InArTiCuLaCy, SpEkSeI sPaCe PiRaTe SeEkS uKe

[Larry Yakomoto]

Rogue laughed quietly once, then laughed again a little bit louder as he ground the cigarette's filter between his teeth.

"Hn. Smoking's going to kill me, but you're the one that lives off of army surplus steroids?" Rogue's eyebrows arched a little. Quite the little hypocrite, aren't we? he thought grimly.

The one-eyed man pursed his lips, took a long drag off of the cigarette, then stood up as he exhaled the long stream of smoke into the dusty, sunshiney air.

"I think I'll go out for a bit." While he still had the money, Rogue was going to subsist independently of anyone, even the organization that was supposed to bring his precious Aidan back. "Bye-bye, gorgeous. I'll be back in an hour."

Rogue disappeared out the pseudo-bedroom's door, and was soon gone.

The place he chose to eat was nondescript and very dirty, thusly, cheap. He squashed a roach on his way in as well as when he was eating, and he could've sworn that there was a leg in his food. But it was better than hanging around headquarters and eating miserable food with even more miserable people, cheifly Nickie. Besides, this way he avoided having to converse with anyone at all.

The dumpy waitress gave Rogue his check, refilled his muddy coffee, then left him alone to stare out the greasy, handprinted window and reflect.

Why don't they have another cot in that room? he found himself wondering. The thought of Nickie sleeping on the floor felt so wrong. He seemed too sick to be on the floor... too sick to be doing any of this philanthropy work, really. Nickie should've been in a hospital somewhere, ingesting solid food and gaining back a few pounds so that he no longer so strongly resembled a skeleton.

But what do I care? Rogue had to remind himself that he didn't care about Nickie. He couldn't. He had to remind himself of the strawberry blonde's pale, happy face torn apart on the asphalt. And the blood... oh, the blood. False, but still warm, still crimson, still oxidized on the pavement.

With a sigh, Rogue paid the check and left the run-down cafe, pushing Aidan from his thoughts. If he let his mind continue along that track, he'd have his hands around Nickie's scrawny neck before the day was out, and they had to be civil, didn't they?

His hunger sated (however unsavory the nourishment had been), Rogue found his way back to headquarters. Since he didn't know anyone but Max and Nickie, he sought one of them out, wondering if they'd notice that he'd been two hours gone, wondering if there was anything he should be doing in particular... the breifing wasn't for a while, what was he to do until then?

[JackSpikyFruit]

The room had never felt so empty before. Cold and unwelcoming as it was, it had never seemed quite so desolate. After Rogue had left, Nickie had seated himself on the old, ragged army cot with his toes dangling off the ledge. Alone in the overbearing silent of his prison cell, the teenager only began to realize what company the man had been. Though they argued and screamed at each other like hackled vultures, they /were/ still speaking nonetheless. But now he was gone and Nickie, though his heart was black with resentment, could only admit to this uncomfortable barren feeling his cell now portrayed.

/But that doesn’t mean that I like him around me./ The teenager thought, glowering at the prospect of actually /enjoying/ Rogue’s essence beside him. /Even a dog would make this room feel better. A rat, a spider, anything. It doesn’t have to be Rogue. Not Rogue./

Exhaling, the pathetically frail boy leaned against the cold wall and stared up at the cracked ceiling. He considered going outside to get something to eat, maybe something to drink, but the outlook of getting pummeled around while he was out there left his mouth dry and his stomach in knots. It was dangerous to leave his room. The other Philanthropists held no respect for him whatsoever, and the only reason why they even bothered to tolerate his presence in their camp was because Max had ordered them to.

So Nickie chose to stay inside his room and catch some more shut eye before he and Rogue, wherever that bastard might be, were called to the meeting. The teenager easily slipped into rest, malnutrition and anger usually did that to a person, and slept for several minutes until there came a pliant knock at the door. Groggily, Nickie had risen onto his elbows, bellowing with his hoarse voice for the stranger to come in.

It was Max.

