hide the guns. [michael]

[sinclair]

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[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F2B661;line-height:7px;margin-top:5px] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]Bright sunlight beamed through the window, striking the woman's face with a vengeance. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, Sinclair groaned. Why the hell was the sun already so high? Her alarm clock should have gone off by now. Katrina's goinng to kill me, she thought, vaguely concerned. She hates it when we're late. Ugh, dealing with the moody nurse was going to be such a headache. Feeling unusually reluctant to get out of bed, the woman turned her face and pulled the blankets closer around her. She did not want to get up.

Speaking of headaches, her head was killing her. It was like an aggravated Sandslash decided to have a field day in her skull -- not to mention the fact that her stomach wasn't agreeing with the rest of her body. Sinclair found that odd -- as far as she knew, she just never got sick. Her pride refused to even acknowledge the possibility. With another groan and a few silent swears, Sinclair rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

... Waaait a minute. The brunette took a deep breath. This wasn't her pillow. It smelled ... different. With a gasp, the woman pushed herself up and looked around, eyes wide. The blanket-that-was-not-her-blanket slid off, and the woman noticed, for the first time, something that should have been obvious from the beginning, if not for her raging headache and angry stomach.

She was naked.

"What the fuck is go -- aaaah." She raised a hand to her forehead, the Sandslash once again attacking her cranium as she screwed her eyes shut against the sunlight. Suddenly, her symptoms began to make sense. Of course Sinclair wasn't sick, she was just hungover. Allowing herself a stream of swears, the woman examined her unfamiliar surroundings. It looked like she was in someone else's bedroom -- the implications of which she absolutely did not want to consider -- in someone else's bed -- maybe she had just borrowed the room temporarily? -- with no clothes on. Sinclair had no explanation for that.

Now that she had her bearings ... somewhat, a whole slew of questions presented themselves to her addled brain. One, where was she? Two, how did she get here, wherever she was? And three, where the fuck were her clothes? Sinclair decided her first plan of action was to find something to wear. The rest of her confusion could deal until she got clothes and maybe some painkillers for that godawful headache. Her eyes landed on what she assumed was a dresser. "Place to start," she grunted. The woman stumbled out of bed, disoriented, and nearly threw up as the room spun in circles around her.

Staggering toward the dresser, she began to roughly pull out every drawer within reach. Sinclair didn't give a damn that she was making a mess; she was sure that whoever owned this room would be more than willing to forgive her once she found her damn gun. Clothes flew everywhere, and she grabbed a pair of black boxers. Pulling them on with some difficulty, she figured that wearing something was better than being butt-naked. Next order of business was ... "Shirt," she spat. The woman reached out and grabbed the nearest top.

Before she could put it on, she heard the door open behind her. In an attempt to preserve what was left of her dignity, Sinclair pressed the Staryu Wars t-shirt to her chest and spun around. If only she had found that gun.

"Who's there?" she demanded.[/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F26161;line-height:7px;] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]notes um lol hi.
tags michael![/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#E03D5D;line-height:7px;] [/style]

[michael]

[style=width: 350px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify][style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #EE0000; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]Leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at the walls, Michael had never felt more at fault in years. The fact that he actually allowed himself to get her drunk and bring her home on the back of Volante, well. Let's just say he hadn't been thinking straight himself. A slow breath escaped his lips as he glanced down at the Mienfoo. " Yeah, yeah. I know I should check on her. " He muttered to the pokemon, then glanced down at his coffee cup, almost empty. Turning away, he grabbed another mug, then poured two cups, grabbed the small creamer, sugar, and placed everything on a tray. He glanced back at his pokemon, taking a deep breath. " You hid her gun, right? Good. Okay. Let's hope she doesn't find anything to throw at me " He murmured, walking towards the door, hesitating in front of it. He hated how awkward this would be, considering as soon as they had gotten inside, the clothes had come off and she had passed out on his bed. The only thing he had done was cover her with blankets, take off his own shirt, and lay down beside her.

