Log:Back to Basics
It's often hard to tell which of them makes it here first when the timing is close. Typically, whoever lands first is off on the mad dash to the other's room. All she seems to understand is that both of them were likely to die, and she most certainly did.
She isn't dressed yet, but that doesn't mean the woman standing there doesn't make an impression. Mostly, it's because she's still 'wearing' Nyka, or a reasonable approximation thereof -- maybe five years or so younger, with longer hair. The tattoo on her left arm of a stylized Pegasus insignia remains, as does the lightning scar scrawled down the length of the right from shoulder to wrist, and down to her hip.
The only thing she's decided on is, predictably, the ring they brought back in tandem from the lake. The rest? She's staring at in the mirror with a bemused and vaguely irritated squint.
No such beautification luck for Rafe, though he is enjoying the way his hair looks like he got into a fight with a light socket. He's full floof and bouncing as he jaunts into her room to find her staring at herself. Clothes? He's abandoned those a long time ago. He just stands behind her with proud Peter Pan hands on hips pose while gawking at her. A wolf whistle comes and he adds, "Hello, legs! Damn they really do go on forever," he notes as the flash of silver between his fingers shines briefly, he's playing with the scalpel, already honed to razor's edge. There's a quietly concerned and curiously sniffing moment in her direction.
"So...we're back...again. And again," he makes a bit of a face, "It's still completely nonsensical and I'm still completely okay with that." It's a declaration as much as a manifesto as he stalks the last few paces between them with a leering tilt of his head and a feral little growl. "I was...so stuffed up into eighty tracks of thought at the same time, I'm glad I remember you again," there's a flirty little wink.
When the door opens, she looks up. The grin is there -- it's Nyka's and it's not. It's hers, just a fraction more wolfish than usual. It suits this her nicely. "Still, I feel like I'm playin' pasty white girl roulette," the blonde says as she turns on a heel to face him, colliding right away without ceremony to wind her arms loosely around his waist.
"You were super high," she confirms with a slow and steady nod. "Which is kinda where I'd like to be right now, because-" Pasty white girl. Exploding again. All humanity in the balance. You know, the usual. "-I think space is just universally made to suck? Can we agree that space sucks? Space sucks." She might repeat that until her next dying day, but instead, she leans in closer, nose to nose with him, and whispers, "Hi. Kiss me before I start wondering what dress I have that isn't the world of sideboob again?" She glances down. Other than Danica's bikini model build, those are definitely new.
Like magnets the collision is inevitable, even if pushed away by mysterious forces they would orbit back and collide. The collision is a beautiful thing and he's pressing right up against her so that when she looks down to inspect the boobage it is quite squished between them and made to look even more full. An arm slips around her neck and he harumphs softly. "First thing is first," he croons before capturing her wedding finger and tugging the ring down just enough to carve back and forth in a practiced sweep to make the figure 8. "There were milkbloods again and frankly I need to know," he looks up at her with those dazzling eyes that seem to reflect the universe for a moment.
When there is red he slides her hand up to kiss the mark and then push the ring back into place before he turns the scalpel into her palm again. "Then I kiss you like I've missed you and we can address the dress scenario when we've been properly reacquainted." Sagely nodding he awaits his return under the plain, technicolor band that rests there. "We can also get high," he points out.
"Definitely was not Team Hobot this time around, though-" She did a really good job adhering to the 'ho' part, probably considerably better than Pandora ever did. This amuses her instantly, and she slides the 80s band from her finger to hold her hand aloft, in offering, before teeth catch at her lower lip.
"Uh." Awkward realizations hit in the same moment, and she winces through a smile. "You realize I got secretly married something like... 72 hours before we all died to save humanity, right?" Almost no one knew that, not that it wasn't at least marginally predictable. "Which I just sorta feel like I should mention, in case you didn't." It doesn't change the way she's leaning in close, and it didn't have her chasing anyone else down before now, either -- which is perhaps more telling on some level.
As the blade falls and traces the mark, she sucks in a quick breath, relieved herself to find the tiny trail it leaves behind a vivid shade of red. Even now, she wonders. Maybe especially now. "Here," she murmurs, taking up the blade in turn, catching his hand to hold aloft between them. There's a kiss pressed to the band before she slides it aside, and holds out her palm for the scalpel.
"Hey, Team Hobot was the kindest anyone ever was to me on that stupid ship," he reminds, they mighta been hoes but they reminded him to be human. Especially one in particular, but they both know that story. It's the awkward catch of her lip that has him pausing for a moment. His hand moves on rote action at this point, in the ability to carve out their commitment and promise to make sure they're alive and together every time. When it comes to handing it back his lips purse slightly to the side, "I vaguely remember another really pretty person," he nods.