The big man, always dressed in an appropriate suit, stepped inside the room and quietly closed the door behind him that, despite his slow movements, creaked anyways before snapping shut. He had a plate of some stale bread and warm broth for Nickie to eat. His expression that he harbored was one of deep worry and false amusement.

“Still sleeping?” He noted that Nickie was occupying the cot and that Rogue, who Nickie was to keep track of, wasn’t inside the room. Brushing Nickie’s gangly legs away, he made space for himself on the cot and sat down. “I thought you might like something to eat before the briefing.” The man pressed the loaf of bread into Nickie’s hands, and when NIckie did nothing but hold it limply in his hands, he took it back and tore it into chewable pieces. “Eat. You’re going to starve to death.” Grinning, Max nudged the pieces past Nickie’s lips, but the boy turned away and grimaced.

“I’m not hungry.” He grumbled.

“You would be hungry if you stopped using those drugs.” Max reprimanded.

“I don’t need you to lecture me, Max.”

“And I don’t need anymore dead weight to drag along.”

Silence.

Nickie glared at his so-called friend and then looked away. “Fine.”

“Good.” Max smirked. He was always smiling and smiles seemed to perfectly fit his square face. A bright, optimistic man, it was no mystery how Max became one of the most respected leader in Philanthropy. Leaning forward, he tried once again to pry Nickie’s lips open with his fingers, but the boy quickly slapped the intruding hands away and said: “I can feed myself.” To which Max only smirked all the wider and handed the boy the pieces of bread and the bowl of broth.

It was in this position that Rogue intruded on when he came back. Nickie was feeding himself, though his face was scrunched up in a scowl. He had forgotten what human food tasted like and remembered how much he had disliked it. Max, on the otherhand, was still grinning and sitting on the end of the cot, his arms resting on his bent knees.

At the sight of Rogue’s appearance, however, the smile stiffened. “Hey.” He waved at the mercenary. “Briefing’s in a few minutes. You can wonder around if you like.” Not like anyone could boss Rogue outright.

[JackSpikyFruit]

LARRREEEEEEHHHHH!!!! YOU FRIGGIN' COCONUT!! POST!!!!

[Larry Yakomoto]

"Um..."

Was Nickie eating? The one person whom Rogue had assumed to be the sworn enemy of food.... But one look at Max and Rogue could tell what had happened. A strange feeling nagged at his heart, and an irritating thought buzzed in his brain: It was sweet, how much Max cared for Nickie. It was sweet and it was sad, because Nickie was a sour little beast and Max was a gentle, kind man, and the former had shown no signs of changing for any of the latter's efforts.

The entire thought took about a second to surface and immediately be squashed by the steel-toe boot of Rogue's conscious. However pathetic Nickie was and however sweet Max seemed, these were the people that had murdered Aidan. They didn't consider it murder, since Aidan was just a robot, but Rogue did. If it hadn't been murder, then why the empty, sick feeling inside of him whenever he thought about the strawberry blonde hair and the perfect skin and the small, curvy body inside of a slinky blue dress?

Oh god, he thought, make it stop. I can't think of him now.

"Thanks. I... uhm..." Had he been intruding? Should he leave? Should he go introduce himself to the rest of the philanthropists? He didn't want to. Honestly, Rogue wanted to stretch out on the cement floor and wait to die. He couldn't do that, of course, because he still had to finish the job he had promised to do and then get Aidan back.

How much better would things be, though? What sort of void would be filled by Aidan? He was a robot, utterly perfect in every way, and the only reason he had "loved" Rogue was because his programming had told him to. Wasn't it? But if that was true, then what was Rogue doing? Why wasn't he working on one of his ships or pushing drugs? Why was he here with his insufferable little druggie and his smiling caretaker? Why?

It was enough to drive anyone mad. But Rogue wasn't anyone. Rogue felt like no one. So he shut off the least necessary parts of his brain- the question parts, the Aidan parts, the Nickie parts and the feelings parts- and pursed his lips.

"Where's the breifing room? I'll wait in there."