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Cain takes up plenty of space in any bar. He's at least wearing a shirt this time, a massive wife-beater that strains to contain his inhuman physique. There's a basketball game playing on the TV, some local college or other, the reception shaky on the rabbit ears, covered in tinfoil.
He's put away quite a few beers, but it doesn't seem to affect him much as he sits, casually smoking a cigar and being amused as he sees the local toughs think about challenging him - and then think better of it.
*
A low whistle escapes the woman's crimson lips, as her eyes, wide, given Cain the once over. "Damn. Who knew they grew'em /that/ big around these parts." She muses with a smirk, before pulling at the buttons of her winter coat and pulling it off and away from her arms. "Whiskey." She requests of the bar's tender, offering him a sweet smile, and then folding up her jacket to hang over her seat.
Slipping atop it, she crosses her nylon covered legs in a smooth motion, and pulls at the gloves on her hands. It's not long before she's digging into her handbag, and pulling out a slim, metal container of cigarettes. Unfiltered, she gives one a tap and places it between her lips, now starting to dig about for her lighter.
*
Cain drags on his stogie and blows smoke, "They don't grow 'em big as me anywhere. I'm kinda one of a kind, dame," he says in his rough, gravelly voice, the deep bass of it low enough that it practically rattles the windows.
"You don't seem too scared, though, which means you either got some secrets o' yer own or you just got balls o' steel," he says, nodding to the barkeep. "More whiskey fer me, too."
*
"I'd believe it." She winks, digging about a few more seconds before finding a boxy lighter and flicking it to life. Giving her cancer stick a few puffs, it's set ablaze before the lighter 'clink's shut and she slips it back into her handbag. Closing it, and setting it on the floor infront of her seat, she drags on her smoke and then pulls it away, exhaling through the side of her lips and giving their matte color a moistening pass of her tongue.
"All women have secrets." She confesses happily. "Should I be afraid? I mean, you could snap me like a toothpick. I know that much, but…am I giving you a reason to want to do that?" Another drag, she offers out one hand, ruby painted tails tipping each digits. "Betty. Nice to meet you, big boy."
*
Cain laughs and reaches out to take the hand, "Not in the bad kinda way you ain't," he grins. "Bein' afraid's probably always a good idea far as I'm concerned. Don't take much fer me to do a hell of a lotta harm," he says. He doesn't seem bothered by that idea in the least, however - if anything, it's amusing to him.
"Look at those slugs over there," he says, towards a group of men huddled around a tablel, playing poker. "They wanted to pick a fight when they saw me, figured I didn't belong. Maybe I'll take their women or maybe I'll just put the wrong kinda music on the radio," he says. "But, in their heart, they know I might kill 'em all if they tried. SO they just sit and steam and stew like tomatoes," he says.
"Best entertainment I've had all day."
*
Elizabeth shakes, her grip firm enough, but probably no more than a gentle press for someone like Marko. His comment has her giggling, and soon enough, their drinks arrive. Another thankful smile to the keep, Betty puffs on her smoke and takes a smooth, steady sip from her glass.
Turning, she gazes over toward the men in question. Cain's story has her quirking a brow at first, before waving it all off with her hand, cigarette resting between two fingers. "It's pack mentality. You show up, you're new, and someone has to pretend to be 'alpha' against an outsider, right? Who in their right mind would tell someone like /you/ that you don't belong?" Another drag, she sighs out tendrils of grey. "You enjoy that? Knowing better, and watching them know better, too?"
*
Cain grins, "I like makin' other people scared. An' I like doin' what I please and knowin' ain't a damn body can do anything about it," he says. "I don't give a shit about who they are or why they do what they do. I don't have to care, because they can't friggin' touch me. An' I like that," he says.
He takes a long sip of his whiskey, hissing a moment before he puts it down, "So, what's a doll like you doin' snoopin' around a joint like this? You one o' them lady cops or somethin'?"
