Comforts (unfinished)

Who: Angelo & Lenore
Where: His place
When: Silly amounts of early.

Lenore was a little buzzy. She got that. The headrush of a fresh kill, perhaps. She hadn't wanted to go home. She wanted to exchange the dead, bloody lump that had been at her fingertips a few hours previously for something polar opposite. Something alive. And she had said she'd visit him again some time.

So, even though it was the wrong side of 7am, and she was still quite clearly in her big shroudy nurse's uniform, she had got herself a taxi to a certain little basement just outside Chinatown - not before arming herself with a bag of croissants in case early morning didn't go down well. She just hoped he was home. She pegged him to be the short of man who kept very unusual hours.

She descended the steps to his rather manky front door and rapped her knuckles sharply against the wood. She was a little excited to see him again, because it had been longer than she would've liked, but it only very barely showed on her pale, serious face.

As it happened, Angelo Lacoste was a man who kept odd hours, and this morning saw no change in that particular habit. Or his other ones, really. He'd slept a fitful handful of hours the night before, shivering in his bed and waking restlessly around four or five in the morning, deciding then and there that if he wanted sleep? He'd have to induce it himself. Of course, the problem with opium was that it didn't always knock him out. Sometimes? It inspired him. This morning had been one of those times, and when he'd normally lounge in his chair for a while, put the pipe away, and go to bed? This time he'd taken the first two steps and swapped out the third for a fresh canvas.

It had been getting light out, after all, and only a fool would squander what light the city offered willingly. So it was a grey day, both inside and out. Grey skies, grey clouds, a thick and oppressive morning beyond his door. But inside it? Rapturous greys that swirled a scale between light and dark, enveloping the canvas to portray the somber city landscape and punctuating with wild bursts of color; Dodge and his kids lurking among the buildings.

Angelo had barely put the brush down long enough to put a kettle of water on when he heard the knock, errantly smearing sky blue paint across his brow at one side and moving to answer the door. He shivered before it was even open, clad in an a-shirt and old slacks, and his teeth chattered a little as he grinned to Lenore. "Din' know I was due a checkup," he teased in greeting as he got a good look at her uniform.

Lenore broke into a beaming smile with ease as he opened the door, and thrust her bag of baked goods at him, "You have paint on your face," she smiled, brushing her thumb over the blue mark with a sort of motherly roughness, "and I brought you breakfast in case you were horribly put out by how early I decided to come visit. The hospital does not like me to sleep. I also have a nice cold thermometer in my bag if you're feeling poorly, but I rather thought I'd escaped work for the day," she said brightly and briskly, fairly unabashed at how like a human iceberg she tended to look in her tent-like uniform. He knew what she looked like underneath well enough, it wasn't like it mattered, "Can I come in?"

"Absolutely," he told Lenore, stepping back to let her in even as his mind raced. Something about her enthusiasm was surprising, and Angelo couldn't quite place what it was or why. They'd slept together, he'd drawn her, and even before all of that? Lenore hadn't hesitated in feeling out the contours of his face a bare couple of minutes after meeting him. So what was it now that was so...

Ain't even got the word for it, Angelo mused, laughing quietly as he shut the door. Jaw all damn night an' now I got no word? "Brought me breakfast?" he echoed in wry amusement, "Broke fella like me's only got a spot a'tea to trade, think that'll do?" He moved to the kettle even as he spoke, spotting the hiss of steam that preceded the shrieking, and just as abruptly as his confusion had hit? So did the answer. She's here. That's the twist. Said she'd see you an' she did... The chain of thoughts, particularly their ending, drew a warm smile from Angelo as he plucked two mugs free of a cabinet.

"Only tea?" she said with an eyebrow raise, untying her hair from the starchy white nurse's band and smoothing it behind her ears, "You have a lot more than tea to offer. Time and energy being two I can think of off the top of my head," she said, examining the colourful chaos that was Angelo's living quarters, especially eyeing the new canvas he seemed to be working on. "Who're the little jewel children?" she asked, reaching out to touch the painting but stopping as she noticed the paint was still wet. She cast a glance at him and his lazy smile and chuckled slightly to herself. He was almost a jewel himself, the way the life glowed from him.

