[The pause as Denji stares at him isn't noticed, Angel under the assumption that Denji must be blindfolding himself. He reaches around vaguely while he does, trying to find the front of the machine, but then Denji grabs him by the wrist and positions him correctly, allowing him to find the mallet next. Really, a mallet... He doesn't think something like this is the right thing to teach children how to kill devils. First of all, do kids even have access to mallets?]
Alright, alright... [Denji sounds so eager about this, like he actually wants this to be a competition. Angel can't figure out why he cares so much, enough to ensure it's "fair" by blinding the two of them. Even without a blindfold, he still knows the timing and pattern of the little dolls, so can't he just follow along?]
[But when the countdown finishes and the machine commands them to slay dem devils, Angel swats his mallet down and hits a flat machine. He can hear the sound of the puppet popping up above him and reasons it will be below that spot the next time, so he swings towards that area next and hits a flat machine again. Frowning, he attempts to keep predicting where the devil will show up but all in all hits maybe five out of the twenty or so targets. Around him, he can hear some of the others humans wondering what's going on, if this is some kind of game show, but then where are the cameras? When the music finally ends and the voice from the machine says, "Too bad, Player Two! Player One Wins!" Angel finally reaches up to push the tie off his eyes, frowning up at his score before looking at Denji's. He doesn't know which one of them was which player - was he machine number one or two...?]
Which is generally consistent with the fact that Denji hasn't been able to land a single bop to the popping field, his wide and erratic swings sending him ever so slightly off-center with each one. So whenever he would try to follow the sounds of the devil springing out from its hiding place, he'd wind up striking the side of the machine, the score board, or an empty hole — literally anything but his target. He's positive his mallet glanced off the side of the puppet devil at least once, but when he tears off Angel's jacket to stare at their ending results, what he sees is a big fat zero.
Zero……
Zero????? ]
This stupid game's rigged!
[ The accusations come quick, of course. He points his mallet straight at game mascot's illustration painted into the machine, the toy weapon shaking in his grip as if he might just try to wallop the thing's ugly mug. But in his side view, he notices there's a line behind them of others waiting to play the game, as well as a few workers keeping an eye on their antic from afar. He kinda likes this place, so it'd suck to get banned for beating the tar out of, what was up until a few minutes ago, his favorite arcade game.
For being so mad about losing, his irritation doesn't really extend to Angel for winning. With a displeased noise, he shoves the mallet back into its holder wrong side up, he skulks toward Angel's end to point out: ] Looks like you're gettin' a fancy prize. You can turn those things in over there.
[ He points his thumb over his shoulder toward a ticket exchange area full of toys, merchandise, plush dolls, and whatever else would titillate the average 10-year-old. ]
[Angel looks down at the mallet in his hand, then down at the five tickets that spill out of the machine when Denji points. Doesn't seem like that many, but he replaces the hammer where it belongs and tugs the tickets out, looking them over once he tugs the tie down around his neck, not bothering to undo the knot Denji made and instead simply letting the two long lengths fall in front of him as he stares at the little text on each stub.]
...Oh, I see. Each one of these... [He kind of trails off, now raising his head to look where Denji is pointing at the row of prizes - stuffed animals, some kind of plastic sword, buckets of candy, and other little knick knacks. As he takes in the sheer array of prizes, his face draws a little tight, like he doesn't believe him.] ...Gets you one of those?
[But that doesn't seem right. The economy would collapse under that. Still, there's a sense of brief hope as he thinks that maybe this is why Denji likes this place so much.]
Like... that? [And he points at the largest item, an oversized animal thing sitting on top of the shelf behind the guy at the counter, nearly twice the size of Angel, but he sees it probably the same time Denji does - the little sign that says that prize costs a million tickets. All the other options are much more affordable, but Angel's demeanor sinks, disappointment covering him.] What, I could have gotten a million points if you'd have let me do it with my eyes...
[ Denji's gaze follows toward where he points, at the huge mass of fluff he's pretty sure is a bed, and his lips pull back in a puzzled frown — it's a little similar to Angel's own expression, but for different reasons. When he looks back at the roll of tickets Angel is holding, the frown deepens. Yeah, that's nowhere near a million. ]
Uh, well… That wouldn't have been fun for you, right…? Doing it my way was less boring!
[ Right? He stares Angel down, searching for a glimpse of corroboration, but no matter long and hard he does it for, he looks more put out than exhilarated by the whole experience. Ah, crud, did he go wrong somewhere after all…
He turns back to the collection of prizes hung up, scouring each shelf level in desperation for something that could work as a substitute. And it doesn't take him long! Pointer finger jabbing out several consecutive times to catch his attention, Denji tries directing his attention to the shelf just below the big guy Angel was eyeing. ]
[Huh. Is this some kind of animal he's never heard of before? Angel wasn't actually too interested in the stuffed toy itself, more in shock with the idea of the economy being in such shambles, but he looks at the strip of tickets in his hand, running his thumb over each one to count. Five. That's still way too few tickets. All the big stuff is well in the hundreds.]
So it really is just like the economy outside... [And what would he, a devil with no paycheck and no access to the news, know about that? He approaches the counter where the smaller items are listed for sale in the display case. Tiny things, stuff that would probably break in a few uses, but things nonetheless. He squats down to look at the lowest shelf, finally pointing at the stack of blind boxes way in the back. Each one is marked for five tickets.]
What are those? [He was too far away when Denji was looking at Sonny Angel figures earlier, but blind boxes seem to fill the shelves here, too. And since Denji seems to know a lot about this place, he turns to look at him and ask,] What do they do?
Yeah, the economy's real screwed up… Inflation's contagious, I guess.
[ He agrees, without understanding what it is precisely he's agreeing with. He's been hearing a lot about "inflationary market environments" from the anchor lady these days, and that sounds like a smart thing to repeat. It turns out that a half-devil with a fixed paycheck and access to the news doesn't know much more than a devil without those things.
He doesn't know much about these weird little people, either. Bent beside him, Denji reaches for a box, trying to read off the packaging aloud, exaggerating each syllable to sound it out. ]
Sumi… sugi?
[ That doesn't sound right. But he's not gonna worry about correcting himself. ]
Uhhh, seems like each box comes with a different tiny dude to take home? You're s'posed to stand them up somewhere and let 'em stare at ya. [ Is his limited understanding of blind boxes, anyway. ] Which pose you're stuck with is a surprise. Powy loves this stuff! Her favorite's this one.
[ Still holding the box, Denji points to another brand. For some reason it's more expensive. Could it be that it's marked up because it's popular…? The economy really is at an all-time low. ]
[Angel tilts his head to the side as Denji attempts to read out the name of the little figure.] You can't read that, Chainsaw-kun? [Not that he's insulting him, or sounds at all judgmental. He's just surprised.] It says "Smiski." It sounds like something from the west.
[...Why he knows that, or can read the Latin characters well enough to pronounce it properly, is anyone's guess. Certainly not his own. And while he passes a look at a few of the others, notably the one Denji points out that Power likes, he passes them all over with a shrug. He doesn't really get the point of them, but he does know he'd be annoyed if Power stole something of his, so he's not about to get one she likes. And he's ready to decide on the strange little glowing man when one lonesome box near the back catches his eye and he reaches out to pick it up, humming in surprise.] This one has mice.
