[ reset. ]

Independent, Selective Banshee-44

[4fourth-blog1]

〈 外人 〉

[4fourth-blog1]

dite

“Daikatana is one of the biggest failures in video games,” she informed him, brows furrowed as she mashed frantically at the controller in her hand. “Next to me playing this Tarzan level. The whole thing was like some shitty escort mission with two shitsack sidekicks that couldn’t die or you’d lose the level. And you know, for all the shit Ashley gets in Resident Evil 4, she’s one of the better escort missions out there. You just tell her to hide and she goes and then she comes right back when you whistle for her. And she’s got this unlockable suit of armor that makes her too heavy for the zombies to cart her off, which is nice.”

She paused to take the offered mochi, and dared a bolder flick of her tongue against his fingers, giving a brief suck under the guise of taking away the stickiness before she laid back again.

“This fucking cheetah is like, on steroids!” she burst out, tossing the controller aside in a fit of tantrum. “Or jaguar, whatever.”

She sat up as directed, disregarding the real food in favor for the desserts. Again. “You didn’t tell me how your day was,” she pointed out, sitting girl-scout style with her knees tucked beneath her on the sofa cushions. “At least tell me if it was good or not.”

He laughed, almost daring to put an arm around her shoulders, but judiciously choosing instead to drape it over the back of the couch. “You know, you’re probably the only one who asks me how my day goes,” he mused, brushing his knuckles to her shoulder chastely. “Like, and mean it. You know how people always ask, but they’re really just saying ‘hi.’ They don’t really want an answer. But to answer your question, it was boring. I spent all morning one a protocol refresher course for a group of assholes who jammed up the last mission they were on. Waste of my time. Then paperwork all afternoon. The best part was coming home. And eating dinner. And watching you get your butt kicked by a cartoon cat.”

He checked his watch, pulling his lips into a thin line of displeasure. “What time’s the last train? I don’t want you staying out too late. I don’t have a car here. Can’t drive you home.” 

[zombiesurvivor69]

via Guido Salto Art

[4fourth-blog1]

〈 外人 〉

[4fourth-blog1]

dite:

She gave a light scoff, tucking the edamame into her cheek to chew it as she rapidly pressed the X button in a flurry of frustration.

“This is Kingdom Hearts, you silly,” she sighed with youthful exasperation, swallowing hard and opening her mouth like a baby bird for another seed. She waited in silence, and then resumed her talking and playing as she chewed once he obliged. “It’s some kind of Disney and Final Fantasy mashup. I’m guessing you don’t know what Final Fantasy is either, since all your games are those FPS games that straight men with questionable taste in media cling to. I’m trying to educate you here. What was that last game we played together? Something of Duty, or Battlesomething, whatever it was. Handled like fucking Daikatana.”

She swallowed again, and again her mouth opened expectantly, only this time her tongue brushed purposefully against his fingers as he laid the seed on her tongue. “Anyway, this is a bad example,” she continued, back to her chewing and frustrated feet-kicking. “This is a bad level—where’s the last damn slide? We’ll be here all day. But we can’t look it up, Mr. Ehrenreich. No walkthroughs. We die like men. Like the first time we played. Give me a bite of dango.”

He grinned, hardly put out by her bossy airs, reaching for the food. “Look, they told us those games were good for hand-eye coordination, so that’s what I’ve been playing the most,” he informed her, then made an exasperated sound at himself. “Christ, even when I’m trying to have fun I’m working. God.”

He decided the mitarashi was a better choice than the hanami, only because the hanami looked like dessert. Pulling off a sticky mochi ball from the skewer, he fed it to her again carefully, secretly hoping for another little tease of her tongue. 

“What’s Daikatana?” he asked, a little too happily for how ignorantly he sounded, but he’d hardly even realized that. Too busy enjoying her company, honestly. It was nice, having someone around for dinner. Somehow, eating alone only exacerbated solitude, and he had come to dread not eating in the mess hall, where he’d have some company, at least. Always someone to sit with there. Not always in the silence of his empty apartment. 