Laughing quietly at the gentle rebuke, Angelo moved to look over Lenore's shoulder as she studied the painting. "I do wish the whole city'd let me barter like you," he mused in a softer voice, reaching up to smooth a line from Lenore's hair that her headband had pressed in. Was it overly familiar? He didn't think so, they were both just tactile people. "An' they..." Angelo murmured, reaching down to her arm to guide her hand back up, giving her unspoken permission to touch the canvas whether it was dry or not, "... is some street kids I run into now an' then. Good bunch, jus' tryin' to make do. I float 'em some pie from Nighthawk's or some change when I can. Ran into one last night, found myself inspired."

Lenore thought she knew the kids he was talking about. She was pretty sure of it in fact - little boys playing at burglary. But they looked after themselves as best they could manage. She knew how hard life was underneath the bridge - even if she had hauled herself up and out. She dabbed her finger lightly against one of the figures, taking away the tiniest smudge of red paint on her fingertip. She turned, grinning wickedly, and dabbed it against the side of his nose. "Dodge can probably lift his own pie. That scamp swiped my earnings once. I would've broken his nose if I hadn't let him do it," she remarked, remembering back in the weird old days when she'd had to worry about things like that. She was in a funny mood. Talkative. There'd been so many signs pointing her back there of late,that time when she'd been chatty and harsh. Laura, Finn, and now Angelo's painting. She just wished she could fathom the message a little better.

The morning had already seen Angelo in a pleasant mood before her arrival, but having Lenore here now? It just seemed to up it again with the realization that she'd wanted to be here, to see him. The last ebbs of his high redoubled, bringing a low buzz to Angelo's limbs as he chuckled and snagged Lenore's hand by the wrist. "So you already know Mr. Dodge? He likes when people call him 'mister'," Angelo confided, giving Lenore's hand a thoughtful look as if he wasn't sure what he'd do with it now that he had it. "Funny kid, an' he's doin' right by them other boys. But I bet if you'd broke his nose he'd just be thinkin' it added to his charm." Stretching to one side, Angelo reached blindly for his paint brush and brought it back, grinning warmly at Lenore as he dotted the tip against the back of one of her nails.

She raised an eyebrow at him and smiling wryly, "A manicure is it? They don't hold with me, I use my hands too much," she said, thinking that there might be something a little... she didn't know. Squint, maybe. Something squint in the way he was looking at her. "And yes, I know him. In passing. Mostly by reputation. Not many people from that part of town don't," she said, offering up the information if he wanted it, unsure how much she would be willing to reveal if he did.

"Naw, no manicure here," Angelo relented, lowering the brush and releasing Lenore's hand. "S'how it starts, you know. Paint your nails fancy an' the next thing I know you're up at the Kitten in some fine dress, an' then I can't say hello," he teased, stepping back to pour water into the mugs he'd pulled down and rummaging for fresh tea bags. "I like things how they is with you, truth told." And it was that simple: he hadn't expected any of it, and that it happened at all sat well with him. "Even with the uniform..." Angelo turned around with that, a smirk in place as he offered a mug over to Lenore.

She wrinkled her nose and made a face as she took the tea from him and sipped it, "It's practical," she said with mock defensiveness, "You want me all dolled up just to get myself thrown up or bled out on? Talk sense," she paused, taking a moment to what he'd said previously. About liking things. She wasn't sure how to respond to that, quite honestly. She liked him. She liked knowing there was a bright, warm soul for her to gravitate to. She wasn't sure if that justified as a 'thing'. But that was silly. She couldn't abide that sort of nitpicky thinking in others, so she would not tolerate it in herself. "And like I said before, you know, we are all where we are supposed to be. I don't think I'm supposed to be in the Kitten club. I'm a lot comfier here these days." she gave him a small smile as she settled herself on his couch and kicked off her sensible (or possibly ugly) grey ward shoes in order to curl her feet up underneath her.

