2019-10-06 - Visiting The Occultist

(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: Hello who's this?
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: k hold on let me doublecheck lol idk 4 sure who this is
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: i'd call but in a bus atm dude, this is Nasir btw, I'm p sure this is Minerva right???
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: Nasir Ibn Khairan? Surprised that I would ever get a text from you to be honest. This is Minerva, yes.
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: What...can I help you with?
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: Minerva yeah
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: uuh, lmao, it's kind of weird to talk about, you know, it's like nightmares and stuff
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: I heard you went pro with your strange ways, and I've been having a pretty weird time interpreting shit that I've been seeing, this isn't an admission that I believe in any of it but I'd appreciation, you know, a different point of view
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: appreciate, id appreciate, if you gave me an appointment or something. u in the hospital or sumtin'??
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: I can meet and talk about things or you can come here to speak on them. I know sometimes dealing with Gray Harbor takes it's toll on people. And I was released from the hospital. As long as I don't have to swing on anyone I'll be fine to wander about. 🙂
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: sweeeeeeet! how much is it, in bucks? also idk where here is lol, I'll make sure to bring some garlic in case you get out of hand
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: Garlic, really? I'm far too powerful for garlic to be a problem. And it's no charge. The office is across the street from the waffle shop, you can head up the side stairs and just knock. I'll come let you in...and I hope you don't mind puppies.
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: fuuuuuug, okay, don't try anything though, I'd have drunk a gallon of holy water by then and covered myself in a terrorist suicide vest full of fragmentary stakes, and trust me, the last thing you'd want to hear is allah is great while getting riddled with wooden holes
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: puppies r good, give me a date and I'll show up, u sure you're feeling good enough to bother with me atm?
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: You are so WEIRD, Nasir. I'm not a vampire. I go outside just /fine/. I'm not doing anything at the moment so if you want to swing by I can talk.
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: And I feel alright. I'm still a bit weak from blood loss and having the flu, but it's been worse.
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: yeah whatever just so we're clear I haven't invited you to my house just yet so you can't, by rules of vampirism, sneak in and drain me just yet
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: and alright, I'll be there, just need to turn on my ATV lol I got rebound on a hitch from Joey's gym and my crankshaft got absolutely fucking demolished. Do you want me to bring you something, food, take out ????
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: Hey Nasir, vampires aren't real. And if they were I doubt they'd follow hollywoods half made up rules as it was.
(TXT to Nasir) Minerva: And I'd already ordered some take out. I ordered extra so if you want to dig in when you get here you can.
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: Alright I believe you, but im still bringing the garlic man
(TXT to Minerva) Nasir: k, ill be there in TWO (2) hours, don't eat everything till im there

'''Two Hours Later'''
Minerva hadn't eaten much. Her hands were still hurting and given all the stitches in them there was something to be said about her using them at all. She'd dressed comfortably, a long black skirt with a black and red sweater. Her hair was down and she had little make up on. Which made her look very pale. She had left the door open and was watching the rain from just inside of her apartment. Azrael and Dumah were also laying in the doorway. Waiting for a break in the rain.

Sadly, no such break ever did come, for little Azrael, and littler Dumah. What did, however, show up in the far distance of the misty rain was the throttling figure of a man, leaning into the seat of an ATV, while its engine huffed and puffed like the dry heaving of an old man's throat with every meter of space it earned on the freeway. Smoke rose defiantly to the air with each hurl of mechanical strain, coughing out of the exhaust pipe in comical, cacophonic emissions.

It was hard to tell and make details of the figure from there, yet they all became more obvious as the distance was closed, and he encroached upon the wafflehouse. The four-wheeler he rode looked no less to a jalopy in wheels, held together by the grace of some God he didn't recognize, and it wasn't until he reached the side of a fire hydrant that his bike finally did stop, but not really; no, it didn't just stop.

It fell apart.

It started with the oil canister, unceremoniously dumping onto the ground with a loud 'thud'. "Fuck--" was the subconscious reaction he could barely have before screws and cogs became unwound from the tires' basin, dumping their marble load on the humid street, seeing themselves washed away by the water that sloped downwards into the sewage line.

She'd see him, then, as his fist rose and he smacked furiously into the handle panel, cursing something to the rain in a language he didn't master, but mimicked from bellicose throws of his father. The punch sealed the thing's fate, and its wheels unhinged from the chassis and all four bent outwards to slap onto the ground, smashing the ATV onto the road after, sending Nasir back and forth as if he rode a one-time fair bull, and that one time was more than enough to lurch him off the sit and throw him onto the side, into the water, cradling carefully a pastry box of sorts, wrapped in take out plastic.

His attire, muddied and wet then, became visible. One long, ostentatiously felt-padded gabardine full of punkish pockets, cuts and holes, with not entirely artificial lacerations spread thorough. The back had the logo of an Oni's red face grinning outward and when he turned; when he eyed those stairs and squinted up at the sight of the puppers by the door, he revealed the front, tied and bound to his chest by zipper line. The neck was flared, framing a scraggy, gingered beard and grimaced; strained features. He wore militarized shorts below that, broadly pocketed, and worn sneakers that reached the ankles, its strings loose and fallen to the sides.

He wore no hood, so when he reached that fencedoor his curly hair was a drenched mess that pressed into his head. "I'm here!" he'd call out from below, working the pulley mechanism to work the thing open before stepping into the staircase, quickly footing up to the open doorway, where he'd stand, and look at Minerva with an awkward, half-toothed smile; "Damn, you look like Snake Plisskenn's wet dream."

Minerva was standing at the counter in the kitchen with a cup of tea and sipping from it slowly. She wasn't contagious anymore, but she was weak from being sick and it was slowly coming back. When she hears the commotion outside she goes to look out. And there's a shake of her head at the sight, "Good grief." she murmurs.

Then she's hurrying to go grab a towel and there's a bit of a chuckle, "That man is going to catch his death." she mutters as she goes to the door with the towel.

She gives a shooing motions to the puppies, "Go to bed guys." she murmurs to them.

Then she's looking up to see Nasir and his words make her look caught off guard, "I...what?" she laughs. "I think that's a compliment?" she asks as she hands him the towel. "Come on in and get comfy. You're going to get sick being out in the rain." she shakes her head.

He did his best to stay quiet upon arrival, humbling himself to silence at the sight of her ordering her puppies - basically her children - with a somewhat of an assertive press of brows. Indeed, if she was to order them around, he was the second adult in the room, he couldn't appear weak in the face of canine rebelliousness. Whether or not they did listen, his gaze did eventually snap back and up towards Minerva's features, loosening from his usual strain and hardness to match her mirth with an inching of his own; "Fuck yeah it is a compliment," Nasir re-assured immediately, reaching out with his left palm to find the towel between his fingers. He'd fold it once, for his hair would require some multi-layering, and shoved it on his head with the mundane brusqueness of a brute.

It was with that same coarseness that he brushed his hair back and forth, half-blindly shuffling towards one of the outlying chairs, where he'd dump his body on. His right hand lazily loosened the buttons of his gabardine, each strapped above the zipper that bound it on the front, and it took some wiggling of his wrists to see them come loose. Eventually, he managed to see her again through a chink in the towel, and she'd find herself eye-balled right there in the event that she looked back. "You haven't changed a bit, Minerva. Also, I brought you some strawberry tarts, I wasn't sure what you'd like but, here they are."

