tampered | ongoing;

ongoing;

When; late afternoon, 7/12
Rating; idek? i hate rating things that haven't happened yet. :|
Characters;

cry_reaper
Summary; having promised to come help Mara move some stuff and bring dinner ~~and raid Dorian's wine cellar~~, Rudy does just that.
Log;

It doesn't occur to him until he's already en route that he has no idea what Mara might like for dinner; so he settles for grabbing a couple of take-out burgers and hoping for the best, figuring it's hard to go wrong with that. This will be the first time he sees the house she 'inherited;' he's been by her apartment a couple of times, under circumstances that were... interesting, to see the least, and he's admittedly curious to see the place. Whatever history is behind her having it, he can only guess at (and he does, though he'd never voice any of his suspicions.) Maybe she'll tell him sometime. For all the wrong reasons, he'd love to inspire that sort of trust.

It's a little later than he expected when he rings Mara's doorbell, delayed as he is by grabbing dinner; but hopefully only fashionably so, not unpardonably.

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She really hadn't been paying attention to the time, she'd just been moving things around, not sure what she was doing with anything. But for the last hour or so she'd really just been walking, wine in hand, no focus or direction, still struck by the situation.

She hadn't been joking about wanting to burn it to the ground, there was nothing here she wanted, not from him, not after what he'd done.

The doorbell shook her from her reverie and she headed to the front, opening the door.

"Welcome, home, Rudy. To my home at least."

He holds up the take-out bag triumphantly by way of greeting, stepping in and taking a look around.

"Thanks, Mara. Swank place you've got." It certainly doesn't seem like the kind of house you wouldn't appreciate inheriting, but it doesn't take much perception to realize there's more at hand than meets the eye, and he's brighter about this kind of thing than most people give him credit for.

"I got burgers, I hope that works for you?"

"I think it will be fine."

She steps to the side to let him enter and smiles as best she can, "Although I don't know what wine to serve."

"How extensive is the collection? If you want to be extravagant, finding the oldest, dustiest bottle is usually a good place to start."

Mara motioned to hallway where there was a small door. "You're welcome to take a look, I don't know anything about most of those vintages, I've just been pulling things out at random." She made a motion with the glass in her hand.

She took the bags from his hand, "I'll take these to the living room. There's a formal dining but... I think we can dispense with formality."

"I'm hardly an expert, but I'll have a glance," he says agreeably, heading to look. It's not quite a lie; he's never studied such things but he's self-centered enough to be a bit of a hedonist, so he knows enough to make an educated guess on what's likely to be among the better bottles. Certainly too nice for burgers, but this is sort of a special occasion with no occasion, and Mara doesn't seem to mind.

He catches up and presents it to her with a mock-flourish. "We can blame the previous owner if it doesn't measure up, after all."

"Won't be the first or last time."

She finishes off her glass and sets it aside, reaching for the bottle opener. She was trying not to drink as much, but she wasn't succeeding very well and tonight she'd basically decided to call the whole experiment off.

It's rather lacking in exuberance for a party, but that doesn't come as a surprise. Mara's been... unusual, since her sprained wrist. She drinks too much, he thinks, in a dispassionate way; but he isn't the sort to interfere with someone wrecking their own life. The City offers so few amusements that last more than a day, after all, and it piques his curiosity.

"On the other hand, if it's good, we can toast your good fortune in acquiring it without considering the origins. A win-win situation." He busies himself unpacking the burgers.

She pours the wine, keeping a watch on Rudy as he unpacks the dinner. Not really interested in the food, more interested in the man who had... taken care of her when she had no one else to call.

Like Dorian had. And look how that had turned out.

"Win-win." She echoed.

The words seem a bit hollow when they bounce back; the sadistic, analytical part of him, the part that's really brought him here tonight, takes in that fact with sharp satisfaction. None of that reaches his eyes, though; only a soft, vague surprise and concern, artfully feigned as he turns to her.

"Are you all right, Mara?"

"Yes, I'm fine..." She starts, but then corrects herself. "No, I don't think I am."

She cradles her new glass of wine close, not drinking it, but able to smell the pungent scent.

"I'm dead, my memories have been... massacred, and the man that hurt me more than... he left me a house and all his money. Payment. Like I was..."

She needs to stop talking. She needs to do it now.

"Hey, hey..."

She's said more than enough already, he can fill in the blanks. It doesn't come as much of a surprise; sex and pain often follow one another, in his mind more than others, but he's not naive enough to believe the City doesn't have its share of predators.

"It's all right. He's gone, right?" Food forgotten he takes a slow step closer, offering a little support if she wants it, but not threatening her personal space.

"He was my friend, Rudy. I trusted him."

She doesn't move toward him, but she doesn't move away either. She wants comfort, badly, but she knows her normal avenues of comfort aren't likely to get her anywhere. Not with him.

And she won't use Ken for this, she won't.

He knows a lot about shock, a lot about trauma, for reasons both professional and personal; and though he's probably pretty well-equipped technically to deal with her, he lacks the sense of compassion that usually goes along with such things.

He can fake it, though; and he takes another hesitant half-step, reaching out to set a hand on her shoulder lightly.

She doesn't flinch away and a free hand even reaches up to grasp the hand, her cool fingers reaching for any sort of warmth they can get. She turns and tries to give him a reassuring smile, knowing that it will fall flat.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't burden you with this."

"It's not the kinda thing you should keep to yourself," he counters, with a brief and weak smile of sympathy. Her hand is cool-- not cold; his standards for what constitutes cold flesh are rather exacting, though-- which he can't help but find fascinating. Lifeless yet animate.

"Thank you for saying that, but... what does it matter? He's gone."

Before she could have any sort of justice, he was gone. It seemed no one who hurt her ever paid for it. No one.

Well, he's gotten away with much worse, but that's a whole other can of worms.

"But it's not about him. You're the one who's hurt; which means, yeah, you can't get a certain kind of closure, but you can still work through it."

She smiled and moved away a bit, "I'll be fine, we should probably eat before it gets cold shouldn't we?"

"Sure." He broke eye contact and stepped back to the table. "We can do that. Cheese or no cheese?"

"I think cheese, it'll go well with my wine." It wasn't the best as jokes went, but she was trying to lighten the mood.

Not the best, but he smiled and shot her an amused glance on principle, sliding one of the styrofoam containers towards her.

She opened the container and pulled out the burger, examining it a bit before taking a small bite. It wasn't bad, she hadn't had many of these since coming to the City, but they were good for a quick bite.

'Are these common in your world?"

"Oh, sure. Burgers are a national pastime," he answers coolly. It's kind of a joke, of course, but without context, taking a bite before he continues. "These are from one of the better diners I've found since I've been here."

"It tastes good."

She takes another bite and follows it with a sip of wine.

"I should thank you, for coming over."

"You don't have to." He smiles, leaning back a bit, his glass dangling in his fingers. "I'm glad to do it."

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