A sickle smile

16.  “You have an orange.  From the Surface.  And you keep trying to defend it from everyone who wants to steal it.  (And I’m just trying to get you to share because it’s been so long.)”

Sereno grunted as he scrambled up the ladder, kicking down the steel to slow pursuit.  There was a loud curse below at that, but that was the point.  The sixth would-be thief of the day, this one a woman with a pinched face and a bun so severe that the Linguist could get a headache looking at it, shook her fist as he vaulted over the roof ledge.  He kept running, his sweet-smelling prize clutched close to his heart.  He was getting into the Flit, there were going to be urchins about.

Couldn’t a man enjoy the fruits of his labor?

A few blocks and Sereno scrambled back down, gasping for air.  Once, the space had been a garden, a park from the looks of it, but now, with what little light there was, it was all deserted dust.  He kept running, ducking behind statues, before slowing down, watching for anyone following him.

“Oh, my!” Cruz clasped their hands together – The man must have seen them double-take, already, so they didn’t bother keeping up the pretense of not having seen the orange. “Aren’t you a lucky one? I can only imagine what you had to go through to get your hands on that. Blackwood, wasn’t it?”

Sereno carefully cut into the orange, peeling away the fragrant skin to reveal the flesh beneath.  He avoided touching it with his hands, with its dirt and its scrapes, until he had tugged away a half-moon of orange.  Slowly, he pulled it apart and slid a piece into his mouth.

The sweet-sour flavor burst like starlight onto his tongue, stinging on his chapped lips in a way that made him shiver.  He could remember eating something like this years before he had come to the Neath, and after so long without, it was utter bliss.

⌆ a nervous tic or habit they do

⏀ describe their usual smile

⇅ do they look up or down while thinking?

❧ describe their usual sleeping position

✑ describe something they like without naming it

✜ what’s their posture like in a normal situation?

❖ describe their hands

❞ write a quote they would find themselves saying

§ how would their hair gray? or would they lose their hair first?

❤ describe how they show affection.

10. “I have fallen off/out of my vehicle of choice, and you’re either helping me, or laughing your ass off.”

The Mercies had their favored spaces to dump people after a thrilling ride, most unpleasant.  This time, Snakeman found himself buried in a pile of- something soft and damp, smelling of dust, must, and wet wool.  Better than onto a drunk, or a pile of dead rodents, but still- what in god’s name did he land in?

Snakeman made an aborted movement at that, hand curling around suit instead of his face. He had not made the effort to hide those today. It was whim that drove him to share that bottle and a ride.

Well now, he really shouldn’t have been easily swayed. Here he was, thrown like a sack, wide open. Meeting this man (this man who seems to know the mercies. this tended to happened? how many before?), with his disarming smile siphoning away the tense bunch in his shoulders. Snakeman does not know what to make of him yet, but settles on good thoughts.

Tentatively taking the offer to push himself to his feet, he got up with a soft grunt. There was a scent that got stronger the closer the other was; curiosity had Snakeman lean in a little closer once on his feet. “Thank you…”

Letting the other go, he ran his free hands down his sides, pressing down a little here and there-

Wince. And oh, he remembered… there was a gash on his side. Possibly reopened with that violent jostle. (Chi Lan, he remembers) He will have to check that, now.

… while tea and quiet sounded lovely, self-consciousness dawned on Snakeman just right then.

“Um…”

"Sereno Blackwood, sir."  He takes a step back to bow before he gestures upward.  "I live in the place above the bookshop we're next to at the moment.  Come on.  It's just up the stairs, if you're capable."  Even with Snakeman much taller, he seemed unperturbed by the difference in height.  He merely kept his head tilted upward, studying him with little concern.  

#13 “Yes, hello, stranger, could you please let me into your house, I swear I don’t have constables on my trail or anything.”

The constable was a short portly gentleman in his mid 40s with a broken nose and curly blond hair. “My apologies good sir, didn’t mean to disturb… whatever it is you were doing. But we are tracking a very dangerous criminal and he was last seen in this building. Have you seen this man?” He shoved a poor sketch of Driskill into Sereno ’ s face.

