[Well, he's got a grin on his face. You really shouldn't encourage him, Reaper.]
i'll see you downstairs in two minutes.
[Two minutes in which he'll be very quickly making himself semi-presentable and then running down the stairs full-speed because the elevator is not fast enough and this damn collar won't let him teleport. By the smell of it he's drunk enough that he decidedly does not need this bar run, but... they both know it was an excuse.]
[He doesn't have any plans on encouraging him. this is mostly his ulterior motive, after all--half disguised as him throwing the drunk a bone.
He takes his damn time in showing up downstairs, too. 'Two minutes' was far too generous, as Reaper shows up about six minutes later--dressed in a beaten up hoodie and just as unpresentable jeans, that mask still on his face.
He gives Dodger a look that can only be translated as tired from under that mask, and he shakes his head.]
You're like a kid in line waiting to meet Rikimaru in person.
[Well, he doesn't get the reference, but... he gets the gist. It doesn't take away from the smirk on his face, which has just a hit of mischief in it. He's still catching his breath a bit, but... clearly that's not going to stop him from bouncing slightly on his feet. It's as if all that stress and gloom that's been weighing him down since he got his power suppressor is just... gone.]
Hey, I am spending time with my hero. [He leans against the open front door of the building, fussing with a lighter for his cigarette and... letting out a groan of frustration. He's never had to use these until recently, it seems he's still having trouble with them. He's so far from being able to keep up his cool alley cat aesthetic.]
He'll be keeping a track of all of those during this short outing, not that Dodger would be privy to when they'd happen. The word Hero makes his teeth set behind the hollows of his mask.]
Keep comments like that to yourself, or I'll drop you off the side of the building.
[With that fancy collar of yours, Dodger, he doesn't expect you can teleport away from a fall like that. He's slow in his movements in following him, letting his hands idle in the pockets of those battered, black jeans--not once sparing a glance at the other as he walks. A trail of fog lifting off him as he goes, as usual.]
[This time, he files the comment away and makes a mental note. No hero jokes. That's easy. And once he's got his cigarette lit, he slips into stride beside Reaper.
He ends up falling into a comfortable silence, figuring it's the safest bet for not making Reaper regret this right out of the gate. And anyway, there's nothing in particular he really needs from him... lately he's been getting all the information he needs without much of a struggle, so he's starting to settle down.
But as they're getting to the bar, he glances at him.]
[He prefers the silence, honestly. He absolutely hates socializing of all forms, so going anywhere with someone who's overly chatty is just a pain in his ass.
He does't make any attempts to start up a conversation either, walking for once instead of gliding along. He doesn't have an aim in mind--he expects Dodger to lead the way to whatever dive they were headed for.]
You can say no to getting asked in the first place, you know.
[He figures Reaper would like that possibility. And honestly, he's holding back a lot of questions he wants to ask. He's making sure not to ask about Sombra, or anyone Reaper knows. Not to pry into Reaper's past. Not to.. bother him or waste his time.]
Why are you still- um... [He hesitates for a moment, trying to word it... properly.] I mean. Why'd you agree to come out here? Why not just... tell me to fuck off and not respond to my messages?
Don't say obvious things. You're wasting your breath.
[He knows he doesn't have to answer. But he also isn't someone who enjoys giving silence as an answer, not when the opportunity for a snide remark is opened up for him.
But when the question is voiced, he does give the other another long moment of silence, before he withdraws a hand from his pocket. Without his gloves on, the pallid greying skin his visible, joints and wrinkles in the skin around his knuckles are cracked, like the skin is dry and showing muscle underneath. It glows red, as if there's a fire burning just underneath the surface. The hand moves to touch the bottom of his mask, almost thoughtfully--and you can almost hear the grin.]
You make a regular habit of being a bother to those I actually give half a damn about. You've hurt two of them, and you've said unsavory things to the others.
By all rights, we both know, I have no reason to like you.
[And this is when he finally turns his head to look down at the other, glow-red eyes visible under his mask, now.]
If I don't respond to you... I might never get the chance to drain your body dry of all life. Without a good excuse, you know... I'd get in trouble here for killing someone on a whim.
[That's a chilling response... and if it was anyone else, they'd probably have realized now that they were making a horrible life choice. But this is Dodger. And he doesn't.
Instead, he shivers with something more akin to anticipation. One day, Reaper will put his hands on him again, and that is thrilling. And while he thinks about it, looking down at the grey, ripped skin of Reaper's hand... he has to hold down that same smile he'd gotten when Reaper had kicked him. They have a common interest, huh - Dodger getting himself killed to satisfy Reaper.
But... right. He told himself he wouldn't be saying weird shit like that. So he clears his throat, trying to keep that smile off his face, and just nods in response.]
[this is a horrible life choice and anyone worth their weight in feathers would be out of here. At this exact moment, as that red-eyed stare fixes on the others' with an intensity that very plainly states that he's a man who would make good on his word.