*
"Jesus, you're a truck. No, I don't think anything could stop you, so, I'll agree with you there." Turning a bit on her stool, she rests her side against the bar's edge, one hand with her drink, pressing it to her lips for another sip, and leaving behind a mark of her lower lip. The other reaches over, only to flick some ash into a near by tray. "I've seen lots of things in this city; Giants. Gods. Men made of stone. But you? You're something else all together, aren't you?"
Smiling impishly, she looks around the 'joint' and shrugs. "I like it here. Visit at last a couple times a month. Drinks are nice, cheap, and it's on the way home so…win-win." Then a chuckle. "No, I'm not a cop. Executive assistant, thank you very much." She preens, proudly. "But, I'm trying to be a reporter. And you? Besides anything you want? Anything else stoking the fires of that 'pain train' you got going?"
*
Cain laughs, "A reporter, huh?" he says. His eyes aren't exactly polite, hitting all the angles on her nylon-covered legs while he's got the view. "Now why would ya wanna do that fer a livin'? Seems to me most reporters do a good job of gettin' folks to wanna smack 'em in the mouth," he says.
As to the question of his own ambitions, he shrugs, "I been doin' some work on behalf o' mutants,' he says. "Plenty of mouthy, bigoted, foul pieces of human shit been pickin' on 'em lately. I take a certain amount of pleasure in hittin' 'em back hard enough to make them eat teeth," he says."
*
If she notices the look, she doesn't seem to mind it. Either that, or she's use to it. Her pump covered foot bobs idly now as the pair speak, the brunette shifting from smoke, to drink, in kind. Once one, or both, run out, she snuffs the cigarette in the tray and orders another drink for herself. "I like getting the truth out there. I love…solving things. Informing others. Helping others. I hope nothing I've written so far has made someone want to smack me around. Those goons I have to deal with because of my brother want to do that enough already." She mutters.
Nodding then, she relaxes all the more as Cain mentions his recent 'activities'. "I'm glad someone is doing something about that. If the cops can't, or won't, then someone has to. I'm not much of a fighter, but the best I can do is uptalk different people as something positive, and not negative. Time and money when I can, y'know?" A pause, she accepts her new drink and tips some of it back and down her throat. "Are you making headway? Do you think those guys are going to stop?"
*
Cain smirks and puffs on his cigar for a moment, "Seems like a strange sort of thing to love. I mean, helpin' others I can sort o' get - gratitude's nice. People gettin' all weepy and kiss-ass cause you solved some problem o' theirs. But other'n that side of it, I dunno. Guess I just ain't that generous o' heart," he grins.
He shrugs, "They ain't scared enough yet. Oh, they suffered some loss an' a few got sent home, tails tween their legs. But those kinda fuckers ain't gonna stop for nothin'. They're fanatics - I seen the type before. Nutjobs who think God or whatever's on their side. They won't stop until they're dead. An' I ain't killed 'em all yet, so…still work to be done."
*
"You get use to it once it starts. Even if it's not the 'helping' part you understand, I'm sure a man like you gets having to do what you have to do, right?" Elbow against the counter, it holds her drink aloft, as her other hand rests across her lap, fingers down, wrist limp in her relaxed position. "I'd tell you to be careful dealing with idiots, but I guess I should be telling /them/ to be careful, right?" She winks and smiles before taking another sip. "Tell me something, big boy. Why are you fighting for them? Isn't that a selfless, generous act?"
*
Cain cocks his head, 'You interviewin' me, girlie? This gonna show up in tomorrow's paper, all headlined and stuff? You gonna make me pose for a picture before you're done?" he says. He doesn't seem angered by the prospect, more amused than anything.
"I do it cause I got loyalty to a particular individual that believes pretty deep in it all," he says. "Asked for my help an' I'm givin' it. I ain't got nothin' better t'do," he says. "An' I think it's worth remindin' those pieces o' shit in the Friends of Humanity that they really are the bottom o' the food chain - they better get used to bein' hunted."
*
Elizabeth chuckles and grins. Her cheeks already flush with rose, more so than the blush that had been painted on them much earlier in the day. "No, no…I'm not interviewing you. But, if you'd allow me to sometime, I wouldn't say no. It's be interested to speak with someone who's actively fighting and is out there in the streets doing something about all this." Nibbling her lower lip, she sits back slightly. "I'll keep the picture though."
