Log Complete

[venomouselle.livejournal.com]

When; May 24th, Early Evening
Rating; R (language)
Characters; Budd shit_stings and Elle Driver venomouselle
Summary; Brief bloodshed and old wounds over wine.
Log;

 

Budd, of course, had managed to horde away curse-related alcohol. Elle had asked after it, probably expected it from him, for all that she loved to point out his drinking habits. So, while he’d come completely unarmed, as promised, and wore an easy smile, he was wary. She had promised to behave herself, but his trust of any such promise was far from assured. All of this mess was getting old, though.

He made his way to the City’s square, bottle in hand, sitting heavily on a bench and pulling the brim of his hat down his forehead.

Of course Elle would have to get a taste for a particular sort of alcohol that wouldn't be within the City for very long. Her taste had become selective, especially after a hard night that resulted in a hair-raising illness.

Elle placed a hand on the inside of her right arm at the thought of the lycanthropy in her veins. Beneath the sleeve, under the cotton bandages lay the mark John Constantine carved into her skin, marking to keep the beast in. Everything was, for the most part, fine.

The walk through the City streets to the square was a short one. Elle's simple white jacket, to match the rest of her outfit, was not large enough to conceal any large weapons. She let out a slow sigh seeing him under that hat of his.

The clicking of the right sort of shoes and the barely-heard sigh alerted her presence to him fully, and he tilted his head up to regard her from under the brim. Smile spreading, he held up the bottle, almost in greeting, “’Lo, darlin’.” 

She wasn't nervous or frightened of him by any means and continued her approach. Budd kept his part, bottle was in sight.

"Hello, Budd." That damn smile of his was met with neutrality.

He reached up to push his hat back on his head, leaning so that his back rested against the bench, looking up at her with the same, generally amused expression. Elle was a ridiculously serious person; or at least she was acting that way. He’d swear up and down that she’d once smiled, even laughed, but seeing her often enough again, and always somber, had him beginning to doubt.
 
“Bad day or somethin’?” He looked from the bottle to her, eyebrows raised and smile more mocking, “Sour face and taste for the strong shit?”

Elle could have just told him exactly what he could do with the Roman wine he procured, instead this. It was principle. She was not going to let him bother her. Break her arm, break her ribs, still she would carry on business as usual— brutality for her to distribute.

"Not today. Just thought the stuff tastes pretty good." She tilted her head to one side, hair shifted over her shoulder. "Gonna take up the whole bench?" 

Budd let out a short, raspy laugh, shifting to give her room. He set the alcohol on the ground in between them, then taking off his hat to set it atop the bottle. He resisted making a joke about his own, excess weight concerning the room he might need, but smirked for it, anyway. “By all means,” his hand tapped the emptied spot beside him.

The corners of Elle's mouth turned upward ever so slightly at the recognition she caught. "Thanks."

Too easy of a shot, even for her, to go after his weight. She sat down, ankle resting above knee and reached into her coat for a cigarette. "How's the shoulder? All better now?" 

He snorted lightly, hand ducking into a breast pocket to pull out his cigarette lighter, handing it off to her before he reached to tug his collar down. The edge of a small dip in his skin, grown in with scar tissue, acted as a fine amount of illustration, “Fine enough.” He reached into his pocket again to pull out his own smokes, setting one to his mouth and holding his hand out for the return of his lighter, “How ‘bout you, huh? Look good enough.”

First inhalation of nicotine and sight of the damage done sweetened her demeanor if only a little. Pretty good hit, she could do better. "I'm fine. It takes more than that to bring me down."

It's easy to speak lightly about injuries when they are healed. 

 “Yeah,” the word was caught between agreeing and being random filler. He breathed in from his cigarette, blowing out away from her direction. “I’d’ve figured so much.”

"And so here we are. Practically civilized people." She idly wondered if he was armed as well as she. Happiness was a warm gun or rather knife.

He snorted again, breathing out smoke, “Should’ve worn nicer clothes for the occasion, huh?” While she wondered about arms, he wryly started betting in his own mind about how long they’d be able to keep up conversation. He’d never been too much of a talker when the other half of the deal wasn’t a friend; such status between them had been nullified some time ago. 

