What's up, buttercup? ((Sam!))

[Anonymous]

There were some things Abbie just hated doing. And, wasting time was one of them. Sighing and biting her lip, she looked up at the screen above the door for what had to be the bajillionth time. Okay, so bajillion wasn’t a number but the exaggeration fit. Still the same notices and advertisements flashing across the screen, and despite their bright colours, they were still boring her. She shook a pale, gloved fist at them before letting her arm fall back to her side again.

Abbie sat in a squeaking old chair that was just as uncomfortable as it looked. Fully reclined, her arms hung near the back of the chair, inches from the dirty floor. Her booted feet were propped up on a conveniently nearby table, and the only thing she had to pass the time was to swing herself slightly left then right on the axis of said chair. The little squeaking sound it made every time she did so was getting progressively harder to ignore, too. But, there really wasn’t anything else she wanted to do.

How do you get bored in Aedolis? Well, Abbie had been the one to do it. Joy!

Not.

After a few more swings, Abbie pressed her feet against the very edge of the table and pushed off, spinning around completely in the chair a few times, feet tucked in, before it slowed to a stop, a grin on her face. Yay for spinning chairs. Yes, vampires were supposed to be gloomy and woe and apocalypse is coming, right. She’d get to that later. I mean, come on, she had an entire unlife to do that stuff, if that really was what she was supposed to be doing. Being a pilot kept her well-distracted from that anyway.

Her feet hit the floor with a soft thud as she pushed herself out of the chair, cat-stretching before leaving the room she and the screen behind. She’d probably kind of miss that chair, too.  There’d be others. Right now, Abbie was craving some social interaction. Maybe she’d talk them into being a meal? Only once had she ever managed to persuade someone into being a willing nibble, and she’d regretted it for weeks after. Whiny little sap. Old stories.

A hand on her hip, the other playing idly with the fabric straps hanging from her shorts, Abbie surveyed her options outside the room. The situation looked grim, the realization translating to her face as a frustrated half-pout. The thought struck her as she wandered over to the large window nearby that she’d never actually tested whether she could really –die-. Like, from physical, bodily damage. Was that possible if she were already technically dead? If she jumped out the window right now would she end up dead or just horribly mutilated when she hit something solid. And, exactly how far would she make it. She needed some bungee cord.

“Ugh,” she sighed, pressing her hand against her forehead. “I’m going insane.”

((Geeze, opening post fail, haha.))

[Anonymous]

Not good, not good.  Liv war'n't no class A grade A (and, as Hazzie reminded him, the 'a' stood for 'asshole')  psychic, but he had ears, even if Richards like to keep himself all untraceable-like; he could hear his footsteps.  And he didn't feel like a runin today.  Not complete with the creepy stare and oh hey, let's fuck with you just 'cause you have a thing for my woman.

Which he did.  A bit.  Lure of the unattainable, what?  Maybe that was why he liked Gabby so much.  

Liv sped up, heels clacking on the floor, arms swinging jauntily akimbo, and searched the area.  Blank walls, bits of grit in one corner; someone ought to take care of that.

Where could he go, where--

He had, over the course of his lengthy sojourn in Stage Five, familiarized himself with Pilot room assignments, or such as were available.  He had availed himself, and he knew that 3017 housed the lovely--the lovely--Abbie, was'nit?  Something like that. Vampire.  Odd one.  Who cared.  He veered sharply to the left and knocked on the door.

"Oy, it's Sulo.  Kindly let me in, I'm trying to avoid an angry weasel."

[Anonymous]

Abbie jumped at the sound of knocking at her door. Needless to say it was the last thing she’d expected, because she was sure her boredom was going to stretch on in some endless fathoms. That’s usually how it went, anyway. One last look out the glass at the gleaming metal and flashing lights. She loved the city, the perfect haven for a creature like herself. Person, well… Abbie wasn’t sure that word fit her anymore, but it was a habit of speech she found easier to ignore than get lost in some metaphysical inner dialogue about. Right! Knock at the door, which obviously meant person on the other side.

