251/Reach Out To The Truth

Reach Out To The Truth
Date of Scene:	05 August 2015
Location:	Mitakihara - Downtown Neon District
Synopsis:	Mamoru Chiba is a bit angry at Miss White. He goes to confront her about her recent actions.
Cast of Characters:	Hannah Sharpe, Mamoru Chiba

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Hat Guy TXT: i need to talk to you about something

White-san TXT: Any time. I owe you.

Hat Guy TXT: It's about Kyouko. I actually need to yell a lot. I thought I could do this over text, but I really can't.

White-san TXT: ...You really do know everybody. Fair enough. Just give me a place and a time, and I will be there. Promise.

Hat Guy TXT: Okay. Thanks. Tuesday? Tomorrow I'm dealing with fallout from THIS god damned witch, and Monday is the only day in the year that's only mine. Besides, by then I probably won't want to yell anymore, just figure this whole thing the fuck out.

White-san TXT: Tuesday's fine. Blue Note Jazz Lounge, Neon Distract. No need for cash, meet me at the vip table.

Hat Guy TXT: Okay, thanks. I'll be there.

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Miss White, for all the rumors and truths around her, is a woman of her word. She's at the Blue Note jazz lounge, in the vip section, sipping on a glass of champagne. Notably, at least according to her fake id, this is legal.

There's a pool table here, and with the help of an extremely large russian man (Boris-kun!) she's doing pretty well for how she looks. Pale, bandages around her neck, and with bags under her eyes, she looks fairly awful. She probably had to bribe the hospital to let her out.

Applying some chalk to her stick, she sinks a ball into a corner pocket as she awaits the man of the hour. He'd have no trouble getting in, thanks to her influence.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
And arrive he does, exactly on time. Some people wear sunglasses at night, and the young man in the white tie and tails is one of those people, apparently -- at least they look as expensive as the rest of him.

He's waved through with a liberal application of both Miss White's say-so and his own don't-question-too-hard field, and his face is an even more unreadable mask than the shades make it.

A nod to Boris, and then white-gloved fingertips touch the edge of the pool table. After the span of a few heartbeats' watching Miss White lining up the next shot, he speaks up. "Yo."

A pause. "Table, or are we playing film noir?"

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
A single hand rises as she lines up her next shot.

"Hey there." She adds, just as casually. Darn Americans! Her voice is notably a bit exhausted. No wonder why.

Another ball into a pocket, and then she stands up.

"Let's sit down."

She walks over, plucks her glass, and then pauses right beside Tuxedo Kamen.

"...You can punch me if yuu want. Heh. I guess I deserve a lot more than that." Boris winces.

"AND A CERTAIN SOMEONE WILL NOT STOP THEM" Peeeeeer! Boris scowls, and looks away.

"...White kitten is too nice for own good." Quips the big man.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Hands clasping behind his back, Tuxedo Kamen waits -- eyebrows up -- for Miss White to head to their table, to pick a seat, to anything -- but instead, she pauses right near him. He glances down at her, unmoving, then asks gently, "Do you really think I would?"

Instead, he starts walking, willing to be steered differently if he's going to the wrong place to sit or something. "Besides, it's pretty obvious physical pain doesn't get through to you. I've been asking a lot of people why, lately. Just 'why'. Why do they do what they choose to do. But I know that why, for you."

If allowed, he'll even pull out her chair for her, automatic and unremarked. "What I want to know is why you think it's okay to treat living, breathing people like objects."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Miss White sighs, and rubs her own hair in mild frustration.

"...Not really, but it would be nice if you took a healthy outlet for your anger and frustration for once instead of just bottling that kind of stuff up." A frown here. Almost a pout. It's easy to be open around this man, henshin or not.

Then she sits down, pretty as you please. She crosses her legs, neatly pulling off the 'corporate made woman' bit well.

"Thank you." She adds. She can be a lady when she wants to.

"So you think you know why I am doing what I do? Heh. Cute."

A shake of her head.

"Objects? Oh please, give me some credit. If I treated that wench like an object she would be dead. What you really want to ask is why I think it is okay to experiment on a real, living person."

