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roarr! nanothing.
two scenes that are pretty unconnected. i was planning to write more scene things in the middle, showing the progression as tyr goes off his meds, but I can't think of anything at the moment and I'm getting hella tired of all that setup. So. might come back to it later, blahblahblah, will fix X on rewrite so it's actually interesting, blahblahblah.
first scene = eye-related grossness. *warns!* be warned.
second scene = *repeats "it is the sovereign right of a first draft to SUCK DONKEY BALLS" to self* auuugh pacing characterization boringness waurgh. laterrrr will fix laaaaterrr grgnh. but definitely lacking in ZOMG!
Her eye was hurting again. Neve Serrano put the hammer down, rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheekbone. It didn't help, but at least it felt like she was doing something about it, in a purely psychological, wishful way.
She was starting to get a headache from all the squinting. But it was squinting or hitting her fingers with the hammer again, and she drew the line at two blackened nails.
She drew the line at another migraine, too. She finished fixing the window frame and went to the bathroom.
Still no running water, but at least the pipes were unclogged now and they could use the sink again. She opened her bag, got out the disinfectant and the cotton wool. Pulled the bandage off her face.
Started cleaning the sticky residues on her forehead and cheek, threw away the first bit of cotton wool, picked up a second, and went about cleaning the swollen mass of raw tissues and brand new scars that carpeted her empty eye socket. No signs of infection. That was good. What would have looked even better was a fake eye (or her real one, but she wasn't thinking about that) but with her medical situation it just wasn't recommended. They'd told her it was a choice, basically, between having her skull trying to reshape itself around a foreign body and driving bone splinters in her brain, or staying on the meds until she ended up shitting out what used to be her inner organs.
She was healing more slowly than she used to.
She cleaned, patient, thinking of nothing. It stung in a few places; she made note of them, absently. If they still stung when she went to the doctor next, she'd have to push back having the eyelids sewn together so she could stop showing the inside of her skull to the world.
Clean now. The eyelids had pretty much healed, though the edge of the lower one wasn't lined up perfectly, a millimeter higher on one side of the scar bisecting it. Pretty small. Pretty obvious, on someone's face (her face.)
She taped another bandage over her eye, though she'd been told she could let it air sometimes, poured some water from the bottle in her hands to wash the rest of her face, packed up her things methodically, walked out into the room. Stared at the window.
It opened and closed fine now that she was done with it.
She swung her legs over the windowsill, flipped over to grab the edge with her hands, and let herself fall one floor down.
The ground was there a little faster than she'd anticipated and she stumbled before she could absorb the shock completely, teetering on the edge of falling right on her ass.
Embarrassing.
She closed her eyes (eye) and sighed. At least no one had been around to notice.
Time to do some recon. She turned the corner, waved without stopping at Wright who was dragging something to the trash pile. She went down the driveway, following the edge of overgrown grass. The noise of gravel under her feet made her wince, but the grass -- there were branches and holes in there, just daring her to see how long it would take before she tripped on something that had seemed closer than it really was.
They'd told her she'd get used to it soon -- that depth perception worked better with two eyes but that didn't make it impossible otherwise. They'd told her about perspective and the ability to calculate how far something was by moving enough to change the angle and other small cues that she would, eventually, instinctively learn to pull more information from. They'd told her that her brain would catch up some eventually.
Never as well as it used to, though. Never as fast. She would never fight as well as she had.
In town it was okay. Straight lines, flat ground, and people coming from the front tended to dodge her. She didn't want to go back in town. She wanted the forest.
It was too early. The mess of brambles and bushes and vines around the house would take her too long to navigate. So instead she walked down to the road, and then followed it upslope. In ten minutes she had passed the bus stop. Kept going a little -- ah. So that was why there was a bus stop there at all.
She watched the cemetery gate for a couple of seconds. Overgrown, too, disused. She wasn't sure there was even still a keeper to take care of it, or if there was he didn't come often. Then again, with the war...
It was still too flat and easy -- she was tired of straight lines and smooth planes -- but it also seemed to be prime real estate hangout for teenagers. Needed checking out, if only so she knew what was back there...
She'd check it out later. For now the gentle curves of the road were already just this side of too much, and the mountain was calling.
Up and up she went, steady and tireless, eye half-closed so she saw the world through a haze, the blur of her eyelashes. Bird calls, the wind in the leaves, the crisp scent of greenery. There was a hint of frost in the air, like a backdrop to the current, rather pleasant sun-warmth. Sometimes, depending on the place, the wind brought her faraway city noises. Most of the time it was like being alone again in the Alps. She'd loved those mountains, as deep as they were in enemy territory.