“I believe in you,” he said positively, blowing at his stew to cool it. “Kick that gorilla’s ass. Or something. Oh hey, it’s Clayton! Man, that guy’s real top heavy. Like Jessica Rabbit, but with pecs. How does he not fall over. Did that gorilla just grab you by the scruff and fling you into the sky? Here, sit up, you’re going to choke if you eat lying down like that.”

[4fourth-blog1]

〈 外人 〉

[4fourth-blog1]

dite

The game’s chiming music started up again while he was at the door, with Dite’s crossed legs draping over the back of the couch as she waited for him to return.

“It won’t let me change the difficulty and I can’t get past this fucking jungle level!” she called to him in a distinct whine, kicking her legs on the cushions with an annoyed groan. “What did you say? Oh, I thought you might be hungry and if not, you can whatever you don’t eat for your 3 a.m. snack. I know you wake up then because my texts go to read right about that time, but you don’t text back because you think I’m sleeping? Or something. But you have to eat as much as you can,” she said with an exaggerated pout over her shoulder as he came back into the room. “Because I picked it out for you.”

She waited for him to sit again and reclaimed her lounge across his lap, clicking at the controller buttons with her eyes on the screen. “You have to feed me,” she informed him. “I promised myself I wouldn’t stop until I beat this stupid level with the stupid gorillas.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he inquired, his frown only deepening with that paternal displeasure that came so easily to him. “I cant imagine what could possibly be so interesting at 3AM to keep you up.”

He busied himself with opening up all the containers, surveying the spread approvingly. The stew looked inviting enough, but the barbecued beef was more his style, and he picked at a piece to pop in his mouth, licking his fingers clean after. The edamame, for some reason, appealed to him. The whole process was somewhat akin to peeling a grape for some Messaline, and he fed her the broad seeds one by one.

“Is that Tarzan?” he asked, sucking a remnant of the yakiniku from his teeth. “I thought I bought you Kingdom Hearts? What happened to that? I didn’t even know I had this game.”

[4fourth-blog1]

〈 外人 〉

[4fourth-blog1]

dite

She pushed herself up on all fours with a languid stretch, not unlike a house cat, before she clambered across his lap with a delicate huff.

“I don’t need help throwing a punch,” she informed him imperiously, raising her hand to form a fist to demonstrate as she laid on her back across his legs. “Like this. With your thumb folded out of the way. And keep your arms level with your shoulders and use the back leg for thrust.”

She flashed him a beaming smile, letting her hand fall to rest across her chest. “Right, Mr. Ehrenreich? About the clothes, I could bring some with me to class tomorrow and leave it here when I come visit. If you’re sure it wouldn’t be in the way. It’s faster to get to your house from my school than it is to get to my house, did you know that? And less trains to take. So it just makes sense to try to avoid the rush and hide out here and eat all your ice lollies. Thank you for getting more, by the way,” she added, laying a hand on his rough cheek to grin up at him with a hint of smugness. “Although it seems like you’re trying to get me to visit more. Are you?”

"Don’t forget to twist just before impact,” he reminded her, grinning down at her. His hand toyed with the curls fanned delicately where they cascaded over his thigh. “The torque will add to the weight of impact. It’s also a good idea to used the momentum of gravity in a downward motion, but I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s smaller than you are literal toddlers. So, yeah. Back leg for thrust when you’re aiming upwards. Then kick em in the nads for good measure, yeah?”

He flushed a little at her teasing. “No, not ... well, I mean you come here anyways. And you stay way too late. Might as well be comfortable. And decently dressed.” He shrugged. “I like the company. And you’re some pretty good company. Even if you keep beating all my records on my video games.” 

The doorbell rang, which he answered after gingerly extracting himself from under her. Two full bags of food arrived, which he toted back to the couch, wearing a perplexed expression. “Dite, how much food did you even get?”

[4fourth-blog1]

〈 外人 〉

[4fourth-blog1]

dite.

She didn’t break stride in her gaming as she kicked the towel off her knees, raising her legs and baring an even larger flash beneath her skirt for only a split second with the motion. But the chiming music from the screen cut off sharply as she paused the game and sat up with a hand outstretched for the offered phone. She threw him a smile as she pulled the cherry lolly from her mouth, stained slick with candy red.

“Sure thing, Mr. Ehrenreich,” she said, balancing the game controller on her closed knees as she dialed the number with her free hand. She watched him expectantly with wide-set eyes and a smile curling at the edge of her mouth before they answered, launching her into breezy, cheerful Japanese that might have been showing off. Just a little. She ordered for him first—nikujaga, yakiniku, and a burger in case he was feeling homesick—before ordering a vegetarian plate and a passel of desserts for herself. She thanked them sweetly, eyes still on Mr. Ehrenreich, and then hung up and tossed the phone to the coffee table as she pushed the controller away.

“How was your day?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach and propping her head on her hands to beam beatifically at him. “Mine was so boring, that’s why I was texting you so much. I couldn’t wait to get out. I thought about going home to change, but I just ended up coming straight here. I also thought about asking you to come home early, but I thought that might be irresponsible.”

“Dite,” he admonished, clicking his tongue and giving her a stern look. Not too stern. He almost wanted to tell her to call him Asher. But that seemed too familiar. “While I love getting texts from you —makes my work day a little more bearable— I don’t want you getting in trouble. Even if it’s almost your last semester.”

Her current position had her skirt riding up enough to see the peek of underwear and far too much of her backside for his liking. He did his best to avoid looking at it, snatching the towel off the floor and tossing it on her, expertly covering all the offensive bits. Good. She was decent now.

“I’m not gonna bore you with work details,” he laughed, brushing back a lock of unruly hair laying errant on her brow. “How about you tell me how your day went? Did that kid who’s always bothering you let up already? I’ll teach you how to punch his lights out if he tries putting his hands on you again. And—” 

He thumbed nervously at his nose. “You can leave like a little bag, if you need to. Like clothes to change into. Since you’re here so often. Like sweatpants and stuff. Better than sitting like a heathen in your uniform all day.”

[4fourth-blog1]

〈 外人 〉

〈 @eromai 〉

It was the fifth time she’d come over in the last two weeks. All she did was come over and play video games on his couch, chewing gum, perched in a position that decency forced him to block his eye line with a hand to avoid. Like a gentleman.  

 He wondered if she’d intended on making a habit of it. But he was the one stocking her favorite cherry popsicles in the freezer. Ice lollies, she called them. Funny word. Not so funny when she’d sit around sucking on them while she leafed through his magazines or putzed around on her phone. Or when she’d look up at him with her big doe eyes, her lips stained and slick with crimson.

He’d only asked to see her because— well, he was lonely. Bad enough he was in a foreign country on assignment, where he knew no one at all, and had only a cursory facility in the language. Even worse that he was separated from his kid. So maybe it was weird, calling up one of those joshi-kosei osanpo numbers. Okay, really weird. Not that he had any bad intentions. It was nice, asking her about her day, hearing about those bucolic high school travails, worrying after her, buying her dinner just to make sure she ate okay. Her father was away on business a lot. She practically lived alone. It was almost a charity, what he was doing.

And then she started coming over. Which he also allowed, under the same premise of making sure she was taken care of. Better his place than out on the street, right? They were innocuous enough visits. And he’d make sure to keep them that way.

“You eat dinner?” he asked, taking a seat next to her Not too close. Not too far away, either. “You’ve been here since you got out of class, so I’m going to assume no. And you’re not eating three ice lollies for dinner.” 

He tossed a wide cotton towel over her knees. “And if you’re not going to sit right, at least cover up a little. I can see your ... um. Yeah. I can see your panties that way. Anyways.” He handed her his phone. “You order whatever you want. Deal is you talk to them for me. I don’t wanna stand there like some gaping-mouthed gaijin. Not in the mood to look stupid tonight.”

[lostcap]

You sleep coiled; tightly wound. Hands are fists beneath pillows, clenched above cotton sheets. You are at war, even in your dreams.

Rest Achilles, the world will wait | p.d (via p.d vulpe)

[4fourth-blog1]

aphrodite

“You’d have thought you were a phantom,” Dite said, laughing into her hand as she leaned back against the door to her room. “The way everyone was surprised to see you. Like I’d rezzed you from the underworld. You should go out more so they aren’t so shocked, maybe.”

He was lingering. They both seemed to know it. She passed a hand through her hair, sweeping the loose parts from her face as she pushed off the door. Her hand found the cloth of his shirt, pulling him down as she stood on tiptoe to reach him. Her mouth brushed lightly over the cool metal of his cheek, and she was surprised to find it warm, like the heat of the processor on her desk when she left it on all night.

“Oh,” she said aloud, falling back to rest on her heels as her hand stayed wound in the cloth at his neck. “I thought you’d be colder.” She laughed at herself, a short, drunken, breathy sound. “Thank you for walking me. You could walk me again sometime if you have a mind to. Just a thought.”

The pull was enough to ruin him, the closeness even more harrowing. But it was the touch of her lips that ran voltaic from the impact point and radiated sharply through to the tips of his fingers, his toes. 

He had no frame of reference for what it meant. Nothing he could recall. But there was something within him that recognized exigency, both his and hers, and the need that coursed in the air between them.

One arm circled around her waist, the other snaked around her slender shoulders, his fingers slipping up the nape of her neck, threading through her hair as he nearly slung her back into the door, protected by his own hands. “Do that again,” he demanded softly, his forehead bent to touch her, his body folded needfully against her small frame. “Please.” 

[4fourth-blog1]

aphrodite

The rest of the fireteam paid them no mind, as far as Dite could see, so she pulled her drink over and propped her head on her hand, directing her full attention on him as she laid a hand over his.

“A romantic, like I mentioned,” she said with a shrug. “He always says babies born of love should have names that celebrate that. Isn’t that the cheesiest thing you ever heard?”

About five drinks later, her fingers had laced clumsily into his, cheeks flushed and hair coming loose from the braid at her back as she laughed (a bit too loud) over something Banshee had said that he might not have meant to be funny. But he didn’t seem to mind and even Apollo leaned over to comment that the gunsmith seemed much looser than he’d ever seen. Dite shoved his head away unceremoniously and stood on unsteady legs, tugging at Banshee’s hand with a petulant insistence.

“Walk me home,” she ordered (she always got so pert and bossy the more she drank) as she took a step towards the door without saying goodbye to her fireteam, embroiled in yet another argument. “I’ve got a Crucible match in the morning and I need to sleep this off before that.”

The contact was disarming. Coupled with the drink flooding his system, he was incapable of mitigating the thrill of her touch, the unfamiliar surge of surge of pleasure that inebriated just as easily as the liquor did. 

He followed after her easily, allowing her to pull him along, and hardly minding how imperiously she’d decided he’d be her escort. His fingers never left hers, tugging her back to match his pace. A slower one. One that he could savor a little. 

“I told you I wasn’t leaving you alone tonight,” he said jovially, a lilt in his voice that was easy, simple. Almost contented. She’d teetered a little with the tug he’d given her, to which the only logical remedy was an arm around her waist to steady her. Clearly. 

The walk to her room came far too quickly for his liking. He enjoyed her company. Enjoyed her attention. He couldn’t count the years since he’d left his service, and therefore could not quantify how long it had been since he’d entered into voluntary solitude. It was nice, feeling wanted. Even if it was out of necessity. 

“So,” he began, drawing out the vowel awkwardly. He was stalling. Clearly, he was stalling. Even he knew that. He was even shifting nervously on his feet. Like some shady nogoodnik with ulterior motives. Like he was Cayde. “This was nice. I don’t do much out of work. As you know. I don’t know too many people I’d want to spend my time with. But this was ... really nice. So. Thanks for inviting me out.”

[4fourth-blog1]

cayde-6

It took Cayde a moment to recall exactly what he was referring to—which lady Guardian and all—and he was mid-drink when it hit him, causing him to suddenly slam the shot glass to the bar.

