Verdigris Willow was not, she thought, the most nosy of people. She didn’t go through boxes in other’s rooms, she ignored half finished sentences from people who weren’t talking specifically to her... On the whole, she was happy to ignore the slightly out of place, especially since she had been living at the mansion, where pretty much everything was a few minutes walk away, maximum.

This, however, was a different matter entirely. She was almost certain that behind that door lurked the pink and purple-haired general from Christmas Eve. She had seen him in passing generally a few times a week since then but lately there had been a distinct lack of pink in the adult hallway on the way to or from the rooms, in fact she hadn’t seen him for at least a few days.

When she saw him they didn’t really talk, but she would nod towards him and she was fairly certain he accepted that in his own way. ‘It must be different where his accent is from.’ she still couldn’t quite place it, the drawl was far less of a whine than she had grown accustomed to on the streets of New York City.

She wasn’t intending to knock on his door, her fingers were wrapped tightly around a pair of apples, one red one green, the real purpose behind her walk. She had been intending to eat the red one and leave the green for Andy, but the overpowering smell of cleaning products stopped her there, a few doors away from her own room and she pondered the politeness of dropping in uninvited.

She decided there was no harm in it, after all, she wasn’t a total stranger. She knocked with her empty hand against the door. Now she was close enough to smell paint and… irons? Had the General moved out and they were clearing the room for a new tenet?

Rat-atat

“Hello? Anyone home?”

((ooc. Continuing for Cafas from final wishes ))

Face. Pillows. Actually, those pillows seemed to be the floor. How on earth did he get there. Oh yes. Damn, on his nice clean carpet too, that simply would not do. Cafas stood and looked at the spot. Nope, no stain, all was well. What was that he had heard, was it tapping? Tapping at his door? That could only mean one thing!

"Hello? Anyone home?"

It was muffled, sure, but possibly, yes, just maybe it was? General Cafas lunged with all the dignity of a running gazelle with no front legs for the door handle. He pulled the door open and wrapped his arms around the visitor faster than he thought should be possible. "CALLEY!" Alchemist paused. Actually, the smell was different. And the height was too, shorter, not quite up to where he normally was. Even the texture was wrong. The skin he was in contact with was somehow smoother.

'Oh shi...'

Alchemist let go and observed the person he had just hugged. It seemed to be shooter girl from the central park battle. She always seemed to be trying to be friendly with him, but as yet hadn't spoken to him properly. This made it difficult for him to judge if he liked her. He settled on liking her for now and seeing how it went. "Sorry, I'm, uh, expecting someone." He tried not to seem disappointed, but brown and pink eyes possibly gave him away, damn them. But shooter girl didn't know that... What was her name anyway? Hadn't she told him? It had been V something. Verdades? Vegan? Viagra? No, wait, Verdigris! Yes, green girl.

'Correct words are "How are you?" Dimwit'

Cafas smiled "How are you?" He noted apples. He hadn't been missing that long had he that even a hallway acquaintance had noticed he was missing? Perhaps. Maybe it was the smell of bleach. Yes that was more likely.

'Who knows though?'

~~“CALLEY!”

General was yelling at her, then grabbing her and forcing her into a hug, his face snuggling into that place between neck and shoulder, exposed in the slightly v-necked T-shirt.

“Um. Sir?”

It seemed a little odd to be calling him that, but she couldn’t remember what he had said to call him, something to do with sorcery, or wizards, or that dark place between science and magic. Alchemist? She was fairly sure that was what it was. He pulled away, his eyes mis-matched, his face sporting the pattern of carpet across one cheek.

He smelled like bleach, and chlorine.

~~"Sorry, I'm, uh, expecting someone."

Verdy cocked one eyebrow, she was no expert, but from what she remembered of James’ room, or the room of her younger brother the gleaming white on the other side of the doorway was abnormal, who was he expecting? The food authorities? That was a little unfair, perhaps he was just a neat freak, yeah… who was trying to smother himself in fumes.

~~"How are you?"