The road leveled up eventually. She knew if she went over the edge, she'd eventually get to a village. It took her too far from the house, though. When she found a well-traveled mountain trail that curved back toward the house, though much higher upslope, she followed it. The ground wasn't too hard to follow -- which meant people used it, and she wasn't sure she liked that much. Needed to know how far it went, where it went, why.
She tripped a couple of times and had a close call with a branch that wasn't as far from her face as she had assumed, but even that didn't bother her long. It was nice to stretch her legs, nice to make sure of things.
She was taking a short break, sitting on a fallen trunk, when she realized she must have left at least a hour ago. Heh. She hadn't felt the time go by. She supposed the others were going to get on her case for slacking off if she didn't go back soon...
Weird how what bothered her the most was that Tyr didn't know where she was.
Neve thought about it for a second. Shrugged.
Cupped her hands around her mouth, took in a deep breath, tipped her head back, and howled.
She laughed when she was done and the echoes had died down, rueful and amused. It sounded nothing like a wolf. Just like a woman trying to sound like one, which wasn't the same thing at all. She hadn't even scared any dogs into barking, and if that didn't prove her failure...
She did it again, up and down her vocal range, just because the sounds were interesting and there was no one around to be bothered.
Heh. No, it was still really weird. No impression that she had actually said anything with all that noise, no instinctive understanding of the notes to hit. Just a woman howling out to the forest for the fun of it.
She got up and went back down the path.
When she was halfway there she started coughing again. She kept walking anyway.
Tyr didn't have any problem with the contractors until the middle of the second week. Or none that he noticed, at least.
There were a couple of days after the windowpanes were installed and the new floors were done where the house had no visitors at all, which he spent outside, clearing the woods. After that, though...
The third time he caught himself abandoning his paint brush so he could check on the electrician and make sure the man hadn't wandered off unsupervised into some other room, he realized he might have a slight issue. He could handle it when they stayed put, but the whole house was a work in progress and it just wasn't feasible to make them ask for permission any time they wanted to walk through a door, so he just gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it.
By the following week his small issue had graduated into a full-blown problem. He was fine with Serrano, with Keller, with Wright. They could wander in and out at any hour of the day or night; he would only wake up long enough to double-check what his other senses told him about who was there and go right back to sleep. He was -- less fine, but still okay, with the two contractors who had been around the longest. He got really good at tracking them by the sounds they made, though if either of them had worn anything but heavy, noisy work boots he might have reacted badly.
The newest ones, the ones who were only around for a day or two -- he couldn't. He couldn't even do his own job; he had to follow them around the house almost every step of the way.
"You're creeping them out," said Serrano, and he could tell she was right by the increasing number of wary looks sent his way; so the next time he offered his help, so he'd have an excuse to hang around. And then he found out he couldn't really concentrate on the job when he kept measuring the distance between the stranger and himself and constructing scenarios in case he had to fight them (barehanded? Could this or that be used as a weapon?), escort them out, lock them up (how far was the nearest closet and how accessible was it? Would that cable be long enough to hogtie them with?), etcetera.
It was exhausting.
"I'm going shopping for furniture. Who's coming?"
He caught Wright balanced precariously on a ladder, repainting the ceiling, and Serrano a couple of feet away, mixing paint. She arched her eyebrow at him and tugged on her splattered clothes. "Not me."
"Sure? I can wait that long." Just perhaps not much longer.
"Yeah," she said.
Alright then. She didn't seem all that enthusiastic at the idea of going anyway. "Wright?"
Sometimes he got the strange feeling that his recent behavior made the redhead just as twitchy as the contractors. Perhaps not in quite as fearful a way, but the look Wright threw him right then seemed a bit ... measuring, perhaps.
"Well --"
"I'll go," Duane said. He emerged from the kitchen, cleaning his hands on a rag. "And by the way we now have a working washing machine, you may all shower me with your love and devotion."
Serrano let out a soft chuckle. "And how's the fridge?"
"Also working! Hah. Better not put anything in it for a while, it's still room temperature inside, but it's working, and I need a goddamn break, and if one of you guys tries to take my place in that car I'll punt you."
Wright sighed and flicked paint toward Duane, who dodged but just barely. "Fine, fine! I wasn't going to go before I was done here anyway."
"I doubt we'll find everything today," Tyr said, already turning toward the door. The bantering was nice but he could still hear strangers tinkering in the next room and every little noise made the muscles in his shoulders tense up. "You can come tomorrow. Let's go."
"Ah, for the money --"
"Later," he called over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold.
