thisavrou_log | Being neighborly

Entry tags:

Being neighborly

Who: Anderson and Venom (although if you would also like a log with me, please ask!)
When: A couple days after her arrival
Where: Kauto-1 apartments
What: Anderson tries to get acclimated to her surroundings, but finds it hard to relax with the mental snarl that is the person in the apartment next door.
Warnings: Nothing, I think?

[ It's not that Anderson doesn't have scruples about how she uses her powers. She absolutely does. But being stranded in what is apparently a different dimension, not just somewhere out in space past human colonization, and then being told Judges don't exist here-- in any capacity-- has her more than a little out of sorts, and she's used to being authorized to exercise her own judgement in use of her abilities. If she needs to use them to make a threat assessment, she does so, without any hesitation.

And she can't help still being in threat assessment mode a few days after arriving. Certainly, if she's going to be living somewhere, she needs to make sure those around her aren't going to turn volatile. She's used to the Judge's quarters being her one solace from the stark hostility of Mega-City One, a place where she can trust the people nearby not to be violent without having to scan them. Indeed, scanning other Judges is usually too rude for her to sanction without cause. It's a place to relax.

She's nowhere near to relaxing here, especially not when she detects what she can only characterize as an unprecedented snarled tangle of a mind nearby. It doesn't seem insane in the way she's used to feeling, meaning unstable, but it's nothing she's ever sensed before, and she doesn't have just cause-- or the proximity, or the backup-- to go digging deeper. She decides to do this the old-fashioned way.

Anderson is still in her full Judge's get-up out of silent nerves for going unarmed and unarmored when she strides unerringly to the front door of the apartment the mind resides in, and knocks. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ By way of contrast, it's a regular morning for Venom: a slam-two-cups-of-coffee morning, a put-on-some-music morning, a do-mountain-climbers-until-his-lungs-burn morning. The best way to combat the hazard of a wandering mind is to occupy it with the certitude of mundane activities, so he takes to his daily workout with the pragmatism of a finely-tuned automaton. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But, like most good things, his monotony comes to an end with a knock at the door— a sound as unexpected as it is rare. His first instinct is to break his plank and reach for the firearm that he always keeps just within arm's reach, but he breathes, levels himself, and makes a mental reminder that the normal binary of threat or nonthreat doesn't apply here.

Might be that someone just ran out of milk for their cereal, after all.

So when he answers the door, finally, after a good minute or two of dead space, he's not kevlar-clad or armed to the teeth with rifles and combat knives; if anything, he's as innocuous as a six-foot man with scars mapping his face and torso can be, even if a quick scan of his thoughts speak to the inherent caution he's sporting just under his placid surface.

He tips his head. The shrapnel in his forehead glints dully in mid-morning light. ]

...Might have the wrong door.

[ He doesn't recognize her, is what he's saying. He's pretty sure he'd remember if he ran across a young woman who looks like she's walked right out of a PMF. ]

Edited 2017-06-02 14:31 (UTC)

It's the right one, [ she says in response, implacable and calm. Thank God for her Judge's training in how to handle situations entirely out of her experience.

Whoever she'd been expecting that mind to belong to, she's not sure she'd have picked this. A large, muscular man covered in scars and an eyepatch, visually formidable enough to give even her internal pause with the acknowledgment that this is not someone she wants to try CQC on. She knows the shrapnel isn't the cause of that tangled mind, has felt a multitude of brain injuries before and the impact of stroke and every other personality-altering, neuron-damaging impact. Whatever it is, it's not that.

Good thing she's good at bluffing. Anderson never tries to hide her abilities, but leading straight out with them is not usually a good idea, either. Especially when she's trying to investigate something. ]

I just moved in. Number three. [ So, literally next door. ] I thought I'd introduce myself. My name's Anderson.

