capeandcowllogs | (don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me.)

Entry tags:

(don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me.)

WHO: the husband (

engineers) & the other man (

ioudas)
WHERE: somewhere between the MAC and Cross' new place.
WHEN: November 2nd, morning.
WARNINGS: Language.
SUMMARY: never insert yourself in a love triangle.
FORMAT: action to start!

(Once upon a time, Cross loved Halloween. He loved the hunt of the surge of Akuma during this day, the fact that on this day they came out in droves and that he'd kill them all and ease some sort of itch. Here, he didn't have that option of disappearing into the night and showing up years later, here he had some semblance of a life that revolved around being grounded.

Unfortunately, you can't take the nomad out of the priest, but you can take the priest out of the nomad. He'd already fucked up a lot of things with Madison, Lilian and now Danger was getting thrown in the mix. For once he had to worry about personal matters, rather than matters of placing pawns in an ever growing game for humanity. He was putting things out on the curb for the movers to place in their van before heading to the upper side of town.

On the curb, there was a box with freebees such as an old phonograph, some things that Cross had taken apart and put back together, some romance novels that Cross had been reading (including 50 Shades of Grey) and just a variety of things that a beloved eccentric would have in his apartment.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ For once in what seems like an eternity, Madison is actually not working in the morning, milling around the area in errand instead. He's been preoccupied―well, he's always preoccupied, but this time it's on a subject extended far past himself and his awful state of mental health―and distraction has quickly proved to be the only viable savior of his composure.

In one hand, he's managing to grasp a rather massive shopping bag of clothes and another bag of pastries (for all of them, he'd tell them, but mostly for Danger due to the "inexperience with tastebuds" thing.) and he's precariously flipping through his communicator in the other. In his inattentive state, it isn't a surprise that he manages to trip over the box of god-knows-what on the sidewalk, cursing all the while as the bags go flying (thank god that those edibles were wrapped, he thinks). ]

Goddamn it!

[ And he's hurrying to gather all of his posessions in disarray, gaze focused on the ground. No, he doesn't glance up. ]

(Lately, it seemed that some damn kids would take to trying to anger Cross just by generally being an annoyance to him. For the brief moment that he had gone back inside his apartment to get another stack of books and his music collection to the point of him coming back out to the curb to find all of his stuff scattered.)

You have got to be joking. Are you absolutely blind, or is this just a special talent of yours?

(He has no idea who he's sassing, and unfortunately, his bad mood is making his temper bubble close to the service. He doesn't bother to help Madison, because really this is all of the idiot who spilled all his crap's fault and he has to start piecing together what was his just to ease the neatfreak in him.)

Honestly.

[ Oh, wonderful. When he began his day he was straight dreaming to be berated by a stranger because of his own inability to look where he's walking. Now, if only that were true―Madison wouldn't be apologizing profusely and babbling apologies like he is at this very moment, gaining speed on his gathering. ]

Yeah, yeah. Look, I'm real friggin' sorry that I... I...

[ He looks up (why did he?) to meet Cross' accusing stare head-on. And.

All he can do is just freeze. It's like his brain is all filled to the brim with white noise that even he can't decipher. ]

(The feeling is mutual. Cross stares at Madison, first with a small look of shock before returning it to some sense of belligerent neutral. First he promises to not speak to Madison or Lil, then Danger shows up at his doorstep and now he's running into Madison himself. Argh, was it really too early for a drink?)

(For once, Cross keeps his big mouth shut as he puts his stuff back in his boxes. After all, he did say that he wasn't going to talk to Madison unless he found him. Alas for him, Madison happened to find him.)

[ Cue Madison just continuing to gawk. In a good amount of that time, he's convinced that he's just having another awful dream―but he musters up enough consciousness to discretely pinch his arm, heartbroken by the feeling of clear sensation.

It takes him a whole other moment to shake himself into awareness, his expression tinged in pure and total horror. This really is a surreal scenario. Running into him. ]

Wh-what?

(while he's picking up a small engine he built to fit on Timcampy, Cross finally looks up and gives him a What expression. While he does want to say that he has only half a face and one eye, he can see a lot better drunk than Madison sober, he's just too irritated with him to actually say anything.

This isn't exactly how he wanted to spend today either, at some point he has to actually start helping Lenalee start decorating her room and kindly inform her that they're living under the names of their mortal enemies as an extra fuck you to them. He just sighs, wondering what box he was taking with him and which one he was going to give away.

