Waiting

[Darky]

It was not a bad day- Cyril reasoned slouched slightly, using a rock for a seat. This had been about the fiftieth time he had changed position in the last five minutes but seeing as this was a rock –or was it leftover debris?- it couldn’t be expected to be. The book on his lap rested unopened, and relatively new, only a few creases and stains marring its otherwise smooth surface.

He knew it would be far more comfortable to be out on a boat, sprawled lazily and reading with only the waves as company. One hand rose and removed the oval specs, setting them inside his pocket.

However, Cyril also knew that as things were now it was also best to stay close to home. With both Havoc and Berserker busy… yes, it was best to keep close. Things were tense, the conflict between Vampires and Cigarettes was – not good. To put it mildly... and so he agreed that a medic was required.

The Wharf Rats had been relatively well-off as of late not involved in any conflicts or fearing attack. Although attack was always a possibility…

“Meh.” He broke his train of thought to look down at his muddied shoes and lifted one mourning its dirty state. Settling it back down, Cyril shifting his position yet again, propping his elbows on his knees and staring out at the water.

It was going to be one of those long days...

[Masquerade]

[[Want to reply to ziiiis. Mnah. >.> Mind if I assume this is set before the Wharfie plotting thread?]]

Mask hummed a tuneless song, the melody jittery and cheerful, not at all reflecting how the Wharf Rat really felt. Not that anyone would know that; Mask had yet to find someone in the vast wastes of New Pork who could fully decipher when his smiles were true and when the were false. Hypothetically, however, if such a person existed, they'd be wondering what had gotten the young man into such a terrible mood.

Unreadable as always, Mask was quietly stewing over his latest notable conversation with Havoc. Spiders and webs, puppets and strings, lies and corruption. Such were the metaphors that had come into play. He had to respect the beta for his cunning; to be truthful, he even felt affection for the other boy on some level, but it was the affection one has for the Great White as one watches it tear into a seal pup. Admiration for sheer brutality, yet the deep, inner knowledge that should one encounter such a beast on the hunt, that one would take all nessecairy steps to kill it.

With Havoc and the Berserker in a plotting mood, it was perhaps best to keep those last few thoughts to himself. Driven from the tunnels by the rank odors, cramped spaces, and scheming Tribemates, he needed entertainment and fresh air. As luck would have it, it seemed Grey had come up for air as well. Changing the direction of his previously aimless saunter, Mask allowed his footsteps to be aubible as he approached the fellow Rat, changing his smirk into a far less severe grin.

"Reading, or just waiting for the waves to come up and swallow this fetid place?"

[Darky]

(yay! *glomps Mask* and yes, that works good ^^)

The waves rolled in and out… looking so inviting. Just a little swim. Just a little closer. Licking his lips, the other’s footsteps went undetected despite no effort on Mask’s part to conceal them. It was only when he was a few feet away that Grey snapped out of his thoughts.

Footsteps, but Grey felt tranquil, most likely another Wharf comrade who had come out for air. After all this was their territory, one didn’t get to see many others here. He gave a soft sigh of relief recognizing the voice--

--Mask.

Turning to the other rat, Cyril offered one of his welcoming smiles. And at this time the company was most welcomed. The other’s enigmatic demeanour was interesting although the blond never made any efforts to prod into it. No, that would’ve been intrusive.

“Hey,” One hand rose to press against the small of his back, indicating the discomfort of his choice of chair. “I was trying to read, but I obviously picked the wrong place for it.”

“And what brings you out here? Certainly not the desire to make a mud castle, I’d hope.” As always his comment was open, friendly and light-hearted.

But there was an unspoken tension in the air with the plotting of the sewers. One didn’t need to be a genius to feel it pressing down uncomfortably.

[Masquerade]

'Tension' was an understatement. It felt as though the sewers were thick with the telltale whispers of plots, a feeling so thick Mask could imagine he could taste it on the miasma of stink that filled the tunnels. If plotting had a taste, it was dry and stale, like morning mouth. Not all that pleasant.

"I'd rather not touch the mud, considering it's probably 50% industrial waste, 45% garbage, and the remaining 5%... mostly dead things and seagull excrement, I'd imagine."

Mask sighed, arms folded across his chest as he ventured a glance further out to sea, shivering slightly despite the warmth of his jacket. That much water... it brought back uncomfortable thoughts. For a brief moment his smile slipped, and he frowned, but he quickly rectified the mistake and turned his attentions back to his fellow Rat.