[ This is what normal, neighborly people do, which she knows because she remembers it distantly from childhood and her parents. Poor people a hundred meters from the Cursed Earth have little to depend on but each other, and her parents were part of that. She thinks (hopes) she's confident enough to pull it off smoothly, plays up how at odds her innocent, open face is with her presentation. ]

[ He watches her with the acuity of a sniper behind his scope, single-eyed and nearly unblinking. It's an expression that isn't strictly civilian— even a 70-year-old man with a grudge against millenials doesn't look at the kids passing his porch with such scrutiny— but it's also one that loses its sharpness once Anderson opens her mouth.

The answer to her statement is a low hum, coarse without being rough. If he looks skeptical, well.

Her outfit might be the reason. ]

Thought you were recruiting, for a second. [ A dry joke, delivered quietly but without timidity; the implication might be that he's already spoken for, but that's a lot to read between the lines.

This is also something he's patently not used to, the whole 'hi, we're neighbors and I brought egg salad' deal, so he continues to occupy the majority of the entrance with his bulk, blocking the view to the interior of his accommodations with a casual lean of shoulder to doorframe. Still, as sparing as he is with his words, he's not rude, so here's his addendum: ] —Ahab.

[ A quick return introduction, and an offering of his hand— his real hand, not the blood-red bionic that's keeping his front door open. ] Anyone helping you get situated?

[ That combined with the low, steady thrum of invisible caution makes it clear enough to her that this is anything but an impulsive, callow criminal. The combatant part was obvious from the start, but this sort of response speaks of discipline and training. Something like the Corps, maybe? She's all too conscious of how very little her frame of reference means.

He has a sense of humor, which is a surprise. His overall demeanor is so like Dredd already that she wasn't expecting that either. Anderson's lips quirk briefly. ] My outfit doesn't recruit that way, [ she answers, in a sort of slight return joke.

Ahab, huh? Anderson's used to confrontational citizens and doesn't think anything of not being invited in and him moreover blocking the doorway. That's just good protocol. She shakes his hand without any reaction to the obvious prosthetic, her own still gloved. ]

Not really. If anyone I knew was here, I would know it. [ Not that they're personal friends, but the only connections she has to speak of anymore are other Judges, and they're not known for subtlety or staying under the radar. ]

[ Pry Venom apart by the seams, and he's a steady stream of contradictions: a quiet undercurrent of impotent rage with a heavy dose of duty and discipline to keep it at bay, a river of resignation made gentle by empathy and patience. If she sees images of bloody hands, it's a twofold vision of a medic's hands running over a young woman's scarred stomach and a soldier's hands picking human refuse from under his fingernails.

Still, somehow, the man in front of her manages not to look totally unhinged. He even manages a faint uptick of a scarred brow when Anderson quips back, as if the easy rapport surprises him.

Another mm, as he lets go of her hand. ] So you're saying you're resourceful.

[ Maybe there's a sliver of fishing here— friendly interrogation 101, courtesy of a certain Russian with a penchant for information collection. It's innocent enough, since Venom has no ulterior motive to speak of aside from idle curiosity. ]

Edited 2017-06-02 15:28 (UTC)

[ She doesn't pry too deep, especially not now that she's actively speaking to him and nothing so far has indicated maliciousness. If he has a mountain of lingering PTSD, that's not her business. She's not sure she's ever met someone without any, and she's seen a lot worse in someone's head than that quick flash of bloodied hands, two pairs.

It means nothing. It doesn't say why he was fighting, or who was killed. Someone scanning her mind would see all that and more.

Anderson is equally a little taken aback at the easy back-and-forth, but she's hard to ruffle and continues it smoothly, not minding the covert fishing whatsoever. ] I have to be. [ She'd be a poor example of a Judge otherwise, which isn't to say that she isn't, but she's at least not corrupt and she doesn't flinch anymore when she needs to shoot someone. ]

Is that you offering?

[ A part of Venom is still wary, suspect of the fall-in-your-lap ease with which he's been handed a neighbor with obvious tactical experience; it's easier for him to be around people who have had similar experiences to his own, but the even ground doesn't necessarily mean smooth sailing.

That said, he's also sure enough of himself that he knows he can handle himself in the off-chance that something goes south. Right now, Anderson is appealing to his sense of diligence, which is to say—

—he's always been bad at not picking people up when he has the chance to. ]

I've got time.