A sigh. "And the answer is that it is not okay at all. I did something horrible. I recognize that. I could offer you excuses like I was angry at the time. And I was. Truth is I saw an opportunity. I had to cross that line at some point if I was to ever understand them, and so I chose someone who had hurt someone I cared for. Was it right? No. But I did it anyway because at least then it is someone who wasn't innocent." Her head tilts and she 'looks' to Mamoru.

"And besides. If all goes well, it will benefit her in the long run. All Puella, in fact."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"One doesn't destroy useful objects unless it's necessary, or an accident," Tuxedo Kamen says dismissively, sitting down smoothly across from Miss White. "I don't consider my classification hyperbole, but I'm glad you at least realise you've crossed a line into actively evil, even if it's in the pursuit of some greater good."

A white-gloved hand presses fingertips to the tabletop, and Mamoru's head tilts down and away; he's not even pretending to look at Hannah behind his sunglasses anymore. "This is at least partly to protect her. Your most important person. You have one-- I have one-- Akemi-san has one... even that princess who goes around the city helping one day and pulling all the magic out of people the next, she's doing it to protect someone very dear to her. To prevent something catastrophic."

He'd drink something if he had something; maybe he's glad he doesn't. He folds his hands on the table. "But there's a line. You know it's there. You're certain it was worth crossing. To be perfectly honest? It's such an EPIC line that I don't even really know how to react, how to respond, how to continue to deal with you. It would be easier if--"

Mamoru abruptly cuts himself off, shaking his head. "You can still call me if Ao-chan is in trouble. You can still call me if you're alive but hamburgered in an alley somewhere and need to get scraped into a bucket and brought back to that place. But I am really, really, really judging you now, and I don't want to hear any more justifications for shit that's explicitly stated as against the Geneva conventions. There's just not a damned thing I can do to stop you, so I'm just going to keep cleaning up the wreckage left behind, and judging you *really hard*."

As stupid as that sounds, and as young as this sounds, Mamoru still can't actually keep himself from muttering as he slides back out of his seat, "Half the people I'm friends with have turned out to be much bigger jerks than I ever thought real people could be. I'm so done."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Miss White is silent for some time, eyes closing as she takes it in. She tries not to let it show, but guilt assaults her as she reflects on everything. Somehow, some part of her feels like she's betrayed the man.

For a moment, she wonders just when she started to change into who she's becoming.

"We all have lengths we are willing to go in order to protect the people we love, and to make things right. It seems that mine are a bit farther than most's. Fine. No excuses." She sighs, trembling a bit, the magic around her darkening.

Him, judge her? She leans over the table, elbows supporting her. Her face is drawn, but those red eyes of hers are as sharp as ever.

"What are you talking about? 'Cannot stop me'? You sell yourself short. Were you even paying attention last night? The you I saw last night, Tuxedo Kamen, was brilliant. You shone brighter than I have ever seen from you. All of that anger, that power...it sends chills down my spine thinking about it. Look at me. I am /weak/ right now." There's a slow, almost maddened grin to her.

"Come on. Use that power again. Stop. Me. Right. Here." Her voice is pointed, commanding, and yet part of it sounds like a plea. Almost eager.

She then scowls.

"Weakness is the whole problem. If I were stronger, then all of the things I did would not have had to happen. I could fix them without going to lengths like that. But instead, I am pathetic. These are the results of this dirty world and our glass hearts, Tuxedo Kamen."

Poor man. "I hope you can find a better person than me. I guess I am pretty twisted."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"What you saw last night wasn't me," the boy in the mask says after a long moment, paused, standing next to the table and looking down at Miss White, fingertips to its surface again. "That was a heart of glass in a dirty world, angered by betrayals and salting of the earth, shivering on the edge of a remembered dream and countless forgotten wakings, too real and too immediate and too ignorant of anyone but itself. You don't want it let out again."

He takes a step back from the table, still facing her, and another step, and another, then stops and crosses his arms tightly, brow furrowing. "I don't fight to win, Miss White. And I can't stop you. I *can't* stop you, it doesn't matter if you're at full power, or no power, or overclocking your linker core: I am not capable of hurting you to the point that you would be stopped."