Really good on his word.
Without another added quip, (as he feels he's gotten the message across) , he gestures with a hand with a nearly sarcastic flair to it--as if to say keep walking to the other, as their destination hasn't yet been reached.]
[Dodger nods quietly, in confirmation of both the command and their understanding. As much as the two of them are capable of being on the same page, at least.]
You know, for someone with a death motif you're not exceptionally cruel... I figured I could have pushed you to kill me by now.
[Turns out he can't help himself from being... himself. Oh well.]
What would I have to do for you to hurt me? I'm curious... because you've only put your hands on me twice. For all the shit I've put you through trying to figure out the limits of your patience.
You're just like everyone else here. You see my self-control and patience as some sort of kindness or grace and it's fucking hilarious how pathetic it is.
[Pathetic, or stupid, honestly. Just because someone didn't raise a hand to you, didn't mean they wouldn't kill you.]
You see that shock collar you're wearing? That's why I haven't killed you, or anyone else in this place. I'm not a damn idiot, and I understand that I'm in a place that puts me at a disadvantage for my usual habits.
Except, unlike you, I don't test those limits to see what I can do before I get someone pissed off enough to try to kill me or leash me up like some sort of hairless dog.
[You can almost hear his teeth clicking with finality, here.]
My patience does have a limit. And I'll advise you to not try that curiosity of yours to find it.
[That just gets a smile out of him, even a lazy little chuckle.]
I don't know if you've noticed but I am a dog. And usually, you don't get pissed at a dog for being untrained, do you.
[He reaches up to curl his fingers around the collar, tugging at it loosely.]
Just because I get off on getting my ass kicked doesn't mean I don't learn from it. It's the lack of consequences that gets me restless - food for thought.
[And they've finally gotten to the bar, so he's pushing the door open with his back to give Reaper an almost sultry smirk, before heading in to pick a spot in the quiet corner.]
Shows you haven't raised a dog properly in your entire life.
[Because the point of training a dog was to get angry at it so it knows when it was misbehaving. He gives a little grumble in return, not feeling he needed that bit of food for thought, but he doesn't make a point about calling the other an idiot at least. Even if he will comment on the first bit.]
Ever think it's because I know you get off on getting your ass kicked that I don't do it?
I'm not into encouraging your bad habits, Dodger. [Ignoring that smirk, too, as he drifts inside, pulling his hood up a little closer around his mask.]
Then stop. All you've done so far is give me a good reason to keep going.
[Look at him draping himself over a chair in the corner of the bar. What an asshole.
An asshole who apparently the staff knows, because a waitress who is holding back the urge to roll her eyes comes over to place a double-shot of whiskey in front of him without even speaking to him. She knows him. Why did she have to work today.]
Have you considered the only reason this is such a painful process for you is because you keep trying to avoid it instead of using it to your advantage? [He sips the whiskey lazily.] The goal here isn't to get hurt, it's to be useful to you. And like I said before, I'm done testing your patience - doesn't take a genius to see that's not getting me what I want. And what I want is for you to use me.
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'Monster' might be close.[He might have more to say on it if he felt chatty, but for now... he doesn't. Sorry, Dodger.]
I'll give you an hour of my time.
No more. No less.
Don't waste it.
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i'll see you downstairs in two minutes.
[Two minutes in which he'll be very quickly making himself semi-presentable and then running down the stairs full-speed because the elevator is not fast enough and this damn collar won't let him teleport. By the smell of it he's drunk enough that he decidedly does not need this bar run, but... they both know it was an excuse.]
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He takes his damn time in showing up downstairs, too. 'Two minutes' was far too generous, as Reaper shows up about six minutes later--dressed in a beaten up hoodie and just as unpresentable jeans, that mask still on his face.
He gives Dodger a look that can only be translated as tired from under that mask, and he shakes his head.]
You're like a kid in line waiting to meet Rikimaru in person.
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Hey, I am spending time with my hero. [He leans against the open front door of the building, fussing with a lighter for his cigarette and... letting out a groan of frustration. He's never had to use these until recently, it seems he's still having trouble with them. He's so far from being able to keep up his cool alley cat aesthetic.]
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He'll be keeping a track of all of those during this short outing, not that Dodger would be privy to when they'd happen. The word Hero makes his teeth set behind the hollows of his mask.]
Keep comments like that to yourself, or I'll drop you off the side of the building.
[With that fancy collar of yours, Dodger, he doesn't expect you can teleport away from a fall like that.
He's slow in his movements in following him, letting his hands idle in the pockets of those battered, black jeans--not once sparing a glance at the other as he walks. A trail of fog lifting off him as he goes, as usual.]
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[This time, he files the comment away and makes a mental note. No hero jokes. That's easy. And once he's got his cigarette lit, he slips into stride beside Reaper.