Polishing off her tumbler, she sets it aside, and shifts in her seat, changing which leg is over the other fluidly. "Part of me thinks I should be mad that you're so openly violent towards others. Then again, I've heard, and read, about who you're speaking of. And sometimes, I hate to say it, but violence /is/ the answer. Sometimes, it's all that some people will react to."
*
Cain smirks, "People like violence. They're attracted to it," he says. "They say they don't, that it's bad, that they want the world to be peaceful. But look at what they read, what they put in m ovies and on TV. Nothin' but death, beatings, shootings. War. Crime. Monsters goin' bump in the night," he says.
"Violence makes a body feel alive. Women know a violent man can protect 'em, much as he can hurt 'em. An' I met plenty o' women get their blood all warm watchin' me knock the hell out of somebody. An' that was before I could do it with a flick o' my fingers," he says.
*
"Guess that's true. I have a thing for strong men. Could be because I never knew daddy, or because my brother is worthless. Who knows." She shrugs, reaching her hands out and linking them around her upmost knee. Blinking, she cants her head to the side, allowing some errands sweeps of rich chocolate to drape over her shoulder and out from its biding behind the shell of her ear. "What do you mean by that? You weren't always like this?"
*
Cain shakes his head, "Somethin' that happened to me," he says. "I used to be a normal man, just like anybody else. Maybe a bit tougher and a bit meaner," he says. "I grew up around mutants, though, in my family. My brother an' my sister," he says. "I used to hate 'em for it. Jealous."
He takes another sip of his whiskey, his bald head gleaming, powerful muscles shifting underneath his skin at the slightest motion. "Sorry about the worthless brother. Mine ain't so much worthless as he is a self-righteous prick."
*
"What happened?" She asks, seeming all the more eager to know. Her stormy eyes skip about his form when he moves, watching as things create lines, twitch, flex, and ripple fabric. "I'm sorry you were jealous. I don't remember being jealous of my brother. Well, I am in some ways. The things he can do and get away with because he's a man?" Shaking her head, she clears her throat, and brushes away some of her loose locks. "Oh, don't worry about him. He's…well, I don't know where he is. Frankly, I don't care." A beat. "I'm sorry about your brother, too. Out of the two, I'm not sure which one of us has the worse sibling."
*
Cain grins wickedly and shrugs, liking the way she looks at him. If he can't have fear, he'll certainly take that kind of warm curiosity. "He's the kind that can read minds. And he read mine a few too many times. I didn' tmuch take kindly to having my privacy invaded," he says.
"A man's thoughts ought to be his own. Especially men like me. Our kinda thoughts aren't intended for public consumption," he says. "Some folks might faint dead away, they saw the things I thought about."
*
"I've heard about them. I don't blame you, being upset about that. That, well…things like that shouldn't happen. Not being able to control yourself is one thing, but doing it on purpose? That's just vile." She blurts, her thoughts a bit more libral and vocal after two hits of a stiff drink. "Yeah? Should I dare ask what you're thinking?" She muses aloud. "You didn't tell me what happened yet, big boy. How did you become, well, this?" Blinking, she then looks down and at his seat. "And how the hell is that thing holding you up?"
*
Cain laughs, "To answer the last, not very well. I've learned how to distribute my weight right, though, to keep from breakin' stuff outright," he says, clearly leaning some of his weight back agains tthe wall behind him.
"Well, I'm thinkin' about beatin' the shit out of my brother," he says. "An' I'm thinkin' about how good those legs would look up on my shoulders," he says. "As for how I became this…let's just say it was an act of a god. Just not the one you're used to," he says and there, for a faint moment, a crimson glow flares in the depths of his pupils, only to fade away again.
*
"Skillful." She commends him, beaming all the brighter. The comment about his brother does draw a snicker, and laugh, from her lips. The line about her legs causes her eyes to focus downward, and give a wiggle of her brows. That flare of red, though, catches her attention like a cat chasing a light. "Oh, I…I don't talk to god much, even if I've seen 'gods' walk the earth. I'm fully aware, and at least accepting, that there is more than what we're comfortable facing." Slipping off her seat, she clicks a few paces closer to Cain, eyes up, staring upward. "What kind of god makes a man like you?"
