all-cf-me

[all-cf-me]

It's a curious sensation, Adrian reaching across to pat him on the back: the touch of a human is always as welcome as it is disturbing, but after his tumultuous comedy of errors with Dr. Moreau and steadily growing closer with Ed, sparks shoot out from Adrian's fingertips and spread warm through Dodge's chest. Less than anxiety, yet more than simple appreciation. Affection, maybe, for one of his oldest friends.

"You know, I'm not even sure," Dodge can't help but laugh: all he can parse from the long month spent indoors is trying to keep Ed from taking too much radiation damage, the stubborn asshole. "Maybe myself. Everyone was busy enough without having to scrape me off the floor, so they just put me up somewhere and went on about their lives."

"That good, too. Things could always be worse for guys like us." Guys like us: as if Dodge can even compare his own measly struggles to what he imagines Adrian having to deal with. Their professions are all they have in common, at least as far as Dodge is concerned, but he recognizes his friend's gesture anyway. He shakes his head too, and even snorts a little laugh. "Better you than me. I don't know which is worse - telling people 'you can't stand there' or telling them 'you can't eat that'." Both are equally terrible, but they both thrive in that work, valued for their workhorse mentalities when everyone else is losing their minds.

Dodge takes a drink, swishing the liquid around his mouth before swallowing - the weather still has his mouth dry, and he swears he can still taste the grit of ash under his tongue and up in his gums. "I was instructed to stay in place, mostly, but I got to scrub some masks. You and I need to plan another trip out into the Wastes... Hurry up and enjoy the clean air before they herd us all back up."

[all-cf-me]

Seth raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, freakin'." It's a charming admonishment for sure, though, and he can't entirely help the grin that tugs at the corner of his lips. It's been a while since someone got onto him for his cussing; usually Seth's behavior and actions warrant plenty of complaint without bringing a few bad words into it. That she chooses to only further cements the idea of who Simone is further into Seth's mind: pedantic, academic, controlling. Lady, meet Tramp.

"With the storm and all, everyone all in a tizzy... the last thing I wanted to do was bother you, especially with something like record requests." There's truth in his statement, though Seth obviously dances right around the real reason he pulled those records in particular: Montell business, information that bought the Lady some of the finest off-continent liquor money can buy (the preferred stuff for his contacts at the Society, which will come in handy when he meets with.... yadda yadda yadda.) Seth watches her expression carefully, which he masks easily by glancing down occasionally to her lips as they move.

"Nothing amiss for now, though the way you organize your shi- stuff," another lopsided grin, "I should be taking notes, huh? You've got quite the system, darlin', I'm jealous."

Talking to Simone always feels like being called into the principal's office, but it's a part he plays well: an errant schoolboy, testing boundaries and taunting the consequences as if they're a dog on a chain, seeing what all he can get away with before he's given the paddle. Her authoritative tone does little to shake him, though he at least knits his brows semi-apologetically as he drops the stolen stack of classified Sector 5 records onto her desk. "To be fair, I don't think anyone has so much as breathed on those records in a few decades, judging from the fuckin' dust they left on my desk."

Seth's leaf-litter-hazel eyes flicker up to her, glinting with the sharp grin he offers her. "Guess I couldn't replace them before your next audit, Miss Stokes. You're pretty sharp, huh?"

[all-cf-me]

Dodge has been frustrated with Ed's obliviousness before, but never quite as much as right now. It's not like he can even blame him, though... it's not fair to expect Ed to understand when this is the first time Dodge has ever experienced it himself.

"It's not you," he defends again, and however cliche it sounds makes the reassurance no less true. Dodge keeps parrying around, deflecting and blocking and leaping out of the way to avoid any real consequences, but he's growing frustrated: he has to go for a blow, and if he draws blood, so be it. "I like you, Ed. But I shouldn't like you, and if you like me, you shouldn't. We're not meant to be liked, or play games, or go to fancy restaurants. We're mutants."

He stands up, then, finally retreating from that look Ed's giving him. "The world went to shit when that meteor hit, and the sooner we all die off and let humans fix it, the better."