The young gentleman in the tailcoat and inadvisable shades (at night, indoors, idiot) lets his arms drop, and looks down at his hands, gloved as they are. "I'm not a sword. I'm a shield. The only way I could stop you is if interposing myself between you and your target stayed your hand." He looks up again, and he's singing with tension, and that power is there in the air, and his voice is bitter and close and aching. "'A better person than you'-- a better person than /any/ of us. I don't even know if I want to find her anymore. Sometimes I think I already have. Sometimes I only hope so. But the dreams don't stop, and now everything around her is fire, and I don't know if it's because it's getting closer to the end or if it's because of all the external, foreign pain I've been swimming in-- and I can't get a read on anything when I can't recognise my friends."

The tension snaps all of a sudden, and Mamoru stalks back the few feet he'd backpedaled. He slides back into his chair, and he jerks his gloves off, one after the other. "Give me your hands," he demands. "And don't hurt anyone tonight. Don't you dare hurt anyone tonight."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
here, Miss White gives a little titter. "...You sure? Even a dangerous thing like that could be useful. You just need to learn to control it. How to focus your anger and bitterness." Her head tilts, and she's smiling. She looks excited, and maybe a little manic. It's the same way she looked when she toyed with Kyouko's soul gem.

"I could teach you. I am good at using wrath to my advantage."

Leaning back, she looks briefly dissappointed.

"Then maybe you should start practicing with a sword. If you constantly stand on a fence, someone is going to come along and shove you off it. Deciding means you at least know whichever side you land on is by your own will. Come on, you know how I operate. I am going to keep going, keep striving for what I want regardless of the obstacles. The only /to/ stop me is to do just that." Warns the woman.

That power hangs in the air, and some part of her loves it. Craves it. Wants to see /more/ out of the man before her.

A small sigh, and that excitement finally leaves her.

"No. You are not going to stop, Tuxedo Kamen. Because to do so would be abandoning that girl, and you are not a man who abandons people. You are hurt, confused, and scared. Angry. You need an outlet. I would say 'hit me all you want' but you are too much of a gentleman to do that." It's what she was trying to goad him into earlier.

"Fine. No hurting anyone." Her hands are offered over to the man, even as she braces for what she knows is coming.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
The words wash over Mamoru: he can feel the intent behind them, even from here, and it makes him cold. It freezes his insides. He can see the excitement, the bloodlust, the thrill of ambition-- and all of it together, it's the desire for more power, for more everything, no matter whose it is, no matter what its original intended purpose.

He doesn't draw away.

Every hope he has, every wish, it all amounts to trusting fire not to burn him. This moment, this hope? It's no different. "I'm not scared, actually," he says quietly, taking her hands. For a moment, nothing happens. "The rest, certainly, but there's no point in being afraid, is there?"

And then it creeps in, like the warmth of the sun coming up over the window ledge and spilling across the bed in the morning: heart-achingly beautiful and bright, protective and loving, a shield that is also an embrace. It's power, but it's a golden stillness and peace, the quiet of the sleepy end of a Sunday afternoon in summer, surrounded by greenery and the nigh-imperceptible sound and feeling of life humming along, of fields and the forest primeval, of caves and tundra and bubbling brooks.

Behind the stillness and peace and restful calm is the unbending strength and conviction of mountains, the raw power of broad river rapids channeled through their courses, the vasty depths of oceans holding the sacred origins of life, the volcanic fury of the planet's core when shifted and disturbed. Threaded through all of this is not the judgement he warned of, but sorrow and a fervent desire to heal, to make whole.

Energy pours into Hannah from a place deep in the hurting boy's heart. It's not an energy that's the power to destroy: it's refreshment and the quick and silent sorting-out of magical priorities, the boosting, gentle and firm, of Hannah's own henshined ability to heal herself. It's a hand offered over the edge of a precipice, waiting to pull her back; it's a door opened to the safety of a home with a well-tended hearth, glowing warm and life-giving in the bleak midwinter. It's the assurance that these things are real and unchanging, that life is hope and hope is life.

In the background, Mamoru searches, tries to shore up her soul and heal it with his own, tries to find the thorn in her side, the ache in her chest, the poison in her mind. He's seen her real concern, he knows it's there; he's seen that she believes the things she's done are for the best, but he's trying to find what 'best' is specifically better than. There are only feelings and images, there is only this kid trying to take Hannah's pain on himself to lessen it as best he can.

