Dammit, I'm mad! (Choco)

[Anonymous]

Liv didn't like head-shrinks.  For one thing, it was extremely difficult to tell what effect head-shrinking might have on the hair; for another, he had never believed in problems.  Problems were things that happened to one, and needn't linger if one espoused the essentially true doctrine of Nothing Means Anything.  Occasionally they were things one caused for others.  Liv delighted in problems of all stripes and hues.  Those inside his head, not that he was, Gourds forbid, a dualist--those in there, the little happy humunculus--anyway, he was only going because--

"Because I said so."

Falstaff sometimes sounded alarmingly--familiar.  No, no; that sort of thinking would only encourage the appearance of puh-puh-prroblems.  Ha.  

"Lovely then Fally, I'll hop to it and do as you say directly."

"It is in your interest, Livos."

"Hey, chance to cut it up with the shrink, I remember her, she's pretty."

"Livos, your drive in that direction is substantially lower than the effort you exert.  My last Pilot was less dissembling on the matter..."

"Yeah, how 'bout that."

Falstaff fell silent.  Fact was, he'd been poking around more lately.   Fact was--Liv wasn't sure what he thought about that.  Fact was he'd been on the Network twice in the past three weeks, and he'd begun to feel just a little uneasy about the charge it gave him.  Oh, hell and heckfire, eh?  Hardly mattered!  Livos Sulo had never been one for moderation.

He came to Mako's door and slid to a stop, raking his fingers through his hair.  He had dressed nicely.  Well, he supposed Gabby would disapprove; he wanted him off vests.  But frankly and Livly Liv  thought vests were just a good look.  He had compromised and worn a short-sleeved band t-shirt, Gabe's choice, and just a little eyeliner.  Red hair today.  He did a quick clothing check and came up empty of lint.  Perennial problem, lint, it must be the close atmosphere, or bits of chewed Candidate floating about the place.

Take the plunge, Livvy.  It will be so fucking exhilarating. Ha!  He pushed the button for the door and swept in, only to find himself entangled in some species of beaded curtain.  He battled his way out.  Valiant task for the day, complete.  

"Madam, I'm Adam," he said, loudly, coming to a full stop inside, "and dammit, I'm mad."

Ife knew him vaguely, passingly, as was the case with so many Candidates.  She would not take him overseriously--or so he most earnestly hoped.

[Anonymous]

Walking into Ife Mako's home was like walking into the love child of a hippie's living room and a cheap fortune teller's reading booth.

Countless throw pillows, mostly purple, covered the couches in the living room, edged with tassels and beads of all colours. Shag carpet covered the entire floor, stopping only at the edge of the open archway to the kitchen. All the lights were veiled with purple and red silk, casting strange patterns on the otherwise bland walls. The only things dotting the walls were three tribal masks hung on the wall to your right as you entered, above a large monitor that seemed out of place with the rest of the room.

In the kitchen, Ife was making a pot of tea. Not any tea mind, a herbal blend, one of her own concoctions. Mismatched tins of various leaves and spices were scattered around her bench, the remains of her latest blending.

No sooner did Liv announce himself than the teapot beeped, steam wafting out of its spout.

Popping her head out of the kitchen to look at him, Ife grinned and replied cryptically, "Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?" Not quite as poetic as his, but still a delightful bit of word play.

She pulled herself back into the kitchen and pulled out another cup form the cupboard. "Liv dear, it's good to see you," she called, "Do have a seat, I'll bring out some tea."

Once two steaming cups were filled with the sweet, light brown liquid Ife swayed her way out into the living room. The many coloured layers of her skirt swished form side to side as she walked, making small noises as she did.

Placing the cups down on the coffee table, Ife sat delicately on one of the couches, sinking into the mass of pillows.

"So," she asked pleasantly, "What can I do for you Livos?"

[Anonymous]

Liv had once tried the whole decadent decor thing, until he wound up burning most of it out--had to throw away his most comfortable beanbag chair when he had scorched a hole through the fabric and sent a pile of what seemed to be hard candies and beetle skeletons spilling out across his floor.  Since then the whole business had been deemed Unworth It.  There was something unsporting about it, too.  All the mushy stuff.  Emotion--and so on.  On the other hand--

It also wasn't sporting that she'd called him dear.  It was Liv's job to call people dear in a faintly ironical way, and it was Liv's job to palindrome the unsuspecting.  He sniffed and took up a cup of tea, settling back into one of the becushioned couches.  Had to admire the skirt, though.  Could he do a skirt?  Maybe on Topless Hula Night at Syn.  Otherwise, no.  First he'd have to convince them to have a Hula Night, really, topless or otherwise...

"What can I do for you Livos?"

"The answer to that question," Falstaff said, drily, in his head, "Is not 'Well, you could just do me."

"Please, give me some credit."

"Repeat after me: 'I wanted to discuss gaining emotional control of my pyrokinesis.'"

Liv shifted amongst the cushions and took a sip of his tea.

"I can't believe you thought I'd say something like that."

No answer.

"Liv Sulo is just not that tacky."  Even in eyeliner.

"Nothing much," he said, after what he knew was far too lengthy a pause.  "Redecorate, maybe."  He glanced around.  "Your bead curtain tried to hurt me, and anyway it doesn't match the carpet."  Liv took a hesitating sip of tea.  "A vast upwelling surge of emotion, no doubt, compelled me to come.  Good old pyrokinesis--I say if you're hot you're just hot, but the Dragon doesn't know to get out of the damn kitchen" mental push at Falstaff "so--anyway--"