ArchivedLogs:Yarn Bombs

Yarn Bombs
And we were having such a nice day. :(
Dramatis Personae Kay, Toru	2013-12-09 Toru and Kay go shopping, Toru makes some bad decisions.
Location <NYC> East Village
Toru and Kay have been /painting the town red/ today. What started as an impromptu meetup in the early afternoon, the bony teenager bringing offerings of lo mein, fried rice and szechuan beef has ultimately somehow ended up with the two of them wandering the aisles of a /yarn store/. The teen is dressed in his usual Toru fare; a blue hoodie, a dark blue t-shirt under that covered in pictures of a bright yellow cat in various stages of party along with the text 'ENDLESS PARTIES', and a long-sleeved black shirt under that. Layers. His usual opera gloves have been replaced by real-ass grownup gloves, and a pair of Chuck Taylor /boots/ on his feet betray the sort of brand loyalty to Converse that only a teenager can have. For the most part, back at the yarn shop, Toru is behaving like a miscreant teen in a library - being a /dick/ but trying to keep his voice down to avoid suspicion. Every so often he'll point out something to his co-conspirator that he finds particularly /amusing/, but otherwise he's actually being kinda /respectful/-like. Until he gets to the sock yarn, at least. /There/, he finds a twisted skein in shades of blue and gray, and he's just staring at the label for a minute before calling Kay over. "/Dude/!" Here, the teen actually raises his voice a bit! And he points, points!!, reading the text. "100% al/paca/ fingering, what the /fuck/, man!" It’ entirely possible they ended up in here because Kay saw the name of the shop – The Knitty Gritty – which earned a flat “What.” And a HARD LEFT into the shop, an arm fixed around Toru’s neck like this had always been the planned kidnapping site. Right about now he’s being considerably LESS good than Toru, bent at the waist and FACE DOWN in a back table of skeins, fingers kneading while moaning “Ohgod why’s it so soft” while an anxious salesgirl hovers nearby. He’s been off and on dominating her attention with inane questions and huge grins, letting her decide whether she’s more horrified or /fascinated/ by his very high-end fitted black leather jacket with its myriad D-rings and shiny zipper, his fingergless gloves, expensive shit-kicker calf-high steel toes boots, his sun-beaten tattoos and his off-white teeth. Or his /energy/. She might have cracked a smile or two. Against her /will/. He emerges from the soft like a breaching bony /whale/, “Oh yeah,” he says, loudly, to Toru from across the store. And he raises two fingers, fitted together and jabs them forward, “That’s where they -- !! – the llama-things. Check this out.” He over-hand tosses a gray skein over an aisle /at/ Toru, “This one’s called fucking ‘Grey Area’. The hell does that even /mean/.” “That ain’t right, dude,” Toru notes, regarding Kay’s /explanation/ of the. Alpaca. Activities. But then there’s yarn flying at him, and the teen /just/ manages to catch it before it can hit him. “Naw it’s like when you got an area, right..” he rubs the skein a little, tossing it back at Kay, and holding up his hands to indicate a square … area. “...and it’s /grey/. Yeah?” Yeah. And then he’s wandering around rubbing more /yarn/, staying in the same general /area/ as Kay but without staying too close - he’ll let him hang out with the salesgirl for now - but he’s still within earshot when he grumbles, “Damn, this shit is nice. How come regular clothes aren’t nice like this shit?” A chunk of hoodie fabric is grabbed, held out to show Kay. “This is all like rough and stuff, I need a goddamn alpaca hoodie. Get all cozy. Do you even know what to fuggin’ do with this stuff?” Another skein of yarn is held up, this one a multi-tonal blue. “Goddamn embroideratin’ or whatever.” “No s’like - /CROOK/hooking,” Kay agrees, now stalking amongst the shelves, collecting up skein after skein – a dreamy teal with purple streaks, a silvery poofy tangle with /fuzzy/ bits. He snags the gray one thrown back to him as well. By the time he’s coming up behind Toru, he has a soft, downy white one – named Cloud City – gripped in his fist like a WEAPON, and he lunges to try locking am arm around Toru half-nelson style, trying to smush the soft fluffy yarn into the kid’s face like its