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Miss White's world, so very often dangerous, heated with ambition, and in others freezing with her despair with the world, is flooded with the gentle warmth within Mamoru. She's felt it before, of course, and so it doesn't immediately knock her out. She tenses for one moment, before all of that tension in her body slowly leaves.

She feels /good/ for a minute. There's someone here who cares, giving energy to keep her going. The aches, the wounds, the growing darkess in her linker core all dim just a bit. It can't stop what she's done, and what she's doing to herself. But it staves off the growth of the cancer in her soul.

But the protection she feels, and the vast power is felt as well. Mamoru doesn't need to search. Like a hungry animal the pain, the hurt, the hatred, and the dark ball of emotions that make up her ambition and greed rise as if trying to bite him, to devour that strength. It's the thing of the worst kind of military conquerers, corporate thugs, criminals, and others who take and use.

Some part of her truly lusts for power for its own sake, and not moments later, Mamoru finds out why.

There's a darkened room, with Miss White sitting in a chair. The aura of the place is full of hate and sadness, desperation. Alng the walls, there's newspaper clippings.

'School burns down, one hundred dead'

'Terrorist attack kills fifteen'

'Mysterious illness rampages through city'

'Flood destroys town, leaves residents homeless and destitute.'

A radio beside her on a table continues to play constant reminders of disasters, needless death, and so many tragedies.

Miss White, hands squeezing, lets out a sob.

"I hate it...I HATE IT! I HATE THIS WORLD!" She screams in her soul.

One particular clipping might catch the eye. It's of a local mall, from roughly a year and a half ago.

'Mysterious Gas Leak Puts Two in Hospital. Brave Citizens Rescue Local Student and Foreigner'

The 'Brave Citizens' part looks as though it's been clawed at by fingernails.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
That power Hannah's heart and mind feel, that her darker nature instantly tries to consume, to annex, to take -- it may look limitless, but the vast majority of it is a sleeping giant buried under rolling ancient hills, entangled in myth and dream. He's connected to it, it's part of him, but it's untouched and untrained and unknown, and Tuxedo Kamen-- Mamoru Chiba (there's really been no question for some time, now)-- believes in his heart that he has none.

What she can reach is directly his, is his conscious mind, is his waking world and his magical soul. His linker core. And with her latched on, he feels like the clawing fingernails that tore up the headline are dug into his heart. He sucks in a breath with a sharp hiss and starts to try and pull away, but her hands are tight on his-- and that momentary break in his concentration looses images into his unguarded mind, emotions and details.

The problem with true empathy is that for just a moment, Hannah's pain is very literally his. The hate, the sadness and desperation, the grief and frustration-- and the first of these is the worst, the most alien, the most ringing. A picture is building in his head, and he flinches, but it's what he was looking for, isn't it? It's what he wanted to know.

He'll keep the doors jammed open between them until he understands, or until it feels like he can't hold her rage away from taking him over any more, and then he'll try to jerk away.

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
The jaws of her ambition and greed loom, hungry, but pause. The gentle warmth of the man reaching out for her, someone she considers a friend, gives her the smallest of pauses. The better part of her soul lashes out, and that horrid animal retreats, for now. No. She won't betray a friend like that. She loves the people closest to her too much, and even the grief seed's corruption has yet to eat away at that part of her. Mamoru, as he lurks in her inner world, might feel watched. The animal is heeled, but still there.

The tension in Hannah's 'body' builds. She trembles, cries, and snarls like an animal as disasters, needless death, and betrayals are uttered by the radio. Each one adds another tragedy to the infinite walls in her mind, endless and piling up.

On the brink, she screams, and slams down her fist upon the radio, shattering it.

"ENOUGH!"

She stands up, hand bleeding. She ignores the pain.

She laughs. It's a sick, twisted, frustrated laugh. Hand reach out, and tear across the walls, knocking down newspaper clippings hatefully until her fingertips bleed. She still doesn't stop, hurting herself even as she rages at the unfair world.

She pauses, hands running through her hair.

"...I can fix it. If...if I just get strong...if I become truly strong, I can stop it all. No one will have to suffer anymore. Ao-chan won't have to be sick! No one will have to fight, to die, to cry in the night...Hah. Hah hah hah haaaah!"

