X-23 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cutting_edgex23) wrote2011-02-12 10:47 pm
cutting_edgex23) wrote2011-02-12 10:47 pm
Follow the yellow brick road
It's a quiet afternoon when X opens the door to her apartment, stepping aside so her guest can follow her in.
A streak of gray fur attempts to make it past her legs and into Milliways, but long practice has made her far too quick for Steve McQueen.
He is getting used to it. Sort of.
A streak of gray fur attempts to make it past her legs and into Milliways, but long practice has made her far too quick for Steve McQueen.
He is getting used to it. Sort of.
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Besides, this means that -- after the brief cut of his attention to that fast-moving form at ankle height -- he can concentrate his attention on the room he's entering.
Lan assesses every room like a potential battleground, even now, and rarely troubles to hide it. So it's lucky that X is unlikely to be surprised by this.
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Though she does deposit Steve on the ground just in time to intercept Farrah's attempted leap from the cat tree to Lan's shoulder.
It seemed simpler.
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This is one of the things Lan had to get used to at Milliways, once upon a time, and is readjusting to again: not being able to interpret the cues of clothes and style as he can in his world. At home, he has the cultural context for all of this, except the more obscure details of the Seanchan. (The Seanchan specialize in obscurity.) At Milliways, it's all guesswork.
But he knows X-23 reasonably well. Which is why he's unsurprised by the impeccable tidiness of everything he can see. (The little notes pinned to the desert plant and the tank of fish he assumes can probably be blamed on friends of hers.)
Also unsurprising: the clear lines to door and window. Exits are always relevant.
He glances at her. What next?
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"We can go to Greymalkin. Or the diner."
She is not sure which things hold the most draw for him.
"And there are other places. In the city. I have done a lot of reconnaissance."
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He is approving, of course.
"Whichever you think best," he responds gravely.
It's not that he's disinterested, but -- Lan has little context for this city. And, to be honest, little context for visiting a place without an underlying agenda.
(Insofar as he has an agenda here, it's 'come to understand X a little better by seeing her current home.' But that's a lot more low-key than his usual.)
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Beat.
"The people will be less loud."
Acclimatization is not a word X would use, but that is probably what she means.
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He's content to follow her lead on that.
(And a gradual introduction to this society will be useful for blending in with it. Though mostly he plans to keep his mouth shut -- you know, for a change -- and follow X's lead on that part of things, too.
Acclimatization is not a word Lan would probably think to apply to himself either, but it's likely to be relevant.)
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She moves over to a side closet, opening it and pulling out a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a button-down overshirt. For Lan.
"I have clothes."
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At least X can be relied upon to pick clothes that will be easy to move in.
What he says is, "What of my weapons?"
He's going to keep the hadori on until and unless X says something about it. He doesn't even think about wearing it, really; he has every day of the last thirty-odd years. And he'd be very reluctant to take it off. It's the mark of a Malkieri man, and Lan is Malkieri to his bones. (Also, he'd have a groove left across his forehead if he did remove it, so this is probably less conspicuous anyway.)
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"I can find more layers. If it is necessary."
X likes to have weapons to hand, too.
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He doesn't much like to be without it. But he'll do what needs to be done.
And it's good to know he can have a concealed knife or two to hand. Not his preferred weapon, but it's something. (And Lan learned to fight with hands and feet first. He doesn't expect to fight, but he hasn't lived this long by ever assuming he's safe.)
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Then she comes to a decision.
"I think it is better to leave the sword. Here. People will not ask as many questions."
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He's gone unarmed before, anyway. Sometimes circumstances demand. There's little point in coming to X's world just so he can stand out and cause difficulty everywhere they go. And he trusts X to be competent; if she says her apartment is secure, it will be, and if it comes to blades -- well, Lan can handle himself with a knife, and X has enough skill with her claws to make his presence probably redundant.
Accordingly, he nods.
And flicks a glance at the clothing in his hands, then back at the rooms with their (mostly black and purple) decorations. Where should he change into these?
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It is similarly neat.
And the door locks.
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He won't bother to lock the door; X is, he trusts, not likely to walk in. (Also, it's not a kind of lock he recognizes.)
He'll be a few minutes. None of this clothing is hard to figure out, but he's never worn anything like it before either. Unfamiliarity slows one down.
At least he can keep his boots. And his boot knife.
When he emerges, it's with a cloak-wrapped bundle of clothes in one hand, and his swordbelt and sword in the other. And no expression, but that's kind of a given with Lan.
Also a given: the shoulder-length greying hair, the leather hadori around his forehead, and the general air of predatory looming. Good thing San Francisco is used to weird folks!
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X gives Lan a quick once-over, then nods.
"You can put your things on the couch. Or in the closet."
Beat.
"I have a safe, too."
You know. If he is particularly concerned.
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Uh.
He knows the word 'safe' in this context thanks to the House of Arch, though it takes him an instant to place it. He considers it briefly, but -- Lan's not used to putting his things under lock and key other than behind a door, anyway. X is sensible, and as such can be relied upon to keep her quarters secure. (Or, if they're not, to know it.)
He nods slightly, rather than answering aloud. Since there's no sword rack visible, in this strange decorating scheme of her world, he opts for the closet.
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And while he does that, she will wait for him by the door.
The cats are waiting there, too.
Steve McQueen is about due for an escape.
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He slants a glance at the cats when he approaches. But unless X asks for his help, he's not going to assume anything about what the cats should or shouldn't do; she presumably has it in hand. (And Lan is used to cats that can come and go freely, although Steve McQueen's poised and opportunistic crouch implies otherwise.)
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She does, however, open the door from a particular angle, crouching down to scoop up both cats almost as soon as the hinges start moving.
It saves time.
Beyond the now open door lies a hallway -- narrow and short -- and a carpeted staircase.
She waits for Lan to precede her out. Because of the cats.
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So.
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Mr. Simmons cracks a grin as X leads Lan through the pawn shop.
It is less cluttered than one might expect, though the low lighting makes it seem more crowded.
X does not appear to mind.
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He does glance at X. They didn't discuss what to say about his presence if it was questioned. An oversight, possibly. In any case, she knows the ground and the people, and she's bound by no Oaths; she gets to take the lead on this.
(He swept a glance across the room when they entered, of course. And he's not trying to move like a fighter, but that wary, liquid grace is there in every motion unless Lan is working very hard to suppress it, and his weathered face is always impassive. And there's nothing much that'll disguise his height and the breadth of his shoulders.)
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Then --
"He is my uncle."
What?
It is not as if everyone in this room does not know that that is patently untrue.
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Okay.
It's plausible as a story, anyway.
(Lan's expression doesn't so much as flicker.)
"Nice to meet you," he says to Mr. Simmons, gravely.
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Too bad he is not making any great effort to use it.
"It's nice to meet you, too, X's uncle."
"Lan," X cuts in.
She is helpful like that.
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Recognizing humor, of course, he already knew. Just because he rarely deigns to joke doesn't mean he's unfamiliar with the concept.
"You would be Mr. Simmons," he says. The sentence just barely nudges up into rhetorical question territory.
Lan is being polite! For him. And, to be fair, his tone manages a bit more cordiality than his face. (By Malkieri standards, this is perfectly open and friendly. Malkieri standards are not exactly normal.)
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By a lot.
"Planning on doing a lot of sightseeing while you're here, then? X isn't a half-bad tour guide."
She does a lot of foot patrols. Rooftop ones, too.
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It's dry, and faintly ironic, as only a craggy stoneface can be.
"That's in her hands."
X's sense of humor has clearly come a long way.
It could be worse.