Chapter Text
|-Wednesday afternoon. The Gershwin Theater, 222 West 51st Street, Manhattan, New York-|
"Really? Her mom works for a major fashion outlet in Japan? And you haven't shown off her pieces in shoots... why? That seems like a major missed opportunity, showing off the work of a former classmate like that." I ask Gold, wanting to know more about this 'Daiwa Scarlet' she's been talking about.
"That's the thing: I have shown off pieces designed by Scarlet. Wonderful pieces that showcase her skills. What I want is to work with her directly. See her in the middle of her craft." Gold responds, voice echoing slightly as we stand on the theater's stage. That fashion show is in a week, huh? Wonder what Mr. Brouillard will put her in: Bride of Frankenstein? A vampire? Maybe a she-wold. That would be interesting. My thoughts get interrupted when Gold speaks up again, though I... I still can't look her in the eyes. "I want to see if she really has that spark or if it is all just nepotism like her critics are saying."
"Nepotism? Well, if what you've said about the pieces you've showed off are anything to go by... I think she has that spark. Sure, she has the position because of who her mother is, but Scarlet has clearly shown she knows what she is doing." I reply, watching as Gold's face goes through a myriad of emotions before she gives a response.
"It's not that I'm doubting her skills. Far from it. I did praise her work, after-all. It really is top-notch. Some of the best pieces I've ever worn and showcased. I just want to see her in her element with my own eyes." She says, ears drooping slightly as she speaks. That tells me something is wrong. That... she feels a certain kind of way about Daiwa Scarlet.
"I take it that you... didn't quite get along with her while you were both at Tracen?" I ask tentatively, not quite sure if it's something I should be asking. Gold turns to face me, and for a brief moment our eyes meet, light, pale blue connecting with rich, dark brown. But I subtly break it. Not with... Not with it still lingering in my mind.
"No, no. That's not it at all. To be honest, Scarlet always seemed like the kind of person that I would, and frankly should, have been good friends with: She's smart, honest, assertive. She's blunt and gets straight to the point. She knows what she wants and how to get it. She never lets anyone talk over her or take up her space." She pauses briefly before continuing. "We just... never really seemed to interact much while we were enrolled. We never talked. Our paths rarely if ever crossed outside of school assemblies and major races. So much that we never seemed to really acknowledge each other even when we were the only people in any given room or space. And this is all in spite of me spending some time in the very clubroom of her now fiancé's old racing team." Gold responds as she starts to pace the stage, getting a feel for it before she walks down in a week. It's fascinating watching her be in her element like this: She tests every plank that makes up the stage, seeing where they sag, where they rise, where they sit just right in it's construction. She looks up at the lighting rigs, taking note of the size of the spotlights and their presumed luminosity. She thinks about how they can backlight her as she walks. How they can sell the setting. I can't help but get enamored by her attention to detail. Makes sense, though. I wouldn't expect anything less from someone like Gold City who's been in this industry since her childhood. "I was friendly with Tamamo. I like to think that I was at the very least cordial with Cheval and Haru. They were all friends with Scarlet if the way they talked about her was anything to go by. Then there's Vodka, and... well they're engaged now, so I think that speaks for itself on what the state of their relationship currently is." She pauses again, stiletto resting on a particularly saggy plank in the stage, heel applying pressure then letting it go, eyes resting on me for a fraction of second as if she was analyzing me before her gaze drifts down to the seating in front of the stage. "I'm just... I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's... a more selfish reason than I'm letting on. Wanting to work with Daiwa Scarlet directly... Make up for lost time, if that's understandable..."
The sound of footsteps starts coming close, grabbing both our combined attention. From stage right, we see Randy followed by an older man. Guess that must be Mr. Brouillard. And they seem to be talking as they walk.
"You're sure about that, Miguel?"
"Oui. More than sure, even. I'm certain that she will like it."
"You know I'm not the only one who will hold you to that, right?"
"Je sais. (I know.)"
The two men eventually reach us, and Randy is naturally the first to speak.
"Ah, you two are early again. Good, good." He says, clearly still not accustomed to our punctuality. Wonder when he'll finally get used to it? "This lovely gentleman is Miguel Brouillard. He's the designer we'll be working with on the night of the 23rd in around a week's time." Mr. Brouillard then steps forward, the light from the overheads catching in his greying hair.