“Oh, shit,” he breathed, sounding impossibly thrilled—even delighted—as his hand grabbed for Banshee’s arm. “You want to know how to—oh, shit! Is this a joke? Are you messing with me? No, you’re not the type and this is too funny for you to come up with. So you’ve got to be serious. Oh, shit. Oh, man. I was not prepared for this. Like, even if you’d warned me beforehand? Still not sure I’d be prepared for this.”

He leaned in again, shoulders sloped in that shady, secret way as his voice, thankfully, lowered. “So, mechanics. You’ve to get in their with your mouth first, but then II find most of them like this kind of on their hands and knees bit, and you’ve got to get a fistful of their hair to really yank them back and—wait, what are you asking? Did you mean mods and equipment? When’s the last time you did this? Please tell me you have your own gear already, you fucking nun.”

Banshee slapped a hand over his eyes, so virulent was the regret that fired through him. “Being actively mauled would be less painful than listening to you speak,” he groused, pressing his fingertips to his temples in n effort to alleviate the synaptic uproar raging through his head. The alcohol had curiously not diminished his intolerance for his idiocy. It actually seemed to augment it somewhat.

“Look. Listen,” he began. “More of the later. None of the former.” He let the silence linger between them, still not drunk enough for the admission to not be utterly humiliating. “I’ve never. Done. That. I had standard gear issued, but I’ve never touched it. Don't even know if it’s still alright. Had no use for it. Til now, I guess. And what do you mean mouth?” 

[4fourth-blog1]

lady guardian

She bit down a smile, nodding solemnly along as she noted the way he took her hand. Casual. If a little stiff.

“Dite,” she corrected, tone mild (and maybe even a little coaxing again.) “Di, if you’re feeling especially casual. I feel like I only get the Guardian nonsense when I’m in trouble or giving a report.”

If anyone in the barroom was surprised to see Dite with someone, they didn’t show it. One of the long-stretched tables bore a half-dozen Guardians in various states of debate or conversation. Dite bent at the waist, still loosely holding Banshee by the hand, to lay a too-familiar kiss on the mouth of a lady Nightstalker. They exchanged a brief murmur of conversation as the Nightstalker’s brother, who seemed to be embroiled in a heated debate with a Striker, was kicked out of his chair and shoved down the line to make room. Dite gave a brief introduction as she sat down—Artemis, Apollo (twins, she added,) Poseidon, Hermes, Athena—all practically family to her, she assured as they started right back up with their bickering like they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Don’t worry about paying,” she added aside. “Their dad foots the bill. It’s all his tab. Well, their dad is Po’s brother, actually, he’s their uncle, and they all have different mothers—the team is a mess of relations, honestly, I’d need a chart to keep it all straight for you. Better to stay out of it. This isn’t even half of them.”

He was immediately uncomfortable, recognizing most of them from business transactions he’s much rather forget. Not that they weren’t generous buyers. But their personalities left something to be desired, on the whole. He was surprised to learn she was among their ranks. 

“Yeah, I know them,” he grumbled, ducking his head a little to avoid their eyes. Not that they were looking at him. But the possibility startled him nonetheless. “They come in a lot. Request some really quality stuff. Sometimes demand it. They like mentioning their father’s tab, but I don’t work on credit. Had to have words with a few of them. But we ended up with an understanding.”

Somehow a drink was set before he and Dite both, as part of the table’s newest round. “You sure you’re not gonna lose some reputation points being seen in the public with the old gunsmith?” he asked, without the telltale bitterness that usually soured his words.  Not no Adonis here, and I know it.” He drained his cup, avoided her gaze. “I, uh ... took the liberty of looking up your name. You made some correlation between getting sent to Venus again. Didn’t know what it meant. Also didn’t like feeling stupid, so I did a little research. Goddess of Love and Beauty, right? Not such a bad name. Your father named you right.”

