Remnants of the Earth
TEINAR => Teinar => Topic started by: Tally on December 19, 2010, 04:12:08 am
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"Cyrus."
Temple paced back and forth in his cell for a few minutes. Cyrus wasn't getting out of this, no matter how much Temple had to bother him about it. It had taken them four months to reach this point, and he wasn't waiting one more day to get out of here.
"Cyyyyrus. You're late."
Still no response.
"Be a good boy and come let me out of here. You know you have to."
He would have preferred literally anyone else as his escort, but Cyrus had the job of seeing him around Teinar—or the parts of it Temple was allowed to wander. His limited freedom carried with it restrictions. First, that he have an escort accompany him when outside the walls of the compound, and second, that his excursions not exceed two hours in a day. It was all monitored. They'd fit a metal band around his wrist that relayed his location at any given time. The cold embrace of it chilled his skin.
"Dumbass, I'm really going to start causing trouble for you if you don't start heading this way. Think I can't?"
Cyrus wasn't that far away, but Temple would not be ignored. In the last four months, the only time he'd gotten to see anything but these same four walls was to listen to their military leaders discuss whether he should be put to death for war crimes. He needed out of here badly. Fortunately his range was long enough to reach Cyrus no matter where he was in the city.
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That mental voice assaulting him almost had Cyrus swallowing his cigarette. He sucked in a breath, his heart jammed into his throat, and he earned himself more than a few stares when he just about launched himself into the air with an inarticulate sound of panic. Fuckin' asshole Pilot!
He pulled himself together as quickly as he could, holding his cigarette between two fingers and taking deep breaths to calm himself. Whew. Just Temple. Right. Goddamn brat was gonna make him feel all schizo. He didn't think he would ever get used to having someone else in his melon--didn't think he wanted to. He liked being alone in there; it was cozy and comfortable and only he needed to know what was inside.
Gritting his teeth, annoyance replacing the initial shock, he brushed past the other people in his way and continued on, slowly--just to be an ass--toward where Temple was being held. Maybe he'd stop and pick up another pack of smokes along the way; he was starting to run low. The kid had waited this long; he could stand to wait a little longer.
Why no, no, he was not stalling at all!
The voice came again, all slippery and oily in his mind, and Cyrus cringed but did his best to ignore it. Just ignore it, ignore, ignore, ignore. Keep walking. He flicked his cigarette away and put it out with his boot, then paused to light up a new one. Again, Temple's voice sounded in his head, and he sucked in a mouthful of sweet nicotine. From the sounds of it, he was really going to need it.
'Good boy'? Fuck, he was gonna kill that kid. Ignore it. Puff on the cigarette. Ignore, ignore, ig--
Fucking HELL, shut up, already! he finally yelled, inside his head. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shutupshutupshutups hutupSHUTUP!
It felt like losing, like admitting defeat, but he was too far away to yell at Temple, and he didn't want to take his chances and see what Violet could do. Temple had said before that he would be able to hear him this way.
Hear his thoughts.
Cyrus shuddered and rubbed at his arms, feeling violated. Shut UP. I hear you, and I'm almost there. So keep your pants on...pansy-ass dick.
By the time he got to where Temple was being held (and he got there relatively quickly--after Temple's threat, he had stopped stalling), he was on his third cigarette and his nerves were thrumming, but he did his best not to show that he was a little...uncomforta ble. Really, he would have liked anyone else to get stuck with the job--and yet, he had also volunteered for it.
Because he also didn't trust anyone else to do it right.
On some level, he reasoned that this guy was his responsibility. He'd brought him here, after all. So he should deal with it.
Didn't mean he had to like it. And he didn't.
Stepping up to Temple's cell, he shot a glare at the Pilot, breathed a stream of smoke at him, and, after some hedging, flagged someone over to open the cell for him.
"Ya pull anything funny, and don'tcha think I won't take care of you, got it?" he said as the door swung open, patting the firearm strapped to his thigh. "And no psychic mumbo-jumbo. No mind-talkin'. No funny stuff. Capiche?"
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Temple settled down after Cyrus finally decided to answer him. All he wanted was some acknowledgment and he had precious few people to talk to. He wouldn't bother Conrad for fear the man might decide he was better off dead after all. The tribunal had found him innocent of war crimes, but Conrad had enough power to make him disappear if he wanted to.