"Merci de m'avoir invité. (Thank you for having me.) It is a great pleasure to be working with you." He says, eyeing Gold as he speaks that specific dialect of French. Yeah, he's from Quebec. It is very obvious. And I'm getting better at understanding it. I think. I watch as Gold approaches Brouillard, introducing herself in French as if to taunt me and Randy.
"Pas besoin de remercier, Monsieur Brouillard. L’honneur est à moi d’avoir finalement la chance de vous travailler. (No need for thanks, Mr. Brouillard. The honor is mine to finally have the chance to work with you.)" She says, some of the words registering in my mind and others not.
"Ah, c'est ainsi que ça se passe? Je vois. (Ah, so that's how it is? I see.) But let's keep things to English, though. Easier communication." He responds, accent not being as thick as I thought it would be. Brouillard then turns to me, gray eyes locking onto brown before he speaks. "Shame that you're not allowed to bring your camera. I would like to see what you're capable of, Ms. Jacobs."
"I'm sure a lot of people would." I respond, voice carrying a hint of annoyance as I remember that I'm barred from taking any photos. Még mindig dühös vagyok. (I'm still mad about that.)
"I've seen some of the pieces you two have worked with. Ils sont très gentils. (They're very nice.) Very nice shots. You have quite the eye. Shame the organizers of the show have barred outside photography." Brouillard then says, the compliment failing to register in my mind for a few seconds. "Well, I try." I respond as he starts walking towards the backstage area. I feel confusion for a second before realizing that his piece is in a changing room backstage. So I start to follow, especially after I hear Gold's heels start clicking against the stage.
"Woah... That's... Eerie..." I say, looking at what Brouillard has planned for Gold to wear. She keeps looking it over, eyes going from the top to the bottom, analyzing closely as if she knows what it's supposed to be.
"This... wouldn't be inspired by Chute de la Dame Blanche, would it?" She then asks, eyes not leaving the dress. It gets my attention. Chute de la Dame Blanche? What could that be?
"What's that?" I ask, impulsively letting the thoughts inside my head become voiced. I almost regret it before Brouillard starts speaking.
"An old ghost story from Montmorency Falls outside of Québec City. One of many stories about a so- called 'White Lady'. You're familiar with the concept, oui?" He says, those uncanny grey eyes never leaving me.
"Uh, yeah, I have. My anya would always tell me old ghost stories she heard from all over Magyarország every October before she moved to the US. She was particularly fond of the rumors surrounding Báthori Erzsébet." I tell him, remembering those frankly terrifying stories she would whisper to me. Mindig rémálmaim voltak. (Always gave me nightmares without fail.)
"Ba-tory Air-je-bet... You mean Elizabeth Bathory?" I hear Randy ask. I just glare at him, which seems to be a sufficient answer. "Reckon that's a yeah..." Brouillard doesn't seem fazed, and neither does Gold City.
"Matilde Robin was her name, right? And her fiancé, Louis, was killed in the Battle of Beauport during the Seven Years War?" She asks, catching Brouillard's attention fully once more.
"He, he. Une observation assez intelligente. (Quite the astute observation.) Oui, that is all correct. After learning of Louis' death, Matilde donned her wedding dress, tailored and saved for an occasion that would now never occur, went to the falls and threw herself off. You can see her most during summer and early autumn, when the sun shines just right on the water in the evening." He takes a deep breath before he starts speaking again, than thin, raspy voice sending chills across my body as he does so. "When I learned that I would be partnered with you, I knew that I had to bring some kind of... connection to our shared heritage. Quelle idée, non? (Quite the idea, no?)"
City puts out her hand, hovering over the white dress as if she wants to touch it. But she's hesitant. It shows.
"Would it be alright if-" She starts saying, but Brouillard cuts her off before she can finish.
"Is that not why we are here?" He counters, watching City's face intently before she gives a response. "I suppose you're right. Is there anywhere I can change?" She says, now looking to Randy. He then gives the room a once over before settling on a corner with a divider. He ponders it for a second before eventually responding.
"Not exactly a lot of room back there, but behind that divider should work." He says, pointing to it, at which point Gold takes the dress, the veil and the shoes and moves behind the divider. Soon after, we hear the sound of fabric shuffling as she starts changing into Brouillard's piece. The man then turns his eyes on Randy.
