dumbshow | incredibly indulgent shipping post

... You can't pay me to get in that thing. [Paolo knew that chair had too many wires in it to be safe, let alone comfortable. He will use it to lay his coat over the side of it, but that is the extent of any consideration towards it.

He knows that's absolutely what fried his brain, but he won't ruin the evening with that conversation.] Well, if I'm not going to be sitting comfortably, I am going to be dressing down. Don't get too scandalized.

[Hey, he almost mustered up a smile that time. Progress. There's no suggestive wink or comment about undressing around him, though. Not this time. He's too tired to do much beyond walk out of the room with his head held high.

He's gone so long one could assume he just up and left. Five minutes turn to ten, ten to twenty, but there's weight back on the floors back to the laboratory before it could reach half an hour. Paolo is rubbing lotion up his arms when he reemerges, probably one of the nicest robes Jindosh has loosely wrapped around him. Ink peeks through on his shoulders, but his fingers are barely visible when he drops them to his sides. He didn't seem to mind. He's fixing his hair, seeing as he... actually ran a comb through it?

He's not trying to impress anyone, he swears.]

[Jindosh doesn't look at the chair, even as he hears Paolo put his coat down on it. He doesn't look at that chair much anymore, except for when he's feeling especially bitter.

So when Paolo just walks out, Jindosh only hums over his notes and scratches something out to rewrite it again. It's not long before he's caught up in writing his observations and only wonders where Paolo actually went when maybe fifteen minutes have passed. There hasn't been any outcry from the guards or distant mechanical clunking of the clockworks trying to slice and dice Paolo again, so... Hmm. Perhaps he did leave.

—Or perhaps he snuck his way into Jindosh's personal chambers and stole his things, which is only mildly offensive. If Paolo had broken into the lab without his presence it would be different, but taking a robe from his bathroom is... kind of odd, all things considered. Jindosh blinks at his reappearance, eventually putting his pen down and standing there with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised when he realizes what Paolo is wearing.]

What do you think you're doing? [His lotion, too?? Not that there isn't anything about Paolo wearing his robe that tugs at his curiosity, a tiny what if taking form where it had once been just an idea, but... that's his stuff.]

[Paolo slows to a stop, slowly looking up from the fabric with a hand at his chest. He's gradually regaining his charisma, and with it comes his feign of confusion and hurt. He probably thinks it's adorable.] What, me? I'm loitering. Like you said.

[Try as he may to keep it up, the corner of his lips are curving up into a smirk. He shouldn't have any room to be this smug anymore, and yet he's still approaching like he wasn't entirely vulnerable like this. Like he hadn't left his sword with the rest of his things.] You never established anything I couldn't do, right? So I washed up. Might not be as clean as you, but... I like to think I look half as good.

[Just ignore the fact it's entirely too big on him. He's had to tie two knots to keep it together.]

[He's not adorable at all. He's a menace. Jindosh keeps frowning at him as he approaches, but he isn't shouting at him to go put the robe back or shouting at his clockworks to do it for him. He's just... frowning.

Hmm.] Did you make a mess of my chambers? I assumed it went without saying that you aren't to help yourself to anything you can find in the mansion.

[The nerve! But he's here and doing it, helping himself, so Jindosh will adjust accordingly. When Paolo is within arm's reach he extends a hand to tug at one edge of the robe, straightening it and smoothing it flat with his palm.]

At least have the decency to put it on properly.

[It's Paolo's turn to frown, even if he isn't shouting. He looks genuinely offended, his lips pursing and his gaze shifting to Jindosh's stupid collar.]

I told you I'm not a dog. I put everything back. Might be a centimeter off than where it was, but that's your problem. [And... Oh, he's adjusting him. He doesn't need to do that. This is kind of embarrassing now, but he'll still glance back at him with a raise of brow. What is he even supposed to say to that?]

