Comparing scars only ever ends one way

[Wharil Choc]

What was once an eyesore of decaying railroad tracks and parking lots along Chicago's lakefront is now a stunning 24.5-acre urban jewel called Millennium Park. There are plenty of lawns for picnicking, walkways among hedges and gardens, a performing arts venue, and a bicycle rental center so visitors can tour the park on wheels. Its on one of these walkways that he travels. Well, ambles is the most accurate word by far. It looks like its been a long day for Wharil Choc. His hair is mussed and his clothes are stained and wrinkled. His eyes are sunken and ringed with the dark signs of lack of sleep. There's no expression on that face. No pained look of a man who's been walking too long, nor his usual slightly optimistic smile. He's there physically, yes. This is evident enough in the way he walks on and on, even stepping aside and pressing himself into the hedge lining the path after a bicyclist rings in warning. But there's a question of whether or not he's actually there there. Wharil walks on.

[Rene Vitalli]

*There is no question as to whether Rene is present. She is very noticeable when not actively hiding her presence, statuesque and impossibly graceful. She meanders the paths with the vague menace of a sated predator. A cigarette casts her features orange in the dark as she moves toward a figure that strikes her as somewhat familiar. Her gaze falls to Wharil, almond eyes glittering black as the cherry glows then dies.*

[Wharil Choc]

His arcane was a voluntary thing, at least to an extent. Part mysticism, part wits, and mostly about knowing how not to be seen. He wasn't using it tonight, apparantly. Perhaps he did want to be seen. Perhaps he was too tired to bother. He doesn't duck his head or turn his face away from those around him. He doesn't scan the grounds for cameras in the hands of what few tourists would be around at this time. He doesn't even seem to notice Rene, or take account of anyone else who might notice him. He ambles onward. Among the sites of Millennium park, two particular pieces of public art are known to attract public attention. One is a highly reflective 110-ton polished steel sculpture officially named Cloud Gate but affectionately called "The Bean." Visitors can wander under and around it to see the park and cityscape reflected in its curves. Of course this is most effective during the daytime, when the light reflected off buildings and crowds can carry to ones perceptible limits. What was reflected in the bean at night time was as good as any piece of modern art and, just like modern art, completely up to the interpretation of the viewer. This is what Wharil ambles over to. His feet take him on an almost mechanical course over to the bean. Its here that he slows, stops, and presses his hands against one end of the gleaming structure. His heavy lidded eyes examine his own reflection as he turns this way and that, slowly letting the bulge of the shape lend its distortion to his lips, his nose, his eyes, his ears. "Trippy..." He says in a hoarse whisper.

[Rene Vitalli]

*What the hell was Wharil Choc doing.... Rene follows him quietly. Standing behind him as he gapes at his reflection like a kid in a fun house. Her brows pinch in slight confusion. She stares into the back of his head. Waiting. A spider crawls across the Bean. *

[Wharil Choc]

He starts slightly, pulling back as the arachnid crosses his line of sight. For a while he watches it carefully. Then he turns, almost as if he were completely expecting to see. "Vitalli." He whispers, though loud enough for her to hear. He looks a mess. His face droops in fatigue and his eyes are only barely held open. "Come look." He whispers, and he starts walking around the thing. There's a point where the cloud gate curves upward, creating a hollow underneath. Its under here he goes, walking as if in a daze and then stopping suddenly. He looks up slowly. What he sees is a myriad of their shadows. All is dark, except for the occasional sparkle of some distant street light or office building. Even that is stretched, elongated, and flanked on all sides by a moving shadow. In brief corners they can see themselves, perhaps, if they look very carefully.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene moves with him like a shadow, but all this gawking at mirrors is rather irritating. She observes Wharils sad state impassively, ducking into the hollow with him. No amount of careful looking will reveal Rene Vitalli. And perhaps its irritation at this fact that has the unsettling woman suddenly facing Wharil with a look of cold malice.*

[Wharil Choc]

He didn't seem particular impressed by any of this. He did, however turn to look at her, and then up again, and then at her. "You're not there." He whispers. "Maybe you're not here." A hand goes to his forehead. "Am I here?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6) Wharil. You are here. *A slight tilt of her head. He was confused. In a daze perhaps. Ah, Rene knew what this called for. Her voice small and polite.* As am I. * A thin fingered hand snaps out to rock him with a hard slap.* (SMACK!!)