*
Cain cocks his head, knowing she saw something in his eyes - he doesn't manifest Cytorrak intentionally, but the god bubbles to the surface of him sometimes, like lava heating the bottom of a lake.
"The kind that wants to walk in the world and raise hell in his wake," he says firmly. "I keep hearing about these gods around - the norse ones, mostly, that blonde one's been in the paper a few times. I kinda wanna punch him in the mouth," he grins.
*
"Sounds like an angry god to me. Violent. Brutal. Red." She murmurs, watching his eyes to catch that 'bubble' once more. After a few more moments, she blinks and her smile returns. Motioning for another drink, she pulls her chair closer and reclaims it. "From what I know, they're a good sort, but I suppose you want to prove yourself against them?" A chuckle, good natured enough, she purses her lips and smirks Cain's way. "Does your god do more than fight?"
*
Cain doesn't mind the woman slinking closer to him, shifting a bit to lay his arm along the bar, not quite around her but bringing her into his sphere of influence, so to speak.
"Sometimes you just wanna hit the pretty boy in the mouth. It doesn' thave to be complicated," he says. "I don't have much use for heroes - they're always fakes, one way or another. Humbling them gives me a little bit of a chubby," he says with a dark chuckle.
*
Her face twists up with childish delight at the term, and after fighting back a snicker, the woman lets out a healthy laugh. "Well!" She exclaims, giggling still and accepting her new drink with another 'thank you' to its maker. Holding the glass up, she nods her head toward Marko and beams. "Here's to uncomplicated actions and chubbies." Reaching her hand over, she 'clink's glass to glass before swallowing down a healthy amount of whiskey. "Y'know, sometimes I wish I knew how to fight better. I can do little things. Defend myself and the like, but I could never…take care of my issues the way you do."
*
Cain toasts as appropriate, taking another sip. The booze doesn't do much to him, really, but it reminds him of times when it did and it gives a certain air of decadence and debauchery which he enjoys.
"All dames should learn how to fight," he says. "Men are pieces of shit - I know, I'm one o' 'em. They'll take what they can't have any chance they get and, believe me, I can bet there are a dozen guys who wanna put hands on you any given day. Probably wouldn't hurt to carry a gun neither," he says.
*
"I have a few cop friends that helped me learn some, again, basic things. I can throw a punch and have a mean left-hook." The idea of a gun causes her to snap and then point in his direction. "Now that's a good idea. I'll have to see if Barney will teach me how to shoot sometime, too." Another moistening pass at her lips, she presses the glass up and drinks once more. "Now, I don't think all men are bad. I don't trust most, but they're not /all/ like that. Surely."
*
Cain shrugs, "I think all people are bad, one way or another. I ain't no churchman, but that original sin thing? Seems pretty right on to me. The rest is just people playin' pretend and tryin' to convince themselves," he says.
"Now, who's this Barney fella? You're gonna be makin' me all jealous," he says with a soft rumble.
*
"That's a pretty bleak outlook on things, don't you think? I'll keep my hope." She shrugs, finishing off her glass and taking a deep breath. "And…that's my limit. Already feeling like a kite in summer." Arm down, she rests her cheek in the cradle of her palm, it bunching up a bit naturally, but her eyes never leave the man's face. "Ha, you, jealous? Of what?" Waving it off, she continues. "Don't worry, big boy. He's the husband of a co-worker of mine. Works for the good ole' NYPD."
*
Cain grins, "I'd hate to think all this good flirtin' had been goin' to waste if you just had some boyfriend waitin' in the wings. Especially if he was named Barney," he says. "My name's Cain."
"An' bleak ain't never done me wrong. Thinkin' better of folks, trustin', tryin' to be nice? That's gotten my ass burned more'n anything else. I'll keep my hate an' old it close."
