#me: On a scale from 1 to found in a bathtub missing a kidney how high is he?

[ifyougochasingrabbits]

TW: Death mention. Feat. Meloran Dowell

Meloran felt his leaden gaze barely slide over to acknowledge the familiar flash of white in his peripherals, only for them to snap back towards the figures below. Maybe if he ignores her, she'll cease to exist. Despite this, his voice escapes him right as she passes, "Been a while. Where might you be headed?"

White stopped mid-skip, her head whirled around at the sound of his voice. The corners of her lips slowly curled into an eye-squinty smirk as her foot planted itself on the ground, but not for long. She strolled on over, swaying side to side. "Nowhere! I was walkin'. Around. Are you people watchin'?" She slapped her hands onto the railing, lifting her head to peer down at whoever might be below.

Meloran released a breath slowly through his nose. "Mm," he grunted in agreement, hand raising to slip deft fingers into his curly locks. He rubbed at his scalp, muttering low, voice rolling, "Aint much happening."

White rolled her eyes over his head, looking from his curls down to his face. She turned, leaning her hip against the railing, lazily tossing her hands up with a shrug. "Everyone's out watchin' the fights. Why aren't you? I thought you liked watchin' people." She swung a weak curled right-handed fist, swinging it out in front of her. "Knockin' the shite out of other. People."

Meloran felt the answer would become readily apparent to her as his gaze languidly shifted to take her in. Watching him gave the initial impression that he was bored, restless... the speed in which he moved told a different story. Not all there, not one bit. He cleared his throat, golden hues snapping back to any kind of movement down below. "Didn't feel like it today," He sniffed, tongue clicking against his teeth. Watching her punch the air seemed impossibly funny. Meloran couldn't seem to will himself to laugh, however. "Why aren't you watching the fights?"

White upon meeting his gaze lifted not one, but two— both of her brows a little. Only a little. "Sparrow~" she cooed. Taking half a step towards him she jerked herself around, dropping her arms upon the stone half-wall, looking out at wherever he had been. "The same reason as you. I stopped by. I did." Lowering her chin into either palm scrunched up her shoulders. "But it wasn't fun. Not one bit. It doesn't look fun here either. I think your face is startin' to get stuck. Like that."

Meloran blinked, inhaling slow. He worked his jaw from left to right, thinking quietly to himself. He felt himself bristle at the nickname, teeth clenching around a portion of cheek until it hurt. "S'them sitting, have been. Not a peep neither." He grew quiet for a long while, lost in thought. "Wanna walk...?" See if they can't find something interesting to watch.

White looked around. It did seem pretty dead down there. "Not a single one?" Straightening her arms she craned her head back over her shoulder, peering at him in some sideway-almost-upsidedown manner. She stared at him wondering if she heard him right. She did. That smirk of hers returned, growing even wider. "Yes! We can. Walk." With a spin on her heel, she step, step, stepped around him, next to him where she stopped, back to the pillar. "After you~"

Meloran pushed off of the pillar, stepping forward idly. He stopped briefly for a moment, as if considering which direction he'd like to go in. He started off without much word, but a few steps in he stopped--- just to be sure she was following him ---before he continued onwards.

White skipped to catch up, taking wide steps beside him to match his pace. "Can you see where you're goin'?" she teased.

Meloran felt his brow knit at her, a face to follow with a mocking shake of his head. "Can I see where--- Yes. Of course I fuckin' can," he muttered lowly. He stopped on the steps to look out upon the others situated above the court, regarding them with a hazy look. "Mh." He huffed, stepping backwards into the hall with a squinted, paranoid gaze. Disapprovingly grunting, "Uh-mh.... Mh, mh, mh..." Meloran pauses once before he course corrects into the other direction.

White had taken a glance at the people. Then him. His face. Yep, they weren't going to cure his boredom. She followed once again, giggling at his cursing. "Are you sure? I think they're lookin' a bit like tomatoes." Another giggle broke free from between her smirky smile. She let him wander ahead a few steps, waited for him to take half a step more before catching up before he could stop and say anything about her lagging behind. Or he could. "We could go watch paint dry."