[Wharil Choc]

His face swings violently with the slap, and while it doesn't quite knock him off his feet it does seem to freeze his face. For a long time his brows are knitted together. For a long time his mouth has fallen over. His shoulders hunch and his head moves gradually lower. Its a long time before he's no longer squeezing his eyes shut. When he opens them he again its sudden and clear, just like his voice, no longer a whisper. "O-o-ouch! What the hell! What the..." And then he stops himself. He looks up and the bean's underbelly. He looks around, out one end toward the city, and the other end toward Renee and the rest of the park behind her. He wasn't dazed anymore, but he was damn sure confused. "What the hell? W-where the fuck am I?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Grant Park. *She extends the hand that slapped him. Offering to take him. Lead him from the Bean.* I struck you. *Shes watching him with concern. Which means she looks as though she is quite considering how he would taste with black bean sauce, done rare over a cedar plank.* My hotel is not far.

[Wharil Choc]

"Owww." He's still saying while rubbing at his jaw. He even winces from the extended hand. "I'll say you did. But...I...oh. Ohhh. Oh, shit. Did I say anything? Do anything? Shit, do I have my wallet?" He pats himself down, checking, and then breathing a sigh of relief. "Yeah. Maybe I ought to get out of here." he says, joining in step beside her but looking up at the strange reflection of shadows around them. "What is this thing anyway?"

[Rene Vitalli]

The Bean. Apparently. *Rene leaves the bean, ducking out as spiders crawl across the reflective curve of the thing like curious tourists. She raises her chin and regards Wharil. * You were unsure as to if anything was here.

[Wharil Choc]

"Mm." He says in understanding, still rubbing at his jaw. "I was sort of...asleep." He follows near to her, stepping a lot more purposefully now, and a lot more aware of his surroundings. A duo of nocturnal tourists approach from one side, perhaps intent on making out under the Bean. Wharil turns his face away from them when he addresses Rene. "I was on a stake out for two...no three...damn, what day is it? For a while anyway. Had to stay awake and...I guess I couldn't anymore."

[Rene Vitalli]

Two o clock. Sunday. *She strides beside him, headed toward her hotel room. Dark eyes cast sideways to Wharil.* Did you complete the stake out?

[Wharil Choc]

"Four days." He says, finally dropping his hand from his face, and dropping his gaze to the ground ahead of them as they walk. Actually, his head hangs. Its not a proud moment for Wharil Choc. "Four days without sleep. That's embarrassing. I think I did. Well...I hope...shit, I can't remember."

[Rene Vitalli]

Come to the hotel. Sleep with me. You need it badly. *She states, quietly -matter of fact- eyes hard on her fellow Euthanatoi. The man was completely exhausted, and incapable of remembering much of anything in this state. She strides more quickly toward the hotel.*

[Wharil Choc]

His eyes widened for a moment. Did she realize? Did she know what she just said? Would he clear this up or would she? Did he want to clear this up? Did he want to? "Um. Okay." He says little more other than that, devoting his attention to keeping pace with her until they've arrived.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Through the lobby. She had picked this hotel because if the notable lack of mirrors in the lobby. She moves directly to the elevator. A rather unpleasant ride, given she is silent but to look over to Wharil as though trying to figure how to best dissect him. The elevator opens and a spider is crushed by the doors.* Tck. *Faint disapproval as she moves down the hall to suite 205 and swipes her card. Its a boring hotel room. But it smells faintly like grapefruiit. So did the elevator. And the cab of Wharilès compact. Come to think of it, -Rene- smells like grapefruit. One fact that was not unsettling. Not murderously creepy. Just plain female human of the species type stuff. Two beds, one tv. Ugly comforters. Minibar and bathroom. Plain room. René peels off her light outer shirt with little adeiu, glancing back over her shoulder to Wharil. *

[Wharil Choc]

