shiratorijun

Gatch players are welcome, but otherwise, respect the fourth wall.

Jun walks out of the hot kitchen and into the damp alley. The honest stink of fermenting fruit scraps, rotting scraps of meat, and sticky cooking oil is a satisfactory odor. It's honest corruption. It has nothing to do with irregular macrophages or diabolical virri.

"Dear man?" she says reflexivley. "Where would you be?"

Derek is over in the garage, but he can hear her fine, "Jun..." he calls, loud enough to be heard across the street.

Jun laughs. His hearing is rather actue. Finer than hers at any rate. She did not expect a response. Not with the wet smush of bicycles, mopeds, and trucks bleeding over from the main thoroughfares.

Derek pokes his head out of the door, looking out over the street, expression curious. There's a grease smudge on one cheek. "Here," he adds, quieter.

"Busy?" She heaves a twenty gallon trash bag into the dumpster. It's full of the sort of trash that can't be recycled and couldn't be made into soup or pickle.

"Just messing with the second Jeep..." he emerges, trotting across the street after a few cars go by.

"I was wondering where you were was all." Her grin is a fleeting thing.

"Can I help?"

"Too late! In this regard your timing is horrible." She smiles. "Kiss me quick so I can go chop more vegetables." By this she means save. The chef prefers to use fresh whenever possible. And he prefers to use the newer vegetables before the older.

He nods, then smiles a little. "Oops." He takes hold of her, and kisses her quickly, then more deeply.

"Hm!" Her giggle is a throaty affair, barely muffled by his mouth.

"Hmn...!" he echoes her, then takes a quick nibble at her neck, "Sorry...just too noisy too night," he whispers against her skin. He kisses her jawline and chin. When she leans back he lets her go.

"More money for us," she says.

"Yes," he agrees, "And that's a good thing."

She rests against the wall of her building and regards him carefully. She's been thinking of his outburst in Nix's blog, and she's wondering what was behind that.

"I'm just...slight headache." He shrugs. He looks at her closely, "you are thinking?"

"Yes," she says. "I am." Another smile followed by an obvious inhalation. "You don't hate Sanders, do you?"

"...Greg..." his expression goes from curious to slightly sour, then he sighs, "He pissed me off. I got mad...maybe a little too mad. But I don't hate him. Don't think much of him at the moment, but I don't hate him."

"Anthony...I don't like him, but, I'm the friend of a woman he has no respect for. How he acted towards me, those are...just his problems with that wonderful girl. But...he said you'd been sniping at him and...critisizing the basement people. Granted, it's Sanders who's capacity for self-deception is..." she chuckled. "Elastic. But, are you a little angrier, mi amor? Critisizing people for being, sadly, themselves?"

Derek is quiet for a moment, then nodded, "Yeah..." he said quietly, "But I'm...working on it..."

"Okay..." She pushed herself from the wall and insinuated herself into his space, putting her foot over his since her hands were dirty. "Can I help?"