X-Men: Renewed
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HerpdaDerp
Posts : 538
Join date : 2013-09-24
Age : 28
Location : United States

AU: Villain Empty AU: Villain

Mon May 06, 2019 12:04 am
The lab facility was  a maze within a maze to navigate. So many hallways dotted with too many doors and all of them painted in the same clinical white, all the fixtures the same metallic silver, the floors all that same clean, pristine tile. His steps echoed off them as his polished heels hit in that quick, easy beat of steps. The lab coat he had been issued that day blew out gently behind him as he walked, the weight of it over his shoulders quietly comforting against the metaphorical chill of both his sterile surroundings and the actual chill of the air.

“Should be used to this by now, he thinks. It's not as if he's never worked in a lab before, even one kept under as much lock and key as this one. Research was research and he would have been a fool to turn down this offer, and yet. And yet. There was something in the air here, something that set his nerves a little more on edge, something that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, almost a palpable sort of pressure. He's chalking it up to nerves when the floor begins to shake.

The few researchers that pass by or are lingering in the hallway pay no mind to the subtle tremors. It looks as though it's something they're used to, like how sailors never mind the ebb and flow of a sailing ship. Still, he has none of their experience and steadies himself against the nearest wall with a hand out to brace him. There's the distant feeling of eyes on him and past the tremors he can hear a few chuckles and light questions asking if he's alright. It's hardly where his focus lies, however, because also past the tremors, down deeper deeper still, he can hear something. Something ancient, something angry, screaming in discordant tones of suffering and death, screaming like how he had before his friend years before had crashed the car they were driving, a thousand screams of terror and pain and hurt, long and drawn out like the final suffering sigh of the recently passed. All of it jumbled together in a scrambled, singular, horrid din.


It's all he can hear, all he can feel, all he is until it finally stops. Tremors still shake his bones through the floor and yet, the voice accompanying it has stopped. Eyes open (when had they closed?) and a hand swims in his new, blurry vision, offering to help him up. He hadn't even noticed he'd fallen.


“I do apologize.” A voice speaks from in front of him, presumably from the person who's hand is still extended in an offer of help. He takes it after a brief, dizzy moment to try and put his head back together and is met with the sharp face of a man dressed similar to himself. “Had I known it was going to do that, I would have come escorted you myself. The effect of the tremors on newcomers is… unpleasant.”

The face in front of him now is sharp, sharp in a way that speaks to long hours of study and a wit that cuts just as well as a razor. He's pale too, matching the white walls and clean tiles of the surrounding area. Dark hair cut short is swept back from his face, and his eyes are the palest that he's ever seen. He would've assumed the other man was blind were it not for the way his gaze cut uncomfortably through him as if tearing him apart and piece him back together. He wore his lab coat with an authority, stood in front of him with a subtle power, and made him feel small despite being the taller of the two by a good couple of inches.


“Works out for the better, I'm due to be meeting you in a couple minutes anyway.” The sharp eyed man holds out his hand. “Dr. Alexander Lawrence. Head of this facility.”


He meets the man's hand with his own. “Dr. Benjamin Kauffman, a pleasure.” Ben knows he must look a mess compared to this man in front of him, what with his awkward size and dark bags under his eyes, and scruffy light brown hair probably flying in every which direction, and the fact that the director had found him curled up on the floor moments earlier which his hands clamped over his ears. If the director is judging him for any of this though, he makes no mention of it as they walk, choosing instead to get straight to the point.

“You'll be taking over the project of subject M0126.” Dr. Alexander says as he leads the two of them down the hallway and towards what Been is assuming is his office. “A recent acquisition,” he continues. “One that has not yet become accustomed to our facility. We obtained it after a most unfortunate outburst, the thing leveled a building in it's anger.”

They reach a door like any other door lining the hallway, though maybe a tad larger and locked with a keypad. A quick press of keys later, and the two slip inside to an office decorated with that same tile and same white walls. There's a desk in the middle if it though with filing cabinets and bookshelves flanking both walls. What's unusual, Ben thinks, is the large window taking up near the entire wall behind the desk. The area behind it is dark, but even from here, it doesn't feel empty.


“Take a seat,” the doctor motions towards one of the chairs in front of his desk as he moves towards one of the filing cabinets against the wall. Ben does, though his eyes remain fixed on the dark window in front of him. He can't help but shake the feeling he's being watched, as strange as that sounds.


“Not strange at all,” the doctor answers. Ben's not entirely sure he said that last bit out loud. “Subject M0126,” he says, laying the relatively thin file on the desk in front of them. Ben takes the manilla envelope and thumbs it open, looking over the facts and pictures with an analytical eye. Insect manipulation, though he could've guessed that from the photo. The subject looks like one of those old horror movie monsters, some strange amalgamation of maybe a cricket and a young man. “Make of that what you will, I'll introduce you to your team once you're done, as well as the subject. We have it in one of the smaller rooms on one of the upper floors currently.”


Ben pages through the file as Dr. Alex speaks, looking up only when he can feel the shift of the man moving to lean his elbows on the desk. His eyes flick up towards the director, though he's still unnerved by the dark space behind the window.


A slow smile spreads across the director's face, as if he's heard something that's particularly pleased him. The rooms been silent though with only the flicker of paper filling the cold air around them as Ben leafs through his assigned file. Maybe it's not the window, he thinks absently. Maybe it's the director. Maybe it's both. There's just something about the room here that just gives him the heebie jeebies. With a final flick of his fingers, he closes the file and places it back on to the table.


The director makes a quick motion with his hand before pushing the file back towards him. “Oh, you can keep that. We have copies of all the files. It is your subject, after all.”


“Thank you, sir.” Ben nods and grabs the file once more to tuck neatly under his arm as he stands. The director leads them both to to door and back out into the hallway, presumably to go meet the team he's supposed to lead and the subject he's supposed to be studying. He means to just leave the strange office behind him, means to just keep walking out the door with the director, but just as his body hits the doorway, he can feel himself turn back towards the wall for one final look at the window. He's a scientist after all, he reasons. He's curious in a professional way. (Curious in the same way that a child is curious if there are monsters under the bed or not.)


Two sets of large, bright green eyes stare back at him through the darkness of the window before it shuts closed behind him.


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“You were given a description of what our facility does, correct?” The director asks as they walk. His pace is surprisingly brisk, steps smooth and even, and Ben is struggling to keep pace despite his longer legs.

“Yes, sir.” He manages to answer, trying not to sound like he's running out of breath. He's not sure whether or not he succeeded, though the director doesn't slow his pace.

“Brief a description as it may be, we exist to study the dangerous anomalies that appear time to time in our society. When those in power find something that threatens them, they bring it here. Anything untamed, anything violent, it all ends up with us for study.” He slows to a pause in front of a door, pointing at the silver placard set into it at eye level. “Subject M0053. Found in Ireland in the late eighties. Chlorokinesis, Dr. Schuler is in charge.” A few steps down the hall and he slows once again to motion at a door. “Subject M0045. A curious case, one that holds a massive amount of potential for practical application. Complete invisibility, even the head in charge isn’t sure yet how it achieves the effect. We’ve had it for years and yet it still eludes us. Fitting.” He chuckles a little to himself. “One day I’ll let Dr. Harrison have a crack at it, she’s been asking for years.”

Ben’s not quite sure who any of these people are, nor what the joke seems to be. Instead of worrying though, he turns his attention to the doors as the pass down the hallway. There’s a pattern here that he’s finally noticed, just as he’s noticed that they’re slowly spiraling down.

“The subject designations,” he says in the clinical quiet of the hallway. Dr. Alexander’s eyes flick sideways towards him. “Are they descending based on date of acquirement or danger? Or something else entirely?” His eyes glance towards the latest placard, Subject M0021. The Doctor Harrison mentioned earlier, her name is there on the card. He can see a light on inside from the crack underneath the door, someone must be in there. They walk past more doors, M0018, M0010, M0005. There’s a subject name but no doctor listed on that placard. He wants to ask about it, but the doctor speaks before he can get a second question out.

“In a way, both.” Dr. Alexander hums. “Our oldest is our most dangerous, and our most dangerous is our oldest. M0001.” He smiles again. “My subject. It’s taken years, decades, to contain it to its current state and even then…” he chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “Well, you’ll soon understand.”


Ben’s not entirely sure he wants to as they finally slow to a stop. The hallway ends in a set of massive double doors; a single placard rests at eye level.

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M0001.

Dr. Alexander Lawrence

And underneath:

Decay Manipulation

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“Decay manipulation?” Ben asks absently.


“Death, Dr. Kauffman. We’ve caged Death.” Dr. Alexander grins privately to himself as deft fingers type in a numerical passcode with practiced ease. Ben can feel his heart rate tick up as each lock on the door clicks and slides open. Bars drop into the floor below, hydraulics hiss as a small crack begins to appear as the doors slide open. Their weight is palpable even before Ben can see just how thick they are: at least two feet deep and as solid as they come. As the light from the hallway shines into the dark room in front of them, Ben can see the faintest hint of dents in the steel door. Deep ones two, and parts that look as if they’ve been corroded away.

“Come,” Dr. Alexander motions him to follow. Ben can’t help it, he steps past the threshold and into the dark behind the man who claims to have tamed Death. Behind them, the doors slide closed with a series of heavy mechanical clicks and thuds.

“Not tamed, Dr. Kauffman,” Dr. Alexander corrects. “Not yet.” With that, Ben can feel the air around them tighten. It feels… heavy, like a solid thing just hovering around the two of them, like the intense pressure of the migraines he sometimes gets. Like the ones that render him unable to leave his bed, the ones that force him to hide from both light and sound, the both of them suddenly unpleasant things. There’s a sharp sound at his side though it takes him a moment to realize that it’s Dr. Alexander clapping twice.

Like one of those terrible infomercials, the area they’re standing in is washed in bright fluorescent light and for a moment, it’s dizzying. Ben hadn’t realized the scope of the area they were standing in but now, with it lit, he can see that it’s massive. End to end, it’s at least a hundred feet across, though what’s truly impressive is the height. The whole area seems to be one giant cylinder that stretches several stories tall with one large window halfway up (he can guess where that looks in), and all done in that same white wall and tile. It’s far from smooth however. Looking closer, he can see the crushed indentations of handholds dotting all the way up the structure. It’s everywhere, this destruction. Parts of the wall have been… the only word for it is rotted. How steel could rot though…

His eyes land suddenly on a dark shape and he realizes a moment too late that it’s falling towards them. It lands with a shuddering thud onto the already cracked tile and jesus, Ben thinks as he scrambles backwards, it’s huge. There’s no way he can gauge an exact height, but it’s at least three times as large as the director with enough bulk to it that it seems even twice that. The dark form is almost sphinx like in its basic construction; one torso, more human than the other, blends in a horrifically seamless way with another, the second reminding Ben of a large, predatory cat. The body tapers off into a large tail, two sets of bright green eyes peer at him from above where a mouth and nose should be, and he just can’t quite parse what he’s seeing. Feathers, dark and dripping like thick ink, coat the creature’s shoulders and furl out like the violent plumage of a vulture. Horns curl upward, and its arms are pierced through with organic holes, the slow curl of rot working its way through the form, and it’s dripping viscous, viscous, viscera, things it shouldn’t be dripping, has no right to drip. A mouth opens where there was none, eyes blink at him from the gaps between feathers and once again, there’s that trembling din that he knows follows the quaking in the earth.


He can’t hear it.


His eyes flick towards the director. The doctor is looking at the monster in front of them with something akin to pride, possessiveness.

The earth shakes beneath him and he can’t hear it. That same oppressive pressure still hangs in the air and the combination of that and the trembling makes nausea curl uncomfortably in Ben’s gut. He sees the creature move in front of him and that’s too many limbs working in a strangely coherent way. Its image flickers in front of him and Ben can vaguely feel a seeping wetness trail down the sides of his face. Fingers rise to meet it and when they pull back, he’s surprised to see them coated in red.

“I do apologize,” he can hear the director say, though his face isn’t turned towards Ben, nor are his lips moving. “I can’t stop the physical effects.”


He can’t hear it.


Static fills his vision, just before everything goes dark. He can swear he hears the director’s laughter echo through the white, open space around him.

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“And of course you’ll be given cursory access to all the other subjects. They always make for interesting reading material at the very least. Any questions?” the director asks across from him, his arms folded neatly on the desk in front of him. Ben pages through the thin file in his hands, eyes absently running over the information. M0126, his subject. Insect manipulation, though he could have guessed that from the photo included. It looks like one of those old B-movie monsters, a strange combination of something like a cricket and a young man.

“None that I can think of sir,” Ben says slow, trailing off as if remembering something. Dr. Alexander raises an eyebrow, the picture of quiet concern.

“Something the matter, Dr. Kauffman?” he asks.

“Nothing, sir.” Ben answers, though he can’t shake the strangest feeling of nausea in his stomach. “Think it’s just a migraine coming on.” He sets the papers back on the director’s desk softly and gently pushes the file back towards the man.

“Nasty, those.” Dr. Alexander nods. The director makes a quick motion with his hand before pushing the file back towards him. “Oh, you can keep that. We have copies of all the files. It is your subject, after all.” With that, he rises and circles the desk to meet Ben on the other side. “It’s been a pleasure, Dr. Kauffman.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Dr. Lawrence.” Ben shakes the director’s hand.

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As he walks through the facility towards the exit, tremors ripple through the floor. He pays them no mind.

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It’s a lazy afternoon in the forest he’s chosen to call home. Late summer was always good for these sorts of days. Fading light breaking through the gaps in the leaves, warm where it hits, just the slightest bite of chill where it didn’t. He can feel the change in season in the air, in the trees, in the dirt forty feet below him. It’s inevitable, this sort of change. The world as he knew would explode in a bright blaze of warm color, a forest fire that tore only foliage from the world. He’d lose the dense tree cover for a few months, but gain the crisp white backdrop of snow against a field of bare tree trunks.


It wasn’t so bad a trade. Not his favorite, but not the worst.


Crisp air fills his lungs as he pulls in a long breath. Yeah, he could enjoy the summer for a bit longer, he thinks as the clouds shift just enough to allow one stray sunbeam to light his spot in the trees. The warmth it brings is kin to the quilts he’s got piled back in his cabin. His arms come back behind him in a languid stretch, his body basking in the natural heat of the sun, warmed to lethargy as he slumps against the unwavering solidity of the tree trunk behind him. All around him, birds sing their hymns to the fading day, lullabies for a mid afternoon nap. Slowly, he lets his heavy eyelids drift shut to the tune of birdsong and fading heat of sunset afternoon.


Or he would, were one of his kids not poking insistently at his chest.


Slow as they closed, his eyes open once more to look into the soft, fuzzy face of one of the nature spirits he and the forest called kid. Its large eyes peer insistently into his own, the thick foliage that surrounds it shaking with the insistent motion of its poking. His own hand comes up to swat at its much tinier finger, but still it persists.


“Fine, fine,” he grumbles in the low, drawling tones of one not accustomed to their own voice.  “What is it.”


The little figure’s hands fly as it realizes it finally has his attention. ‘Girl,’ it signs over and over. ‘In forest.’

“Girl?” the man mutters. He pauses, the next words carrying a thread of quiet hope. “Sure it ain’t Agnes?” The little figure shakes its head in response, leaves fluttering with it. ‘Girl, in forest’ it repeats over and over, little fingers twitching as it signs. He gets the general gist after only a few iterations, and he can already hear the whispers of the others telling him where the intruder currently was.

