(no subject)

[chemveil]

CHARACTERS: Nishad Sinclair & Maryle Bone
WHAT: Maryle halfway learns how to punch before the conversation turns to Nishad's failed relationship.
WHEN: 10 February
WHERE: Nishad's office
WARNINGS: None!

Nishad doesn’t choose to meet Maryle in the gym, but instead his office. It’s simply not that serious to need to be at the gym, nor does he mind forgoing the audience. And, most conveniently, everything that he has in order to bribe her with happens to reside within his office. Squaring up opposite of her, he can’t help but grin. “Why don’t you show me how you think you throw a punch?”

Though she wouldn't have cared about an audience or not, Maryle figures that this is probably better — she's not overly fond of the gym, so maybe not doing this there will help her lock in better. Immediately, though, she groans, rolling her shoulders.

"You just…" She balls up her fist and mimes a swing that isn't a complete disaster but could definitely use some work. There's rotation but not enough, her thumb is tucked, and her wrist isn't as solid as it should be.

"See, already an expert."

“An expert,” Nishad echoes, open fondness and amusement in his expression. His eyebrows raise just a little, cocking his head. “In breaking your thumb?” Mimicking her fist with his own, he holds the position for a beat before slowly and intentionally demonstrating how to fix the issue. “It’s impressive,” he admits, “how confident you can be for absolutely no reason at all. Sometimes I’m a little envious.”

This instruction is met with a curled lip, but Maryle does mimic her teacher, thumb moving to the outside of her fingers. The scarring on her hands makes for a bit of tightness across her knuckles as she brandishes her newly fixed form.

"I'm pretty sure you also operate like this, so I don't see what there is to be jealous about."

“I don’t think I’m confident about anything I’ve got no business being confident about,” Nishad argues, but there’s no heat behind his words. A tiny, irritating note of uncertainty is, however, present. “But I think you could convince someone to believe you’re an expert in hand-to-hand combat simply because… you could convince anyone of anything.”

His gaze drops to her hand. “Better.”

"All you have to do is say things with confidence," Maryle offers honestly. "Most of the time people won't question you. The fact that you have confidence about anything means this shouldn't be that difficult of a task for you."

She tries another mimed punch, actually making some sort of effort, afterwards looking to him curiously.

"Do you want people to think you're always capable of everything?"

“Like this,” Nishad says, demonstrating as a way to delay answering her question. “You’re closer, though.” His gaze drags back up to her face. “No, but I’d settle for you thinking I’m capable of anything,” he says finally, teasing. “I like to dream big.”

Watching closely, Maryle goes to emulate Nishad again. For all her complaining about doing things, she does try to do what she says she will most of the time. This is annoying to her, but most of the time it pays off, even if she can't envision actually needing to punch anyone, much less an Architect.

She rolls her eyes and laughs.

"You should pick an easier target, I know you too well."

Meeting her gaze, his grins. “Easy’s overrated. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I like a challenge.”

"A very bad pilot quality," she agrees with another eyeroll, but there's little to no judgement in her voice.

"Alright, so I'm not going to break my thumb, but am I going to do any damage? Also, what forms of bribery do you have lined up for me?"

“You might do damage,” he offers, patting his arm to indicate she should punch it. “Let’s see.” Nishad ignores her second question, mostly to irk her. “Not the face, though. That’s where half my charm comes from.”

Maryle considers this offer, especially given the withheld information on forms of bribery. But (and she would never admit this), she's been feeling a little guilty at how often she's been shutting down their conversations lately. It's Nishad's fault, of course, for pushing, but it doesn't mean she doesn't feel a little bad for him.

"You're such a shit."

She does as requested, and doesn't hold back. Even so, it's not the most powerful punch.

Nishad does wince, but it’s short lived and unclear whether it’s slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect. “Not bad,” he offers, idly rubbing the spot on his arm as he watches her. “With a little practice, you might even leave bruises.”