[ As a substitute for "sure, what do you need to know/see?"

He's a little sparing on his words, unfortunately. ]

[ Of course, he doesn't have the benefit of reading minds when doing threat assessment. Anderson is something like a mirror: she will match the level of hostility others feel towards her, whether they consciously mean to or not. In the absence of it, she's extraordinarily easy-going.

His mind might be a mess, but he obviously still has emotions, and she can sense those just fine.

True to form, Anderson rolls with the turn of the conversation. This wasn't what she'd meant by coming here, but her preliminary investigation is complete and she doesn't have a reason to pry further. Might as well ask for help where it's offered with her other primary problem, which is... rather more mundane, but not something she can ask just anyone. And she can already tell he's more likely to know the solution as anyone else she could pick. ]

I should probably look less like I'm about to start a firefight at any given moment, [ she answers, some self-aware deprecation creeping into her tone. There's the faint warmth of humor as she truly starts to relax. She knows she's been making people nervous-- impossible for her to miss, that one. ] But I haven't had to conceal carry in my life. Know anywhere for me to buy a holster?

[ Requisitions other than being handed official gear is something of a mystery to her. Plus her Lawgiver might not just slip into a standard holster in this place. ]

[ Venom waits for her question to hit, and when it does— well. He almost laughs, in that characteristic way that men how who have forgotten how to make that sound do; shoulders turning inwards, throat constricting to breathe an exhale that borders on buoyant instead of weighted.

Of course she's asking him about firearms. Of course. ]

You think I'd know.

[ A flat statement, desert-dry but tempered by that ever-pervasive patience. The sentiment being projected here isn't annoyance, as much as it is a degree of amusement at his own expense. Is he really that obviously not a civilian???

(Clearly.)

When he tips his head and gives Anderson another once-over, the expression is slightly more casual. ]

—You're not wrong. [ There's literally zero point in hiding it, so: ] Might have a spare one you can use, even.

How big are we talking about, here? [ Handgun? Assault rifle? Grenade launcher? You name it, he's got something to carry it. ]

[ She feels secretly proud of herself for getting such a reaction. She can feel his humor like a skittering lightness across her senses, an abrupt clearing of fog to something cleaner.

In reflection, she automatically smiles. Anderson knows she's not wrong; she rarely is, since she cheats. ]

Just one. [ She reaches down and unholsters her Lawgiver, which looks almost comically large in her small hands. The implied kickback makes it something someone her size would not ordinarily carry around casually, but she holds it not only confidently but as part of herself intrinsically. A Judge's Lawgiver is never recoded to someone else, and since no one else can use it and it's her primary weapon, she has some undeserved sentimentality about it. It's just a weapon, and it kills people. Her sentimentality has always been a problem.

Anderson holds it up for inspection without pointing it anywhere or offering it out. She also doesn't caution him not to fire it, not after how that had saved her with Kay. She's never forgotten that. ]

A little worried standard issue wouldn't work for it. I think it'll have to be under my arm. [ She'll never be able to feel safe with anything that takes an instant longer to draw. She has her own batch of PTSD by now. ]

Edited 2017-06-04 12:41 (UTC)

[ Venom only takes the firearm from her after she offers it, which speaks to his familiarity with gun etiquette. His inspection of the weapon is efficient and practical, with none of the showy posing that occasionally comes along for the ride when you hand a gun to an amateur with a penchant for theatrics.

The technology is beyond him— his Mk22 is an antique, as is his Cold War era assault rifle— but a gun is a gun. A spark of curiosity flits across his single eye, but that's less the look of a boy on Christmas Day and more the look of a scholar in a library. ]

Shoulder holster, then. [ He hands the weapon back to Anderson, understanding that these things become an extension of a soldier's body; a field agent is only as good as the arsenal he or she keeps close.

And since it's becoming cumbersome to hold the door open with his foot, he props it in position with a stopper. A subtle vote of confidence in Anderson's favor, punctuated by the eventual sound of paws skittering on hardwood flooring. ] Need a mag pouch to go with it?

