http://black_gloved.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] black-gloved.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] entrancelogs 2007-09-13 11:01 pm (UTC)

"No."

Mello's voice was deadpan and unyielding, rough around the edges; and steely black eyes glared at Near with a look that said don't you even dare try and con me into surrendering the game I just started. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that he could more comfortably lean against the wall, movements accompanied by creaks of leather that just refused to bend.

Another drag. Inhale. Exhale. A plume of smoke rose to the ceiling, lingered for a moment, then disappeared altogether.

"These babies--" Words were mouthed around the cigarette as Mello procured the matching carton from his back pocket and shook it for emphasis, "--aren't even the right brand." It was true, the cigarettes were the pansy cherry-flavored kind, the ones that had the bad habit of perfuming his clothes with a scent that was sickly-sweet. It was too bad, really, that Mello had already developed a taste for them, one that was perhaps irreversible. Goddamn Mihael for not picking out a better brand, this wasn't suited for him at all (not that smoking ever was, but sometimes you can't get rid of the scars that have been left behind).

"Right, Matt--" Attention? Shifted to the red-head occupying the couch. "They're not your beloved Gaulosies, are they." The smirk deepened by a hair, covering up the twinge of guilt that was most certainly not present when he glanced at his partner, left arm bound by a makeshift splint, the rest covered by bandages. "It just wouldn't be the same."

Oh, the subtle joys of being an complete asshole.

"Need I remind you that your addiction is what caused you to get jumped in the first place?" Mello drawled, words low and gravelly and just smooth enough to sound like water. He didn't mention the pack of Gaulosies that lay hidden in the side-table next to the couch - they'd arrived at their front door, courtesy of Envy. Mello had burned the note that had accompanied the 'gift', and stashed the cigarettes themselves on the basis that he'd give them back to the bastard, planned on shoving them down Envy's throat one by one.

"You need to be taught a lesson, partner."

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