... It's soft. I'm sore. We don't get that shit back home, and I think I've earned a right to treat myself after how much of my blood you've spilled. [Speaking of blood, let him just wipe it off of one of his metal... pins? Decorations. There's a whole lot of touching and adjusting here, though.]

You probably like it, anyhow.

[He's a thug, so Jindosh assumes he must be careless and messy whenever it suits him, like perhaps in the personal chambers of someone who cuts him open as a hobby... But no matter. His hand is still on his robe, and stays there as he looks down at Paolo wiping blood off of him.

How helpful.]

Hmm. Presumptuous. I daresay I can understand why a man in your position would find it so necessary to resort to grandstanding, but it isn't a flattering image for you.

[How long is he going to keep touching this robe? Who knows.]

Something fitted would suit you well, but I know cheap suits are part of your criminal masterwork.

[It's not the shiniest, but it'll do. He's even considerate enough to use his thumb and not the robe. See? He's a nice thug.

A nice thug with, speaking of, a thing for thumbs apparently. Once he's satisfied with the state of Jindosh's clothes, he'll place his hand over the one resting on the robe. In contrast to the tight grips he held any other time, it was delicate once again.]

Aren't exactly any tailors that don't run screaming when I'm at their doorstep. People you probably know. [He... admires? That's the right word, surely, before he takes another drag from the makeshift pipe. This time he won't blow the smoke in Jindosh's direction.] I don't see you offering any better.

[A nice thug... sure. Jindosh has already accepted Paolo taking drags from his pipe hand as a fact of life. He could do more annoying things, and as long as no one is around to witness and - even worse, heaven forbid - ask questions, he may as well allow this.]

Do I look like a charitable man, Paolo? [They're standing close enough to each other that his voice has dropped to a level much quieter than his usual smug bluster. Something more casual, more... personal. While he tells Paolo about his asshole lifestyle, that's fine.

But maybe he notices the way he sounds and doesn't know what to do with it, because his actual, real fingers twitch against the inside of Paolo's wrist a moment later. Stop sucking his thumb, damn.]

I did offer you wine.

[Even if they didn't ask questions, Paolo would probably tell them. It's a good thing he doesn't stay long enough to chat with the guards and maids. And... well, they don't capture his attention like their boss does.

It's that attention that has him noticing every little change in him, even if he won't voice it. He takes another few seconds of smoking, just to be an ass, before he releases his hand with a low chuckle.]

That's charitable enough for me. [Was he too distracted by him to remember the offer? Probably. He lingers another moment, then chooses to completely undo the flattening of his robe by shrugging it further down his shoulder. Even worse? He's not staying close enough to fix it, he's going to get that wine.]

[He's going to have to go far, because there isn't any wine lying around in the lab. And Jindosh is obligated to follow him, after watching him go for a moment. He'll never let himself get ahead of schedule again if this babysitting his robe (and Paolo) is what he's doomed to.

Of course, none of that stops him from keeping his gaze locked on the curve of Paolo's shoulder, roving over the glimpse of ink and wondering what the full picture looks like. He hasn't bothered to ask, this whole time...

But. Wine.] You're taking liberties with my patience.

You tell me to loiter, you offer me wine, and now you're getting antsy when I make myself at home? I think you need this more than I do. [He was sure he saw a bottle somewhere...

He'd probably be better at looking if he didn't glance over his shoulder with that grin of his. He has no idea he's spent his time observing his ink, and unfortunately, he doesn't look long enough to even guess.] You've been working for like, ten hours straight. The wheels are gonna need oil if you want them to keep turning.

[Concern? For his state of mind? Hm... wine. There's a table somewhere, past the hall with the butterfly casing. You'd think he'd be more covered, stooping to the cupboard for glasses, but he has to pull it over before it really winds up just falling off him.]

[Jindosh's frown has taken up permanent residence on his face by now, and only deepens in response to this... character assessment. There's no way Paolo could know that "ahead of schedule" and "can't think well enough to go on" are nearly the same for how he uses the personal excuse, but he'd rather not be reminded either way.