[4fourth-blog1]

cayde-6

“What part of I can get a woman off in two minutes did you miss when I said it?” Cayde enunciated purposefully, loud enough that the Titan sitting at the other end of the bar glanced over to them with an expression of bewilderment. “And you know what? Not much harder—what are you looking at? Move along—to get a guy off either, since I’m already bragging about it. Besides, they like the whole devil-may-care thing. Some people think I’m hilarious, Ban. Not you, but you had your sense of humor surgically excised, I’m pretty sure.”

He took another drink, triggering another rush of whatever biochemical reaction triggered the impairment of his nervous system. If Banshee thought he was rambly before, he was in for a sour surprise.

“You know,” Cayde pointed out airily, leaning far over on the bar towards the gunsmith. “The whole strong and silent type is coming back. You could do real well for yourself in the getting laid department if you played your cards right. But what do I know? Baby steps. Get drunk first.  Feel like I’m shoulder deviling here, by the way.”

“I’m sure getting anyone off has more to do with your vibrating dick than it does anything you help along,” Banshee pointed out, before taking a pointed sip of his liquor. He felt like his circuits were floating in grey matter, which indicated that he was soon broaching upon a level of intoxication suitable for his purpose.

"Alright,” he said at last, setting his cup down on the table and folding his hands in a gesture of monastic calm. “That lady guardian. The one you were talking real familiar about last time —don’t give met that look, Cayde, just listen for once— ..... I may need your advice on something. Maybe even your help.” He jerked his head away in disgust. “I can’t believe I just said that. It’s like the first baby steps of walking into hell.” 

“I like her, okay?” he snapped, more defensive than Cayde had given him nay reason to be. “So how does this whole thing work out? Like the mechanics and stuff? I figure with all the women you’ve disappointed I could at least learn through deductive reasoning how not fuck it up.”

[4fourth-blog1]

cayde-6

“A friend,” Cayde incredulously, already throwing back a sizable amount. “You don’t have friends, I’m the only person who talks to you outside of work.” He slid the bottle between them, haphazardly pouring another round. “You should have lowered your alcohol tolerance in your program, you know,” he added with the expert air of someone who did just that on the regular. “Makes for cheaper drinking. I mean, you’ve got to deal with the aftereffects even more—last time the synthetic tympanic membrane in my left ear just like, cut out for about a day. Time before that, it jacked up something in my gyroscope and I was walking crooked for half a week. Imagine explaining that to Zavala. Oh, yeah, I hacked into my biosystems to lower my alcohol tolerance so I could get more drunk for less glimmer. I mean, all things considered, it’s just kind of like an organic hangover. Feels the same.”

He paused as he took another drink, shot glass dangling from his fingers. “Wonder why I know that. Anyway. Enough about me. What’s this juicy secret you’re keeping? Or do we need more foreplay to get to that? When’s the last time you had any of that stuff?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Banshee interrupted, raising his voice a little for emphasis before letting it trail away. The liquor swirled idly in the lowball glass, and he contemplated the glint of lamplight in the amber bourbon, before downing it whole. “You’re too much stream of consciousness. Consider editing. It would make you a more tolerable bar partner.”

“It’s not a secret. It’s a sort of favor,” he corrected carefully. “And probably more liquor, yes. Don’t call it foreplay. Every interaction between us feels like getting dry-dogged, anyways.” It was a curious phrase, one that came naturally, but seemed fitting, nonetheless. “By that stuff, you mean get laid? How exactly do you get so much action, when you have the emotional sensitivity and the charm of a shit-throwing context with a monkey?”

[4fourth-blog1]

lady guardian

Her eyes slid to him in curiosity—did Exo really get high off amps?—but her smile was beatific as she laughed in her careless, full-throated way.

“Both, I expect,” she confessed. “About the stabbing. Possibly more of a me thing, but you know. Hunters and their knives. And that was an ex-boyfriend who doesn’t quite grasp the ex- part. So it goes. But that’s not interesting. Who cares about an ex-boyfriend? What is interesting,” she continued, voice lowering as if sharing a secret, “Is whether or not you really mean to come to the barroom with me. I think you might have to. To lend credence to the story, of course. If he started asking around and realizes I wasn’t really with you, he might take that as a hint to come accost me again. Of course, if you’re busy with gunsmithing…”

She trailed off with a shrug, although her arm didn’t leave the bracket of his. “You just need to say so and you can be on your way.”

“No, I’m done,” he said quickly, gruffly. That sounded too eager. “With gunsmithing, I mean. I just had that delivery to do. I’m off for the night.”

He hesitated, wondering how stupid that would sound to agree to accompany her, after he’d been so adamantly uninterested in doing anything remotely socil the last time she’ asked. 

“Your alibi aside, Lady Guardian, I’d feel better about it, anyways,” he decided. It was a good ruse. And one he really did mean. “If he’s asking after you, I can’t imagine he’s not above finding you out later. You didn’t tell him where you were going, did you? Doesn't matter. I’m coming with. He’s not accosting you tonight or ever. Not if I have something to say about it.”

He took her hand and marched in the direction of the bar. “It’s this way, right? I’ll even get the first round.”

[4fourth-blog1]

cayde-6

♠♥ @4fourth​ liked for a starter (and you can too!) ♦♣

“You know, I thought to myself,” Cayde said as he took a seat at the bar beside Banshee, “I thought to myself this is definitely some kind of assassination attempt or trap, but damn if I wasn’t too curious to pass it up. I mean, why the hell else would you invite me out to drink after—how long have we known each other anyway? Too long, Ban. Anyway, if this is a murder attempt, I walked right into it and I deserve it. If it’s not,” he added, accepting the bottle and glass from the tender with a short nod, “Then I’ve gotta wonder why we’re doing this. Oh, but apparently, some people go to bars, just not with me. The hell is that, Ban? I’m your best friend.”

If Banshee hadn't wondered if asking Cayde for advice was a bad idea, the sentiment was cemented the moment he started his fast-talking, scheister salesman thing.

Banshee let out a long sigh of displeasure, which he was sure was lost on Cayde while he was in his element, and took the first sip of alcohol he’d had in eons. He recoiled both at the taste and at Cayde’s harangue, and told himself he would just have to resign himself to both for tonight, if he was meant to get what he needed to.

“Shut up,” he said easily, more an offhanded instruction than meant to be offense. “It wasn't a social excursion, if you’re wondering. More of a favor. For a friend.” He thought immediately of Dite and ducked his head, braced and shamed both by what he’d planned to ask. 

“I’m gonna need more than one drink before I tell you,” he muttered. “And so are you. You hoarding that bourbon? Pour me one already.”

[4fourth-blog1]

cayde-6

“The hell you mean you’re not sleeping with her?” Cayde echoed with what might have been a snort or scoff. “Why not? What else are you doing with your time? And she’s totally down, Ban, it’s plain as the nose on—well, someone’s face, not mine. Let me tell you a secret about organic girls,” Cayde continued, voice lower in that tone that implied he was about to say something (frankly) obnoxious. “They’re so easy to get off. Seriously like, two minutes, if you know what you’re doing. Organic guys can’t do it like that, see. She’ll keep coming back,” he added with a smug kind of confidence. “They always do. You need some tips? Some attachment suggestions? I got you, Ban, you just ask.”

“I’m not busy racking up debts and subsisting off shitty noodles and pretending I know how to pleasure women of any sort to gunsmiths who could give less than zero shits about your bragging,” he replied pointedly. Serenely. Astutely. “Honestly, I just ... no, I shouldn’t be surprised about how crass you can be. I’ve known you long enough. I’ll come find you if I ever need advice on how to leave an organic girl excessively disappointed. ”

“And don’t talk about her like that,” he pleaded, a little plaintively,a little pissed off,  trying to reason with him. Trying. “Have a little respect, huh? She’s one of your soldiers, not one of your many fleshlights. If not for her, then for the threat of me putting one between your eyes for talking shit about a good guardian. Let’s be real, even that won’t stop you. Just ... behave, okay?”