Outside a cold wind was blowing; he zipped up his jacket and stalked his way to the car. The rental company was going to want it back soon; they'd have to see about buying one. Or more likely two or three. He didn't care about the goddamn car. He paused with his hand on the driver's door. He wanted to turn around and go right back in.
"Tyr?"
He shook his head and yanked the door open. "Get in."
Duane didn't really say anything as he drove them down the mountain, long loops and twists he had already memorized. When they reached the town he had to slow down to a speed that wouldn't get them arrested, and his little sigh of regret made his passenger chuckle at him.
"Lucky there are no traffic cameras on the mountain, huh."
Tyr grunted an acknowledgement.
"Where are we going?"
Tyr paused, briefly taken aback. "I don't know," he admitted. "Gonna drive around until I see something."
Duane laughed under his breath again. Tyr glared at him.
"Grumpy mood, huh."
"... Yeah. Sorry."
"Man, if that's the height of your pissiness, I can deal with it." He eyed Tyr critically. "So, how's the no more meds working out for you?"
Tyr drove in silence for a couple of seconds. He didn't mind the question, but the others had so pointedly not asked, it was unexpected. He wasn't sure what to answer. It had only been four days since he'd completely stopped.
"You don't like those guys being there."
Tyr sighed. Of course he would notice. "No. I'm still far from attacking them, though. It's just irritating. Apart from that, so far it's... Hm. I don't notice any difference."
"No sudden urge to piss on the walls?" Duane asked with a smirk.
Tyr slanted him a quick unimpressed glare. "If I did, no one would notice over the smell of your shoes."
"Uh huh." Duane smirked at him some more. "That mean you do have the urge?"
"... When I get it I'll be sure to piss on you first." He took a turn left, catching sight of a promising ad -- a bit fast, maybe it would distract Duane. It didn't, but he only threw a last smirk his way before dropping the subject.
The first furniture shop they found was closed for the week, and the next was almost all the way across town. Tyr made sure to remember the area, so next time he'd get there faster. Not that he minded driving, it kept him busy, but driving through a busy city wasn't his idea of a good time. He parked as close to the shop as he could and got out.
The place looked like a big warehouse. Good; it seemed more likely they'd find cheap and serviceable stuff rather than precious, fashionable things. Duane fell into step with him and they went to the closest door.
"So what do we need?" Duane asked as he stepped inside.
Tyr quickly scanned the aisles, eyes already accommodating to the change of lighting. "Kitchen table, living room table, chairs... Something with drawers for the kitchen... If you see something for your bedroom, go ahead, but you're paying for that in full."
"Alright, that works. Just the common areas today, then? The bathrooms will need stuff too."
They were halfway through the second alley when Tyr noticed a vendor coming up to them. He had a professional smile on his face, and calluses on his hands like he actually knew his stuff.
The smile abruptly died about two seconds before he reached them.
Duane tilted his head quizzically, though his eyes had gone cold from suspicion. "... Hello?"
Tyr just waited. The vendor stared back and forth between them for a second, stopped in his tracks and giving the impression that he was about to go right back where he had come from. Tense all over, he wasn't big -- wider than Tyr and a couple of inches taller, but that didn't mean much. If this turned into a fight for some reason, Tyr could take him, no problem.
"We're looking for tables," he said eventually, voice mild.
"Ah -- sorry." The man's eyes flitted to him, and then fixed themselves onto his chin. He attempted a smile. "Tables. Alright. This way, please."
He didn't move until Tyr nodded at him to show the way.
The tag said David. His graying brown hair made him look forty or more, aging him up by at least five years. Tyr glanced at Duane, arching an eyebrow.
'Spy?' Duane mouthed at him.
Tyr snorted. With such a poor poker face he'd have been killed in two days. Maybe an ex-trooper who recognized them as Black Ops...
"Do you do deliveries?" Duane asked as he stepped up to the man, smiling his friendliest.
"Ah, only in town," David apologized.
Tyr frowned at the immediate assumption. Strange. "We live here. East side."
David, once again, stopped in his tracks. He turned, stared at him, not even attempting to smile now -- he looked appalled, professional mask all gone. "You what."
... Huh. "We live here," he repeated slowly. "Moved two weeks ago."
David looked at him. Opened his mouth. Looked at Duane. Looked at Tyr again. "... I see. Well, in that case there should be no problem with the delivery, but I'll go check with my supervisor anyway -- and here are our tables, I'll let you look."
He was gone before either of them could say anything.
"That wasn't weird at all, really. Know the guy?"
Tyr shook his head. "Never seen him in my life." He threw Duane a glance, and then went back to keeping watch on their surroundings, slowly moving to a place where he didn't offer so much of a direct line of sight through the rows of shelves. "Retreat?"