[ A vague motion of 'stay here, I'll get it', while he steps aside to let his wolfdog approach his visitor with caution. Venom murmurs a quiet DD in lieu of "behave". ]

[ She can appreciate an academic interest in someone else's tools. She has to confess some curiosity to everyone else's here, past the mental note to become familiar with the local weaponry in case she has to disarm someone.

Reholstering the gun, she takes a single step in, pausing as she sees the... dog? ] No, I'll manage. [ Lawgivers hold most of their ammo internally, anyway.

Animals have straightforward minds, something she usually finds refreshing the few times she bothers to scan them. DD's is a little more complicated than most given his intelligence, but it's underlined by the same lack of doubts, the same devotion. Her smile lingers faintly at feeling it, and she automatically thinks better of someone who inspires that in his dog.

She slips into a half-crouch to offer her hand for smelling. ] Hey, [ she greets quietly. ]

Edited 2017-06-04 17:19 (UTC)

[ Here's something that lends some bit of humanity to the horned man with a sandpaper voice: he matches accessories with his fucking dog. DD rubs his nose against Anderson's hand, appraising the offer, before using her outstretched fingers to scratch just under the strap of his eyepatch.

(Much like his owner, his intimidating stature is at odds with his mellow temperament.)

If Anderson cares to look past the open entrance hall into the sliver of living room peeking from the other side, she'd be able to tell that the furnishings are sparse and Spartan: utility-based, nondecorative. Not terribly surprising for a man who keeps spare shoulder holsters in the same way that a normal household stocks up on loaves of bread.

Speaking of. When Venom comes back, it's with three different candidates in two different colors (black and brown), just in case she cares about the #aesthetic (Kaz does). ]

They're broken in. Pretty sure they won't chafe. [ If she doesn't mind that they've already been used by sweaty old men... he doesn't seem to think this is an issue, because of course he doesn't. ] Might need to get the straps adjusted, but they're otherwise good to go.

[ Her smile widens at DD's friendliness and matching eyepatch, and she obligingly scratches exactly where he wants. Being an empath has some silly side benefits like this: she knows exactly where just by listening to the changing frequency of satisfaction.

Anderson pulls herself away with a last pat before rising to stand straight, accepting one of the black ones automatically. She doesn't care about aesthetic, but she's been so conditioned that all of her gear is solid black that she doesn't think twice, and goes about a cursory check of the fit.

She definitely does not mind it being used by sweaty old men. Frankly, that's the most familiar part of this. He's already reminding her intensely of a more laid-back Dredd. ]

Thank you, [ she says simply, honestly. ] Let me know if I can do anything to return the favor. [ Where she's from, things aren't done for free; they're done with the implicit expectation of return later. On a more humorous note, she adds, ] Although I'm not the cookie baking type.

[ Venom runs a quick mental diagnostic of Anderson while he watches her test her new gear, and draws up a precursory report on what he can tell of her character so far: efficient and no-frills, without being austere. Her previous statements lead him to believe that she didn't have much in the way of a civilian life before assuming her duties. 'Started young' is the phrase that comes to mind.

(they're getting younger every year, it seems like.)

She also subscribes to the pragmatic idea of services offered in exchange of services given, and offers it without much in the way of hesitation.

So. Verdict: trustworthy. ]

Only favor you can do me is not showing up in full armor next time. [ A mild huff. This is likely difficult to identify as a sound of amusement or annoyance being that his expression never shifts too far from neutral, but there aren't enough barbs in his tone to imply that he's truly bothered. ] That kind of stunt could land you with a weapon to the face, if you're not careful.

[ He's. Joking, probably. ]

[ She's been making her own quiet background assessment, withdrawing her empathic feelers more the longer the conversation goes on. It gets stranger to do it with someone who's not a perp and doesn't know she can. Anderson has gauged that there's something odd, something unique, in his background, but also that he's completely functional on a day-to-day basis, and if he's prone to violent outbursts as a result, it's nothing she's capable of predicting right now.

