starlogs | ( OPEN )

Entry tags:

( OPEN )

WHO: locus + YOU ; also assorted mine + others
WHERE: bajiKHAAAAAANN
WHEN: thru the event
WHAT: a bunch of rando things
WARNINGS: nothing off the top of my head, will edit if necessary

( SUPERBIA )

[ At first, he thinks this whole thing is stupid. Locus tells himself to just stay on the ship and keep to his own business. There's no reason to go down there at all. Besides, he's been to pleasure type planets before and has absolutely no interest.

And then, he reads the information.

Because he's Locus and because he's paranoid, he makes a rather odd picture. For the better part of the morning, there is a rather tall ( as in 6'5" ) man lurking around the district in full armor. Perhaps it's a little ridiculous, but Locus doesn't trust anyone—let alone people here in some alleged anomaly fleet. It's all a load of bullshit as far as he's concerned.

However, toward late afternoon, the armor will be mysteriously gone and Locus will be wandering the district. He seems like a rather non-descript sort of fellow—just loitering around from here to there. Because now he can wander and blend in with the crowd as he's gotten his hands on some micro-tech to hide the scar on his face.

Which is why he feels little shame in ducking into what looks to be a promising day spa with little foot traffic at this time of day. Or even that fancy looking barber shop. Because, hey, sometimes a mercenary who's just been through hell and back deserves a little pampering. And, Locus, being one who never does this, believes that it might be time. ]

( LUXURIA )

[ This is a ridiculous place to be, Locus knows that. And yet he finds himself touring the district for some unknown reason. It's uncomfortable and he sees little point to the way people are behaving, but he's not judging.

Much.

Well, all right. He's not openly saying anything, but the judgment is all too clear by the slightly pinched look on his face.

Eventually, he comes to the beach and that gives him pause. He can see people milling about and enjoying themselves in the water, on the sand, in the bars. He can also see everything. Quite literally. They're all naked and seem to have no issue at all with that or anyone else. It's... odd? Don't these people have any shame????

Yet only minutes later, Locus finds himself on that beach and—well, he's not quite enjoying himself, but it's a close approximation of that as he lounges on a chair near the water or wanders along the bars and shops that welcome nudie patrons. Except, he does have the decency to cover up with a modest towel during that time. He's giving it his best shot to not feel awkward skulking around nearly naked in various places. At one point he does stop at a certain bar that is mostly open facing the sea and it's quiet with no blaring music with a heavy bass and people mostly are leaving each other alone.

Which means that, yes, that seat next to him is open! ]

( AVARITIA )

[ If there's one thing that Locus lowkey appreciates and doesn't really talk about is fine attire. Usually he prefers the protection of his armor, but when doing jobs that don't require it, he's in a suit nine out of ten times. He just likes them. ( Maybe because at least one part of him should be put together well... )

So, he procures more than several in the luxury shops here. Grabs a few accessories to go along with because why not make the whole ensemble match well? Once night hits, he does treat himself to nice dinners tucked away in a back corner of a restaurant then hits the casinos. He doesn't need the money ( because it's not really important to him ), but he knows that it can't hurt to have extra laying around when he needs to get information.

And considering he's at a loss as to what's really going on here? Money can only talk. So, hey, wanna blow on those dice for good luck?? ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Sabriel's not sure how eating a flower can give her money, but she's not complaining, even if she still looks and feels utterly out of place in her armor and sword. She hadn't known what to expect, and had decided to play it safe. She's also rather stunned at the assortment of clothing available- much of it things she's never seen before. Some of the dresses catch her eye, but then some of the suits do as well. Apparently it's not considered odd for women to wear them, according to the shop attendant, who seems eager to get Sabriel to try all kinds of different styles, piling them into her arms.]

That's very kind of you, but I'm sure I can manage!

[Sabriel offers a gracious smile, before gesturing with her head to who she can only assume is another patron, mostly to give herself some breathing room.]

[ Knowing that the districts are fucking with him when he enters them doesn't make Wash avoid them, it only makes him more determined to prove to himself that they don't have any power over him. Which is stupid as hell and he knows it, because they do affect him and he has the shadows of still healing bruises to prove that. But he doesn't like outside elements messing with his head. It reminds him of the AIs, of Epsilon and Alpha and what they left behind in his mess of a mind. And he's tenacious enough to keep trying.

