poly_chromatic | ♦♦ 32ND CONTRACT

Entry tags:

darker than black - hei

♦♦ 32ND CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT/ACTION

Oh perfect. A light show. Just what's needed after a month of witches and possessed goats. Sure, everything seems mellow now. No zombies or general epidemics. But distractions are just that. Distractions. No amount of Burning Man rituals and fireworks take away from the fact that everyone is still stuck here. That's not exactly something worth celebrating. Still, it could be worse. Pai could be gone. I could be back home. This 'perpetual darkness' theme could last more than 24 hours. Then there'd be no end to the belly-aching. Of course that's a mixed blessing. Some of you are only tolerable in the pitch dark.Options For Run-Ins:

Cafe: You'll find him behind the display case, sliding in a fresh tray of pinwheel cookies, a sprinkling of flour on his nose. Canapes, bonfire toffee, sausage roll-ups, sticky chocolate pudding, baked apples with cinnamon ... It's like he's trying to kill the City with saccharin-induced diabetes. Maybe he is.

Hey. At least it's a tasty way to go.

Xanadu: Crunching on a toffee-apple, he drifts through the park. Watching, not the brilliant displays in the dark sky, but his periphery. He's still in the habit of thinking operationally, and is as matter-of-fact about it as he is effective. But that doesn't mean he can't stop, for a moment, to listen to the crack-snap-pop of sparklers, or watch the glittering streaks of color exploding like supernovas above.

Anywhere Else: The dark is his element, and he utilizes the opportunity to explore. He stops by the City's outskirts, looking out at the sweep of the lakes, the glittering buildings, the glittering fireworks blossoming in the sky. Festivities seem to be dwindling, and who could've anticipated that he'd feel so rueful about that. Then again, all tonight is, is a lull, before some new curse threatens to snatch everything away in one big explosion of chaos. Whatever intervals of quiet he indulges in are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Still he doesn't mind this pause. It makes things better and worse at the same time -- but sometimes it's necessary too.

[ ooc: Don't be fooled. Despite the general grumpiness, Hei is actually rather enjoying the fireworks. Backtagging friendly forevermore; I'll be very slow this week<3 ]

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[For once, if Yin was asked why she was there, she couldn't properly say. There was no definite reason, she simply decided she wanted to see Hei, so she went to the cafe where he worked.]

[After all, he went to where she worked all the time. Just in case, though, she stayed in the back. A mere observer of the pastries, as though she was uncertain of their worth and didn't know if she wanted them or not. Hei didn't have to interact with her if he didn't want to. She just wanted to do what he did....]

[ It's impossible to miss Yin's entrance. ]

[ 'Li' has just applied a fluffy layer of white icing to a gingerbread house. Not for aesthetics but because the surface is a smidge burnt. This way though, it's invisible. No one eating them will taste the difference, certainly. (Funny how that applies to so many things. Cruelty and depravity are barely recognizable under a pretty disguise.) When the doorway bell chimes, he glances up with a professional smile. Staff are hovering about; a few chatty customers dot the tables. His voice is pure 'Li' when he says, ]

Can I help you, Miss Yin?

[ Easygoing smile, paired with a whiff of Is something wrong? He can't imagine why she'd be here -- unless she was in trouble. ]

[It made her sound like a regular customer, though she didn't consider the possibility. The people around her were mostly uninterested, and those that might have noticed the pale, lithe girl enter and heard 'Li' address her also lost interest at such a mundane greeting.]

[Yin herself turned in the direction of the fluffy treats while her specter did the real observing.]

I just wanted to look.

[ I just wanted to look. ]

[ One surprise after another. When was the last time anyone heard a Doll say I and Want in the same conjunction? A year ago, Hei would've been skeptical. Suspicious. But now, he just sets the white-topped cake away, sidling over to Yin. It's hard to tell if his smile is genuine (It always is). But his eyes radiate a gentle good humor. ]

Are you sure you just want to look? We have a sample tray, if you'd like to pick something out.

[ To demonstrate, he draws up a sheet from the display case. On it is a miniature stove with little pots of chocolate, fruit tarts, cherry rimmed cupcakes, and a troupe of pulled-sugar clowns. ]

[Yin would have never considered the samples if Hei hadn't pointed them out. She studies the sheer for a while, silently. It wasn't even the items she wanted to look at, but Hei. Which was ridiculous, since her specter could do that for her from any distance, whenever she liked. But no, she wanted to be there.]

[Now that she was, she was looking over treats and now Yin was faced with making a decision. It was harder than it should have been. She could no longer eat, no longer get any sensation from the task, and it had been nearly pointless before.]

[In the end, she points to the smallest fruit tart.]

[ It's an inane moment, Hei knows, but it lights an unexpected spark in his eyes. Not happiness, but something close to it. (Of course, wearing 'Li's benign smile, it's hard to tell how much of it is acting, and how much is real playfulness.) Cover, he knows, isn't who you pretend to be; cover is who you become. Watching the civilians' glazed eyes slide blindly past him and Yin -- nothing to see here, just the dorky chef flirting with a pretty girl -- Hei wonders if they've never kept a secret. Wonders how they live. Never like this, certainly: never constructing their own lines of public and private, so that the whole cafe belongs to the public, open world, except from this gap between him and Yin, which is private. Theirs. ]

[ Private like that quiet, fizzling sensation of amusement, as Yin chooses a tiny fruit tart. ]

Excellent choice, [ 'Li' murmurs, whisking the tart onto a lacy paper tray and handing it to Yin. ] Would you like a hot drink to go with that?

[ His break is in ten minutes. Maybe he can sit at a table with Yin. His managers frowns upon Li gossiping with customers -- but the manager can fuck off. ]

[Yin sees it all as his cover, and she will make no move to ruin that illusion. Hei needs his masks.]