A puff of air escaped his lips, glancing towards the window, wishing Volante was here. But the Pidgeot had flown off towards Viridian to keep an eye on Gabriel. Flexing his hands around the tray, he motioned to his pokemon to open the door, pausing slightly as he heard Sinclair's voice on the other side. that made his freeze completely, before Letta pushed him into the room. A scarlet blush flashed across his features as he realized her lack of clothing, once more. Turning his face away, he walked towards the desk by the window, placing the tray down and bracing his hands on either side of it. " S-sorry! I didn't know you were awake " He stuttered, cursing himself under his breath as he added cream only to his own cup of coffee. " I, uh.. Brought coffee for the hang-over? Or I could go make some tea " Michael said, voice becoming softly. Letta' eyes moved between the woman and man, shaking her head slightly and wandering back out.

The the sunlight that streamed through the shades, every little line of Michael's body could be seen. All the scars that he had attained over the course of two years was littered all over his body, one in particular running from his left shoulder blade, curving around, and disappearing underneath his pants. After Sinclair had fallen asleep, and he had managed to get out of the room, he hadn't bothered finding another shirt, nor another pair of jeans. Instead, he went shirtless, which he didn't think was his wisest choice, but what else could he do. " I'll explain everything. Just uh… Put the shirt on? " He asked, body tensing up noticeably, head shaking slightly as he took a rather large gulp of his coffee. [/style]

[sinclair]

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[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F2B661;line-height:7px;margin-top:5px] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]The door opened, and Sinclair held her breath. She squinted slightly, the blood draining out of her face as she realized who was standing in front of her. Then, all at once, a maelstrom of emotions attacked her. At the head of the pack was anger -- she was so angry at him, at her, at everything, she was rendered speechless for a while. Michael Reyson! Of all people, of course it was him. The little shit just had to waltz into headquarters with a goddamned bullet in his leg, she just had to treat him, and when he insisted that she accompany him outside she just had to fucking accept.

Look where that got her: naked, hungover, and in his room.

How the hell had he convinced her to drink anyway? Sinclair knew better than to drink -- just a sip and she would have been as red as a cherry. Of course, judging from how shitty she felt at the moment, Sinclair had probably had more than a sip last night. The woman tried to remember, but everything after leaving HQ with Michael was hazy and disjointed. She nearly screamed at the man when he offered her coffee -- how dare he act as if nothing was wrong?!

She would have yelled at him, too, if not for the fact that he wasn't all that dressed either. Her eyes widened as she finally saw that he was bare-chested ... and covered in scars. Against her better judgement, she felt her entire body turn red in embarrassment as she followed the path of one particularly prominent scar downward. As nonchalant as she was yesterday about not being interested (and, truthfully, she wasn't -- at the time nor was she half-naked, at the time), there wasn't any denying the fact that Michael Reyson was ... well, attractive. She remembered that she currently was not wearing a shirt and she probably had not been wearing anything for a while. Sinclair turned even redder.

What the Reverse World happened last night?

The woman gave Michael a wary glance when he suggested that she put on the shirt. "... You owe me a lot of explanations, Reyson," she said darkly, trying her best to ignore the acid that was threatening to force its way out of her mouth. She glared at his back -- at least he had the decency to turn around -- and pulled it on over her head. No the shirt did not smell like Michael and no she was not suddenly very, very, very aware of him. The brunette took a deep breath to steady herself, then made her way to Michael. "Don't take this personally," she warned, tapping his shoulder. "But it makes me feel better."