The voice that came with the knock was a bit more polite in its request than the knock had been, their urgencies mismatched. Abbie arched a thin, dark brow at the reasoning for his intrusion. Angry weasel, what? She had to admit, though, the thought of a rabid rodent chasing Liv Sulo down the complex hallways was more than worth the quick smirk it brought to her lips. What she wouldn’t pay to see any pilot cowering before a little critter like that.

She crossed quickly to the door, leaning against the wall beside it before sliding it open just enough to show her face, and the rather amused, sarcastic look displayed there. Her fingers tapped against the cold surface of the door. Now that distraction had shown up she suddenly wasn’t so sure she wanted to let it in. Especially if whatever was chasing it was something she really didn’t want to deal with today. Then again, it was probably the only distraction that was going to come along, and didn’t he just look so damn desperate standing there. You know, in a poor, pitiful animal sort of way.

“Really, now? And, my door’s going to save you from whatever rodent you’ve managed to upset?”

Abbie paused, a quiet laugh escaping her before she let the door slide open, her free hand extended inward as an invitation to come in. She’d never really known Liv Sulo, just known of him, but from what she’d heard this encounter didn’t seem that strange in the least. And, besides, it gave her something else to do besides stare out the window and contemplate the many methods of suicide available to a vampire. Hm, maybe suicide wasn’t the right word. Pretty sure you’d have to be alive for that one to count. And, here we go with the undead versus alive argument again.

Abbie moved away from the door and back into the room, pouring herself some water from the jug on the nearby table, eying up her new company.

“So, whose bad side are you on now, Sulo?” She grinned, and held up an empty cup at him. "Water if you want it. After that little escape of your's."

Taking her cup with her, she plopped herself down into the nearest chair, holding the glass with both hands and sipping from it, eyes on Liv over the edge of the glass, waiting for some fantastic story.

[Anonymous]

"The door mayn't save me, but you will, right, dear?"  Liv took her outstretched hand and pumped it firmly up and down.  A bit cold, those hands, what?  Funny read off her, too.  Like most psychics, she had the--well, the thing, with the thing.  But it felt oddly cold and static, too.  Oh well.  He stepped back and regained composure, shining the edge of one shoe against her carpet.

"Water sounds fine."  He eyed her carefully, taking her measure.  Nice.  He wondered when he could be sure that asking whether she were that cold all over, and, if so, what might be done to warm her up--no, that was just tacky. Shame, Liv, shame.  Lockwood could do better, and you're not even sure he has a brain; it might simply be the conductivity of all that metal.  Anyway, when he could be sure--sure, that is, that she wouldn't chuck him out to the ravening weasel.

"If you must know," he went on at length, sniffing haughtily and pacing toward the water jug, which he picked up with much flourishing of elbows, "I was on Mauburin's bad side, or rather bawd side or broad side--if you see what I mean--"  He waggled his eyebrows.  "--and now I am on Richards's bad side.  Which is altogether less enjoyable.  Less cushioning for one thing.  In any case there's nothing more to tell.  I'm simply avoiding the creature."

There was nothing more he wanted to think of, at that.  Let bygones be bygones, what?  Liv finished pouring himself a glass of water and went to take a seat on the chair opposite Abbie's, carefully arranged his vest, and tried to recall her last name.  There.

"So how are you, then, Thomas?  I like your hair.  And your shorts.  It takes a certain, whaddya say, ah, panache, to go for the shorts, but hey, you pull it off.  I wish you would.  But how are you."

[Anonymous]

No wonder he was in here hiding away like a criminal. A lewd one at that. Abbie’s lip curled instinctively, teeth showing a little from beneath. She shouldn’t say she’d never run into anyone like Liv Sulo before, it had just been an awfully long time since she’d had to have a face-to-face conversation with said person. And, she usually left them to butter their words up and down someone else. Unfortunately there was no one around to use as human meat shield, and slip away as unnoticed as possible. Damn solitude.

