2007-09-21: Stupid Human Tricks

Starring:

Church_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Mariska discovers the Church and Felix can do a variety of stupid human tricks.

Date It Happened: September 21st, 2007

Stupid Human Tricks


Hartsdale, NY - Primatech

Bumps and bruises waning from his run-in a few days ago has not dissuaded Lawrence from finding spare time in which to better himself; usually this might be when he sneaks into the gym, but those same bumps have kept him from doing too much to that effect. In accordance with this, the agent has claimed one of the power-testing rooms for his own purposes. The hall is short, with just a pair of doors on either side. Inside, there is a viewing room, which leads to the large, empty testing room. The viewing room has an on-off intercom for consultation, and at least one chair.

One room is occupied - Lawrence Church, dressed in his usual slacks and work-shirt - is the one doing so. Both sleeves are rolled up, and his back is to the viewing room; anyone even passing by the open door in the hall will get a picture of black suspenders on a white shirt. Church's figure emanates a smoky haze directly around him, the throbbing glow of ember colors pulsing under it.

A steady hum can be heard, accented with a stream of low 'FOOM' effects as if it were keeping a timed, slow beat.

Caught in the contemplative aftermath of her conversation with the man in horn-rimmed glasses, unassuaged by pacing around the offices, Mariska has taken to roaming the hallways of Primatech's Hartsdale facility in a sort of absent-minded daze. She's got no particular place to go and, in truth, she probably doesn't even know where she's been; she's just following along while her feet dictate the path she takes one slow step at a time. As luck would have it, she ends up sluggishly strolling down the short corridor that houses the power practice rooms. Somehow, the rhythmic noise of FOOM — FOOM — FOOM manages to draw her out of her resigned reverie and she comes to pause on the opposite side of an observational window that peers in on one Lawrence Church. What's the demolition man up to in there?

FOOM. Humming. FOOM. Humming. FOOM. On closer inspection, he has what looks like a palm-sized speaker clipped to one pocket, the pocket itself bulging with what is probably his faithful little iPod, or what have you. The intercom is off inside of the observation room, so the sounds he makes are in fact the echoes being issued through the walls. It is one of those sounds that is felt more than it is heard.

One more FOOM- then that humming rises up into a series of sounds, one after the other. Around the man in the empty room, the air shimmers with the cracks of familiar, explosive fire; at first it may seem just like he has set himself to simply combust, but another few seconds shows that there is a deliberate method to these 'noises'. Put him in a symphony, and he may as well sound like the entire percussion section. Albeit with lots more pretty fireworks. Despite the fact they are quite dangerous, those rising and falling spikes and pulses get more mesmerizing with each boom-boom-thrum from the sturdy walls.

Huh. Lookit that. Someone's set Church on Visualizer mode. Mariska finds herself oddly intrigued and curiously compelled to watch the display, not unlike some sort of stoned college student mesmerized by her screen saver. She doesn't just stand there and stare so much as she sidles and leans, one shoulder coming to rest against the big window followed shortly thereafter by her right temple. Does he realize he's just earned himself an audience by virtue of sparklies?

Nope, he doesn't. Not yet. His eyes are even shut, behind a pair of glasses that Mariska might not have seen on him yet. Visualizer, yes. Quite.

It doesn't take very long before the percussion reveals itself to mimicking a classic- Beethoven's Symphony No. 9, to be exact. That is likely what the speaker on his pocket is playing as well.

Of course, the feeling of being watched only seems to hit him when the music and his pulses have already played the most enthralling pieces of the music. He's just about to lip-synch along with the baritones when he catches the room out of the corner of his eyes. He turns his shoulders to peer with surprise out the window at Misha, his visualization of the music only skipping the smallest of beats. Well…hi.

Oh hi. The Russian relays the smallest of smiles and, not surprisingly, the expression seems pained. Like Church, she sports the bruised badges of her fateful (face-full) confrontation with the taxicab — split lower lip, bashed-but-blessedly-not-broken nose. Tired. She looks tired. And sad. But, then, she's always looked a bit sad since Church has ever known her.

"What are you doing?" she asks, which to Lawrence must come across as little more than silent lip-synching on the other side of the protective pane.

