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tampered2009-11-04 10:25 pm
favorsthebrave.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2009-11-04 10:25 pm
log; complete
When; The afternoon of Tuesday, November 3.
Rating; PG.
Characters; Luck Gandor (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
favorsthebrave) and Lockon Stratos (haroicsacrifice).
Summary; The soulgaze curse gives Luck and Lockon closer insights into one another's character than either of them is really comfortable with.
Log;
It's still quiet in Cassagioso in the afternoon - the speakeasy isn't open for business yet, but as always Luck's the first one in, unlocking the place and checking things out according to his usual habits. He's been spending more time than usual shut in the back office the past few weeks... but today, at least, that doesn't seem to be the case. Instead, he's idly playing what looks like a one-sided game of blackjack with himself on the bar while he waits for people to start coming in.
It's been quite a weekend. For most people, it was merely hectic; for Lockon, there was a stretch of it that was actually quite peaceful. Primarily because he was dead. That wasn't really the problem, though--he's gotten a bit used to dying by now. The problem was who did it, and how his teammates (his friends) reacted. So he's been a little less warm to them for the past few days. Not overtly, of course--in that regard he's as cheerful as ever. But he hasn't quite met their gazes as much as usual. They'd see too much of the rage that hasn't yet subsided to its usual dull simmer at the back of his heart.
He has no idea how right he is about that, today.
But Luck--well, Lockon is confident his boss doesn't know too much about one bartender's issues just yet. So he's all smiles and easy cheer when he walks in the door this afternoon. "Yo! Looks like you're winning. Good luck!" He makes his usual encouraging finger-gun gesture, even if this time, it's about something as silly as a game of solo blackjack.
If Lockon happens to look at just the right place at just the right time, as Luck turns over the next card from the deck, he might manage to catch a hint that there's slightly more to it than just an odd way of playing solitaire - the expert flick of the fingers that turns the ace of spades out from the bottom of the deck. But only if he's looking just right.
Twenty-one. Blackjack. A short laugh escapes Luck, and he gathers the cards up with a look of amused self-deprecation on his face. "Always, one hopes."
He's still wearing that wry smile as he looks over toward Lockon.
As it happens, Lockon is the kind of guy who's far too often looking in just right place at just the right time, so long as it's not about him. He doesn't catch the entirety of the gesture--lack of depth perception will do that even to a perceptive man--but he sees enough to have an inkling of what's going on. A more teasing smile quirks up his mouth. "Practice helps, too. And that one's not a bad pun."
He turns to hang up his coat (which, yes, has an oversized fluffy collar, because even clad in a rather stylish suit for work he finds a way to ruin things fashion-wise) and then looks back at Luck. He's opening his mouth to say something else, to crack another silly joke, but then he stops, because with Luck he's willing to do what he hasn't been willing to do with Setsuna and Tieria lately, and that's meet his gaze full-on for more than a few seconds.
Today, that just might be a bad idea.
Luck is one of those people whose eyes almost always seem somehow shuttered, whatever expression he might be wearing at the time. Today, however, the latest curse has left the shutters wide open.
There are never really words to describe the experience of looking into someone else's soul. But imagine a house of cards - not just the one-deck product of a couple of hours' work, but a full-scale marvel of patience and balance and meticulous attention to detail, built from thousands of cards over dozens of years, and every card touched at the edges and corners with fingerprints in blood and sweat and bootleg liquor.
And in the midst of it walks Luck, a fifteen-year-old boy in the suit and coat and hat of a man like a teenager wearing his father's clothes, with his sleeves pushed back and blood on his hands, constantly picking up cards when they fall, building back up the sections that collapse, always moving with rigid restraint lest some thoughtless gesture bring the whole thing collapsing down around him.
The vision lasts only moments, and then it's gone, but Lockon may well be left with the uncanny feeling that somewhere in there, his own face is on one of those cards.
Momentary as it is, the vision stalls Lockon. He's heard much made, lately, of the deities recycling curses. Something like this, though, is entirely new. And that's why he doesn't realize that what he just saw is accompanied by a similar vision from out of his one good eye.
Well, not exactly similar. It's less an image at first than a feeling that an aura surrounds him. Luck, as the youngest of three sons, should be able to recognize it well enough. It's concentrated Older Brother, warm and protective and friendly and almost, almost entirely genuine--
--and cracked.
When the cracks fall into place, the image solidifies. There is blood on Lockon's hands too, and ashes and dust. His fingernails on his one visible hand are dirty and ragged as if from scrabbling helplessly, and his face (and at one angle that face looks so young, like a boy little more than half his actual age) is bruised and smudged. He might look like an innocent victim just emerged from rubble, save for a few things.