Plus, if he wants to get any worthwhile supplies while he's down here, he has to pass through all of these gates.

This one is Luxuria. He knows it by the color of the gate even before he sees the shops inside or the people slowly losing their inhibitions in public. He can feel it too: a faint prickle along his nape, a heightening of his senses, and an itch beneath his skin. Telling himself to ignore it, reminding himself of why he needs to, Wash manages to make it through the district without getting distracted.

At least until he hits the beach. It's not the sea that catches his eye or the abundant nudity. It's the guy sitting at the bar he's walking past. Aside from Wash, who's very firmly still wearing pants and a shirt, he's the only one around wearing any sort of clothes, though from the brief glance he'd taken it's just a towel or some kind of sarong-like thing around his waist. That glance also picks up other things: muscles that ripple across every inch of the guy and traces of pale scars marring the darker skin around them. The mark of some kind of fighter or warrior. Maybe even a soldier. And he looks human too.

It's the prospect of a kindred spirit that makes him inch up to the bar and sit down on that empty seat. Two humans on an alien planet who've obviously had some kind of combat experience and probably seen shit others can only imagine.

He glances at him from the corner of his eyes, assessing and curious. Once upon a time, Wash used to be good at being personable. Then Freelancer fucked that all to hell. It doesn't occur to him that it might be the effects of the district making him more outgoing than usual. ]

Didn't expect to find another human here. [ Awkward. He clears his throat and tries again. ] Outside of the ship I came here on, I mean.

(know what the best thing about going to the spa is? it's the suffocating atmosphere of the sauna sucking all of the fat and toxins out of your body.

suigetsu, ushered into the sauna after his massage, was dubbed one of the strangest clients they've ever had the displeasure of touching. this reaction, due to something they discovered that was particularly horrifying: he is one hundred percent water. not seventy-five percent, not eighty-five percent — one hundred percent. so there he sits now, wondering where in the hell he is.

perhaps a literal hell, considering the fact that he can feel the onset of dehydration and is far too stupid to simply walk out.)

Oh god, I'm going to die in here. (head whipping to face the poor man who probably just wanted to finally relax after a a lifetime of stressful happenings and avoiding idiots exactly like this.) Why did they make a room like this? Did they know I was coming to Bajikan? How long have you been trapped in here?!

[ Not that Locus is the type to interfere with anyone else's problems, he can't help but notice what's happening nearby. If there's one thing Locus hates ( and trust that he has a pretty impressive list of those things ), it's annoyances. And people working in stores tend to push so many of his buttons because they don't know when to leave well enough alone. Locus enjoys his solitude, even if its among patrons in a store.

Because he's feeling in a strangely benevolent sort of mood right now—which is enough out of the ordinary alone, but he knows how and why—he offers... some form of help. In his own Locus sort of way.

His gaze shifts from the clerk to the young woman, the disdain for being interrupted by pushy sales people evident in his tone; ]

Be more firm and they leave you alone to browse at your own pace.

[ Because he's Locus and even under the influence of the district, he remains Constantly Vigilant. He can feel someone watching him and it takes most of his self-control not to turn around and look to see who. He's too exposed like this and knows he should leave, but at the same time he can't remember being this relaxed or carefree.

Or something else he doesn't want to think about. Even if he can't stop thinking about it no matter how much he changes topics within the confines of his own mind.

At any rate, soon enough the question gets answered as someone sits next to him. He's assuming this is his recent stalker since he takes the seat next to him. Not any of the six others also open along this side. Locus glances to the side, a quick there and back, and—

Now it takes all of that finely crafted self-control to not react. If that glance didn't do it, the moment the man speaks Locus knows who it is. Of all people to run into after getting sucked into an anomaly ( not that he buys it or anything ), it has to be Agent Washington. Immediately, he wonders if he approached on purpose in order to try to take him down. And he might be able to if he's quick—though, Locus notes he could break his glass quick enough to use and there's a knife within reach because the bartender is sloppy. Then, then, he realizes that Agent Washington has no idea what he looks like. There's a slim chance he might recognize his voice, but he might not, either, due to the modulation in his helmet.

Calmly, he takes a sip of his bright orange frosted cocktail, complete with a purple umbrella. He clears his throat, stares straight ahead. ]

You realize there's plenty of humans around, don't you?