Maybe punching isn't so bad, at least for the moment of satisfaction at causing, maybe, a little bit of pain. Maryle shakes out her hand, unaccustomed to the impact. Even if he's just humoring her with his expression, she'll take it.

"So I get to keep punching you until I leave bruises?"

“There’s easier ways to leave bruises,” he jokes, tone deliberately light and casual, “but I do live by the rule of ‘all attention is good attention,’ so…” He shrugs, hands gesturing in a why not way. “I can take a few punches.”

"There are easier ways, but I left my baseball bat on Earth," Maryle laments almost convincingly. "And yeah, I've noticed that you thrive even with negative attention. Again, very bad pilot quality; you're all hams."

With a sigh, she stretches her arms. She's given him one thing, and her guilt is absolved.

"And while I'd love to continue to punch, I'm getting very, very tired."

“Already?” Nishad teases, pulling his gaze away from her as he crosses the room to drop into his chair. “I thought you’d have another punch or two in you, at least.” Fiddling with the drawer, he glances back up at her. “Sweets or liquor?”

"I'm a delicate flower." Somebody, somewhere, might believe that, but it doesn't matter that Nish won't.

Maryle follows along as he retreats to his desk, glancing to see what drawer exactly he's toying with. This is all a show — she wouldn't break into his office to steal — but she enjoys the illusion of being more of a menace than she actually is.

"Liquor, I think."

He’s almost reluctant to pull the drawer out in front of Maryle — his stash is considerable, given that he’d amassed it during his relationship with Séarlait and had been relatively careful about using it up — and he intentionally does not make eye contact as he opens it, pulling out a bottle and closing the drawer before she has a chance to do a proper inventory of it.

”A delicate flower,” he repeats her earlier comment with a snort, an attempt to distract. “Like a rose? A venus flytrap, perhaps?” A venus flytrap is not quite a flower, but it’s close enough for this.

With obvious curiosity, Maryle watches as the drawer opens, and does indeed do her best to make as much as an inventory as she can. She's certain she can complain her way into more things that are tucked away, so it'd be nice to know what to seek out.

She holds her hand out for the bottle after popping up to sit on Nishad's desk.

"Pitcher plant. Venus flytraps work too hard."

“They work too hard? Don’t they just wait for something to land inside of their ‘mouth’ and then close it? That’s what we’re calling too hard now?” A beat. “What’s a pitcher plant?”

"Requires movement. Pitcher plants, on the other hand, lure bugs into their pitcher openings, where escape is impossible. No movement required. Maximum efficiency."

Maryle's hand flexes, another request for the bottle, looking amused.

"Didn't take botany in school?"

“It wasn’t offered in my school,” he replies, deciding against drawing attention to where his education ended. Handing her the bottle obediently, he leans back in his chair. “I think I’d get bored, though.” A pause. “As a pitcher plant, that is. I have too much energy to just lay around and do nothing all day. I’d rather put in the work.”

"A shame." As is often the case, these are just words; Maryle doesn't seem to think one way or another about it. She looks the bottle over as it's handed to her, swinging her legs idly as she laughs. This response is not surprising to her in the least.

"Pilot, etc. etc. You can always have hobbies, you know. Or little projects that don't feel like work. Expending effort for enjoyable things, not necessary things."

“I’d argue that’s where I’m most inclined to put the effort in.” He pauses, considering. “Sort of. One of my hobbies is ‘watching movies,’” he jokes, “in which case I do lay around and do nothing.” A beat. “But when it comes to enjoyment, I’m always willing to put in the effort as needed.”

Maryle, with a one shouldered shrug, opens the bottle and downs a large gulp before offering it to her companion. Immediately, it eases a bit of the nervous energy that's starting to bubble up in her.

"You like attention, activity, and having a perceived purpose. You put effort into everything," she observes. "I'm just saying that there's no actual requirement for you to. But, I guess you wouldn't get what you want out of life without it."