"Wh--- Tomatoes...?" Meloran frowned at her giggling, nostrils flaring in distaste. White? Having a laugh at his expense? No, can't be having that. "Where in the city would there be wet paint, s'all mostly brick innit." He kept walking, enjoying the movement... and the conversation, despite his grimaces.

White nodded. "Tomatoes!" Bending at the waist she held her hands behind her back, arms straight. Her voice lowered. "They can get so very red, sparrow." Standing up, she puffed out her chest like the proud little 'rabbit' she was. Her hands fell to either of her sides, giving a shrug. "I'unno. Maybe they're paintin' it. The brick. Somewhere." She swung her hands out in gesturing, letting them fall again. Her right one. She flexed it by her thigh. Slowly. The two middle fingers took longer to follow the others into and out of a fist. Over and over, three times.

Meloran felt his eyes distractedly follow her hands as she moved them, leaden lids blinking heavy and slow. He didn't quite put two and two together, nor did he feel like probing her further on what she meant. Yes. Tomatoes were red. So...? And suddenly he had a craving for biting right into one. A bit of salt... Yeah. That'd make for a good snack. "You feel like searching for wet paint to watch? I don't. So unless we come across it, I guess we're shit out of luck, eh?"

White looked around. At what? Many things. Her arms swung by her sides like a pendulum. "Would you? Really watch paint dry. If we found it?" She grinned up at him, one of those kind that told him she didn't believe she was asking it, but was none the less amused. He was pretty. Amusing. Leaning her head his way she laughed. "What color would you watch?"

"White." Meloran answered, squinting down the steps. He stopped, blinking three times before correcting his answer, "I'd watch white paint dry, not you dry paint." Yeah. Anyway, he made his way down the steps pretty comfortably, looking past the railing as best he could to see what goings on were... going on. "How's about yourself? What color?" Then, in the same breath, "Fuckin hell, every step looks the same." Gods forbid he take a tumble in front of her. So, he rested his hand against the stone. Meloran couldn't quite see past what was at his hip, so if there were anyone lining the wall below he was ignorant of them. "...Is everyone out watching that tournament?"

White opened her mouth to ask wha— oh. Her brows furrowed her face into a puzzled expression. "I'd. Pick— I knew you couldn't see! I did. Do!" Her words fell out among laughter. Pressing her weight into her hands she pushed herself, her feet up off the floor, trying to get a look over the stair's railing. "It was busy! When I went by. Even the fight tree had people. Fightin'. Not as many as the other place." She dropped to the steps, turning around to seat her rump against said railing. "Red." Colors. "Or yellow! No. Orange. If it's on the brick. Blue would be pretty."

"Blue wouldn't match," Meloran muttered, looking down at the carpeted steps. "...Nothin' bright anyway. Red would be too much." Yellow was an idea. Gold and red always looked good together. "I can see," he muttered, making more progress down the stairs. "When everythin' aint lookin' the same as the next."

White watched him head down the stairs, rolling her eyes. He of all people would know what would and wouldn't match. But— "Why not? It can!" She hopped down the stairs step by step from one foot to the other past him, hopping yet again up! Onto the stone. She leaned to the side, waving her hand in front of his face. "You've lived here how long? You should know it like the back of your hand! Or. Are you not payin' attention, little sparrow~?" She teasingly tsked him. Running along her palm, from above the heel of her palm near the padding under her fingers marked a scar. A pink one. Fresh.

Meloran lazily watched her as she hopped up onto the stone banister. "Long enough," he answers, non-committal. "You think about the steps everytime you go down them? I'm fine," he dismissed, his nose scrunching alongside a lip curl. But the moment she waved her hand in front of his face he felt his focus zero in on it. A hand instinctively reached out to snatch her by the wrist, tugging her one way--- then the next when he noticed the scar on her had at closer inspection. Meloran felt his brain struggle to comprehend the addition--- had this always been there? Surely he'd've noticed beforehand... then again, scars on the hand weren't uncommon. Even he had a few nicks here from random, daily tasks. He turned her hand over, observing it. Though whether the information would stick in an addled brain was questionable.

