Waiting [con't/private]

[Masquerade]

[[Continuation for Waiting. Consider this as private.]]

"I doubt I'll melt, dear." Mask chuckled, "And besides, the area the book is concealed in is quite sheltered. We can wait out the rain there, so the book remains intact and undamaged."

As if on cue, a few fat drops splattered on the ground, followed by the distant rumble of thunder and a light sprinkling of rain. Mask grinned up at the sky, looking oddly pleased, before glancing back down to fold up the collar of his coat.

Mask really was quite happy with the turn in the weather. The precipitation would help keep the dreaded dust and dirt down, and it would give them a legitimate excuse not to return directly to the tunnels. He wasn't that keen on the idea of willingly subjecting himself to the torture that was hearing the whispers of the current plots.

Berserker and Havoc were busy, and that meant everyone was on edge, from the most favored of Hunters to the more spurned of Omegas. Not a pleasant atmosphere to call home.

[Darky]

"No, I suppose you won't. You'll just ruin your pretty hair." The hunter teased, and then shrugged looking satisfied with Mask's explanations and so Grey followed along, folding his arms against his chest as the first drops of water came down. Unfortunately he was not as well armed against the downpour as the other wearing the jacket. Ah well, never matter.

He was getting a book. That was sufficient reward for ending up a little wet in this excursion.

The water didn't make Cyril happy but well... once again: book. Everything else could be overlooked at the prospect of gaining something new to read. Everything.

"...You really were eager to get out of there," Cy turned to the other, "I mean..." Shrugging a little, "...you know." It was not like anyone else would bother coming with the hunter to look for a book, much less show him where more were.

[Masquerade]

"Pretty?"

Mask tutted softly, one eyebrow raised to match the half-smirk that was twisting the side of his lips.

"Generally one doesn't use 'pretty' as an adjective when one is referring to an individual of the male gender. I should feel offended."

The amused smirk clearly showed that he wasn't, thankfully. Little things didn't ruffle the Hunters feathers; in fact, it seemed a bomb would need to go off before he'd drop the confident smiles or mocking grins.

"I grow weary of the subterfuge. Everyone knows the Queen and her Knight are plotting something, yet for fear of attracting unwanted attentions they choose to ignore the mutterings of things to come and pretend all is well." he sighed, shrugging absently.

"Claustrophobia affects us all at some point. From the most pampered of royalty to the thinest peasant. We all want time to ourselves to think and act uncensored- for a small time, at least."

[Darky]

A flustered Grey made to speak, until he caught the amused smirk and relaxed a little. He had been teasing but with these people one never knew… if he could offend someone. He did not want to offend anyone. Especially not Mask. He ranked pretty high up with the people not to mess with, alongside Berserker and Havoc.

Ahem.

“Surprisingly, you admit it, not many would say such things. You never know who may twist your words around and interpret them in a completely different manner.” Cyril didn’t take Theodore’s words for anything but their meaning. Didn’t try to read into them or twist them, but he did know all too well how the politics in the Wharf worked.

He merely stayed out of them.

“Wouldn’t you want to pretend all is well?” Cyril went on with a shrug, “If you cannot do anything about it… at least pretense brings a small measure of comfort.” Pause. “Although I suppose is not the wisest thing to do.” But then if there was nothing else one could do… Grey didn’t like the sense of being powerless.

“Yes.” Claustrophobia, it was the main reason why he avoided the tunnels except when it was imperative he be there. It kept him out on the beach or the boats or the sea. Mostly the cold sea. That was as free as he could get.

But well…turning his mind away from his beloved waves, “Is it still far?” It was not overly cold or wet yet, but Grey wouldn’t appreciate looking like a drowned rat. His vanity… well… complained.

[Masquerade]

"Pretend all is well, and you'll eventually come to believe the lie. Not long after, you start to get less and less careful; carefully forgetting that in every shadow lurks one of your 'comrades', ready and willing to slip a blade into your breast to further their own purposes." Mask sighed softly, shaking the excess of precipitation from his hair.

"At times, I'm thankful for the very few individuals I can trust." he added thoughtfully, shooting Grey a quick glance and a friendly grin.

Grey was not the type to back stab, lest it was a direct order from the Queen or her council. Trustable, if only because he lacked the ruthless drive the rest of the Wharf seemed to possess.

"It isn't far." Mask reassured Grey, "The building is at the end of the next block." he gestured to a half collapsed series of buildings not far off, the entrances at ground level all blocked off by rubble.

[Darky]

"Thinking about everyone like that is a little depressing. Though admittedly it is best to keep such a mind frame when dealing with some individuals." Meaning more than half of the Wharf... The rat replied with good humor, although he certainly took the words to heart. The friendly grin was returned, a flash of satisfaction in Grey's eyes.

Trust in the Wharf was a compliment.

Could he trust Mask?

Maybe. Probably. Yes? "Likewise." Though the taller hunter made him nervous at times, it was nothing like how some of the others made him feel. Not that Cyril had anything to hide from Theodore. Or anyone. Really.

