Just One Kiss, M'lady!


diogenes_icon.gif isis_icon.gif

Scene Title Just One Kiss, M'lady!
Synopsis Isis finally returns home after mission impossible. She says she will have her appearance altered and all that Diogenes asks is just one kiss!
Date August 16, 2009

Diogenes's Apartment

What an eerie apartment, scarcely lit by a lone bare lightbulb, screwed into its socket embedded in the scarred ceiling which seems as though it is about to collapse. The walls share a similar amount of cracks, marred by veins of the old sickly green paint that's reluctantly dying and falling off to reveal the ugly cement underneath it. The apartment itself is quite small. There is no hallway; the door opens up directly into the living room that serves as both the kitchen and the dining room as well, and to the left of this room is the ridiculously undersized bathroom, sporting both the bathtub and the toilet that, while unsavory, were made a little bit more hygienic than the two initially were by the flat's owner. The bedroom is situated to the right of the living room, and it's a small one, with a sizeable dresser against the wall opposite of the door-less entrance to the room, a window to the left, and the bed to the right. Cheap bed sheets are left as they were when the man woke up and rose out of it.

A bit farther away from the bedroom was the desk, pushed against the wall. It's amazing it hasn't fallen apart yet, albeit the same could be said about everything in this flat and the apartment itself. Atop the rough, horribly aged wooden surface lies the Bible, a few crumpled up sheets of paper (plenty written on them) and the philosopher's bag. The chair is missing. Well, not exactly; it is broken into useless pieces, lying at the foot of the Eastern wall, paint missing in huge chunks on it. Presumably, the chair flew in the midst of a fit of rage. The old fridge can be found in the left corner next to the exit, with a small table nearby and two chairs pushed up to it. Another noteworthy detail is the large detailed map of New York City above the desk. It has X's, and numerous, differently coloured lines were drawn on the streets, denoting certain routes that connected said marked locations. Some locales have notes attached to them. Finally, this apartment actually has old-fashioned windows. Two of them, at both sides of the desk.

After spending two days of rigorously combing the news archives in the Brooklyn Public library, Diogenes has decided to gather results he has come up with and try to string them together at home. As such, he would be find nowhere else but in front of the large map put up on the wall above the desk; crouching down ever so slightly, he's encircling a certain location with a light brown marker, which would fly onto the desk once he's done. Once he's done, a post-it note would also be put right next to the marked location to denote a point of interest.

Wearily, he would sigh, bringing his hands up to run them down the length of his visage. He was in dire need of rest, and yet he simply could not let go of this particular matter. Furthermore, he did not want to fall asleep just when Isis could arrive. Isis. Just where is she now? He felt slightly guilty that he had refused to come along, but he hopes that the redhead will understand. He did not expect the sudden shift of plans at the last moment.

She's still tired despite, or perhaps because, of the fact that she'd spent the last two days of her return to NYC hiding out. Waiting. She hadn't slept well since her excursion to D.C.

The grinding and clicking of key into lock echo softly before the door squeaks open to reveal the disheveled, redheaded little form. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. She barely cares enough to lift her boots as she walks. "Tom?"

Diogenes swiftly turns away from his map, facing the door as he hears the key slip into the lock. Isis was the only one who had the key, but as paranoid as he was, he did not give up the idea of something happening to Isis and someone else acquiring her key. Fortunately, though, his extreme fears do not come to fruition - in the doorway stood that familiar stubborn redhead that has an innate talent to get into all sorts of shit, from Evolved breaking into her apartment disguised as maintenance men, to trying to prove a conspiracy theory right.

With a light smirk that he barely squeezes out due to his own exhaustion (although one of a lighter weight, admittedly) he steps towards Isis in order to offer her support and at the same time close the door behind her. "Well, Lara Croft? Had fun?"

"Lara Croft." That earns a giggle and one of the sweeter smiles that Isis's features seem so rarely capable of constructing. She looks up from beneath the fan of her dark lashes. "Croft is hot," she adds simply, tipping her head forward and resting her forehead on Tomas's stomach. "It was… epic," she mumbles. "How'd the Sandman bit go, Inspector Gadget?" Not quite as flattering, but when did Isis ever play fair?

Considering that Isis actually giggles and smiles earnestly when she is called Lara Croft, Diogenes realises that the poor girl must be exhausted. In case the image of her shuffling like a starving zombie wasn't enough to prove that theory right, that is. "She is hot. And to think the size of her bust was a design mistake on an employee's part", he murmurs, barely restraining his grin, leading Isis towards the kitchen table where the only chairs in the entire apartment reside.

As he feels Isis's head on his stomach, however, he stops just inches away from the chair, doubtless enjoying the attention and the redhead's seldom shown cute demeanour. "Uh, it went… According to plan." A reluctant hand lands upon the girl's head, crowning it. He would hold her close and with great care, as if Isis were as frail as crystal. "Kaylee is… really something. Really scary — what she can do? Let's just say it was wise of me to make her sign up as an ally."

