ArchivedLogs:Business With Pleasure

Business With Pleasure
Dramatis Personae Kay, Toru, Trib	2013-11-16 This is why you don't mix them. (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <NYC> Clinton
The descending evening chill comes with a strong wind. It carries the bad smells of moldering city, of body, of trash untaken out. Stagnation. It's quieter, though, no cars, no people, and two people stroll cautiously down the sidewalk are cautious and watchful as they go. Kay walks towards the outer side of the walk, along the street, in typical torn-off sleeves, his leather MC kutte with 1% patches and colors, bandana around bicep, /severely/ nice calf-high boots. The cold air doesn't seem to bother him - he's a walking heat sink, radiant of a solid warmth Toru is welcome to take advantage of if he so chooses. He's shaking his head and muttering, "-guess I'll give 'em the bad news." /Toru/ is, in fact, walking on the side opposite the street, next to Kay. He's dressed in his usual less-than-stylish hoodie, a scarf around his neck, jeans, and mismatched Chuck Taylors. Gloved hands are thrust into the hoodie's pockets, and he's walking with his head tilted slightly downward, nodding a bit dumbly as Kay speaks. "Y.. yeah. You're kinda-- you gotta way with words, yeah?" Turning his head toward the older man, he offers a bit of a smirk at his own remark, then sniffs sharply as he carries on. He is /also/ taking advantage of that radiant heat effect; hoodie isn't /that/ great in cold weather and the heat makes being on patrol not /so/ bad. The shadow that rounds a corner just then isn't particularly zombie-like (or soldier-like) in its movements. Trib moves more like a panther as he moves, dressed in jeans and an army-style flak jacket over his yellow plaid flannel shirt. On his head, a knit tobaggon of dark grey that pushes his hair into a curl where it peeks from beneath and hits his shoulders. He stalks along the street, his gym bag in his half-hand and a length of pipe in his left that looks bitten at both ends. The boxer seems overly-cautious as he walks, occasionally stopping and looking around, listening intently before moving on. It's on one of these stops that he becomes aware of the duo walking down the street, his gaze immediately tracking Toru before flicking over to Kay and narrowing in memory. The pipe is tapped gently against his calf as he watches their progression, his jaw tightening a bit. Kay dangles a hammer off the side of his belt, but there aren't as many spatters off his clothes so much as blackened char, a few streaks of sootiness along a cheek. "Keh," he thumps an elbow against Toru's side, grinning to one side wryly, "I got a way with a lotta things." He lifts his eyes, noting the man up the street - and his pipe. Whether he recognizes him or no doesn't seem to matter much, and as they draw up to him he angles to go around him, "You gonna stand there all day, guy? We got cannibal corpses on the loose, if ya hadn't noticed." "Oh yeah?" Toru gives Kay a smirk, returning the nudge as he strolls along. The bonier teen is carrying a baseball bat in one of those gloved hands, occasionally tapping it on the ground. But then Trib's there, and at first, Toru actually doesn't even notice the boxer's form darkening their path - apparently his Tribdar isn't enabled - and so for a moment, there's little reaction from the teen. It's only when he looks to Kay in response to /his/ reaction that he catches sight of the boxer out of the corner of his eye. And, for just a moment - albeit a very perceivable one - he just freezes completely, even despite Kay's heat field! Gears working in his brain are practically audible as he works to find something to say, and he finally settles on, "Oh, hey, that's, uh-- my roommate I was tellin' you about. Guy looks like he can take care of himself, yeah?" Trib's mouth pulls tightly to one side as Kay and Toru approach, and the other man speaks. "No shit," he says, remaining in place. "An' here I was, thinkin' I just smelled fuckin' delicious or somethin'." His brow lowers at Toru's momentary freeze, and his eyes narrow as he's introduced. There's a long moment of silence as the big man regards the teenager, and then he nods. "Yeah. His /roommate/." The smirk he offers at this is flat, and he raises the pipe to tap it against his temple. "How the fuck you doin'?" There's no lowering of the heat field Kay radiates as they draw near; over his shoulders and faintly around his body can be seen the shimmery oil-smudges of not-quite smoke rising up off him. "Oh. /That/ guy, the controlling husband type. We're alive." And with Kay's response, all the color rushes from Toru's face as the teen's expression becomes the personification of D: . "C--C'mon, I didn't say /that/." He then leans in closer to the pyrokinetic, hissing under his breath, "Dude, don't piss him off, I have to live with