As if his own reaction isn't bad enough, Ed's makes the situation even worse... confused, attentive, wary. Rightfully so, but Dodge wants to hurt Ed's feelings even less than he wants to face that decades-old mass of cobwebs inside himself. It's a new realization that maybe he's not worried about the fallout from his own perspective this time as much as he's worried about Ed - it's hard to forget that the last time they were so close, Dodge's blood was melting a hole right through that dumb, handsome face.

"No, you didn't," he's quick to say, punctuating the reassurance with a small shake of his head. Ed creeps closer and he lets him, though if he attempts to get any closer Dodge is ready to throw up a hand to keep him rigidly, stubbornly at-bay. Who is he trying to protect here, anyway?

"I don't know, Ed," Dodge tentatively starts, though speaking so plainly about his knot of emotion makes him feel like a dog gone belly-up. "I guess I am worried... and just angry. Angry about you."

[all-cf-me]

"Me? Hell no I wouldn't. I love kids, kids love me. Part of that 'youthful soul' thing, huh?" All the wrath is gone from Seth's tone now, especially now that fear has crept into Alvaro's: he regrets having to twist his arm so roughly, but at least now they understand each other. All that's in Seth's tone now is sticky-sweet charm, confidence, and soothing purrs. "But let's be honest... between you and me, who has the history of making bad fuckin' calls? You have the chance to be a good brother, or you can keep being selfish. Choice is all yours."

Alvie goes on, then, and it's all Seth can do not to drown him out, though he can't help the chuckle that eases from between his grinning teeth. This is far from the first time that a debtor has fired threats off just because they've let themselves be backed into a corner. "Darlin', I'd love to stay away from her," he starts when Alvie has finished, spreading his hands wide in a peaceable gesture. "C'mon, am I really the bad guy here? Rent's due, baby, so don't moan and cuss just because you don't like the bed you made."

Seth sets his feet up on the table in front of him, crossing his feet at the ankles. "Now come on over here, Mr. Rojas... I wanna see just how close you can get before you sit bitch."

It sobers him up fast, this threat plunged into his true heart. Jeopardizing his family wounds him deeper than any stake, and he aches with phantom pains of the soul. "You wouldn't do it," he said. The claim is stripped of power, his smooth voice strained thin.

"You wouldn't do that to a little girl," he says. Surviving the Wastes didn't mean you could have a life out there. "Forget making a chalice," he thought. "I'm going to use it as a urinal."

Alvie takes a cigarette between his lips and fumbles with the lighter. Goosebumps ripple up and down the flesh of his arms. It takes a third try to light up.

He's sat on the floor, lips curled into a snarl. But the vampire is sat there, still and forced into having a more civilized conversation. "I'll shine your silverware, mop your floors," he says. "But, don't expect me to smile about it."

He runs a frustrated hand through his dark curls.

"Stay away from her," he says. "Tell whatever little minions have been watching us to go home, too. They're lucky I've been too blood-drunk off your clients to sniff them out." He points a finger to the side of his temple as he puffs on the cigarette. "If I catch a whiff of them lurking, I won't be sitting in the driver's seat anymore," he said. "It's not a threat, it's just what happens. So if they like having throats, stay away from my home. There. I could've kept it to myself and upped the bodycount, but I didn't."

[all-cf-me]

"I guess I'm dying." For once, there's a distinct lack of humor in Seth's pain-taut voice as he leans forward onto his knees, each aching body part moving slower than the last. He can't help but compare himself to a wind-up toy, robust and chattering at the start but only ever headed downwards, straight into that inevitable moment of ceasing. As quickly as medicine can move, his disease seems to go just a little quicker, and he's forced to wonder just how long he has before his doctors switch from progress to simply keeping him comfortable.

It's one of his lungs this time, he can tell: each of his ragged, labored breaths is punctuated by crushing pain, and what color he has on a normal day is all faded to varying shades of sickly pale. Yara finds Seth hunched in a chair, grasping his sleeve with the subconscious frustration of gasping for air. "My regular doctor, on fuckin' vacation," he rasps, pausing to take a breath. "Left lung, membrane's fucked. My left. Be a doll, patch it up?"