Minerva gives a bit of a look to him and there's a soft shake of her head, "I think your eyes need to be checked." she muses. "But thank you." she adds. Azrael, the all black puppy, heads over to the couch and jumps up to then plop down and go to sleep. Dumah goes back to the crate that's comfortably set up for them and trundles in and plops down.

She gives a look to Nasir when he goes to sit down. She smiles a touch, "Make yourself comfortable." she tells him. Then she's finding a seat to settle into, "Still only have one eye, so no, haven't changed in that regard." she admits. "Otherwise I'm just taller and have a bit of a better grasp on life." she adds. There is a look to the tarts and a smile, "I never turn down pastry." she muses as she goes to take them to the kitchen.

"So what brings you to my door?" she asks him.

The Arab worked the zipper's top eventually, sliding the gabardine open from the front once it reached the bottom and pushing it to the sides, revealing the relatively tight-fitting shirt, colored black, that he wore beneath. It was logo'd with an American flag set on black fire, with a verbal caption coming out of it comically in a bubble exclaiming. "MHMM, SMELLS LIKE FREEDOM!".

"Well shit, I was expecting it to grow back by the time I came back, and happened upon you again-- gotta admit, I didn't expect to message you, or bother you, really. I had been thinking about messaging you, but-..." and quiet he went, passing the boxed servicing of pastries to her with an outstretched arm, remaining relatively quiet from her sojourn to the kitchen until her return; "--... But then I heard you came out of the hospital? And look, I'm not sure how you're doing on the friends department, if you have anyone to come check on you, so fuck it - I thought - I'll text. Two birds one stone type of deal, you know?" Nasir elaborated, disregarding entirely the depth of her question, his tone; his shuddering neck as it strained while he explained, and excused, denoting his unwillingness to carve deep into his woes still.

"I don't know if it was a nightmare. I don't know if it was a dream- it felt real, but it was very meaningless. It didn't tell me anything, I learned nothing, and woke up afraid. I think I may actually be going crazy, so I suppose I'm now qualified to shoot the shit with you, yeah?" with a straightening of shoulders, he leaned further into the chair. With grim - almost cynical - looks he widened his mouth a touch in a smile, toothily grinning at Minerva if only to exacerbate the mischief behind his implication.

Minerva gives a look to the shirt and there's a snort. Oh god.

Though she gives him a curious look, "Eyes don't grow back Nasir. We learned that much in school." she tells him with a soft smile. "Remember how they used to always jokingly tell me it would grow back? Yeah...no." she shakes her head, all that black hair going back and forth.

"I have friends...just none I think need to be bothered with dealing with me." She admits. She was always used to being a loner. "So we've not spoken in years and when we did speak it was because your mom told you not to come near the crazy possessed girl. Or whatever she liked to say." she rolls her eye. "Do you want some tea or coffee? Something stronger?" she asks him.

"I'm not crazy, Nasir." she points out. "And I don't think you are either." she adds. "And I can show you what I've been dealing with if you'd like to go that route." she muses. "So what was the dream?" she asks him. "Or possible nightmare." she tacks on.

Indeed, she rolls her eye, and there on that singular orb he doesn't exactly find that exasperation proper to the rolling of TWO eyes. Instead, he looks on that three sixty° direction she herself treads in rollercoaster, chasing her gaze as it rose to the roof and making his own squint, wary that she was looking at a spider, or something else; some shadow, something eavesdropping on them. He grimaced then, seeing nothing, but the way he looked expectantly and half-shocked back at her denoted he was speaking some kind of obscure divination from the Jewish waif.

None came, this time.

A deep sigh ensued, and there his head turning towards the door to take a gaze of the rainy outside, letting its moodiness do a number in his perpetually dark, negative state of mind, one not even appeased by her re-assurances that she wasn't insane. Or even worse, that HE wasn't insane. "I would prefer if you showed me, I guess? Rather than me go on and rant about what I saw. Make this a back and forth, you know? Rapport, right? That's how they call it? Maybe if you re-assure me that you're indeed nuts I won't feel half as bad when I start telling you the extent of my mental baggage."

Minerva takes a sip of her tea and there's a weary look to her. She settles the mug down and then stares at him, that one eye bright and completely lucid.

~You want me to show you that I'm not crazy?~ she asks him. The voice rings clear and true, but those lips of hers never move. Not a word is spoken from them. Well...that's weird. ~I can keep going unless you'd like me to electrocute something next for show and tell?~ she asks mentally as one of her eyebrows quirk questioningly at him. It was his choice.

~We can go back and forth if you like, I don't mind.~ she smiles to that.

~Oh no,~ was the very, primordial thing that'd be nestled in the depth of Nasir's arguably shallow mind. Really shallow indeed, what was there, in that supposed baggage? Why, hotdogs, strawberry tarts and an unmeasurably infinite desire to be on the other end of a firing gun aimed at his head, but existential, suicidal dread was most likely not a rare find in her travels into other people's heads.

On the surface, Nasir was still. His face was sour, yes; his lips pressed together and pruned from one end to the other, the cracks streaked across them layering like seeking to bind in their unwound state, product of the cold and heat alike. It was as if he had just heard the butt end of a terrible joke; a joke made still at his expense, and had inadvertently tilted his head to the side, giving her only a flank of his face while addressing the outside.

"Well fuck, this is weird," he fired at the room's elephant, reaching quickly into a back pocket to procure a packet of cigarettes branded Weyland. He dug a veiny index into its hole, fishing out roll with roughness that damaged the integrity of the wrapping paper. "Can I smoke here? I feel like I have to smoke, you're in my head and all that. It's the incense, right? You're burning incense here-- drugs?"

"It can get much much weirder, Nasir." Minerva tells him. Everyone called her Minerva since they couldn't pronounce her first name. And she wasn't sure if anyone besides her family and Itzhak knew how to pronounce it. There's a bit of a look to him, "You can smoke in here, as long as it's not drug related." she tells him.

"Why would I burn drugs? I've never done them and they are not my thing." she tells him with a frown. No, she was one hundred percent the weirdo she was without drugs messing her up.

She does take another drink of her tea, "Do you want some dinner or something to drink? Figured you might be here for a few while you tell me things." she smiles. "And it's not a rush." she adds.

His hand shook from every end of each finger down to the waist, curling up to the elbow and easing when nearing the shoulder. The cigarette vibrated with a fury, and he threatened to drop it every inch of the way he struggled it towards his mouth. Amusingly enough, once it landed within the clutches of his loose lips it never ceased to shudder, tilted downwards due to how little butt of it he actually had afforded into his mouth.

The shaking didn't stop while working a palm into a pocket on his right, forcing his waistline to push upwards and lift the tight shirt further into his torso, giving ground to procure a zippo from within it. The deed inadvertently showed his absurdly pronounced hipbones once the shirt receded, a product of strain and lack of eating indeed, only to slide back into place once he sat down yet again. It wasn't until he struck that flint with the zippo's turnwheel and flame rose, that he blazing red inspired him with stoicism. Or perhaps re-assurance, that he'd get his nicotine fix, once the tip was lit and he inhaled that easing smoke that drowned his lungs black. Effortlessly, the grey mist eroded out his nostrils and with it he found in him the calmness to finally respond, his eyes baggy and half-lidded in the meantime.

