ringing in the new year

[beastkeeper]

For the most part, the beginning of every new year on the block is the same. There's the party, held down in the common room (barely distinguishable from the lobby, but hey, who cares), and the reminders that go up in the week prior, telling people to bring food to share (not that everyone does — the witch provides more than enough, anyhow). There are, of course, smaller parties, held in the apartments upstairs or on the grounds, and the combinations of creatures always rotates (more or less), but the overall air remains the same. The end of one year and the ushering in of another is cause to celebrate.

Comments

[insides]

[He's happily distracted by the electric lights buzzing in the darkness, attention drifting loosely to any people who roam on the outside freely, laughing and discussing all the wonderful new things they have in store for the upcoming year.

He stops and glances at Betina when she makes her presence known, hesitating to bring the cigarette to his lips before taking a good look at her generous offer. Jack can guess what she's looking for when she seeks out or welcomes his company. It doesn't make him feel any less uncomfortable, knowing what she does to herself and others, but there's a strange renouncement of responsibility that he allows himself to have when it's Cerbos that does the acting for him. Sometimes.]

... Oh dear. [He arches his brows and presses his lips. It would look like a smile on anyone else's face. She should know better than that.] Must be a very special occasion.

[hysterics]

[ That smile of hers splits open, revealing mirthful teeth. Betina's lipstick is smudged right at the corner of her mouth — the smallest flaw, a deliberate one, while not a hair on her head remains out of place otherwise. She gives the contents of the glass a lazy swirl as if to encourage its bouquet. (Oak, peat, smoke — all the words they use in magazines to describe choice wines.) ]

Come now, Jack. [ Her voice is a low singsong in its admonishment. ] They tell me today only happens once a year.

[insides]

Every day happens once a year, or so I'm told.

[He's being difficult, like he always is, adding just a hint of playfulness to the tone. Jack pauses and observes her for a moment, thumb idly toying with the tip of his cigarette before he leans away from the window to pick up the glass. He mimics the swirl and tilts it to pick up the scent.

(He used to appreciate wine a long time ago, when he allowed himself to enjoy some of life's little gifts. It's no more than a ritual now.)]

You aren't serving this at the party, are you? [There's a little frown when he asks. That'd be a terrible waste.]

[hysterics]

[ She frowns back in reply but even Betina's frowns seem to somehow curl up at the very edges. The corners of her eyes crinkle, betraying the set of her mouth, and it's obvious she's not trying very hard to abate her amusement. Difficult or easy, good or bad — bad or worse — she'll take it. ]

Ah. Touché.

[ Betina cants an easy hip against the wall and goes about brushing the red of her hair from her face. It holds in big fat curls, perfectly formed; that same hand braces itself against a bookshelf as she leans in closer, her eyes dancing. It makes her look hungry. (It makes her look mad.) ]

I may be a glutton for punishment but I'm hardly daft.

[insides]

[Something softly fades in his expression when she reminds him of that. He turns and steps back to the window, tapping his index against the cigarette to shake off the ashes. His tone is dry.]

Is that what this is, then? A bribe.

[hysterics]

[ Betina clicks her tongue, crossing and then uncrossing her arms as she waves a hand through the air. ] Don't be like that, [ she says lightly, the chide in her voice still managing some playfulness, like the flick of an animal's tail.

Her tongue darts out and licks the corner of her mouth, just right where her lipstick is smudged. (Thank you, Hollis.) ]

Who's to say I haven't glutted myself already? Aren't you glad to see me, Jack? [ A rhetorical question, of course. Betina's fairly certain Jack's not glad for anything anymore. ] I am so very glad to see you.

[insides]

Yes, of course.

[He wants it to be dismissive, but her reaction only digs a deeper hole into the thought: it's not you they want, it's him. It's an unsettling thought, even if he never found himself deserving of anyone's attention. This, however, is something he only became when the witch captured him, an element that wasn't there before and doesn't feel natural, like a constant buzz in his ear that gets louder when all else is absent.

He really does wonder if whatever he does to others when Cerbos takes control was planted in him first.

Jack takes another drag, long and deliberate, finally turning with his back leaned against the window stool. He still hasn't touched the wine.]

And what have you been up to, Betina?

[hysterics]

[ She watches him smoke, watches him ignore the wine that she's brought for him. Eventually, Betina extends an arm and places the very tips of her fingers at the bottom of the glass. With a soft ah, ah, ah she urges it upwards — not all the way to his mouth but in its general vicinity. Her voice looses some of its singsong quality, grows more matter-of-fact, though still darkly mirthful at its very edges. ] The witch demanded a parade and a parade she got. All of the animals were on display, two by two. Why, you'd think Noah himself had demanded the show. And I'm not one to forget to pay my respects.

[ An amused exhale. ]

But if you really must know, I've been speaking to Hollis. [ A pause. Her pupils dilate. ] He sends his regards.

[insides]

[Jack doesn't find her playfulness particularly charming, truth be told. He gives her a bored look until she tells him the answer he was looking for, finally following in her encouragement and pushing the glass up to his lips for a sip. Always moderate, always reluctant. Boundaries are for someone else to break.]

He can keep his bloody regards.

[hysterics]

[ There is part of Betina that enjoys his disinterest. And it's quite possible that part of her is much larger and more insistent than the piece of her that vies for his attention. Apathy is not scorn — no, perhaps it's much worse — and Betina oftentimes wonders how far she must press before Jack looses interest in her completely. (To press and press, only to press on farther, if not to learn when the thing inside him gains interest again.) ]

Now, Jack, [ Betina says mindfully. ] That's not very sporting of you, dear.

[insides]

That's not the word that comes to mind when either of us is involved, Betina, is it.

[Dry as always. He presses and licks his lips with the smallest attempt to be subtle when he finishes what's left in the glass, stretching his arm to hand it back to its owner.]

[hysterics]

[ When Betina shifts to take the emptied glass from Jack, she curls her fingers over his but doesn't relinquish the thing from his grasp. Instead, she just holds it, her grip tightening around his, her hand applying a slow and steady pressure on the delicate bowl attached to the stem. (She knows precisely how much force it takes to cause the glass to shatter and snap; it wouldn't be the first time she's done it. ]

That's a bit unfair, don't you think? I do love a bit of sport.

[insides]

[Jack tenses immediately when he realizes she isn't releasing him. Disinterest is now replaced by something else entirely, alert eyes trying to hide apprehension, guessing what she's after and trying not to think about it. (About him.) He isn't very successful at it.]

Betina. Let me go.