It's fortunate that both of his lungs have long since been replaced by techno-organic substitutes, and a compromised bio-mesh membrane isn't necessarily a death sentence. Still, he's at Dr. Albrecht's mercy, whether she decides to fix the problem or simply manage the pain until Seth's own doctors finally answer their damn phones.

hospital trips & hellos.ᐟ open starter. location : hospital. time : 7 : 27 pm. now playing :

⠀⠀⠀ the storm brought some insight into who’d been capable of taking care of themselves when danger inevitably arrived. ‘survival of the stupidest,’ yara liked to say. it had a bittersweet ring to it. for the most part, her occupation allowed her some distance from that, with the privacy of her studies and the trust of those around her team, she never worried much about dealing with fools. though the opportunity to assist in some of the other sectors of the hospital came and the extra hours were appreciated. she couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised by some of the stories. blatant ignorance. pure luck. idiocy. then there’d been her favorite, uncharted and unchecked whimsy.

⠀⠀⠀ she could understand the curiosity of the storm, but chasing it felt all the more above anything she’d listed. she couldn’t even comfort most of the patients with a “i’ve heard worse.” she couldn’t lie. she wouldn’t. bring back shame, she told herself, unwilling to enable blind adrenaline. she eased her coat over her shoulders, “that lunch break i was promised seems so far from possible now. “ a mutant in the middle of work on an empty stomach? a ticking time bomb ready to happen. yet she braced herself at the next patient, keeping her composure, however unamused it came across. “alright, what are you here for? what hurts? and no, we will not euthanize a family member because you dislike them.” she stated, tilting her head at the visitor, clipboard in hand.

[all-cf-me]

JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN as Ed Deerman NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH (2025)

[all-cf-me]

"Oh, not avoiding, Mr. Cortez... never avoiding." The clarification comes quickly, confidently: as much respect as Seth maintains for Santi, he doesn't want it to be confused for fear, even if it's a more accurate description than he's willing to admit. He leans back in his seat, too, crosses his legs in a wide, nothing-to-hide position. "Just parallel. Two big animals with their own expanses, occasionally drinking from the same rivers, right? Our ecosystems mutually benefit each other, even if we're never in the same room."

Here's where it gets delicate, Seth assumes, though in the privacy of his Council office, he speaks as freely as though they're chatting about the weather. "Now, I plan on staying the course with your peoples' work in sector 10, whatever that may be, but I think your eye's drawn more toward the single-digit sectors, huh?" As badly as Seth wants to kick back and set his scuffed-toe boots up on his desk, he doesn't think Santi would approve... he settles for a thoughtful scratch of his stubble instead. "A foot in the door, access to all the gears and wheels of Sol City, completely under the table. Unless you already have something arranged?"

"not every day, no." compared to him, seth is scarcely more than a child... a very presumptuous one at that. he doesn't like that he's been paying attention to his dealings in the entertainment district, but it doesn't surprise him. you have to know your merchandise. disgusting as it is, what he peddles. santiago would sooner char him to a crisp than treat him with even a shred of respect ( even for a human, he's just awful! ) but he has the restraint not to set fire to his office so immediately. he just hopes he goes down with the building. serve him. santiago's lip curls, neither smile nor sneer. "so let me get this straight," he starts, leaning back in his seat. "you want to be useful to me?" he can imagine a toad with more use... but seth does have some sway to him now. as much as he hates to admit it, that could give him an edge. but would he be so foolish to set a trap for himself? "i find it hard to believe an election has given you such a change of heart. or have you been avoiding me all this time?"

[all-cf-me]

As if his own reaction isn't bad enough, Ed's makes the situation even worse... confused, attentive, wary. Rightfully so, but Dodge wants to hurt Ed's feelings even less than he wants to face that decades-old mass of cobwebs inside himself. It's a new realization that maybe he's not worried about the fallout from his own perspective this time as much as he's worried about Ed - it's hard to forget that the last time they were so close, Dodge's blood was melting a hole right through that dumb, handsome face.

"No, you didn't," he's quick to say, punctuating the reassurance with a small shake of his head. Ed creeps closer and he lets him, though if he attempts to get any closer Dodge is ready to throw up a hand to keep him rigidly, stubbornly at-bay. Who is he trying to protect here, anyway?