[ Then, he shifts slightly, turning his sights on to the man next to him. Only once before had Locus seen a photo of Agent Washington. An older one when he first joined Project Freelancer as it was on file at the time. He mostly looks the same—older, more scars, battle-tested and tense. It's then he realizes he let his gaze wander a little too far and he shifts back up to somewhere appropriate.

He, too, clears his throat and decides to play as dumb as he can. ]

Are you new to space travel?

[ It's true, Locus did come here just to relax after a stressful everything. His life hasn't been the easiest and for the literal first time in his life, he's trying to remember how to not only be human, but to actually do things for himself that don't involve killing people for money or blowing up shit for money. He's had time to be alone on this planet full of things both familiar and not. And, quite honestly, it's been good for him.

...Until now.

Locus was relaxing in the sauna—his arms stretched on the bench seat behind him, legs kicked out in front of him and spread in a wide v-shape, a towel tucked around his waist to preserve some sort of modesty and his eyes nearly closed as he soaked in the heat.

Now he's remembering that he can't ever catch a break. He looks over at his sudden unwanted partner-in-sweat, the disdain is practically rolling off of him. ]

The door is right there. [ the gesture is made in an almost lazy sort of fashion with one hand. ] No one is trapped in here.

[ The are you stupid goes unsaid, but is—unfortunately—heavily implied. ]

[Sabriel looks up at him and nods, her expression thoughtful. Apparently it was time to set aside etiquette. As the attendant shoves a frilly blouse that Sabriel definitely doesn't want at her, Sabriel's polite smile fades to something more stern as she speaks. She's not threatening (Well, she's not trying to be, but she is armed and armored), but there isn't even a pretense of friendliness in her voice, and a great deal of exasperation.]

That's quite enough. I'll handle the rest on my own.

[And then she turns on her heel and steps away, moving at a pace deliberate enough that it's clear she's choosing to ignore the attendant, rather than running away.

A few minutes later, after sorting through the pile of clothes to find what she actually wants, Sabriel approaches him again, a smaller pile of clothing in her arms, and she offers him a grateful smile.]

Thank you. I don't have much experience with places like this.

[ When the guy turns toward him, giving him an unobstructed view of his face, all Wash can think is, Christ, he's hot. It's the first time in a long time he's had a thought like that about another person. Since Freelancer, he's noticed attractive people, sure, but in a detached kind of way, distantly admiring and appreciative without ever being personal. He's had neither the time nor inclination for anything else, and truthfully, he doesn't have either of those things now. A twinge of guilt accompanies the thought, but it doesn't go away and he can't deny that it crossed his mind.

And maybe there's something familiar about the guy's voice too, but Wash doesn't immediately place it. There's no modulator making it tinny and robotic. And this isn't Chorus, or any known galaxy, for that matter. There's no reason to think it's Locus because there's no reason to expect him here. The sims aren't here. The other dead Freelancers aren't here. Furthermore, there's the not insignificant matter of his face. Wash has never seen it, but he assumes Locus is a hard, grizzled old man. Not one of comparable age who could be a fucking model if he wanted to be.

The question makes him smile slightly, a brief flicker of his lips, and he shakes his head. A note of humor shades his voice as he responds. ]

No. Been in space since I enlisted at eighteen. [ Which might mean something to a human from Wash's time, but to a stranger from fuck knows when and where? The corner of his mouth twists in an apology. ] Ah, in the military, I mean. We—Well, humanity as I know it has been colonizing space for centuries.

[ He cocks an eyebrow in an expression of inquiry. ]

What about you? You seem comfortable here—[ A tip of his head meant to indicate the myriad aliens visible on the beach. ]—so I'm assuming you're a veteran of space travel too?

[ Because he can, Dorian has been flitting around every district and enjoying most of them for what they are. He's been gathering things here and there and keeping them for whenever he's meant to return to the Eluvio. More herbs to experiment with!

There's a few districts he's staying away from because he doesn't feel it necessary to participate in those particular atmospheres. Gula has become a favorite, even though he knows it shouldn't. But, he's never been all that good at saying no to things he wants. Especially when it comes to delicious wine.

Except today, of course.

Chance had him running across Cullen and he's a bit glad for that. Looking like he got into a fight with a rage demon and lost, Dorian thinks something terrible happened. Of course, he found out soon enough it was something invited. Which, he points out, that's exactly why he hasn't been to Ira after poking around for a little while. Much too aggressive than he cares to be.