[He turns it over, looking at each little possible outcome, tilting it this way and that like he can suss out what's inside. He had no idea so many little figures like this existed, and for such little purpose. Denji said they're just to place somewhere and have stare at you...? Seems like an odd thing to own.]
Looks like a city mouse, though, huh...
[Ahh, Denji probably doesn't know what that story is. He pulls himself to his feet, putting the box on the counter as the man behind it notices them - and what Angel is - at long last, shock snapping into his expression as Angel sets the tickets beside the box. The guy kind of nods at him, clearly not expecting a devil to abide by the rules of an arcade economy, and accepts the tickets. Angel works at straightening up his clothes at long last, looking over at Denji and holding his hand out.] Jacket.
The phrase tickles a fairly surprised look from Denji, not because he recognizes it, but because he gets the sense he should. It rings a bell that had to have left a depression in the landscape of his psyche for him to be minding it that much, but from where… has he heard that term before?
As Angel processes his tickets with the stunned employee, he ponders it over. Stands back and out the way. Hauling the tied up ends of the jacket down from his forehead, the fabric hits his shoulders, hanging there. People edge around him without a second glance, conversations dimming under the sounds of machines dinging and chiming. They'll probably be heading somewhere for food next after this, so his time would be better spent on looking up that cafe Power told him about, but he makes no move to extract his phone, still staring off into space. Someone's playing some sort of dancing rhythm game, their stomps reminding him of something far away. Distant, like rain capering against the rooftop and a light voice asking, Hey, Denji… Which one would you choose? Oh, that's right — and what did he say to her, to Reze — ]
Huh? What's that?
[ Abruptly, Denji's gaze drops down a step, to Angel, standing there expectantly with his palm open to him. …He said something, but, clearly, it wasn't something Denji heard. Taking a shot in the dark, Denji places his hand on top of his. ]
[What he should have done was take it from his shoulders, tug it off without a second thought. There's no danger in that motion, only touching fabric, grabbing ahold of the edges of the sleeves and pulling it over Denji's head to take it in turn. And even though he does know now, that there is no danger in this, when Denji instead only reaches out and puts his hand on his, like a dog who has learned the command to shake, Angel flinches. His fingers curl up as if to present a wall, to pull back out of the way. But the response is so unexpected and strange and confusing that even the flinch is delayed and, by the time he pulls back, he also remembers - Right. Denji can touch him.]
[Letting his hand settle, he stares down at the connection, the hair on his neck standing on end. Both upset by the touch and wanting to grab it and keep it there, explore it.]
[Each time he touches him he can feel a little bit more. When he was grabbed by his hand, his fingers had wrapped around his wrist, tugging him along, the tips of his nails pressed into his skin. Flat against his palm, it had been similar in shape, matching, mirrored. He could see the difference in the length of their fingers, the width of their palms. Like this, opposite one another with palms pressed on fingers and fingers on palms, he can feel the weight of that palm and the way his fingertips feel against the edge of his wrist, the way the callouses gather right below each finger to create a rougher texture. Staring down at the union, how the lines on each knuckle create the shape of a circle, as unique as a fingerprint. Do all hands feel like this?]
...I asked for my jacket.
[His voice is a little quiet, the box in his other hand gripped tight. There's color in his face, but it's less from embarrassment and more from when your body is working overtime. In this case, actively processing something he doesn't know if he can ever get used to.]
[ It's not like Denji's experienced the full spectrum of how someone can touch and trace the silhouette of another person, or at least he hopes not, but he's done a lot more these past several months than his past sixteen years of sorting twigs from food. He's learned some stuff, adjusted his expectations a wee bit — well, at a minimum, he knows that girls aren't as soft as he thought they'd be, and the parts of them that are don't always feel any different from touching one of his own body parts. (Or as arousing…) And to top it all off, kissing them can hurt a lot. It kinda sucks that at the cost of broadening his understanding of these things, his fantasies have come crashing down.
But as he watches Angel stare intently at the easy sit of their hands, he's astonished by how similar it is to watching a cat dragging its paw through a dish of a water, unsure if it should be offended by the cool drip clinging to its fur or not. It's cute. Non-threatening. In the space between the little roots in their palms branching out, the places in his skin where there's an arch or a bump of bone that fits snug against where Angel's hand is perfectly risen to fill that space or depressed to accommodate the space being taken up, like it was made just to be held by Denji — he can't imagine getting hurt, dying from this. So a guy can feel like this, too.
When Angel speaks up again, Denji blinks again, brows drawn high in confusion before folding into a disgruntled pinch. ]
…Hah? Your jacket? You should've said so, then.
[ Ignoring the fact that Angel had said so, Denji drops the jacket back into his hands. Turning around quick, tousling his hair with the hand that'd been laying on Angel's, he starts moving, but stops short to avoid straying too far from him. ]
Um, I know I said you could get a treat if you beat me, but could ya try not to order something expensive at this place? Like not the whole menu?
[ This time, there's no getting lost, no running from upset civilians. The cafe entrance is pocketed inconspicuously somewhere in a normal-looking, but less populated, shopping area. Good thing there are signs indicating it's the right place because Denji would have been none the wiser, if not. It's that hidden in plain sight. He can't even see anything peeking through the places windows because they're so tinted and the lights inside are dimmed. Just what sort of place did Power suggest to him?
In the spirit of fucking around and finding out, Denji pushes the door open, and is immediately greeted by the strangely dressed staff and red velvet decor gilding every inch of the floor space in front of them. They're in a vampire cafe. Of course, they're in a vampire cafe. ]
[Angel follows Denji along, slipping his jacket back on carefully. He has to reach back to maneuver his wings into the slits cut for them but he's done it so many times that he can do it while walking. As they head down the street and Denji gives him his request not to run up the tab, Angel nods. Pliant with this request mostly because he never actually expected Denji to buy him anything, anyway.]
Power's the one who suggested this, you said...? [Spoken right before he opens the door and steps in. The staff look their way and, probably to someone like Beam, maybe Angel could be fooled into thinking this is a devil-run cafe or something, if such a thing even existed. Fear of vampires - sure. But he knows enough about human culture to understand a themed cafe and, with it, the quick realization that there's no way this place actually serves blood. So his brows only raise in surprise that it seems like Denji wasn't expecting this, his eyes moving to him as he stands a few steps back. For once, he kind of fits in, and they aren't at a church. How nice is that.]
Power's the one who suggested this, you said... [Repeated to make a point. Why go with anything she suggests, anyway.] Or are you a fan of this kind of thing, too?
[At least none of the staff seem to be giving him a second look. Maybe he blends in a little bit, somewhat? Interesting. Reaching down, he tries to take ahold of Denji's hand again, aiming to go to sit down at a table. He doesn't want Denji to chicken out of this.]