Duane considered it, slouching against a shelf with all the appearance of laziness. "Too many witnesses for a shooting. Unless they come at us with knives..." A shrug.
"Mmh. We keep shopping?"
"Sure, why not."
They were looking at the cheaper tables -- Tyr wasn't that rich -- when the vendor came back. This time he was leading his supervisor, or more accurately indicating the way while following a half-step behind. Tyr straightened up, measuring him up. It wasn't so much that this one was bigger, but the body language was different. More self-assured.
He briefly wondered if there was a thief in town with Tyr's face and security was about to fall on him like a ton of bricks -- but no, that didn't fit with David's comments at all.
David stayed behind while his supervisor walked up to Tyr.
The name tag said Patrick. He had squinty eyes and a hawk-beak nose and was tense, too, braced for a fight. "May I talk with you for a minute?"
Tyr frowned. "You can talk in front of him."
"No, I don't believe I can."
Duane chuckled, suspicion turning into sudden amusement. "If this is about the werewolf thing, then yes, you can."
The two employees twitched in synch and stared at him. Then at Tyr.
Tyr shrugged. "So. Is it?"
"You told --" Patrick stopped himself, drawing in a hissing breath, nostrils flaring in shock and anger. "--No, not here. Follow me."
Tyr's eyes narrowed at his tone, curt and with no indication that he expected a refusal. Patrick was already turning on his heels to open the way. Tyr... didn't like that. He was in the army; he knew how to stay calm and professional when given orders, even when his superior was pissed off at him. This man, though... No.
"I don't think so," he said blandly, not moving an inch.
He received a narrow-eyed, threatening glare for his trouble. After Captain Xiang's innate 'I am deliberating whether to eat you' aura it barely rated. The attempt annoyed him, though.
"We're here to buy furniture. You're here to sell furniture. We're not here to visit."
Patrick seemed halfway to an apoplexy; David was cringing, eyes wide, but drawing closer to his superior to support him. Tyr considered them for a second.
"You don't get it--"
"Will my 'not getting it' be relevant today? Because if not then it can wait until we're done."
"Done? I can have you thrown out of the shop!" Patrick exploded.
There was a lot Tyr could have said then -- that it wasn't legal since they'd done nothing to deserve it, that he wasn't strong enough to try. Or he could have up and left, conflict was useless in most cases and he didn't care that much about giving this shop his money.
But... Just...
No.
He stepped forward. Into his space. In his face. Slowly, every move planned out and controlled.
"No. You can't."
The muscles in Patrick's jaw jumped as he stared back.
"Listen," David tried, a note of pleading sounding clear through his attempted patience. "There's stuff you have to know -- I mean -- you're alone, aren't you? That's not right. Bad things could happen --"
Tyr's eyebrows furrowed. "Alright. I'll listen to you." A pause. "After we're done shopping." He wasn't about to give ground now. He didn't glance at David, still busy staring down his supervisor.
An arm slammed down around his shoulders, one around Patrick's. Duane's body forced its way between theirs, yanking them around and dragging them as he started walking.
"Great! So let's get down to business. 'Cause I tell you, I'm gonna get hungry sometime soon. We need a kitchen table, doesn't matter what kind, and one dinner table -- prettier! And with, let's say, six chairs? Gotta have a couple more just in case. And you guys better stop causing a goddamn scene or I'll knock your heads together and go shopping with my good buddy Dave, ain't that right, Dave? I bet it'll go faster with you two asleep in that big garbage bin over there. There's even a locking lid and everything."
Tyr let out his tension with a long sigh. Really, he should have expected Duane to intervene. He didn't even mind, once he got over his frustration; it could have lasted a while, or ended badly, and they didn't need the attention. It was the best thing that could have happened.
He was still annoyed until he told himself they could settle this afterwards. After that he found he could be calm again.
Patrick pulled himself free after a few steps, lip curled up to bare his teeth -- it looked instinctive more than deliberate, a little weird on a human face. Duane gazed at him patiently and declined to look impressed.
Tyr couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright, you can let go."
"No more roar? Because I have no problem laying the smackdown if you forget again."
"I know." A quick smile. "Thank you."
Duane patted the top of his head as he let go. "Good boy."
"Don't make me bite you."
Patrick had brought himself under control as well. Tyr was expecting him to storm off, letting David handle them, but he waved his subordinate off instead, glared at them a last time, and said, "Fine. Let's get started."
first scene = eye-related grossness. *warns!* be warned.
second scene = *repeats "it is the sovereign right of a first draft to SUCK DONKEY BALLS" to self* auuugh pacing characterization boringness waurgh. laterrrr will fix laaaaterrr grgnh. but definitely lacking in ZOMG!
