| Talking over Burger Dogs | ||
|---|---|---|
| Summary: Both Blake and Rayne have a need to hit the convenience store. So why not just ride together? Somehow, Blake gets more information about Rayne's personal life than people that have known her far longer.   |
And then the elevator stops again after going down only one floor. Don't you hate it when that happens? The doors open and in walks Rayne, raising an eyebrow at the woman banging on imaginary drums. The raised eyebrow then turns into slightly narrowed eyes. No, Rayne knows who this is, she's met her before, but where? And why does she get a headache like she's having a hangover just looking at her? There's a slight shrug before she steps to another wall to give plenty of space. Because it's Rayne. Ground floor button is already lit up, good. Now if only she could properly place who this woman was... Blake is vaguely aware of the doors opening and another person joining her. She barely cracks an eye open because now it's time for the guitar solo and you just don't interrupt that. Still, she's a friendly sort so she says, "THIS PART'S BANGIN'! LOVE THIS SONG." She has no idea how loud she's talking, clearly. Doesn't matter though because it's not that she recognizes the woman in the elevator with her. She breaks into an oversized grin and flicks the headphones out, "Hey!" She says, giving her the classic nod in greeting. Rayne raises a hand in a somewhat nervous way. "H-hey!" she says. She knows she's seen this woman before, and she's assuming she's recognized... the rainbow hair stands out, after all. Of course, perhaps Blake more associated her with the armor, which Rayne is not currently wearing? Not that Rayne would know what she was wearing last time she saw the woman. She'd assume police uniform, usually, but... "You... know I can't hear it, right?" she says a little more loudly than she normally would. Blake looks puzzled, "Yeah? Huh, that's weird. These are cheap so people can usually hear it even when they're in my ears." She motions to her own ears, "You might wanna have your checked out or something. How ya been? Head ok? Pffs, not that a hangover could last a month...except in like Mapang, there's this one drink that's basically laced with every narcotic you can think of and...you get a few too many of those and whoaaa..." This story is topped off with spirit fingers just to add that perfect touch. There's a pause. "You don't remember me, huh?" She says, her grin suddenly twisting towards a little mischief. Rayne's got that "deer caught in headlights" look just now. Rayne rolls her eyes. "Correction. I can't hear it well enough to properly hear it. Just tinny meh-ness." But the rest of what Blake says clicks her memory back into place. And causes a facepalm. "Ah. Right, that's when I saw you. Gods, I've not been on a bender that bad in decades, not since my divorce." She sighs and looks up, smiling weakly. "Blake, was it?" Blake grins broadly, nodding as she jerks a thumb towards her chest, "Yeah, Blake. Ah, it's no big. That's how I know you were havin' a good time. You got pretty wasted. Probably shoulda warned ya. Got a pretty high tolerance. Wolf and all, you know?" It's quite possible that Rayne didn't know but Blake doesn't seem to be particularly guarded about...well, anything. Mostly, she just seems happy to run into a drinking buddy. "How ya been? You live here?" Rayne blinks. "Wolf?" Apparently, no, she didn't know. "I, uh, well, work's been hell. As predicted." She's assuming she likely complained about work while she was drunk. Why does she have to be such a damn lightweight? She blames it on her mother. "And yeah. Lived here since shortly after I arrived in Twisted." Not Mabase, Twisted. "Got it set up to look like my ship. Little reminder of home, I suppose. How's yours set up?" Small talk. This is that thing Rayne's been terrible at for the past year or two. She needs to get back into practice. Is the elevator slow today? Blake says, "Rad," she says utterly sincerely. Sometimes it's hard to imagine anyone can be such a walking cliche but somehow Blake pulls it off without flinching. "Sounds nice." In theory it sounds nice. Blake herself has never had a home to speak of so she can only conjure images that she's likely seen on sitcoms or concocted in her own imagination. The accuracy of these images are up for debate. "My place? Oh, you know. I've gotta place to stash my stuff. Got a space to throw my sleeping bag down. Pretty much all I need."" Rayne blinks a few times, and actually looks a little disappointed. Maybe she's a little nosy, but she does always like hearing about, or better yet, seeing, what other peoples apartments are set up as in Integra Arms. ...Not that she's seen more than two other peoples' apartments, mind you. Neither of which are here anymore. Rayne deflates a little, having made herself a little more depressed again. "Really? You can have it set up as just about anything and you just have... 