Remnants of the Earth
AEDOLIS => Haviah => The Citadel => Topic started by: Draconian on July 28, 2017, 10:27:40 am
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[ Neph : D ]
It was impulsive and Cinna was regretting it a little. What was he supposed to do? He didn't entertain. Well, he did, but he entertained himself, not other people. Cinna was a giant of a man, built for days and still remarkably light on his feet. All the Pilots were friendly with one another - mostly. A quick tidy of the apartment once he'd realized he'd have a bored guest, a quick dusting of the entertainment system - an old screen and a vid player that he never used. A mytserious bag of pretzels a few drinks from the fridge.
And kittens.
Cinna grinned down at Boop and Beep, mewling at him and weaving between his legs.
The kittens didn't see big bad predator - he's made sure not to get frustrated and do anything to frighten them - they saw their next meal. Of course, dry food was left out for them to nibble on. Wet food for breakfast and dinner. There was multiple cat beds, a few cat trees. It was clear that, while the apartment had once been sparse, it was now a Kitty Haven. One kitten in each hand, he plopped them into their cat tree. Sisters. Both black and orange and he couldn't tell them apart. Which was why one had a purple collar and one had a green one.
Boop was purple. Beep was green. He thought.
After making sure the kittens adopted mother - his guest - had the right apartment numbers and all the directions, Cinna patiently waited on a seat at the kitchen island, tail waving lazily. A glance over his shoulder to watch them try to catch it. Wincing occasionally when their little daggers caught a scale wrong.
It was always odd how self-conscious he felt about how he looked. Always just a bit off. Not that anyone ever seemed to mind. He was barefoot, careful of his claws. Legs stretched out. His heart skipped a beat when there was a knock at the door and he stood up from his chair, the kittens chasing after his tail which he waved extra far to keep them distracted. Maybe he should just tie a bell on there. Never have to invest in a toy again.
Cinna opened the door with a polite smile - not a cheek splitting wide grin, he tried to do those as not often as possible. A quick fix of his hair and he looked down at himself - a tanktop and a pair of custom made jeans. "Hi," He perked up smiling, wincing when one of the girls caught his tail, "Ready for kitten cuddles?" He teased taking a few steps back so his guest could come into the apartment.
It always felt so empty when other people were in it. "There's stuff in the fridge and mysterious pretzels on the coffee table," another smile and he awkwardly played with his hair, his ears pinned back a bit in a clear display of his nervousness. It was either his squad or... Nothing. Cinna didn't hang out with people. This was a good step in the right direction, right? Right. It was fine. "Now you get to tease me about noodles and food to my face," He grinned, this time it split a little more and he quickly fixed it.
"How was your day? Catch bad guys? Take a nap under a desk?" He turned quickly and picked up Boop and Beep, one in each hand, "Your daughters have adjusted and second favourite place to sleep is my chest."
-
Soba lived on impulses.
It was kind of hard not to, with all things considered. Every other week there was something new in his head, added to the ever growing chimera of life experiences, thoughts and wants and preferences. Was chimera even the right word for it anymore? Who knew?
It certainly wasn't anything he was going to stop and muse and introspect over. If he did that every time something popped into his head, he'd be covered in moss and fused to the pavement. Best to just roll with it.
That being said, this was a new kind of impulse. Usually, a thought hit him and maybe he ended up naked in a greenhouse. Or putting thirty six shots of espresso into a Big Slurp and chugging the whole thing. Or buying a box of tiny mewling kittens with zero idea of what he was going to do with that much kitten.
Admittedly, that last impulse was kind of what brought about his latest one. But at least all his prior ones usually tended to keep him within Margad’s city limits. Usually.
But no, this one was new in that it had him on the light rail straight to Haviah. He didn’t often make a trip to the capital outside of work, and his own duties within Margad itself often meant he couldn't be spared for very long. So many minds to piece apart like a bizarro-world puzzle, so little time.
This wasn't for work, though. This particular venture to the Citadel was entirely due to cats and partially due to coconuts. Which was exactly what happened, that was his story and he was utterly sticking to it.
Cats, coconuts, and a secret conspiracy of underground bear wrestling Ministry Pilots.
The train’s windows flickered as it shot past the final gates, and Soba glanced up from his phone just in time to catch the barest glimpse of the outside hellscape before automatic screens flooded the compartment windows with much more pleasant images. Adverts laced the top banner spaces, set against a wild and throbbing backdrop that undulated through a series of neon colors in time with the train's background music.
The Haviah Shuffle. Pulsing, rapid fire, beating like a drum. Getting you all sorts of amped to be brought into the best and brightest city in the world-- and worlds beyond.
Or, alternately, getting you amped to wrestle bears. The dirty paper pushing heathens. Soba snorted to himself, and went back to his phone, alternating between several screens and only really putting serious thought into one. But of course, work emails tended to require something better than whatever shit piece of thought decided to cut loose on the rails.
He really should stop to get something before hitting up Cinna’s quarters. That's what polite people did, and Soba was nothing but the absolute example of a fucking gentleman. What was the proper etiquette for “I'm here to play with your tiny pussies?” A bouquet of daisies and a tub of ice cream.
Shit, Soba should have picked up daisies in Margad. Say what you like about the capital of the world, Haviah couldn't grow shit for… well, shit. He doubted Cinna would understand the intricacies of floral language, though, and possibly wildly misinterpret a bundle of dying flowers. Or eat them. Soba couldn't quite pin down what was edible to the Kulshedra from casual conversation. Maybe that was just what his people did with flowers.
No, best to just stick with ice cream. That, at least, was plentiful. Also, it did present the opportunity for a peace offering of sorts.
A quick stop, a quicker flirtation with the checkstand girl and Soba pressed his thumb to the comms outside of Cinnamon Rook’s personal apartments, a cheap plastic bag filled with small cartons of coconut milk ice cream in the other hand.
“Oh, shit, I'm sorry,” he quipped as soon as the door was open, “I was here for the annual Inquiry sack race. I think I missed it.”
There was absolutely no preparing for seeing Cinnamon Rook in person. Public profiles were one thing, PR imaging another, and vague written descriptions an entire third. But the sheer towering nature in the actual flesh was something in and of itself. And man, Soba understood just why Cinna had been recruited for the Harpies. Dude was intimidating as holy hellfield.
Or, would be if the way his ears were pinned back didn't reek of underlying anxiety. That was almost cute.
“I even brought snacks for the traditional pregame diabetes induction. Ah, well, here, I guess it's best you eat it instead.” Soba slashed a grin at Cinna, and gently shook the plastic bag of nondairy delights in his direction.
“Ooh, mystery pretzels? I’ve had that brand before. Kinda weird when your food shouts ‘meddling kids’ at you, though.”
Ahh, and there were the kittens in question! Soba grinned wide (not nearly as impressive as Cinna’s own split one, but then again not everyone had the fortune of that brand of genetics) and scratched just under either kitten’s chins. His sweet, perfect, precious little fuzzy daughters, in their sweet, perfect, precious little collars.
“All the bad guys, and one tiny grandma. It's been a productive quarter. ...Only their second favorite, huh? Maybe we should talk about your chest-napping-zone game. Test out different techniques.”
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Just what he expected.
Of course Soba got a few longer looks and once Cinna realized he'd had his ears pinned back he quickly fixed that issue. Though, he switched from 'perked bunny' to 'pretend cool neutral' too often to seem relaxed. To someone normal - i.e not a trained solider - he probably just looked like he had itchy ears. It was clear he was uncomfortable to some degree and once the kittens had gotten their chin scritches he wandered to a cat tree, put them on the middle plateau and politely took the bag of whatever Soba had.
A peek at the contents and Cinna barked a surprised laugh. A look of 'really' to Soba. Head tilted down, looking up at him ( sort of ) and an eyebrow raised, smirking. "Thank you," he said, smiling still. It was the 'human' smile, which always looked a little off on his face because it didn't quite move his face right. Still, more comforting than being confronted with a wall of sharp pearly fangs. He put the contents of the bag in the freeze before he rolled his shoulders and looked down at himself.
Now what.
Licking his lips he looked off to the side before he inhaled and...
Soba smelled really good.
Not good enough to eat but surprisingly so. An unfamiliar scent. That must have been all those plants over there. Cinna wrinkled his nose and rubbed his palm to his face, clearing his throat and shaking his head. Boop and Beep were making their way down the kitty tree, showing much bravery in the long little hops it took to get down and soon enough, they were chasing after Cinna's tail while he nervously waved it back and forth, trying to think of anything to talk about. Or to watch.
What did one do with guests.
"I'll have you know that the first best place they like to sleep is my pillow," He snorted, looking away before he grabbed two glasses and went to the fridge to pour filtered water into them before he pushed one towards Soba. Sure he had a few alcoholic things but water would be best if he was thirsty. Cinna was thirsty. So he drank that glass in two gulps before he put it in the empty sink.
Cinna's apartment clearly wasn't lived in. He lived there. His things were there, but he didn't put up anything. There were no pictures. No potted plants. There was a small side table with a few pictures of his family and a candle that was flickering from the wind provided by the open window. A glance around his sparse living space and he leaned against the counter, elbow down while he glanced over his shoulder and waved and curled his tail for the kittens.
"So, Soba," He cleared his throat, "Are Sack Races a thing?" He looked dead serious, eyebrows drawn downwards while his mouth was pulled into a frown. Then he slid forward across the counter on his elbow, leaning down, "And do you race the sacks?" What even was a sack race. Cinna knew that you didn't race sacks, had a general idea of what it was. He was just looking forward to whatever bullshit Soba spat out about it.
"While you're here feel free to ask me about..." Cinna looked down at himself and then waved a hand, "Me. I can't imagine there are many of us outside of Pyre Town." Pyre Town being the little neighbourhood mostly populated with the species, "I'm an open book to any and all of your curiosities."
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There was a lot you could tell about a person by their living space, and you didn't even really need to be psychic to do it. You just had to pay attention to the details. A pile of otherwise clean laundry on one single, overworked chair, a collection of carefully framed indie punk band posters, a perfectly manicured orchid on a pristinely kept coffee table, piles of squishy pillows in lieu of an actual couch…
Nervously pinned ears and what appeared to be a very stock photo kind of apartment. The only thing that seemed to hint that the apartment was even Cinna’s was the cat tree and the family photos, and that was pretty sparing.
So, no real decorations. Nothing to say that Cinna himself lived here, just a few things that were only there, it seemed, purely for Cinna’s own benefit.
Not really out to impress, then? Or not really out to make this his home? Or maybe just not yet sure of himself enough. He was still pretty young, by Kulshedra standards, or so Soba thought. That was a thing, right? He felt like that was a thing. It was totally a thing. Young and away from home, it made an amount of sense.
But that would be assuming a lot. And Soba never assumed.
Soba played with kittens.
