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multiversallogs2011-08-30 07:16 am
fuckyouboots.livejournal.com) wrote in multiversallogs2011-08-30 07:16 am
Entry tags:
» welcome to my life, tattoo. we've a long time together, me and you.
Who: Cindy and Asbjørn
What: A princess trolls a bear in a tattoo shop.
Where: Howl Barrow
When: Early-afternoon on Misdi
Warnings: This is Cindy. There will be cussin'.
Call it what you want--Cindy would call it boredom-induced curiosity--but there's one well dressed woman hanging out in a Howl Barrow tattoo shop today. Indeed, she is not the type to get marked up and considering her power red pantsuit is still on and still in place, it's obvious that she isn't the customer of the moment. That honor belongs to the man lying down on his belly, getting a two-legged housecat being ridden by a man in black on his right buttcheek.
Perched on the counter in that same room, Cindy shoots a look to the artist, one that says that this customer will never get laid ever again. Oh well. It's his marks and shekels gone to waste. Cindy's just here to make jokes at his expense.
What: A princess trolls a bear in a tattoo shop.
Where: Howl Barrow
When: Early-afternoon on Misdi
Warnings: This is Cindy. There will be cussin'.
Call it what you want--Cindy would call it boredom-induced curiosity--but there's one well dressed woman hanging out in a Howl Barrow tattoo shop today. Indeed, she is not the type to get marked up and considering her power red pantsuit is still on and still in place, it's obvious that she isn't the customer of the moment. That honor belongs to the man lying down on his belly, getting a two-legged housecat being ridden by a man in black on his right buttcheek.
Perched on the counter in that same room, Cindy shoots a look to the artist, one that says that this customer will never get laid ever again. Oh well. It's his marks and shekels gone to waste. Cindy's just here to make jokes at his expense.
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Cindy pouts when he stops her from lighting up and reluctantly slips the cigarette back into the box. Damn it. "And this time, it wasn't even my fault." If she sounds proud of that, she isn't. Cindy still holds her name on that other guy at a first prize ticket.
"It'll only get worse," she continues, hopping down from the counter. "This place looks like heaven for weirdos."
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Once he's done, he grabs the shop keys, twirling them on one finger. "Coming along? Like I said, I need a break. There's a pub around the corner that's not bad and I don't have any more appointments. The other guy will be along in...mm, half an hour or so for his, just in case we get any visitors."
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"You're paying, by the way."
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"I figured as much. And it's over there," he says, pointing to the place: it's more of a food-place by day, bar by night, but sells alcohol at all times. They seem fond of the flower baskets and have a reasonably sized outdoor seating area. Inside there seems to be a fair bit of local artwork gracing the walls. "So, what'll it be?"
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"Bloody Mary." She'll get all her daily vegetables in one shot. Can't get any healthier.
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"Not that I can complain about cat-butt," he says, as he sits back down, going back a bit in conversation. "Money's money and I want out of the Inn. It feels like I'm living in a doll's house." Higher ceilings and more comfortable beds, please.
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Normally, it wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't need a place to stash her guns, her shoes, her knives, and whatever weaponry she managed to get her pretty little hands on. But with those requirments and the Militia sniffing around the place as they please? Hell no. Cindy was out of that inn so fast nobody even saw her shadow.
"Do enough cat-butts and you'd get there," she smiles after a long sip. "Or maybe cat-dicks. Cat-pussies. Whatever floats people's boats here."
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If the Militia had done another raid while he was staying there, he would probably be long gone by now. He likes to avoid confrontation for a variety of reasons, although it takes a lot to really tip him over the edge.
"I do not want to know what floats anyone's boat, and I'm quickly learning not to ask. Still, it's kind of like in nature," he says, with a mild smile. "At least this way I'm helping others to easily identify who the hell to keep away from."
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Cindy being Cindy snatches the menu from his grasps and skims the salad selections for a quick second before sliding it back across the table, looking as innocent as she pleases.