There are the cracks, running through him like ugly seams (some of them have bright thread, mostly blue, a lot of green, a little violet, holding them more properly closed, but it's not enough, never enough). There's the blood on his hands, of course; some of it might be his, but clearly not all of it. Oh, and there's the fact that one of them isn't entirely visible--instead, it's reaching over his shoulder for the rifle on his back.
And where the bright, alien threads don't hold them tight, the cracks aren't perfectly glued together. But beyond them isn't another him, an inner soul: just a black grieving emptiness and a fierce angry flame.
The deck of cards that Luck was holding goes spilling across the bar; Luck rocks back half a step as though from a blow, a hand coming up reflexively to shield his eyes as his breath hisses through his teeth in a half-vocalized curse.
He recovers his composure quickly, but he keeps his eyes averted, and his face has gone sharp and fierce in the aftermath of the soulgaze. "God damn this place," he murmurs, mostly under his breath.
It occurs to Lockon, in that moment, that what passed between the two of them was mutual. What Lockon saw of Luck, Luck saw of Lockon. It's not a pretty thought, and for a moment his mouth flattens into a bitter line of frustration, and a muttered, "Damn!" escapes him, his own cheery composure cracking briefly. But only briefly; then he's moving toward Luck's side to reach out to steady him, an automatic reaction. He's destabilized, so he helps stabilize someone else. It makes perfect sense.
He smiles. The warmth of that smile doesn't match what Luck just saw. "Whoever makes the curses isn't a big fan of privacy!"
Luck doesn't shake off Lockon's steadying hand immediately, but it's not long before he's drawing himself up very straight, self-possession pulled close around him to make it clear that he does not need the support. "Forgive me," he says after a moment, looking away with a frown. "If I'd known about today's curse, I would have taken precautions."
And with that, Lockon obligingly pulls his hand away. He's a physically affectionate kind of guy, but he's not intrusive--well, except sometimes with Setsuna, but that's different. That's Setsuna.
"Hey, hey," he says. "It's not as if it's your fault! If I'd known...well, I'd've thought you'd need both eyes for something like that! But I'd have taken precautions too, just in case."
Luck occupies himself for a few moments with picking up the scattered cards and collecting them back into a deck, tapping the edges absently against the bar to straighten them out. It's just temporizing, a way of wasting a few moments while he organizes his thoughts.
Finally he looks over at Lockon again, careful not to make direct eye contact in the odd chance that the curse's effect isn't simply a one-off. "Is this going to be a problem?" he asks, quite seriously.
Meanwhile, Lockon can tell well enough that Luck needs his space for the moment, so he heads behind the bar to start making sure everything's ready for the night to come. Like Luck and his unplanned game of fifty-two pickup, it's just a way to pass the time while the unfortunate moment passes away.
But, as they both know, it's not gone entirely. Lockon straightens up when Luck looks back in his direction, and he takes similar care not to make eye contact. But the smile has slipped off his face, and there's more of the man that was in that vision than Luck has seen before. "I won't serve drinks to known terrorists. Is that a problem?" It's not his usual humor; it's barely humor at all, more a faintly palatable veneer over something dark and furious. But then that's gone, and he's smiling again. "But I don't think I want to walk away from this job, all the same."
Luck considers Lockon's words for a moment - and then smiles back, faintly, and inclines his head in a gesture of acceptance. Good enough. "That's fine, then," he says, and slips the deck of cards back into its box, and the box into his pocket. "You're welcome to take the evening off if you need it. I have a feeling things will be slow tonight."
"I'd rather be here than back at the apartment," Lockon says. He leaves the layers packed in that: the implication that it's easier for him to deal with Luck or even random strangers seeing him like this than it would be if it were his friends from his own world seeing it. Or at least, that's the easiest way to read it. Truth be told, he also doesn't mind staying here with Luck. The vision only made it feel more right to want to protect him.
"Besides," he adds, his grin belying the darker undercurrents of his words, "only the most desperate cases need their bartender to look them in the eye, right? Most of them time just listening is good enough."
The implications underneath the words don't escape Luck. At least, not entirely. Whatever his thoughts, though, he keeps them to himself. "As you prefer," he says, with another brief nod. "I'll be back in the office for a while. If there are any problems, let me know." He starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing back. "Thank you, Lockon," he says. "I appreciate all of your efforts."
"I'm just doing my job," Lockon assures Luck. But his smile has gentled a little at the edges. It's a bit more sincere--not that any of his smiles are truly insincere. Just...a little hollow, that's all, if you know where to look. And now Luck does. "But I think I like this job. So I'll keep at it. Take care today, Luck."
That brings another smile to Luck's face, brief but real and not altogether calculated. "And yourself," he replies, in a somewhat lighter tone of voice, before starting off to the office to settle in and crunch some numbers like he's been doing for most of the past month.
That earns another pointed finger and a grin. Then Lockon is crouching back down to check the supplies again. But, once more, as soon as he's sure Luck is gone and no one else is in yet...the grin fades off his face, and he's blank again.
