Waiting No More

Summary:
January 23, 2015: After recovering from his ordeal, Kwabena finally pays a visit to Melody.

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A burger.

Actually, lets rewind that. The appearance of someone thought long busy and gone handling his business is what started it all. Then.. no.

Rewind that. It was the need to do better. To be better. To be a better criminal and mimic just to make life /worth/ living. Or worth something. Then, it was the appearance. The appearance of a man all too familiar who became nothing more to her than an imagined guardian angel, smoke clearing the air or dust in the wind made her smile. How silly was that? How silly was seeing random elements as you walk your way into town when it was safe was something that made you -feel- safe? Very silly. Especially since, when he turned up, that world and ideal she built for herself was shattered with the dust he disappeared in.

Then there was the robbery. She had her eyes on the diamond necklace, even put it on. Then put it back. It just didn't feel right.

Then that burger. The burger that she finished eating on the bench in Midtown and suffered a bullets and an arrow to the gut for. If anyone could celebrate a couple of days of havoc and nanite death would be Melody. And she'd still turn up chipper.. no.

Scratch that.

She just wasn't happy. Sitting in the server room now, taking stock of East End at large, cameras panning from one view to the next, she remains in the leathered chair in front of the console,wrapped in the blanket, blowing out a little bit of smog due to the chill that's in the air that keeps the large servers stacked in rows from overheating. Same operation. Nothings really changed save for the chairs. Aero dynamics and good stuff for your back, and all of that. Lights off, as they usually would be, the only light would be the glares from the monitor to keep her company.

*

In such dark and gloomy light, it's easy to miss the black smoke that seeps in from the ventilation system. There is no noise to announce the presence. However, far be it from Kwabena to startle the woman. Given what's transpired in recent days, he knows better than to do something like that. So, rather than form up into flesh and bone, the smoke comes curling around Melody"/ head, moving slowly enough to be noticed.

Two times it circles around her, before coming to rest in a roiling ball upon her blanket. The tendrils flow around each other, a living biomatter in gaseous form that moves about in a manner she should be quite familiar with.

*

She was placated for now. Often times one of the screens would switch to some random show, but then return to it's casual watching of the streets. The Alley Cats had all entrances covered, the women often times taking their stance admist laughing and handing off food to those who patrol the rooftops on the cold night.

East End was a living Sin City. She thought that was pretty damn cool.

What was more cool than the scenes outside was the way the smoke begins to dance and curl all around her, causing her chin to lift as she squints eyes, making sure not to get any trapped in between her lids when she blinks, her skin sparkling in reply as it settles in waves within knees that nearly press against her chest.

Slowly, the blanket shifts and moves so that her hands could draw forth, her head tilting a little as she smiles. "There's my guardian angel.." She was quiet, voice a little whisper, fearful that any loud noise would scare him away. She didn't move her hands through, just keeping them there for the moment until the edges of the blanket was gathered in attempts to scoop up the ball of smoke to smother it lightly against her. "Kwa-bee-nuh.." She says, just like she used to. At least when she teases.

*

The smoke isn't quite malleable in that way; it merely parts around her fingers, doing its own thing until it finally pulls away. It gathers together and reforms, not far from the woman. It seems he located his uniform again, for this time, he's not naked.

Typically, there may have been some remark about how far he is from being an angel, or how she's intentionally mis-pronouncing his name. Instead, the mutant simply stands there, arms to his side, chest visibly rising and falling with a slow pace that is quite intentional. His head has been shaved bald, along with his face, but the lines show more age than they should, and behind calm, silver eyes, there is a distant haunting.

"I am sorry." The words are more heavily accented than they used to be, as if he hasn't spoken English in years.

*

There was a little frown that etches upon her features as she turns, the little sparkles dying down to a dull glow as she draws herself from the chair, blanket fully pulled over her, his accent stinging her ears. His sorry made her hurt a little, she wasn't used to being apologized to, but that all too familiar brush off was given.. just a little, by way of the shake of her head.

"Don't be."

She was a little afraid to take a step closer, she didn't want him to disappear again, so she remained in place, back of her knees pressing against the chair that scoots from her fully standing up straight. "You have no reason to be." Which was true. "I'm sorry I didn't realize that you were gone. Like really gone. I should have found a way to find you. I should have looked instead of.."

She looks away from him, her foot soon twisting into the ground. She realizes then, she really didn't know where he was. He went into the darkness, and they both left her standing there. She assumed he came out and continued his limited yet protective contact.".. I assumed a lot."