She swung her fist into his stomach. "Explain. Now."[/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F26161;line-height:7px;] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]notes even if she has the headache of a lifetime, fear the soldier.
tags michael![/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#E03D5D;line-height:7px;] [/style]

[michael]

[style=width: 350px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify][style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #EE0000; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]His body was well aware of the woman, standing half-naked by his dresser, though he had enough self-control not to do anything. Hell, if he had self control last night while she was hammered, he sure as hell would have some now. Deep breath in, deep breath out, Reyson. Make yourself Gabriel. Gabe would be calm in this situation He told himself, taking another sip from his coffee cup, hearing the rustling and then the voice behind him. His hand clenched the coffee cup hard, before he set it down, glancing over his shoulder briefly. Thankfully, she had her shirt on, and was heading his way. He turned around, leaning against the table, now noticing what shirt she was wearing. Eyes narrowed slightly. That was his favorite shirt. Him and Gabriel had gone to the midnight premiere of the first Staryu Wars movies, and the two had gotten matching shirts. Of course, he was sure his twin had tossed his out by this point.

He should have seen it coming, the punch that was buried into his stomach. All he did was grunt, holding onto his stomach after she had taken her hand away, doubling over for a moment as he attempted to catch his breath. " You just enjoy hitting me, don't you? " He questioned, voice hoarse, glancing up as the door opened, showing Letta. The Meinfoo shook his head at her trainer, then held up the ice pack and fizzing water. She padded over, shoving the ice pack at Michael, and handing the glass to Sinclair, before wandering back out. " Ungrateful Meinfoo. Shoving an ice pack at her injured trainer " He grumbled, holding the pack against his stomach, then turning towards Sinclair nodding his head towards the glass. " That'll get the headache and nausea away. Letta always has some on hand when I drink too much " He muttered, straightening up after a moment and patting his stomach.

" Well, I ask you for a drink, you came but didn't drink at first, except when the bartender mixed out drinks up, and you ended up hammered " Michael explained, covering his stomach with his arms to prevent another punch. " You passed out about an hour later, and I had Volante fly you here. " He explained, inching away. " So, I let you have your bed, you undressed yourself, and Letta went to wash your clothes " He held up his hands innocent, letting the ice pack fall to the floor, and making him jump. " I slept on the couch, I only covered you up with the blanket " He finished, red eyes wide. [/style]

[sinclair]

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[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F2B661;line-height:7px;margin-top:5px] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]Sinclair felt strangely satisfied when she felt her fist connect solidly with his stomach. "... Maybe," she sighed, simply watching him lean over in pain. The woman glanced at the Mienfoo, accepting the drink with as much grace as she could muster. Sinclair had moved too quickly when she punched Michael, and now she was on the verge of simply falling to the floor. The woman mustered all of her willpower to stay up. She was not going to let that man see her weaknesses. Not now, not ever except for last night. Apparently, that was an exception.

She smiled slightly as the Mienfoo walked out, silently approving of the pokemon's attitude. At Michael's suggestion, the woman scowled. Drink the mysterious drink; it was either risking it and hoping that he was honorable enough to not spike her drink again or feeling like crap for the rest of the day. After a quick, slient prayer to whatever might have been listening, the woman downed the glass. The effect was almost instantaneous as a bit of her fatigue drained away and her stomach began to settle down. "... Thanks," she murmured.

As she listened to his explanations of the night before, she couldn't help but feel intense waves of embarrassment hit her all over again. "So we didn't ... you know," she confirmed, gesturing at the both of them. The woman shuffled uncomfortably, considering his final piece of information. "I-if you covered me with the blanket ..." she began why did her voice have to crack just then? "Then you saw?" Her voice trailed off. The gravity of the situation hit her like a train, along with whatever her hormones were telling her. Sometimes, it was easy to ignore the fact that she was nineteen. Then there were times like these. Taking a deep breath, she added sheepishly, "You saw ... um, me." Sinclair remembered the fact that her own body was covered in scars; some from childhood, some from the war, some from various events in between, and her face flushed again.