"Why am I out here?" he repeated slowly, "I could give the usual cut and paste answer of something along the lines of the tunnels are too cramped for someone of my noble stature, they stink, and I prefer the open spaces to the small dark ones... but in reality I'm just bloody sick of all the whispers.

[Darky]

Never been great with common sense, it was entirely possible that Grey had definitely missed how much of an understatement the use of ‘tension’ was. The tunnels always felt limitless and a bit daunting if one did not know their way, but he considered their atmosphere tolerable. Most of the time.

Then perhaps Cyril assumed they were bearable since he spent as little as possible there.

Upon Mask’s explanation of sand he lifted a shoe again and glanced at it. The boy’s look was a mix between apprehension and horror at the thought of his shoe being caked in such a mix. Shaking his head a soft chuckle escaped his lips, “That is a colourful description for the sand. Guess I won’t be doing sandcastles later on either.”

Cyril’s gaze was on Mask, but whether he caught the momentary frown or not was hard to say. Instead the rat withdrew his gaze and finally rose from his uncomfortable place muttering a soft curse in French and rubbing his back. Definitely the wrong choice of seat to settle down for a read.

“You get taller everyday.” He teased, and lifting one hand to Mask’s forehead without touching and then shifted it towards him, indicating the gap in height. That was a large gap. “Ahem.” Cyril had to lift his face slightly to look up at the other’s face, even standing up. Sick of the whispers? Giving a nod, the blond dropped his hand followed by his eyes, “Understandable, things can get... out of hand.” Without doubt that being another understatement of the situation. “Especially with Berserker home.”

Those last words were a whisper, but clear. Not meant in disrespect towards their mistress or anything- just factual. Most people would know that such statements coming from Grey really meant nothing other than its upfront meaning.

No plotting, no treachery.

[Masquerade]

[Delays delays delays... Gah. *facepalm* Sorry. And for some reason Meebo killed my keyboard ]

Mask chuckled quietly, stepping clear to execute a deep bow, one arm sweeping out to the side with theatrical flourish.

"Alas, should my body choose to grow any further, I fear that the tunnels will only become even more uncomfortable for myself. I pray that it does not, for I'd rather die than be forced to abandon my reeking rooms belows." he lamented, voice strangely devoid of sarcasm although it was clearly intended.

"Berserker is plotting, and with Havoc at her side that can only mean that we're in for some large and unsettling changes. I don't believe our Queen is one to sit back and watch the mayhem and not attempt to turn it to her own advantage..."

Mask sighed, absently dusting dried dirt from the front of his jacket, oddly enough not smiling, but looking content all the same. His silence lasted only as long as the small act of preening did; no sooner had he pulled his shirt straight and adjusted the bit of twine around his neck then he broke out into conversation once more.

"My curiosity cannot wait any longer, I'm afraid. May I inquire as to which bit of literature you were perusing when I interrupted you earlier?"

[Darky]

(*glomps* No worries ^^)

The theatrical gesture caused Cyril to smile and laugh a little. Almost hesitant, unsure if laughing was appropriate… but he couldn’t help it. Dipping his head, in a slightly apologetic manner, another smile appeared on his face in face of the missing sarcasm which was clearly intended.

“That may be a small blessing, Mask, you could eventually suffocate under some of those smells.”

Shudder.

Grey listened and then gave a nod, “Yeah.” Berserker wouldn’t give up an opportunity like this. Admittedly it was a good time as any for underhanded plots the Wharf Rats were so well known for. There was a small pause as Mask preened and his companion pondered about things.

And… things could get very ugly.

Slightly put out by the gloom of such thoughts, Grey’s head snapped up to look at Mask in surprise as he enquired about the book. “Oh… oh!” He lifted the book and held it up, so the clear cover’s title was readable.

“Great Expectations, Charles Dickens.” Cyril added unnecessarily. It was his second read of the title, currently he was at the part of Pip’s first encounter with the eccentric Mrs. Havisham. It was not a happy story, but it had… hope.

“Would you like to borrow it?” he offered the book to Mask, it was a rare act of trust since Grey was rather protective of his books. But he figured that it may well interest the other boy. Mainly because they were… a rare luxury and to get any more implied an outside excursion that could well turn out hazardous health wise.

[Masquerade]

Mask took the prooffered novel with an air of great reverance for the book, holding it delicately as though it were some great treasure. And indeed, in the burned out remains of New Pork, literature was hard to find and even harder to keep. His own journal was kept securely in a waxed bit of cloth tucked into a plastic bag to protect it from the elements. For a small, extremely pleasant moment, Mask forgot all about Berserker and Havoc and their schemes and webs, caught up in the sudden rush of pleasure that had accompanied the offer of the book. How long had it been since he'd last laid hands on a classic like Dickens?