She clicks her tongue in scolding. "Watching movies is so lazy, though."

“I do like getting what I want,” he admits as he takes the bottle, gaze lingering a beat too long before he takes a swig. “Including — and maybe most importantly — watching my movies. You can’t tell me you don’t watch them.” It’s hard for him to imagine anyone surviving on the Mnemo without having the escapism of books or movies.

"You constantly make that abundantly clear," Maryle quickly replies, tone mockingly saccharine, as if that isn't how most everyone is. Needling is one of her favorite sports, though, and Nishad often provides a satisfying target.

"I do occasionally, but I prefer reading."

Her hand is out again for the bottle.

“I suppose you are only physically lazy,” he comments, taking another drink before he hands her the bottle again. “Nerd culture does require you to be a reader, doesn’t it?”

"It does, unfortunately. I've always read a lot."

Maryle takes another long drink, considering.

"Sloane brought new books with her that I haven't read yet, which is at least one perk to having a roommate."

“The downsides are worse, though I’d guess she’s less obnoxious than Az,” he says, though the shade at Az is equally as fond. “It’s a shame books are so hard to come by. It’s not easy to find movies from before the veil, but it’s… easier, at least. Less people have thumb drives of ebooks.”

"I like Sloane. I would murder Az." The affection in Nishad's voice does little to convince Maryle otherwise. Another drink is taken before she offers the bottle back once more.

"Not a big fan of those anyways. And really, not enough books is the least of my worries."

“Yeah?” Nishad prompts, taking the bottle as he focuses on keeping his mouth shut in the hopes that, perhaps, she’ll expand if he manages not to talk too much.

"We're living on a tiny ship and we have alien computer chips in our brains. And the aliens aren't even hot."

Maryle sighs, as though this is a genuine problem for her even though she looks like she's about to laugh, and swings her legs again.

"And you won't tell me what other kinds of bribery are available."

“It would be more disturbing if the aliens were hot,” he objects, wrinkling his nose. “Too many people would.” He does, however, ignore her second question for the moment. It seems just a hair less relevant than complaining about the hot aliens conversations.

"Oh, I'm well aware they would."

Which is luckily far less disturbing by virtue of it not being an actual concern. After this assessment Maryle goes quiet for a few moments, taking in the slow, dull buzz of the alcohol starting to appear, and the nice quiet of an office. There's still the lightest pulse of pressure on her knuckles from the punch, which is pleasantly grounding.

"...sometimes it's not so terrible here, I guess."

“Because of me,” he agrees, offering her a small smile — and the bottle — as he glances up at her.

Maryle takes the bottle with a smile, attention snapping back to the present moment instead of whatever momentary lull she had been in.

"Because of alcohol," she corrects.

“And where did you get the alcohol from…?” He jabs his thumb towards his chest. “Two plus two is four, Maryle.”

This is met with a groan that's barely actually annoyed, and Maryle takes a long drink before replying.

"You have your uses. Alcohol provider and punching bag."

“Mum would be so proud,” the joke slips out before he’s had time to think about the words coming out of his mouth, the amusement falling from his face as he holds out his hand for the bottle back. “I’m also good at hanging picture frames, it’s a shame that doesn’t come in handy here.”

Maryle goes quiet as Nishad's expression shifts, her own flattening out into forced neutrality. She offers the bottle back without complaint. She'll throw him another bone, too.

"Three whole skills is pretty impressive, though." She releases a quiet puff of air before asking, "Did you figure out a way to get that movie you want?"

Only after he’s taken another drink does he respond. “Not yet. I’ll have to figure out how to smooth things over with Séarlait.” A beat. “It would be easier if she didn’t hate me, but there’s not much to be done about that.” Maybe there was, but it’s hard for him to imagine succeeding in convincing her of a ceasefire. Or, at least, a ceasefire worth enough to stop being blackballed from supplies.