"I don't know, Ed," Dodge tentatively starts, though speaking so plainly about his knot of emotion makes him feel like a dog gone belly-up. "I guess I am worried... and just angry. Angry about you."

one moment, dodge seems perfectly willing to play, and the next it seems like he's halfway across the room. it's normal for him to feel a little strange, being pinned like he had been, but the disappointment is new. he doesn't know what he did wrong, and for once he would really like to know. now he won't even look at him. frowning, ed sits up and slowly inches toward him, trying to test the new boundary that's been set. "what's wrong?" he asks, surprising even himself. he isn't close enough to touch him yet, hovering at the edge of an imaginary line. "i didn't hurt you, did i?" he wonders if dodge knows that he isn't putting his all into it—if that hurts his feelings. at the same time... he doesn't feel like that's the problem. there's some thing familiar about it. "you're not still worried, are you?"

[all-cf-me]

Victor's appalled reaction is within the realm of expectation, but Seth doesn't back down even as he tramples every eggshell in a half-mile radius. "Oh c'mon, the career of an entertainer can't be spotless forever, right?" Though he has to work to undo some of the damage he'd dealt with such a suggestion, Seth's voice is rich with laughter, and he gauges Victor's anger with a toothy kiss against his neck. The notion isn't offensive enough for Victor to throw Seth right out on his ass, at least, which is promising: lack of interest now means nothing for the potential of future projects. "It's about time you got down and dirty, baby. Shed some light on all those low places."

Seth's little advance towards undressing isn't quite accepted yet so the older man turns the touch into a worshiping caress, slow, gentle circles drawn into Victor's leg. "What do a bunch of tapes have that I can't get from the real deal? Just imagine, all those screaming fans catching a glimpse of what you've got going on... honey, I'm talking cult-level shit."

"That's your plan? Film me fucking and sell it to everyone who wants a piece?" It's hilariously disrespectful, if not outright insulting. Victor knows there'd be people who would pay for it, but he and the label can at least agree that it would be a little off the table, considering the image they're going for. Besides, the chase is what gives him appeal; if he'd given it up on Seth's command, there'd be nothing left for the tease. "Not that appealing to me, except if I really wanted it for personal use, but you know. I like an audience best." Avant garde, though. He could work with that. Victor's mind drums up synths and fast talking tracks, and he looks at Seth's wolf-grin and matches it with his own, feeling that thumb try to slip in between his waistband, trying to take what isn't to be taken. Yet. "In this hypothetical scenario, what's the plan then? What's stopping you from taking all the tapes and just scurrying off with them?"

[all-cf-me]

An ordinary vial of little pills is set on the table, then, and pushed across to him. Adonis explains in his academic way about the potential and risk, the work they still have in front of them, but Dodge fixes his dark stare on the vial and, at some point, realization numbs him: a cure. A temporary one, of course, but a breakthrough, a significant step towards some sort of half-normal life. A gift.

Slowly, as if it'll vanish if he moves too quickly, Dodge takes up the little bottle in his fingers and turns it, watches the pills shift to the side. Suddenly his eyes sting with the threat of tears and he bows his head low, the only gesture he can think of to match the gratitude that overwhelms him. "Thank you, Adonis," he sniffs, lifting an arm to wipe the moisture from his face.

Jesus, he must look ridiculous, letting his emotions get the better of him like this. Keep it professional, Dodge, pull yourself together. He takes a steadying breath and straightens back up, trying to keep the giddy smile off his face. What he can't help, though, is how closely he clutches the little bottle to his chest. "I'll be careful with them, sir, you have my word. I'll follow your instructions to the letter, every single one."

"I think I've found a way for you to at least live with it." He produces pills, a concoction where he'd found some sort of way to metabolize a chemical to make Dodge's fluids less lethally acidic and more slow burn. It's not perfect, of course, no drugs can ever be perfect, but it's something that could give the man some relief. Adonis pushes the vial forward and eyes the man sitting in front of him as he leans back into the seat. He wonders if he'll expect tears. Or gratitude. Or stunned silence. Perhaps all three. "It won't kill someone every time you spit on them, Mister Ramsay. You would drool on my finger after you drink a pill and you would hardly give me a first degree burn." He gives him a measured smile as he pushes the pills towards him. "I'll have to adjust for potency and for your biology, of course. But consider your problem at least, a little solved for now. There are going to be some precautions you should take however, should you take these."

