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Entry tags:
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CHARACTERS: Maryle Bone & Dom Flores Romero
WHAT: Reuniting (or getting revenge).
WHEN: Friday, January 16, 20 AI
WHERE: The Mnemosyne library
WARNINGS: N/A
WHAT: Reuniting (or getting revenge).
WHEN: Friday, January 16, 20 AI
WHERE: The Mnemosyne library
WARNINGS: N/A
Maryle had kept her distance at Dom's initial arrival, feeling equal parts annoyed and excited about his presence on the Mnemosyne. Plus, she wanted to observe him before any interaction, to give her an idea of where he's at so she feels like she has something under her feet. He's looking a little pathetic, she thinks. Maybe that's good.
She has stalked him to the library, currently empty except for him and now, partially, her as she leans on the doorframe. "Hey Chirp."
Dom let Maryle come to him — she's the one with a life and responsibilities on the ship, and so it made sense to let her seek him out in her own time.
That, and he wanted to see how long she'd take.
But the red string of fate they used to yank each other around was taut as ever. He doesn't look up from the book he's flipping through (The Tale of Mr. Tod) even as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Dr. Bone, how nice of you to finally grace me with your presence."
“I was super busy,” she lies outright, noticing the little smile and all the things that have changed about him since the last time she saw him.
Maryle’s skin feels itchy from the inside out as she continues to watch Dom, leading her to scratch her back on the wall behind her like a bear on a tree.
“Plus I figured since you're stuck here now, I'll probably get sick of your face. What I can see of it.” There's something in her tone that's almost like a question. Why is he stuck here?
"Maybe you'll get sick slower since you can't see it all at once," Dom suggests as he places the book back on the shelf with cautious hands; his justification: pre-Fall materials are now precious and should be handled with care. "I missed you, too."
“Or faster, since I only got a bit to look at.”
Maryle remains where she is, but the antsy feelings in her quickly become frustration with herself. She always behaves like a cat when he returns, annoyed and skittish, as though she's forgotten who he is, as though she won't almost immediately be over it. Logically she knows it's very dumb, but it doesn't stop her feelings from doing whatever they want.
Even though the ‘I missed you’ is somewhat tongue in cheek, she knows he means it, and it effectively knocks down a little bit of that stupid wall. Once the book is out of Dom’s hands, Maryle moves to him and is hugging him tightly, face pressed into his shoulder.
“You're really staying? Because this does not seem like your kind of scene.”
"This tin can is not my scene, no." Was that supposed to be reassuring? It's telling Maryle she's right and she does love to be right, so surely it should count for something. (It does, in fact, count for something, which results in a little huff into his shoulder.) He returns the embrace and buries the smile he's let loose (where she wisely can't see it) in her hair. He doesn't have a home, per se—and never has—but Maryle's the closest he's ever felt to one.
He gives her a little squeeze to try and eke out some of the feral animal at large energy. "I don't know if the post is permanent yet. However, they provided me with a desk and an onboarding schedule, so I assume it's long enough."
Dom's squeeze is returned by one of Maryle's own, with a similar idea in mind to crush some of whatever is wrong with her out. She's mostly only like this with him, but that's because he's one of the only people she's close to being honest with. It's both freeing and constricting to be around him, especially with the promise of it being for an extended period. But, in one of the few things she'd never say to him, she feels a bit of relief to know that he'll be here, safe. Or, at least, prone to dying in the same incident as her, which is somehow equally as comforting.
She leans back after one more tight squeeze, freeing a hand so she can scratch at his beard in about the least affectionate way possible as she grimaces. Yeah, not a fan.
"You should carve your name into your desk just to really drive it home. So, what's with the big move? Get bored scooping up pathetic people?"
Face twisted into a grimace of his own, Dom pulls his head away. He's not completely sold on it either — but he's got enough years' experience acting Veiled to pretend he made the choice because he thought it would add something more than another layer of mask.
