exsiliumlogs | [open] when I came down, the dawn poured into me

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[open] when I came down, the dawn poured into me

Date & Time: May 28, morning/afternoon
Location: Room 509 & the Hold
Characters: Saul & whoever's around
Summary: In which Saul has lost the ability to deal.
Warnings: All aboard the angst express ~~BOO HOO~~ WOO WOO~ CW for a panic attack. Also: Stephanie.

A — CLOSED to the residents of apartment 509;

[Saul is making pancakes at 5:45 AM because he's lost control of his life.

Or, more accurately, because he's awake and hungry and they just so happen to have the proper ingredients and if he doesn't do something aside from flopping from side to side in a futile attempt to get a little more sleep, he's pretty sure he might actually go crazy.

So: PANCAKES.

He's trying to be quiet, but he's chugged so much coffee that his hands are shaking and there's a good chance he might —

A pan clatters to the floor.

Oops.]

B — OPEN to whoever might run in to him;

[A little later, after he's fueled up on more caffeine and some syrup he's fairly certain is over a millennium old (call him skeptical, but he knows better than to believe, even for a second, that Mrs. Butterworth is still a thing), he makes his rounds.

First, he checks the office. It's still too early; no one's there, and it's too quiet. He tries sitting at his desk to meditate, but within seconds his leg is bouncing wildly, the toe of his wingtip digging into the carpet underfoot.

He refuses to believe that this is legitimate anxiety. That feeling clawing at the pit of his stomach — nope. Old syrup and crappy coffee, nothing more. It's certainly not the nightmares he's been having. It has nothing to do with Jesse. It's not the image of Stephanie, dead. It's not the possibility of Walter showing up and everything going to Hell.

When he hits his knee on the underside of his desk, he decides to head elsewhere.

He arrives in one of the Hold's training rooms shortly thereafter, where he checks to make sure he hasn't lost his ability to handle a weapon since getting taken out by one. His aim's a little off, but that's nothing new. His grip is firm, steady. Surprisingly so. He's not yelling at anything this time, not pausing to make snarky comments no one (correction: no one he can see) will hear — he's all focus this morning, to the point where he falls into a steady rhythm of load, fire, reload. Click, bang, click. It's almost hypnotic.

Almost.

The energy high starts to die down after about half an hour. When the momentum stops, so does Saul, slammed with a sudden wave of panic that makes him fumble with his gun.

If the Initiative can raise people from the dead, why can't they make them forget dying in the first place? That's what he wants to know.

He also wants to know why he decided to do this in one of his suits. With a shrug, he sheds his jacket, and he's soon sitting heavily on one of the benches outside the training area with his sleeves rolled up, tie undone, head in his hands. If he had the option, he'd have gone to the safehouse to do this, have his little moment of weakness in private rather than out here in the open, but the funny thing about walking is that it requires breathing.

And that's a bit of a problem, at the moment.

It's times like these he really misses the luxuries of his office, like the drawer full of benzos he kept just in case.

"Just in case what?" Francesca had asked.

This, he thinks. In case of this.]

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[If you looked up "Too Much Information" in the dictionary, the results would be the words that just came out of Saul's mouth.

What is she even supposed to say to that?]

That's what safewords are for.

[Nailed it.]

[If she's gonna be a know-it-all about it...]

Maybe you should offer lessons. There's your marketing strategy.

[#helping??]

[Oh god don't encourage her, it means she has keep running with this, which involves smirking at him, the look more than a little suggestive.]

Are you just saying that 'cause you want lessons?

[NO]

Maybe.

[THE FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY IS ADMITTING YOU HAVE A PROBLEM.

At least he sounds playful about it and not, you know, like he's stating some kind of suddenly indisputable fact or something. Because that would be weird. That would be so weird. And bad.]

[There's a quiet laugh at that, before she takes a moment to look thoughtful.]

I suppose I already have the cuffs, and I do know a lot about ropes, might as well get some worth out of all that.

[Bondage is the best place to start with this hypothetical career change, right?]

See? You've already cut your start-up costs in half. Perfect.

[Yes.

Business talk.

Good.]

If Catwoman was here I could borrow her whip, but I guess I can get my own. [a beat, then thoughtfully:] Or maybe a riding crop.