He accepted the water glass from his place on the floor, quirking some crooked smile up at the other Pilot but otherwise not commenting on his choice of drink. Water for nerves, huh? Worked for him, and so he sipped at the glass with one hand while his other wiggled fingers around one of the kittens--Boop? Beep?-- to get them to attack it.
“Sack races are a long standing Aedolian tradition. You split up into teams, the colors of which are decided by the day of the week the race falls upon-- anyway, you're in teams and one person from each team gets tied into a sack, and they have to race one another out of it. Blood is shed, often and liberally. One guy lost an eyeball one year. Other team literally chewed it out of his head.”
It was, of course, utter bullshit. Soba knew that Cinna knew it was bullshit. But that was honestly part of the appeal: Soba knew that Cinna knew that it was bullshit, and Soba knew Cinna had only asked to hear the bullshit. And honestly, actually genuinely honestly, that was the best part of it. So why not go whole hog?
“Huh,” Soba hummed a bit, scooping one of the kittens up and shaking his hair in her face in lieu of an actual cat toy, “something about you? And I can really ask anything?”
That was one hell of a presented opportunity. And for an Inquisitor, whose entire job revolved around being nosy, it was an irresistible one.
“So, twenty years ago, you ate a cat. Pyre Town doesn't receive government subsidies like the rest of Aedolis? I can't imagine being that hungry, especially as a kid.”
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It warmed Cinna's heart to see someone playing with a kitten and he gave little smiles and watched while Soba thought and played with his hair. A self concious hand drifted up to his own head and he fluffed his hair. Cinnamon mourned not being as traditional then. More naturally made cat toys right there.
Ah well.
Taking a mouthful of the rest of his water he almost spat it out at rhe question. Of everthything Soba could have asked him, that was the thing he chose. Cinna swallowed quickly and cleared his throstn, giving his Pilot companion a really look. One eyebrow up, smirk on his face.
"A kid. I wasn't a kid twenty years ago, I was 25. Been a Pilot for five or six years already by then." Cinna took a deep breath and turned around for the cupboard and pulling out his bottle of whiskey, mostly untouched. Pouring a bit into his water glass, he sipped it and then sighed. It was a weird warmth and he licked his lips and gave Soba a hooded eye'd look.
"It was a ... initiation. There were some gang bangers. Too many people involved for it to be fixed easily, so, I got a pretend name, hair dyed black and down I went, eager to do the right thing and make Aedolis better." A little shrug, "it worked sorta. The cover." Cinna took a deep breath and smiled pleasantly at Soba.
"They were all human. Chained me up for a few days, beat me, starved me. And, after a few days they threw a terrified cat into the room with me and I ate it." He shrugged again, "They saw the... beast they needed. I had to pretend to be a whipped dog, but everyone was prepared to get me out when I needed it."
Finally Cinna finished his whiskey drink and smiled pleasantly. "So. I ate a cat because I was starving, it wasn't good, but it got me where i needed to go." A look to the side and he put his hands on the counter, eyes closed. Then he smiled at Soba and flicked his tongue at him.
"I'll have you know Pyre Town is cute homes and well maintained everything. We live for a long time. Its mid-level so not really fancy. Mom and dad have had their home for over a hundred years," Cinna gave a sort of hollow laugh, "Would you believe me if I told you I'd been living here for almost a decade?" Another glass of whiskey and he left it on the counter before he started to make his way into the living room.
"Anymore questions? Comments? Concerns?" Cinna paused, "Did you really come here just to play with cats?"
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"You saying you were a full fledged adult at that age? That's some interesting lifespan you've got there." Soba quipped without breaking his concentration on swishing his hair in the kitten's clawing range. Boop (or was this one Beep?) mewed loudly and nearly caught his nose, which had Soba grinning like a loon.
"Not the nose, it completes the ensemble." he muttered conspiratorily to the little beast, before shooting an altogether unreadable stare up at where Cinna stood explaining the whole "cat eating situation." The sudden presence of whiskey was immediately noted, notarized, and filed away for future use, should the need ever actually arise. Not that he necessarily expected to need the knowledge-- plenty of Pilots closer to their age had their personal escapes.
The same, of course was done for the gentle pause before the word 'beast'; though that particular chestnut Soba fully intended to give a little roasting later. There were plenty more pieces to this new and glorious little puzzle box, after all.
"I guess we've all done what's needed doing, one way or another. And let's face it, that is one hell of a reputation to precede you. People tend not to forget little details like that, makes everything more memorable. Though in your case... probably not all that necessary."
The other cat, Beep (or was it Boop?), attracted by her sister's mewling, padded her tiny way over, and Soba scooped her up in his other hand after setting his drink glass down. He play acted at doing bicep curls with the tiny beasts, before settling one on each jacketed shoulder like some kind of weird, meowing mantle.
"Pyre Town sounds like quite the place to retire, I'll keep that in mind," he winked over at the other Pilot, and raw mischief bloomed over his face at the quick mocking flick of Cinna's tongue. Poking his own out right back at the other man, he continued balancing kittens all the way over for a refill of his drink, pointing at the bottle of whiskey as he did.
"My only concern is that you don't intend to share that. But ten years! Though I guess if you move apartments every now and again it takes the whole cabin-fever edge off. You get that often, the ah, itch to be elsewhere?"
Not really waiting for much of an answer by way of permission, Soba poured himself a finger and took a sip. Not bad. Not that he was really much of a whiskey man in the first place (even originally), so it wasn't as if he could tell the difference between bad or good. It was still something, though, and it was far less awkward to sit around grilling for personal questions if they were at least both somewhat inebriated for it.
As inebriated as one finger was worth.
"Would you believe me if I said I did, in fact, come here just to play with cats? Because I wouldn't believe a word that came out of my mouth," he slashed another grin over at Cinna, and took a larger sip, quickly giving himself a refill before walking away from the counter again. "Including any of those ones."
-
Did he have to explain his life span now?
Cinna just smiled at Soba and rolled his eyes, moving a hand to fluff his previously styled hair. There was a quiet moment, something he always did around new human frienss. Usually hw was sly about it. Slowly, while Soba was curling the girls, he compared himself.
It was hard, being different, even if there were a few other Kulshedra Pilots. Cinnamom got over the brunt of it, but words always peirced far deeper than anything physical. As a Candidate he was ruthlessly teased for his face, the scales - at least until he could show just how much of a monster he could really be.
"Ah, help yourself to anything in here," he said notiving Soba get himself a little of his own poison, "Sorry. My guests usually know that. If you're hungry there are some left overs. There's beer in the fridge, mystery pretzels," he motioned to a folded crinkly bag on the coffee table.
Cinna sat on the arm chair, tail out from beneath him and to the floor. Half of him was waiting for Soba to just come sit on his lap with how odd the Pilot was. Not that Cinna would have minded, for how distant he made himself seem, he craved closeness he just couldnt afford to have around other Pilots and humans.
Another sip of whiskey and he tilted his head, an ear flicked up. "We - Kulshedra - are.... Odd." Understatement. "We're born and age like humans physically, mentally we're a bit behind. At twenty-five i looked like an adult. Thirty is traditionally when we're officially adults, females - Women - start to have their... Fertility cycles and Males -men - hit their first sort of... plateau. Anyway, despite our long life span, our fertility rate is so low we're still dying out. Probably be extint in the next thousand years or so." Cinna grinned at Soba, the wide ear to ear one before he took another sip of whiskey.
"My mother is a hundred and fifty years old. She's almost finished baking my little brother or sister. Indigo is sixty years older than me. She's the equivilent of a clown car in my culture. Three. She's had three of us. Most couples have one." Cinna gave his tail a wag at the mention of his potential newest sibling and just had a doofy smile on his face.
Right. He had a guest and while Soba was a good liar, no one wanted to stand around and listen to some forty year old man talk about his pregnant mom. "So. Anyway. Give it to me straight. You wanna put your hand in my mouth don't you, or at least check it out. Play with the tail? Touch the scales?" Cinna - what fleshy cheeks he had were flushed, grinned and then "oh! Oh! Oh!" He tugged the collad of his shirt down to show off the cluster of scales at the bass of his throat, "this hurts like a wicked bitch when it gets hurt. Weird deeprooted set of scales. Looks pretty though," and it did, almost shaped like a tiny red rose.
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"Hey, I mean, belonging personally to a species that has specifically evolved to be able to do everything on the move, I think I speak for the human race in saying we have no room to talk about odd. Pursuit predators and all." Soba shifted, carefully bending to keep the kittens from toppling off his shoulders as he slowly sank to the floor. Boop and Beep jumped off as soon as he was safely close to the ground, and so he settled cross legged on the floor, whiskey in one hand and the other chasing the kittens about with wiggling fingers.
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and there was Cinna's tail wagging away, and the absolutely most goober-esque grin on the other Pilot's face. Soba couldn't help himself; his face split into a wide grin, and he hid a laugh behind his drink glass, feigning another sip. Okay, that was kind of adorable. It was adorable in any general mode, when people talked about family or kids or something that genuinely made them happy. You could always tell; even the biggest hardasses couldn't completely hide fondness. And Cinna was no hardass.
"Three? Damn, son. Though I guess it's a lot easier when they're spaced out by decades, huh? Usually our species just kinda... spits 'em out, and next thing you know you're buried in babies and there is no saving you." He gave Cinna his best horrified, wide-eyed stare, before immediately dissolving into that same shit-eating grin. "Though, word of advice? Probably shouldn't call a pregnant woman a clown car, even if she can't hear you. The baby, you see, grants her superhuman senses, and she will know, and then next thing you know we are down one Cinnamon."
Not that he personally knew Mrs. Rook to be able to say one way or another. But hey, he didn't exactly spend a lot of brainpower on fact-checking. Not that it mattered, because Cinna was already rambling about things like mouths and tails, and it took some considerable effort to keep his train of thought from taking a hard left at the fork between sensible and gutter.
Cinna wasn't making it easy, and Soba took another swig of his drink. He set it onto the nearby coffee table, and shifted forward, careful of the tiny beasts still underfoot. Luckily enough, Cinna's knee was right there, and Soba used it to steady himself as he got somewhat eye-level with the cluster of scales the other Pilot was showing him. Huh, it almost had the same formation as--
Hah! Soba's face split into a beaming grin, and he flicked his gaze upwards at the Kulshedra Pilot.
"Oh shit, twinsies." He tapped at the vibrant coloration on his own pulse, partially hidden behind shirt collar and loose hair as it was. Still, he scooted a bit closer, eyebrow quirked high as he looked between the little cluster of scales and Cinna's own flushed face. "So, anyway. Give it to me straight. You want me to put my hand in your mouth? Play with the tail? Touch the scales?"
Not that he was really gonna wait for confirmation for that last bit, already brushing the pad of his thumb over the little cluster, careful to be as gentle as possible considering the previous comment about them being rather sensitive. But man, he'd just always loved roses. Small surprise, there.