'a place'?" She sighs, and the door opens. She steps on through, predictably, into the lobby on her way to outside. Conversation isn't over yet, she's assuming Blake is heading out as well. Because why else would she be there in the elevator, going down? Blake shrugs, "Yeah. I don't have a lot of stuff. Never needed more than just some things and a few really nice things." Blake tugs on the lapels of her well-loved-very-worn leather jacket. There's no denying that it is a quality jacket but it looks like it's lived several lifetimes already. Blake's easy strides keep in step with Rayne and though she's keeping up with the woman, she never looks like she's in any kind of hurry to do so. "Maybe it's the wolf thing. Werewolf, yeah. I thought I told ya but that might've been somewhere between the tequila and bourbon shots. Anyway.... Moved around a lot...like, all my life. The only place I've ever really had is my girlfriend's but that's more hers than mine. I just kinda crash there.- Hey, where ya going? Wanna lift?" She asks, just realizing she has no idea if they are even headed in the same direction. Rayne doesn't look to be in any particular hurry, either. "Ehhh... I... don't really remember anything after the scrap yard. Werewolf? Hrm. Have you met Sarra?" Nope, no real surprise out of her there. She's pretty jaded. A hand moves up and to her own collarbone as she simply says, "Phoenix," before continuing the conversation without a hitch. "I usually find a place to stay for about eight years or so before I move on again... s'why I liked the Spectral Eagle so much. It could go anywhere with me." There's an ever so slight headtilt and the quickest of glances as Blake mentions a girlfriend. Well, at least in this situation Rayne won't have to rely on her classically malfunctioning gaydar. "It's nice to have a place to call your own, at the end of the day... or at least I think so." The doors open and she says, "Just the convenience store to pick up a few things. Don't want the hassle of the crowds at the S-Mart." She looks over at Blake again and says, "Ehhh... no thanks. As I recall, you have a bike, and as you may recall, I have, uh, personal space issues." Blake actually looks nearly offended - nearly. It isn't for herself, though. It's Hella she's thinking about. How could anyone not want to jump at the opportunity to catch a ride on that beautiful piece of machinery? She doesn't linger there, though. "Ohhhh yeaaaah," Blake sees, seeming to finally recall the awkward way in which Rayne seemed to recoil at any sort of physical contact. Maybe it's a phoenix thing...which, by the way is really cool in Blake's mind. She's never once met one of her kind. In fact, that's why it earned her another monosyllabic compliment, "cool" when Rayne confessed it. In any case it turns out that they are both headed in exactly the same direction after all. "Hey! Me too. Kinda hungry. You walkin then? I could stretch my legs. I get kinda antsy without something to do anyway. Tag along?" Rayne nods once again, looking away. She is not happy about that mental trait of hers. "Oh. Well, I was actually planning on riding there, myself. On that Ninja with the bad cylinder?" From the sound of it, Rayne still hasn't fixed the problem. "Not sure how well it counts as 'something to do', but..." She shrugs. "No reason not to ride in tandem. Or just walk, if you really want to." Uhoh. Suddenly there's a gleam in Blake's eye and one would do best not to trust that look. It's precisely that look that got Rayne into trouble the first time they met. Riding in tandem is -closer- to what Blake would like to do but it's just that there is something in Blake's nature that makes her crave competition. What she says is, "Race ya." It's not a question. If walking would have satisfied her desire to get out some of those wiggles, well, a race is just going to crank that adrenalin up to 11. Rayne stops in her steps and gives Blake a look like a parent disappointed in their child. "I am not racing through the streets of my city." Right. Chief of police, remember? No reckless endangerment. It seems Rayne indeed is not trusting that look. Unlike last time. Blake looks aghast, "Whu!? Why not? It's a blast." Honestly, she regards Rayne as if she were the craziest person she'd ever met not to jump at this fantastic opportunity to have a bit of fun. She can't -always- be on duty, right? "Ohhhhh, I get it," Blake suddenly says, nodding slowly and adopting that "all knowing" look again. "Riiiight. You're afraid to lose. You know I'll smoke you." She clicks her tongue, folding her arms across her chest. "You gotta have more faith in your ride than that, Rayne. I mean, you'll totally lose but still...you can't let HER hear ya talk like that." Rayne raises an eyebrow at the the instigation. "If you want to look at it that way, 'she' is injured. Why would I put 'her' through that." From her tone of voice, Rayne doesn't have nearly