open & overflow.

[tson]

“Zulu... Hotel... Echo... November... Golf... Zulu... Hotel...”

Comments

[tson]

( here )

I'm not sure where you're going with this.

[ He's trying sooooo hard not to let himself be affected. ]

I'm not coy.

bless u for moving us

[floresco]

That's exactly what a coy person would say!

[ But… maybe she doesn't know where she's going with this either, only that it's surprisingly fun, and maybe more than just a little bit intriguing to push this particular set of buttons. ]

Maybe if you were less coy, your loins wouldn't burn so often.

bkst got exceedingly into that # of body parts captcha.. concerning

[tson]

They wouldn't say that.

[ Tseng says, knowing, because he... knows. These are like the buttons under a safety cover. ]

Nothing is burning.
This is on record.
Let's stop talking about it, please.

[ Yup, his loins are on record. ]

my fav is kevin's name is what?

[floresco]

What's it on record for?

[ Seriously Tseng. Why did you put your loins on record? ]

omg that's such a tough one tho!

[tson]

Now it's on record for not burning.

[ As lots of Turk-things are on-off-record. ]

@redhairedturk

[tson]

( from here )

Metaphorically, not whatever you're imagining right now.
If you think it's necessary get yourself checked out, Reno.

Oh please, I didn't open that door ..! But Reno will very gladly walk through it! XD

[redhairedturk]

Oh, I'm good! Can't complain about anything on my end, so .. what was that meant to be a metaphor for, exactly?

@floresco

[tson]

[tson]

( from here )

[ Tseng glances at her sidelong, suggesting her remark has landed somewhere within. ] Determination is an asset—when it's not working against me. [ This could pass for humor if it weren’t so meticulously subdued. Her request lingers, just so in a way that suggests Tseng might end up dismissing it outright once more. There's still a practiced stillness to him that, after everything, might still fool anyone not sitting in the car. ]

This isn't a leisurely drive, Aerith. [ He could very well leave it at that, but Tseng's tone tempers the potential finality of it. Stopping at the aforementioned bakery would seem small concession, but... ] Maybe another time.

[ Under different circumstances, like following unseen again. It’s not quite an apology, nor is it entirely an offer, but as if he's said all he can allow himself to, Tseng doesn't elaborate on the rules or remind her of who decided upon them in the first place, either. Of course, a ripple of intuition makes him wonder if her insistence is more than whim. A gut feeling, unspoken and unformed. The way the streets wind need no reminding of his that they're closer to her house than elsewhere, anyway. ]

my own top level? i just live in your open now i guess

[floresco]

[ It can, and does pass for humor – at least to Aerith, who responds to that comment about determination with a laugh and a self-satisfied smile. That expression hardly falters, even as Tseng follows up what she's choosing to take as a compliment with gently shutting her second suggestion of a stop down. ]

You're going to regret it when we have to go all the way back to the bar.

[ She's got to purse her lips a bit to stop from smirking as she turns to look at him, her shoulders rolling in an easy shrug as she fights the urge to narrow her eyes and end up looking too triumphant. ]

I forgot my scarf.

[ Aerith wants to believe he'll wave it off as her being a pest, rather than a deliberate move to spend more time riding around in his car and not going home. All things considered, Aerith almost wishes she could do the same. It's safer and more sensible than quietly pulling a shrewd stunt like this. ]

you do, do you want some slippers, something to drink?

[tson]

[ Tseng's expression barely shifts, but there’s a subtle lift to his brow. He lets silence settle deliberately this time, moments during which Tseng thinks she's hoping to be dismissed by him as forgetful rather than calculating. Much kinder than a pest. Truthfully, he can’t say for certain which it is—he isn’t a mind reader. He doesn’t need to be. He knows her well enough, their history stretching far too long for her intentions to be entirely opaque. ]

You forgot your scarf.