True, he lacked ruthlessness, but Grey was also content with what he had. He was happy to look after the omegas and commoners, and he felt reasonably secure where he was. There was no need to plot or get involved in it.

It was probably foolish to assume such a notion.

"Ah. Okay." he lifted his hand to wipe some water from his face, looking ahead where Mask gestured. Not too far but by now... his vanity was definitely complaining. There was the temptation to pick his pace a little but also the knowledge that as Mask had explained, the Grid was dangerous at the moment and best not to wander too far. Or even a little far alone.

"Good memory. It is sort of an easy to miss place, isn't it? Among all the rubble. Doesn't it all look the same at times?"

[Masquerade]

"Depressing? I prefer to think of it was being realistic, dear. If one can't handle reality, then I suppose depression is inevitable, but most sensible individuals are capable of adjusting."

Learn the game, memorize the rules, find every little loop-hole you can so you can win. Excel. Survive. Know the other plays, catalog their quirks, their fears, their vices and virtues. Exploit them to the fullest.

Mask chuckled, gesturing up to what remained of a street sign on the curb near their destination.

"Memorize the landmarks, love. Street signs, bus stops, all of them are your friend." he smiled, motioning to the rubble as they came closer to it. "I must warn you, getting in is a little dirty..."

[Darky]

"Either that or most people just find a quick fix for dealing with reality." Smoking, drinking, drugs... in New Pork it had simply been taken a step further- killing. Death here was unsettlingly usual.

But if you do not play to win? If you do not want to play at all? If you are merely here to survive as best you can, trying to remain as true to who you were... does that still work? Does it make you weaker?

An easier target?

"Not out here enough to recall most of these things." Admittedly he was not a visual learner, he learned through words. Ah well. There were some landmarks he did recall. Some places he did know not to wonder in.

Cy made a face, Lady Vanity complaining all the way. Obviously the notion of dirt was making him cringe. Wet and dirty. Not his preferred combination. "I console myself with the fact that this is worth it."

And it was. Books were precious things. For him anyways.

"Right?"

[Masquerade]

"Madness, dear, is inevitable when one turns aside both reality and reason. We, the population of this ex-metropolis, all have been touched by the insanity, for only the insane could survive in this place. Sanity is dead, insanity is salvation." Mask sighed.

"I believe the Cheshire cat said it best when he uttered unto Alice; We are all mad here."

The Hunter shrugged, a dismissive gesture, and began to pick his way up the low slope of rubble in the front of the building. The mish-mash of concrete, metal, glass, and plastic was slick with precipitation, and he was careful to pick his footing. He paused near the top, by a broken window, and gestured to Gray.

"Your treasure is through here, monsieur. Mind the edges." he called back, before ducking through the window and into the half collapsed interior of the building. Inside it was just as wet, water dripping down from the floor above and adding the sound of running water to the smell of mildew, rot, and below it all the faint smell of old books.

[Darky]

"I hold a candle to the hope that not all of those who are here are insane." Although it made sense what Mask said, to survive here you had to be a little crazy, a little ruthless, a little... unusual. If not what place could you find here? None, you'd be dead before long.

Grey hesitated at the edge allowing his fellow hunter to go ahead. He reached up to rub his brow, no doubt smudging the face paint there. Ah, books, what he would do to get something new to read.

After Theodore beckoned him to follow, Cyril made his way up slowly not nearly as graceful as the other, using his hands to grasp awkwardly whenever he felt his footing was too insecure and stumbled in behind the other.

Slipping one hand on the edge of the window, he pulled himself into the building where the damp moist air seemed almost as heavy as the one in the sewers. Almost, not quite.

Yet among all that- Grey could pick it up- the sweet scent of books. Joy. "There really are books here." Well, master of the obvious he was. But really, Mask leading him to this place was a favor Grey would not forget. "It wasn't a joke." Not that he had seriously doubted his companion's words.

Lifting one hand in an apologetic gesture Grey beamed at the other. The day, despite the lousy weather was looking up.

[Masquerade]

[]

Mask tsk'd, shaking his head. "Of course there are books, dear!" he exclaimed softly, "Why else would I go crawling about in the muck like this?"

As if to emphasize his point he squished one foot down in the wet mishmash of grit, mud, plaster dust, and gravel that slicked the floor, the rubber sole of his heel squelching loudly on the linoleum below.

"But your prize is down below, Monsieur L'Amarr." he sighed, turning towards a door half obscured by the remains of a tarp. "It's rather filthy; would you prefer to remain here, while I fetch it?"

[Darky]

The French boy was silent, after all he didn't have a good reply to that. Why indeed would the other? "Sorry." He just wasn't naive enough to assume that favors in the Wharf were done without ulterior motives. One day, he knew, this book excursion would cost him a prize. Then again, perhaps he was being too suspicious for his own good.