He ends up falling into a comfortable silence, figuring it's the safest bet for not making Reaper regret this right out of the gate. And anyway, there's nothing in particular he really needs from him... lately he's been getting all the information he needs without much of a struggle, so he's starting to settle down.
But as they're getting to the bar, he glances at him.]
Hey. Can I ask you something?
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He does't make any attempts to start up a conversation either, walking for once instead of gliding along. He doesn't have an aim in mind--he expects Dodger to lead the way to whatever dive they were headed for.]
No promises you'll like my answer.
[So much for silence.]
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[He figures Reaper would like that possibility. And honestly, he's holding back a lot of questions he wants to ask. He's making sure not to ask about Sombra, or anyone Reaper knows. Not to pry into Reaper's past. Not to.. bother him or waste his time.]
Why are you still- um... [He hesitates for a moment, trying to word it... properly.] I mean. Why'd you agree to come out here? Why not just... tell me to fuck off and not respond to my messages?
1/2
[He knows he doesn't have to answer. But he also isn't someone who enjoys giving silence as an answer, not when the opportunity for a snide remark is opened up for him.
But when the question is voiced, he does give the other another long moment of silence, before he withdraws a hand from his pocket. Without his gloves on, the pallid greying skin his visible, joints and wrinkles in the skin around his knuckles are cracked, like the skin is dry and showing muscle underneath. It glows red, as if there's a fire burning just underneath the surface. The hand moves to touch the bottom of his mask, almost thoughtfully--and you can almost hear the grin.]
You make a regular habit of being a bother to those I actually give half a damn about. You've hurt two of them, and you've said unsavory things to the others.
By all rights, we both know, I have no reason to like you.
And I don't.
So your answer...
2/2
If I don't respond to you... I might never get the chance to drain your body dry of all life. Without a good excuse, you know... I'd get in trouble here for killing someone on a whim.
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Instead, he shivers with something more akin to anticipation. One day, Reaper will put his hands on him again, and that is thrilling. And while he thinks about it, looking down at the grey, ripped skin of Reaper's hand... he has to hold down that same smile he'd gotten when Reaper had kicked him. They have a common interest, huh - Dodger getting himself killed to satisfy Reaper.
But... right. He told himself he wouldn't be saying weird shit like that. So he clears his throat, trying to keep that smile off his face, and just nods in response.]
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Really good on his word.
Without another added quip, (as he feels he's gotten the message across) , he gestures with a hand with a nearly sarcastic flair to it--as if to say keep walking to the other, as their destination hasn't yet been reached.]
Glad we have an understanding.
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You know, for someone with a death motif you're not exceptionally cruel... I figured I could have pushed you to kill me by now.
[Turns out he can't help himself from being... himself. Oh well.]
What would I have to do for you to hurt me? I'm curious... because you've only put your hands on me twice. For all the shit I've put you through trying to figure out the limits of your patience.
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[Pathetic, or stupid, honestly. Just because someone didn't raise a hand to you, didn't mean they wouldn't kill you.]
You see that shock collar you're wearing? That's why I haven't killed you, or anyone else in this place. I'm not a damn idiot, and I understand that I'm in a place that puts me at a disadvantage for my usual habits.
Except, unlike you, I don't test those limits to see what I can do before I get someone pissed off enough to try to kill me or leash me up like some sort of hairless dog.
[You can almost hear his teeth clicking with finality, here.]
My patience does have a limit. And I'll advise you to not try that curiosity of yours to find it.
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I don't know if you've noticed but I am a dog. And usually, you don't get pissed at a dog for being untrained, do you.
[He reaches up to curl his fingers around the collar, tugging at it loosely.]
Just because I get off on getting my ass kicked doesn't mean I don't learn from it. It's the lack of consequences that gets me restless - food for thought.
[And they've finally gotten to the bar, so he's pushing the door open with his back to give Reaper an almost sultry smirk, before heading in to pick a spot in the quiet corner.]
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[Because the point of training a dog was to get angry at it so it knows when it was misbehaving. He gives a little grumble in return, not feeling he needed that bit of food for thought, but he doesn't make a point about calling the other an idiot at least. Even if he will comment on the first bit.]
Ever think it's because I know you get off on getting your ass kicked that I don't do it?
I'm not into encouraging your bad habits, Dodger. [Ignoring that smirk, too, as he drifts inside, pulling his hood up a little closer around his mask.]
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[Look at him draping himself over a chair in the corner of the bar. What an asshole.
An asshole who apparently the staff knows, because a waitress who is holding back the urge to roll her eyes comes over to place a double-shot of whiskey in front of him without even speaking to him. She knows him. Why did she have to work today.]
Have you considered the only reason this is such a painful process for you is because you keep trying to avoid it instead of using it to your advantage? [He sips the whiskey lazily.] The goal here isn't to get hurt, it's to be useful to you. And like I said before, I'm done testing your patience - doesn't take a genius to see that's not getting me what I want. And what I want is for you to use me.