the reverence for her bike that Blake has in Hella. She shakes her head. "Besides the fact that yes, I would expect my nearly-stock bike to loose out to yours, I won't condone that kind of reckless behavior on the streets of my city!" She actually sounds insulted. Well that isn't any fun. It's actually the mention of the bike's "boo boo" that makes Blake relent, though with a heavy sigh that does nothing to hide her disappointment. "I mean, it's only reckless if you don't know how to handle her." She leaves it at that. "Alright, alright. Have it your way, chief." The evocation of Rayne's rank shows where the battle lines are drawn on this one. Rayne's a stuffed shirt in this but Blake won't hold it against her entirely. "We can granny ride, it's cool." Thumbs up to granny riding. Rayne huffs. "I know how, but it's been far too many years since I raced. Though admittedly it was on electric, which has a completely different acceleration profile, from what I understand." Her eyes narrow again at the mention of 'granny' riding, a look that she holds for a full two seconds before sighing and slumping her shoulders in defeat. "Is that how stuffy I'm getting?" she almost whines. And she's walking again, this time to where she's parked her motorcycle. No name to it, Rayne has only ever called it by its model. Unlike the Spectral Eagle. Hella is not so very from where Rayne has her bike parked. In contrast to Blake, who always looks like she just walked away from a barfight she just won, -she- is actually pristine and gleaming. Not unsympathetic, Blake gives Rayne a small shrug, "Kinda, but you've got a lot of responsibilities on your shoulders. Just sorta comes with the territory. Your job kinda sucks, so it's gotta be a mood killer." Blake has to stop herself from giving the girl a slap on the back. It's so hard to pull back those impulses to be all chummy-like and touch everyone. At least she seems to have learned. Instead she wanders to her ride and "saddles up." "Don't feel bad. -I- like ya," she says as she throws on her helmet. "I can tell you're good people...not like those asshole 5-0's. You're cool." Rayne walks along in silence until she says simply, "Yeah." It's hard to tell what she's agreeing with. Lots of responsibilities? That being stuffy just comes with being the chief? Or is she even agreeing with her job sucking? She mounts her own bike... It is a little customized. It has saddlebags added to it... which is almost a crime for a sleek sports bike like the ZX-14. It also has custom mufflers on it... no, not to make it louder. She's apparently fitted it with stronger mufflers to actually make it less noisy. Well, she has said many times she's more used to electric rather than internal combustion. "Well. I like to think I'm a good person," she says as she puts her own helmet on. "Or at least that I try." From the same saddlebag that had her helmet, she pulls out a hair tie and puts that on as well. Her hair is a bit long to be riding in a motorcycle, even if it's not super long. It just gets annoying whipping around her. Blake's own gear is stashed in the compartment under the seat. It must be considerably roomie to hold her helmet but then again it is only a skullcap. Moment's later, she's firing up the engine which, unlike Rayne's polite ride, emits throaty sort of roar when awakened. Blake easily walks it out of its space and inches towards Rayne, more walk than ride just now. "Heeeeey, don't worry about it. You're fine." These are wise words to live by. "Life's too short to think too much about it. You've just gotta be...you know...chill." She gives the throttle a little tease, still keeping the brake on, and the bike makes that satisfying vroooommm vrooommmmm sound which is music to Blake's ears but likely obnoxious to most anyone else passing by. Rayne gives Blake a blanks look through the visor of her full helmet for a full three seconds before laughing. "Too short. Right. I've got a little different a perspective than you do. But I do miss the days when I could just be 'chill'." She guns her own engine, which sounds off in more than just being quieter. Most people probably couldn't tell, but Blake may well be able to hear the slight offness that is cylinder two. Rayne in fact winces, mentally reminding herself not to do that again until she gets that fixed. "Well, let's be off," she half yells. She has to over Hella's engine. With that said, she wastes no time and is moving. She may be a bit of a granny in a lot of her philosophies... but not in how fast she accelerates once she gets on the road. Oh yeah. Blake figures a phoenix probably would live longer than a werewolf but a werewolf surely lives longer than a human too. They have that much in common. She doesn't say anything else in regard to that, though. She's more than happy to let her driving do the talking now. Sure enough, the pair take off from the parking lot and Blake is actually happily surprised to find that