[ He repeats it, dryly. He feels the corner tightening around him, and that's one of the hardest things to stand. The point of escorting her home was to ensure she stayed there—not to have her doubling back alone. Tseng pulls the car to the side of the road. The doors are still locked all around. His eyes shift to Aerith, less sharp and unmistakably weary. He doesn't bother concealing it. ]

Alright. [ There’s no fanfare in his response, resigned but firm. Tseng steers the car into a tight turn, heading back the way they came. His focus is on the road ahead...back, but from the corner of his eye, he watches her. ]

and a big comfy chair svp

[floresco]

[ Indignance flares in the face of his exasperation, although for the time being Aerith manages to keep that rise of annoyance tamped down and tucked away, save for the newfound sharpness lingering at the corners of her eyes when she narrows them. The duality of her motivations is particularly odd one – the greedy want to stall, to prolong, to give herself another hour to steal glances in his direction, and the obstinance that begs to point out that if certain giant companies could just back off and let her have her own life, the whereabouts of her scarf wouldn't be anyone else's problem but her own.

However rankled, she still straightens in her seat after Tseng pulls the car over to send a tired, annoyed, look in her direction before turning the vehicle back around. The softer side of her decision dims like her sense of enjoyment from stealing more of his time, and Aerith huffs audibly as her gaze returns to the view ahead, aware he's still looking and grimacing doubly so because of it. She's the Ancient, the Asset, and Tseng is only here to make sure her value to Shinra doesn't depreciate on account of a little peril, not because he wants to be. ]

It's a safe trip.

[ They both know why she points that out, just like they both must know it's pointless. Tseng would never willingly drive away and leave her if he thought she would head right back out again once he did. Settling back against the seat, she crosses her arms, not bothering to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. ]

kevin-proofed

[floresco]

[ For a few minutes after waking, Aerith is too focused on trying to wrap her mind around the gentle way she can feel the mattress sinking beneath his weight, and the steady uncommonly relaxed sound of his breathing to move. There's no surprise threading its way through the intricate, but no less bright feelings that seem to swirl around her heart, but that doesn't mean she ever expected this to happen, either. Slowly – carefully – Aerith rolls onto her side, facing him, as she inwardly considers whether it was naive of her to think they'd go on forever without a breaking point ever being found and pressed on or not.

She doesn't have to look at him too long to know the answer.

Pursing her lips in a short-lived show of hesitation, one hand reaches out and settles over his before she, pauses and waits to see if he'll stir. Despite their shared state of undress, that he's gloveless is the thing that really drives the point home that this is all uncharted territory, and the thrill of it takes the uncertainty out of her expression, softening it into a look of quiet, but markedly unabashed affection.

Her hand leaves his in favor of letting her fingertips brush along the ends of his hair, unconsciously shifting nearer, crowding his space without a second thought so she can stare up at his face, indulging the piece of herself that isn't shocked by this happening in the slightest. ]

Are you awake yet? [ As warm and gentle as her voice is, Aerith can't conceal the delight in her tone, and, more to the point – she doesn't want to. It would be as impossible as trying to get the smile off of her face while she stares at him.

At Tseng.

At Tseng, undressed, and asleep in a bed where she has also been sleeping while undressed.

It should feel like a heavier issue than it does. ]

kevin is sad he can't watch, that little voyeur

[tson]

[ At first Tseng doesn’t move, and Aerith can look at him away from consciousness shaping his expression into unreadable masks. A divided part of his mind still registers everything: the warmth of her body as she inches closer, and incidentally the way her weight shifts on the slope dug by his shoulder, the light touch of her fingers. When she brushes through the ends of his hair, subtly, Tseng's lashes flicker. It's not a sudden awakening, more like a quiet acknowledgment that he's been aware for some time. His breathing deepens, and with it, he opens his eyes. Dark, calm, and focused, they meet hers.

He, also, was too aware the night before to be surprised now.

Tseng has memorized every detail of her face, presently. His gaze lingers anyway. The unguarded smile on her lips, the warmth of her gaze, the way she fills the air between them with a quiet joy are all fragments that have been shown to him. He hadn't permitted himself to touch them before.

His hand, resting between them, flexes. The leather of his gloves is harder than the skin on his fingertips. ]

I am. [ His answer offers nothing to hide behind. They'd been even more direct with each other last night.

Where the sheets slide off of her shoulder, he can see how her breasts curve away from her chest. He touches her forearm, feeling tendons stiff with the strand of his hair pinched between her fingers.

Tseng knows what he should say. That this can't happen again. That they've crossed a line neither of them can even afford to acknowledge.