"Huh." He says in the hotel room, still unsure about just what was going on. He starts with the basics. His messenger bag is lowered into a corner beside a bedside table and he slides off his shoes. "You been here since coming to town?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Yes. *She bends to remove her shoes, setting them on the little shoes stand by the door. Her coat is thrown on the spare bed. She moves to the washroom and shuts the door. Water runs in the sink. And for a moment, Wharil is blessedly free from spiders, if left to his own devices..*

[Wharil Choc]

He starts with his shirt, sliding off the wrinkled white cotton shirt and tossing it on top of his bag. He had a soft face and a sweet smile. One wouldn't have guessed he had scars. While the cotton wife-beater he wore underneath covered most of his torso, his arms were exposed. A wide gash shone on won of his arms. He sits on the nearest bed, taking off his socks and muttering to himself in something other than English. The tone and pace of his speech still carries most of the meaning though. One would imagine he was saying 'Well, Wharil. This is another fine mess you've gotten yourself into."

[Rene Vitalli]

*Its several minutes before Rene comes out of the washroom. When she does, shes dressed in the feminine version of what Wharil is wearing. Tight white wifebeater, barefeet, boy-shorts. Her body is leaner without the coat. Long flexible muscles. And two stark scars down either of her wrists, nearly to the elbow. Her hair is wet. She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow in response to his murmuring.* What did you say Wharil?

[Wharil Choc]

"Oh, nothing." He says without looking. "Just, y'know, saying my bedtime prayers." He was tossing his socks into his shoes, left foot sock into right foot shoe and vice versa. When he looks up there's an odd, smart assed smile on his face. It fades quickly and he makes no effort to mask his examination of Rene in her sleep wear. Boyshorts. He tries to hide his approving nod and fails. Then his eyes go to the scars on her wrists and linger there for too long to be considered polite. His lips purse slightly before he points to the gash on his shoulder. "A regrettable hesitation in Myanmar. The first time I killed a man."

[Rene Vitalli]

*An eyebrow slowly arcs upwards as he appraises her form. And here she thought he was tired. Almond eyes skate across his form as he mentions his scars, unsettlingly intense. A spider crawls up the wall to the ceiling behind her as she leans on the door frame. She approaches him, fingers going to the scar quite without permission. A slight inclination of her head.* Deep. *Dark fingers slide her shirt up her body, exposing what looks like two small oblong puncture marks around just above and to the left of her belly button.* Meatfork. New Orleans. I misjudged a madmans commitment.

[Wharil Choc]

"I hesitated. He didn't. Meatfork?" He says the last bit with a smile. He removes his pants, starting with the belt buckle, then the clasp and zipper. They're added to the pile on top of his bag and he raises one leg on the bed, hiking a leg of his boxers briefs up to reveal an odd shaped scar on his inner thigh. "Shrapnel from a home made land mine. I thought I could out run it, bud don't remember what happened after that thought. I remember the nightmare after waking up though." He shakes his head, huffing a bit from the memory, and looking to Rene to see what she would show next.

[Rene Vitalli]

Fortunate it was not higher. *Her eyebrows dance upward a moment as he asks "meatfork?". Playful perhaps? Or violently irritated? 50/50 chance Really. The slender woman turns around and places her hands on the wall, regarding him over her shoulder. Its a moment before it becomes clear he's to be looking at something other than an fantastic ass in boy shorts. The back of one knee a mess of ragged scarring. She murmurs in a voice that is a stark contrast to her general presence.* Haziz accidently -worsened- the temper of several guard dogs whilst I climbed a fence into a compound.

[Wharil Choc]

He laughs at her comment, and whispers a not-so-quiet 'Oh shit.' at the sight of her knee. He pulls one shoulder of the wifebeater aside, revealing a star shaped mark on his chest. There's something else there. Something that Rene might recognize as a goal on shooting range targets. On paper there would be a small X right there. Center mass. Certain death. Its the asterisk shaped mark that he points to, and he does so with a bit of a proud look on his face. "Struck by lightning, thanks to a certain Barabi that won't be troubling anyone anytime soon." He tugs at the bottom of the wife beater now, pulling the whole thing off his chest and over his head. More scars are revealed then. The 'center mass' marked clearly with the round hole and hot melting skin mark that's usually left by a gunshot wound. There's also another spiralling star mark. Wharil simply adds 'Twice' with another proud look.