I didn't know! [ His voice hops up an octave, as if the very idea of him sharing tastes with Power is an affront. Which it kinda is. ] I thought it'd be somewhere with tasty desserts and pretty girls serving them…
[ But looking at the place, it's definitely a co-ed experience. All the employees are outfitted in period-accurate clothing, most of which being modest western suits and frocks from some centuries ago. Augh, he really should have known better than to believe her after the time that she made him buy tickets to some Super Sentai kid's event, then volunteered him to fight the evil mascot during the interactive part only to trip him as he was about to land the killing blow. She's the worst, born and bred.
As they're led to their battery-operated candlestick adorned table, Denji continues trying to plead his case to Angel. ]
When you look up the name, the only pictures are of the outside for some reason! It looked super normal coming in, didn't it?! Didn't it?!
[ "That's because we ask all our noble guests to avoid taking photos inside the establishment to preserve the uniqueness of each person's experience with us," their server matter-of-factly explains, after rushing to pull out their chairs for them.
Denji gives them a displeased look. ]
Yeah, and it's misleading as hell…
[ He grumbles the words, plus some other ones about false advertising (this is not what false advertising is), that go largely ignored as menus are placed in front of them. Many of the specialty desserts and foods have eclectic names, such as Vlad the Inhaler — a blood orange cream soda so good, you won't be able to stop drinking — and Bloody Mina — a spicy, savory pasta simmering in the cafe's special bloody mary-nara sauce. ]
[It takes a lot to make Angel fully uncomfortable in any situation. He sits down across from Denji on the table (though he obviously and visibly looks like he's expecting to sit down next to him before realizing there's no other seat... and why did he want to sit next to him, anyway?), watching the waiter (?) set down their menus and explain why the exterior looks like any other place on the streets of Tokyo, and even the silly way of talking doesn't really get to him. It kind of sounds like how Power wishes she sounded.]
They have places like that, too, I thought. With girls who give you food and stuff. [They hand out tissues but Angel has never attempted to take one. Mostly they seem to be trying to hand them to Aki, anyway.] They always smell really good, too. Like sugar or something baked.
[Looking down at the menu, he has to agree that everything looks pretty good, but he would probably say that no matter where they went. Denji told him not to get a lot, so he resorts to the usual method:] I'll get what you get. Hey, how come Power gets to go to places by herself? I heard she tried to run off with you.
no worries!! dw notifs are so easy to lose track of 😭
No way, you've smelled them? In the flesh? I can't believe the jerk takes you to places like that and not me… I wanna go.
[ Denji is definitely misunderstanding something significant here by the way he hunches and pouts down at his menu, chin propped up. Man, maybe if he orders from their desserts menu, he can imagine he's near one of those girls, too. ]
Run off… [ Though he doesn't look up to regard Angel, his brow furrows as one his legs stretch out under the table, not paying attention to how their ankles brush. ] It wasn't like that. [ Not like when he'd stuffed all his clothes in a bag and been ready to ditch town with a girl he knew for only a week or so. ] She sold me out for her cat — pretty sure she got off easy for that 'cause I put in a good word for her! And look where that got me. Seriously, what an ingrate.
[ It's not that Denji truly believes his say has that much sway, still being new to the organization himself and just as beholden to the penal system keeping their devils and fiends in check. But he'd always assumed that, because Miss Makima likes him so, she must have pulled in a special favor or something. Power's annoying, but she's a good fiend, all in all. He doesn't like the thought of her getting chewed out for trying to save her pet…
Briefly, seeing their waiter passing by, he hollers out after them to grab their attention and have their order taken. Denji puts them down for peach tea and a set of red velvet Count Draculicious souffle pancakes. According to the description, it's topped with raspberries, edible rose petals and a rose-infused syrup. He's pretty all flowers are edible, so he's not sure why they have to mention the distinction, but different strokes for different folks, he guesses. When they're gone, he returns his focus to Angel. ]
Anyway, she always come back. I mean, Meowy's back home, so she has to…
[ Is that the only reason? ]
…She probably doesn't wanna break Miss Makima's rules, either. She gets so weird about her.
[Places like the street where they hand out tissues? Angel is pretty sure anyone can go there and smell nice-smelling humans, though he supposes he also has a better nose than most humans, too. Not as good as Makima's, but it's up there.]
[But speaking of Makima, the mention of her seems to make something click for him, the realization that, of course, her presence must be enough to keep her in line. Not that Denji seems to understand, but he probably doesn't even think she's scary to begin with. And even though the brush of ankles is brief, he can feel every inch of it - the shape of Denji's malleolus, the shape of his own, and how they briefly overlap and bump. Two small mallets sliding over one another. He presses the toe of his shoe into the floor, wondering if Denji would be mad if he grabbed his leg and squeezed his ankle. He's always wondered what it feels like, disconnected from himself.]
[But something else catches his eye as Denji explains why Power comes back, and their attempt to flee, snapping him out of that thought process.] You stood up for her? [He watches one of the servers out of the corner of his eye who seems to have caught on to the fact that he's not a human in cosplay but isn't making a fuss, only whispering to her colleague about it.] Even though she saw you as less than her cat? I think even Makima'd be offended by that.
[ Isn't that obvious? Her disregard for others isn't that special — and therefore, isn't that offensive to him at this point. Idly watching a new group of cosplayers file into the cafe, he looks as if he couldn't care less if Power sold him out for her cat a second time, much less if Angel reached over, tried to curled a hand around the sinew of his ankle, thumbed at every crease in his heel, and squeezed the life out of him. ]
And yeah, it's messed up, but that's her buddy. [ Someone on the outside looking in probably wouldn't get it, that when you have a buddy, a companion you'd give your life to, a friend you want to live in your stead — it's too easy to make any agreement. ] It's like, y'know, if — [ How should he put this? Who's the closest thing to a friend for Angel? ] If Aki were being held hostage or somethin'! You'd do the same thing.
[ Like how he risked punishment the week before to come along with Denji and cheer him up with his frying pan. It's a similar principle. ]
[...Probably true. Angel has never seen her interact with the cat for extended periods but the single morning he was there, he saw enough.]
[But when Denji gives an example of a situation where Angel might act similarly, selling someone else out to benefit his buddy - Aki - his face sours a little. Brows pinch inward, lips purse slightly. Nothing too heavy in terms of a change in reaction, not like he bit into a lemon again, but the change is there.]
I don't think I'd bother with anything like that.
[Why would he care, after all? It sounds like he'd get a day off.]
That human can take care of himself... I don't care one way or another what happens to him.
[So, in the end, he really doesn't get it. Is there anything he would value enough to do something like that? Probably not.]
[ Wait, for a second there… Nah, probably just a twitch.
At least he gave it some thought before answering, even if that answer emits only his usual nonchalance. Tepid, broaching on unfeeling, like Angel is staring outside a window and merely saying what he sees: A pigeon hopping on the ground in wait of bread crumbs, a human that's going to die, anyway; it's all the same, and it's how a devil like him should feel about a devil hunter like Hayakawa Aki. ]
…Me neither. I don't care what happens.
[ To him and Power, Aki's their live-in handler, first. Whatever else he is to them, second. Nowhere in that overlap is he their buddy. ]
Matter of fact, I'd be the first one to throw a party! He's the most annoying-est guy, ever! Public enemy #1!
