Difference between revisions of "Aftermaths And Battle-Scars"

Latest revision as of 02:18, 29 January 2013

Will Sherman has posed:
Will ran to the Arena, he noticed that Cirra was really beat up, and decided to help out...of course, everyone else had things handled! His first act was to grab the poison he saw in her, through the strings of fate, and litterally just PUNCHED it right out. The second was to help her back to the bar!

So, Will, trying to help Cirra walk into the bar! He motions towards a stool, right near the actual bar area, and moves to behind the bar to fetch the first aid kit! "Sorry about not showing up! I didn't think that it'd be important...and I don't care much for being driven around and all that stuff. I try to lead a simple life and all, yeah?"

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra limps into the bar with Will's help and plonks down on the stool, favouring her bitten leg which she manuvers to prop up slightly.

"How do you punch sometihng /out/ of someone? That doesn't make sense."

Will Sherman has posed:
Will grins at her, "It's simple. I cheat." Will says, digging around and pulls out the first aid kit. Bandages, ointment, and a lot of potions! Will starts handing them over, as he also ducks behind the counter and starts mixing a drink. Just a little alchohal, but more potion than anything. "Here you go, I've improved the recipe sense the world opened up, but the Boss showed me this one. It'll help with the pain!" he says, with a grin.

"Also...I'm not exactly human after all. You see, I see the bits of string of fate and connections that bind everything. Things that effect others are clear to me...things that don't belong I can remove if their weak enough. The hydra's poison is one such thing. All I really did was reenforced your fate over it."

"I am told people don't see like I do...I can't imagine how things look to you guys, no more than I can explain how I see."

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra seems to know enough first aid to start applying things. First she has to strip off part of her boot, but it's already hanging on by scraps. Starting with the ointment, she takes a generous dollop on her finger and applies it to the wound with a wince, then starts bandaging it.

"I'm sure to you the way we see is dull." she looks over at the drink and picks it up, examining it briefly. Then bringing it to her mouth and taking a very generous drink of it. "Huhh..."

Maximilien has posed:
There aren't...a lot of things that make Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne show up in the TDA headquarters, especially when there's an /active member of law enforcement/ present. It just...it wasn't something he did. He generally took a window in, came in when nobody was paying attention, left notes (or hung out with Emi), and then left fully; if he had actual business with Mercade, he hung out and messed with Mercade's head, or he just did business and then left. He didn't stop down in the bar; he didn't socialize, he didn't talk. He was, in all ways, the Phantom of the Twilight Detective Agency.

But there are a few things that can make him sit up and take notice, and that's when someone he cares about is hurt.

Max just drops out of the upstairs, heading down into the bar a few minutes after Cirra is dragged in. He's not even wearing his trademark cloak and tuxedo - he's actually wearing something...normal, or halfway normal. He was probably in the middle of putting on a disguise when he heard; he's wearing a button-down shirt with a shirt underneath it, and khaki pants.

...it looks horribly out of place on him, but still not bad.

What also looks horribly out of place on him is the look of earnest, real, true concern on his face as he looks at Cirra. He doesn't say anything, not yet; there's a sense of awkwardness about him as he stands there, looking at her injuries with real worry in his eyes, like he doesn't really know how to deal with someone his own age in a situation like this, or like it's calling up bad memories of times long ago, or some combination thereof.

Finally, he opens his mouth.

"...f�licitations pour votre victoire, Cirra. �tes-vous bien? �tes-vous bless�?"

Will Sherman has posed:
"I'll help the infection too, or rather, keep it from becoming one!" Will says, with a smile. Of course, it probably just really is for the pain!

"Eh...no. You see I find the strings sometimes get in the way." Will comments slightly. "It takes me longer to look at things...and because of them I can sometimes see things in darker tones than most would." he shakes his head. "It's different...but not better. I dunno...I sometimes wonder what I'd give up to be just a normal gu-"

Will backhands the words as they fly out of his mouth, aiming to remove their FRENCHNESS.

"Sup Max. Don't hit on Cirra, she's got some injuries from the Hydra." he comments slowly. "How do you feel now Cirra? Better? Worse? I can go get Celina if it's worse."

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra hears that stupid fru-fru language she's only heard from one person. Her head slowly turns towards the source as she frowns, then she turns back to her drink.

"Him, really?" she asks Will. Cirra proves that her constitution isn't just for fighting by carefully, deliberatly chugging the entire rest of the drink. Will said it would help with the pain. Heres testing it.

Putting the empty glass down, Cirra puts one hand to the bar and pushes herself up. "I'm fine." she turns and starts hobbling her way to the door, or trying too anyways. She can't bare weight on that injured leg and has to support herself on something with every step and a grimece.