She glanced at the faded scar on her arm, the last visible reminder of the fight with Cthulhu. On the whole she wasn’t too bad.

“I’m ok, and you? Trying to fumigate cheap? Didn’t you read the label, I’m sure it would say to ‘allow ventilation’ or something like that.”

She touched the red apple to her lips, paused, then held out the green to the young man, perhaps he would be hungry, better than trying to eat an apple one-handed, as a bestseller book cover showed, you obviously needed both hands to eat an apple.

Spontaneous hugs could be ignored for now... Not that she minded, of course, hugs were nice.

Cafas assumed his fumes had in fact been what had attracted her. Great. Well, then he could discount people being worried. "No, my room was just a bit of a mess, so I cleaned it, and re painted it. I think I may give the floor another light vacuum though." the General stepped back and gestured the girl should come in, taking the offered food. His stomach made a rather greedy hungry growl. "Sorry, I guess I lost track of time." C.J. wiped his eyes, just to be sure all traces of crying were gone, and moved to the window and opened it. The breeze rushed in and out the open doors, carrying the horrible smell with it.

'I guess it was a little overpowering...'

Alchemist looked at his own war scars, including the intense burn scars on his leg sticking out from his boxers, which, it struck him, he hadn't changed in about three days. He decided not to think about it. Technically it wasn't from that battle but it always dragged his attention to itself. "Yeah, I guess I'm alright, My hand is healed and most of my bumps and bruises are gone, though I'm still pulling clay from my hair." C.J. Pulled a perfectly square pair of folded pants from his drawer, a pair of black cargo's the type with three thousand different pockets, and pulled them on. His bare chest could likely do with covering, but the girl had seen him in less before anyway.

'This is going well I guess.'

He took a bite from the apple, it was crisp and delicious, although that may have been his imagination after two hungry days.

~~"No, my room was just a bit of a mess, so I cleaned it, and re painted it. I think I may give the floor another light vacuum though."

Verdigris looked at the spotless carpet beneath her feet, her shoes weren’t that dirty, maybe a little grubby along the sides, but the walking up and down the hallways would have dislodged any loose bits of dirt and grit. She yanked them off with her toes and left them at the door, just in case. She handed over the apple and began to munch her own thoughtfully as the General moved to open the window.

~~"Sorry, I guess I lost track of time."

Verdigris nodded, it was easy to do once you got focussed on something, but guessing from the quickly dissipating stink of products and the almighty snarl issuing from his guts; he had been lost for more than one mealtime.

“I thought I hadn’t seen you around for a bit.”

Because that wasn’t creepy at all.

“I mean your hair, you’re a little obvious in the hallways, easy to pick from a distance and stuff…”

~~ “I'm still pulling clay from my hair."

She snorted agreement, just when surely surely all the clay must be gone, she’d find a little smear on the inside of her ear, or on the back of her neck. No matter how many times she showered, the clay still made the occasional appearance. Her eyes widened at the sight of a draw full of squares. The General pulled one square out and shook them out into a pair of pants. That was… strange… She glanced away as he shoved his legs into them and completed the jiggling that always accompanies pulling on pants in front of someone else, the smoothness of dressing alone always sacrificed by the observation of another.

The crunch of the apples filled the silence of the spotless room.

Well, he supposed he did have distinctive hair. C.J. looked the girl up and down before frowning, his face on the brink of implosion around the bridge of his nose from the very focused semi-scowl. He did not like this girl in his room he had decided, no, not at all. He must ask her questions to discover if she will be allowed to stay. Yes, questions, the questions would be simple. If she failed, she left.

'No dirt, no dirt, no dirt.'

He further risked implosion at the thought of clay on his nice clean carpet. he could already see the filth spreading. "How long have you been wearing your clothes? When were they last washed? When were you last washed? Make sure you don't drop any apple and please don't touch anything while you have juice on your hands." No sticky juice on his things, they were all spotless, he would not allow stains, abrasions, marks or sticky things on the tidy surfaces. Even at the thought they were growing dustier and off colour, no it must stop being thought.