They certainly weren't friends unless the word had been stretched and contorted that it looked like enemies.A light ripple of a laugh escaped her. "You have nicer clothes? ...What do you think this is?" Elle settled on believing that he had some sort of flat blade or weapon hidden around them--he had arrived first after all.

Oh, so she did still find time to laugh, even if it was just to make fun. He nodded lightly, “I figure being ‘practically civilized’ should require a jacket, at least, a nice belt buckle or somethin’.” He grumbled laughter himself, leaning forward onto his knees and taking another breath of nicotine-dosage, squinting into the fast-waning sunlight.

"Not too much though, practically is the operative word." Elle draped an arm over the back of the bench. The two of them must look like a funny sort of picture, an unlikely pair waiting for a bus that won't come.  Time passed between them a few moments filled with cigarette smoke and ash. "I know you didn't come here out of the goodness of your heart to share."

He idly dropped his nearly-done cigarette to the ground, snuffing the last of it with the edge of his boot. “Ain’t got no faith, woman,” he chided, reaching down to move his hat and take up the bottle, handing it off to her, “What d’you expect, huh? Told you this shit’s getting old.” He’d died a total of twice, once to get here and once in which he’d merely woken up with a hangover, like going to sleep. He felt different for it, though, sort of hollow, colder when he spoke with her, of all people. Somewhere along the way, he’d figured it all worthless, normal depressive-drunk-loser bullshit. That was all it was.

Budd's skin was cold, surprisingly so. Elle's fingertips brushed slightly against his. She didn't say anything of it, but did pull her hand away with a slight hiss. Cigarette in her teeth, she held the bottle with both hands and set it down by her feet. Blue-eye regarded him as she spoke, "Old maybe, but lay down a sword and what do you have left? That's not for me."

“’Course not,” he said plainly, “Ain’t the kind of woman to take anything sitting down, I know.” His hands fiddled idly with his hat, “Ain’t we settled enough, though, Elle? I been tired and done with that for near-on five years,” he exhaled a heavy breath, “Not nice at all to get onto someone what’s unarmed?” 

He earned the smile that spread over her face. "Settled? You actually think that because you're retired and gone to shit that I'm going to go easy on you, babe?"

Elle let her own cigarette drop, hardly enough burning above the filter. "You really aren't dumb enough or trusting enough in me to come unarmed are you?"

“Probably dumb enough, yeah,” he laughed like he didn’t mean it, and rather pathetically wished that he had something to drink. He was sober, though, and sobered from his smile soon enough, “You killed me, Elle. That’s vengeance. This bullshit’s just ridiculous. Moved on in every other fuckin’ point in your life, two or three times over, and you’re acting like you’re the sorest bitch to walk the fuckin’ planet.”
 
With an almost fidgety gesture, he reached for his cigarettes, lighting up again, “None of it does any fuckin’ good.”

"I'm a bitch, baby, but not the sorest. I'm just not satisfied. Not with you, not by a long shot." Her voice was nearly as cold as his skin. The arm draped over the back of the bench moved to touch hard metal against his back. "Now be a nice boy and stop playing games, Budd. Our last meeting gives me complete motivation to 'misbehave.'"

 “Figures,” he said with a frown, but he hardly flinched. He looked lightly over his shoulder, “Literally in the back, too. Nice touch, hon.” Budd leaned onto his knees again, shrugging, “Said I was going to play nice; didn’t lie this time. Go on.” 

Elle pressed the knife point solidly against him. It was easy to bore a hole into his shirt. The damn thing was so thin. Blood welled and still he remained there.

"Motherfucker," she spat, standing up and away from the bench shaking her head. "Can't even allow me to enjoy myself can you? You're disgusting!"

He flinched slightly when the skin broke, honestly more concerned with the fact that she’d ruined another shirt. She wasn’t happy with his status, though, and soon left it alone, “Forgive me for not being scared shitless of death after dying twice with little to no effect.” Except, of course, for the creepy, zombie-ish things that he had going on at the moment. He did look bored, looking up at her flatly, “We done here?”

She was at him again in a moment, one hand curled fingers into his hair while the other held a blade against his neck. "We're done when I say we're done." Her knee rested ever so slightly against his groin. 

 “Hnn,” he tensed, but didn’t retaliate. “Fine,” he even smirked, no matter if it was just barely, “Whatever. Told you to go on, didn’t I?” He was honestly unarmed, and couldn’t hold her off while she had the knife. Plus, his current attitude about the slight ordeal seemed to irk her just as much as anything else he could do, if not more.