[ Denji's finger jumps high, pointing at some unseeable first-place peak Aki surely must be standing at the top of. The sudden movement startles the server that returns to their table just then, a tray of their plates and drinks juddering in their hands. He doesn't give them a second glance, only lowering his arm to make room for their food to be set down. ]
I mean, you know that! He must nag you all the time, right? Always goin' on about something — don't speak so loud or stop trackin' blood all over the floor! Weh, weh, weh! For him, there's a rule for everything.
[Angel wonders about that. Does he bring up Aki Hayakawa this much because it's one of the few people they have in common? Or does he actually depend on the man without realizing it? He doesn't know. Doesn't care, either, because suddenly there's food being placed in front of them, mirrored images of the same meal and his expression simmers into a look of satisfaction, like someone just fluffed his cushion. Yeah, this was definitely worth it.]
Mmm, not as much anymore... [He cuts into the pancakes with the side of his fork, sawing out a slice.] He used to order me around a lot, but he sort of laid off after awhile. [Some sort of truce was developed, based on how much Angel would tepidly argue with his demands. Instead of outright ordering him around, he'll just make suggestions or begin walking in some direction. Angel is more likely to follow along when that's the case. He pushes the bite into his mouth and feels the spongy cake melt on his tongue, syrup sweet and clinging slightly to the edge of his lips. Yeah, all human food really is incredible.] But I think you should do what he says, though. In your case.
[ There's something novel to the brightness in Angel's expression, the moist glisten around his mouth. It's not like Denji toiled over the meal himself, but it's still a nice feeling, knowing that he was a part of a moment that made Angel this happy. It's even enough to make Denji forget to dig into his own plate for a split second.
But then Angel's making a suggestion, and Denji's hastily busying himself with lathering excess syrup all over his plate, though he doesn't really need to, using the little pitcher left behind by their server. At first, only pretending to give it some thought, until his mind snags on his words and he actually winds up pondering what's being said to him.
Laid off… He can see that, for Angel. Being partners in the line of duty, it's easier to fall into a routine with one another, kinda like how Denji's gotten used to parsing when Power's about to go ballistic on some small fry devils to avoid facing the head honcho. Or how sometimes a mixture of both taunt and praise can move her to comply with actual team tactics. The more you lay your life down with someone, the more you understand what makes them tick, he guesses.
Whether it works the same way when you live your life with someone, he's still trying to figure that one out.
Pausing to savor his spoonful of sugar-sogged pancake, the rose flavor harmonizing well with the sweetness in every piece that disappears down his stomach, he washes the taste down with his tea. Then, asks: ] How's my case different from yours?
[ Aside from the obvious difference in home arrangements. ]
I dunno if his way is always the right one, but guess I could give it a shot. If you think that'd make him stop busting my balls.
[As a carnivore, Angel thought at some point it was strange he enjoys the taste of fruity or flowery things. Maybe it was the first time he had something sweet? Or maybe it was further back than that. Maybe it's because he'll eat more or less anything, regardless of whether it came from a corpse or a plant. At the end of the day, if it tastes good, that's all that matters. Maybe one day he'll get poisoned and that'll be the end of that. How nice that would be...]
[Picking up the syrup once Denji is finished, he adds a bit more to his own plate to dip each bite into as he seems to allow the idea of doing as Aki says sometimes. That's good. He thinks his own reasoning for Denji doing this is obvious, but he answers why their situations are different, anyway:] Because you're an idiot... I think he knows better than you.
[Angel saw that firthand during that fight with the typhoon devil and the bomb girl. Even if it had worked in the end, it was still stupid. He doesn't put too fine a point on it, but the difference between them has definitely been expressed by saying it like that: Angel thinks he's smarter than Denji.]
But yeah, he'll probably stop busting your balls as much. [He sets his fork down to pick up his glass of tea and try it. ...This, he's not as fond of, but he drinks the rest of it anyway despite the brief scrunch of his nose. Food is food. Even in liquid form.] He's the sort of human who likes to be in control of everything. And you're an out-of-control sort. That's probably why he's like that with you, and not me.
Hey! I can be smart! Just you wait 'til ya see me with glasses on. My IQ jumps up by, like, ten points —
[ Even though pancakes are a relatively straightforward meal, somehow, some way, Denji throws his plate into disarray. Flecks of food fly and stick to his fingers, syrup gunking the handles of his utensils every time a bite gets shoved into his mouth, which immediately he scrapes his teeth along to avoid wasting all that delectable sweetness. So now he's got spit on his hands as well. And this is him being thoughtful in a public establishment, having a civil conversation with a colleague. As Angel continues talking, however, his eating slows down, the prongs of his fork hovering over his pancakes. ]
…Oh, so that's how stuff works between you two. You let him feel like he's in control.
[ For some reason, it's easy to accept the conclusion Angel draws. He doesn't need supporting evidence, doesn't need an exact timeline summing up his why. Probably because, on some level, he understands that Angel knows Aki better than he ever will — it's why he reached out to him that night, specifically. He's aware of it, and it's something he can respect as a fact of reality, the same way he gets that flies are just trying to survive when they buzz around your food.
But it's not any less grating. Denji swipes another piece into his mouth, looking down. ]
[Maybe he is a little smarter than Angel gave him credit for. He's at least able to understand Angel's thought process behind letting Aki do and say whatever he wants, if it means getting him off his back. Though at the final remark regarding his treatment of the other human...]
Well, I am an angel.
[This time, he does mean it mostly as a joke, though it doesn't come off as one with his monotone voice. His eyes follow the way Denji messes his plate, syrup stuck to his cheek, a sheen of shiny sugar right next to his mouth. His mouth that's... What. What is that expression? He isn't sure how to take it, nor the way in which he made his supposition about Angel being nice.]
You don't think I'm nice to you? [Look at him, he's sitting in a restaurant eating food Denji is buying for him. That's nice as hell. So maybe it's not that, but who he's nice to.] Or you don't think he deserves that? [Beat.] I mean, given the chance, he might freely kill either of us if he was allowed to. [He says it like that's a given, despite knowing full well it's completely false.]
[ An explosive snort shakes from him, which could be misinterpreted as recognition: That the joke is a joke, that he understands the intentional irony underpinning Angel's words, because, clearly, you can't change a devil's nature, no matter what uniform you order it to wear or what ring of light curtains his pretty red hair.
But no, that's not it. The thing is, he's not that clever when it comes to things he finds amusing. After all, Denji snickers at balls written out on a chalkboard and juvenile pranks, like replacing Aki's shoelaces with instant ramen noodles. And right now, it's the very thought of seeing himself reflected in Aki's unsheathed blade that has his shoulders trembling from the effort to contain his giggles. Also, the crumbs pasted to the top of Angel's upper lip, giving him a weird, little food mustache, aren't helping. ]
Pfft, good one.
[ While that mysterious tangle beneath the cord in his chest still thrums restlessly, he can feel its threads slowly start to relax and loosen up its squeeze. He even has the good humor to brush a finger up the bridge of his nose, pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses. ]
Actually, I think it's both. You're not as nice to me as you are to him and that guy doesn't deserve me kissing his ass! [ And yet he'll freely do so at the offer of a gum stick. ] There's only one ass I wanna kiss, and that's Miss Makima's. Hehe…
[ His laugh trails off into a bout of silence. Quiet as he licks his lips, lapping up the extra dose of sugar like a shot of courage, and after seeming to think about something, he leans forward. ]
The part I don't get — why be nice to him if you wanna die? It's easier to leave a dude for dead if he pisses you off. [ Aki wouldn't. But if they're talking in falsehoods, he'll pose his own. ] If you hate him enough. I know that's what I would do.