'No mess, no mess'

Cafas ate what was left of his apple, spat the seeds out the window and just for good measure ate even the core. He then walked as swiftly as his legs would carry him to the bathroom, turned on the tap with his elbow and washed his hands profusely with soap. He turned off the lukewarm water and dried his hands on a perfectly square towel, which was then put in the drier and set to light dry. He would fold it again after, yes after. He returned to await answers.

'No filth, no filth.'

The General didn’t seem entirely pleased, his face was all sucked in, and his eyes glittered with something between hate and pain. She knew green apples were sour, but had never tasted one that bad, or seen one have this effect before. She blinked at each question fired at her, but without waiting for her muddled brain to form a coherent answer the young man was rushing about. He drier-ed the handtowel after only one use, she suddenly felt quite grubby.

A deep breath, exhale gently, now to the questions, the man was standing before her in obvious expectation of their respective answers, so she tried to deal with them mainly in the order they had rapid-fired across the spotless room towards her. She glanced at her watch.

“I’ve been wearing my clothes for probably about two hours, three maximum. They came out of the wash yesterday and this is the first time I’ve worn them since, I put them on directly after my shower this morning, also about two, two and a half hours ago… except my socks, which I put on about half an hour ago to wear to the kitchen and back.”

She considered the statement about apples and juice for a moment, the whole cleaning thing had really got to his head apparently. She carefully pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her fingers and mouth delicately on it, before wrapping it around the apple core and slipping it back into her pocket discretely, with her luck that wouldn’t be good enough and the general would start scrubbing her a scary prospect. She looked the man up and down. There was a word for this state, she was sure… not shaken, or rattled or even discombobulated, but still… Shell-shocked? What had happened to this, strong, fearless young man to make him act so strangely?

“Are you ok, sir? You’re acting a little… neat-freaky, you wanna… talk? Or go grab some breakfast or something?”

Maybe the cleaning products were partially to blame, but why would he have been using them so liberally anyway? The possibility of some kind of crime, murder perhaps, sent chills down her spine, but she set herself firmly on the pristine-to-the-point-of-luminescent carpet.. The General was one of the good guys. Well, at least as far as she could tell.

Cafas looked horrified. Had she just said kitchen? NO! Yuck, kitchen, with the grubby students and not picking up after themselves and not washed often enough, this would not do. And who knew how dirty her room was! He pulled the leaf blade from where it was under his bed, making a note that he needed a wall brackets for the weapons, and pointed it at the girl. ”Step off my carpet, the kitchen is full of dirt, your socks are dirty!” He advance on the girl, worried for his carpet. This would not do at all, she must leave his room and he must make sure she leaves and then he’ll clean it very soon and the equilibrium will be restored and Calley will come back to him. Yeah, then Calley would be back.

’Calley will come back.’

Now he was being insulted? FREAK!?! HOW DARE SHE, HE WAS NOT A FREAK! Neat, yes, freak, no. ”Get out of my room mutant hater.” Logic was on holidays in Cafas land. Alchemist was now furious, but not thinking. This girl was also a mutant, he knew this, but it just didn’t occur to him as he was standing there. He was still a mess. And after all that she wanted to talk? No. He would not answer her questions, he would not talk.

’No, don’t answer, don’t.’

Too late, the thought had crossed his mind. He stopped, dropped his weapon, and wondered where on earth he could run. By the time he’d formed a conclusion though hot tears were running down his face. He wasn’t sobbing, just crying. A leaking of the face of sorts.

~~“Step off my carpet, the kitchen is full of dirt, your socks are dirty!”

Verdigris threw a glance towards her boots, they did have a little bit of a hole in the side of the left one, and a crack along that place where toe connects to sole on the right, so her socks maybe had a tiny bit of dirt in them. She grit her teeth and took a tiny step backwards, she would not run from the young man. After all, who would turn their back on a man of questionable mental heath wielding a sword? No matter how afraid of getting his carpet grubby he was.

