goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

He had spoken of 'techology' but even this seems like sorcery. She's impressed, either way, though his comments about knowledge online gets a small snort. "You say this as though conquerors did not paint the world in their own image and the past with their own intent." This is simply...faster.

She doesn't purr, but she's clearly pleased as a cat with this 'offering'. "This will be most useful." You've given a demon access to the internet and all that contains. Was that wise, York?

"It's the best way I can think of to help you catch up." A beat. "...I'm just gonna recommend you don't read comment sections of any article. Ever. Trust me, it's a bad idea. Read the article and move on. Also when the battery gets low-"

He pulls the cord out from under the sofa, motioning to where the other end is plugged into the wall. "You plug it in to charge."

Charge? Her head tilts at the cable, words committed to memory, before she looks back to York. Looks at him, as though reassessing him.

No other summoners have cared that she know the extent of this reality before. Have helped her, or tried to, rather than command her outright.

"and then dinner?" Or breakfast - several decades worth of meals have to start somewhere.

"Right. Food should be a thing- not for you. Greedy thing." He mutters, scratching the ears of the cat that appeared as soon as Carolina said 'dinner'. "You still have- well no you don't. Okay. Feed the cat, then feed us. What do you like?"

He pushes away from the sofa and weaves his way to the kitchenette, pulling down a tin of wet food and dumping it into the cat's bowl as a starter. For them he's got-

Well.

Lunchmeat. Sort of. He's got cheese and some dried up strips of turkey that might be okay.

She's still holding the tablet as he gets to his feet, attention returning to the device. She's mindful not to accidentally scratch it with her talons, shifting to press the pad of her digit to the screen, attention on 'wikipedia' while York deals with his delightful feline minion.

It's only when the refrigerator opens that her head comes up.

And then she's directly behind him, curls of black smoke swirling between and around them, before she peers about to eye the contents of the coldbox, one wing shifting so that the claws rest lightly on his shoulder.

"Surely you have better fare than this for yourself."

"Holyshit!" okay, boundaries, they might need to make a few. He jerks forward from the sudden sound and smoke and contact- it's only the surreal nature of the CLAW on him instead of a hand that keeps him from jamming an elbow back out of reflex. For three seconds he's stuck breathing shallow and sharp and waiting for the crack of a gun or- something before he manages to cram all that back in the corner of his mind where he can ignore it. And be calm.

Okay.

"New rule: No sudden movements this early in the morning. Or late at night. Just- no sudden movements. I get- I have. I was in active combat and I might do something stupid out of reflex." He's under no illusion that he could hurt her, but he really doesn't wanna hit her. "ANd this is about it. Haven't been to the store in- awhile. Mostly done takeout."

Her hand catches his elbow, though Carolina goes still when he does, watching his movements, noting his breathing. She keeps her mouth from smirking, amusement at his reaction kept at bay, but she's not dismissive of his reasoning. If anything, it's a rare man, former soldier, who can admit to heightened awareness due to his experience rather than deny there might be anything wrong.

Her wing claw remains over his shoulder, however, as she reaches past him and closes the door to the fridge. 'Takeout' doesn't mean anything to her, but stores are something she's aware of. She withholds a sigh. "And if you had been, what would this contain?"

"Another thing- I uh. Might have screaming nightmares. Sometimes. I'm not dying and I'm not being attacked, it's all in my head." Course that doesn't make it better for HIM but if she ever feels a need to check in on him, there's an excuse. Reason. Thing. "Haven't had them lately but- yeah."

Okay. Food. Focus on the food. And the absurdly empty fridge- there's not even a full can of redbull in the back. "Well. Chicken's cheap so, that. Lunchmeat. Cheese. Apples and tomatoes and that kinda stuff, I'm try'n to eat more healthy. Milk, butter, eggs, green onions, maaaaabye shrimp if it was on sale and I made big sad eyes at the lady behind the counter. She's sweet on me. Man. I really need to go shopping."

"Screaming doesn't bother me." Demon, remember? She's been the cause of far worse, after all, though he doesn't need to know the details. Any of them.

The door remains closed, but the hand pressed against it begins to glow, in so far as 'blackness' can be called a glow. The aqua tint to her scales offsets the dark, and the fridge itself begins to shake as Carolina stares at it, eyes beginning to glow green in its entirety.

And then it stops. And she turns away, tail swinging as she walks back towards the couch. Her couch, now. "That should be enough, then."