laced with /chloroform/. He’s even whispering “Shhhh… shhh it’ll all be over soon. I will dress you,” he’s grabbing for MORE skeins, battening them down under his arms to HUG them all soft and pill-like against Toru, “in the /finest/ funerary llamaproduct. – Hey lady!” The saleswoman looks over at him. Weakly. Like oh-god-don’t-rob-us. “How much for – d’you got those like. Hooky-snaggy things?” Kay makes a HOOK with one finger helpfully. “Ones that look like you use ‘em to scoop out mummy brains with?” Puffing up a bit with a bit of a glare, Toru grumbles, "I /knew/ that, I was just-- seein' if /you/ knew-- agh!" And with little preamble he finds himself GRABBED, struggling just for a moment but either coincidentally or /obligingly/ calming down when the yarn is shoved in his face. By the time Kay is hollering at the saleslady, Toru has sunk to his knees, arms wrapped loosely around the arm around his /neck/, but then he suddenly jerks his head away, covering his mouth with his hand and letting out a muffled, but still pretty explosive /WAHHHHH-CHOO/. Even /he/ looks a little started by the outburst, which is followed soon by a /second/ mighty sneeze, and he then wipes his nose on his sleeve, looking up at Kay sheepishly. "Maybe shouldn't be breathin' that in, yeah?" And, to the saleslady, "Yeah, fugg-- friggin'-- crookhookers. With the thing," he holds his hand up, index finger hooked over all 'redrum' style. "I saw a couple price tags on some of the /yarn/ this shit is like, /spendy/, y'know? I might grab somethin' just for like, havin' around. Bat it around like a goddamn /cat/." "Or SQUEEZE it," Kay thrusts out a hand and /grips/ in his fingers at the air Darth-Vader-choking style, "Like a really - /squeezable/ -- THING." You see this, saleswoman. This is what happens when you open a yarn shop after an apocalypse. At least these customers seem… semi-interested in making a purchase. Eventually. Not at the /moment/, though, Kay has just kind of semi-killed Toru, kneeling beside him like a prince over a really bony (more than anyone KNOWS) damsel. "Get it out, c'mon, get it all out," he's encouraging /more/ sneezes, Mafia-boss patting Toru's cheek lazily as though that were. Helping. He suddenly has a thought, saying blankly, "Oh, wait, they do have sweatshirts made out of yarn that's like a fucking… sweater, isn't it. Shit." Mind. BLOWN. “I’ll squeeze /you/,” Toru sort of.. half-mumbles, through sleeve, wiping at his nose a bit more and /sniffing/ snot up into his cavities. Where it /belongs/. Snffff. He also bats at Kay’s hands, shaking his head and grumbling, good-naturedly, “C’mon stoppit I’m finished.” And in true /finished/ form he proceeds to flump, dead, to the floor. Killed by yarn. In a slumped-up little pile, he paws at the yarn Kay is holding, and mumbles, “Mother, knit me a cheese.” And eventually, opening his eyes and taking on a /slightly/ more serious expression, “Yeah don’t like, white grandmas knit their kids awful sweaters for Christmas or something. That’s a /thing/ isn’t it. Maybe check your mailbox, yeah?” Kay honourably permits Toru his demise, unceremoniously dropping him (well - possibly he shifts a foot beneath the tender bowl of Toru's rearmost cranium so the kid doesn't bash his skull against the ground). And he leans back with a fist on his hip, using the other to dangle the yard for old Brother Bones to wage WAR with. "Pff, not my family. Anything they sent'd be laced with. Fucking - arsenic or something. VI's. /Crotchrot/. Herpagona/syph/ilaids." He draws back a foot to make a slow-motion football-kick towards Toru's shoulder. Even making slowmotion "Wsssssshhhhhhhh-paaaaah" sound effects. OH. And fishing around inside his jacket pocket to pull out a truly /horrible/ fifty dollar bill. It's crumpled up into a tight little ball like a pillbug, or some wounded animal. He tosses the poor filthy thing to the counter beside the saleswoman. "I will take your /everything/." He sniffs magnanimously. "--that that can buy me. You got anything in SLIME green?" Toru pulls his legs up against his /butt/ so that he isn't taking up a huge amount of space, but otherwise he's content to lie on his back for the moment, head on Kay's shoe, /pawing/ at that yarn. Being. /Sort of/ careful not to be a tremendous nuisance but at this point the damage