"So this fashion show... What else will be happening? Anything during the day?" He asks, something that gets my curiosity as well.
"Yeah, is there anything else happening during the day or is it just the runway event in the evening?" I echo, wanting to know more. Randy shifts in his position, taking a deep breath before he answers.
"Don't know. As far as I'm aware and was told, this is the first time the Gershwin is doing something like this. Organizers may just keep it to the runway event." He responds, eyes darting between us and the divider that Gold is behind. I subtly do the same, noting how her blazer and shirt are resting on top of it, soon followed by her skirt. Then she starts speaking from behind it.
"Don't really know what else could be done, honestly. Maybe a photo-alley of the designers' previous pieces? That's the only thing that I can really think of." She says as she starts to put the dress on, the shuffling of fabric becoming more uneasy as she figures out what goes where with the piece.
"Almost done back there?" Randy asks, wanting to know if she's ready to show us how it looks.
"I think so. It's... a lot more complicated to put on then I thought." City responds as the sound of fabric ceases. We then hear the sound of heels on tile as she steps out from behind the divider. Istenem, kérlek segíts... (God, please help me...) I subtly look down, only taking scant glances at Gold as she approaches us. She look so... gyönyörű... és csinos... és tudom, hogy ha jól megnézem, elveszítem az eszem a fantáziához... (beautiful... and pretty... and I know that if I take a proper look I'll lose my mind to fantasy...) I can already hear the voices in my head engaged in their verbal battle. I try not to listen in, but I can't help but hear it.
Pathetic. So damn pathetic that she can't even look at her without having degenerate thoughts.
Ő nem egy degenerált. Ellentétben egy bizonyos valakivel, akit a hozzáállásukkal leírhatok. (She's not a degenerate. As opposed to a certain someone whose attitude I can describe.)
As if. If only you would listen to me, we may not be in this mess.
Ó, kérlek. Ha meghallgattunk volna téged, ő egy remete lett volna, és nem lenne biztonságos hálója, amibe vissza tudna vetni magát. (Oh please. If we had listened to you, she'd be a recluse with no safety nets to fall back on.)
I tune out, not wanting to hear more of it. My self-esteem is already in shambles because of that damn dream. I don't need this war inside of my own head to degrade it any further. These thoughts get interrupted though when Gold starts speaking.
"I like it overall. The white of the dress will provide a nice contrast to the dark lighting that will be present and the veil will add some hint of mystery and mystique to the whole look. I really like the sleeves. Juliet style if I'm not mistaken." She says, getting Brouillard's attention. But he doesn't say anything. Not yet at least. He wants to hear constructive criticism before anything else. "But there are a few problems. It's a bit to loose, particularly around my waist and bust. Feels more like a flimsy costume than something a young girl would have made herself. It's also a bit too long. You clearly made this for someone who you thought would be taller than they actually are."
"Je vois. Merci. (I see. Thank you.) I did not have ready access to proper measurements so I simply made a base that I can modify later afterwards. If you would so kindly-" City cuts him off before he can continue with his proposition.
"B85 W58 H82. Height is 158 centimeters. Do with that information what you will. I look forward to the adjustments." She says as Brouillard grabs a notepad and jots down what he just heard.
"Blunt and straight to the point. J'aime ça. (I like that.)" He responds as he finishes writing, at which point Gold returns to the divider where she changes out of the dress. She's quicker this time, now that she's become familiar with the dress. Within only a few minutes, she's changed back into her usual red shirt, blazer and long, black skirt. She then eyes Brouillard, intent on speaking her mind.
"I'm told that there will be choreography when the each model has the stage. Care to elaborate on what I'll be doing?" She asks, something that comes as a surprise to me. Didn't know there would be stage play involved. This is a fashion show. Not really something you associate with models on a runway. And it's another thing Randy didn't tell me about. The prick. But as I look over to him, it seems he's surprised to hear this as well.
"Choreography? Huh?" He says, pausing before he continues on. "I was not told there would be dancing of any kind."
"I've been talking with some of the other models that'll be here. They all said that the pieces are attached to a story." Gold tells him, eyes moving between Randy and Brouillard before she speaks again. "Guess it was a recent development if you weren't notified of it." She then starts walking back towards the stage, intent on knowing what it is Brouillard will have her do in that dress. That dress that makes me... Tisztátalannak érzem magam. (Feel depraved.)
