circle7 | Space Mafia - Phase One, Perhaps

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Space Mafia - Phase One, Perhaps

They've been trailing him for at least half a week now, long enough to know exactly what schedule he held on weekdays, what coffee shop he frequented, where he stopped before heading home, even who he talked to on the commute. It was also long enough for Viana to begin to get antsy, enough for her to begin to despise the simplicity and genuine honesty of this place, but she had never been good at sitting still. It was a relief, then, that Evan rolled over on the couch he slept on this morning and said, groggily (but she had years of experience with interpreting Early Morning Evan-Speak), "We're taking him tonight."

Consequently, she'd been in a good mood all day. Viana was always like that when she had something to do, when she felt useful, when she felt important. It was no wonder that she left their family, Evan realized in retrospect; in his heart, he had been preparing for the day himself. Viana even volunteered to check them out at the hotel counter this morning, probably the happiest Evan has ever seen her when handing over payment. "You're awfully bouncy," he murmurs, leaning against the side of the last store the good doctor seemed to visit before heading back to his home. He takes a drag on his smoke, the last drag, before stamping out the dying embers beneath his foot. "Sure you can hold still enough for this?"

Viana's eyes are bright in the dark. Evan can almost hear the excitement in her veins. "I've been waiting for this all day," she says, voice surprisingly level, tossing the same rock she used to knock out the nearest streetlight up and down in her hand. It made their portion of the sidewalk dark enough so that no one in this sparsely-occupied neighborhood would notice if someone stole a small-name doctor off the street, if they dragged him into the alley. In the darkness, no one would see the flailing of his arms, the panic of his eyes. He lived with no family, had little friends; no one would miss him. Perfect. "And I'm sick of waiting."

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Unfortunately, he never gets to the door.

For a moment, Evan and Viana just stare, wondering if they should move, or if it is some uncanny temptation of fate that their target would stop right in front of them like an animal who had just waltzed into its own trap and stayed there, waiting for the cage door to close. Really, the broken light was meant as a distraction, not bait. This doctor really is a peculiar one, and while Evan wonders what is it exactly that their boss saw in this man, Viana quickly recovers.

She grabs the folded cloth from her brother's lax fingers. Her step is lighter, quicker, and it is only a matter of seconds before she is close enough to the doctor to pull his head back by the hair on top of his head, wrap the crook of her elbow around his neck, just tight enough to begin cutting off air (because the reaction of the brain is instantaneous, and panic clouds the senses), covering his mouth and nose with the cloth. She begins to count, dragging him backwards and away from the center of the street. One, two...

The action thankfully jump-starts Evan into action, and he helps, being stronger and more capable of maneuvering the doctor's weight. He's careful, too, to keep a firm hold on that metal arm. They had been filled in before this about the capabilities of Bentley Foster's mechanical contraptions. "Hold him steady."

The siblings will probably be pleased to find that Bentley is completely surprised by the ambush. Panic takes hold reather instantly - almost as instantly as he realizes he's inhaling chloroform. He's already taken in three inhales too many, though, vision swimming and blurring. A few more breaths and he'll be out.

His heels dig fruitlessly into the ground, dragging as he's pulled back. I need to get to my arm, he thinks; but before he can act, it's taken hold by the other assailant. The hunk of metal is rather useless unless he tells it what to do, by pressing the keys hidden under a panel on the wrist. (Not to mention, his right arm is getting too heavy to lift - only manages to elbow the girl in the side.) Its strength is dependable, at the very least, giving a good fight against the man. There's only so long you can struggle, though, with your air blocked. It's not long before his eyes start to roll back, and hearing starts to fade.

The weight of the metal falls into Evan's arms, and the rest of him follows into the limp state. Bentley never saw their faces, but he doesn't need to. He already knows.