“A’ight, we’ll see.” he groans as he rises, already mourning the loss of his nap and his sunshine. One step takes him to the edge of the branch he had been perched on, another over the edge and into the open air. His body pitches and plummets towards the ground, but his hand slips around a branch about ten feet below. A twist of his torso and he’s perched again, one hand reaching out to grab the old but reliable rifle he had stashed there.  Rifle now snug against his back and strap secured, he falls once more, this time into a different nearby tree. Tree to tree he travels, bare feet hitting soundless against the hard bark of the branches, body slipping silently through leaves ruffled only by wind.

Finally, he spots her. Fifty feet away and on the ground, he watches her with sharp grey eyes through the dense cover of the tree tops. She’s injured, he can tell that from here. Damn, he wants to help, but if this were another trick of them damn builders though… They were gettin’ damn smart with lurin’ him out to where they could see him. He can’t risk it. Better t’ shoot an’ worry about that guilt later than not and die. ‘Sides, way the girl were now, maybe she’d appreciate the sudden end.

He settles soft in the trees, one hand reaching back behind him to unsling the rifle on his back already loaded. A breath in, a breath out, and keen eyes lined up the shot. Looking long down the barrel, he lets himself wander into the world, straightens out the wind into something more favorable before pulling the well worn trigger back.


Straight between the eyes.


She wouldn’t feel a thing.


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Cantaclarac
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Tue May 07, 2019 9:56 pm
The ache set into her bones miles back. Sweat turns cold, then dry, and then heat up all over again. Air clutched out of her lungs to be quickly replaced with another gulp. The thumping f her heart had faded from attention, the humid heat of the season setting into her skin. And it was bright. So, so incredibly bright. With so many colors, that it hurt her brain and added to the overload of stimulation since she had started on this path.

She had been running for too long.

But, honestly, that meant nothing to her at this point.

Because time was not something she really had a hold on anymore. Or ever. Things melded and melted and morphed together- memories were fabricated and twisted and erased and goddamnit the more she focused on them, the more confused and tired she felt. All she knew was that she came from the east and she needed to make her way as far away from that direction as possible. Well, she also knew she had run like this at least once before. Maybe a week past.

Or a Month.

Probably years ago, she considered as foot hit earth over and over again, pushing her forward and into the overgrown path.

A soft popping confirmed the theory, but she chose not to turn her head and look at the figure keeping pace next to her. She knew what was there, and knew they wouldn’t mind a delayed response a couple of miles later. She also knew they were right in correcting her. She had run this course long ago, the first time she got away. Though the ground was gnarled with roots and twigs and debris, her legs carried her with muscle memory and pure adrenaline. She was far enough away that the pit in her stomach lessened, but she still pressed on a while more.

She was in a field, the tall grass gold in the summer light, her feet digging into the ground, treading over the stalks. It stretched for a while, no cover in sight. Which was a shame- she knew that there was a path of trodden grass, a trail right to her. So she had to move quickly. Find something to hide under.

She was in a field, snow, and mud glistening in the winter sun. Her feet froze as her paper issued shoes finally melted away, her linen uniform soaked to her knees as she trudges through. It stretched for a while, no cover in sight. Which was a shame- she knew that there was a path of footprints in the snow, a trail right to her. So she had to move quickly. Find something to hide under.


Feet stopped.


And the mind stopped with it.

Her vision was swimming between two moments, two periods of intense emotions of escapism and relief and stress and anxiety. Shaking, sweating, panting, freezing, crying.

If she could have yelled, screamed, bellowed, ANYTHING, she would have done it. Squeezing her eyes shut she counted to ten, squeezing and relaxing on every other number. Then she counted backward.

She opened her eyes again.

Golden light and bright green foliage, teeming with life. Her feet felt solid and try and she felt warmth in her cheeks, flushing her with a bright pink glow. She felt solid, felt clear, felt okay. It was fine. She was back, she was present.

She instinctively knew this trick, used it on her most foggy days. Grounded herself was vital- she needed to know that THIS was real, needed to know that there was a world outside her mind, outside the fucked up bullshit she had endured. She didn’t know who taught her this fact, who taught her to have ownership over her thoughts and feelings and the environment surrounding her. And the more she tried to think its origin, the more static would fill her ears, the more wanton feelings would tug in her chest, the harder her brain would ache.

So she didn’t think about it. She couldn’t.

There was another pop, followed by a hollow crackle and the girl whirled around, seeing her companion stand a couple of feet away.

It was amorphous, constantly ebbing and flowing, but ever present. Shorter than she, but still imposing and lithe. They were composed of thick, globs of black, shiny liquid which moved around its body in a hypnotic and smooth motion. Limbs would form and reform as humanistic and animalistic and otherworldly and anything between. Occasionally, the body would tear itself apart, revealing a center of something between a Van Gogh galaxy and tv static- swirling and combusting and expanding and imploding. Their face was long and oblong with no discernable features… besides two large discs of slate white. No pupils.

And yet.

It’s stare penetrated the girl, striking her in the heart.

And the girl knew what it said:

‘keep moving, dumbass’


The girl gave a hiss in response, scrunching her nose and holding her side. She was tired. And worse yet, stopping had slowed her heart down, gave her a second to reconsider. To think

‘Keep moving, dumbass’

The girl held a hand up, feeling her only friend inch closer and closer. Her palm was flat, a motion of stop. A thought crossed her mind, and she looked up, meeting the spooky eyes. Her other hand crossed to her bicep, feeling for the faintest of scars, her thumb rubbing over a spot. The figure surged forward, looking, thrumming with new energy and curiosity. Neither of them made a noise, but they both knew what the other was thinking.

This has happened before. They had run from it before.

And they were caught,

More hissing and crackling from the smaller partner as a inky hand reached out and traced the nearly invisible incision, staining her skin ever so slightly. Their face leaned in so incredibly close before snapping to her face. Another pop. She understood immediately. She had to find something sharp.

And fast.

But first, a headstart.

She looked at the inky kid that was gripping her hand, the concern that was so plainly (if only to her) etched on the ever-moving face. Worried about what would come next- the poor guy was always afraid that falling in would lead to the girl’s demise. The void was not something she wanted, not something she understood. And it should only be used in short distances. The longer the jump, the riskier the results. Once, they landed in three states over. Another, in the middle of the ocean.

But the pleading and wide brown eyes sealed the deal. The form grumbled but grabbed the arms of the girl, warning her.

‘don’t go too deep’

And with that, the figure pulled her into themself, making her one with them. Whole. Complete.

And with that, they both disappear into the earth, only leaving a puddle of dark goo that sunk into the soil only moments later.
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She huddled in the corner.

She was a waif, couldn’t have been more than 40 lbs and 3 or 4 years old, stringy hair and red eyes. The linen jumpsuit was huge on her, all scrunched up at her ankles and wrists. The neckline looped low, almost past her chest, not that anyone could see with her so tightly curled up. She had already had a patch of hair shorn by her left ear. Three inches of stitches accompanied the fuzzy scalp which was pointed to the door of the room as her eyes were shielded away. She tucked her head tight between her knees. Her tears had dried out the day before, leaving only shivers and whimpers.

Too bright.
Too scary.

She closed her eyes, much more comfortable with the darkness and foggy white veins that danced across her vision. She wasn’t going to look at her room, the steel walls, the fluorescent lights, the hard and cold floor beneath her. It had only been days, but she was aware that she would much rather live in darkness and with her eyes closed than open and reveal the reality.

“Curious.”

The callous and clinical voice pierced her ears and clipped her brain. And she had no clue how or why, but she knew it made her feel uncomfortable. Violated. Unsafe. She wanted it to stop and didn't dare look at the speaker. But his voice. His sharp sharp sharp voice pierced her thoughts once more. She whimpered, she tightened. The hand closest to the cold wall snakes up to her mouth, a thumb inserts in her mouth, sucking with all her might. She rocks herself back and forth.

She didn’t like this place. Didn’t like how she couldn’t remember anything besides being on a slab three sleeps ago. How her head throbbed when she tried to remember anything. Didn’t like the meanie who stepped in her room and brought all sort of nasties with him.

“M0005. You are truly a remarkable case. So young. So-”

He stopped speaking for a moment and she felt the footsteps under her, the clipped sound of new heels made their way over towards her. She could feel the cruel smile peel his face in half, like paint cracking on the walls.

“So pliable.”

A hand made its way to her hair and tugged ever so slightly, a thumb rubbing over the downy new hair that grew on her scalp. The pad of his finger rubbed and the girl tightened up even more. She pushed her energy outward in an act of defiance she didn't even know she was capable of.

“STOP!”

It was one of the first words she uttered since she arrived.

It sent shockwaves through the room, blowing the man back, blowing back the two guards that accompanied him according to the shuffling of feet and short gasps of breath. She almost peeked, to see the damage that was done.

But there was an unholy screech and she tightened up again

And the lights went out.

Grunts and words she did not recognize filled the rooms in loud quantities. And she felt warmer, the chill of the floor and wall irradicated and replaced with something warm, something wet. Something…. Sticky. Hissing filled her ears but she knew it wasn't directed at her. It was for the others. And relief flooded her.

But the sharp voice was still there.

“Interesting…”

It was closer than ever, but the barrier that had somehow enveloped her stopped the hand from grasping her again. She could feel the voice get closer, could hear the heels click, but it always stopped before getting too close. She opened her eyes: it made no difference. She was in utter darkness.

The voice came back- but it was faded. The owner had turned away.

“Keggs. I want you to go get M0001 ready. I think we found a playmate.”

A pause.

And then.

“Get me a sample of those secretions. And get someone to clean up the bodies.”

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She opened her eyes.

Her head split open.

She fell to her knees, gasping and groaning, her fingers gripping the grass and soil and rocks, squeezing it tight and smushing it through her fingers, trying to ground herself. Words and sounds and images swirled in her mind's eye and she needed them to stop overlaying with her new surroundings.

She took a deep breath, her fists clenching tightly. And opened her eyes.

No more field.

The air was crisper and the light was somehow more golden, more pure, untouched. It filtered from the sky and through large, leafy trees, giving patches of that unbridled light that strayed across the earthen floor. The shade had cooled her down from the heat before, and she found herself immeasurably grateful for this haven this quiet piece of woods where it was filled with only sounds of birds and wind whistling between branches. No sign of any other person present.

Well.

Almost.

Her eyes meet a discarded tool case that was half buried in the ground. Upon further inspection, Noelle saw that there was a sort-of path that was half covered with fallen leaves and branches. Even closer still, she saw broken pieces of something huge and industrial-yellow. She frowned and knelt down at a peculiarly round black orb. Spider-like fingers with long and grime crusted fingernails touched the ball and pulled, revealing a long metal stick. A lever of sorts. From some sort of… construction vehicle. Lips parted in understanding. Someone tried digging up.

And someone did not like that.

At least she wouldn’t have to worry about intruders.

She blinks, a hand reaching up to smooth out the long patches of light brown hair from her face. Her hair was choppy- incredibly long in some places, fuzzy shaved patches in others. The patches were usually, but not always, accompanied by a puffy pink scar. If she fluffed out her hair the right way, she could hide most of the patches. That was necessary when she was in highly populated cities and areas.

Now was not one of those times.

After her hair was tucked away and reached down into the toolbox, rooting around. She felt pliers, a hammer, maybe some mealworms, a wrench and… yes! She gripped and pulled out a dirty screwdriver. She coveted it quickly, holding it close to her before turning her face to her arm again, a wicked gleam in her eyes. She heard a soft hiss, felt a wet, warm hand on her shoulder and the softest warning.

‘don’t be stupid’

She sighed but didn’t open her lips to let the air escape, so instead, it made a huffing sound of annoyance and frustration. They both knew that she had to get rid of whatever they put in her, they had done this before. They’d find her quicker if she didn’t do it. The sooner the better. She gripped the screwdriver, screwing her eyes shut, not bothering to count down. She knew if she did, it would just prolong the anticipation. The inevitable. The pain would be temporary, as would the blood.

She gripped the rusty knife, screwing her eyes shut, breathing deeply as she counted from ten. Again, her fingers tensed and untensed on each number, a calm voice murmuring the numbers in her ears. If she focused on it, yes it made the pounding in her head way worse, but she could almost hear his voice. Could see him. Reassuring her that it would all be okay. Feel his fingers brushing her tears away. The pain wouldn’t last. The blood would stop flowing.

She thrust the screwdriver into her skin before her head split open. And it hurt. A lot. But she dug it deep, twisting slightly against the thick layer of her skin and reaching her insides. Muscle, most likely. She didn’t yelp or scream or cry. She couldn’t make any noise at all, thanks to the assholes who fucked with her. So instead, she held her breath in her lungs, her whole body tightening as she dug around for something small, something metal. Her companion popped and crackled, wincing at the sight of the malnutritioned young woman mutilating herself.

After a couple of seconds, she released the screwdriver, gasping for air, opening her eyes suddenly. Reflexes won as her hand reached over to cover the self-inflicted wound, hissing and shuddering as the ramifications of her actions. Silent swears flew as her lips moved, breathy ghosts of curses filling her space.

But she wasn’t done.

She raised the screwdriver again, about to dig into her flesh once again, the world quieting around her. Complete and utter silence. Just what she needed. No voices, no memories, no birds, no breeze-

She looked up, confused. It was if the world stilled completely and utterly. The trees were no longer moving, leaves no longer rustling. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t normal. And as she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand, she saw the ink black form of melting onto the forest floor, the wide white eyes focusing west, squinting at something in the distance.

A soft hiss.

She acted quickly.

She didn’t see who it was, but it didn’t matter. The form said it meant to harm, and she wasn’t going to stand for that. The person in the trees wasn’t clear, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need to see him to know where he was.

A frozen moment.

And then.

In a quick motion, she threw the screwdriver through the trees, melting into the earth herself. The ink kid surged forward, familiar with this gambit, blazing a path forward, leaving a trail of thick black fluid. They made it to the trunk just as the screwdriver hit and wedged itself in the thick trunk. Without waiting, the form crawled up the tree with supernatural dexterity, dodging branches with a twist of their body. Beneath their eyes, the goo slips apart to a horrible mouth that gives an unholy screech.

Meanwhile.

She rose from the thick trunk behind him. She is careful to be quiet, to have her bare feet travel down the branch. He had thick, unruly hair and an even thicker, unrulier body. She saw scars on his skin and clothes that were patched together. Perhaps she would take those in exchange of her own ripped and blood/ink-stained paper jumpsuit that clung to her body with sweat. After she killed him of course. Sure, they might be a little big, but she could worry about that later.

Those were her last thoughts before she heard the screech and launched herself onto the back of the man that had pointed a rifle at her face.

Hands with slender palms and long fingers grasped the thick bunches of hair as her legs tightened around his torso, securing her to reach around the neck and squeeze. She knew he would thrash, probably longer than most. But at least it would all be over soon.

She panted.

She giggled.

Tiny fingers gripped the dark, matted hair as glee erupted from her lips. She hadn’t laughed since she arrived, but she couldn’t help it just now. She had been stuck in this room with him for at least a week. She had lost track of days- they used to take her away to do tests or take her back to the old room but he didn’t like that. He would pitch a big fit, throw a guard or two, and tuck her into his massive form. She didn’t mind.

“Faster! Faster!” She giggled as he ran across the much too small room, her small body flailing on his shoulders. They had left dinner a long time ago. The only ones left besides the subjects were the guards, and they didn’t give two poops if there were suspicious noises coming from his room.