Church isn't paying close enough attention to read lips right now, so he tilts his head dumbly when she speaks, brows knitted as he keeps the field around him steady with the buzzing speaker at his pocket. Immediately after, he points to the side of the viewing window with the intercom switch. It's a simple on-off panel. Red light, green light, red button, green button. I'm too stupid to read your lips, Mariska, honey.

Intercoms. Oh, how the Company loves them. They are, of course, a very necessary component to maintaining rooms meant to contain the likes of Lawrence Church or Felix Ivanov or Gabriel Gray or any of the other numerous and dangerous men the Evolved world has to offer. Mariska deftly presses the little green button and then echoes her previously query in a much more audible and nasal voice: "What are you doing?"

There's a resistance to actually smirking at Mariska's new tone. She cracked her nose! Not funny! Her voice is kinda off. Sort of funny. When the intercom comes on, the sound of the little speaker filters back through it right off the bat. Beethoven is still going. Lawrence takes a moment to push back his glasses(bumps on the head these days usually make him less focused and prone to headaches, so wearing these particular lenses often helps). "I'm…meditating? I'm not one hundred percent sure what this is called." The field around him down-sizes, but the edges of his figure still put out the wobbling glow. As he takes a couple of steps towards the window from the room's center, there even seems to be a pale glow on the thinner parts of his skin. The effect is much like when you stick a flashlight in your mouth and the light comes up out of your nose. "I do this sometimes because it helps me relax."

Some people do yoga. Some people take long, froo-froo scented bubble baths. Some people drink. A lot. Mariska does all of those things. Lawrence Church? Glows. Synced to music. Weirdo. Of course, Mariska also has a habit of randomly jaunting off to perch on high rooftops of famous buildings around the world, so… maybe she shouldn't be so swift to judge, eh?

"Are you okay?" she wonders, making a vague gesture to her own face. She's asking about the accident. It's hard to tell what sort of condition the glowworm might be in and this is the first time she's seen him since he was sprawled out on the pavement.

"I got a bit bumped up, but I'll be fine so long as I don't get hit by another taxi." Lawrence smiles. At least his grin is still familiar. "What about-" He motions to his own face, then to hers with a mild grimace. "-your whole…nose thing? You didn't break it, did you? What happened in the car, exactly?" Being the one rolling around on hoods, he was sure that something else stopped the taxi, aside from the brakes which the driver had less than a second to activate. By the time he had stopped, no less. He does recall Felix mentioning SUVs, but there's always uncertainty.

Mariska's shoulders shrug an inch or so up and then fall back down. "Nyet," she says with a Soviet surety. "I hit the…" There's a pause as she searches for the word she wants to use in English. You know, the, uh… «…partition.» She then raps the knobby knuckle of her left index finger against the glass while her right maintains the intercom. That thing. "You should be more careful next time," she chides with a puffy pout.

Luckily for Felix, the woman he sleeps next to night after night has no idea that the majority of her injuries are actually owed to a man who was inside the cab and not out…

Until now. "Ohhhh. Ow." Lawrence winces a little, eyeing Misha through the glass. "I'll not be jaywalking next time, how's that sound?" He smirks again. "You should really tell Felix to come down here and practice more. If it was him that prevented my pancaking and not the idiot driving, he needs to learn the meaning of 'gradual'…" Grumblegrumble. Forget the whole 'Felix saved me from pancaking' for now, he'll thank the guy later.

The woman's expression is scrawled with an odd bit of confusion. Maybe it's use of the term 'jaywalking'… or 'pancaking'… or the, wait, Felix did what, huh? "What?" And, just in case that query was too non-specific, Mariska follows up with, "What are you talking about?"

Church peers back at Misha with equal puzzlement. "Felix. His ability. He helps to move things- or in my case, stopped moving. Momentum Manipulation, I think we filed it under…" He seems to try and think back now, eyes floating away from the window to the air. Church's little display has pretty much ground down to the usual haze of light smoke, and the glow slowly peters away from his features.

Clearly, this is news. New news. Very new news. Mariska's mind then begins to replay every moment she's spent in Felix's company as if searching for evidence of momentum manipulation manifest — their first night of freedom, then Times Square, then the other night… Mariska's expression shifts by varying degrees from 'oh really?' to 'uh oh' into 'oh, that bastard!'