has PROBABLY been done. “Are you sayin’ your family fucks your mail? That’s messed up, dude.” He’s got one eyebrow raised incredulously, his hand sort of dangling in midair. When Kay pulls out the cash, though, both eyebrows shoot up, but this is accompanied by the teen grinning toothily. “What are you seriously gonna learn how to do fuggin’ crookery?” Pause. “Or do you already know? -- I mean that’s-- that’s cool it just y’know seems kinda. Weird but whatever, yeah?” Hands are then extended straight upwards, and with a shift of his weight backwards, he then /SHOOTS/ forward, /propelling/ himself up onto his feet. “I should probably get some fuckin’. Fuzzy or a pair of scissors or somethin’. Jerk toll.” "Shit, man," Kay rotates his hip when Toru NINJAS up to his feet to make room for him - it's a casual movement, comaradic and instantly including, so that they're side by side, hip by hip and elbow to elbow facing the saleswoman. Who Kay is GRINNING at as he speaks, stead-even and cheerful-fierce, "You say it like that, and I'ma /have/ to learn now." The moment of chummy proximity ends with a bony-sharp HIPcheck to send Toru on his way, "Yeah, pick out a thing. It's not gonna go to that -- what's his face, the walking meatloaf that tried giving you the business." Like he'd /remember/ Trib's name even if he was told. He goes back to browsing, hands folded behind his back like he's proudly surveying his domain, "And fuck, for all I know my family just /might/. Only really knew my ma, and that was /enough/." He leans over to /squint/ at a skein that has little shimmery sparklythings in it, "Dunno if she's even still alive. Ain't seen her in over a decade." Toru is grinning at the saleswoman as well, a sort of ‘aw shucks’ sheepish style affair. WHAT CAN YA DO. He has, however, apparently learned how to spot Kay’s hip-checks by now, because while the teen /staggers/, he doesn’t make it very far away. There’s a bit of a show-pony-dance as he regains his footing and turns to face the older man, lifting a hand to run through his hair and rub at the back of his neck, that grin widening a little. “Well you were all talkin’ like you were gonna /get/ shit, how’m I supposedta know what’s goin’ on in your freaky head.” The /meatloaf/ remark gets a bit of a -- well, he’s /trying/ to glare, but Toru can’t help but let out a snicker, muffled into one glove, his expression /slowly/ hardening. “You mean my /roomfriend/,” he notes, with a smirk. “I’unno how he’d feel about some dude doin’ /yarn stuff/ for me. He ain’t /bad/, y’know, he just…” There’s a little shrug there, the teen slowly deflating. “He doesn’t handle stress too good. Gets kinda… well, you saw.” He takes his gaze away from Kay, turning to look at /yarns/, stroking a few of them appraisingly. “Sorry if that was a dick thing to say. About yer folks.” "Pff, why. Some lady in Nevada might have squeezed me out." Coming around the other side of an aisle, Kay is right up /in/ Toru's grill now, chest to chest (or well, height difference considered, Kay's chest at Toru's /face/, looking down at him.) When he's not smiling, he looks older; the flexed lines around his eyes are deep and wind burnt. He taps a fingertip down hard against Toru's sternum. It stays compressed there with an inexorable, steady force behind it. "But /you/ all're my /family/." Then he turns sideaways and EELS past with a firm /thump/ to Toru's back. With a SKEIN. It's a kind of mud-ugly brown with orange and yellow bobbly bits on it. It looks like yarnbarf. "Dude /better/ be okay with people doing shit for ya. What, he be okay with it," he flops a bit golden mop of yarn on top of his head, raising his voice to a mocking falsetto, "if I were a /lady/?" He drops the yarn like it disgusts him, "Keh. You know what'd happen if /I/ didn't handle stress well? Shit - what happens to /you/, even? Far as I see it, /stress/ is when you need your fucking people the most. Anyone can be good if nothing's /wrong/." He thumps a fist into a fistful of string. It doesn't make a very satisfying thmp. Whuff. When Kay approaches him like that, Toru can’t really help but look pretty surprised; the sudden contact resulting in him looking up at Kay, mouth open just slightly as he sort of mumbles, “Hi there.” Sort of. Not sure what to say for a moment. The explanation about /family/ doesn’t seem to clear things up any further, either; instead he just lowers his head, avoiding eye contact perhaps out of shame. Hard to tell, with him. “Well, seein’ as how he knows I used to chase skirt, he probably wouldn’t be okay with that,” Toru eventually opts to address that point. “I don’t think he thinks /I’d/ go lookin’ down some other guy’s pants, I think /he/ thinks like… I dunno, okay?” He lets out a bit of a frustrated noise with that last remark, shaking his head briskly. “He kinda acts like if he ain’t around I’m gonna get stolen. Like… I’m pretty sure he knows I can take care of myself, but he don’t wanna /believe/ it, or somethin’.” Sighing, he smushes the heel of his palm against an eye, just sort of /rubbing/ that spot for a minute. “I dunno about you but I don’t got much of a choice ‘cept to be good at handlin’ stress. I get too outta control and shit kinda goes inward-like.” "Mine kinda," with his back turned, Kay extends his long arms, and then his long /fingers/ outwards to either side like the opening of a pair of black-clad wings, "Fwoosh." He doesn't cause flames, only says this word in a soft too-casual breath. "Goes /outwards/." He looks over a shoulder and is grinning again, his lower row of teeth actually shoved forward further than the upper row ferociously. "Neithers good!" So cheerful! He tosses a skein back, one hand gesturing 'c'mere' to suggest Toru should toss it back to him. Clap-hands! He's open. "He's got a funny way of making you wanna /stay/." Not a lot that /isn't/ blunt amongst them. Toss iiiiit. Toru holds that skein for a moment, turning it over in his hands and sort of shrugging a little. “Yeah, well, you at least may not necessarily end up /killed/, mine’s kinda a martyrin’ sorta. Thing. ‘Cause I’m just so self-sacrificin’.” He throws the skein a /bit/ roughly, not that it’s going to hurt any more as a result anyway!!, and spreads his hands, palms outward, before cramming them into his hoodie pockets. “And not that it’s any of yer /business/,” the teen’s tone is suddenly a bit sour, but he’s nonetheless apparently all-too-willing to share whatever isn’t Kay’s business anyway, “but he… makes me feel safe, okay? It’s-- nice. We just don’t get all fuggin’ lovey in front’a people on account’a how neither of us is into that PDA shit.” "So what," Kay catches. And throws right back again. With Toru's hands in his pockets it'll probably go… 'whmp' against his chest. "You like gettin' treated like shit in public? -- He ever /apologize/ for that? - I want /these/." This last is flat-abrasively projected at the saleswoman. Holding up a pair of knitting needles he yanks off a shelf. “Actually /yeah/ he /did/ apologize. We’re /workin’/ on it.” With some exasperation, he bends over to pick up the yarn, striding over to hand it to Kay, giving an only slightly apologetic glance to the saleswoman; there’s only so many expressions he can manage right now. “Is there some /reason/ you’re tryin’ to get me to dump my boyfriend or is this just you bein’ fuckin’ everybody’s pal Kay like usual and I’m just on the receivin’ end this time?” Kay's hand is open, palm facing out, in front of his chest. For Toru to place the yarn in. His eyes are dead locked on Toru's face. And he says low. Calm. "Not everyone's." For once, Toru does actually manage to meet Kay’s gaze without looking away; he’s still got that exasperated look, and finally just replies, “You know what I mean. And that ain’t what I asked.” For a moment, it looks like he’s going to add something to that, but ultimately he just sort of jerks his chin upward, indicating that it is now Kay’s Turn to speak. "I seen a lotta ugly shit, Bones." Kay's brows are raised, eyes still set /heavy/ on Toru's. "And I seen a lotta people stay on with really shitty situations 'cause they don't think they're gonna find better." He crams the yarn skein and the knitting needles up under an armpit and kind of /shoulder/ thumps his way past Toru, "And I don't like /anyone/ talking t'you that way. I don't give a shit how 'stressed' he gets. I hear him do it again," he collects up his PILE on the counter, making an impatient gesture for Toru to get his ass in gear and add to the collection of Random Crap. "And I'm melting his face to the wall." Toru grabs a chunky skein of wool in a