Fortunately - or not - the dangerous and abrupt dip of his robe down Paolo's shoulder before he adjusts it himself succeeds in fixing his attention on - on, well. That. He's seen no shortage of Paolo's skin in his operating room these past few weeks, but this is a different context entirely.

The man is wearing his robe, for heaven's sake. He is thinking about it, damnable Paolo and the very precise lines of his small frame under the draped looseness of Jindosh's robe. Damn him.]

You're hardly the first to consider me uptight, [he says, coming up to Paolo's elbow to just take the glasses from him so he can look at something else.] My wheels turn excellently, with or without the oil.

[You know, on good days. He'll still have a drink.]

[Paolo knows there is a line somewhere, and it isn't something he wants to cross. There would be no pleasantness in his visits if all Jindosh were to do was cut him open and send him away. It wasn't like a smile came often, unless he was on the verge of discovering something that had Paolo too busy screaming to pay attention. It didn't mean he wouldn't try and strive for it out of the lab.

So he passes the glasses back to him without a follow up on how much oil he thinks he needs. It's only when he's upright, opening the bottle and facing Jindosh does he find voice again. It's more casual, more personal, to match what they had before.]

You know, I thought you had the biggest stick up your ass when I first got here. [Casual, personal, striving for a smile. He likes to think he is, at least, as he pours he first glass.] I didn't think there was much to learn. Knew my men stupid up to venture here probably freaked so bad they skipped down, or they were six feet under. All I cared about.

[When the first is full, nearly to the brim, he'll shift to the next.] So of course, I thought you were gonna just throw hissy fits when I kept coming. Never anything else. Now I'm standing here, highlight of my day wondering if you want this thing off me so bad because it's yours, or you wanna see what's mine.

[Okay, that might not exactly make him smile, but. Paolo will for him. It's fine.]

[Oh, Paolo's bizarre attempts at pleasant conversation. Great. Jindosh stands there holding the glasses, watching the progress of the pouring wine and not bothering to stop his gaze from wandering from the glasses to the bottle, to Paolo's hands. Up his arms to the sliver of skin he can still see after Paolo's half-assed robe adjustment. Paolo is saying something about his men and why Jindosh is annoying, and Jindosh is looking at the wine but really past it to the body barely managing to stay in his robe.

It's another damnable offense by Paolo, he thinks, that for all his mind used to race with numbers and figures and ideas and solutions—now it stumbles and hiccups over basics and, infuriatingly, catches on the line of Paolo's exposed skin and wastes far too many seconds trying to fill in the blanks. Jindosh is nothing if not a creative man.

And now he's holding these glasses, leaving neither hand free to reach out and fix that robe for him again. Whether fixing it means pulling it shut and putting an end to these thoughts of his or pulling it open and giving in, he hasn't decided. He raises an eyebrow again, giving focus to Paolo's words just in time to hear him wondering almost the same thing.]

Your persistence is almost admirable, [he says, raising the full glass to his lips to take a sip.] This quest to find an answer to your biggest question is intriguing, but you approach it with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

[Which is a criticism or a statement of endearment or both, he hasn't decided about that either, but his next sip of wine smooths out the irritated lines in his brow at least somewhat. Hmm. Perhaps he won't declare that while Paolo is in his house, he's just as much Jindosh's as the robe he's wearing. That might end with wine being spilled all over. But he thinks it.]

You have more tattoos than I suspected. [Let's start there. He wants to see some subtlety, some finesse. Thrill him, tiny slumlord.]

Sledgehammers break walls down faster. [Paolo muttered, more or less to himself as he set the bottle aside. He could add that he's been beating them down for the past few weeks, if Jindosh could stop building more. But like the fact he absolutely is his in the inventor's home, that's more than he's willing to share.

He's taking his first sip when his tattoos come into the conversation. No, he didn't choke, shut up. He's just wiping his chin in, uh, thought. Not to prevent from it dripping down on the robe or anything.] That's what you're staring at?