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"You're the one who said his was nice." ...he says, as though he's seen better. "For a while I half expected him to let on that he knew you."
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That doesn't mean she might not have anything to do with the next ass that comes his way. Or the next pair of breasts. Cindy's an equal opportunity troll. The waiter, who looks far too young to be out of his house without his mommy, strolls up and asks for their order. Cindy keeps it ladylike and orders a simple green salad and another Bloody Mary. Super healthy, yo.
"What's the story behind yours?"
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"There are too many to keep track of now," he says, glancing over his arms. "Some of it's just filler work. And the others..." Well, some of those have a particular meaning, and the way he looks at them says as much.
"I lived in the middle of fucking nowhere as a kid, so I was encouraged to read and use my imagination. I liked a lot of the old Norwegian fairy tales, Norse and Sámi mythology my grandmother used to tell me. That sort of thing. It stuck with me. Others are just bits and pieces I picked up over the years and liked the look of."
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Cindy knows a lot about living in the middle of nowhere during her childhood. That's exactly what she did long ago in the Homelands version of Europe. She grins quietly when she wonders what the Norse Fables would say if they saw Asbjørn's permanent shrine in their honor. A few of them would probably love it far too much for their own good.
"Only child, eh?" she queries as she rearranges her silverware just to have something to do with her hands. Cindy knows that this line of questioning will turn back to her sooner or later, but she has a cover story already prepped for that.
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"Yep. Mom owns a small farm, and that's where I grew up before I made a break for the big city. Of Oslo." He is aware of how ridiculous that last part sounds, yes. "How about you?"
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Only a few parts of that is the actual truth, enough to make the rest sound genuine. Guess which parts.
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"I moved around a bit, though. Three out of five of the Nordic countries, a few long vacations here and there, that sort of thing. Never anything like this." Some people seem used to it even, a thought which makes him just the tiniest bit unsettled.
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"Lucky you. I've been in California most of my life." Liar. "Traveled a bit to the islands and some shit states, but that's as much as I could do on a retail budget. I'm not sure if I should be stoked that this vacation came free." It's disturbing how natural lying is for Cindy, even when she means well. The fact that she's nibbling on a breadstick as she does it makes it look like she's completely bored with her cover life and maybe she is. Keeping secrets is draining sometimes, especially in a place where you don't actually have to because on the Baedal food chain, being a storybook princess is the least interesting thing around here.
"Isn't it cold as a witch's tit up there?"
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You know. In between all the monster attacks, which he is only really just beginning to get details of from his colleagues.
The turn of phrase makes him pause for a moment, given his own supernatural nature and the company he keeps. "Uh, it gets cold in winter. Warm summers, which no one outside the country believes. Been in colder. I had the pleasure of living in Svalbard for a few years. Got family there."
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Svalbard? Cindy might have been there. She can't remember. Those places all just blur together after a while. Also, she knows exactly how cold a witch's tit is. Her interactions with Frau Totenkinder have been too interesting sometimes. Also disgusting. "Still live there?"
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"No, I moved up to Tromsø about...oh. Five months ago?" That long. He seems a little surprised at the answer himself. "I lived in Stockholm before, and Göteborg before there." The last one getting said just a beat too quickly in succession.
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"What's with all the moving?"
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Whenever possible, Asbjørn doesn't lie. Lying means someone can find out what you're trying to keep hidden, have something to hold against you, and he's already got a huge thing to keep. No, the trick for him is to tell as much as he's comfortable with, blind-siding people with information.
"If it's, uh, all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it," he says, looking a little miserable and little harder around the eyes at the same time. That part, however, is completely sincere.
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With a nod, she spears a cherry tomato on her fork and pauses to speak before biting it in half. "Fine with me. I don't poke where I'm not welcome." Which is a lie most of the time, but right now, it's the truth.
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"Guess it's just one of those things as well. I can never really see myself settling down for very long. Unless it's forced on me," he says, side-eyeing their general surroundings.