originallutece | (no subject)

And "gumshoe" would be the preferred term, thank you; despite your high opinion of my intelligence, I don't know everything, particularly outdated American slang.

...

Believe it or not, you've described my current circumstances almost exactly. Save for the part about staring at a woman's legs, since you're a bit far away for that right now.

An activity for later, then.

Are you really smoking?

[#priorities]

I ended up with a cigarette in my mouth without any input on my behalf. Majima took it from me instead.

There's a pity. Though I'm endeared you didn't refute the claim you're narrating what you do as you do it.

Do be careful. From what I remember, there's typically a part where the gumshoe gets roughed up in an attempt to get him off the case.

We're not the gumshoes, rest assured. A man named Hardy Boil (I know) is.

Edited 2017-08-19 23:49 (UTC)

Ah. And you're helping him in his inquiries?

You still ought to order whiskey and demand the bartender leave the bottle.

I was thinking of asking the pianist to play "As Time Goes By", while I was at it.

Of all the reality tears in all the groups in all the city, you had to walk into this one.

I wish you were walking into mine.

With what I've had to deal with this week, believe me, the feeling is mutual on several levels.

I bought the dress.

That's a fine turn of events. I'm wearing a suit right now.

Do you like the dress?

Oh, yes. I think you will too. Champagne colored, elegant without being overly formal. Perfect for an evening of dinner and dancing.

How will you do your hair, with it?

Oh, pinned up, of course. I don't allow people to see me with my hair down as a rule. But I thought to sweep it back with a comb, so I can remove it easily when I want to.

Oh. And are you the only one who can remove it?

Generally, yes. But I think if someone were very good, I might allow an exception.

That'd make the person in question fairly exceptional, wouldn't it?

Oh, yes. He'd have to prove himself first, of course; I don't just allow any man near me, and I'd hardly want some braggart who couldn't follow up.

Edited 2017-08-22 16:01 (UTC)

You allow the ones with ears and tails near you, I've noticed.

They're not necessarily a turn-off, believe me. Though I think I prefer red hair to white.

And you'll notice I didn't let him play with my hair-- though I admit, the circumstances weren't ideal.

I keep catching myself wondering, you know, if it's still right to call that a "him", instead of a "me".

There's a lot I don't understand about what I'm becoming. But...we both feel that way, don't we? You with your memories of before, and me with the kitsune.

I should say I'm a bit more afraid of my other self than you are of yours right now, if you want the truth.

You were trying to tell me about it when we were interrupted, that afternoon.

Tell me? Please?

[There's a long pause.]

I have experience in suppressing my emotions. I can keep a straight face if I need to; nearly a decade working in the STEM field taught me that, never mind teaching. But I've never felt emotionless. I've always had those emotions, even if I didn't show them, even if I have a hard time allowing them to come to the surface.

She doesn't. She doesn't feel anything but derision-- except if it centers around her gentleman, in which case she turns selfless at the drop of a hat.

And those feelings, or lack thereof, are from a woman who isn't human-- who could treat being shot at as though it was an amusing thing, who taunted someone as a ghost, who knew of parallel universes and saw doorways between them and treated it all as though it was something she had no stake in. The only thing she ever seemed to care about was her gentleman.

[. . .]

I don't understand. I don't understand what circumstances would lead to my becoming her, but there surely are, which means in turn there's a chance I will become her. And I'm . . . that frightens me, I suppose. I'm frightened of losing the ability to feel anything but anger and derision. I'm frightened because I don't understand what happened to her, or why, and because the more time goes on, the more we seem to be becoming our other selves.

And the only reason I'm admitting all this so candidly to you is because I suppose I'm frightened that to suppress it will only hasten that process.