now all you've got to offer me is a drink of gin

[12second_orz]

Who: Tonegawa (12second_orz ) and YOU
When: Friday afternoon- early evening.
Where: A high-class bar in Sector 3, moving to Lion's Gate towards the evening
What: Tonegawa uses his afternoon off to schmooze and make contacts in a classy joint. Feel free to run into him leaving or arriving, too!
Warnings: None

[Sitting at the bar and watching the gentle murmur of activity around him as he nurses his drink, Tonegawa can’t help but feel rather pleased with himself. He works by day, he meets and greets by night. If there’s one thing he can approve of, it’s a routine, and he’s certainly managed one of those here.

Not that making nice to big shots is all he wants to spend the rest of his time here doing- his ideal state of affairs involves far more room to stretch his legs in every sense, for what is power but the ability to do anything and be forgiven for it nonetheless? But even beyond that there’s something about the charade now that sticks in his throat, bitter and resentful, that he’s become more aware of now; his hands tense beneath their leather gloves with each forced laugh, each smile.

Still, he’s damn good at it and he knows it. He’s never wanted for patience in his life, either- swallowing now could earn him the right to spit later, if he’s good enough at it. There’s nouveau riche trash here, yes, but also a few people it’s well worth being sweet to.

Of course, what mood he ends up in by the end of the night depends entirely on which of them he manages to find, and while he might look laid back as he glances around the room he’s busy sizing up faces and suits.]

Comments

[12second_orz]

[It's difficult for Tonegawa to be more than mildly amused by Chane's reaction even in spite of its bold defiance; it's so rare to see any sort of reaction from the woman at all that it makes for an interesting game to fill the interim between contacts with. She won't be happy with him at the end of it, of course, but that isn't the point, is it? He doesn't pay her to be happy: he pays her to do as she's told, even through pointless indulgence and insincerity if needs be. It's a philosophy he's maintained for thirty years with barely a hitch- a policy of telling the right people what they want to hear- and if she wants to get anywhere she'll have to-

The connection is made, and Laforet's voice suddenly rings calmly and clearly in his mind- a mind that takes a moment to catch up and which, just for a moment, squeaks past with a Bitch- before he can reign it in.

Once was bad enough, and that had been in extenuating circumstances. His mind has always been his stronghold, the one place in which he could hiss and curse and sneer without repercussion. Its invasion is unnerving, even infuriating, but he can't let himself get angry.

He grits his teeth and tries again, though he's uncertain as to whether or not she can hear him. Stop it. Get out of my head.]

[fidele]

[ That murmur of an insult fails to draw any reaction from her other than a languidly raised eyebrow; so he has similar, if more strongly worded, regard for her as Chane has for him. She concentrates on nothing in particular for a long moment, chewing the apple chunk, before her next thought rings out as she peels off her gloves, slides her drink back towards her.

Talking like this is easier.

-Which is, for what it's worth, partially a lie. It doesn't show on her features but the deliberate pacing of her words comes from the effort it takes to organise her thoughts and section off his; she can feel the restrained ire like wind rushing in her ears, his voice nearly drowned out in the midst of it. Above all, she's guarded. Completely unlike when she could talk like this to her father, this is a man to whom she will not reveal herself. There is still secrets to be protected which could be so easily laid out by doing this. It's risky- she cannot let herself be distracted. But she still tries to offer something, to bridge a gap between her and Tonegawa-- to make them even.

I have learned about this power. ]

[12second_orz]

[That secret element to the matter doesn't go unnoticed, and it's what stings the most: Laforet has all the freedom in the world to speak and to remain silent, while he struggles to keep his thoughts under control. He's used to two voices, his own purring out loud and the silent commentary in his head- but this? It's playing poker with the cards face out, it's speaking through a one-way mirror. It's painfully exposing.

Though it's unnecessary, Tonegawa refuses to drop his eyes from where she sits. She's toying with her glass now, but she's too sharp to miss it.

Really? I couldn't tell. Bitter sarcasm, which he makes no attempt to control: it's hard enough to line his thoughts up, censor them, deploy them in any convincing way. I don't care how 'easy' this is for you. I want you to get the fuck out of my head. He still doesn't know what it is she hears, if anything.]

[fidele]

[ Sensing the broiling battle for control from within Tonegawa himself, even at this distance, takes its toll on her belatedly. With that lash out against her own paced, smooth voice, she parts her lips as though to speak in her defence. It catches the bartender's attention, but a tense wave of her hand throws him off again, a gesture towards her still-full glass.

She's misjudged her abilities. Retaining her external as well as internal composure is unbelievably, incredibly difficult, like conducting three orchestras at once; her body, her thoughts, and Tonegawa's. To think that she believed she could mimic anything approaching the magnitude of Leeza's powers with this Core-given imitation of something her father had created. She, a human, made of Huey's blood, not his craftsmanship.

The pause between answers this time is longer. A fingernail taps at the side of her glass, her eyes narrow slightly, gaze unmoving.

I hear nothing but what you tell me. There is more danger of telling you my own secrets than learning of yours.

She may as well be whispering in a storm. The incident in the office springs to mind, the sheer thickness of willpower and delusion she had to cut through in order to reach him, but it's inadvertently transmitted; unable to backtrack she nearly gasps, tenses in her seat. She had acted as though she had erased the event from memory. ]

[12second_orz]

[She twitches, and for a second Tonegawa wonders just how much effort this is taking on her part. Is the tap a displacement activity? It's hard to say. Laforet's mask of stoicism, her sheer calm, was enough to throw him before, but that's so natural for her that even the smallest ripple is enough to suggest a wild current beneath the surface.

His first instinct, however, is that she's lying.

It's a natural state for him, to assume a lie. She's not lied to him yet as far as he knows, yes, but given this violation-- would she have the energy to lie with her new-found power? To conceal a lie in her thoughts when it takes so much energy to speak at all? Obviously, it's a talent he'll need to work on now, but who knows how much practise she's had? For all he knows she's been trying this every day for a month.

If it's possible for thoughts to sound wary, his certainly do, bathed in a sea of mistrust and unease. Why should I believe you now?]