Arceus. Of all times, it was now that she decided to play the blushing schoolgirl?[/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F26161;line-height:7px;] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]notes so much awkward.
tags michael![/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#E03D5D;line-height:7px;] [/style]

[michael]

[style=width: 350px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify][style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #EE0000; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]" Pretty sure it's more then a maybe " Michael muttered under his breath as he rubbed his stomach, reaching down and grabbing the ice pack off the floor and tossing it on the table. He gave a satisfied looked as her face eased up a bit, the tension he could see in her forehead easing as the pain went away. Good, that was good. Maybe she wouldn't hurt him again. That was a HUGE maybe with their track-record so far. He let out a breath, shaking his head slightly as he allowed his explanations to sink in, preparing for the worst. He hated this part, though he had never had to tell a woman that he had covered her while naked. That was, at least, the one thing he could say he hadn't looked at. He swallowed hard, watching her with wide, curious eyes. " I didn't see anything, I swear Sin. It was hard, and I know my own room well enough " He said, raising his hands. He pushed away from the desk, starting to clean the clothes she had thrown about.

This was his nervous habit. He would clean if he was cornered, a constant urge that nagged at him while he was being questioned. Hands flexed slightly as he folded the shirts to a point, placing them gently back into his drawers. Eyes soon drawn back towards Sinclair in his favorite shirt. Shaking his head slightly, another swallow, and he slammed the drawer shut, his hand not moving fast enough. " Ah, fuck! " He yelled, holding his hand to his chest and jumping on one foot around. " Arceus dammit! " He cursed out loud, forgetting about Sinclair for a moment as he stuck the throbbing fingers in his mouth, already knowing full-well that wouldn't have helped. His eyes lifted once more to the woman, hand dumbly still in his mouth. He let his hand drop, wincing as he felt it throbbing.

" Did you know that Gabriel and I had matching shirts like that? " He asked, walking back over and dropping the ice pack on his hand, a hiss coming from between his lips. Balancing the ice pack on his throbbing hand, he waved at Sinclair with the other. " Now that your anger has simmered some, let's see what Letta has cooking. And you can meet the ride you had to get to fabulous Pallet Town " He said, rolling his eyes slightly before walking out of the room. [/style]

[sinclair]

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[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F2B661;line-height:7px;margin-top:5px] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]She tugged at the edges of the shirt she was wearing, heaving a sigh of relief. The woman definitely owed him one, then. Leaning against the nearest wall, Sinclair simply observed as he began to tidy up his room. Who would have thought that he was such a neat freak? She could tell that he was wary -- why else would he keep glancing back at her? -- but the brunette knew that her brief urges to punch everything in her way had subsided, along with most of her headache and nausea. Now, more than anything, she was curious. She wondered about last night, his pokemon, those scars ... Sinclair stopped her thoughts. They were heading in dangerous directions and she wasn't entirely comfortable with that. Although the alcohol was out of her system, she still lacked most of her normal inhibitions.

Her attention was drawn back to the present by his swears. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. She should have felt sorry for him, but the sight of Michael hopping around was too funny. Sinclair was about to offer to help, but before she could the man had stopped and changed the subject. "... Really?" she asked. "I didn't think he was ... er, 'into that kind of thing.'"

Sinclair followed him into the kitchen, taking a deep breath through her nose. The smell of food made her realize just how hungry she was. Her stomach rumbled, much to her embarrassment. "Are your fingers all right?" she asked quickly in an attempt to divert attention from her grumbling stomach. The woman paused, then slowly added, "I'm ... sorry about your room." She took a deep breath; apologies weren't her thing, but he definitely deserved one. Or two. Or a lot. "And I'm sorry for, er, punching you. You ... didn't deserve that." Sinclair's fingers toyed with the bottom of the shirt again, and her hand was trembling. For some reason, she felt nervous. "Thank you for letting me borrow your, um, clothes ... and for letting me stay." The woman looked down at her feet, turning pink. "If ... if there's anything I can do to make it up to you ... p-please let me know."

