Sorry, Not Sorry


devi_icon.gif zachery_icon.gif

Scene Title Sorry, Not Sorry
Synopsis Zachery swings by Devi's office to clear the air, only to find answers and a new friend?
Date May 27, 2019

Raytech NYCSZ Branch: Devi's 'Office'

It is a Monday morning. A slow Monday morning. The sort of Monday that just doesn't seem to want to move forward. And yet. Somewhere in a Raytech hallway, someone is whistling a cheerful tune.

This week is Zachery's first full time week as an intern, and his stride is confident, his head high, and his arms full. One of his hands - splinted in blue, keeping his bundled up middle, ring and pinky finger sticking out straight - holding a black and hot pink box with a greeting card sliding around on top, while the other holds two coffee cups against his white dress shirt. Not even coffee from work, no. Special coffee. For a special occasion.

And for someone that he has been meaning to meet. Again.

His whistling finally stops, though not on account of a few passers-by glaring at him on his way past. Rather, because he reaches Devi's office door. With his hands occupied, he THUMPS an elbow against it.

"Are you in here?" He sing-songs, keen eye scanning the rest of the hallway, "I hope not, because I've got Irish coffee, and it's mine if you're elsewhere. Devi."


Just the swivel-headed stares of a few nosey neighbors on their way.


The door cracks open and a hand, tipped with electric magenta nails and embedded with various, permanent scribbles aims to grab Zachery by the collar and yank him inside.

There door hisses closed behind him, the magnetic-electric security lock tick-ing into place. Devi releases him with a flick of her fingers and a hurried backstep. Her lips, a vibrant violet today, churn up a sneer as she watches him expectantly.

The stares are met with tight-lipped smiles. Hello, colleague. Just doing a colleagueish thing! Pleased to meet y- "GHHrk."

One might think Zachery's used to being yanked around from the way he recovers and stays upright. The truth of it might also be that he just really, really doesn't want the whiskey-laden coffee to go to waste, which seems especially likely with how he CLUTCHES it to his chest. Fortunately only just tight enough to have it bubble past its plastic lid, and no more.

The box, however, is not quite so fortunate. It slips from his already more or less incapable-of-grasping hand and falls to the ground to land, right side up, with a flutter of folded lid offering the briefest glance of… baked goods?

The card atop it goes tumbling until it lands at Devi's feet. It's got a little bird on it, with a cheerful bit of text underneath.

Then, right underneath, in blue ballpoint pen,

He does not, in fact, look apologetic when he looks back up at Devi. Oh no. Bright eyed (one moreso than the other) and grinning. "… All right." Sure why not. "Coffee?"

A squint bringes cat-eye lined lashes down until Devi’s dark eyes are piecing little slits. A purse lips expression is sucked with a little pop before her tongue passes visibly over her pearly teeth. Finally…

“You’re lucky people saw you come in ‘ere.” She holds out her palm expectantly. “Irish, you said? That means whiskey, not roofies - ya know.”

The tall woman framed in free, dark locks is only a couple inches shorter than her unwelcome visitor, but it doesn’t help make her feel any less encroaching. The biker remains close, the box and card at her feet. Behind her are her normal three workstations in the sterile-white office: a angled, backlit drawing table; a workbench bearing small Raytech-sanctioned gizmos; another work surface bearing a greasy, half-disassembled motor. A couple of rolling stools are set up around the cramped room, appearing inviting except for the fact that they are on the other side of the prickly, raven-haired femme.

Zachery does not move from his spot, fumbling to get one of the coffee cups into his splinted hand, while offering the other one over. He's good at the door. He'll wait, with that mirth that does not reach the top half of his face.

"Oh, I know. Besides, you knocked yourself out, remember? Oh wait, that's right. You probably don't." He nods downwards, but keeps his eye trained on Devi's face. "Could you get that? You'll like it. Gave the baker's a chuckle."

“I remember enough.” Devi offers, at first cool and detached. As her gaze lingers over Zach’s face, though - particularly what’s passing for a filler in the gouged place of where a proper eye aught be - a subtle curl leeches its way into the corner of her lips, dimpling her cheek just so.

She steps back one pace, enough to let her crouch down and pick up the box without peeling her gaze from Zach’s face. Coffee in one hand, she rises and sets the box on the workbench of Raytech-logo’d gear beside Zach and the doorway. The lurking woman leans in, a fingernail pushing up the cardboard lid to spy on the the exact nature of the baked goods within. Even as she’s nosing, her husky tone winds its way towards Zach. “Whatcha doin’ here, Doc McToughins?” For all it’s casualness, it’s a loaded question.

There's a hardening of Zachery's stare - not at the look, but at Devi's change in expression. His head tilts upward, though his grin only widens in response. This time, it pushes at the eyelids over real and acrylic eye both. There's nothing friendly about it, up close, but then, one might not expect there to be.