*

Like a breathing statue, Kwabena stands in place. He listens. Carefully, for his English is in fact out of practice, but also, for the little clues he needs to help piece things together. "When I look at some clock piece? I must, how to say, remind myself dat de clock piece is not lying." He takes a deep breath and speaks as if quoting. "Twenty-two of January, two tousand fifteen."

Kwabena closes his eyes for a moment. Gloved hands form into fists, then relax out into the same, stoic posture. It's forced, of course; whiskey and marijuana can only do so much to unravel a person. Deep down, he is not at all relaxed.

"You would have not found me, Melody." He takes a single step closer to her, though for the moment, he doesn't reach. There had been visions of her; living, breathing, walking manifestations, all of them deceitful and made of purest chaos. "I think not dat any pahson would have found me. Not until my time, it came."

There is something else that he wishes to ask, but for the moment, he begins to doubt whether or not Melody is truly there, flesh and blood and mortal soul.

*

That made her sad. Watching him. He seemed old, weathered, different yet the eyes were still the same. Same but vacant. That night he came to her house when she called him out of the blue, he held that same vacancy when he told her that he hadn'tslept. At least that vacancy held the hint of sadness.

When he takes a step forward, she turns halfway to draw the blanket away from her, tossing it back onto the chair to leave behind, the jeans of her pants pocket soon invaded with her fingers as she closes the distance just a little. Don't touch him, Melody. He's going to blow away.

"I would have found you." She was a dreamer of course, always a dreamer. One hand snakes from her pocket as she tries to reach out to touch his arm to guide him to face the screens. One monitor flickers, that all too familiar sparkle of her skin picks up as she shows faces embedded within her memory.

First of Aspect. Then of Bruce Banner. She actually made a little bit of contact with the latter, but she knew that they were his friends. "They would have helped if I knew."

If she had ahold of him, she would have squeezed tight. But, it was enough about her. It was all about him and.. she just had to know.

"What happened? You're not hurt. But you're not okay. You're not all there and you're not kissing me on my head and calling me stupid." The screen soon flickers to the image of him through her eyes, making fun of her and calling her an idiot. Just all out giving her shit and nearly making her cry. And then it goes black.

*

Kwabena does not back away this time, nor does heburst into smoke and disappear again. Instead, he allows himself to be turned, looking upon the monitors as they reveal two of his contacts. Aquaintances. Friends might be a stretch, even though he liked Bruce. He felt for the man, and certainly appreciated his penchant for good weed.

Its the touch to his arm that really has taken his focus. Even though he's found and once again donned the uniform, the touch is quite noticeable. He eventually finds himself looking down at her arm, then turning back to look at her.

"Dat is because you ahen't stupid," he answers at first, before frownining, looking away, and trying to piece together what he's already pieced together. "I went inside, as we had, how to say, planned." Brows knit together. "I did not find what, de thing, de pahson we wah looking fah. I did not find him. I did not find anything but dahkness. I counted de days, as best I could. Dere was no sun or moon, no clock, just… how to say, myself and my head. But, aftah some few weeks, pahhaps it was days, how to say, de voices came. Den de creatures. Sleep was… was not…"

With a snap of the eyes, Kwabena refocuses upon Melody. That harsh fear seems to have crept back in, but he fights the urge to run away. "It took me two days, and some two bottle of bourbon to have it sort out. I was in dere fah much longah dan I was gone here, Melody." He shakes hishead. "I thought one year, but… no, it was more. Two. Pahhaps more. Hahd to tell."

*

She had to smile at that. She wasn't stupid. Even though it was a one time joke she hoped he had remembered it. But once he starts to explain? She listens like an apt pupil, her mind trying to recreate what he had went through.. and how.

With her gripping his arm, she turns towards him fully now, pulling it upward to touch along the suit, trying to find an opening to peel it upward to see if he put marks on his arm to count. That's what most in the movies did, they dug sharp nails into their skin until they bled and bled..

She hoped that wasn't the case. Or possibly did. She didn't know.

"How is that possible?" She asks. She didn't doubt his words for a minute, he looked like hell and death and fear warmed over and settled in his skin. "Two years? Two years.. but.. it was only months Kwabena.."

Unbelievable really! But with this world? The man that took him there? It made her shiver, it wasn't the cold that rocked her. Rocked her into leaning against him with his arm let go for her own to snake around his waist. "What did you drink? What did you eat? How did you survive? I'm so.. so sorry.. I.." She wanted to know but.. if he was scared? "No.. wait.. don't tell me.. but do, but don't.. I don't know."

*

The suit, sadly, has but one opening, at the neck. The gloves can be removed, of course, but the fabric is simply too stiff to roll up that high. She would find no markings, though; his particular mutation didn't take kindly to lacerations.