“And, it takes a certain panache to go knocking on someone’s door expecting them to cover for your ass. Other than that, though, I’m just damn skippy.”

She let out a toothy grin that looked more menacing than endearing. In all reality her teeth were the only really scary thing she had going for her. Well, besides a bad mood on a bad day, of course.

“I really hope you’re not surprised about being chased down, Sulo,” she said, all seriousness on her face, even though she was thoroughly enjoying the little melodrama she’d welcomed in. “Especially if you’re talking to them like that.”

Abbie paused, long enough to lean forward and let her glass slide onto the table.

“I just have to know, though,” she planted her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her hands. “Does it ever work for you? I mean, you just seem so damn suave and all.” And, somebody seems awfully… Frustrated, she thought with a grin.

Her pale fingers drummed against her chin in rhythm as she stared up at Sulo through the mess of hair on top of her head, the one red chunk hanging down becoming increasingly distracting as it lay there. Unconsciously, she reached up and brushed it out of the way, at which the loss of her arm balancing out her upper body’s weight leaning forward over the chair, gave out, and she fell forward, the chair slid back a few grinding inches and Abbie landed ungracefully on the floor in front of it.

“… Ow.”

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, one hand rubbing her head, eyes squeezed shut, the other planted firmly on the floor. If Abbie could have turned any shade of red, she would have run through all of them in a quick flush of embarassment. Not to mention the pain in her head that she knew would be ten times worse tomorrow. It was definitely a good thing she hadn’t decided to go through with her little window-ledge diving experiment.

“Don’t even or you’ll be hiding in the clos-” she started before she could open her eyes to see the smirk she knew was on his face.

At that another knock sounded at her door, this one seeming rather pretentious and determined. Slowly, Abbe turned her head to the offending knocker. She wondered just how accurately you could tell a person’s character and intentions from just how they knocked on a door. By the end of this Abbie would be well-practiced in the art.

“Did you want to get that?”

[Anonymous]

"Does it ever work for me?"  Liv put on a shocked expression.  In fact, the question was quite valid.  Oftentimes it didn't work.  Of course the question was, work at what, and how one defined work.  He liked to keep his charm nice and ambiguous.  Right down the middle.  Peel off the excess, so to speak, righto.

But this wasn't the moment for an honest answer.  He kept half an eye on his vampiric companion as he sipped his water and contemplated his reply.  He decided, in the end, on the wisdom of silence.  Should be obvious, really, that the thing spoke for itself.  One thing that could be said about short-sleeved shirts--they did amazing things for the biceps.

Abbie, anyway, seemed inclined to mitigate the embarrassment of the moment (whose embarrassment?  Certainly not Liv's) by falling out of her chair.  Liv simply sat back and let his eyebrows climb toward his hairline.

"Well done.  And I wouldn't mind the closet.  I'd like to get back in the damn thing, actually, it's so hard to be just flamingly--"  Ambiguous, or whatever.  Straight?  He hated categories; they were so imperative.  And categorical.  "Well, you know, just flaming.  What?"  Someone knocking on the door.  Liv turned around, leisurely, propping his glass up on one knee.  He didn't really think this one was Marshal.  For one thing, he had something of a psychic read on the... female, it seemed female.

"Hey, does Abbie--Abbie Thomas live here?  Sorry--it's Zami, I um--I messaged you about, um--having a bite--I think you're quite pretty--can I come in?"  

Liv's eyebrows should have by rights been perched at the top of his scalp.  Look-ee-here.  He'd heard of this one, betimes.  Mostly because she had shown no interest, just absolutely no interest, which was either a disgrace or proof that she leaned toward the other side.  Ha--seemed like she leaned toward the Other Side, too.  

"Well, I think we should let her in," he said, smirking.