"I'd fucking kill for some brownies right now."

Minerva for a moment is silent as she watches him. She didn't know how to approach things, so for a moment it looks like the Jewish woman is debating how exactly to approach the whole of the situation. "Nasir, I didn't mean to scare you if I did." she offers quietly. "There's a lot of weird shit going on in the town and has been since before we were born." she admits to him. "If I can help you in some way I promise I will." she offers.

Then there's a puppy that comes wandering through to get some loving, "Azrael come on buddy." she murmurs to the dog as she scoops him up. "It's almost bed time, so go join your brother." she murmurs as she settles him down near the crate.

There's a smile to Nasir's word, "I've got brownie mix if you want me to make you some? My dad will murder me for out of the box brownies but it's an emergency." she chuckles. She'd noted the hip bones and things like that and she didn't like it.

No sir.

All he could muster at first was a pronounced, deep chuckle. Hoarse, and somewhat grim at his expense, self-deprecatingly caving to the notion that he was, indeed, afraid. Frightened, even, and it was a weakness that hurt to tackle in the backdrop of his mind. Twelve deployments in the desert storm didn't prepare him for this woman's lips to remain still while she worked alien thoughts into his mind.

Another intake of smoke, another blow out his nostrils, and he braved her face again. There was a weight, to this Minerva; a heft to her visage, and how its kindness bore upon him. The way his shoulders shifted, his midriff re-aligned, it all resembled a bird of prey cornered into a dead-end by a one-eyed, entirely inquisitive rabbit. That happens to be pelted black.

"I'd love some. What did you get for take out, anyway? I don't think you ought to be eating that shit, by the way. You look sick enough already, someone needs to be making you chicken leg stew and keeping a warm rag on your forehead," he prompted, tugging the cigarette off his mouth with two fingers to point half-accusingly at her, yet he couldn't pretend upsetness for long, his taciturn outlooks cracking some at the sight of the pup. He flinched a hand with a desire to touch it; to pat the little thing's head, and share the love, but he reconsidered it. His palms were fire, he remembered, and kept them for himself.

Minerva looks to Nasir and there's a bit of a smile, "You can pet them...if you like. The black one is Azrael and the tank is Dumah. They are getting bigger every day really." she chuckles as she heads to the kitchen. Thankfully the loft was mostly open design so she could see him and everything else in the apartment pretty well.

She listens to him and there's an amused look, "We can whip that up really quick." she tells him. "As for what I ordered, it's Chinese, ordered some egg drop soup and some lo mein and fried rice. None of it is pork." she reassures him. She does give him an odd look, "Don't have anyone to do that. And I'm alright with that. I've not really had close friends and kind of gotten use to it really." she shrugs. For the moment she doesn't press on the questions of what brought him here.

She just tries to make him feel comfortable.

He couldn't touch them, he reasoned in his mind - perhaps still at the mercy of her thoughts-invading capabilities - but a quick conclusion was made that he could indeed lean closer and eye the little black bundle of love and demand from a more intimate distance. He smiled, then; as smiles went with him, this one wasn't worth a picture. Brief, reactive and more of a twitch, one that didn't linger on the mouth but his eyes, for they remained upbeat thorough the entire experience of seeing the little puppy's back and forths on the floor, that little stifled yawn, and a soon tired lean against the floor.

What could possibly beat such a sight?

"They're cute as hell. And, ah.. Well, that's a shame-- I completely know how you feel, too. Ever since I got back to Gray Harbour it's been mostly myself. Found Marion, at least; remember Marion? She, uh; she's no longer a 'she', but a 'them'. They came back recently, too."

While explaining, Nasir took to his phone, an incredibly beaten and cracked piece of hardware that must've gone through Iraq with the Arab himself while in deployment to look as utterly fucked as it did then. Still, through that denting, he deftly happened upon a picture of the aforementioned, holding it up towards Minerva. "I'm not sure if you remember them, but here's them. And by the way, you should totally hang out with us if you're going to spend nights alone at your house- Mario Kart nights, Dungeons and Dragons, all that good shit. We'll even binge to old Tolkien laments, you'll never get bored again."

Minerva gives him a look, "Hey Nasir. Do me a favor and come here." she states with a smile to him. She was going to touch his hands. And she didn't want him to freak out about it. Though she watches the puppy and there's a smile between them.

"Thanks. Found them abandoned in a trash bag. There was a whole litter of them but found them homes." she tells him. There's a shake of her head, "No, don't remember a Marion. You guys were a bit ahead of me in school and I really didn't get out much as a child." she chuckles. "But glad there are people back around that you know. It'll come in handy." she tells him.

And it would at some point!

She looks to the picture and there's a smile to it, "The hair is neat." she tells him. "Not much for video games anymore really. Though I'm sure if people run some D&D and can stand my presence for more than five minutes I could be down for that." she chuckles. "I'm not bored. I'm up to my neck in work and trying to deal with other things." she tells him as she starts getting out the stuff to make the brownies. "So how is your family?" she asks him.

Ah, shit. She wanted him to stand now, indeed- right when he had gotten strangely comfortable with that distance they had created with one another. In a way, she was far away enough to imagine she was talking in his head still, and they were so far apart from one another that her judgement - which he presumed she mischievously began to negatively weave of him in the back of her head - wouldn't affect him once it became public domain. He disdained the notion, but he was a guest, and his mother raised him well (kind of), for he stood with both palms pressing into the arm-rests to see him rise. His feet carefully created distance from one another, letting him walk in direction of the kitchen without stepping on the pupper the way there.

He couldn't help but over-do it some, walking over Azrael like a sluddering giant of deeply-voiced connotations, ones he shared in a booming, modulated; "Oohohoho-- I'm going to eat you, I'm going to eat you, I'm going to eeeeat you!" as he approached it, each of his palms held up with wiggly, crone fingers elucidating some kind of evil enchantment for the pupper.

It was all a passing play, however, and once he got a rise from the little thing - to run or shy away - he smiled amusedly and finished the distance with Minerva, approaching her. He leaned into a shelf on the kitchen, doing his best to appear casual before he asked, quite simply; "What's up?" omitting entirely the question about family.

Because fuck that, clearly.

Minerva leans her hip against the counter and there's a smirk as he tracks one of the puppies with an overdone voice. Oh. My. God. "That's adorable." she tells him. It really was!

When he's close enough she reaches out and takes his hands, her stitched up ones gripping his for a moment. "Just take a deep breath and for the sake of not pulling my stitches don't freak out." she tells him in a soft tone. There's no burning. There's nothing that happens immediately.

Unless he decides to completely lose it.

He was entirely stranged at the notion of seeing his palms grabbed. His hands were those of a much older man, jabbed and poked as they were by wrenching in the dim light of the workshop where he tailored the machines and inventions that defined much of his life until that point, often through the night until the morning risers wheeled their rattling bins onto the street and reminded him that he, too, was human; that he, too, needed to sleep, while realizing dreams he never one admitted to have.