[all-cf-me]

Talking to Simone always feels like being called into the principal's office, but it's a part he plays well: an errant schoolboy, testing boundaries and taunting the consequences as if they're a dog on a chain, seeing what all he can get away with before he's given the paddle. Her authoritative tone does little to shake him, though he at least knits his brows semi-apologetically as he drops the stolen stack of classified Sector 5 records onto her desk. "To be fair, I don't think anyone has so much as breathed on those records in a few decades, judging from the fuckin' dust they left on my desk."

Seth's leaf-litter-hazel eyes flicker up to her, glinting with the sharp grin he offers her. "Guess I couldn't replace them before your next audit, Miss Stokes. You're pretty sharp, huh?"

who / what: open starter by simone stokes for @armageddonfm when / where: councilwoman stokes' office, sector 5

❝ Did you think I wasn’t going to notice? ❞ Simone narrowed her eyes at the other person. She was sitting behind her desk, stacks of paper piled up on her table, either documents for her to sign or documents for her to squint at, nothing anyone else probably wants to involve themselves with. Who’d want to delve deeper into tiny texts of documentation? Simone would, but that’s just her being her. Heaving a sigh, she returned to the current document in her grasp, skimming it as she continued to speak, ❝ You and I can work this thing out. ❞

[all-cf-me]

"That good, too. Things could always be worse for guys like us." Guys like us: as if Dodge can even compare his own measly struggles to what he imagines Adrian having to deal with. Their professions are all they have in common, at least as far as Dodge is concerned, but he recognizes his friend's gesture anyway. He shakes his head too, and even snorts a little laugh. "Better you than me. I don't know which is worse - telling people 'you can't stand there' or telling them 'you can't eat that'." Both are equally terrible, but they both thrive in that work, valued for their workhorse mentalities when everyone else is losing their minds.

Dodge takes a drink, swishing the liquid around his mouth before swallowing - the weather still has his mouth dry, and he swears he can still taste the grit of ash under his tongue and up in his gums. "I was instructed to stay in place, mostly, but I got to scrub some masks. You and I need to plan another trip out into the Wastes... Hurry up and enjoy the clean air before they herd us all back up."

"Hanging in there," Dodge answers, and though he doesn't actually manage a smile, there's enough warmth in his tone to suggest one. As sullen as he is, there's no denying that things have been going in Dodge's favor recently, especially since the sky cleared up and he's allowed into the council building again. "What did they have you doing during lock-down? More than managing queues and giving directions, I hope."

[all-cf-me]

"The cost of a life." Seth purrs a rasping laugh and leans back again, retrieving a tin of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket before getting comfortable. He puffs life into his, then tosses the items down to Alvie - just a taste of his generosity. "Honey, I don't give two shits about the cost of a life. In all my decades, I've found that intrinsic value just doesn't hold a candle to the real deal, y'know?"

Alvie seems to be open to the idea of paying off his debt, though his approach is frustratingly lackadaisical. Seth appreciates a carefree, devil-may-care quality in his employees, but first they have to understand the ground rules: he hopes Alvie comes to that conclusion himself before Seth has to beat it into him. In any case, at least the vampire mutant's impudence is charming enough. "You wanna wait for me to die, get in line. As for a hard number, I'm afraid I can't give you one. See, there's really no telling how much money you cost me, is there?"

He wasn't going to wheel out the big guns so early, but the skull-chalice comment doesn't do Alvie any favors... Seth takes his time, breathes out a chest full of smoke before cutting the mutant a sidelong glance. "Now, you have a nice, long think about this before you go signing deals. I'd hate for little Rosita to get dumped back out in the Wastes just because Big Brother couldn't keep his shit in line."

It's fun, watching such a confident young man struggle and cuss on the floor, and Seth doesn't spend any effort on keeping the crooked grin from his face. "Tram driving? Christ, sweetheart... It's a good thing you've got me to help you out, huh?"

He reclines back in the seat with one leg bent up close to him and the other outstretched, using his shirt to scrub the blood off of his knuckles. "Oh, you'd fuck plenty of someone's... some you may even enjoy," Seth begins his familiar spiel, the basic beats he gives everyone who crosses him and decides to settle their debt in a contract. "But first, you'd be scrubbing toilets. Fetching drinks, clearing glasses, cleaning up various bodily fluids, and if you prove you can keep your fuckin' mouth to yourself," Seth cuts Alvie a sharp, distrustful glance, "then you fuck."

