With Teeth [Grey]

[Vienna Torres (DELETED 8181)]

‹Vienna Torres› Grey's grin was answered with one of her own. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she held out her hands for the sword. "I'm ready." she said. The walk together would at least give her a chance to ask the questions she had.

‹Grey Weston› He was more than obligated to hand it over, fingers closing around it with an ease that belied its weight. He was careful in handing it to her, ensuring that it balanced in her grip before rising from his seat. "Might as well," he agreed, the fingers of his opposite hand loosely settling into the crook of her elbow as he steered her towards the door. "Bit uncomfortably dead."

‹Vienna Torres› She held the sword carefully and let him lead her to the door, shooting him an odd look at that last comment.

‹Grey Weston› He paused as the door swung shut behind them with a dull click. The last dregs of warmth from an aging AC unit tugged listlessly at the cuff of his pants, before leaving the skin there to the mercy of the chill. A grunt escaped him as he paused, hands dropping to pat at either side of his oversized pockets. It was a mechanical gesture. Lacking in enthusiasm. He gestured for Vienna to wait."One sec, beautiful."

‹Vienna Torres› She opened her mouth, ready to burst out with the indignant questions she'd held back - but at Grey's pause, she stopped. She shot him a considering look and glanced down at her sword, waiting.

‹Grey Weston› His fingers brushed against the worn denim, pausing once they dragged across the flattened, square outline he'd been searching for. His fingers delved into his pocket, fumbling out a partially crushed carton of cigarettes and the smudged, worn plastic lighter. The color had bled from it years ago; leaving only streaks on the white, featureless plastic. Bleached, perhaps, or willfully peeled away by restless fingers. There was an unproductive click for a moment, followed by a dry hiss. "Mm." He said, the sound muffled, a black-label cigarette dangling between his lips. He started forward a second later. "What?" He said, looking askance.

‹Vienna Torres› "Okay, what the **** was that going on inside?" She shot a glance back toward the door. "You know those people?"

‹Grey Weston› He cupped a palm around the thin, wavering flame, briefly sheltering it as he touched it to the end of the loosely dangling cigarette. He wasn't a smoker. Hadn't been. He'd once considered it a filthy habit. But the rush of nicotine was placating. It steadied him. Anchored him in those rare moments where that too-familiar itch crept beneath his skin. "Mmno." He muttered, tucking the carton back into his pocket. "Should I be offended?"

‹Vienna Torres› "I asked if you knew them, not if they were your best friends," she pointed out. It had seemed there was something more serious to his warning than the usual "don't open your mouth and **** things up", Vi", and then there was the way he had deliberately paid them no attention. "You should have let me talk to them," she said at last. "They were so ******* rude in there, calling us eavesdroppers."

‹Grey Weston› He exhaled. For a second, the thin stream of smoke hovered, sluggish to disperse in the cold. His head turned then, his expression carefully neutral. "Why would you think I did?" He asked carefully. Her next words coaxed a groan from him. Indulgent, but slightly drawn out all the same. "I apologize. I didn't mean to ruin your personal crusade to kick the *** of every rude **** in this town. But sometimes it's better to just...keep your mouth shut."

[Grey Weston]

‹Vienna Torres› "You got serious back there," she answered. At his groan and the following words, she tried to frown at him, but she couldn't help a smirk. "You do have a point," she acknowledged at last. "It's probably not a good idea to get involved in a...couple's argument or improv show or whatever the **** that was." Time to change the topic. "So Grey. Why'd you give me a sword?"

‹Grey Weston› "I do that sometimes." He allowed dryly. He reached up a second later, transferring the cigarette between his fingers. He considered. There was a part of him that was tempted to sit her down and discuss the cold, hard facts of city living. Among them was the rather uncomfortable fact that humans, by virtue of their mortality, were on the lower end of the foodchain. To say nothing of the local authority's priority. He flashed her a grin a second later. Fond. Rife with a approval. "Nah. Leave them to messy breakup sex." Her next question was easier to address. "Because one of these days you're going to need it."

‹Vienna Torres› She laughed. Messy breakup sex? It hadn't looked like any of that was going to happen, but if it did...definitely messy. She raised her eyebrows. "When I take up dueling?" A pause. "Thanks. So, what do you want for your birthday? Computer things?"

‹Grey Weston› Her laugh was infectious. Bright and pleasant. It created a full, warm sensation in his chest. It had been decidedly lacking in recent months. His smiles had been rare, lately. Tired things. "Sure. Bring back the Xena look." He paused then, startled by the abrupt shift in topic. "You don't have t--" he started. And then, with a resigned shrug, "Computer things," he agreed. "Or vinyl."

‹Vienna Torres› She already looked about to protest his protest, but when he gave him, she gave him a satisfied smile. Vinyl sounded promising. She wasn't sure she could tell what kind of computer things she would want. "What music do you listen to?"

‹Grey Weston› An affectionate snort escaped him as the pair continued their leisurely walk. The question she posed, however, brought a change. A sudden, noticeable shift. His eyes lit up for the briefest of seconds. "Blues. I'm a Simone fan. Other than that..." He shrugged. "I'll listen to anything. But I prefer older stuff. Simone. Sinatra. Actual rock, not hipster equivalent on the radio these days."