Indifference? Oh fuck no. More weight was added to that oh so carefully resting knee. "Mighty cold there, fella," she said softly. The blade resting against his neck rested against skin, steadily being pressed in ward. Elle hadn't encountered a truly dead man within the City, not at this proximity. If she thought he was cold then, being this close was like stepping into a freezer. Did he think this made him invincible to her?

Budd shifted uncomfortably, one hand resting on her thigh to push her knee away from where it sat. He thought he could feel a cutting, just slightly, at his neck, and that was some kind of sharp knife she must’ve had. He nodded lightly at her statement, face and expression of self-mocking, “Middle of fucking May, and I sit out in the fucking sun, and I’m still cold. Pain in the ass.”

"Boo-fucking-hoo." She didn't like his attempts at redirecting her knee and pushed right back. "You drank yourself to death, you idiot. Not my problem."

Oh that was another thing that got on her nerves. Noble sacrifice indeed, Budd quite literally let himself be done in by the bottle. "You really want me to just slit your damn throat and be over with it?" Elle tossed her head a little to move long blonde hair out of the way.

Too easy.

 “Should you figure it best, darlin’, go right ahead,” he didn’t respond to her first statement, and didn’t try to push her or squirm away again. A fight was what she was looking for, and with his need to preserve his life done with, he didn’t really need to fight. Plus, it was already evidenced that retaliation, if she could win a fight instead of just murdering him, would bring her a degree of satisfaction that he was unwilling to fulfill.

"Really out to be a downer, aren't you?" For good measure Elle jabbed the flat, thin blade against his throat, a hair fine strand of red rolled over the metal blade and stubble.

She looked into his eyes--one then the other, "You're so full of disappointment. Guess that's why you can't live with yourself." Knee sank more over the seam of jeans he wore.

 “We all got our theories, I guess,” he felt the skin pierce, and winced, expression maintaining a sense that he was uncomfortable. There was little worse, he figured, than an angry woman with a knife at your throat and a knee in your crotch. He smiled tightly, “What’re you talkin’ so much for, again?”

Elle laughed again, the sort of laugh that should follow a joke, lightly bubbling. Frustrating as he was denying her a chance to kick his ass as fairly as she was willing, this was amusing . "Because I want to. Why, lil' nervous?"

God, did blood smell good. Elle's "wolf" as she and Luke had come to talk of, was confined as long as the carving remained in her arm but her perception was altered. There was sheer predatory delight in her eye with this dominance.

He snorted a yeah, right. “Bored with your bull. If you’re going to do something, do something, and quit talkin’ shit.” It had probably run to his collar by this point; and he needed to stop wearing anything other than junk clothes when visiting with Elle. Apart from that needless observation, he didn’t fail to notice the near-animalistic glare in her vision, “If you want to kill me, baby, go on.”

A low, growl rumbled in the woman assassin's chest, the knife cut a straight line to his ear, shallow enough to keep him alive but long enough  to be a hazard. Her mouth settled in a strange sort of grin caught between a smile and a bearing of teeth. "No bull here, babydoll." Budd would die, Elle decided, but not quickly at all.

Why? Oh so many reasons. She needed something to be certain. Something to remind her that she herself was alive. No death in sight, but still she just wanted to see it if only for a moment. Budd always had a knack for being a source for what she lacked.

 “Ow,” he grimaced briefly, hand shooting up to feel lightly at the cut, “Fuck.” With a grumble, he wiped his fingers on his jeans. Moving his head carefully, he looked up at here, “See what you’re doing.” He shook his head, “Fuck. You try to do somethin’ nice for someone…”

"Nice? Nice?" Scolding, Elle waved the blade in front of his nose as she spoke. "I don't know what the fuck goes on in that head of yours but do you think that one good deed will undo all the bullshit?" If he kept shaking his head like that he'd lose it.

Something nice. Oh yes, the wine. Elle shifted her gaze a moment. Maybe this calls for a toast of some sort.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said as if he’d realized and remembered, “Elle don’t wait for killin’ moments. Elle cuts you down in your damn kitchen over drinks.” Not that he’d even been very different, when it came to killing folks. It was twice now, however, that he’d been caught while cutting deals and favors for her. Whatever, it just made it was his own damn fault, right? “Shoulda’ known you’d break a deal. ‘Fool me once,’ and all that bullshit.”