She felt him laugh beneath her as he flipped her from his shoulders, their faces meeting. She saw his face, his smile, his twinkling eyes.

She felt happy.


She felt sick.

Her grip loosened just enough for her to fall backward, smacking her head on the branch he was standing on, and rolling over, falling to the next level of branches. Her bad arm caught, leaking blood and ink from her wound onto the thick, knobbly bark. She gasped, and pulled herself up quickly, her back to the branch, her face to the canopy.

She froze. Her brown eyes wide, her hair choppy hair splayed, her injured arm hanging over and dripping to the earth. She waited.

For death or to fall somewhere else.
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HerpdaDerp
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sun Jun 02, 2019 10:17 am


It’s hard to remember a time where he had been wary of the weapon he holds in his hands, just like it was difficult to remember a time when that rifle had been new. Now, he can feel the smooth patches where he had covered damage with thick tape stolen from the builders, the sharp texture of the wood where it’s falling apart near where his hand curls around the gun. The familiar slow twitch of his finger pulls the worn metal trigger of the old rifle back with a practiced ease. It was an ease born of necessity, had been coaxed out and nurtured by his father, honed through long nights after of defending what he had seen as his. This forest was his, he thinks, this forest is theirs and he would be fool to let it fall so easily to those that want to replace it with concrete monuments to shit he don’t care about. Shit that ain’t his trees, ain’t his dirt and open sky, ain’t those birds and long grasses that whisper so sweet in any sort of wind.


He’s killed before for this forest, and he intends to add another mark to that long list with the bullet he’s let loose towards the girl on the ground.


One bullet. Straight through the eyes.


Another kill.

.
.

The bullet hits the ground behind where the girl had been kneeling not a moment before. He’s got a brief moment before he can feel the soft thunk of the screwdriver the girl had been using embed itself it into the base of the tree trunk beneath him. Sharp grey eyes track movement beneath him; there’s some sort of amorphous black figure working its way up the tree trunk towards him.

This wasn’t how he panned this, he thinks as the figure reaches him with a superhuman agility, weaving through the branches in a way that reminded him of a snake working its way through blades of grass or like water rolling through open fingers. Quicksilver fast. He’d almost be impressed if it didn’t seem hell bent on tearing through him once it reached him.

He’d wanted to solve this the clean way, he thinks as he shoulders the rifle across his back as quick as he can. There's the briefest sensation of nausea as he feels the world come into a stark black and white hyper awareness, like suddenly hitting the ground after a dizzying drop. When he opens his eyes next, they’re dark like the night sky and filled with just one silver ring to mark where he’s focused.


The dark figure is now standing in front of him, mouth open presumably in a screech.


It’s like listening to something while underwater, all hazy and distorted. Hearing’s never been his strong suit but when his powers really start to kick in? It’s damn near gone. Makes some things a little rough, but right now he’s thankful. Birds flutter from the treetops around him in response to the creature’s scream but he moves forward, mismatched teeth bared in a feral growl as his body shifts to knock the dark brat off his trees. Least he means to, but there’s a damn weight ‘round his neck now, pulling him back.

This something stops his advance, something he hadn’t heard behind him. The girl, he thinks with narrowed eyes and barely contained anger, how had he forgot ‘bout the damn girl? Damn arms are skinny but determined, and he’s got that shadowy bastard in front of him now trying it’s best to keep him from prying the fucking gremlin off’a him. Dark hands pull at his arms as bony ones try to crush the wind right out his windpipe and it’s damn annoying. Ire pulls at him in the same moment the earth heaves upwards and the entire forest beneath him pitches with him to knock these two damn leeches off him.


Those arms really got a tight hold, he thinks as stars he’s not used to bloom across his vision.

.
.


He can’t breathe.

.
.
.
.


He can breathe.


He bucks HARD and the girl falls from his figure, falling somewhere below him with a hard snap and crack of branches. Good, he thinks absently as lungs deprived just a moment earlier greedily suck air in. Fuckin’ suffer.


There’s murder in his bright grey eyes as he turns towards the dark figure beside him. It’s distracted now, eyes turned towards the girl on the branches below. Distraction in his woods is a goddam’ stupid decision, he thinks with a low snarl of creaking branches and whipping winds. Fightin’ him in his woods is a goddam’ stupid ass decision. Tryin’ t’ choke him out in HIS WOODS was a fuckin’ death knell and he was more than happy to ring that damn bell for these two idiots.

A quick dip of his body and flick of his wrist and the large knife he keeps strapped along his lower leg is in his hand. With a low growl, he surges forward towards the figure on the other end of the branch. One sharp swipe has it take a step back, another pushes it near to the edge of the thinning branch of the tree. Tobi catches the thing’s eyes with his own right as he feels the soft creaking tremors in his feet. This tree was due for pruning anyway. Though, even with that rationalization, he still finds the time to whisper a soft apology to the ancient wood behind him.


‘Sorry,’ he murmurs low.


The branch cracks with a violent cascading snap, their combined weight too much for the old, dry wood, and sends the two of them tumbling down. He can see the dark figure flail a second in the air before his free hand catches on a branch a few feet below. The figure shrieks past him, screaming what he imagines to be unflattering words before it hits the long grass below the tree with a soft thump. Despite himself, he can feel a grin pull at the corners of his lips. Serves the little bastard right, yellin’ at him and lettin’ that fuckin’ gremlin wrap her skinny arms ‘round his neck. Speaking of…

He turns as he pulls himself up onto the branch, feet featherlight on the old wood as he stalks forward towards the girl laying prone further in towards the tree trunk. The knife is a comfortable weight in his hand. Dark eyes size her up, this skinny, angry girl wearing nothin’ save for something that looks thinner than the tarp the builders often brought to cover their tools and machines. Actually looks a little bit like paper, like it could fall apart in a strong breeze or heavy rain. To say nothing of the gash in her arm. Clearly not with the builders though where she really came from, he can’t say.

Plus, girl was diggin’ in her arm with a screwdriver. Says something for either her desperation or his stupidity. Maybe both. Dark eyes narrow at the girl in front of him, more curious now than anything else. He still holds the knife in his hand, still eyes her with suspicion, still carries a tension in his body that's ready to snap at the smallest movement, but he makes no move forward.


“Who’re you?” He grumbles out. His voice is low, heavily accented, and rough from disuse.


.
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Cantaclarac
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sun Jun 02, 2019 4:58 pm
She blinked.

She couldn’t help it.

For many reasons, of course. She was just coming back from the deep recesses of her fractured memory for one- and that always took a moment to get back to reality when she fell that hard, that fast, triggered by the split hair of a kinesthetic response to a ‘fight or flight’ situation.

Obviously, these weren’t her words.

These were words swimming in her brain, born from the mouths of men in white coats whose features became ever more hazy as seconds passed. She refused to dwell on them, the pounding in her head worsening even as she even took a moment to wonder where those words came from.

She also blinked because the figure just in front of her was fuzzy. That was something she was unsure of- her eyesight being a result of whatever had happened wherever she had come from or just a result of never wearing corrective lenses. His (she was pretty sure he was a man) silhouette was large, but the details were blurred. Dark skin dotted with thick scars, yes. Long hair that was unkempt and curly, yes.Some sort of… cape. It looked furry, but she couldn’t be sure without touching it. What she could tell was that it was stained with blood. Some new and wet, glistening in the small patch of sunlight. She knew that was her own, but there were also dried matted spots. Not from her.

Considering it was probably a skin from some animal, she had to assume that he probably hunted at least a little bit. But evidence from his reaction to her, he wasn’t very… selective his game.

She focused on his face, the features not clear but she saw a mouth, a nose…. A couple of scars. Some Dirt. And two bright silver eyes glaring at her with an intensity that burnt a hole through her brain. They literally glowed, two rings in an inky void of the black sclera. Spooky eyes that stared at her in a way she had seen times before, albeit much less clouded than her instincts told her. They were strange, but she found herself transfixed, caught in that gaze.

He stood ready to attack, ready to carve her like whatever creature laid on his back, whatever blood stained his torn clothes.

And yet.

Something of this big scary man comforted her in some strange way. She couldn’t help but shake the feeling of familiarity, of the warm feeling unfurling in her chest. She had never met him, never made her way this far south of… wherever she came from. But there was something about him….

Her mind raced, trying to decipher the situation. The forest, the rifle, the busted building equipment. All pieces to a puzzle that she scrambled and shoved together. She couldn’t exactly run- even if he was still reeling over the lack of oxygen, and she somehow got away without a knife in her back or a bullet in her brain, the trail of the oozing blood from her arm would lead him right back to her. She couldn’t ‘phase’ herself through the wood- she was too drained to do it herself, and she knew her companion was crumpled beneath her, gathering their bearings. And she doubted the man in front of her would let them get too close to her.

She had to cooperate.

And, oddly, she was fine with that. The eyes, the obvious manipulation of the world around him, his ease in the trees? She figured he was like her- abilities far beyond any consideration of “normal”. And he didn’t wear a white coat, didn’t look at her as an object, didn’t haul her away. He just stared at her with those scary eyes.

And he spoke.

A deep, rumbly voice that made her even more still, her brown eyes tracking the lips and the tension in the man. She hears him loud and clear, the thick accent that twanged his words together into a knot of sound. He was asking who she was, which was an odd question. She didn’t even really know who she was. And the question brought a swirl of emotions; frustration, anger, confusion. How dare he ask her this question, this simple, simple question, that she had no answer to.

At least…

A memory stirred, the pounding in her head turning rapid and infuriating. Her hands twitched, wrapping around the thick knobbly bark, grasping for something to hold onto.

Tiny fingers grip the thick curl of hair, weaving it between two other curls just as thick and long. Her fingers were minuscule compared to the amount of hair, her grip so very gentle. She took pride in braiding HIS hair, as it happened often. In moments of happiness, agitation, sadness, and, most often, boredom. It was the latter today, as sitting in darkness and asking questions, and trying to make the long hours of waiting for the next person who tried to enter their little space ticked away. She was starting to get nervous- it had been many bouts of sleep since anyone tried to come in to do tests. HE kept her huddled away whenever they did come, and she just had to close her eyes and count. Ignore the screams, ignore the blood splattering on her back. Ignore the fungal smell of decay.

“What’s my name?”

Her voice was like her fingers, small and delicate. The sound fills the room, fills their ears as she continues to braid HIS hair, thinking. It should have come to her quickly, it was her name after all. But for some reason, the closest she could come was something on the tip of her tongue, something just out of reach. Her mouth formed some sort of word, but it was nothing to her.

“Yes child. Your name.”

HIS VOICE was deep and warm and beckoned her to calm as it did before every time she fell asleep when HE told her stories. She couldn’t help but smile and stop braiding for a second, twisting her face to meet HIS GREEN EYES. But, as she tried to answer, the smile faded into a frown.

“I… I can’t.. I can’t remember.”

Tears well up in her eyes, as confusion and fear grasped her guts. But, before they fell past her cheek, HIS FINGERS brushed them aside, HIS GAZE turning much more gentle, much more patient. She sniffed and looked back at HIM tilting her head ever so slightly. HE seemed to be lost in thought, but as if HE was working out the perfect thing to say, not the frustrating pulling for memories that they both experienced.

HIS eyes flicked up at the door. The last person that had walked in, the white coat lab tech, had worn a different tie. She recalled this because it was so different than anything she had ever seen on any of the white coats. It wasn’t black and skinny, but red and green. The green was in some sort of triangular pattern, stacked next to and on top of each other. And with brightly colored circles dotting the pattern, sparkling with glittery thread.

HE looked back at her, the small child that had wriggled herself so deeply into HIS life. She looked back at HIM, the ONLY GOOD PERSON in her life. HE smiled, wrapping an arm around her back and hugging her close. As she clung tightly to HIM, HE said something in her ears that made her beam.

She scowled, her head tilted back on the branch, revealing the faintest defection. Most didn’t notice, as the puffy pink scars and choppily cut hair drew more attention than the pale X on her neck. Plus, it was easy to hide with a scarf or high collar top. But here it was exposed. And while she didn’t know how it came to be, she knew what happened because of it. So, she slowly raised her hand. She didn’t have much of a choice until the Ink Kid recovered. Then she could fall and dive deep into the dense nothingness until they found some refuge somewhere. It wasn’t like her name would give her away. Fuck, the people chasing her didn’t even refer to it anyways. So her fingers twitch slowly, her bloody arm still slumped over the branch, the blood dripping down to the ground, staining the tree.

“N-O-E-L-L-E”

Each letter is deliberate and slow, starting with the fist like N, and ending with the tension pulled E. She hoped the man could at least read the ASL alphabet. She doubted it, as most people looked at her like she was crazy. But she gave him an answer.

And she decided to ask him a few questions, the best and clearest way she could.

Her finger points at him and jabs his way, then gestures around the space, her lips moving in three simple words without any sound.

Now You. Where.
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HerpdaDerp
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Mon Jun 03, 2019 2:05 pm
He watches her from his perch on the end of the tree, knife still in hand and body still tensed. Looked like she was pretty worse for wear, he doubted she could do much more than blink at him. Which she was doing currently in between bouts of looking at him with eyes that seemed to be just a touch unfocused. Either hit her head too hard in the fall and knocked something loose or her vision was just a touch fuzzy. He was betting on a combo of the two.

Still though, she seemed lucid enough to answer his question. He watches her hand raise in front of her, the other braced against the tree trunk. Tobi tenses, thinking it maybe another attack, but soon enough her hands and fingers flip through motions familiar as breathing.


Girl speaks in sign. Easy ‘nough.


“Noelle?” he rumbles low, his accent sliding the whole name together so that it comes out a bit more like ‘Noel’. Grey eyes look her up and down. Name seems a bit too… he shrugs. Elegant? Refined? Neither’s the right word, but the name just ain’t  sit right on a girl all sharp angels and bone bleeding out on both his tree and the paper she’s wearing like clothes. He’d expected a  Noelle to be… well somethin’ else. Someone reading books an’ generally not glarin’ at him in the middle of his woods. Someone not looking like they been running too long, eatin’ too little, and gettin’ into all sorts of weird shit if the scars on her neck were anything to go by.

(Escaped from a cult? Maybe a cult. Agnes told him a lot about cults, he assumed they were pretty much everywhere in the world outside his woods. All builders and concrete and cults; he could never figure out why anyone wanted to live out there.)


Guess he can’t really say much about the name. He’s a Tobias, sister’s an Agnes; they both sound like upper crust puritans rather than twins who’ve torn a bear in half with their hands and teeth and worn the skin as a prize. Pretty warm bear, he thinks absently.


Her hands move again, but it ain’t the sign he’s familiar with, just a mishmash of haphazard movements. She points at him and his grip on the knife tightens in a hair trigger response before she moves on to gesture at the woods around them. The message is sloppy, but he gets the gist.

“Y’all in my woods.” he says after a moment, voice more than a little annoyed to match his wary stance. “Can also switch back t’sign, if y’know anything more than the alphabet. Understand jus’ fine.” His eyes roll as his lips curl in an annoyed snarl.


“Y’ trespassin’, by the way. In case y’ain’t figure it out yet. Bleedin’ on my trees ain’t polite.”
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Mon Jun 03, 2019 8:44 pm
Oh, so he understood sign.

