( THREE )

[colourtune]

WHO: Shiori (colourtune) and Vincent (justcrywolf).
WHERE: Museum, first floor, Vincent's apartment.
WHEN: Week one, Wednesday evening.
WHAT: Some nourishment for their relationship. And their souls. And Vincent's back.
_____

[She stops in front of the door to his quarters. There's a small name plate on comfortable eye-level, too. Vincent Fortesque (Ban-san Fortesuku). Just in case she didn't know who she's here to see.

A melodious series of knocks and she takes the politest of steps back, waiting for him to answer. Open. Let her in. She isn't afraid that he won't. Relationships are weird, aren't they? She's been in her own share of them at this point, through the mill, she thinks. But a friendship is something else entirely and honestly, right now... If she had to choose between some nameless girl and Vincent to rescue off a deserted island, Vincent would be in the boat with her before she could even speak his name. Sex is overrated (not really) and to see him happy is more orgasmic than anything.]

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[justcrywolf]

[He's been home for an hour at the most. His apartment looks chaotic - pictures spread out on the floor, on tables and drawers. And the door to his newly-appeared print room (?) is completely ajar, the humming sound of the machines warming up a constant undercurrent in the otherwise quite space. He's busy, focusing on a particular image, trying to decide whether it'll work or not when someone knocks on his door, his initial reaction being to startle. After all, last time someone entered his room… well. Whatever. This time, at least they aren't barging in - of course they aren't, because it's not just anybody, is it?

Crossing the room to let her in, righting his white shirt slightly on the way and running a hand through his hair, he unlocks the door and lets it fall open soundlessly, the hinges as well-oiled as the rest of this fucking concept. Shit. He looks down, giving her a genuine albeit slightly faded smile.]

Coffee or tea?

[colourtune]

[He opens the door, looking somewhat scruffy in a way that she's not sure she's actually seen him before. Not discontent, though, which is the important part. But unravelled. His shirt, for example, is nowhere near the pristine state he usually prefers. Stepping past him, she finds herself in an apartment that looks nothing like her own. A robotic sound emerging from somewhere in the back. Photos spread out everywhere. Huh, who knew he had it in him? She smiles at him.]

If you can offer me a café au lait, I'd like coffee. Otherwise, tea is fine.

[Glancing around what appears to be the living room - with an appurtenant kitchen spreading along the back wall - she can't help comparing. Although she's never been a fan of Japanese interior design, her own place definitely oozes of a more Asian feel and flair.]

[justcrywolf]

[Watching her as she walks past him, his smile warms a bit at the sight of her; she looks lovely. Comfortable. Better clothes than he usually sees her in, sure, but then again, she did say they'd stocked her apartment with designer shit, didn't she? He's glad. His tiny queen is very much deserving of looking the part. Closing the door and locking it for good measure, he heads towards the kitchen counter quickly, movements still a little stiff and abrupt.]

This place can do everything, apparently. Maaya's got a room shit-full of paint supplies, it's crazy. [He gets two cups from far above the counter, all-white porcelain, simple and clear-cut in style. As he prefers it. Ew, this place. He gestures with a hand towards the living space behind him.] Sorry about the mess. Feel free to sit down somewhere if you can find a free spot.

[colourtune]

You've met Maaya?

[Gingerly, she circles the coffee table, trying to move a couple of photos (black/white, very pretty, again - who knew) without disturbing his system or ruining anything. They don't seem to be overly many in the building at the moment, but judging from the legacy left behind in the common room, that could change and has changed before.

Finally, she manages to secure herself a spot and sits down, crossing her leg, because her short Miu Miu creation really only covers so much if you don't put your crotch on display like a man. No offence, Vincent. Kiss kiss, bang bang.]

[justcrywolf]

Sure. She arrived same time as I did.

[Gathering all the necessary stuff, he gets the coffee machine going, grinding the beans noisily and leaving a warm, comforting scent of fresh coffee hanging in the air. Mmm. He could use a cup, really - it's just that until her arrival, it hadn't occured to him. He's been too busy, creating. He's not taking any more of their punishments, no matter what his pride might say. Warming up the milk, he scratches his shoulder absent-mindedly with one hand - apparently, sand gets in everywhere and he already knew that, didn't he? From an altogether different sort of context.]

[colourtune]

[She watches her very own private (and favourite) barista while he prepares the coffee, the soothing scent of ground coffee beans filling the air. Aside from the kidnapping aspect and the weird on/off radio silence of this place, it's so much better than even the best of cafés in London. After all, no cafés in London have Vincent bustling about, serving her like she were royalty. Words are one thing and she does appreciate all his emails. The comfort of a cup of coffee in the company of a friend is something else. Not to mention, designer clothes colour-coordinated in her closet. It's bad, she knows. She knows, but it speaks to something in her. Almost as if they had guessed.

About to reply, she notices a couple of stains down the back of his white shirt. Frowning, she wonders what exactly he's been doing, out there at Versailles. Crawling about in the dust? It wouldn't seem like him, but she doesn't ascribe it a lot of significance. It seems they'll all be doing stuff they're not too keen on while here. Rather dust than blood, right?]

Your shirt's stained, Vincent. On the back.

[Her voice is neutral. The statement equally so. Just alerting him to something she suspects he'd appreciate knowing, rather than sweating it.]