Her eye was hurting again. Neve Serrano put the hammer down, rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheekbone. It didn't help, but at least it felt like she was doing something about it, in a purely psychological, wishful way.
She was starting to get a headache from all the squinting. But it was squinting or hitting her fingers with the hammer again, and she drew the line at two blackened nails.
She drew the line at another migraine, too. She finished fixing the window frame and went to the bathroom.
Still no running water, but at least the pipes were unclogged now and they could use the sink again. She opened her bag, got out the disinfectant and the cotton wool. Pulled the bandage off her face.
Started cleaning the sticky residues on her forehead and cheek, threw away the first bit of cotton wool, picked up a second, and went about cleaning the swollen mass of raw tissues and brand new scars that carpeted her empty eye socket. No signs of infection. That was good. What would have looked even better was a fake eye (or her real one, but she wasn't thinking about that) but with her medical situation it just wasn't recommended. They'd told her it was a choice, basically, between having her skull trying to reshape itself around a foreign body and driving bone splinters in her brain, or staying on the meds until she ended up shitting out what used to be her inner organs.
She was healing more slowly than she used to.
She cleaned, patient, thinking of nothing. It stung in a few places; she made note of them, absently. If they still stung when she went to the doctor next, she'd have to push back having the eyelids sewn together so she could stop showing the inside of her skull to the world.
Clean now. The eyelids had pretty much healed, though the edge of the lower one wasn't lined up perfectly, a millimeter higher on one side of the scar bisecting it. Pretty small. Pretty obvious, on someone's face (her face.)
She taped another bandage over her eye, though she'd been told she could let it air sometimes, poured some water from the bottle in her hands to wash the rest of her face, packed up her things methodically, walked out into the room. Stared at the window.
It opened and closed fine now that she was done with it.
She swung her legs over the windowsill, flipped over to grab the edge with her hands, and let herself fall one floor down.
The ground was there a little faster than she'd anticipated and she stumbled before she could absorb the shock completely, teetering on the edge of falling right on her ass.
Embarrassing.
She closed her eyes (eye) and sighed. At least no one had been around to notice.
Time to do some recon. She turned the corner, waved without stopping at Wright who was dragging something to the trash pile. She went down the driveway, following the edge of overgrown grass. The noise of gravel under her feet made her wince, but the grass -- there were branches and holes in there, just daring her to see how long it would take before she tripped on something that had seemed closer than it really was.
They'd told her she'd get used to it soon -- that depth perception worked better with two eyes but that didn't make it impossible otherwise. They'd told her about perspective and the ability to calculate how far something was by moving enough to change the angle and other small cues that she would, eventually, instinctively learn to pull more information from. They'd told her that her brain would catch up some eventually.
Never as well as it used to, though. Never as fast. She would never fight as well as she had.
In town it was okay. Straight lines, flat ground, and people coming from the front tended to dodge her. She didn't want to go back in town. She wanted the forest.
It was too early. The mess of brambles and bushes and vines around the house would take her too long to navigate. So instead she walked down to the road, and then followed it upslope. In ten minutes she had passed the bus stop. Kept going a little -- ah. So that was why there was a bus stop there at all.
She watched the cemetery gate for a couple of seconds. Overgrown, too, disused. She wasn't sure there was even still a keeper to take care of it, or if there was he didn't come often. Then again, with the war...
It was still too flat and easy -- she was tired of straight lines and smooth planes -- but it also seemed to be prime real estate hangout for teenagers. Needed checking out, if only so she knew what was back there...
She'd check it out later. For now the gentle curves of the road were already just this side of too much, and the mountain was calling.
Up and up she went, steady and tireless, eye half-closed so she saw the world through a haze, the blur of her eyelashes. Bird calls, the wind in the leaves, the crisp scent of greenery. There was a hint of frost in the air, like a backdrop to the current, rather pleasant sun-warmth. Sometimes, depending on the place, the wind brought her faraway city noises. Most of the time it was like being alone again in the Alps. She'd loved those mountains, as deep as they were in enemy territory.
The road leveled up eventually. She knew if she went over the edge, she'd eventually get to a village. It took her too far from the house, though. When she found a well-traveled mountain trail that curved back toward the house, though much higher upslope, she followed it. The ground wasn't too hard to follow -- which meant people used it, and she wasn't sure she liked that much. Needed to know how far it went, where it went, why.
She tripped a couple of times and had a close call with a branch that wasn't as far from her face as she had assumed, but even that didn't bother her long. It was nice to stretch her legs, nice to make sure of things.