not-quite-teal shade of blue, grabbing it almost at random and throwing it on the pile with Kay’s Random Crap. He’s otherwise silent for the moment, minus some irritated grumping, but does seem to some extent to at least be /listening/. That last remark is met with an uncomfortable grimace, though, and out of some level of desperation he just murmurs, as sotto voce as he can manage, “Look, there’s somethin’ I maybe oughtta tell ya and can you not freak out? Like… a private kinda thing.” The saleswoman shifts uncomfortably at the subtle feeling of dry heat that drifts softly past the hairs of her arms when she she takes the horrible wad of fifty from Kay. He's not smiling again, assessing Toru's face as he SHOVELS his random purchases into a bag and slings it over his shoulder Santa style. "A'right." He says, heading for the door. It's chilly outside and swarming with flurries, but /that's/ never been a problem. Whoosh! When the door opens a swift wind ruffles their hair. Hood gets pulled up over Toru’s head, drawstrings.. drawn.. and zipper zipped /all/ the way up. Clearly the teen does not handle /cold/ well, or at least likes to be /dramatic/ about it, regardless of Kay’s heater effect. He’s also, temporarily at least, apparently feeling less chatty even now that they’re out and away from /people/. A few steps away from the shop’s doors, though, and he grabs one of Kay’s arms, pulling the pyromancer off into a truncated alley, and standing there beautifully awkwardly before making his /grand confession/. “...So part of the reason he freaks out like that might be on accounta I may have told him about my involvement with our side venture.” He leaves the statement at that, for now, watching Kay for a reaction. Kay stands tall against the wind that whips his lanky off-blond hair off the side of his head. It ripples through his clothes. The body beneath is hard as a telephone pole. His lazy squint and default semi-sneer (semi-smirk, when he's smiling - though maybe even now something is pinched default-upwards at one side of his slanted mouth) makes doesn't move. "--and?" Toru just kind of stares at Kay for a moment, eyes widening just /slightly/ when he doesn’t get the response he /expected/. Eventually he manages to roll with it, though, and stammers, “/And/… he thinks I’m gonna get myself killed doin’ it, prob’ly. So he’s all /protective/ on account of how I dunno, he figures I could just get fuggin’ shot or killed or-- picked up by the cops again.” There’s an uncomfortable grimace, there. “--and anyway that’s kinda part of why I been so scarce lately too,” he concludes with a mumble. “Didn’t really wanna worry ‘im and… and I guess now I’m worryin’ ‘im.” "You might." Kay agrees that Toru may get killed. He agrees without hesitation. His thumbs are hooked off the front of his belt, sharp coathanger shoulders angular as a scarecrow. His eyes close, too slow to be a blink, opening too soon afterwards to be a full shuttering, pressing his tongue along his upper lip. He turns to look up the alleyway, "How much does he know?" “He knows I’m with the Brotherhood,” Toru answers with a quiet sigh, though it sounds more relieved than anything. Nonetheless, he pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing. “And he knows about the guy I killed at the jailbreak in-- July? Fuck, it’s been a long time.” Another sigh, there, as the teen slumps over, finding a wall to lean against. “I mighta told him you’re in it too and that was why we were hangin’ out, I don’t remember. I don’t /think/ I did. I ain’t told him anything else, though, I don’t think he really wants to know anyway and if I /did/ tell him every goddamn detail about my life I’d go nuts anyway.” Head still turned, still looking out at the empty street beyond, Kay's mouth forms a few words. "You sold us out." “N-- No, dude, it isn’t like that.” Toru gulps, moving toward Kay, face white as a /sheet/ as he holds out a hand in an attempt to grip, reassuringly. “He wouldn’t /do/ anything, he’s known since like August and he hasn’t /said/ anything to anybody. It just got to where I had to tell him ‘cause stuff wasn’t addin’ up with why I was out a lot, you know?” His voice is shakey as he speaks, and he gulps intermittently, finally culminating with chewing on his lower lip. “I wouldn’t have told him if I thought