~~“Get out of my room, mutant hater.”

The complete and utter nonsensical nature of that sentence froze her to the spot and she quirked an eyebrow. Perhaps ‘freak’ had been the wrong word to use in the situation. Drunken scenes that made her head ache merely remembering flitted through her mind, and something about a yippy, yappy poodle-dog. She dismissed it.

The sword fell to the floor with a noise somewhere between a clatter and a muffled clang. She glanced at it where it lay, then back to the General’s face. He looked at first like a kicked animal, hunting for a space to squeeze into, then the fear dissolved in a stream of tears which trickled down before clinging for a moment to his chin- slight stubble, she noticed- and falling silently to the floor.

Her own fear also faded away and she took a few steps forward and cradled the taller boy gently- albeit awkwardly- into a hug. She stroked his back gently, it seemed inappropriate to hush him, since he wasn’t making any noise, crooning ‘I know’ only seems to work for visible injuries and she had already used her handkerchief. She opted to just continue the soothing stroking motions, there was something automatic about it, it just felt like the right thing to do in a situation like this.

“Its ok, it’s ok… I won’t say everything is going to be ok, but its ok to get it out now… it’s healthy.”

Stroke, stroke, soothing stroke.

Was she... touching him? With her.. dirty... dirty hands. This would not do, not at all. She must get off him with her dirty dirty comforting warmth. What if he got girl germs? No, wait, those were fake... But what if they weren't? Did he have a cleaning agent for that? Oh, now it was bothering him. No she must vacate his bubble; the bubble must not be breached. He tried to breathe as little as possible as he cried. Wow she was short. Was he even capable of using her as a crying post? No, he didn't think so. Well then it was settled, she was useless but for the warmth and comfort and... She seemed to come with preinstalled cushioning, how thoughtful of the manufacturer.

'But she's not him...'

Cafas broke away from the dirty girl; he didn't care what her name was. She would be permitted to stay, but none of this hugging business, her smell gave him a headache, it was like bleach and cleaning product. Wait. No. That was the room. Never mind. Why had the smell not lessened? He had expected it to have been completely gone by that stage. Alchemist lay on his pristine bed and almost bounced off the sheets were so taut, and had what he could only assume to be fume induced visions of Calley. Would he like his room now? Would it be okay?

'Nothing on earth is worthy of him, but I guess this must come close...'

The boy stiffened as she hugged him, but didn’t cease the sobs. His sniffles seemed shallower as well, like he smelled something strange. She inhaled quietly, he smelled like chlorine, and a bit salty but that was probably the tears, she smelled like shampoo and a moisturising lotion she was trying out. It made her skin feel weird and smelled faintly like strawberries. He pulled away from her and dropped onto the bed.

She watched as his eyes seemed to glaze over, perhaps it was just tears filling his eyes. She looked around at the room, spotlessness glared back at her from all directions. The overly sanitised smell made her head hurt and she flicked the switch that turned on the overhead fan. With all those cleaning products and paint, it was a wonder the boy was still conscious, the open window helped with the fumes, as did the now slowly rotating fan but still it was enough to make anyone’s eyes water. The second bed was empty, perhaps he was expecting a new roommate, losing the ownership of a room didn’t seem like something to be so distraught about though. Perhaps his last roommate had been injured, or died, or- or- or something.

How does one go about cheering someone they hardly know up?

She rummaged through her pockets, surely there was something- ah-ha! She pulled out a half eaten bag of jelly-beans and sat down beside the General on the bed. Popping a purple sweet into her mouth she offered the bag to the young man.

“Here, have some. They might make you feel a little better, or at least work out how to fix things…”

Could you fix your roommate being dead? The loss of Andy would definitely shake her, she might ask to move rooms so as to not see all the places and things they had shared, but a complete cleansing of the room was a little overboard.

Unless said roomie had come to a sticky end in said room. She glanced at the general and tried to recall if his mutation had anything to do with exploding people. She was fairly sure it wasn’t. Still, the roommate could have done it to themselves. She felt a little ill just thinking about it.