Well, he can't stay quiet for too long:) Care to move? I have to put my stuff back in its box. Because for some odd reason I see better than you despite the fact that I only have one good eye.

[ Today wasn't even a bad day, for once; tense, sure. Smothered in his own worry? Yeah, of course. He's still planted at that spot on the ground, but he's peering down at his hands, now, looking at his own knuckles. There's some other feeling crawling up inside his chest outside of the shock and the trepidation.

He murmurs under his breath, but with unyielding insistence. ]

N-no.

[ He must be feeling like he's a twenty-something rather than a fifty-something, because he's suddenly lunging for Cross, hand outstretched to grab at his shirt with a closed fist held back behind him (that's what he gets for putting himself at his level, isn't it?). All anger, no conscious thought. Teeth bared. ]

(he always took Madison to be a generally mild-mannered guy, so the moment that he grabbed cross's shirt, the other man just looked at him in surprise. generally, cross didn't like people touching him, it was just a horrible side effect of people trying to constantly kill him over the years.

but madison, madison was angry and as much as he wanted to knee him in the gut, it wouldn't make either of them feel any better.)

Let go, Madison. (there's warning in his voice, like a signal that there's another side of him that no one needs to see and no one needs to see that he's actually capable of taking care of himself.)

[ in that moment, madison looks at cross (really looks at him this time, not just through that thin film of rage that he last remembered having during reading those shitty texts)―hand grasping at his shirt, shaking. the snarl is the first to go, fading into a firm frown. the grip slowly releases after, hand placed on his own knee in an attempt to steady himself.

yet the fist is held high, moves back even more―tremors as it's pulled tighter. it's the knowledge of knowing how damn satisfying it would be to shatter the guy's nose that keeps it up a few more seconds, but the slow gain of logic and melancholy back into his nerves abates the urge. he settles it down, shaking his head.

they're still close enough to repulse him, but he stays firmly put. ]

You're a messed up guy. Talkin' down t'me like that, a-after...

(Cross' face is impassive, but it's sort of hard to read his face because of the large mask that covers half of it. It comes off as cold and proud, the complete opposite of how he usually is with people.

Should that fist strike, he would actually have to do something. There's only so much that a "friend" (odd how he still uses that word, but then again he only really has two sets of enemies in this world) can do before Cross actually strikes back. His head tilts, even more looking down to the older man to try and exemplify the differences between them.)

You wouldn't be the first person to say that. What do you want?

Edited 2012-11-05 04:27 (UTC)

[ The focused gaze on him inclines Madison to shift back, looking away―passion all but eroded into discomfort. Chest feeling tight and heavy, a pained sound emerges from deep in his throat. There might not be room for violence anymore, the urge having made itself out of his system, but it still feels dangerous.

As if he'd have to tread lightly just to make sure he doesn't, say, agonize himself over this plain bullshit. More than he already has. ]

I'd like my stuff.

[ There's no real conviction in his voice when he adds: ]

You're a fuckin' asshat. Y'know?

No, I had no idea until you told me. (sarcastic and biting.)

(Cross fixes himself up, fixing his shirt and his waistcoat before bending to help Madison pick up his things before Cross' own. Whether it's an act of "friendship" or whether or not he wants this to end is up to debate.

The urge to lose his temper dies down just as quickly as it flared up before. He wordlessly gets to work, organizing everything for Madison before grabbing one of his many tote bags (he shops a lot, okay) and puts them in for him.)

There. You can go now.

[ Madison slowly pushes himself up to standing as Cross gathers everything, straining himself with racking his head on what to say and do (outside of, say, a running kick to his head, which is stupid and petty and) but comes up as useless as he was before.

But there is something playing at the tip of his tongue; it edges out as he watches Cross pack the last of his stuff.

Stubbornly, ignoring the dismissal: ]

Why? Why couldn't y'just keep it t'yourself?

(Cross shoves Madison's stuff in his hands before shrugging and going back to his own stuff, packing it away neatly:)

I couldn't stand how absolutely sad she looked.

[ The shock of the statement nearly causes him to drop his bags yet again; the reflex of tightening his arms comes in just as they begin to slip. Maybe he looks crestfallen and hurt one moment, but he's in utter and seething disbelief the next. ]

Y'think that's how y'make someone happy? Tryin' t'put a stake in their marriage?

It has nothing to do with marriage.

(He looks at him, all seriousness but with a certain expression of some deep knowing of something of the sort.)