Viana makes a muffled sound of pain, but it's a double-edged sword - the blow also serves to make her tighten her grip around his neck, cutting off the air supply quicker, and even a little painfully this time. It's a good, strong hit - the doctor is clearly no lightweight or pushover; they're lucky to have gotten the advantage of surprise. Viana lets go as soon as the weight sags, stumbling back as Bentley hits the ground with the dull thump of flesh hitting solid ground. She wraps an arm around her middle (the same one bandaged by the target, in fact), hissing as she brushes up against the tender injury. "That fucker!"

"Watch your language," Evan says, which is a lost cause, but it is by force of habit that he reminds her anyway. He is already checking Bentley's pulse, and upon finding it to be satisfactory, he begins taking something out of the pack he brought - a change of clothes, the style clearly not that of the local town, but more akin to the street fashion of the Electric City. "Turn around and cover your eyes," he adds, beginning to strip the doctor of his outside jacket. The night is cold, but no matter - Bentley wouldn't be awake to notice.

Viana scoffs, but she averts her gaze. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

---

"You have to excuse my friend," Evan says apologetically at the reception counter, shifting around the weight on his shoulder (and with that arm, it really is quite a weight). The body is positioned such that the sleeves are long enough to cover everything past the tips of Bentley's fingers, and the doctor's face is obscured in Evan's mid-back, with a hood to cover the shade of hair as well. It is difficult to suspect anything of such a young pair of siblings who have been on such good behavior. "He just came in this morning, and hit all the joints with alcohol right away. Totally smashed."

"Do you have an extra toothbrush?" Viana asks, sweetly. "He's going to need it when he wakes up in the morning." She screws her face up, wrinkling her nose, turning up her bottom lip in a pout. "Euch, hangovers." The people of this town are kind, especially in the hospitality business. They hand one over, just like that.

---

Evan pulls the chains around Bentley's prone body tighter, securing it with a lock, or two. "This better hold," he mutters, patting down his damp brow with the back of his wrist. He settles back on his ankles with a satisfied sigh. The doctor is effectively bound, gagged, and neutralized. "That arm's gotta be made of something lightweight, to be carried around all the time. If it's made of something strong enough to break these holds, then," he whistles, "Damn, the guy deserves to get free."

Viana kneels beside the bed, leaning over the edge. She pokes at the arm, flicking it with middle finger and thumb. It echoes back with a tinny, metallic sound. "What a freak," she says. "Who'd attack a big lunk of metal onto their own body? Isn't he afraid of Teet...Tight...T-"

"Tetanus," Evan helpfully supplies. "I think they got rid of that with vaccines back when we were kids already, Vi."

You'd think that a person would wake up slow and groggy under the effects of chloroform and strangulation - but Bentley is just the type to break expectations. He jolts up suddenly, eyes wide; and if he wasn't gagged, there'd probably be a sudden gasp. Instead, it's just a muffled, incomprehensible sound.

"Mmfhm!" It's not hard to guess it's probably something like, 'where am I', or 'what's going on'. But after a moment of staring straight ahead, and heavy breathing, his body starts to ease again. Everything's still shifting into focus, like adjusting to a subject under a microscope, and his ears are filtering out the ringing of the ache in his head.

After staring down at the bed for a moment until the threads sharpen into view, and a dew deep exhales later, he finally looks over at the two - with a none-too-kind glare that wouldn't seem to fit the nervous doctor's features before. It's not like your greet two kidnappers with a smile and gratitude, after all.

Viana waves, waggling her fingers at him. "Hi doc, remember me? It's Janey."

Evan rolls his eyes. "Nod if it's yes, shake if it's no. Are you feeling all right? We put as much of the stuff as they told us on that rag, but it's a little hard to measure out liquid exactly in the dark."

Well. That's reassuring.

That's not your real name, he thinks to himself. The glare fades just the slightest bit, though. Now they're the ones that strike the doctor as weird.

Bentley just stares, then shrugs. It looks casual enough.

Evan looks distinctly unimpressed. "That's not a nod or a shake." He stands up, with a heavy sigh, and a pronounced shrug of his own. "Though I guess we should err on the side of caution. If it wasn't enough, I guess we'll just have to give you more."

