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Fox sent text messages to Vasha including a cat emphatically stating I WANT CUDDLES, and then -- after handing off Mark to the Guardians with a likewise emphatic I WILL COME SEE HIM TOMORROW, HE IS BABY -- headed home. It's been, like. A really, really long day, and Fox is super, super tired on every level.
She gets home, drops her gear right inside the door -- like literally, right inside the door like some sort of heathen -- and heads for the shower. Orders a stack of pizzas, because tonight is garbage food night. (When you're a Life Master, every night can be garbage food night, but I digress.)
Then for the time between her arrival at home and Vasha's, Fox is mostly in the shower. She hasn't had a chance to scrub off the mud and blood that she used to mark runes on herself before the astral journey (which was before the big fight, and before they rescued Mark), and so now she does exactly that, standing in the hot water until her skin turns pink and finally actually scrubbing.
So she sits on the bed in the room she shares with Vasha, watching a documentary on birds, eating pizza. Wearing one of his ridiculous targeted shirts.
Everyone had a very exciting time, indeed. So much so that Vasha had to retire his favorite kevlar vest and clean his prized pistol. Which he did before making the trip back home for obvious reasons. The door escapes everyone's notice when it opens and closes, and his processing into the apartment escapes everyone's notice, too, until he reaches his liquor and drops his attainment, pouring himself a vodka and cranberry, fetching himself a pair of cigars from his humidor, and proceeds into the bedroom. He strikes one alight and sets the other down near Fox if she cares to enjoy one. Then he sets his drink down on his bedside table and drops into the bed, himself with a gusty sigh.
"War is so exhausting."
She doesn't expect to hear the door open and close, or anything of the like. She just kind of expects that he'll arrive when he damn well wants to, and she'll be aware of it then. When she can, in fact, finally hear him moving around, Fox turns her head toward the door and sniffs -- literally sniffs -- as her free hand forms a Life mudra and she confirms that's his heart beating. (Or likely to not be beating soon, if it's not a Firebird, just saying.)
She stuffs the rest of her slice of pizza into her face and then flops herself onto his chest, making a small, tired sound. "I had the longest day, and I have to think about Mercury and bury some pigeons."
"They are heroes of the revolution," Vasha assures her, "and should have names. Posthumous consilium titles. Little memorial plaques on their graves. Poor little creatures." Vasha may be a cold hearted bastard at times, but he also understands animals have no agenda. When the go down, it's always a tragedy, really. He settles back in the bed and begins to puff at his cigar, letting his eyes shut. Because he's exhausted, too.
"Come here. If you want cuddles, they're over here, lying down with a cigar."
Flop flop flop. She flopped generally in his direction, but now she finishes that and settles herself fully on his chest, except she reaches across to get her cigar. She doesn't get it really, they're not as appealing to her as they are to him, but she enjoys the communal activity of smoking. "They are," she says quietly, "especially because it was actually Liezel who shot them. I can't ... really be mad, I understand the full auto thing but... it was sort of horrific to watch."
Fox, having spent much time being an animal, doesn't really see any difference between animals and humans anymore. "They came when I called them, and they died when I asked them to." Lighting her cigar, Fox buries her face in his neck after that and takes a thin breath. "She better help me make really nice memorial plaques."
"I am genuinely sorry your friends were killed, Naika. And I'm sorry you had to be there to watch it. But we nearly lost a great many of us the other day. Balm. Yoshitsune. The entirety of the Free Council Caucus's leadership were knocked out of the fight when they tried to reach us. That kid, Charleville? His politics are garbage, but he's got the courage of two divisions in him." Vasha reaches for his drink while she smokes, taking a quick nip, and setting it aside in time to receive his cigar back. "I think a memorial for the fallen would help people. Genuinely. Caring about little things in a big world is how we stay human."
"I'm the one who's why Balm didn't die, I know how close she was to dying, it was pretty close," sighs Fox, and she takes another small breath in, swallowing hard. "And then there was Mark, and -- he's just a kid, you know? Like I think he's really just -- oh he's so awful and beautiful all at once. I don't even know how I feel about him except I'm afraid we're going to have to kill a whole lot of people like him before this is over."
"A Perfected body with the stolen soul of a dead man. How do I even feel about that? I don't know how I feel about that. The Tree... I mean... " And then Fox stops. "Is Charleville all right?"
"He got healed up okay, but I think he's definitely realized revolutionary zeal and a wise crack isn't going to protect you from a mass of seers on the offensive. Like I said. The kid has guts. And thanks to Life Magic, they're back inside him again." Vasha puffs his cigar again and blows a ring up at the ceiling, not that he opens his eyes to watch. Still resting them.
