Friendship is Magic

Mr.Face:

"I've told her explicitly not to come in here. Ever. And yet...here she is. And you expect to treat that with LENIENCE? You expect me to just let her walk out of here in one piece because you tell me to?" I asked him, still pointing the pistol in the general direction of Riddle. I assumed.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN LEAVING? I WAS GOING TO---" She paused for a moment and seemed to just then notice that I was there. "Ohhai dad! DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS SOME GUY IN YOUR ROOM?"

... ...Really.Really. "No, I just LET RANDOM VAGRANTS INTO MY OFFICE, YOU IMBECILE. GET OUT." I'd come up with a simple solution to the whole problem of shooting people with people that you would rather not execute at the moment. This solution consisted of forcibly carrying ...her out into the hall in front of my office and emptying the clip into her. ...At least I thought I did.

I put the pistol away and walked back in. "I do apologise about that whole... mess. She should know better by now." I stated, deciding to ignore the fact that he'd been in my chair for the moment. I mean, certainly it was a transgression, however... SHE was a larger issue.

Cricket

I found myself staring at the scene, wide-eyed, until he dragged her out and I heard gunshot. Was this wat it was always like with those two?

I was quiet a moment, still leaning against the desk and watching the chair slow its spinning in the corner of my eye. I kicked behind me and stopped it gingerly with my foot. "You know what . . . I think no matter 'ow many times you shoot 'er she's still not going t' listen. But if you still want t' keep getting so angry at 'er, go on a'ead, I mean . . . she can't really tell th' difference by now, can she? I'd think not."

Mr.Face:

"The difference is: If she doesn't bother me, I don't shoot her. Clearly. How difficult can that be to distinguish?" I asked, walking around to the same side of the desk that Crick---wait no My Prisoner---wait. Had it right the first time... This was going to be difficult to remember, I felt. Anyway, I went and took the chair out from under his foot, sitting down.

" You messed with all my settings on this... I am not amused."I stated.

Cricket

I turned as he walked to keep facing him, until I had my back against the desk. Suddenly, I felt a tad cornered.

I hesitated, then gave a sheepish grin that he couldn't see. "But it spins," I said, deciding not to try to explain my theory of how Riddle probably couldn't tell the difference, figuring he probably knew what I meant and probably knew that she wasn't about to suddenly not bother him. Probably.

Mr.Face:

"...Of course it spins. All office chairs spin. That does not mean that one can just sit down in someone's office chair and move all the levers around, recklessly adjusting all the settings." I explained, quite happy to let all the nonsense about her dwindle away, though still mildly irritated...mostly as a result of people being incompetent downstairs.

I took a few minutes to readjust all the settings pointedly.

Cricket

" 'ey. It was either that, or snoop around your office."

Mr.Face:

"In that case... I suppouse it was better that you messed with all my levers. Not that there's anything of consequence in my office... most of it is computerised. The really interesting items are in that closet...though the word interesting, I realise, is exceptionally subjective." I said, though it was still frustrating that I had to readjust all those levers.

Cricket

"In that closet, aye?" I cocked my head, stealing a glance at it. "Something I myself might find interesting? And, I might add, was that an invitation t' see for myself, or will I get shot if I try?"

Mr. Face:

"I repeat, it truly depends on your definition of interesting. I mean, I can take you on a tour of it if you'd like. Its nothing of legitimate consequence to you, I don't think. " I replied calmly.

Cricket

"A'right," I said simply, studying the door. Curiousity. "Tour away."

Mr.Face:

I got up and walked over to the closet, pulling open the door and then briefly stopping to wonder if this room was even lit. ...That would certainly be a fascinating tour through a walk in closet in the dark. I jest, obviously.

"I'm curious as to know whether or not it's even lit...because if not, we may be having a temporary tour technical difficulty." Now with added alliterative appeal, I added internally.

Cricket

I leaned forward to watch as the door pulled open, my interest caught on the way that last part was phrased rather than the contents for a moment. "Th' thought-t'-be troublesome temporary technical difficulty turns out t' be not-totally nonexistant this time around due t' th' terribly dim way th' little closet turns out t' be lit." I had quite a bit of fun popping every single 't' sound that happened to appear in that sentence.

And then I sauntered up behind him, and peered around. Huh. I'd been expecting something . . . more of a closet, less of a small room. I tipped my head slowly, studying the shapes among the shadows. " . . . Tools." Thankfully, that also had a 't' in it.

Mr.Face:

It was good to hear that there was not going to be an issue with visibility. It was also mildly amusing to hear the additional alliteration that he put forth. "Added alliteration...nice." I commented briefly prior to actually carrying on with the whole... tour aspect of this. "And yes, they're tools, technically." The "T" trend was continuing uncontrollably now, and I hoped to terminate their prominence...as it was interesting once and now it was just getting... out of hand.

"This is my...Inventory, I suppouse you could say. Because, clearly... one set of implements won't last forever. Things need maintained and replaced over time... changed as technique evolves... cleaned fastidiously... you know." I explained, walking into the room.

Cricket

I peered into the foreboding toolshed of death a moment more, until I paced in, gingerly, like too heavy a step might get me impaled. I found myself surrounded by shiny things. Except that these shiny things had a sort of knowing, smirking, threatening wink that didn't come with your average shining treasure.

"Oi my my ... That, friend ... That is a lot of sharp objects." I had to wonder how much one of his knives might be worth back in Luna. Since nobody there knew Mr. Face enough to treasure the stories behind the weapons, probably not much. Unless, perhaps, I found a bloody one to back up the stories.

What am I thinking.

Thinking like a thief, I'd say. Been a while since I'd done such a thing. But I let myself think that way, because it might be easier and retain a bit more dignity than thinking like a scared little kid in dim room full of horrible objects and a monster in a bloodstained suit.

Mr.Face:

"Indeed it is. Quite a few. Though, I probably need to put in a new order on some of these... especially saw blades... I go through those very quickly... Bone is unforgiving, surprisingly." I was now actually investigating my saw blade inventory, and finding that indeed, several of them would need sharpened or replaced altogether.

"The fantastic thing about exacto knives is that you can replace the blades instead of replacing the knife itself. I do wish that more weapons came that way." I commented on a slight tangent from my original vein regarding the acquisition and replacement of weaponry and tools.

Cricket

Bone . . . I felt a strange ghost of an ache in my ribs when he talked about that, and shuddered. Take a breath. Ignore the feeling. I swept some hair aside, my gaze trailing carefully down a row of blades. Surrounded by that many knives, it feels like you might cut your eyes just by looking too fast. They were all so clean, so neat. "You do knives differently," I commented. "Knives, weapons in general . . . different than in Luna, I mean."

Mr.Face:

"How do you mean? They are still sharp in..." I paused a moment before repeating whatever proper noun he'd just used. I now technically knew his city of origin, didn't I. ...Odd. This whole... exchange of casual and slightly more than casual information was exceedingly strange. "...Luna, are they not?" I asked, curious as to what the difference was.

Cricket

There was a funny pause before he said 'Luna'. Had he not known the name? Ah. I see. . . . That was odd to think about, the fact that he was technically getting to know me more. "Well, ah . . . " I paused for thought. "Depends. Most of 'em. Some of th' most valuable ones are th' ones so rusted and worn down they're not used for much other than show, see . . . 'ardly anyone will clean blades. Blood's got quite a bit of value. It's th' . . . story be'ind th' weapons that count, who's blood they carry, not 'ow well it gets th' job done."

Mr.Face:

That made no sense at all to me. "But...there's no efficiency in that. I pay forty some rectangles for every new box of exacto knife blades I purchase, so of course, logically, I want them in working order for as long as possible. Blood corrodes. It oxidises and weakens. If you want a story, purchase a book, not a knife." I stated, not quite an arguement, but more a disagreement of opinions or something like that.

Cricket

"I 'ear rusty knives 'urt more." I found myself fingering across the silver-shining blades, watching for shapes in the gleam, distractions, distractions. Would there even be a way to sneak one out without him noticing, for the sake of trying? Perhaps it would be worth something, just perhaps. "If you push 'ard enough. No good for clean cuts, but clean's not th' point . . . clean blades can ruin lives if you 'it th' right spots, but get cut with a bloody one and all you can do is pray t' god th' unfortunate b'fore you didn't 'ave some terrible disease. But people will pay good money for th' knife o' someone with a reputation, say . . . any idiot can kill, but not just anyone can steal th' knife of a big-shot murderer. It's less about efficiency and more about doing things th' 'ard way t' say you did. Th' honor of it."

Honor . . . funny term. In Luna, honor's like a prize you could cheat your way through the game of human life to get.

Mr.Face:

"Depends on your definition of hurt. Rust certainly hurts more initially, though the fact that it's blunter and uneven makes it take more work to excise the same amount of damage... which, honestly... I don't want that kind of work to put a clean cut in someone. Clean blades give that ridiculous sting moments later. I'm quite sure you're familiar with the sensation...?" I couldn't help but grin there as well.

I'd noticed his fingers on my knives, and made a note to oil them later.

"Honor of stealing? ...I don't think we have that here. Here, I think that that would be called being executed." I added, as an afterthought.

Cricket

And suddenly, I turned away from the exacto knives. I'll be honest, I bit my lip to keep from spurting into a flailing ramble after the mention of how much I knew that sensation.

" . . . Aye, so I've noticed. Though execution seems a bit too swift a word, almost. Not th' definition persay, just th' way th' word sounds."

Mr.Face:

"I understand. However any alternative word choice would have ended with a drawn out and unwieldy sentence, and I wouldn't have wanted that. I mean, really... who wants to end a sentence with the phrase: "Ardorous labours towards a torturous and well deserved extinction"? " I asked, tempted to coninue my line of unanswered questioning regarding the sensation of clean knives, but deciding that it wouldn't be wise...for the whole... friendship...thing.

Cricket

Well-deserved? To an extent. Laborous? Aye. Exctinction? Always. Ardorous . . . whatever that meant, it sounded like it fit with the sentence. "Aye, well . . . it seems t' fit more." I shook my hair back in my eyes. Tired of looking at sharp things for a while.

Mr.Face:

Of course it fit better. It was just... too long to detail. "It was aesthetically disruptive to the flow of the sentence though. I wouldn't have wanted to inflict that kind of aberration to standard English syntax on you. It would have been rude." I explained, feeling a few muscles on my face crinkle in distaste for that kind of abuse of the language.