[Is the Chainsaw laughing at him, or with him? Angel isn't sure. He watches with a neutral expression as he fantasizes about kissing Makima's ass, not agreeing or disagreeing with the statements - both that he's not nice to Denji and that Aki doesn't deserve, at the very least, Denji's kindness. It's not until Denji openly asks why Angel doesn't simply step aside if Aki were in the path of death that makes his brows creep up, high on his brow behind the mess of hair he calls bangs. Leave him for dead if he pissed him off... If he hated him enough - That's what Denji would do?]
[Of course, he doesn't hate Aki Hayakawa, not any more than any other human. He's been assigned his duty of obeying him and protecting humans via killing his own kind, but Denji makes it sound like it's so simple, that he could just jump in the path of death and this suffering game would be over. But the last time that happened...]
[He really did think he would die that day. Looked forward to it, in that brief flash of acceptance. Would he slam into a building and split in two? Be sent flying into the sea and drown under the waves? What would have finally killed him? But he never got to find out.]
[Angel is so used to lying and saying what he prefers to be true that he doesn't question the words he, himself, says very often. Hearing Denji call his bluff is as uncomfortable as it is wounding thanks to that. But he simply stares at him, hands on either side of his plate, half obscured past his sleeves.]
Sounds like a lot of effort, to hate someone that much.
[...Well, it does.]
Do you know about Sisyphus, Chainsaw-kun? [He's guessing not.] It's a myth about a man who cheated death and was cast into hell. The gods hated him for thinking so highly of himself and cursed him to push a boulder up a hill as punishment. But the moment before the boulder reaches the top of the hill, it falls back down to the base and he's forced to do it all over again, for eternity.
[Or something like that. He's not that interested in stories from that mythology - there are too many names to remember.]
...But some people think, maybe, that even though the gods wanted to drive him mad, that there must be parts of Sisyphus' punishment that aren't so bad. Some parts of his life that must be enjoyable, pushing that boulder, with how monotonous and repetetive it is... You know, the relief in knowing what to expect. Every time he reaches the top of the hill, the boulder rolls back down, and he might think, "I get to do this once again."
[Not that the hell in that story sounds anything like the hell he doesn't remember, but still. The idea is there.]
...If I were to let Aki Hayakawa die, or fool him into killing me, then maybe my boulder reaches the top of the hill... Then what? [He frowns, reaching to pick up his fork again.] They probably won't feed me pancakes in hell.
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Alright, alright... [Denji sounds so eager about this, like he actually wants this to be a competition. Angel can't figure out why he cares so much, enough to ensure it's "fair" by blinding the two of them. Even without a blindfold, he still knows the timing and pattern of the little dolls, so can't he just follow along?]
[But when the countdown finishes and the machine commands them to slay dem devils, Angel swats his mallet down and hits a flat machine. He can hear the sound of the puppet popping up above him and reasons it will be below that spot the next time, so he swings towards that area next and hits a flat machine again. Frowning, he attempts to keep predicting where the devil will show up but all in all hits maybe five out of the twenty or so targets. Around him, he can hear some of the others humans wondering what's going on, if this is some kind of game show, but then where are the cameras? When the music finally ends and the voice from the machine says, "Too bad, Player Two! Player One Wins!" Angel finally reaches up to push the tie off his eyes, frowning up at his score before looking at Denji's. He doesn't know which one of them was which player - was he machine number one or two...?]
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Which is generally consistent with the fact that Denji hasn't been able to land a single bop to the popping field, his wide and erratic swings sending him ever so slightly off-center with each one. So whenever he would try to follow the sounds of the devil springing out from its hiding place, he'd wind up striking the side of the machine, the score board, or an empty hole — literally anything but his target. He's positive his mallet glanced off the side of the puppet devil at least once, but when he tears off Angel's jacket to stare at their ending results, what he sees is a big fat zero.
Zero……
Zero????? ]
This stupid game's rigged!
[ The accusations come quick, of course. He points his mallet straight at game mascot's illustration painted into the machine, the toy weapon shaking in his grip as if he might just try to wallop the thing's ugly mug. But in his side view, he notices there's a line behind them of others waiting to play the game, as well as a few workers keeping an eye on their antic from afar. He kinda likes this place, so it'd suck to get banned for beating the tar out of, what was up until a few minutes ago, his favorite arcade game.
For being so mad about losing, his irritation doesn't really extend to Angel for winning. With a displeased noise, he shoves the mallet back into its holder wrong side up, he skulks toward Angel's end to point out: ] Looks like you're gettin' a fancy prize. You can turn those things in over there.
[ He points his thumb over his shoulder toward a ticket exchange area full of toys, merchandise, plush dolls, and whatever else would titillate the average 10-year-old. ]
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[Angel looks down at the mallet in his hand, then down at the five tickets that spill out of the machine when Denji points. Doesn't seem like that many, but he replaces the hammer where it belongs and tugs the tickets out, looking them over once he tugs the tie down around his neck, not bothering to undo the knot Denji made and instead simply letting the two long lengths fall in front of him as he stares at the little text on each stub.]
...Oh, I see. Each one of these... [He kind of trails off, now raising his head to look where Denji is pointing at the row of prizes - stuffed animals, some kind of plastic sword, buckets of candy, and other little knick knacks. As he takes in the sheer array of prizes, his face draws a little tight, like he doesn't believe him.] ...Gets you one of those?
[But that doesn't seem right. The economy would collapse under that. Still, there's a sense of brief hope as he thinks that maybe this is why Denji likes this place so much.]
Like... that? [And he points at the largest item, an oversized animal thing sitting on top of the shelf behind the guy at the counter, nearly twice the size of Angel, but he sees it probably the same time Denji does - the little sign that says that prize costs a million tickets. All the other options are much more affordable, but Angel's demeanor sinks, disappointment covering him.] What, I could have gotten a million points if you'd have let me do it with my eyes...
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Uh, well… That wouldn't have been fun for you, right…? Doing it my way was less boring!
[ Right? He stares Angel down, searching for a glimpse of corroboration, but no matter long and hard he does it for, he looks more put out than exhilarated by the whole experience. Ah, crud, did he go wrong somewhere after all…
He turns back to the collection of prizes hung up, scouring each shelf level in desperation for something that could work as a substitute. And it doesn't take him long! Pointer finger jabbing out several consecutive times to catch his attention, Denji tries directing his attention to the shelf just below the big guy Angel was eyeing. ]
Look, there! Whattabout that one? It's like that thing's younger and cheaper brother!
[ It's listed for 250 tickets. Did they get enough from just that one game? ]
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So it really is just like the economy outside... [And what would he, a devil with no paycheck and no access to the news, know about that? He approaches the counter where the smaller items are listed for sale in the display case. Tiny things, stuff that would probably break in a few uses, but things nonetheless. He squats down to look at the lowest shelf, finally pointing at the stack of blind boxes way in the back. Each one is marked for five tickets.]