Seth leans forward onto his knees, then, keeps his smiling eyes steady in Alvie's so that the threat of what he's saying isn't lost between them. "But you don't start with the kinky MILF's or the rich daddies looking for a pretty boy. You start with the lonely, pathetic, diseased losers who can't get it up without crying. And you work your way up until maybe I can forgive you for making such a goddamn mess."

[all-cf-me]

Seth takes another moment to observe the situation, measuring the danger and taking a stab at reading the story before stepping further in and quietly closing the door behind him. It's a scene that might have scared away a weaker person, but as desensitized as Seth is to matters of violence and passion and indulgence, the claret pools he sidesteps are only momentary obstacles, and he knows that each one glints with opportunity. Where there are blood puddles, there are things gone awry, and in fixing the course, owed favors are bound to accumulate.

"Hey, alright, no big deal," he offers in an attempt to soothe, setting the bottle of wine on the counter on his way to where Malcolm is leaned against it; there aren't many good things that come with being Seth Van Meter, but at least he's liquid-smooth in other peoples' crises, and his hands and voice are steady and slow as he sidles in close to Mal to give him a once-over. He stoops a bit to find Malcolm's eyes with his own, one crooked finger tipping up his chin while his other hand comes to rest light on Mal's gore-soaked shoulder. "We'll deal with that in a minute, huh? Looks like you got cut up, you think we can get you settled down on that sofa over there so I can take a look? Nice and easy."

It wasn't supposed to go this way.

It was supposed to be an easy mission, one Mal knew he could do blindfolded in his sleep. Track the mark, record their location, identify their contacts, and report back. Easy enough, and only a couple night's work at most. Every part of it went smoothly, exactly as expected, without a hitch. Until tonight. No, tonight, Malcolm was taken by surprise.

It happened in a flurry. He'd just crossed the threshold into his apartment when something dull and hard struck him across the face. The metallic smell taste of blood igniting his senses before the familiar scent of the mark he was tasked with tailing reaches him. The next moments are hazy. Segments of black intercut with the thrashing of limbs, the sound of fists against flesh, the glint of a blade, then more black. Malcolm returns to his body, his mind alight with only the smell of iron, and a warm sensation coating his arms, chest, face.

Seth arrives to find Malcolm in the exact spot he was in when the message was sent- perched against the edge of his kitchen counter, staring blankly out into the darkness of the night sky. After all the years of working in Sector 6 (and beyond it) he'd managed to work his way up to a rather well-appointed apartment, one of those painstakingly restored from decades long past that afforded a dazzling view of the city in its heyday. Mal never imagined that the vacant units below and beside his own would have the added benefit of helping him get away with murder.

"He's in tub," he croaks, eyes still locked on the pitch beyond the glass, swallowing thickly when he realizes how alien his voice sounds. "Cartwright."

[all-cf-me]

He winces, one eye closing against the pain of his hair being drawn up in Malcolm's fingers, and there's a flash of frustration as a flashlight flickers on overhead: why was he wasting time (and, less importantly, Dodge's energy) peering blindly into the dark instead of starting with the light on? But concern for the problem at-hand overrides any potential catty comments, and his brow furrows as Dodge strains to hear the prognosis.

Shit... their lack of a ladder and tools is really sinking its teeth in. Dodge's self-loathing bubbles up like tar to coat his insides with frustration and embarrassment. "Okay," he grunts after a moment of thought, teeth almost gritted. Malcolm isn't heavy, but the longer he stays balanced on Dodge's shoulders, the harder it gets to keep steady. "Okay, get off, I have an idea."

As gently as he can manage, Dodge sinks into a kneel, buckling in his shoulders so Malcolm can scamper down. The break is certainly a relief to his musculature (and scalp) as he produces a box cutter from his belt and pulls off one of his boots, beginning to use the blade to separate one of his thick, rubber outsoles from the inner sole. "You're going to stand on my shoulders, and I'm going to lick this and pass it up to you. It should be melted enough to affix to the crack, but once it's wet, you only have about thirty seconds to get it placed."

Dodge pauses in his work, fixing Mal with a critical, chocolate-brown stare. "Can you do it?"

