how he’d gotten there wasn’t exactly important, but he did look a little like he’d gotten the hell beaten out of him. split lip, bruised cheek, and a permanent knot in his stomach had him leaning back against an alleyway wall, hacking and groaning like a dying man. he always had a flair for the dramatic. his head leaned back and eyes focused upwards at the swirling clouds in the sky, rumbling and leaving the air sticky and heavy with rain, and he was about two train rides away from home. great. he collected himself a little better and sat up straighter at the sight of the woman, wanting to be some semblance of a gentleman when she sat down. he found himself thinking of his appearance and what exactly about it was welcoming right now, not that he was complaining. maybe the cuts and bruises made him look kinda dangerous sexy and she was wooing him with being a human ( or well, possibly android, he wasn’t prejudiced ) woman and offering pizza. that was pretty much all it took to impress him.
“oh wow, that is exactly what ass tastes like.” he says with an almost appreciative nod, chewing slowly. he listens to her speak, his head tilting slightly in contemplation, eyes returning skyward as he considered this. “maybe, i don’t know, i think the rain just kinda pisses me off rather than making me nostalgic.” his gaze then flickers to her and he remembers his earlier thought, dangerous and sexy, and off-handedly says, “you look great, don’t worry.” before motioning to his face all unceremoniously, using the slice of pizza for effect, “oh, you know…” he says casually, “got my ass beat.” he shrugs, taking another bite before speaking over a full mouthful, “you should see the other guy though.” he says, mostly just to stroke his own ego. after a quiet moment of chewing he adds, “i don’t know, this shit’s kinda fire even despite the ass taste and lingering piss smell, but more importantly, what brings you out here?”
❛ ━━━━at his agreement that the pizza tastes like ass, she raises her own slice in solidarity and says, “i never lie,” which is, of course, an absolute lie. she had to lie to steal the pizza itself, for one, and for two, if the moral good of the universe were judging solely on lies, she’d have earned her one-way-ticket to hell by eleven years old, a wee lying lass.
“pisses you off, hmm?” she repeats, eyeing the injuries. it seems like a recent fight, but there are bruises already growing on his cheeks. the purple blossoming makes her fingers twitch. she gets the sudden urge to press her finger against it and trigger the pain, in a dark and mean intrusive thought kind of way—but she doesn’t. surely, that’s a win, and it’s another compromise, she thinks, because once she gets to know him better—if they ever meet up again—she’d definitely do it for the laughs. she can wait until then. “so, is that why you’re beat up and the other guy’s, what, dead?” she’s joking—only half-so, because in a city like this, one could never be sure. “the weather triggers your flight or fight?”
zehra gives him a wry smile. “perhaps the grease and cheese just masks the flavor of blood in your mouth,” she offers. “the only thing that’s about to be on fire is our asses on the toilet later. i’m pretty sure this is a day or two old. i don’t think dairy’s supposed to sit out for that long.”
"me being out here is not more important,” she says, sighing dramatically. “i just got sick of sitting around in the dark. i think the audience is much more interested in your encounter with”—she pauses, thinking—“the infamous serial killer, jack the ripper jr? no? ah...count orlok? the one and only john cena? am i getting hot or cold?”