"Gonna hold that against me, baby? You do learn, that doesn't take away from the fact that you still came," Elle stepped away to retrieve the wine, again sitting it beside him. She took to sitting on the arm rest of stone bench, draped over him. If he didn't like her talking, then that's what she'll do.

“What can I say?” Budd’s stance was able to relax slightly when she wasn’t exactly standing over him with a knife. She was still there, though, and his eyes and movements traveled carefully. “I’m an absolute sucker for you, dumb whore,” he smirked, tugging on his collar to wipe clumsily at the cut she’d made, “Makes me think things different. ‘Course I’d come and see you.” 

That had Elle's attention. "Say again? You're delirious al-fucking-ready."

Yep. She'd need the wine. Reaching over him, seated to see him completely, blind sighted to the rest of the square behind her, Elle grabbed the bottle at his side. The slash to his neck wasn't bleeding out very quickly, but it was definitely fucking up his shirt. Elle would likely get her suit stained from this.

“God, you don’t listen well,” he frowned slightly, “Ain’t delirious.” He didn’t say anything else on the matter, though, and instead inclined his head to regard her, looking back at him purposefully, “The fuck you wear white for?” 

"I look good in white. It's a nice day, black might get too warm." She wore a white leather patch to go with the ensemble. "Usually, a man doesn't say that he is fond of his killer. At least one not in his right mind. Maybe I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt by assuming you're insane."

Elle took a good drink, and sighed. "Thanks, by the way. This shit really is good."

“Well,” he responded lightly, “I was fond of you ‘fore you killed me, wasn’t I?” He wouldn’t really argue that he might not have been a right-minded, upstanding gentleman, but he was fairly certain that he wasn’t insane. He watched her drink and smiled, heard her comment and grinned, “Welcome, sweetheart.” 

"Oh, now see you're making assumptions. Technically yes, but that was a long before. I was unaware of this enduring...fondness if that is what you are implying." The knife turned over in her hands a few times before cleaning it with his shirt.

Another tight smile crossed his features, “Well, now you are.” He rolled his eyes slightly as she wiped her weapon in his shirt, even knowing that it didn’t matter in the least. He even managed to mumble out a sarcastic, “thanks,” and wondered if that meant she was done with it, for now.

The wine and subject matter mellowed her mood. Elle glanced at the wine bottle in her hands. "Funny way you have of showing it, Budd." No more pet names, not for now. "You know hauling me up out of bed and fucking me up isn't going to get on my good side. I guess I have to be in awe of the fact that I killed you and still..."

She shook her head. "Son of a bitch."

He’d opened his mouth to reply, but changed course upon her cutting herself off, opting for a curse instead, “What?” He snorted a quick run of laughter, turning his glance to look at what could be seen of the City, “Ain’t like it’s a deal here, ‘living dead’, or what the fuck ever.”

“I'm aware of that. That explains you being here to begin with and us here." She took another drink, not as much as the first. "I have to give you a bit of credit for your own vengeance, however subdued." He was holding back on her. Both times Budd had her at knife point. Both times allowed her to get away. 

Budd shrugged, "If killin' does no good, why kill, huh? Pain's all the same." Of course, he was likely going to regret saying something like that so plainly. It was the truth, though, to any method that he'd acquired while here. He'd break her limbs and ribs and everything, because suffering was more than a quick death. Besides, and he cast her a sidelong glance and slight smile, even if it wouldn't do any good, Budd was halfway to certain that he couldn't kill Elle.

"I dunno about that," she tilted her head slightly, "haven't died yet. And nobody likes hurting or dying, simple and logical truth. Seems wrong not to be able to do what I do best."

With a sigh, Elle reached into her inner coat pocket again for a cigarette. "Causing a lil hurt is alright, sure is no substitute. I don't even know if there is one. So maybe, you have a point."

He reached to hand her his lighter, again, "Well, it ain't a picnic, dyin', I'll tell you that. If it ain't you, though, or someone you'd rather have 'round breathing, it's worth a lot to off people if you like to." He grinned, somehow sarcastically, "I mention lately that we're sick people? Gotta' find a way to be normal in all this mess where we ain't got work, and I done tried that shit already. Ain't fun."