She was taking a short break, sitting on a fallen trunk, when she realized she must have left at least a hour ago. Heh. She hadn't felt the time go by. She supposed the others were going to get on her case for slacking off if she didn't go back soon...
Weird how what bothered her the most was that Tyr didn't know where she was.
Neve thought about it for a second. Shrugged.
Cupped her hands around her mouth, took in a deep breath, tipped her head back, and howled.
She laughed when she was done and the echoes had died down, rueful and amused. It sounded nothing like a wolf. Just like a woman trying to sound like one, which wasn't the same thing at all. She hadn't even scared any dogs into barking, and if that didn't prove her failure...
She did it again, up and down her vocal range, just because the sounds were interesting and there was no one around to be bothered.
Heh. No, it was still really weird. No impression that she had actually said anything with all that noise, no instinctive understanding of the notes to hit. Just a woman howling out to the forest for the fun of it.
She got up and went back down the path.
When she was halfway there she started coughing again. She kept walking anyway.
Tyr didn't have any problem with the contractors until the middle of the second week. Or none that he noticed, at least.
There were a couple of days after the windowpanes were installed and the new floors were done where the house had no visitors at all, which he spent outside, clearing the woods. After that, though...
The third time he caught himself abandoning his paint brush so he could check on the electrician and make sure the man hadn't wandered off unsupervised into some other room, he realized he might have a slight issue. He could handle it when they stayed put, but the whole house was a work in progress and it just wasn't feasible to make them ask for permission any time they wanted to walk through a door, so he just gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it.
By the following week his small issue had graduated into a full-blown problem. He was fine with Serrano, with Keller, with Wright. They could wander in and out at any hour of the day or night; he would only wake up long enough to double-check what his other senses told him about who was there and go right back to sleep. He was -- less fine, but still okay, with the two contractors who had been around the longest. He got really good at tracking them by the sounds they made, though if either of them had worn anything but heavy, noisy work boots he might have reacted badly.
The newest ones, the ones who were only around for a day or two -- he couldn't. He couldn't even do his own job; he had to follow them around the house almost every step of the way.
"You're creeping them out," said Serrano, and he could tell she was right by the increasing number of wary looks sent his way; so the next time he offered his help, so he'd have an excuse to hang around. And then he found out he couldn't really concentrate on the job when he kept measuring the distance between the stranger and himself and constructing scenarios in case he had to fight them (barehanded? Could this or that be used as a weapon?), escort them out, lock them up (how far was the nearest closet and how accessible was it? Would that cable be long enough to hogtie them with?), etcetera.
It was exhausting.
"I'm going shopping for furniture. Who's coming?"
He caught Wright balanced precariously on a ladder, repainting the ceiling, and Serrano a couple of feet away, mixing paint. She arched her eyebrow at him and tugged on her splattered clothes. "Not me."
"Sure? I can wait that long." Just perhaps not much longer.
"Yeah," she said.
Alright then. She didn't seem all that enthusiastic at the idea of going anyway. "Wright?"
Sometimes he got the strange feeling that his recent behavior made the redhead just as twitchy as the contractors. Perhaps not in quite as fearful a way, but the look Wright threw him right then seemed a bit ... measuring, perhaps.
"Well --"
"I'll go," Duane said. He emerged from the kitchen, cleaning his hands on a rag. "And by the way we now have a working washing machine, you may all shower me with your love and devotion."
Serrano let out a soft chuckle. "And how's the fridge?"
"Also working! Hah. Better not put anything in it for a while, it's still room temperature inside, but it's working, and I need a goddamn break, and if one of you guys tries to take my place in that car I'll punt you."
Wright sighed and flicked paint toward Duane, who dodged but just barely. "Fine, fine! I wasn't going to go before I was done here anyway."
"I doubt we'll find everything today," Tyr said, already turning toward the door. The bantering was nice but he could still hear strangers tinkering in the next room and every little noise made the muscles in his shoulders tense up. "You can come tomorrow. Let's go."
"Ah, for the money --"
"Later," he called over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold.
Outside a cold wind was blowing; he zipped up his jacket and stalked his way to the car. The rental company was going to want it back soon; they'd have to see about buying one. Or more likely two or three. He didn't care about the goddamn car. He paused with his hand on the driver's door. He wanted to turn around and go right back in.
"Tyr?"
He shook his head and yanked the door open. "Get in."
Duane didn't really say anything as he drove them down the mountain, long loops and twists he had already memorized. When they reached the town he had to slow down to a speed that wouldn't get them arrested, and his little sigh of regret made his passenger chuckle at him.
"Lucky there are no traffic cameras on the mountain, huh."
Tyr grunted an acknowledgement.
