dappered | (no subject)

(no subject)

[ Church didn't really see it as running away.

Maybe it was, technically, but he'd done it for his own good as much as he'd done it for Epsilon's. Omega had practically bared his teeth, spoke over Church until all he could make out was, he's so close he's so close I'll rip his spine out I'll fucking kill every person in this room until the blood sprays and their lungs collapse and their bones break -

And Gamma had been talking, too, weaving his way around him until Church couldn't focus on anything except the need to just get the fuck away, because all he was saying was, "He can do it, you know. He's stronger than you, and he can do it, and there'll be nothing you can do about it, and that'll be that."

Gamma sounded a lot more human than he remembered him being, talked to him like he were a person, and it drove Church a little insane, a little fucking nuts, but they were quiet now. He'd stapled them back in place, locked them up again, didn't know how the fuck he did it at all, but it was done, and he can breathe just fine.

And Wash had told him that he'd need to learn to deal with it, but dealing with it was fucking hard when he had a psychopath living inside his brain.

( God, what the hell, Leonard, who's in control here, really? )

He'd found a way on top of the cliff that hid the base directly beneath, and from there, he can spot where Caboose and the others are. None of them are currently within a viewable range, either because they were all inside or outside of his line of sight, but it's comforting all the same. Comforting because it's familiar, because it's something Church knows and recognizes, those red fucking whores, those annoying little bitches, and then.

Caboose.

And as much as he motherfucking hated all of those bitches, it's nice to just sit there and think about them.

So that's what he does, elbows resting on his knees, silent. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Okay yeah that is weird that Church is still here and messing with that gun, because he seems to do that when he can't find anything else to do with his hands, but Wash is juuuuuust going to politely not mention it and maybe go about putting this crap away like a neat freak instead of leaving it til morning. That had been sort of a good note (god and isn't that pathetic) out there and maybe he shouldn't ruin it with more conversation, just get this done and leave quietly.

Maybe.

...

He counts slowly to twenty before speaking up, his back turned to Church. ]

Yes, Church?

-- S'up, man?

[ Seriously what is his malfunction. He looks over at the clatter. ]

Did I interrupt something when I came in?

No, dude, just cleaning. I do it all the time. I clean things. It's called cleaning. It's where you clean. Things.

...

Right. Well.

I guess I'll leave you to it. Goodnight, Church.

[ Yeah just slip past him here and head on to an actual room because he's not sleeping on the goddamn floor again like last night when they'd both been too wiped to move more than a few feet from the table. ]

Wait.

...?

Don't leave.

...

...alright.

[ This is probably where he ought to go look for a shirt to put on but that would be LEAVING so he just returns to the table as is, towel still around his neck, and goes to pull out one of the chairs across from Church. ]

[ Oh. Oh well okay then.

He blinks a little at the swift retreat, not understanding, because seriously haven't they gotten past the impulsive-unexpected-kiss-to-goad-the-other-person-into-response stage.

Or maybe Church just absolutely can't ask, or initiate when it's not in anger. So after a moment Wash gets up and kneels down wordlessly next to Church's chair. ]

[ scre nobody here can read minds

Wash simply drops his head forward to allow it, relaxed and calm under Church's hand thanks to the lingering effects of alcohol and having had time to get most of the brooding and anxiety out of his system. His says nothing, eyes closing despite himself. ]

You should probably sleep.

I will. Later.

[ He waits until Church has settled himself before shifting to a spot behind him and brushing his hand aside, firmly kneading the muscles in his shoulders and neck. Wash was honestly surprised Church hadn't already been complaining about soreness and bruises from yesterday. He needs to be careful with a physical body after so long of not having to worry about things like pulled muscles or sprains or injured tissue. ]

[soft,]

Let me.

Dude, you don't --

[ Wash is no professional but he knows a little about this; the Freelancer Project necessarily had to research and implement any and all potential methods of getting an agent to relax and calm down and be more receptive to an implanted AI. Massage techniques were more efficient than sedatives, sometimes.

He works in silence, fingers searching for trouble spots and deftly, carefully unknotting the tightly strung muscles in his shoulders and along his spine. Church is a mess, or this body had been before he got it, or more likely it's a combination of both. ]

[ If he'd known that all it took was something so simple to subdue Church to quiet pliancy, Wash would have been doing this from day one. When Church catches his hand he obeys, leaving off what he'd been doing, and lets Church rest against him and just. Exist.

(Funny, isn't it, that you were doing this earlier, almost like this with Epsilon, and you need to keep them separate, Wash)

It seems only natural to lean in just a little and brush his lips across the exposed skin at the juncture of Church's neck and shoulder. ]

Ah, hey. Thanks.

Edited 2009-10-21 01:49 (UTC)

[ Wash might never have noticed that anything was wrong, at least not until Church jerked his head up, except that his head was still bent to Church's neck and he was forward enough to glance up and see, at the silent laughter, the smile curving his lips.

The scar on his chest chooses that moment to ache, to pull, and Wash stops breathing.

When Church comes back to himself, looks around, exhales and leans back, it'll be like leaning against a granite pillar, every muscle rigid and utterly motionless. ]

Edited 2009-10-21 04:18 (UTC)

Whoa, Barbie. Relax, there.

[ (You're slipping.) ]

[so, so softly]

What's in that pocket, Church?

This shit. Why? If you need a cigarette, dude, I don't smoke. You'll have to jack that shit from Grif, too.