Rayne, while not willing to race is still actually willing to push the limits once she gets going. So she does like speed! It's hard to top that feel of 590 lbs throbbing beneath you, the wind whipping at your face as the cityscape wizzes by. Oh heeeeell yeah! Race or not, it still feels damn good to get out there. Now, Blake said she would smoke Rayne on the road and she probably could but she doesn't. She actually rides in tandem, content to have the company of someone who can appreciate the feel of it all. Not only that but Rayne's bike is no slouch. It's a respectable machine with a good amount of pep for being a little off its game. Yeah, she's gotta give it to Rayne here. Respect. Blake more or less follows Rayne's lead here. Though the temptation to kick it into high gear is sometimes too tempting, she manages to fend off the impulse out of politeness. See? Blake's a sport! Though she modulates her speed, Blake does at least have her fun by way of sharper turns and more sudden stops. She likes her ride to be a little less smooth, it seems. The bike is for fun, damn it. She will damn well have fun. Finally, though, the pair arrives at the 24*7 and Blake parks it pretty much right then and there. She cuts the engine, tosses the keys in her pocket and quickly doffs off the headgear. "She's a beauty, Rayne, no question. Bet she's even better when she feels good." The pair steps into the convenience store and suddenly the smell of cheap food fills the air. It's that kind of smell of fried food that just clings to your clothes for the rest of the day. IT makes Blake uncommonly happy. "Oh HELL yeah! They've got hotdogs!" She tromps over to where the abnormally pink "sausages" roll around on bars and suddenly Blake calls out again, "Rayne! Check it out! Burger dogs! Ooo, cheesy center!" She's not wasting time gathering hotdogs the way people gather corn or cotton. Not one, not two, not even three, but 5 of the damn things. She's got to give it all the fixings too. All the packet pickles and onions and mustard one can dream about! Rayne pulls off her helmet as well, pulling off the hair tie as well in the same motion and giving a bit of a practiced hair flip to loosen it up. If it were in slow motion, you'd think it was a shampoo commercial or something. "'When she feels good'?" Rayne blinks in non-comprehension at first, then looks down at her bike. "Oh. Right. Yeah, I guess." Rayne is not one to put that kind of personality to her bike, it seems. To her, it's an object. An 'it' rather than a 'her'. Though this isn't the first time she's talked to someone that feels that way to a vehicle, no, far from it... Her mother is the same way with the ship she's in charge of. Once they're inside, Rayne raises an eyebrow at the sheer joy at finding the hotdogs. She's on her way to the wall of refrigerated drinks. "I prefer them grilled over that style, but whatever gets your ship to orbit." She does poke her head around the corner of the shelving at the mention of burger dogs. "...Burger dogs? What's that?" The obvious answer to her is ground beef in the shape of a hot-dog, but in Rayne's mind this has some logistics issues. She has a half-gallon of milk in one hand and a soda that looks to be some limited edition strange flavor in the other as she comes for a closer look. What's that? What's -that-, Rayne asks? "Perfection," is Blake's answer as she holds the grease-glistening molded beef aloft as if it were the bread of life itself. She offers no insight into just what makes this thing so perfect, not yet anyway. She's far too busy slathering it with all manner of fixings. By the time she's through, they really don't look any more appetizing to anyone with more refined tastes than Blake...which is likely anybody. That's only part one, though. Now she's on the hunt for drinks and 'sides' which really amount to beer and even more greasy foods like chips. Toss in a couple of snack cakes and she's soon juggling way more than seems practical but she's managing somehow. "Seriously, you gotta try one of these, chief." Rayne looks blankly at the object of adoration for a full five seconds before monotoning, "It's a burger in a different shape." She sighs, shrugs, and prepares one for herself. Why not? What's it going to do, give her a heart attack? She has a high metabolism. She's a bit lighter with the fixings... just cheese, ketchup, and onions. "All right, all right, I'll bite. In a literal sense." She doesn't seem interested in loading up with anything else, however. Her odd flavored drink and bottle of milk were her real goals, after all. "Is this what you normally eat?" Blake shrugs lightly, but nods "Sometimes." She sets her haul down on the counter, allowing the clerk to do their job. "Beer-- always. The other stuff, eh, it's whatever's around. Sometimes I go for days without eating much cause I'm on the road or hunting lycans or busting up some screwts but if I make a killing -eh, heheheh, get it? A killing? Right?