But he says none of it.

His thumb brushes over her pulse, his hand wraps around her wrist. ]

soz, but, we're too busy watering our own crops to water kevin's

[floresco]

[ There's almost no chance they'll make it without saying all the things both of them choose to ignore. This can't happen again. They've crossed a line and – her arm relaxes under his hand as her fingers flex and curl a long strand of his hair around one of them, indulging every stupid thought and observation she's spent years making, relishing how sweet everything is on the other side of that uncrossable line.

Silent as she watches him watch her, Aerith only looks away when his fingers curve around her wrist, catching it lightly, loosely enough to allow her to slip her hand lower, until her palm settles against his, and she can lace their fingers together. ]

You looked like you were having a good sleep. [ And who cares if he knows she was watching? She spent most of last night tangled up with him, proving how much attention she's always paid, no sense in trying to play it cool now.

It's quiet, peaceful enough to make it easy to believe reality won't ever come knocking on the door, but the pale light filtering in from her window tells Aerith it's early, that there's time.

The arm resting against the mattress bends at the elbow before she presses it to the bed and uses the leverage to move very close in very little time. In a heartbeat, she's drawn close enough to usher herself into his arms and against his chest, ducking her head so it rests on his shoulder. ] Always knew you would be warmer than you looked.

looking forward to a bountiful harvest from ours

[tson]

[ Warm, intimate, and soft—these are all things Tseng has never considered himself to be. In the present moment, the very spaces between those words seem to stretch with the spaces between his fingers, allowing Aerith to slip between them. His grip tightens slightly around hers, his fingers curling gently over the back of her hand.

His mind, usually sharp and calculating, is occupied with unfamiliar thoughts: how long she's been watching him like this, how much she's memorized of him in ways he hadn't realized until now. He's spent years cataloging every detail of her—small, imperceptible things—but never with the awareness that not all of those details were meant for a report, or for professional detachment. Once or twice, he's seen her asleep, but the difference between then and now haunts him more than he expected.

Now the smooth glide of her skin against his ignites a quiet ache. Aerith's warmth in turn seeps deep, settling in places he didn't realize had grown cold. She fits too easily and perfectly against him, and it stirs a deep satisfaction within him. A low sound rumbles in Tseng's throat.

His free hand shifts to the small of her back, and his fingers trace up the length of her spine, ready to commit each subtle dip and curve to memory in a way that has nothing to do with duty. Tseng presses lightly, pulling her closer, letting her feel the growing tension in his body. ]

Aerith... [ Her name slips past his lips, almost like a confession. The muted glow cast across the room drapes over Aerith's skin, the morning held at bay by the gentle sway of her breathing. Tseng pauses just below her shoulder blades. ]

How long have you been looking at me like that?

putting a bow on tseng's apartment door, another way for her to besiege him is totally aerith's gift

[tson]

[ The temperature has dropped enough in due time to produce large, falling snowflakes. A white Christmas, yet, because of the pipes and ducts winding on the plates' underside, the ground is too warm to let them hold their shape. Festive, scenic snowfall only leaves the asphalt wet, reflecting the lights strung across every street. Their warm, yellow beads compete with the pale green glow emanating from the reactors, adding a rare warmth to the mechanical city.

Aerith stopped, stood rocking on her heels and asked if this is it, standing in front of the building entrance that is, in fact, it. The entire house isn’t older, or even as old as the Gainsborough estate, and simply nestled into a street in Sector 8. Anyone might live here, like the residents in the other apartments do—like Tseng does.

Bundled in her worn but warm coat, she doesn’t look nearly so chilled as on that rainy evening. Still, Tseng can’t quite tell whether the rosy color on her cheeks results from her standing outside, or from the roguish excitement at stepping into such a reticent part of his life. He stands next to her, letting her look at the facade or guessing which windows belong to his view, or wondering if she’s just imagined something more “like him.” Or perhaps waiting for the usual stoic version of him to break into some unexpected gesture. She finally prompts him through apparent curiosity.