The box contains four pastries, round and— well, they fell, so they've looked better, but they're only just a little smooshed together. They've got cream filling! And a design, in frosting, of an eyeball on all of them. Except for one, which just appears to be plain white.

"Isn't it obvious?" The gifts, apparently, should speak for themselves. Zachery remains where he stands, that fake eye moving uselessly along with his real one as he scans the office. Maybe for a visible camera. You never know.

There’s no visible camera. Does Devi get special treatment? Has she pried any such device out of the wall? Or, perhaps there’s something secretly spying upon the mechanical intuitive in this room? You know - to make sure she doesn’t go all Warren up in this bitch.

“Not here.” Devi clarifies about as clearly as an oily puddle, at the same time reaching down and deliberately spearing one tattooed finger into the gooey center of an eye-stylized pastry. “Here.” Raytech. Her fucking life. Dark eyes turn back to Zachery as she licks the cream filling from a glossy-nailed finger.

Zachery's attention returns to Devi with a laugh that sounds about as insincere as his apology card looks. Oh. "Did you think this was about you? That's…" He breathes out what would be a chuckle if he put any sort of effort behind it, "Cute. No. Fate's got its ways though, doesn't it?" His voice implies that he's found some entertainment in this.

Finally, he leans forward - in order to move further into the office, should Devi not stand in his way.

The coffee mug comes up, painted lips dropping the pretense of her sickly-saccharine smile in favor of the coffee. Her gaze narrows over the container, but whether its caffeine or alcohol that sways her, she is placated enough to let him by.

Something twitches on the table behind the pastry box. Her free hand comes around and swats a jutting, spindly leg down out of sight without taking her gaze off Zachery.

“What’s cute is that you think fate has anythin’ to do with anythin’.” Finally, she rolls her shoulders back, a quiet pop emanating from somewhere high on her spine. Turning to follow the doctor’s progress into her little sanctum, she perches lightly on the edge of a rolling stool. “But, Karma - she’s a sexy bitch, real as can be. So, what can I do you for, Tough Guy?”

As far as Zachery's concerned, it's all bullshit. But he's distracted — by a noise near the box, and when his glance in that direction is just a fraction too late to catch anything (thanks, lack of peripheral vision), by the workbench. Ooh, gizmos.

After sliding his own coffee near the box, he meanders calmly on over to these things he has to clearly touch, already reaching nimble fingers for the proprietary shinies. Gimme. "Didn't feel quite right. Starting here, without at least addressing the, ah - tensions." He says the word like it's another one he'd lob in with fate and karma, both.

“‘Tension’ is when two, or more, people wanna fuck. This-” Devi flicks a inked finger back and forth between herself and Zachery. “This ain’t tension.” One boot comes up, hooking a broad and stout heel into a lower rung so she can rest a forearm over her thigh. She takes another sip of coffee - no ill effects yet. Clearly, she didn’t think he was that stupid.

She swivels enough to pick a donut out of the box and take an obscenely large bite out of the optically designed pastry. She sets it back amongst the others and brushes her fingers together, spraying a bit of powder sugar about as she finishes the bite. “But, if you’re trying to clean the stank outta the air - you can start by telling me what the fuck you were thinking. Seems a good a place as any, don’t’cha think?”

"God, you are…" Zachery is frozen, watching Devi with his feigned pleasantry steadily fading from his expression as something else overtakes. Disgust? "… A savage, honestly." With a sneer threatening to form on his lips, he turns his attention to the gizmos again, idly running a finger over one of them. Like looking at her for a longer amount of time will physically hurt him.

Sexual tension, it is not.

"What do you remember?" His voice is calm, contemplative. "The morning, I assume."

There’s a half a shrug as the coffee cup is at her lips again. She blinks at him after a sip, expression passive. “Well, I didn’t scalp ya.” So, not totally savage. “In fact, I’ve shown a great deal o’ restraint.” Devi straightens up in her seat, pulling her chin up and her shoulders back.

“As for that night?” The fingers on her free hand ripple in an alternating tension motion, clenching and releasing individually. “The bar. The after party.” There’s a tilted smirk there. “I remember the coldest dmn shower of my life, some jackass waving a scalpel, and then stumbling home with my gun in one hand and an eyeball in the other.” She tips her head, dark locks dancing across her tattooed face. “Healed clean. Glad I didn’t shake too much.” She grins blatantly.

"Thank you. For that." Zachery's hand pulls back from the gizmos, his interest suddenly gone as cold as his voice. Instead, he turns his attention to the motor. That thing is too greasy for him to want to prod at, although his expression suggests there is already something else playing in his mind.

Information is a useful thing. The amount doesn't really matter, and Devi is giving it away so freely. In more ways than one.

Slowly, turning only just enough to let his only eye refocus on her face while a grin sloooowly but very enthusiastically breaks on his own, he asks with no small amount of giddy intrigue threading through his words…

"… Did you get shot?"

The gizmos newly abandoned by Zachery’s attention didn’t reveal much themselves - being in various states of disrepair - screws, samples of carbon fiber bent at various shapes, cogs with dangerously sharp edges. More telling is the singed blossom shape burnt into one of the four walls, the clearly definable motorcycle engine, and the strange orb that leeeaaaans out from behind the engine when Zachery turns away. From this angle it appears to be a mechanical eyeball on a metal stem. It’s pupil dilates as it tries to focus on the doctor’s back.

Devi’s gaze flicks to it briefly and she casually brushes her coffee cup hand along her bangled arm. The Spyball’s stem breaks apart into four spindly legs and the device quickly scurries to find a better hiding place. She appears boredly distracted at her initial reply, “Hm. Shot? Not th-…”

Any hint of distractedness is quickly dropped. “Not that night,” she finishes, her voice a leveled warning with a measure of uncertainty. “And I’m fine now, thanks.” In case he thought there was a chance she was still wounded and weakend.

No such thought. With blatant disregard for exactly what made him look away earlier, he gives Devi a stare, unblinking and unkind.

There is no attempt to hide the joy on his face, even if his head angles, ever so slightly, at the sound of something moving behind him. "Hold on," he finally speaks again, though it almost sounds more like a chuckle, "let's go back — just a moment. You… took my eye with you? Wasn't there… a…? Literally anything. A dumpster, a bin, a-…? To…?"

Now he's delighted and broken, toothy grin still frozen on his face. Good job, Devi. Why would you do this thing.

“Well, that just seems disrespectful,” Devi replies with a sweeter, but no less sinister, twist of a smirk to the sharp corners of her painted lips. The woman tips her head, rubbing middle and forefinger around a mutli-pierced earlobe that peeks from amidst the wild falls of her dark waves. “By the time I came ‘round to notice it enough, it was a bit mushy. You ever drop an apple? Looks fine on the outside and all, but on the inside-… And the weird spindly bits on the back…” She reaches out and pinches at something invisible in the air, three fingers raised as forefinger and thumb snap a grip and then hurriedly twitch and dangle the phantom thing in the air between them. “Elasticy.”
Her hand stills and Devi’s lowers her chin, gaze slipping to the ‘unseen eyeball’ imaginarily hanging from her fingertips. Head still, her gaze flicks up deliberately, dilated pupils expanded beneath the shadow of her lashes as she keeps her hand poised just so and looks back to Zachery.

It might not be absolutely clear whether Zachery is hearing a single word Devi's putting out there, if not for the fact that the one eye he has left in that skull of his is following her every movement. Complete with a dart of a glance, ever so briefly, to the eyeball that is not actually there.

His whole visit so far, he's been a little too tense, too alert, and the stress has only been mounting.

Until suddenly… there's nothing left of it. Whatever thoughts are rattling around in his head have his shoulders drop, his expression going neutral, and the only movement he's left with comes from his fingers slowly curling inward. He says nothing. He levels an expectant gaze at Devi's face, almost boredly, and says nothing.

Devi’s widened pupils shrink, her chin inclines, and her hand lowers back to her knee. She watches Zachery with an even expression as long as it takes for a few sips of spiked coffee before… “I didn’t break you already did I, Tough Guy?” Because that would be boring.

She doesn’t seem to notice Spyball’s new hiding spot. Directly over Zachery’s head, the little machine as managed to wedge the points of its spindly feet into the edge of the recessed lighting rings. Hanging precariously, the mechanical eyeball’s camera-pupil dilates for just the riiiiiiight zoom and focus of the doctor from this aerial angle.

"I'm… actually… better than ever." Zachery's answer comes calmly, a smirk making its way onto his face like he's got a secret he only just figured out.

"I came here with a question, but…" he pauses, while his attention drifts slowly upward in thought, "I think I've got it figured out, now. Thank you." And with that, he nods, and he's on the move again, ambling toward the exit. Leaving the mechanical monstrosity behind him, only just unnoticed. "You've been a great help, but I've got things to do, and I'm sure you've got… some grease to get on you."

One dark brow pops up as Devi’s gaze follows Zachery’s progression over the horizon of her coffee cup. Behind the doctor, the weighted door begins to whisper closed on the armature. Devi’s gaze narrows…

Spyball jerks to life and skitters across the ceiling. Using spindly little legs like jungle-vines it swings at the last minute and disappears in the crack at the top before the door closes with a soft thud.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License