Will Sherman has posed:
Will flips over the counter.

Will proves that he has some CRAZY acrobatic skills, combined with some Parkour he moves to land right infront of Cirra, and holds both hands out. "Hey! Sitt down!" he demands. Pointing right back to the seat, "You're injured, and need some medical attention. I know He's insufferably french, but now's not the time to be worried about your pride!" Will is pretty much not letting Cirra go. He starts pushing if it's what it takes! He's not too harsh about it though!

"She's a bit hurt. There was a Hydra attack, I'm treating the wounds and punching Hydra venom out of her. Also giving her the Boss's special and HOBO improved recipe to help with the pain."

"Anyway! Sit! Leg on stool. Let me take a look at it now."

Mercade has posed:
"Well damn. This is a hell of a situation."

The disturbence caused Mercade to notice, coming down from upstairs. What, you didn't think he'd keep an eye on the first floor? "What happened?" He asks Cirra, then looks to Will. "Is she going to be all right?" Will's no Celina, but he can at least cheat and check on the fatelines.

The arrival of Max in plainclothes causes Mercade to blink... But he doesn't question it. He can see what's written on that face plain as day.

When Cirra does the TOUGH THING, Mercade just steps in the way. "That's not fine at all, Cirra. Sit down and let us help you, dammit. No one is going to think less of you for it. And what the hell is Max going to do, there's nothing worth stealing here." Except Cirra.

Maximilien has posed:
Max tucks his hand under his arm, looking away from her. Again, he looks tremendously awkward, just sort of standing there in his khakis and button-down shirt, like he knows he ought to go stop her from leaving, like he ought to say something, anything, but he can't bring himself to, because he's not...an open man, he can't be an open man, not in his profession. It's clear that he wants to say something, that he /wants/ to go and stop her just by his body language, but....but....no.

Max is very good at pretending to be intimate. He's very good at being romantic, very good at putting flowers in hands and kissing and dancing and all the little things that go with intimacy. But intimacy? Real, honest concern for another human being? Just the look on his face says everything about how he feels about that, and the fact that he is so concerned about Cirra seems to have taken him as off-guard as everybody else.

"...please do not go," Max murmurs, "You will hurt yourself."

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra is stopped by not one but three (if you count Max asking nicely) members of the TDA. "If he is here then I shouldn't be-!" She accidently puts too much weight on her bad leg, and immediatly regrets it. She clenche her teeth as her hand wraps tightly around the bar around the countertop, making it creak.

"I should't stay. But you won't let me go." she looks at Mercade and Will. She then turns to look at Max for a moment. "Fine." she sits back down, but from the look on her face she maybe calculating how to escape.

Will Sherman has posed:
Will grins at her, making it so she PROPS that foot up. Will starts messing with the kit, and actually starts doing bandaging.

Will's actually pretty skilled with basic medicine, given his wife was a nurse, and Celina showed him a few different tricks. Will always seems to have a odd collection of strange skills, but mastery? Nah, there is no mastery in this fool.

"No escape." he grins, "Noooooo escape. You'll be healed and even fed! And rested! Then you'll be let go to spread our foul values to the rest of Arcadia!" OoooOOOOo Will wiggles his fingers!

"How's that feel?"

Maximilien has posed:
Cirra not leaving actually brings a smile to Max's face. He rocks on his feet awkwardly, listening to the conversation on the radio; it was a very different situation when /he/ was in this position, instead of Mercade. All that advice and all the things he said to Mercade, all the teasing, really was a very different thing to be on the other side of. It was the sheer kindness that they showed that put him off most of all - the urging him to step forward and say something.

He felt small. He felt like one of those boys from the stores in the papers he had once read, the boys who stood on the other side of the dance hall in high school and stared awkwardly at all the girls. He knew how to dance.

He knew how to dance.

Max moves over to sit down next to Cirra. He sits awkwardly near her, a few seats away; he doesn't give her a lily, he doesn't cast any spell on her, he just...sits there, trying his best to be comforting with his smile and his presence. A real smile, too, not the smug, jackass smile he usually wore.

Emi was the last person to make him smile like this, and it was definitely a very different tone to that smile.

Mercade has posed:
Mercade shakes his head. "Look, you step out there and you'll be food for the first Heartless that shows up. You can't move, and if you can't move, you're dead against a swarm. Stop worrying so much about it and relax. We want to help you."

He leans over, letting Will do his thing. He had this covered and you don't swarm someone with first aid. Mummies happen that way, and Cirra would make a /terrible/ mummy.

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra just gives Will this look that says 'what the heck is wrong with you?'. She had sort of bandaged up the leg by herself already, but it was a quick job, Will is taking more time to do it poperly.

