xp_logs | Saturday night in Sydney: Monet and Marius (Reply)

OOC: Posting two hours early because I won't be here later.

Monet lead the way out of CUA Stadium, shouldering people out of the way. The crowd was a sea of Penrith colours and the odd patch of Broncos maroon. She grinned at Marius, more than a little high on the crowd's euphoria. "We thumped you. Like a thumped thing."

Marius snorted as he shot a withering look at a man jostling him to get by. The man was also wearing colors of the opposing team, automatically doubling the crime of his existence. "Indeed. In that painfully misaligned parallel reality wherein blindness mysteriously befalls the refs at the very point of Lockyer's try. Into what malignant dimension have you abducted me? Ah, wait, it's western Sydney."

Monet nodded. "Yes, and it's hell on earth at least half the time. Kind of pretty the rest of the time, though."

"I suppose even hell has its seasons, which are invariably balanced by the aforementioned transient blindness." Marius flicked hair out of his eyes. "But here, questionable calls which I concede are well beyond your control aside, cheers to your granddad for the impromptu trip. As it's been somethin' of a week." His tone didn't change, but the hand rising to redundantly scraping the hair from his eyes revealed a mind not quite as unoccupied as it appeared. "To say the least."

Monet made a face in agreement. "How about we start a petition? No more shit happening till at least next Thursday?"

Her half-brother grimaced and shook his head ."Doomed from the very start. Thursday may sound a reasonable amount of time, but no. The very settin' of boundaries will guarantee terrible and premature calamity. Although this, perhaps, is preferable to mature calamity."

"No... That just makes it worse. Like stinky cheese. It gets smellier as it gets older."

Marius smiled wryly. "An appropriate comparison. An' a note on which I shall, with equal appropriateness, now proceed to excuse myself, for it is the first time back to the place of my birth in almost two years, an' I now find it necessary to endure the horror of public toilets. I am certain there is some deeper meaning to this, but the need is a bit more urgent than the desire to decipher metaphor. Queue willin', I shall return shortly."

Not far from where Marius Levarne fought the jostling crowd to reach the washrooms, Marius St. Croix squinted up into the blue sky. It was supposed to be the middle of fucking winter, so why is it so bright, he thought, fumbling for his aviator-style sunglasses. His head was killing him, and on top of everything, the Panthers actually eked out a win, on the one day that he was willing to beat against his club. Neil has sworn his mate that worked at the club had heard Wesser was down with flu, and wouldn't come off the bench. Instead, three bloody tries, and there went the last hundred he was going to see in a long time.

With a scowl, he rubbed at his temples. Headaches never seemed to go away these days, especially not when he was straight. Marius wearily headed towards the train station, trying to decide whether it was worth heading home or riding into Parramatta to see if Blue was working at the Queen Vic, and would float him a few pots.

All thoughts of that disappeared when he caught sight of the tall girl standing alone and looking impatient on the sidewalk. For just a second, he wondered if he was hallucinating, but quickly shook his head. Been years since he'd had anything good enough to justify this kind of episode. No, the girl on the sidewalk he recognize from the magazines, in articles which he'd paid undue attention to, ignoring his mates to soak up the details. This had to be Monet, his baby sister from that cunt of a father. Standing all alone outside of the CUA. It had to be a sign.

He painfully straightened up and tugged his leather jacket back into shape. He didn't bother to run a hand through his hair. It had started coming out months ago.

"Oi," Marius said, crossing over to her. "You there! Miss... uh, hey." He reached into his pocket for the first thing he could find; his train pass back into Sydney. "Miss, you dropped your pass back on the steps."

Monet turned and stared at the man. "I don't think so." She stared into space three feet away from him. Be nice to the crazy man. Be nice to the smelly crazy man. Someone might see you be not-nice.

"I was right behind you." Bitch went unspoken in his mind. Just like his old man. Same superiour attitude, same holier-than-thou look. "You don't want to have to pay twice." Marius said, as he shoved the pass into her hand.

"Look, crazy person, it's not my ticket. Here, you can have it back." Monet shoved it back into his hand. Her fingers tingled slightly for a moment. "Now, go hassle someone else, mmkay? Or try having a shave every now and then. Shaving is a good thing."

"Fine. No need to be rude, like." Marius said sourly, stuffing his pass back in his pocket and fighting back the urge to grin. Like drugs, there were somethings that once you tried, you never went back. "Trying to help." he muttered, as he walked away. Monet attitude only made things more with it. He trudged off towards the train. Definitely to Parramatta. He had to celebrate this.

Yeah, okay. Whatever." Monet stared after him. What was it with coming back to Sydney and the crazy people coming out of the walls?

"Oi, Monet? She right over there?" The girl's half-brother shouldered through to crowd to reappear beside her, his yellow eyes still echoing with the faint horrors inherent in visiting a public washroom. Marius followed her gaze into the crowd, but saw nothing but the normal jumble and press of bodies. He cocked his head at Monet. "You've got a Look on your face. Spot someone in the same ensemble? I have assured you any number of times that you are a unique an' beautiful flower despite the inevitable wardrobe overlap. Barrin' that, I do not imagine you shall ever find any with the gall to attempt the duplication of your hair."

Monet glared at him. "My hair, as I've told you before, is a work of art. And, no. I just had the stinky person wants to make friends
thing. Tried to give me a train ticket. This? This is problem with heading home. The crazy people come out in buckets. You want to get a drink or something before we head home?"

It was an opportunity he should not have missed. Monet was going to be away for some weeks, and there had never before been a scenario where Marius had ever considered the turning down of an alcoholic beverage would be appropriate. More, there were no unreasonable prohibitions to contend with. The words of course were on his lips . . . but something stopped them.

Fingers pressed over his mouth and nose as his lungs filled with air. The golden glimmer of sunlight caught in red strands by the side of the pool. And the first shake of a hand in over a year.

The words died. Marius' mouth turned in an ironic half-smile, and he shook his head.

"Nah," he said, "not today, I think."

Monet bit her lip, looking away from Marius for a moment. "Okay. Cool." She patted him on the shoulder in lieu of a hug. "Shall we head home, then?"

"Indeed, home. May it withstand the horrible, horrible sobriety." Marius smiled a little more genuinely at Monet, the vague mutant aura he'd detected from the crowd upon rejoining her completely forgotten. In a city this size it hadn't been the first he'd sensed today. An unmemorable mutation, already headed away from them by the time he'd gotten back to his sister. Really, there was nothing to take note of.