"I do not know," he answers. "Trent said I may have been in some, how to say, oddah plane. Oddah dimension. You know things don't always seem de same in dose places."

When Melody leans into him, Kwabena is at first very stiff. Tactile contact… it wasn't something he was used to any more, and the only things he touched usually became his prey. When he smells her, he even finds himself instinctively craving the warmth and juicy flavor of uncooked animal meat. Hers wouldn't be that bad… perhaps a bit gamey, but the flank ought to be…

Suddenly, he shudders, remembering the world he's come back to. He remembers the burgers, the fries, the pizza and gyros he'd eaten in the past two days. Anything that would go well with bourbon and nicotine, sweet, sweet nicotine. When his shattered mind comes back around, though… when it realizes that he'd been tempted to take a bite from her… his chest heaves. Arms wrap around her and he pulls her close, breaking just a little. "I did… whatevah I needed to."

*

"I don't.. well I do. Theoretically speaking." She wanted to dive into the search, fly the wavelength to gain more information but Kwabena was too important. Nothing else mattered really, not right now, but him. Once he heaves and wraps her up into a hug, she quietly lets out an 'urp'. She was still bruised, bullet holes slowly remaking themselves beneath her clothing, the in and out that damaged her stomach hurt but. No. Kwabena was hurt too. Deeper than her, her's were only scratches on the surface that she willfully ignored to tighten her meta-human like grasp around his waist.

"Don't talk about it." She warns him. Psychology studies. Do it when you're ready. When you need to let go. "I carried you with me almost all the time. Like I could walk down the street and I look up and see a leaf blow and sometimes I'd think that it was you flying away and being sneaky. Something."

She closes her eyes, keeping her cheek pressed against his chest, relaxing in that moment. "How do .. How are you feeling? How are you /really/ feeling right now?"

*

Mistaking the noise for his typically strong grasp, Kwabena backs off just a hair, but not too much. The embrace reminds him of comfort, a long distant memory. Her story, though, is like a bright spot in a very confusing place. He smiles, perhaps without even realizing that he is smiling, and lifts a gloved hand until it's buried in her hair. "I held on to you, too." That's all he's ready to say about that.

When she asks of him how he is feeling, he falters. There is a long silence before he finds a way to put it. "I am feeling, how to say… trapped. In de middah of two very diffahrent place." Then, he grins, just a little. "And can tell mah English is bad."

*

Awe. That just made her smile and hug him tighter. So tight that she lifts him off of the ground just a touch and puts him back down again. "Good. Don't let go. Unless we both have to use the bathroom." There was a pause, that all too familiar silliness creeping back into the seriousness of the moment. "Get it? Cause we can't go together? Cause that'll be creepy?" She chuckles lowly, looking up towards him with a chin pressed towards his chest. She really admired him. He was still her hero.

The smile drops, a little pout drawing into her features as her eyes shift towards the ceiling, a little bit lost in thought. "No.." She finally says. "Your english was always bad." A grin then, and another serious tone. "What do you need, Kwabena? Food? Something to drink? An old stupid western to watch?"

*

That terrible humor. They often say that opposites attract, and in this instance, it's certainly the case. Kwabena would never make such a horrible joke, and he'd take a woman into the bathroom if it meant anything from a line of blow to fellatio. At the end of the day, he's still a merc who never did military time, unless one counts life in the ghetto asboot camp. That being said, those terrible jokes were simply endearing to him, even if he'd never admit it.

A rueful smirk is granted when she busts on his terrible English. He doesn't comment on it though. Holding her was nice, and it was becoming nicer by the moment. Every passing moment that it doesn't devolve into some kind of demonic nightmare serves to remind him that this place, this plane, is the real world, the one he's come to both hate and love.

The latter part of her final word is cut off when he lifts her chin with a gloved hand and begins to kiss her. A hard, almost violent, desperate kiss. It would seem that he needs yet another reminder of why this world is real and the place where he belongs.

*

Something that most people would love to forget is her endless conversations that she could have while no one really listens. Which happens at the right time when silence was shared. "So there's like this one movie where this guy tells a joke. He goes.. 'So hey, do you know how Jesus Christ makes coffee?' And the other guy goes.. 'No'. And the other guy goes 'He..'"

The joke was cut with a blindingly, bruisingly kiss, which was equally returned in fashion. She doesn't pull punches, missing the kissing, and various other parts of him and her that mashed together whenever they touched.

She was considerate however, taking liberties against hisstrength, lightly hopping up so legs could curl around his waist as tight as she could make it without breaking him. If a reminder needed to be served tonight, she was going to aid him.

*

Its a good thing that Kwabena is virtually unbreakable.


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