Max gets a look... it could be described as an 'aggressively neutral' look. Like she's trying really hard to show no expression at all. In the end she turns back and looks at the door again.

Well, Mercade has actually got a point. If Heartless appeared now - and they do tend to appear at random - she'd be in a relaly bad spot.

"Fine, just..." she sighs.

Will Sherman has posed:
"Getting help isn't a sign of weakness." Will comments and finishes redressing. "There, should be good. Though I doubt you're going to be able to go anywhere for a while. We got a guest room upstairs." he offers, and slips back behind the counter. "Anyway, drinks. I could use one." he says, and starts pouring himself something from the tap. "Want something to eat? I can put something on...won't be the best thing. Cooking isn't my specialty, or else we wouldn't eat pizza all the time!"

Will Sherman has posed:
Will also backhands the side of the bar, revealing a HIDDEN COMPARTMENT! Inside is a giant wheel, with everyone in the TDA's names on a giant wheel that spins. Oddly, there is ROLL again slice, a VACATION slice, and a BANKRUPT slice.

Maximilien has posed:
"...I can cook," Max offers after a very long, very quiet moment. He stands up, moving away from the table and heading back behind the bar counter to go through the ingredients. He opens the refrigerator, going though it carefully, distantly.

This was so tremendously out-of-character for the great Phantom Thief MARS, he thinks derisively. He was a great and epic thief, a man right out of a fairy tale, a storybook hero or villain or vagabond in between, not a stammering, lovesick puppy. This was so tremendously out of character he would never be able to live it down. They would never see that man behind the mask again, just this. Just...this man who shouldn't even exist anymore.

Heh. Max closes his eyes and shakes his head once the fridge door is between them and him. He mumbles something to himself, then, a bit louder, asks, "What would...what would you like me to make?"

Mercade has posed:
Mercade was about to go interrupt Will in his defiant display of the Wheel of Humiliation, when his eyes slowly track to Max. A gaze of surprise and wonder, perhaps, crosses his face, before he pauses, watching this man who has, it seems... taken off the mask and set it aside for a while. Either Max is putting on the play of a lifetime... Or this is the truest expression that he has allowed himself in a great deal of time.

He moves his gaze to Cirra, now, an expression of mild concern on his face... but he doesn't intervene. He can't. "We all just want you to be safe, Cirra."

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra laughs a little, it's almost humorless, "Is that what you think? That I'm afraid of looking weak? No Will."

"I'm afraid of what could happen if another Judge finds out I'm keeping company with him." she motions her head at Max. "Not just to me mind you. You see, I'm fairly /moderate/ for a Judge. Others are just going to see you as his collaborators."

"I don't even know what you eat here." she repleis to Max.

Then Will does the wheel-of-fortune thing and Cirra immediatly starts pushing herself up towards the door again.

Will Sherman has posed:
Will sighs, pulling out a lasso from under the bar, and throwing it towards Cirra.

One comic drag scene later.

"It's just a wheel." Will crosses his arms, frowning, "Anyway...I get what you're sayin'. I think Max can make himself scarce if the need arrises. There is little to worry about from them...and besides.."

"This isn't Arcadia, they got no juristiction here. Anyway, arguing semetics and all that, the wheel is just a thing I slapped together to mess with Mercade. I think it's amazing for a chore wheel though!" he grins.

"Anyway, how about some Hamburgers! Everyone likes them!"

Maximilien has posed:
"I will leave you alone, if you want."

Max's voice comes out from behind the refrigerator as he sets some ingredients together. It's very businesslike, now, much more professional, much more the way he usually sounds, as he rolls up his sleeves and starts washing vegetables. His fingers brush across the onion, scrubbing a little harder than he probably needs to as he keeps his tone completely and utterly neutral. He really must be a master of personal manipulation; his face betrays absolutely nothing, his voice absolutely cool and calm and in complete control, the only little tell the way his fingers scrub that onion. He puts it aside, and picks up some lettuce.

"I will leave you alone forever, if you so desire."

He turns on the oven, and begins chopping up the vegetables he's been carefully washing; the knife slides through them clean, even, swiftly, the mark of a master chef at work, someone who's done this a hundred times, a thousand times, more times than he can count. He slides them into the pot.

"If you ask me and mean it, I will never bother you again this way. Nothing but professionally."

He begins kneading the meat, then chopping it, too, and then that too is slid into the pot; the meat, the vegetables, they come together, and soon the smell of whatever it is he's making fills the area as he carefully pushes the meat and vegetables around with the spatula. They sizzle cheerfully.

He goes and fetches some potatos from under the counter, and he starts chopping those up, too, and soon those are in the pot, and the whole thing smells delicious, and it fills the room with a gentle, sweet smell...

"I do not want to get in the way of your career or your life, after all."

