Participants:
| Scene Title | H8 You So Much |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Dina and Ethan at Ethan's apartment. NO SEX HAPPENS. |
| Date | Nov 26, 2008 |
Dorchester Towers is home to many upper class, or more wealthier inhabitants. This apartment seems to be no exception. First impressions of this place, give a homey, and well furnished feel. Lamps are put in the right place, decorations here and there. The living room consists of a large green sofa facing the wall of windows, which has a large flatscreen TV in front of it. Speakers are installed all around for the Surround Sound feel. Next to the TV is a cabinet full of DVDs. Most of these movies include a gun of some sort in each of them. A small coffee table sits in front of the couch, a few magazines spread out on it.
The kitchen is well stocked, with a microwave, coffemaker, and of course a toaster. There is an overhead pan rack hanging over the stove which has many pots, pans, and other utensils hanging from it for easy access. Three doors lead away from the kitchen and living room. Two are large, comfortable bedrooms, complete with posters on the walls, and one is a room that is furnished with a stand up punching bag, dumb bells, a treadmill, and other types of work out equipment.
For the -extremely- well trained eye, or for someone who knows what they're looking for it would be apparent that there are little things off about this apartment. Reinstalled panels, etc, that would suggest whoever lives here has done some rennovation work. (Note:Ethan has 'toys' hidden throughout his apartment, in case of 'emergencies'.) Overall though, this spacious living area has been well taken care of, and kept very tidy.
Late evening. The TV is on, though it is muted, just a flash of different images flicking on the screen. The apartment is relatively dark. The mirrors have been replaced, and everything is as normal in Ethan's humble abode. Save for the bandage wrapped around his right hand and around his head, though his head is covered with a fedora. The man wears a dark blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black pants. The man is standing kitchen, the window is open. A cigarette is in his mouth as he puffs little clouds of smoke out into the open.
There are many things that puts Dina in a foul mood. Well, to be honest, Dina is usually in a foul mood by default. But being summoned by Ethan is always a fine guarantee of getting there. She shows up at the door to his place, and her small foot (complete with bulky boot) slams into his door a few times. Oh, the sweet sound of hello. "Open the fockin' door!" accompanies it.
It would please him very much to put the cigarette out in her eye. Though that would not be good manners. So instead it is tossed outside into the rain. Turning calmly from the window, the man makes his way down to the door and smoothly unlocks and opens it. Swinging it wide open for her, he splays one arm out for her with a bit of a bow. "Welcome lovely." Ethan says dryly, he will wait till she enters then close the door after her.
He's rewarded with a Look for his effort. Not the pleasant "come-hither" sort. More the "give me an excuse" kind. She takes a step inside, looking about the apartment. "Fine, what the hell is it tonight?" she asks, turning to face him.
Then the door is closed and locked quickly. "Please, my fine little fuck. Take a seat." Ethan says with a genuine smile as he motions to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink, a beer? Maybe some more bitch juice?" Ethan asks perkily though his eyes remain trained on the woman.
She looks back at him. "In your wildest fockin' dreams, mate. That's as close as yer ever gonna get. I'll take a beer if y' got anything drinkable in this place."
"Trust me dear Dina. I would rather taser myself in me own boys while drinking my own mothers urine and watch a Ben Affleck movie than shack up with you. I mean that in the most flattering way possible." The man says sweetly as he goes to the refrigerator. Two bottles are produced and the wolf kicks the door closed behind him as he walks back into the living room, offering one of the bottles.
There's a snort at that, but she seems to decide it's an acceptable answer. She takes the bottle and opens it, walking over to the couch and plopping down on it, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "So, what the hell d' you want?"
His eyes examine her at length, when her feet go on the coffee table he pauses for a moment. "Off." He says simply, motioning with his hand to her foot with a shoo like gesture. Ethan goes to sit in the lounge hair across the room from the couch. He picks up a black device that looks like a remote controller. "Just would like to speak to my employees, is all, Dina." He says ever so sweetly.
She looks exceedingly dubious, but deigns to move her feet off the table. "I'm not y'r employee, y' gobshite. I'm Kazimir's "employee"." That's said at a simmering boil. "You, if y' were on fire, I'd not piss on y' to put y' out."
A slow smile raises up on lips. "No, you wouldn't." Ethan concurs. "Very well. You are Kazimir's employee that I tell what to do." Then his eyes widen as if he just realized something. "Oh but of course, you only do those things because y' wan' to, and y'd shoot me dead if I crossed y'." This last bit is his best imitation of her accent. "But let's get down to it, Dina. You hate me. Now this in and of itself is acceptable. But there is a problem."
Dina looks annoyed. No, erase. Correct. Dina looks pissed off. Her accent is rather strong, and she's had no luck "Americanizing" it yet. "Shut t' fuck up, y'asshole. Don't make fun of the way I talk, y' sound like y' got a stick up yer ass with that prim an' proper." Easier to do that than to accede to talk about REAL issues.
A broad grin. She plays into his pocket. "The problem, Dina, is that there are many problems. You need a 'and to guide you. The problem is, you've let childish issues affect you far too much." He twirls the black device with one button on it around his hand, playing with it. He speaks ever so calmly, though his eyes are constantly bearing down on Dina.
Dina looks dubious. "Fock that. Every job we've ever had, I get done." Because she -does- turn professional once pan gets applied to fire. "An' what's with the detonator?"