Somehow, he manages to coax Cullen over to Acedia and escorts him to one of the establishments that is near the shore of the district and overlooks the beach. The architecture in this particular place reminds him off Tevinter—sharp edges, wide marble columns, gauzy curtains caught in the gentle breeze. It's calming here, even if Dorian knows it's the air rather than the cushioned dias.

The sun is slowly setting, stretching shadows and encouraging the slow, lazy movements. Blue-green healing magic glows around Dorian's hand as he works on a nasty bruise on Cullen's arm. He sighs softly as he works. ]

Well, do you feel better now?

[ And he's not asking about the magic healing his wounds. ]

[ Gula is, apparently, where it's at.

Dorian likes this place. It's louder than he's used to, there's a huge assortment of drinks he's never had or heard of before ( not to mention in all different colors ), there's candy-colored lights that paint everyone in a kaleidoscope. It's extraordinary.

He doesn't know the place like the back of his hand just yet, but Dorian expects that will come soon. There's too many taverns to enjoy for him to just sit at one and nurse glass after glass ( though, in truth, it would be bottle after bottle ) of wine. Or even some of the flavored ales. Some have been... interesting, to say the least.

Because it can be a bit lonely sometimes—even when a man such as Dorian encourages being a pariah and openly claims it—to wander and sit to drink in a corner, he has been attempting to speak to those around him when he's in the mood. This is one of those times. This tavern isn't as loud as some of the others and the interior doesn't quite sparkle and have the flashing acid lights that pepper the district. There's rich, dark wood, thick velvety seats, odd animals mounted on the walls. The man tending the bar is a curious fellow with a thick accent Dorian barely understands, but he likes it here, he thinks.

Even more if he can drum up some decent company. With a bright smile on his face, he decides to make the effort now with the patron nearest him. ]

Enjoying yourself?

[ To say he's enjoying Luxuria would be a fucking understatement.

Well, no, that's not entirely right. Jason is enjoying the fuck out of nearly all of the districts, but he's really into this one. There's something to be said about the carnal pleasures of life. Between being able to freely fight and fuck in rapid succession is pretty damn awesome.

Though, it should really come as no surprise that Jason is this way.

Only hours ago he'd been over in Ira in an arena fight and tore through all of his matches to win that particular tournament. There were some hairy moments when he wasn't sure if he'd make it or not, but he won. And it was fucking awesome. Most of the bruising and scratches ( and a couple of random-ass bite marks on his leg ) are hidden beneath his clothes, except for a jagged cut on his forearm. But, he's cleaned and rejuvenated and there's a fucking bounce in his step because he's just feeling that good.

And now looking for satisfaction of a different sort. He thinks he's found it in a pretty redhead.

Because he's Jason and he actually does know how to behave when he's not set on being a flaming asshole of the highest degree, he does heave manners and he does know how to treat people. This district might be ramping up everyone's sex drives, but he's not a fucking animal. ( No matter how much the jungle beats within him. )

The touch is soft as he brushes some stray hair off of her cheek, his eyes lidded as they track Clary's face to stop at her mouth. ]

Kind of interested in kissing you right now. That cool?

[ So, apparently, there is something better than fucking around in Ira: an island.

Not that it really comes as much of a surprise to Jason, but Vaas finds an island and claims it for himself. Once Jason found out about it, he knew what he has to do. There's no question in his mind at all.

First, he visits each district necessary to gather up some supplies. By now he knows he doesn't need much, because he knows how to live off the land now. He's a fucking survivor.

Of course, that doesn't mean he's not stocking up with some heavy shit in Ira before he steals a fucking boat to take him out to the island he knows Vaas has claimed for himself.

Maybe it's a stupid idea, but Jason just feels the need to do this. There's something singing in his fucking blood and he needs to just get out here and figure out how to control it or he might just go fucking crazy. ( And wouldn't that be something? He already thinks Vaas is. Maybe it's this tatau and the Rakyat that make a man lose his fucking mind. ) It's in the dead of night when he arrives—purposely—and drags the little boat ashore until he can hide it in the underbrush among the trees. The arsenal is strapped to himself, pockets filled with some additional ammo and a few other odds and ends he'll need.