"Espionage moves in mysterious ways. Most likely, I'm reaching the end of my shelf life in the field." True on a technicality, even though yet another lie of omission makes his stomach turn sour. But besides, how long could one feasibly work on the ground before the Architects became suspicious? The answer was never 'indefinitely.' "And they needed a new magnet to attract your ire so the rest of Technology could work in peace."
With a noise of protest, Maryle doesn't fight Dom pulling away from her hand. This is her attempt at being nice, given that he doesn't really want to be on the Mnemosyne (and the equally pitiable fact that he looks stupid with his beard).
She barks a little laugh after he speaks.
"You are getting old — look at all that grey." Her hand moves in another threat to scratch his beard, but she doesn't actually go for it this time. She does smile, however, for the first time since laying eyes on Dom.
"Wow, I'm so powerful they're sending a seasoned agent to keep my attention? I'm super flattered. Maybe Bishop has a crush on me."
He's still mirroring her expressions but it's not his fault when he hasn't seen her smile in a year, and he pulls her in for another hug whether or not she wants one. "I should warn him that you bite," he muses.
"Oh my god Chirp, you're such a sap" comes out half laugh, half muffled grumble against Dom's shoulder as she hugs him back. Very abruptly, Maryle feels like crying, a general overwhelm at this lasting reunion that she's been pushing down since she'd heard and the prickly soft feeling of comfort from having her arms locked around him. To counter this impulse, she bites his shoulder before responding.
"And he's got to be a huge freak, right? He was a DJ. Unlike us, with very respectable nerd careers, he was doing who knows what in club bathrooms."
"Cocaine." Obviously. Dom's retaliation is to tighten his arms and plant a sloppy kiss on the top of the head — to fight fire with affection. "And you're an animal, please never do cocaine again."
"Cocaine," Maryle agrees before squealing just a little at this affront to her dignity. Still, this is all practiced offense, meaning she can try to squirm away from him without accidentally headbutting him.
"Who wants to do cocaine when they're constantly trapped within five feet of at least one coworker? I'm not a pit trader. Or a DJ that's probably into biting."
Dom sighs a light sigh. It's the light sigh of knowing that you've signed on for months to years of daily bullying sessions and unexpected pinches and it's everything you've needed for a long, long time. And one of knowing that you're going to regret it every day. He tugs on the back of her hair, just a tiny bit, to remind her that he's not totally defenseless in the face of another bite. "I'll let him be surprised, then."
She has stalked him to the library, currently empty except for him and now, partially, her as she leans on the doorframe. "Hey Chirp."
Dom let Maryle come to him — she's the one with a life and responsibilities on the ship, and so it made sense to let her seek him out in her own time.
That, and he wanted to see how long she'd take.
But the red string of fate they used to yank each other around was taut as ever. He doesn't look up from the book he's flipping through (The Tale of Mr. Tod) even as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Dr. Bone, how nice of you to finally grace me with your presence."
“I was super busy,” she lies outright, noticing the little smile and all the things that have changed about him since the last time she saw him.
Maryle’s skin feels itchy from the inside out as she continues to watch Dom, leading her to scratch her back on the wall behind her like a bear on a tree.
“Plus I figured since you're stuck here now, I'll probably get sick of your face. What I can see of it.” There's something in her tone that's almost like a question. Why is he stuck here?
"Maybe you'll get sick slower since you can't see it all at once," Dom suggests as he places the book back on the shelf with cautious hands; his justification: pre-Fall materials are now precious and should be handled with care. "I missed you, too."
“Or faster, since I only got a bit to look at.”
Maryle remains where she is, but the antsy feelings in her quickly become frustration with herself. She always behaves like a cat when he returns, annoyed and skittish, as though she's forgotten who he is, as though she won't almost immediately be over it. Logically she knows it's very dumb, but it doesn't stop her feelings from doing whatever they want.
Even though the ‘I missed you’ is somewhat tongue in cheek, she knows he means it, and it effectively knocks down a little bit of that stupid wall. Once the book is out of Dom’s hands, Maryle moves to him and is hugging him tightly, face pressed into his shoulder.