"She can't hate you that much." Well, actually, Maryle should correct this. "She'll get over it eventually. You have to see each other all the time and you have to be professional, so it could even out pretty quickly. I'd suggest sucking up to her, but I think that'd make things worse."

There’s a long pause in which Nishad is forced to reconsider his current plan of action. He does try not to look as though that was precisely his plan, but he doesn’t quite manage to avoid the ‘caught’ expression that crosses his face. “You think?”

Maryle leans forward just enough to place her elbows on her knees, giving Nishad a very lightly judgmental look.

"She'll know what you're doing immediately. Maybe she'll be satisfied enough by the fact that you're lowering yourself to that and she'll relent. But if it were me? It'd make me even less inclined to give you anything you wanted."

“Yeah?” A beat. “What would make you inclined?”

"Time, obviously, but maybe she's less contrary. You know her better than I do."

“‘Less contrary’ isn’t how I would describe her, no.” Another long swig of the bottle before he offers it back to her. “‘More contrary,’ perhaps, or ‘maximum contrary’?”

Maryle, taking the bottle, sits back up and takes another drink, considering. Then, she laughs.

"More contrary? Jesus, you're an idiot."

His gaze refocuses her as he thinks about it. “Just as, maybe. I haven’t been your enemy before. I might be underestimating how awful that would end up.”

Maryle, after one more swig, holds out the bottle again. Yes, it's settling in nicely, giving all of this an even more amusing glow than it would on its own. She feels like being charitable.

"I am terrible. But there's a trick, actually, to properly managing it."

Taking the bottle, his eyes are locked onto her. “Oh?” He shouldn’t be as immediately locked in as he is, but he is. Even if everything’s starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. In a good way, but also in a way that makes it difficult for him to keep himself properly in check.

For all her flippancy, Maryle is very self-aware, and so she can confidently share this 'trick' with Nishad. Even if he's clearly a little too eager to hear it.

"Yeah. When I'm pissed, leave me the fuck alone."

It’s not entirely new information, which leaves him slightly disappointed. “Giving someone space has never been something that I excel at,” Nishad admits, thinking about how hard even 24 hours of not pestering Maryle to stop being mad at him had been. “I’ve always hated being ignored.”

Maryle sighs loudly. This information isn't new to her. "I'm telling you, directly to your stupid, currently un-punched face, that you need to get over it and leave me alone when I'm mad at you. This is a gift, Nish. How often do I ever tell you anything straight?"

“Almost never,” he admits, “but I never said I wouldn’t. Just that it would be awful. And it may be a gift, but it’s not one I haven’t… admired in a window display?” The metaphor doesn’t quite work. “I’m not stupid, Maryle. I know what you’re like when you’re mad. I do know you, even if it’s not—you know, anywhere near Domingo’s level.”

Even with a light buzz, this sets off alarm bells in Maryle's head. So, again, she laughs, pushing herself off of Nishad's desk fluidly.

"Just trying to help you out, bud. Stop taking everything so seriously. But, as long as you know, you're good. Maybe something to take to your conversation with Séarlait."

“Maybe there’s too much space,” Nishad remarks with a shrug of his shoulders. “Like…” He trails off, gesturing with his hands to indicate he’s trying to put it into words. “What if all she does think about is what she doesn’t like about me and she can’t remember anything she does and she needs a reminder that I’m not… the worst of us.”

Rolling her shoulders in something of a mirror of Nishad's shrug, Maryle considers this option, genuinely taking her time with it.

"I think that'd be insane of her, but doesn't mean it's off the table. Have you guys actually ever… like, talked about anything? Or has it all been mess?" Not that she's particularly good about talking, but do as I say, not as I do and all that. There's an urge to tell him to just lay his cards out directly, but she's a little afraid that would inspire another sort of conversation right now.

"Seems wild that she'd be so unreasonable that you couldn't talk through this. It's just hurt feelings."