He rolls his eyes and wishes Dodge was able to see it. Even he, the most abrasive stick in the mud, would have to admit that this was an absurd thing to ask of a professional colleague. If only he'd been more prepared, they wouldn't be in this situation.

He only wavers slightly as Dodge sets about getting to his feet, his stomach lurching as he feels his center of gravity shift, grip tightening against the man's scalp. Mal would never admit it, but he's rather impressed by the show of strength and stability Dodge is showing in this moment. Maybe being annoyingly stiff and unyielding has some benefits after all.

With the raised height, Mal cranes his neck trying to spot any clear signs of the leak. A moment passes before he produces a small flashlight from his pocket, and directs a beam of light up into the darkness. "Looks like a crack on the topside of one of the pipes. One of the blue ones. I can't reach it from this current position, but if I stand on your shoulders, I think I can get to it. We'll need some sort of sealant- a piece of cloth probably won't be dense enough to make much of a difference." The pipe rattles slightly as a steady stream of smokey gas filters though. "Any bright ideas in that thick skull of yours, Ramsay? We'll need to put out an order to seal off the wing otherwise."

[all-cf-me]

Dodge fully expects Ed to cheat, pull some bullshit mutant trait out of nowhere and grow armor or stick to the ground or something (and no, he doesn't know how Ed's mutation works), but nothing like that comes. Instead, Dodge's tackle is effective and Ed buckles: a moment later he's got his opponent pinned again, one hand propping him up off the floor while the other digs the heel of a palm into Ed's shoulder to keep him down.

"I'll always get you," Dodge pants into the space between them, adrenaline stinging his forehead and quickening his breaths. It's intended to be a taunt fueled by victory, but it ends up sounding unnecessarily warm, and between his unintentional tone and the licks Ed offers, Dodge suddenly falls back onto his heels as if he'd been physically shoved away. Eye contact becomes impossible, and he clears his throat as he struggles to find literally anything else to look at. "Well... Two to zero, I guess."

"no," he says, slouching once they've got some distance between them; "i'm just testing you." yeah, same thing. he doesn't care to realize that. "and you're the one that's running into things!" he speaks quicker as dodge picks himself back up, making sure that this time he's through his sentence before he gets knocked over. planting his feet, he snorts like a rhinoceros and readies himself to take the momentum of a bigger opponent. dodge slams into him with more force than he expects. he could have cheated, if he stuck his feet to the floor. but having agreed that he wouldn't, he ends up tipping over and crushed beneath dodge's weight. "wow," he says, leaning in to give him a few licks on the neck. it's supposed to be, um... respectful. "i didn't think you were gonna get me that time."

[all-cf-me]

As insulting as Santiago's slight might have been to anyone else, it gets a laugh out of Seth as he spreads out across his chair and cuts his own cigar. It's probably true: they might've been worth something once, but after most of a lifetime of chemicals and medicine and alcohol, it's a miracle he's still able to pass on the Van Meter name at all.

"Not every day you come across something older than you, huh, boss man?" The look Santi levels at him is intimidating, especially as smoke unfurls from the hard line of his mouth, but Seth isn't afraid as much as he is jealous. There's such an effortless air of power that rolls off the old stone-cut man, an air that has Seth pacing just behind... a hyena at the lion's heels. "I just wanted to catch up, y'know? We're both aware of how much of your business takes place over my Lady's cocktails, officially or not, and I lament not having had the chance to talk since my election."

Seth leans across the desk, just briefly enough to reach with his cigar and light it from Santi's own draconic embers. Symbolic of their partnership, he hopes to assert. "Seeing as I'm a government man now, our business together can either drop to zero or double. So tell me, how can Councilman Van Meter best serve you, huh?"

santiago shadows the doorway for longer than is necessary, watching the councilman as he meanders through his office. it's certainly not what he would call an improvement with the space, but then... he's picky. they're picky. a human in a seat of power is a seat of power wasted; man had been given long enough to squander their world. slowly, but not cautiously, he takes his seat across from seth. he eyes the box with a guarded expression for a long moment before he reaches to take one. by the time its at his lips, its lit. "all you have left, i'd assume. not very valuable, either." in another life, maybe he would have been more amenable. unlikely, though. smoke billowing out of his mouth, he adds, "at least these hold up." it's as close to a compliment as he'll ever get. "what do you want with me? you're not going to make me read your mind, are you?"