She suspects his dog wouldn't love him so much if he were, though, and he seems even. It really does remind her of Dredd.

So little on the surface and so much underneath... She wonders if anyone else who meets him ever really realizes just what is there. She'd only gotten that one glimpse as the chief's request, but it'd been enough. It had made an impression on her. It also hadn't been something she felt she was entitled to plumb the depths of without invitation, and Anderson definitely did not expect an invitation. She extends the same assumption here, and accordingly withdraws completely. At least for the time being.

She smiles more openly at him now, taking it with the kind of humor that is, if not black, at the very least gray. ] I have to go shopping, [ she agrees. ] Just wasn't sure what to think at first. And it felt... wrong, to be out of uniform. [ In a possibly threatening, totally alien situation, for sure. The stupidity of it would easily get her killed at home, and if not, thrown out after all her hard work at getting in. ]

[ Her sense of caution is admirable (not to mention not unwarranted), which is why Venom doesn't try to be particularly patronizing when he opens his mouth. Who's to say that the natives on the planet don't practice unconventional cultural customs when someone comes knocking at their door?

Besides, Venom is guilty of his first instinct being to reach for his gun, so he has no moral high ground to stand on. When Anderson smiles, he'll spare a thin one in return for her trouble. ]

Work back at home doesn't give you much downtime, does it.

[ The implication here: I can relate. ]

Downtime? [ A tiny, short-lived smirk. ] Judges are never off-duty. We're still entitled to sentence criminals even if we're walking around in civvies.

[ This is a return offering in response to the invitation in. She's not exactly keeping what she is a secret, but Anderson also isn't carelessly spreading the information everywhere. She's realized by now that most people assume she's military of some type, and they're not totally wrong, but-- not right, either.

It seems that being a Judge is unique among everyone else's worlds. She just doesn't know what that means. ]

[ If she's expecting dubiousness from everyone that she mentions her job description to, she'll also get the sentiment from Venom— albeit in a way that's likely far more muted than his counterparts. The expression that quirks his brow a fraction of a centimeter upwards is equal parts curious and skeptical, followed by a smoothing over that seems, at least, to be self-aware.

You're probably gonna get this a lot, is what he doesn't say. ]

You've got that kind of jurisdiction? [ Disbelief creeps into his voice, but barely. ] Sounds like you passed law school with flying colors.

[ Don't get sassy, Venom Snake. ]

[ She appreciates his understated reaction, at least, and doesn't mind the sarcasm. ]

Yeah. I do. [ And no, she really didn't, but she doesn't add that part. Anderson sees no reason to undermine herself this early on. She's relaxing; that doesn't mean she's gotten stupid, or incautious. ] It's the way things are, [ she goes on, with a ghost of a shrug, an expression of acceptance. ]

I didn't think it was weird until everyone else here started acting like it was.

[ She can't lie: it's making her doubt. Making her self-conscious. ]

[ That's interesting— he doesn't have a frame of reference for a judiciary system that expects one person to be both judge and jury. Maybe executioner too, if the giant firearm is any indication, but he won't assume.

For a few beats, Venom doesn't react. As if the information isn't sinking in, or he doesn't care to let it. It's a moment of vague consideration that stretches just a little too long to be comfortable, but it mercifully breaks with a cant of his head. Wolfish and steady, heralding his words. ]

It's unconventional. [ Is what he starts with. Honest, if slightly too blunt. ] No human is infallible.

[ She's fine waiting for him to process it. Anderson is a relatively patient person, mostly because she understands how much people tend to have going on. It makes her more sympathetic.

His answer makes her raise her eyebrows. She'd still take blunt over dishonest any day. ] People keep saying that, but I trust myself a lot more than I trust any system. Including mine. [ Cynical? Absolutely. That's probably more revealing of how much corruption she's used to dealing with than anything else she could say. ]

I want to make a difference. Being a Judge lets me do that. [ It's really that simple for her. Not that doing it is simple, but that's another story; how hard she has to work to make herself into someone the Judges will keep around, while never losing track of why she's doing it at all... That's a tough line to walk. ]

[ Ah, that first bit is another vote of confidence in Anderson's favor: she doesn't trust the system that she's a part of, which means that she has perspective. That's important in any line of work, especially ones that involve navigating in gray-area waters.