"I don't know how to feel about him, either. I'd like to meet him, though. He's sort of a living Guardians of the Veil thought experiment. And I'm definitely curious how my personal ethics bear out upon meeting him."
A wince from Fox, then, and she nods her head. "Well, I guess he'll have to learn other ways to utilize his guts and keep them inside of him." It's sort of morbid, but then, it's also sort of realistic, the way that Fox just sort of vaguely shrugs. Either he'll learn, or he won't. She splays her hand across his stomach and lets out a puff of breath.
"He died, but he's also very much alive. But I'm not sure how alive his brain is, or if they even bothered to tell him that he died? What confuses me right now is that he seems to know it's the present -- he said something about how Bon Jovi had not been any better after a certain year -- but also he wants to go have dinner with his girlfriend, and he was on his way to propose to her when he died. So that -- maybe we need to talk to someone who's good with Death I guess."
"It's also possible there's more to him than what he knows. Consciousness is a many-layered thing. We can learn things without knowing it. We can see things without registering it. Then replay our memories and see what we missed in the first place. It's the basis of one of my most leaned on attainments, in fact. Does he dream, do you know? If so, he'll have an Oneiros we can meet him in." Vasha reins in his mad scientist-style ethical questions with another puff of his cigar and a small frown, "But before I start positing more hypotheticals, I should meet the man. I'd like to avoid treating him as they had done."
"I'm a Thyrsus," Fox points out. "What I know about Mind could fit in a mouse's thimble." She juts out her jaw. "I have no idea, but oh, that sounds... really cool, actually. I like dreaming, it's fascinating."
"Yeah," she agrees quietly, chewing on her lower lip and sneaking her hand under his shirt so she can pet his chest and stomach, scritching in the curls of hair she finds there. Comfort and familiarity, the best ways to soothe an overstimulated Fox. "You should meet him. He's -- sweet, I think."
Her cheeks puff out a little, and she changes the subject accordingly. "Leta is a hero, you know."
"You've been to Oroboros, Fox. I've never been to Oroboros. Hell, I've never stepped foot in the astral at all, really. Beyond the Temenos, anyway." Vasha takes a few puffs of his cigar, then leans over a bit to tap some ash onto his bedside ashtray. He takes another sip of his drink while it's within reach, and then settles back onto the bed with another sigh. "Sweet? That's an interesting descriptor. Does he behave like a person? Or like a machine?" Then the Leta bit, and his eyes roll a little, "Tell that to her and she'll never let us live it down. But yes. I suppose that's true. If being nearby and a time disciple counts as heroism."
"Well." That's something Fox hadn't considered, really. "Okay. I guess that's true. But I still am not really versed in the theory of it all. I learned some things practically, like how much the Wind hurts." Beat. "It really hurts." She pushes herself up to rest on his chest more fully, sort of draped across him, staring up at him from his chest after he settles down again. "He acts like a person, but a person filtered through a machine. Logic seems to matter a lot to him. But he did care whether or not we had hurt the guards."
"Sometimes being a hero is just being in the right place at the right time and willing to fix the problem, you know that," Fox rebuts, gently and thoughtfully. "But the fact remains that without her, the Tree would be destroyed."
"The lady of the hour, then," Vasha concedes. To Fox. Not to Leta. Because, again, he'd never hear the end of it if he did. "A person filtered through a machine? That's interesting. That's very interesting. Makes you wonder which is more in control. The machine logic or the man's soul. And why put a soul in a perfectly viable machine mind at all? I can think of a few reasons off the top of my head, but they're all very... sort of. Incidental? And seem as though they would far outweigh the cost and difficulty of doing so. If that makes sense."
A snort from Fox, because she can hear that Vasha is conceding this to her, and not to Leta. But the snort is amused, affectionate, and comes with a wryly amused twist of her mouth and a little shake of her head. "Yes, the lady of the hour, then, if you like, My Heart. Who, frankly, deserves her recognition. Even if you two have your verbal sexy spanking thing going on." Her green-gold eyes roll in another round of that affectionate amusement. She doesn't get that and isn't good at it, but she gets that it's a Thing.
"I don't know, really. I've only gotten to talk to him for a minute, or two. And it was Simon who communicated with him most directly. I'm not as good at sneaking as other people are, so I was letting other people lead." She chews on her lower lip. "It does make sense. The person who was apparently in charge of his 'experiment' called themself 'Sophist.' I don't know anything more about that person, but that should tell you something of what they thought of themself and their role. Maybe some grand experiment in immortality."