Good for him, Noelle thought blearily, listening carefully to what he was saying. He was claiming these to be ‘his’ woods, ‘his’ land. She had to hold back a scoff; could a dense forest like this really be ‘owned’ by anyone? It was unruly- even from her view flat on top of this branch, she saw that the trees just kept going and going. She had no idea where she ‘inked’ in, whether it was truly the heart of the wood, or somewhere near the edge. The golden afternoon sunlight not only hit in patches on the earthen floor but also the leaves and branches, drawing attention to all the natural colors the world offered them. Her eyes quiver behind the man at the sight and then flicked back to him silently. She had yet to see or hear evidence of other people living in this pocket of the world. Except for the broken construction supplies. And from the state of those things, Noelle figured that they were long gone.

Wait.

She could have slapped herself. This talk of trespassing, of ‘my woods’, the look of annoyance and shoot on sight mentality- he must have been having trouble with some sort of builder. And based on his looks, his ease in the trees, his scent of dirt and musk she got while squeezing the life out of him, this must be his home. The words ‘my woods’ suddenly made more sense- while she never had a real home that she could remember, she could see that this place meant a lot to him, meant a whole lot. And she wasn’t really here to fuck around and tear it apart- she was just passing through. She didn’t want any trouble, not really. She just wanted to get as far away from wherever she came from and find… whatever she was looking for. She had decided to focus on the former before settling in and destroying whatever was left of her mind on the latter. And while she might not like this big oaf, she knew they both could avoid a long, convoluted butt-kicking.

And she did not lose butt-kicking. She did the butt-kicking.

Still, she was in a vulnerable spot. Her arm was now oozing, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Besides, that, she could sense that her amorphous friend was just about ready to get the hell out. She had a choice to make- take a chance on this guy or find somewhere else. Or at least gather some more information before she made her final decision.

She couldn’t believe herself as she slowly sat up and forward, her eyes unwavering from their pinpoint focus on the spooky black and silver. She raised her arms to sign quickly but winces fractionally at the movement, her left arm snapping to the right and holding the bloody wound. The blood pours between her thin fingers, without a sign of stopping. She closed her eyes, feeling the reserves of her power draining as she bled out.

She simply couldn’t have that.

Drawing the deepest breath she could muster, she focused all of her energy to her left hand, air sucking in between her teeth. It makes a soft hissing sound, but it isn’t from pain, but deep and intense concentration. This happens two more times before something changes before suddenly, her left hand was no longer a hand. No, it was now a gelatinous black mass of dripping, drooling ink. It ran down her right arm, but it did not fall onto the bark or the dirt beneath them. No, it coagulated and seeped into her skin, covering the oozing blood and hardening to some sort of patch around the sight of the puncture.

She opens her eyes.

Noelle immediately started feeling better. She rolled her shoulder before raising her arm to sign, with no delay of blood loss. She knew her makeshift bandaging wouldn’t help her in the long run, but at least she could communicate clearly to this man until she was ready to decide to leave or stay. And just as quickly as her hand disappeared, it reformed into her flesh and bone, stretching for a moment, testing the feeling. Once satisfied, her fingers twitch and move, gesturing a quick and clear sentence.

“Who are you?”

She stopped for a moment, readying her next question when, from underneath, soft hissing and popping. Noelle frowned, listening to her companion give a warning.

‘lets go lets go lets go lets go’

It sounds like static like a radio left in between stations in the darkest night. But she knew exactly what they were trying to say. That trusting people, that staying anywhere, that relying on anyone besides herself was a stupid idea that would only lead to more heartbreak, and even more running. That Noelle needs to be strong, to just knock him out and bolt away. To fall and trust that they would catch her and take her somewhere safe for the night.

But, for Noelle, it was more than being safe. It was about finding a place she could dig out whatever they put into her and crushing it under her bare foot. It was about finding some actual clothing, not a paper jumpsuit that was barely covering her, that was now drenched in her own sweat, blood, and tears. It was about taking a bath or a shower with actual soap, with actual hot water. It was about cleaning herself up before she had to head and find whatever was tugging at her heart, her soul, her very being.

So, she looked up at the man again, her hands twitching, her face set in a passive mask, one perfected from years on the run from some evil she was still not ready to face.

“Didn’t know I was trespassing. Don’t know what ‘my woods’ mean. But I’m not with them.”

She gestures to the ground below, the screwdriver, the builders, whoever the fuck was bothering him so. And that was a truth. She had no idea who they were, what they were doing. They were stupid to go after him, that was obvious. And if he was able to overturn them…. Her mind flicked to the possibilities of staying somewhere desolate and under the protection of the man and ‘his’ woods. for some reason, the idea of this big guy protecting her seemed really appealing. She wasn't ready to just dive in- she was hoping to just set up some sort of mutual beneficiary relationship. He let her stay here until she needed to move on, and maybe she would help fight off those construction workers. She didn't mind getting her hands dirty.

“I’m alone. Completely. And I would like to know where I am.”

There was more hissing and popping, but it was no longer an aggressive whine, but more of a reluctant mumble. Noelle didn’t even need to listen to know what it was advising. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes before taking her right hand and slapping her chest, not looking into those eyes. The sign was clear:

“Please”
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sat Aug 17, 2019 10:06 pm
‘Definitely got into some weird shit’ he thinks as he watches not flesh nor bone knit itself together on the girl’s arm, but rather something a lot more kin to tar or maybe that thick viscous shit that sometimes leaked slow outta the huge yellow machines the builders liked to bring in. Hundred percent organic lookin’, the way it’s working itself into a bandage. Kid’s clearly on the wrong side’a normal. Not that he’s well.. Shit.. any sort of normal himself. But still.

Gleaming eyes watch as the divit the girl (stupidly) carved into herself with a fucking screwdriver of all goddamn things fills back in. The fucking blunt ass end of a screwdriver. Hell, she’d probably have the same result just tearing a strip of bark off one of the older trees nearby and having at it. ‘Bout as fuckin’ effective. Their par.... Others had warned them of doin’ stupid shit like this girl was doing, get some disease or something. Agnes had once stepped on something sharp one of the builders left behind and they had had to take special care of that wicked cut for a while after.

Tobi grumbles low under his breath, just a slow rolling swear that rattles behind his ribs like a long cresting wave of frustration and ache and exhaustion. The earth below them echoes it softly, the huff rolling through the earth like an earthquake that would hardly register on any sort of scale. Birds begin to titter in the branches surrounding them once more as Tobi lets loose a breath and shakes his head. Not a day goes by, he swears. Not a day goes by that he gets a break.

He’s tired and now he got a headache. Got another migraine just sittin’ in front of him against the tree, and another one he can feel prowling at the base of the tree. Calloused fingers curl up to rub at his eyes, smudging dirt and blood in the space below his brows. Fuckin’ fantastic.


“Who are you?”


Well that ain’t none of her business, he thinks with a quick roll of his eyes. She bleedin’ out something fierce if she thinks she’s getting a name that easy. She’s in his woods, trespassing and asking for a name. Tobi sniffs and lets the grip on his knife go slack as the girl stops and looks towards the forest floor like she’s listening. She ain’t moving real fast any time soon. That and he’s got about half an arm advantage with her little friend seeing stars on the ground.

He wasn’t really expecting this sort of shit today. God, he sighs, shoulders rolling with the motion. Exhaustion hits him again in a cresting wave, washing over him in the brief pause between the girl’s attention. The cascade builds before leaving him in a gentle rush. There’s a bone weight it leaves deep in his bones and just like that, he blinks. Wind brushes past him once more in the height of these trees to move the leaves in their familiar rustle and sway while the warm, saturated hues of a slowly setting sun greet the now-whites of his eyes when he opens them once more.


“Didn’t know I was trespassing. Don’t know what ‘my woods’ mean. But I’m not with them.”


His eyes flick back to the girl on the branches once more. She’s flicking her hands in sign again, working words out of jerky movements that he only catches the tail end of. That she’s not with the builders, that he believes. He figures she ain’t know where she is, at least he does now. He don’t usually get a whole lotta company, and what poor souls that do wander near enough either pack a lot more firepower or forgot to pack a map. That or they were dropping off some kinda dog on the edges. That one he don’t mind as much.


“I’m alone. Completely. And I would like to know where I am.”


He snorts at that. His shitty ears can still catch the angry rustle of that little humanoid pile of… whatever… stomping around in the tall grass below. Do she think he’s an idiot or fuckin’ blind? The angry rustlin’s stopped in favor of something that sounds a lot like the petulant mumblings of a child. “Y’all gonna have t’ do better than that. I can still hear the little cuss down below.” he glares at her before crossing his arms over his chest. One hand still hangs loose onto the long hunting knife. “Wouldn’t consider two exactly ‘alone’.”

He sighs. “An’ I already told you where you are. You’re in my woods.” Well, he thinks. ‘My’s a bit of a strong word. It’s really ‘theirs’ but ‘they’ ain’t been around long enough that hat word sticks a little funny in his throat when he tries to say it to himself. So it’s his, and it’ll continue being only his until ‘they’ come back around. And they will. They will.

“Said somethin’ ‘bout a mountain once.” Exactly who said drops from the front of the sentence. “Had a long ass name, ‘apple’ somethin’. Don’t know what it got to do with the fruit, I mean we got ‘em, but not in numbers ‘nough t’ warrant namin’ the whole damn place after ‘em.”

“How you ain’t know where you at?” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “You walked here. You jus’ starin’ at y’feet the whole time?”


God this girl and he dumbass friend in the bushes down there. He watches skin and bones raise her hand over her chest, not looking at him. Looked like any sort of politeness were bound to kill her, but shemanaged anyway.  ‘Good,’ he thinks. He ain’t the one wandering onto another’s property and trying to kill them. It ain’t an apology, but it’s something and the sight’s just pathetic enough to threaten his resolve to just leave her here to either leave to rot in the branches. This girl tried to kill him, came into his woods, looking a right mess, got a friend leaving dark gooey trails in the grass below, they’re both goddamn stupid…


He growls in frustration. Fingers tighten on his knife. He fucking shouldn’t, he really goddamn shouldn’t. Agnes always told him his bleeding heart would get him in trouble.


He ignores her questions. Ignores her signs and her asking for help. Ignores the 'please' in a way that his ma would smack him for when she comes back. Instead, he does what he does best; one step back onto the branch causes it to dip with his weight. Another, and he’s falling before reaching out to grab a branch lower in the trees. There’s an easy path here, one that’ll take him back to where he needs to be under the cover of colorful leaves. The cloak around his shoulders sways with the landing and the soft breeze that flies by. This girl ain’t got no chance, he reasons to himself and he dips and twists through the branches with an ease born from practice (and maybe a bit of favoritism from the territory). He’ll send one of the bigger forest spirits back for his gun and that’ll be that, just another fucking body feeding the trees he called home. Some weird cult member running from whatever problem's chasing her and meeting her end in his woods. Uncomplicated. Clean. She won’t last the fucking night with that wound. His eyes close in the dark cover of the leaves above him. It’s fine. She’ll be dead by morning. It’s fine.


He can see her feet dangling high above him on either side of the branch caked in mud and dirt and blood, the bottoms of them torn.


He shakes his head. His matted curls bob with the movement. He ain’t doin’ it. He can already hear Agnes with her hands on her hips, tearing him a new one for letting this sad pile of flesh and bone take up residence in their woods, in their home. His space in the trees steadily gets darker as the sun fades across the horizon. Small points of light flicker into focus, bobbing as they fly past,  as he looks on at these feet above him. A low, annoyed growl curls past his mismatched teeth. No, he ain’t doin’ it.

.

.

.

.

.


“Fuck.” he mutters out loud. He's doin' it. Decision made, he pounds the bark beside him in a rhythmic pattern. The beat thuds soft in the space around him as it’s drowned under most of the chirping fauna that floods the night air. Moments later though, a pair of small gray ringed eyes blink back at him from the dark of the tree’s foliage. Silent steps follow the eyes and soon enough Tobi is face to face with one of the smaller forest spirits. It’s tiny leaf covered body shakes happily at the sight of him, it’s little hands grabbing up for anything it can reach: his hair, the bear fur cloak, the feathers tucked away behind his ear. It’s young, just a tiny thing, a bud compared to the real spirit hidden behind the bark of this particular tree.

“Hey now, good to see you too.” He chuckles quietly. “Y’ pa in there? I need a favor.” At this the bud nods furiously. Little fuzzy fingers move furiously in indistinguishable words; little thing’s still learning.


“Good job, real impressive.” One large hand wraps around the two smaller ones, stilling them. “Listen. Tell y’ pa I need ‘im t’watch the gremlin hidin’ up there. Jus…” he sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. “Jus’ watch, ‘kay? Make sure she ain’t die up there.”


The little spirit nods its head, leaves bobbing with the movement. Tobi nods back and sets the little bud back on the branch beneath him with a soft pat on the head. “Jus’ watch.” he says again to the little bud. He knows them; they’re cute, but they forget shit soon as you’re out of sight. The bud nods again. Satisfied, Tobi turns on silent feet and dips back into the trees, making his way further and further away until the small silhouette of him leaps from one tall branch towards the forest floor, fur cape flaring behind him as he falls, and the little bud can’t see him any longer.


It stands for a long moment on the moss covered branch of its home tree before turning to look up to where Tobi had pointed earlier. There, high above it, was the small shape of something dangling from the branches. Just watch, the man had said. It could watch better if it was closer....

.
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sun Aug 18, 2019 8:55 pm
Noelle says absolutely still as he speaks, not daring to use frivolous movement for anything but a possible escape. But her eyes did turn back to him, tracking every movement, every facial expression, every curl that moved in the soft breeze. She noticed small things, like how his eyes got fractionally wider as she stitched herself together, the gaze focused on the black gloop filling in where she did damage. How the rattle of his grumble gently reverbed into the ground, subtle enough to miss with her dangling many feet above the forest floor. How his eyes, his entire expression went far away for just a moment when talking about the oh so sacred space of his home But she also noticed bigger changes.

Like how his aforementioned eyes, once almost dark enough to match her own pitch, suddenly changed to something… much more normal, if that was a word that she could even apply to her life. No, the dark eyes with he spooky grey circles were replaced with just keen grey eyes with actual whites around the pupil.

Her brow furrowed.

She couldn’t help it. Somehow, the normalcy made her feel uneasy. The spookiness, the freakiness, she almost preferred it. There was something comforting about someone who was like her, who couldn’t hide it, who had to deal with what genetics gave him the best he could.

Still.

He wore a cape. And lived in the woods. And was certainly just as, if not more, strange as her. That had to be at least a little comforting. She could still make this work. Make this a beneficial relationship. The hissing and popping beneath her disagreed. Adamantly. As did the slight pull in her arm, where the ink had hardened into a shell. She couldn’t let her guard down just yet. Trust was something she reserved in her life for the ink kid. No one else.

Still, Noelle listened to what the man had to say, watching carefully for any attack or sudden movement that would cause her to move suddenly. He snorts and refers to her companion beneath him. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. The ink kid wasn’t anything for him to worry ‘bout. Less she decides so. He’s some sort of symbiotic companion, someone that’s stuck (quite literally sometimes) by her side for as long as she cared to remember. He was there pretty far back before she slipped deep into her mind, her mental fingers grasping for metaphysical hairs, getting lost in memories. Maybe she wasn’t completely alone, but the guy kinda did his own thing. Except when they deemed that Noelle was in trouble.

Which happened more often than not.

Like right now.

She brushed it aside, although her buddy beneath them slid down against the tree, tendrils sticking to the roots of the ancient tree. The void that they were made of stayed above the roots as if purposefully not sinking in. Forcing themself to stay above and not disappear into the earth, into the knobbly bark and age rings. Forcing themself to stay corporal, as nervous as it made them. There is a soft hiss, something akin to a snake’s whimper. If that were even a thing- Noelle wasn’t sure.