*
"Ah, good to know I wasn't the only one playing around." A light shake of her head, she brushes back more hair and exposes those bright, warm cheeks. "No, no…no boyfriend. Haven't found one worth keeping around, honestly." Then, she grins. "Oh ho. Now I get your name. Well, pleasure to meet you, Cain. Funny, met a man named Able not too long ago when trying to get help for my ma." His confesses causes the woman to frown. Her expression is soft, and by all accounts, genuine. "I understand that. I really do, and hey, you do what you have to to survive, right? The more you hate, the more I'll hope. How about that?"
*
Cain grins, "Ain't no skin off my nose. YOu ever feel like gettin' down in the trenches with a little hate, I can always show ya how it's done," he says.
"Able, huh? Never laid a finger on him," he says with a wink., taking another drink for himself. He doens't have any limits per se himself.
*
"Oh, I get angry enough. I promise you that. And if I could do away with the loan sharks and mob goons I have to deal with? Well, I wouldn't cry about it." A rueful smirk, the woman reaches out and places a hand on his massive arm. "I didn't say you /did/. I just found it amusing. Hell, are you made of stone, too? Metal, maybe?"
*
Cain grins, "I ain't made out o' metal or stone. I ain't rightly sure what I am anymore. But I still seem like a man, I got skin an' hair an' all that," he says. "I dunno, I don't lose any sleep over it. Well,l if I slept. Which I don't," he admits.
"An' if you got anybody causin' you trouble, you just point me in their direction. I can make sure they get run over real hard an' fast."
*
"Why, though?" She murmurs curiously, her hand still giving his massive bicep a squeeze of five. "Doesn't that mean you're doing something nice for someone you don't even know?" She pauses and then parts her lips in a silent, but knowing, 'oh' expression. "Wait, no. It's not about that, is it? You'll do it because you're hurting someone else, right?"
*
Cain laughs, "I don't got any rules about it, really. I like you, you been nice t'me. So I don't mind roughin' people up on yer behalf," he says. "That's just back scratchin'. It's doin' stuff for total strangers I don't get,' he says.
"An' yeah, yeah, yer pretty much a stranger, but that's the only way ya make friends, right? An' hurting somebody along the way's definitely a fine bonus."
*
"Honest truth?" She begins, her cheek still in her hand for the time being. Sitting up, she stops slumping over and groping at the man's arm like he was a piece of ripe produce. "I thank you for the offer alone. There's no reason /not/ to be nice to you, Cain. I'm just worried about my ma. They hurt her once, and they'd do it again if I don't keep paying like I'm suppose to. It's…more than just a few goons, it's a whole group that my brother's indebted to."
*
Cain grasps her wrist and gently guides her hand back to his bicep, letting her feel the power inherent there. He likes being touched. "Yeah, it doesn't sound like anybody I should feel bad hurtin'. Not that I would anyway. Whereabouts does this group hang about? THey got a boss or somebody they answer to?"
*
Elizabeth gasps, surprised by the sudden grip around her thin wrist. Her palm flat, and warm, on his arm, she does keep touching, but this time, instead of squeezing, it's a light caress. "They're not big time, but big enough. Their leader's name is Blackie Gaxton. I don't know where they meet, but I usually have to meet them, weekly, in Central Park to make my payments." Frowning, she focuses on his face more directly. "You really don't have to do this, Cain. You're a big man, I'll give you that. But what if they hurt you, too?"
*
Cain can't help but laugh a bit more heartily at that, a big booming laugh, "Oh, doll, that ain't somethin' you gotta worry about. Ain't much o' nothin' on this Earth can hurt me an', if there is, I doubt that this Blackie Gaxton the one's what got it," he says.
"Next meeting, I'll just come along. I'll have a heart to heart with these suckers an', if they don't see the light, well, I'll send 'em on to hell."
*
Betty smiles at the laugh, but there's a lingering doubt in those dark eyes. Her hand moves on his arm, cross his shoulder as best she can, and then downward. Finally, reaching his hand, she grips around a few digits with her own and relents. A deep sigh, she nods. "Ok. Just…I'm scared."