"You're saying… he made the car stop?" Spell it out for her. Let's see if blood'll just shoot out of her bashed-but-not-broken nose!

The man on the other side of the glass watches her with a series of his own expressions. Mostly it seems to go from 'she didn't know?' to 'should I have told her?'. Lastly, he squints at her from the practice room, suspicious in the least threatening way.

"If it wasn't him, then God must have reached down with a giant, invisible finger, or the brakes on that sedan were from the year two-thousand ninety-four." He responds tentatively, unsure of it he should have stopped talking or not. Too late for that.

Oddly enough, this seems to be the second time that Lawrence Church has served as harbinger of unknown things in the lives of Felix Ivanov and Mariska Mikhailova… after all, wasn't he the one to initially reveal to Felix that he was a father? And now, here he is, telling Mariska about Felix's freaky mutant power…

While Mariska might be a rightly-raised and God-fearing woman, somehow she's more inclined to believe that it was Felix and not the hand of God or futuristic mechanical devices that caused the car accident which suckered her nose and appled her right cheek. Jerk. The least he could have done was warn her. Or something. Maybe. She looks… sullen. "Well, it's a good thing he did, else what sort of condition would you be in, hm?" Probably close to the same condition Felix is going to be in when they have a talk about this whole ordeal… sooner rather than later.

Lawrence relaxes only slightly, taking the sullen look with a grain of salt. "Yeah. I was kinda lucky he was around. Might have rolled off into traffic or something if he wasn't. Brakes are never enough for accidents." All traces of the power that had been visualizing around him have gone, and now Church finally gets into his pocket to shut off the music player. Afterwards he moves for the door back into the viewing room. Lawrence moves a little tiredly, but that's perhaps due to his most recent expenditure on top of the taxi incident.

Even if Church is no longer all aglow, Mariska still seems somehow enthralled by the man's physical presence and she watches him make the transition from inside to outside of the show-off box like a hawk might observe a mouse on the move far below her vantage. "Come," she says, making a 'hither' gesture with the hand that had previously been activating the intercom. "You can thank him proper." She then opens her arms, as if asking for a hug. Yes. That's it. Just a little closer…

Church closes the door behind him, tilting his head at Mariska. He can't really tell if she is being cute, sly, or actually relieved he didn't get thrown into traffic. Personally, he is hoping for the latter. "Aww. You woulda missed me, huh? I knew you would." He innocently glides over to the woman with the intent to actually give her a hug. Perhaps a bad idea, perhaps not.

Sure. Go ahead. Think that. And, you know, maybe it might have even been a little, teeny, tiny, itty, bitty bit true…

KRAK! Space folds and, if only for a split second, the world exists only in two dimensions…

Queens, NYC - Felix's Apartment

KRAK! A pair of familiar strangers suddenly manifest in the living room in that usual way that Mariska now profoundly prefers over any other sort of mundane method of travel. Teleportation. Saves money and gas.

There's the sound of something shattering in the kitchen. Felix has dropped a glass of soda. He peers around the edge of the kitchen doorway into the living room, like a mouse making sure no cat is waiting. He never can get used to how she just does that.

With Mariska this time, is Lawrence. In the second where he realized this wasn't just a hug, he's practically attached himself via-bearhug to Mariska, with a wide-eyed look out past his glasses. Where are we? I don't know this place! His mouth is slightly ajar, and both eyes dart around in confusion. Still attached to Misha, though.

The sound of glass greeting black and white checkered linoleum in the kitchen pretty much precludes Mariska calling out to see if Felix is home. Unless, you know, the world's worst burglar just got thirsty or something. But, oh, um… hi. Church has apparently developed a severe case of static cling and Misha isn't sure what to do about that save stand very, very still. «I've someone with me,» she says, head turned toward the kitchen, tone still stuffy. «Are you decent?»

It's a pleasant apartment in an old building - hardwood floors, high windows. The furniture is sparse, plain, and fairly cheap - also obviously new. There's the living room, where one little entryway branches off into the miniscule kitchen, and a little hall that leads back to the two bedrooms and the bathroom. Little by way of decoration, beyond a few framed posters - some of which are landscapes, some of which have to do with fencing - and a worn officer's sabre mounted over the rear hall door. There is a pair of black and white cats peeking warily out of the bedroom. The place smells faintly of something like incense.

