milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Another day, another city. He's not sure how long he'll be in this one - weeks, maybe a month or two, if he's lucky. He hasn't been lucky for a half-year or so now, but there's nothing to do about that except stay ready, and move when he needs to.

He'd picked the apartment because it was high up in the building. He prefers it that way; it lets him watch from various angles and lines of sight when he needs to, and gives him quick access to the roof and escape.

Not that he can see much from inside at the moment, of course, having just finished taping newspaper -- multiple thicknesses -- over the windows. It helps; the lines of text and distortion of blurry newsprint photos disguise any shadows that he might cast from within.

James takes a moment to look around. It's got everything he needs; sleeping bag unrolled on the cheap mattress in the corner, the windows (now covered), washroom no bigger than a closet, kitchenette barely bigger than that, even complete with the unimaginable luxury of a full-size fridge...

... ah. Food. Right.

He's not hungry, but food's the fuel that's necessary to keep going. It's too late to go to the market now, though. Instead, he goes to the apartment door, and opens it into Milliways.

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It's almost funny, how easily she can throw him off balance.

"Me?"

But even as he asks, he reflexively holds out his left hand for the canister, palm up.

She sets the can in his palm, taking the lid off as she does so.

"Six pinches. Generosity is not terrible."

He closes his fingers around it carefully, so as not to crush it, and takes a reluctant step closer to the tank.

"Six. Okay."

He can do that. Of course he can.

"They have survived Santo," X offers.

Carefully.

"He is made of rock. And likes to tap on the tank."

She put paid to that very quickly, but still.

"How many tanks did he break?"

Presuming, of course, that this glass is more fragile than the cryofreeze containers were. (It'd pretty much have to be.)

As he speaks, he takes a single pinch between his right thumb and index finger, and scatters it over the surface of the water.

"None. And he is not good at being careful."

She's just saying.

And as she does so, of course, the fish start swimming up to the top of the tank, mouths opening and closing in want of food.

FOOD.

"Looks like these guys are hungry."

He's a little quicker with the second pinch, and the third.

"Yes. They would eat all day."

She does not smile, really. But --

"If they could. Sometimes it is problematic."

Edited 2017-02-10 04:15 (UTC)

"They'd be like ... I don't know. Marbles, maybe."

He slants a sideways look at her.

"With fins."

"There are fish like that."

Pufferfish, sometimes. For one.

"The aquarium has them. I do not."

Beat.

"We can see them. Sometime. If you want."

He's a little slow to answer, to all appearances concentrating on the fish.

"Sometime. Maybe."

"You can ask me."

Her voice is quiet, and her expression, if James were looking at her, might be called 'sad'.

"To help."

Beat.

"I will not stop. Until they have nightmares about me. And leave you alone."

"They'll never leave me alone."

He drops the last of the food in the tank and turns to face her.

"And I've killed too many innocents."

X looks back at him, gaze even and still sad.

"One is too many. I know."

Beat.

"I have killed more than that, too."

"I know you do. And I know you have."

His own gaze is steady on hers.

"I'm not going to be the one who gets you in a place where you have to make that choice again."

"I am always in that place."

It is only the truth.

"Not on my account."

"You can decide that."

This is also true.

"For your world."

"Yes."

It continues to be something of an ongoing revelation to him, but on this much he's clear. He's not going to get other people in the line of fire on his behalf. Not if he can help it.

"It is good," X offers, after another long moment.

"To make decisions."

A pause.

"It is also difficult. Sometimes."

Edited 2017-02-10 18:44 (UTC)

"Yeah."

He slants a sideways look at her, then nods toward Jonathan.

"Does he - do they? Need feeding too?"

"Yes."

X fetches two cans of cat food a slab of meat from the fridge. She sets them on the counter and steps away.

"The bowls for the cats are by the cat tree. You can hand Jonathan his food. He is neat."

And by 'neat' X possibly means 'voracious', but whatever. Jonathan the Unstoppable cannot be contained and is not a pet.

His lips silently form the words "cat tree," but he doesn't ask. A quick look around is all it takes.

James retrieves the bowls and sets them by the cat food cans. He studies the first, then pops the top and inverts it over a bowl with his left hand.

When the food proves slightly reluctant to leave the can, he solves the problem by crushing the metal container.

Jonathan makes a disgruntled noise and trundles over, keeping himself well clear of the cats' food bowls.

He is a polite unstoppable wolverine, okay?

X does not smile.

"That is effective."

(X has never used her claws to do any of this. Nope.)

"That's what matters."

He finishes with the cat food and eyes Jonathan for a moment. Mentally, he shrugs, and then takes the meat in his left hand and holds it down toward the wolverine.

(If something goes wrong, it's the hand less likely to be injured - obviously.)