http://letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lucetilogs2011-02-20 05:41 am
letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com) wrote in lucetilogs2011-02-20 05:41 am
Wedding bells ain't going to chime, with both of us guilty of crime
Who:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
letsplaysurgeon and deathsdoctor What: Katas, cigarettes and copious amounts of banter.
When: The morning after this, so backdated to the fifteenth of February.
Where: On the roof of CH2.
Summary: A fortuitous meeting when Muraki has an early morning nic-fit and heads to the roof for some smoke and fresh air.
Rating: PG-13 for now, but it's looking like it'll progress into an R rating later.
[Light was creeping through his window as faint as a phantom, and it didn't break the shadows apart as opposed to washing them in a grainy blue tint. This wasn’t nighttime, but it didn’t really qualify as morning, either: it was the hour in between where daylight was slowly being dragged from the dead. And he was awake to experience it. As a matter of fact, he was far more conscious than nature was at this moment.
He watches the world develop contours, bringing his bedroom into sharper focus. He stares at the same corner of his ceiling for ten minutes before deciding he didn't like the clash between the catatonic morning and his buzzing brain. He could get up, shuffle around his apartment and wait on his hands, or he could venture out into the world and watch it sleep.
When was the last time he had a cigarette? He puts on his shoes and coat and then leaves the apartment.
The decision to go up to the roof occurs to him after he acknowledges the familiar way downstairs and decides it wasn't worth the effort. Instead he treks up five flights of stairs and pushes open an unfamiliar door, met with a cold burst of February air before he even walks outside.]
Evening of the nineteenth - CH2
He tsks in the mirror afterward. He's got some beautiful bruises from earlier that are already halfway to healed and are spread across him in all their yellow-green glory. Can't feel them, but as he shakes his head and reaches for his clothes, he'll make one concession to vanity and use Nala's healing magic to speed them away.
He's just belting up his slacks when he hears the knock on the door. He arches an eyebrow. Already? Must have spent too much time in the shower then. He didn't think he had picked up too much grime from his training.]
Come in. It's unlocked. I'll be with you in a second.
[Grabbing his sweater, he strides toward the bathroom door, intent on yanking it on as he moves.]
no subject
Muraki smiles at his minor success--though it's unconventional to let himself into someone else's home (especially a man he hasn't known for very long), he does as he is invited to do. He adjusts his jacket where it is folded in the crook of his arm and walks inside.
It was a very nice apartment. They were all uniform to a certain extent, but Law seems to keep a clean shop. No dirty plates or dead bodies in sight. He wanders for a moment looking for personal artifacts, some fascinating little window into his daily life. Then Muraki grows tired of snooping and stops in front of the window to inspect the view.]
no subject
Law's room. The nodachi is just visible within.
There are two more doors in the hallway. One, the closest one to the living room, is obviously the bathroom from the sounds of movement inside. The other is closed, but there's a fold of orange fabric caught in that shut door.
The living room itself is mainly spartan. A couch, a liquor cabinet, a coffee table and assorted end tables and lamps. A bookshelf full of books and notes (mostly medical tomes, with some cookbooks, Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War' and Machiavelli's 'The Prince', some philosophy texts, a few classics, and one oddball selection - a book on gravity and black holes) dominating the upper shelves with a basket filled with sewing supplies packs of medical supplies neatly tucked on the bottonmost. Sword sharpening supplies take up a end table.
On the coffee table there is a shogi board, with a complicated game in progress and a scrawled note with a date and time and a name. Shikamaru.
And in the corner there is certainly something strange. A sort of... bed-nest. With rumpled covers with bits of white fur sticking to them. Not Law's obviously.
Someone else lives here.
And the door to the bathroom creaks open, and there is the flash of bared, scarred torso, before the bronzed skin is covered with knit charcoal gray fabric.
And there Law is, simply dressed in a nice sweater and slacks, quietly waiting and smiling as he watches you inspect the view. The suspiciously excellent view of people coming and going.]
Did I keep you waiting long?
[There is one more thing of note in the room and it is right behind him on the wall dividing the kitchen from the bathroom. A black flag. With a peculiar symbol in white. A... grinning symbol.
... grinning at you like it holds every secret about this room and this man... and...
... and...
... it doesn't plan to tell you a thing.]
no subject
It wasn't very often that Muraki thought back to his psych rotation as a student. But when he saw the name Machiavelli, he didn't think of his published works or his politics, but the term that psychologists often used to describe someone with the tendency to be dishonest and manipulative for their own personal gain. Along with narcissism and psychopathy, it formed a "dark triad" of personality traits. He chuckles a bit, enjoying the quaint and unexpected amusement of coincidence.