Fel himself edges into the living room - he's barefoot, in jeans and a white Oxford, untucked. «Yeah…» And then, it's Church. Oops. "Lawrence," he says, mildly.
Church would just love to continue squeezing the awkwardness out of Mariska, but fortunately he does seem to settle down again. He loosens his grip, but doesn't quite want to let go of her yet. So Lawrence stands there, arms half-around her and hands still on her back.

Oh. This is where Felix lives. The older man smiles, letting go of Mariska(finally), and pushing the glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and brushing back his hair. "Ah. Hello, Felix." About three seconds later, he realizes- the conversation moments ago, plus the sudden trip to Felix- the smile wanes, and he furrows both eyebrows to look over at Mariska worriedly.

"Lawrence has something he would like to say to you," announces a now unencumbered Mariska, looking a bit sidelong at Church like a chiding mother might. Tell the nice man what you told me earlier. However, instead of standing there and looking cross, she makes her way menacingly over toward Felix with — oh, wait, no. Make that… the kitchen. She heading for the kitchen, perhaps to clean up the misbegotten union of broken glass and high fructose corn syrup strewn across the floor

"Be careful, there's glass on the floor," Fel notes absentmindedly, still eyeing Church in mild amazement. His hair is still tousled, as if from a nap, and he's blinking rather sleepily. "What's up, Lawrence?" he wonders.

Church clenches his jaw with a thoughtful chewing motion, watching Mariska saunter off toward the kitchen. When she's mostly out of sight, the man turns his attention back to Felix. "I…wanted to thank you for helping out with the taxi." One hand lifts up to rest on the back of his own neck. "You did help stop it, right? I think if it had just been the brakes I might have…made new friends with the next lane over. So… thanks." Lawrence speaks tentatively, watching the background carefully for any sudden!Mariska.

Out of sight but still within earshot, Mariska is making a good deal of industrious noises from the kitchen floor — paper towels being torn from the roll, pieces of glass gently greeting one another as they're gathered up, under the breathe muttering in her mother tongue…

The icon smiles benignly down on poor Misha. Fel ruffles his hair lazily. "I did," he says, looking embarrassed. "It was mostly reflex. I'm sorry if it didn't help much."
Church lifts his hands out to the sides with a shrug and a good-natured smile. "Well, I'm not dead. That's definitely good enough for me."

Felix should be so thankful right now that Misha's stupid mutant trick doesn't involve laser vision or some otherwise deadly staring ability because he's getting quite the resentful sort of glare from the woman with her knees on linoleum. She then shoots a glance up to the beaming mother Mary as if making a silent prayer and goes back to finishing the last of her glass-gathering. Pretty soon she's washing her hands and then silently pressing her shoulder into the jamb of the archway between kitchen and living room, arms coming to cross over her chest.

"I'm glad," Fel says, mildly, before looking over his shoulder to give Misha a sheepish smile. "Thanks," he says, gently. "I could've gotten that, you know."
Church leans his weight onto one heel, tilting just a little bit to look over at Misha past Felix. What are you up to, woman?

Oh, so it's all eyes on her now? Mariska steps up to the sudden spotlight and makes a wordless gesture with a single finger to indicate her bruised cheek as if to ask, 'You couldn't have given me a little warning first?' or maybe 'Where's my apology for this?' or possibly even 'Did you borrow my foundation because I couldn't find it this morning and I've been running around looking like this all day…'

Felix looks politely blank. What? She's speaking Wimmin, and he's obviously not translating. "I have some stuff in the medicine cabinet," he offers.

You know who is fluent in Wimmin? Lawrence. At least to a respectable degree. He clears his throat a bit, tugging at one of the black suspenders over the side of his white shirt. "I…kinda told her about what you can do. I think that's the real reason I ended up here." He resigns this with a small frown. "I think she's sour about the…face-plastic-smashing-thing." In Men-language, this possibly translates to 'grab something to defend yourself with'.