Viana lifts herself onto the bed, sitting on it. The mattress dips under her weight, but only slightly. She is a small girl, relatively, but there is nothing young about it when she smiles down at him with an expression that looks, by no measure, kind.

It's enough to confirm that the girl was more dangerous than she looked. The brother was better at keeping his composition and hiding what exactly he was capable of. (The moment of the kidnapping is rather vague; he doesn't remember who held his arm away or who drugged him.)

Although the smile is intimidating, even coming from a young girl as herself, Bentley just takes a breath and seems less tense. At the very least, he knows he's needed alive. Though at what quality of 'alive' is up for debate, so it may be good to cooperate after all.

Bentley adjusts his jaw around the gag, before finally nodding.

"That's great!" Evan says, smiling. "No hard feelings, doc, but you gotta understand, a job's a job."

Viana draws one knee to her chest, idly playing with the hem of her boot. "We'd like to take you in alive and kicking, but compromising the assignment is even more dangerous, and we're allowed to kick you then. I can make it so that you won't see the sun tomorrow." She glances down at him and smiles, all teeth (pearly white, surprisingly, for a girl of her upbringing), before looking up at her brother, breaking into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles. "I've always wanted to say that, heheh!"

Evan shakes his head, pulling Bentley into a seated position and pushing him up against the wall, so that they didn't have to stare down when they talked, and consequently, the doctor wouldn't have to stare up. "We'd like to make a deal. If you follow us and cooperate, we'll just take you where you're needed, and you'll get a free ride out of it, even! Sound good? Nod or shake."

The girl gets a bewildered glare for that. He can't tell if she means it or not regardless, and probably shouldn't push his luck. Bentley sits up as he's pushed, probably glad himself to lean against something, even if his head takes a moment to catch up as he squints through the feeling.

Sheesh, like giving commands to a dog.

There's not much he can say with just a motion of his head. Things like, 'Well, am I entitled to any details? Who sent you? What's your real name anyway, Mikey? I wouldn't recommend joining the acting career, by the way. Oh, can you dig the pills out of my vest for me? In fact, loosen these chains, and I'll do it myself. How's that sound? Also, what in the world am I wearing?'

Bentley just nods again.

Evan thankfully remedies that. He reaches around Bentley's head, undoing the knot, and freeing his mouth. "V-...Janey, throw this away, will you?" She makes a face at him for that, but complies nonetheless, disappearing into a door that likely leads to the bathroom. Evan gets up, stretching, and pulls open a curtain a sliver. It is still dark outside. "Pretty nice place here, though, doc. Maybe you can come back some day."

The doctor is silent at first, adjusting to his freed jaw. He leans his head back against the wall, scoping out the room. It's good to know your surroundings. Bentley glances out what bit of window he can see. It's nighttime (just after sunset during his kidnapping, he remembers), and the customary steam floating by is only lit by the orange lights.

"So..." it's the start to any awkward conversation, "Why did you kidnap me?"

"It's a job," says Viana, jumping into the bed right beside him, seemingly with no qualms about sitting right next to the target, as she turns on the hologram entertainment display. There is some sort of sports match taking place on the screen, with the roar of a cheering audience, and the players all moving in a blur (the score is three to two), but she changes it almost immediately, the image never staying on screen for more than a few seconds before it flickers to the next channel. Eventually, she settles on, strangely enough, a cooking show. They're preparing something that doesn't look vaguely appetizing in the least (all those legs). "We told you that already."

"Can't talk too much about it," Evan chimes in, pouring himself a cup of brownish, clear liquid. It doesn't look alcoholic, but it's hard to tell, these days. "Kind of hush-hush, you know?" He throws Bentley a smile - they seem to come easily to him.

Bentley falls quiet at that. He almost speaks again to ask Viana to stop on a show where there's an autopsy of some sort going on, but holds his tongue. Now's probably not the time. (Even though, quite contrarily to Viana's tastes, that thing full of legs looks very appetizing to Bentley, after getting interrupted on his way to dinner.)

In a seemingly long moment of silence, as he stares out the strip of sky through the curtains, he scrapes his brain for any hints. He's no detective, but the process of observation and elimination, and painful attention to detail, has yet to fail him.