The woman released a shaky breath. She hadn't talked to anyone this much in years.[/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F26161;line-height:7px;] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]notes lol she's so bad at this.
tags michael![/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#E03D5D;line-height:7px;] [/style]

[michael]

[style=width: 350px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify][style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #EE0000; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]Michael glanced longly at his room, wanting to tidy it up more, the OCD in his screamed for him to finish cleaning up the mess Sinclair had made. Though he wasn't mad as he thought he would have been if had found his room trashed, he still felt the urge to clean it up as best he could. A slow breath escaped his lips as he turned to face Sinclair once more. He had to admit, she looked damn good in his boxers and Staryu Wars shirt. He chuckled lightly at her comment about Gabriel. Sure, his brother was the complete opposite of him, but that didn't mean the other Reyson Twin didn't enjoy the movies. Michael smirked slightly. " Well… He does. And also the fact that our mother wouldn't allow me to go by myself " He said with a chuckle, rolling back on his heels.

Letta was shuffling something in the pan on top of the stove, the smell making the red-head's mouth water slightly. The Meinfoo had always had a knack for cooking, and over the years, he had grown used to the home-cooked meals. He grabbed the second apron that was hanging up, tying it around his hips and setting to work helping his pokemon out. His head turned towards Sinclair. " It's fine. I'm just not used to having people over, and staying over night. It was odd to have someone going through my drawers, but I had hoped we would have your laundry done before you woke up " He said, spinning around a few seasonings, Letta snatching them out of the air as he did so, narrowing his eyes at him slightly. He held up his hands in defense, smirking at her. " Fine, fine Letta. " He muttered, turning back to Sinclair.

" You, just relax. I'll get you back to Viridian as soon as I know you aren't going to fall over " His head drifted from her, to the window, hearing the tapping. He grinned as the Pidgeot tapped his beak against the window. He moved across the room, opening the window and allowing the over-sized Pidgeot into the room. " Look, Lante. Your package is awake " He said with a smirk, watching as the bird made his way to his perch, settling down and watching Sinclair. Wandering back over to the table, he swung a chair around backwards, straddling it and seating himself down. " Just don't go back and tell stories like I kidnapped you, okay? I'd rather not have another beating " He commented, only half-joking about the whole beating.

He wouldn't put it past Lux, especially with what they had done with him in the past. [/style]

[sinclair]

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[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F2B661;line-height:7px;margin-top:5px] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]The woman chuckled to herself, seeing the relationship between the man and his pokemon. That Letta was a Mienfoo she could probably get along with, given the right circumstances. "I am able to return just fine by myself," she protested. The feeling of owing so much to Michael was disconcerting. Sinclair didn't like owing anything to anyone, and the extent of her current debt to the redhead made her reluctant to accept any more of his help than was necessary.

She glanced at the window when she heard the mysterious tapping noise, a look of bemusement appearing once Michael let in the Pidgeot. Acknowledging the giant bird with a wry salute, she gave an exasperated look at Michael. "Being called a 'package' is not something I appreciate," she commented with a slight smile. "But I'll allow that one to slide." The brunette watched him take a seat and pulled out a chair for herself, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him.

"No-one would believe me if I said you kidnapped me," she said coolly. "Besides, if anyone were to beat you, it would be me --" Sinclair paused, eyes narrowing as she put two and two together. Another beating? She was certain he wasn't talking about her punch. "... Dammit," she groaned, placing a hand over her eyes. "I should have guessed." Michael was the twin of Gabriel, a well-known Nox member. Even she knew what Lux did to those they knew were affiliated with Nox. Hell, she was one of the ones responsible for making sure Lux's 'guests' were alive enough to talk. Not to mention the fact that Sinclair had drawn a gun at him yesterday; if that was her reaction, she definitely knew what the higher-ups would do.