*
Cain lets her take his hand, such as it is, two fingers hooking around all of her fingers easily enough, the size disparity more than a little. "Long as you're around me, kid…you ain't got nothin' to be scared of. I'm the thing scary folks have nightmares about," he says.
*
"I bet you say that to all the girls in your life." She comments, finally giving him an easier expression. She relaxes, somewhat, glancing at their hands and then back to his face once more. "I think you're secretly nice." Betty murmurs, keeping her voice low as if it were some secret. "I won't tell anyone, though. Promise."
*
Cain cocks his head, "Well, I won't lie, I'm a hell of a lot nicer to pretty girls who don't act all scared o' me and like to squeeze on my arm," he grins. "So don't start nominatin' me for sainthood yet. Your pretty face goes a long way in my account,' he says."
*
A roll of her eyes, the woman groans. "Right. Man." She reminds herself, giving a click of her tongue at her companion. "Thanks for the compliment, sweetie. And trust me, you're very squeezable." Using her free hand, she brushes through her hair, undoing a few of the curls that had been hanging on for dear life probably all day. "So what part is this, Cain? The 'new drink' line, or…asking if you have a girl I should worry about? Your place or mine?" A pause, she smiles sheepishly. "Is it bad to say I want to know more about you?"
*
Cain chuckles, "I ain't got no girl an' I ain't got no place. When you don't need to sleep an' no cold bothers you, you don't really worry too much about findin' a place o' yer own," he says. "The place I usually stay the most…well, that's full o' mutant terrorists most days. Probably not exactly an ideal place to visit," he says.
"Ain't nothin' wrong with wantin' to know stuff. YOu do wanna be a reporter, after all. I ain't got nothin' to hide."
*
"My place it is, then. I do get cold, and I do have a place to live. So…there's that." She squeezes his hand, still not letting it go just yet. "That is, if you want to. If not, well, I'll just pout about it later." Nodding, she glances toward the door briefly. "I do, and I can't turn away from a good story. Granted, nothing we've talked about is something I'd write. All seems too personal. Not my place to tell your story." Silent, considering him, she allows that pause to grow for a few moments. "Who were you before this, Cain?"
*
Cain slowly pushes up to his feet, letting her talk herself out a little bit. "Lead the way," he says.
"I was a lotta things. A soldier, a scientist. A thief," he says. "I was my father's son, which meant that I knew how to hate myself cause he taught me to do it when I was still pretty young."
*
Elizabeth leaves her own seat, finally letting his hand go in the process. After paying for her drink, and his drinks, she slips on her gloves and jacket, draping her handbag over one arm, and the other clutches to the front of her coat, keeping it snug around her form. After exiting the bar, she starts to stride along with Cain, moving to his side and hugging her arm around his own.
"Really? What did you study and what wars did you fight?" Frowning, she shakes her head. "I keep hearing about that. Part of me feels good that other people had shit fathers, but…knowing what that's like, I'm sorry it happens to someone else at all." A pause, "You don't hate yourself now, do you?"
The walk isn't too long of one, and soon the pair will come up upon a small apartment building. After climbing some metal steps, she unlocks the door to her loft, and invites him in. Lights flicker to life, clinking at first before showering the spartan area with a warm, honey glow. The home is cozy, lived in, and smells of her perfume and soaps. There's a kitchenette, a sofa infront of a wood heater, and a 'bedroom' that's nothing more than her matress draped off by a heavy fabric canopy. Only one other room exists here, and that's the bathroom. "Make yourself at home. I'll start a fire in a sec. Can I get you a drink?" She asks, locking the door behind them in a habitual manner.
*
Cain looks around curiously. He hasn't been in a home of quality for some time - he's mostly been around Mutant Town, dwelling in rubble, squats, ghettos. He grew up in a fancy mansion, a nice house, but he'd almost forgotten what it was like. He doesn't feel like he belongs now any more than he did then.
"Korea," he says, "And around the Middle East, North Africa, after the war. Mercenary work," he says. He doesn't answer the part about hating himself. Maybe he didn't hear it. Maybe he just doesn't wanna talk about it.