“Talking hasn’t really been on the table.” There’s a long pause in which Nishad hesitates to continue talking. If he were smarter, or entirely sober, he might have followed the instinct to the wiser choice. Instead, he nudges one of the drawers on his desk with his foot. “The ring she gave me is still in there.”

It had been since she had given it to him. He hadn’t known what to do with it then and he certainly doesn’t know what to do about it now. “She hasn’t asked for it back and I… don’t really want to bring it up? That’s the level of not talking we’ve been doing.”

"Just get rid of it?" This, to Maryle, seems like the obvious choice, enough that the upward lilt of her voice makes that very clear. The fact that this ring has ever existed on this ship in the first place remains baffling to her anyways.

"It's not like it's her grandmother's ring or something sentimental, right? Trash it, then no one has to think about it again. Maybe it'll be easy to talk to her, then, without it haunting you from its little drawer coffin."

Nishad drums his fingers against the arm of his chair. “I’m a little scared she would find out and be even more pissed off at me?” The idea is tempting, however, despite the nagging feeling that it may be a terrible idea. Not having to deal with it, not having to think about it again, not ever having to have that conversation with Séarlait.

Maryle is leaning against the desk now, almost frowning.

"Why would she be more pissed off? You guys are done, she can't care that much about the ring… I think you're just talking yourself out of dealing with it."

“She liked it enough to steal it. Maybe she wants it for the next time she’s—” He waves his hand vaguely. “—announcing to someone that she expects a proposal at some point. It can’t be the easiest thing to come by on a supply run.” Admittedly, it seems a bit cursed to use a ring from a failed relationship in the next, but he doubts Séarlait would be as bothered as he would.

"Honestly, who cares?" Maryle is, for a moment, going to leave it at that, but thinks she should maybe explain further.

"I mean, like, who cares about a ring? It's the end of the world, I think she'll survive without it. But, if you're really too weenie to toss it, wrap it up and leave it outside of her door."

“I’m not weenie,” Nishad objects, pulling a face, dramatizing his offense in a way that is clear it’s not true offense. “But… I could do that.” A beat. “She cares about a lot of things that you wouldn’t think to care about at the end of the world. I’d be more surprised if she didn’t care than if she did.”

The amount of skepticism written across Maryle's expression is biting.

"You're not a weenie, but you're afraid to throw away a ring because someone might get more pissed at you? So you're going to just leave it outside her door and skitter away? That's weenie behavior, Nish. Like, do what you have to, but accept the reality. Just like you need to accept the reality that she's insane to care about an engagement ring, given everything."

“I never claimed she’s not insane,” he argues immediately, before letting his tone settle into a more serious one. “I do also care about whether I’m upsetting her more than I already have, even if the whole ring thing is insane. It sounds more painless for both of us if I leave it outside of her door and ‘skitter away,’ than the alternative.” A beat. “Just because it’s over doesn’t mean I don’t care about her still. I’m being considerate, not a weenie.”

Maryle takes this in, considers it, and decides none of it changes her opinion.

"I think you're using that as an excuse."

And then she goes silent, thinking once more in a slightly meandering way thanks to the alcohol in her system. Maybe she's being a little harsh. Maybe she should be a better friend. She sighs, sounding a little bit defeated.

"Just leave it outside her door and be done with it. People break up, people hurt each other. It all sucks. But getting this out of your office is going to at least help you, even if it doesn't do anything to how she's treating you."

“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment before his gaze settles on her. “You’re right. Unsurprisingly. I’ll take care of it soon.”

Maryle gives a short nod, feeling less inclined than usual to gloat about being right.

"You'll feel better, and maybe she'll take it as enough of a sign of good will that she'll be a little more amenable to getting you things. Now come on, get up so I can punch you again."

“Not the face,” he reminds her as he pushes himself up to standing, only a little bit wobbly, all too happy to move on from the conversation. “And don’t forget to keep your thumb—nevermind, you got it.” He squares up with her, curious if she’ll manage more than a singular punch this time around.