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Swallowed by shadows
#21
Mik's grin was mockingly hurt. "Too bad Doll. Always nicer to have someone else wash your back." She shrugged. Didnt really matter. The night wasn't over. And they were talking about drinks.

The Lady was at her most unpredictable when the juice was flowing. He raised an eyebrow at Tenzin. She had a cold shell but he saw glimmers of humor. Probably the accent. Funny in a foreign language, more like. Which made her unpredictable. As in not boring.

As in, hell yeah.

He gestured and started walking. "No need, Doll. I know the way." He tapped his head all clever like. "Steel trap, ya know?"

But she was already walking ahead and...well, it was a sight better view following her. If Andre wasn't game, well, maybe she was. And if both of them... "First round's on me." he exclaimed.

[[Ten can lead them, or at least get them out of the tunnel. Mik can take over from there.]]
"Good and ill. 
We're like the wind, 
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
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#22
She didn't like being called “doll” but she held her tongue on it. Tenzin had not shared her name despite the offer of theirs, and she had no great urge to draw attention to it by complaining. That was less reclaritance on her part to share an identity and more an acknowledgment that the meeting was to be brief. They didn’t need to know it.

She shrugged off assurance that Mik knew where he was going. It might be true, but either way the pair were under her protection now and so the piping boast was irrelevant. “Don’t know,” she said instead, having apparently taken him literally. Her pace was measured and surefooted, mindful not to leave anyone behind, but as brisk as she could make it. She led them the quickest route out.
[Image: twolf.jpg]
If they stand behind you, protect them; if they stand beside you, respect them; if they stand against you, destroy them.
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#23
Out in the fresh air, Andre's frown furrowed as he looked down upon himself. After all that bullshit, Andre's clothes were ruined. No way he was going to the Kremlin now. Even if he could hold down a conversation with his brother, he was far too jittery to sit still long enough. In a weird way it worked out. He didn't mind procrastinating another day. 

"Can we even go to a bar looking like this?" He swiped his clothes, but only a fog of dirt wafted away. The blood and sweat were set stains by now.
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#24
It took being out in the open for the air to smell fresh again. And being that this was the slums- not known for gracing its denizens with good things to smell- well, that said something about what the tunnels had been like. Girlie had done a good job leading them out. "Nice job, Doll." Out of the tunnels, he definitely enjoyed the view. Tattoos wound around her arms and he found himself looking from her to Andre and back. Yeah, they could be a lot of fun.

He looked around, getting his bearings. In the distant skyline, a few buildings were recognizable. Not too far from his place. He looked at Andre and his clothes. Not completely ruined, but definitely needed some attention. "My flat isn't far. You can clean up there if you want. Shower's probably big enough for all of us, too." Exaggeration, of course. Slightly, anyway. Still, he winked. He doubted they'd taken him up on that particular offer. "There's a bar around the corner too. I know I could use a drink."

He started walking a few steps and then turned around. "Y'all game?" They'd follow- or not. More's the pity if they didn't. But he'd have his drink- and some fun- either way.
"Good and ill. 
We're like the wind, 
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
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#25
Andre's frown was not the playful sort Mik expected. "I'm covered in actual shit. It's going to take more than a shower to get this smell out of my skin."  Probably take a dipping in acid-bath or something. Not to mention burning these clothes and never wearing them again.

"But I do owe you - both of you - my thanks. Drinks are on me. Tonight. If you'd come." That last bit was directed at the girl. Something told him that Mik was game for meeting up. But it was the girl who really saved their skins.
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#26
By now Tenzin found the one called Mik a mild annoyance. His manner was cocky in the way of a lone male roving constant for his next mount. It didn’t offend her; it was nature, after all, and she wished him well in the search. But it made her want to bare her teeth all the same, and chase him along faster to his next diversion rather than be bothered by his hopeful sniffing. He did not understand pack; she was sure of that, and it was that sense alone which made her bristle. He offered the invitation, but he did not care if they followed. He looked only to the importance of his own entertainment, and judged the worth of those in his company by such measure.