- Ahhh," She waves away her unintentional joke, "If I make bank, I can eat fancy.It's all the same to me." Rayne frowns ever so slightly at the 'beer always' part. "I suppose I can understand that, given what little I know of your history." Which really is very little. "But going days without anything to eat... that sounds pretty terrible. Wouldn't that make you less effective in a hunt?" She gets through her purchase in significantly less time, of course. "But if you cook and actually prepare meals, it's less money than buying this kind of stuff... well, I suppose the snacks travel better." Blake gives a snort of a laugh as she tosses the clerk some cash and begins to gather her delicious snacks, "Yeaaaah, I don't do that. Not my thing." It would surprise no one to know that there is nothing of the domestic in Blake. NONE.WHATSOEVER. Even as the walk back out into the parking lot, she tears into one of the hotdogs, slurping up the gooey pickle relish as it drips down the side. "I don't have that problem so much now but when I first started, I was just a kid. Had to cut my teeth in the business and the business is pretty cut throat. Everyone wants the jobs and the bounties. Can't blame em. We've all gotta eat." She parks herself atop her bike and settles there as if this were the most perfect dining spot in all of Mabase. This whole balancing act is obviously one that is very well practiced. At least most everything except the dogs are in a bag now. "So ya wanna know my history? Whaddya wanna know. Ask me anything ya want...But then you've gotta tell me your story." Rayne says, "Yes, exactly." She takes a seat as well after loading the milk into her saddle bag, leaning against her bike, more or less. Yes, the kickstand is on the other side. She's not that awkward. "You have to eat. And when you're cash strapped... oh, never mind. It's a good tool, cooking. My father taught me a lot in that regard." She pauses as she considers what she would want to know of Blake's history, then shrugs. "...Honestly? I don't even know enough to know what to ask. What should I want to know about your history?" Blake stares blankly, a huge wad of hotdog puffing out her cheek as she chews. No one's ever asked her that kind of question before and it's clearly thrown her for a loop. What should someone WANT to know about her? If you were to ask Blake, she'd say that her awesomeness is on display for all to see already and that anything else beneath the surface is just icing on the sexy-ass cake. She really would say that. But that's not the kind of answer Rayne is looking for, no doubt. She has to pause a moment to consider this. "Youuuu....wanna know how I got into the biz?" Rayne pauses, then nods, a bite of the burger-dog in her mouth. Once that's swallowed, she says, "Yes, I suppose that's a start. It would be interesting to have different perspectives into how people get into that. You said you were a bounty hunter? Or, considering the nature of things... just a hunter?" Blake considers the question, her face screwing up as she munches. "Mercenary, but I do a lot of hunting on the job. It's...uh, kinda a long story." Blake rubs the back of her head. "Basically, my parents were bad news and got themselves killed when I was just a baby so my grandpa took me in. Whatever shit my parents did kinda followed him around, though so we were basically on the run for a while. We lived wherever we could park it a day or two safely. Sometimes less sometimes more. He taught me a buncha stuff about roughing it and how to keep myself alive. How to keep a low profile....if I need to...Anyway, one day he takes me to this big mansion his friend lives in. This guy owes grandpa a favor so grandpa cashes in. Haushaeker's his name and he and his whole family are mercenaries. Well, grandpa dumps there for him to hide out. Haushaeker keeps his word...raises and trains me with his own kids and I get my first taste of kicking ass for pay. I tagged along a few times and eventually figured I'd gotten the gist of it, I took off and I've been on my own since. My first few jobs paid for all the parts for this girl." She pats Hella. "We've been together ever since." Rayne eats and drinks in silence as Blake talks, taking in the story. "Hrm. Interesting. And... where does the whole... wolf thing come into play with that? How did that play a part in it all?" Blake blinks, "Why? Oh, I was born that way." She grins. "That's what powers these GUNS!" And with that, she favors Rayne with the flex of her arm. "Also makes me stronger, faster, more badass than humans. I can turn into my wolf form if I need to but--pfffs, what's the point?" Rayne blinks, then nods with a bit of a grin. "A bit the same with being a phoenix. Got it from my father." Though it doesn't add to her physical strength, so instead she holds out a hand and forms a small ball of fire for a second before closing her hand again and snuffing the flame. "And