"Because I'm a doctor," he announces, quite confidently. Even if he isn't wrong, it's quite possible, he reasons, that they'll tell him otherwise.

Evan has apparently excused himself from the conversation. After emptying his cup, he's settled down into a chair by the far window, looking through some sort of file, nameless and generic on the cover, but the pages inside reflect the light with their lamination. Like his sister, he also draws his feet onto the seat when he sits, and he props the file against his thighs, flipping idly.

Viana's wound is no longer bandaged, but there are ugly scars marring the skin. She changes the channel with that hand, propped over her knees, but her other arm is just as imperfect. "Really? Never knew," Viana answers, but she's distracted by her show, eyes widening especially as they gut the animal, writhing tentacles and all.

The doctor frowns, more because of the lack of reaction. He knows he's right; he has to be. The first thing 'Mikey' had called him was 'doc', before he had any knowledge from their meeting about who he was. In fact, Bentley never introduced himself, but he gets the feeling he doesn't need to. Not to mention Viana's arms are the result of poorly treated wounds - whoever they work for obviously has no medical knowledge. It's a vague hypothesis, but the closest one he can come to. Mechanics are easier to come by than doctors, anyway.

"Can someone at least give me the pills in my vest?" he sighs, shoulders slackening.

Viana looks at him then, incredulous. "...Seriously?" You expect me to fall for that?

Bentley rolls his eyes. "Seriously. I'm not asking you to unchain me.

"Third pocket in the first row."

"No," she answers, simply. "We don't know what sorts of things you can do with your pills, or whatever." She turns back to the hologram and changes the channel again. This time, it's faster, almost like she's irritated, impatient. She stops on a program that's clearly a movie at its climax, judging from the sheer number of vehicle explosions, blasting down an entire airway, like a domino effect. All that comes from the surround speaker system are 'boom's, the deep, heavy baseline making the walls almost shake. "Whatever you need, we'll provide for you. You don't need anything from your ratty vest."

His lips tighten and brow furrows, reminiscent of the nervous Bentley they met the other day. (Especially the way the sudden explosions make him jump.) They already know too much about him, and telling them what the medicine is for would place him at more of a disadvantage.

"You can't provide me with those. Prescription. Trust me, I'll be more of a hassle if I don't have those."

"I don't think you're getting it, doc," she says, still facing forward, eyes lit up with the reflections of fire. "We can't do that. Trust you, I mean."

The doctor looks more and more uncomfortable. This isn't looking good.

"Exactly what harm do you think a few pills can do?"

Viana frowns, turning to him. "This is kind of insulting, doc." And then she promptly socks him in the jaw. It is not strong enough to dislocate anything (despite the blur of motion, there is a sense of restraint in the blow), but it is strong enough to push him over from his seated position. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"Vi!" Evan exclaims, getting up, too surprised to remember to call her by her makeshift 'alias' (not that it was really important, anyway; no one knew who they were). He crosses over to the bed, righting Bentley, tilting his head to inspect the area. There isn't much lasting damage, though the skin is a little red. He frowns, looking over his shoulder to where she was standing after she slipped off the bed. She looks entirely unapologetic. "We're not supposed to damage the goods."

Viana doesn't give. She looks at Bentley and glares. "Just because we look like this doesn't mean we're idiots. Don't treat us that way."

The punch is unexpected - then again, what did he expect from her? She's obviously a fighter. It's not like he approved of the attire she wore, really, but it's not like Bentley was a firm believer in clothes making the man, or woman, so to speak.

Well, at least he got a sliver of a real name out of it, whether they realize it or not. For a split second, Bentley is surprised by the treatment he gets from the other man. It fades quickly after the added part about goods. (Like checking to make sure if dropped, fragile item is broken for trade, huh?) His jaw will be fine, at least. Sore, but he's obviously been through worse.

"I hardly think you have any room to talk about treatment," Bentley snaps back, rattling the chains around him to get his point across.

"Let's gag him," Viana says, almost immediately.