"Well. Feel free to heap her with all the recognition you desire, my love. Sing her praises from the roof tops. Put her name in lights. If you think she deserves a reward, then you must be correct. And I would be foolish to gainsay your opinion. Because you are stubborn and I am tired." Vasha is grinning a little at this point, and takes another series of puffs on his cigar to get the cherry burning brightly again. "Possibly. I've also got some horrible theories, too. Such as 'what if these souls were supposed to awaken.' And 'what if they're making a soul army to make us violate our own laws in defending ourselves'. And the like. That's always the problem with mad science. The science is mad."
She buries her nose in his chest and stares up at him the way that she does when she's got her fox-skin on and is covering her nose with her tail. "She doesn't want her name in lights," Fox answers in an amused mumble. The mumble is ended with her kissing his breastbone through his shirt. "But yes, that's sort of the idea." She leaves the obvious question of 'what does Leta want then' right there. To be asked. Not that she won't tell him even if he doesn't pick up the most obvious question.
She will. She's Fox. And he knows her.
"Oh, I have a million horrible theories. I was wondering if something about the destruction of the Tree was linked to the -- " And then she stops.
"It flowers when someone Awakens. If they Awaken someone, it'll show on the Tree."
"Which would create immediate sympathy," Vasha follows that particular train of thought. "That's... possible. But how can a soul awaken outside of a human body? Has it ever happened before, I wonder?" Vasha ticks his eyebrows, now letting the part of him trained to think like a Seer catastrophize ideas on that scenario. "You know, the longer you ponder Mark's situation, the worse it gets?"
Yeah, he doesn't ask.
Poke. Pokepoke. "You're supposed to ask." Poke. She pokes his side gently with her usually-grubby-but-freshly-scrubbed fingers which have somehow managed to keep more pizza grease than the average human's would. It's playful, because Fox has had a long day and it's how she pushes through all of the exhaustion and sadness and all of it. "You're supposed to ask so I can tell you."
"I have no idea! But I'm trying to figure out how Mark is connected to the fact that they REALLY want the Tree to die, and that's the thing that's most obvious to me. Either the Tree is getting in the way of their experiments, or the Tree will let us know about their experiments, you know?"
"An interesting hypothesis. Perhaps our review of the data we collect will shed some light." Vasha's brain is retreating away from this particular thought exercise. Instead, he reaches for the stereo remote and puts on some Rachmaninov. Because of course he does. Another puff or two of his cigar is taken. "Yes. I am aware I am supposed to ask so that you can tell me. That is why I am avoiding asking. If you never start playing a game, you don't have to lose it, you see."
And when he puts on the Rachmaninov, Fox snaps her fingers -- not that she actually needs to -- and the TV shuts off. The documentary on birds will keep. She burrows her fingers back under his shirt, petting his stomach. And then she un-burrows her nose just long enough to blow a raspberry at him before she reaches to steal his cigar. "But you like this game."
"Yes, but not losing it. Whatever answer rests behind this clever trap you have laid for me will, no doubt, make me roll my eyes and sigh and say 'fiiiiine'. You're a little ambush predator. Sneaky and sly. Hiding in the bushes and whispering loudly, 'Definitely stand right there with your back to me' is not going to get you too awful many chickens, my love." Vasha glances her way with a grin and a wink.
"If it makes you roll your eyes and say 'fiiiiine' then we are all losing," Fox answers, her green-and-gold eyes glittering as she mumbles into his chest, looking up at him with an expression that definitely means he's right about the ambush predator thing. Her smile stays hidden in his chest, even as she snickers quietly as he goes on. "I'm just saying."
"You know, I can just look at the future and figure our what you are going to tell me and then spoil the game entirely. I could do that." Vasha opens one eye to squint over at her with a grin. "But fiiiiine. Very well. I am standing with my back to the no doubt empty bush, Fox. It would be terrible if you were to jump out at me and tell me what Leta wants for being an hero."
"You could, and that wouldn't spoil the game for me, because I already know that you could know, and I know that you're choosing not to know, and I obviously wanted to tell you anyway, so." Her eyes glitter again, and she lunges up to smooch him when his eye opens, because ambush predator instincts must be satisfied. Smooch. "I love you," she laughs, and then flops back on his chest. "It's not what she wants for being an hero, it's what she just, you know. Wants. And I think probably being an hero is a good ... I dunno... excuse. Because the two of you seem to operate by some sort of counting coup system, and goodness knows I can't just say 'how many times is the woman going to call herself a unicorn before we give up and hunt her as she so obviously wants.' There has to be, you know. An excuse."