"Don't think your mind is all that fascinating," he added, catching Cyrus's worry. "I don't care to wade into that swamp."
A blatant lie, of course. He'd been all up in Cyrus's head from the day he woke up, but it was true he didn't have any interest in personal memories or feelings. He mostly used Cyrus as a way to keep himself informed on what was going on in the city and its military.
He sat down on the small bed and waited patiently for Cyrus to get there. He didn't even telepath to him anymore, so grateful was he to be getting out of here. When Cyrus finally showed up, Temple rose to stand in front of the cell door.
"Gonna just stand there staring at me?" A spike of fear jolted through him as Cyrus hesitated—fear that after all this time Cyrus might decide he just didn't want to bother, and he'd leave Temple here and just deal with the consequences. And Temple wouldn't have been able to do anything about it. He had to play their game, even if he didn't like the rules.
He let out a breath when the door swung open, but his eyes slid to the piece at Cyrus's side. Oh, he was well aware that Cyrus had the authority to throw him back in the cell if he caused any trouble. He vowed to behave, for his own sake.
"We're going clothes shopping, don't be so dramatic." The military had found a use for him. When it had become clear that he'd have to live here indefinitely, he began cooperating with their R&D department to further their knowledge of psionics, for which he received a small stipend. The money had been accumulating for near a month now and he was finally going to be able to make use of it.
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"Clothes shoppin'. 'Course we are," Cyrus said from around his cigarette, rolling his eyes. "Almost forgot I was dealin' with a woman here. Gonna getcha a nice, lacy dress? Match your pretty little eyes?"
He stepped aside to let Temple by, motioning at him impatiently. The sooner they got there, the sooner they could leave, and the last way he wanted to spend his day was babysitting some brain-leech and taking him shopping and holding his purse. Or, hell, shopping period. He didn't like wandering around, looking at everything and trying it on to make sure it looked pretty. He knew what he wanted and he went in and got it, no time wasted, no farting around.
And he could be a terrible nag when he wanted to be.
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"I can't keep wearing this...this." He plucked at the clothes they'd given him. Some kind of government issue shirt and pants they handed out to to prisons. Well he wasn't a prisoner anymore, not technically, and he wasn't wearing their ugly clothes.
He strode onward like Cyrus was an honor guard. Or a personal attendant. The personnel in the base shot him dirty looks as he passed them by. "You've got to get this obsession with seeing me in drag under control, Amadori. Your superiors wouldn't approve."
The outer doors of the base wouldn't open except with Cyrus's passcode. Temple waved him forward and even tapped his foot a little.
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"Drag?" Cyrus paused and looked Temple over, raising one eyebrow. "You're a dude?" He blinked, affecting surprise, and then tilted his head and squinted at him. "Huh! Ain't that somethin'. So when'd ya transition?"
Grinning at his own amazingly witty joke, Cyrus shouldered the Pilot out of the way as he passed by him, then entered his passcode into the system. The doors slid open, and Cyrus lead the way out before Princess could take the lead again. Impatient little ass, getting to practically order him around so he could prance around the city going shopping of all things. A Pilot. In the city. Shopping. And him getting to serve as his personal shopper thing.
Fuckin' surreal.
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Temple staggered as Cyrus basically shoved him out of the way and gave a loud and overly dramatic sigh. "Anything to get physical with me, huh? Try to control yourself, Amadori. You're in public."
He opened up his telekinesis a bit and was immediately assailed from all sides by thoughts about himself. Ugh, not something he wanted to deal with right now. He closed himself off again. He'd spent nearly every waking moment in that cell listening to the thoughts around him. It got...exhausting after awhile. Some psychic silence would be nice for awhile.
"Take me someplace mid-range. I don't have a lot to spend. Don't drag your feet either, I'm on a schedule."
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Cyrus rolled his eyes and muttered something about his fist wanting to get real physical with his face. But at least the guy wasn't being a creep and leeching off his thoughts right now...
That he knew of.
Shuddering and shoving that thought away, Temple's comment helped get his mind off it. "You tryin' to order me around, Violet? We ain't in Aedolis." Unfortunately, not even he could be as much of a dick as he really, really wanted to be, because dammit, he'd been assigned as his guard which meant he had to honor his schedule. Give the POW that was probably a spy hello psychic mumbo jumbo the royal treatment.