There is a distinct difference in the way the two treat Bentley. Though kind, Evan may very well think of him as just that - goods, just something to be transported and collected on, a thing. Viana, at least, seems to consider his humanity. "Let's not," Evan says, leaving Bentley there upon finding that there's no real injury, just a few dents, here and there. He crosses back to his chair, patting the girl on the shoulder as he passes her. "Just ignore it. We'll be done soon enough anyway. It's only a day's travel from here to Armistant by ship."

"There better be some hell of a compensation for this," she mutters, sliding down and out of view as she sits by the foot of the bed, until only the top of her head is visible. The channel changes again, this time to some daytime soap opera (something else that had persisted from human culture to this era). It's an effective ignorance. As far as the two are concerned, it's like there isn't a third occupant to the room, sitting bound on the bed.

A thunk is all that's heard from the bed, now; the sound of the back of Bentley's head on hollow wall. "Don't blame he when you're dragging my dead weight around," he says, realizing rather quickly that be may be the only one listening. The doctor knows when he's being ignored, anyway, and it suits him fine. He can focus on gathering his thoughts; something he can spend hours doing, really - something he likes to have in order before everything else.

Here and there, a few quiet mumbles come from the bed. It doesn't seem to matter to the man whether or not someone hears him; talking to himself is a rather odd, unshakable habit of his. The mutters aren't loud enough for them to hear over the hologram entertainment display, but it's not uncontrollable enough to where he'd blurt out something important, anyway. Even if he did, it's hard to say whether it'd be comprehensible at all. His inner dialogue can get rather jumbled up.

Right now, he's debating whether or not he should try to get out of this. A part of him is curious, really, and it's not like he had much going for him in this town. As of now, he's not in danger. (Apart from being denied his hypotension pills.) He's about ninety-three-point-two percent sure he's kidnapped on behalf of him being a doctor, but also wonders if this may have something to do with his being prothetist. The male, falsely known as 'Mikey' (it will stick in his head despite whatever other name he goes by), is missing two fingers - an easy job, in his line of work. Is that his payment for capturing me, maybe? Made some kind of promise by his boss? Really, he could've just asked. Bentley shrugs to himself, considering. Maybe this whole thing has something to do with the malpractices - but he'd rather not think about those.

In fact, what Bentley wants to think about becomes rather obvious. His stomach growls, and that can be heard over the speakers.

At first, there is no indication that anyone really noticed it. After all, engrossed as Evan is in his file and Viana in the television, it's entirely possible, even for a noise that loud. A few seconds pass. Eventually, Evan lets his knees slide down, and he glances at Viana, amused, before both of the turn to look at Bentley, raising a simultaneous brow (both the left, both at the same incline).

For once, Bentley looks embarrassed.

"Couldn't you have kidnapped be after I came out of the bakery? Really," he scoffs. He was so looking forward to the sweet bread sandwich tonight.

Evan laughs. "So you're human like the rest of us?"

Viana stands, brushing her knees off. There are marks on the back of her legs from sitting on the carpet, but she hardly seems to mind. "I'll go get something to eat from that convenience store in the lobby. Hope you don't mind, doc, but we're no first class system. You'll have to make do with regular fare for us lowly idiotic types for now." There's only a hint of bitterness in her words. Despite her looks, however, she seemingly has enough foresight to look through the peephole before exiting, in case anyone is in the hall. Even then, she opens the door only wide enough for her to slip out, preventing any passerby from glancing in to see a hostage on the bed.

As soon as she's gone, Evan moves to change the channel. "No idea why she watches this crap," he says, perhaps to Bentley, perhaps to himself. The program flickers to a music entertainment channel, playing heavy beats and a quick-pulse rhythm indicative of modern music. "So, what's the deal, doc?" he asks, without turning around.

"...Did something indicate I wasn't?" Even as he says it to Evan, he's glaring at the back of Viana's head as she leaves - especially after her comment. For a moment there, he considers yelling for help in the bit of time the door is actually open. But Bentley can't say he's a fan of commotion.

