maskormenacelogs | do we get what we deserve?

[ goddammit. ]

The Dark Side of the Moon in MF, do you know it? We could meet there at 6 tonight.

A charming spot. Shall I pick you up?

[ Because you don't have portals, do you? DO YOU. ]

I'll be ready and waiting.

[ so just try something HE DARES YOU ]

[ The idea of trying something does cross his mind - he could turn up early, lay some kind of terribly clever trap, and somehow catch Damian doing... something? He's not sure what. It's not much of a plan, very hazy on the details, and Hentzau isn't entirely sure how best to approach this baffling (and horribly exciting) situation. It's entirely novel and rather delicious in all its layered complexity. A transdimensional rivalry, where neither of them are actually acknowledging who the other is or what they've done to each other! It's aggravating, insulting, and the most fun Hentzau's had since he arrived (and that's including the time he was slapped by Cassidy's stripper).

So rather than turn up early, Hentzau turns up twenty minutes late. He peels the portal apart noisily, right in the middle of the bar, without any care or concern for the other patrons. He spares a brief five seconds to deftly sweep his hands along the portal's seals, closing it in his wake, before breezing over to Damian at the bar with a carefree wave. ]

Sorry, I appear to be somewhat late. [ He absolutely isn't sorry, as is clear by his grin as he props an elbow on the bar. ] Have you ordered me something delicious?

[ Of course Damian was early, and he'd spent the following thirty minutes strongly considering poisoning Hentzau's drink. The urge grew as the minutes passed, but he'd known from the first contemplation that it was a bad idea. Even something mild and largely harmless, just to befuddle the senses and let truths slip more easily past the man's frustrating lips, would be pretty obvious. He'll be expecting something like that.

Regretfully, he refrains. The only silver lining is that it might be a little more fun to reverse psychology the entire matter.

So instead of getting up to anything too dastardly he sits peaceable and patient, idly sipping something bright blue and overly sweet. He smiles around the rim when his late company finally deigns to appear, and looks as if he hasn't even noticed the time. He waves off the sorry excuse for an apology. ]

Of course I did. [ His smile goes ever so slightly sly as he pushes the perfectly fine glass of tequila down the bartop toward Hentzau. ] What kind of friend would I be otherwise?

Good question...

[ Yes, what kind of friend would Damian be? Before their holiday to the City Hentzau would have gladly accepted the drink and not thought anything more of it. But freshly burdened with the knowledge of what kind of bastard Damian can really be (a considerable one) Hentzau does suspect that drink. They'd been friends there, sure, but Hentzau remembers that stabbing. It had not been a nice feeling.

He regards the glass with his expression of polite interest still pinned in place. God, he's going to have to drink it and show absolutely no fear whatsoever, or Damian will know. Hentzau seizes the glass gamely, like a particularly deadly cobra, and raises it in a toast. ]

To interesting friendships in interesting worlds. [ Hentzau smiles blithely. If the tequila IS poisoned then maybe he'll uhh throw the rest of the glass in Damian's face on the way down. ] Prost.

[ Damian watches the man closely for any flinch, any fear of the drink ... ugh, nothing. And that was one of his best subtly devious smiles, too. He should have poisoned the damn drink.

He's all smiles, though, and tips his own drink up in a lazy toast. ]

Prost. [ A pause, and then, switching to German fully: ] Did I ever tell you I'm fluent?

[ He hasn't, not even in that other universe, as far as he can remember. This part isn't devious, really, it's just a fun fact. Sometimes you can throw in a little fun fact, as a treat. ]

[ The sudden German has him nearly choking on his drink; he sputters around a burning mouthful of tequila and thumps himself on the chest, eyes watering as he struggles to breathe - and laugh. ]

My God - you kept that damn quiet! [ He responds in his native tongue delightedly - if hoarsely - and laughs as he clumsily sets his glass down on the bar. ] Lorrant, you've been holding out on me, you swine. Wherever did you pick up that German tongue of yours?

[ Yeah, okay, he might be in the middle of a secret and blind war with Hentzau, but it's been worth sitting on this little factoid for so long just for that. Damian smiles peaceably. ]

My family did a lot of business there, and I lived there for a year or so when I — [ uhh killed his family ] — moved out. The built in imPort translators kind of take some of the fun out of it, so I guess I forgot to mention.

[ The nanites, yes. Hentzau nods sagely as he takes a calming sip of his drink. ]

It does, somewhat. Languages are no good for secrets but, still, it's fun for sentimental reasons...

[ Not that Hentzau has a sentimental bone in his body! Don't call him out on this! But now it's his turn to show off as he switches to French just as easily as Damian had, replying: ]

But I have a sneaking suspicion that this is far more your style, considering your family name?

[ Of course he speaks French. Damian has always had very little interest in French, he knows just enough to get himself around in a pinch. He sighs into his drink. ]

A long time ago, probably. [ He tries it in French, but isn't quite satisfied with the phrasing. His grasp on it makes it feel inelegant. Back to German. ] People don't necessarily tie neatly back into their original countries anymore, in modern times. Not when getting across the universe is a matter of few weeks' worth of naps and a handful of transfers.

[ He laughs a little at the French, but he's at least a little polite about it as he hides the worst of it in his glass of tequila mid-sip. ]

God, do you know, you seem so normal that sometimes I forget that you're a space-man? [ His eyes light up with theatrical relish, declaring with a grin: ] Damian Saint Lorrant, traveller from beyond the stars! Terrible at French, but terribly exotic all the same.

[ Yeah, smothering his laugh in his drink doesn't really make it better, thanks. His smile looks very slightly strained. ]

I'm really not a space-man, interstellar travel is awful. I really prefer to be planet-side. [ It's a nice reminder, though, that almost everyone here is a backwards caveman. He sips daintily at his own drink. If he'd poisoned Rupert's, it would probably be kicking in right about now ... what a shame. ] There wasn't much need for French where I went, either. It was all Standard and Italian.

Don't you dare undersell yourself, [ Hentzau says warningly, extending an arch finger Damian's way with his best attempt at a grave expression (spoiled as it is by the irrepressibly boyish smile). ] You're terribly exotic, you know. An actual space man! I'm surprised you don't have four eyes, or something. A tail, maybe. Don't people have tails in space?

[ His mouth presses into a line of wry attempted-amusement. It falls a little flat, more strained than his last attempted smile. How does Rupert keep hitting on the most irritating points? And he doesn't even know the truth of this one, is the worst part. ]

Come on, why would they? You don't just change species when you go into space.

[ Nope, you can do that where ever you are! It's great, thanks for asking. ]

[ What's a species? Hentzau isn't well acquainted with science as a concept. He shrugs, gesturing vaguely upwards with his hands in a possible reference either to space or maybe just the ceiling. ]

How should I know what happens amid the stars? [ It's probably very exciting. Or so Hentzau clearly hopes, judging by the delight in his grin. ] There was a Swear-In on the moon, were you hear for it? I should like to go further, I think. Search out some new adventure in the stars...

Edited 2020-03-07 15:05 (UTC)

No.

[ Okay, that came out way too flat. Just -- a werewolf on the moon, come on. It's like a bad joke. He takes a breath and renews the lease on his smile, pumping some more convincing life into it. ]

No -- I missed that. But I think you're in the wrong century for any space travel worth having. It took lifetimes to get anywhere with this level of technology. [ Probably not what Rupert wanted to hear. He offers a shrug. ] Figure out how to open a portal back to my world, and we'll see where we can get you.

Edited 2020-03-12 07:11 (UTC)

do we get what we deserve?

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