What are those? [He was too far away when Denji was looking at Sonny Angel figures earlier, but blind boxes seem to fill the shelves here, too. And since Denji seems to know a lot about this place, he turns to look at him and ask,] What do they do?
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[ He agrees, without understanding what it is precisely he's agreeing with. He's been hearing a lot about "inflationary market environments" from the anchor lady these days, and that sounds like a smart thing to repeat. It turns out that a half-devil with a fixed paycheck and access to the news doesn't know much more than a devil without those things.
He doesn't know much about these weird little people, either. Bent beside him, Denji reaches for a box, trying to read off the packaging aloud, exaggerating each syllable to sound it out. ]
Sumi… sugi?
[ That doesn't sound right. But he's not gonna worry about correcting himself. ]
Uhhh, seems like each box comes with a different tiny dude to take home? You're s'posed to stand them up somewhere and let 'em stare at ya. [ Is his limited understanding of blind boxes, anyway. ] Which pose you're stuck with is a surprise. Powy loves this stuff! Her favorite's this one.
[ Still holding the box, Denji points to another brand. For some reason it's more expensive. Could it be that it's marked up because it's popular…? The economy really is at an all-time low. ]
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[...Why he knows that, or can read the Latin characters well enough to pronounce it properly, is anyone's guess. Certainly not his own. And while he passes a look at a few of the others, notably the one Denji points out that Power likes, he passes them all over with a shrug. He doesn't really get the point of them, but he does know he'd be annoyed if Power stole something of his, so he's not about to get one she likes. And he's ready to decide on the strange little glowing man when one lonesome box near the back catches his eye and he reaches out to pick it up, humming in surprise.] This one has mice.
[He turns it over, looking at each little possible outcome, tilting it this way and that like he can suss out what's inside. He had no idea so many little figures like this existed, and for such little purpose. Denji said they're just to place somewhere and have stare at you...? Seems like an odd thing to own.]
Looks like a city mouse, though, huh...
[Ahh, Denji probably doesn't know what that story is. He pulls himself to his feet, putting the box on the counter as the man behind it notices them - and what Angel is - at long last, shock snapping into his expression as Angel sets the tickets beside the box. The guy kind of nods at him, clearly not expecting a devil to abide by the rules of an arcade economy, and accepts the tickets. Angel works at straightening up his clothes at long last, looking over at Denji and holding his hand out.] Jacket.
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The phrase tickles a fairly surprised look from Denji, not because he recognizes it, but because he gets the sense he should. It rings a bell that had to have left a depression in the landscape of his psyche for him to be minding it that much, but from where… has he heard that term before?
As Angel processes his tickets with the stunned employee, he ponders it over. Stands back and out the way. Hauling the tied up ends of the jacket down from his forehead, the fabric hits his shoulders, hanging there. People edge around him without a second glance, conversations dimming under the sounds of machines dinging and chiming. They'll probably be heading somewhere for food next after this, so his time would be better spent on looking up that cafe Power told him about, but he makes no move to extract his phone, still staring off into space. Someone's playing some sort of dancing rhythm game, their stomps reminding him of something far away. Distant, like rain capering against the rooftop and a light voice asking, Hey, Denji… Which one would you choose? Oh, that's right — and what did he say to her, to Reze — ]
Huh? What's that?
[ Abruptly, Denji's gaze drops down a step, to Angel, standing there expectantly with his palm open to him. …He said something, but, clearly, it wasn't something Denji heard. Taking a shot in the dark, Denji places his hand on top of his. ]
Uh, okay.
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[Letting his hand settle, he stares down at the connection, the hair on his neck standing on end. Both upset by the touch and wanting to grab it and keep it there, explore it.]
[Each time he touches him he can feel a little bit more. When he was grabbed by his hand, his fingers had wrapped around his wrist, tugging him along, the tips of his nails pressed into his skin. Flat against his palm, it had been similar in shape, matching, mirrored. He could see the difference in the length of their fingers, the width of their palms. Like this, opposite one another with palms pressed on fingers and fingers on palms, he can feel the weight of that palm and the way his fingertips feel against the edge of his wrist, the way the callouses gather right below each finger to create a rougher texture. Staring down at the union, how the lines on each knuckle create the shape of a circle, as unique as a fingerprint. Do all hands feel like this?]
...I asked for my jacket.
[His voice is a little quiet, the box in his other hand gripped tight. There's color in his face, but it's less from embarrassment and more from when your body is working overtime. In this case, actively processing something he doesn't know if he can ever get used to.]
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But as he watches Angel stare intently at the easy sit of their hands, he's astonished by how similar it is to watching a cat dragging its paw through a dish of a water, unsure if it should be offended by the cool drip clinging to its fur or not. It's cute. Non-threatening. In the space between the little roots in their palms branching out, the places in his skin where there's an arch or a bump of bone that fits snug against where Angel's hand is perfectly risen to fill that space or depressed to accommodate the space being taken up, like it was made just to be held by Denji — he can't imagine getting hurt, dying from this. So a guy can feel like this, too.
When Angel speaks up again, Denji blinks again, brows drawn high in confusion before folding into a disgruntled pinch. ]
…Hah? Your jacket? You should've said so, then.
[ Ignoring the fact that Angel had said so, Denji drops the jacket back into his hands. Turning around quick, tousling his hair with the hand that'd been laying on Angel's, he starts moving, but stops short to avoid straying too far from him. ]
Um, I know I said you could get a treat if you beat me, but could ya try not to order something expensive at this place? Like not the whole menu?
[ This time, there's no getting lost, no running from upset civilians. The cafe entrance is pocketed inconspicuously somewhere in a normal-looking, but less populated, shopping area. Good thing there are signs indicating it's the right place because Denji would have been none the wiser, if not. It's that hidden in plain sight. He can't even see anything peeking through the places windows because they're so tinted and the lights inside are dimmed. Just what sort of place did Power suggest to him?
In the spirit of fucking around and finding out, Denji pushes the door open, and is immediately greeted by the strangely dressed staff and red velvet decor gilding every inch of the floor space in front of them. They're in a vampire cafe. Of course, they're in a vampire cafe. ]
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Power's the one who suggested this, you said...? [Spoken right before he opens the door and steps in. The staff look their way and, probably to someone like Beam, maybe Angel could be fooled into thinking this is a devil-run cafe or something, if such a thing even existed. Fear of vampires - sure. But he knows enough about human culture to understand a themed cafe and, with it, the quick realization that there's no way this place actually serves blood. So his brows only raise in surprise that it seems like Denji wasn't expecting this, his eyes moving to him as he stands a few steps back. For once, he kind of fits in, and they aren't at a church. How nice is that.]
Power's the one who suggested this, you said... [Repeated to make a point. Why go with anything she suggests, anyway.] Or are you a fan of this kind of thing, too?
[At least none of the staff seem to be giving him a second look. Maybe he blends in a little bit, somewhat? Interesting. Reaching down, he tries to take ahold of Denji's hand again, aiming to go to sit down at a table. He doesn't want Denji to chicken out of this.]