[Yes, he noticed. Was it all on purpose, to provoke this question? He's not going to act like it.] There's two reasons I don't turn my back to you in there. [Is it necessary that he put a finger on Jindosh's chest rather than he just point at him? Absolutely not.] One, you'll stab me. [Another jab,] Two, you'd shut up and get lost in counting them. As it turns out, I like talking to you too much.

[Jindosh blinks when Paolo definitely does not choke on his wine. He's been staring at quite a few things, but those tattoos are the easiest ones to strike up a conversation about. He can't put into the correct words his very sudden and gripping desire to slip his hand between the folds of his robe and feel each one of Paolo's ribs under his fingertips, to see if he's warmer or colder than a living body should be to satisfy more than just his intellectual curiosity— no, tattoos are much easier.

Ah, but there's a finger pressed against his chest, and he's torn away from that line of thinking again. He makes a sound, less there than the accompanying shake of his shoulders is but undeniably a laugh. Yes, okay, he has been known to stab first and ask questions later. That's true.]

I do possess the capacity to multitask. [His voice still has that low and quiet quality to it, so maybe he's stopped obsessing about that. Maybe Paolo being so close to him tempers his tendency to shout until he gets what he wants.] If I've stopped talking to you, it's much more likely that you've started to bore me.

[There, that's the asshole comment everyone was waiting for. He sips his wine again, brushing at Paolo's hand with his free one ostensibly to push it away, but the touch lingers anyway.] But here we are, still speaking. Such a marvel.

[Paolo's smile falters, though for once it isn't because he's being insulted. Jindosh's shoulders seemed to be just as interesting, however briefly he was laughing. Laughing. And it wasn't at his expense.

Was he talking? He was talking. Paolo redirects his attention back, choosing to take a longer sip of the wine with a nod of acknowledgement. Well, he didn't want to wind up being boring, did he? Does that mean he has to step it up? Probably not, but he will.]

You wanna marvel? Here. [He starts, setting his glass down on the... table. Whatever. It didn't matter, what mattered was he fact he is purposely shrugging both shoulders of the robe off. He's slow, needlessly so, just to keep him waiting as he elaborates.] Get one every time someone is stupid enough to fall by my blade. There's a lot of stupid people in this city.

[Did he really think he was gonna be half-naked tonight? Maybe, but not in this context.]

[He sure is laughing and talking, almost like he's a normal person. His eyebrows raise slowly when Paolo freely offers his marvels, like perhaps he expected the man to require more alcohol in him before he'd turn his back on Jindosh, after what he just said. But he isn't about to question that, the whole of his attention focused now on the shifting fabric of his robe and the slow exposure of Paolo's body underneath.

Intellectual curiosity has no place in this situation. He's watching Paolo now purely out of interest, without that urge to press a scalpel into him for once. Having to sip his wine in concentrated amounts to stop himself from yanking the back of his robe down himself is completely inconsequential, here. Totally normal.]

Imbeciles are everywhere. [He's the smartest man in the world!!!! They agree on volume of stupid people, how nice. But now, with Paolo baring half of himself to him, hmm. He doesn't put his own glass down but shifts it to his other hand, with the pipe, because he knows himself and knows his free hand will be on Paolo's skin in record time once he's had a first look at his tattoos.]

Ink spilled for blood spilled? How romantic of you. There are quite a few. [He's not surprised, but goddamn. And there's his fingertip, pressed lightly against one, tracing a line to the next and then the next after that—a nonsense constellation, here on Paolo's back. Jindosh doesn't know much about the tattooing process, but he knows how flesh holds ink, and if each of these stars were etched onto him in the same way, then...

Well, his roving touch here is looking for something, until he stills over one particular star and taps it twice.] This one must be the very first. I had a feeling you were sentimental.

[Paolo expects the cool touch of ceramic, to be analyzed and impersonal as most of their interactions were. So he understandably tenses when he feels skin on his, furrowing his brows as the other man starts tracing lines. When was the last time he was vulnerable like this? It'd been awhile since he had to use his blade, and Mindy was different. Mindy gave them to him, heard every reason behind them. Mindy knew them all, and didn't linger longer than she had to. Mindy alone.

