Day 52: Sun Room

[thatdamnedninja.livejournal.com]

No better way to start the day than with a bucket full of sunshine, huh? Too bad that'd been the opposite.

In the end, Yuffie had been more than glad to escape. All the angst and sap and drama; it'd been too much, and way too personal. She'd done her best, for her friend's sake, but that Tomoe chick was gonna be hard work. Why couldn't Kenshin have asked for her help in something simple, like killing the big bad of the day?

… Oh, wait.

Groaning, the young ninja gave up on just walking through the sun room. What kind of a way to cheer herself up was that? No, she needed something interesting—she needed a distraction. Walking on her hands wasn't a whole lot better than walking on her feet, but it did get Plucky going.

"Hanna, stop that this instant! You'll break your neck."

"Oh, come on; only a moron'd kill themselves doin' a handstand. They're child's play!" Yuffie, after shifting her weight to her left hand, waggled a finger at her nurse. "It's a waste of my prodigious talent, actually. You really should be grateful." She hopped forward several more paces before dropping her hand back down.

"Be that as it may," Plucky replied, doubtfully. "I must insist."

"Insist away," said Yuffie, nonchalantly, pausing just long enough to let a cat stroll past her.

"You'll disturb the other patients!"

"Your face'll disturb the other patients." It was petty, and it was childish, but Yuffie didn't care; it was getting her what she wanted. And what she wanted was something to laugh at, something to poke at, something that, while it kept her wandering attention in the here and now, didn't really require her to think.

[For Kaito~]

Comments

[scavengerbird.livejournal.com]

Zevran was growing fond of the large atrium room that his uniformed nurse referred to as the Sun Room. It was the place he went in lieu of the mundane activities that they tried so hard to corner him into. He had yet to actually participate in any of them, and planned to keep up this pattern. He was not here for help and kind words and drawing silly pictures. No, he was biding his time, like he imagined many of them were. It was foolish to think that he was the only one pacing like some kind of caged animal, but some were better than others at putting aside their instincts. Some of them were probably even genuinely innocent souls, waiting to be rescued. They'd be disappointed when no one came for them, which was the most likely scenario.

The woman that was sitting on the nearest couch was not one of those. He knew that set of the shoulders. There was a look to her that said she was ready to jump, to strike, to move, even as she lounged so alluringly. Zevran knew that ever ready feeling all too well. If you never truly relaxed, it cut down on the unpleasant surprises. It was something they had in common. Of course, he would be lying if he claimed that was all that drew him to her. The full bow lips, the heavily lidded eyes, and the sighing curves of her figure also had something to do with it. To say she was a beautiful woman was something of an understatement.

Before he knew it, he was gravitating towards her. He knew she was probably watching, although she didn't seem to be inviting in anyone's company. Even if she wasn't looking for pleasant conversation, Zevran believed this was a woman worth knowing. Perhaps that was simply his hopefulness speaking, but there was no harm in trying. Or perhaps there was, but Zevran was willing to take the risk.

"I hope you do not mind if I join you," he announced, and crossed his slippered feet to show his intentions to stay. "It can be so dull to sit all by one's self, don't you think?"

[fangirlfatale.livejournal.com]

Morgan was tracking on the guy well before he got close. She'd seen a few people who looked like they might be half-decent fighters here, but most of them seemed...well, straightforward. They'd come at you from the front, they'd rely on their strength or sheer bulk to win fights, and Morgan figured she could wipe the decks with their faces in thirty seconds. This guy was different, though. He was several inches shorter than Morgan and not hugely musclebound, but he moved with a quietness and an easy grace that suggested a lot of fighting practice. Probably plenty of experience sneaking up on people, too.

Interesting. Not to mention dangerous. If the things they seemed to have in common didn't end there, Morgan thought, he'd be a bad guy to get on the wrong side of. So what did he want from her?

"Go ahead," she agreed. Not that she apparently had much choice unless she wanted to make him leave, since he'd already dug in his heels. And she wasn't interested in another unarmed fight against three goons right now. "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" One eyebrow shot up in a wry arch as she said it, but the question was serious. If he was actually a serious fighter--and Morgan didn't usually read people wrong--what was he still doing stuck in this place?

[scavengerbird.livejournal.com]

Despite having just congratulated himself for being oh so wary and unflappable, her question caught him off guard. Perhaps he had let that line slip from his lips on more than one occasion, but it was inticing to have the tables turned. Her intentions were sadly of a more innocently curious nature than his own might have been, but he wouldn't hold that against her. He would try of course, and if she was the sort of woman that he thought she was... well, actually, there was no telling how she would react. That was the best part, he supposed. Comfort and predictability may have soothed some weary souls, but Zevran's feet itched at the very thought.

And yet, his mind was insisting on reminding him of how much he missed being on the road with the same prudish people day in and day out. Some of them were amusing, others offensive, but then there were the ones he was fond of. Not many, just one or two of them. He had thought the Crows had taught him better, but it seems they had done a shoddier job training him than they had thought. But as with all things, if that period in his life had passed, he would move on. Despite his best attempts, Zevran was sure to outlive his losses.

Instead of exposing the lady to such unpleasant thoughts, Zevran laughed and leaned back. He finished by propping his arms up behind his head.

"What an excellent question," he agreed enthusiastically. "I have been asking myself that for the last day or so, but alas, no dice. One day I have been roped into some grand heroic venture, and the next, I am..." Zevran trailed off and made a face at his indescribable surroundings. "Here. You know how it is."

[fangirlfatale.livejournal.com]

"Yeah. I do." And she wasn't happy about it, either, as her tone and expression probably made obvious. Actually, Morgan doubted anyone here was happy about their situation, but most of them weren't missing out on as many pieces o' eight per day as she was.