The man across from her makes a comment about mountains. Apple something. It rang a soft bell in the back of her head- listening to someone talk about the world outside of… outside of….

No.

She shut that shit down. She wasn’t going down the rabbit hole, falling back on some memory and leaving her vulnerable to be sliced by a stranger. No, she was going to stay alert. Geography didn’t matter- mountains were mountains. And she knew that mountains were easier to hide around than a desert or a tundra or a suburb. She can make this work, figure out exactly where she was later. But the mountains did seem promising. She’d never gone as far as mountains before. At least, without slipping down to memory lane.

He comments about how she doesn’t know where she is. How she walked there. She couldn’t help but softly click her tongue in annoyance. If he’d only known what she had done to get here. She wasn’t even sure how it worked, but it wasn’t fucking walking. She just appeared here. It was the farthest and fastest she could go, that her companion took to a direction and WENT. He didn’t believe that she had no idea where she was? She wishes she could scream at him that if she KNEW where she was GOING she wouldn’t have CHOSEN to be in the middle of HIS GODDAMN WOODS. She would have gone around, or away. Sure, the mountains might have been nice cover, as were the trees, but she had NO CLUE where the fuck she was.

Fingers raise and twitch, about to move in fervor and frustration, explaining that he is not understanding what she is saying. That he isn’t LISTENING to her, that he is being so quick to decide that she was a ‘trespasser’ and an ‘attempted murderer’, before realizing he was the one that aimed to kill her first! She was just using self-defense!

And instead of melting to somewhere safe, she just melted behind him. And tried to strangle him.

Details.

Before she could give him a silent talking to, he steps back, the branch jostling to the new weight distribution. Another step and he’s gone. She was tempted to look down, to check on him, but she ultimately decided that she didn’t care, opting to instead to hang her feet down, looking out. He was a big boy, he was fast, he worked with these trees enough if he deemed this place HIS woods, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter what happened to him. He could plummet to the forest floor. She knew that wouldn’t happen, but she wouldn’t care if it did.

Her friend fed off of these feelings of ‘ambivalence’ and gave a staticky chuckle. They knew Noelle very well. And knew that if she really felt disdain for this boy, there would be much more kicking and fighting and biting and hissing on her part. They took note of this, looking up at the boy as he mutters something and turns to the trunk. The ink kid is suddenly aware of how tired he looked, how he wasn’t very much older than the waif pouting on the branch. But looked like he had just as much hardship. They watched as he knocked on the trunk and…. Something came out. Something smaller than he, smaller than her, smaller than them. Weird looking thing- all leaves and spooky eyes. Hands appeared and started to sign quickly, but if it was words, they had no idea what it was trying to say. It made him uneasy, looked conspiratorial.  A short his was all Noelle needed to look down.

-
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She only caught the tail end of it, and with that, didn’t even catchwords. Just the pointing and spooky leaf guy staring at her. She didn’t like that. Nope, not one bit. The man seemed to nod at the creature, who was more plant than animal in her humble opinion. And then he was off, flying branch to branches like a fucking lemur or something. Leaving the little guy just staring at her.

Grey eyes.

She shuddered at the match and gazed down at her bud. He was looking back at her, empty whit sockets widening in the way that said a million things at once. Something was going on that was much bigger than them, much bigger than the huge guy that swung in, tried to shoot her, scold her and swung away. Something about these woods was different than others she had hid in, and it had taken this little guy to wake her up to that. She almost smacked herself.

The guy had left this little one to finish the job.

She was gonna become fertilizer for the ground beneath her dangling feet.

Noelle’s mouth suddenly became very dry and her heartbeat hiked up to a familiar tempo. She had to get out and away, somewhere far from this tree and the little guy. Needed to dig out the nonsense in her arm and get some sleep. She was reaching over the adrenaline and she knew the crash was going to be brutal. They had traveled so far already, had been blinked miles away, had felt the tugging to get somewhere else. To find someone.

And that wasn’t going to happy if she stayed on this tree and allowed herself to be sacrificed to some baby pagan god. No sir.

Without looking at the ink kid beneath her, she took a deep breath and slid off the branch, plummeting to the earth below. She knew that she wasn’t going to fall for long, wasn’t even scared of hitting the earth. Her memories might have been a clusterfuck of what the fuck, but her body knew what she needed to do. She fell through the air, passing branches, passing the little leaf thing, and down to her companion. She closed her eyes, bracing for what was to come, as the once humanoid shape melted into a pool of inky black, and she sunk in the void without a splash, without any disturbance to the surface.

And just as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone. Leaving only one fleck of ink upon the roots of the tree, where it would stay for a couple of minutes before sinking into the root itself.
-
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-

She had been in isolation for days.

Food had been given, water had been spooned, blood had been drawn. The faint feeling of the pricks still danced across her left arm. It had been a week (maybe more) of testing and anesthesia and injections a bunch of other big words she didn’t understand but she had experienced all too much.

She hated these times. They happened regularly, but the length of time was hard to tell. The lights were always on, so to speak. When she was with HIM , they did a kindness and dimmed the lights a bit. HE told him that light made his eyes hurt, made him hurt. In turn, she preferred the darker lights, the comfort of not being able to see clearly. But the bright fluorescents in her 6X8 cinderblock holding cell? It brought all the details to horrible clarity. It wasn’t really her room- she was just brought here for experiments. Or tests. Or just to make them angry.

She had been in the facility for a couple of years, or at least, that’s what HE said. Sometimes she wondered if they separated them just to rile them up. It sure made her nervous, made her feel on edge. The first time she had been nearly inconsolable, a sobbing and blubbering mess. HE told her later that she was only gone for a couple hours. Joked that they probably were annoyed by her sobs and threw her back.

That worked when she was five. Not so much anymore.

Crying and wailing only got her muzzled nowadays. She had outgrown the ‘cute’ phase. No more baby names- when she wasn’t being referred to her number (which she hated), it was ‘brat’ or ‘worm’ or ‘shiting’. The one time she tried to tell them her given name, they had smacked her pretty hard. So, she pretended it was a secret, like a code. She had liked codes- coming up with them, figuring them out. She felt very clever when she could communicate with HIM and have the orderlies be none the wiser. Hand signs were the easiest, as were face changes. A scratch of the nose could mean ‘i’m scared’, while a quick sniff could mean ‘this guy looks funny’.

They used that last one a lot.

She was startled as the metal door opened in front of her. It was painted white, to match the entire room, with that crusted paint that is only found in prisions and morgues. Fitting. There was a small slat at the bottom (for food), and one at the top (for looking in). Otherwise, it was easy to forget that the door was actually there. She scrambled against the wall of the empty room, her hospital gown catching and sticking ever so slightly to the faded tally marks of her count. It was an accumilation of the different times she had been stuck here. She had to guess the days based on the meal schedule and guard changes and such. But coming in was not a guard. She could tell from his clothes- pristine white lab coat, bright blue access pass clipped to the pocket. She recognized the tie, a moss green one with a subtly golden pattern. The small gold pin as well. A thin neck and a thinner face. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses. And a blonde mustache that was gently twirled at the ends.

She whimpered, not meeting the tired green eyes. He had been here long- a regular. She knew he was here as far back as she could remember. Noelle sometimes wondered if he even ever got to go home. If he had a family. She couldn’t imagine that they would be happy with the amount of time he spent at work.

He didn’t call her anything but her number; no names, no taunts. He almost had a kindness to his face, as if he was a reluctant soldier in this war. But she knew better- she knew that when he was around, shitty terrible things happen. Something more than blood drawn or stupid flashcard tests. Something big.

“Hello Double O Five… How are you feeling today?”

His voice had some sort of accent, something that made his r’s curve and his vowels dip. Along with it, his voice was always just quiet enough and with a twinge of self-consciousness. It was almost enough to make him endearing.

Almost.

Noelle stared at him with cold brown eyes, setting her face in stone. Hardened. Not to be bothered by this dangerous man with his delicate facade. He frowned slightly, but not in any threatening way. It was as if he was actually sorry. She hated it.

“Can we get you ready to go? Would that be alright.”

She kept her mouth closed, set. She was tempted to tell him that no, she was not ready, maybe check in an hour so she could get dressed and brush her hair. Stupid.

But he pursed his lips and in an apologetic matter, got to work. First was the gurney. It was upright, like a furniture dolley (which she had no idea what that was), with three long straps around the middle, as well as four hanging straps. Two orderlies stepped in and took her, strapping her to the infernal thing very tightly. First her torso, then her neck, then her legs. Finally, they tied each wrist and ankle, restricting all movement. After a couple of years of ink stains and mortal injuries, they learned that unless she was sedated, she needed to be strapped. Although she remained pliable (it was easier that way), she gritted her teeth and let out a sharp growl when one of them lingered at her arm. As they stepped away, leaving the mustached man to step forward and loosen the straps. While she had to admit that it was more comfortable, he didn’t need to know that.

Lastly, the man put a blindfold over her eyes. She was told that it was for light sensitivity. But she knew it was so she would remain confused about the layout of the complex. She had a mental map, but she had no clue what it looked like.really. She knew it was a lot hallway. And she assumed that it was filled with small rooms and big rooms. And she knew the layout of the hallways and the time it took to get from her temporary room to THEIR room.

“I am terribly sorry about this….” Mumbled the lilting voice. Noelle just rolled her eyes. If he really was sorry, he wouldn’t do it. No one was making him do these things. He was his own person.

But they started rolling. She noted the slight decline a couple of seconds in, the bump about a minute after. Her heart calmed for a moment- she was heading back to  THEIR room. She sighed some relief, ready to tell Sam all about the stupid scientists and guards and doctors. How they were just trying to scare her again. But she wasn’t that easy to scare.

But then they took a sharp right turn.

Oh no.

Oh God no.

She’d been down here once before. She didn’t remember anything but the pain- they had split open her side and collected some black, thick fluid, slicing her elsewhere to find deposits. This wasn’t good. She whimpered, her body tightening. Her lips moved, and a soft voice left.

“Please. Please, please, please… I… I’m sorry? I’m sorry, I don’t… What… Please take me back. Please, I promise I’ll be good. Just… take me back to SAM.”

The mustached man was silent, with steps that were suddenly rigged and clipped. All and any notes of familiarity seeped away. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was going to be okay, it’s fine. It’ll be fine..
Just fine.
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Noelle gasped for breath as she was pushed into her new space. It was much colder, and the shock of feeling nothingness to even slight coolness was jarring to her senses. It was darker too. With her well of power being drained, she knew it would have taken longer for her companion to find somewhere safe to land. Not only that- she was used to the moonlight and stars lighting the way- she was in some sort of… shed. It was wood, most of which rotted and with exposed, rusted nails. There were a couple of broken windows, outside of which she saw ancient oak trees with long wide branches. She assumed she wasn't far from the tree she fell off of, but far enough to camp out for the night. There were leaves and twigs littering the concrete floor. Bird shit everywhere.

It was the best she was going to get.

Time to get to work.

She eased herself to her now bare feet, her jumpsuit sticking to her skin with sweat and dried blood. She’d find new clothes tomorrow, new shoes. Maybe something to eat. Yeah. Tomorrow. But now, she had to worry about the shit in her bicep. It was covered in that hard shell of ink still. She was reluctant to look at it. She decided she would find her instrument first before attempting another surgical procedure. Something sharper than that dumbass screwdriver.

Her companion hissed and sizzled, only to have Noelle swat the sentiment away. She hissed herself, her hands moving sluggishly as tiredness began to sink in. She told him if he was so concerned with getting caught by the little leaf guys, maybe he should set up a perimeter. He reluctantly watched her sign, hissing a little more, before ultimately deciding to do just that. They sunk into the earth, hollow eyes fixed on the girl who was looking around for something to cut herself open with.

Her eye spied on the broken window. On the glinting glass, dusty with age and neglect.

Well.

Beggars can’t be choosers.
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Thu Oct 17, 2019 12:45 am
Dirty Chuck Taylor’s hit the pavement at a fervor that only matches a manic episode. Or the chaotic energy that was Jacob McKinley. The worn-down soles screamed at his feet as he passed the tall storefronts with florescent tubes twisting into animals and women and letters that wove together into something even more enticing. In the golden afternoon, punctured by the autumnal air, it seemed like a LiteBrite that hadn’t been plugged in. It was waiting for darker skies and even darker intentions. Not somewhere a tall, gangly noodle man to be running with a large leather case.

He was often reminded to work in the shadows, in the night. To avoid detection and suspicion, to blend in with his surroundings. Well, he tried that once. Ended up falling on his face in the middle of a high stakes poker game and had to make a hasty exit. He heard gunshots behind him and some swears in some throaty, guttural language. It was like a whole thing. So, he decided from that moment on, that while working in the shadows might be a good idea, in theory, he would fit in the world better in the daylight. Sure he might have clown red hair. Sure, it was starting grey at his temples despite the fact he was in his mid-twenties. And sure, he looked like a Wiccan voodoo doll that had been stretched by a taffy puller. But he had decided he was going to fit in and he was going to be fine damnit. He wasn’t going to fail his boss. The case in his hand was weighed down, supporting him in that fact

Still.

As it happens.

Jake’s mind began to wander.

He thought about the phone call he received a couple of days ago. It was the strangest thing- the mother of his old college roommate had reached out to ask if he had heard from her son. Jake talked to Trevor often enough-maybe once or a week or so. Things had changed since he dropped out. Jake had left their apartment, leaving the dude completely alone on campus. And Jake wasn’t proud of the manner he left. Mainly because he just… did. Without any warning. Just grabbed his things, stuffed it into his van and left.

That had been three years ago.

Jake had since taken the road. He never talked to his parents about dropping out- anytime they had brought it up, he got in his car and left. He didn’t talk to anyone about what actually happened. His reason for leaving.

But he had kept in touch with his friends. He owed them that at least. Trevor stayed at the New England school, like the good kid he was. Jake always admired his quietness, his soft determination to get his degree and make a life of himself. Trevor spoke in reserved tones but he had a clear direction and a set-out path. He had a purpose.

Purpose.

The one thing that eluded Jake. That fire, that desire to do something with your life besides bum around and wait for some random task to be given.

But Jake left. And Steve shortly after And Steve hadn’t really left, he was forcibly removed. And Jake knew that the splintering of their trio had an effect on the last one standing. Trevor didn’t like to let those negative feelings on, but Jake knew the constant teasing, the constant riling of tensions set forth by his appearance worn down the poor man. When it was the three of them, it was fine. They all shared the brunt of ridicule- they all were strange looking. The lizard, the bug, and the guy who looked like they had been branded for every rejected romantic advance. They found ways to laugh about it, to ignore it, to brush it off for something much lighter than it was.

But then Jake left. And Steve.

Trever stayed his friend. That didn’t change, Jake doubted nothing would change that. But something was fractured and no one stepped forward to fix it. So they talked about easy things, about video games or stupid cat videos. But Trevor hadn’t reached out in three weeks.

Jake decided that he was going to call back Trevor’s mom later that night. But first, he was going to double-check with Steve. God knows the kid genius had more information than anyone. Kept tabs on whoever he could. Not only that, but the bust had made him extra paranoid. To the point where Jake couldn’t even pry him from his basement level apartment anymore. All he could do was just delivered whatever scrap equipment he could and check in once a day to make sure he had something besides raw carrots to eat.

