a cliff's edge
13/11/15 03:05![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scubatankfilledwithfarts She'd almost prefer if it were a dark and stormy night. At least then the atmosphere would be complete, and completely different than that breezy summer night, leftover rays from the sun still clinging to the earth and the tops of buildings.
Naturally she'd seen it on television, and this isn't about returning the favor.
[it was his job to come at her beck and call, now, all bright eyes and bushy tailed and you'll be mines over and over until it sinks into her skin]
It's more....Investigative. Gloating? Fujiko hasn't decided which. And she figures, by the gun cocked in the small of her back, she won't get much time to, either.
"What are you doing here, woman," comes the familiar growl. Actually, the gun felt pretty familiar, too, the weight of it settled against her, ready, as per usual.
[her pulse quickens, as it always does, though whether or not its excitement or anticipation is one thing or another]
"Oh? A former conspirator can't come 'round to pay a visit? How cold of you. Doesn't suit you, either."
The barrel doesn't waver so much as slide down, down, down until it's at his side. She turns to peer into weary dark eyes, cocks a hand on one hip.
"No one asked you to. Shouldn't you be gallivanting around with that samurai right about now? He must be worried," is the seethed retort through a tick in his jaw. Fujiko follows the tick with her fingertips because she knows she can.
[and there it is]
"The real question is, how long are you going to play this game? Didn't I say it doesn't suit you," her voice lowers a decibel, until he's reeled in, until the bushy beard springs against her cheek.
It's obvious how torn he is. He leans into her touch, further than the leaning tower of Pisa, and, well, he can't say she never does anything for him. The scowl remains. Fingers grip the beard tight and pull until elastic stretches and gives way to that familiar monkey face.
"Again? I'm starting to think you could pick me out in another life, too," Lupin the Third snarks, mouth twisted in a hollow parody of the usual smirking mouth. "Though it'd be easy for the Queen to pick out her King from the throne beside him."
Her mouth twitches up. Let him play, as always, with the cagey words and spooling till he finds the trail.
[there is none of that here; just an uneasy, sinking feeling in the pit of her gut, like serpents writhing]
"You're right--" When he perks up, it takes just a nudge to watch him fall like a domino. "A goddess easily sees the foolish King lay offerings at her alter and wonder what fools these mortals be. And besides-- you have your precious Walther."
A fool or a monkey should be able to tell. If they'd slept in the past thirty hours, that is.
Gun stowed in it's holster at his shoulder, Lupin tuts and turns his back on her. A worthy cause. Clearly he's been in the middle of a drink or two, and more studying, if the papers strewn across the couch, desk and floor are any indication.
[she lets her eye pass a few interesting looking words, but not for very long]
"If you've come to save the princess, he won't appreciate the disservice. He's still got his baby with him, by the way."
Lupin doesn't have to tell her that. But she goes along with it anyway, bottom finding the edge of his desk, skirt riding up until he has to look.
[and damn, that actually made her feel reassured....how stupid]
"As if I'd want to. I told him I'd never team up with him. Playing the hero doesn't suit me-- it's too much work and tears. Little boys have more fun playing pretend, right?" Her fingers taptaptap at the wood of the desk as if taptaptaping at the curve of his spine.
[she knows he imagines it, sees the shudder down his arms that strengthens to the steel of gray eyes]
"If that's all you wanted, you know where the door is. I've got a patient that needs quiet and I've got a headache," the thief spits through clenched teeth he bares at her.
Part of her wants to laugh, wants to say 'you know what its like to be the wife for but a second, don't you?' but the rest of her wants to [choke] dig a nail in until she sees if he bleeds blue. But Fujiko manages a laugh, just for him, and demands to see the patient.
As simple as that, just because he's a sleep, just because the fit of his jacket slops off his shoulders even though 'Lupin' only fell from the tower thirty hours ago, just because she aimed an [unloaded] gun at his crotch, she's taken to see the patient.
Pale as eggshell white paint patches, breathing as heavy as the chains that once bound her, filling up the room like nothing else, that funny feeling returns to the pit of Fujiko's stomach. She doesn't touch him, just leans over the edge of his bed with those gray eyes watching her like a hawk.
He doesn't bolt up in bed with accusations spit from his tongue like mercury and she's never one to get used to disappointment. A good five minutes goes by before petal pink lips part.
"Want to greet him together in the morning?"
And because she'd never ask anyone else, because it's them [her boys, though she won't admit it], Lupin tilts his head to one side, a bushy brow follows. "You do know a hitman doesn't have a will, right?"
He will definitely have a heart attack and kill them. Concurrently.
Fujiko's already stripped down, long legs slide beneath silk sheets and Jigen doesn't stir when she rests her chin on his shoulder.