"You don't have to," she muttered, still being offered a light. "You've had some practice being 'normal' easy for you to say."

She was sick. Why did it feel so good to hurt him and hurt so much to talk kindly? Elle eyed his neck. "Still bleeding."

"Feel it," he answered, the hand that wasn't holding the lighter reached up to press at the broken skin, "Gonna' need a pharmacy, or somethin'."

Elle took his lighter and set the tip of her cigarette aglow. She didn't flinch at the slight touch of his hand, still was a shock to feel skin so damn frigid. "You'll need stitches, dumbshit." She was kind enough to exhale away from him. "It's pretty long if not very deep." 

"Well," he started, wiping his hands on his jeans again, "Can't see it, can I?" He frowned slightly, leaning forward slightly and carefully moving his gaze out onto the City, "Don't like damn doctors..."

A slow, small smile spread over her mouth. Elle believed he couldn't see so it would be alright. "That makes both of us. You like nurses though," it was hard to resist putting that one forward. Tapping ash from her cigarette, she turned away but remained seated on the wide arm rest of the stone bench. "Be thankful I left the larger weapons at home." 

"Like the nurses that don't wear them frumpy-lookin' britches," he drawled, smirking easily, "The ones that sit around in the tacky uniforms can fuck off."

He grinned, "I figure I will be. Won't be so rude as to say that you oughta' be glad I kept my word concerning this ordeal." 

"I didn't expect you to, Budd." Truth be told, she didn't especially after their last encounter. Sure their conversations had become less hostile over the network, but that was no reason at all to be careless. "Bet you went shopping just for me."

"Shopping?" He shifted, shrugging slightly, "Not really." He'd won a machete and a chainsaw during a curse day, but those weren't exactly proper weapons. Of course, he just felt wrong, not having a gun, and Elle was probably the largest threat on his life in this City. "I got a couple of water pistols," he grinned. 

Oh yes, that day, water pistols and ice cream they were literally children at play. Simplicity and ignorance that youth offered was like a vacation. "I don't think those pistols will be useful again."

Elle turned her head to look at him, the street lights were already aglow, sunlight wouldn't last much longer. So he denied himself another opportunity to hurt and possibly kill her. A long drag of nicotine and she lowered her voice, "You really just wanted to see me?"

"Probably not," he said of the pistols, laughing slightly in the words. Her second question, however, had a healthy pause before an answer. He pressed his lips together for a quick moment, "Don't know why I figured I could, so easy. Yeah, though, more or less."

A steady nod served as a lack of response until words came. "Guess that comes with the territory of being a fool for a blonde." Elle combed her free hand through her hair. It was becoming more difficult to shy away from the elephant in the room.

He stilled and caused another silence, grinning slowly and surely, "Must be true. Never had this much trouble with a brunette, I'll tell you." He let out a short laugh, ducking his head too quickly and wincing at the sting caused by the wound, "Then, I was never an absolute fool for any of them."

"Just makes me extra special then, don't it?" She held out his lighter, not realizing she still had been holding it. "I'm fucking pissed with you. Don't believe differently." 

"'Course," he agreed to the first, taking his lighter back and returning it to his pocket. He allowed a low chuckle at her reaffirmation that she was angry, gesturing to his neck as if that was the most obvious answer, "Only stupidity that makes me pretend any different, and stubbornness that won't let me learn any better."

"That wasn't just for the arm injury or the ribs. Hell, I don't even think the damn snake was enough. The fact that you are an idiot and insist on making yourself a more than easy target isn't helping." Thoughts were growing choppy and disjointed. This was starting to become rather pointless. Things just don't stay dead by the City's means or otherwise. 

"Nature," he said, in a voice of mock-mourning for his innate faults, "And other than revenge for you're killin' me, I don't no motivation to wish the same on you. Even the revenge boils down."

There was a lot Elle wanted to say, much of it she knew she couldn't. "Why? You fucked me over. And from what I gather you believe I did the same. Blow by blow, some semblance of satisfaction..." however brief and fleeting. Too many thoughts were running rampant. A lot of talking too but was this really going anywhere, violence or not?