White was easily moved wherever he liked as if she was a pretty little doll jerked one way then the next. She didn't mind, though another puzzled look might make others think differently. That was a them problem. "What. Are you lookin' at? Whatareyoulookin'at?" Halfway through hearing her own question, it dawned on her. Right. He’s looking at that. She folded her fingers over the scar, staring at him. Smiling a stern, knowing smile. "Did you miss my hands? That much." Whatever had gifted her palm with the scar generously gave another on the other side among the valleys and hills of her scales. On first glance, even more after it could easily be missed.

"You know what I'm looking at," Meloran snapped back, brow furrowing. "'Else you wouldn't be hiding it." He had half a mind to pry open her fingers if she played dumb, to dig is thumb in. The scar looked fresh enough, her hands thin enough. It'd hurt if he did it, even if the scales got in the way, he was sure. "How'd you get it?"

White kept. On. Staring. Unflinching as he snapped at her. Her fingers remained folded. "Why do you care." came out with a sharpness at its tip pointingly stabbed at his ears. "Are you jealous, sparrow? That you didn't get to make it?"

Meloran frowned. "You wanted me to see it, elsewise you wouldn't've stuck your hand in my face." He imagines that, that's the closest to displeased he'll ever hear from her. "I could do worse than your hand. What, then? Couldn't keep your mitts off of something you weren't 'sposed to touch, was it?"

White shook her head, letting out a 'nuh-uh'! "I was tryin' to get your attention." She wiggled her head at him. "Not that it's hard to. With you. When you're not over powerin' your nose. Can you even breath?" She hopped right over his words with her own.

Meloran felt more than just a twinge of irritation at her words, something plain as day on his face. Despite himself, he sniffed, dropping her hand as if it'd burned him. "Just fine," he answered. There was something double annoying about the way she evaded his questions. "Fine, then. I've lost interest. I don't wanna know." He does. He really does.

White's hand fell into her lap. Slid off her lap, using it and the other to push off the stair railing she hopped off of. Stepping past him they softly swung forward, back, then forward again, throwing them into the air! Dramatically shrugging before they fell to her side. She twisted halfway, gazing at him over her shoulder. "I fell." It wasn't a lie.

Meloran believed her, at least for now. His addled brain was pleased enough to recieve an answer that questioning the validity of her statement. Later, though, that'll be be a different story. "Trip over yourself doing one of your flamboyant little turns, did you?"

White nodded, her smile forced itself into something wider. Something patronizing. That also wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth. Later him could figure that out. Or not. She didn't care. "The ground can't get enough of me!" she laughed out.

Meloran thought briefly about tossing her down the stairs. He stared off blankly down the steps, deciding against it. "Someday you're gonna get put into it." Was that a joke, or simply a fact? He took a few steps, asking, "...Where would you wanna be buried, if you had the choice?"

White didn't follow, not this time. She just stared. Again. She continued to stare as she silently filled her lungs through her nose. Where was her grave? She asked when he told her, didn't she? ...no, that detail was left out. Because she didn't. It didn't matter.

Meloran continued to step off, totally ignorant to what was going on in White's little head. After it'd been too quiet, he lifted his head to look at her. A groan. "What? Is that what you're squeamish on?"

White lifted her head a little, whatever distance expression that claimed her face blinked away. Literally. She blinked, pausing a beat longer. "Where is she?" Before he had the chance to open his grumpy mouth she clarified as she approached him, "Her grave." He knew who. She knew he knew somewhere in that addled head of his.

