Visiting The Abyss


diogenes_icon.gif isis_icon.gif

Scene Title Visiting The Abyss
Synopsis Isis visits the shabby apartment Diogenes inhabits. It takes a while for the awkwardness to be brushed aside.
Date July 27, 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.

The black marker glides along the sturdy paper, navigating the drawn streets expertly, making swift turns at every intersection that meets its tip. With both haste and grace it travels South in Manhattan, guided by the hand of the man who goes by the name of Diogenes. It isn't long before the tip is distanced from the large map, and the cap is put on the marker, which is then tossed aside carelessly onto the aged desk. His other hand takes the ear plugs out, ending the solemn orchestra of depression that Muse's Butterflies and Hurricanes was. The mp3 player flies onto the desk as well. The nearly empty vodka bottle, though, is picked up, opened, and its contents are emptied into an empty cup on the messy table.

Isis stares at the door, hands hung down by her sides. The little redhead is garbed simply in a pair of jeans and a black tee, hair tussled into a loose bun atop her head, and a pair of gloves to complete the ensemble. She pulls her cellular phone from her pocket and gives the address one last glance before curling her fingers and rapping sharply on the door. "Thomas?"

Harshly, the bottom of the now empty vodka bottle meets the rugged wooden surface of the desk. Languidly, his hand slides off the glass, and lazily his digits hook the cup. Not at all hurrying to open the door, he wanders over to the fridge, opening it up to fetch a pack of orange juice. The fridge's door is broken, and as such he has to close it manually, instead of relying on it closing itself. His footsteps would most likely be heard outside, although he wouldn't deliberately take an eternity. No more than a minute would pass and he'd be in the doorway, facing Isis and, quite frankly, looking terrible.

The little redhead is presented as a statuesque figure for a longer moment than is appropriate. "What happened to you?" she asks after taking in her friends appearance. With a grunt she steps forward, bumping gently again Thomas to welcome herself in if need be, and shuts the door behind her. A flick of the lock and she turns back to regard the rugged figure with a little wrinkle of distaste forming in the bridge of her tiny nose. The expression does not change as she looks over the confines of the apartment.

"Life. What else?" He eyes the redhead as the welcomes herself into the apartment; he doesn't seem to object. Quite the contrary, he nonchalantly steps away from the exit, as if he expected Isis to enter. Although wearing crumpled clothes, sporting a messy 'do and having sleeplessness written all over his visage, he at least doesn't reek of alcohol, and - judging by the subtle stubble - he had shaven recently. "So, you came", he notes after taking a healthy sip of his self-made cocktail. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened…" It was not true, much had happened - but none of it had an effect on whether or not she would visit Diogenes. She sighs and allows her gaze to make a last path of examining the familiar visage. She turns away then, beginning to explore the apartment on lazy, half-minded paces. "I would've come sooner. Sorry." Her body stills, her shoulders slump, and though she does not turn to regard the man, she remains still long enough that one could assuredly read the sincerity in her frame despite the short comment that had found her lips.

Diogenes drops onto one of the chairs that accompanied the ridiculously small table not far from the fridge. Propping his elbows on the back of the chair and the table, the cup resting on the latter, he lets out a heavy sigh, punctuated with untold pain. He feels that heavy pressure leave his heart and crawl up, clogging up his throat, and ultimately flooding his eyes. Because of that, he closes them. Another sip of the drink. "There is nothing a man does without reason. If he does… Then the reason is simply not clear to him", he muses, slowly opening his eyes, having managed to swallow his sorrows. "Why would you come? Why did you?"

If that slender form could become any more still, it was Diogenes's question that instilled it. The hints of sinew beneath her tiny arms, in the hint of flesh exposed between shirt and jeans at her lower back, and each little finger tense. With a great effort to battle the little ache forming in the back of her throat, to pry herself from the spot before the map, she turns and slips across the apartment. She reaches Diogenes and folds, crouches smoothly before him, looking up to the dark man as her hands reach for the edge of the chair and table to support her in this strangely close and surrendering posture. "Because I wanted to. Because I'm worried about you." She bites her tongue and cocks her head to the side, her gaze flickering away in a last moment to debate the next statement seeking to find her tongue. "Because I missed you." She looks to the floor between her legs for a long, stretching moment. She chuckles then and begins to stand.

Those orbs of dull grey keenly observe the woman as she leaves the desk and walks over to him. He looks down at her curiously, slowly parting his lips to show hints of another sigh. One corner of his lips twitches - a would-be smile. As she rises to her feet, so does he, leaving the white cup on the table. Rigidly, he stands before her, looking into her eyes as if trying to unearth the deepest secrets. Eventually, he steps forward to further cut the distance between the two. For a moment, he considers submitting to his desire to place his lips on hers, but in the end, he drops his gaze. When his eyes meet hers again, he offers a complimentary smile as he says: "Thanks for checking up on me. I'm not doing very well, but… I'm alive."

Isis's own dark gaze followed Thomas uncertainly as he rose in tandem with her, as he breached further the carefully kept lines of personal space she usually aligned around herself. She stared blatantly as her shoulder gave a quick twitch that faded quickly, only to reappear as a nervous dance in her fingertips. She wanted to hug him. Why did she want to hug him? Diogenes' attention breaks from her though, curing her of the strange need and reinstalling the guarded thoughts of a guarded heart. She clears her throat with a cough that clears her mind of the last hints of her strange compulsions, and looks aside as she runs her fingers through her hair. "Alive. That's more than I expected considering the trouble you manage to find." She grins, but for only so long before the comment seems to click a few puzzle pieces into place.
Impulse allows for touch - she turns and reaches out, grabbing hold of Thomas's arm. "You've got to be more careful."

Thomas glances down to the hand that grips his arm, but his attention ultimately remains fixated on the redhead's finely sculpted visage. "I flew across an ocean with nothing but a bag. I broke into your house. I agitated people in what arguably is the seediest place in this city. I don't think I'm very good at this 'careful' thing you mentioned", he quips, even if his tone was void of the usual lively sarcasm, and the life of his smile was slowly waning. He usually was careful, and his changed habits confused him. He was in an entirely different world, and he himself was different. Was it adaptation? Or was it an outcry to be more than just a tiny insignificant cog in the machine of Life. And Isis? Isis - or so Diogenes saw - was the cogpiece not connected to him, as much as he wanted it to be otherwise.
He leans forward, landing a sigh on the woman's lips. "Why doesn't anything make sense? Why must everything be so complicated? One day, I… can understand what's going on, and the next… everything's changed."

Isis begins to reply, but the sigh silences her. The little breeze of warmth across the bow of her pale lips tightens her grip on Thomas's arm and send a shiver down her spine that pulls her up to her toes for a brief moment. She drops back to her heels with a sigh of her own, her fingers wiggling without her knowledge where the gloved digits press against his bicep.
"I don't know about you, but if it all made sense, I'd be bored…" She shrugs only a single shoulder. Her skin was crawling, though, making her fidget even while her gaze most often remained locked upon Diogenes' own. "Life's the greatest puzzle, life and the people in it - If I had it figured out, I'd have no reason to stay." She sighs and uses a free hand to try and push her words from the air, though. "Listen - Ash came home covered in blood the other day…" There was more she meant to say, but it caught in her throat.

Diogenes bites down on his lower lip, falling silent. He wasn't one to speak and ponder simultaneously, unless he came to his wits end and was looking for outside input. As such, he continues to look into Kayla's dark eyes, wondering what the world would be like if it made sense. Would he be at home with his family, wrapped in the warm blanket of happiness? Or would he be here, regardless, but for completely different reasons? Existence and its population were a mystery, and before him stood the toughest puzzle of all. Who is she, this woman? What is she thinking? The amount of questions began to daze him, and would have completely overwhelmed him if it wasn't for the interruption.
"So, your boyfriend is a serial killer. Is that why you came?"

Isis winces, pulling back slightly. She'd come and to have her reasons for it questioned hurt more than she was willing to admit. Her slight shift was the only outward sign of such, and was quickly corrected as she straightened forward again. "I already told you why I came," she offers a bit sternly. "I'm telling you because I'm not going to let you cut off this…" Her brows furrow a moment and she makes a gesture between them. Whatever 'this' is. "But, you can't come around the house. So…" She dips into her pocket and pulls out a familiar little cell phone. She hands Dio back his old phone. "I put some more minutes on it," she notes a bit sheepishly as she holds it in the small space between their forms.

Diogenes looks down at the cell phone that he left on the bar counter that day. He accepts it, albeit with visible reluctance. When he takes it, though, he quickly drops it onto the nearby table like it was a brick. He didn't care for the phone. "I'm sorry", he offers in a trembling tone after gathering enough will to actually speak without once again drowning in those painful emotions. Had Isis created more distance between them, he would once again step forward. "I'm confused. I don't know what to make of anything", he elaborates in a strained tone, "And you are the most confusing of all things that… throw me into uncertainty." All of a sudden, he would attempt to plant a kiss on the woman's lips, ignoring the fact that he might trigger a body switch.

Dark, chocolate-hued eyes follow the line of the discarded phone for a minute - hinting at the worry that perhaps it might not be accepted. Her attention quickly shifts back to the enigmatic, confused man as he behind to speak, however. She lofts a brow and parts her lips as if to speak, as if to apologize for the mess of confusion she herself brings to the world with her moods. Her words are aught but a gurgle, however, cut off as a simple shift closes the miniscule distance between them and has Diogenes's lips planted on her own.
She didn't want to swap. Not now. There was too much. She fought at the tug pulling on her consciousness, trying to rip her body and mind from one another. The result is a wavering of both psyches involved, flittering much like the butterflies in her stomach as she retains her body under the kiss. Her hands had lifted instinctually, bracing against Thomas's shoulders - and yet she does not find the strength to push him away.

Although bold in his advance, the slightest pressure applied to his shoulders would send the message to him. The moment the two psyches are chastised and left in their respective homes, Diogenes retreats. He takes a couple of steps away and turns to the table to pick up the cup from the table. Regretting his action, he downs the cup in one swing, as if it would wash away the memory of what had just happened. Alas, it doesn't. When the cup is landed back on the table, he murmurs softly: "It was a stupid thing to do. I just went with… how it's done in the movies. Like last time."

Isis sighs as Diogenes's touch and warmth retreats, her eyes remaining closed from a long moment and fingers dancing at the empty air that had held him a moment ago. His words break through her unspoken thoughts, opening her eyes to have them turn back upon him. "Last time," she says, before a soft smile breaks on her lips. And then she's stepping forward sharply, her body colliding with Thomas's until the back of his legs jostle the tiny, shabby table behind him. She's pressed up to her tiptoes to find his lips in the same earnestly, before she can change her mind.

And now it was Tom's turn to be reluctant. He didn't want the kiss to be out of pity. But the fiery little redhead introduced meaning and order into his life, no matter the significance of her role, or her title, be it 'friend', 'secret lover' or anything else. He was simply content to have her here, with him, and sharing a kiss, even if he still was no Romeo, since he's hardly improved since the last time they kissed; obviously, he didn't have anyone to practice on, what with his busy schedule of actually surviving. His hands glide up the slim womanly arms to eventually crown Isis's shoulders, continuing to kiss, savouring every fraction of a second.

The kiss wasn't out of pity, that much was obvious. She lifts a hand to cradle the side of his face. The moment Thomas's arm finds a loop up over her shoulders, her boot gives another shove, pinching Diogenes between herself and the table until the wooden legs grunt a few skips along the floor. It was as if she needed to be closer - a truly foreign sensation. It makes the link between their psyches waver again before she reins them in tight and turns her focus back to the kiss. She suckles at his lower lip, nipping sharply between her teeth in a tangible expression of her confused frustrations, before pulling away. She drops her chin, looking at Thomas's chest without breaking the silence.

The fact that the kiss is more than just a consoling gesture is soon find out by Diogenes, and he does well to delve into the sweet embrace. The kiss is made only more heavenly as for a mere moment, the psyches stubbornly leave their rooms to wander lost in the space between the two figures; there was naught but the kiss, no more feeling to serve as any form of interference. Just the kiss. Just the girl nibbling on his lower lip, and he responds in kind. When full control returns to Isis, Diogenes sighs, giving in to the lack of balance the woman provided, and drops to sit on the table. After a dreamy sigh, he chortles softly and comments: "You were busy. You learned to control your ability, I see."

As the man drops down onto the table, her sights are aligned with his once more. Isis smiles sheepishly at the comment. "That was the first time, actually. I tried to practice… Went out on the streets like you said. It didn't go so well, and I promised the guy I wouldn't talk about it. Anyway, that's why I couldn't come sooner." She taps idly at Diogenes' knee - the need to continue touch balanced with the strange need to be rid of it. She licks at her lips from time to time, as if she could steal the last of the taste and sensation of the fading kiss and store them away. With a sigh she stops the tapping long enough to pull off her glove and look up, reaching out to touch Diogenes' cheek. Another butterfly-like waver, but the minds remain as they should in their rightful bodies. She grins.

Diogenes places both of his hands palms down behind so as to lean back. It is amazing what something as truly simple as a kiss can change so much. The forlorn gaze, the look of morbid sadness on his face, the heavily spoken words as if they were his last - all of this was gone. A mild smile shined on his lips, and a twinkle of joy in his eyes was visible. It was this kiss that made him realise just how ungrateful he's been up to now. "First time?.. Good. Otherwise, I'd have broken my promise of helping you teach you your ability." His eyes regard the taps delivered unto his knee with a certain degree of amusement, but he doesn't give it too much meaning - he enjoyed it, and that was that. "You steal someone's body and tell me to be c…" His words mesh into incoherence as she touches his cheek, loosening the tie between his mind and body. When the fog clears, he sways lightly. "Woah… You're like a walking drug, now", he jests, "Feels… euphoric and dizzying at the same time."

Isis lofts a brow sharply, her fingers stilling. "Please don't say that. It's appealing, but I've heard the comparison before - from some unpleasant people." More information than was necessary, but either Diogenes had proven to earn it, or Isis expected him to ask nonetheless. She smiles, taking no ill will from the comment, and lowers her touch. "Here I thought I shouldn't take so much worth in people's promises?" she teases with a bright, light-hearted smile. "Anyway, I steal bodies - you piss off big, Evolved men who have no issue with killing." She waggles her brows and turns away, slipping back off across the apartment - notably fidgety again, but in much lighter spirits.

He shakes his head vigorously, slowly sliding off the table to stand on his feet. "No… No, that's not what I meant. When you touch me, it's… I don't feel anything. It's like I was a high. And then everything's spinning, and I feel dazed." He furthers his explanation, musing aloud and throwing his hand about: "You could disorient people like that, provided you don't feel the same thing, since your ability is a… a mutual thing." He looks down at the woman's retreating hand, and snorts with both amusement and disagreement when Isis humorously denotes what Diogenes does with his ability. "I haven't pissed off a single Evolved, if you don't count that telepath." He watches her keenly again, making sure she doesn't approach the map.

Isis chuckles as Diogenes' rushes to offer an explanation - that was a first. "It affects me the same, but I'm used to it… I wonder if I can just affect other people. Care to help with some more training?" The smile clung to her lips even as she looked over the map for a moment, only to turn back and look upon Thomas. "Ash is Evolved," she says sternly. "That's all I can say about that. Okay?" Why were people always promising her to secrecy, damnit!? She grunts and makes a gesture towards the map behind her. "What's that?"

Diogenes shrugs lightly, taking slow and lazy steps towards Isis. In regards to further helping Isis refine her ability, he seems to be more than happy to help, offering an upbeat "Sure". "The fascinating thing about our abilities", he adds, "is that they're not linear. As far as I understand them, they have certain facets and aspects, and that they are only limited by our minds." It seems as though he has something else to say, but instead he quickens his pace to put him at the girl's side, once he notices that her attenion touched the map. Digging his hands into his pockets, he inhales deeply, looking at Isis, trying to come up with something to change the topic. As it turns out, such was not needed. "Ash is Evolved?" Pause. "Abilities shape us. I'm inactive, scrawny - I paralyse people. Ash is a mountain of muscle - whatever his ability is, it probably requires physical motion. Which means I'd paralyse him even before he'd come close."
He then looks at the map. A colossal poster, a beacon asking for attention - it was silly of Thomas to be so secretive about it, given its prominence. Dozens of sticky notes were attached; Isis could see her apartment marked with an X and a note attached to it. 'Achilles' Heel', it says, and notes that 'Isis lives here. Short, cute, redhead. Confused and lost. Now with a man. Name is ash'. Some sticky notes have a bunch of random capital letters and numbers, oddly enough. "This… is my equivalent of a supervillain's supercomputer."

Isis turns back to the map, her interest honed in the sticky note denoting the place of her apartment. The 'Achilles Heel' earns a smile, even as she begins to lean closer and closer to the large poster. *SNAP* Her little finger clap against the shiny paper, a short nail framing the underside of the word 'cute'. She looks back sharply over her shoulder and lofts a brow. Crossing her free arm awkwardly under that still anchored to the map, she offers an open palm. "Sharpie," she demands, like a surgeon requiring the tools of his trade.

A wide smile appears on Dio's lips, and with a chortle rife with amusement, his gaze drops to the floor. "Disregarding your own cuteness is… cute in itself", he comments, reaching out to grab the slimmest of all three black markers that were on the desk and puts it onto the womanly palm. "Don't cross it out. Feel free to add to that note, but don't cross it out. I'll just write it again", he tells her as firmly as a father. And then he looks over the entire map, even if a single glance would not be enough to survey it. "I've created a specific language to conceal my goals, intentions… I am currently working on making it dynamic. You know, like… making it so that 2 could mean A if there are three 4s in the sentence, or stuff like that."

Isis's thumb flicks off the marker's cap before she swaps it out to her dominant right hand. She scribbles out the evil word with a childish grin of triumph and rights in 'bad ass' at the end of the list. "I don't know why you need all this," she offers as she bends down to pluck up the cap, replacing it upon the Sharpie before returning the marker to the desk. She waves a hand at the map, then. "And, I'm not sure I want to know what you're scheming just yet." She leans back, arcing enough so that her shoulders press to the wall but the rest of her body remains tilted towards Diogenes. "It's just evidence, should someone come in here. You should get rid of it. Anyway, I have to go get ready for work. You should come down and visit soon."

"It will already take some effort to crack this language. And the baby I'm going to create? —" Diogenes looks over his shoulder at Isis, assurance and triumph clear in his gaze. "I'm considering creating a language based on mathematical equations", he says, looking back to the map, admiring his work. "That way, everyone will think it's just Maths, when there's actually text hidden beneath the complex equations. Deception. It is so easy when you know how the human mind works. And I do… I know how it ticks, and what makes it tick." Having come to an end of his magnificent speech, he turns to face Isis. "Biddy's? I hate crowds."

Chocolate orbs watch Thomas intently as he brags about his beloved little project. "Math. We don't pluralize it despite the various types and methods that are considered Math." She smiles as she begins to tug back on her glove. "Fine, then. You'll just have to call and arrange a real date, if that's the case." She cocks her head to the side and lofts a brow, eager to analyze Thomas's reply to her little challenge.

"Yes, yes, Math." Thomas dismisses the correction, although he doesn't entirely discard it. He steps away from his cherished workplace, trashy and messy as it was, and walks towards Isis to lead her towards the door, which he would open in a surprisingly gentlemanly way. "You do realise that a date with me would most likely involve putting yourself to great danger and playing the Russian Roulette with Fate, instead of a fancy dinner in an expensive restaurant, right?", he inquires with a smug grin.

Isis slips through the opened door without comment. She turns and rests her shoulder casually against the frame, however, setting her attention back on Thomas. She grins, a warm chuckle easing from her alto tones out along her pale lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way." She pauses, furrows her brows, and points at him sternly. "As long as you aren't 'working' while were out. Got it?" She smiles again and lingers a moment longer than is necessary before sighing and prying herself from the doorway. "Take care, Thomas."

Only nods and a smile would serve as a response. Diogenes would speak up only when Isis tells him to 'take care'; to that he replies curtly: "I will. You should, too." The door would be closed softly behind Isis, and the young man would wander back to the map with a tired sigh. His steps would carry him to the kitchen table, so that he could grab a chair and bring it to the desk. More work awaited. Lots of work.

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