"Where are we going?"
Tyr paused, briefly taken aback. "I don't know," he admitted. "Gonna drive around until I see something."
Duane laughed under his breath again. Tyr glared at him.
"Grumpy mood, huh."
"... Yeah. Sorry."
"Man, if that's the height of your pissiness, I can deal with it." He eyed Tyr critically. "So, how's the no more meds working out for you?"
Tyr drove in silence for a couple of seconds. He didn't mind the question, but the others had so pointedly not asked, it was unexpected. He wasn't sure what to answer. It had only been four days since he'd completely stopped.
"You don't like those guys being there."
Tyr sighed. Of course he would notice. "No. I'm still far from attacking them, though. It's just irritating. Apart from that, so far it's... Hm. I don't notice any difference."
"No sudden urge to piss on the walls?" Duane asked with a smirk.
Tyr slanted him a quick unimpressed glare. "If I did, no one would notice over the smell of your shoes."
"Uh huh." Duane smirked at him some more. "That mean you do have the urge?"
"... When I get it I'll be sure to piss on you first." He took a turn left, catching sight of a promising ad -- a bit fast, maybe it would distract Duane. It didn't, but he only threw a last smirk his way before dropping the subject.
The first furniture shop they found was closed for the week, and the next was almost all the way across town. Tyr made sure to remember the area, so next time he'd get there faster. Not that he minded driving, it kept him busy, but driving through a busy city wasn't his idea of a good time. He parked as close to the shop as he could and got out.
The place looked like a big warehouse. Good; it seemed more likely they'd find cheap and serviceable stuff rather than precious, fashionable things. Duane fell into step with him and they went to the closest door.
"So what do we need?" Duane asked as he stepped inside.
Tyr quickly scanned the aisles, eyes already accommodating to the change of lighting. "Kitchen table, living room table, chairs... Something with drawers for the kitchen... If you see something for your bedroom, go ahead, but you're paying for that in full."
"Alright, that works. Just the common areas today, then? The bathrooms will need stuff too."
They were halfway through the second alley when Tyr noticed a vendor coming up to them. He had a professional smile on his face, and calluses on his hands like he actually knew his stuff.
The smile abruptly died about two seconds before he reached them.
Duane tilted his head quizzically, though his eyes had gone cold from suspicion. "... Hello?"
Tyr just waited. The vendor stared back and forth between them for a second, stopped in his tracks and giving the impression that he was about to go right back where he had come from. Tense all over, he wasn't big -- wider than Tyr and a couple of inches taller, but that didn't mean much. If this turned into a fight for some reason, Tyr could take him, no problem.
"We're looking for tables," he said eventually, voice mild.
"Ah -- sorry." The man's eyes flitted to him, and then fixed themselves onto his chin. He attempted a smile. "Tables. Alright. This way, please."
He didn't move until Tyr nodded at him to show the way.
The tag said David. His graying brown hair made him look forty or more, aging him up by at least five years. Tyr glanced at Duane, arching an eyebrow.
'Spy?' Duane mouthed at him.
Tyr snorted. With such a poor poker face he'd have been killed in two days. Maybe an ex-trooper who recognized them as Black Ops...
"Do you do deliveries?" Duane asked as he stepped up to the man, smiling his friendliest.
"Ah, only in town," David apologized.
Tyr frowned at the immediate assumption. Strange. "We live here. East side."
David, once again, stopped in his tracks. He turned, stared at him, not even attempting to smile now -- he looked appalled, professional mask all gone. "You what."
... Huh. "We live here," he repeated slowly. "Moved two weeks ago."
David looked at him. Opened his mouth. Looked at Duane. Looked at Tyr again. "... I see. Well, in that case there should be no problem with the delivery, but I'll go check with my supervisor anyway -- and here are our tables, I'll let you look."
He was gone before either of them could say anything.
"That wasn't weird at all, really. Know the guy?"
Tyr shook his head. "Never seen him in my life." He threw Duane a glance, and then went back to keeping watch on their surroundings, slowly moving to a place where he didn't offer so much of a direct line of sight through the rows of shelves. "Retreat?"
Duane considered it, slouching against a shelf with all the appearance of laziness. "Too many witnesses for a shooting. Unless they come at us with knives..." A shrug.
"Mmh. We keep shopping?"
"Sure, why not."
They were looking at the cheaper tables -- Tyr wasn't that rich -- when the vendor came back. This time he was leading his supervisor, or more accurately indicating the way while following a half-step behind. Tyr straightened up, measuring him up. It wasn't so much that this one was bigger, but the body language was different. More self-assured.