It was a rare time Paolo would be anywhere but behind the Crone's Hand bar after his first death. It was even more rare for him to be showing anyone the marks, his pride and regret. The only other person he'd told about it was through her dead mother's heart. Yet here he is, actively exposing himself, showing a man that killed him again and again what was one his most guarded things. His weaknesses.

Paolo was stupid. But he didn't have to try and look behind him to know what spot he's found.] It was an accident. Felt like the worst thing in the world. But that was back when I didn't know how much shit the world had to throw.

[He rolled his shoulders in some effort to relax the tightness in them, but to little avail. He heaved a disgruntled sigh, taking up his glass. His next drink is long enough to take it down to half.]

I used to do it because it hurt. Felt like I had to pay for it. They don't hurt anymore.

[Men like Kirin Jindosh are missing something. In exchange for the intellect that makes Jindosh the smartest man in the Isles, something else had to be taken, or at least never awoken in the first place. For Jindosh, as anyone can see and many have openly discussed, it is a moral center. An empty heart that feels nothing as Paolo details his earliest murder, an accident, the guilt.

The ceramic piece of engineering that is his left thumb scrapes slightly against his wine glass as he tips it back for another sip, and that is all Kirin Jindosh understands of accidents. A machine that slips, and those things that get in the way.

He's always thought of people in the same way, as it happens. But Paolo standing before him is not a machine, and the guilt and pain of his past that he's sharing are a puzzle Jindosh will never be able to solve.]

What are they for you now? A bad habit? [Tattoos and murder, but never mind the distinction. Jindosh has no pretty words to offer and Paolo would laugh in his face if he bothered, anyway; no one has time for fake overtures of sympathy from him. But for a moment the world has shifted, and a little speck of color has found its way onto the blank puzzle pieces that make up Paolo when Jindosh looks at him.

Sympathy still eludes him, but there's something haphazardly methodical about the stars all over Paolo's back that appeals to him in a different way. So. His wandering finger leaves that first star, dragging up to a spot between Paolo's shoulders and pinching there with two more.

He understands anatomy. This is helping.] I don't think you've relaxed at all. Do I make you uncomfortable?

[ha ha]

Everybody deserves to be remembered. Whether you're a mark on a gang leader's back, gang leader that's just gonna be replaced when he kicks the bucket... or a man with a crazy house that'll have people visiting decades after he's gone.

[He's had this answer prepared, it seems. Was he thinking about having this conversation before? Probably. He thought more about him more than he'd like.

And he knows talk like this isn't going to have much of an impact on Jindosh. Still, it feels nice to talk to someone instead of a dead witch's hand. Hands... feeling nice... What is he doing back there? The weight he's been carrying all day, all week was melting in seconds. He won't forgive himself for how his breath hitches.]

Hardly anybody but my second knows I have these. If you made me uncomfortable, you'd just keep on wondering what's under my clothes. [Well, since it's confess time,] I also wouldn't stay here, in the grip of a man who can take my last life if he so chooses.

[There's a raised eyebrow behind Paolo's back as he talks, Jindosh not missing that reference to himself. Paolo thinks about his memory? That's a surprise—Jindosh's reach extends out of this house and all over Karnaca, bleeding into the rest of Serkonos, and as Anton Sokolov's technology becomes obsolete, the rest of the Empire will know him as a household name, too. He's planned for it.

A star on Paolo's back, by contrast? He sees the point, sure enough, but to say living on as a splash of ink on one man's guilty tapestry is enough is... laughable. He prefers his house.]

Hmm. Then that will do in a pinch. [Get it, in a pinch, like what he's doing to the tension in Paolo's shoulders. He does it again, shifting his fingers to another spot, kneading his fingertips into the next knot he finds.]

