AFTER-ICE-CREAM-PARTY

[pecker]

[Boy everyone is so bloodthirsty tonight. And now a kid is dead and another is gonna execute. Do y'all need some baskin robbins, because it seems like you do!!! So before everyone can leave, Niwatori raises her voice louder than it's gone before now to draw a little attention, and then deflates immediately when she actually gets it.]

Excuse me, please! U-um... this case was really hard, and I think we could all use some time to cool our heads before we finally go back. So... ice cream? Who's with me?

[she'll lead the pack there and anyone else can go home or to visit Clarisse on the set of Orange is the new Black.

Niwa's not that good of a host though, she just gets her own ice cream and lets everyone serve themselves. Who is she to limit your freedom. (Someone who doesn't want to be partly responsible for a Millium Monstrosity, that's who.)]

Comments

[snideper]

[No response. Normally she preens under praise, but...the compliment isn't worth much, now. Certainly not from Keith.]

[marmoron]

[Yeah, Keith figured as much.]

Weird to see you all quiet. You shouldn't go down like that, too.

[He pauses there, checking the corners of the basement briefly before removing his helmet.]

[snideper]

Not like it matters anymore.

[She just sounds matter-of-fact about it, though; no disappointment or snark carries in her still weak, still quiet voice.]

[marmoron]

Not interested in one last attempt to show the Sergeant what you're made of then.

[snideper]

Doesn't matter. I've outlived my usefulness.

[marmoron]

According to who?

[snideper]

...

[Something in her expression goes tight.]

What are you here for?

[marmoron]

Trying to decide whether or not to leave you with a parting gift.

[Carefully with the helmet to block a fairly specific angle of view, Keith turns his arm over. The handle of a sheathed knife concealed in the arm plate of his armor is partially visible.]

Dunno if it's worth it.

[snideper]

[................

huh.

okay. now she's turning, just so, to look at him, confusion finding its way into that neutral exhaustion.]

The hell would you want to give me anything for.

[marmoron]

If I were in your shoes, I'd want one last shot at our host.

[Matter-of-fact.]

But that's not you, is it.

[snideper]

...

[It's about the most emotion any of her guests have gotten from her so far, the way she looks at Keith—his arm; she won't meet his eyes—thoughtful, considering.]

Did you watch Nine's execution?

[marmoron]

Couldn't.

[Wasn't let out of jail until the execution was over and all.]

What happened?

[snideper]

Nine had some kind of magic. Waved a hand and swallowed the Sarge up in a column of fire out of nowhere at all. Bastard hadn't even moved when it faded.

[Despite the insult, there isn't much bite to it; she sounds closer to weary than anything at all.]

[marmoron]

[That gets a bit of silence from Keith. His own expression weary for a moment.]

There has to be something. Everyone has a weak point.

[snideper]

[The breath of air she huffs out comes closer to a heh than all of today's other attempts, and she doesn't turn away, but she looks towards the ground.]

Sure would be satisfying to gut the son of a bitch. Wish I could believe he'd fall that easy.

[marmoron]

No kidding.

[Unfiltered agreement there. Keith's not exactly been shy about making his desire to kill the guy quiet. He raises his eyes, looking more directly at Clarisse again.]

But I'd rather die trying. You taking the chance or not?

[snideper]

...

Not for you. Same way you're not doing this for me, either.

[But she does lift her eyes, and finally press closer to the bars.]

[marmoron]

[There's actually a vague smile at that.]

Heh. Would be weird if you got all charitable.

[Once Clarisse is closer, Keith removes the knife from his armor, keeping it in his palm. Helmet still shielding his hand from view, he reaches towards the bars like he's offering to shake Clarisse's hand.]

[snideper]

[Clarisse adjusts the straps on her arm guard before she reaches out, and the knife slips easily inside when she takes his hand to shake.

Her braid only further unwinds itself as she moves. The pin struggling to keep her hair in place is the first gift she was ever given—and now, not the only one.]

Don't think this means anything. But I don't like waste. That's all.

[It doesn't mean anything, either, that she isn't the first to pull her hand back into the cell, even when she's let go—only that she knows less how to deal with the certain coming loneliness than his presence, than anyone's.]

[marmoron]

We have that in common.

[Keith lets go of her hand, and doesn't comment on the way she's hesitating. It's easy to be the one standing outside the cell, mind unclouded by thoughts of your own impending mortality. Despite being a little ticked off about Bakugou's murder, he's actually not all that interested in taking shots at Clarisse. It's done, it's over, What he has to say about now won't undo what already happened.]

Anything else you want to say?