same with the 'what's the point in transforming' part. Okay, so ask your questions." Blake's eyes light up, once again unable to articulate her excitement for the obscene amount of hamburger dog in her mouth. "MMPTH" which, loosely translated is - "COOL!" She's impressed either way. As mentioned before, she's never actually seen a phoenix in person before and so this is a little like Christmas morning to her. More stories to tell about hella cool creatures. She swallows down the burger with the help of about third of a can of beer downed in one go. "Dude, that was wicked. What else can ya do? And what's up with your dad? Did he diddle a human to make you?" Rayne eyes that downed beer with a look of derision. "...Don't make me give you a field sobriety test before we leave." Well, Blake's not drinking and driving yet. The warning may be enough. Or so Rayne hopes. She takes a breath in and out, then says, "I'm effectively immortal. I don't age, and I'm rather hard to permanently kill." She doesn't like actually giving the details on how to get around that. "That's... pretty much it. Oh, and phoenixes have odd hair." She points to her own head of hair. Yes, very odd. "Eheh... 'diddle'. Cute. Kind of yes, kind of no. He and my mother were in what he described as a serious relationship, but she cut it off before even telling him she was pregnant. I... have a hard time reading my mother, so I'm really not sure how seriously she ever took him. But in my universe, well, all those 'legendary' creatures are kind of... secondary? If you're a phoenix, a dragon, a coatl, whatever, you've got to be something else, too." She motions to Blake. "Kinda like you could be described as both a human and a werewolf? I'm a human and a phoenix. My father is human and phoenix. So it's not really that odd for him to want to 'diddle a human'." Blake nods, though she doesn't completely get it. She gets the general idea, though. Raynes' world seems similar to her own in that there are supernatural creatures in it and that the intermingling of species isn't necessarily such a strange thing. Chris had a human mother, if she recalled correctly. In any case, she seems to follow enough to say, "And it doesn't water down your powers or abilities either huh? I mean, I'm basically a pure blood. Both my parents were wolves....but I was never part of a pack so..." So why live as anything but a human being? But it seems to Blake that Rayne's very much in the same boat there. "And you never lived with any of your kind so...we're the same that way. I get ya. I get ya." Blake holds up her can and downs what's left of it then waves the empty can. "Wolf. I don't get drunk. Or...it takes a helluva lot more to do it than one watery beer. You don't have to worry, chief. I'm totally one with sobriety." Rayne shakes her head. "No. It's just... how it is. A phoenix only truly becomes a phoenix when they die a sudden or violent death. A dragon only becomes an actual dragon if they press through an extreme emotional challenge with a certain mindset. I don't know how it is with the other races. I've never met any of the other races. But until that point, you're just... whatever your mundane species is. But you have that potential." She points to her hair. "Except phoenixes have a tell in unusual hair color." She then points to her violet eyes. "And dragons have unusual eyes." She looks down, then back up again. "Well, I lived with my father. Does that count?" She shrugs, then narrows her eyes. "I'll be the judge on that when we leave." She's not stopping her, though. Blake shrugs and nods which one can only assume means that it counts on some level. Its interesting though. "We've kinda got something like that. Wolves pretty much look like people till their first change. Just like humans it's like a coming of age thing so it hits at about 17, 18 years old. It's...pretty intense. Most wolves have their lifebond then but...not everyone, I guess." She crumples up her hotdog papers and takes aim at the trashcan some distance away. Moments later she's scored a 3 pointer. Blake raises her arms above her head, looking very pleased with herself. "So...you lived with your dad. What happened with your mom? She bounce on ya?" Blake offers Rayne a beer, a small smile threatening to spread. She knows this is asking for trouble but she has a penchant for that. Rayne tilts her head. "Lifebond? What's that?" She doesn't go through the effort of throwing her garbage, instead just balling it up and leaving it on top of her bike's seat for the moment. The question on her mom makes her laugh. "Kinda the opposite. Once I found out about my dad, I'm the one that bounced on my mom. She was the one I lived with until I was thirteen." She looks at the offered beer and leans away. "Eeeh, no. I'm driving, and you've seen what a lightweight I am." Blake oooohs, about Rayne's mom. Her own experience with parents being not stellar, she hesitates to dig too deeply into that