-
Twinsies?
Cinna tilted his hear, ears following suit. One up, one down, and he frowned slightly at the tattoo before he tried to look down at his own. Oooh, there was a resemblance. That placed the flower smell. Roses. A slight curious frown and he blinked when Soba started to talk again and he opened his eyes wide in surprise and gave a chuckle though, it quickly died down when the hand was lifted up and he touched that bit of scales.
"Uuuh," Blinking he cleared his throat and his ears waved, uncertainty clear on his... Well, head. "No," Cinna said honestly, "That's just what most people who've never met me are kinda keen on trying out." Still, it made his skin tingle and what flesh was visible rose in goosebumps while Soba examined the cluster of scales, still because he'd offered, Cinna rose his chin to give him better access and he gave his tail a little unsure wave. This was an odd way to be. Slightly leaned in, flushed from whiskey, eyes were half closed.
"Is it a scratch and sniff?" He teased softly, nodding towards the tattoo on Soba's neck and trying - badly - not to smile at the joke. Cinna looked at it, blinking and then back at Soba. He didn't seem like a flower kind of guy. Then again, Soba didn't seem like an anything kind of guy. A curious tilt of his head while he watched him and then Cinna caught his hand and pulled it away. A moment to hold it and examine it in his hands, clawed and scaled. Gently he let go and leaned forward, eyeing that tattoo. "I mean, you already smell like roses and train," Cinna smirked, "but the roses are nice. Just smells like people here," Cinna wrinkled his nose in distaste.
-
“Tch, hah! Anythin’ is a scratch and sniff if you try hard enough,” Soba shot back. He looked down at the hand against his own, scales and claws versus callouses and bitten down fingernails. There was a slight toughness to the tops of Cinna’s knuckles, like it had been impacted several times over. Impact from throwing punches against a hard surface. Microbreaks. Solidifying bones.
Training.
Cinna did mention a lot of gym time. But even so, it was a bit much. Then again, Soba wasn’t a member of a combat squadron; he had never been front lines in his entire career. Far too much use could be made via investigations and interrogations. Because as bad as their enemies had been, sometimes the Pilots themselves were worse.
Mm, now that was a nasty thought. Soba tilted his head as if to lead the thought drain right out of his head, and for good reason. For one, such disparaging comparisons had no place in anyone’s heads, and for another, such disparaging comparisons had no place while he was supposed to be hanging out playing with kittens in a near-stranger’s home.
Somehow, Soba felt like there was an urban legend warning against doing this sort of thing on your own.
‘And they never heard from Inquisitor Henning again, oooooh,’ or something along those lines. Soba snorted in amusement to himself, and sat back on his heels, giving Cinna some much needed personal space.
“Roses and train,” he said, touching at the space over his own heart and shutting his eyes as if in ecstasy, “I’ve always wanted to smell like a train. Beautiful, wonderful creatures, trains. Do I smell like a pretty one? Tell me I smell like a pretty one.”
Soba slashed another crooked grin up at the other Pilot, snickering even as he finished his sentence. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. Even if he had wanted to be serious for a moment (which he never did), his mouth always shot up faster than his brain could even try to keep up with.
“Oh, perish the thought. An entire city, the most densely populated and largest in the world, a whole city smells like people? You poor, sweet thing…”
The inquisitor shifted, and twisted a bit to lift the tail of his long jacket, providing a sort of tent for the kittens to duck underneath and play at hiding. They were really adorable. The whole box had been adorable, of course, and his favorite was still Peebles, but Boop and Beep (or was it Beep and Boop?) certainly gave him a run for his money. Something about combined cuteness or whatever.
“Does it bother you that people want to stick their hands in your mouth? Being different and shit like that?”
-
The grins made him grin.
Cinna let it slip, the sides split to his ears and he looked terrifying for a moment. Quickly enough it was remedied and he had a polite smile again, eyes crinkling and he ducked his head down a little. It struck him as odd then that just seeing a grin made him do so but he rolled his golden eyes and glanced away and then back again.
"Train because you were just on one. Mostly roses," He stated, eyeing his neck, focusing in on the pulse beneath the flesh and he almost licked his lips because he wanted to taste it. Nope. Nope nope. That wasn't for Soba. That wasn't for anyone. That kind of focus wasn't for anyone and how did Indigo do it? Cinna wasn't terribly picky. If someone smelled good and made him laugh they were on the 'interesting' list.
Soba was very high on that list.
Cinna let his eyes drift closed and he leaned in and just existed for a moment.
"Roses and..." He tilted his heat, Cinna looked Soba up and down from his crouched place by the chair before he quirked an eyebrow. Why not just sit on the couch? A glance to it and another lifted eyebrow at his guests choice of seat. The question about being different caught him a little off guard but he just blinked while he thought before he finally stood up out of the chair, tempted to manhandle Soba into it so he'd stop being crouched like a weirdo.
"It did," Cinna said honestly, stretching his arms and going to stand by a window, "Pyre Town is kinda.... Not Gated community, but it's mostly us. So... Someone that's from where I'm from isn't going to wanna stuff their hand in my mouth or pry it open." Cinna shook his head, fluffed his hair and his ears finally began to relax, drifting down to sort of just be the littlest bit floppy by his head.
"But. I can do things you can't do because of what I am," He stuck out a foot and wiggled his weird animal toes, making his walk quiet and careful, his tail swaying to help with his balance, "They didn't just make me eat a cat, I was there for months and they treated me like a dog and I had to let them," Cinna admitted, giving Soba a sober look before he grimaced and look away, "So... Everything after that was fine. As long as I'm treated like a person you can wanna put your hand in my mouth as much as you want. Or y'know. Anything else you can think of." Another arched eyebrow and Cinna gave a chuckle and turned away. Lips a little looser from the whiskey mood a little easier.
A grin and he walked to Soba before he placed his tail on the ground and waved it and just as quickly, two shots of fluffy kitten shot out and attacked. With a happy noise he scooped up the cats and held one in each hand. Boop and Beep. Already couldn't remember which collar belonged to which name. Should write it down and put it on the fridge. Cinna glanced at his drink before he sat back on the cough and nodded to the space beside him, "Wanna sit on something cushy or did you wanna squat the whole time? Figured if you wanna touch me we can at least be on even ground," He nodded to the chair and smirked again, face splitting into another silly grin.
Boop and Beep squirmed out of his hands, and he let them down gently before they slipped away play fighting one another. "I mean, my chest is free game now, the girls are busy."
-
Ohh, that was adorable.
The way Cinna beamed, wobbly and wide and way too toothy, before seemingly catching himself in the act and correcting his own behavior. Soba loved it when people did that. It felt honest, in its own dishonest way. Soba could respect that.
Also, that mouth was just. So. Cooool.
Then again, a lot of what one could use to describe Cinna fell under “so cool.” His chill manner for one, his quickness with a quip, his tail and his scales and the fact that he had genuinely been able to fit a full coconut in his mouth in order to try biting it open.
So cool.
“Nothing quite like walking out of a place where everyone's dog is named Steve, huh?” He knew, somewhere, that that sentiment had made absolutely no sense, but the sentiment was still there. Indecipherable for his word choice but genuine enough in its feeling. It was hard, going from a place of normalcy to a place where your every move was considered strange.
Made you feel like an outsider in your own home. Soba could respect that.
Cinna’s ears were different. Looser, if that was a word. Like how Peebles was when he curled up to sleep; active, but no longer on edge. Aw, that was nice. And that wasn't the only thing Cinna could do that Soba couldn't. Swish the tail, cross the room without a sound… with his musculature, Cinna could probably bench press the entirety of his human guest-- uniform boots and all.
Something of note, however, hung in the remaining words. Treated like a dog, and Cinna had to just take it. Given, the job always came first, and there were plenty of nasty awful things that had to be done for one's country, but… there was just an indignity to knowing you weren't allowed to fight back. That someone bitch slapping you every day would never know just how big a mistake that was.
That'd have been the part that got under Soba's skin. Just having to sit back and let injustice happen. Sure, Cinna seemed fine, and was all in one piece, but it didn't mean the experience was fun. Soba could absolutely respect that, and the want to be treated equally.
Soba looked down just in time to watch the kittens streak out to pounce on Cinna’s tail. Already the mighty hunters, no low hanging object would ever be safe again! He snorted a bit, rising to his feet and stretching his back with a quiet popping sound. Soba smirked as the kittens spilled over Cinna and one another, pouncing and rolling over one another in their ferocious little play acting. Super cute.
Almost as cute as that little quip. There was some heavy insistence on being touched, tonight, much to his shock. Hands in faces, open casting calls to occupy chest space… well, far be it from him to deny another, well, anything. Finally, Soba shrugged out of his jacket, settling that over the back of the armchair before finally joining Cinna on the couch.
“You know, you are so. Right. It is free game. Oh, no. Gravity has suddenly shifted specifically for me and no one else. I am falling, oh the humanity.”
He play acted at literally falling into the other Pilot's chest, before settling back with a grin, one arm hooked over the back of the couch.
“So, uh, which is which again?”
-
Cinnamon Rook had always had a problem with the feelings thing. He watched Soba pretend to fall and he just rolled his eyes good naturedly, glancing away to watch Boop and Beep tumble along the floor. The question about which was which sucked him out of his trance and he blinked before focusing his attention on his guest.
Which was which?
Which was which what?
Cinna paused a moment, thinking about making a joke about his biceps before he just tilted his head and then licked his lips. "That one is Boop and the other one is Beep." Cinna grinned cheekily, because he himself couldn't remember. "I think Beep is the green one," Cinna didn't move any closer to Soba, just turned slightly to look at him in a studying manner.
Not unlike a predator would watch its prey. Though, in this case, that was just what his face looked like and he just happened to be quiet and watching his newest acquantance. "So where did you get them from?" While he asked, he leaned in to look at the roses hiding behind the shirt, reaching for the tattoo with his finger tips- though he gave Soba a moment to slap his hand away before he touched it. "The kittens, I mean, they didn't smell like smoke," A smirk, "It's okay. I won't tell. I am as good at keeping secrets as I am covered in scales. Which is my whole back."
-
“So your whole back is good at keeping secrets? Duly noted, I'll address any and all sensitive state information to your spine. No eavesdropping.” Soba slashed him a grin, his head tilted and one hand coming up to brush back his hair from his neck and give the other Pilot a better view, as it were.
It wasn't like he minded being touched, after all. And he had just spent a long time staring at scales and predator mouths, so letting Cinna explore his tattoo seemed about fair.
It also gave Soba a moment to consider just how much of the actual truth he wanted to say. Which, of course, was his near constant state of being when you thought about it. Still, for whatever reason, the impulse to lie just wasn't there. He could go the boring route: ‘well, they were in an alleyway and the hydro-ring was on its way, they'd have gotten drenched.’ Or maybe a ‘some super sad kid was trying to get them good homes and I figured what the hell.’ Or he could just go batshit all out with it and talk about bears again. What was with him and bears lately? That wasn't a fixation he remembered having before. Oh well, into the pile it went.