«When were you going to tell me?!» Mariska's quick to add, sounding just shy of exasperated. She than makes an open-hand gesture to Church and reverts back to English so as not to leave the other man out of the blossoming domestic dispute. "I had to find out from him!" Gee. Now she knows what it's like, huh? (Only… not really, because she thinks Felix found out from Rainer, but, all the same…)

And Fel dissolves into contrition. "Oh, god. Yeah. I'm sorry," he says, hastening to Misha's side. "I….don't know. I assumed the Company told you? And beyond that, well, secrecy is a long habit, for all the good it does me," he says, bitterly. "And I'm sorry about the accident. It was reflex."

Frozen where he stands, Lawrence has long since shut his mouth tightly. Now he's sort of just…watching this unfold. He's one of those messengers that channel frustrating news, isn't he?

Poor Church. This probably isn't the sort of awkward intimacy that he might have kinda sorta almost been hoping to witness between the Russians, amirite? Mariska just purses her pouting lips and turns her face away from her countryman. The better to eye up Ingram, who's been brave (or stupid) enough to join the people in their raised-voice vocalizations.

The sex comes later. After the make up. Right now, Fel's left looking hangdog and embarrassed. Ingram's small, and mostly white, and busy letting the humans know that he can see the bottom of his food bowl, and that's not good. Glock is much larger and mostly black, and comes running to Fel to be picked up. "Lawrence, would you like something to drink?" he asks, hefting the black cat and cuddling him.

It's certainly not a reaction he might have wanted, but he expected it to go like this and not like a porn movie plot. Lawrence is not disappointed, though. Just a little watchful. Oh, look! Kitties. At least the pair of felines seems to know when to intervene. Expert timing. When Felix asks, Church almost feels like he didn't just come here to stir things up. "…As long as I'm here, sure. Unless my being here bothers you, of course." Lawrence, bothersome? No way. He smiles again, albeit nervously.

A drink. They could all probably use one of those. Mariska bends at the waist to drag a pair of fingers across the kitty's head before stepping out of the doorway and into the living room so that Felix and Church might be able to get by in search of their mutual beverages of choice, whatever those may be.

"Not at all," Fel says, graciously, as Glock looks up at him affectionately. "I've got soda, juice, water, tea, vodka, and Jack Daniel's." For the Americans who come to visit, of course. He drapes Glock over his shoulder like an infant. "Misha, what about you?" he asks, already on his way to the kitchen.

The cat-coddling doesn't go unnoticed- it might be a bit weird if it wasn't Felix, though. Lawrence doesn't really know the joy of pets. He's also an American. "Jack would be nice." After taking a new, less nervous look around the living room, he follows Felix towards the kitchen, his steps noticeably slower than usual. Taxi-crash plus power-spending plus this little incident equals a less bouncy Churchie.

From down the little hallway that leads off to the bedrooms and the bathroom, Mariska places her order for: "Tea, please." A door closes, which must mean that Mariska's occupied with other things for a few minutes, at the very least.

So Fel dumps the cat on the couch, and heads into the kitchen to put the kettle on, and get the bottle of Jack out of the cabinet that functions as a liquor cabinet. The kitchen is tiny, mostly taken up with a folding table for meals, and a counter with range. There's an icon in one of the corners, high up on a shelf of its own - there's a little oil lamp of deep blue glass burning before it. "You want that on the rocks, or neat?" he wonders, voice still a little sleepy.

Church takes a quick look around the kitchen as he wavers in the doorway before entering. "Rocks." He answers shortly, eyeing the little oil lamp out of the corner of his eye. Misha's not here- he's being offered a drink- but there's a someone else watching. His name might be Church preceded by the name of a saint, but that means little about his beliefs. The man looks like he wants to mention something, but refrains for a bit.

There's the clink of ice in two glasses- apparently Fel doesn't believe in drinking alone, right? Though it's Jack he's drinking as well. Having poured Church a generous measure, he hands off the glass, before lifting his own. "Nazdorovye," he says, cheerfully, blinking owlishly at Church, as Glock comes creeping around the doorway.

Russian language goes over his head, but Lawrence accepts the glass with a somewhat crooked grin anyway. He's close enough to Felix to hold a conversation, but not quite far away enough for it to be totally comfortable. It's just his usual 'I have some news for you' distance. Perhaps. "You, uh, know I'm stuck here, right? She pulled me right out of power practice,.." Lawrence says after a moment of processing the speech, his voice somewhat subdued in its amusement, and his eyes are watching Felix expectantly. Church has nothing in particular to expect, but it's there.