He gave these hands to Minerva, and felt every inch of his body strain under that minuscule share of intimacy, where his fingers splayed their backs on her palm and lend his touch, however gently; however briefly.

That deep breath finally happened, one that lifted his chest to a pectoral rise and let the chestplate of skin dwindle back down after the necessary exhale that ensued. His shoulders rolled momentarily and he tried to set his elbows away from his torso, to loosen into the exchange. "So what the fuck is this for? You're reading my hand's fate lines or something?"

Minerva had expected him to shake her off, to not let her touch his hands. She wasn't sure what would happen, but he was certainly antsy about his hands. She doesn't keep hold of his hands for a long time. Just enough to reassure herself that he's not actually set himself on fire or her. "You have Glimmer, Nasir." she tells him. "Sometimes we don't have control of it." she tells him.

She could feel it.

"And...I'm guessing this is a recent thing that happened? Or have you been able to do things for a bit?" she asks him as she lets him go. Hey look, no one was burned!

He went silent, then; silent at every statement, at every question. After she released his hands, it was with a re-assurance of something he already knew, and grew crestfallen for. His head took to a tilt once again, letting his vision roam and wander her lofty home, finally setting back on the pupper roaming the living room on the final throws of energy he clung to before falling into that deep sleep he didn't know he craved just yet.

"I feel like a freak just thinking about it. I'm guessing that's what everyone imagines, yeah; that they're a freak. But that's the fucking problem, Minerva, I've always been a freak, you know? I mean, you know; of course you know. Not fitting in, not making any lasting friendships, you know what that is," even as he spoke then; even as he elaborated on the two so profusely, he didn't look at her still, for it was Azrael's turn to be looked at.

"You live your whole life trying to fit in, only to finally come to the realization that your life's not your own. That something-someone on a perch you can't fucking reach decided you're going to come out of the column and be exceptional. Why the shit, Minerva? Yeah, I've been able to repair things exceptionally since a child, but I know it's much more than that. I just don't know how deeper yet. 'Glimmer', is that how it's called?"

"There are so many of us here that it comes naturally too, Nasir." Minerva tells him as she goes about making the brownie mix. Like this was a simple conversation that she is used to having. "I've been able to do things since I was a child. I had to learn how to control things as I got older. Voices were the worst part for me." she tells him as she settles into stirring the mix.

"I just found it easier in my life not to attach myself to anyone. Made it easier for a bit. Then I started realizing that there's more of us." she shakes her head. "But, one thing I do not recommend for people that are just finding their powers is to be alone. It's kind of asking for bad shit to happen. The Dark Men will be gunning for you on top of you not being in any state of knowing how to handle this." she tells him.

"And it is kind of like being watched, and that's probably because we are sometimes watched." she tells him quietly. "So since childhood?" she asks him. "And I have no idea why it's like it is. But it's called Glimmer." she nods to that.

Opportunity struck once she looked away, and juggled her attention with the brownies. He was slippery, this one, and by the time she looked back to re-assert her questions on him he had already retreated to higher ground - to puppy ground - infringing himself upon Azrael as it laid on its back on the ground. She was right, it seemed, for the moment his palm pressed into its pink stomach and saw his fingers spread out into continuous, measured strokes that coaxed Azrael's tail into a wiggle there wasn't a single sign of brimstone in their nearby future. It was re-assuring, at least, enough to ease him into a therapeutic feeling of certainty.

"Dark Men? Shit, I think I've seen at least fifty movies with those bad guys. You do realize the more we talk about this the less realistic it feels, right? Like-- I have a hard time believing I can put things together this way, it's almost like a baseball bat to the nape of my sanity every time, and now "dark men"? Fuck.. I wish I could just; I wish I could bite into the rumors, call you crazy, chug a handful of garlic at you and run away," he mused, his voice growing steadily louder and more assertive as he entered detail, yet turned equally low at the prospect of "running away," heralding instead a smooth transition into..

"... But I know exactly what you mean. I'm not sure if I'd call them "Dark men," but a "dark thing." Unnameable abominations from the outter sphere, it's odd. I could never see them, but I can feel them; I could feel them then. A muteness to the breeze, a transmutation of the world made inured to life, blackened. I entertained a whole delegation of fifty years worth of Science Fiction to try and put a name to this all, and nothing. I happened upon fucking nothing. We're alone in this."

Minerva gives a soft smile when she realizes he's over with Azrael and petting him. Her puppies seemed to be a hit with more than a few people. At least he didn't run out the door like the last person that was over for dinner.

A deep frown forms on her face and she shakes herself when he talks, "They've always been called the dark men. I didn't name them." she shrugs to that. Then there's a look to him, "I mean, you can run away without tossing garlic at me to add insult to injury." she tells him. "And you wouldn't be the last person to bolt on me and I can guarantee you won't be the last that runs out." she states with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You aren't alone in this. There are others like you and I." she tells him with a look to him. "I mean, if you want to meet others and try to make some sense of things we can help you, Nasir." she tells him. "It's a scary life to lead, but some of us stay here and try to help." she states quietly.

Nasir wanted to keep going on the puppy's stomach, to go deep into his little hindquarters and get a real good scratch going to truly put those growing limbs to the test, yet Minerva's tales of brooding woe immediately put him on a spot of sorts. He blinked, looking briefly at the door in recollection before glancing back at her, then; back at the hard mixing of the brownie mix and the whole process behind it. His nostrils flared momentarily and he exhaled, lifting each of his arms alongside the hands that hung on the sides of his head, surrendering to her expectations. "Hey, I'm here. I've got things to say," he re-assured, slowly edging himself up with a loosening of his legs to better press into the ground, gaining leverage to indeed stand.

"And I just got here, you don't have to tell me how every other loser that comes in through that door just wants to get his intake of crazy Cultist talk and then bounce," he'd add defensively, turning his right palm to press it flat against his chest; "It's almost like you're expecting me to do the same. Like fuck Minerva, you haven't even finished the brownies and you're already kicking me out, technically."

He shook his head, pretending a wholeheartedly amused expression that failed on that playful notion- he wasn't entirely playing, and it showed with the newly-found weight on his shoulders as he trudged on to that former chair he stole for himself, sitting down with a soft puff of air. "I do want help, I want answers. I want the same shit as everyone else, and I'm not going to find those with my head buried in a trailet's toilet, 'swirlying' myself to death. I've got to be a trooper, and that means hanging out with Snake Plissken's dream come true."

Minerva's good eye looks at the man that's in her apartment for the moment and there's a soft sigh as she realizes she was being a bit of a wet blanket. "I know you're here for help and for information. It's not the same situation." she tells him as she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry for being in a mood. Just tends to be a bit more weird due to a few things. Nothing that has to do with you." she admits as she looks back to the bowl for the moment. She then reaches out to turn the oven on to pre-heat.

"None of you are losers, please don't say that." She tells him with a frown.

Minerva's agitation spikes for a moment, just about the same time as the lights flicker. She starts pouring the brownie mix into the bowl and hums a bit to herself, "I'm not kicking you out. There's no reason to kick you out." she murmurs to him.

Then she looks to him, "Who is Snake Plissken?" she asks him curiously.