"Sure, drink's always good," he says.
*
Pumps off, jacket hanging up, and gloves set aside, she now pads about in her stocking feet and opens up the icebox. She noticed the non-answer, but at least she doesn't push on the subject. He can hear the 'hiss-pop' of a bottle being opened, followed by its cap 'ting'ing along the counter top. Moving back toward him, she smiles and hands it out his way. "I'm not sure if you heard enough of this once you came back home, but thank you for your service, soldier."
Once the bottle is taken, she moves toward her fireplace, and starts getting to work starting a fresh blaze. "You said you were a scientist? What did you study? Did you enjoy it?" Thieving is well, thieving, but that doesn't stop her from asking, "What was your favorite thing you stole?"
*
Cain waves off the thanks, "I needed to get away from home, army was the best way to do it. My asshole brother signed up with me, though," he shrugs. He heads over near the fire, too, although he doesn't work to help. It's her fireplace, after all.
"My father was a scientist, a biologist. He was always…experimenting with things,' He says. "He trained me to be his lab assistant. I never went to formal school, but I knew what I was doing," he says. "As for stealing, the proper answer to that is always women. I stole a few dames in my time," he sighs. "But if you're talking stuff…probably some things out of a few tombs in Egypt. I always liked the desert, it was clean and pure in its own way."
*
Elizabeth glances up toward him when he speaks. He was already a mountain to her, and now, while on her knees, he dwarfs her even more so. Her expression is empathic, apologetic, even, and she leaves that matter by the side, too. "I see." Is all she says, getting back to work on the fire. Leaning close, she blows gently into the initial sparks, feeding it air until it catches. Soon, the flames drink up the smoke and heat rolls into the room. Smiling, she sets up more wood, giving it space to breathe before closing its glass door. Standing, she rubs at her knees.
"I visited the desert once when I was a girl. We took a family trip out to New Mexico and Arizona. It was very, very beautiful. I had never seen dunes like that before, or stone faces. I'd seen pictures and movies, sure, but that was something else. And the sky? It goes on forever out there." Moving toward the sofa, she takes a seat, leaving him ample room should he wish to join her. "Do you still like adventuring?"
*
Cain doesn't seem to mind the vision of a beautiful woman kneeling at his feet, lit by firelight. It's almost like something out of the cover of an old pulp magazine, with him as the looming, oversized monster, some great troll or impossible beast of a man. Of course, in such cases, she'd usually be in need of rescue.
He takes his seat carefully next to her, draping his arm along the back of the sofa as he shifts, maneuvering his weight so as not to endanger her furniture. "Been a while since I left the country, but I imagine I would. I just got caught up in things here back home - I hadn't been in the states since I left for the war."
*
"I know it's not much, but you can always travel out west if you want some sand and dry heat." Grinning, she leans a bit closer, resting herself under his arm and against his side. "Tell you what. If I ever go vacationing out that way again, you're more than welcome to come along." Because wouldn't that look wonderful weird? The small area begins to heat up, causing the woman to exhale a sigh of comfort, her covered toes flexing a bit now and then, but still keeping off the floor for the time being. "Your God," she murmurs, turning her head to face him. "Did it choose you or did you choose it?"
*
Cain lets her nestle against his massive chest, delicate and fragile. Even usually tough people might seem that way compoared to him, but she seems especially so. He chuckles, "Might take ya up on that. Bet you'd look good in a set o' cowboy boots," he says.
He doesn't particularly notice the heat, such things being beneath him. "I don't know if we chose. I think it was waiting for someone who could…become what I became. Who wouldn't break. And I didn't break," he says.
*
"Y'think so?" She ponders, moving a leg out and giving it a slight turn, pointing her foot. "Maybe. I'd be keen on trying out that look." She winks playfully. Back to the topic at hand, she nods and rests there, one hand on his chest as her head leans to meet it. Even if he didn't need warmth, she did, and was more than happy to accept it from both the fire, and physical contact. "I'm jumping to conclusions here, Cain. To me, you sound liked you were tempered by a number of things. Broken. Reset. Made to become something more. Something stronger than ever before. Now many people get to do that, much less realize it."