"So the plan is for the lighting to be a part of the scene? I... like that, actually. I don't think I've ever done something to that effect before." I hear City say as we both process what Brouillard said. Have the lighting team make it seem like the White Lady is interacting with her lover? That's genius. People will definitely like that.
"That's the kind of thing I would come up with, Brouillard. Makes me wonder if that was a part of why you got paired with us." Randy says, eyes never leaving the overhead rigging. I then feel his eyes on me, followed by City's and Brouillard's.
"Uh... Why is everyone looking at me? I can't give any opinions on this. I'm just a camerawoman who can't take photos." I say, not wanting to be put under so much pressure. It seems to get Randy and and Brouillard to turn away, causing them to discuss things amongst themselves, but Gold's gaze lingers. Under any other circumstance I'd feel uncomfortable, but with her... I don't. I can't explain it. The way she looks at me. The way I feel seen by those pale, blue eyes. But then that dream comes to my mind again. I quickly look down, which in turn causes City to tune into whatever conversation is staking place between Randy and Brouillard. This leaves me with my thoughts. Thoughts I can't shake. Thoughts that taunt me with something I know I can't have. It will complicate things. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair. I don't deserve to have someone like Gold City in that way. De az isten verje meg... Az a gondolat is olyan csábító... (But God damn it... The thought is so tantalizing...)
|-That evening, Noonan Towers, 939 Woodycrest Avenue, the Bronx-|
The night is young, or so they say. Perfect opportunity to let Kati try some new things. If this odd haze can clear itself from my vision, of course. But I press on regardless.
"Hold still, Kati... And purse your lips. We want every centimeter covered." I say, pulling my hand away from her lips. She's clearly never used lipstick before. At least not heavily. So this is a learning experience for her. I watch as she tentatively does as I say, motions that make my heart flutter. I could easily press my lips to hers like this. And she wouldn't give me any resistance in the slightest. A familiar dance for us. At least, I hope that it will become a familiar dance should I commit to the idea.
I gently take her chin between the index finger and thumb of my left hand as I bring the tube in my right hand close to her lips. After a deep breath, I slowly creep closer until the lipstick makes contact, at which point I start to slowly make my way across her lips, covering every possible centimeter of skin that I can with the maroon-shaded wax. After I have them covered, I take my hand away, noticing the goosebumps leaving an impression of the extremity that then slowly begin to dissipate. Kati then opens her eyes, those rich, dark brown irises meeting my pale-blue ones as if waiting for more instructions.
"Okay, the lipstick is on. Now we need to make sure that it settles. Watch." I say as I roll my lips into themselves, a familiar motion for me but one that is clearly foreign to Kati. "Do that."
"Like this?" She says, fumbling with the motion at first, but she eventually finds a rhythm that works for her. She then looks at me, waiting for a response and criticism. "Does... does it look good?" She asks, voice trembling ever so slightly. I reach over to the coffee table and grab my pocket mirror, opening it and letting Kati see for herself.
"You be the judge." I say, noting how maroon is a good color for her. The warmth of the shade suits her personality well. But Kati isn't convinced as she looks at her lips in the small mirror.
"I... I don't know, Gold. You're the model. You tell me if it looks good." She then says. I suppose I can indulge her.
"I think it looks nice. The maroon is a nice compliment to your eyes and hair. Not to mention that it fits well with your personality. It's a warmer color and that is the vibe I take away from you as a person." I say, watching as the compliment makes her blush. Seeing this makes me needy. Greedy even. To the point where I might act irrationally. My ears stand straight and tall. My tail swishes back and forth, thumping against Kati's small sofa with every pass left. Against all better judgement, I lean in and press my lips to hers, getting a small gasp out of the humble Magyar maiden. And it drives me wild. One isn't enough, I need more. I need to satisfy that greed. So I continue to kiss her while she murmurs against my lips.
"Mi... Mit csinálsz... (Wha... What are you doing...)" She mumbles whenever she has air.
"I wanted some of it for myself but..." I start saying before I cut myself off with more kisses, kisses that slowly become reciprocated as Kati offers me no resistance as I thought she wouldn't. She's just as hungry... as greedy as I am for this. Like the lustful sapphic she is. "I think I want this more..."