Tseng pushes the heavy, tall door open into a hallway where lights flicker on with motion sensors. Stairs wind up to the next floor in a semi-circle and at the far back of the hall is an elevator. Footfalls echo between plastered brick walls and the tile floor. ]

This is it. [ He says. How ordinary and unremarkable. ]

he will learn to regret this

[floresco]

[ He didn't imply that she was spending the night, but there's a bag slung over Aerith's shoulder that's large enough to contain a change of clothes, among other thing. Then again, there's a good chance she's got nothing more on her than an assortment of festive odds and ends, ready to be placed all over his apartment – it's a matter of how far Aerith thinks she can press her luck.

Given the conspiratorially smug smile she gives him after the door swings open, allowing Aerith her first look around the inside of the place, it might be safe to say she's under the impression she can continue gaining distance from the line that's always been between them. ]

You haven't even given me a tour! How can this be it?

[ Barely suppressed amusement lights up her face when she meets his eye, smiling brightly before her attention diverts to her bag instead. She's definitely got a wreath, or a large glittery ribbon for his front door in here somewhere among the fairy lights, mistletoe, and other festive bits and pieces she's brought to stick all over his apartment. ]

What are we having for dinner tonight? [ She's already stopped to hang the wreath on his door, why not continue her tirade of audacity? ]

worse... he’ll learn to accept it

[tson]

[ Tseng’s brow twitches, the barely noticeable reaction to her pertness, and the prospect of turning his apartment into a wonderland. Naturally, he looked in the bag, the wreath now fully in view rather than just at the edge of his vision. Up until her adorning his door with it, nothing set it apart from the others on the floor either, except for the double lock and keypad.

His fingers brush over the numbers and letters to enter the code, and a quiet click disables lock and alarm both. With a normal key, Tseng unbars the second, ordinary lock. The door itself is heavier to push open, too, if Aerith were to try it. She was right, it’s secure. A sense of obligation overrules his discomfort, and Tseng stifles a scoff very well. ] I’ll show you, then. Take your shoes off. [ He has done so. He’s set out those thin guest slippers for her.

But Tseng is a bad tour guide, and points without walking her around much. ] The bathroom and two bedrooms are on this side. The kitchen is there. Here, [ He only walks up to the largest but open door, and stands near the doorframe, hands clasped behind his back. Letting Aerith take in the space, he doesn’t quite pause his commentary, but does wait for her to catch up. ] is the living room. [ And, ] You’re welcome to look around.

[ Imagining that she would anyway, it feels better to say it first. The place is spacious and sleek, with modern appliances, and furniture in neutral colors, where the darker end of the spectrum dominates. The parquet floors help to leaven the picture. Everything looks ready to be lived in, but it’s just that. ]

You didn’t eat earlier? [ Tseng pulls an eyebrow back up and feigns the mildest case of bewilderment at her second question. They’ll have something together. ]

@coinages

[tson]

dark nation best girl 🥹

[tson]

( from here )

[ It's the sound of nails clicking against the polished floor that initially draws his attention, then the door. The first flicker of Tseng's reaction is so subtle, it might as well be an extension of his breathing—a faint tightening of his gaze, sharp enough to catch every detail without lingering. There's no outward surprise, nothing to betray the initial tug of dismay somewhere underneath. His instinct is to assess, to determine if the blood is Rufus' or another's, but even before he begins, he knows.

Tseng tilts his head forward as Rufus smears crimson across the air like an artist with a careless brushstroke. What crosses Tseng's brow thereafter after is closer to resigned observation, as he takes in the totality of Rufus' appearance—bloodied but utterly unconcerned.

Dark Nation elects the step Tseng takes aside to let Rufus pass as her space, exuding a predatory pride that demands acknowledgment. Blood smears her muzzle and speckles her sleek coat, just the same as her master's, but her eyes are focused and expectant. Tseng's eyes narrow fractionally. For a moment, he considers leaving her unindulged, but his hand moves of its own accord and hovers there for her to nose at. She transfers the faint stickiness of her 'touch' to the fingertips, palm and dorsum of his glove; there also the bare skin on the back of Tseng's hand. ]

She seems particularly proud.

[ He comments—he might speak the pardon for her—but withdraws his hand again at the same time.