His long fingers tightened on the handle of the case in his hand as he approached his final destination. An empty storefront (maybe it used to be a pharmacy? A Vape shop? Who the heck knew at this point) with a wirey fire escape that lead to a surprisingly clean door with the smallest of stain-glass windows just above head level. The building was made of some ancient brick, matching the rest of the old buildings around. It was squeezed between a second-hand store that smelled very strongly of patchouli and a hookah bar that emitted a strange glow even in the middle of the afternoon. Entering the abandoned storefront was precarious during the day- the front door had to have been barred by at least a dozen locks, and leafing through his ever-growing ring of keys was becoming a colossal pain to go through. So shimmying up the fire escape was the norm nowadays.

Jake made his way to the rusted landing that sat suspended up in the air, just out of grasp. The height was too tall for even the 6 and a half foot goon that stood beneath it. But this was an easy fix. With the grace that only accompanied someone who had done this many times before, Jake flung the leather case up onto the ledge. He let go at just the right time, the case landing perfectly sound up top. Jake raised his arms next, before squatting and jumping up, gripping the rough twined metal in his fist.

Now was the worst part.

He was happy he was in an alley that was infrequently used. Because the sight of a lanky young man struggling to pull up his minimal body weight onto the ledge was very embarrassing. His biceps strained, his arms shook as he tensed and tried to pull himself over. His face pulsed red as he grits his teeth and tightened his body. He slowly lifted himself up, but he felt like a guitar string being tuned and tightened until-

Someone took the crook of his elbow and finished the job by lifting him up onto the platform. Jake reluctantly accepted the help, because he figured that there was only one person that would be out on the fire escape. The hands pulled him up just enough for Jake to grip the floor of the landing, finally pulling his torso and long-ass legs to it. When he finally looked up at his helper, the blonde mustache and sad eyes confirmed his hunch.

“Hey! Dr. D! How are you doing?”

Declan Linark gave the smallest of smiles, the tips of his small handlebar mustache that adorned his upper lip twitched with something of recognition. Blonde hair had been neatly combed and parted to reveal a forehead with deep lines of worry. Those lines dipped around his face- deep smile lines and eye crinkles were evidence of once constant joy and laughter. But that must have been long ago. Even his kind green eyes still seemed a little far away, as if looking past Jake. Searching for something, for anything.

“Jacob. I see you’ve returned. Just in time too.”

His accent was a musical lilt that traveled through the air. It hinted even more at that past- somewhere green and lush and wet and with grey skies. When Jake had asked where in Ireland Declan was from, the headaches always started. His face would screw up very tight, very fast, and he would duck his head for a moment. Then raise himself back up and continue their conversation as if nothing had happened. Or suddenly hurry back to his makeshift lab and shut himself up for days at a time. So Jake forgoed the question now and just enjoyed the calm and clear voice for what it was. He didn’t need to lose the non-grumpy companion.

‘Yep! Got the stuff. You know, the special stuff.”

Jake waggled his eyebrows for special effect, but Declan’s expression didn’t change, only his eyes moving between the case at their feet. Jake leaned down to pick it up by its handle, watching as his friend leaned against the fenced guard that separated the rickety fire escape and the open air.

“I see that. Hopefully, it’ll get the edge off. He’s started up again. I had to walk out to get some fresh air. You know how it is.”

Jake groaned. He did know. He hated the acidic smell that accompanied the fits of stress and annoyance and irritation that lead to a chain-smoking session that lasted hours. The pearlescent ashtray would be filled with butts and ash and the ghostly smoke floating into the air. Jake would wade through the smoke nearly every day now- even his pillows were embedded with the scent of cigarettes.

“He’s going to give himself lung cancer, I swear to Christ.”

Declan snorted and shook his head “You know better than me that the only harm he will bring is to us. And you may fair better than I, as you have inherited his knack for escaping such things by the skin of your teeth.”

“Yeah, well fuck that.”

Jake started making his way up to the door, feeling Declan’s eyes follow him up for a bit before turning out to the alley. He always looked out there, at nothing in particular, but stayed so still and with such concentration, it was as if he was conjuring something in the empty street. Jake felt his fingers squeeze the case as he reached the door, his other hand reaching for the knob to twist and open. Declan usually granted the kindness of keeping it unlocked when he went out to sulk. Today was no different. The stain-glassed raven (or maybe a crow? Jake never asked) glinted as the door swung open.

As he stepped across the threshold, the tang of cigarettes pierced the air. Jake slipped in, but not without performing a dramatic and pointed cough, the door closing behind his foot. Shoes were slid off and placed neatly to the left of the woven mat. He made his way past the stacks and stacks of dusty volumes of the past, of impressive collections of art, of shelves of books all pristinely taken care of. Jake made his way to the living room, staring face to face with the culprit of the horrid stench.

“Hey! Uncle Laz! I got the stuff!! The secret special stuff you had me run for?”

With another dramatic cough, Jake lifted the case and popped it open as if he was in the mob. But inside the case was not stacks of cash, was not mountains of cocaine. It was something much, much more effective.

Tea bags.

Filling the entire case were loose teabags, making little piles as Jake proudly presented it to his boss. The grin on his face returned as he stepped closer, waiting for his uncle to inspect the contents to make sure that his nephew didn’t just grab a box of Lipton and spill it out in the case.

“Went all the way to Chinatown for it! Just like you asked!”
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HerpdaDerp
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sat Oct 19, 2019 12:08 pm
He hadn’t known that this day would be rough when he woke up. In all honesty, the slow fade into consciousness that morning had been almost violently pleasant. Sunlight had managed to break through the hazy city sky as well as the small gap between buildings to pour through his bedroom window, waking him better than any of the several alarms set on his phone. All for the better. He was rather inclined to ignore them most days anyway. Jake always complained about the multiple alarms they had to listen to in the morning as Lazarus refused to wake, hitting the snooze button with a practiced ease.

He shifts with a heavy sigh under the thick duvet. With the sunlight hitting him just right, it was almost as warm as he preferred. Almost. No matter how many blankets he threw on night after night, it was never quite right. Something was always missing, though that thought came and went nowadays with like the soft sigh of wind through trees. Quiet. Fleeting. Expected. ‘Something missing’ worked at the back of his brain like a constant itch he was more than happy to ignore until it built into something unavoidable. But, thoughts like those were far out of mind for once, what with him contended to simply lay in his bed and enjoy the soft light and warmth pooling on top of the sheets. A few more minutes and he would find the will to drag himself out of bed and towards their kitchen to fill the old coffee maker with grounds and set it to bubble and hiss out the dark roast that fueled a majority of his housemates, he included.

Declan might be awake or he might not be. Jake definitely would be awake, bouncing around the house with that energy that he was annoyed with most days and secretly envious of others. And Sam…

The unavoidable crashes through. Blue eyes widen as some invisible hand reaches through the cavity of his chest and squeezes hard at his heart, sucking the air out of him. For just a fleeting moment, there’s the sensation of a heavy arm draped across his waist. Phantom fingers twitch, just brushing the sensitive skin under where his shirt has ridden up. Behind him, whatever has a hold of him pulls closer, lips just brushing the back of his neck in a gesture so familiar it makes him dizzy.

He bolts upright. His breath comes in soft, erratic pants that match the hammering in his chest. That was, that was… He can’t remember. Elbows sink into the soft duvet pooling at his waist as he leans to rest his head in his hands. Lazarus sits like that long enough for the sunlight peeking through his window to fade, long pale fingers gripping at his hair as he waits for the panic to fade.


From the kitchen, he can smell the coffee Declan’s made. Suddenly nauseous, he rises and pads away on bare feet to the small bathroom attached to his room.

.
.
.

“Tea.” he tells the young man in front of him. Jake’s currently seated at their dining room table (some terrible thrifted thing jake had brought home one night, all scratched wood and mismatched chairs.) The kid is up to his elbows in a plate of hash browns and looks up at him with his usual confusion. It’s an apt reaction. Lazarus is still in a pair of heavy sweatpants and the t-shirt he fell asleep in, looking at the kid with hair still ruffled from sleep; ‘tea’s the first word he’s said to Jake today.

“I need you to run an errand for me today. For tea.” he clarifies. “I’ll give you the money and address.” Jake nods at this, looking hopelessly excited for some routine errand. Lazarus sighs. It’s too early for his enthusiasm. He sits at the table, pulling a notepad and a pen from the pile of office detris in the middle to write out directions. The worried look Jake gives him over his plate goes unnoticed. His words, however, are less easily ignored.

“I made a lot,” the kid motions to his plate of mostly eaten breakfast. “There’s leftovers on the stove for you guys.” Lazarus just shakes his head, not looking up from his notepad now covered in his own elegant, looping scrawl.

“No thank you.” He doesn’t trust his stomach right now, and there’s only so much toothpaste and mouthwash will do to get the taste of vomit out of a mouth. He doesn’t feel like adding anything to that mix. A soft ‘rippp’ fills the quiet space as he tears the note from the pad and holds it out to Jake who takes it between the last bite of his eggs. “That will get you there. Please.” he adds drily. “No mistakes.”


.


Jake bolts off later in typical Jake fashion. He had insisted on taking some briefcase with him, he supposes to further reinforce his delusion that he was some master spy or criminal on their way to seal a deal. Let the kid live in his delusions; as long as Lazarus got his tea, he wouldn’t stop him. Honestly, the young man was just asking for trouble going out like that and who knows? Maybe a spot of life threatening peril would be good for him. Sober him a bit.

He sighs. It probably wouldn’t. He had tried to crush that insufferably sunny spirit when Jake had first knocked on his door and look how that turned out. Still sunny. Still insufferable. Still very much a pain in his side. He’s still unsure as to how the boy had found him and Declan in the first place. It wasn’t as if the two of them particularly advertised their presence, and this apartment had been just about the most out of the way location the two of them could settle on.

Speaking of pain… The headache that had settled in shortly after he had pulled himself off the tile floor of his bathroom has been building all morning. Now, it was a heavy pressure against the back of his eyes, at his temple, even down to his jaw. He hated these migraines, hated the way he couldn’t focus on anything past the pain beneath his skull. They’re not usually as bad as this, especially now that they had moved into this apartment, but this one was up there as one of the worst. He paces the living room most of the afternoon, pausing only to grab one of the cartons that he kept tucked away in a bookshelf in a dark corner of the room. One flick of his lighter and he’s able to suck in the only thing that keeps him grounded these days.

Lazarus is self aware enough to know that it’s not the best habit, especially when strung together one after the other like this. Their whole house smelled vaguely of smoke thanks to him; from the plush living room couch to probably even his own bedsheets, even though he never smoked in his own room. Something about it, he just felt guilty. Just one of those things that were confusing in passing and head-spitting if he were to think about them too hard. Which is exactly what he’s trying to avoid in this very moment.

It’s not working though, not today. Even as he paced, moving from one corner of the room to another and from one mundane task to the next, he can still feel the strange sensations from this morning almost as if they’ve been burned into his skin. Branded memories of actions so familiar and yet so far away. Even now, there’s a deeper voice in his head chiding him through a thick haze of static to 'go smoke outside, if you’re going to do it’. He can’t, Declan’s left for their flimsy porch and he doesn’t want to disturb the man who’s so clearly wanting an escape from his own jittery anxiety. Lazarus tries to tell this to the voice, but it’s only a moment later that he realizes he can’t remember what it had said. Something about his smoking most likely, he wouldn’t have thought of Declan otherwise.

He stills in front of the window in their living room. The view isn't great, just more bricks and the buildings facing theirs, but it’s something other than the stagnant smoke filled air of the apartment. Cigarette held between his lips, he unlatches the old, crusty lock keeping the panes closed before sliding them open, just a crack. Just enough to hear the quiet traffic of their street. Something other than the ambient noise of their living room or thoughts that weren’t his. It’s nice, for a moment. He closes his eyes, takes a long drag of the cigarette.


Sam would be on his second coffee by now. Quite possibly even his third, though it was never the caffeine he was after. Sam claimed to just enjoy the taste and the warmth of the drink, enjoyed giving Lazarus a reason to make a second pot after the first because they both knew the smaller man was the one who needed it more. Lazarus would listen to the soft bubble of their old machine with a patient sort of grace as Sam would move around the kitchen in bare feet, hair still down if they had nowhere to be. Moments would pass before the clinking of mugs echoed through their kitchen and just a slow minute later, Sam would find him. Mug in hand, he would find him.


A gentle hand at his back. The smell of coffee close behind.


Lazarus freezes. Heart beating fast, he whirls away from the window, cigarette falling from his hand onto the floor. Wide blue eyes dart over the space, but there’s nothing there, no one there.

“Fuck.” he mutters. Eyes catch on the cigarette burning a hole in their wood floor; he stubs it out with one slippered foot before bending to pick up the broken pieces. The migraine hits him again with a fresh crest of pain and as he closes his eyes to blot out the light, he can suddenly understand the appeal of a mortal death.

A loud cough forces his eyes open, even though the action makes him wince. Jake’s standing in the doorway, waving his hand through the air as if the smoke is a palpable thing he can simply brush away. Wonderful. Lazarus has zero patience for any dramatics right now, but a return with that stupid briefcase means that Jake may at least have what he asked for. Even if he’s insisting on treating the delivery like some sort of drug deal.

‘Secret stuff’, Laz rolls his eyes as he makes his way over to Jake and his now open briefcase. It at least looks right and they are in fact tea bags. Whether they’re the right ones though… Pale fingers pick one from the case, turn it over, inspect it under his critical eye. Looks as though Jake had gotten it right. That’s at least one pleasant surprise today.

“Set it in the kitchen.” he tells Jake, clipped and curt. His own hands cup the bag in his hands like something precious as he makes his own way to the kitchen to begin boiling water. The tea in his hands is a beautiful thing, cutting through the thickest of the fog in his mind with the ease of a sharp knife. Peppermint had always done wonders for him and even now, as he lets the bag steep in the hot water, he can feel it working to unwind the worst of the knots behind his eyes. He takes a sip once it’s ready, leaning against the counter as he does so.

It’s everything he needed. Head a little clearer, he’s now painfully aware that it’s close to one in the afternoon and he hasn’t yet changed out of the clothes he had woken up in that morning. That, and he's starving. The leftover's Jake had left are now disappointingly cold, though he's got a bit too much pride in him to ask Jake to make more.
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Cantaclarac
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sun Nov 03, 2019 8:14 pm
Jake titled his head slightly as his uncle inspected the teabags, checking to see they were legit. And they were! He saw something flash in his eyes (perhaps…. APPROVAL????) and Jake, in returned, flashed a toothy grin. For a moment, he was seeing past the smoke and the almost claustrophobic apartment. Jake had no idea why he had put so much stock in the old man’s opinions.

But he did. And the moment of triumph for not fucking up was more than anything he needed at this moment of his life. It wrapped him in a blanket that had just been warmed in the dryer, made him feel a glow that soaked into his skin, into his bones. It resembled what he desired, that direction of his life that he so longed for. And even with these moments were few and far between, it made the limbo that his life was slowly becoming worth it.

He watched as Lazarus stood up, holding the precious goods like an injured bird. It was the most gentle Jake had seen the man in a while, as he padded softly to the kitchen. Jake was quick to follow, closing the case and briskly bouncing behind him. Eyes follow as the kettle is grasped and filled and placed on the stovetop. It was ancient, one of those pre-WW2 types that is made of metal. It was well used too- something that probably followed it’s owner for a long time, making many different types of tea.