Being that lonely takes its toll on people.

It has everythin' t'do with marriage.

[ It's just so, so aggravating and exhausting. It shouldn't be this hard to get a concept across, but it is. ]

D'you know how damn f-fragile everythin' is? All it takes is [ He waves. ] the slightest... friggin'... thing... t'rend everythin' apart and ruin it again. That'll be worse loneliness. That was loneliness. A-and it's even more painful than this.

And with Danger?

(He sounds almost judgmental there, which is strange for him to do. As odd as Cross is, he's the most nonjudgmental person who works for the Vatican. Though, when it comes to claims of humanity, it strikes deep within him because he knows what humanity is capable of: the horrors and the good.)

Fighting means that there's love, there's desire; why do you think we as a species fight? Is it because we're apathetic? No, it's because we want, we need and we fight because at the end of the day we want to protect ourselves. To tear things apart is in our nature, but if it happens over and over again it means that there's something there worth tearing it apart.

(For once, he's showing that he's an actual adult.)

Loneliness is when that apathy sets in and you don't care what happens. Waking up in the morning after a fight and not feeling a care in the world. That, Madison, is absolute loneliness.

D-danger? I haven't so much as glanced at her since Lil's been here, s-so don't y'even start.

[ Those words, the whole "let me tell you what loneliness really is" thing sets Madison's teeth on edge as he waits them out. It aggravates him. As if he's the goddamn student and Cross is the teacher, as if Cross isn't the bad guy in this situation, as if he even has to listen. ]

And don't goddamn lecture me, Cross! Y'think I don't know anythin'? Y'think I underwent decades a' this and didn't learn squat? 'Cuz... you're wrong. Don't tell me what me o-or her feel is or isn't, like you're some bull existential philosopher fucker? Y'think I care about your freakin' definitions when I'm tryin' t'stay in the present and try not t'screw everythin' and anythin' up for once?

Y'ain't even my species, s-so [ he begins to fade off. ] shut your fuckin' useless human mouth.

(that sets Cross off. It isn't that Madison is screaming at him or the fact that he's avoiding the entire thing. It's the fact that Madison thinks he understands what it's like to be one of them.

Not your species. He gets still, very still and even almost a little mad at the sentiment that seems to be something that might make him lose his temper.)

You think I give a shit about species in a place like this? (the gentleman act dropped, Cross's temper showing in full force.)

Take it back, Madison. (low and menacing, as if one wrong word would absolutely set him off. Take it back.

You're the one who brought it up!

[ It's not hard to stay his ground, look him firmly in the eyes and say no. He's not some enlightened soul, he's just some creep with no qualms about trying to destroy something so difficult to maintain.

Why would he concede to him? He's not the― ]

I'm not takin' anythin' back.

(he steps closer, drawing himself up to his full height and even actually sneering. he wasn't going to tell him why, because that would mean that someone would know that exorcists were present in the city. the moment that information leaked, lenalee wouldn't be safe. never mind that there were no demons or noah here to slay them while they slept, the sort of information just sparked paranoia in him.)

Take it back.

[ even when cross draws himself up and tries to intimidate him (he sees it, he's not blind, he used to do this all the time and he can still do it too, he's not that damn old), madison just puffs up his chest and sets his jaw, tight and daring. out of the two of them, he's better, he's better, he's better in every which way.

boldly: ]

I already told you. No.

(he could have punched him in the face, he could have raged in madison's fate how these useless humans are the words that a lot of Exorcists hear before they're murdered terribly. but, he doesn't, knowing that danger would be upset should they get into a fight. cross bites his lip and unclenches his fist before shoving the rest of Madison's things in his chest.)

Just go. (he might be a terrible person, but he isn't going to go back on his word. for once, it's actually worth something.)

[ madison does just go. it's footstep after footstep of him storming away from cross with an implacable sense of irritation; he doesn't even know what happened in those short few minutes, can barely remember a thing except him getting pissed then cross getting pissed out of nowhere and then what? jesus, he's so angry and he can't even keep track of his head and the world around him. helpless, as usual.

maybe he does want to talk to the guy, actually talk to him, but it feels like there's a barrier now and it's insurmountable, maybe again.

so, he halts. stands still facing away from him. a glass jar of fresh apricot jam hovers a little out of one of the bags, holds itself in place in the air―before launching itself, very vaguely but with high velocity, in cross' general direction. ]

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