"...I just need to become this world's new god." She titters to herself, quiet, but filled with finality, ambition, and a touch of insanity brought on by the darkness lurking in her heart.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
'Just a touch of insanity'. It takes a special kind of mindset to go from 'this all has to stop' to 'actually begin process of aquiring godmod for reality', and somewhere deep in the back of his pattern recognition software, Mamoru recognises that he has an unfortunate knack for finding and befriending that special kind of mindset.

For now, he's breathing more easily, though his hands are starting to shake a little, and he acknowledges the 'eyes' on him but does not continue to think about it. And it looks like-- well, credit where it's due, he has to admit that that's a pretty understandable motivation. And it *is* for more than just one person.

(He's still judging her, but that's not relevant at this time.)

Carefully, the boy backtracks, breathing quick and shallow, and he gradually pulls back his reassurance and warmth, slowly turning down the power before he gives too much and has none left for himself.

When they're out of it, he's sitting with his head in his hands, Hannah's stolen drink in front of him.

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
It's pretty easy to Judge when one has their soul open. The whole scene is almost /easy/. Miss White /needed/ this, to share her dreams with someone. Who knew it would be on this level.

Just before that beast in her soul rips through its chains, the scene fades away. The pair disconnect, and Miss White is panting slightly, leaning on the table. She frowns. Sightless eyes stare at Mamoru.

She wants to punch him, to hate him for seeing so much. But she can't do it. She feels relieved. The look he gets is a little petulant and annoyed. She's younger than she acts.

"...You know, you should buy a girl dinner before you go soul-gazing." Pout!

A deep sigh. "How much did you see?" She's a little defensive here, turning away.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru looks faintly annoyed, and takes off his shades. He's still henshined-- but the very last of the magic tenuously seeding doubt about his identity is removed with the eyewear. Running his hands down his now-exhausted face, Mamoru pulls in a deep breath. "Depends," he says mildly, then actually drinks some of Hannah's champagne. It's clearly his now. "How much did you see that wasn't the Princess, at your house? I apparently don't know most of what's in my head, going by what people tell me."

He glances away, rubbing at his jaw, and then his hand falls to his chest and rests there, over his heart, without him even noticing. "I didn't even know I could see so clearly, or so deeply. Things don't usually make so much sense. Images and fleeting feelings, phantom sounds-- but there were newspaper clippings. A room. You, upset about the world and the pain and the lies. Wanting to fix things, protect people, make the world not suck so hard."

His blue eyes slide back to Miss White, and he cocks his head slightly, peering at her. "And not gonna lie, I think you have a vampire in your head or something. Maybe because of the seed you used. I was prey in there because I was giving you energy. Were you consciously holding that back?"

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
There's a twitch of her brow.

"Not much. Mostly swanky marble, I think." She admits. She should be worried. But somehow, she knows she can trust Mamoru.

Then she leans back in her seat. Mamoru gets a light kick under the table to the ankle. Drink thief!

"You have a lot more inside of you than you realize. I thought you were pretty simple, but, I was wrong. You should be careful though. I was holding that back, but I am not always in control. Not like I probably should be. Maybe it's the Seed, or maybe just doing what I do is making me that way." She pauses.

"...I have enough nightmares and regrets, I do not want you to become another one. You have that girl to find, to make her smile instead of scream. You deserve her. So no matter what you have to do, keep searching and never let me get too close to what's inside you, alright?"

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
The kick is taken with good grace, since it's well-deserved. Mamoru finishes off Hannah's champagne at Hannah, smirking, then puts the glass down and sits back in the chair, much more tired-looking but much less angry than he was five, ten minutes ago. The smirk is already long gone--

He's regarding the girl across from him, thoughtful and distant. He says slowly, "I'm not sure if you can understand how badly I want to trust that you would never hurt me." He doesn't say 'like you hurt Kyouko'. What she did to Kyouko is the kind of pain he can tolerate, has already tolerated voluntarily from a different source. What he does say is, "But you already have, by crossing the line you crossed. I know you could easily cross it again, and even if you regret it, it seems that you're under the impression that it was necessary, and that you regret its necessity more than the action itself. So I expect that you will cross that line again."

Then he looks away. "I don't want you to. I don't want you to hurt anyone else for their own good, or for the greater good, or for any other rationalization you could come up with in pursuit of your cause. I don't want you to take things from people that they can't afford, that you have no right to." He reaches to pick up his gloves, and starts taking his time putting them back on. "Obviously, you can't always get what you want."