Rating; PG.
Characters; Luck Gandor (
favorsthebrave) and Lockon Stratos (haroicsacrifice).Summary; The soulgaze curse gives Luck and Lockon closer insights into one another's character than either of them is really comfortable with.
Log;
It's still quiet in Cassagioso in the afternoon - the speakeasy isn't open for business yet, but as always Luck's the first one in, unlocking the place and checking things out according to his usual habits. He's been spending more time than usual shut in the back office the past few weeks... but today, at least, that doesn't seem to be the case. Instead, he's idly playing what looks like a one-sided game of blackjack with himself on the bar while he waits for people to start coming in.
It's been quite a weekend. For most people, it was merely hectic; for Lockon, there was a stretch of it that was actually quite peaceful. Primarily because he was dead. That wasn't really the problem, though--he's gotten a bit used to dying by now. The problem was who did it, and how his teammates (his friends) reacted. So he's been a little less warm to them for the past few days. Not overtly, of course--in that regard he's as cheerful as ever. But he hasn't quite met their gazes as much as usual. They'd see too much of the rage that hasn't yet subsided to its usual dull simmer at the back of his heart.
He has no idea how right he is about that, today.
But Luck--well, Lockon is confident his boss doesn't know too much about one bartender's issues just yet. So he's all smiles and easy cheer when he walks in the door this afternoon. "Yo! Looks like you're winning. Good luck!" He makes his usual encouraging finger-gun gesture, even if this time, it's about something as silly as a game of solo blackjack.
If Lockon happens to look at just the right place at just the right time, as Luck turns over the next card from the deck, he might manage to catch a hint that there's slightly more to it than just an odd way of playing solitaire - the expert flick of the fingers that turns the ace of spades out from the bottom of the deck. But only if he's looking just right.
Twenty-one. Blackjack. A short laugh escapes Luck, and he gathers the cards up with a look of amused self-deprecation on his face. "Always, one hopes."
He's still wearing that wry smile as he looks over toward Lockon.
As it happens, Lockon is the kind of guy who's far too often looking in just right place at just the right time, so long as it's not about him. He doesn't catch the entirety of the gesture--lack of depth perception will do that even to a perceptive man--but he sees enough to have an inkling of what's going on. A more teasing smile quirks up his mouth. "Practice helps, too. And that one's not a bad pun."
He turns to hang up his coat (which, yes, has an oversized fluffy collar, because even clad in a rather stylish suit for work he finds a way to ruin things fashion-wise) and then looks back at Luck. He's opening his mouth to say something else, to crack another silly joke, but then he stops, because with Luck he's willing to do what he hasn't been willing to do with Setsuna and Tieria lately, and that's meet his gaze full-on for more than a few seconds.
Today, that just might be a bad idea.
Luck is one of those people whose eyes almost always seem somehow shuttered, whatever expression he might be wearing at the time. Today, however, the latest curse has left the shutters wide open.
There are never really words to describe the experience of looking into someone else's soul. But imagine a house of cards - not just the one-deck product of a couple of hours' work, but a full-scale marvel of patience and balance and meticulous attention to detail, built from thousands of cards over dozens of years, and every card touched at the edges and corners with fingerprints in blood and sweat and bootleg liquor.
And in the midst of it walks Luck, a fifteen-year-old boy in the suit and coat and hat of a man like a teenager wearing his father's clothes, with his sleeves pushed back and blood on his hands, constantly picking up cards when they fall, building back up the sections that collapse, always moving with rigid restraint lest some thoughtless gesture bring the whole thing collapsing down around him.
The vision lasts only moments, and then it's gone, but Lockon may well be left with the uncanny feeling that somewhere in there, his own face is on one of those cards.
Momentary as it is, the vision stalls Lockon. He's heard much made, lately, of the deities recycling curses. Something like this, though, is entirely new. And that's why he doesn't realize that what he just saw is accompanied by a similar vision from out of his one good eye.
Well, not exactly similar. It's less an image at first than a feeling that an aura surrounds him. Luck, as the youngest of three sons, should be able to recognize it well enough. It's concentrated Older Brother, warm and protective and friendly and almost, almost entirely genuine--
--and cracked.
When the cracks fall into place, the image solidifies. There is blood on Lockon's hands too, and ashes and dust. His fingernails on his one visible hand are dirty and ragged as if from scrabbling helplessly, and his face (and at one angle that face looks so young, like a boy little more than half his actual age) is bruised and smudged. He might look like an innocent victim just emerged from rubble, save for a few things.
There are the cracks, running through him like ugly seams (some of them have bright thread, mostly blue, a lot of green, a little violet, holding them more properly closed, but it's not enough, never enough). There's the blood on his hands, of course; some of it might be his, but clearly not all of it. Oh, and there's the fact that one of them isn't entirely visible--instead, it's reaching over his shoulder for the rifle on his back.
And where the bright, alien threads don't hold them tight, the cracks aren't perfectly glued together. But beyond them isn't another him, an inner soul: just a black grieving emptiness and a fierce angry flame.
The deck of cards that Luck was holding goes spilling across the bar; Luck rocks back half a step as though from a blow, a hand coming up reflexively to shield his eyes as his breath hisses through his teeth in a half-vocalized curse.
He recovers his composure quickly, but he keeps his eyes averted, and his face has gone sharp and fierce in the aftermath of the soulgaze. "God damn this place," he murmurs, mostly under his breath.
It occurs to Lockon, in that moment, that what passed between the two of them was mutual. What Lockon saw of Luck, Luck saw of Lockon. It's not a pretty thought, and for a moment his mouth flattens into a bitter line of frustration, and a muttered, "Damn!" escapes him, his own cheery composure cracking briefly. But only briefly; then he's moving toward Luck's side to reach out to steady him, an automatic reaction. He's destabilized, so he helps stabilize someone else. It makes perfect sense.
He smiles. The warmth of that smile doesn't match what Luck just saw. "Whoever makes the curses isn't a big fan of privacy!"
Luck doesn't shake off Lockon's steadying hand immediately, but it's not long before he's drawing himself up very straight, self-possession pulled close around him to make it clear that he does not need the support. "Forgive me," he says after a moment, looking away with a frown. "If I'd known about today's curse, I would have taken precautions."
And with that, Lockon obligingly pulls his hand away. He's a physically affectionate kind of guy, but he's not intrusive--well, except sometimes with Setsuna, but that's different. That's Setsuna.
"Hey, hey," he says. "It's not as if it's your fault! If I'd known...well, I'd've thought you'd need both eyes for something like that! But I'd have taken precautions too, just in case."
Luck occupies himself for a few moments with picking up the scattered cards and collecting them back into a deck, tapping the edges absently against the bar to straighten them out. It's just temporizing, a way of wasting a few moments while he organizes his thoughts.
Finally he looks over at Lockon again, careful not to make direct eye contact in the odd chance that the curse's effect isn't simply a one-off. "Is this going to be a problem?" he asks, quite seriously.
Meanwhile, Lockon can tell well enough that Luck needs his space for the moment, so he heads behind the bar to start making sure everything's ready for the night to come. Like Luck and his unplanned game of fifty-two pickup, it's just a way to pass the time while the unfortunate moment passes away.
But, as they both know, it's not gone entirely. Lockon straightens up when Luck looks back in his direction, and he takes similar care not to make eye contact. But the smile has slipped off his face, and there's more of the man that was in that vision than Luck has seen before. "I won't serve drinks to known terrorists. Is that a problem?" It's not his usual humor; it's barely humor at all, more a faintly palatable veneer over something dark and furious. But then that's gone, and he's smiling again. "But I don't think I want to walk away from this job, all the same."
Luck considers Lockon's words for a moment - and then smiles back, faintly, and inclines his head in a gesture of acceptance. Good enough. "That's fine, then," he says, and slips the deck of cards back into its box, and the box into his pocket. "You're welcome to take the evening off if you need it. I have a feeling things will be slow tonight."
"I'd rather be here than back at the apartment," Lockon says. He leaves the layers packed in that: the implication that it's easier for him to deal with Luck or even random strangers seeing him like this than it would be if it were his friends from his own world seeing it. Or at least, that's the easiest way to read it. Truth be told, he also doesn't mind staying here with Luck. The vision only made it feel more right to want to protect him.
"Besides," he adds, his grin belying the darker undercurrents of his words, "only the most desperate cases need their bartender to look them in the eye, right? Most of them time just listening is good enough."
The implications underneath the words don't escape Luck. At least, not entirely. Whatever his thoughts, though, he keeps them to himself. "As you prefer," he says, with another brief nod. "I'll be back in the office for a while. If there are any problems, let me know." He starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing back. "Thank you, Lockon," he says. "I appreciate all of your efforts."
"I'm just doing my job," Lockon assures Luck. But his smile has gentled a little at the edges. It's a bit more sincere--not that any of his smiles are truly insincere. Just...a little hollow, that's all, if you know where to look. And now Luck does. "But I think I like this job. So I'll keep at it. Take care today, Luck."
That brings another smile to Luck's face, brief but real and not altogether calculated. "And yourself," he replies, in a somewhat lighter tone of voice, before starting off to the office to settle in and crunch some numbers like he's been doing for most of the past month.
That earns another pointed finger and a grin. Then Lockon is crouching back down to check the supplies again. But, once more, as soon as he's sure Luck is gone and no one else is in yet...the grin fades off his face, and he's blank again.