So what to say? There was the truth.
He stared down at Beep (Beep was green, double e’s, very clever) where she lay on the floor, yawning wide to expose all her little canines.
“So, there was a… disciplinary incident.” Not exactly the words he would have used for it, but the official words nonetheless. “MAPD comes up with a dead girl and some scuttlebutt from her coworkers that she'd been going to see a Pilot before, y'know, ending up dead. Now, rumors can be rumors, but the big P was dropped so Inquiry gets involved, you know, standard procedure. Plus, if we can prove a Pilot wasn't involved, hey, PR’s happy.”
He chewed at his lip, and dimly wondered where he'd left his whiskey, because that all sounded real good right now. What the hell had he been thinking, going for the truthful route? Suddenly bears seemed a hell of a lot better.
“So, me doing what I do best, hey bring me to see what's left of this poor kid, right? Best Friday night of your life, at the morgue. You know, for being dead, she still looked good. I mean, she’d really put the effort in for the night, she was so excited--”
The worst part had been the skirt. Of course it had been the skirt, torn and bloodied as it was, the only object in the room that was humming with a story to tell.
She'd been excited. So excited! And come on, who wouldn't have been, getting a hot date with a Pilot? The year had just sucked so bad, it had been so hard to just muster the energy to go to work; mom had finally died (it had been a long time coming, but it still hurt no matter all the ‘she's no longer in pain’ platitudes), the garden had gotten nutrient burn and needed replanting (all that work, wasted!), and her cat--
No, that was too painful.
The only thing that got her out of bed was the kittens. A big box of mewling little babies. She'd tried to give several away, and they'd been adopted out, but there were still these ones left. So she went out, worked her cafe job, kept on moving because who else was going to care for the cats? She had no one else.
At least, until the Pilot walked in.
“Like, this girl really… really wanted to impress him. Not even in the usual ‘ooh look a celebrity’ way, but like… ‘hey, here's someone who's showing interest in me, let me try to be… worthwhile.’ Can you fuckin’ believe that? Went out with all her savings, got an absolutely adorable skirt on clearance, and oh my god they had her size, it was perfect.”
He snorted. “Well, fucker didn't deserve the effort. I'll tell you that much. But the kicker was, this woman was fucking dying, yeah? Dying. She knew it, he knew it, I fuckin’ knew it. And instead of being scared of that? She was scared for her cats. Her cats! Like haha, being strangled, whatever, but who will take care of my kittens when I'm dead in a gutter?”
He blinked, focused back on Beep, and a phantom wave of fondness overtook him. Soba leaned forward, beckoned her with twitching fingers, and he scooped her up into his chest, head bent to nuzzle her forehead.
“So, I got the stamp to raid her apartment, got the kittens, the end. Whole truth. Still say the fire story was better, though. Now about those mystery pretzels... What's the mystery? They haunted? Or ooh, made in a spooky alternate dimension, and no one knows why, but they simply appear in aisle twelve overnight."
-
Well that shit was heavy.
Cinna just listened, subtly bringing over the glasses of whiskey to rest on the table while Soba spoke and told the tale of the girl's kittens. That explained the soft scent of purfume. That explained how sweet the kittens were. Cinna was a heart on his sleeve kind of guy when the mood called for it and the whiskey and the heavy story kept words from him.
It occured to him for a moment that he didn't have a very dangeroua job. Sure it was dangerous sometimes but he always knew what to expect from a bullet. Didn't have to see the story behind it or feel the need to get a box of kittens he hadn't known about. Cinna just did his best to be ready for any mission that happened to come his way. It was never psychological though.
Cinnamon couldn't even imagine that. Living someone's life through memories. Quietly he watched Beep get scooped up and Boop quickly scaled the couch for cuddles too, settling in between the legs for warmth and pets. It was impulsive and stupid.
Instead of answering about the pretzels immediately a strong warm hand pressed against the back of Soba's neck and pulled him forward. Cinna nuzzled into his hair for a moment before tucking his head under his chin and his red scaley beast-hand moved up and down Soba's back for a moment.
It was a quiet rumble at first before it became a full fledged purr, making his chest vibrate. "They're a mystery because I have no idea where they came from, they're probably stale." his voice had an odd tone to it, provided by the purr and he let his hand rest on the back of Soba's head, thumb idly tangling the hair. "You okay? You back?" Refering to his descent into someone elses head. Boop, enamoured with the purr, squished closed to Cinna's abdomen.
"Do you wanna go out?" He asked, "of here. Go somewhere else. Or whiskey and snuggle kittens?"
-
Well that was one way to lighten the mood. Maybe the truth had been the worst option to go with. Cinna might have asked for the real story, but fuck, no one ever actually wanted the real story. Not when it was something like that.
Beep mewed, long and loud and insistent upon scratches behind one over large ear. Soba had expected the silence-- what did you even say to something like that?-- but he hadn't expected the hand. For one solid moment he wasn't sure of what was happening, and thus was equally unsure of what to do. Cinna had tucked himself close, which was a weird expression of physics considering the Kulshedra Pilot was several inches taller than he. But tucked in he was, physics be damned, and as he rubbed his hand over Soba's back, a deep-seated rumble rose up from the Kulshedra’s chest. He was purring.
Cinna was purring.
It wasn't anything Soba had expected, and it worked like a charm. He was pulled far away from that dark alleyway of a thought, the purring both a distraction and, admittedly, a kind of comfort in and of itself.
Like when Peebles curled up against his neck at night, his tiny little body rumbling against his jaw. It was soothing, an audible assurance that everything was okay. The cats were all okay.
Shit.
“Yeah, nah, I'm okay. It's cool, it's nothing new.” He said, shrugging a bit but not exactly squirming to exit the exceptionally purr-y pile he suddenly found himself a part of. Soba scratched under Beep’s chin, watched her little eyes close in delight, feeling rather sympathetic to the notion considering the hand at the back of his neck. Soba never really asked for comfort, nor did it ever really occur to him to ask for it. Funny, how you never realised you were missing something until it was handed to you.
He cleared his throat a bit, bringing up another crooked grin followed by a shrug. Honestly, either option was good, but there was still that low key burning need to get the hell away from that accidental feels jam he'd spilled over Cinna’s carpet.
“What, you wanna go pressing the doorbell of every apartment ending in two? Cinnamon Rook, you mischievous little minx.”
-
Both hands moved to the side of Soba's head and he gently rolled his thums over the temples before he finally backed away. A hand moving to his neck to press his palm to the roses. Cinna just listened and finally...
"Excuse me?" He laughed, sitting up and untangling his arms from Soba's head and neck. "A minx?" Cinna's mouth opened in surprise before he reached to the table and pushed Soba's glass towards him. Cinna had brought his own over too and downed that in a gulp.
"A minx," Cinna repeated, looking at Soba's lips for a moment, then his neck and then his lips again. Cinna scooped Boop up and nuzzled her before he pressed a kiss to her little head and put her down to the floor. "I was more thinking of a walk to grab something you like to drink. Bite to eat. Watch a bad movie. Or a good movie. Or no movie." Cinna shrugged before he stood up, "Or I can make you dinner."
A bright happy smile though it quickly disappated and Cinna was back to the polite smile, hooking his thumbs into the belt holes of his jeans. "Or if you're feeling super awkward about the purring you can go home. I won't take it personally." A glance away and he cleared his throat, looking at his glass and taking a deep breath. "I'm a pretty good cook though, if you're interested."
-
Soba grinned over his glass, taking a little sip of the whiskey that had been brought over somewhere in the throes of Memory Lane.
“A minx,” he repeated, snickering at the way Cinna sputtered in indignation. His expressions were just to die for. The dopey too-big grins and the brow-cocked-are-you-serious looks, anxious floppy ears and now this.
Soba looked at him after another solid swallow of the offered whiskey, noting how quick Cinna was to cover up his big ol’ smile and assure Soba that no offense would be taken if he preferred to leave.
Offense, sure. But Soba wondered if he'd really be okay with it. The Inquisitor suspected, strongly, that the answer would be ‘no’.
Not that Soba wanted to suddenly run off in the first place. Sure, the purring was different, but hell. He liked different. And it’d been a long time since anyone but Tyke had tried to make him feel better like that.
A real long time. Shit.
Wait, Cinna was probably waiting for an answer, and there Soba was, staring at the super-totally-casual way Cinna hooked his thumbs into his jeans. Okay, probably could have picked a better place to space out there, that might've given off a different vibe altogether. He readied up another grin, and nodded with a shrug.
“I'm way interested. Dinner sounds good. Bad movie sounds even better. You ever see Havina Connection? Out of this world stupid, it's an absolute art. I'll even help peel potatoes, or whatever it is.” Soba stood up then as well, collecting the empty glasses and setting those in the sink to rinse out later.
-
Eugh.
Soba looked cute when he just zoned out. Patience was a virtue though and Cinna the Predator had patience is spades. Like a cat he could wait for the little birdy to move and when it did he could pounce... Except Soba wasn't a little birdy and he looked a thousand miles away. Just staring and thinking. Short circuit? Cinna kept himself occupied by wiggling his ears up and down like a clock, tick-tocking with them quietly before... Ah there it was.
The reply was surprising but pleasant.
Cinna had been expecting a 'yeah that was weird, I'mma grab my coat and go,' so he gave a weird little pleased trill that surprised even him because his hand moved to his throat and he looked extremely confused for a moment. Clearing his throat with a few noices he frowned, shook his head and stretched his arms up before he made his way to his fridge. Because of Cinna's size, his daily life and the fact he was always hungry, it was clear Cinna appreciated dining to fancy apartment.
"Steak?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder to watch Soba put the glasses in the sink. A little wave of his tail betrayed that the little show of comfort pleased him. Then he finally processed the words he spoke on his way over, reaching into the fridge for a bag of potatos, he plopped those down on the counter, fetched a cutting board and a knife - and a peeler - and put those down on the counter with a grin.
"Never saw it. Don't really watch many shows. Mostly just..." Cinna gave a simple shrug and blinked, "Do stuff." Cinna couldn't think of what he did now. Probably read. They hadn't been to his bedroom - why would they go to his bedroom - but one wall was a shelf just absolutely covered in books. Honestly to goodness books. And a pair of reading glasses. Good thing that door was closed.
Right. Guest.
Cinna pulled out an onion, some mushrooms, a pan, various spices before he looked at the potatos and then at the onion and mushrooms. Quickly, he switched, "Slice those up," He said briskly before he started to peel the potatos with ease and getting a pot and ... Cinna was efficient. Before long, the potatoes were bubbling away happily and he kept sliding a few different vegetables to Soba to cut up. The onion and mushrooms were to compliment the steak, the other vegetables went with the soon to be done potatoes.