There, a chance for rhetoric; yonder, a desire to speak up his mind and spice up the argument with some counter-measures of his own. And then the lights flickered. None could call Nasir a perceptive man, but he was good with cues; he was good with seeing these little signs, so there he was; there he lingered with his mouth lightly ajar, his head tilted up and his eyes caught utterly in the white, soft light of her bulb almost as if waiting for it to flicker again, praying within that it didn't.

Who knew what Minerva could do? A flickering of lights could easily translate to a flickering of his brain, and come the hour - perhaps two - he'd probably be in her stew. He didn't want to be in anyone's stew, but one had to reason that given Minerva's notoriety for the know-how of waifish ways that hers would be one hell of a Nasir stew, when it came to happen. It was inevitable. She was inevitable.

With some hesitation, lots of hesitation, he let his body sink and glide into the chair; glide by legs further into the floor until his feet kicked out and his soles were only few inches away from the little pupper who had taken to laying down and stare at Nasir in silence, almost as if he was the third eye Minerva needed to keep a watchful gaze on him while she handled the brownies.

His silence to all of her admissions and explanations was pure, mute agreement- agreement like a scolded child intimidated into forced silence, and it wasn't until his favorite hero's name got thrown around that he piped up; "It's Kurt Russell dude. Escape From New York, no? Guy with the eye-patch, super sneaky; sneaky like Solid Snake? Every girl thinks he's super hot, too-- you're like his counterpart, that's why I said you're like; you're the Snake Plissken wet dream. Fuck it, I'll show you a picture man," Nasir didn't bandit words long on explanation, instead reached down for his phone to manifest the violently abused touchscreen that had more cracks and bumps than a South American highway. Eagerly, he went about googling her notions.

Back and posing. Sorry about that. 😆

Chances are that Minerva probably wouldn't have fried him had he spoken up. The tiny mental temper tantrum was over with for the moment, but that curly hair of his and his general bearing made her want to softly beat him with a pillow.

She was a mental mess. She needed to pull it all together and to get over the past.

She slides the pan of uncooked brownies into the oven and then sets the timer, "Do you like them a little gooey?" she asks him.

It was such a normal question really. One that sounded a bit silly coming from the woman that was garbed in black and barefoot. And yes, Azrael was totally a puppy spy of the highest order.

His explanation of Snake Plissken makes her give a chuckle, "Huh. Never seen it, but I guess I'll have to look into it. I didn't get off of old horror movies much and well...I guess action is hit and miss with me." she admits. "Ah, so you think he'd like one eyed gothy girls? I should look into that then." she muses as she smiles a touch. It at least was genuine and softened her face a bit.

Then she moves to take a seat on the couch, "So are you going to ask me a question?" she asks him.

By the time she returned, he had already straightened himself up. "I love them gooey, of course," because of course he did. Because what kind of animal could eat a brownie dry and stiff? He almost scoffed at the notion, but quickly made a smooth change of his expression once she came into his portion of the room, and he handed his phone out to her rather than show her in specific, with a picture of Kurt Russell's take of Snake Plissken quite literally there, for her to study and see to all of its facets.

"Alright, shit, okay, let us see," his hands pressed eagerly against his knees, squeezing into the jean of his pants and drying away some sweat that had begun to build up. He took a deep breath and faced her, trying to focus on her good eye and the rest of her only but lightly painted features. God she was pale.

"I want to talk about you first, entirely, then we can talk about me, that's fair? Just so I don't feel like a dunce as if the whole topic somehow had to revolve around me," re-assurances came first, and he tried to convey himself gregariously with his right hand, motioning to his chest and then hers. "So you've got some Shiva shit going, you can talk in my head. Fine, it's real. The Glimmer, the magic, the bullshit-- it's all real. What has that meant for you, this past year? What have you been doing with your time, and your powers-- what are your powers?"

"I'm not a mind reader." Minerva laughs at that. She was somehow oddly amused by the notion that she might read someones mind. "So I will make sure the brownies come out a few minutes early." she muses.

Then she takes the phone from him in a delicate way, her long fingers flitting carefully over the phone. She was always otherworldly growing up and it had carried into adulthood. Her eyebrow quirks up at the picture, "That's a rather handsome man." she admits. "Not just because of the eye, I mean it's the jawline and all of that." she muses as she hands him the phone back.

Then she settles herself down on the couch and crosses one knee over the other out of habit. Once she's settled there's a shadow that creeps across the floor and then hops onto the couch in the form of Azrael. Dumah was asleep.

She quirks an eyebrow, "Me?" she asks him. Then she nods to him, giving a bit of a thoughtful look to him. "Alright. I'll talk about me." she tells him. "First of all, Mentalists, which is what I'm categorized as for the most part cannot read your mind. Or at least if they can that's some higher level bullshit I've never cracked and I'm pretty fucking top level." she states.

"Basically it's dealing with emotions, reading and transmitting them. Being able to tell if someone is bluffing you or lying to you without really going into things. I would know if you lie to me." she admits. "And you're already uncertain with the lights flickering, so I really do not want you to be frightened." she adds.

"I can create complex illusions, ones that have sensory added to them. So they will be almost indistinguishable from something real." she tells him. "I can pick up emotional residues and tell you who it belongs to." she murmurs. "I can talk to animals, implant commands into them." she states as she looks to him.

"The better question is...what can't I do. Which honestly I can't heal or tear apart objects. I'm more about cleansing and making sure people don't die if we get caught in the Veil. I've been in enough fights already this year and it sucked trying to heal from the last one." she frowns. "Otherwise my year has been...pretty quiet. About to close my practice if I can't keep myself together." she mutters.

He knew it. Azrael was the enemy- that little cradle of fur, fuss and love; that dangle of salivating, puppy jowls, all wanted to absolutely end Nasir's life. Or, well, not really-- still, command dogs? That was all he needed to know. He straightened his posture there, looking dejectedly at Azrael. He had trusted that little dog, but betrayal was the norm here; betrayed by this quietly watching creature.

A soft sniffle ensued, and an understanding that he had no allies in this room, not even canines-- how could it be? Dogs were meant to love all humans, no more than their human - certainly - but there was no limit to their love. A right palm rose next and he pressed it gently against his chest, trying to convey honesty despite how she had just told him, right there and then, that she'd know if he lied. Luckily for him, he hadn't pulled that move just yet; "I'm having a hard time imagining all of that, but I believe it. Fuck it. I believe it-- if anyone's going to be Jesus, it's going to be you Minerva. I mean, it makes sense, right? Illusions.. Is there an illusion here right now?" a momentary glance around the room followed, and he tried to find detail within the details of it all, yet he wasn't exactly the best pair of eyes to try and make allusion out of illusion.

"I don't know what I can do, so I can't-- I'm sorry; I can't really follow you up on that. Fix objects, I guess? Mentalists... that's awesome though. So how does it feel, you know, going through life knowing when people are bullshitting you? Do you just smirk silently, knowing you're going to pull a fast one on them later?"

Minerva watches him and there's a bit of a frown, "For what it's worth, the puppies haven't started their training on things. It's the spiders that are crafty bastards." she tells him.

SPIDERS?!

Though something he says confuses her, "Jesus? No, I'm no where near walking on water or any of that. I mean...I'm more close to sorceress or something. Not a diety of any kind." she chuckles to that. "Though I'm pretty sure that some of the others can levitate over water." she ponders this thoughtfully. "No, there are no illusions here." she tells him.

Then she turns to watch him and listen to him, "Repair and things...you might be a Spiritualist. Spirit aspects seem to be centered on repairing and healing. Mending." she explains. "I have a few people I could point you to if you wanted to learn more?" she asks him.

Then his last question sobers her, "Do you ever wonder why I prefer being alone? Because it sucks to know that people you love and care for are going to lie to you. It sucks to know that a guy you really wanted to have something with just doesn't care." she shrugs. "And it's my life. Strangers are far more honest with me and I don't know if that's because I scare them or it's pity, but I hate it." she admits. Not even her fiance had been truthful. So it was sucktastic for her.

Spiders. That changed everything.

Woe was Nasir, whose eyes now moved back and forth. It was the animal in his blood, frantically searching for another predator in the room. Spiders, again, he looked away. He gazed at the shadows of the couch; at the corners of every table, at the edge of every painting. At every nook and cranny in the room, albeit subtly, as she spoke. Spiders, through every orifice he saw the eight-legged menace manifest, even his lap!

And he'd gasp, his whole body ejecting up from the chair after looking down and between his legs. He'd squeeze his palms together, frightened - no, shocked - for a brief moment, after his imagination ran a long, overbearing course.

A hard shudder worked down his spine then, and every dark hair across his veiny arm's stretch rose somewhat. "I never wondered why you prefer to be alone, people suck-- what I wonder is why you'd want to be alone with spiders. They'll eat you-- I mean, they'll cocoon you first, then they'll eat you," he almost wagged a finger at her, for it was obvious. This is known. But the conversation returned and he forced himself into calmness, and a slight pucker of lips, before speaking yet again; "That's life, man. People lie-- it's kind of how it is, you know? See it like this, at least they care enough about your opinion that they're lying to avoid your judgement," he tried his best at sounding re-assuring, but Nasir had a way to appear dejected. To be dejected, and uninclusive.

Still, he twitched the cracked length of his mouth to work her a smirk, and followed self-deprecatingly; "Fuck that, I'm wrong-- I don't heal anything, most I touch breaks. I guess I've fixed some stuff, but I've attributed it mostly to being damn near the best at repairing. Or the best. I'd love if you, yeah, showed me someone who can teach me how to figure out the depth of my mutant shit, so I don't go around hurting anyone," his own implications sobered him up as well, for at the end of the day; in the end, all the captions, all the edgy shirts, and the 'Shithead' written all around him was flair. The prospect of hurting others brought a long shadow on his face, and made his vision dangle down to the floor as heat gathered at his neck. Worry.

When he freaks out quietly about the spiders there's a bit of a head shake, "Nasir, the spiders are in their terrariums. They aren't out and they aren't going to hurt you. Beetlejuice got a new terrarium due to his being a bit of an escape artist when he first moved in." Minerva tells him with a bit of a smile. "I'd I've thankfully not been eaten by my spiders when I collapsed, so we can write that off the myth list." she chuckles.

"And I apologize, I forget that most people aren't as enamored of spiders as I am." she admits.

She looks back to him, her gaze following him and her eye looking thoughtful, "I know that life is going to suck. It happens. I just wish I could not drive everyone off." she admits. "I just seem to try to cocoon myself against the inevitable day that I drive another person off." she mutters with a chuckle.

"Nasir, just because you /think/ that you break everything that you touch is not the reality. You have the ability to mend and heal. Just as easy as you might break something. It's a balance." she tells him softly. "And I can contact Roen. He's probably the best person to go to." she smiles. "And you'd probably like him." she adds.

Indeed, Nasir was the opposite of enamored with spiders. Even then, as she said 'enamored', his face said 'traumatized'. Perhaps he was over-reacting; perhaps it was all a melodramatic throw to exacerbate away at a much smaller problem, but there glinted a brief hint of amusement with all of this 'spookification' at the prospect of loose arachnids in the room.

"It's not that I hate spiders, or that I fear them. I respect spiders. I give them a wide berth-- I let them be. I find one in my bathroom? I put it in a jar and let it be free. Unless it's not an outdoor spider, then I learn to live with it since it'd probably die if I put it outside, at the expense of some sleep," as he went to depth with his point of view, Nasir proved to be far from done as he straightened on the chair once again, turning, showing a brief of body flank and centering more of his front to Minerva, before continuing; "It's just, you know, they'll take over. You know they'll take over, spiders I mean, and then what? When the big, hidden tarantulas as huge as trees come for me on the day of the rope I'd prefer to have a clean record of respect for spider-kind."

Distressingly serious, he contained each of his palms together in the explanation, signifying he must've had the whole thing under lockdown with how much confidence he exhumed. "So, talk to your spider overlords now while the fácade is still up, tell them to spare me when the time comes;" subtly, he concluded. His upper row of teeth bit into his lower lip and his head turned away from her finally to look at a wide space on the wall, where he could better imagine 'Roen's hypothetical face. "Well, I like his name already. So what about them?"

Minerva gives a bit of a look to his face and she can feel that he's not really as dramatic as his face is. There's a brief chuckle and she shakes her head. But she doesn't say anything to that.

"I also respect spiders. Both of the boys were rescued." she tells him. "I probably won't get a new one since I can't really have people over with them." she muses. Though she laughs at his talk on the big hidden tarantulas in the trees, "I think the spider overlords will look kindly on what you did." she teases him softly.

"His last name is Roen." she points out. "I don't tend to call people out before talking to them." she admits. "Some of us don't want powers known, some of us don't care. Others are still struggling." she frowns. "But he's a good guy. I promise." she gives a serious look to that.

"And now that we've talked about me..." she puts that out there.

A soft hum emanated off Nasir. Why, yes, now that we've spoken about you, and his gaze once again saw itself roaming the room. "Wonderful roof work," soon he shared as idly as possible. His left palm met away at the hard of his jaw's line, and he dug some nails deep in that rise of facial hair to scratch in ponderous silence.

Him, himself; his turn. Uncomfortably, his shoulders shifted; disdainfully, his palms fell to his sides as a sense of defeat came over him, and he'd have one single, last exhale before talking, and doing so with no small amount of filtering hesitation;

"Alright," a short beat, and feet that loosened out on the floor before continuing. "Ever since I was a kid, I grew attached to things. Not toys, no- to me what other children considered toys wasn't the same. The wooden frame of a painting, without the painting? An elevator's panel? A broken little robot-- a broken anything? I hoarded things. Broken things. And when I fixed them, I fell in love with them," a long, silent stare took a hold of him, as if he stared beyond the mileage of a human's normal perception but into another vision; another place, in another time, even if he spoke then, there, with Minerva, with spice of nostalgia.

"They spoke to me, I think, as a child. Even the grass grew thicker around my dad's garage, the trees' roots peaked in through the doors, and leaves showed through my windows I thought staring eagerly into what I did. Any object I ever repaired I never sold; anything I ever fixed I never let go. It was like putting a bit of my soul into them, and parting would kill me. My mother called it childish selfishness... But was it really?"

Minerva settles in to listen to him, she didn't like talking about herself, but she had. It wasn't something she'd stay upset about. She wasn't upset really.

She does listen to him, her eyes looking over to him as he speaks, "Thanks." she tells him in response about the roof. She was amused by it.

She watches him thoughtfully as she listens, her features softer than they had been as she listens to him speak on this and that. "It would be nice to be able to fix things." she admits. "And sometimes the things you fix are a permanent part of you. It's nice to know that you did that thing and it's whole again." she tells him.

"Or as whole as they are getting." she adds. "So no, I don't think it was childish selfishness." she tells him.

Nasir's head saw itself sloooowly bob in agreement, down, before going up, somewhat surprised at the receptiveness Minerva had for him. Truth was, he had never spoken on the matter like he just had, there and then, with her. He expected worse- a mockery, a thing to throw him off course; a jab to make him defensive. Anything. But slowly the realization that this woman wasn't half of the stories woven about her edged itself more prominently in his head, and a connection was made, to ease his expression and take her on a new light; a smiling light, one that made him much more comfortable on that chair where he sat, enough to reel his legs back by the knees.

"So yeah," he murmured finally, letting his hands set in front of his stomach while he looked at the wall, almost as if it was therapy. And Minerva one hell of a psychologist; "Something happened back in the middle East, in a skirmish I had in Uzbekistan, in the Karshi Steppes. A carnage, an explosion on a light tank's fuel deposit killed a line of insurgents, sparking a fight that ended with too many deads. Something walked into our world that night; something that doesn't know fear, but feeds off of it. I saw it with my own two eyes, and nothing has been the same since," a deep breath, a sidelong glance to the pup by her side, and his eyes soon set on Minerva's singular one. Deep down, he appreciated it was just one, he probably couldn't handle two of those looking at him;

"I've felt followed ever since, like there's something waiting for me with a knife at every corner, of every street. Like I owe a big debt, but not of money. Worse."

Oddly enough Minerva was a psychologist, but she didn't like psychoanalyzing her friends and acquaintances. It was poor form. And they didn't need her shit on top of others. The woman gives him a soft smile, still a bit weak around the edges from recovering from the plague and her fight with the bathroom mirror, but she was alive and healing. She was here. Azrael had fallen back into a slumber, content to be laying on the couch with her.

She listens to him when he tells her about the situation in Iraq, a bit of a worry coming to her features, furrowing the elegant brows, "That's not a good thing." she tells him. "Most things that come out of the veil will seek to go back." she adds. "Like our raptors and things of that nature." she motions absently. Yes, Gray Harbor had veil raptors, don't judge! "Iraq was full of so much violence and fear when you were there, I can only imagine what is following." she frowns.

Then she sighs, "Sometimes the dark men or their agents, the veil itself sometimes will look to exact a toll for things that are done or things that pile up. I got my ass handed to me about two months ago. It was a long time coming though. I used things too much while I was protecting people. I didn't want them to die." she admits. "So be careful of how much you use and what you use it for. It's like Doctor Strange and what he tells his students, magic has a price, at some point you will be expected to pay it." she states as she looks to him.

There's a moment of silence after that before she looks up to the ceiling, "Are you staying with your parents?" she asks him.

Some deep, silent thinking ensued. It all made sense; it all connected, of his experiences, with what Minerva said. The toll, the time, the expectance.. it made sense; it painted a visible image in his head and turned his visage to understanding as if he had just discovered the actual string theory right there himself, with that last, solving puzzle she put on that jarring hole he himself couldn't fill. "All this time of making happy with my objects, my toys; my broken machines, it's all coming back. The regret, the sadness, the feeling of loss-- it's all coming back, you're right. The toll. The price," he whispered, growing haplessly silent.

At her question, his nostalgic gaze rose to meet Minerva on a sidelong glance. He looked tired, tired of having found exactly what he came looking for when he entered her home; tired of receiving the answers he didn't want but were correct no less.

Beaten.

And with that beaten expression he replied, his left hand having gone up along the way to brush against his right and high cheekbone; "I live alone, in a trailer. Pops died two years before they sent me home, and my mother doesn't want me around. Sisters had children, family unit, somewhere I absolutely don't fit in."

Minerva was a little surprised that he didn't snicker at her Doctor Strange reference, but hey, she wasn't going to knock it. Her gaze is sad though when she looks back to him and he speaks. She waits till he's done to give a bit of a frown, "Sucks that everything that we love somehow is going to bite us in the end." she admits in a quiet tone.

Then she realizes she shouldn't have asked about family, but she wasn't an asshole and wanted to check on things.

Even if his mom thought she was possessed as a child.

"I'm sorry to hear about your father. I didn't know that he had passed." she tells him softly. "What's wrong with your mom? I thought she would like to have you around?" she asks him. "You...don't have to tell me if you don't want to." she adds.

"Ciprian just got his divorce finalized, he got full custody of my niece, Ashira." she smiles at the mention of the child. "She likes to come over and see the animals. Apparently I'm the weird, cool Aunt." she chuckles.

Then she does something that might seem odd, she extends one of those stitched up hands to him. She was so pale you could see the traceries of veins in her hands and on the inside of her arms, "You might live alone but you aren't alone in this. If you want people you've got friends." she tells him.

There wasn't much in Nasir's repertoire of reactions to do with the foreboding truth that yes, indeed, those we love hurt us the most, outside of seeing his head go on yet another up and down trail of agreement; of saddened, but no less agreeable perspective. Sadly for her, he had heard it all about his father; I'm sorry to hear about it; you have my condolences; I know how you feel; I know how it feels, but Nasir didn't know. Nasir didn't miss his father- he didn't know how to feel. His father had always been a warrior, pops, and thinking him dead still was an oddity in the Arab's expression. In a way, he had never truly died, with how much of a loss he had there trying to appeal to her condolences, and seem truly, genuinely sad. Truth was, he looked more sheepish than anything else.

"Ciprian," of course. His echo of the name was made with genuine mirth, and his teeth bared somewhat in the show of brief delight; "Damn he was cool in school-... Fuck, is he still the tallest man on Earth? I remember as a kid, being particularly short before puberty, every time he passed by I had to look up so much I could feel the cool of my skin against the nape of my neck. Don't ask me how I remember that, I just do," the idea of brownies had been completely forgotten in his head with her brother as topic, and he straightened himself on the chair, tilting his head lightly to better sink into the good news, assertive with his gaze to hers; "It sucks to hear he got divorced but it's my guess he didn't get shafted and probably represented himself, as the baller he is," Nasir re-assured - mostly himself - with a hefty snicker to follow.

"And hey," he soon replied, bringing his own palm outwards and towards her. His wasn't pale, no; his skin was like leather on the palms, full of nodules sprouting hair almost like a hobbit, but not quite. Veins did, however, push against the flesh, and he looked to have a tangle that ran across the center of his knuckles and into his palm, and it'd be those knuckles he pressed playfully against hers. "It goes the other way around. You just came out of the hospital and gave me a minute of your life to put the pieces of mine a little better together, and I won't forget Minerva. Thank you."

Minerva wouldn't know how to handle her father's death when it came. He'd been the kind of man that loved everyone and didn't know a stranger. Fed people when they didn't have the money when they came into the shop. It was just what he did.

She could feel that he didn't miss his father, but she doesn't comment on it. It wasn't her place.

Then she chuckles about Ciprian, "Yeah, he's still one of the tallest. Though we got two gangly guys that moved in to town months ago that seem to be a bit taller." she muses. "So he's not the tallest guy around town anymore. He's just not as stick thin as they are." she muses. "And he did good for himself. He mainly wanted custody of Ashira and his wife basically gave over rights and all of that. She didn't even want money. So I'm guessing she married up." she shrugs. "My brother is better off without her." she admits.

"And I didn't end up getting married, so it's not like I'm getting in line for divorces." she shakes her head.

Then she looks to him when he does touch her hand and there's a smile, "It's what I do. I'm a Doctor, we take care of people. And even if I wasn't you're needing a person to talk to and I like to help out." she tells him quietly.

She was about to say something else when the timer for the brownies DINGED. "Oops. Forgot about those." she chuckles.

Nasir clasped his palms in tandem with the ding of sweets promised in their near future and he'd stand up with Minerva if she indeed went to the kitchen for them, going so far as to accompany her, in order to continue the conversation at a reasonable, short distance rather than have to raise his voice. His mood was considerably uplifted, and he walked with a straight back and a desire to speak, which was a rarity in itself.

"Screw marriage. Learn from your brother, I say- you fall in love with someone, you get bored, you get divorced. Then the battle of wits to see who gets shafted the worst by the Supreme Court of Justice," fire, there; fire in his voice when speaking of the law, and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth to emphasize the bad taste he felt at the idea itself.

"And you helped. I'm running late but, I think I should have time to eat some brownies," Nasir stretched out his arm to the side as to reel back his sleeve, revealing an old, rusty analog watch with Arabic inscriptions etched on the copper of its outer glass frame. It ticked wonderfully, yet looked to have some scratches and dents here and there, owning to how old it was.

Inherited, for sure;

And re-assuringly he bobbed his head, happy with the time. "Yeah, I'm good for the brownies. And hey-- if you do close up your place, what's your plan to make them Benjamins rain?"

Minerva gives a smile as she gets up to go to the kitchen and she grabs a pot holder to get the brownies out of the oven. She gives a look to him and there's a moment she debates something. Yep. Ice Cream. She turns to the fridge to pull out the freezer portion and then drags a pint of vanilla ice cream out.

His comments about marriage make her pause for a minute, "I didn't get married because my fiance was murdered." she admits as she settles the ice cream down on the island. "And I'd like to eventually find someone that I'd like to marry. Just because one person has a bad experience doesn't mean it's a bad thing." she murmurs. "And I know it's not for everyone." she adds.

"I could always make you a brownie to go or send some of these with you." she tells him. "Got a hot date tonight? I'll make sure brownies are quick then." she chuckles.

"If I close this place I'm thinking I'm just going to open up an occult store or just do a service where I can help people out with the occult and paranormal and go from there. Seems like everyone comes to me for that stuff pretty regularly, so it's not like I couldn't do it full time." she muses as she cuts the brownies.

His mouth nearly watered at the prospect of vanilla ice cream and once that tin came out his toes made an upheaval in his boots. He had, however, a need to pretend he wasn't that affected- you're not fourteen anymore, Nasir, you're thirty-two. Get your shit together.

Genuine surprise bloomed at her admission, and guess; guess that, by all means of his expression, seemed more than right. Still, yonder, hesitation in his eyes; there, on his brows, a soft push against their roofing.

Even the dimpling that scarcely showed unless he smiled sunk with a feeling of uncertainty, and he'd speak with somewhat of a shuddering tone, bloated with reluctance. "I don't know if it's a date, but it's definitively a hangout. Saw her at the gym, the other day- met her, went pretty smooth, and settled for a milkshake. I.. Hrm; I don't know. She had this weird thing about her, like uncertainty-- most people would say that she was just shy, maybe? But fuck that," he wiggled out an index finger in left to right, a clear no-no to any beliefs of shyness from the now-hypothetical woman that had seized their topics of conversation.

"And hey, I'm really sorry about your fiance. I-... I shouldn't have been so brash about it, I was just trying to cheer you up, you know? Give it less importance, or whatever," Nasir tried his best at a smile, yet it came awkward and somewhat poleaxed with uncertainty. Minerva was a hard read, and he wasn't exceptionally good at reading people to begin with; "I think you ought to get your own friggin' TV show dude. "Minerva the Unnerving," yes, mhm-- that's right, at hour twelve on NBC. I can already see that shit."

Vanilla ice cream and hot brownies was an awesome combination, Minerva was about as excited as Nasir was on it.

She smiles at him when he talks on his possible date, "Hey, that's great." she tells him. "Kinda given up on dating. Too weird at the moment to find someone and honestly most of the new people have already shacked up with people so it's just easy to not get attached." she shrugs to that.

She shakes her head, "Nothing to be sorry for. And you didn't know." she admits. "Thank you though." she adds. There's a chuckle though, "No TV show for me, not unless it's a local thing. The veil doesn't like people knowing it's secrets and well, keeping it local would be better." she states.

"Should I pack some brownies for your pseudo-date?" she asks him.

There, where he stood beside her, Nasir was stranged. He stuck an arm down to the table and leaned into it, trying to make sense of it all- to put into perspective Minerva's position, while eyeballing her all the way. The deed was done playfully though and once she hinted at packing them up his vision widened and lips puckered for one quick, decisive reply; "Oh hell no you're not packing this up, I'm eating them right here. You made these for me, after all- nuh-uh, ain't sharin' shit."

Rather than resort to his often medieval ways, Nasir plucked a little spoon of silverware and sliced a bit of the brownie, bringing it into his mouth with stacking of vanilla. He'd do this often between the talking, taking beats and resorting to small breaks; "Alright, alright-- don't spoil me anymore about the Veil. I'm going to call you soon, actually call you not message you, and I want you to meet Marion."

While affording most of his attention to getting another mouthful of brownie in his mouth - because first things first - his other palm dug into his pocket to fetch that morbidly cracked cellphone of his, and in it he'd text Marion's digits to Minerva's mailbox. "This is probably the closest thing to a childhood friend I've got, and they're very interested in the Veil and understanding the Glimmer. Word of warning, they're uh-- what's it called," he'd click his fingers, trying to fish for the word, his face askew with hard, thinking expression; "--... Genderqueer, genderfluid? Man today, woman tomorrow-- they prefer 'they'? So there's no misunderstandings and all that. They're not 'really' like that, though; they're just Marion. Whatever, you'll know what I mean when you meet them."

Nasir had finished the stack of brownies in record time, yet left a little bit of vanilla spread to boop Azrael's snoot with a bit of the cold smear right on the booper. He picked up his cyberpunkish jacket and donned it like a harness of war, with how thick, padded and worn it looked, a clear sign of his departure. "Anyway, I'll bounce Minerva. Take care, okay? And enjoy the tarts," he gave a quick smile and made for an even quicker check of his clock, finally making for the door after once proper farewells took place.

Little did Minerva know, she'd have Nasir putting together his ATV for the next hour still on her porch, cursing and bemoaning his fate in the rain while pieces and parts flew around while rigging it all back in place.