It takes him several hours to pick through the jungle completely silent in order to find where Vaas has made his "camp." And when he does it's like a small triumph. Especially because Vaas doesn't even know he's here. At least, that's what he thinks, anyway. Jason barely breathes for hours while he watches and waits for Vaas to go to sleep. Another couple more just to make sure he's good and asleep.

Quiet as a church mouse, Jason sneaks into his camp and leaves a little note on the stump nearest the extinguished campfire. In his messy scrawl it simply says: Guess who, motherfucker??? Then he steals away into the night, putting space between him and Vaas because he knows a chase will begin once Vaas rises.

This island isn't as big as Rook. He needs this. ]

[ No matter how much he's heard to talk your problems out, it's a statement Maine has never really subscribed to. And not just because right now it's difficult for him to talk at all, but because it's just not something he does. He's never done it in all of his life. If something was wrong, he just held it in and kept going. That's what a soldier does. Logically, he knows he's not a machine or anything other than simply human.

Sometimes, though, being human and having feelings is hard to remember.

Things with Wash are complicated. They've always kind of been complicated, but they feel even more so now. It's not that he wants them to be, because he thinks they shouldn't. But, after everything that's happened with Freelancer and Sigma and Epsilon and the Alpha...

Well, things just are really fucked up. And they haven't talked about it. At all. It's sort of been that huge fucking pink elephant in the room that everyone just ignores. But, due to the fuck up with the devices, Maine's had a couple interesting conversations with... well, some guy he doesn't even really know beyond the chats they've had, but he's given some good advice.

Probably.

Maybe?

Either way, Maine is about to find out.

It's days after their fight in Ira, savagely stripping down each other's defenses to an insane degree. Being in that district reminded Maine too much of Sigma and all the wants of the AI and he just... couldn't keep holding on to that control. Wash was the one who ultimately walked away with the parting words Maine can't seem to get out of his head. They just replay over and over and over again. Maybe he should be over it. He's been alive again, apparently, for months now. But, how does he get over it?

He tries to start now by sending a message to Wash, telling him where he is ( on some island he found away from the influence of the districts ) and asks him to come if he wants to. They need to talk and see where they stand with one another.

Maine can say he's never felt nervous in his entire life. Except right now while he sits on the beach and waits for Wash to show up. Because how the hell does anyone talk about shit?? ]

[ After all those days spent cooped up on the ship—and those hours spent locked in that blasted room—it's a relief to be back in a world again. This place, this Bajikan, may not be Thedas, but Cullen can breathe its air and feel its wind on his face. He and Pup can run along its beaches and watch its moons rise and set.

In that respect, at least, it reminds him a bit of Thedas. Even if there's one moon too many here.

Eventually, as he explores the city, Cullen finds Ira and its many ways to expend all the pent up energy he's accumulated over weeks of inactivity. Inactivity insofar as he perceives it. Life in Thedas was far busier and more strenuous than this idle living. It's there in Ira that he finally meets the man he's been messaging and their battle is a glorious one. Maine is a skilled opponent and they've both got aggression to spare. By the time it's over, he might feel a bit like he's tussled with half the demons in the Fade, but beneath all the aches and pains, he feels alive again.

That sensation lingers even after he's left Ira, met up with Dorian, and settled with him near the beach in Acedia. In the distance, he can see Pup nosing around on the beach. He watches him for a moment, then glances down at the work Dorian's doing on his arm. ]

Hm? [ Looking up at him, Cullen's about to answer the obvious question when he realizes that that isn't what Dorian means. A moment's silence as he considers the real question, then he dips his head in a slight nod. ] Somewhat, yes. I am...

[ Another pause as he casts about for the best way to say it. ]

...unaccustomed to being so idle. [ The corner of his mouth quirks. ] The bruises notwithstanding, it felt good to fight again.

(looks at his new friend, looks to the door...)

Yeah, well, I knew that. I was just testing you, obviously!

(he folds dripping arms, which would — on a regular person — be sweat typical in a suffocatingly hot sauna. on suigetsu, however, he's literally dripping. the skin of his chin beads into its own droplet and falls to a bare knee that absorbs it in some fucked up cycle. not that he minds, despite the dehydration.)

They might as well have, though, they got real mad when I relaxed for some reason...

(staring over at locus with a heavy tilt of his head. pretty big guy, looks like he's in a scrappy profession... that, or a tournament brawler; that'd be cool to talk about.)