one right away. Seems like there is the potential for strain there and why bring up unpleasantries now? Blake gives a small laugh and then cracks the next can of beer open and helps herself. "Life bond's like uhh...you know...imprinting, I guess you could say. Kinda like when a baby duck sees another big old duck and is fixated on it? Kinda like that but it's more complicated and it's more....sexual and spiritual. Basically, we mate for life. Whenever the change hits, we kinda...connect, you know - with someone, whoever that might be...and that's your mate for life. Usually. Sometimes it doesn't work out and things get...messy." She takes a drink. "You guys have anything like that? I guess not, if your mom and dad weren't exactly..." Blake motions with her hands "Together. You don't have to tell me about if it you don't want." Rayne tilts her head. "Huh," is all she says. "Oh! Uh, no, no, nothing like that," she says with a slight blush. "Heck, I've been married twice, myself. It's kinda the opposite, really. Early on it's as easy as it is for pure humans." She looks sadly up into the sky. "But you get older, even if you don't look it. It just gets... harder. You pick up quirks that can make it harder for others to see you that way. Or make it just overall harder. Or you're just end up too old fashioned and end up standing out as a weirdo." She then looks over to Blake again and laughs once. "I think she just didn't want to lose face in the Family. My father was more or less a nobody, after all. I had to piece that together myself, though, she'd just change the subject." Blake says, "Oh, I get it. She had you out of wedlock. You're the 'Oh shit' baby." She nods sagely and sips her beer, savoring it's bitterness. "So, if you don't mind me asking....What's with the....you kn ow..." She waggles her fingers at Rayne. "Or is that too personal. I don't wanna pry. I just wondered if it was one of those quirks or if....it was something else." The last thing Blake wants to do is suddenly take Rayne into PTSDville. That wouldn't be very fair. Generally, Blake avoids those kinds of more intrusive questions anyway - unless it has to do with sex. That's different. But stories about terrible past experiences and things of that nature must be navigated with a more expert hand. The timing has to be perfect. You can't force it and so, this is one of those moments where Blake is taking that chance just a little bit, but she has every intention of being respectful." Rayne glances away. "Eheh... Yeah. Which is especially bad when you're in one of the noble houses." She looks back to Blake again, tilting her head. "Eh? What are you talking about?" She looks at the waggling fingers, then down at her own. Then it click, and she laughs nervously. "OH. THAT." She looks supremely uncomfortable suddenly, but then says, "It's... It stems from a supreme lack of confidence. In a lot of things. Mostly about myself, but also in others." Blake snaps her fingers, "I knew it. Your mom had a thing for bad boys. I get it. Not my thing, but I get it. I always liked pretty boys. There's just somethin' about em." She quickly waves that off, though. They aren't talking about her, they're talking about Rayne and things are really starting to come together in that way. The more of these little bits and pieces she picks up, the clearer that final picture gets to be for her. It's this last bit about Rayne's special issues that really strikes a chord with Blake. In a way, it reminds her a lot of Chloe who was RIDICULOUSLY hard to get to know, not to mention get close to. "Trust. You're talking about trust. You can't open up to people you can't trust and you can't trust people cause...well, some of them suck and if you've tangled with THAT kind, they kinda leave lingering scars." Blake's eyes search Rayne's for any hint of truth there. She's probing her, yes, but there's real sympathy there too in that gaze. Rayne shrugs. "I guess she did. Bounty hunting is considered 'bad' by a lot of people..." She looks back up to Blake with a tilted head, then shakes it. "It's not others that I don't trust. It's my ability to read them. To know where I stand. Where they stand. What the body language means. So I've just become... afraid of it. Nervous about it. I can throw a punch, get into fights, even just spar, and I'm just fine." "...." Thoughtful pause. "I don't get it," Blake says, completely deadpan. Bless her, she's trying. Rayne winces, cursing her own inability to explain it. "Sorry. I'm not good with this kind of stuff." She struggles for another moment before saying, "Let's go with... I've gotten to be so shy and uncertain that I'm afraid of giving the wrong signals, and that I'm picking up the wrong signals or missing them entirely and after what happened with Geoff and the whole debacle of me screwing up his arranged marriage to my mother I've kind of become severely withdrawn? I've gotten everything mixed up." Blake oohhhhhhs, "You're