Sinclair's jaw tightened. "I'm ... so sorry," she managed. "Lux, we ... that's how you got those scars, isn't it?" Now that she put it all together, those scars began to look painfully familiar; she had seen the like on Lux's 'guests' so many times before.[/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F26161;line-height:7px;] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]notes --
tags michael![/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#E03D5D;line-height:7px;] [/style]

[michael]

[style=width: 350px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify][style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #EE0000; margin-bottom: 4px][/style]Michael chuckled lightly at Sinclair's comment about being able to see herself back. Of course, his mother taught him better then to leave a woman alone. Plus, his trust was very limited around here, and for whatever reason, he was still trying to figure out from last night, he didn't want to see anything bad happen to the woman. Rubbing his forehead for a moment, he barely saw the spatula as it landed on his bare back, making him jump out of his chair and turn to glare at his pokemon. " Letta! Did you have you? Damn woman can't seem to let me go unharmed " He commented with a grumble, taking the plate she offered and placing it on the table. His attention turned back towards Sinclair after a moment. " Well, would passenger sound better to you? You curled right up on Volante's back on the ride over here, I thought you looked more like a package then passenger " The red-head said, still smirking at her as he grabbed another plate his Meinfoo handed to him.

He scoffed slightly at her next comment, shaking his head. Of course, she assumed she would be the one beating on him, she had been for the past twenty-four hours or so. He blinked crimson eyes as she cursed, head tilting for a moment. Ahh. So everything was coming clear, the scars on his body and the comments he made. Michael rolled his shoulders back, stretching his arms above his head for a moment, as if it didn't matter. " Don't be sorry. It's my own fault for getting caught, y'know " He said, shrugging as he dropped his shoulders. But that hadn't helped Gabriel. Despite the fact that Kasper had taken a liking to his twin, he still feared Gabe go the same treatment he did. His head lifted, nodding slowly at her question. " Most of 'em. This is was the worst " He commented, pointing to the one that had wrapped around his back, disappearing beneath his jeans. " Very clever how your Lux friends did that one. I thought I was gonna bleed out, to be honest " He said quietly, glancing away after a moment.

He straightened up as he felt Letta coming up behind him, already knowing what she was going to do. She placed he ointment container on the ground, slathering his back with the white cream, spreading it around the jagged scars, and the still healing burns. " Guess they didn't want you to see one of their 'guests', huh? " He asked Sinclair, voice quiet as he opened his eyes to glance at her.[/style]

[sinclair]

ooc: no template because I have no time.

Sinclair sighed, lowering her hand. She pushed back her blush and forced herself to stare at Michael's body, particularly the scar he was pointing at. She knew how he had gotten it; it was one of the more nasty methods of interrogation developed by a particularly cruel man. The woman cringed at Michael's words, scowling. "Those people ... are not my friends," she spat. If she could have killed each and every one of those ... those torturers, she would have. Of course, it wasn't her place to decide. It was never her place to decide. All Sinclair was supposed to do was follow orders. When it came to the lower levels of the Lux headquarters, where the prisoners were kept, the only thing Sinclair was to do down there was to sew all of those broken people back together.

Her eyes followed Letta as the Mienfoo began to put the ointment onto the man's back. She glanced back at him, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, before she looked down at the ground. A strange feeling began to form in the pit of her stomach -- was it shame? "No," she said quietly. "I ..." How was she supposed to tell him that she was an accomplice of those people? How she was someone that enabled them to do what they did to people like Michael? Even if she didn't want to let them keep their prisoners like that, it didn't change the fact that she did. The woman, feeling restless, stood up and took the ointment from Letta. "Excuse me," she murmured apologetically. "I'll do this." She knelt down and, with well-practiced movements, she began to massage the white cream into his back. The familiar motions helped to calm her.

Sinclair didn't want to face him. She normally didn't care what others thought of her; they had their values, she had hers. There was no need for her to bother with the opinions of others, and yet ... now, she was uncomfortable with what was supposed to be a simple truth. The woman took a deep breath. "I've ... seen a lot of people with the same scars." She dipped her fingers into the jar and continued to rub it into the scars and burns. "We ..." Sinclair blinked back the years of regret that threatened to overflow. "I'm one of the people they call to fix people like you."