Once back in the fresh air she was keen to move on. The neighbourhood into which they emerged was not salubrious, but she did not think either man needed further escort and so she considered her obligation complete. By now her taste for the hunt had been sated, but was not replaced by the lure of game Mik proposed. Though neither was she ready to go home. The wolves were quiet now, and her heart was yet restless. She would find some place to wash along the river, and then tend to the weapon sheathed about her waist. It was with that resolution firmly set she would have slipped away, but for the pause she gave at Andre’s words.

In rural India there were still those who respected the old ways; who welcomed the rākṣasa hatyārā into homes and at table, and still gave thanks. Tenzin mourned deeply for how broken her people were in the west; for how much had been lost and torn and ruined, unrealised until she had travelled to Moscow. Here, the Athari were not honoured as warriors and protectors, but reviled as fanatics and murderers. And with good cause. That was what grieved her most.

She doubted he meant what he said with half the formality she chose to ascribe the sincerity. He didn’t even know what she was, but it chimed some bittersweet nostalgia in her chest, for things that were and things that should be. Tradition was important, and nothing grew from ashes without effort. Despite her hidden nature, and the death warrant her own people would place on her head at its discovery, she would honour vows made to her dying breath. Jacinda was proof that things might yet change.

“Don’t owe,” she said after a moment. “Is duty here.” She tapped her chest, then offered a formal nod that touched the edges of a bow. “But accept of honour, with thanks. So much forgotten. Is nice.” The quick smile returned as she straightened, a snort of laughter dispelling what had had the air of ritualistic formality. “Plus, stinky work tonight. So maybe little owed after all.”

She gestured him after Mik. She would follow.
[Image: twolf.jpg]
If they stand behind you, protect them; if they stand beside you, respect them; if they stand against you, destroy them.
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#27
Mik looked over his shoulder, throwing a grin at them. Sweet! Not that he really expected to get anywhere with them- well, the girl at least. Hot she might be- and with a streak of wild that he liked- but her face was a wall. And he had no interest in pursuing someone who wasn't interested. Lot's of fish in the sea and all that. Not fun if the they weren't interested. But fun wasn't always that kind of fun.

After all, the lady had been about tonight. Who knew where things might lay. And if nothing else, a drink would be nice. Andre seemed a bit more energetic anyway. A bit flirty. At least when he wasn't worried about his clothes. His building was only a couple blocks up. It wasn't bad, as far as apartments went. Nothing like what the Yakuza or the Mordvinov's gave their guys. But Mik had freedom they didn't. And despite his mercurial nature, he kept a nice place. Chaos was all and good. But dirty laundry and takeout rotting in boxes wasn't sexy. And he liked the sexy.

They took the elevator to his room on 2. No walking up stairs past junkies or snot nosed kids or whatever. Most of the people who lived here were professional even though not rich or anything. Good, all the same. Minded their own business. He palmed the pad and his door unlocked. He took of his jacket as he walked in, kicking off his shoes into the corner they usually went. Dirty floors sucked too. At least it was faux-wood- ash, it was called- and not carpet.

His walls were mauve with large white rectangle frames edged in lavender molding. A couple painting dotted the centers. Nothing expensive, but definitely his taste. Swirls of colors, bright and dark. Suggestive of patterns but nothing that could be pulled out. A large flat screen dominated one wall. He had a plush dark grey couch on a rug and a red easy chair and end tables next to them. Coasters, of course. He was a respecter of wood, after all. A wooden frame was next to the chair, connected pieces of various diameters- from waist thick to wrist- jutting out. A few lengths of rope were on the floor. The wood itself in the frame was wound about not unlike a loom, if the arms jutted out in different angles, with various pieces of rope all twisted and woven into carefully intricate knots and patterns so that it appeared to be some kind of art. He glanced at them briefly with a ghost of smile. Always good to have a hobby.