"Do you cook often?" Cinna asked, glancing at him before he cranked the heat on the pan, the steak having had time to settle, "I usually do. Unless we're doing drills that require something specific evenings are free. Or y'know, away on a mission. " The steak hit the pan with a loud hiss and it stayed there a moment before he got the edges and then finally the other side, "How do you like it?" He asked softly, looking at Soba from under his eyelashes and his slowly drooping red hair, the product failing, "Your steak."
-
Whatever that noise had been, Soba needed to hear it again. Possibly record it, play it over and over on an eight hour cassette tape that he'd have to somehow unearth the ancient technology to even create. This shit needed to be preserved, dammit!
It seemed to take Cinna by nearly as much surprise as Soba himself, though the Inquisitor did at least have the manners to keep his smirk at a bare minimum. Just only lightly teasing, a silent little 'I heard that'. Which quickly melted into a wide grin as soon as the word "steak" left Cinna's mouth. Because hell yes Soba wanted steak. Nothing like a hot slice of beef to go with terrible films. Or, whatever the old adage was. Was there something for this precise situation? No? Oh, well.
"Pfft, oh man. Okay, so to start, the guy who made this movie bankrupted himself getting it on film. So let that sink in." He grinned, about halfway through washing his hands before the potatoes were swapped out for onions and mushrooms. Yeah, Soba could do either. He wasn't nearly as quick as Cinna, though, almost embarrassingly so, and for every potato peeled and cut Soba had maybe gotten a small handful of the other vegetables squared away. Damn, gettin' his ass roasted in the kitchen. Thank god he'd never went in on that celebrity chef deal.
"Nah, I just get takeout. Thanati, spaghetti, you know. Oh, wait, I had soup the other day. Yup, that about covers my cooking skills. Plus I like answering the door in increasingly wild outfits. More fun that way." He grinned over his shoulder at Cinna, passing along the onions and mushrooms as he dealt with them. "My schedule... tends to vary. But I usually go for the standard night shifts if I can help it. Vampire watching, two birds one stone, that whole chestnut."
There went the truth again. Why the hell did that keep happening? Clearly he needed to get his fluids checked, or tires aligned or something, because that was weird. Still, the whole thing was nice. This was nice. Even if he was the worst vegetable chopper known to man, the whole act of even helping to make a dinner was a novelty. A pleasant novelty, not some cheap knockoff thing. He didn't even have the proper word for what it felt like, just that it was new and he liked it. Which was... utterly alarming in and of itself. Like, especially alarming. Five-bell alarming.
He nearly took off a chunk of his thumb, barely missing the digit by inches, and decided that maybe that was enough vegetables for the moment. Because nothing screamed "chill hangouts" like spraying blood everywhere. Good gods. Soba cleared his throat as if horrible injury had NOT almost just occured, and finally turned to answer the question about steaks.
"Medium rare. I like it juicy." Finger pistols and a wink. Super smooth. No near misses here.
-
Terrible awful bankrupting movie. Oh man.
Cinna smirked at the idea while he seared the steaks, getting a second pan for the vegetables. He cooked on high and what didn't work perfectly he fixed with his special brand of brain powers. Soba got to go into deep dark holes of peoples memories and come out slightly worse for wear. Cinna could cook his steaks perfectly. He'd eat politely tonight. Though, he usually did. "Bankrupt," He finally said giving his head a shake, his bright red hair falling into his golden eyes.
"Sounds awful, I can't wait." With one steak done, he let it rest on a plate and started the second one, since this one was Soba's he could leave it just the tiniest bit longer while the vegetables cooked and... Cinna turned off the potatoes and drained those, back to the pan. Steak off beside the other. Vegetables done and finally.
He turned off the stove, grabbed some plates, washed his hands and plated everything. Done. Bright smile to Soba he lamented his lack of a dining table and nodded to the coffee table. "I don't own... A lot," He said simply, gathering utensils and eyeing the bottle of whiskey. "Want water or whiskey?" Cinna pursed his lips shrugged and grabbed both the jug of water in the fridge and the bottle of whiskey. There. now they had choices.
Taking the forks and knives to the coffee table along with two clean glasses, Cinna returned back to the little island he'd left the plates of food on and nodded to the couch, "Go sit down and find that awful movie." He paused, "Please." He smiled and made his way over, putting the plates down and sitting back, "Don't worry about the floor if you drop something. Potatoes are kinda plain, but...." He shrugged, the rest of it would be good.
"So... Don't you get tired of eating out?" Cinna closed his eyes for a second, "Getting take out." He licked his lips and grinned before he glanced away, "I make most of my food - Unless it's like... snack food for drills or something so my pallet is.. Adventurous but doesn't get out much y'know?" He didn't even really know what Thanati food was. He finally cut into his steak and he gave a pleased hum at it. "Well, I got good news and bad news," He said after cutting off a slice and chewing with another pleased hum.
"The steak is juicy and these were the last two steaks I had until I get more groceries delivered which isn't for a day or two."
-
Thank all the gods in all the heavens that Cinna was exotic looking. Unusual eyes meant that it was natural to want to stare, and those golden eyes begged to be stared at. Not just for the hue but the predatory nature of them, the underlying understanding that Cinnamon Rook, unarmed or not, was perfectly capable of rendering him into a red smear on the carpet.
Soba could respect that. He could respect the aptitude for physical destruction; it wasn't something that was typically useful in his line of work, but man, the ability to simply obliterate half the bastards Soba got to know so intimately? That was a delicious thought.
“Bankrupt,” Soba repeated, bringing himself back to earth and not off somewhere with sharp teeth and a hunter’s eyes. He grinned at Cinna, before doing as ordered and heading for the couch once more, hand at his brow in a little salute.
“Sir, yessir, finding one terrible schlockfest of a movie, sir!” he said, far too cheekily to be even close to something to take seriously. He settled back onto the floor, as was custom, his back against the couch seat and legs stretched out beneath the coffee table. He wasn't going to lie: The food smelled divine. Then again, he didn't exactly get that home cooked quality very often, so everything smelled divine. He certainly wasn't complaining about anything to do with the potatoes.
Or anything to do with anything. He was too busy already tucking in, flicking through the images on his phone screen before finally finding the correct file and syncing it up to Cinna’s television. There was a brief pause, before the movie overtook the screen, berating them with the hammiest synth rock to ever grace a set of instruments. There wasn't much to pay attention to, not yet, and so Soba didn't bother, swallowing the first delicious bite of his steak before trying to answer.
“Compared to this? Fuck yeah, I get tired of eating out. But, y'know, it gets late, and grocery stores are run by plant people who need the sun to function, it's this whole mess.”
The Inquisitor waved his hand a bit, before taking up the water pitcher and filling his glass, draining it and filling it again. He cut off another piece of steak, and hummed a bit at the tenderness of it. How did this guy not know how to open a coconut, but he could sear a steak to perfection? It straight up boggled the mind. Gesturing a bit over his plate with fork and knife, Soba glanced over where Cinna was seated.
“I admire and appreciate your brave sacrifice in providing me with one of your meat slabs. Thank you. Had I known they were the last of their kind, I'd have worn a nicer shirt.”
Whatever it was one wore in respect to the provision of cooked meats, only the gods knew. Soba liked to think it was exactly what he himself wore-- white shirt and torn up jeans-- but with the addition of a small bow tie. That sounded about right.
“I'm surprised you don't get out more often, with a more commonly set schedule. Ten years in Haviah enough of a burn out? Or just not the burn out type?”
-
A nicer shirt?
Cinna turned his head, chewing on his steak bit thoughtfully before he tried to picture Soba in a tuxedo or something. Hair back. Rose tattoo poking out of the collar to tease at the image of it. Cinna swallowed his steak and turned away before he put his fork down and went for another whiskey. "I offered you my meat slab," cheeky grin and he was done.
Wasn't much. Or at least it wasn't much for someone who could hold their alcohol worth a damn. Which Cinna could not. Luckily he burned off any buzz quickly enough. A sip of whiskey and a bite of food. It didn't take long for him to eat his veggies like a good boy before he flicked an ear and turned to the next question.
It caught him off guard.
Why didn't he go out?
Cinnamon didn't know the answer to that question. There was a moment when he opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. Burn out? Cinna took his last bite of steak and looked at the television while he chewed. Took a moment to take in the setting. Seated on the floor half under the coffee table, sometime during the meal the girls had managed to take up half the couch together.
Passed out kitten was his favourite state of being for them. Finally he swallowed the last bits of his meal and washed it down with a sip of whiskey. "I'm just... Not a very social ccreature," he stated with a shrug, "I love my job. I love the Squad. I leave the citadel and the ATC as little as possible. I get my groceries delivered. I get books delivered." Cinna frowned.
"I actually never thought of it before... Realized I did that." He leaned back and spread his arms out on the couch behind him, one arm partially behind Soba. Tempting to play with his hair again. "Anyway. I can't hold my liquior and the last time I went out I just kinda ruined the mood. You think this," he opened his mouth the whole way, taking a moment to pick his teeth in the back before he closed it, "Is cool. This is scary. I had a little girl look at me and just start sobbing once. I felt awful for days." Cinna sighed and turned his attention to the hot trainwreck on the screen.
Riveting. "This seems like one of those movies kids play so they can say they're doing something besides," Cinna's voice pitched into a falsetto, " ' me and my boyfriend are going to fumble around with his dick.'" Cinna grinned at his own joke, "By the way," he leaned in to look Soba in the eyes -- provided he turned towards the big red man.
" I only know a lot of what I'm interested in. Coconuts dont fall into that catagory. Neither does---" The ice cream! Cinna waved his tail slightly before he turned his attention back, pretending to look scary, whole mouth parted just slightly, the hint of fangs on display. "Much anything else."
-
“There's different kinds’a social.” Soba said between emptying his water glass and replacing it with a sip of whiskey. The Inquisitor watched, patient and without any visible sort of judgment, blue eyes flicking to catch the movement of Cinna’s ears as he spoke.
If he noticed the proximity of Cinna’s hand to his hair, he made no mention of it, instead taking a bite of steak and simply… letting the other Pilot talk through his thoughts. The pesky things were a maze on the best of days, and that was all without the benefit of having someone chatter at you while you tried to make sense of yourself.
A little girl had burst into tears. Oh. Oh, man, that had to have stung. Bad enough that part of the Kulshedra’s job description had involved being chained up like an animal-- after he was out of there it, theoretically, should have been fine. But having a kid cry at the sight of you? That kinda tended to negate any hopes for pretending to be “normal”.
As welcoming as Aedolis was of immigrants and nonhumans as a rule, there would always be that difference. Being the outlier was never fun, and Cinna would always be the outlier. His species was already a rarity as it stood, dying out if Soba remembered conversations correctly. Being the kind of rarity people were scared of?