[Rene Vitalli]

Lucky. *Was that sardonic? Rene moves to perch on the edge of the bed. This was actually.. quite pleasant. She twists her back to him and her shirt skiff up and off of her. There, smack dab between her shoulder blades is a burn mark in the ominous shape of a gilded cross. Scar tissue a stark contrast against her skin.* Maurader. New York.

[Rene Vitalli]

It burned through my shirt. *She explains quietly. A spider skitters across the bed.*

[Wharil Choc]

He had to resist a bit of a chuckle, but not the shaking of his head. He moves in closer and, hesitantly and delicately, two fingers skim over the scar. "Okay." He says softly. Assuming she allows him to get that close she can feel his breath, hot and plentiful on her neck. "You win."

[Rene Vitalli]

I - dislike that scar. *She murmurs, voice small. And she did. It made her think of vampires and equally ridiculous things. Rene reacts to his touch like she's the on thats been slapped, spine stiffening immediately. She watches a spider crawl along the headboard for a long silent moment. Her constant arachnid audience. When she looks over her shoulder to the man behind her her eyes flick up once up and down, before meeting his. Unflinchingly intense. She raises her chin, vaguely haughty. She'd won, afterall. A corner of her mouth twitches upward in triumph.* The prize?

[Wharil Choc]

He's less confident. Less haughty. He swallows visibly when she looks back at him, still unsure. His hand slides away from the scar on her back and toward the flesh of her shoulder. "Well, that's all up to you. What do you think a fitting prize would be?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6) *Her eyes dissect him. Take in every detail of his posture and tone.* mmn? (I'm not very good at this Wharil. What's going on here?!)

[Wharil Choc]

Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1 Mmm? What did that mean? Was she going to eat his face? Was it eating face time? He smiles wanly, but it doesn't quite hide his confusion. Wharil bites his lower lip, one hand still on her bare shoulder. [Houston? Do we have a go? (Perc+alertness Emotions specialty)]

[Rene Vitalli]

*It was not face eating time. Unless Wharil considered that some sort of terrible euphemism. Rene, so physically efficient and graceful, is entirely socially awkward. Shes about half certain shes misreading Wharil in every way, Wary. This had likely not been what she meant by come sleep with me, but she seems more than on board now. Behind the glittering malice of her eyes is sudden violent want, pure and simple. Apparently there are feelings under that strange alien demeanour. Big overwhelmingly intense ones. She watches him bite his lip, and slowly tilts her head.* You dislike spiders?

[Wharil Choc]

He shakes his head, smiling slightly and letting his bottom lip free. "No. I don't mind the spiders. I don't mind at all." And then his body's coming closer, pressing against hers. Pushing. Pressing. The other hand joins the first, only this one isn't on her shoulder. it's lower, closer to her waist as his forehead meets hers. As does his nose to hers. As do his lips to hers. Body language was a large part of communication. Right now his body language was saying 'This is happening'. The press of his bare chest against hers was also saying 'Lay back.' and perhaps 'Let this happen'.

[Rene Vitalli]

*A quirk of her lips before she's kissed. A spider crawls across the ceiling as Rene lays back on the bed, shirt falling from her hand as she prepares to do far more that "let" this happen, lips suddenly hungry on his, deceptively strong hands skittering lightly over scars and old abrasions. She seems to have quite forgotten that he's running on four days without sleep. But then, so has he. She drags herself further up the bed with a look so heated it seems to flay a person. * Good.

[Wharil Choc]

Even now he laughs, crawling to meet her at the top of the bed. He had quite a few more scars on his back, making one wonder if Renee had really won their game after all. It was a moot point by now. "Good?" he asks before his mouth finds hers anew. His hand were bold. They were sure to run the full course of her, as if mapping the topography of her frontal body, and then tugging at the waist of her Boy shorts. There was no more hesitation in him now, but there was still room for very strong suggestion.