He repressed a sigh and headed toward the shops, which weren't all that far away. Maybe a ten minute walk, maybe less. "Say, what happens if you're late, anyhow? Ya gonna explode?"
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Cyrus could just not have known how tempting it was to answer his thoughts, as Temple had been doing ever since he woke up in Teinar. Every time Cyrus had a directed thought at him, he had to kill the impulse to respond to it. He was doing well so far! They'd nearly made it out of the building and he hadn't slipped once.
That he would slip he had already accepted as inevitable. Cyrus just made it too easy. He prayed he could just hold on until he got some clothes. Then he could stop holding himself back and Cyrus could go ahead and throw him back in that cell.
"Ah, no. Sorry. An alert goes up and I imagine a security force would track me down." And lest Cyrus get any ideas, he cast a sidelong look at him and added, "And I imagine they'd have some questions for my personal attendant as to why he didn't see me back into the base on schedule."
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Cyrus rolled his eyes and flicked cigarette ash as he walked. "'Cause the Pilot used his psychic mind-control shit to stall me, that's why. Fuck, I know all that shit, genius, but I'm allowed some wishful thinkin'. Don't see why they couldn't use explosives." He added the last part under his breath, a sulky mumble.
He had to give the girl a little credit, though. So far, he hadn't done anything stupid, no dramatic bids for freedom, but they were only, what, a couple minutes in? He still felt like this was a big mistake (his fault, too) and that it was playing with fire taking the guy down into the city proper, around other people. But Conrad had spoken, and Harmony was upholding it for now, so here's hoping they weren't wrong.
They were nearing the commerce district and already were drawing a lot of looks from the people milling about, no doubt wondering what the hell a soldier and a prisoner were doing marching around. How much do they know about the Pilot incident? he couldn't help but wonder. Probably nothing; Conrad had kept it under wraps to keep from panicking the public--or, you know, to keep Temple from getting killed by vigilante justice.
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"I don't have mind control. Gods you people are ignorant." Cyrus's idea of psionics and the reality of psionics were not in agreement. But that was part of the work he was doing with the Teinar military, cooperating with them to facilitate their understanding of how exactly psionics worked. They had a few psychics here in the city, but apparently they didn't have any way of detecting them so unless one of them volunteered, they did no good for the research. Temple had even encountered a couple of the rogue psychics in his scanning. He kept quiet about them of course. It was to his benefit if he could provide the Teinari government something they couldn't get from anyone else.
"And I am not a—!" Temple snapped off his response before he could get it all out and screw himself. Close one there. It was the girl thought that nearly got him. He couldn't wait until he was into some decent clothes and he could let Cyrus have it.
He coughed into his hand. "Ah, I mean, let's try that one!"
He decided to risk answering Cyrus's thoughts, just the once. When he was sure no one was in hearing distance, he added quietly, "They don't know."
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"Yeah, sure, I believe ya," Cyrus mumbled. Of course the Pilot would try and undersell his abilities, but Cyrus was wise to him. It was all brain stuff, so it made perfect sense that Pilots could do mind control, too. Because that was brain stuff. And because Temple had already poked around in his head, answering his thoughts, and...eugh. He shuddered to think of what else he could do.
Aaand now the guy was acting kinda crazy. Cyrus raised an eyebrow at his snapped off response, but shook it off, shrugged, and started for the place Violet had pointed out. Weirdo.
He started to turn to tell the guy to hurry along because he was not playing chauffeur here, but what he said brought Cyrus to a grinding halt, goosebumps breaking out on his skin as a chill went through him. Temple's words seemed to answer his thoughts in an all too eerie way. "What?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "You in my head again? Wouldja get the fuck out, already?"
He kept his voice low, though, just loud enough for the Pilot to hear. At the very least, he got his answer. He guessed.
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"It's like a radio," he said. "I can send things and receive things but I can't control what other people do and think." The gods only knew why he was bothering trying to educate Cyrus, besides that it would do wonders for his patience not to have to listen to the man's half-baked superstitions on psionics.
One of the first things he did when he could actually tell Cyrus off again was inform him that calling him Violet, even in his head, was not okay. Yeah, that could just stop already.
Temple sighed and motioned Cyrus to keep on walking. He could be angry if he wanted, so long as he moved his feet. They were still on a schedule here. "Calm down. I was just trying to help, and it's not like that. I wasn't in your head, I overheard your thoughts the way people can overhear speech. Maybe you should try not thinking so loud ey?" Ha. Let dumbass try and figure that one out.