Felix arches his brows at Church over the rim of his glass. "I'm sure she won't leave you stranded," he says, gently. "If she doesn't take you back, I will. I've got a car that will make it out there."

Church shrugs at that, bringing the glass to his lips with a laugh. "I thought she just wanted a hug, man, so stranding me might not be out of the question. Not big on couch crashing, then? Too bad." He takes the smallest step backwards now, sort of wishing it was different. How disappointing is that. Maybe a little depressing too. Oh, you are all so horrible to poor Lawrence. For Shame.

Fel frankly stares, glass halfway to his lips. "Wait, what? She didn't warn you of what she was about to do?" he sputters, nearly choking on the drink in question. "I mean, I have space, but I can also drive you where you need to go."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mariska wanders back into the kitchen considerably dressed down — tank top, loose Pilate pants, bare feet. Her hair is still pulled back in the wake of washing her face and her skin is still slightly pink from the lingering kiss of hot water. She looks… natural. Real. And bruised.

Three people crammed into Felix's tiny kitchen are about two people too many but Misha sucks it up and in to make it work but then… wait. Where is tea? Is kettle even on the boil? WTH U GUISE?!1

"I thought she was…being cute with me or something." Wouldn't be the first time, remember? There's a bit of a hint dropped next, but it's really passive. "Maybe I'm just…too tired today to notice her wily-" He becomes suddenly aware of how small the kitchen is when Mariska shows up, stepping decidedly away from Felix again. Oh- dude, you forgot her tea. Sorry for the distraction. Hi, Misha!
The kettle is just beginning to whistle, and Fel sets aside the whiskey to hand off teacup with tea strainer and the kettle to Misha. "That was naughty of you, Mariska," he says, gently and with a total absence of real scolding. "You stole him."

The Russian woman shoots the American man a sudden suggestive look, one eyebrow perched waaaaay up. Oh really? She says…. nothing. For the moment. It's all in the look. Careful now, Churchie, you're treading on dangerous ground here. Mariska turns her head back to Felix, accepting all of her tea accoutrements before falling back from the counter and taking a seat at the folding table in order to prepare her beverage without the rampant risk of scalding someone. By accident, of course. "I stole him?" she asks the steam from the spout just before she begins to pour.

Usually he likes being stolen. Not like that, though. Church just stares back at Mariska as she watches him. "Well, you did. Tricked me here under huggable pretenses…" The agent claims, pressing his glass to his lips again while he sidles slooowly out of the kitchen.

Well, the living room does have more space. So Fel ambles after him. "I don't think he understood you intended to take him directly to me," he explains to Misha, patting her fondly on the waist before he wanders after Church.

It's all Mariska can do to present an amused and not annoyed front. Thankfully, it doesn't really require all that much effort; Church is amusing. The term 'huggable pretenses' catches him a bye. Though she doesn't follow the men all the way out of the kitchen while her tea leaves steep, she at least returns to her lingering perch in the archway and looks out at the living room's assembled occupants, human and feline alike. She pretends to pout at Church and says, "You got what you wanted out of the deal, didn't you?" The hug, she means. Also, she saved him cab fare. That should count for something.

Church chuckles in response from the next room, the sound a teasing one. All in good fun. "Not really. You were probably thinking about something else, so it doesn't count. Hugs are things where you need to mean it." He dips his head towards her smartly. He knows what he's talking about, yes ma'am. Unfortunately when he takes his eyes off of her, the only other person there is Felix- so of course his brain goes directly to wishing for that hug. In reality, he just stands there with his face in his glass and a disconcerted expression in his eyes.

Felix looks….bemused. What's he missing? He glances between them, and grins, rather wryly. "You tricked him," he reiterates.

"I most certainly did not," object Mariska in her stuffy Soviet drawl. And, with that, she turns her back on the pair to attend to her tea. There's a little spoon-on-ceramic-lip music made as she finishes drowning her sifter and lays the special utensil aside. When she returns again, it's to step into the living room proper and officially become part of the gather; though, she drifts from the kitchen all the way across the room on bare feet until she comes to a stop in front of the stereo. On… on… where's the flipping 'on' butto— oh, there. Click. The dulcet tones of <insert whatever Felix's stereo is tuned to or has in the CD player or whatever here>. Then, she casts an expectant look over her shoulder at Church and makes a gesture with her head towards Felix.