Her eyes only slip closed when Lupin's warm hand curls over hers, revels in the beat of Jigen's heart beneath.
[he's going to shit in the morning and the thought couldn't make her any happier]
Naturally she'd seen it on television, and this isn't about returning the favor.
[it was his job to come at her beck and call, now, all bright eyes and bushy tailed and you'll be mines over and over until it sinks into her skin]
It's more....Investigative. Gloating? Fujiko hasn't decided which. And she figures, by the gun cocked in the small of her back, she won't get much time to, either.
"What are you doing here, woman," comes the familiar growl. Actually, the gun felt pretty familiar, too, the weight of it settled against her, ready, as per usual.
[her pulse quickens, as it always does, though whether or not its excitement or anticipation is one thing or another]
"Oh? A former conspirator can't come 'round to pay a visit? How cold of you. Doesn't suit you, either."
The barrel doesn't waver so much as slide down, down, down until it's at his side. She turns to peer into weary dark eyes, cocks a hand on one hip.
"No one asked you to. Shouldn't you be gallivanting around with that samurai right about now? He must be worried," is the seethed retort through a tick in his jaw. Fujiko follows the tick with her fingertips because she knows she can.
[and there it is]
"The real question is, how long are you going to play this game? Didn't I say it doesn't suit you," her voice lowers a decibel, until he's reeled in, until the bushy beard springs against her cheek.
It's obvious how torn he is. He leans into her touch, further than the leaning tower of Pisa, and, well, he can't say she never does anything for him. The scowl remains. Fingers grip the beard tight and pull until elastic stretches and gives way to that familiar monkey face.
"Again? I'm starting to think you could pick me out in another life, too," Lupin the Third snarks, mouth twisted in a hollow parody of the usual smirking mouth. "Though it'd be easy for the Queen to pick out her King from the throne beside him."
Her mouth twitches up. Let him play, as always, with the cagey words and spooling till he finds the trail.
[there is none of that here; just an uneasy, sinking feeling in the pit of her gut, like serpents writhing]
"You're right--" When he perks up, it takes just a nudge to watch him fall like a domino. "A goddess easily sees the foolish King lay offerings at her alter and wonder what fools these mortals be. And besides-- you have your precious Walther."
A fool or a monkey should be able to tell. If they'd slept in the past thirty hours, that is.
Gun stowed in it's holster at his shoulder, Lupin tuts and turns his back on her. A worthy cause. Clearly he's been in the middle of a drink or two, and more studying, if the papers strewn across the couch, desk and floor are any indication.
[she lets her eye pass a few interesting looking words, but not for very long]
"If you've come to save the princess, he won't appreciate the disservice. He's still got his baby with him, by the way."
Lupin doesn't have to tell her that. But she goes along with it anyway, bottom finding the edge of his desk, skirt riding up until he has to look.
[and damn, that actually made her feel reassured....how stupid]
"As if I'd want to. I told him I'd never team up with him. Playing the hero doesn't suit me-- it's too much work and tears. Little boys have more fun playing pretend, right?" Her fingers taptaptap at the wood of the desk as if taptaptaping at the curve of his spine.
[she knows he imagines it, sees the shudder down his arms that strengthens to the steel of gray eyes]
"If that's all you wanted, you know where the door is. I've got a patient that needs quiet and I've got a headache," the thief spits through clenched teeth he bares at her.
Part of her wants to laugh, wants to say 'you know what its like to be the wife for but a second, don't you?' but the rest of her wants to [choke] dig a nail in until she sees if he bleeds blue. But Fujiko manages a laugh, just for him, and demands to see the patient.
As simple as that, just because he's a sleep, just because the fit of his jacket slops off his shoulders even though 'Lupin' only fell from the tower thirty hours ago, just because she aimed an [unloaded] gun at his crotch, she's taken to see the patient.
Pale as eggshell white paint patches, breathing as heavy as the chains that once bound her, filling up the room like nothing else, that funny feeling returns to the pit of Fujiko's stomach. She doesn't touch him, just leans over the edge of his bed with those gray eyes watching her like a hawk.
He doesn't bolt up in bed with accusations spit from his tongue like mercury and she's never one to get used to disappointment. A good five minutes goes by before petal pink lips part.
"Want to greet him together in the morning?"
And because she'd never ask anyone else, because it's them [her boys, though she won't admit it], Lupin tilts his head to one side, a bushy brow follows. "You do know a hitman doesn't have a will, right?"
He will definitely have a heart attack and kill them. Concurrently.
Fujiko's already stripped down, long legs slide beneath silk sheets and Jigen doesn't stir when she rests her chin on his shoulder.
Her eyes only slip closed when Lupin's warm hand curls over hers, revels in the beat of Jigen's heart beneath.
[he's going to shit in the morning and the thought couldn't make her any happier]
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