"Did I?" He couldn't remember 'fucking her over', exactly. It gave it a moment of thought, speaking slowly, carefully, when he finally did. "I still can't figure how I warranted a killin', to tell you the truth," it wasn't much of a profound statement, or nothing that he hadn't said before. He smiled, "Oh fuckin' well, though, right?" 

"Last few times we spoke back then, I knew you were fucking angry in addition to making shit up. Didn't think you'd actually just be a pussy and leave. But oh well," she said bitterly.

The gap of years was wide. A lot of hostilities on Elle's part were more than fresh. It was her nature. Another cigarette was reaching the end of its use. 

Another paced go at his thoughts, smiling just slightly and not in humor, "Didn't think you'd actually let me. Proved a lot of points, I guess." But he should've figured she wasn't the type to understand things of his or prove any point other than her own, and her points had most often been beyond him. "Oh well," he repeated somberly.

"I didn't really want you to," Elle muttered and again took a sip from the bottle. They argued of course, that wasn't anything new. Apologies weren't common place in her speech. She had made an acceptation a few times. "Guess that makes me a fool too."

"All anybody really is," he stated quietly, pressing his lips thin for a moment. He hadn't really wanted to leave, either, but perhaps admitting that would sound too much like an attempt at reconciliation, and she could shrug it off with another 'oh well'. She'd get cold if she knew the grip she maintained on him, and that just wouldn't do for him.

"Elle," he started without thinking about it, and whatever he'd meant to say sifted from him mind without the words. 

"Yeah?" The blue of her eye was so clear, devoid of stormy anger and looked down at her bleeding company. The nearest street lamp set the square around them aglow. Elle let the cigarette drop away from her fingertips.

"Hm," he hummed, saved from being distracted by the lamps given the clarity with her own person. He smiled dryly, another dose of self-mocking when he realized his own thoughts, "S'real fuckin' stupid, and it won't matter, and you won't care." Nevertheless, he pressed on, drawn oddly by the apparent lack of temper for the time being. "Never stopped caring the way I did."

He'd probably dug himself a great, big ol' hole.

“Asshole," Elle scoffed, the word somehow lacked the sting she wanted to place into it.  A lack of chap stick had her wet her lips with her tongue. "When you leave somebody who's ready to give you an apology, tends to make ‘em think otherwise. And--" This was a train wreck. 

He swallowed, "And?" He, for one, couldn't properly look away.

"And I'm not over you, you piece of shit, I never was." There. She said it. Rather than any sense of relief, Elle felt like someone hit her in the chest. 

He laughed, short, hollow and bitter, grinning to spite the fact that this wasn't amusing in the least, "God fuck it, Elle." There wasn't much more of a reasonable thing to say, though his mind searched.

Why did she bother? "Fucking funny, yeah." Elle stood up and adjusted her coat. She didn't make eye contact.

"S'not," he corrected lightly, but he wasn't about to argue if she wanted to leave. It probably only made things more difficult to interpret, harder to pin, and the little, pulling aches in his falsely-animated body had already grown. "Didn't laugh like it was funny."

"I know," Elle said softly with a half nervous comb of fingers through her hair. "Ironic though." She had the freedom to leave. The door was wide open. That helped her feel more comfortable.

"A bit, I guess," he'd never been too slick when it came to realizing irony, unless it was blatantly obvious, even when he was the one who'd come up with it.

He moved forward in his seat on the bench, but didn't rise, looking at her turned back, "Hm. Anything now?" Budd was a bit clumsy when it came to proper order of things and how to deal with such information, "Or do we play ignorance?" 

With a slow turn, she faced him. "Too late for that. Nothing's changed much." Truth be told, she had no idea what to do about it.

"Come on, babe. You need to get yourself some stitches." She spoke to him almost kindly, some strange civility you give strangers or waitresses. However, she was ever so slightly, smiling.

He couldn't do much but hope that it wasn't just another trap to fall into. If she was going to kill him today, it might've been safe to assume that she would've done it by now, or at least messed his face up. Grumbling, "Fuckin' hate doctors," he stood to join her.

"I know. I'm sure they hate you too."

No tricks. No traps. They walked in close proximity, not quite side by side as far as the street the hospital was located. After that, Elle turned away to head her own way home. Hand not holding the wine bottle in her pocket, she let her mind wonder at the capacity of her own faults.