he’d /do/ anything, I-- I /trust/ him, okay?” "Since August." Kay's raised hand is one commanding - it motions /halt/ when Toru comes towards him. And a hard blistering crackle of heat shimmers with faint licks of not-quite fire. His head finally turns back from looking out at the street, "You hadn't hardly been /freed/ from that fight ring for - what, a month? /Two/ months? Before you ran your mouth off to the first guy you moved in with?" Now /he's/ coming forwards. And a wall of hard warmth comes with him, flicking up the ends of his hair in soundless updrafts. "He hasn't said anything that /you/ know. But then." His hands are out, corralling the young man towards the wall. "We didn't think /you/ had either. What the /fuck/, Bones." Toru does /halt/ when indicated to do so, stopping almost as if a cosmic ‘pause’ button had been pressed - stuck briefly in mid-stride pose, arm thrust forward, but eventually dropping to his side. The accusations just cause him to twist up his face into an amalgamation of /expressions/, emotions conflicting as he is forced to face the consequences of that particular fuck-up. “Kay, literally all I told ‘im is that I’m with the Brotherhood. Nothin’ else, I /swear/. All he could tell anyone /else/ is ‘hey, my boyfriend’s in the Brotherhood, maybe you should fucking arrest him’ and I ain’t fuckin’ been arrested, have I?” He takes in a deep breath, leaning just /slightly/ back as Kay approaches, but opting for the moment not to attempt retreat. “I dunno if you noticed but I ain’t exactly an /expert/ at this shit, so fuck me if I made a /mistake/!” Suggestion duly noted, Kay does not, in fact, do this. Instead his right hand raises up to hover beside his left ear, and then swings down /hard/ to delivery a backhand fist to the side of Toru's face, "/Idiot/." His voice isn't angry. It's /focused/, his eyes clear and dilated, "They wouldn't send the /cops/ in to deal with us, you /disloyal/ little /shit/. You know what HAMMER is? You know who Malthus FUCKING Rogers is?" His teeth are still bared in a terrible, manic /smile/, like a grinning skull. "There are whole military factions out there that would WIPE US OUT in a heartbeat with God and Country /cheering/ them on. You told him about the /prison/? Christ, you don't even /remember/ if you told him about /me/? What about /Rey/? Dusk? Fucking--" The smile melts off, his own breathing slow and heavy. Head shaking as he shoves his fingers through his hair, "Ion? The church? The safehouses?" The slap is apparently sufficiently shocking that for a moment Toru doesn’t even /react/ to it, just standing there, mouth open slightly as he /stares/ at Kay. It doesn’t even occur to him to try to /retaliate/, he’s just willing to accept that he pretty much had it coming. “I didn’t know any of that shit in fucking /August/, if I hadn’t told him yet by now I wouldn’t have fuckin’ /told/ him-- I mean, knowin’ all that shit. I wouldn’t have told him. None of that shit had /happened/ yet.” Toru is /this/ close to all but tearing his hair out, hands gripping his head over the hood with some frustration, but he /breathes/ slowly in his attempt to calm down. It is the accusation of /disloyalty/, though, that seems to knock the wind out of the teenager’s sails. /That/ has him looking up at Kay with an expression of pure hurt, and his voice even just about cracks a little when he protests, “I’m not /disloyal/.” “When I said /literal/ I meant fuckin’ /literal/. All he /knows/ is I’m a fuckin’ /murderer/, pretty much /everyone/ figured that we did the prison job anyway, and I told him you and me /work/ together. I don’t think I told him /where/. Other’n /those three fuckin’ things/, I haven’t told him /shit/. I ain’t told him /shit/, and could you maybe appreciate the fact that I’m tryin’ to fuckin’ come clean about this and calm the fuck down?” "You told a guy that was a complete /stranger/ to you about being connected to the most /wanted/ mutant /stronghold/ in the fucking country. My god did you even wait to /fuck/ him first?" Kay sweeps a hand out to the - grubby alley around them. At least it isn't /cold/ here, warm as a forge fire, if still kind of dank and smelly, "So they could'a been /monitoring/ us this whole fucking time. You know that, right? They coulda been following you everywhere you been