My hands start roaming Kati's thighs of their own volition, something that makes her place her hands on me in turn. It's a positive feedback loop of sensation: I do one thing that makes Kati repeat that motion which only makes me do it more and more. Rinse and repeat. And I have no intention of stopping this. Not when it feels so good.
Kati's hands start reaching around my body, resting on my posterior. I feel the odd sensation of weight back there when she suddenly pulls me into her lap without warning.
"Oh... C'est une surprise. (That's a surprise.)" I say before I return my lips to hers.
"You were too far... You need to be closer if we're gonna do this..." Kati responds as she parts my lips with hers, something that is followed by the sensation of her tongue entering my mouth, the muscle exploring every centimeter of my gum-line before I decide to have my own dance with it. I want nothing more than for this moment to last as long as it can.
Her hands start moving again, one coming to rest on my breasts, gently kneading the fatty tissue underneath my shirt while the other come to the base of my neck, craning it where I feel Kati place her lips on it. To say it feels exhilarating would be an understatement. A trail of fire works it's way up my neck and across my jawline, undoubtedly leaving maroon stains on my skin as she does so. But Kati eventually returns to my lips, where she then says something that catches my attention.
"Rock your hips..." She murmurs between kisses and heavy breaths.
"Rock my hips? Anata nitaishite (Against you?)" I ask, voice thin from the intense intimacy we are sharing. I feel a hand come down to my posterior again, nudging me to start rocking back and forth. I then close my eyes, taking in the sensations that I feel doing this. But when I open them...
"Gold? Gold!" I hear Kati say, trying to get my attention. I quickly look around to see where I am:
That small sofa in her apartment. But I'm the only person sitting on it. Kati is in the kitchen preparing dinner. I then look to the coffee table and see only two half-full glasses of water. No tubes of lipstick. No pocket mirror. That tells me that what I saw was nothing more than another fantasy. I take a deep breath, wanting to steady myself before anything else happens. That was... the most intense one yet. It kept going after the initial kiss. This is the first time that has happened. But I don't get a lot of time to ponder it's ramifications.
"Hey, City. Are you listening? Are you okay?" Kati says, not approaching me, green apron wrapped tight around her abdomen. I swallow some of my pride before I respond to her
"Uh, yeah. I'm okay. Why do you ask?" I tell her, trying to project some confidence in my voice.
"You sure? You looked like you had zoned out there for a minute." She responds, face not one of anger, but concern.
"Just thinking." I say, needing to choose my next words carefully before I can continue. "Thinking about home. Hokkaido, Oshawa. Thinking about Tomo. Masaru, my friends and Tracen. Thinking about all the work we've done so far." I look back at her, pale blue meeting dark brown, though Kati darts them elsewhere. Something is still bothering her. It's not only thoughts of me. I just don't know what other thing could be. And it's starting to make me concerned. Concerned and frustrated. I've only known her for a scant four months, but Kati has already done more than enough for me to care deeply about her. For me to see her as a friend. A friend...
Here we are again. Lusting over Kati Jacobs. A woman you can never have.
Oh hush. I'm not in the mood for this.
Women like you do not look at women like her in that way. Women like you do not look at any woman in that way.
Need I remind you that Palmer, a member of the esteemed Mejiro clan, is a lesbian? That her cousin McQueen is in a relationship with Tokai Teio, who is another woman? That Tosen and Helios are both bisexual? All three of my closest friends have had both romantic and sexual relationships with other women before, during and after we graduated. You didn't have a problem when it's them. Why is suddenly a problem when I think about these kinds of things? How many will they, won't they stories between students have occurred at Tracen in it's tenured history? Vodka and Daiwa Scarlet were not the only ones, you know. Do you know how many racers paired with a female trainer developed feelings for said woman after coming to realize they see her not as a friend, sister or mother figure, but rather as a potential romantic partner in life?
You don't know what went through their minds. How they rationalized the unnatural, unprofessional and uncouth thoughts.
I have pretty good ideas of it, actually. And what about this is unnatural? Do enlighten me.
There are standards and customs that must be upheld. To go against what it established and expected is to flirt with disownment.