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[ But looking at the place, it's definitely a co-ed experience. All the employees are outfitted in period-accurate clothing, most of which being modest western suits and frocks from some centuries ago. Augh, he really should have known better than to believe her after the time that she made him buy tickets to some Super Sentai kid's event, then volunteered him to fight the evil mascot during the interactive part only to trip him as he was about to land the killing blow. She's the worst, born and bred.
As they're led to their battery-operated candlestick adorned table, Denji continues trying to plead his case to Angel. ]
When you look up the name, the only pictures are of the outside for some reason! It looked super normal coming in, didn't it?! Didn't it?!
[ "That's because we ask all our noble guests to avoid taking photos inside the establishment to preserve the uniqueness of each person's experience with us," their server matter-of-factly explains, after rushing to pull out their chairs for them.
Denji gives them a displeased look. ]
Yeah, and it's misleading as hell…
[ He grumbles the words, plus some other ones about false advertising (this is not what false advertising is), that go largely ignored as menus are placed in front of them. Many of the specialty desserts and foods have eclectic names, such as Vlad the Inhaler — a blood orange cream soda so good, you won't be able to stop drinking — and Bloody Mina — a spicy, savory pasta simmering in the cafe's special bloody mary-nara sauce. ]
Oh, some of this stuff actually looks good.
not me losing this notif 💀
They have places like that, too, I thought. With girls who give you food and stuff. [They hand out tissues but Angel has never attempted to take one. Mostly they seem to be trying to hand them to Aki, anyway.] They always smell really good, too. Like sugar or something baked.
[Looking down at the menu, he has to agree that everything looks pretty good, but he would probably say that no matter where they went. Denji told him not to get a lot, so he resorts to the usual method:] I'll get what you get. Hey, how come Power gets to go to places by herself? I heard she tried to run off with you.
no worries!! dw notifs are so easy to lose track of 😭
[ Denji is definitely misunderstanding something significant here by the way he hunches and pouts down at his menu, chin propped up. Man, maybe if he orders from their desserts menu, he can imagine he's near one of those girls, too. ]
Run off… [ Though he doesn't look up to regard Angel, his brow furrows as one his legs stretch out under the table, not paying attention to how their ankles brush. ] It wasn't like that. [ Not like when he'd stuffed all his clothes in a bag and been ready to ditch town with a girl he knew for only a week or so. ] She sold me out for her cat — pretty sure she got off easy for that 'cause I put in a good word for her! And look where that got me. Seriously, what an ingrate.
[ It's not that Denji truly believes his say has that much sway, still being new to the organization himself and just as beholden to the penal system keeping their devils and fiends in check. But he'd always assumed that, because Miss Makima likes him so, she must have pulled in a special favor or something. Power's annoying, but she's a good fiend, all in all. He doesn't like the thought of her getting chewed out for trying to save her pet…
Briefly, seeing their waiter passing by, he hollers out after them to grab their attention and have their order taken. Denji puts them down for peach tea and a set of red velvet Count Draculicious souffle pancakes. According to the description, it's topped with raspberries, edible rose petals and a rose-infused syrup. He's pretty all flowers are edible, so he's not sure why they have to mention the distinction, but different strokes for different folks, he guesses. When they're gone, he returns his focus to Angel. ]
Anyway, she always come back. I mean, Meowy's back home, so she has to…
[ Is that the only reason? ]
…She probably doesn't wanna break Miss Makima's rules, either. She gets so weird about her.
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[But speaking of Makima, the mention of her seems to make something click for him, the realization that, of course, her presence must be enough to keep her in line. Not that Denji seems to understand, but he probably doesn't even think she's scary to begin with. And even though the brush of ankles is brief, he can feel every inch of it - the shape of Denji's malleolus, the shape of his own, and how they briefly overlap and bump. Two small mallets sliding over one another. He presses the toe of his shoe into the floor, wondering if Denji would be mad if he grabbed his leg and squeezed his ankle. He's always wondered what it feels like, disconnected from himself.]
[But something else catches his eye as Denji explains why Power comes back, and their attempt to flee, snapping him out of that thought process.] You stood up for her? [He watches one of the servers out of the corner of his eye who seems to have caught on to the fact that he's not a human in cosplay but isn't making a fuss, only whispering to her colleague about it.] Even though she saw you as less than her cat? I think even Makima'd be offended by that.
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[ Isn't that obvious? Her disregard for others isn't that special — and therefore, isn't that offensive to him at this point. Idly watching a new group of cosplayers file into the cafe, he looks as if he couldn't care less if Power sold him out for her cat a second time, much less if Angel reached over, tried to curled a hand around the sinew of his ankle, thumbed at every crease in his heel, and squeezed the life out of him. ]
And yeah, it's messed up, but that's her buddy. [ Someone on the outside looking in probably wouldn't get it, that when you have a buddy, a companion you'd give your life to, a friend you want to live in your stead — it's too easy to make any agreement. ] It's like, y'know, if — [ How should he put this? Who's the closest thing to a friend for Angel? ] If Aki were being held hostage or somethin'! You'd do the same thing.
[ Like how he risked punishment the week before to come along with Denji and cheer him up with his frying pan. It's a similar principle. ]
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[But when Denji gives an example of a situation where Angel might act similarly, selling someone else out to benefit his buddy - Aki - his face sours a little. Brows pinch inward, lips purse slightly. Nothing too heavy in terms of a change in reaction, not like he bit into a lemon again, but the change is there.]
I don't think I'd bother with anything like that.
[Why would he care, after all? It sounds like he'd get a day off.]
That human can take care of himself... I don't care one way or another what happens to him.
[So, in the end, he really doesn't get it. Is there anything he would value enough to do something like that? Probably not.]
Would you do that? If something happened to him.
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At least he gave it some thought before answering, even if that answer emits only his usual nonchalance. Tepid, broaching on unfeeling, like Angel is staring outside a window and merely saying what he sees: A pigeon hopping on the ground in wait of bread crumbs, a human that's going to die, anyway; it's all the same, and it's how a devil like him should feel about a devil hunter like Hayakawa Aki. ]
…Me neither. I don't care what happens.
[ To him and Power, Aki's their live-in handler, first. Whatever else he is to them, second. Nowhere in that overlap is he their buddy. ]
Matter of fact, I'd be the first one to throw a party! He's the most annoying-est guy, ever! Public enemy #1!
[ Denji's finger jumps high, pointing at some unseeable first-place peak Aki surely must be standing at the top of. The sudden movement startles the server that returns to their table just then, a tray of their plates and drinks juddering in their hands. He doesn't give them a second glance, only lowering his arm to make room for their food to be set down. ]
I mean, you know that! He must nag you all the time, right? Always goin' on about something — don't speak so loud or stop trackin' blood all over the floor! Weh, weh, weh! For him, there's a rule for everything.
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Mmm, not as much anymore... [He cuts into the pancakes with the side of his fork, sawing out a slice.] He used to order me around a lot, but he sort of laid off after awhile. [Some sort of truce was developed, based on how much Angel would tepidly argue with his demands. Instead of outright ordering him around, he'll just make suggestions or begin walking in some direction. Angel is more likely to follow along when that's the case. He pushes the bite into his mouth and feels the spongy cake melt on his tongue, syrup sweet and clinging slightly to the edge of his lips. Yeah, all human food really is incredible.] But I think you should do what he says, though. In your case.