Far too long.

"I'll savor it, I'm sure." Mask smiled, and this time the expression was genuine. "Although I must admit, I've never read Dickens before. I've always been more of a Poe man." he chuckled, eyeing the books cover. It was only with great reluctance that he did not give in to the excited urge to plop down on the ground then and there and begin pouring over its pages. Tearing his gaze away from the book, he bowed once more, although this time in a far more reserved manner.

"I thank you, Grey. Should you ever need a favor, regardless of what it is, I'll be more than pleased to assist you with it."

His tone was deathly serious, but when he straightened up to his full height again he was practically beaming.

[Darky]

The careful handling of the classic earned Mask a few points, it was not always the case that one met another one who appreciated the rarity of books in New Pork. The rat had amassed a small collection, hidden away in one of the crates of his room. Of course the taking care of such objects required quite a few hours of his time, but it was well worth it.

Grey smiled back and nodded, “Good, I’m glad. It’s a great classic,” he cut himself off before he began babbling on about the novel’s symbolism and such. It was never a good topic of conversation anyways, plus he didn’t want to spoil the book for the Wharf rat.

“Poe?” Cyril thought for a few moments, trying to recollect what little Poe he had read. “I kind of recall… The Fall of the House of Usher. Ligeia…” he remembered that what few bits he did recall they had sent shivers up his spine. “The Masque of the Red Death...” Oh god, now he was going to have to go hunting for a book.

Grey eyes shifted up to the other, unsure of how to… well read him, but since Mask was beaming, the youth took that as a good sign and nodded. “It’s no problem,” he was genuinely pleased to have helped out someone else.

His eyes turned thoughtful again, a favour? Well… there was… one thing he wanted- “Sorry, but you wouldn’t by any chance have any Poe with you? I’ve not read much of him—although if you like Poe you’d possibly like the Turning of the Screw, I’ve got that—though its state is a bit… well fragile.” Realizing he was muttering, he gave an apologetic smile.

[Masquerade]

"The Masque of the Red Death..." Mask couldn't help but chuckle softly, one long finger tracing the spine of the book absently. "It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade..."

"Who dares?" he laughed, recalling his favorite part of the short story, and reciting them with vigor. "Who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him - that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!"

The Hunter sighed fondly, shaking his head slowly.

"I know of a small collection of books, perhaps the remnants of a public library of sorts, but the only novels that have escaped the ravages of time and nature are second rate. Lackey, Clancy, Rice... It's either gay unicorn riders, repetitive war novels, or vampires. Personally, the first two don't particularly capture my fancy, and the third... well, we have enough of those around here as it is." his lips twitched and his smile become dry for a few moments, and then he continued on.

"However, I do know the whereabouts of a collection of Lovecraft's stranger tales, should that catch your fancy. I was trying to move quickly at the time, and was forced to leave it where it was discovered, but I daresay it could still be there."

[Darky]

Ohhh. He was good, grey eyes were for a moment captivated in the power of the words, the short recitation conjuring up a vivid image in his mind. Rooms with colours leading down to the one room… the one avoided by all guests. Black and red. The prince. Death. Oh, he was going to have to scavenge hunt for some Poe now. Desperately. Especially this story, he needed to read it again.

Tilting his head when Mask stopped speaking to shake his head, he suppressed the urge to feel disappointed and clapped once, “Your recitation skills are good.” More than good actually if one wanted to be particularly technical about it. “There has to surely be some Poe out there.” Cyril declared, “I refuse to believe there was a single person this place that did not keep a copy somewhere.” Awfully optimistic of Grey but…

“Lackey, Clancy, Rice?” The rat tried to think, “Mm… not heard much about those.” He recalled seeing the names in passing fancy in a bookshop back home, but the genre of any of them had not called his attention. “So I’ll just take your word for it and steer clear.”

“I’ve never really like vampires much, not even Stoker’s classic.” Cy added with a shrug, eyes shifted away from Mask to glance at the sea.

The mention of the location of books called again his attention. “Lovecraft?” Now there was something he had not yet read and the prospect of it was enough to cause Cyril to grin, like a kid who had been offered the best treat in the world.

“Where did you see it?”

[Masquerade]

Mask's response was delayed, the auburn-haired Hunter having paused to eye the shorter boy, eyes narrowed and the corner of his smile twitching slightly.