"She never makes these jokes with me," Vasha states diffidently, "I couldn't possibly take your word for it. That would be unethical." Vasha is teasing now, of course, even as he puffs on his cigar. "We fucked once. We'll probably do so again. I'm not sure what her fascination is with being in a threesome, but sure. Fine. If it will make her happy." He's so put upon. Another puff on the cigar. "The things I do for you, I swear."
"She did so! She made the jokes when we were swimming!" And now Fox is laughing aloud, that sharp little gekkering that is her most delighted sound of all. "You are just ignoring it on purpose." She kicks her feet a little and rolls over onto her back laughing, hands clasped to her chest as though she's showing her stomach for rubs. (She is, even if she doesn't consciously realize it. There's been a lot of attainment use recently, silly Orphan.) "Probably," Fox laughs, turning her head to the side to look at him, "it's that she likes us both and is very clear and direct about what she likes." Another stuck-out tongue. "Oh no, how terrible, the company of two people who adore you, how you suffer, Vasily Tometchko, how ever will you survive?"
Vasha props himself up onto an elbow and plops his cigar between his teeth so he can give Fox the belly rubbins. Scritchy scritch. Tickle tickle. Scritchy scritch. "Being clear and direct would be 'hey, you two, let's fuck'. That would be direct and clear. I swear. Women speak a whole different language, don't they. 'I was 100% clear about what I meant!' When what you said was, 'Fine', and what you meant was, 'if you continue down this path I will murder you and destroy you happiness for eternity'. That's not clear. That's a minefield you have to advance through while under fire."
"She called herself a unicorn!" laughs Fox, kicking her feet in delight when she gets belly rubbings. It is happiness. "But you're right, she's more direct with me than she is with you, probably because you two play your minefield games and she just says things to me because it's not a game! You can't set up 'you can't be direct with me because we have to play the sexy spanking with words game' and then be shocked that she isn't direct with you, silly." One hand darts out to steal the cigar so she can puff on it before she puts it back between his teeth.
"I should show you our text messages," she adds with another laugh. "She's Fox Direct with me."
"And I am supposed to intuit that she didn't mean a literal unicorn? It's 2020. She can live her best unicorn life if she wants to. She's banging a life master!" Vasha's logic is threadbare but impeccably tailored. "Honestly, I can't be held responsible for any misunderstanding here when communication is undertaken in such haphazard circumstances." He flops back down on the bed and reaches for his drink again, plucking out his cigar to have another sip and set it aside. "And I don't know what you mean. Just because I'm a surly drunken curmudgeon with a fear of intimacy and a dark past that haunts him every waking hour of the day doesn't mean I play avoidance games with people trying to know me too well too quickly. That would be an anti-social personality disorder, and that couldn't possibly be."
The laughter from Fox only increases at this, and she kicks her feet even more; one gets the feeling that if she had her tail right now, it would be flicking left and right in vulpine merriment, and she throws her head back helpless and delighted. "Sometimes I forget that you only really learned to speak English recently, and also that you're just as stubborn as I am," breathes the Thyrsus when she's got enough air back in her lungs from laughing to talk again. She turns to flop back on his chest, companionably drinking in his presence, and sighs heavily. "Yes, that would be something, certainly. It could not possibly be the case that you are doing those things. I'm glad we cleared that up." A kiss for his stubbly cheek. "You're silly, and I love you."
"See? You agree with me. We've come through the valley of doubts to the clear lit plains of mutual understanding. It's all Leta's fault. Everything. Even these socks." Vasha lifts his feet up to show his mismatched socks. One has a fox face on the toe. The other is possibly a woman's knee high stocking. "Although, in this particular case? My calf has never looked better." He tugs up his trouser leg a bit to showcase his gams.
Her laughter returns again, and is helpless. "THAT'S where my other fox-toe sock went!" she splutters, snatching the cigar from him and taking another puff of it. "I suppose I can't be angry, I steal all of your shirts, and I can un-stretch a sock with the best of them." Matter Adepthood put to its most practical of uses, to be certain. She squints at the sock, and the leg within it. "I am forced to agree." Who knows what Life-level she's looking at that leg on? Weirdo. "But I think it's not ... fault. I think you're just being silly, now." A gesture with the cigar, drawing smoke trails in the air. "Today has been long and exhausting. And I do think Leta deserves what she's asked for, and that phrasing it as 'deserves' as if it's a reward for saving everyone from a great deal of Tree-based angst is a great way to bargain with the locked doors inside the head of one Vasily Tometchko, but I also think that is a thing for tomorrow, or later." Her green-gold eyes glitter again. "Because I think I have been very, very brave, and done many brave things today."