Turning away Grey glanced as Mask squished one foot, giving all the fifth a scandalized expression. "Uhg." Disgusting.

After he was done giving that rather horrified look to the floor, Grey glanced at the taller brunette and shrugged. "I can follow you." Although he really rather not touch any of that dirt...

"Whatever is best, Mask, books make it worth getting a little dirty." And after this was over, he would retreat to a far corner of the wharf, curl up with a book and have a pleasant few hours. However before all that, he was going to change clothing or clean up.

[Masquerade]

The Frenchman was right to be a little skeptical, Mask did indeed tend to ask something in return for this little favor. He wasn't quite sure what to ask, however, but he'd bide his time patiently until something appropriate came along. He was quite good at waiting when it came to things like this.

"Books are always worth it." Mask said softly, his voice once more a low purr. "Such rare treasures in this barbaric landscape."

He hummed quietly, a muffled sort of chuckle, and pushed the basement door open. It squealed loudly, protesting use after so many months of stillness, and the area beyond was completely black. Mask produced a flashlight from his pocket, a heavy metal affair with odd matte brown stains decorating its handle. He stepped down onto the first stair, keeping close to the railing, and made his way down.

Water had flooded the basement at one point, and the carpeted floor was still damp. There was an immensely strong smell; mildew, rotting carpet, and a dozen other unpleasant odors. Mask covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his jacket, allowing his smile to slip for a brief moment as he scowled.

"Positively rank." he grumbled, making his way over toward a pile of large plastic storage bins. Pinning the flashlight against his side with one arm (he really did not want to uncover his nose at the moment), he pried the lid off of one. Inside were a number of books, most of them with titles in German or Russian, and a large number of 'skin mags'. Mask ignored these, pushing them aside and rummaging about until he found what he'd come for.

He held up a large, hard-covered tome, the title and author one embossed on the cover in gold letters but nearly completely rubbed away by time. Mask held it out carefully, not wanting to drop it on the filthy floor, and grinned behind his hand.

"Your prize, good sir."

[Darky]

It was positively foul this place and the Frenchman recoiled watching the other Hunter step down before, and switch on the lantern before he follow him down, one sleeve pressed over his mouth and nose.

Oh this was just-

Grey glanced down at his feet, squinting to see in the darkness. The floor felt...

...uhg.

Instead he glanced ahead and caught up with Mask trying not to breathe through his nose too much. Grey hovered around the other as he dug around the large plastic storage bin. He probably looked downright impatient- though he didn't intent to be- it was simply...

...this smell.

Worse than the sewers if possible.

Cyril looked away distractedly at the darkness in the room. Creepy.

His eyes widen considerably as he turned back to Theodore the thick book offered his way and Grey reached out to take it in his hands carefully cradling the book as if it was the most precious artifact on earth.

Mind you- to Grey, it probably was. Giving a grateful look, "Thank you. Thank you-" he repeated gleefully clinging to the book and forgetting everything- even the rancid smell.

...But then he recalled it and shuddered making his way back toward the exit. His victory dance could be postponed until they got out of this place.

Bleah.

[Masquerade]

[...I totally didn't see that you'd replied to this. v.v; I apologize profusely.]

Mask chuckled quietly, thoroughly amused by the delight the other was taken in his prize. Under normal circumstances his laugh would have been malicious, directed at the sheer idiocy of coveting a ragged old book. As is, these weren't exactly ordinary circumstances, and his laugh was a private, slightly wry affair.

Who'd have thought that Mask would, someday, be willing to chance such rank filth over a book? Not even a book he particularly wanting to look at, either. Certainly not him.

But the power of being owed a favor was an alluring one, and he never was one to pass up an opportunity.

Mask followed Grey back toward the exit, keeping his pace languid and easy even though he was quite taken with the idea of running the rest of the way just to be out of the smell.

"I'm not quite sure I'll be able to get this out of my clothes if it decides to stick around." he commented quietly, skirting a pool of nasty black water.

[Darky]

[OOC: No worries! And sorry about the late reply as well. <3]

Grey was a simple individual. Sometimes. He certainly took in the small pleasures offered by the place and although not totally oblivious to the fact that now he owed the other a favor- a significant one- it was worth it. Well, pale eyes shifted to his companion with unconcealed preoccupation.

It would depend on when and what Mask decided to ask for.

There were a few things the Wharf Rat wouldn't do. As long as it wasn't something that went against anything explicitly forbidden by Havoc or Berserker... then it was all good. One hand rose to tug a strand of blond hair out of the way.

Turning to the other hunter, Grey scrunched his nose, "I hope then, sir that it does not stick around." That would be quite...

Uhg. Grey gave a shudder and continued his pace towards the exit, ignoring the fact he managed to land in quite a foul-looking puddle on the floor.

Uttering a curse in his native tongue, Cyril glared at the puddle. "It better not cling." Otherwise he was going to find new clothing. And that was not always an easy task.

Quick. Quick. Just a little more and they would be out of this place.