"Best news I heard since the landlord said I'd get a discount on rent if I cleared the place out myself," Angelo replied, his smile joking, but something in his eyes showing more earnestly. There was no fantasy of any normal sort in his mind about this; they weren't going to fall madly in love and live happily ever after, but he'd meant what he said. This? These quiet moments? They fit. And, as Lenore had said, they were comfier. Moving to sit in his chair across from her, Angelo took the time to drag it across the small living space to sit closer to the sofa, paying no heed to the paint on his face as he stretched his free hand towards her feet. "So... time an' energy, yeah? Way I see it, you been on them two feet all mornin'," he offered, sipping his tea slowly.

Lenore shook her head slowly, keeping her feet tucked up. She knew what he was getting at, but she felt too charged to be able to accept. She was juiced on the power of a life blotted out against a pillow, not right for dreaming. "No, if you rub my feet I'll fall asleep. I'm not in the mood to fall asleep. Usually I'd go to church. But, your place was closer. And I keep promises. What have you been doing since last time? Tell me." There was a hint of commanding behind those last two words - she wanted stories. She wanted to fill up on a little of the life Angelo sparked.

The tone wasn't lost, not a chance. In fact, odd as it was? It was somewhat compelling, being ordered around like that. He was such a mellow, free-floating sort that having that dominance aimed his way from someone who wasn't a rich white man struck a chord with Angelo. "Dreamin'," he answered initially, sitting forward to rest his elbows across the top of his legs, "Watchin' folk pass by, an' they dreamin' too... makes me smile." He grinned with a dash of mischief in his eyes, raising his mug for a sip of tea and smacking his lips in approval. "Tol' a story, heard another... think I did, at least, maybe I dreamed it. Spendin' the time I gotta blowin' a horn for them uppercrusts, chompin' at the bit for when it'd end. Lil bit of paint got thrown 'round 'twixt the dreams an' stories an' horns too," he added with a wink aimed at Lenore.

Lenore nodded calmly, but narrowed her eyes slightly. "Have you ever seen anyone die? Not this week but in general?" she asked this quite calmly, as if she was asking if he'd ever been swimming in the ocean. She almost didn't know why she asked it. Testing a theory perhaps. The fact of it was that she liked Angelo, and rather enjoyed his company, and she wondered how he felt about the subject that was closer to her heart than all things. See how someone so alive responded to the idea of death. Death that was still fresh on her hands.

That? Threw him. In fact, that sobered Angelo from his pleasant morning, focusing his eyes on Lenore and frowning, then nodding slowly. "Coupla times," he murmured quietly, "A couple too many, truth told. I... my folks, when I was a kid. Our shop caught fire an'..." He couldn't finish the story, returning to the memory for the first time in years was painful, stinging inside of him in ways that made Angelo want another fresh pipe of opium. "An' a few years back, pair of boys rollin' a bum under the Sixth. I tried to stop 'em, but that old fella... he couldn't take it anyway. Broke my damn heart, girl," he murmured, "This guy, he din't have nothin' but his life, and he wanted to keep that one thing."

"Violence is a terrible thing," Lenore half-agreed with a sombre nod, knowing that things under the 6th street bridge could get... well.. nasty, "I see Death all the time, though, and I don't think it's terrible. I think it's part of everything. Everyone has their time. You don't get any say over that." She wasn't sure what she was getting at still. She hadn't really intended to have this conversation. She sighed and leaned forwards to grab at Angelo's hands, a warm smile taking up her face as she looked at him, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"S'alright," he assured Lenore, dark hands folding around her pale ones carefully, "Some days I think I spend too much time in the clouds, ain't a bad thing to get pulled back down an' reminded." And sure, her question had intruded on his idyllic mood, but Angelo wouldn't begrudge her for it. He liked to think in angles like this, even if the subjects weren't always pleasant ones. "An' naw, death ain't terrible, s'natural. What's terrible is how many folk let the dark inside twist 'em 'til they so knotted up that they do the things they do. Them people? They's wolves," he mused, giving Lenore an encouraging smile before going on, "You a shepherd, girl. You a comfort, an' not jus' to them folks up at General. To me too."