However, it won't do to have you dismissing my mansion as a "crazy house." You stand in the heart of an ode to natural philosophy, a dedication to the innovation of mankind and the endless, relentless pursuit of knowledge.

[He didn't put his house on top of a cliff just for fun. Like, yeah, that contributed, but the mansion has always been a shrine to intellect first and foremost.]

Do you think these walls turn simply to amuse visitors? No, Paolo, no—when I am finally laid to rest, this mansion will stand here as a testament to possibility. One day some touched mind may even figure it out without being told.

[He's still working his way across Paolo's back, pressing in harder for emphasis as he speaks. But now that he's rattled off his ode to his house, a pause, his fingers in the silence wandering further down Paolo's spine. It's as if he's only just processed everything Paolo said—] Your last life?

Well, I ain't smart enough to comprehend all that. So I'm gonna keep calling it a crazy house. [A lie, he knows. He'll probably repeat Jindosh's words back to another Howler recruit that's confident they can make it out of the place unscathed. It'll probably be followed by "or some boring shit," but it's the thought that counts.] Maybe a nice, but absolute batshit crazy house.

[He shouldn't laugh, but it's so easy to. Jindosh's ministrations make him forget the fact that hand was holding him down just an hours before, doing unspeakably painful things in a way that was just too much for Paolo to like. His shoulders shake with no restraint, no careful control with how he acts around most.

His loose tongue could be the end of him, but he doesn't mind dancing on that edge anymore. Not with him.] Any step out of that lab can be one of my last. This uh... gift of mine has its limitations. [He won't tense up, he can't tense up during this, but the amusement in his voice significantly dies down.] I get a freeby, before sundown. 's why I come before it sets. You can kill me once before, once after, but I'll be waiting until it's dark before I come around again.

[He sighed, choosing to swirl what was left in his glass. Or maybe he's trying to catch his reflection, who knows.] You don't know how much I lay on that table everyday, Kirin Jindosh. You don't have any idea.

[A nice, batshit crazy house... Paolo is lucky that Jindosh's opinion of himself and his house extends much higher than snippy comments like that. He's lucky, too, that Jindosh is finding it particularly enjoyable to touch him like this and feel his body move and shift under his very fingertips. It's different from cutting him open in the operating room, and this time he almost feels that spark he expected the first time, weeks ago, when Paolo's hand brushed against his around the stem of a glass.

He doesn't realize he's been chasing it, but he knows it's there.]

You trust my hands not to slip before sundown. [That's what he's getting out of this. Not trusting Jindosh himself, hah, who would—but trusting his ability to kill with precision and purpose. And because it's Jindosh,] Shall I take that as a compliment?

[He already has, don't worry. There's a shift behind Paolo and a clink as he sets his glass down, the cool ceramic touch of his other thumb pressing into Paolo's back a moment later, joining the ministrations of his fingers. Paolo is letting him do this, no matter how much of him Jindosh owns as long as he's here, and he is certainly taking advantage of it.]

Most men lie on that table once, and never have the opportunity to try again. [He's just saying... he doesn't care much, but most people only get one try, Paolo. Cheater. At this point he's half listening to see how many of his questions Paolo will answer freely, without being asked, and half listening to stall him from stopping Jindosh's hands studying his back.

He's just learning so much right now, it's lovely, like he's learning that pressing between Paolo's shoulder blades just so will make him shudder, and doing that again. Hmm.]

[He asked a question, Paolo is sure of it. He just isn't sure of what that question was anymore. He stopped paying attention to anything when he felt the second hand at his back, and before he could stop and think, he was leaning back with a far more pleased sigh escaping his lips.

Yeah, there was some touching between him and Mindy. They might have gotten some level of intimate before, but those days were long since past. She didn't spend any time after the ink set, and Paolo wasn't seeking someone to relax with. So this? This was pure bliss.] You're... uh... you...

[Something. Jindosh sure was something, something that ran a shiver down his spine. He sets his glass down next to the other, keeping a hand on the table in an effort to stay upright.] Most men don't get you like this either, right?

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