Kaylee. The mention of the woman draws a frown, unseen given the nature of Isis's resting head, to her pale lips. Kaylee - even the woman's name bothered her in how close it came to her own birth-given identity. Her power. Her relationship with Ash. That she got to go on the 'Sandman Trip' while Isis was flying off to D.C. to do… She groans audibly. With a great effort she pushed the trip and her growing annoyance with Dio's new ally from her mind.

She shifts, initially intending to withdraw, but she was a sucker for having the soft touch to her shortly cut hair. She rarely indulge in such affection, she'd savor it for now. And, so, she simply turns her head a bit, making it possible to look up to Tom from the corner of her dark eyes. "Get anything good?"

Although Isis's distate for Kaylee is not noticed, it is reminded as the cute terrorist groans and wriggles in the embrace. He chuckles then, running his hand downwards to stroke the admirably gorgeous red hair of the young woman; it would come down to grasp her shoulder, and soon his other hand would join its sibling to hold onto Kayla's other shoulder. Gently, he would move to crouch down and eventually sit down, gently pushing Isis to invite her to join him on the floor. Who needs chairs when you have the ground beneath your feet, right?

Provided that Isis goes along with this plan, Diogenes would move behind her and start giving her a massage. And what a heavenly massage it would be, with his fingers diligently finding every spot that would trigger light tremors. The motions of his fingers would be deliberately slow, speeding up only occasionally. "Nothing what I'd say is good — just a few loose ends. I'm just some scrawny nerd, I'm not a detective", he chortles softly.

Isis lofts a brow, the corners of her lips twitching down a moment as Tom begins to shift and disturb her comfortable position. She follows the silent welcome that draws her to the floor and bares her back to the man, though, finding herself incapable of willing up enough strength or want to object. Thank god - for it all turns to her benefit.

Diogenes's finger would be met by stiff muscles wherever they turn, as if tension was knit and born naturally into Isis's every fiber. She slumps her head forward eagerly though, a soft chirrup of gratitude radiating from her lips before she falls momentarily silent, absorbed in the first real peace she's known for a long while.

She almost doesn't answer, reluctant to shatter the blanket of silence, to disturb the precariously balanced nature of peace, affection, and understanding. These things were so fragile between a pair such as Isis and Dio. "After a nap I could help - A fresh pair of eyes can't hurt." Another pause. "Speaking of which… I'm, uh, going to go see this guy soon. Sonny." She doesn't elaborate though, dipping back into the serene sensations of her massage.

Few know that giving a massage is akin to playing the piano. You have an entire keyboard in front of you - a whole spectre of different triggers that spawn different facets of the same sensations. One's digits have to work closely together in order to bring these notes of tremors and quivers together, forging a silent melody of pleasure. From the tips of shoulders to the nape of the neck, down to the shoulder blades… Thumbs encircling flesh, other fingers roaming across the tense muscle to offer them the much needed relief. Diogenes had no idea how he was doing it; it all occured to him intuitively.

"Sonny? Are you getting involved in mob wars, now?" No, that is not the tone of concern, but rather the usual tone of sarcasm that Isis by now has gotten used to, no doubt. The following question, however, would be of a more serious nature, even if Tom lacks any sort of evidence to actually grow concerned: "What are you going to see this 'Sonny' person for?.."

Isis scoffs teasingly. "Mobs. I've already surpassed mob trouble." She sighs, and with the gesture another degree of her tension melts away beneath Dio's fingertips. "I've gotta go get some work done," she begins. Why did she feel as if she must walk on eggshells with this matter? "I'm going to go get some reconstruction - a face change." She turns her face just enough to cast a quick, half-glance over her little shoulder, to take in Tom's reaction.

The harmonious symphony that is his massage comes to a pause. Fingers grind to a hald on her shoulders to end up loosely hooked over them. Diogenes tilts his head back, lifting his gaze to the ceiling whilst letting out a deep heavy sigh. He smacks his lips and lowers his gaze back unto Isis. "It only makes sense", he admits. Yes, it made perfect sense. It was only logical. And yet Thomas was still human, despite his best efforts to shake off sentimentality and emotion. He has grown attached to Isis, and he did not want to meet another Isis the next day. It's a childish trait that humans have - they get attached to their toys, and even if they get a replacement that behaves identically, they'll make a scene.

And Diogenes really wanted to throw a fit. Lecture Isis about having taken up something that might require something as drastic as changing her appearance. Instead, however, he moves in front of her, his hands leaving her shoulders only momentarily before finding them once more. Looking into those dark pits of her eyes that hide the thoughts of the redhead so well, obscuring the pages of her life and only hinting at how much of — Thomas felt his mind wander. He did not know where it was exactly going. His dull grey eyes simply admired the visage before him.

When he wakes up, he parts his lips silently. It would take him a while to actually speak up. "If that is what you have to do. But… If it's really the case… Can I get I kiss from these lips before you change them?"

He's staring. Isis tries to look away, but finds herself… paralyzed. An internal, silent chuckle at the thought.

This guy, this man that hated the world - or at least that's what he wanted people to think - was showing her the first hints of kindness she'd actually felt comfortable with in a long while. The realization set a chill up her spine before he addresses her again.

The question entraps her as thoroughly as his unwavering gaze. Affection was one thing when it was not made so pointedly obvious, not spoken about and merely indulged in a moment of weakness. The question put all her worries under a spotlight, though. Silence reigns just a second short of leading one to believe she might simply not answer. "Alright," she murmurs, closing her eyes and leaning forward.

The reluctance is noted, and for a moment Diogenes wonders whether he should really advance. He has worked hard and long to build his Pyramid of Cheops that was his image of the world, build with giant stone blocks of sour experiences, long days of solitude and self-hatred that eventually evolved into apathy towards everything and hatred towards everyone. No one was fair, no one was kind and no one was honest. Such was the drawing of our Earth that Diogenes has painted on the canvas of his mind.

Then comes a short redhead with a name as pretentious as his alias, and tears that valued drawing apart. Ironically, she wasn't fair, she wasn't always kind, and she definitely wasn't honest; if anything, she should have solidified his opinion of the world. And yet, she didn't. This paradox enthralled Diogenes — it amused him.

His lips faintly touch hers. Slight pressure elevates to a greater one as he nibbles on her lower lip, tilting his head to nudge his nose against hers. A smirk flashes on his lips, and like words written in Braille, Isis could read that joyous grin with her lips. He would nibble on her lower lip again and then try to spark the real kiss, employing what little yet worthwhile experience he has gathered in this particular area.

The first inclinations of touch are tentative. At least until her lips find the mold of a soft smile from her companion. She shuffles on the floor, awkwardly unfolding her legs and setting them to each of Dio's sides, freeing up the distance between them to invite herself closer with a little wiggling. The effort faults her attention on her ability ever so slightly, instilling that wavering feeling of psyches lofted and suspended in imbalance before being secured back by the anchor of her will. Her sigh is a sweet tickle out across his cheeks before she tips her head and indulges the kiss further.

Similarly, Diogenes shuffles on the floor to create space for the two. For a brief moment, he considers restarting his massage, but he knows that he is nowhere near as good at kissing to blatantly allow himself to multitask. Instead, he focuses on the kiss, immortalising the woman's visage in this memory along with many others that he shared with Isis. Not all of them were pleasant; and that quite likely why it would stick with him for much longer. Order is forgettable. Chaos isn't.

The kiss, understandably, has its end like all things in life and Life itself. His unwillingness to break the kiss is quite noticeable, but he does not wish for it to drag on, either. After all, moments of happiness are best when you're left with yearning for more. And so, the kiss meets its very-much-timely end, signed by Tom nibbling on her upper lip, now. A peck would land on the redhead's nose, and then he would aim to retreat and admire the girl's cute face. As much as he wanted to comment how cute she was… Well, those who have called her 'cute' in the past know not to do that.

Isis lingers a moment, lips struck up in a half-smile. The little affection bestowed on her nose sets it to wiggling a bit. Blink blink. She leans back, allowing Tom's features to come back in focus, even if her thoughts to do. "That was nice," she whispers. A pause. She looks off to her side, towards nothing of any worthwhile interest. "Did I really just say that?" she asks aloud with a playful tone of disbelief before smirking, letting her gaze wandering back to where Tom's sits quite merrily and pleased in her peripheral vision.

With a sight and a grunt she pushes awkwardly to her feet. "I really should get some sleep. You look like you should, too," she last bit is noted offhandedly. "Then I'll help you get a fresh look at that Sandman information." She stuffs her hands into her jean pockets, makes a vague nod of her head to the bedroom, and shuffles off. From down the hall, one can hear the beginning hum of 'Hey Jude'.

Diogenes lets out a soft chortle as Isis remarks that it was nice. "Nice?", he echoes her sentiment, "Come now, I feel insulted." He chuckles, then, leaning backwards all the way until he lays down on the ground, spreading his arms across the ground. His eyes keenly follow the form that wanders towards the bedroom, which he gave up to the redhead. "It's not often that people get the chance to reshape themselves in their own image", he muses aloud. "Don't try to play God, Kayla. You're beautiful as is." He closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh. Yes, he needed sleep. And within a matter of seconds, he'd fall asleep right there on the ground, as painful as it would turn out to be once he wakes up.

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