grown, a large black lab-cocker spaniel mix) chin. Pretty soon he expected the dog would want scratches on his ass too. Didn’t they all? “Everyone else has their skill they bring to the group. No doubt there’s something going on though - I just don’t know what. But, you know, you’re gonna be fine,” he assured Kenzi. She didn’t need to give herself wrinkles worrying about the acid trip that was his dreamscape. “Whatever happens. I’ll be sure to let you know how shit explodes for me - might make you feel better about your own stuff.” At the very least, he could do that for her. There was something about him that reminded Kenzi of Hale - and no, it wasn’t all about the color of his skin (though from the looks of it she was sure that Garcian probably had washboard abs dipped in dark chocolate, too). Hale could word comfort in a way that was believable. And even this dude here that she legit just met face to face sounded convincing, but maybe she was secretly too weary to believe him. “Gotta be alive for you to tell me the tales,” smirked the shadow thief (she could steal panties from someone while they were wearing them without them even noticing - thanks for the skills, Dyson). “I don’t think I’ve ever put so much trust in someone I’ve barely known before but this is kind of a ‘no choice’ scenario.” He can either do it or he can’t, and if she dies, then it’ll be a moment to test that power. “And if I die and you pull me from the brink of being forever dead I’ll owe you - big time. Don’t give me the it’s no thang spiel.” Kenzi would come up with something. Something more meaningful than an endless supply of sparkly thongs, hopefully. “I plan on you being alive, is the point,” Garcian was sure of himself when he said that too, voice smooth as a razorblade - though he meant it, and he was never the type to say something unless he meant it, or could stand behind it. Probably why he just didn’t expel a lot of hot air in his conversations. Bringing someone back from a premature death was also something he could see as a big deal too, something that the other person would want to make up for. He wouldn’t begrudge her that. “And ain’t no thing, Kenzi,” he mirrored her smirk, a rare expression for him. “For you to owe me, if you want. Just no firstborns or whatever.” He wasn’t about to name the terms, so whatever made her feel better. No firstborns, got it. Maybe a virgin sacrifice? That was always really nice. “Wellllll, I can start by introducing you to the amazing grace of video games - because if you ever need to immerse yourself in something to avoid life? This is the thing.” Kenzi bounced off of the bed and went to the Playstation. Disc installed first, and she grabbed two controllers and turned to him with an eyebrow waggle. “Let’s start you easy. We’ll beat the shit out of some NPCs with giant bat didlos, and then upgrade you to hooker zombies - shooter games tend to be more complicated for beginners.” And drink. Because the best way to play multiplayer video games was to have a good buzz going on, too. Video games, seemed like a good start. As long as owing him didn’t get too out of control - Garcian really didn’t mind helping out, and he didn’t want Kenzi thinking she needed to make up for a resurrection for the rest of her natural (second?) life. But yeah - dildos and hooker zombies? Why the fuck not. “Here I thought I’d be pretty good at shooting,” he chuckled, taking one of the controllers from her. “But alright, homegirl. I’ll follow your lead.” Maybe the monotony was soothing about it too. Immersing yourself in another world that wasn’t this one, and emerging hours later. He’d see what it was all about. Being introduced to new things wasn’t always terrible - and besides, he was kind of glad he met her anyway. “Ho ho, lookit you, a pro,” she teased and plopped herself at the edge of the bed again, knees crossed. “We’ll see how good you are with at least using phallic weapons, then. You’re gonna get creaaaaaamed. Hahaha, get it???” You know. Splooge. From phallic weapons. Yeah, Kenzi totally assumed he got it. |