Mercade has posed:
And then the mask comes back on. The effort required must be titanic. Mercade is nothing like this man in this respect. Mercade is just... half-boiled.

And that's why he doesn't need bumbling oafs like him in the way right now in a delicate situation. "Hey Will." Mercade says. "We need to go... check on Watson. He had that thing we need to deal with." Yeah. That's it. Besides, Watson loves the attention. Mercade gestures towards the side door that heads out into the parking area/stable.

Will Sherman has posed:
Will looks up, "Oh right! That thing!" Will leaps over the counter. "No walking out when we're gone, we gota look at this thing with Watson, the Chocobo." Will says, and exists stage right with Mercade.

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra is dragged back by a rope until her butt falls back on a stool with an expression of -_- "Why do you have a lasso under the counter?"

She looks at Max as he starts talking, and puts back on that profesional tone of voice. She's nearly thankfull, she can deal with a professional, not a love struck man.

"Do you even have to ask that?" She puts her leg back up as the other leave since it really does feel better that way. "Why do you even.../how/ do you have this obsession with me?"

"So yes! I want you to leave me alone."

Maximilien has posed:
Max doesn't say anything. He just scrapes aside some of the steak-and-vegetables onto a pair of plates for Avira and the Dennous, then one for Will, then one for Mercade, then one for Cirra. He picks up Cirra's plate and walks over to her, sets it and some silverware on the counter for her easiest access, and then goes to get her a drink.

Milk is probably best with this, goes the part of his brain that he has control over, the part he's practiced mastering for so long it's little more than second nature to him. So he grabs a glass, pours a bottle of milk, and walks back over to her, then heads back behind the counter to pour milk for everyone else, silent the whole time. When he finally does speak, his voice is still very professional, still completely and totally distant and completely and totally in control.

"Because you are unlike any woman I have ever met, in more or less every respect." He replies, and then he's just quiet again, washing a piece of fruit for himself - looks like an orange.

"Because you are beautiful, intelligent, competent, dangerous. Because I like a woman who can and will and is completely capable of killing me for some reason. Perhaps I am a masochist." He peels the orange slowly, carefully, with great focus.

"Because you are special and do not seem to see it for yourself. Because..."

He just stops, and shakes his head, and smiles. "Because you are the first person to thwart me in a very, very, very long time, and since that night, I have been unable to stop thinking about you, and the way you looked in the moonlight as we danced."

Then he cracks the orange into pieces and slips one into his mouth. He chews on it for a long, long, long moment, like he's trying to work up the courage to say something. He opens his mouth.

Then he closes it again, shakes his head like he's frustrated at something, and then tries again. When nothing comes out again, he does the same thing, finishes off the orange, and frowns.

"...because I look at you and I see someone as lonely as I am."

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra looks down at the plate as it's delivered, at least it's nothing weird like hotdogs. She saw every part of the preperation, so she deems it safe enough to eat. She is also fairly certain Will would punch Max into next teusday if it wasn't.

Max goes on about all those things he says all the time to her and she ignores them as she cuts into the steak, taking a single bite.

Until Max's tone of voice changes.

Cirra pauses for a second, but hte knife and fork clatter to the plate.

"Get out."

Maximilien has posed:
It's delicious, too. Real food. The kind of food you only make when you're good at what you do, really, really, really good at what you do; when you've practiced and practiced and put a lot of love and care into everything you do in the skill. He's prouder of his cooking and his cleaning than he is any other skill, except for his thieving (obviously); he could make a window shine, bring out the flavor in anything in the world, make dust curl up and scream and run for the hills, find how to make even the gamiest of food into a delight. It's real, real, real good food.

Max slides his hands into his pockets as she takes a bite. He hasn't been nervous about someone taking a bite of his food in a very long time, hasn't watched the food go from the plate to the lips since...since before. A long time ago. He just stands there, waiting to hear the inevitable 'it's good', or 'mmm', or the grudging grunt of acceptance he expected, or-

'get out'

Max pauses for a moment as he processes what it was he heard. He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, just mulls over what it was that he was told. Then he just...turns around. He heads up the stairs for the TDA office, utterly silently. He doesn't speak, doesn't react; his face doesn't even change, except for the barest of tiny tiny seconds, where for just one single tiny moment, there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes. Or maybe she just imagined it; maybe it didn't happen at all.

Cirra Constantine has posed:
Cirra just holds her hands around her forehead, shading her eyes like she had a headache. Max leaves without another word and she sits there for a while.

Slowly, eventually she picks up her fork and starts picking at the vegtabls again. If she ever saw the hurt in Max's look, she doesn't show it.

What she thinks is twisted, is what'll happen if she wins the Hades Cup. Then she'll really get to feel like a hypocrit.