"So that they can ... keep you talking." Her hands stopped. "Or keep using you." Her voice was quiet. She didn't want to see his face. Was she overreacting? Sinclair didn't know. If she was in Michael's position, there wasn't any doubt that she would have punched her, at the very least. "I'm ... sorry." The woman braced herself for the worst.

[michael]

[style=width: 350px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify][style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #EE0000; margin-bottom: 4px][/style] Michael's eyes had closed once more as the soft hands of his pokemon rubbed the ointment into his skin, making it crawl and sting at the same time. He hated this moment, the feeling of having someone else take care of him. It was almost insulting to admit, but he wouldn't tell Letta no. He rested his chin down on the edge of the chair, letting his shoulders drop slightly. The only sounds he picked up on were Volante's wings twitching, and the sound of someone moving towards him. Eyes snapped open as Sinclair spoke, glancing back to see the Meinshao surprised at her comment, before handing over the ointment and backing off, waving Volante towards the window. The Pidgeot flapped his wings more, moving in to peak at the pokemon before forcing him out. She snapped the window shut, then moved out of the room, leaving them alone.

It took a moment for Michael to relax, the feeling of human hands instead of pokemon almost foreign to his skin, considering he hadn't had that much contact since being captured by Lux. His teeth clenched together as he thought about his own failure. Gabriel has still been captured, his twin brother, the man he had sworn to protect, was captured as well as himself. And to make matters worse, was only a town away. He gripped the sides of the chair, pressing his face into the crease of his elbow, not wanting to let his emotions run wild, not in the view of another. There was no need for Sinclair to see him like that.

Her words brought him back after a moment, making his rest his head back on top of his arms, forcing himself to relax. " I know you are. I saw you one day, when I was first brought in. They stopped you from helping me " He murmured, glancing back at her. " Don't apologize for something you can't help. As long as they beat on me instead of anyone else, let them. I don't like others getting hurt because of this Arceus-forsaken war " He growled, flinching slightly. " You know, i'm almost at the end of my sanity? The next time, i'm sure I'll turn into some rabid pokemon or something " Michael smirked, shaking his head.

" Thank you for helping me, though. Letta always misses some spots. " He murmured, voice faint as he masked his own pain against the thought of another beating. He wouldn't be able to get through that one, not knowing they may go after Gabriel once they were finished with him. Biting down hard on his lip, Michael glanced away, staring at the wall across from him, allowing Sinclair to finding spreading the ointment. [/style]

[sinclair]

[style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#D6E7AB;line-height:7px;margin-bottom:5px] [/style]

[atrb=width,5]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[atrb=width,110][style=width:100px;height:100px;border-radius:100%;-moz-border-radius:100%;-webkit-border-radius:100%;background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h113/planarpotence/Icons/Hungary/194.png);] [/style]

[style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F2B661;line-height:7px;margin-top:5px] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]Her eyes widened. He had already known. From the beginning, he knew. And yet ... here she was, in his house. He had bothered to invite her out, and had even taken care of her afterward. "I ... why?" she breathed. How was this even possible? "You -- what --" The woman was speechless. The fact that he was so welcoming, so ... forgiving toward her was enough to leave her speechless. "I .. don't understand," she said slowly. "How can you be kind?" It was noble for him to take this pain for others, but ... Sinclair didn't think she would ever be able to comprehend what was going through his mind while he was being beaten. Surely, he would have felt some hatred toward her? Michael had every right to kill her. If it had been Sinclair, she would have ended up hunting down every one of those torturers and nurses and shot them where they stood.

... But then there was Gabriel. Maybe that was why he went through all of this pain? She certainly would have done the same for her brother, but it had been so long ... she had forgotten what having someone precious to you felt like. With a sudden jolt, Sinclair realized that there were once again people in her heart. She didn't know when they had gotten there, or that she had even let them in at all. Surprisingly enough, she also found herself caring -- caring? -- for the man in front of her. She didn't want to see him hurt.