The doctor drops his weight down onto the bed, sighing. He seems indifferent to the hologram, unless it's medical related or food related. Turning his head, his view of Evan is sideways. "Deal about what?"

"Not even fighting. Most targets complain a little more, resist a little more, y'know? The door was open, the walls aren't that thick." To illustrate, Evan raps his knuckles on the nearest one. Indeed, the sound that comes back is curt and hollow. A cheap room for a cheap establishment. "You could cry bloody murder in here."

So he's not the first, huh? Bentley shrugs his free shoulder.

"I'm interested. A bit."

"Oh, you are, are you?" There's something distant about his expression, and though Evan is looking in his direction, he's not looking at Bentley. His mouth quirks into a smile, and he shakes his head. "Well, it's no adventure, that's for sure. Not as exciting as it sounds." He speaks with the tone of someone with experience with the sentiment. Maybe he's reassured other targets before. He glances down to his left (though at what is hard to say). "It's never as fun as the hype."

The door opens and shuts as Viana slips in, swinging a plastic bag from her wrist. "Store was 'bout to close," she explains, "Had to practically beg the guy to at least let me slip some shit out." She tosses a can and something wrapped in clear plastic to Evan, sets a second can on the drawer, ripping the corner off another packet with her teeth. There is nothing elegant about her.

Viana glances at him and frowns. "Do we gotta feed him too? I'm not going to do it. He'll bite my fingers."

Evan is in the middle of chewing. He swallows before answering. "If he does I'll sock him. He's a gentleman sort, besides. Look at his fancy-smancy clothes and everything. I'm sure he'd refrain from eating your nails."

Turning up her nose indignantly, she nonetheless settles back on the bed. The bread in her hands is certainly nowhere as sweet-smelling or well-made as the bakery's daily fare, but it is food. Ripping off a corner with index finger and thumb, she hesitates before holding it out to Bentley's face, eyes intently watching him, in obvious challenge. Go ahead and try something.

Edited 2010-02-19 10:23 (UTC)

Bentley watches his face carefully, as though the answer might be written there. He sits back up, turning the phrases over in his head, trying to figure where in the world he might be headed. Before he can open his mouth to ask any questions though, Viana returns, graceless as usual. And insulting as usual.

"I resent that," he says to Viana, but wary of Evan's response. Two sockings in one day would just be two more than he cares to have - and who would want quite-possibly-dirty nails in their mouth, anyway? Bentley is somewhat tedious about cleanliness.

The bread is in face gets a good stare for a moment, then Viana's face. He looks incredulous. Almost would rather her brother feed me. Hesitating a moment, he slowly leans over, taking the bite. It's rather gentle, actually, just barely pressing teeth into it and taking it. No fingers or nails get bitten in the process.

Viana looks mildly surprised, but her guard seems to lower after that, and she shifts in her seat to prop her back against the backboard as well, alternating between taking for herself and taking for Bentley. To an outsider, it'd almost seem domestic, but then again, how little outsiders know. Maybe she just couldn't be bothered to wait to be done with Bentley before beginning to eat herself. Maybe she was that hungry. Or maybe she was used to sharing, didn't think anything of it; this came like second nature.

"You drink, doc?" Evan says, inspecting the cans Viana brought back. One is cream soda, the other is beer.

The small routine of bite, chew, take a piece, bite, chew, repeat, becomes rather customary pretty quick, probably thanks to the unusual indifference Viana seems to have once she's sure Bentley won't bite her fingertips off. Domestic, maybe, if it weren't for the chains. The doctor still thinks they're unnecessary.

Like Evan, the doctor is too polite to speak with food in his mouth, and takes a moment to respond. "No," he answers.

The cream soda is tossed into the air, and Viana catches it without even looking. They are well-coordinated, but maybe that comes with knowing someone your entire life. The miracle is in the fact that they haven't killed each other yet. "I wanted this one," she mutters sourly, but it seems like whatever vestiges of manners her parents taught her haven't fully eroded quite yet. She pops it open and holds it up to the doctor's mouth, tipping without much warning. Surely Bentley's a smart one (you had to be, if you were a doctor); he'll catch up.