"Its always a pleasant surprise to stumble upon another who enjoys the literary arts." Mask purred under his breath, tapping one finger against the cover of the book. He finally tore his gaze away with a small laugh, turning to point in the vague area of the Grid.

"It was in a basement on the outskirts of the Grid, in a large blue plastic container with a few other odds and ends. There were other books there as well, but the majority were either written in Russian or various incarnations of the holy bible." he drawled, glancing back over his shoulder.

"If it would please you, I could show you exactly where. It is perhaps not the best of notions to go traipsing around the Grid on ones own these days, in any case." Even as he spoke he had to grin; it seemed everything lay in the Grid these days, much like the malls of a time now long past for the children of the city. A meeting place, a supplier of much needed objects, and a place to escape from the 'home'.

[Darky]

Oh.

Uh.

Um.

Okay.

Cyril felt vaguely uncomfortable under Mask’s eyes but refused to show any sort of… well… discomfort. One he felt it unfounded, two he felt it inappropriate. “Yes, I guess it is pleasant to meet another who enjoys reading.” Still his stomach was swirling unhappily and the temptation to step back was too great. Until the other looked away.

Letting out a quick sigh of relief, Grey paid attention once more to the descriptions of the place. “Nothing in French?” He enquired hopeful, it had been a while since he had any book in another language, but… even if books were in Russian he may just snatch them for the pleasure of looking through the pages…

“It would be great if we could go.”

Not even on the Grid? “I thought it was… well mostly neutral and generally safe to walk there…” Not anymore? Not alone? Now that was a very depressing thought.

The little grin was disconcerting and Grey finally decided that Mask was just … this enigma that was perhaps best left unsolved. Possibly, but Cy was a curious rat by nature.

[Masquerade]

"With the ongoing conflict, the Grid has become a less than neutral place. A battleground, if you will. Vampires and Cigarettes... both Tribes have become jumpy and unsettled." Mask elaborated, stretching one arm out to the side and flicking his wrist; a small, thin blade appeared in his hand, and he glanced back with a grin as he manipulated it so it caught the light.

"And as a result, we who reside beneath the docks have found ourselves required to carrying weapons lest we run afoul an agitated foe." He sighed softly, making the knife disappear just as quicky as it had appeared.

"Thankfully, there is safety in numbers. I'm sure you're well aware of what transpired between myself, Seagull, and Eagle Eye and the outsider Sigurd." his tone fluxuated greatly as he spoke; almost affectionate as he mentioned Seagull, to cold as he said 'Eagle Eye'.

"But such talk seems rather dreary. We'll be quite safe, I can assure you. Shall we be off?"

[Darky]

“I wouldn’t blame the Cigarettes, the Vampires are…well…” He trailed off definitely uncomfortable at the recollections he had regarding the Tribe lead by the infamous Crow. They certainly had created a ‘Vampire’ myth. The thin blade appeared on Mask’s hand and this time Cyril did jerk, startled by the speed in which the weapon had appeared.

Deadly. Though it was really a simple gesture it reminded Grey of how dangerous some people could be and how dangerous he was not… Although the blond supposed he really had nothing to directly fear from the tall brunette.

Of course not.

Flashing a sort of embarrassed smile, the rat tried to cover up his initial confusion by seizing on the change of topic. “I had heard. Isn’t the one called Sigurd in the dungeons still?” Probably, normally he’d be responsible for keeping an eye on those in the cells and it was a job he loathed. So… unsurprisingly it had gone a bit neglected.

One hand brushed the knife sheath on his left leg. Empty, as usual but that meant that he had the one on his right. Not that if really mattered if they ran into a good fighter… he almost wanted to point that out, but it was unnecessary. Mask probably knew that too.

Cyril did note how the youth’s tone change on the mention of his fellow Wharf Rats. It never helped that he was not skilled at reading other people, was it more theatrics or was it genuine? …Genuine, it was too open, too… shaking a little his head, just to himself, Grey decided to stop his analysis.

For starters, it made his head hurt. Second, it almost felt like prying trying to make sense of this.

So contenting himself with thoughts of books and the promise of literature, the French smiled again and nodded, “Sure, why not, I don’t suppose they’ll miss us much meanwhile. Lead the way.”

[Masquerade]

Mask chuckled to himself, stowing his hands safely in his pocket where his tin of playing cards resided. Running a nail over the raised ridges that decorated the tins surface, the young man counted off each ridge as he touched it, giving himself something to keep his fingers busy. His trick with the knife had made him edgy- there was a distinct restless quality to his movements, despite the relaxed smile that graced his lips.