Silence follows for a little bit as he rolls things around in his brain and eventually he shrugs. "It was a matter of time before one of us was married to someone else, or we ended up siblings or something weird - I mean that's still a possibility," he warns, because entropy is a bitch and he's completely aware of its existence. And the scalpel presses into her hand and he gives up his own between them so they can be mutually marked and not-so-secretly wed once again.
Forehead presses to forehead and he murmurs, "I love you," and that's all there is to it, that's all there needs to be as his lips brush against hers in a whisper of a kiss that will be all the harder when she's not wielding a scalpel against his ring finger under the band.
"I think I'm going to go back to the Noc just to ponder all of this later with Pandora's brain," she notes, trying to not laugh just a little. Normally, that's something she avoids, but there are a vast number of moving parts still jumbling about in her skull. "I will, however," she notes as she presses another kiss to the bared skin of his ring finger, "thank you for never being a relative of mine, at least yet, because-"
Her eyes flicker upward, and she says, "Waking up to realize you were married to your former half-brother by your former half-sister? Something of a mindfuck." Pause. "The least entertaining sort of fuck." The grin is tiny, but the amusement is real at the cosmic truth of this. If she couldn't laugh at it, there would be a lot more crying than the hint of redness around her eyes suggests there's already been. "I love you for never being my brother, full, half, step, or otherwise," she says as she readies the blade and sets it lightly in place.
"I love you for not being angry with me about marrying Blaise," she whispers as she starts to carve the first sweep of the line. "I love you for being here, right now, just as naked as I am, still here, still solid, never a ghost." The line continues, slow and deliberate, into the second loop and around. "I love you for not being afraid of just how fucking crazy I always am, and coming with me where that goes-" The line curves around, finally ending where it began, and she carefully lifts the blade, sliding the ring gently back into place.
"But most of all I love you for being the most real person I've ever known, everywhere. Anywhere. Always." And then there aren't more words to waste time with, and she leans in to kiss him like her very life depended on it.
"I mean, I think of course space sucks for us, but that's because the machine is probably in space and wants to trigger inate fear of leaving," he sage nods and then tilts his head slight and smirks, "Aw, not even a little curious about keeping it in the genes?" he laughs before looking down as she starts to carve. A slight flinch comes at the first sweep, but then it's that very satisfying kind of drag against his skin and he shifts on his feet slightly. "Why wouldn't I be naked?" he asks with a very real curiosity before having to think about those poor people and their conflicting emotions about various others. "We're all a little crazy babe, seriously it's my pleasure," he tries to counter.
When it's done, it's done and he's blinking down at it and then up at her. "I can't promise those things, but I can be thankful none of it's happened yet," he decides and then she's kissing him with that life-reaffirming passion and his words are silenced in favor of a moany sigh that melts into her mouth and he's scooping her up by her asscheeks and hauling her into himself with all the strength he can muster before they topple towards bed and he lands on her with knees under her thighs and nose brushing against hers before he dives into another deeply satisfying, toe-curling, breath-stealing kiss.
Coming up for air won't happen for a few hours. And when their sweat is dripping from the walls, he finally declares, "Shit! We forgot to get high first," and then he's spilling into laughter and wrapping around her naked and settling joyously with his soul-mate.
Some things take priority to getting high. Making an utter wreck of the room with the number of things that need to be re-re-rechecked for stability and solidity is a safety concern, after all. Finally landing in the bed again that few hours later is reason enough to coil in against him, nuzzling gently. "We break that same lamp every time," she murmurs into the side of his cheek, grinning like the absolute devil. "You'd think it'd learn, but no."
"It's like it's wearing its very own 'kick me' sign, written in lamp." Nestling in close, she traces idle spirals over his chest before her eyes flick back up toward his face again. "Speaking of signs, I'm changing faces like Madonna changes her bullet bras. I should probably put a note on the door, listing who I've been. Maybe get a stack of those 'Hello, my name is:' stickers and plaster myself with them."
"I think only you and sis -- Nettie -- ever saw me wandering around like this, back in the '30s. I mean, unless somebody remembers something really fuckin' old school, since I think this was the really olden days of yore Greek-inspired vibe, before it got all... " Her hand flicks in the air as if to swat a fly. "...Christian-poet'ed." Nope, she is still not over that one. Still bitter.
Instinctively, she stretches out a hand to reach for her cloves... which she hasn't gone to collect yet. "Well, shit. I don't even have cigarettes, love. What the bloody hell is this world coming to?"