Meloran paused, the world coming to a stand still--- and yet it spun in the back of his head. In a split instant he felt his stomach drop, something indiscernible crossing his face. He didn't know who exactly she meant, but in a surreal snap of reality he gained clarity on her question. Wrong she. Right, she. "Lichyard," he answered, quieter than intended, "The girls n' I pay her visits when we can." He wants to question her about it, but for once he held his tongue on the matter.

A puzzled look returned to White's face, a veil that covered a look even she wouldn't be able to explain. It pushed down upon the corners of her smile. The smile was a little stronger, sitting lopsided on her lips. "Why?" she asked, brows furrowed in confused question. "You can't talk to her. She. Can't talk to you. Or them." Her gaze dances across her face as if she could find the answer on it without him speaking. She still wanted him to. White hovered a foot over the step below while she waited.

Meloran felt his face grimace before he processed her words fully. "The fuck do you mean 'why'?" He spat out, the bridge of his nose snarling. "That's what you do when someone's died. You visit them. You think it'd be any better to leave her there, alone, beause she can't talk back? Why even ask where she's been buried?"

White took half a step towards him, staring up at him with a face that might as well ask what pissed in his drink. If he had a drink. "What do you mean, whatdoImean?" She leaned in, closer. An uncertain chuckle slipped free, like she couldn't understand. She didn't. "What's. The point? Of visitin'."

Meloran stood straight, his face pinched and screwed up entirely. This conversation, and subsequently the discomfort it brought, served only to stoke his ire further. He felt smothered by it, half choked on it. It faltered slightly, seeing her face--- and for a moment in his frustration he pitied her for not understanding. He stared down at her, teeth bared, chest beginning to heave. "It's what you do." He paused, trying to think of any other answer, but each brought him dangerously close to being vulnerable. Vulnerable to her. A sign of weakness, some soft thing he knew she'd dig her fingers into. A wound he'd sooner protect by breaking her wrist than allowing her to pick it apart. "Maybe you ought to give it a go yourself, huh? There's no better teacher than experience," he grunted.

White watched and listened. Listened and watched, studying his face. Her own fell some, just a little. She straightened up at his answer and suggestion, but mostly at his suggestion. "That's silly." Jokes on her. "She won't talk back." she added, heading down the step. She veered to their left in the direction of the weaver's guild's aetheryte, listening for whatever harsh, angry reply she expected to spit her way.

Meloran followed after her despite himself, huffing and puffing all the while. "It's not silly," he hissed, "She existed. She was real. She deserves respect for having lived, regardless of whether she speaks back to us or not. That's not the point."

White stopped, then whirled herself around, meeting his gaze. "I know." Came out between a smile. It sure as hell didn't sound it, more like a hammer's head dropped against a table, startling herself to blink. She straightened herself out, letting her arms hang by her sides nonchalant-like. "She. Exisited. Did you forget where I worked? Maybe you'd like to."

Meloran felt his eyes roll back, any further and he's certainly be looking into his own head. "This conversation's over," he stated bluntly, his frustration reaching its peak. Despite how loud the build up was, the moment in which he gave into his rage was strangely quiet. Golden hues fell back onto her, staring down at her with a cold, dead gaze. "S'fucked, thought you two were close enough for you to give at least one, single flying fuck about her after she's passed," he made a face. Meloran leaned in to spit his vitriol at her, mouth more akin to a snarl what with the way his lip curled around each and every word, "You're like every other selfish cunt that really only cares about herself, the dead be damned even in their memory." With that, he stood straight--- only to skulk off like a dark little cloud in some other direction. Clearly not keen on the idea of being followed.

White didn't move. It wasn't a surprise she'd been called every name under the sun at some point, having the standard list circle back around a few times at this point in her life. She'd bet half of it came from him. But she didn't like it this time, a stern look on her face stared back. Her smile faltered. Lowered so much the slight lopsided curl might as well be nonexistent. She didn't say anything as he walked away, her head following him. Watching him until he could no longer be seen. For a bit after she lingered, eyes on the air where his back had faced her. Then she turned and wandered off to who knows where. She wasn't sure yet.