He briefly wondered if there was a thief in town with Tyr's face and security was about to fall on him like a ton of bricks -- but no, that didn't fit with David's comments at all.
David stayed behind while his supervisor walked up to Tyr.
The name tag said Patrick. He had squinty eyes and a hawk-beak nose and was tense, too, braced for a fight. "May I talk with you for a minute?"
Tyr frowned. "You can talk in front of him."
"No, I don't believe I can."
Duane chuckled, suspicion turning into sudden amusement. "If this is about the werewolf thing, then yes, you can."
The two employees twitched in synch and stared at him. Then at Tyr.
Tyr shrugged. "So. Is it?"
"You told --" Patrick stopped himself, drawing in a hissing breath, nostrils flaring in shock and anger. "--No, not here. Follow me."
Tyr's eyes narrowed at his tone, curt and with no indication that he expected a refusal. Patrick was already turning on his heels to open the way. Tyr... didn't like that. He was in the army; he knew how to stay calm and professional when given orders, even when his superior was pissed off at him. This man, though... No.
"I don't think so," he said blandly, not moving an inch.
He received a narrow-eyed, threatening glare for his trouble. After Captain Xiang's innate 'I am deliberating whether to eat you' aura it barely rated. The attempt annoyed him, though.
"We're here to buy furniture. You're here to sell furniture. We're not here to visit."
Patrick seemed halfway to an apoplexy; David was cringing, eyes wide, but drawing closer to his superior to support him. Tyr considered them for a second.
"You don't get it--"
"Will my 'not getting it' be relevant today? Because if not then it can wait until we're done."
"Done? I can have you thrown out of the shop!" Patrick exploded.
There was a lot Tyr could have said then -- that it wasn't legal since they'd done nothing to deserve it, that he wasn't strong enough to try. Or he could have up and left, conflict was useless in most cases and he didn't care that much about giving this shop his money.
But... Just...
No.
He stepped forward. Into his space. In his face. Slowly, every move planned out and controlled.
"No. You can't."
The muscles in Patrick's jaw jumped as he stared back.
"Listen," David tried, a note of pleading sounding clear through his attempted patience. "There's stuff you have to know -- I mean -- you're alone, aren't you? That's not right. Bad things could happen --"
Tyr's eyebrows furrowed. "Alright. I'll listen to you." A pause. "After we're done shopping." He wasn't about to give ground now. He didn't glance at David, still busy staring down his supervisor.
An arm slammed down around his shoulders, one around Patrick's. Duane's body forced its way between theirs, yanking them around and dragging them as he started walking.
"Great! So let's get down to business. 'Cause I tell you, I'm gonna get hungry sometime soon. We need a kitchen table, doesn't matter what kind, and one dinner table -- prettier! And with, let's say, six chairs? Gotta have a couple more just in case. And you guys better stop causing a goddamn scene or I'll knock your heads together and go shopping with my good buddy Dave, ain't that right, Dave? I bet it'll go faster with you two asleep in that big garbage bin over there. There's even a locking lid and everything."
Tyr let out his tension with a long sigh. Really, he should have expected Duane to intervene. He didn't even mind, once he got over his frustration; it could have lasted a while, or ended badly, and they didn't need the attention. It was the best thing that could have happened.
He was still annoyed until he told himself they could settle this afterwards. After that he found he could be calm again.
Patrick pulled himself free after a few steps, lip curled up to bare his teeth -- it looked instinctive more than deliberate, a little weird on a human face. Duane gazed at him patiently and declined to look impressed.
Tyr couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright, you can let go."
"No more roar? Because I have no problem laying the smackdown if you forget again."
"I know." A quick smile. "Thank you."
Duane patted the top of his head as he let go. "Good boy."
"Don't make me bite you."
Patrick had brought himself under control as well. Tyr was expecting him to storm off, letting David handle them, but he waved his subordinate off instead, glared at them a last time, and said, "Fine. Let's get started."
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You go Tyr! Man, how many times have I wished I was intimidating enough to scare off a smarmy salesman copping an attitude, and all I've done to deserve it was gotten born female, not gotten made fuzzy. ;D
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I'm worried about Serrano. ;_;
But the second bit! BAMF. I really can't wait to see where that leads, or what the ShopDudes want to say. XP
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Still. Could have been a much worse first encounter. ;-)
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I love Tyr's somewhat passive-aggressive quality in his pissing contest. It's amusing how, I'm-a-little-busy-now-we'll-talk-later, translates into Do-Not-Boss-Me-Around-Bitch-and-where-do-you-keep-your-dining-tables. Not attacking but refusing to be moved. All hail Duane and his not as passive aggressiveness, which is also very amusing but more blatant.