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The remains of sleep slowly melt into nothing. Another day he wakes up alive. And alone. The man doesn’t have to open his eyes to know what will greet him. Bottles strewn about an utterly trashed room, and a single couch. His two possible courses of action are either drinking himself back into a stupor or wandering the City like the restless ghost he’s become.
Today, he picks the latter. Not bothering with any preparation before heading out. It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens, happens. Most of the landscape blurs into incomprehensible mush before his eyes, legs dragging forward in the usual mechanical pattern. He’s no better than an average Sweeper in terms of life.
Something is different. There’s a figure standing against a building to his side. No relevant memory tells him where they are. Likely another street rat who just happens to be in the way.
But no, they have relatively clean clothes. And an unscathed face to match. Nest dweller then, a K Corp one if the distinct green head of hair tells him anything. Straying way too far from their little safe haven when they’re all the way out here.
“Got a death wish or something?” the Fixer’s voice cracks horribly with disuse, but it still seems to reach the figure. He’s not sure what drove him to speak. Their eyes meet, brown against black.
They just shrug at his words. “Great way to greet someone. I live nearby” judging by the low cadence, it’s a man. One who still looks at Roland as casually as if they were anywhere other than on the ruthless streets. And he’s definitely not from here.
“Really?” is all he says, summoning some of his faded energy just to lift an eyebrow at the stranger.
“The company. Y’know, the building right here.” The man nods towards the wall he’s leaning against, like his very scarce wording was supposed to be the most obvious thing in the world. Roland narrows his eyes.
“And you’re outside because..?” He doesn’t really care for the answer. This random weirdo is not his problem. Roland still doesn’t leave.
“Wanted some fresh air.” The man’s response is just as flat as any other word he’s said so far. So, definitely suicidal. Which also isn’t his business.
“You’re real chatty, huh.” Another question, or statement, something he really doesn’t need to say to this random dude. He has all the reasons to walk away. Or even grant his death wish. He does neither.
“Never have been. That’s more of Car—“ he cuts himself off suddenly, closing his mouth as if he just remembered something. And that look in his eyes is so oddly familiar. Misty. Like he can’t bear to fully say the.. name.
..Roland straightens himself, all attention now focused on the strange man in front of him. The cowlicks in his hair. The uneven lines on his jacket. Not to mention those faint bags under his eyes. Huh.
For a long few seconds, he just stares. His hand moves on its own.
“Wanna get a drink?” he nods to the side, gesturing for the stranger to follow him. Where to, he doesn’t know. Wherever his legs decide to take them.
“Sure.” It sounds so simple when he says it, no trepidation in the man’s step as he walks closer. No fear in those vacant eyes. His shoulder-length hair follows every minute gust of wind.
It doesn’t take long, or maybe it does? Whatever. They’re at the door now, the Fixer briefly rummaging for his keys before it swings open. The smell is the first thing to hit their senses, absolutely doused in smoke and poorly aging alcohol. Then, his belongings haphazardly thrown everywhere. Courtesy of his reoccurring fits of rage. It sends a pang of something like shame through him.
“Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t really expecting visitors” he mumbles with what little energy he has left to play polite. The green-haired man only hums in understanding.
“It’s fine. My place reeks of booze too,” there’s a pause as the stranger shuffles through a few empty bottles “just not the fun kind.”
..Whatever that means.
Roland chooses to say nothing, instead watching the man walk around his apartment with a clear purpose. Like he’s looking for something. Probably beer. This theory is quickly brought into question as another smell hits his nose, bordering on acidic.
“You’ve been bleeding for some time now. Did you know that?” it barely sounds like a question, more of a flat statement as the stranger moves closer. There’s a piece of cloth in his hand. Roland’s not sure where he got it, but the smell gets worse and in turn makes itself clear as very highly dosed alcohol. He stares at it. Then the other man’s face, completely calm as he motions for the Fixer to sit down. His brain is too scrambled to refuse, and so he’s sat on the floor of his dingy apartment with a strange man across from him. Said man is utterly unthreatened.
“This will sting.” It does. Whatever is on that cloth can clearly function as disinfectant, sizzling away at the wound. He doesn’t remember getting hit. Not that his memory amounts to anything these days.
And look just how far he’s fallen. Sitting legs crossed, hands in his lap as he lets some guy wander around his house. Patch him up like a helpless stray. The brewing distaste can’t make him move away however, staying perfectly still. As humiliating as it is, this might be the least violent contact he’s had in.. a while. Feeling a careful hand wipe the blood from his face. It’s over as soon as it started.
“You’re lucky it’s not infected. One more thing now” and suddenly there’s a light flashing straight into his eye, the taller man startles on instinct. Then just as abruptly it’s gone, and he has to blink a few times to recover from the assault on his vision.
“Wha—“
“No concussion.” Spoken in complete monotone, like anything else he’s heard this man say. Come to think of it, he seems just as casual as he is methodical. Every action done with an odd amount of precision. Definitely a K Corp guy.
His stupor lasts long enough to barely catch a can of beer being tilted towards him. “Now we can get to business.” Roland takes another second to blink. Right. The guy was just making sure his newfound drinking buddy wouldn’t immediately die on him. How thoughtful. The beer easily settles in his grip, opening with a low fizz. A few sips are enough to settle some nerves, and for his brain to catch up a little more.
“..Thanks.. uh. What’s your name again?” ‘again’ being rhetorical here because he’s pretty sure he didn’t ask at all. Too busy being miserable. His suspicions are confirmed with a chuckle from the other man.
“I thought you’d never ask.” The hand not holding his own can extends towards Roland in a way that can only be described as informal. “Giovanni. You?”
“Roland.” Despite all the weirdness of the situation, he shakes the outstretched hand. It feels warm. And kind of dainty, compared to, well, Roland’s. Another hint that the guy is not a fighter at all. Which serves to only make him more weird. It’s the second time now that he raises an eyebrow towards Giovanni.
“And did you have to shove a flashlight in my face earlier? Instead of, y’know, maybe asking first.” Now that he can properly look at him, his eyes lock onto a slit brow. It’s a small detail, and somehow suits him perfectly, like that minute quirk of his lips.
“No. Just thought it’d be funny.” And it’s very telling that he’s picking on a dude who could easily snap him in half. The guy really has no fear, huh. What a character. He is then faced with a finger pointing very expressively to his face. “And look who’s more talkative now.”
..Huh. He feels his face scrunch up a little in a grimace, but that only proves him more alive than before. He’s not sure whether it’s the beer, or something about that permanent look of exhaustion in Giovanni’s eyes. Going back and forth with him feels so oddly natural too. Maybe there’s more reasons than he can explain, why this guy of all people managed to tear him out of his mindless wandering.
But now the world is getting woozy, and all he can do is lean back. Tip the latest can of beer towards his companion.
“To new meetings.”
He’s not sure if it came out all that legible. Not until his gesture is met with a similar toasting motion.
“Sure. To new meetings.”
And later that night, he might sleep more soundly.