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"Wha?" Cyrus kept walking, but he turned to fix Temple with a skeptical look, not buying the bullshit. It made no sense and the kid was just talking crazy.
"Overhear 'em? Alright, wouldja just cut the crap already? I ain't stupid. How can ya overhear shit that's in my head without diggin' in there? The thoughts? They're in there," he said, tapping his temple. "They're not...flying around all over the place. You talk, it's coming out of your mouth. Not the same thing at all."
He snorted. "And it's not like you can whisper thoughts. Maybe you should try not being such a leech."
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Temple didn't know his way around here, so he scanned the ceiling for some sign that would point him towards the men's clothing. He wasn't about to ask Cyrus to lead the way there. He'd take him to the little girls' clothes, or women's underwear or something.
Cyrus's logic was ridiculous, was barely logic at all, but he wasn't even sure how to refute it. It was like arguing with a child. They didn't discourse based on any mode of reason that he could make sense of. "No, that's not...it's...never mind. Just never mind. Gods, why don't you crack open a textbook sometime? Aren't you career military? Shouldn't your understanding of your enemy's abilities come from more than your own arbitrary notions?"
The men's department—if you could call it a 'department'— was one sorry sight. He didn't know what kind of clothes he'd worn before, but he knew these didn't suit him. Not a lot of variety, and colors other than brown, gray, and black were hard to find.
"As a matter of fact," he said, checking the size on a black turtleneck sweater, "you can whisper thoughts. Well. Not you probably. It takes some mental agility to do it. But it is possible."
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"Yeah, s'what I thought. You've got no good explanation, because there is none." It was perfectly sound logic and the Pilot had obviously dug himself into a hole he couldn't climb back out of. It was so typical. People always tried to drop a subject when they knew they were losing and could no longer argue.
Hah. Showed him. Or her.
Cyrus stood to the side as Violet started rummaging around the thin pickings that was the men's section. Wasn't much, wasn't fancy, most of their supplies brought in from traders. But it suited the environment all right and it was something. Waiting on Temple, he poked around a pile of cargo pants, holding his cigarette out so he didn't drop ash on them, but looked up again when Temple spoke.
"Yeah, sure, I'm sure ya can just sweetly whisper in--" He stopped and quirked an eyebrow at the sweater. "Really?" he asked, eying it. "What are ya? Sixty with grandkids? I think you're in the wrong section, anyway."
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Temple had to pause, look up at the ceiling, and count to ten to keep from snapping at Cyrus. He was on the verge of cutting himself off from Cyrus's delusional, self-congratulating, all around stupid thought processes, but damn it he needed to keep a grasp on what the man was thinking. It cut right to his pride to admit it, but Cyrus had a significant amount of control over his circumstances. Engineering these people to do what he wanted depended on knowing their inner motivations.
Not that Cyrus had a whole lot of inner motivations that he didn't give voice to. He said what he was thinking often, more so than most people. It would have been impressive in its way, if it didn't negate some of Temple's advantage.
"No?" He gave the sweater a look over, then returned it to its rack. A table of plain t-shirts caught his eye.
"Oh I'm sure you do," he added. There were a few other shoppers around, and an idea occurred to him that he just couldn't resist. "Cyrus," he said in a voice loud enough to draw attention to them. "I don't care how much you beg, I'm not dressing in women's clothes for you. Why can't you be happy with me the way I am?"
-
A sudden hush fell over the area and Cyrus, who had his mouth open in preparation to deliver some amazingly awesome and original comeback, froze as he felt multiple sets of eyes on him, saw the faces turn to stare. He swallowed the words with a gulp and felt his face flush with heat. That. Little. Fucker! And doing that in a busy shopping district, too! Couldn't exactly murder someone in public! Smart move.
"Uhhh...right...yeah ..." was all he could say, left gaping stupidly with his mind gone blank. What could you say to that that wouldn't just make it worse and more incriminating?
Finally, what seemed like years later (but was probably only a couple painful seconds), the crowd milled and Cyrus snagged Temple by the arm and pulled him further inside.
"The fuck was that?"
-
That could not have worked out any better. The stares didn't bother him any, and it managed to shut Cyrus up for a few seconds. Even his mind went blank for a moment. It was good to know he still had some kind of power, even if the extent of it was to embarrass Cyrus in public.