Now that she heard more of his voice, the Spanish accent was obvious. It was a common one around the Caribbean--not far off from DeCava's, really--which made her wonder if this was another citizen of the beautiful and lucrative Tri-Island Area. She'd never seen anyone around there (or anywhere) with ears that pointed, though. And Morgan had been around the navigational charts a few times.

The mention of a grand heroic venture piqued her curiosity again, too. Morgan could relate. "Something like that happened to me not long ago too," she found herself replying on impulse. Volunteering information about herself wasn't usually something she was big on--at least not to people whose legendary reputations didn't precede them--but that seemed pretty harmless, and the coincidence was striking. After a beat, she made a calculated decision and added, "Well, actually, I snuck aboard the ship heading toward the heroic venture to capture a guy and bring him back to my client, but...guess I ended up involved anyway." Way too involved. Sword-through-the-gut involved. Not her finest professional moment, to say the least.

[scavengerbird.livejournal.com]

Zevran couldn't help but laugh. It came out uncontrolled and natural, and with it there was both affection and bitterness towards his situation and hers. On some level, he felt for the woman. They both had their own reasons and their own ghosts that haunted them, but Zevran knew the unease of finding yourself part of something unexpected. An ally to those who moments ago you wanted to ruin, for purely objective reasons. Maybe she had taken to it better than Zevran had, but it seemed that the lady understood him more than she knew.

Of course, Zevran had been asked to wipe Amell and Alistair off the map, not simply capture them. He was an assassin, not a bounty hunter, after all. Kidnapping was so messy, but he supposed there was more money in it compared to your garden variety assassin, which Zevran was not. He sometimes wondered where he would be if he had managed to kill the Wardens, but realized it was a pointless exercise. He would be exactly where he had been for the previous twenty-something years. Back then, nothing he ever built had amounted to anything. It was all too easily destroyed. He couldn't protect any of it. Even his own life could be snuffed out, and no one would miss him for very long. Perhaps joining Amell's band of misfits hadn't been a good decision, but it had been the best one Zevran had ever made.

"I understand, and I am not even being placating when I say that," he responded cheerfully. "One moment I am stalking my target for the kill, and before I know it, I have been taken under his wing like another charity case. It was quite a scandalous decision on his part."

[fangirlfatale.livejournal.com]

"That'll make it tough to collect," Morgan commented sympathetically. Don't get involved was the cardinal rule of any self-respecting sword-for-hire, and that had never been a problem for her before--not when she was getting paid for the kill, anyway. It was frustrating to have a job get messy, not to mention bad for business.

When she thought about it, though, she couldn't say she was sorry, even for the moments when she'd felt like someone was twisting a blade in her stomach. She was a little sorry for the moments when someone actually had been twisting a blade in her stomach, but...well, she wasn't going to dwell on that. She was okay now, and that was what mattered.

Anyway, there they were, professed (or maybe confessed) fellow professionals. They'd better get the introductions out of the way before they started talking shop--or revealing any more embarrassing personal stories. Morgan gestured to herself with a flourish. "Morgan LeFlay, Mighty Pirate Hunter™."

She wanted to move the topic off leaders of grand heroic ventures who took people who'd recently attacked them under their wings, so she turned her focus to studying the guy again. He looked some years older than Morgan was, but the air of cheerfulness made it hard to tell whether he'd been through the wear to match. "Dual blades?" she guessed. She couldn't be sure, since she hadn't seen him move much, but it was usually obvious which side was someone's sword arm; his muscles looked more evenly developed. "Interesting fighting style. Mind if I ask where you learned?"

[scavengerbird.livejournal.com]

"It is truly a pleasure to meet such a beautiful and sharp woman, Madam Morgan," he began, even executing a slight bow from his seated position, although his eyes remained trained on her. She was truly an attractive woman, and his smile had redoubled at the confirmation that she seemed to be equally competent. He had been fortunate enough to be in the company of several brilliant and talented ladies as of recently, but most of them had taken an immediate disliking to him. Zevran was resigned to the fact that his sense of humor simply didn't mesh well with the judgmental and self-important, but Morgan seemed to be neither. She did appear appealingly confident, though, and curious about him.

Her observations were spot on. At the very least, she knew what she was talking about, but Zevran suspected she could back up those words quite proficiently with a sword in hand. Zevran considered for a moment if he should confess to being a Crow, and couldn't come up with many good reasons not to. He wasn't pursuing a mark, and Zevran wasn't terribly secretive about most things. The more he volunteered, the less people pried, after all. Besides, he was no longer a Crow, technically speaking. He could claim the title as much as he liked, but they'd never take him back even if he wanted to go. Anyway, if Morgan had any relation at all to the world he knew, her reaction would be telling. Their professions overlapped, after all.

But on that note, Zevran hadn't met many confessed pirate hunters. And yet, he could see why they'd be desired. Under normal circumstances, the lack of interaction between assassin and pirate hunter would simply be a matter of location, since Crows didn't take many assignments on the high seas. (Zevran had been meeting a lot of seafarers lately, now that he thought about it.) But all of this theorizing and preemptive excuse making was probably irrelevant. Zevran was prepared for her to know nothing of the Antivan Crows, or Antiva itself, or darkspawn, or anything else that was a staple of his past for that matter.

"You haven't even seen me in action, my dear!" he laughed, but was openly pleased all the same. "Although I confess, you are right about me so far. I am Zevran, of the Antivan Crows. Normally my, ah, association would need no introduction, but since things are different here... The Crows are an infamous guild of assassins who happened to purchase me young, and I was a model student. Twenty or so years and a betrayal later, here I am! Although this most recent development doesn't fit into the story quite as well."