10. “I have fallen off/out of my vehicle of choice, and you’re either helping me, or laughing your ass off.”

The Mercies had their favored spaces to dump people after a thrilling ride, most unpleasant.  This time, Snakeman found himself buried in a pile of- something soft and damp, smelling of dust, must, and wet wool.  Better than onto a drunk, or a pile of dead rodents, but still- what in god’s name did he land in?

“…no.” He moved his head, and it rolled off something lumpy and his ear is squished against a shoulder. Did he fall on nets? Rope? Hard to tell without getting off it and giving it a closer look.“…not really.”

While the gentleman didn’t look any more colourful than the usual crowd, he seemed to have one blazing eye. He was curious. Not enough to reveal his own set for a clearer look.

#13 “Yes, hello, stranger, could you please let me into your house, I swear I don’t have constables on my trail or anything.”

“I am not some child to be ordered around, ” bristled Driskill, but still he accepted the bread and took a healthy swig of the drink. He was beginning to feel like his normal self, when he heard a sharp rap on the front door.

"No, you're not.  You're a guest who barged in after-"  The rap of a fist on wood knocked color right out of Sereno's face, his eyes wide.  After a split second, he removed his glasses, shoving them onto Edward's nose.  With that, he grabbed Edward by the wrist and pulled him across the small passageway, into the next room.  

The room was- cramped, dominated by a tattered, gray curtain held up by a four-poster bed, with a few cushions beside the wall.  One had an ocelot fast asleep on it, an ordinary kitten curled up beside it.  Sereno shoved Edward past the second curtain, leaving him in relative darkness and the expected wood not there at all.

“One minute, d__m it!”  Sereno yelled, undoing his collar and unbuttoning his shirt as he headed back to the door, gnawing on his lip.  He blessed his easy embarrassment as he shoved the door open, mouth in a firm line.

#13 “Yes, hello, stranger, could you please let me into your house, I swear I don’t have constables on my trail or anything.”

“You still should drink.  Your eyes are watering.”  Sereno replied worriedly as he turned back, carrying the bread in hand.  "And as white as a sheet.  That’s saying something in this city.”  He pressed the bread into Edward’s hand, his skin- definitely darker than Edward’s.   Warm as well, and there was something lingering, a smell of lavender.  “Drink.“  Sereno braced himself with one hand against a table as he toed out an ottoman, scratch marks on its sides and a few black marks on top, then pushed it in Edward’s direction.

The Flit was rarely quiet or coherent, especially after racing laughing, whooping urchins.  But the sound of their name reaching the Freelancer’s ears was both, however the bloody hell that could be.  Still, stalking across a walkway was a small, vaguely familiar figure, his palms pressed against the walls he was between, a clever way to keep his weight away from the sodden wood.  Once he stepped onto the tiles of the roof, he reached Alexis, his nostrils flaring.

“You nearly knocked me off the Flit!”

Sereno shook his head, raising his chin up.  "Not interested in their business, merely giving credit where credit is due.“  He fidgeted, adjusting his glasses under their stare.  "Oh, I’m aware.  It depends on how often it happens, especially to, say, someone friendly with them or their homes.  Apparently people complain about bodies on the pavement and/or the fences, especially if they are terrible at chess.”

#13 “Yes, hello, stranger, could you please let me into your house, I swear I don’t have constables on my trail or anything.”

“I will accept that wine if you are offering,” replied Driskill, as he made his way towards the pot. He poured himself some chili and took a small taste, water rushing to his eyes as the spice touched his tongue. Ever since he had undergone extraction he had begun to prefer spicy food, but even he was unprepared for this level of heat. His deadened senses came to life as the spice filled him up, and for a brief moment he felt as he did before extraction, before he had lost his soul. Driskill stood motionless in the middle of the room, still holding his bowl in his shaking hands.

The broth certainly burned as it went down, bright and earthly, with bitter coffee playing with the sweetness of whatever passed for tomato, something meaty underneath the flavor and spice.