Ah, but now Cyrus was peeved at him and he had to do damage control. It would be a shame if he'd come all the way out here just to have Cyrus send him back over a pretty harmless prank.
"That? That is what I'm going to say from now on when you insinuate that I should be wearing women's clothes, which you seem to be in a habit of both saying and thinking. Since the thought of me in drag is clearly so overpowering for you, I'll help you out and give you an incentive not to say it at least. This includes when we're in the base." And he would just let Cyrus's imagination show him what it would be like to have the soldiers staring at him the same way the civilians had.
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Cyrus's mouth dropped open in protest, but no words came out. That...that was something he couldn't really argue with because, admittedly, Violet sorta had him by the balls there. He knew the kid would do it. He didn't believe for one instant that he wouldn't. The childish satisfaction of calling him a girl was sweet and temporary, but the effects of Temple saying something like that, around all his tough, macho buddies...
He'd never hear the end of it.
What. A. Douche!
Cyrus snapped his mouth shut with a growl and leaned in close to Temple. "You're an asshole, anyone ever tell ya that? Oh, wait, what's that? Ya wouldn't know, wouldja."
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"No, I wouldn't," he said, refusing to lean away. Not that he wanted to start something here in public. That would not go his way, no matter the outcome. He just wasn't going to cringe away just because Cyrus wanted to get in his face.
"Good to know you're finally accepting that." It would be a step forward if he could get Cyrus to take his memory loss for granted, as a fact, instead of as some ploy he was using. The amnesia had certainly benefited him, but it didn't change the reality of it. He still had no notion of who he had been before the apparent head trauma he'd suffered.
"I'm going to try on a few things. Could you wait here—oh, that's right. You have to."
Given his limited options, he was going for the basics. A few plain tees and some jeans.
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Well, that backfired fast. Cyrus grimaced, annoyed that he hadn't seen that one coming.
"I ain't accepted it, Violet. I still think you're a sneaky little shit," he groused, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dunno what game you're playin' at, but you'll fuck up eventually. Just a matter of time, so best mind your Ps and Qs."
He waved a hand at the Pilot in a shooing motion. "So run along now. Hurry it up. I'll just...be out here if ya need assurance your ass ain't fat or somethin' precious like that."
Goddamn but this sucked balls. There would be hell to pay if Temple decided to draw this out. Shopping was miserable enough as it was without adding insult to it!
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Temple briefly entertained the notion of pushing his luck and trying on a hundred different outfits and asking for Cyrus's detailed opinion on every single one of them, but he could only push the soldier so far before he got slugged in the face or something.
He emerged from the dressing room in the new clothes. They looked okay, and he didn't give much of a shit what Cyrus had to say about them. It would be something predictable he was sure.
"P's and Q's? What does that even mean?"
-
While Temple was off playing beauty school with himself, Cyrus passed the time people-watching. Or, more appropriately, checking out the women that passed by and silently lamenting the fact that he had to babysit when he could be out getting lucky. Or hunting. Or drinking. Or doing something otherwise worthwhile. If this new job put a crimp in his social life, he was going to be irate. No way he could score when he was hanging around some dude that looked like a lady. People would get all the wrong ideas.
Finally Violet returned, looking less like a prisoner and more like a Teinari, and Cyrus straightened up and gave him a brief once-over. Alright, so it hadn't been that long, but any excuse to bitch at Temple for something was a good enough excuse for him. "No granny sweaters, huh?" It was more of an observation than a question.
Temple's comment, however, made him pause.
"What? Oh, uh...Ps and Qs, it means, uh..." Well, shit. Cyrus scrunched his face in thought, then gave a huff and waved his hand impatiently. "Aw, hell, it just means watch yourself, punk, the fuck ya think it means? Shit, ya ask some stupid questions."
-
Ohhh how adorable. Cyrus didn't know the answer. That was, of course, the reason he'd asked. To see Cyrus scrambling over it. Had to entertain himself, didn't he? And his options were severely limited in ways to get back at these people for all they were putting him through. Cyrus just had the poor fortune of being the one person most available for his petty little pieces of revenge.
"So you have no idea what it means, is what you're saying." Temple dumped his old clothes in Cyrus's arms. He could carry those, Temple would carry the new stuff. "How do you know you're even using the phrase correctly? What if you've been using it wrong your whole life and no one ever had the heart to tell you?"