Tseng's eyes meet Rufus' directly. He considers the implications; his answer must strike the precise tone. He knows better than to suggest Rufus pause for anything other than his own whims. Tseng's lips tighten into a thin, unreadable smile. ]

While she might not mind the blood, you, sir, might find it more bothersome.

[ Tseng allows the thought to rise between them. ]

Do you have no intention of tending to the remnants of your outing all by yourself?

she is truly the best girl

[coinages]

Proud is an understatement.

( it's said through a wry haze, bemusement leaking through his tone--his eyes are on the monitor, now, instead of trying to scrutinize the minute little changes in tseng's countenance, something that he learned to do in his youth; he'd spent hours upon hours of useless meetings just trying to crack the expensive code of tseng's smooth expression, noting each and every little twitch and shift and crease of his brow. now, it's more of a game than a necessity: however minor, what emotions can he see, bleeding through the sharp turn of his gaze, the lift of his chin, the purse of his lips? once glance up from the screen tells him just enough: he's gotten much better at this game than he would likely admit.

tseng, it seems, is warring with decisions. warring with his place. warring with the blood smeared onto his own gloved hand, and the blood that's mirrored over dark nation's muzzle and his own jacket, dotted and splotched across his cheek and the corner of his mouth. he would find it charming, any other night: but the reports tabbed up on his screen make his head hurt, so late at night, and he's recalling again why he left to take the walk in the first place.

it doesn't matter. the work will still be there come morning, once he's had a fresh change of clothes, coffee, and hopefully a bit of sleep. with a resigned exhale, he nudges a clean knuckle against the monitor's power button to put it to sleep again. )

You know that a little blood doesn't bother me. ( mostly a tease, accompanied by a little flick of his brow upward: he abandons the desk, nudging the chair in with his hip to keep it blood-free; dark nation's ears perk up, drawn by the sound, but as he rounds on his desk, she doesn't seek to move between them, padding and settling into an undignified lump down behind tseng's legs. it seems she'll rest there to catch her breath as they deliberate. )

Do you have no intention of following through? ( countered with another wry smile, as he begins to close the space between them again, slow and measured, like he has nowhere else to be.

truthfully, he doesn't. a lonely, sprawling suite up on the top floor of the building is waiting for him: or waiting for them, if he plays his cards right. )

I'd like a bath. ( now that there's less space between them, it's easier to feel for tseng's nuances; his own lips press together against a smile. ) I'd like it if you joined me.

[tson]

[ As the other player of that game, he knows what it is to be vivisected by Rufus' gaze. Right now it feels like the edge of a blade grazing skin without yet cutting. The blood doesn't bother him either—even having some drawn would not—this is even more unnecessary for Tseng to point out than it is for Rufus.

Tseng's eyes follow his approach with quiet intent, noting every nuance, the restless energy faintly visible in the lines of his posture, and the fog hidden behind that wry smile. This isn't unfamiliar ground, and yet Tseng's own steps are more careful and measured than they may be by daylight. Paradoxical, when it is such that things disappear more easily under the veil of night. Though, the lighting seems itself tired and obscures Tseng's demeanor.

That his composure readily softens in subtle ways is visible only when they're this close. His gaze flickers to Rufus's cheek, then to his mouth, where his eyes linger just a little longer than necessary, before returning to his eyes. Up close, where Rufus can see the details—the faint lift of his brow, the softening at the edges of his mouth—Tseng lets it happen and allows a beat of silence for what is his own contentment to be seen. ]

It would be remiss of me to let you handle it alone. I have every intention.

[ Because there's certain satisfaction in Rufus cutting through the usual display of power, and simply laying his wants bare. It's different from giving or receiving orders. Personal, intentional. And Tseng likes that. Then, still in an even tone but, far far less vague. ]

I'll join you.

@36105997

[tson]

from here

It'll take time to confirm.

[ But, yes, as far as having access. The specificity of the term catches. Tseng has it filed mentally with a few others that haven't surfaced in years—not in polite conversation, anyway. A pause between messages, intentional. ]

What are you expecting to find?

thanks!

[36105997]

[Committing that database to memory is... actually quite impressive. So he'd think, if he'd known. But he doesn't- so he simply answers the question.]

Anything. And anything linking it to Deepground. They believe I have it- whatever it is.