SHIORI (
colourtune) wrote in
4wallshowroom2015-05-07 07:56 pm
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Entry tags:
( THREE )
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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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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
Where is your closet? I'll find you something more comfortable. And some cold cloths; we better clean the wounds.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
When I came home, there was a giant printer-room attached to my apartment. [Sigh.] Fucking freaky shit.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.]