socially awkward, gotcha." This is quite possibly the worst thing she could say about that, but again, she means no ill will. This is further evidenced by the next thing she says. "Nothin' wrong with that. You can't get it right every time." Her entire attitude towards this is very offhand. She doesn't seem to think it strange at all that Rayne's had two divorces and that her stiffness around people comes from this crippling shyness. She's also not questioning her extreme aversion to human touch. In her mind 'oh, socially awkward' kind of covers it. Even if it runs deeper than this - which is always possible- Blake is content to convey to Rayne that, at least where she is concerned, she's got absolutely nothing to worry about. "Most of the time, people are too busy thinkin' about themselves to notice you...Unless you're me. Everyone notices me." She winks not at all ironically. Rayne makes a very frustrated noise, but nods. "To the extreme." She takes a deep breath in, then out. "Now I want a drink for when I get home," she says. "If I could just... know, then it wouldn't be a problem. But I never know anymore." There's another deep breath. "I'm always thinking about others, except I never know what to think." Blake snaps her fingers and points, "That's your problem right there." She tosses a can of beer Rayne's way and continues. "Ya think too much. That's a surefire way to overcomplicate your life. ME, I never think about anything. I just go with the flow. I just let things happen and see where it takes me." She finishes her beer and proceeds to take the empty can and, in a swift motion, crunches the can against her forehead. It makes a neat little puck. "Heh, sweet," she says, tossing it into the bin. Again, she makes it which is almost annoying. Rayne catches the beer and looks at it longingly for a moment before saying, "Mind if I wait to drink this until I get home? And trust me, not thinking is what overcomplicated my life and got me into this to begin with. I still like going with the flow more than making lots of plans, though." She frowns as she says this, looking away. "A great sage once said, 'No plan survives contact with the enemy.'" "Knock yourself out, "Blake says charitably. She's pretty generous with her things and isn't so fussed about when or where people choose to enjoy her little freebies. "Yeah, so what about that? You're twice divorced, huh? Ever think maybe dudes just aren't your thing? Me, I like a little bit of everything. Seems like mostly pretty, nerdy guys and kinda....dark and broody girls. I dunno why. It's just a thing." She shrugs. "Maybe you just gotta find your type. I'll bet I can guess. Ya need someone sweet on you...who's got that nurturing thing but also a spine enough to bitchslap ya when you're asking for it. Seems like you're the kinda girl who takes care of people a lot so...who's gonna take care of you?" Rayne is quick to correct Blake. "Once divorced. I'm a widow of my first marriage. And please. I've known I'm bi for over three hundred and fifty years. Who said both marriages were to guys? It's the one that wasn't that went south." She frowns as she pauses, then says, "Everything went south when someone mistook me for her daughter. Not aging and everything." Rayne raises an eyebrow at the mention of dark and broody girls. Is that her right now? She doesn't even know. "Yeah, well, 'my type' is either so hard to figure out that after four hundred years I still don't know it, or it shifts like everything else does. But... you're probably right about the rest. I think? I dunno." Blake makes a face, looking pained. "Ooo, ouch. Sorry, man. My bad. That's what I get for assuming." So it turns out that Blake and the chief actually have a lot more in common here than she might have guessed. They both dabble on either side of the fence. However, it seems Rayne's had the the worst luck between the two of them. On the other hand, when Rayne concedes that she might be right about needing a bit of TLC, Blake offers a genuinely warm smile. "I think we all need someone like that, for different reasons. Bad luck, that's all it is. Just remember, no one gets it right until they do. The road to happiness is full of a buncha potholes. Sometimes you blow out your sidewall and it SUCKS...but it's not forever. You just gotta get yourself a new tire and keep rollin. You've made it this far. What's a little more? You got this, chief. Maybe what ya need mostly is friends. You got one here, so that's a start." Rayne offers a quick smile. "Yeah, well. That's why I don't assume. I've been wrong more times than I've been right in the past hundred years." She nods and deflates a little. "Yeah, well. I'm definitely having a drier spell. I think I'm riding on two rims right now." She laughs, then shakes her head. "Thanks. But... speaking of tires, I should head back. My milk won't last forever out here, afterall." | |
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