“You're really staying? Because this does not seem like your kind of scene.”
"This tin can is not my scene, no." Was that supposed to be reassuring? It's telling Maryle she's right and she does love to be right, so surely it should count for something. (It does, in fact, count for something, which results in a little huff into his shoulder.) He returns the embrace and buries the smile he's let loose (where she wisely can't see it) in her hair. He doesn't have a home, per se—and never has—but Maryle's the closest he's ever felt to one.
He gives her a little squeeze to try and eke out some of the feral animal at large energy. "I don't know if the post is permanent yet. However, they provided me with a desk and an onboarding schedule, so I assume it's long enough."
Dom's squeeze is returned by one of Maryle's own, with a similar idea in mind to crush some of whatever is wrong with her out. She's mostly only like this with him, but that's because he's one of the only people she's close to being honest with. It's both freeing and constricting to be around him, especially with the promise of it being for an extended period. But, in one of the few things she'd never say to him, she feels a bit of relief to know that he'll be here, safe. Or, at least, prone to dying in the same incident as her, which is somehow equally as comforting.
She leans back after one more tight squeeze, freeing a hand so she can scratch at his beard in about the least affectionate way possible as she grimaces. Yeah, not a fan.
"You should carve your name into your desk just to really drive it home. So, what's with the big move? Get bored scooping up pathetic people?"
Face twisted into a grimace of his own, Dom pulls his head away. He's not completely sold on it either — but he's got enough years' experience acting Veiled to pretend he made the choice because he thought it would add something more than another layer of mask.
"Espionage moves in mysterious ways. Most likely, I'm reaching the end of my shelf life in the field." True on a technicality, even though yet another lie of omission makes his stomach turn sour. But besides, how long could one feasibly work on the ground before the Architects became suspicious? The answer was never 'indefinitely.' "And they needed a new magnet to attract your ire so the rest of Technology could work in peace."
With a noise of protest, Maryle doesn't fight Dom pulling away from her hand. This is her attempt at being nice, given that he doesn't really want to be on the Mnemosyne (and the equally pitiable fact that he looks stupid with his beard).
She barks a little laugh after he speaks.
"You are getting old — look at all that grey." Her hand moves in another threat to scratch his beard, but she doesn't actually go for it this time. She does smile, however, for the first time since laying eyes on Dom.
"Wow, I'm so powerful they're sending a seasoned agent to keep my attention? I'm super flattered. Maybe Bishop has a crush on me."
He's still mirroring her expressions but it's not his fault when he hasn't seen her smile in a year, and he pulls her in for another hug whether or not she wants one. "I should warn him that you bite," he muses.
"Oh my god Chirp, you're such a sap" comes out half laugh, half muffled grumble against Dom's shoulder as she hugs him back. Very abruptly, Maryle feels like crying, a general overwhelm at this lasting reunion that she's been pushing down since she'd heard and the prickly soft feeling of comfort from having her arms locked around him. To counter this impulse, she bites his shoulder before responding.
"And he's got to be a huge freak, right? He was a DJ. Unlike us, with very respectable nerd careers, he was doing who knows what in club bathrooms."
"Cocaine." Obviously. Dom's retaliation is to tighten his arms and plant a sloppy kiss on the top of the head — to fight fire with affection. "And you're an animal, please never do cocaine again."
"Cocaine," Maryle agrees before squealing just a little at this affront to her dignity. Still, this is all practiced offense, meaning she can try to squirm away from him without accidentally headbutting him.
"Who wants to do cocaine when they're constantly trapped within five feet of at least one coworker? I'm not a pit trader. Or a DJ that's probably into biting."
Dom sighs a light sigh. It's the light sigh of knowing that you've signed on for months to years of daily bullying sessions and unexpected pinches and it's everything you've needed for a long, long time. And one of knowing that you're going to regret it every day. He tugs on the back of her hair, just a tiny bit, to remind her that he's not totally defenseless in the face of another bite. "I'll let him be surprised, then."
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