[:|a]

You're gonna need to draft up a waiver, you know. I don't think you'll want anyone trying to sue you, and with Edgeworth and Miss von Karma gone, I'm pretty sure I'm the only lawyer left in this place.

[He also looks thoughtful.]

And that'd be a little awkward.

[Excuse you, Saul.]

Do I look like an amateur? I know to make people sign a waiver.

[That should probably be a rhetorical question because there's really no good way to answer.]

[Rhetorical or not, let us sit back and observe, in awe, how Saul completely avoids addressing that at all!

Skills, yo.]

But do you know how to write one? [Sudden feigned exasperation.] God, Steph. Do I have to write and sign my own waiver?

[She focuses on the most important detail of his response:]

So that's a yes to lessons, then?

Sure.

[Of course he'll say yes, because she's obviously kidding. Ha, ha. This is so funny. He's even smirking!]

[This is the point where she just has to take a second to laugh at herself, scrubbing a hand over her face. The look she gives Saul is the non-verbal equivalent of what on Earth are we doing?

God forbid she stop playing whatever game this is first, though.]

Lucky for you I have an entirely open schedule. Should I pencil you in for tomorrow?

[Like Saul has any idea? He's just going with the flow, man.

That's his story and he's sticking to it.

He seems to consider her question for a moment, then makes a show of squinting at his watch and twisting his lips into an uncertain frown.]

Tomorrow? I dunno. I'm pretty busy.

How about Sunday? That'd give me time to get all the equipment ready.

[It's like gay chicken except terrible.]

And it'll give me time to write something up.

[At least he's serious about that much. It's something to do, right? Keep himself busy. Have a good laugh over it. ~~Maybe cry a little.~~]

Oh good, because I'd hate to give you the opportunity to sue me.

[Nevermind they've already had the discussion about waivers.

Whatever.]

I'd hate to have that opportunity.

[So he's just gonna go head and take this as his cue to get the hell out of there before either of them have the chance to say more words and be stupider. Because that's what this is. Totally stupid.

Also he might be freaking out a little bit all over again, oops.

He stands, straightens his shirt out, re-knots his tie.]

Good talk.

I thought it'd just make things even more exciting.

[Because the added threat of.. suing her...???? She's not entirely sure where she was going with that.

She watches him stand, curling a leg up so she can rest her chin on her knee while looking up at him.]

You do feel better now, right?

[Being ridiculous at each other was actually a good distraction?]

Nothin' gets my blood pumping like a good lawsuit.

[Really, though.

In the process of rolling his sleeves down, he nods, a little distractedly. Yes, technically, he feels better. He may be in need of a dunk in the Arctic and some brain bleach, but at least his breathing and heart rate have both returned to normal.

...well, no, that's not entirely true. The latter's still a little wonky. BUT WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?]

I'm okay, yeah.

I thought as much.

[She knows what you lawyer types are like (no she doesn't).]

Good. [She sounds serious again, for a moment, and the smile she gives him is genuine.] You know you can call me, if you just need someone to talk to or anything.

[Because jokes about lessons aside, Saul is her friend.]

[He appreciates the concern. He really does. But this is weird, so the smile she receives in return, while certainly passing for genuine, isn't quite.]

That's my line. "Better call Steph" doesn't rhyme.

[Have they been over this before?]

I don't have lines. [Somehow she manages to give the impression that if she had something within reach, she'd toss it at him.] I'm just being nice.

I'll keep the offer in mind. Thanks.

[To his credit, he doesn't say "see you Sunday." He just grabs his jacket from where he'd been sitting on it and wiggles his fingers at her in a mock-wave, then flees.

Casually.]

[He gets a mock-salute in return.] Take care, Saul.

[There's totally gonna be handcuffs magically appearing on his bed sometime on Sunday. Because Steph is terrible.]

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[open] when I came down, the dawn poured into me

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:'|

not sure if I should laugh or cry

both, simultaneously

pretty much

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I'm so fucking done

+1

so done I couldn't html properly, apparently

/high five

you'll have to bend down i'm dead on the floor

i'm so dead i'm already IN the floor, WHAT NOW

that's creepy get outta my floor

nope it's mine now

it's full of spiders jsyk

that's okay

also sharks and drop bears

go away with your fake australian things!!

sharks are real!!!!