Soba supposed it worked in terms of Cinna’s occupation. Combat squadrons liked scary, needed scary, could always use scary. Idly, Soba considered if Cinna wouldn't have been perfectly suited for a more terror-tactics squadron like the Scorpions. As soon as the thought hit him, though, Soba shook it out. No, that would've been awful.
Cinna loved his squad, and social life or not, he was well suited here. Fit for purpose, like they were all meant to be.
“Scary’s cool,” he said, finally, glancing back to the movie for half a moment, “otherwise there'd be no market for horror movies. Food for thought.”
Soba snorted at Cinna’s falsetto impression, and shot him a sly grin in response to tumbling around and boyfriend dicks. The action, however, had the added side effect of their eyes meeting, and not for the first time Soba enjoyed the sensation of being in a predator’s crosshairs.
Eeeespecially when Cinna leaned in with that sharp smile. It was only partially ruined by a sudden wag of the tail, but Soba hadn't had any real opportunity to ruminate on how Cinna resembled an excited puppy when he did that-- that thought, as it stood, was pinned away for later.
“...Noted. No coconut factoids from you. I'll just get my coconutty information elsewhere. So,” Soba tilted his head, regarding Cinna out of the corner of his eye. “What are you interested in? You said you had books.”
-
Despite his apparent denseness, Cinna was sharp. Sure he didn't know a lot, there would be time for him to learn. Lots of time for him to learn about coconuts. Everything - most things - were in books. There was also the unwritten things. The things Cinna just knew. Things that tingled at his spine and clawed at his brain.
There was an ever so subtle itch when he made eye contact with Soba. Not just Soba. Most humans. They were predators in their own right just... Cinna was more and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to lean in and taste that rose on Soba's neck. Cinna had gotten good at fighting down urges.
Still, Cinna couldn't stop how his ears flattened down, how his pupils turned to slits or how his nostrils flaired. The scent of train wad dying away. The specific cocktail that was his newest companion and he spent a moment to commit it to memory. His mouth parted and he licked his teeth before the world wooshed back.
Good thing that rose was on the other side of his neck.
"Interested in?" Cinna's pupils retuened to normal and his ears relaxed, " I... Everything. Eventually. I just finished a book about Adelan history. I have a shelf for Kulshedra stuff. There's a book on beekeeping. Several books on it." Cinna breathed through his mouth and his eyes flicked to the movie, but his predator was piqued and Soba was more interesting than a moving picture. So, quickly enough, his golden eyes were on his guest.
"Do you like your work?" His voice was soft, the slightest of purrs accenting his words, which caused Beep to get up and curl herself in the crook of Cinna's arm, stretched out on the couch, face pressed to the fleshy part of his bicep.
-
Human beings were barely borderline in a lot of ways. Dull teeth, dull nails, no protective plating, no thick fur. Just bones and skin and organs. Fragile and delicate.
There was something to be said that they had turned out to be one of the apex predators on the planet. Soba looked up into those golden eyes, to the narrow slits of Cinna’s pupils, and felt the call of like to like. The recognition of a predator bigger and badder than he or any of his could ever hope to be. The vague instinct that told him if the chips were really down? He'd be on his back with Cinna’s teeth in his throat.
None of this surfaced as actual thoughts, of course. It was all basic, subconscious vagueness-- Soba didn't have any of the urges Cinna fought down. And probably for the best, because of he had, he might've recognized the look in Cinna’s eyes much sooner.
Blue eyes followed the path of the Kulshedra Pilot’s ears, narrowed slightly, before he relaxed again. He was still a novice at this, the whole reading a non-human's body language thing, and for the moment couldn't quite place what those flattened ears had meant. The stare, though. That had been intense, and even now something sang in his veins, leaving him on edge and anticipating… something.
And then it was gone. Cinna’s pupils widened, his ears relaxed, and he was speaking as if neither of them had skipped a best in their conversation. It was a lie, an unspoken falsehood, because even now Soba felt like his heart had been replaced with a hummingbird’s. And damn if he didn't like it.
“History and beekeeping.” Soba repeated, eyebrow quirking in surprise. There were just certain things he never expected Cinna to be particularly interested in, and that was one hell of a combo. History, maybe, the combat types always seemed to have a head for history, but apiculture?
It explained all the bee talk, that was for sure.
The Inquisitor couldn't help a low smile then, regarding the other through dark lashes. Fulla surprises, this one. Like a hunk of rock housing the puzzle pieces of some long dead critter’s bones.
He'd almost completely forgotten about the movie, if he was honest. Beep? Yes, Beep, green collar, had moved closer to her scaley papa as he purred, and frankly Soba couldn't blame her. There was something utterly disarming about the noise, such that once more, Soba found that his tongue wasn't tripping over itself chasing after the most ridiculous answer he could think of.
“Don't get me wrong,” Soba said, quietly, against the backdrop of white-clad ninjas combating a multicultural martial arts rock band on the T.V., “it's not fun, getting strangled to death. Or whatever else it just happens to be that day. Telepathic extortion, empathic terrorism, every last nasty trick these naughty boys and girls come up with. But my job? My job means justice is being served. I love every minute of it.”
He reached for his glass, and after flashing his teeth in a wicked grin, knocked back what was left of his whiskey.
-
Another curious tilt of his head and he moved his other hand to gently run a red scaled finger over Beep's tiny soft body. She curled in tighter before stretching out her little back legs and spreading her toes. Cinna simply took the information in. His own psychic abilities were very physical. His ability to manipulate fire was a physical thing. It did it's job to help him do his job and it was a tool that he used very well if given the right circumstances.
Cinnamon couldn't imagine being in a situation like Soba. Getting into peoples heads. Seeing what they saw. Of course he'd seen some awful things first hand, but his reactions were his own. He'd never been trapped in some memory and forced to watch events unfold. It was a sobering thought. Of course he knew people could do that. He'd just never thought of the repercussions. Cinna closed his eyes for a moment before he shuffled a little bit closer to Soba, nudging him with his knee.
"That sounds way more important than what I do," He said, ears tick-tocking up and down in his slight embarrassment before he turned his head to look at the TV, frowned instantly and turned back. What did he even do. "Well. Right now. Which I think is a good thing. Never know though," He frowned slightly before he pushed a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, resting his chin on his bicep to look at Beep so close. Boop quickly followed suit, though she draped herself over his arm and rested her head on Beeps.
Taking a deep breath, he watched the kittens for a moment. Did they know how important they were? That someone had passed away thinking of their safety? Cinna grew sad for a moment, the whiskey finally catching up with him while he stared at the tiny fuzzy creatures draped across his arm. "Thank you," He finally said, "For... Letting me have them," he tried to smile, one side of his mouth lifting in something resembled more of a grimace. "I know rumours are most of our number one hobby and you could have taken the whole... Cat thing... to heart..." Cinna sighed before he smiled at the girls and then smiled at Soba.
"They're beautiful and I promise to love them forever," A slightly less doofy smile but Cinna was out of 'predator omnom' mode and more back to himself. Soba was new. Soba was new and potentially a threat and Cinna still had to adjust and adapt to that. Though, that would only matter if they ever hung out again. Which Cinna wasn't so sure if they would. Most of time his little oddities threw people off. He was sure that just about the only people who could stand his strange moments of 'predator' was the Squad. But they've known him long enough to know it would just kinda pass by. "Sorry about the ear wiggling and anything else odd," He cleared his throat and looked away.
"Also I'll have you know that those are just a few things. I own a lot of books," Cinna looked bright for a moment, "Wanna see?" He was quite proud of his collection, his ears perked up with his potential excitement before they drooped oh so slightly, "They're in my bedroom, if you're okay with that. It's clean. My room."
-
More important? Oh, Cinna. Soba looked him over, watched his ears flick in tandem with his emotions. It was… actually kind of interesting to watch. Years of conditioning left human Pilots harder to read, their body language stunted to a toddler's babble. It was hard to justify reading tension and anxiety in a population that literally existed in tension and anxiety.
Candidacy did a number on more than its share of Pilots, after all. It was necessary, of course, that the training imparted upon would-be soldiers be intense. They were Pilots, after all-- but in the realm of psychology and emotional stability? Who didn't leave the ATC without a few scraped knees?
And then there was the job itself, and everything else that came with it. Soba got a few extra minds in him, at the projected worst. Combat Operatives got killed on a bad day.
“I wouldn't say that. What you do is in preparation for what is necessary. Just because no one's decided to come knocking doesn't make it less important.” Soba waved a hand vaguely at some point in the distance as if that made it clearer, “Those domeless pricks could decide they're too big for their britches, and we'd be fucked if we hadn't put the effort in preparing for it. And besides,”
Soba's face split into a wide grin, razor blade quick.
“I always put a few credits on red team when the games roll around, and y'all don't disappoint.”
Cinna was regarding the kittens, something in his ears and face suggesting the thought wasn't exactly the happiest one. Beep and Boop didn't seem to notice, their eyes closed and soft little purrs emanating like audible heat. Soba again felt that phantom fondness to see the kittens so happy and content, or perhaps it was his own fondness, or perhaps it didn't matter at all.
The Inquisitor blinked, actually surprised by Cinna’s gratitude, and the reasoning behind it. He chewed his lip, considered his words, bit down before releasing the skin.
“Hey, you know. Can't bullshit a bullshitter. Something snarky about y'all using different cadences if you wanna lie to me.” He snickered, reaching over to pat Cinna on one well-muscled arm. It was a bit like slapping a ham, which Soba absolutely had never done before in any lifetime and so couldn't really make that comparison. But damn. Daaamn.
“Pshh. How dare you apologize for doing weird things. Number one telltale sign of werewolf fleas. You got werewolf fleas Cinna? Do they howl at the moon when they see it through the smog or do they just howl in general, I was never clear on those rules.”
Besides, was the unspoken thought behind the spew of ridiculousness, Soba was starting to learn. Not just about which ear wiggles meant Cinna was being bashful, either.
Soba was in the middle of pretending to pluck off imaginary fleas when Cinna lit up like a solstice tree, eyes bright and grin proud, and for a hot, irrational moment Soba wanted to slap literally everyone in the building, including himself. Because that was the logical response to the flipping sensation in his gut, right?
“Fuck yeah, I wanna see your books. I mean if I had to climb up to the roof for it I'd tell you to fuck off, but if it's just your bedroom I can swing that.” Soba snickered again, and made to get to his feet, leaving his com on the coffee table in favor of gathering up his almost-licked-clean plate. He stacked it with Cinna’s own and brought those to the sink, knowing full well the mischief kittens could get into if left alone with stray forks and tantalizing table scraps.
-
The expressions on his face were unreadable. Stern, jaw tight, eyes narrow. However, when his ears werent pinned back by a helm they flicked and rotated and twitched and perked up and gave away just about everything he was feeling. Which was why he wore them.
Also to keep his noggin safe.