No one yelled at you while you were getting a massage?

[ There's no question whether he'll come to the island after he gets Maine's message. Of course he will. Things aren't right between them and it didn't take a knockdown brawl for Wash to recognize that. Nothing's been right since Freelancer, and even that had been a clusterfuck of wrong. If there's any hope of straightening shit out, of getting back everything they've lost, it's here. It's this place. This galaxy. This second chance that hadn't been possible before some kind anomaly plucked him from his life. Squandering that on hurt feelings is too stupid to even consider.

The problem, insofar as Wash sees it, is Maine. It's always been Maine. His stubbornness. His bullheaded refusal to let shit go. And now, his determination to take responsibility for everything that Sigma's done. Wash knows what it's like to have one of the fragments in his mind. He knows what it's like to have the Alpha in his mind. Sigma is the only one to blame for the Meta's actions.

He just doesn't know how to make Maine see that.

But that's not the only thing they need to talk about. Wash has seen Locus. He's here. And if he's here, his partner is too. And that's the kind of trouble Maine needs to be made aware of.

Wash is quick to arrive, having commandeered a boat as soon as the invitation came through. He's alone on the small craft as he brings it in as close to the shore as he can, then sets anchor and jumps into the water. The weather's warm enough that he's wearing light pants and a tank top. Nothing that'll take terrible long to dry. He wades to shore, heading straight to where he sees Maine sitting.

Stopping next to him, he glances around, then looks at him, one eyebrow arched. It's with a mild, even tone that he says; ]

Nice place you got here.

[ Were Locus the sort to have an outward sense of humor, he'd probably show it now. It doesn't by any stretch of the word beyond a minor twitch of his brow as he watches the sales associate react to the rebuff. At the very least, it seems to work and the young woman is free to browse to her own satisfaction, just as Locus shifts his attention back to comparing the validity of pinstripes or not on a tie.

Unfortunately—for him—he's still contemplating ties by the time she returns. ( Though, this time, he's at least moved on to color, rather than stripes... ) Locus does turns his attentions toward her, expression neutral. ]

In stores like this, they receive commission for high sales. They overwhelm and flatter in order to make you more amenable to spending.

[ It's not... really the right sort of response, but it's all he can offer. Because what are conversations? ]

If you're firm with what you want, they'll leave you alone and just help when asked.

[ Not for the first time Locus wishes he were more like Felix. Not that he'd ever utter those words to Felix himself else he suffer from having it hang over his head and make Felix more smug than he already is. But, Felix knows how to handle himself. He knows how to schmooze people in a way Locus never learned how to do. More importantly, he knows how to lie. Locus has no fucking clue how to lie to people. Because lying by omission doesn't really count. And not to say he's some champion of truth, but he has no big love of duplicity.

So, already he's faltering.

He is too calm sitting here. There are plenty of odd looking beings around&mash;some are even floating above the ground or even sparkly gaseous clouds who somehow manage to speak. And here Locus sits in the middle of all of this like it's just another day. He wonders if he could chalk it up to the atmosphere.

Then again, he can just creatively speak around certain things. Obviously there are other worlds out there, colonized by human and alien alike. It could just be some strange coincidence that Locus happens to share the same sort of history.

He's thinking about this too much. ]

I wouldn't claim veteran, but no, space travel is not new to me.

[ Okay. That's good, he thinks. This might not be so hard after all. He takes another pull of his drink, almost muttering in the glass itself but it's loud enough to be heard; ]

I wouldn't claim comfort, either, but it is better with little resistance.

[ And it's that bead on his chin that catches Locus' attention as his skin appears to drip down to his leg and—eugh. That's... a little bit strange. Not quite disgusting—nothing quite beats a splattered kig-yar. But it is, well, out of the ordinary. Like some sort of human lava lamp.

Lifting a hand, Locus pushes some stray hair off of the back of his neck. It's warm, the air is stifling, he's sweating and it was nice. On good days Locus isn't prepared for idle conversations with people. Well, in all honesty, on no day is he prepared for idle conversation. He doesn't like it and it makes him feel out of place. Awkward were he to be a little more honest. ]

No. [ Because he knows how to behave. Also, he's solid, so there's that. ] What did you do?

[ Because he knows this kid did something. Everyone does something, in the world according to Locus. ]

Oh, well, this is awkward then. I'm sorry I ever brought it up!