Speaking of, the smell of the minty tea pierced the hazy cloud of smoke and once again, Jake felt as if the clutter and walls stretched out and become sharp for a moment. He felt more real, more tangible, not like he was in some man’s state of purgatory as he waited for his life to continue. Jake’s grin widened as he placed the case on the counter, reveling in the sharp ‘clack’ when it landed. He then turned his attention to the pan of uneaten hashbrown.

Finally, the grin disappeared.

It seemed as if both Declan and the white-haired mess in front of him eat less and less as time went on. And they weren’t great when he first arrived two years ago- Laz primarily dealt with whatever takeout would get to their apartment quickest and Declan pretty much lived off of thick-cut salami and an occasional boiled potato. Maybe a slice of fried ham once in a blue moon. Jake deemed his first order of business to make actual foodstuff for these dudes. So, Jake received money for groceries and made three meals a day, like a personal chef. Cooking was one of those things that Jake was actually really good at cooking, but didn’t really have a passion for it. This lead to a knowledge of many recipes off-hand and a nonchalant attitude while cooking them. It also meant that while Jake made delicious and satisfying meals for his buds, Jake stuck with a lot of sugary junk. And salty junk food. Pretty much anything that was loaded with fats and sugar.

Which lead him back to the hashbrowns. He usually left whatever food he had made out for the old men that he lived with OR for future snackage. But he had really expected more to be gone when he got back, and he also expected to come back sooner. And now he knew two new things. One, neither of the roommates touched the leftovers. And two, these hashbrowns were completely useless now. Any crispiness and flavor had been sapped out long ago, and now they sat limp. Even with reheating, they would not be up to the arbitrary standard he put on his cooking when it could possibly be eaten by others. He also could infer that Laz did not eat this morning.

At all.

That simply would not do!

He carefully took the pan, and brought it to the trashcan at the end of the counter. He flipped the scrambled potatoes out, gently tapping it on the side to get any of the sticky pieces. Then, he set it in the sink, careful to not make it clatter too loud. Now that Lazarus had his tea and wasn’t smoking, Jake knew to be sensitive with sounds, lighting, smells, certain textures, specific sections of the apartment, and anything in between. Because any and all of these things could ignite the wrath of the old man.

When he was approached for this job, he didn’t think that he would be getting peppermint tea and fast-acting migraine medication. The few times Jake was asked to steal art pieces or ancient artifacts had become even more scarce as the days went on. Which sucked, because Jake found he liked some petty thievery to pierce the mundane errand running. He liked the thrill he felt when he succeeded in some stupid heist, how that pride tinged back into a warm glow when he passed the art piece or sculpture or whatever. He hadn’t always been a rogue-ish burglar, but it suited him well enough.

Jake stared at the empty pan and realized that he was going to make lunch anyways.

Best to ask the head of the house if he wanted any.

But Jake KNEW this old man would refuse any help that wasn’t asked of. Jake had been nearly smacked when he came in with breakfast in bed when the migraine. He supposed it was the principle of the thing- Lazarus had already made so many comments about feeling like he was in a retirement home.

So he had to make it sound like was HIS idea.

Jake slowly started taking out his supplies- some crunchy bread, some thick-cut bacon, crisp lettuce, and juicy tomato. All fresh, all irresistible. He also reached for the crunchy bread and jar of mayo in the nearby cupboard, and the weird-ass butter dish. It was like a bowl that dipped into another bowl with water, keeping the butter upside down. It was old and ceramic and had some probably ancient script on it. According to Laz, it kept the butter soft and kept it fresh for longer.

Jake just assumed he was being pretentious.

But that didn’t stop him slicing the bread and buttering it up. He made sure to make the sounds of cooking were the only sound punctuating the air- the soft clicking of the gas stove, the sizzle of the bacon on the pan, the definitive chop of the lettuce. Jake did whatever he could to make the sounds irresistible to the probably starving old man.

“So, Uncle Laz…” Jake started off with a casual tone, one just a step above the acting caliber of a high school theatre kid who was just a little too invested in the upcoming production “I picked up your dry cleaning yesterday. It’s hanging in your closet. Still in the bag, because I know you hate when I touch it.”

He was silent for a moment, letting the sounds permeated the air for just a moment. He really savored the smack of the knife as he split the tomato in half. He kept his eyes on his work, but his words were meant for someone specific.

“Ugh, I should have started making something else. Now I have extra cut up ingredients and I’m just gonna have to throw them away. Damn.”

Jake even snapped his fingers in a downward motion that would make any scamp from a 1950s sitcom jealous. It was very convincing, mostly because this hokeyness is how Jake operated at all times. The line between the scam and the true dumbassery blurred for just a moment.
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HerpdaDerp
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sun Nov 10, 2019 7:15 pm
It was a small grace that Jake had learned to keep the volume down in the apartment. Well, not really grace; Laz might have helped the process along with a few well aimed swings of his cane. Boy had needed an extra stimulus to keep quiet. Nonetheless, blue eyes track the tall kid’s movement as he grabs the old man of hashbrowns and dumps them into the garbage then throws the empty pan into the sink. Lazarus would have mourned their loss had he not lived with Jake for upwards of two years now. He knows the kid. Knows his habits.

He sips his tea. Body leaned against the counter, he sips his tea and feels the knot in his temples slowly unwind, feels the nausea fade into almost nothing. The reminder that he hadn’t eaten yet today gnaws at him uncomfortably, but he merely closes his eyes breathes in the slow curl of steam pooling from the mug. Pots and pans bang together as Jake shifts them around to grab at what he needs. Cabinets creak open and closed, plastic rustles, the refrigerator opens and shuts before dull thuds echo against the countertops. Only a moment more…


“So, Uncle Laz…”


And there it is. Eyes open just a crack to look at Jake and the mountain of supplies he’s gathered and laid out on the counter in front of him: tomatoes, bacon, bread, lettuce. Really, it’s one of the (very) few things he owes gratitude to Jake for. Before the kid, the only supplies regularly kept in their apartment were tea, potatoes, salami, and styrofoam containers of yesterday’s takeout. Really, the first time he had seen a carrot that wasn’t diced and hidden among a pile of fried rice was when Jake had plopped a bag of them on the counter that first week and declared he was making soup.

Jake won’t ask him outright, he thinks as the boy works his way through a grade school play performance, chopping vegetables and beating the poor bush to absolutely nothing. They’ve had many an argument in Laz’s more snappish moments about the claustrophobic nature of the apartment, of Jake’s constant badgering and insisting he eats, all of which is ridiculous. Laz can take care of himself, thank you. He doesn’t need some twenty something would be nurse telling him how to live, when to eat, that he ‘maybe should get up now, it’s like one’. Please. He’s ancient. He knows how to take care of himself.

So they’d argued. Constantly. Until Jake had given up the more direct route and replaced it with overdone theatrics. It’s still just as obvious a ploy, but at least offers the veneer of choice.


That, and Laz is hungry.


“Might as well make extras.” He mutters, just loud enough for Jake to hear once he finishes his performance. Too enthusiastic and Jake will take even more satisfaction in himself. “Declan hasn’t had anything for lunch yet, and I wouldn’t object to one either.”

Jake’s answering smile is obnoxiously bright. Laz takes another slow sip of his tea before wandering back out into the living room. Best to just stay out of the kid’s way in the kitchen. One quick motion pulls his phone out of his pocket, another swipe up opens it. There’s been troubling news from the contacts he has in town. People are going missing from the area without any real trace of who’s taking them or why. He’s been getting texts and emails from concerned contacts, asking him what he knows which for once, is fuck all. The lack of information is troubling. He’s not used to the feeling of not knowing what’s going on in the neighborhood (though the general feeling of confusion is a familiar friend); it was the one area of his life he had felt a fleeting sense of control over and now he’s floating once again, untethered to any sort of solid ground. It’s frustrating and something he needs to get to the bottom of. Quickly.

He folds himself onto the couch and puts down the phone for a moment to pull on a cardigan that had been draped over the back of it. One of his favorites, a dark blue geometric patterned thing that he had bought a while back when he still possessed a drive to leave the apartment more than once every few days. It was a soft knit and the patterns had reminded him of the tattoos that covered near every inch of his skin from foot to neck. A moment more, and the phone is once again in his hand and he’s once again scrolling through pages of text and news reports as the scent of bacon and toasted bread fills the apartment.

Behind him, he hears the front door open and close. Declan must be in then. His hunch is confirmed a moment later when the man in question settles on the couch beside him. Declan’s eyes flit over the screen of the phone.


“Something interesting?”


“You could say that.” A true friend, Declan says nothing of this morning. Laz tilts the screen more towards him, allows the man to look closer at the screen. “Disappearances around the city. A small number, but significant in their pattern.” He watches Declan’s eyes scan over the text, frown lines becoming more and more prominent the farther he reads. “All mutants.”

It's the only fact they know for sure. Everyone taken he had known had been like them, blessed with strange abilities. Some of them had been the farthest thing from slouches too, employed as enforcers or bodyguards for some of the various less than legal establishments that littered their small stretch of city. Whoever is taking them is a threat to both their neighborhood and this small, strange family he's collected.
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Sun Nov 24, 2019 9:19 pm
His world was a haze these days.

Days blurred together into weeks, into months. Years. At this point, the pattern of his life had lulled him into this illusion of calm. It was as if each day that blurred was another blanket added to the pile wrapped around him, slowly suffocating him. He had no idea of when it started, and thinking of it only made the image more blurry, made everything even more confused. As his brain misfired, it was hard to find the differences between reality and the fuzz. The things he knew were almost muscle memory- he knew his name, knew he was a somewhat skilled geneticist and doctor, but if he thought about his practice, about any research he conducted, it slipped through his fingers like sand. He was lucky- he didn’t receive migraines like his ancient friend. Declan reckoned that had something to do with the capacity of both of their memories. The experiences that Declan had were a grain of sand compared to the endless coastline that was Lazarus McKay.

Still.

It was as if regret was ingrained in his bones, weighing him down. He was always tired, which rounded the edges of the day even more, sanding it down to a blob of grey nothing. It didn’t help with the anxiety and paranoia. Declan was ashamed of how often he jumped at the sound of Jake’s voice or winced at every closing door. It had become so much easier to shut himself in his room. Not to sleep, but to use the makeshift laboratory. He spent the majority of his days locked away from everyone else, slumped over some samples, or gene mapping until his eyes crossed.

His hands also shook now.

He used to be able to clench his fist to make it stop, but now it just made his whole hand tremble. This was one of the most frustrating things about his predicament- it made delicate and detailed work impossible when it was at it’s worst. And things only seemed worse nowadays.

He watched his hands shake as the silent street scene played out beneath him. Only a couple of cars put along, and they were far enough between each other that he didn’t worry. A kid (the only one in their neighborhood really) skated by on some sort of skateboard, swaying lazily between the streetlamps and empty newspaper dispensers. He had sat on the fire escape, legs dangling down like ribbons tied to a tree. He felt his shoulders relax for a moment, felt his face fall from some unknown tension. Where his room was a place of distraction and work and those blankets just continuing to be piled on, here he felt like at least one layer had been peeled. He longed to be out of the city, to be somewhere even quieter, even more desolate. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a tickle of wind on the back of his neck.

The scent of rain-soaked grass hit his nose for a moment, a faint whisper of something so so so much deeper. If he stayed still, if he really just stopped, he would hear lilted bird song that had the cadence of his own accent. A soft mist rolled in….

He opened his eyes.

Time had passed. The shadows on the street were longer, the sun now behind them. The light was tinged with gold. Time had passed, maybe an hour, maybe less. But time had passed in that blink of an eye and had passed him by like nothing.

His hand shook.

He had sat here for he had no idea how long, and whatever he had thought about had slipped away, turning into a block of fuzzy grey that pushed to the forefront of my mind. Nothing pushed forward, filling his brain, threatening to take more time away. Declan sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, rubbing the soft skin in his grip.

He had to go back inside.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his housemates. In fact, he felt a certain kind of fondness that almost filled some sort of crevice. He often found himself staring into Lazarus’ bright blue eyes, or at Jake’s twisted red curls, feeling some sort of…. Something. A deep deep longing that he also felt when he saw Lazarus fast asleep on the couch, or when Jake came to check on them in the wee hours of the morning. How Lazarus was so gruff and grouchy around his young relative, but Declan saw how he stayed up for any late odd-job that the kid ran, waiting passively. The fondness he felt was a shadow, a whisper of something in that grey mist that clouded him.

But.

They fought.

Oh god, they fought like nothing else. It had settled a bit since Jake’s first arrival years ago, but they still got into matches that just made Declan want to stick his head in a pile of sand. And he didn’t want to think they were fights about stupid things. But with how stuck he and Laz were in their cloudy lives filled with staring and searching for what was, it was hard to break a habit. Especially one so ingrained because there was nothing left.

Days blurring and all that.

Declan knew Jake hated the smoke. Declan also knew that Laz hated that Jake complained about the smoke. And with their combined flair and love of dramatics, he knew that something could brew.

Still.

He heard no yelling.
That was a good enough sign for him to at least go in. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t just sneak back into his room if they were going at it. It really wasn’t that hard. Declan knew that he lived quietly enough that if his housemates didn’t worry like no other, he would have been able to fade away into his room. And when those two were fighting, they didn’t think about the tired, sad man bent over his desk, working himself to death.

Declan pulled himself off the grated fire escape and dusted his pants off, then tugged on the hem of his sweater. He tugged it back into its precise and comfortable state, smoothed out over his middle. Finally, he scuffed the bottom of his shoes against the grate before heading back up the spindly stairs and opening the door.

The scent of peppermint pierced through the air, clearing out the haziness of both the room and his mind. From the kitchen, he could hear Jake bouncing around and a satisfying sizzle that signaled that a late lunch was soon on its way.

It made his lips twitch strangely, the corners turning into something of a faint and distant smile.

He had to snag some, he had to eat something. Unlike the other old man in the house, he would wither away if he neglected nourishment. And the last meal he had must have been at least two days ago. Or maybe last night. It was all muddled

Speaking of.

He quietly made his way to the man with the cloud-white hair and the perpetual tired look. Declan recognized it, as he saw it in the lines of his own face when he got an unlucky glance in the mirror. His own feet dragged hum across the short hall, to the living room. He settled onto the couch, which was so lived in that the creases and folds of the fabric cushioned him exactly it had the night before, the week before, the year before. He felt his breath escape in the softest of sighs, quiet and settling into the comfort, the habit. Laz barely noticed, his thumb pawing at the screen as he scrolled and typed at a rapid pace. The palm-sized piece of plastic and glass had really been the only connection either of them had outside the walls. Sure, Laz stepped out pf the apartment, but those impulses were less and less as time went on. And Declan really couldn’t handle anything else besides his room and fire escape.

“Something interesting?” Declan knew it had to be, seeing that it had caused something near a fervor. Hell, the man had been dragging himself all morning in a zombie-like fashion. Declan knew the migraines must have been bad, but they were always bad now. Worse even.

Bright blue eyes met his own soft green, and after all these years, they still sent something to Declan’s core. They reminded him of something, trigged something deep in his belly that he couldn’t help but look and stare and feel some sort of... Something.

He didn’t dwell, it caused the grey to push.

“You could say that. Disappearances around the city. A small number, significant in pattern. All mutants.”


His heart fell with a thud as Lazarus tilted the screen so Declan could see. Names swam in his vision, names that he recognized as contacts, as friends. Declan felt the blood leave his face, as he read the vague details. Of course, they were vague, no one would care about these people. No one cared.