"...what are you-" Oh god there's that prickle on the back of his neck that always let him know shit was going down. Or there was a gun pointed at him. He got called lucky so many damn times while deployed just because he knew when to duck. It's disconcerting that whatever weight of will Carolina's got going on feels a little like impending death.

"...enough what." What did she do He stares back at her for a long moment before slowly, carefully popping the door open to peer inside.

Food. Lots of food. There's even extra beer to replace the ones he'd shared with her last night on the lower levels and draws. But each of the items he mentioned and a few more have been stuffed in. All fresh.

None of it looking at all deadly.

Pay no attention to the feline levels of smugness radiating from the demon surfing the internet over yonder.

"...is this metaphysical theft or like- conjuration? Was this once somewhere else and now here or is it uh- new? Holy SHIT that is tiger shrimp how did you do that?" He never gets the good shrimp- it's outside his budget and- damn. Stir fry tonight, holy shit.

He is gonna eat well.

"You are my new favorite person."

"You told me what you ate, so I brought it here to you. It exists now." Theft, conjuration - something is always exchanged for something, but she has power enough that giving some for this is hardly a hazard to either of their health.

"Hah." That little declaration earns genuine amusement. "And who was your former favourite?"

"The cat." Which says a lot about his social life. Or lack thereof. All his friends in his squad died in the ambush that fucked up his eye and gave him his ptsd and made him all angry, etc, etc, oldest damn story. He doesn't wanna get into it.

The cat doesn't judge him though, so. Favorite.

He snags a beer and an apple and saunters on out, checking his notes and the book he'd used to summon her in the first place again. Food will make this make sense. "You made it appear so- if you're hungry you can grab whatever. My house is your house."

It says a great deal, earning the feline several points in its favour. Cats are wiser than they appear, for the most part. And the Egyptians kept them as temple familiars for a reason.

"You need more friends," she drawls instead. Humans weren't made to be alone, and York's aura alone indicated a sociable person. She's not sure she likes how he keeps restudying those pages, however - hadn't he mentioned destroying the book? Carolina, for one, would be more comfortable if he did so. "So you have said. Though you may some day come to regret that decision."

She wags a claw at him, before returning to her reading. She's not hungry, not just yet. Taking something from the fridge can wait.

"Of course I don't say where I found this damn thing. Okay." He'll just make a note to keep an eye out for pissed of antique dealers. He's accidentally liberated some of their things before. It just happens sometimes- he hasn't figured it out yet. Notebook gets closed, an empty trashcan gets tugged over, book goes in. He has to pat around the sofa to find a half empty bottle of vodka but- hell, it's an accelerant.

"I need- well yeah, I probably need more friends. I have issues though and people don't exactly have Similar life experiences for us to bond over." It's unfortunate, but true. In goes the vodka.

A five finger discount? Or blood attracting that which is keyed to like?

"Or form new ones over which to bond." Bin, alcohol, book. She relaxes a touch, tail no longer twitching. "Is it so difficult to do here?" Perhaps then, they should consider relocation... Though that too might take time. Given his aforementioned lack of funds.

"Are there many places humans choose to congregate in this era?"

Shit just appears in his bags. He quit nicking shit that caught his attention when he turned sixteen. Things just keep falling into his lap and not all of it is worth the trouble. Somehow he feels like this might be one of those things- but Carolina's not that bad. Not really. SHe's gotten him food and is trying to help him do better so- could be worse!

"And now I can't find my lighter. Awesome." Not in his pockets- maybe in his coat? He checks the beaten leather thing hanging off the back of a chair, patting down the pockets till he finds a matchbook. Eh, it'll do. "I could join a club or something. Got an invite to a coven but- yeah. Not an actual practitioner. Got an invite to a school paper and also didn't...go well. Sort of got intense over military shit. They had an anti-war idiot running the stories on it and let's just say they have parents in high places or some shit cuz there's no way anything they're printing is unbiased."

It takes him a few tries to get the matches to take- but it does and he drops the whole thing on the book.

Part of him wonders if he'll regret it later.

The rest of him knows damn well how dangerous that shit was. Better that it burns.

"Not for this." A gesture. Towards the books. Towards the research he's done - and really, there's a lot more here than he's given even himself credit for. "Find other subjects. Find other activities. What do you do for physical exercise?" Not just that 'stripping'. He doesn't strike her as a horseman, but perhaps there might be something else of interest.

"There will always be bias. You cannot let yours rule both heart and head."

The most dangerous thing he could conjure is now sitting on his couch, concerned about his wellbeing. Who would have thought?