The messy bed in the corner also makes him lift his eyebrows, wondering if Law owned a dog (or what breed of dog was that big?) but he won't find Muraki looking at either of those things. He stands in front of the spacious windows and looks down at the ground below. And the human traffic going about their evening business.
A creaking door and a second set of footsteps draws his attention behind his head to his blind spots, but Muraki doesn't turn around until he hears Law's voice address him.
If he turned a second later than he did, he might've missed the flash of bare skin, and scars--though unsightly sometimes, made flesh even more fascinating and wonderful to behold--before it disappears beneath the surface of a knit sweater.]
Not at all. [A gentle smile already spread across his features.] I'm afraid I may be a bit earlier than expected, so the fault is all mine for intruding upon you.
[Once again he keeps his gaze trained on Law's face and avoids obvious visual dissection. This would usually be the point in the evening where he acknowledged that his companion looked nice--and he did, the dark gray was a nice contrast for his eyes. But Muraki decides to hold onto that for a moment, remembering that the word 'beautiful' threw him off before.
His eyes drift from his face to the black and white banner hanging behind him. It was hard not to notice: the stark colors and the blank, grinning face staring back at him, almost like a skull.
He blinks and turns to Law again.] You have a lovely home.
no subject
[He pads forward silently on socked feet, managing to avoid making the slim chain attached to his belt chime too much with the movement. It's a touch Muraki would probably miss the significance of - he doesn't usually wear something that would so obviously broadcast his movements and alert an enemy with its sound.
It's a date - not a battle. Not a traditional sort of battle anyway, even though it might lead to a locking of swords later.
He peers down at the people briefly, tiny ants from this view on high, and then his attention turns back to you, still smiling.]
Aa. Well, I was nearly ready anyway. No harm done.
[Avoiding giving you the look over? No. Law's going to take a moment to appreciate the view, though it's a very subtle moment. Here and gone again in a flash, and nearly undetectable.
Just a hint in those eyes.]
... you look nice. [Getting first to that compliment and he means it. You look nice. You generally look nice, even if you also wear your clothes like battle armor.
He wonders if the armor would go away if he peeled those clothes off, or if it would just get heavier.
Somehow he suspects it would be both.]
no subject
Humming at his comment, he loses interest in the ground behind him and concentrates on his companion. He manages to capture the hint and watches Law to see if he would give him more, the corners of his lips quirking.]
I'm flattered. [When Law compliments him (quite unexpectedly), he shifts and responds with something between a hum and a laugh, almost as if he was going to play coy.] So do you. Dark colors suit you, Mr. Law: it brings out the shade of your eyes. [Vague--almost playful--tone of voice on his end, and he looks away. After Law's invitation into the topic, he doesn't worry much about hiding his aesthetics. Or Muraki reasons that it's not something to conceal to begin with. The fact that it wasn't masculine does not concern him--it was the way he was programmed to behave, and he doesn't feel the need to secure his maleness. He was a man.
Already thinking about undressing him, are we?It was. Removing Muraki's physical armor didn't crack his mental barriers, and those had more of a safeguard than a button or a zipper. Only one set of armor did he really care to let people touch.]no subject
Other men, he wouldn't bother. The type of men he's 'dated' before aren't the type to appreciate things like that, and frankly he doesn't care for it much himself. Not one for excessive praise. But thankfully this isn't excessive.
He steps closer. Smile becoming playful, because he sees you watching him. Watching what he's doing.]
Mm. Do they? [His lashes lower slightly, as self-depreciating amusement tugs at that smile.] They're certainly easier to take care of, that's for sure. [Bachelor pirate captains/surgeons aren't the most domestic of creatures, no. And dark colors hide the dirt and the blood better after training. He never uses safeties in the Battle Dome.]
[And as you are watching him, he is watching you to see what you will do.
He is now close enough to touch. Will you?]
Has your day been pleasant so far?
[
What of it? Dear Muraki, you've been wondering how he might be underneath the sheets since the rooftop. Admit it.]no subject
He was going to go with the fact that he doesn't know him well enough yet and allows Law to come closer.] So I imagine. As a doctor I'm sure you can sympathize with the dilemma of wearing a white coat as an endeavor to appear clean to your patients, but having such a messy profession, it soon becomes tainted by something or other. It's unavoidable. [And not just blood. Muraki never wanted children (the universe would also thank him for that), but he was probably prepared for it considering how many times he's been covered in other fluids during his career.]
It would be more logical to take a leaf from your book...[He approaches him.] Not to mention friendly to my wallet--but I am much too set in my ways, I'm afraid.
[The thought drifts absentmindedly as he slides his fingertips over the material of his sleeve, up to the edge of his shoulder. His eyes linger on his own knuckles.] It has. As I hope yours has been, as well.
[And Muraki won't admit to anything...so early in the evening.]