going - I don't gotta appreciate jack or SHIT, little man, you made this mess." But he /is/ breathing in slowly, then out. Then in. "Gimme your phone." He extends a long-fingered hand, speaking more evenly again, "You ever think what might happen, you two ever broke up? Mr. Can't Handle Stress. Mr. So-Petty that he can't even handle you walking down the street with a stranger before he's cold shouldering you right in front of your friends? Mr. Likes-You-/Weak/ for him?" “Yeah, actually I /did/ fuck him first. A lot. Thank you very much,” Toru replies, matter-of-factly, though not even he seems to think that the biting sarcasm is very funny in light of the situation. “Nobody’s been fucking /following/ me.” This sounds somewhat less convincing, even to him; frowning, he repeats, with forced conviction, “Nobody’s been following me.” And then he’s pulling out his phone fairly obligingly, a battered iPhone that has seen better days, but before he hands it over he gives Kay a suspicious look. “What do you want it for? You need me to set it to English?” Holding it up, he shows that the UI has been set to Japanese, but apparently he’s willing to /change/ that if need be. “Could you stop fucking /talking/ about him like that, we’re /workin’/ on shit, and /that/ was the first time he ever even /did/ anything like that. We been out before and it’s been fine, he just… we’re /workin’/ on it.” Still, despite his assurances, the teen is getting that much more obviously uncomfortable; shoulders shrugged up around his ears, gaze pointed firmly at the ground. "Doesn't matter," Kay takes the phone without looking at it. In his hand, it's instantly consumed in a contained micro-inferno, searing black and spitting up sparks, any casing on it melting and bubbling over while smoke sizzles from its creases. He drops it on the ground. He even /smiles/ at Toru's boasting, lips pressed together. It causes a number of wrinkles to form around his eyes, "Hope it was worth it." He says it with /harsh/ cheer. And points up the alley. "Get on the bike." /His/ bike, that would be. Parked all singed and hoary at the curb. /This/ would be the point where Toru finally starts to let some /terror/ slip through, the sight of his phone fizzling on the ground apparently acting as a sort of symbolic death knell. “C--C’mon, why’d you have to go and do that?” He gulps as he stares at the wreckage, tiny as it is, then looks back up to Kay. And to the bike. Aaand, back to Kay. Gears are /grinding/ in the teen’s head, and he finally replies, in a voice barely above a whisper, “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” "You've had worse." Kay observes conversationally. Standing at a few feet from the young man, his body turns so that his hip and shoulder face Toru. And his head - that's turned toward him as well. As is the negligent hand that he raises - with fingers flexing open. In the palm hovering in front of Toru's face is a thrashing of dry-rippling vapors. Licks and tongues of semi-transparent fire dance amongst it. Behind it, his haggard, sun-beaten features are unblinking. "Fighting me'd be one of 'em. Bike. Now." His head tips lower. "Or you become just one more Hiroshima shadow, right here in New York City." There’s another half-tick of hesitation, just enough to register his continued /resistance/ to this idea, but Toru does finally look towards the bike again, half-staggering as he sets off in that direction. He’s forcing himself to breathe slowly as he makes his way thattaway, and once he gets to the bike /itself/ he takes a moment to look down the street, briefly considering a getaway but apparently deciding against that idea as well. Still, as he mounts the bike awkwardly - he hasn’t really gotten the hang of the vehicle yet - he turns to practically /spit/ at Kay, “Y’know that’s pretty fucking /insensitive/, you fuckhead.” And then he looks away, arms crossed /petulantly/ while he waits for his driver to ferry him off. Kay swats Toru upside the head as he hops on behind him, their bag of purchases an absurd fixture for him to tuck into the mini-boot before hopping on behind him. "It was supposed t'be." The motor roars to life with a wet, throaty purr, vibrating up the thigh muscles of those seated on it. "Hang on." And off they roar, into the crippled streets of their fair city.