Position and respect was all a joke, of course. And nothing was permanent. But he liked where he lived and liked where he lived to be a place that felt like home. When he could. And things had been good lately, that was for sure. Information was valuable and he was good at it. So it was home. Only thing missing was the smell of food- which only came from whatever takeout he ordered. That could come later, if they wanted. If they stayed.

He wasn't too bad off- just needed a change and maybe a quick swipe of a washcloth- but Andre looked the worse for wear- or had at least complained enough. "Bathroom's down the hall. Big enough if you need to share," he nodded. They could shower or whatever. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a beer- a stout- and then said, "Help yourself to a drink. I'm gonna change real quick," He started to head down the hall to his room.
"Good and ill. 
We're like the wind, 
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
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#28
She showed mild curiosity in their new surroundings but no deep interest. Mik seemed at ease with the invitation, and so Tenzin was equally relaxed in the unfamiliar territory. 

“Can go first, if want,” she said to Andre after their host had disappeared to tend to himself.

She wore black for a reason, and he had complained loudly about the general stench and gore currently slicked to skin and clothes. He’d also been the only one to lose his footing in the tunnels, which certainly made him the stinkiest. Humans sometimes had strange feelings about both modesty and nudity, so she erred on the side of what she assumed to be polite.
[Image: twolf.jpg]
If they stand behind you, protect them; if they stand beside you, respect them; if they stand against you, destroy them.
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#29
Andre had his chivalrous moments, but he didn’t decline the offer for first go at clean up. It was a long time before he came back out, but when he did, it was only in a towel wrapped around the waist. He’d showered and smelled like Russian soap, but it was infinitely better than before.

He went in search of Mik to beg for clothes. Who knew if anything would fit, but surely everyone sweat pants.

“Gonna need to borrow some clothes,” he said when he finally found him.  




[[short but getting back in the swing of things.]]
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#30
In his room with the door only slightly closed he paused, considering. On second thought- second smell, more like- Mik's clothes went into his wicker hamper and he dug out a fresh pair of silk boxers, and some clean jeans. Quick and liberal use of Dude wipes and he was mostly dressed. He was looking through his drawers for a shirt when he heard a voice calling for him. He opened the door to find Andre standing there in a towel and...

...took a moment to register what the man had asked. Could you blame him? The guy had that perfect V, shoulders like massive shotput balls, a broad chest still glistening with droplets of water, flanked on both sides by prominent hip bones, a flat belly that sloped seductively down to disappear beneath the loose folds of his towel. The man was a work of art, carved from ebony granite, the lines of his ink accentuating and following curve of muscle and bone, sloping around dips and around swells.

His fingers itched to reach out and trace them- scratch that. His hands did raise before he caught himself and shook it off with a laugh, fighting through the fog that clouded his thoughts. "Clothes. Oh. Heh. Yeah, I gotcha man." The smirk wouldn't leave his mouth and he glanced around to see if the Lady was about. She had set this little situation up, after all. He almost imagined her slow chuckle, the face she wore now the Doll out in the living room.

Which soured his mood a little bit. She was closed for business, that's for sure. Which meant that Mik and Muscles here didn't have much time for slap and tickle. Or anything else, he thought, glancing at the neatly wrapped ropes, jagged teeth of a wartenberg wheel and cuffs peeking out between their loops along with other toys in the box near his bed. Just his impromptu play kit. Not for a properly planned scene. That was what the stuff in his chest was for. And the hooks in the ceiling.

Still, he didn't hide his interest as he gestured to his closet drawers, showing where his boxers and pants and shirts were, aside from those that were hanging. "Try anything you like. I'll toss your stuff into the wash. You can get it back to me later." He turned around to pull out a tight gray v-neck t-shirt and put it on, wondering if Andre would get dressed with him in the room.
"Good and ill. 
We're like the wind, 
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
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