So he eases up on the grilling. It's not as if he can pretend that he hasn't meted out punishment in the name of questionable justice— nothing, and he really means nothing, has ever been beneath him— and he hasn't got a leg to stand on when it comes to fallibility. ]

Hm. [ Is that assent? Dissent? Idle contemplation? Whatever it is, Venom sees fit to move on. ] And you're doing that alone?

[ She doesn't need his approval-- probably obvious in how unconcerned she is about explaining herself. Anderson does it because at heart she is a sociable person; she wants to reach out and make connections, and she doesn't mind sharing who she is with other people if they can handle it. She's self-protective by necessity, but not defensive.

She just doesn't need to be. She's made her choices and she is going to see them through. ]

There's plenty of other Judges, but we mostly operate independently. There's too much crime to send us out in groups unless it's a big job.

I have to be able to handle it on my own, or I'd never have been given a badge.

[ This really isn't a brand of peacekeeping that Venom is familiar with, but there's really no reason to believe that Anderson is doing anything but telling him how it is. Still, it seems like vigilante justice under the umbrella of a system. He's not going to speculate how effective it is. Again, not his business.

Again, all he does is fix his sniper's focus on her, and ease up with his open body language. ]

If that's how it was, you're gonna be bored here. [ A mild exhale, toeing the line between a sigh and a chuckle. ] This place isn't much in the way of challenges.

[ The horrifying part is honestly that it isn't vigilantism -- there's too much oversight for that. All of the horrible things are done with full sanction and weight of a government, and Judges acting independently, who go rogue, do get brought down and brought in. They have tremendous leeway while out on the job, but they do have to report their decisions and they do get questioned later if they have regular problems with judgment.

It's right there in the name: they have to have impeccable judgment. It's part of way Anderson has such a hard time passing her tests. Her judgment leans to the merciful, and she's had to iron that out of herself as much as she can.

She releases tension as he does, allowing her nose to wrinkle slightly. Anderson knows it makes her look childish and about her age for once, so normally she suppresses the reaction, but. ] I've been worried about that, [ she grouses. ] I don't enjoy shooting people, but downtime is gonna be weird. And there's no police here at all.

[ No, she's really not over that. ]

[ It's almost funny, almost, how Venom keeps running into workaholics who are decades younger than him and have the capacity to do work that would usually take three people to get done. He could see her as someone he'd send to South Africa for an infiltration, someone who he could trust to parse the politics of HUMINT operations and come back asking for more to do.

So it's a good thing that he's not brushing dust out of his eye in Zaire, reaching for his Fulton Recovery Device and asking if they have an opening in the Combat Platform barracks.

His scarred lip twitches upwards, just barely. ]

The locals don't believe in peacekeeping. [ Read: "Can You Believe This Absolute Horseshit". ] Think that maintaining order is implicit, instead of learned.

[ Again, "Can You Believe This Shit." ]

[ Truthfully, she'd be amazing at that job. Anderson does best when she's allowed independence to exercise her own judgment, which is excellent. Complicated, messy, nuanced situations might as well be her specialty, or they will be once she grows into her Judge's shoes a bit more, so to speak. She's still a little green at the moment. Four months as an instated Judge in Mega-City One is probably the experiential equivalent of five years on the force anywhere else, but to her, she thinks of herself as someone with a lot more ways to go.

She would enjoy the lack of oversight and chance to rescue people, though. That's for sure.

Anderson gives a measured, bland look back. Very controlled. ] I don't know if it's learned, either, so much as forcibly kept in check. I was trying to find out what I'm legally authorized to do around here, in self-defense and if I step in somewhere, but I didn't really get any answers.

[ Translation: "Do We Have To Put Up With This Shit?" ]

[ Similarly, Venom would be fascinated to see how things work at Mega-City One (it'd probably be a good place to test his limits), so they have a lot to work with— Venom just doesn't know it yet.