The woman bit her lip as he spoke again. "No," she said, rubbing his lower back. His scars suddenly seemed so much more prominent. "There ... won't be a next time." It was the least she could do to make it up to him. "I'm a nurse, remember?" She stood up and walked around the chair, leaning down to look Michael in the eyes. "It's my job." Her voice was soft, but her gaze was hard. The woman meant what she said; if there was anything she could do to keep Michael safe, she would do it.

She straightened, then moved to the sink to wash her hands. "Shall we eat?" The woman glanced around for the resident chef. "... Where did Letta go?"[/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#F26161;line-height:7px;] [/style][style=font-family:tahoma;font-size:10px;line-height:11px;text-align:justify;width:330px;padding: 5 0 5 0]notes attempted character development. ;
tags michael![/style][style=width:340px;height:7px;background:#E03D5D;line-height:7px;] [/style]

[michael]

[style=width: 350px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify][style=float: left; margin-right: 8px; border: 3px solid #EE0000; margin-bottom: 4px][/style] Why? Because Gabriel had taught him to look behind someone's outer shell. He knew there was something inside Sinclair from the moment he had met her years ago, when Gabriel had introduced them. And then when he ended up in that damn cell, he couldn't be mad at her. They were all simply tools in this war, and she just happened to be there at the wrong time. A soft smile spread over Michael's features. " Because Gabriel has rubbed off onto me after all these years " He commented simply, chuckling softly. He glanced up as Letta appeared once more, handing him a plastic cup, narrowing her eyes at her trainer. He tilted the cup back, allowing the medicine to slide down his throat. He gaged slightly, handing the cup back to his pokemon, who wandered back out.

Without realizing it, Michael's world was opening up to new people. It wasn't just worry for Gabriel anymore, he was safe with Kasper as long as the girl kept Xander away. And then there was Sinclair. The woman, who was threatening him just yesterday, had always been there at the back of his mind, though he never realized it before. He smirked slightly at that thought, turning his eyes back towards her after a moment. " If you get hurt in the process, Sinclair, I won't forgive myself " He shrugged his shoulders slightly, chuckling lightly as if it was nothing. " They can beat on my all they want. But they won't be able to get anything out of me " He murmured, eyes closing once more as he leaned his head against his hands. His body relaxed as he heard rustling in the kitchen, Letta obviously up to something.

He barely moved at Sinclair's next words, eyes not opening as he heard her get up. " She's probably off folding laundry or something. He's like a housewife more then anything " He commented, opening his eyes. He got up to grab a shirt, coming back to the table to sit down. " Go ahead and start eating. I'm not overly hungry right now " He said, glancing out the window. [/style]

[sinclair]

Sinclair smiled. Gabriel was one of the kindest people she knew, but she was starting to rethink her opinion of Michael as the irritating, noisy, strange twin. "I ... doubt it's just Gabriel," she commented. "You're more ... than I gave you credit for." They were twins -- it wasn't just Gabriel who was nice. It was strange to use that word; kindness and compassion weren't things that she generally came across (read: ever). It was ... refreshing, though, to know that there was still some of it left in the world. She felt like she could trust this man even if he did get her drunk.

She wanted to object to his words, though -- she wanted to yell at him and slap some selfishness into him. He didn't have to take the (metaphorical) bullet for her. "And you you get hurt ... I wouldn't forgive me." But it was a moot point; he was determined to play the gentleman. The brunette sighed. The solution sounded simple -- don't let him get caught again -- but its execution was more difficult. How was she supposed to keep him safe?

The woman watched Michael put on his shirt no wait, that was creepy then moved to sit at the table as well. "If ... you say so," she muttered. That Michael Reyson was so damn stubborn, wasn't he? She doubted she could get him to eat if he didn't want to. With a silent thanks, she began to eat. The woman ate the breakfast in silence -- it was surprisingly good -- and, when she was done, moved to the sink to rinse her plate. She sat back down at the table and stared at Michael for a short while before asking, "Have you talked to Gabriel recently?"