"You have got it done, yes. The janitor in this building gets the shit cleaned off the toilets every week. He gets 'is job done as well." The question is ignored for now. "You are good, Dina. You do 'ave skills." Ethan concedes. "But the problem is. You think you're better than you are. Now. I'm offering you 'elp, Dina. I suggest you take time just this once to think before you speak. This offer comes only once. So please Dina, prove to me that you're not as stupid as I think you are." Ethan says casually, still playing with the detonator.
The detonator doesn't worry her much…anything that would blow -her- up from this vantage point would blow -him- up too. "Help with what? Despite what y' think about yerself, y'r not the only one here with skills." Though that's not a dissent.
His smile vanishes somewhat. "We already got past the fact that you can make things go boom and bang bang." Ethan says, twirling that thing in his hand. "Any thug can do that, Dina. Are you just a thug? As much as I hate to admit it, I do believe you 'ave potential to be much more than just a common thug. But to do that, Dina…" A pause as he leans back. "You 'ave to learn. And to learn, you 'ave to realize, you are not the best."
Dina looks back. "Yeh, and we already covered the "help with what". Except y' didn't answer that part. So what's this all about?" But she didn't insult him there, so that's a step in the right direction. Maybe.
"On my way." Ethan says gently. "They call me the Wolf. I never asked anyone to call me the Wolf. For the first bit I kind of 'ated the name. But it grew on me. They call me the Wolf because they fear me, Dina. A characteristic that, delightfully you do not posess. They call me the Wolf because among other things I 'ave not failed. I kill Evolved without being one. And I am very good at it." Ethan says with a light smile. "You could be me, Dina. Minus the testicles and the receding 'air line. And plus a go get 'em attitude. It's not just about bombs and bullets, Murphy. I can train you to be the best. Or.." The or goes unsaid for now.
Dina looks back at him. "Y' keep talkin' about that. -Details-. Y' say y' want to train me. In -what-? What is it y' think y' know that I don't?"
"That's the point Dina." Ethan says, a little bit of irritation flashing into his voice now. "I can train you to stop bein' an idiot. Use your skills more than your mouth. Being aware of all risks, and possibilities. Not talking about a major terrorist attack in the middle of the fucking day! Beside a FUCKING SIDEWALK!" Ethan rails. "You can 'ate me all you want. But you do not compromise me or the rest of the group." Standing now, he gives her a dead on look. "I can train you 'ow to manage your anger.." He says, his tone lowered now. "I can train you 'ow to completely manage yourself. I can train you to be completely prepared for any situation. Unless… of course, you think you're better than me." Ethan says quietly, as he goes to lean against the wall. "I would choose carefully." The detonator dangles in his hand carelessly.
The Irishwoman's gut reaction is to dismiss it out of hand. She wouldn't compromise the group. She starts sifting her memory. She -might- have, though. Her dislike for Ethan can color her responses. And possibly too much. "Fine." she says. "Y' think y' have things t' teach, I'll see if y' do. And if it's nothin' more than piss and wind, you and I will find out which one of us's really better."
"Good answer." Ethan says as he goes to plop back down in the chair. The detonator is laid on the small table with the lamp post by the chair now. He interlaces his fingers across his lap. "First off. No matter how much you 'ate someone. Never threaten. If you're going to do someone in, just fucking do it. Don't let me build my guard up. Don't let me know how much you 'ate me. Then I will know to watch out for you. Control.. Is key." Ethan says, while leaning back in his chair. "You can go now. Or you can stay and drink beer and watch TV with me."
She laughs at that. "Ethan…" One of the few times she uses his name. "Y've known I've hated y' since I met y'. There's somethin' t' be said by the other road. By lettin' y' know, y' have to be on yer guard -all the time-, waitin' for an attack. And it's a lot harder t' do that than for me t' pick a moment t' strike. S' why terrorists claim responsibility for shite."
"You might be right." Ethan says with a light shrug as he now pulls out another black device. And clicks.. This time it actually is the remote controller. And the TV is unmuted. Some reality show that is destined for cancellation in little more than a few months. He goes to turn the channel.
She considers. But she doesn't leave. Whatever her rationale, she stays in place. "Bloody yank television sucks anyway. Y' got another one of these?" She puts down her empty bottle.
His thumb jerks to the large box of cool goodies in the kitchen. "Plenty more." Ethan says kindly, lifting his own feet he places them on the coffee table, with a coy grin directed to the woman. It isn't till then that he starts on his beer.
There's a vague smirk as she stands, and walks out to his kitchen. She'll take another beer, before coming back. "So what an' when does this trainin' all cover? An' when are y' gonna get me a bloody place t' stay here?"
"I wasn't aware that was my responsibility." Ethan says smoothly, relaxing. "You are welcome to stay 'ere. I just know you would love that." A grin as he takes a long pull from his beer.
Dina looks annoyed at that. "Y'r the one who called me over here from Europe, I'm -s'posed- t' be under you. I don't have any bloody paperwork for this country; it's not like I can just go rent a flat." That whole "wanted criminal" thing.
An irritated sigh. "Like I said before, no matter how 'ard you try, I will not allow you to be under me. It's simply not professional. As much as you may desire it." Then a roll of his eyes. "Lesson one will be 'ow to get paperwork. Fake identities, all that fun fucking stuff. But for now, I'm going to watch the fucking telly. You mind?"
Dina rolls her eyes. "Fockin' men. One thing on their bloody mind. An' oh, no. Why would I mind another night spent on crates in a cold, drafty fockin' warehouse?" Dry tone.
"You can sleep 'ere. There's a few beds and a couch. Just find the thing that no one else is sleeping on." And with that the man goes to fold his arms over his chest, obviously done with the conversation.
Any additional notes fall to the bottom.
 November 26th: Little Sunshine |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 26th: Home-Hunting |