There is more glove-fussing-with than strictly necessary. It's the closest he'll come to fidgeting, to a social screen. "I have so many people who are precious to me, now. So many more than I've ever had in my life. I don't even know what to do with it, with caring for them, with the idea that they care about me. I feel like over the past couple of months, I've been waking up. I feel like over the past week, I finished waking up, and the warmth I'd been feeling turned out to be my house on fire around me. But I can't shut it off. The fire's even in my dreams, now. In dreams of Her."

Eventually, Mamoru looks up again, and even if she can't see the nuances of his expressions, they're always in his voice, and as tired as he is, his voice is fierce. "I can't save everyone. Having to choose who to save always feels selfish. Wanting to save people who don't want it, when there are so many people who do, is stupid. But I told you before: I believe you can change the world. I believe you can make it better. I believe your heart is strong enough, and that you should be given every chance to be the best version of you that you could possibly be. I wouldn't ever make you choose the right thing to do, the right path to take you there; I can't even tell you what the right path is. But we both know what the wrong things to do are. And I want to keep giving you every chance to make better choices than the wrong things, because I still believe in you, Hannah-chan. If that makes me stupid, if that gets me killed, then you can tell the Princess later that she deserves someone smarter."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
One eye of Hannah's closes, and she rubs the back of her head.

"...People hurt each other all the time. That's how humans are. Circumstances drive us to." A shake of the head.

"You really give too much to others, you know? Holding out your hand to people, wanting them to be better. You are a man holding his hand in a fire and praying that it does not burn him. Idiot! You are setting yourself up for heartbreak!" She's scowling here, trembling.

"Try being a little selfish, taking something for yourself for once! Do something crazy! Make someone angry! People need to let loose every now and then, you shouldn't bottle everything up!" Comes Hannah, a little petulantly, and a lot worried.

Then she 'looks' away. "...You see a little too much some times. I...when I think about it, I feel sick. But I feel excited too. Some part of me enjoys the power, enjoys being able to hurt the people that hurt those I love." She admits quietly.

"What if I really lose myself? I could become as much a monster as a Witch." Whispers the woman, mostly to herself.

Hannah leans in, her head tilting. "I think you are a very idealistic man. And you are just now coming to terms with how terrible this world can be. No one can save anyone, not when this world is so dirty. We just delay the inevitable." Comes her refrain, the one he saw in her soul.

Then, there's a weak little smile. "There is no right path. We can only grope around blindly and pray we will end up at our goals."

"You believe in me more than I deserve. Alright." Slowly, that gloom lifts, and she stands. There's a genuine smile on her face.

"I am definitely going to change the world, no matter what. If I find that Princess, I am going to drag her kicking and screaming until you two can be together and really smile. You guys just both better give me a dance at the wedding, okay?" There's a mischievious grin on her face.

A coy little look.

"In the meantime, if all of that anger and resentment gets too much, then come to me. You need to let loose, need to run wild over someone? Bring it! I will accept it all as your friend."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"No one can save anyone?" asks Mamoru after a moment, eyebrows up. "If you really believed that, you wouldn't be fighting so hard. I think the same things make us hurt, and I don't know what it is in our souls or our upbringings that make us react to them so differently. I have a guess, but..."

He shakes his head, then looks down at his hands again and laughs a little. "I literally did not have anyone I cared about, or who cared in any meaningful way for me, until a couple of months ago. I didn't want you to know. I told Suzu-chan after you left the study session at the library-- I have no family, and I had no friends, and I didn't-- couldn't-- get close to anyone. So you have it backwards: I knew the world was cold and dirty. But I found out it doesn't have to be."

He leans across the table now, and it's just to put his gloved hand over hers, light and warm and brief, before he stands up. "I'll remember, but it's not something I do. If you lose yourself, I'll come looking for you. And oh my god, don't talk to me about weddings, I just turned seventeen!" Headtoss! And it's in his voice; scandalized, scoffing. "I'm out. I'll see you at the party. I'm bad at yelling at people, I guess. Ja ne!"

And then he *is* out, tossing the giant Russian a jaunty salute before sliding his shades back on and heading for the street.