He wanted to hurt something. Something big enough to fight back.

Sighing softly, the Hunter promised himself that he'd peruse the selection of Tribeless individuals later; pick a child who was new to the city, and dispatch him or her. Taking out anyone from a Tribe could prove disastrous at this stage in the game. Particularly with the ongoing conflicts... But that could all wait.

Cyril now, hunting later.

"We'll take a surface route, unless you protest, for I'd rather not attempt to squeeze myself through the tunnels at this moment in time." he said amiably, turning to be sure Cyril was following him.

"It's a tad more scenic as well, although nothing in this hellish landscape can quite compare to the St Lawrence river in the spring." he mused, shaking his bangs out of his eyes with a small toss of his head. "Present company does make it seem a little more hospitable, however..." he added as an afterthought, humming thoughtfully as he turned away to continue up to what had once been the docking area in front of the now mostly gone warehouses.

[Darky]

The hunter took a few steps, adjusting his pace to keep with the taller brunette’s long strides. It wasn’t overly difficult, but he did not enjoy the thought of having to keep up with Mask if there was a need to run. That would be difficult.

His mind wondered off again to the promise of books, so it took him a little pause to reply, “Uh, what- oh, sure- the tunnels aren’t currently my ideal for travelling at the moment.” Especially since like Berserker was more than likely in there somewhere…

Shudder.

Probably it was a good thing Grey was unaware of Mask’s desire to hunt and maim someone afterwards, it would most definitely have made the boy more nervous than he already was- at least subconsciously. Sticking one hand in his pocket, the other rising to push blond locks away from his eyes he scanned the scenery as it began to change. Away from the disgusting pile of mud called ‘beach’.

“Likewise.”

Present company who was keeping him from noticing too much of surroundings, absorbed in the conversation at hand.

“We’re just not appreciative enough, I’m sure even in this landscape, there is something other than hellish about it.” Cyril pointed out looking up, “I’m not trying to be optimistic about it-“ he corrected, “But… there is something about this, I don’t think there are the right words to convey this…”

Grey fell silent for a moment rearranging his thoughts, “It is like a novel, you see? Take any gothic novel, the descriptions of the places which are meant to be hellish. However the written descriptions make them beautify the place, no matter how decrepit,” he looked hopeful at Mask, unsure if he was making sense or not.

“Then, this is a little different from a novel.” The French added hastily. However it was not often he ventured outside of the Wharf’s territory, outside of the ocean really. And between the ocean and sky there was still some beauty untouched by the plague.

Feeling a little like an idiot, Cyril went quiet, withdrawing his eyes to look around them. Yes, it was a rather depressing view, wasn’t it?

[Masquerade]

"It has a sort of third-world charm, I suppose. In the twilight it reminds me greatly of a black and white photograph, all in shades of grey. Beautiful, but in a sad sense, like an exquisitely carved gravestone." Mask sighed, tilting his head up to look at the sky. It was quickly becoming a dreary storm-grey, and he couldn't help but wonder if it would rain before, during, or after they'd located the book they were seeking.

A little rain would help keep down the dust, however, and the water that made it down the storm drains would help flush out the sewers. The notion of a slightly less rank living space was an especially pleasant one to the Hunter. He enjoyed being clean, to the point where he spent much of his free time cleaning both himself and his belongings.

"Once upon a midnight dreary..." he laughed, "Even the weather seems to agree this place is less than an Eden."

Mask heaved one more sigh before picking up his pace, quite intent on getting between the wreckage of the old warehouses incase the sky decided to open up on them.

[Icky post, whut!]

[Darky]

Increasing his pace when Mask did his, Cyril took a moment to wonder upon the description given by the other hunter. A white and black photograph. Hm. “The setting of a Neo-Gothic novel.” The boy added with an amused smile. Yes, he could almost picture it now.

“Yes, it looks like it will rain soon.” Grey eyes shifted upwards, to meet the matching shade of grey from the sky. “You don’t mind getting wet?”

Cyril didn’t mind too much, after all the thought of a book was enough to have him creeping out of the Wharf Rat safety area and sneaking off to the more unstable parts of the Grid. Like the other hunter, Grey was also used to spent ridiculous amounts of time trying to keep clean.

He hated the sense of decay that came with dust and dirt, though his living quarters were rather dusty due to the papers he’d collected there.