‹Vienna Torres› She wouldn't have figured him for a blues fan. And then, at that last remark, she smiled slyly. "Is the radio too mainstream for you?" she asked.

‹Grey Weston› "****." The word was low, and half-laughed. "Okay. I walked into that one," he admitted. "But no, it's just..." He gestured expansively for a moment, the bright ember of his cigarette flaring to life for a brief moment as he searched for words. "Empty." He settled on finally. "There's no emotion. No feeling behind it."

‹Vienna Torres› She suppressed her smirk. So, vinyl, old music... either hipster or pining for the fifties. "Maybe," she said at last. "I still like some of the radio songs." The last, tossed out just out of a habit of being contrary.

‹Grey Weston› To his credit, his eyeroll was discrete. Borderline gentlemanly. He might have been insulted by that thin curve of a smile, if he'd been the sort to easily take offense. As it was, being what he was meant that he learned to take few things seriously. Himself, least of all. But he was a man who avoided labels. Possibly because he was constantly on the cusp of reshaping himself. "Yeah?" He asked conversationally. "Like?"

[Vienna Torres (DELETED 8181)]

‹Vienna Torres› "Would you even recognize any of them?" She pondered for a moment and then tossed out a name: "The Chainsmokers - Don't Let Me Down."

‹Grey Weston› The look he shot her was flat. "I'm not that old!" He protested. Nor was the radio banned from their apartment, for that matter. It was seldom on, save for the ten or twelve minutes it took to catch up on the evening headlines or on those rare occasions when Jameson left it on."Well, it's not terrible," he said after a moment, allowing one bony hip to bump gently against hers.

‹Vienna Torres› "You're being nice," she said accusingly, nudging him with an elbow.

‹Grey Weston› "Gonna blow my cover, now?" He demanded. The nudge, however, forced a grin. "I'm just breathing a sigh of relief you didn't say Gomez or some ****."

‹Vienna Torres› "I have a sword, you know," she informed him. She didn't bother to stop her smile. A pause, and then, with a carefully straight face, she said, "Bieber had a few nice songs."


‹Grey Weston› "Yes, but that would be rude." Her next words earned her a sharp glance then; gaze measuring even as his eyes narrowed. "Jesus." He muttered, flicking his cigarette away from him. It was mostly cold ash; bright for a moment as it struck pavement before dimming. "You're killing me."

‹Vienna Torres› "Your face." She couldn't hold the serious expression any more, bursting into laughter. "Do you always get this upset about music?"

‹Grey Weston› "You're a jerk." He informed her, even as he reached over to sling an arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to his side. "Yes." He replied, straightfaced. "I fit my mold very well, thank you."

‹Vienna Torres› "You do," she agreed. She hid her smile. But then, this kind of trolling might be too easy. "I mostly listen to trance and techno. Any complaints?"

‹Grey Weston› His eyebrows threatened to recede into his hairline for a moment. Thin as they were, it wouldn't have been difficult to lose them in the tangle of his hair. "I'm underqualified for this convo," he said flatly. "Besides which, I'm not that much of a snob."

‹Vienna Torres› "Sometimes," she added thoughtfully. "I even listen to dubstep."

‹Grey Weston› "Y--" He started, before his mouth formed a thin, noncommittal line. No. Just no. He proceeded to steer her a bit more quickly down the street. "Torture is extra."

‹Vienna Torres› She didn't laugh out loud this time, but she shook with amusement. Sure, messing with Grey was an act without honor or difficulty, but it was fun. And she didn't even have to lie about it this time, too. "It's only torture if I make you listen to it."

‹Grey Weston› "I bet that was the reason Van Gogh really cut off his ear," he said. The delivery was straight-faced. He then paused, his pace slowing, becoming more jagged. Shorter. "And I believe this is where I leave you," he said, gesturing at the familiar, though identical brownstone that loomed over them.

‹Vienna Torres› She laughed at him, but her smile faded as she glanced up at the brownstone. "Yeah." She shifted her grip on the sword. "You want to come in for a bit? Maybe get something to eat. Nobody else's home." Nobody being, in this case, a euphemism for her mother.

‹Grey Weston› He considered for a moment. His weight shifted, hands sinking into his pockets as his own grin flagged. Whether it was in sympathetic echo to her own laughter falling strangely flat and hollow, or because the dark of his own empty apartment loomed large in his mind's eye, it was difficult to say. He worried his lower lip for a moment in indecision. "Sure," he said after a pause. "Why not?"

‹Vienna Torres› Her expression blanked as she watched him think it over. And then, she grinned at him. "Why not," she agreed. She led him toward the apartment and opened the door, stepping inside. The austere living room was small but not cramped, leading to two bedrooms - both with doors closed. "Give me a minute." She entered her bedroom, setting the sword carefully down upon her table. "Chips. Or real food? And do you want anything to drink?" She'd never played hostess before.