Oh please, like I would ever be disowned by any part of my family. Even the more conservative members in Hokkaido wouldn't go that far. I've had enough of this. I won't allow my own mind to berate me over something so trivial.
I stand up from the sofa and start walking to the bathroom. Kati sees me and I can tell she is slightly concerned.
"Where are you going? Bathroom?" She asks, voice trembling slightly, but still firm elsewhere.
"Yeah. Just to freshen up a bit before we eat, if that's alright." I say, wanting to assuage any concern and worry she might have. Upon hearing them, she simply nods and points to where it is. I walk into her bedroom and then immediately turn to the bathroom. I close the door behind me, the only sound filling the room being the pipes in the walls and my feet transitioning from carpet to tile. I rest my hands on the sink counter and then look at my reflection in the mirror. Gold necklace, red sweater, black skirt and of course, the ribbon and back cover that matches my eyes. The only two things I still have as an adult that tie me back to Oshawa. I remember when Père first gave me them: How he and mom laughed at how it was a bit too big at the time. How he then said that I would grow into it. Je serai foutu s'il n'avait pas raison. (I'll be damned if he wasn't right.) But then I look into my own eyes. Others might see beauty and femininity. I see something else. I see someone who just wants to be seen for who they are. For the person beneath the mask. It's a shame that right now, only Kati can do that. And she's at war with herself. Why else has she been avoiding eye contact since Monday?
"Où est-elle allée? Qui se sentait vu par tout le monde? Que lui est-il arrivé? (Where did that girl go? Who felt seen by everyone? What happened to her?)" I murmur to myself as I stare at my reflection. "Elle s'est-elle cachée encore une fois? Après tout ce qui lui a permis d'être vue a été pris si soudainement? Pourquoi elle se sent comme ça? (Did she hide herself away again? After everything that allowed her to be seen was taken so suddenly? Why does she feel this way?)" I start to think about that fantasy again. The one that Kati had snapped me out of earlier. It felt... far too real for a simple dream. To the point that I feel ghost sensations across my body just thinking about it. The softness of Kati's lips pressed against mine... The warmth of her tongue dancing in my mouth and intertwining with my own muscle... The robustness of her hips as I slowly rocked mine into them... Are these the kinds of things that she thinks about when her mind wanders? Is this why she can't look me in the eyes? kanojo wa watashi nitsuite onaji yōna kūsō o motteirukaradesu ka? (Is it because she has similar fantasies about me?)
My ears perk up as I hear something from the living room. It seems Kati is heading to the door. She's having another guest? Odd of her to not tell me. I hear the door open, and Kati start speaking to somebody in a surprised tone.
"Met? What are-"
"Don't tell you forgot..."
"Forgo- Bassza meg... (Fuck...)" "Dio diavolo."
Meteor Hammer's here? Kati had plans for Met to come over and forgot about them? That seems... Well it's oddly in character for her. I listen in to the conversation a bit more before I walk out of the bathroom.
"Uh, is there anywhere I can put my vest? Don't want to just throw it around haphazardly." "Yeah. Over here. Just make sure you don't cover City's blazer with it."
"Gold City? She's here?"
I walk out of the bathroom and back into the living room, seeing Meteor Hammer's large stature looming over Kati by the dinner table. I've never really taken a moment to process just how tall Meteor Hammer is. The tallest uma I knew before meeting him was Hishi Akebono, and Meteor Hammer looks to be almost a third of a meter taller than her. War horses really are just bigger than racers, I suppose. Though in hindsight, considering the heights that drafters can reach... Meteor Hammer then turns to face me, sensing my presence in the room.
"Welcome to the Bronx." He says, assuming that I haven't been here yet.
"Not my first time in the borough." I respond, eliciting surprise from the taller uma. "Cazzo... She's been here before?" He says, turning to Kati.
"The Bronx? Yes. My apartment? No." She responds, another thing that gets Meteor Hammer surprised. I don't think I've ever seen him quite this flustered. It's quite amusing seeing his usual bravado fall apart like this. "She's been pestering me to bring her here ever since I told her it's not far from the stadium." Meteor Hammer chuckles in response, those hetero-chromatic eyes of his landing on me as I formulate a response. His gaze is... odd. I felt it when I first met him on Friday. It's as if he knows what goes on in my head whenever I look at Kati. What she thinks when she steals glances at me when she thinks nobody will notice. Yet despite observing these things... he does nothing. He does not stop me. He does not stop Kati. It makes me wonder if there's an ulterior motive there. If so, what is it? And why? Why does he choose to not act? Is he waiting for the right moment? The only thing that can give the answers is time.