the guy." He licks his lips, then, free hand coming up to tug at the neckline of his hoodie, and then cautiously takes a step or two towards Trib, holding that hand up to gesture to Kay. "Hey, Trib, this is one of my coworkers. From my night job. That I told you about." Then, turning back to Kay, "Kay, Trib." No color rises in Trib's face, but there is definitely some heat being added to Kay's from the big man. He blinks slowly, once. Twice. On the third blink, his attention shifts slowly from Kay to Toru, and then back again -- all with the dangerous languidness of a jungle cat. Toru's reaction doesn't really help with the overall tension that radiates from the boxer. "Alive's good," he grunts finally, lowering his pipe to knock it against his calf thoughtfully. "Beats the fuckin' alternative." The introduction stills him again, and he considers Kay for a moment, a slight tip to his head. "We've met," he notes, thwacking his calf pretty stoutly. "Kind of. You and your amigo ever find Cage?" "He that sensitive?" Kay doesn't lower his voice to hiss back to Toru - he says it baldly, hips cocked forward, shoulders leaning back, feet flat. "Shit, man, he throw you out, you know we got a bed for ya." He'll /put forward/ a hand to shake, eyes met with eyes, agreeing, "Kind of. Weird you recognize me out of that get-up. Trib, huh?" He sucks at a back molar until it /clicks/. "Sounds like something you get stuck in your teeth. Found him in the end - just coming back from a lil detour with the guy." Toru takes in a /deep/ breath, looking between Trib and Kay for another long moment, stammering a little bit while he tries to come up with. /Something/. The tension radiating off the teen is almost palpable, really. "L.. look." He takes in a deep breath, gritting his teeth a bit, and turning again to face Kay, bringing one hand up to brush his thumb along his nose. "Look, man, Trib's my fuckin' boyfriend, okay? I just don't like mixin' business and personal shit, y'know?" "I'd be a pretty piss-poor fucker to have around a detective agency if I didn't pay fuckin' attention," Trib says, his eyebrows lifting. He's apparently choosing to ignore the comment that's not directed at him. As well as the comments on his name. "Cage /lives/ in a fuckin' detour," he rumbles, without heat, dropping his bag with a muffled clatter of metal to shake Kay's hand firmly. "Fucker can't keep his fuckin' car on the road for shit." He doesn't seem to be relaxing, despite his conversational (well, more or less) tone. Then Toru is explaining, and the boxer slowly -- /slowly/ -- relaxes, nodding once, and offering Kay a small, almost apologetic pop of his eyebrows. Well, it would be apologetic, if he didn't look a tiny bit smug. "If you paid attention," Kay says flatly, no smugness to it, "You'd have known who I was before I showed up at your office." It's a stall, very likely, to process Toru dropping his news. Not exciting, perhaps, by existence but for how insistently it was /hidden/. His palm, when shaken, isn't too hot to touch. But it's inhumanly heated. "Business and personal," he repeats Toru's words, perma-grinning in a way that doesn't help much to suggest a mood. The smile then begins to fade; it ages him badly. And his eyes drift back to Toru, "So which'a us is which?" Toru pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a /hiss/ of frustration. "Which one you /think/ is which?" He takes in a long breath, thunking that bat on the ground with a bit more force, then rubbing the end of it on his pantleg. The free hand brushes along his nose again, then runs through his hair as he blows out another sigh. "Trib, what're you even doin' out here? There's like... still zombies and shit around, y'know." And again the bat is thunked on the ground. "Getcherself hurt." Is that... posturing? Trib's face tightens at the heat of Kay's palm, but he doesn't withdraw, offering a dark sort of look for the other man's response. He doesn't offer any kind of response, instead dropping his hand and reaching down to retrieve his gym bag. He pauses at the question, turning his head to watch Toru's reaction to it with a steady sort of gauge. One eye narrows, slightly, and the big man straightens, rolling his shoulders. When Toru turns to question him, his expression turns just a bit incredulous, and he turns his head like he's trying to hear the teenager better. "'Scuse you?" So much for posturing. "Yeahhow about," Kay raises up a forearm to stare at the back of his wrist where a watch would be if he... wore one, "whichever one is getting /bored/ watching you two." His head snaps towards Trib, "--he said the fuck you /doin'/ out here, you just not listening?" Gulping quietly, Toru rubs the back of his neck again as he looks up at Trib. The look on his face is anything but intimidating but, perhaps bolstered a bit by Kay's accusation to the boxer, he replies, "I'm just /sayin'/ y'know, it ain't safe bein' out here. On accounta the fuckin' /plague/. And we don't /both/ gotta be out here fuckin' around with zombies, so I don't see why you're out here instead-a hangin' around back home." Trib pokes his tongue into his cheek, watching Toru with a flat expression for a long moment before he withdraws it, and nods once. "Good point," he says, ignoring Kay's helpful input (or perhaps he's answering both men). "See you later." He gives Kay a tight nod, and lifts his pipe in another salute. "Watch them fuckin' detours, man," he offers helpfully. "'Specially with this one." Then he's off, walking down the street without a backwards look. "The fuck was that," Kay has pretty much ZERO indoor voice, sorry, Toru, Trib can probably hear him saying it. Doing that restless leaning-forward shifting as though not sure if he want to go /after/ Trib or lurk around one-man posse style around his little brother type... figure. And more seriously turns back to Toru, brows twisted up like he's not sure what to do with his god damn face. So he's just kind of grimacing, "Boy, you know how to pick 'em. That's the guy yankin' your chain?" Toru cringes as Trib leaves, practically tucking his tail between his legs as the larger man walks off. He does lower his head almost without realizing it, and while his initial reflex is to take a half-step towards the boxer-- he ultimately just stops and turns to Kay. Cringing again at the pyro's reaction to the whole situation. "He ain't... he gets like, particular about shit. Like, he thinks he's my goddamn knight on shining armor and gets weird when I don't let 'im play at it." Closing his eyes, he lets out a sigh, bringing that bat up behind his neck, hooking both arms over it. "And /that/ is why I don't like mixin' business and personal shit." "So what, you can make yourself a nice weak helpless fucking little princess to feed his ego?" the side of Kay's lip curls up - less disgust and more like a dog-snarl, eyes snapping back in the direction Trib had gone. "/Fuck/ that." "Naw, dude, he's not..." Though there is a pause there as Toru frowns, wrinkling up his nose a little, then briskly shakes his head. "--It ain't like that, it's-- it's fuckin' /complicated/, okay?" He's just as suddenly gripping that bat, though, striding away from Kay and swinging it /hard/ into a nearby trash can. "Fuck!" is roared out in a near-scream, and the teen whirls on the older man, pointing the bat at him threateningly before finally letting it fall limply as he manages a wide grin. "You wanna break some shit? Let's break some shit." "Brother," Kay looks intently down the bat pointed at him -- looks /riveted/ by it, /eager/ about it, "When isn't it complicated." The hard impact of bat striking trashcan, trashcan striking the ground, the moldering contents scattering across the pavement, is loud in the silent night. Somewhere far away, a snarling rasp can be heard, as the walking dead nearby can be heard. Kay grins towards the nose, "You wanna break some shit, we're gonna have some volunteers soon enough." He's backing away, looking for a good fighting ground while glancing over a shoulder to make sure they don't end up hemmed in. And merrily swings a hammer to shatter a store font window while he's at it. "-but!" He crows, kind of skipping along, "It ain't right! However you wanna play it in the bedroom I don't give a slick shit!" CRASH!-tinkle-tinkle! Another window collapses. "But if he's got old /Bones/ cringing up like a kicked dog out in his /street clothes/, I'm gonna have a /problem/!" "I'll fuckin' handle it," is all Toru says for now, the teen kicking that overturned can for good measure, resting the bat on one shoulder for the moment, not quite in attack-ready stance just yet. He is, however, just as eager to find another window to smash, his grin widening and metaphorical fire igniting in his eyes. "I mean fuck, the guy's twice my size, you'd be cringin' too in my position, but-- /fuck/ that. I'll fuckin' /handle/ it." As the pair makes for better fightin' grounds, he grips the bat that much more tightly, dropping it to drag along the ground behind him, then THUNKing it on the ground purposefully. "/This/ shit is what I signed up for." "You're wrong." Kay smashes out a car window parked curbside, sprinkling a hand inside just long enough to ignite a small fire in the backseat. It burns low to start, he'll be calling on it shortly when the horde arrives. "Don't matter how big a guy is. Someone tries to make me cringe?" Dragging feet, rasping wetly through collapsing lungs, the dead arrive. And the street suddenly becomes as warm as a summer day as the pyrokinetic revs up to get to work. His grin is wide as a country highway - his eyes galactic. And his tone, stone-cold serious, "And I'll cut his throat and burn his house down." And so - they get to work. One deadly swing at a time.