"Ugh, the booze tastes like shit here," Evan says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stares at his can, turning it over in amusement, as if he can't figure out how alcohol could taste this atrocious. After a moment, he gives up, setting it on the table and letting it be. "Either way, after this, you guys better catch some shut-eye. Check-out is tomorrow at noon. We've gotta ship you out before that."

Maybe he's so distracted and awed by the coordination that he doesn't see the soda can headed straight for his face.

"H-hey, wait, water is fi-" The following sounds are gurgles of cream soda, and Bentley's unfortunate enough to spill some onto the front of his shirt as a consequence. (Actually, it's not even his shirt, is it?) He just frowns silently, trying to lick the soda off his mouth.

Bentley wants to point out that it did come from a convenience shop downstairs, therefore he shouldn't expect the best - but it's true. Asche's alcohol is less than satisfactory. At least, back when Bentley did drink.

"Can't I brush my teeth?" The look on the doctor's face could best be described as a disgusted pout. Sleeping all night with sugar sitting in between your teeth, eroding away your enamel and gums... He shudders at the thought.

"We're not going to bathe you, Your Highness," says Viana, matter-of-factly, and it's as much of a 'no' as Bentley was going to get. She downs the rest of her brother's beer, slamming the empty can down with an empty 'clang' and heads to the bathroom herself, seemingly to wash herself up, however.

Evan smiles, somewhat sympathetically. "I'm sure a night or two won't hurt you too much. Besides, if your breath is bad enough, we'll buy you some mints."

Edited 2010-02-20 02:49 (UTC)

Bentley slumps against the wall, seeming to resign to the fact, despite the way he looks to the side so dejectedly. After a minute or so of silence, just filled by the sound of running water in the other room and idle music from the hologram, the doc seems to get a bit antsy. Ah, right, he has a question.

"What happens if I refuse this whole thing, anyway?" He looks at Evan through the corner of his eye, waiting.

"'This whole thing?'" Evan repeats, expecting clarification.

"Refuse to be the median of this trade," he adds helpfully, "To cooperate and go willingly."

Evan stares at him for a few seconds. And then, "Vi! Get me the chloroform!"

Edited 2010-02-20 03:01 (UTC)

Bentley looks alarmed, eyes wide. "D-don't you think you've upset my blood pressure enough for one day?! I said 'if'!"

"We're simple people, doc. You gotta say what you mean, you know? Are you going to resist, or not?" There's a hint of a smile on his face, still, even as Viana pokes her head out of the bathroom door to spectate, bottle in hand.

The doctor pauses, looking between Viana and Evan. Then, he scoffs.

"It was a completely hypothetical question. I don't plan to go back on what I said," he grumbles. "I do wonder how you're going to get me out of here a second time without raising suspicion, though."

"Well, you'll just have to wait and see, then," Viana answers imperiously, returning in only what looks like a loose T-shirt, hanging down to mid-thigh. Her hair's all tied to the back, and the image, except for the purple hair, is surprisingly modest.

"You go to sleep first. I'll wake you up in a few hours," Evan says, settling back into his chair. "Better crash and call it a night, doc. A lot of walking tomorrow."

Even if it's modest compared to her usual wear, Bentley makes it a point to look away. Evan was right about the 'gentleman' impression, at least. There's no signs of embarrassment, though - just the simple reflexive manners kicking in. It's rude to stare, anyway.

"Walking. Great. As if there's not enough of that in Asche, going from bike to bike, dealing with doting old grannies and their grand kids, flailing their walking sticks at me and..."

Bentley rambles on, sliding down onto the bed, closing his eyes. He faces the window, back is to the two siblings. There's not much he can see outside of it, the orange lights dimmed down for nighttime. Phantom, misty clouds disperse across the glass now and then, and it's with a sad sort of fondness that the doctor watches them disappear into the air.

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Space Mafia - Phase One, Perhaps

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whoa what's professor layton doing here

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