"Show him."

Lawrence's meditation techniques clearly double as interesting parlor tricks. He watches Mariska past his glass, looking a little sheepish when she turns the music on. After only a few notes he recognizes it as Bach; he looks from Russian to Russian, clearing his throat and finding a place to put his drink. "Alright, I suppose, if it's that entertaining." When the glass has a place, Lawrence steps back to a place relatively away from things that appear at all (even a smidge) flammable before lifting his hands with fingers wiggling. You watching?

It starts on his skin, that telltale little orange glow, though this time it is more him than the air. Like before, the same sort of effect where one sticks a flashlight in their mouth to see the light peek through the skin. It's only on his hands, neck, and face this time. Smaller scale. It takes a few moments of him concentrating on the music before anything else happens.

Soon, a gentle haze settles around his skin, wrapping his topmost figure, head and hands in a pulsing, ember-colored halo. Another few seconds come before the short pulses that surround him begin to match the stereo, beat for beat, note for note, just like one of those eye-catching, mesmerizing computer visualizers. The pulses are directly around Lawrence instead of all over like in the practice room, so Felix's home is totally safe.

Felix nearly drops his glass, and only sets it down at the last moment. He's not quite aghast, but very definitely shocked. "I'll be damned," he says, before laughing a little, nervously. "That implies some really impressive control."

Sure, she's seen it (as of a few hours ago) but Mariska remains inexplicably impressed by the display. Seriously. Human visualizer. That's really something. She moves to join Felix on the couch, teacup put to her lips every fourth breath, pale eyes firmly kept on Church and his hypnotic, flashlight-up-the-nostril glow.

It's lucky that Lawrence also probably knows this concerto by heart. He's not so spot-on with strange music, but he can do it. His hands are almost palm up, and his fingers are still keeping a base beat with small twitches. There is a small 'puh' sound that comes with some of the higher notes, but when it is this small, it is generally just really shiny to look at. Sort of like fire to music?

Lawrence lifts his eyes from his glowing fingers now, giving the two a small, somewhat bashful smirk and a calm response. "Took me about…five years to learn how to do this." So in essence, he has been at this particular trick for over fifteen.

Felix is owl-eyed in amazement. His trick is useful, but not visually cool. Not like that. "I'm impressed," he says, simply. "You….are you immune to fire?"

Ooh, now there's a good question that she hadn't thought to ask. Mariska's teacup has retired to her lap for the moment, fingers claiming the residual warm from the other side of the ceramic. Is it… a little warmer in here? She blinks to clear the dull haze from her eyes and sneaks a peek at Felix from the side.

"My own, yes. Not any old fire, usually. Sometimes an outside fire or heat source makes me just…burn faster, stronger…" Lawrence might go into detail about how an active field can help keep him from getting damaged, but why share all of his tricks? Gotta keep some for later! Gotta keep the surprise alive!

Felix whistles, and shakes his head. "Learn something new every day," he says, musingly.

Mariska's tricks aren't nearly so pretty or impressive… or so she believes. Not by comparison to the demolition man, at least. Setting her teacup aside, the Russian woman rises to her feet and makes a 'come on over here' gesture to Lawrence Church a-glo-glo. "Come on," she says. "I take you back now." See? Not stranded. Or stolen. Besides, she and Felix have srs bzns to discuss… naked.

Church smiles a bit more. "No sleepovers? Oh, you're breaking my heart…" He wanders closer, lifting his hands out flat and vertical towards her. The glow and rhythm around his forearms and fingers sinks back and disappears, leaving a thin, bobbing halo around his head. What an angel, amirite? Use your hands, Misha! It'll be just like divine touch, complete with haunting music and everything. At least Lawrence is being cute about having to leave.

Felix rolls his eyes. "Go well, Lawrence," he says, gently, already picking up the glasses to take them to the kitchen.

"I hear Company men aren't allowed to have hearts to break…" is the last thing that Mariska says before enfolding Church in her arms and then initiating a millisecond, two-dimensional union.

KRAK!

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