"Uh. Jog in the mornings and lift weights whenever I remember that's a thing? Yoga sometimes when my back gets tense but- doing that in a crowded area is kind of a no go." He motions to his eye, cataract and scar and all. "Cuz. Yeah."

Bias is bias and like always- and he'll never understand why but having Carolina here sort of makes it a little more obvious- the fire burns green. Green and gold and mostly without smoke. It's either the book or him but since any fire he lights forever and ever amen does this shit, he knows it's him. Makes for crazy bonfires.

"If you can't be unbiased in delivering the news you should at least be willing to show both sides of a story, not curbstomp over a fucking veteran because your precious baby fee fees got all hurt."

Green fire. That draws her off the couch again, and she stalks the bin, walking a full circuit around it before settling behind him. To his right. He's blind on the left, after all; better that he be able to see her, and not be further unnerved than he already is.

"Then I shall remind you," she murmurs, understanding his concerns regarding his eye. People stare, whether in awe or in fear, or at things they cannot explain away. Reaching her hand forwards, she lets it sink into the fire itself, lets the flames lap away along her scales as she measures the power within it. "You're not fond of fire of any kind, are you," she states absently while doing so.

Then she looks up at him. Pay no attention to the talons still baking in the fire. "Those with power will do as they will. Money is a form of currency for the powerful. But you have something they don't."

She walks around and that- a concession to his weirdness- that's kind. Kinder than a lot of his other roommates have been. That she settles at his right like she belongs there feels- well a little like it fits and a little like he should worry about it. But he doesn't. It's just a comment, just a reminder, and eventually he'll remember what it was about her page in the book that called to him to try.

"Thanks." Hand in the fire- talons in the fire and for a moment he's worried before he remembers, duh, demon. NOt bothered by it. "Uh...not really. I mean as a kid, sure, but every kid has a little pyro phase. After my deployment? Not so much, no."

Too many burning buildings. Too much smoke. Too many screams.

"A sense of perspective and a roguish, give 'em hell attitude?" A beat. "And you. Yeah?"

Better remember sooner than later, York. Might change your perspective on matters otherwise.

For all his scars and the bravado masking his fears and insecurities, there's a sweetness to this man, a noble core - albeit one likely bound up in notions that might yet get him in future trouble. Or killed. And Carolina has no intention of letting that happen.

Hence the smile in response, bright white teeth with pointed canines almost a little too pronounced. "And me," she agrees, tail twitching as she pulls a singular ball of flame from the fire.

And then tosses it to him. It is HIS fire, after all. He should learn how to control it.

It'll come back to him. It always does.

It's kind of nice though, standing here, burning a dangerous book, bonding with a demon he summoned kind of an accident. Maybe there was a little twist of fate at work, he'll have to look up his notes on checking for that. Big ones he couldn't ever pin down but the little ones, yeah. Tiny things.

Fate's a sneaky bitch, what can he say. But hey!

Bonding!

And then she lobs a fireball at him and his bright smile stops being so bright and becomes more 'oh mother FUCK', hands snapping up even though it's fire and he should DODGE but she's so damn close and it's on his hands it's on his sleeves it's green and they were so damn loud couldn't eat pork for weeks for months he still can't if he's around when it's cooking god the smell of hair and the sounds bones make when they crackle-

He's hyperventilating and locked up rather than flailing so- point for not burning the apartment down. None for self preservation.

Bonding!

And fire. Fire is EXCELLENT for bonding.

She watches his response, sees how he freezes. She watches how the flames sneak along his arm, flickering and slowly wrapping around to enclose his arm from wrist and moving up to his elbow. But there's no burning - it's his fire, it won't hurt him. But he's too caught up in the fear to realise it.

Talons extend, catch his left arm, lightly pressing against his skin. A point of contact to draw his attention. There's no dig, no scratch, as she then drags them in a slow trail downwards, and the flames flicker, shimmering as though caught in a net, before slowly rolling after her hand. Being drawn back to his palm, that she turns upright and holds in place until the fire is suckling on his fingers while the main body of flame dances in place.

"It's yours. Yours to command." And there's power written into it besides. Her head tilts, green eyes bright, waiting to meet his once the initial terror releases him. "I will show you how." So that it never controls him again.

Any person found in possession of magery needs to be taught. Or risk greater harm to themselves. It's a miracle that he hasn't done something worse to himself before now.

Edited 2015-08-20 21:13 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject