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"I don't have an overabundance of friends right now, Des."
OOC Note: Backdated a few days. I fail at journaling, so I'll add to this later. Meanwhile, have a log.
OOC Note: Log follows.
[UL] Cusick Residence
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The first thing one sees in this house upon entering is a small narrow hallway that angles off sharply to the left at the end--this branch leads to the bathroom and the kitchen. The walls are white, and immediately to the left of the door is a set of hooks for the hanging of hats and coats. The floor is hardwood paneling and plain, rugless.
At the end of the hall is a door leading into the den, which is furnished with a glass-topped coffee table topped with a small resin statuette depicting a panther lounging upon a rock. Next to the table is an overstuffed black leather armchair that looks rather comfortable. A viewscreen is within easy sight of this seat, and a few bookshelves line the walls. These are empty, for the most part, and accented here and there by a figurine of some sort. There are a few paintings strategically hung about the place as well, and the floor is carpeted in dark soothing green. There are two doors on opposite sides of the den: one leads to the master bedroom, and the other is locked.
The hardwood flooring in the hall continues into the kitchen, which is small, but functional. The counters are chestnut in color, and the bright yellow bulbs in the light on the ceiling fan are diffused by frosted glass protectors. There is a stove against the left wall, and a refrigerator against the wall at the far end of the room. A microwave has been set up between, next to the coffee maker and the toaster. In the center of the room is a rectangular wooden table with a single chair to keep it company.
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Whiskey was on the menu. Whiskey dulled pain. But as she got closer to her old home, ducking from alley to alley to avoid being seen by Zero Tolerance patrols and sneaking into the backyard through a hole in the fence, Ilse remembered Desmond's own injury. He's sure to have some sort of medication in the house. And Ilse is determined to find it. Callisto's scent is strong, but Ilse's pain is stronger. She'll investigate that later. Once the pills have been found and taken, Ilse collapses into the bed's wonderful mattress, lying on her back with the bottle still clasped possessively in one hand, her cloak spread on either side almost like wings or maybe pools of blood.
Medicine is kept in the bathroom cabinet, and after wandering the streets of Bleaker with a bum leg and a cane, Desmond could use a little chemical help to sleep as well. However, upon entering the house and catching a whiff of Ilse, he knows he could use a bit of that whiskey as well. Maybe--just /maybe/--she's here to visit Callisto, and the puma can slink away to his room. He leaves hat, coat, and shoes at the door and hobbles down the hallway and through the den with just such an intention. Unfortunately, such plans are foiled the moment he spots the wolf sprawled on his bed. Damn. Desmond stands in the doorway a moment, frowning over at her. She not only has his bed, she has his /pills/. And he wants both. "I guess I should have changed the locks," he remarks blandly.
Desmond is lucky. Damned lucky. Ilse is high on pain meds when he enters in addition to very close to sleep. The bed was comfy. *Is* comfy. She lifts her head slowly after a moment, her nose telling her who is in the door before her eyes focus. But that's not all they tell her. "I..." but then Ilse narrows her eyes just as Desmond becomes clear in the doorway. "...'m not as big and fuzzy as your last bedmate."
And there it is. Desmond figured something like this would come up. But he's not ashamed. There was nothing between him and Callisto that shouldn't be talked about. The puma grunts softly and limps around the bed toward the closet, where he leans his cane up against the wall and begins to strip off his shirt. "She was big, yes, but /I/ was the fuzzy one in bed that night." In other words: no, Ilse, I'm not screwing your best friend.
It's apparently an adequate explanation, as Ilse doesn't dwell on it. "You've got drugs," she states simply, laying her head back down with a soft *fwump* of the pillow. "And they stole mine from the supply closet. And Cal's boy toy is incapacitated. And," but Ilse isn't so going to freely admit she's low on funds. The sort of drugs she wants are spendy on the street. "...I'm taking yours." This is a fact. Get used to it.
Think again, wolfy dear. "I think not," Desmond utters shortly. The shirt is hung in the closet with its fellows, and indeed, the puma still wears the ring around his neck. The slacks are the next to go, after he's emptied the pockets. It takes some kind of skill to get the things off in his current state, but he manages. "I think you've forgotten that you don't live here anymore, and I have no obligation to give you anything. Technically, you are trespassing." He glances over his shoulder at her as he takes up his cane again. "You gave up the right to my things in the catacombs."
"Corrrection," Ilse says with a smirk she can't suppress, rolling the 'r'. "I never had a right to your things. Like you never had a right to my whiskey. I could take that instead. You didn't pack it. Buuut whiskey won't work as well. And you know what they say about Brauns and that sort of booze. I'd *hate* to live up to my reputation."
"No, Ilse," Desmond sighs, hobbling around to her side of the bed again, "you /did/ have the right to my things, otherwise you would have been living elsewhere these past few months and eating from the garbage." Once he's near the side of the bed he pauses to regard her with a stony expression. "What makes you think I care about the Brauns and their whiskey?" The puma bends down, propping himself up with one hand pressed into the mattress next to Ilse's shoulder and lowering himself to perhaps an uncomfortable level--but it seems only a mechanism to peer into the wolf's eyes. "My pills, please."
"Who gave them to you?" Ilse asks in a dryer tone as she twists the cap off and drops a single dose onto the mattress, one pill bouncing off Desmond's hand. There. Pills. Two is plural.
That wasn't what he asked for, but Desmond's face remains nearly stoic--patiently so. "Mandy Starks," he replies levelly. "And she did not give them to me; I paid for them." Nevermind that he got a wonderful discount. It pays to have connections in the black market. "If you ask nicely, I might be inclined to get you some."
"You asked nicely. I gave you some." Ilse's smirk returns, and her grip on the bottle tightens. "Nice cane." It matched his hat.
That still isn't what Desmond asked for, but he's simply too tired to continue the struggle. He rises again and plucks the two pills from the bedspread before dry-swallowing them. "Yes. Callisto suggested that I get one made from bull's penis. I thought it better to go with something sensible. People might think I was attempting to compensate for something." This is all spoken flatly, without the hint of a smirk on his features. Once he's medicated, the cat begins to hobble toward the bathroom. Time to change his bandage.
Ilse already did that. She showered! And washed her clothes. All within the same timeframe. But, of course, this means changing the bandage, and luckily gauze doesn't have a high street value. "Maybe she thinks you do," Ilse offers as she stares at the ceiling. "She's a big girl, after all. You know what that must mean."
"You can't please them all, I suppose," is Desmond's wry remark from the bathroom. The cabinet is opened again, and the sounds of things clattering and rustling can be heard as he removes gauze, cotton, and medical tape and drops his boxers to begin the process of changing the bandage on his left buttock. He gives a cursory glance to other bits--nope, no reason to compensate. "I don't suppose you said 'hello' to her? She will be disappointed if you leave without so much as a word." Is that a faintly bitter twinge?
"And you'll be disappointed if I don't spoon with you." Yes, Ilse is well aware of that twinge and the subtext it carries. "But I think I should start believing what people tell me. Things like, I didn't fight honorably, and how I didn't turn myself when I should have, and God only knows what else. Oh yeah, that I can't please them all." Bitter? You betcha.
Response is delayed, because teeth are being used to rip off strips of tape for the bandage. When it finally /does/ come, it's no less bitter than before: "Are you looking for sympathy? Because the last time I attempted to give that, you threw it back in my face." The entire ensemble is applied to the wound, and then Desmond pulls up his boxers and limps out into the bedroom and makes for the closet. The top shelf contains extra blankets, and it's for one of these that he reaches.
"Corrrrrection," Ilse repeats in the same sort of manner, but she drags the trill out a bit longer this time and lifts her head to look at Desmond. "The *last* time you offered me sympathy, I was lying on a moldy mattress." Ilse knows how she woke up that morning. "And then there was the time before that in Rainway...and I didn't throw anything at you then." She knows what he's referring to though, and the memory brings a frown to her face. Ilse isn't proud of that day, but she can't really regret her actions. Had she stayed with Desmond, things could be worse right now. The quiet rumblings of a war among the wolves, no matter how distant, could only be exacerbated and made more dangerous if the Blood Meridian were involved in any way, shape, or form. Particularly that of a puma.
But Desmond doesn't see it that way. That day in the catacombs was a betrayal, and perhaps the deepest he's ever experienced. Perhaps that's what he gets for having never had a real relationship before. It is, technically, his first /real/ break-up. The puma pulls down an extra blanket, then tucks it beneath his cane arm and moves toward the bed to grab up his pillow. She can have the bed; he'll take the couch. "I offered you body heat so you wouldn't freeze to death," he grunts. "You bit my ear." And twisted it. Obviously, he's speaking of the morning in Rainyway.
"I remember when you used to like that," is Ilse' dry remark, sharp blue eyes following Desmond as they look out from a nonchalant face. "Will you stop being an ass if I give you your precious pills?"
That gives Desmond pause, and he stares down at Ilse with slightly narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Is he annoyed? Perhaps a little. Bitter? Yes. Frustrated? Definitely. But most of all, he's tired--very, very tired about so many things. The puma sighs after a moment. "What is it you want from me, Ilse?" he asks finally in a quiet voice. "I have offered everything that I know, and it hasn't been enough. So what is it that you want?"
"To know what it is you're trying to get." Ilse's answer comes without delay, and her face softens to a sort of blank slate. Simple.
Desmond shakes his head and sighs again, closing his eyes for a moment. "It isn't obvious?" he rumbles. Then, he swallows and opens his eyes again, face slipping into a tired frown. "I'm trying to regain the happiness I once felt upon entering the house and picking up your scent. I'm trying to get back the joy of waking up in the morning and being greeted by your face; your voice whispering to me before I fell asleep each night. But I'm tired of trying to piece things back together, Ilse. I can't do it alone--and right now, it seems that I am the only one making an effort."
"You can't piece something back together if you don't have all the pieces, Des." With a small wince, Ilse does her best to sit up in bed. "Do you want me to apologie for pushing you away? I'm sorry for all the miscommunication that resulted, but do you really want to be close to me right now? People, people with *guns* know what I am now. Do you want one of those bullets engraved with my name to find you instead?" The thought is terrifying, and not just because it's Desmond. Ilse is frowning now, her free hand gripping the sheet in addition to her cloak. "Because I don't. You have too many holes in your ass as it is." She sighs, shaking her head. "I...I don't have an overabundance of friends right now, Des," she admits in a softer tone. "I'd...I don't wand *you* to be on the other list." Not anymore.
"Ilse." Desmond drops the pillow back on the bed, followed by the extra blanket. "I don't care about them. I would /gladly/ take a bullet meant for you, if it meant that you were safe. I want to protect you--but you have to /let/ me, hmm?" He's been trying to stay on the Good List and finding resistance; understandably, he's not sure what to think. But ambiguousness seems to be gone now. The puma leans his cane up against the nightstand, then turns to slowly ease himself to sit on the mattress--lopsidedly, but at least he's sitting.
"You shouldn't," Ilse mutters as she looks away. "People trying to protect me half got me into this mess." And herself is included in that. The wolf sighs, lifting her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "...you know what's funny?"
"Mm, what's that?" Desmond takes up the extra blanket and gives it a few flaps to spread it out before he eases himself onto his right side and scoots himself onto the bed. It's fortunate that lying on his right side allows him to face Ilse; his left side is, obviously, out of commission.
"I..." But Ilse closes her eyes for a moment before she continues. It's a hard thing to say, even if it is somewhat funny. "I thought you'd hate me for being a horrible leader." And having convinced herself of that, Ilse had given back the ring. "But I... I guess you didn't. And now I'm not anymore."
The idea that he could ever hate Ilse is fairly ridiculous to Desmond. Be disappointed with, perhaps; but hatred is reserved for hunters and slavers. The puma remains stone-faced a moment, saying nothing. "Do you know what I think?" he utters finally. "I think your hair is growing back, but your perception of 'funny' things is a lost cause." Smirk.
"Shut the fuck up about my hair," Ilse snaps, her voice quiet but bordering a growl. Touchy subject. "I should keep it this way," she mutters, looking down at her bandaged belly. "Just to spite you."
"Thank you for proving my point." Desmond continues to smirk. "I suppose I'll get used to it." He reaches out a hand to pat the spot next to him invitingly. That thing she said about being disappointed if she didn't spoon with him? Yes, it's true.
Moving hurts, so Ilse stays right where she is. ...okay, that's a lie. She scoots to lie back down, but she doesn't bring herself closer to Desmond. "I've never had short hair in my damned *life*," she says with a disgruntled sort of moan. "...and I've never been gutted like a fish either." Fucking Adil.
"Mm. I've never had long hair in my life." It hasn't always been as short as it is now, but it's never been overly long either. Desmond doesn't move to close the distance either, but the hand used to invite Ilse to lie down now reaches over to run a finger over the short fuzz on her head. "Perhaps I'll grow it out; we can be opposites." As if they weren't already.
But that finger doesn't come close to touching Ilse's head before the former greyback turns to snap at Desmond's hand, teeth sharp in her mouth. "Don't do that," she growls in a low voice. No touchie the ... very-little-hair.
Feline reflexes save Desmond from a snap to the hand, but such an action still does not do good things for his disposition. He jerks his fingers out of reach, then scowls over at Ilse, eyes narrowing and lips pursing. "For someone who is looking for a friend, you certainly have a funny way of showing it," he grumbles before he eases himself over onto his back--the closest he can come to turning onto his opposite side and presenting his back to the wolf. Lighten up, Ilse.
"You can touch it when it's as long as," but Ilse pauses. Desmond's chin was cleanshaven, and when he turns away, she notices. How could she have not seen that before? Time to improvise, but the substitution is said in a more subdued tone. "...as yours."
Desmond grunts ambiguously, frowning deeper--but judging by the way he shifts a little over onto his right side, it's likely a reaction to the pressure on his left buttock. Being shot in the ass makes it very difficult to sulk effectively. "And I suppose you will be breaking in to steal hair products as well," he mutters.
"Hell no," Ilse says with a short-lived chuckle. "Did I *ever* put product in my hair?" Har har. Desmond is a metrosexual. Product. Ilse can't help but snigger again. "Besides, I don't want to look like," but then she stops, remembering Callisto's 'news.' Hrm.
There was not a puma in the recliner when she peeked in a few seconds ago after coming home, so Callisto is now braving the cross of the living room in her socks, having deposited her shoes at the door. It was a muddy road back, and so are her sneakers. "Oy! Pussyca--" Her booming voice doesn't get to finish this call, because the second the bear looks into the bedroom, it catches in her mouth with an undignified gurgle and a wide-eyed look. She still has her dark pink scrubs shirt on, jeans substituting for the pants again. "Ilse--" Callisto plans on saying something after, but it just burbles off with a grunt.
"Like what?" Like /me/? Desmond is /very good-looking/, thankyouverymuch. The puma turns his head to regard Ilse with a lifted eyebrow, but his attention is soon diverted to Callisto when she makes her entrance. He soon returns his gaze to the ceiling with a soft grunt. "Hello, Callisto," he greets in a near monotone. Yes, look, it's Ilse. She broke in. Isn't it joyous? The cat doesn't seem to care that he's lying in bed next to the wolf in his boxers and a ring-bearing necklace. This? This is perfectly normal.
But Ilse wasn't going to name Desmond, or anyone in particular really. When Callisto enters with a boom, Ilse gulps and looks sheepish, lifting a hand to rub at her head where she lies before she slips it down to cover her eyes. Embarrassed much? Oh yes. Her scalp is red.
Callisto's eyebrows rocket up on her forehead. "Iiuh. Hu. Is this a bad time?" She motions back over her shoulder. I can leave. Callisto isn't paying attention to Desmond, unfortunately. It's the hiding and reddening Ilse that gets her attention. Okay, sure. Hide from me. Her mouth is in a pouting frown, even if her eyes are as bright as ever.
"No, by all means, join us," Desmond utters, waving vaguely toward the foot of the bed. "We're all friends here." He can see Ilse blushing and hiding her face out of the corner of his eye. She's ashamed to be seen with him?
No, Ilse is ashamed at what she almost said. "Mm," is all she voices before she lets her hand drop to her belly, heaving a heavy but careful sigh. "Yeeup."
Callisto pauses, getting clearly mixed messages from both sides. Awkward. "...So which one is it? An--" The bear pauses again. She'll ask either way. "...Are you okay, Ilse?" In general, again, but mostly as per stabbings.
"Yeeup," Ilse repeats. "Des here was kind enough to give me a bottle of his pain pills, seeing as I'm unemployed and, well, pretty much fucked six-ways to Sunday. Isn't he sweet?"
Yeah, sweet. Desmond doesn't look very sweet right now. He looks a bit sour, actually, fingers interwoven over his stomach and a frown on his face. He doesn't say anything; just stares at the ceiling.
It's not like Callisto locks her own doors back home--but the same friendly point has been made. Desmond's growing silence makes her a little bit wary, though. What have they been talking about? "I'm...glad you're doing okay, Ilse." She seems to just say her name for the purpose of letting it pass over her tongue as many times is reasonably possible. "I--I think I should just...go away now." The woman takes a half sliding step away from the doorway, eyes unsure and shoulders loose.
"I think I will to." But as Ilse struggles to sit up and then stand, she leaves the bottle of pills on the bed. She'd ask about Lachlan, but she knows that he must be doing alright. Unless... "Your beau still breathing, Cal?" Or did you come to take the one that used to be mine?
The apparent abandonment doesn't do good things for Desmond's disposition either. "Have a good night," he grumbles at Ilse, obviously quite bitter. His gaze remains on the ceiling, though his eyes narrow a bit.
The bear-woman sputters just a bit in her effort to find a sentence. "Oh, uh. Yes. He's doing good, actually. Brought his dog up this last week too..." Callisto lets out a smile. "I have you to thank for my being able to help." Yes. Totally.
"I've patched more people in the last week than I can spi-" Desmond's response registers with Ilse as she nears the door, and she turns to glare back at the puma on the bed. "Stop lying to yourself, li... Des." Dammit. "Any more lies and I think I might choke. Air's *thick* with 'em."
"/I/ am lying to /myself/?" Desmond snorts, tone sardonic and full of disbelief. This seems to be the last straw. The cat sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed before grabbing up his cane and rising. "If you are choking on lies, Ilse, it's because /you/ are the one pushing them out. If there's been any honesty between us, it /hasn't/ been from you." He makes his way toward the closet and begins grabbing up his clothes to redress. Forget this. He's going to sleep at Headquarters.
Callisto has no idea what she has walked in on, honestly. The bear even begins to shrink back, inching away from the door with each word being belted out in front of her. Lies, lies, lies. It's enough to make Callisto second guess herself, and start second guessing everyone else too.
Ilse goes red again, and it's clear she's holding back a growl. Being accused of lying touches a nerve that she knows Desmond didn't mean to set off, but it's set off just the same. Even if a child doesn't know, putting a hand on a hot stove will still result in a burn. Looking as if she might boil over with rage, Ilse starts to stagger through the den toward the kitchen. She came in the back, she'll go *out* the back. Woe to any who try to stop her.
Desmond isn't going to stop her. He's too busy buttoning his shirt. Best to handle the easier clothing items before attempting to deal with things like pants and socks.
The woe has to end up somewhere, right? That might be what presses Callisto to only spare Desmond a glance before stepping after Ilse. "Ilse! Wait..." She doesn't know what she's doing--why is she stopping Ilse, again?
"Listen tonight," Ilse growls, her words hissing through her teeth as she does her best to storm (but fails at the effect) out. "And translate what you hear for that *ass*. Fucking no *right* to bitch at me about *lies*..." and her voice trails off into an incomprehensible grumble.
With no one else in the bedroom, Desmond is able to save himself some dignity when he puts on his pants and socks. It is, thanks to his injury, a very clumsy process, punctuated by a low growl now and then.
Callisto slows down in her pace, almost tripping over the edge of the sofa in the process. "Who does, then? Do I? Bleaker ain't exactly the cesspool of truth--are you even sure you know what a lie is, Ilse?" She's not being quiet, so chances are the puma can hear at least Callisto whether he wants to or not. A flustered bear is not someone that can choose words carefully, so this is probably going to get her in trouble.
Ilse shivers when she reaches the kitchen's back door, her grip on the knob producing white-knuckles. "Yes, I know what a *fucking* lie is, Callisto. I'm not an idiot." Despite what people may say. A moment later, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, her shoulders sinking. Calm down, Ilse. You're being...that way again. Easy to anger. Slow to think. "Look, just...just tell him I can't deal with this shit right now. And I tried. I fucking *tried*."
It's even easier to hear Callisto when Desmond is in the den, hobbling along as fast as he can in such a state. He steps out into the hall just in time to catch the last of Ilse's statement, and he bares his teeth at the kitchen doorway--no doubt blocked by the bear. "You /tried/? Oh, /that's/ rich." With a snort, he continues on his way to the front door, where he left his hat, coat, and shoes.
Callisto is now in the middle quite literally. Ah, well, crap. Desmond heard what he was supposed to hear, and there's nothing to go tell him now. Callisto knows Ilse's not an idiot--that's one reason the bear likes her. But right now, it's almost like -both- of them are being real big ones. Though the question still stands of whether the bear needs to point it out. For now, however, she keeps silent after Desmond pipes up with his quipping.
Ilse stares past Callisto, or really *around* her, at Desmond, another shiver running through her. Ripping her hand from the door, she moves to push past the bearwoman to get to the puma, blue eyes blazing with fury. "You want us to stop living a damned lie, Desmond? You want to wake the fuck up to reality and stop trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces?" Ilse may be moving slowly, but she's not as hampered as Desmond is, even without a healing factor. She has pain pills in her system...and she wants more. But that's irrelevant now.
Over by the front door, Desmond has acquired his hat and is now putting on his overcoat, once again leaving the harder items for later. He jerks firmly on the lapels of the coat to settle it over his frame and glares at the corner leading toward the kitchen. "No, Ilse, I would like for you to stop snapping at me /every/ /single/ /time/ I attempt to do something for you," he shouts in response. "You say you want to fix things, but you /don't try/. You stave off /every one/ of my efforts. So don't accuse /me/ of living lies."
Callisto wasn't paying as much attention to Ilse as she could have been, to be honest. That is probably the only reason that the wolf gets past her at first; but after she does, hardly a few seconds go by before Callisto turns to hold Ilse back. Whoa, nelly. So far, Callisto is beginning to lean toward the Desmond-side. Even though she doesn't know him as well, she does know the other woman well enough.
"So you want me to help fix things?" Ilse barely escapes her best friend's grip, making it around the corner to the front door. "*FINE*," she snaps one more time, reaching out to tear at Desmond's shirt buttons and what she knows lies beneath them. GIMME.
But such action is perceived as an attack, and Desmond isn't going to take it lying down. Not this time. One hand moves to intercept Ilse's own, snatching for her wrist, and the other snaps up to grab at her throat. If he succeeds, the puma will push forward to pin Ilse to the wall.
The same knife that sank into Ilse's gut when she last went for someone's throat makes an appearance, quickly grabbed by Ilse's free hand and thrust toward Desmond's abdomen. But the wolf is careful not to pierce his skin, though his shirt might not come away unscathed. "Let go of me," she chokes out of her tightened throat the growl evident but held mostly silent by Desmond's hand, "This knife is not for you." No, Ilse has plans for the blade still bathed in her blood.
Callisto is displeased with herself for not getting the wolf under her palms the first time, and even moreso when the two at the end of the hall come to blows and the shimmer of a knife shows up. HEY. HEY. "For fucking Chrissakes--!" Callisto vs. Cripples. Ready, set, GO--there is an attempt to literally pry the two shifters away from each other. Some feet might end up afloat from the mere fact that the bear is not paying attention to anything other than getting Ilse and Desmond /away/ from each other.
Once Desmond feels the knife at his gut, he doesn't shrink away. In fact, he presses into it slightly, doing what Ilse would not: puncturing the skin. His face contorts into a snarl. "Do it," he hisses. "Go on, Ilse, /do i--/" But he doesn't get to finish the challenge, because just then, there is a bear hand at the back of his coat and shirt collar, and it's hauling him back. Seeing as he doesn't have his cane, his balance is a little off, as he is supporting his weight entirely on one leg. It's not hard to pull him away from the wolf, but he is not a happy kitty either. The puma releases a cry that borders on the feral and begins to twist wildly, attempting to sink sharpened teeth and lengthened nails into Callisto's offending arm.
Desmond's reaction to the blade at his gut is surprising to Ilse. Moreso than Callisto's attempt to pull him away from her, and her away from him once she's stepped away from the wall. She fixes the snarling puma with a confused, frustrated, and angry face...but some of that anger may be a result of being scruffed. Ilse certainly doesn't like it, but instincts tell her that Callisto is bigger and isn't trying to be exactly parental, so she lets herself be lifted and moved.
The biting and clawing is to be expected, but that does not mean Callisto likes it. Her hand at the back of his clothes switches targets and moves for the back of his real neck instead, the noise she makes a deep growling rumble. The experience alert might be going off soon--last time Callisto grabbed him in displeasure, he ended up squashed against a ceiling. "Don't make Juggie have to choke a bitch--" Duh.
And well does Desmond remember what happened the last time Callisto nabbed him. Funnily enough, it was also in a hallway. Being grabbed by the back of the neck also sparks an instinctual urge to go motionless in the cat, whose attempts to rip open the arm at his back cease immediately. Like Ilse, however, the puma doesn't like being scruffed one tiny bit, and a low, ugly growl bubbles in his throat, even as he goes still. He directs a lethal glare at the baseboard across from him.
Assessing the situation quickly, Ilse shoots her now Desmond-free hand out once more to grab at his shirt. Or rather, what lies beneath said shirt. STILL WANT.
Considering the length between a normal man's arms is about the length of his body, Callisto simply pulls them both even farther apart than before. Okay, now she's feeling like mom. "You're both being -stupid-." Thanks for sharing. Her growl has died away, mostly because she isn't here to fight anyone. "Ilse--I don't see any missing pieces anywhere in this dumbfuck puzzle. I'm just seeing pieces being smacked in where they don't fit. By -both of you-. And you--stop being so self-assured of yourself." She peers back at Desmond, eyebrows creased. "You're both trying t'stuff the little plastic square blocks in the little circle holes, and unless you both -calm the fuck down- and -see what I fucking see-, you're both gonna end up breaking the whole fucking toy. Then /nobody/ will be happy." What a crazy parallel. It...sort of fits. Almost. Maybe not.
When Ilse reaches out /again/ to grab for Desmond, the puma reacts accordingly by swatting at her hand, growl increasing in volume. Don't /touch me/, woman. But the swat falls short, as the distance between himself and the wolf is increased. He's only got half an ear for what Callisto says; he's too busy glaring daggers over at Ilse. Once the bear finishes speaking, he attempts to twist out of her grasp. "No," he snarls. "I am tired of putting in effort, only to have it blocked at every turn. I am tired of atoning for sins I didn't commit." As far as he's concerned, that ship has sailed. The toy is broken.
The fight-or-flight response is hardwired into every living creature. Ilse did the fighting thing. It's now time for the flying one. She squirms in Callisto's grasp, working her shoulders in an attempt to get free. But the bear has not only her cloak by the fabric of her t-shirt beneath that. "What sins did *you* atone for?" Ilse is the one with a shaved head, mister. "Fuck it. I don't care anymore." And that, ladies and gentleman, might be the biggest lie of the night. All Ilse wants to do is lie down in Imre's bathtub and cry.
Callisto frowns to herself, reluctantly letting go of both shifters and keeping between them afterwards--just in case. "Then I must be the only one left who /does/." She responds and looks to Ilse, but she speaks to both of them. "You remember what I told you a week ago, Ilse--I saw you happy with him and even though I /hated/--" The word is seething. "--that it wasn't me, I wanted you to be /happy/ anyway." Okay, now she's looking to side with the puma a little more each second, but that is untrue--she is siding with herself, and that is plenty clear. She only sounds distantly similar just for the fact that she cares for the same person that he does. "Fuck it? You care more than you say or force yourself to think, Ilse, or you would not even fucking /be here/ in his /home/ in the first place and /I/ would not be getting the feeling that this can make you happy again, regardless of myself." The bear gesticulates equally as much as she speaks, jabbing a finger at the floor in her last effect. If Ilse is not happy, Callisto is not happy; this fact is ultimately something that has come with living the past three decades.
"Obviously, I have atoned for /nothing/," Desmond snaps, rolling his shoulders once he's released, "but I must have done /something/ to deserve /this/ from you. I wish I knew what it was. I have been /nothing/ but kind to you, Ilse, and you have reacted with snarls and bared teeth, and I am /tired/ of trying to please you. Clearly, it is an impossible task." Callisto's words cause him to look to her, then back to Ilse again. "I pity you, Callisto, if you have loved her as well. It's a painful thing to endure." The ring that Ilse was so eager to get at is soon in the puma's hand, and with a jerk and a soft grunt, he snaps the chain from around his neck. The jewelry clatters to the floor, and Desmond limps back toward the door to pick up his cane and resume the interrupted task of slipping into his shoes. Wherever he plans to go, it isn't here.
Flight is definitely looking good. But people are talking - talking to *her*. *Lecturing* her. *Yelling* at her. Ilse can't help but feel childish and small, and though her eyes watch the ring as Desmond pulls it from his neck and let's it fall to the floor, she doesn't move to pick it up. Instead, Ilse settles back against the wall, averting her eyes. Look at no one. "You could have tried *less*," she mumbles.
Callisto's initial reaction is to slap the other woman silly and explain the fact she did not fall in love with emo!Ilse. That thought keeps down and only manages to manifest on her expression, fortunately. "Screw you guys. You're both fucking stupid--I cannot FUCKING BELIEVE YOU--" The bear gives a snarl and turns herself towards the den. "I've never even BEEN loved back, and even /I/ know what the FUCK IT LOOKS LIKE." SLAM. Bear + Cave(Guest Room) = Solitude.
Which is exactly what Desmond is looking for: solitude. He pauses at the door to glance over at Callisto and her outburst, but his face remains stony. When it's only himself and Ilse in the hallway, he looks to the wolf. "Well then," he growls, "I am sorry that my only sin was to try." And with that, the door comes open, and the puma slips out into the night. The door does not slam behind him; it is simply closed.
Flight means outside. But taking a heated conversation into the open air is a bad idea on the Upper Level...but Ilse is also not really 100% rational right now. She snaps her head to watch Callisto leave, and so she's a bit late in following Desmond out the door, having to open it when it closes in her face. "You don't like neckties," she shouts at him, having an epiphany of sorts, "so why should I like leashes?" It's vague, and Ilse knows it's not enough to ensure Desmond stay to at least come to some sort of understanding. "I... I'm sorry. I'm a nut sometimes. A *lot* of the time. And I wasn't cut out for the spotlight like you. It's too... constricting. But I'm out of it now, and you... you wanting things to go back the way they were? It's...well, it's scary. I know you tried. You meant well and all that...but... fuck, Des, I don't know." Leaning against the open door frame, Ilse slides the knife back into her belt and then pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Things *can't* be like they were. But that doesn't mean they have to be like *this*." Square block, meet square hole?
Such a question /is/ vague, but it's enough to give Desmond pause, though his back remains to the house and, thus, Ilse. His eyes remain locked on the gate down the way, but his ears are opened to the wolf and her words. As he listens, he shakes his head slowly and emits a quiet sigh. It's more of the same--more words he's not even sure are true. He's tired. When she finishes, the puma turns his head to glance over his shoulder, face almost stoic. "Do you think I was trying to make things the way they once were? That I was attempting to relive the past?" he intones. "Do you think I'm an idiot who can't see when things have changed? I said that things have changed, Ilse, but I also said that /everything/ has not changed." He half-turns to make it easier to stare at her, but his expression does not change. "I still love you, Ilse. /That/ has not changed. Whatever else has changed doesn't matter, so long as that one thing remains constant--and that you still love me, as you once said you did. But /that/ is something that has apparently changed." Or so he perceives.
Ilse places a hand on her wound and closes her eyes, visibly steadying herself. It's been a few hours since she raided Desmond's drug stash. "Everything changes, Des," she says in a softer voice, eyes closing even tighter shut. "I... I don't know if I can say I love you. But...but I miss you. But the you that... the you I lied on the floor of Headquarters with." Things changed during their time together, and certainly not all for the better.
That makes very little sense to Desmond, but his expression remains flat. He is, as mentioned, tired--the painkillers mixed with current events have done quite a number on him. "I am still me," he states. "I haven't changed; /you/ have changed." He doesn't /think/ he's changed. He hasn't perceived a change in himself.
"Yes, you have. We both have. If we didn't, then we wouldn't have fought so much before this...this all happened." But Ilse is tired too. "Come back in, Des," Ilse says with a sigh. "I need a drink, and I don't know where you put the whiskey." The nostalgia of the statement brings a small smile to her lips and pulls a breathy chuckle from an exhalation of breath.
There's hesitation on Desmond's part. So far, ever since Ilse disappeared, he's been on one hell of a rollercoaster ride--and he's not sure he wants to climb another hill, only to plummet again. He stands out on the walk for the space of several seconds, staring at Ilse with that same exhausted expression. Finally, however, he gives in with a soft sigh and begins to hobble back to the house. "You shouldn't drink," he grunts. "It would mix badly with the pills." Even /he/ knows that, and he's not the doctor here.
"Then I guess I need another dose." The wolf smirks, standing aside when Desmond enters the house again. The rest of the evening is passed in the kitchen, where Ilse explains to Desmond what has happened concerning Adil, hinting that a war might break out. She doesn't intend on being in the thick of it. Charon was upset with Adil, and she knows her people are smart enough to get the hell out of dodge. Some further attempts at explaining the freedom Ilse now feels are made, but the wolf isn't as successful in this. Exhaustion plus medicine soon lead to sleepiness, and Ilse and Desmond retire to the master bedroom where sleep is had. It starts off innocently enough, each respectively on their own side of the bed. But the puma can't sleep on his back like Ilse can, and so at some point in the night, he wraps himself around the wolf. Unlike the last few times they shared a sleeping surface however, Ilse doesn't simply ignore the affection. She wakes up, sure, and a slow smile finds her lips before she gives Desmond's forehead a soft, Platonic kiss. Sigh. It *is* freeing not to have to worry so much about who will be sniffing her to see what scents she carries and what they will say/do regarding it. Even if she did have to explain Desmond's scent to Estelle, Milo, or Thalin, she could just say she decided that a bed (which smelled of puma - not a lie) was comfier than Imre's floor.
Ilse breaks into the house to steal pills, and Desmond happens to find her on the bed when he gets home. The usual joyous emo happens, and Callisto becomes a relationship counselor. A breakthrough is had.
OOC Note: Log follows.
[UL] Cusick Residence
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The first thing one sees in this house upon entering is a small narrow hallway that angles off sharply to the left at the end--this branch leads to the bathroom and the kitchen. The walls are white, and immediately to the left of the door is a set of hooks for the hanging of hats and coats. The floor is hardwood paneling and plain, rugless.
At the end of the hall is a door leading into the den, which is furnished with a glass-topped coffee table topped with a small resin statuette depicting a panther lounging upon a rock. Next to the table is an overstuffed black leather armchair that looks rather comfortable. A viewscreen is within easy sight of this seat, and a few bookshelves line the walls. These are empty, for the most part, and accented here and there by a figurine of some sort. There are a few paintings strategically hung about the place as well, and the floor is carpeted in dark soothing green. There are two doors on opposite sides of the den: one leads to the master bedroom, and the other is locked.
The hardwood flooring in the hall continues into the kitchen, which is small, but functional. The counters are chestnut in color, and the bright yellow bulbs in the light on the ceiling fan are diffused by frosted glass protectors. There is a stove against the left wall, and a refrigerator against the wall at the far end of the room. A microwave has been set up between, next to the coffee maker and the toaster. In the center of the room is a rectangular wooden table with a single chair to keep it company.
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Whiskey was on the menu. Whiskey dulled pain. But as she got closer to her old home, ducking from alley to alley to avoid being seen by Zero Tolerance patrols and sneaking into the backyard through a hole in the fence, Ilse remembered Desmond's own injury. He's sure to have some sort of medication in the house. And Ilse is determined to find it. Callisto's scent is strong, but Ilse's pain is stronger. She'll investigate that later. Once the pills have been found and taken, Ilse collapses into the bed's wonderful mattress, lying on her back with the bottle still clasped possessively in one hand, her cloak spread on either side almost like wings or maybe pools of blood.
Medicine is kept in the bathroom cabinet, and after wandering the streets of Bleaker with a bum leg and a cane, Desmond could use a little chemical help to sleep as well. However, upon entering the house and catching a whiff of Ilse, he knows he could use a bit of that whiskey as well. Maybe--just /maybe/--she's here to visit Callisto, and the puma can slink away to his room. He leaves hat, coat, and shoes at the door and hobbles down the hallway and through the den with just such an intention. Unfortunately, such plans are foiled the moment he spots the wolf sprawled on his bed. Damn. Desmond stands in the doorway a moment, frowning over at her. She not only has his bed, she has his /pills/. And he wants both. "I guess I should have changed the locks," he remarks blandly.
Desmond is lucky. Damned lucky. Ilse is high on pain meds when he enters in addition to very close to sleep. The bed was comfy. *Is* comfy. She lifts her head slowly after a moment, her nose telling her who is in the door before her eyes focus. But that's not all they tell her. "I..." but then Ilse narrows her eyes just as Desmond becomes clear in the doorway. "...'m not as big and fuzzy as your last bedmate."
And there it is. Desmond figured something like this would come up. But he's not ashamed. There was nothing between him and Callisto that shouldn't be talked about. The puma grunts softly and limps around the bed toward the closet, where he leans his cane up against the wall and begins to strip off his shirt. "She was big, yes, but /I/ was the fuzzy one in bed that night." In other words: no, Ilse, I'm not screwing your best friend.
It's apparently an adequate explanation, as Ilse doesn't dwell on it. "You've got drugs," she states simply, laying her head back down with a soft *fwump* of the pillow. "And they stole mine from the supply closet. And Cal's boy toy is incapacitated. And," but Ilse isn't so going to freely admit she's low on funds. The sort of drugs she wants are spendy on the street. "...I'm taking yours." This is a fact. Get used to it.
Think again, wolfy dear. "I think not," Desmond utters shortly. The shirt is hung in the closet with its fellows, and indeed, the puma still wears the ring around his neck. The slacks are the next to go, after he's emptied the pockets. It takes some kind of skill to get the things off in his current state, but he manages. "I think you've forgotten that you don't live here anymore, and I have no obligation to give you anything. Technically, you are trespassing." He glances over his shoulder at her as he takes up his cane again. "You gave up the right to my things in the catacombs."
"Corrrection," Ilse says with a smirk she can't suppress, rolling the 'r'. "I never had a right to your things. Like you never had a right to my whiskey. I could take that instead. You didn't pack it. Buuut whiskey won't work as well. And you know what they say about Brauns and that sort of booze. I'd *hate* to live up to my reputation."
"No, Ilse," Desmond sighs, hobbling around to her side of the bed again, "you /did/ have the right to my things, otherwise you would have been living elsewhere these past few months and eating from the garbage." Once he's near the side of the bed he pauses to regard her with a stony expression. "What makes you think I care about the Brauns and their whiskey?" The puma bends down, propping himself up with one hand pressed into the mattress next to Ilse's shoulder and lowering himself to perhaps an uncomfortable level--but it seems only a mechanism to peer into the wolf's eyes. "My pills, please."
"Who gave them to you?" Ilse asks in a dryer tone as she twists the cap off and drops a single dose onto the mattress, one pill bouncing off Desmond's hand. There. Pills. Two is plural.
That wasn't what he asked for, but Desmond's face remains nearly stoic--patiently so. "Mandy Starks," he replies levelly. "And she did not give them to me; I paid for them." Nevermind that he got a wonderful discount. It pays to have connections in the black market. "If you ask nicely, I might be inclined to get you some."
"You asked nicely. I gave you some." Ilse's smirk returns, and her grip on the bottle tightens. "Nice cane." It matched his hat.
That still isn't what Desmond asked for, but he's simply too tired to continue the struggle. He rises again and plucks the two pills from the bedspread before dry-swallowing them. "Yes. Callisto suggested that I get one made from bull's penis. I thought it better to go with something sensible. People might think I was attempting to compensate for something." This is all spoken flatly, without the hint of a smirk on his features. Once he's medicated, the cat begins to hobble toward the bathroom. Time to change his bandage.
Ilse already did that. She showered! And washed her clothes. All within the same timeframe. But, of course, this means changing the bandage, and luckily gauze doesn't have a high street value. "Maybe she thinks you do," Ilse offers as she stares at the ceiling. "She's a big girl, after all. You know what that must mean."
"You can't please them all, I suppose," is Desmond's wry remark from the bathroom. The cabinet is opened again, and the sounds of things clattering and rustling can be heard as he removes gauze, cotton, and medical tape and drops his boxers to begin the process of changing the bandage on his left buttock. He gives a cursory glance to other bits--nope, no reason to compensate. "I don't suppose you said 'hello' to her? She will be disappointed if you leave without so much as a word." Is that a faintly bitter twinge?
"And you'll be disappointed if I don't spoon with you." Yes, Ilse is well aware of that twinge and the subtext it carries. "But I think I should start believing what people tell me. Things like, I didn't fight honorably, and how I didn't turn myself when I should have, and God only knows what else. Oh yeah, that I can't please them all." Bitter? You betcha.
Response is delayed, because teeth are being used to rip off strips of tape for the bandage. When it finally /does/ come, it's no less bitter than before: "Are you looking for sympathy? Because the last time I attempted to give that, you threw it back in my face." The entire ensemble is applied to the wound, and then Desmond pulls up his boxers and limps out into the bedroom and makes for the closet. The top shelf contains extra blankets, and it's for one of these that he reaches.
"Corrrrrection," Ilse repeats in the same sort of manner, but she drags the trill out a bit longer this time and lifts her head to look at Desmond. "The *last* time you offered me sympathy, I was lying on a moldy mattress." Ilse knows how she woke up that morning. "And then there was the time before that in Rainway...and I didn't throw anything at you then." She knows what he's referring to though, and the memory brings a frown to her face. Ilse isn't proud of that day, but she can't really regret her actions. Had she stayed with Desmond, things could be worse right now. The quiet rumblings of a war among the wolves, no matter how distant, could only be exacerbated and made more dangerous if the Blood Meridian were involved in any way, shape, or form. Particularly that of a puma.
But Desmond doesn't see it that way. That day in the catacombs was a betrayal, and perhaps the deepest he's ever experienced. Perhaps that's what he gets for having never had a real relationship before. It is, technically, his first /real/ break-up. The puma pulls down an extra blanket, then tucks it beneath his cane arm and moves toward the bed to grab up his pillow. She can have the bed; he'll take the couch. "I offered you body heat so you wouldn't freeze to death," he grunts. "You bit my ear." And twisted it. Obviously, he's speaking of the morning in Rainyway.
"I remember when you used to like that," is Ilse' dry remark, sharp blue eyes following Desmond as they look out from a nonchalant face. "Will you stop being an ass if I give you your precious pills?"
That gives Desmond pause, and he stares down at Ilse with slightly narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Is he annoyed? Perhaps a little. Bitter? Yes. Frustrated? Definitely. But most of all, he's tired--very, very tired about so many things. The puma sighs after a moment. "What is it you want from me, Ilse?" he asks finally in a quiet voice. "I have offered everything that I know, and it hasn't been enough. So what is it that you want?"
"To know what it is you're trying to get." Ilse's answer comes without delay, and her face softens to a sort of blank slate. Simple.
Desmond shakes his head and sighs again, closing his eyes for a moment. "It isn't obvious?" he rumbles. Then, he swallows and opens his eyes again, face slipping into a tired frown. "I'm trying to regain the happiness I once felt upon entering the house and picking up your scent. I'm trying to get back the joy of waking up in the morning and being greeted by your face; your voice whispering to me before I fell asleep each night. But I'm tired of trying to piece things back together, Ilse. I can't do it alone--and right now, it seems that I am the only one making an effort."
"You can't piece something back together if you don't have all the pieces, Des." With a small wince, Ilse does her best to sit up in bed. "Do you want me to apologie for pushing you away? I'm sorry for all the miscommunication that resulted, but do you really want to be close to me right now? People, people with *guns* know what I am now. Do you want one of those bullets engraved with my name to find you instead?" The thought is terrifying, and not just because it's Desmond. Ilse is frowning now, her free hand gripping the sheet in addition to her cloak. "Because I don't. You have too many holes in your ass as it is." She sighs, shaking her head. "I...I don't have an overabundance of friends right now, Des," she admits in a softer tone. "I'd...I don't wand *you* to be on the other list." Not anymore.
"Ilse." Desmond drops the pillow back on the bed, followed by the extra blanket. "I don't care about them. I would /gladly/ take a bullet meant for you, if it meant that you were safe. I want to protect you--but you have to /let/ me, hmm?" He's been trying to stay on the Good List and finding resistance; understandably, he's not sure what to think. But ambiguousness seems to be gone now. The puma leans his cane up against the nightstand, then turns to slowly ease himself to sit on the mattress--lopsidedly, but at least he's sitting.
"You shouldn't," Ilse mutters as she looks away. "People trying to protect me half got me into this mess." And herself is included in that. The wolf sighs, lifting her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "...you know what's funny?"
"Mm, what's that?" Desmond takes up the extra blanket and gives it a few flaps to spread it out before he eases himself onto his right side and scoots himself onto the bed. It's fortunate that lying on his right side allows him to face Ilse; his left side is, obviously, out of commission.
"I..." But Ilse closes her eyes for a moment before she continues. It's a hard thing to say, even if it is somewhat funny. "I thought you'd hate me for being a horrible leader." And having convinced herself of that, Ilse had given back the ring. "But I... I guess you didn't. And now I'm not anymore."
The idea that he could ever hate Ilse is fairly ridiculous to Desmond. Be disappointed with, perhaps; but hatred is reserved for hunters and slavers. The puma remains stone-faced a moment, saying nothing. "Do you know what I think?" he utters finally. "I think your hair is growing back, but your perception of 'funny' things is a lost cause." Smirk.
"Shut the fuck up about my hair," Ilse snaps, her voice quiet but bordering a growl. Touchy subject. "I should keep it this way," she mutters, looking down at her bandaged belly. "Just to spite you."
"Thank you for proving my point." Desmond continues to smirk. "I suppose I'll get used to it." He reaches out a hand to pat the spot next to him invitingly. That thing she said about being disappointed if she didn't spoon with him? Yes, it's true.
Moving hurts, so Ilse stays right where she is. ...okay, that's a lie. She scoots to lie back down, but she doesn't bring herself closer to Desmond. "I've never had short hair in my damned *life*," she says with a disgruntled sort of moan. "...and I've never been gutted like a fish either." Fucking Adil.
"Mm. I've never had long hair in my life." It hasn't always been as short as it is now, but it's never been overly long either. Desmond doesn't move to close the distance either, but the hand used to invite Ilse to lie down now reaches over to run a finger over the short fuzz on her head. "Perhaps I'll grow it out; we can be opposites." As if they weren't already.
But that finger doesn't come close to touching Ilse's head before the former greyback turns to snap at Desmond's hand, teeth sharp in her mouth. "Don't do that," she growls in a low voice. No touchie the ... very-little-hair.
Feline reflexes save Desmond from a snap to the hand, but such an action still does not do good things for his disposition. He jerks his fingers out of reach, then scowls over at Ilse, eyes narrowing and lips pursing. "For someone who is looking for a friend, you certainly have a funny way of showing it," he grumbles before he eases himself over onto his back--the closest he can come to turning onto his opposite side and presenting his back to the wolf. Lighten up, Ilse.
"You can touch it when it's as long as," but Ilse pauses. Desmond's chin was cleanshaven, and when he turns away, she notices. How could she have not seen that before? Time to improvise, but the substitution is said in a more subdued tone. "...as yours."
Desmond grunts ambiguously, frowning deeper--but judging by the way he shifts a little over onto his right side, it's likely a reaction to the pressure on his left buttock. Being shot in the ass makes it very difficult to sulk effectively. "And I suppose you will be breaking in to steal hair products as well," he mutters.
"Hell no," Ilse says with a short-lived chuckle. "Did I *ever* put product in my hair?" Har har. Desmond is a metrosexual. Product. Ilse can't help but snigger again. "Besides, I don't want to look like," but then she stops, remembering Callisto's 'news.' Hrm.
There was not a puma in the recliner when she peeked in a few seconds ago after coming home, so Callisto is now braving the cross of the living room in her socks, having deposited her shoes at the door. It was a muddy road back, and so are her sneakers. "Oy! Pussyca--" Her booming voice doesn't get to finish this call, because the second the bear looks into the bedroom, it catches in her mouth with an undignified gurgle and a wide-eyed look. She still has her dark pink scrubs shirt on, jeans substituting for the pants again. "Ilse--" Callisto plans on saying something after, but it just burbles off with a grunt.
"Like what?" Like /me/? Desmond is /very good-looking/, thankyouverymuch. The puma turns his head to regard Ilse with a lifted eyebrow, but his attention is soon diverted to Callisto when she makes her entrance. He soon returns his gaze to the ceiling with a soft grunt. "Hello, Callisto," he greets in a near monotone. Yes, look, it's Ilse. She broke in. Isn't it joyous? The cat doesn't seem to care that he's lying in bed next to the wolf in his boxers and a ring-bearing necklace. This? This is perfectly normal.
But Ilse wasn't going to name Desmond, or anyone in particular really. When Callisto enters with a boom, Ilse gulps and looks sheepish, lifting a hand to rub at her head where she lies before she slips it down to cover her eyes. Embarrassed much? Oh yes. Her scalp is red.
Callisto's eyebrows rocket up on her forehead. "Iiuh. Hu. Is this a bad time?" She motions back over her shoulder. I can leave. Callisto isn't paying attention to Desmond, unfortunately. It's the hiding and reddening Ilse that gets her attention. Okay, sure. Hide from me. Her mouth is in a pouting frown, even if her eyes are as bright as ever.
"No, by all means, join us," Desmond utters, waving vaguely toward the foot of the bed. "We're all friends here." He can see Ilse blushing and hiding her face out of the corner of his eye. She's ashamed to be seen with him?
No, Ilse is ashamed at what she almost said. "Mm," is all she voices before she lets her hand drop to her belly, heaving a heavy but careful sigh. "Yeeup."
Callisto pauses, getting clearly mixed messages from both sides. Awkward. "...So which one is it? An--" The bear pauses again. She'll ask either way. "...Are you okay, Ilse?" In general, again, but mostly as per stabbings.
"Yeeup," Ilse repeats. "Des here was kind enough to give me a bottle of his pain pills, seeing as I'm unemployed and, well, pretty much fucked six-ways to Sunday. Isn't he sweet?"
Yeah, sweet. Desmond doesn't look very sweet right now. He looks a bit sour, actually, fingers interwoven over his stomach and a frown on his face. He doesn't say anything; just stares at the ceiling.
It's not like Callisto locks her own doors back home--but the same friendly point has been made. Desmond's growing silence makes her a little bit wary, though. What have they been talking about? "I'm...glad you're doing okay, Ilse." She seems to just say her name for the purpose of letting it pass over her tongue as many times is reasonably possible. "I--I think I should just...go away now." The woman takes a half sliding step away from the doorway, eyes unsure and shoulders loose.
"I think I will to." But as Ilse struggles to sit up and then stand, she leaves the bottle of pills on the bed. She'd ask about Lachlan, but she knows that he must be doing alright. Unless... "Your beau still breathing, Cal?" Or did you come to take the one that used to be mine?
The apparent abandonment doesn't do good things for Desmond's disposition either. "Have a good night," he grumbles at Ilse, obviously quite bitter. His gaze remains on the ceiling, though his eyes narrow a bit.
The bear-woman sputters just a bit in her effort to find a sentence. "Oh, uh. Yes. He's doing good, actually. Brought his dog up this last week too..." Callisto lets out a smile. "I have you to thank for my being able to help." Yes. Totally.
"I've patched more people in the last week than I can spi-" Desmond's response registers with Ilse as she nears the door, and she turns to glare back at the puma on the bed. "Stop lying to yourself, li... Des." Dammit. "Any more lies and I think I might choke. Air's *thick* with 'em."
"/I/ am lying to /myself/?" Desmond snorts, tone sardonic and full of disbelief. This seems to be the last straw. The cat sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed before grabbing up his cane and rising. "If you are choking on lies, Ilse, it's because /you/ are the one pushing them out. If there's been any honesty between us, it /hasn't/ been from you." He makes his way toward the closet and begins grabbing up his clothes to redress. Forget this. He's going to sleep at Headquarters.
Callisto has no idea what she has walked in on, honestly. The bear even begins to shrink back, inching away from the door with each word being belted out in front of her. Lies, lies, lies. It's enough to make Callisto second guess herself, and start second guessing everyone else too.
Ilse goes red again, and it's clear she's holding back a growl. Being accused of lying touches a nerve that she knows Desmond didn't mean to set off, but it's set off just the same. Even if a child doesn't know, putting a hand on a hot stove will still result in a burn. Looking as if she might boil over with rage, Ilse starts to stagger through the den toward the kitchen. She came in the back, she'll go *out* the back. Woe to any who try to stop her.
Desmond isn't going to stop her. He's too busy buttoning his shirt. Best to handle the easier clothing items before attempting to deal with things like pants and socks.
The woe has to end up somewhere, right? That might be what presses Callisto to only spare Desmond a glance before stepping after Ilse. "Ilse! Wait..." She doesn't know what she's doing--why is she stopping Ilse, again?
"Listen tonight," Ilse growls, her words hissing through her teeth as she does her best to storm (but fails at the effect) out. "And translate what you hear for that *ass*. Fucking no *right* to bitch at me about *lies*..." and her voice trails off into an incomprehensible grumble.
With no one else in the bedroom, Desmond is able to save himself some dignity when he puts on his pants and socks. It is, thanks to his injury, a very clumsy process, punctuated by a low growl now and then.
Callisto slows down in her pace, almost tripping over the edge of the sofa in the process. "Who does, then? Do I? Bleaker ain't exactly the cesspool of truth--are you even sure you know what a lie is, Ilse?" She's not being quiet, so chances are the puma can hear at least Callisto whether he wants to or not. A flustered bear is not someone that can choose words carefully, so this is probably going to get her in trouble.
Ilse shivers when she reaches the kitchen's back door, her grip on the knob producing white-knuckles. "Yes, I know what a *fucking* lie is, Callisto. I'm not an idiot." Despite what people may say. A moment later, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, her shoulders sinking. Calm down, Ilse. You're being...that way again. Easy to anger. Slow to think. "Look, just...just tell him I can't deal with this shit right now. And I tried. I fucking *tried*."
It's even easier to hear Callisto when Desmond is in the den, hobbling along as fast as he can in such a state. He steps out into the hall just in time to catch the last of Ilse's statement, and he bares his teeth at the kitchen doorway--no doubt blocked by the bear. "You /tried/? Oh, /that's/ rich." With a snort, he continues on his way to the front door, where he left his hat, coat, and shoes.
Callisto is now in the middle quite literally. Ah, well, crap. Desmond heard what he was supposed to hear, and there's nothing to go tell him now. Callisto knows Ilse's not an idiot--that's one reason the bear likes her. But right now, it's almost like -both- of them are being real big ones. Though the question still stands of whether the bear needs to point it out. For now, however, she keeps silent after Desmond pipes up with his quipping.
Ilse stares past Callisto, or really *around* her, at Desmond, another shiver running through her. Ripping her hand from the door, she moves to push past the bearwoman to get to the puma, blue eyes blazing with fury. "You want us to stop living a damned lie, Desmond? You want to wake the fuck up to reality and stop trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces?" Ilse may be moving slowly, but she's not as hampered as Desmond is, even without a healing factor. She has pain pills in her system...and she wants more. But that's irrelevant now.
Over by the front door, Desmond has acquired his hat and is now putting on his overcoat, once again leaving the harder items for later. He jerks firmly on the lapels of the coat to settle it over his frame and glares at the corner leading toward the kitchen. "No, Ilse, I would like for you to stop snapping at me /every/ /single/ /time/ I attempt to do something for you," he shouts in response. "You say you want to fix things, but you /don't try/. You stave off /every one/ of my efforts. So don't accuse /me/ of living lies."
Callisto wasn't paying as much attention to Ilse as she could have been, to be honest. That is probably the only reason that the wolf gets past her at first; but after she does, hardly a few seconds go by before Callisto turns to hold Ilse back. Whoa, nelly. So far, Callisto is beginning to lean toward the Desmond-side. Even though she doesn't know him as well, she does know the other woman well enough.
"So you want me to help fix things?" Ilse barely escapes her best friend's grip, making it around the corner to the front door. "*FINE*," she snaps one more time, reaching out to tear at Desmond's shirt buttons and what she knows lies beneath them. GIMME.
But such action is perceived as an attack, and Desmond isn't going to take it lying down. Not this time. One hand moves to intercept Ilse's own, snatching for her wrist, and the other snaps up to grab at her throat. If he succeeds, the puma will push forward to pin Ilse to the wall.
The same knife that sank into Ilse's gut when she last went for someone's throat makes an appearance, quickly grabbed by Ilse's free hand and thrust toward Desmond's abdomen. But the wolf is careful not to pierce his skin, though his shirt might not come away unscathed. "Let go of me," she chokes out of her tightened throat the growl evident but held mostly silent by Desmond's hand, "This knife is not for you." No, Ilse has plans for the blade still bathed in her blood.
Callisto is displeased with herself for not getting the wolf under her palms the first time, and even moreso when the two at the end of the hall come to blows and the shimmer of a knife shows up. HEY. HEY. "For fucking Chrissakes--!" Callisto vs. Cripples. Ready, set, GO--there is an attempt to literally pry the two shifters away from each other. Some feet might end up afloat from the mere fact that the bear is not paying attention to anything other than getting Ilse and Desmond /away/ from each other.
Once Desmond feels the knife at his gut, he doesn't shrink away. In fact, he presses into it slightly, doing what Ilse would not: puncturing the skin. His face contorts into a snarl. "Do it," he hisses. "Go on, Ilse, /do i--/" But he doesn't get to finish the challenge, because just then, there is a bear hand at the back of his coat and shirt collar, and it's hauling him back. Seeing as he doesn't have his cane, his balance is a little off, as he is supporting his weight entirely on one leg. It's not hard to pull him away from the wolf, but he is not a happy kitty either. The puma releases a cry that borders on the feral and begins to twist wildly, attempting to sink sharpened teeth and lengthened nails into Callisto's offending arm.
Desmond's reaction to the blade at his gut is surprising to Ilse. Moreso than Callisto's attempt to pull him away from her, and her away from him once she's stepped away from the wall. She fixes the snarling puma with a confused, frustrated, and angry face...but some of that anger may be a result of being scruffed. Ilse certainly doesn't like it, but instincts tell her that Callisto is bigger and isn't trying to be exactly parental, so she lets herself be lifted and moved.
The biting and clawing is to be expected, but that does not mean Callisto likes it. Her hand at the back of his clothes switches targets and moves for the back of his real neck instead, the noise she makes a deep growling rumble. The experience alert might be going off soon--last time Callisto grabbed him in displeasure, he ended up squashed against a ceiling. "Don't make Juggie have to choke a bitch--" Duh.
And well does Desmond remember what happened the last time Callisto nabbed him. Funnily enough, it was also in a hallway. Being grabbed by the back of the neck also sparks an instinctual urge to go motionless in the cat, whose attempts to rip open the arm at his back cease immediately. Like Ilse, however, the puma doesn't like being scruffed one tiny bit, and a low, ugly growl bubbles in his throat, even as he goes still. He directs a lethal glare at the baseboard across from him.
Assessing the situation quickly, Ilse shoots her now Desmond-free hand out once more to grab at his shirt. Or rather, what lies beneath said shirt. STILL WANT.
Considering the length between a normal man's arms is about the length of his body, Callisto simply pulls them both even farther apart than before. Okay, now she's feeling like mom. "You're both being -stupid-." Thanks for sharing. Her growl has died away, mostly because she isn't here to fight anyone. "Ilse--I don't see any missing pieces anywhere in this dumbfuck puzzle. I'm just seeing pieces being smacked in where they don't fit. By -both of you-. And you--stop being so self-assured of yourself." She peers back at Desmond, eyebrows creased. "You're both trying t'stuff the little plastic square blocks in the little circle holes, and unless you both -calm the fuck down- and -see what I fucking see-, you're both gonna end up breaking the whole fucking toy. Then /nobody/ will be happy." What a crazy parallel. It...sort of fits. Almost. Maybe not.
When Ilse reaches out /again/ to grab for Desmond, the puma reacts accordingly by swatting at her hand, growl increasing in volume. Don't /touch me/, woman. But the swat falls short, as the distance between himself and the wolf is increased. He's only got half an ear for what Callisto says; he's too busy glaring daggers over at Ilse. Once the bear finishes speaking, he attempts to twist out of her grasp. "No," he snarls. "I am tired of putting in effort, only to have it blocked at every turn. I am tired of atoning for sins I didn't commit." As far as he's concerned, that ship has sailed. The toy is broken.
The fight-or-flight response is hardwired into every living creature. Ilse did the fighting thing. It's now time for the flying one. She squirms in Callisto's grasp, working her shoulders in an attempt to get free. But the bear has not only her cloak by the fabric of her t-shirt beneath that. "What sins did *you* atone for?" Ilse is the one with a shaved head, mister. "Fuck it. I don't care anymore." And that, ladies and gentleman, might be the biggest lie of the night. All Ilse wants to do is lie down in Imre's bathtub and cry.
Callisto frowns to herself, reluctantly letting go of both shifters and keeping between them afterwards--just in case. "Then I must be the only one left who /does/." She responds and looks to Ilse, but she speaks to both of them. "You remember what I told you a week ago, Ilse--I saw you happy with him and even though I /hated/--" The word is seething. "--that it wasn't me, I wanted you to be /happy/ anyway." Okay, now she's looking to side with the puma a little more each second, but that is untrue--she is siding with herself, and that is plenty clear. She only sounds distantly similar just for the fact that she cares for the same person that he does. "Fuck it? You care more than you say or force yourself to think, Ilse, or you would not even fucking /be here/ in his /home/ in the first place and /I/ would not be getting the feeling that this can make you happy again, regardless of myself." The bear gesticulates equally as much as she speaks, jabbing a finger at the floor in her last effect. If Ilse is not happy, Callisto is not happy; this fact is ultimately something that has come with living the past three decades.
"Obviously, I have atoned for /nothing/," Desmond snaps, rolling his shoulders once he's released, "but I must have done /something/ to deserve /this/ from you. I wish I knew what it was. I have been /nothing/ but kind to you, Ilse, and you have reacted with snarls and bared teeth, and I am /tired/ of trying to please you. Clearly, it is an impossible task." Callisto's words cause him to look to her, then back to Ilse again. "I pity you, Callisto, if you have loved her as well. It's a painful thing to endure." The ring that Ilse was so eager to get at is soon in the puma's hand, and with a jerk and a soft grunt, he snaps the chain from around his neck. The jewelry clatters to the floor, and Desmond limps back toward the door to pick up his cane and resume the interrupted task of slipping into his shoes. Wherever he plans to go, it isn't here.
Flight is definitely looking good. But people are talking - talking to *her*. *Lecturing* her. *Yelling* at her. Ilse can't help but feel childish and small, and though her eyes watch the ring as Desmond pulls it from his neck and let's it fall to the floor, she doesn't move to pick it up. Instead, Ilse settles back against the wall, averting her eyes. Look at no one. "You could have tried *less*," she mumbles.
Callisto's initial reaction is to slap the other woman silly and explain the fact she did not fall in love with emo!Ilse. That thought keeps down and only manages to manifest on her expression, fortunately. "Screw you guys. You're both fucking stupid--I cannot FUCKING BELIEVE YOU--" The bear gives a snarl and turns herself towards the den. "I've never even BEEN loved back, and even /I/ know what the FUCK IT LOOKS LIKE." SLAM. Bear + Cave(Guest Room) = Solitude.
Which is exactly what Desmond is looking for: solitude. He pauses at the door to glance over at Callisto and her outburst, but his face remains stony. When it's only himself and Ilse in the hallway, he looks to the wolf. "Well then," he growls, "I am sorry that my only sin was to try." And with that, the door comes open, and the puma slips out into the night. The door does not slam behind him; it is simply closed.
Flight means outside. But taking a heated conversation into the open air is a bad idea on the Upper Level...but Ilse is also not really 100% rational right now. She snaps her head to watch Callisto leave, and so she's a bit late in following Desmond out the door, having to open it when it closes in her face. "You don't like neckties," she shouts at him, having an epiphany of sorts, "so why should I like leashes?" It's vague, and Ilse knows it's not enough to ensure Desmond stay to at least come to some sort of understanding. "I... I'm sorry. I'm a nut sometimes. A *lot* of the time. And I wasn't cut out for the spotlight like you. It's too... constricting. But I'm out of it now, and you... you wanting things to go back the way they were? It's...well, it's scary. I know you tried. You meant well and all that...but... fuck, Des, I don't know." Leaning against the open door frame, Ilse slides the knife back into her belt and then pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Things *can't* be like they were. But that doesn't mean they have to be like *this*." Square block, meet square hole?
Such a question /is/ vague, but it's enough to give Desmond pause, though his back remains to the house and, thus, Ilse. His eyes remain locked on the gate down the way, but his ears are opened to the wolf and her words. As he listens, he shakes his head slowly and emits a quiet sigh. It's more of the same--more words he's not even sure are true. He's tired. When she finishes, the puma turns his head to glance over his shoulder, face almost stoic. "Do you think I was trying to make things the way they once were? That I was attempting to relive the past?" he intones. "Do you think I'm an idiot who can't see when things have changed? I said that things have changed, Ilse, but I also said that /everything/ has not changed." He half-turns to make it easier to stare at her, but his expression does not change. "I still love you, Ilse. /That/ has not changed. Whatever else has changed doesn't matter, so long as that one thing remains constant--and that you still love me, as you once said you did. But /that/ is something that has apparently changed." Or so he perceives.
Ilse places a hand on her wound and closes her eyes, visibly steadying herself. It's been a few hours since she raided Desmond's drug stash. "Everything changes, Des," she says in a softer voice, eyes closing even tighter shut. "I... I don't know if I can say I love you. But...but I miss you. But the you that... the you I lied on the floor of Headquarters with." Things changed during their time together, and certainly not all for the better.
That makes very little sense to Desmond, but his expression remains flat. He is, as mentioned, tired--the painkillers mixed with current events have done quite a number on him. "I am still me," he states. "I haven't changed; /you/ have changed." He doesn't /think/ he's changed. He hasn't perceived a change in himself.
"Yes, you have. We both have. If we didn't, then we wouldn't have fought so much before this...this all happened." But Ilse is tired too. "Come back in, Des," Ilse says with a sigh. "I need a drink, and I don't know where you put the whiskey." The nostalgia of the statement brings a small smile to her lips and pulls a breathy chuckle from an exhalation of breath.
There's hesitation on Desmond's part. So far, ever since Ilse disappeared, he's been on one hell of a rollercoaster ride--and he's not sure he wants to climb another hill, only to plummet again. He stands out on the walk for the space of several seconds, staring at Ilse with that same exhausted expression. Finally, however, he gives in with a soft sigh and begins to hobble back to the house. "You shouldn't drink," he grunts. "It would mix badly with the pills." Even /he/ knows that, and he's not the doctor here.
"Then I guess I need another dose." The wolf smirks, standing aside when Desmond enters the house again. The rest of the evening is passed in the kitchen, where Ilse explains to Desmond what has happened concerning Adil, hinting that a war might break out. She doesn't intend on being in the thick of it. Charon was upset with Adil, and she knows her people are smart enough to get the hell out of dodge. Some further attempts at explaining the freedom Ilse now feels are made, but the wolf isn't as successful in this. Exhaustion plus medicine soon lead to sleepiness, and Ilse and Desmond retire to the master bedroom where sleep is had. It starts off innocently enough, each respectively on their own side of the bed. But the puma can't sleep on his back like Ilse can, and so at some point in the night, he wraps himself around the wolf. Unlike the last few times they shared a sleeping surface however, Ilse doesn't simply ignore the affection. She wakes up, sure, and a slow smile finds her lips before she gives Desmond's forehead a soft, Platonic kiss. Sigh. It *is* freeing not to have to worry so much about who will be sniffing her to see what scents she carries and what they will say/do regarding it. Even if she did have to explain Desmond's scent to Estelle, Milo, or Thalin, she could just say she decided that a bed (which smelled of puma - not a lie) was comfier than Imre's floor.
Ilse breaks into the house to steal pills, and Desmond happens to find her on the bed when he gets home. The usual joyous emo happens, and Callisto becomes a relationship counselor. A breakthrough is had.
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