Cinna was too busy staring at the kittens and listening to Soba talk that the sudden contact caught him off guard. His ears flicked and he visibly tensed before he relaxed, eyes wide, mouth partly open. Ready to retliated. Being tame though, the reaction was just that and he just smiled and shook his head before he gathered kittens close and stood up.
Werewolf fleas.
"Damn annoying critters. All howls at all times of the day. Pain in my butt, its a full time job keeping my werewolf fleas off the girls," he moved to his bedroom, Beep and Boop cradled in one arm and he waited for Soba to finish putting the dishes in the sink. Both kittens were still passed out. One of them was snoring.
Pushing his door open, he did his best to keep his ears from going fiddly, perked up to catch any wayward noises that came out of Soba.
Cinnamon's bedroom was a far cry different from his apartment. It was stuffed. A nice wooden desk with a lamp. A notebook. Pens. A pair of carefully folded glasses and on every available wall was a shelf or a bookshelf and it was full of the priceless objects.
There was little to nothing electronic in it, except for an alarmclock shaped like a turtle with the time happily flashing in red. Cinna placed the kittens on his bed where they just rearranged themselves and fell back asleep -a large queen sized bed he barely fit in. Blankets a soft blue with a cloud pattern on them. Pillows matching.
"The bee stuff is over there," he pointed to a section of shelf on a mostly empty bottom area beside his bed. " So... Yup. This is my free time when I'm not dicking around in the chat. This is the newest one," he said, holding out a book about cats. "Apparently its bad that I freaked out about Boop's little kitty nipples."
-
Oh my god there was a little turtle alarm clock. That was a little turtle alarm clock and it was the dopiest looking happy plastic-and-wires thing Soba had seen in his entire life. Well aware that he was grinning like a loon, Soba forced himself to turn from the alarm clock (but holy shit it was just so cute) and take in the rest of the place.
Now this, this was more like a home. Like if you had a lineup of different rooms, it would easily be pegged as belonging to someone. Maybe no one would guess it was Cinna’s, and that'd have been perfectly fair all things considered, but it still was where someone lived.
Soba regarded the books, all nine million of them, with a kind of awe, head tilted awkwardly to read the titles on the spine. Beekeeping, building an apiary, harvesting… wow, Cinna had really been on a bee kick. Still was, technically, Soba supposed. He had tried to get the Inquisitor to set up apiaries on his patio after all. Which, more and more, sounded like a great idea. They'd help pollinate all the flowers and he'd get a snack out of it.
Besides, it would give him something to focus on besides constructing life size robots out of old cereal boxes.
Soba looked up to see the cat how-to book, and couldn't help a face splitting grin and cackle.
“I wouldn't say it was bad. Funny as hell, but the worst thing to come of it woulda been a vet bill for nothing.” Still snickering, Soba returned the cat book and continued his browsing, stopping when he no longer recognized the words. Fiction maybe? Oh, wait, no, this had to be the bundle of Kulshedra books Cinna had mentioned.
If he had the time, Soba might've just sat down and started perusing, but that might be a little weird for the first time over.
“Got a favourite?” he asked instead, quirking an eyebrow over at the other Pilot.
-
Cinna noticed Soba eyeing up the Kulshedra books and smiled softly at how plainly curious he looked. Was it odd to be around where there was a whole tiny culture inside Aedolis? They didn't preserve much to his knowledge. Most of the books were from someone who wasn't Kulshedra and just enjoyed the culture. Which pleased, Cinna. Sure most of them were big and scary but he couldn't think of a more family orientated group of people.
A finger reached out to the kittens and he scratched under one of their chins to which the purring began and the sister snuggled in. A tender smile was on his lips and when Soba asked his question about his favourite book he turned the soft smile to him, and then his golden eyes flicked to the book case. Well, the one closest to him. Favourite book.
"Hmm," His voice rumbled out of him while he stood up, tail swaying pensively while his ears folded downwards, a finger to his chin while he tapped at his lips and tried to think. Just what was his favourite? Cinna licked his lips and hum'd again. Finally he reached forward and plucked a book from the shelf and sat down on his bed, his hand reached beside him and pat the side a few times in an offer - or demand - that Soba join him.
"This," He wiggled the book, hardcover, well loved looking, "Was my fathers. It's children stories. Well, not human children but..." A soft shrug and he moved to sit cross legged, tail curling around to the side on the bed and tucking his legs up under his knees, "It's in my language - well, my parent's language, I barely use it so and I can't really read it anymore. Pictures are cute though." He grinned and opened the book, looking at a page, "I guess I should give this back to them. Mama Rook is gonna pop any time now," He gave a shake of his head and then tilted his head to Soba and angled the book so he could look at it - also so he'd have to lean in a little because Cinna liked how Soba smelled.
"Do you have any siblings?" Then he paused, remembering just how the rest of Aedolis was and went a little quiet.
-
Soba's fingers lingered against one of the Kulshedra volumes. With all the different people who came to Aedolis every day, there was no shortage of strange people and exotic cultures. It was a far cry, however, from a culture that lay right in the heart of the capital, a little pocket of an entire people who had a rich history all their own.
What was it even like, being something beyond just Aedolian? Being a part of a cluster all their own? Soba had never been anything beyond what he was-- his history was Aedolis’ history, the idea of having two was… fascinating.
He'd been prepared to debate the merits of just pulling one book down and skimming through, when there was movement and Cinna was moving to take a seat on the bed beside the kittens.
Soba let his hand fall from the bookshelf, snorting quietly at the subtle summons to take a seat. Far be it from him to argue with his host, especially after such a good dinner. So the Inquisitor stepped over and dropped down beside the other Pilot, leaning in to look over all the words that made absolutely no sense.
But they didn't especially have to. The book was humming, the lines of it almost bright, vibrating like some living bundle of electricity. Soba's breathing slowed, evened, feeling the waves washing over the book even from where he sat. Careful not to touch the book itself, Soba leaned in to better look at the pictures, his mouth quirking high to one side as the dark script seemed to blend in with the images, becoming a part of them while remaining distinctly separate.
The way the words swam, swaying back and forth like leaves on water, certainly helped the illusion. Soba could already imagine it: a father (remarkably similar to Cinna just because Soba didn't know enough Kulshedra to formulate anyone else) curled up with a small scaled version of himself, reading out loud while candles flickered just outside of Soba's vision.
Soba blinked hard, pulling himself back both literally and figuratively at the question of siblings.
“I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if my father continued the ever advisable practice of not using proper birth control methods. Never met the guy, and if you'd met my mother you'd understand why.” Soba shrugged a bit, his gaze suddenly turning overfond and his smile right with it, “I've got Tyke, and Aglio, though. They're more than enough family. And I never had to babysit them, or change their diapers, so, bonus."
-
It had never occured to Cinnamon that someone wouldn't have a family like he did. One of those things that were rarely apoken about and so he didn't really know. Like he didn't know cats had a hundred tiny bald nipples. A brief glance over his shoulder to the babies and then another look to Soba.
He'd noticed the strange sort of trance he went into when he stared at the book. The distant odd look in his eyes that was a clear staple of looking but seeing something else. "You got to choose your family," he nodded glancing away. Cinna turned back and smiled, closing the book.
"We're..." Cinna moved the book around in his hands, figiting with it. "Different.' He wiggled the book, indicating he meant his odd humanoid species. "There's actually..." Cinnamon stood up after shimmying off his bed, steps quiet when he walked back to his shelf. The book had been left on the bed while he looked for another old tome.
Bright eyed, tail waving back and forth behind him he flipped a page and then looked around. A moments pause and he remembered, "is this too much? You see stuff, right? From touching something?" At least thats what Cinna figured. He wasnt the brains of an operarion he was the muscle - though this muscle knew an alarming amount of information about bees.
Cinna returned the book back to the shelf, head tilted. "I forget what my voice sounds like when Leoru is in my head. My 'me' voice sounds like her for a while after." He pursed his lips and hooked his thumbs in the unused belt loops before he looked at the kittens, "Fire, I don't envy your abilities," he shook his head and held out a hand to help Soba off the bed.
"C'mon, lets go finish that bad movie and I can walk you to the station so you can go home," Cinna paused, "Or you can sleep on the couch if you're tired already." A little shrug bedore he wiggled his fingers. Then he paused, head tilting and studying his human guest.
It would be so easy to.pounce and nibble. So easy. Cinna licked his lips and tried not to growl. Maybe it was the roses. Had to be the roses.
-
There was just something about excitement. Not just bubbly-perky, but genuine excitement.
Shiloh had been excited. She'd loved how the skirt had fit, how it was cut just above the knee in tiers of flowery fabric. They'd been small flowers; heather and baby's breath and bundles of daisies line in blue against a backdrop of cream.
Shiloh had been excited. Soba was sure, if she had been born with the gift of a tail, she'd have been swinging it just the same as Cinna did then. It was Soba's favorite feeling to take a back seat ride on; rare, mind you, considering the nature of his job and how his abilities were normally utilized, but his favorite all the same.
It was what made him hate how quick Cinna was to hide his own excitement. To stop going on about what he liked or what interested him. It was a pity, and it was a pity Soba didn't know who had been responsible for such curbing behaviour. Soba was pretty sure he disliked them, though.
“Oh, yeah,” he shook his head, waving idly from where he sat as if to swat away the concept of being overwhelmed, “it's from touch. I can usually tell when something is going to chatterbox me, so as long as I don't give anything a great big hug it’s usually all right.”
The Inquisitor’s brows knit together for half a moment as the book was put away, before he smoothed out his expression and replaced it with a toothy smile.
“Aww, lookit you being a gentleman,” he said, teasingly, before taking the offered hand and letting Cinna pull him onto his feet.
“Well, I for one think a culture lesson is far better than martial artist music ninjas, but if it truly burns your soul to not know the ending, yeah, we can finish the movie.” Soba shrugged, hands disappearing into his pockets if only to give them something safe to do. “I mean, the exploding replica dojo scene is a thing of beauty, I'd hate to rob you of it.”
There was no such scene of course, but he’d been genuine for so long he was starting to have a muscle cramp. It was almost distracting enough to keep him from noticing Cinna staring, almost.
There went all of his predator-prey instincts again: nameless and directionless, but leaving him covered in goosebumps nonetheless. It was delightful.
“Couch, huh? Well, I am keeping track of who in Aedolis has the literal comfiest couch. I'd hate to leave out a variable and have my entire data pool skewed. Unless that was a subtle hint towards ‘get the fuck out’.” Soba scratched at his head, mussing at his hair a bit not terribly unlike Cinna had been doing earlier, blue eyes hooded and mischievous, “In which case, sure, fine, keep all your couch secrets to yourself.”
-
Don't bullshit the bullshitter.
Cinna didn't know how much Soba knew about his kind. Probably the same amount as everyone else - next to nothing - and that was fine. There was a fine line though, between being seen as Prey and not and with Soba being in his domain, surrounded by his books and his little turtle clock. His spine wanted to push him forward and--
M--- nope. Nope.
