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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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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