"I wouldn't say 'pestering'... more like 'suggesting'." I finally say after what feels like an hour, though in reality was only a few scant seconds. I watch as Kati starts chuckling, which then cause Met to chuckle.
"Suggestin she says. Suggestin." He echoes, casually teasing me as though we've known each other for a lot longer than we have. I suppose that I'm "good in his books" given how close I've been with Kati. A friend of a friend type of situation. He then turns to Kati. "Only took you four months. How many times have you been to her place?"
"Uh... I, uh..." Kati starts stuttering, mind assaulted by what Meteor Hammer said. I know he didn't intend it that way. But impact matters more... "Guess I decided to indulge her curiosity."
Meteor Hammer goes to speak again, but the music that has been playing since me and Kati walked through the door of her apartment shifts. It's something soft, yet still has an edge. It's soothing, yet I feel like it can still unsettle me. Meteor Hammer seems to recognize it instantly.
"Lȧȧz Rockit? You-" He stares right at Kati. "Listenin to Lȧȧz Rockit? Lạ lùng..." He then points to her stereo system, the source of the music, where her phone is plugged in. "Maiden I get. Metallica I get. But Lȧȧz fuckin Rockit? What the hell happened?"
"Uh, you. I blame you for this." Kati says as she walks back over to the stove where she starts to finish her dinner preparations. "If I hadn't forgotten you'd be here tonight, I'd have prepared enough for three people."
"Eh, it's fine. I already ate before coming here, anyway." Meteor Hammer responds, looking at Kati's back. "When Jose offers you a quesadilla, you accept it. It is a non-negotiable item." They both start chuckling, and I feel the urge to join in. It's infectious like that.
"And no one believed me." Kati says, finishing her story. It's a statement that has Meteor Hammer's long ears standing straight up. Seems he doesn't quite agree with it.
"Oh, that's bullshit and you know it." He tells her, eliciting a confused expression on her face before he speaks up again. "The only reason you made it out of high school is because me, Rose and your dad believed in you." Kati blushes after hearing and processing Meteor Hammer's remark. It's funny, how they interact: Someone with deep-seated insecurities who doesn't quite know how to deal with them has a tremendous amount of help from their best friend is who loud, proud, boisterous but still deeply caring. I can help but think of me and Tosen. It's... extraordinarily similar. But I don't mind. If anything, seeing Met and Kati interact in these ways is comforting. Seeing something so familiar in such a foreign place. Yet despite this, I feel like my time here is coming to a close. At least for now. And Kati seems to sense it as well, judging by how she looks down at her phone, presumably checking the time.
"Oh, you should probably start heading back to the Financial District. You have to work through all that choreography with Brouillard tomorrow at noon." She says, defeat in her voice. She doesn't want me to go. Hell, I don't want to go. But she is right. I do need to head back to Manhattan. So I stand up to grab my blazer and shoes. I walk over to the coat rack where it is, and notice a large and ratty denim jacket that has had it's sleeves removed and a myriad of patches put onto it. My eyes immediately go to the large one on the back. "Solstice" it says at the top in purplish-pink lettering and nothing else while depicting what looks like a salary-man frozen solid in an abandoned and icy Lexington Avenue right next to the Chrysler Building. How pleasant... I can feel Meteor Hammer's eyes on me again as he lounges on the sofa. He's watching like a hawk with those eyes of his: One silver, the other purple. It's that same gaze from earlier, analytical and observant. I swiftly grab my blazer and slip it on before I grab my heels, sliding my feet into them before latching them tight. I then grab my car keys and open the apartment door.
"Hope I see you again soon, Kati." I say as I walk out the door.
"Me too." She responds, voice still sounding defeated in a way. Meteor Hammer, however, is still silent. He's still watching. Though his gaze does eventually drift to Kati, where I assume she now feels that same analytical scrutiny I did. Pourquoi n'agit-il pas? Pourquoi se contente-t-il d'observer? Une question pour un autre jour. (Why does he not act? Why simply observe? A question for another day.)