And then another thought crossed.

The fact of the matter was this: Even with his tattoos and electric blue eyes, Lazarus could pass. Most wrote him off as an eccentric old man anyways, and he had far too many connections and measures in place to keep himself. Declan could pass. His powers had certain capabilities if put to a certain scale. But he refused to use them, and hadn’t used them since….. Well, for as long as he could remember. But Jake… With his crisscrossed patterns that puckered like fresh brands, his reckless attitude and use of his extraordinary powers, the magnitude of those abilities...

“He’s going to have to lay low.” Declan murmured, his eyes flicking to Lazarus’, his eyebrows drawn so that his forehead wrinkles were even more prominent. “If the one thing linking them together is a mutation, he has to be careful. There aren’t many of us already, and he has the steep disadvantage of having such a visible mutation. He can’t run around and try to help you out and use them and-’

His heart rate pounded in his ears, as his eyes closed, squeezing shut as the blood rushed in his head, as the knot tightened in his gut. He felt his jaw clench. His mind raced with images of Jake, bloody and beaten, pulled up by his thick red hair that draped over her shoulders and down her back, her softest of green skin broken from the scuffle before.

For a moment.

Something tugged down on his sweater, something grasped as his fingers. Somewhere in his mind, he heard something, felt something. Another tug, another yelp, another smack of impact. Fingers grasped on him, holding him to wherever, holding him with another cry, another tug….

He blinked

Lazarus was staring at him, in concern.

His cheeks were wet, tears splashing from his eyelashes down to his jaw. But his face remained the anxious tense mask it had always been, minutes before when he had spoken. A lump formed in his throat, realizing as the fog pushed into his mind and erased whatever had been whispering to him before.

“What… I’m sorry, what had we been talking about?”

His fingers caught the last tear, and brought it to his sight, frowning ever so slightly. He really must be exhausted, if his body had reacted in such a visceral reaction. That must be it. He told himself that as he felt that fog push forward once more.

“I’m sorry about… that. I… I don’t know what’s come over me, you must forgive me, old friend”

He offered Lazarus a soft smile, one saved for only when he and Jake stared at him with worrisome eyes. His own eyes shifted to the screen, and his eyebrows tightened again as he read the reports and vague details. Of course, they were vague, they didn’t care. No one cared.

“He’s going to have to lay low. If the one thing linking them together is a mutation, he has to be careful. There aren’t many of us to start with, and you know Jake. He’s going to throw himself and his abilities to help. And when he uses his mutation he isn’t exactly… subtle.”

Declan sighed and tilted his head back slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose once again “But I suppose the likelihood of the boy staying still is slim, innit?”

The smell of bacon, of toasted bread reached his nose and he gave the softest chuckle, turning his eyes to Lazarus, watching the man closely, silently praying that he would forgive his rudeness as he dazed off only moments ago.

His hands shook against his lap.
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HerpdaDerp
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Mon Apr 27, 2020 12:47 am
Lazarus watches as his friend fades from the conversation. It’s nothing he’s not at least a little bit used to with the frequency that it happened. He had caught the man several times transfixed by Jake’s hair or even staring at his eyes a little too intently during conversations. He hadn’t yet really asked about it. If it were anything like the… disturbances he experienced, he could assume that they weren’t pleasant.


But then he had started to cry.


He watched in quiet concern as Declan’s face broke from placid thoughtfulness into something more broken, for lack of a better word. The poor man had tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he stared blankly at something past Lazarus, past what any of them could see. He waited patiently for the man to come back. He always did, even if certain days were a bit worse than others. Sure enough, a few minutes later he watched Declan blink the tears away, watched them roll languidly down the curve of his cheeks and get caught in the man’s mustache.


“I’m sorry about… that. I… I don’t know what’s come over me, you must forgive me, old friend.”


He shoots Laz a reassuring smile. Laz offers him the same kindness Declan had shown him earlier and says nothing of the incident. Declan repeats what he had said moments before he had zoned, makes a small joke about Jake, and Laz can’t help but huff out a small laugh. It was hard enough keeping Jake inside on a regular day, he couldn’t imagine the trouble it would be keeping him in when something ‘exciting’ (as Jake would say) was happening. Kid was young, possibly didn’t realize the enormity of what was happening in their neighborhood. Something about the whole kidnapping situation sat wrong with Laz, settled in his brain like rot and chewed at him in all the worst ways. It felt almost familiar in a strange way. Felt as though he had possibly…. He shakes his head, but the worry still bites at him. The thought comes unbidden and shatters through the fog slowly being lifted by the peppermint: he’s experienced this before. The certainty he feels in the now fading statement rattles him a bit, threatens the calm the tea is providing. He can feel the same sharpness of the migraine attempting to return.

“Not subtle in the least.” he murmurs, trying to rope his thoughts back to the present and away from another meltdown. It's replaced instead by a sickening persistent worry. That he can deal with.  “He has a flair for the dramatic that surpasses the worst theater wannabee. It’s frankly a miracle he hasn't been caught yet for any of the ridiculous antics he pulls on the daily.”

He leans in closer to the man next to him, typing out a quick message to one of his more reliable contacts to try and raise any sort of information. From what he has heard though, there’s hardly a trace of any sort of perpetrator. Damage is left, the target is taken, and there’s hardly any evidence left behind. Less to do with any sort of stealth, and more because whoever is committing these acts is quick to level the crime scene to its foundations.


“Strange no one has seen anything.” He says absently, still typing at the screen. “You would think there’d been an absolutely astounding amount of noise involved.”


Movement out of the corner of his eyes distracts him from any more musings however. A quick glance out the corner of his eye and he catches the source; Declan’s hands are shaking something fierce. He’s got them clasped in his lamp as he listens to Lazarus, but any effort that he’s making to still them is doing close to nothing to quell the motion. ‘That will hardly do’, he thinks. Some half faded, baked-in habit of domesticity calls to him, prompting him without much thought for ‘why’ or ‘should he’.

He readjusts himself again, tucking himself against the man. The hand not holding the phone reaches out and pale, slender fingers close around the two clasped hands. He alternates between drumming out a half remembered beat with the tips of them to gently squeezing when he feels the shaking start to worsen. Nothing is said as he tilts the screen again to allow Declan to see as he scrolls through various news articles and saving ones that seem interesting. If ‘interesting’ just happens to include a few articles about something cute some cat has done, Declan doesn’t call him on it.

From the kitchen, he can smell the intoxicating scent of bacon cooking and bread toasting. Jake’s probably finishing up soon. He knows the young man’s habits. Sure enough, Jake emerges a few minutes later somehow balancing three plates stacked high with large sandwiches and kettle chips. He’s even tossed a few carrots on, probably to ensure the two of them don’t contract scurvy. That cheery smile still hangs on his face. Laz almost feels bad for the talk they’re about to have.


Almost.


For now though, he sets his phone on the end table nearest him and unfolds his hand from around Declan’s to grab for the plate offered to him. His stomach grumbles, the dirty traitor. He does have to admit; for all of Jake’s many faults, he is a remarkably good cook.
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Mon Apr 27, 2020 9:26 pm
Declan stared at his hands long after Lazarus let go. It was a sort of magic trick that the white-haired man had done many times before. As stone-faced and harsh as the man can be to Jake and the others around him, there was the most tender heart. His soft gestures were something familiar now, something that tugged at Declan’s mind. It was as if shared the same place where the fuzziness was, but it scratched an itch instead of overcoming his mind. It was pleasant, the tight squeeze when his hands that grounded him back in reality. Lazarus anchored the man, tucking himself into his small frame, tilting his phone so Declan could see the half dozen or so articles of adorably clumsy cats.

As Jake walked in, there was a reset. Declan looked up as he was handed his plate, the pit in his stomach becoming heavier. It smelled divine, but Declan could barely push himself to eat anything anymore. He did eat to appease Lazarus and stop Jake from looking so sad at every meal. Carefully, Declan places the plate on his lip, pawing at the carrots and chips quietly. He knew where the conversation was going to turn and knew Jake was not going to like it.

Jake, however, was unaware of the tension. Once the plates were passed, he sat himself across from the men, his ridiculously long legs folding and crisscrossing until he was comfortable. His cheeky grin twisted the symbols that lined his cheeks and jaw. Jake joked that knew ones popped up due to stress, like pimples, but there was truth to that statement- when he had arrived at the ratty apartment, his face was pretty much clear, except his freckles.

HE faced the two other men, before taking the biggest bite of his sandwich. While munching, his grin grew “Damn, I’m gonna need to go out and grab more bacon soon! Between breakfast and the number of times I make grilled sandwiches- we are bacon FIENDS!”

Jake didn’t notice or ignored, the looks Lazarus shot him and Declan’s pitiful glances. He continued to shovel food into his mouth, realizing the conversation hadn’t continued, he finally looked up, slightly confused. The looks on their faces expressed importance, and Jake could already feel the energy reach his feet, ready to run the rubber soles of his converse into the pavement and to the car. He hoped that the next job would be something more interesting than pick up tea! Hey! Maybe he would even get to visit his best bud! Jake often worried about the dude, even without the fact that he lived in a quasi-underground bunker in the middle of the city beneath a parking garage!

Jake turned his attention to Lazarus and smiled brightly, lettuce and mayo dribble on his chin “So? Where you need me to go this time?”
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AU: Villain Empty Re: AU: Villain

Tue Jan 12, 2021 11:50 pm
“You’re not going anywhere.” Laz says. He watches the boy’s face focus on his, face falling a bit before settling into something closer to confusion. Better to just rip the band aid off then. “I would prefer you remain home for the time being. Something is happening within the community that I would rather you not be a part of and as convenient an errand boy you are, you are also unfortunately… noticeable.”

Noticeable is a kind word. Jake was a splash of vibrant graffiti against the slate grey wall that was their community. Only he had managed to find a way to stand out within the neon lighted red light district they had found themselves a member of. Sunny in a way that would have been more appreciated were they not trying to lay low from a threat Lazarus couldn’t quite remember, Jake wasn’t made for this life but was here nonetheless. As obnoxious as he could be, Jake really was the only tether somedays grounding them in reality. Kept food in the fridge, insisted that the two of them ate, and made certain that Lazarus got up most days. All he really asked in return were those silly little missions.


Really, it was almost pitiable. Some small part of him felt almost bad for the decision he had to make on behalf of all of them.


“You’ll stay.” He repeats again when Jake continues to stare at him. “Within the house. I will… I’ll get the groceries. Or have them delivered. Something other than you leaving to get them.”
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Wed Jan 13, 2021 10:43 pm
Jake blinked.

And then rubbed his ears, just to be certain. He tried to look at Declan, who was now studying his sandwich as if it was his new project. Fingers tittered and eyes refused to meet, the message clear- this was between him and the old man. And Jake wasn’t going to let the dude go out alone for groceries- what if he had an episode and got lost? Or worse, found himself in a spot that he couldn’t get out. Taylor had warned him about that, told him to keep the man under his eye or in the apartment.

Plus.

It was stifling, this apartment. As grateful as he was to have a direction and purpose and yadada, his outings were the only thing keeping him truly sane. Rip that away, and what is left? Watching the history channel and pretending to understand why Lazarus haughtily laughed? Letting Declan pluck his hair for whatever experiments he was cooking without explanation? Being told he’s a lazy bum, getting smacked with that cane when he suggested maybe smokes should be done outside?

He regretted the thoughts when they came, but it was all his brain could do when it was corned with the possibility of all this. What, he was supposed to lay around all day? Just wait for whatever the problem was to stop?

“Nah, Uncle Laz, it’s all good. I’ve been keeping a REAL low profile, like you’ve asked. I got the groceries, you don’t gotta worry your little head about it. I’m fine with the errands, didn’t even forget anything last time! I even found that really specific tea brand you like today, remember? I.. I can do it, I swear, you don’t have to worry about me.”
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Fri Jan 15, 2021 3:22 pm
“I do worry. Jake, this isn’t up for debate.” He pins the young man with those too bright eyes, though the effect is a little ruined by the fact that the only change he had made to his outfit from that morning was to throw a cardigan over the whole of it. Still in those dark sweatpants, t-shirt, and hair undone by sleep; it’s topped by the dark eye bags from not nearly enough restful sleep and the way he smells of his chain smoking sessions. ‘A real sight’ he sighs to himself. ‘Certainly the image of a well put together man.’

“You will be staying in the apartment for the time being, at least until we can get to the bottom of whatever mess is happening out there. You are an ideal messenger but for the time being I cannot risk you out on the streets.” His tone is firm as he runs a hand through his hair to force it back into at least some sort of order. “I’ll be the one handling whenever we need supplies and whatever I can't, we can have delivered. It’s a change but it will, it will be… brief.” His words trail off briefly as a second sensation follows where his own hand had pushed his hair back. Awareness narrows only to the pinprick points of gentle contact, closing his eyes when those calloused hands curl in the shorter strands at the nape of his neck. He can feel the short nails against his skin, feel the warmth of those hands, and knows briefly the shape of the figure they’re attached to. Could map and trace the outline of those hands, find where the ring would be had Sam not insisted on a chain, and -

He blinks. The sensation is gone and Jake is still there, eyeing him with a mix of confusion and anger. ‘Peppermint.’ he thinks as he raises the mug to his lips in a way that he hopes covers the gaping, aching hole in his heart and the way he bleeds loneliness like a mortal wound. ‘Smoke. Fabric. The apartment, the window I had left open.’ It’s all there, he’s here, they’re here. God, he needs more drugs.

“You’ll be fine for a week or two, no need to be so dramatic about the whole affair.” he huffs after a moment. “Nor will it kill me to leave the house and grab groceries once or twice."
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Sat Jan 16, 2021 12:03 am
“Well, if it’s alright for you to go out, why isn’t it for me?”

The question blurted out from his lips, and he knew he crossed a line. The man was already looking at him with a look that would wither a fucking tree, and now Jake had openly defied him. But, it was a valid question! Sure, he was all scarred up from his ears to his toes, but it wasn’t like he was any other way suspicious. It was unfair-especially unfair when Lazarus knew that, without his errands, Jake was effectively useless. He swallowed back the bitter taste his outburst left, taking a deep breath before continuing

“I just… What I’m trying to say, Uncle Lazarus is that I think it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to do that. Not because you aren’t capable of anything like that it’s just… well, it’s a lot. And you haven’t really left the apartment in a long while, and I know you’re worried but, like, I am worried too. About you. And it would probably be better for me to just go, put a hoodie up, and do it. And besides. You’re saying it’s brief, but if you don’t know what’s going on… how do you know?”

Jake felt the eyes shift to him once more as he bit into his sandwich with a satisfying crunch. Declan looked on with concern, face drawn with worry, but as far as Jake knew, he always looked that way. He did watch the wispy blonde man tear a small piece off of his bread absent-mindedly and roll it between his fingers.

“I believe,” He started soft, before between Lazarus and Jacob, his voice tight with anxiety “perhaps it would be wise if I go? When we are unable to deliver. I.. I know these little trips are important for you, Jacob, but, we just want you to be safe. Besides, there is plenty to do around the apartment- dusting and, er, organizing. We could even tackle that front closet like we have always said. It’ll be fine-”

One glance back to the redhead made it clear that he was not convinced. Jake pursued his lips and looks at Lazarus, his own eyes challenging those across him. He knew the man would not yield, but maybe…

“Well, if we are going to be in for a little while, shouldn’t we stock up a bit? One last trip before the inevitable lockdown?”
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