‹Grey Weston› The apartment was cozy. That was the first impression that struck him. Not 'cozy' so much as it held signs of life. Personal touches that fascinated him and left him averting his gaze all at once. For a heartbeat, he seemed unsure of himself; standing awkwardly before settling into a chair. "Sure. Take your time!" He said. Her question on her return was rewarded with a blink. "Chips are cool," he settled on. "And no, thank you. I'm good."

‹Vienna Torres› Maybe this had been a bad idea: he looked awkward and she sympathized. The living room looked almost empty to her, too small even. And, she had a sneaking suspicion that there were mice around. "Sure." She took out a bag of chips from one of the kitchen cabinets and brought it over, setting it on the table. "We're out of salsa." She took one of the other chairs.

[Grey Weston]

‹Grey Weston› His gaze focused on her a moment later. "That's okay." He said. "They're usually better without." Which likely would be another oddity she found about him, but there was nothing of his previous awkwardness as he reached over to slip his hand into the bag. One of the chips managed to slip down his sleeve, and for a moment his gaze trailed after it. Mildly forlorn. "I have Netflix on my phone," he offered. More to bridge the gap between them than because he was interested in binge watching.



‹Vienna Torres› "Nice." She handed him back the phone. "Top picks for what to watch?"

‹Vienna Torres› She gave him a slightly suspicious look at the mention that chips were better without salsa. At the mention of Netflix, she brightened. "What do you want to watch? Are you snobby about shows, too?" She took a chip for herself.

‹Grey Weston› An easy shrug met her question. He leaned briefly to one side, freeing the phone trapped against his thigh. It only took a moment to scroll to the appropriate app, the familiar dark screen and swirling streak of crimson greeting him. "I'm up for whatever! What's your speed?" He asked. And then, rather dryly: "It's called having taste."

‹Vienna Torres› That was answer enough. "You are," she said with a snicker. Scooting the chair closer, she peered at the phone. "What do you think about horror movies?"

‹Grey Weston› "Listen." He said, leveling a finger at her. It was slightly left-of-center, aimless in its direction. It wavered briefly; the broad smile struggling to form more or less dampening any severity to the gesture. "Be nice," he muttered. He angled his own chair closer as well, the legs rasping lightly over the floor as he tilted to share the screen. "I'm a fan!"

‹Vienna Torres› "Being nice is overrated." Her mouth turned up into a smile. "Which of those haven't you seen?" She paused. "Hey, can we hook up your phone to my TV somehow? It'd be better on the big screen."

‹Grey Weston› He paused, briefly scrolling through the seemingly endless titles. A handful of 'new' releases, most of which were current in the sense that those available for streaming had been in circulation for a year or more, and then those divided into categories. "A few," he admitted. "Most of the B-list ones I've binged." He blinked then. "Sure. As long as you can find a digital input cable."

‹Vienna Torres› "Will it work with a phone?" She glanced at him dubiously and then at the ports on the phone. "Find something you want to watch. I'll get a cable." She headed into the master bedroom and returned with a micro HDMI cable. "Does this kind work?"

‹Grey Weston› "It should." 'Should,' because until fairly recently his phones had been inexpensive, pre-packaged things. It had been simple enough to simply load minutes onto them and then discard them. The upgrade to a smartphone had been more of an aesthetic than practical choice. He leaned forward to grasp the outstretched cable a moment later, running the flat of his thumb over the connector appraisingly. A nod countered the question, and he snapped open the thin metal covers covering his phone's port, pressing the cable into place a second later. "Hold this," he grunted as he passed over the phone, rising from his chair. A handful of seconds passed as he guided the opposite end to connect to the front end of the television. "See? Flawless."

[Vienna Torres (DELETED 8181)]

‹Grey Weston› He pondered for a split second. "Have you seen Cabin Fever?" He asked finally. It was considerably older than most of the films, but that hardly lessened its quality, as far as he was concerned. "There's also Ginger Snaps."

‹Vienna Torres› "I've already seen Ginger Snaps. What's Cabin Fever about?"

‹Grey Weston› That earned a raise of the brow. He supposed, however, he shouldn't have been too surprised. It had been the darling of Canada for many years. In many respects, that still held true. "About a flesh-eating virus," he said after a moment. "Or pathogen. These college kids get infected with it."

‹Vienna Torres› "Sounds gross." She grinned at him. "Let's watch it." She grabbed the bag of chips and headed for the couch.

[Grey Weston]

‹Grey Weston› A bark of laughter escaped him, followed by an indulgent shake of his head. "You've redeemed yourself, Vi." He informed her, before quickly double-tapping the screen, bringing up the film. He pressed play a moment later.

‹Vienna Torres› "That was easy. Does that mean I can make you listen to Skrillex now?" She plopped the chips down on the seat and settled down on the couch, leaning back against the armrest. She reached into the bag, rustling it as she pulled out a handful of chips.

‹Grey Weston› He shot her a look - brief and scathing, though still soft enough around the corners of his mouth that it was clear the scorn was largely for show - before flopping into his chair once more. "Not a chance," he shot back. His gaze flicked to the opening crawl a moment later, allowing himself a private smile. In the end, she'd likely be glad there'd been no salsa.