*
Cain nods, "I guess you could think of it that way. Truth is, I don't dwell on it much. Things are what they are,' he says. "The why, the how, all the deep shit - that was always the kinda stuff my brother would get into. I take the world as it comes," he says.
"But I don't take it for granted. I know I'm lucky - I got power that plenty o' folks in this world not only would, but have killed to get. An' I don't have any regrets."
*
"No regrets /and/ you know you're lucky." She beams, proding him a bit with a finger. It goes no where, naturally, just a bit of pressure against solid mass. "Sounds like you're not all hate and pessimism after all." The hand on his chest slips across, and soon, she's draping her arm around him in a loose hold. "I'm glad you're happy with who and what you are." She admits openly.
*
Cain laughs, 'You sure do seem to wanna try and find the good in me. Maybe it's more for your benefit, I think? Cause you kinda wanna climb in my lap but you're gonna feel bad about it if I'm really a bad guy?" he says. "I don't care if people think I"m a bad guy. I'm just a guy. How bad I am depends on how much you're in my way."
*
"For me? No. I just…I like seeing the good in people is all. Especially people who think it's not there." Smirking, she scoffs lightly and pulls her head up and away. Eyes on his face, she tsks. "No. I won't feel bad, and I don't feel bad about that stuff. I invited you here, remember? You're just a guy, and I'm just a girl."
*
Cain grins and reaches out to grasp her waist, pulling her fully and properly to sit on his massive thigh, then, "Good. I don't want ya feelin' bad about anythin' ya do," he says. "A lotta that good an' evil, hero and villain stuff…well, I bet it sells papers real good. But that ain't how people work."
*
Elizabeth feels herself become like a doll. Plopping against his leg, she can't help but laugh at the sudden shift. Turning a bit, she rests down against his lap, hand on his chest, working in smooth circles before her head rests down, close to his shoulder. "Why not? I've seen bad people, and I've seen good people. I've seen misunderstood people chastised as devils, and others who are raving mad, promising their actions are just."
*
Cain likes the feeling of her head on his shoulder, comfortable and close. He may not feel warmth as intensely as others might, but it's still palpable, the feeling of a soft girl leaning against your cheste. "That's the other part of it. Every one of those Friends of Humanity fucks thinks they're a great hero, out to save the world from the mutant menace. They ain't never had to deal with the cryin' little kids they leave behind or imagine that it would matter," he says.
*
Settling there, Betty closes her eyes, breathing in and out calmly. Her hand still moves, lazily dragging back and forth before both of her slender arms wrap around him as best they can. Curling up on his lap, the brunette simply rests, and relaxes. The hold of her, though, that squeeze now and then, the pressure of her hands, seems to urge Cain's own comfort, attempting to coax it forth. "Why can't the world have good and evil? It has evil, and that much is apparent. You can't have one without the other though. Least, I don't think so."
*
Cain does finally relax, settling a bit, only his constant knowledge and need to control himself. He could hurt her, even kill her, without even trying very hard. He's not full of weepy sadness about it, but he is aware that if he wants to enjoy his time in her company, he has to at least make sure not to break her bones in the process.
"Again, philosophy ain't my strong point. But yeah, you gotta have both or else you can't tell the difference," he says.
*
"You know, we don't have to keep talking. I don't want you being upset with me for asking too much, or pushing in places I shouldn't." She murmurs, her voice soft and warm as it brushes across his throat with every word. Her fingers flex, digging at the already tight pull of his shirt, raking at any slack, before easing up. "And you can always ask me things, if you want to, that is."
*
Cain feels the tease of that against his throat and gives a low shudder, "The minute we stop talkin', we're not gonna start talking again for a long time. Well..there might be some talkin', but it ain't gonna be about philosophy," he grins. One big hand strokes up and over her back, up and down, caressing her with a controlled intimacy, fingertips teasing right at the nape of her neck, "Truth be told, I got a few questions on my mind, but they don't really seem that important at the moment," he grins.
*