[justcrywolf]

[Milk almost done, coffee's ready - he's just about to mix it together in the cups when she speaks. Hand pausing in the air, midway between a thought and a grasp, he tries to come up with an answer that won't be awkward. 'Tis but a flesh wound! Well sure, if she'd ever actually watched the movie… Shaking his head slightly, he just gets going, filling up the cups one at a time and taking as much care as his lightly trembling hands will allow.]

Sorry, I didn't realise. [One cup down, one to go. The smell is delicious - and seeing as this one is for her, he manages to create something resembling a music note on the surface. Okay, it could have been prettier. He scowls, picking up the cups and moving towards the sofa arrangement carefully.] Can't believe he hit me that hard, that's fucking overkill.

[colourtune]

[Her face falls while he takes his time joining her, a cup balancing in each hand. She didn't think he way serious, when he'd said... She'd thought it was just a figure of speech. Staring up at him, she doesn't know how best to respond for a good couple of seconds, her hands balled into fists in her lap. She's seen the people walking around those streets out there. Unnatural, alien beings, taller than Vincent and appearing to have been carved in marble.]

Did they really whip you?

[Duh. But - really? Before she can help herself, she's shuffled over to him, pushing her way past a thick layer of photos. Hardly even waiting for him to unload the two cups of coffee, before unceremoniously tugging at the hem of his shirt.]

[justcrywolf]

[Wow! Managing not to throw the cups to the wind or topple them over onto his oh-so-precious photos of Versailles (why is Versailles even in this place? Why why, fucking why), he turns towards her slightly, awkwardly, not about to pull his shirt out of her hands and reject her attention. Sure, if he could have chosen, he wouldn't have shared quite this much but he did ask her over for the sake of her company, not just to look at her expensive designer clothes.]

Yeah. Like I said, don't play around with them.

[If nothing else, he makes for a great emphasis, doesn't he. If it keeps her out of trouble, then maybe it's worth it to some extent.]

[colourtune]

[Without answering, she just pushes his shirt up over his shoulder blades, revealing four welts, two of which are well and properly split open. It could have been worse, logically she can tell, but whipping is something she associates with uncivilised cultures and ancient history, not... Well, it does fit the setting, doesn't it? She stands up, letting his shirt fall back and allow him some privacy.]

Where is your closet? I'll find you something more comfortable. And some cold cloths; we better clean the wounds.

[justcrywolf]

[He's kind of at a loss for words for a moment, really, because he hadn't meant to make her work for her coffee, let alone… well. Guess that's what getting mothered feels like, sort of. Weird. Drawing away from her, he gestures towards the door at the other end of the living room, only partially closed.]

Look, you don't have to do that. [What a stupid thing to say, like she doesn't already know.] Why don't you try that coffee, tell me what it's like.

[He's not trying to snub her but honestly, a shower later will do just as fine. Besides, he's not wild about pouring anything besides water into whatever's on his back because it hurts like shit on its own already.]

[colourtune]

Shut up. [But she smiles.] Just let me help you, silly.

[And leaving the coffee (for now), she heads in the direction he indicated, stepping into his bedroom and opening the closet. It only takes a couple of minutes of rummaging, before she locates a soft cotton T-shirt. Black, with a simple design across the chest. If he ends up bleeding fresh in the aftermath of her care, it shouldn't show as visibly on the black background and he won't have to change clothes all the time. She grabs it, then moves into the bathroom where she picks out a cloth and a towel, along with some disinfectant that seems to be there, as if it knew she was coming. Creepy. So creepy.

Quickly, she returns to the living room. Sits down again and arranges her various things on the table, where it won't clash with the coffee. Holds the T-shirt out for him to take.]

Take off your shirt, please.

[justcrywolf]

[Well. He takes a deep breath, deciding to overhear the part of his brain screaming at him to keep his fucking clothes on - he likes Shiori and if he tells her to get lost with her good intentions, he might as well slap her in the face while he's at it. Not about to happen, whether his mind likes it or not. Shouldn't even be a fucking dilemma in the first place. Shrugging out of his shirt and hanging it over the back of a nearby chair, he takes the T-shirt from her after a few seconds of hesitation. Shifts in his seat enough to turn his back on her since she's so very insistent.]

When I came home, there was a giant printer-room attached to my apartment. [Sigh.] Fucking freaky shit.

[colourtune]

I woke up to a Kawai crystal piano in the middle of my showroom. Out of nowhere. [Carefully, she wets the cloth in the disinfectant before pressing it to the first of the open welts. Probably a bit belatedly, she realises she might have given him a warning, but done is done and she simply, slowly, follows the tear all the way down.] Sorry if it hurts...

[Withdrawing her hand, she does the same thing over and over, cleansing the rip in a soothing, methodical rhythm, though it doesn't make up for the way it's sure to sting.]

It's worth a fortune, that piano. I've never played anything that fancy, not even at university where they had the best of the best.

[justcrywolf]

[He jumps. There's no other words for it and most of her last sentence is lost as he yelps, hands flailing in the air in front of him. Shit. Shit, that hurts. It feels like she's actively raking her nails down his back and what the fuck, what the fuck!]

Fuck! [Jerking away from her completely automatically, it takes a conscious effort to lean back again, into reach of her hand and that terrible, terrible cloth full of hatred. Ow. Jesus Christ.] Aah, that's… Um…

[No words. Okay, so he's an expert at communication but... Shoot him. Please.]