"You are without a doubt the bravest fox I have ever spoken with in three languages," Vasha agrees in his teasing way, "and you definitely deserve a reward or two, that is so. I have a very large vodka cranberry if you'd like a sip? A pair of mismatched socks? A freshly cleaned silver plated custom pistol? By all means, have what you like. Oh! This reminds me. I've been meaning to do a couple custom rifle builds. And should probably invest in some kassiterium jacketed rounds. If they keep throwing ephemerals at us, that is." And there goes Vasha, sidetracked by thinking about weapons again. "Anyway. A conversation for another time, I suppose. What would you like to do? And should I eat some of this pizza first?"
He sort of arcs off into thinking about kassiterium jacketed rounds, and Fox, who has pushed herself up onto one elbow, peers down into his face, her head canted to one side. The corners of her mouth are pulled up in that sort of perpetual 'oh, Vasha' smile that is so often her expression when the two of them are alone together. "You're getting distracted, yes," Fox laughs softly, leaning to kiss the tip of his nose. "And you might want to eat some pizza first, yes, My Heart." A dry twist of her mouth. "You'll want your strength."
He reclaims his cigar and carefully turns it in the ash tray, then sets it there to smoke so that he can take his drink and reach for a slice of pizza to begin eating. Because he's classy, and that's what classy people do. "I'll want my strength, hmm? You're a life master, can't you just give me the strength I'll need? Seems all this mucking about with eating is very inefficient. Mmm. Delicious, though." He takes a bite and chews it thoughtfully, "American food is awful... ly good."
"I mean I could but I've spent an awful lot of potentia today, and also aren't you the one who constantly gets on me about how I shouldn't just use magic for everything? 'Fooox, don't use magic for that, you can just eat food!' 'Fooox, don't use magic for that, you can just turn off the TV with the remote!'" Fox's imitation of Vasha's voice and accent is very bad at first, but then becomes much better briefly, because she reforms her vocal cords so it's pitched exactly the same as his. "Fooox, don't use magic for that, don't make yourself sound like me, it's weird!" It comes with a shimmering of her Nimbus and then is released just as quickly as she leans over to snag a piece of pizza, fold it in half (the long way, because she's not some NYC weirdo) and take a big bite with her vulpine teeth. "Is good," she agrees.(edited)
"I do say that, yes. And you literally never listen to me ever. You do all of those things. Constantly. All the time. I'm just saying, if you don't have to leave your nimbus on something, why would you? It's like licking doorknobs to me. Yes. People can lick doorknobs! But it's not wise to lick doorknobs. Unless it's your fetish doorknob that you only use for play, or what have you. In which I won't judge, but wow." Vasha takes another bite of his pizza. Folding it like some NYC weirdo. "It's no wonder you're all fat and lazy capitalist pigs, though. Your cuisine is terrible... ly delicious."
Fox makes a long 'pfffffffffffffffffffff' sound and takes another bite out of her pizza, giving the way that Vasha folds his pizza a sidelong look. EW who even does that? "At the point I am in my life, I leave my nimbus scattered across everything whether I want to or not, and have been for decades, so there's almost no point in just... not." She leans on him comfortably, chowing down on pizza. "I should learn more Prime, but, ugh, I have to get better at Spirit." Like she's some kind of Thyrsus or something.
"One of us has to be able to control Oontz Oontz with more than suggestions and EDM. He's a character, that one. How'd he do at the whole mission infiltration robot thing? I'm guessing since no one died and everyone's raving about Mark, that he did not make everything awful. He's good at that, too." Vasha takes another bite of his structurally sound pizza shape that he can eat with a single hand, which is why the NYC grip is superior to the center fold ridiculous flop grip popular among silly people. Notice how his other hand is free to take a drink of his cocktail? That's engineering, right there.
Except of course that the superior center fold version makes the slice of pizza function like a Pizza Sandwich and not like some weird Pizza Burrito that falls apart the minute you take a bite of it. Fox has taken two big bites out of her pizza and now she reaches to snatch Vasha's drink and take a swallow of it, as one can do just fine with the superior Pizza Sandwich method of eating greasy delivery pizza. "yeye meng good times turn off alarms beep beep music video reference," Fox answers, not giving quite as good a delivery of her imitation of Oontz Oontz as she did of her imitation of Vasha. "He did well. And I can boss him around a little as I am, but... I should get better."
"Yeah, that sounds like Double Oh." Vasha chuckles at this quietly, in his subdued way. He finishes off the good bits of the pizza and tosses the crust into the box. Useless carbs, absent dipping sauces! Another slice is taken up, folded, and bitten into. "You should. I could do with a sweet fetish pistol. That would be ... pretty great, actually. As opposed to my usual pistols which I just fetishize."
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