(LAMENTS.

it's not every day you try to have a relaxing evening at the spa and have it go absolutely sour, causing more stress than it should've been getting rid of. maybe this strong-looking guy's in construction and wants to rest his bones? or maybe he's a blacksmith and has joint pain? suigetsu finally drops his elbows forward onto his knees with a little flap of his hand, ignoring the fact that his finger's now a steaming water stain on the bench.)

So I was just lying there on the slab of a bed waiting for her to start and everything was fine at first. It felt really nice, it was the best decision I'd had all day! (shaking his head, continuing,) Then I guess I zoned out and she stuck her hands into my shoulders and got really upset about it.

That's when all her staff buddies came in and started yelling at me! The nerve, right? I didn't even try to hurt her, she just got startled, y'know, sometimes these things just happen when you let yourself go.

(bLAH BLAH BLAH.)

Edited 2017-03-12 19:12 (UTC)

[Sabriel's looking at the ties as well- her attention is drawn to a black one, with a repeating skull design stitched in silver thread. Her tone is conversational, but a little bit interested.]

I see. My family's servants can be... overenthusiastic, but that's because Sendings get... odd, after a few centuries. [And given how rarely anyone visited the house nowadays, perhaps they overreacted to any opportunity to fulfill their purpose.]

[Sabriel shifts her attention to another tie- a solid one that's almost the same deep blue color as her surcoat. She's comparing it to the dress shirt and jacket in her arms, trying to see if it will match.]

Are you one of the Eluvio's passengers as well?

Edited 2017-03-12 19:54 (UTC)

[ The guy's a little quiet, but Wash isn't any great conversationalist and isn't terribly outgoing or personable in the first place. If he takes too long to respond, it doesn't seem overly strange. Wash is floundering a bit on how to make small talk too.

He nods along in understanding. And maybe smiles a little, there and gone, at the mutter. That's a sentiment he can appreciate. ]

Path of least resistance. I get that.

[ When the bartender comes by, Wash points at the swirly purple drink some sort of flickering collection of lights is drinking. He doesn't know what it is—the drink or the weird alien—but if something that looks to be made out of fireflies enjoys it, he figures what the hell. ]

This your first time on this planet? [ His mouth quirks into a faint grimace. ] Because it's mine and if you've got any tips on how to navigate it without making a mess of everything, I'd love to hear them.

[ Servants? It's been a while since he's heard such a thing. Not that the people he's taken jobs for do things themselves, but somehow this all seems a little too different. It makes him curious, to say the least, but not enough to ask about it.

That's what observation is for later.

He watches her for a moment with the ties and debates with himself over offering advice or not. Thankfully the question comes, so, he sets that aside for now. ]

Yes.

[ It's easy enough to glean she's one, too, so he doesn't waste either one of their time by returning the question. Instead he makes a small gesture toward the ties. ]

Sometimes it's better to pick a color opposite of what you have. Though, more often than not, I find same color pieces much more sleek.

[ Who knew Locus had an opinion on fashion...???? ]

[ It takes everything within Locus not to give the whole game away when Washington asks for advice. First, he wants to tell him to not be such a disappointment. But, Locus realizes he probably can't. He's been one for too long that he probably doesn't know how to not be one. Then he wants to tell him to not talk to him. Felix is here and if he sees the two of them together, it's going to get ugly.

Of course, he says none of those things.

Instead, he lifts the hand from around the glass and presses the tips of his fingers against his neck. His skin is a little damp with slight perspiration and he knows it's not completely from the weather. Harnessing control over the low, constantly burning heat in his belly is taking a lot out of him. Not that he's sone mindless animal, but it's been a very long time since Locus has felt this way. He's never been one to get himself tangled in the throes of mindless passion. And he knows well enough it's the influence of the district making him ponder the odds of a favorable outcome if he were to reach over and slide his hand over Washington's thigh and lean in to bite his neck.

He doesn't do either of those things, of course, and smothers the thought in the back of his mind to die a slow, painful death. ]

That depends on if it's more prudent to make a mess or not.

[ Is he joking? We just don't know. His delivery is so dry it could catch fire. ]

The districts seem to influence thoughts you already have. Unless you're a mindless beast, you're in control of your actions at all times. It just depends on how good you are at ignoring temptation.

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