“I live just up the hallway, you’re most welcome to come and… visit if you need to get out for a bit.”

She would have said ‘stay’, but without consultation with her green-skinned friend and the rules on mixed genders sharing rooms she couldn’t promise anything.

“And you can have a whole lot of showers before you leave so you’re clean to come back.”

Provided he brought his own towel and clothes and was fully clothes before and after leaving the bathroom. Hospitality was all well and good, but it had its limits. Nudity overstepped that line.

Cafas was not thrilled by her offer. Not in the slightest. he did not want her sugary death, he did not want to shower in her room, he didn't want to leave for at least another day. He just wanted to cry some more, pass out from the fumes and hopefully die, because the shame of it all was killing him anyway. He had managed to scare off the one person he wanted to stay. He saw no reason to keep others around.

'Do it, she deserves it!'

Cafas hugged his pillow to himself as the visions of Calley disappeared. She had interrupted them, rather violently at that. He would not stand for her being in his room. No... she wanted Calley to herself, that was it! His brain was completely addled. "Kindly leave my room, I want to die in peace, and take your damn jelly beans with you." he was impressed by how well he had managed to convey deadly anger through the tormentuous grief, but he really didn't have room for that emotion.

'I hate me.'

The boy next to her on the bed looked as if he might just like to take a chomp out of her, not a jelly-bean, although not for the taste. More like he had a personal vendetta against unnaturally coloured beans. She feared for a moment for her exposed skin, before recalling that the boy was having a cleansing frenzy and would not wish to have her blood splatter his carpet.

But she might not hang around, just in case.

He wanted to die. The fumes weren’t accidentally filling the room, they were on purpose, and she had killed- in a manner of speaking- his death plan. Although, if he had been expecting someone, surely he wouldn’t have wanted them to walk in on him dead. Perhaps she was the wrong kind of saviour. The kind of one who bursts in before the villain has finished tying the prisoner up and giving a five minute monologue. The kind which destroys dramatic timing.

She was not wanted here.

Tucking the beans into her pocket she surveyed the young man. He didn’t seem about to rip into his own arms with a pocket knife. More likely to cry himself sick and clean some more. Or wait for the timely saviour he had been expecting in the first place.

“Dying doesn’t solve anything.”

It wasn’t very insightful. Nor backed up with proof. It wasn’t even something she had come up with herself. She had stolen it from a poster hanging on a wall in one of the youth hostels she had sometimes stayed in. As if saying it made it true. Perhaps it was. It was strange knowing you might be walking out on someone leaving the world. So many things she should try and say to make things better. Her fingers on the doorframe she glanced at the boy, she hoped not for the last time.

“My offer still stands, if you need me.”

Not that he wanted to need her, by the look of him. She doubted he’d come even if he desperately needed somebody, anybody. The knowledge and doubt kind of hurt.

Cafas was fairly sure this girl was an idiot. Not only had she fired coals the size of golf balls at a huge clay monster, now she didn't understand the concept of leaving. Cafas thought he'd make it completely and utterly clear. He stood, walked over to his door, grabbed it, and slammed it shut in her face. Perhaps she understood now? Sometimes he got why people killed others.

'Stupid girl.'

He once again moved to his bed, collapsed, and cried. Not silently like the previous time, but full, uncontrollable sobs. He really did just want to be left alone. Well alone. Because he didn't have the emotional stamina to deal with people. Especially stupid ones who knocked and then weren't Calley. They were the worst type for a heartbroken metal manipulator.

'Why is he gone!?!'

The door was closed.

Abruptly.

She was fairly sure their conversation was over. She paused for a few moments to make sure he wasn’t going to open the door and call anything after her. Hearing the slight creak of bed springs she walked away. There was nothing more she could do for the young man. He knew where to find her. If there was anything she could have done differently to not upset him she couldn’t think of it and with a resigned sigh she wandered down the hall back to her room.