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"Ain't what I'm saying at all! Shit, ya don't pay attention, do y--the hell's this?" Cyrus made a face at the clothes he was suddenly stuck with and was faced with the childish urge to shove them back in Temple's face.
"Since when am I your maid? Ain't no maids here, Violet," he said, and shoved the clothes back into Temple's arms, on top of the new ones, before side-stepping fast to dodge a possible counter-attack. "And anyway, that's how everyone uses it and I know damned well what it means and--and why the fuck d'ya care, anyway? Ya some language teacher or somethin'? Couldn't make it to the field so got stuck teachin' folks how to talk good?"
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"Didn't expect a soldier to be so lazy." After a moment of consideration he tossed the clothes on the floor. He didn't want them, and he didn't want to carry them. He was wearing the new clothes out.
Violet, again. Yeah, they needed to hurry through this so he could spin Cyrus in the air or pull up some of his embarrassing memories and oh so casually bring them up. Or maybe freak him out by levitating a few things.
"I could take you one on one," he said. Like hell he was going to let Cyrus get away with that one. He'd back it up, too. Not that they'd give him the option of fighting one of their soldiers, but he'd do it given the chance.
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Cyrus side-eyed Temple hard, eyebrow arching. "Pansy like you? Take me on? Punk, I could break ya over my knee like a stick."
He quickly raised a finger. "'Sides, your psychic mumbo jumbo? That don't count. That's cheatin'. What I'm talkin' 'bout is the true test of manliness, hand-to-hand, no weapons, no voodoo, no funny business, just you, your opponent, and somethin' to prove."
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Temple scoffed. "You could try. And you can keep telling yourself that psionics don't matter but they're just as valid as any other physical ability."
This was degenerating fast. Temple grabbed up a couple more pairs of jeans and more colors of the same shirt he wore. If he could just get some shoes before one of them ran out of patience, he'd consider this visit a success.
"That makes no sense. That's like saying you should fight with one hand tied behind your back."
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"Still cheatin'," Cyrus repeated with a frown. "And you're the one's makin' no sense. I ain't tellin' ya to tie your hands, I'm saying fightin' hand to hand ain't valid when one person's got a gun. Or crazy superpower shit. Ya gonna pick that up or what?"
He nudged the discarded clothes with his boot.
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"Looks like I'm not." Temple left the clothes behind, leaving Cyrus to pick them up if it bothered him so much. A rusty orange and brown sign hanging from the ceiling marked the shoe department. All the way on the other side of the building. He was starting to long for his cell.
"Anything is valid in a fight. There's no such thing as cheating. You do what you have to to win. How did you get to where you are being so whiny?" The words left him unsettled. They were true to him, he could feel that. He believed in them, but he didn't know why, couldn't put a source to his conviction. Strong on the outside, it proved hollow and elusive if he attempted to chase down the reasons for it.
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"Got shit in your ears or what? I ain't talkin' fight fights, I'm talkin' one-on-one. Brawlin', sparrin', whatever. You're just makin' excuses 'cause you know you couldn't take me on your own. Not without your magic ya couldn't, twig like you."
Cyrus gave one last guilty look at the clothes on the ground, then stepped over them and hurried along. Eh...whatever. That's what they had workers here for, to keep the place tidy. Besides, someone could probably find a use for them, and he wasn't going to get stuck carrying Violet's sweaty old clothes around the whole fucking city. He'd just pretend he hadn't seen anything.
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"Oh yes, tell me more about fighting," he said. "I don't know anything about that."
One of these days—not anytime soon for obvious reasons—but one of these days he was going to have to convince Cyrus to go one-on-one with him. Beating the man in a fight was the only thing he could think of that would shut him up about this for good. Convincing Cyrus would probably be the easier part. Finding a place and a time to do it that wouldn't get him killed for it would be the real trick.
Thank the gods he had Cyrus's pride to play against. That was going to make like so easy in so many ways.
"You willing to back up those words?" he said, excessively casual, browsing some of the plain shoes they had. He just needed something to wear daily, something that would hold up and didn't look like it had come out of the stone age.
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"Obviously not," Cyrus said with a roll of his eyes, trudging along after him. Oh yay, shoe shopping now. Were they going to go underwear shopping, too? With a sigh, Cyrus poked around some boots to give himself something to do, already going out of his mind with boredom.