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But then Angel's making a suggestion, and Denji's hastily busying himself with lathering excess syrup all over his plate, though he doesn't really need to, using the little pitcher left behind by their server. At first, only pretending to give it some thought, until his mind snags on his words and he actually winds up pondering what's being said to him.
Laid off… He can see that, for Angel. Being partners in the line of duty, it's easier to fall into a routine with one another, kinda like how Denji's gotten used to parsing when Power's about to go ballistic on some small fry devils to avoid facing the head honcho. Or how sometimes a mixture of both taunt and praise can move her to comply with actual team tactics. The more you lay your life down with someone, the more you understand what makes them tick, he guesses.
Whether it works the same way when you live your life with someone, he's still trying to figure that one out.
Pausing to savor his spoonful of sugar-sogged pancake, the rose flavor harmonizing well with the sweetness in every piece that disappears down his stomach, he washes the taste down with his tea. Then, asks: ] How's my case different from yours?
[ Aside from the obvious difference in home arrangements. ]
I dunno if his way is always the right one, but guess I could give it a shot. If you think that'd make him stop busting my balls.
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[Picking up the syrup once Denji is finished, he adds a bit more to his own plate to dip each bite into as he seems to allow the idea of doing as Aki says sometimes. That's good. He thinks his own reasoning for Denji doing this is obvious, but he answers why their situations are different, anyway:] Because you're an idiot... I think he knows better than you.
[Angel saw that firthand during that fight with the typhoon devil and the bomb girl. Even if it had worked in the end, it was still stupid. He doesn't put too fine a point on it, but the difference between them has definitely been expressed by saying it like that: Angel thinks he's smarter than Denji.]
But yeah, he'll probably stop busting your balls as much. [He sets his fork down to pick up his glass of tea and try it. ...This, he's not as fond of, but he drinks the rest of it anyway despite the brief scrunch of his nose. Food is food. Even in liquid form.] He's the sort of human who likes to be in control of everything. And you're an out-of-control sort. That's probably why he's like that with you, and not me.
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[ Even though pancakes are a relatively straightforward meal, somehow, some way, Denji throws his plate into disarray. Flecks of food fly and stick to his fingers, syrup gunking the handles of his utensils every time a bite gets shoved into his mouth, which immediately he scrapes his teeth along to avoid wasting all that delectable sweetness. So now he's got spit on his hands as well. And this is him being thoughtful in a public establishment, having a civil conversation with a colleague. As Angel continues talking, however, his eating slows down, the prongs of his fork hovering over his pancakes. ]
…Oh, so that's how stuff works between you two. You let him feel like he's in control.
[ For some reason, it's easy to accept the conclusion Angel draws. He doesn't need supporting evidence, doesn't need an exact timeline summing up his why. Probably because, on some level, he understands that Angel knows Aki better than he ever will — it's why he reached out to him that night, specifically. He's aware of it, and it's something he can respect as a fact of reality, the same way he gets that flies are just trying to survive when they buzz around your food.
But it's not any less grating. Denji swipes another piece into his mouth, looking down. ]
You're nice to him.
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Well, I am an angel.
[This time, he does mean it mostly as a joke, though it doesn't come off as one with his monotone voice. His eyes follow the way Denji messes his plate, syrup stuck to his cheek, a sheen of shiny sugar right next to his mouth. His mouth that's... What. What is that expression? He isn't sure how to take it, nor the way in which he made his supposition about Angel being nice.]
You don't think I'm nice to you? [Look at him, he's sitting in a restaurant eating food Denji is buying for him. That's nice as hell. So maybe it's not that, but who he's nice to.] Or you don't think he deserves that? [Beat.] I mean, given the chance, he might freely kill either of us if he was allowed to. [He says it like that's a given, despite knowing full well it's completely false.]
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But no, that's not it. The thing is, he's not that clever when it comes to things he finds amusing. After all, Denji snickers at balls written out on a chalkboard and juvenile pranks, like replacing Aki's shoelaces with instant ramen noodles. And right now, it's the very thought of seeing himself reflected in Aki's unsheathed blade that has his shoulders trembling from the effort to contain his giggles. Also, the crumbs pasted to the top of Angel's upper lip, giving him a weird, little food mustache, aren't helping. ]
Pfft, good one.
[ While that mysterious tangle beneath the cord in his chest still thrums restlessly, he can feel its threads slowly start to relax and loosen up its squeeze. He even has the good humor to brush a finger up the bridge of his nose, pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses. ]
Actually, I think it's both. You're not as nice to me as you are to him and that guy doesn't deserve me kissing his ass! [ And yet he'll freely do so at the offer of a gum stick. ] There's only one ass I wanna kiss, and that's Miss Makima's. Hehe…
[ His laugh trails off into a bout of silence. Quiet as he licks his lips, lapping up the extra dose of sugar like a shot of courage, and after seeming to think about something, he leans forward. ]
The part I don't get — why be nice to him if you wanna die? It's easier to leave a dude for dead if he pisses you off. [ Aki wouldn't. But if they're talking in falsehoods, he'll pose his own. ] If you hate him enough. I know that's what I would do.
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[Of course, he doesn't hate Aki Hayakawa, not any more than any other human. He's been assigned his duty of obeying him and protecting humans via killing his own kind, but Denji makes it sound like it's so simple, that he could just jump in the path of death and this suffering game would be over. But the last time that happened...]
[He really did think he would die that day. Looked forward to it, in that brief flash of acceptance. Would he slam into a building and split in two? Be sent flying into the sea and drown under the waves? What would have finally killed him? But he never got to find out.]
[Angel is so used to lying and saying what he prefers to be true that he doesn't question the words he, himself, says very often. Hearing Denji call his bluff is as uncomfortable as it is wounding thanks to that. But he simply stares at him, hands on either side of his plate, half obscured past his sleeves.]
Sounds like a lot of effort, to hate someone that much.
[...Well, it does.]
Do you know about Sisyphus, Chainsaw-kun? [He's guessing not.] It's a myth about a man who cheated death and was cast into hell. The gods hated him for thinking so highly of himself and cursed him to push a boulder up a hill as punishment. But the moment before the boulder reaches the top of the hill, it falls back down to the base and he's forced to do it all over again, for eternity.
[Or something like that. He's not that interested in stories from that mythology - there are too many names to remember.]
...But some people think, maybe, that even though the gods wanted to drive him mad, that there must be parts of Sisyphus' punishment that aren't so bad. Some parts of his life that must be enjoyable, pushing that boulder, with how monotonous and repetetive it is... You know, the relief in knowing what to expect. Every time he reaches the top of the hill, the boulder rolls back down, and he might think, "I get to do this once again."
[Not that the hell in that story sounds anything like the hell he doesn't remember, but still. The idea is there.]
...If I were to let Aki Hayakawa die, or fool him into killing me, then maybe my boulder reaches the top of the hill... Then what? [He frowns, reaching to pick up his fork again.] They probably won't feed me pancakes in hell.
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