[Rene Vitalli]

Yes. *She murmurs concisely as her lips find the underside of Wharil's jaw, heated kissing interrupted by the insistent pinch of teeth. Enough to shock certainly. They're likely both too occupied to note the spider dropping from the ceiling to the progressively more and more rumpled comforter. Wharil's scars being thoroughly memorized under tickling hands. Rene's hips lifting against his as he tugs at her boy shorts, she clarifies.* Good that you are not bothered by spiders. *He can feel a quirk of lips against the pulse of his throat. Followed by a sharp nip. *

[Wharil Choc]

And that was it. What more was there to get in their way now. Wharil responded to her fierceness well. There were times where he relented, letting her have her way, but he knew that it was a game they were playing. He grinned at the biting and nipping, but he resisted. At some point all his effort, all his weight, would be put into holding her down and not crying out in pain as she bit into his lip. And then they.... He was asleep before her. Typical, perhaps. He was awake before her too, if such a thing was possible. Breakfast ala room service waited for her. Perhaps the scent of it would wake her up. If not, the television certainly would. "Three police officers dead after meth house raid turns bloody" the news anchors announced. Wharil sits up in the bed, his body still covered by the comforter. He doesn't watch the television, but he listens while flicking away spiders. "It started out as a by-the-book raid, but police officers weren't expecting to be outnumbered." The other bed remains untouched.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Last night had been like bedding a tiger. Both in ferocious intensity, and apparent risk of harm to life and limb. Rene woke and started, reaching for.. a blade that wasn't where it was supposed to be. It wasn't needed, as the person in her room, in her -bed- was a lover. Not an enemy. Her eyes flicker, narrowed over room service. Clothes tossed aside. And finally the television. She raises to her knees, nude and unconcerned as she crawls toward room service, slipping off the bed to survey what they'd brought to eat dispassionately. She flicks a spider and looks to the tv then back to Wharil, hair mussed. eyebrow raising in question.*

[Wharil Choc]

"Witnesses report seeing a dark dressed man wielding two guns entering the building after the firefight had already begun." The reporters continue. "Police are asking that anyone that can provide more information please call their hot line at..." There's a brief hum as the television suddenly flicks off, and Wharil sets the remote control aside. "That's my fault." He says, sitting up with Rene now. His still bare body presses against hers, and his hands find the places a man finds comforting, for whatever reason, while his face lays against her scarred back. There were eggs and toast on the room service tray, along with pancakes, honey, jam, and evidence of Wharil's already consumed breakfast.. "So what's the answer?" He says, brushing his his face against her back. "Should I never sleep again, or should I never not sleep?"

[Rene Vitalli]

*She leans back slightly into Wharil's chest, turning her head back to regard him best she can over a dark shoulder. Dark eyes settle on his. Something didn't add up here. * Sleep. *Rene folds a hand over one of Wharil's, while leaning for a glass of orange juice. Matter apparently solved.*

[Wharil Choc]

He lays back in the bed, free of the covers and once again revealing all his scars. "But what am I gonna do? Stop using my magic?" He sighs, and the only thing that doesn't change slightly with the rise and fall of his chest is the gunshot wound at the center. This isn't surprising. Its on his sternum, the thinnest part of his chest where only bone waits. Its certain death, and certainly and interesting scar. "Chance is helping me. Or he's trying to. I'll have to tell hims about this."

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene sits upright at the edge of the bed, drinking her Oj in all her naked glory. Watching Wharil. She flicks a spider off the slope of her breast. Scars more apparent in the early morning light. Most impressive scars still being the cross and the twin marks as of yet unexplained down her wrists. She inclines her head slightly before setting the oj back on the tray and murmuring.* Yes. And rest.

[Wharil Choc]

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I've got to..." He never finishes that sentence. A few moments later she can feel him move again. Delicately, he plucks a spider off her shoulder. With her back turned who really knew what he did with it after that? The hand returns though, starting at her shoulder and traveling down to the small of her shapely back. "Thanks Rene." he whispers. "You were right. I needed this." It had been her idea after all. Hadn't it?

[Rene Vitalli]

**Her eyes are on his, predatory as she turns and stalks the last few feet toward him, hands finding his shoulders as she leans down to kiss him, like it or not. If last night hadn't been her idea, this morning unquestionably is.*