He turned a boot over in his hands, inspecting the quality, and flicked a glance at Temple. "Tch. In a heartbeat, Violet. I know I could kick your skinny ass from here to Edanith."
-
"I don't know why you're so bored," Temple muttered. "We're in a store. Buy something, browse. There must be something you need."
He considered commenting on the exact number of shirts Cyrus had in his closet and how he should get a few replacements for the threadbare ones he was wearing out, but that was just impulsiveness talking. Cyrus didn't need any more reminders that Temple could read his mind. He was quite aware of that. Was often hyper aware of it.
"Maybe we'll find out." He nudged his shoes off and tried on a pair. Even without telekinesis, he felt his chances against Cyrus would be good, at least fifty fifty.
-
"Don't need nothin'," Cyrus groused, tossing the boot back onto the pile. "I don't just buy stuff to have stuff like you people. Now hurry it up. Shoes is shoes is shoes, goddamn."
But despite all his grumbling for the sake of grumbling--really, no matter what Temple did, he couldn't win right now--he ended up picking up an extra pair and purchased them wordlessly. It was only practical. He had a dangerous and work-intensive job, he went through boots fast. He tried to be subtle about it, taking care of the transaction while Temple was trying on shoes.
"Like I said, Violet, time and place. Ya name it, it's on. No voodoo, no tricks, just skill."
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Temple popped up next to him as the clerk was stuffing the box in a bag. "Found something huh?"
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Cyrus jerked in alarm and leveled a glare at the Pilot. "Weren't ya tryin' on shoes?" he snapped, grabbing the bag from the clerk.
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Temple smirked, and let his satisfaction show. "I was. I'm done now. Do you need a few more minutes or...?"
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Scowling at Temple, Cyrus shook his head and fought back the flush. "Well aren'tcha special. Ya find anything or what? We done here? Can we leave? Or do we gotta hit cosmetics next?"
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"Want to see me in makeup now?" Plenty loud enough to carry to the cashier and anyone within twenty yards of them.
-
"W-what? What the fuck's wrong with ya?!" Cyrus snapped, because oh yes, the cashier had heard and he had looked up from the book he'd been reading to watch them. Cyrus had caught the look he gave them and felt his face heat up again. Fucker!
"Gods! Can't ya just--just shut up! Fuck, we're done here. Let's go, Violet."
-
"What?" Temple was fine with leaving. He was done here. He grabbed his bags and left Cyrus to follow. "You shouldn't dish it out if you can't take it."
-
"I ain't dishing out shit," Cyrus grumbled, more petulantly than intended, as he trudged along after the Pilot. Fuck, if that kept on, people were gonna start getting funny ideas. "Just callin' it as I sees it."
-
"And I told you what would happen if you kept it up." He held the door for Cyrus, and shot him a smug grin. It was so easy to hit Cyrus's buttons. "So don't act surprised. You brought it on yourself."
It'd only been about an hour since they left, just half the free time that was allotted to him, but he was done with this. An hour with Cyrus left him wanting the four walls of his cell. He had to build up the patience to do this again in a couple days.
-
Cyrus rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Violet," he said, and shot him a scowl when he held the door for him. He shoved past him and let out an impatient sigh.
"So now what?" Temple wasn't the only one feeling done with all this. Cyrus had been done yesterday.
-
"I'm going back. I've had quite enough of you for one day." The feeling would be mutual, and he didn't need empathy or telepathy to know that. "But we get to do this again in a few days."
He just had to throw that last bit in. He couldn't say he was looking forward to another outing with Cyrus, but he was looking forward to making Cyrus run about wherever he needed to go.
-
Cyrus's relief was short-lived, cut off prematurely by the reminder that he'd be getting to repeat this ritual in just a couple more days. He let out a loud groan and let his shoulders slouch, deflating.
"I'm just leapin' for joy over here, Violet," he grumbled.
It didn't take long to get back to the cells, because they hadn't really gone all that far. Cyrus shoved open the door to the cell block and grunted for Temple to lead the way to his cozy little home.
All things considered, however, annoying as Temple was, the day hadn't been as terrible as he'd anticipated. It had been short and sweet, point A to point B and back to A. Yeah. It could have been worse.
That's what he kept telling himself.
-
If Cyrus hadn't been armed, Temple would have blown him a kiss just for shits and giggles. "See you soon, Amadori. You can take me out to eat next time."