Cinna licked his teeth a took a surprised gasp of air. Nope. Not for him. Clearing his throat he pursed his lips and tilted his head. "When you're in here you make me itchy," he said softly, giving an apologetic smile, "these are all my things. Feels like little fingers at my spine and - honestly - I want my teeth on your throat and it wouldn't be to kill you." He smiled, if Soba was going to lie forever, Cinna could at least be honest. Thats how it worked right? One lie and one truth meant even ground or something.
"Anyway. I can bring a few books to the living room if you're actually interested. The movie was shit. I was just trying to politely shuffle you out of here because i'm embarassed by my non-human reaction." Cinna crossed his arms over his chest and looked pensive, "Usually the itch isn't so bad." A little shrug, "must be because you're so dainty." He grinned and winked again and moved to the books, grabbing the old tome before moving to his desk and putting on his glasses. "Wanna hear some childrens stories?"
-
Whatever reply Soba had been expecting, that wasn't it. He blinked, more than a bit surprised as Cinna explained the sudden need to vacate the room, and that surprise only grew by the moment.
‘I want my teeth on your throat and it wouldn't be to kill you.’
Soba’s lips parted, facilitating a soft, short intake of breath. All of a sudden all he could consider was Cinna’s mouth, wide and gaping and full of teeth, and every last set of them pressed to skin that was never designed to withstand such a thing.
Predator mouth, prey skin.
Soba licked his teeth, clicked his tongue, and shot Cinna a grin of his own-- though nothing that would ever really compare to the loose-jaw face-splitting and honestly utterly thrilling one the Kulshedra was capable of. But what Soba lacked in visceral capability, he made up for in style, left canines bared as his mouth quirked hard to the side in a teasing manner.
“I think they make a cream for that… itching, burning sensation. Aches and pains and everything else that ails you.” The inquisitor winked, blue eyes sparkling with mischief even as he turned towards the bedroom door, one hand at his forehead in mimicry of a classic damsel in distress.
“You've found out my secret! I am but a delicate little flower, small and fragile and so easily left wilted. Hah!” He snickered, pushing his hair from where it had fallen in his face, carding his fingers back and shaking out the strands. At the mention of children's stories, though, he perked up, if that were even possible, and gave Cinna a solid nod.
“Shit yeah. Regale me with tales of derring do, or whatever y'all read your kids. It's way better than musical ninjas, seriously, Cinna, that movie was terrible and a highly transparent means of establishing small talk.”
Now all but shaking in mirth, Soba stepped through the bedroom threshold, finger-gunning the whole way.
“Besides. Flowers grow better if you talk to them.”
-
The grin just made it worse.
No no. Be good.
Just because there was some weird primal attraction didn't mean Soba actually wanted to be bitten. Or maybe he did. Absolutely wouldn't want what the biting implied to Cinnamon. The idea was probably hot. Not anything else though. What strange friendship they've created would have to be good enough for him. Would be good enough.
Cinna was content to be a purr buddy.
The play acting at being a damsel was gifted a small smile and he perked his ears up and shook his head softly. A little eyeroll and he resisted the urge to follow closely behind Soba to get a whiff of roses again. Might be rude though, after just saying how much he wanted to chew on his neck. Cinna licked his lips and adjusted his glasses before he watched Soba finally leave his room.
Just in time. Mistakes could have been made.
Good mistakes. Still, mistakes.
After he planted himself on the couch, leaving enough space to be leaned on, he glanced to Soba and opened the book again. Door open ajar for the kittens should they choose to vacate the bedroom. "This story is about a little kid who really wants a fish," He said, smirking, "And he can't get any 'cause they won't jump into his net..." Cinna frowned at the picture for a moment, "Anyway, it's a story about learning how to hunt. There's one about how precious the fire is. Our kid's stories are weird ass." He held the book out for Soba, "You can look through it if you like. It's not as delicate as it looks."
He looked away for a moment, "Or, you can rest your head on my chest and I can purr to you and read this in badly translated common between bouts of purrs."
-
Five minutes was all it took for Soba to learn some very crucial information regarding one Pilot Rook. One was that while he put out a general air of being a bit of a meaty jarhead, he was very well read and far more intelligent than he ever publicly let on. Or rather, publicly had a chance to show off.
Two, was that even after years of Aedolian subsidies, where there was no need for things like subsistence hunting, there was still a heavy cultural emphasis on that very thing. It may have been just in children's stories, but children tended to grow up, and take their childhood morals with them. Kulshedra were predators, one hundred percent, and even if Cinna was shy about it here, Soba doubted he'd been shy back in Fire Town.
And three, perhaps the most important factoid of all, Cinna looked damn good in glasses.
Even more so when he was being bashful while wearing them.
Soba grinned even as he sank into the couch cushions, gesturing at the book in between gentle prods to Cinna’s shoulder.
“The purring option. Can't have a good story if it ain't in mangled common, I always say.” Not really giving the other Pilot a chance to change his mind, Soba scooched over, rearranging their mutual limbs until he was tucked in just beneath Cinna’s jaw.
It was a bit of a win-win, really. He could still see the pages, as completely foreign as the language was to him, and thus the accompanying pictures-- all while settled against what was apparently a space heater disguised as a person.
It was downright cozy, so much so that Soba completely forgot whatever smartass remark he'd had lined up, and had to do a quick search to find something to replace it.
“Ooh, weird ass, my favorite. Like the one about the possessed children's toy who turned into a donkey and then grew a soul in a fish.” Soba grinned up at Cinna from where he was settled in, eyebrows wiggling wildly. “Gimme your best shot, firefly.”
-
Genuinely Cinnamon was surprised when Soba all but crawled over him to tuck himself against his chest. Cinnamon was sure his less than human features made people unsure at the very least and weirded out at best. Once Soba was settled, he felt warmth blossom in his chest and a tinge of a flush on his cheeks. What had he been expecting?
At least they weren't in 'his' space now. Now it was just strangely cuddly and Cinnamon licked his lips, curled an arm around Soba's waist and adjusted himself and his purr-buddy so he could hold the book. "Exactly like the fish soul," Cinnamon confirmed before he flipped to the next story. Hoping his confusion didn't carry out in his voice. The next story was about the fire. The pictures were cute and the main character was a little red kulshedra. The fire tender was a pale opalescent girl.
Cinnamon did his best to explain it in a non convoluted way and in between the pages, so Soba could examine the pictures, he made his purring noises and drew his fingers and the blunt side of his claws up and down Soba's back. Eventually, his eyes started to close and he shifted so his chin rested in Soba's hair and all he could smell was that flower he apparently liked so much. The purring continued until he remembered that oh right there was a human on his chest and he was reading a book.
"Sorry, I think I fell asleep there," he grumbled, clearing his throat and picking up where he left off. A story of their jobs. How their role in society was designated by the colour of their scales. The red was a simple guardian and would never amount to anything more. The opal girl was to tend the fire until she died. That was the way things were and they always would be. Sort of. Cinna yawned widely - hoping Soba couldn't see just how widely - and his mouth closed with a snap.
Again, he drifted off, purr constant and his hand drifting up and down Soba's back rhythmically, hand slowly relaxing on the book
-
Soba's lips pulled, curling into the tiniest of smirks, always thrilled to be the one catching someone else in the throes of bullshittery. Exactly like the fish soul, Cinna had said, and had said with every intention of sounding like he knew exactly what the hell the fish soul thing even was. It was a great effort, to be sure, but like he'd said before, there was simply no bullshitting a bullshitter.
Especially an old pro like him.
But none of that mattered, and the compulsion to chatter on about something completely unrelated was but a very small one. Made even smaller at the sight of the tiny red Kulshedra, by the sound of Cinna's purring, by the sensation of nails against his back, gentle scratching in some idle display of cuddliness. Certainly nothing he would have expected of two near-strangers, but he was having trouble finding fault with that. This was just so... so...
Nice. Usually Soba had to get solidly baked to feel this nice, but here he was, one arm around Cinna's middle and the rest of him nuzzled close, his eyelids drooping as Cinna purred away. He didn't even notice when he finally closed them, and he doubly didn't even notice falling asleep for the effort.
Soba startled a bit when Cinna's book slid from his hand, spilling over his lap and landing on the floor. It wasn't a loud noise by any margin, but it was enough, and the Inquisitor blinked bleary eyes at his very, very unfamiliar surroundings. Wait, not unfamiliar. Cinna's place. He was at Cinna's place, and...
Had it always been this dark? What time was it? Rubbing at his eyes, Soba slowly sat up, disentangling himself from the other Pilot who he... wow, he might have actually drooled on, because that was classy and not at all gross. Somewhere in the course of... whatever time they both spent unconscious, they'd slid to the side, and Boop and Beep (Beep and Boop?) had adjusted themselves accordingly to better facilitate group cuddles.
It was adorable, really, seeing Cinna snoozing away still, ears twitching at something in his sleep, that too-big mouth slightly open as he slept. Something warm blossomed in an alarming place in Soba's chest. It was awful tempting to just settle right back on in and listen to that light, rumbling breathing and--
Awful, awful tempting. The most awful. So very awful, and as suddenly as that warmth had come, it was gone, replaced with cold, terrifying realization.
Mmno. No. This wasn't good. This was ultimately very much doubly un-good, and he... he needed to go. He needed to go right now, he needed to get his jacket and go before he did something even more stupid like--
Like falling asleep in someone's arms again. Like enjoying falling asleep in someone's arms again. Like enjoying the idea of being able to fall asleep in someone's arms again. Like enjoying the idea of someone being routinely available to fall asleep in their arms again. Like--
No. Nope. Time to go, Henning. Time to absolutely one-hundred percent go. This was stupid, this whole thing was stupid, and it was even more stupid that despite all the screaming his brain was doing, nothing about him wanted to actually move. Slowly, jittery hands reached down to retrieve the book, and Soba set it on the coffee table for safe keeping.
Slowly, jittery hands gathered up his belongings, and Soba ran his hands through his hair to muss the sleep out of it. Slowly, eager to leave but hesitant to go, Soba stepped across the apartment and slipped out, taking a few solid breaths in the main Citadel hallway to steady his nerves.
This was dumb. How did it get this dumb? He knew better, he absolutely knew better, and yet there he'd gone and done it anyway. It was fine. This was fine. He could fix this, nip it in the bud so to speak and just. Be more careful.
Unbidden, Cinna's words came back to him; 'I'd bite your throat and it wouldn't be to kill you.' A very real reigning in of impulses that had no place being there. That were too dangerous to be there.
That needed to be controlled and
denied.
Soba would have stayed the night, and it wouldn't have been to play with kittens. And more than anything else he'd ever dealt with, that thought was the scariest. The Inquisitor took another breath, long and deep, and let it out in a quick sigh.
Control and deny. He could do that.
He had to.