And ah, good, he's glad that they're both on the same page about this being Actual Bullshit, because no one else really seems to share his opinions about how utterly ludicrous it is that self-defense, in the eyes of the natives, can be construed as 'senseless aggression'. So here's his take on it, with the same sort of controlled exasperation: ]

Difficult to say. There's no written code of law here.

Seems like they mete out punishments depending on the severity of the action. And reaction. [ Which is??? So subjective, like, what even is that supposed to mean???

Venom isn't the eye-rolling type, but there's a spiritual equivalent of that here, in how he rolls his exhale through his teeth. ]

[ She's absolutely on board the this is ludicrous-- ludicrously stupid train. She'd reserved judgment at first, because she'd just gotten here and needed to learn more before she felt comfortable making an assessment, but nothing so far is reassuring her. Rather than it being some odd alien custom that works out in practice, it feels shady, ambiguous, exploitative. ]

Subjectivity has no place in law enforcement, [ she says with all the bluntness of a totalitarian police officer told there's no explicit laws here. An unsettled disgust is buried under her words. ]

That's too easy to take advantage of. [ Anderson shifts her weight. ] Someone told me they committed a crime, and someone else got punished for it. That's the way gangs operate, not governments.

[ A moment of hesitation, and Venom reaches inside the pocket of his sweatpants for his electronic cigar. It goes between his lips and rests there, unlit, as if he enjoys the weight of the object settled against his teeth than the actual process of smoking itself.

In reality, he's just being courteous; he can take the artificial nicotine vapor or leave it, but sometimes he just wants to fill his lungs with tar until he can't taste anything else. ]

Here, the one who can make their case more convincingly wins.

[ That isn't untrue for some situations in his homeworld, too, but he refrains from making this too philosophical. Instead, he looks over his shoulder and into his living room, and offers: ] You want to come in?

[ She's not really expecting the offer, and looks faintly surprised before stepping more fully inside, shutting the door behind her. ]

Thank you. Getting practice being neighborly? [ she quips, feeling at ease enough for that now. ]

First time for everything.

[ Is his return quip, as he turns on his heels and gestures for Anderson to follow him to the living room. His wolfdog has retreated to the foot of one of the couches for now, which Venom motions to as a candidate for his guest to sit on; he figures that the half-polished combat knife on the coffee table and the kevlar armor strewn around like furniture won't raise eyebrows at this point. ]

There's strength in solidarity when you don't know who your enemies are. [ Or if they even really have enemies at all— that too. ] You're new. Stress can build when you least expect it.

[ Honestly, it just looks homier to her with cared-for weaponry strewn around. She takes a seat as invited, briefly scratching DD's ruff again in acknowledgment as she sits. ]

I've been treating this like a hostile situation, [ she confesses in a quiet, low voice, keeping her gaze down near her knees. Speaking about stress and strength in solidarity sounds so odd to her ears. Judges operate alone, for the most part; certainly she has plenty of reason not to trust other Judges after the ones that'd been bought to murder her in Peach Trees; and stress is something to be managed on your own, in your own time. Anderson remembers her parents and childhood enough to understand social support systems, but it's been so long... ]

I'm not sure when it'll really sink in.

[ Venom's footsteps recede, padding beyond visual range and silencing themselves altogether. For the courtesy of his housemates, Venom's taken to making actual noise like an actual human, but sometimes he forgets that the weight of his feet on the floor and his continued presence should be a given; he's become so acclimatized to laying low and blending with the scenery that, on occasion, he still manages to vanish.

He reappears on the tail end of Anderson's confession with a glass of water in hand, making sure to rest the item on the coffee table instead of coming up from behind and offering the item over her shoulder. That never seems to go down particularly well. ]

That makes two of us.

[ Venom doesn't sit— he leans, back to wall and shoulder to windowframe. ]

Our day-to-day is mundane, but danger strikes sporadically. Most of the time, we're not the specific targets— just caught in the crossfire.

This place isn't hostile, as much as it is indifferent.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Being neighborly

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject