albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[The artist immediately flinches enough that he has to catch his hammer to keep it from dropping to the ground. The green eye slides open first, joined by the blue as his fingers flex and clench. They both flick toward Nisha, and the very brief displays of anger seem to flicker out of existence as if someone had licked their fingers and clamped them over the flame.

He looks almost bored.]

Hold on, wait wait wait-- hang on. I don't think I heard you properly. Obviously I didn't, since its gotta be perfect like your's truly, and I'm not about to move this ass of mine that I've had planted for close to two fucking hours to check. I'm going to have to take your word for it here--

[He clears his throat and moves his chin just a bit, despite what he had said -- enough to perch it on his curled knuckles, white with frustration. The artist has gone still, looking from the nose, to Nisha, then back to Jack.]

Anyway. Run that by me again, sweetheart.

Edited 2015-02-08 12:34 (UTC)

[There's a nonchalant shrug for it while his eyes are still open. Something small and slight and completely indifferent.

She's only lit the match; she hasn't dropped it into gasoline just yet.]

I'm just saying it's wrong. Probably fixable. [And hey, if it were anyone else they might be offering up sincere, helpful criticism with the intent to save a little time later. No four hour session ending in disappointment. No delayed temper tantrums. But it's Nisha. Even as she hooks her thumbs into her beltloops and wanders in close to Jack's side to feign objectivity there's no masking the fact that all she wants to do-- all she ever wants to do-- is knock the glass right off the counter for the sake of watching it shatter.]

Want me to call in another double?

Riiight, you haven't been here the last six hours, have you pumpkin? Let's start over.

[He slaps his hands on his knees and sits up, which means the artist is nervously creeping back from the half finished sculpture. He stops moving the second Jack's eyes dart toward him.]

I've gone through five of these assholes and two doubles already. Body doubles dont grow on trees, Nisha. I mean, they could, but a body double's no good if it isn't perfect. Perfection doesn't happen overnight!

[He leans over to pinch between his eyes. Suddenly, his other hand comes up, and he's gesturing with a hand-pistol that seems to have come out of nowhere.]

What's wrong with my fucking nose? Too big, too small, is it crooked, what what what?

[Her lips purse slightly, attention fixed dutifully on the jutting angles of Jack's profile before they shift over towards the statue. Calling Nisha an art critic would be like calling a CL4P-TP unit in a tuxedo a butler, but there's not a thing in the universe Nisha can't run with if she's asked to.

Bad luck for the artist, though, once her deadpan response finally comes.] Fat.

Looks fat.

[Warning: statement may or may not be true.]

[Jack doesn't utter another word and stands up instead, striding over to the cowering artist who seems to have the good sense not to run. When he finally gets there, he passes him a kind smile.]

Hey, hey. Relax. You're doing good work here.

[The sculptor's shoulders relax slightly, but then the barrel of the gun presses against his temple and he freezes again. Jack's smile doesn't move.]

You're just not doing it properly. But now you have a close up, so I'm sure it'll be much easier for you.

[Tongue finding the sharp point of one of her canines, Nisha helps herself to the seat Jack's freed up, one boot propped at the edge while the other's stretched out languidly in front. Art appreciation might not be her deal, but get a gun and a little life-threatening fear involved? Someone might be developing a newly found fondness for it.

Meaning that while the artist-- hands only slightly shaking this time, miraculously enough-- goes about smoothing and chipping and reshaping the near-finished product, Nisha's on her best behavior: admiring with interest the cold glint in Jack's eyes right under the very edge of his mask, the angle of the gun as he keeps it wedged in against skin.

However long it takes, she waits.]

[The mask smooths out to something almost calm, where it not for the fact that there's still a pistol in his hand. His wrist goes a little slack and the artist seems to relax, able to put on the finishing touches with a careful hand. When he's done, he steps back to give Jack a good look, though he is smart enough not to step away from the point now barely pressing against his skull.

Jack takes a long look and smiles in a relaxed manner. It puts the artist at ease, though he tenses when his hand comes down heavy on his shoulder.]

Nice job, kiddo. That'll be the talk of Opportunity for a looooong time. We'll have to make some copies to spread 'em out.

[For a moment, the artist seems confused, but when he glances up, Jack is still staring at him with that too-calm expression and he obviously rethinks his stance. He nods a few times too fast and Jack is pushing him off.]

And dont worry, I'm sure we can work out some community service work to make up for all that gold you ruined.

[And there's the disappointment: prey scurrying off the second Jack nudges him towards freedom. From her perch she's got a fairly decent view of the finished product, and much as it might be enough to satisfy Jack's self-centered thirst, Nisha doesn't manage to stop herself from drawing her lips out into a thin, sorry little line.]

Shoulda killed him while you had the chance.

Tch tch.

[Jack turns his too-serene smile to Nisha. The pistol has been replaced with a data pad, with a familiar face on the front of it.]

Heroes don't pull the trigger on innocents, sweetheart.

[And then, something flickers on the screen -- a bonus to the sculptor's bank account, and a $0 balance in the other 14 sculptors on the bottom. On another platform, where one of the sculptors seems to be taking their break, they pull out an identical holopad only to find that he is no longer being paid for his work.

Already, there is a gaggle of three of them whispering amongst each other as Jack slips the pad away and dusts his hands off before putting an arm around Nisha instead.]

They let other people do it for them. [A pause, as he examines the statue.] My nose isn't fat.

[There's so little room for the both of them on the assembled bench that accommodating Jack as he settles in means lifting a leg and draping it lazily over his own. Which she does - no fuss, no grudges or grumbling - because much as she's itching for something to do that doesn't involve standing around watching literal paint ~~and gold~~ dry, that's all it ever is. An itch.

A really, really strong itch.]

Not anymore. [Her chin drops down, angled towards him so gold eyes can evaluate the fine details of his mask, leaning almost indifferently into the crook of his arm. It's been a while since the original map of his features was a fresh memory in her mind; Nisha was never surprised to realize that she doesn't really miss it.] You happy, handsome?

Mmm....nah.

[Jack doesn't notice how little room they have, but he does notice her looking just a little too closely at his mask. He knows Nisha -- she's not looking for any other reason other than to amuse herself, but that doesn't mean it doesn't make the base of his neck itch.

His fingers drum once against her arm where he's left his hand before he scoops her off his lap and onto the ground to stand them both up.]

If we're gonna sit around talking about it, we can at least go watch the fireworks.

Fireworks, huh? [Palm skidding along the slope of his side as she's settled back on her heels, the briefest spark of interest coming back to her expression. It's indicative of something that her nails scrape at the underside of his shirt before she lets go and moves across the balcony to follow suit.] Now you've got me interested again.

Was afraid you'd gone all soft over this place.

Priorities, Nisha. Didn't build this city just for my own health.

[He offers his arm, but doesn't necessarily wait for her to take it. He's leading her to the fireworks, after all. Before they even reach the center of the city, its easy to hear the angry shouts of workers talking about how they had mouths to feed and how dare he hog the glory. Somewhere in between it all is a man crying about how he has no idea what anyone is talking about.

Jack stops just short of the action, too high to be obviously watching, but close enough that they don't miss any of the shoving, punching, or beating with mallets down below.]

Once I get some people up here to keep the cogs turning, we can put our attention to other things. Maybe.

[It was really dependent on how much closer they were to waking the Warrior.]

[Nisha doesn't respond right away, arm curled around his, attention locked firmly on the grim, gory action down below. Hours she'd spent letting boring, pristine programming run as some basic substitute for entertainment, being led on tours of shopping malls and entertainment plazas. Boring. Beautiful.

Too pristine and too perfectly cut for the taste of a bandit-killer raised in the dust of Pandora.

But this? This works. Hits the spot in a way she hadn't expected and turns the image in her mind on its head. Her spine arches slightly for a better view over the edge - maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.]

'Maybe'. Maybe doesn't sound like much fun. [Once the crimson stains below start to pool and settle, she shifts her weight back towards his side.]

I got designs, kiddo. And those designs wrapping up in a timely fashion determine where the attention goes after that. Following the plot is important, especially if the end of the plot involves saving the world.

[He stays quiet for a bit, though eventually smiles when the Hyperion AI chimes in with a clean-up call in city center. A deep breath goes in through his nostrils and out of his mouth in a contented sigh.]

Ah, the sound of perfectly tuned programming. Yeup. Still got it.

Designs involving a 'body double pleasure palace'? [She slips away from him, arms propped up on the railing just in front of him so the cool metal rests against the low point of her back. Smug, smug smile in place.

Yeah buddy, she took the tour you set her up on.

And paid attention.]

Different designs, but those designs are important too. Jobs! Inspiration! And on top of all that, they'll learn some freakin' class. Or they're fired.

[Jack turns to Nisha and hugs her a little closer in order to grab her cheek.]

Don't tell me you're jealous that a few Opportunists are gonna get some alone time with me.

[Oh, that makes her laugh, the curve of her cheek digging in against his thumb like a challenge.] We talking the 'you' you or the double down rodeo again, hotshot.

[Purely rhetorical: Nisha and jealousy are words that don't exactly coexist in the same space. If Jack wants her, he's got her, if he doesn't...well, they'll work out severance pay in the form of bullets and multi-million dollar targets.] We'll talk when one of those Opportunists learns how to shoot a bandit leader between the eyes from the top of a moving train.

Oh-ho, I love it when you're a badass.

[He does want her -- its always such a dance, walking the line between being Handsome Jack, head of Hyperion and Hero of Pandora...and just enjoying simple pleasures.

Or, not so simple pleasures. Like Nisha. He scratches under her chin fondly, and stops just short of flicking her...or pulling on the choker around her neck.]

Not so much when you play hard to get.

[Hard to get might as well be stamped on her arm, true a statement as it is, but Jack? Jack is one of the few-- the only person, to be exact-- that doesn't need to worry about keeping the fingers that catch under her chin. Or anything else for that matter.

Nisha leans forward to lessen the space between their near-level profiles, palms still braced against the railing.]

Lying's a dangerous game, Jack.

Handsome Jack doesn't lie, babe.

[He keeps his spine straight, but she's actively in his space now which makes it harder for him not to react. The point under her chin goes a little sharper and somewhere under the mask, his eye twitches.

His jaw opens like he's going to add something but it cracks awkwardly instead and is followed by a clearing of his throat. If he seems too eager, she'll wrap him around her finger.

He's absolutely enamored, but he's not an idiot.]

They call that defamation of character, y'know.

[Fortunately-- or maybe unfortunately at times-- for them both, Nisha still remembers clearly the way he'd stuttered and stumbled his way through their first few conversations. Through the discussion logged on the ECHOnet before that. It gives her an edge, it always has, but that (tempting as it might be) has never been abused.

Does she abuse? Absolutely. But it's purely physical. Mostly. Mostly physical. Nisha tortures and torments the deserving, the monstrous and the wicked. She's a lawbringer - Jack's the law. Unlike someone whose name ends in -xxi, emotional manipulation isn't on the table.

Maybe that's why Jack trusts her. Or maybe he's just desperate to have someone to trust after all they've been through.]

You gonna throw me in jail, cowboy? [Inch for inch, step by step, she keeps whatever assertiveness he has tucked away in her hand; it takes more than a little effort to keep a grin from pulling at her lips.]

Jails cost too much money for not enough payoff.

[And though he wouldn't say it out loud, Nisha kept him from getting his hands too dirty. Not to say he didn't enjoy popping off a few skulls from time to time, but--well.

It depended on the skull, an it depended what-for. Nisha took uncertainty out of the equation. He found it easier to just turn his back and let her handle the rabble. He's got way bigger fish to fry.]

So no. I'm not.

[This time she says nothing, shoving herself forward via straightening her arms and catching his mouth with her own. The scrape of tongue against teeth without either permission or hesitation; the heat of his breath versus the cold, artificial surface of his mask.

He's being too serious. Which is fine - his business is his business, and usually it involves enough mass-murder for Nisha to keep focused - but here? Now? Serious is all around them.

She figures he could use something grounding; she also figures it'll keep her from having to talk about shopping malls, so win-win.]

[Now that's the kind of payoff he had in mind.

There's a bloodbath just below them still going on, a few overworked men arguing about how to divide up the work now that their cash cow is dead, but it quickly becomes white noise. Jack's teeth part only enough to catch the tip of her tongue. If she was aiming to get physical...well, she's about to get her wish.

He grabs her throat, at odds between desires to pull her closer or to push her away. He's supposed to be focusing on Opportunity, funding his plans to uproot the Warrior--but Nisha is right here. So what she ends up with is a vice grip.

But he does force his teeth apart to give her her tongue back. He hasn't moved their faces too far, and he hasn't let go of her. There is definitely something grounding in having someone force their tongue down your throat, something that makes his skin warm. All she had to do was ask.

But then again, he likes it better when she doesn't.]

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