[She nods to the offer for a drink, then answers softly:] Tea. [She doesn't consider asking for a blend. She'll just leave that up to Hei.]

Chrysanthemum tea, then.

[ It's the right brew for the afternoon. If the day was chillier, and if Yin had chosen a big meal, Hei would've served her pu erh. Once he's directed Yin to a seat, he bustles about getting the rest of the orders ready. Somehow, knowing she's in the cafe makes Hei hyperaware of his surroundings -- the low murmurings of the customers, the tinkling of crockery in the kitchen, the warm sugary smells of cake, the bustling staff exchanging words. It is laughable, how people miss the obvious -- laughable and fortunate, Hei supposes -- and interesting too, to be just a breathe away from his teammate in public. ]

[ When his break begins, he brings the tea service, complete with a clear pot, and pours for Yin, shafts of afternoon sunlight slanting low-angled and golden through the window to halo her table. It seems almost ridiculously symbolic. ]

[She nods to Hei, then picks a table out of the way, with rays of the sun to, hopefully, warm her a little. The conversation around her fails to gain her attention; none of it's relevant. She does, however, despite looking straight ahead, keep track of where Hei is bustling around.]

[She's unable to fully appreciate the beauty of the pot he's brought her, but she does turn towards it.]

[ Hei sets the teapot across Yin, round and cosy and made of glass as thin as eggshell. Steam twirls hazily from its spout and up into the sunlit air between them as he settles opposite to her. In the glow, Yin's overall impression is of lightness, airiness: as if she's been constructed from featherweight polymers and pale wisps cotton candy. Deceptively insubstantial. But the space she takes in his head is too solid, a vital mass of anatomical sculpture and fluid function he'd be disoriented without. ]

[ His hands curls loosely together on the table. Leaning in, he pitches his voice to Yin's ears alone, ]

I can pack up more hot tea for you, whenever you're leaving.

[ It might imply, indirectly, that he wants her gone soon. But Hei doesn't. Puzzling as her presence here is, he enjoys having her under his nose. Enjoys the sense of two worlds, external and internal, colliding. ]

[The delicacy of the tea pot meshes with Yin's own delicate appearance. And across from her, contrasting to her fragile lightness is Hei. Even as Li his coloring is still dark; black hair against his pale skin. But if there are any main differences between them, Yin's never considered them in such a nature. She just notices Hei for who he is.]

[Fortunately, any possible implications don't register for Yin. Hei has his ways of making himself clear when necessary to speak in code, so she takes no other meaning from his words about the tea. She gives a nod.]

[The tea is the only thing she touches. The tart remains on the tray. Yin eventually pushes it, slightly and slowly, in Hei's direction, indicating he should eat it. It will do nothing for her.]

[ They do make an odd pair, he and Yin. They always have. Whether she's with 'Li' -- gawky and blurred-out, everything about him relentlessly run-of-the-mill: clothes, posture, demeanor. Or if it's the Reaper, his every motion a black slash of violence on the blank paper of the battlefield. Yin's alway a physical incongruity in each background: this pale, lithe creature wreathed silence, with peau-de-soie hair the colour of frost. But as far as Hei's concerned, they're both cut from the same cloth. Eternal outliers. How had Huang liked to put it? Fucking freaks of a feather. ]

[ He raises an eyebrow when she nudges the tart at him. It's rare that he's not hungry. Or that he turns down food unless it's poisoned. He takes the morsel without comment. But, like once before, he snaps it in half. He pops one bit into his mouth, and quietly navigates the other past Yin's lips. In the cafe, in full sunlight, it seems almost cheekily flirtatious. But all that underlies the gesture is a moment of good humor. ]

[ Those are rare enough as it is. ]

[Huang was still one of them, as was Mao. While she couldn't express it, Yin missed them.]

[Her eyes turned up, a fraction, to feel the tart slip into her mouth. There's no point in eating it, she can't really taste it, it isn't needed, it won't nourish her, but Yin takes a small bite.]

[ It's been months, and situational as Hei is, he's fallen out of the habit of reminiscing about his Tokyo team. It's not that he's forgotten them. Far from it. But it's not part of Hei's mindset to look back, unless he wants to sink into a mire of regret and self-loathing. Even so, in moments like these, Yin's presence stirs up reminders of that time. Huang's guppy-faced glower and acrid cigarette smoke. Mao creeping like a snarky shadow on the fringes of every scene. It's not an abstraction, when Hei acknowledges that his Tokyo team had saved his life. Saved him, somehow, from a waking death. But they had also shown him that he could trust somebody. ]

[ Of the two, the latter has had the more lasting effect. ]

[ He doesn't tell Yin that. Not because he can't express it, but because he sees no need to. It's enough to sit here with her, the sunlight discoloring from pale gold to buttercup orange, and enjoy the imperfect silence. ]

[Yin is fairly opposite in that respect. While she doesn't look back often, on occasion she will allow it, or will find her mind wandering back. But partly, she does so because there is no fear of getting trapped in the past. Her limited emotions allow for it to be nothing more than a replay of events.]

[She steps back just as easily as she stepped into the memories. Yet, she continues to hit the replay button.]

[Right now, all of that is furthest from her mind, Hei being the forefront. He, too, is illuminated, the sun almost piercing and painful behind him. Still, Yin uses her observer spirit to keep looking at him.]

[The tart, one small bite taken from it, is left at the side. Their silence, much like the peace she finds with July, is companionable and mutual. There's no strained need for conversation and an awkward search for words. No pressure. Just Hei and Yin. They fail to be any simpler.]

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♦♦ 32ND CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT/ACTION

Cafe;

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