Ｉｎ Ｆｏｒ Tｈｅ Ｋｉｌｌ (Pansexual)

[Gekyll]

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❝ɴever coulɗ ɗecide

ʜow чou ωanʈed us ʈo be.❞

❝ωʜч ωon'ʈ чou sʜow

чour inʈenʈions ʈowards me?❞

Sword was toeing the line between consciousness and precious sleep. He wasn’t quite sure on what side he wanted to be on. Sometimes dreams made facing reality more painful. His body was insisting on sleep to recover from his ordeal the night before. His mind was fitfully disobeying. He bent and pointed his pinky finger now and again, just enough movement to keep himself from drifting entirely.

He kept the motion going up until he heard his door open. In a sincere moment of hope, Sword rapidly sat up to see… Scott. Not exactly the white boy he wanted to see, but judging from the bag of what he assumed to be medical goodies, at least he was here to help and not harm. Nevertheless, Sword was a mite disappointed. He deflated and fell back into his bed.

“Hi, Scott.”

Sword said with an inert wave. He watched him approach from his prone position, offering the male a grin as he assessed the damage. It could’ve been worse~ It had been a long while since he was jumped by more than one person at a time. Fighting off several dudes was a hell of a lot harder than the movies made it look. At Scott’s initial admonishment, Sword chuckled quietly and shifted his arms overhead for comfort.

“Well, I’m a bit of a traditionalist,” He teased, passively allowing Scott to move his head and inspect as he pleased. He’d spent a good portion of his morning staring himself down in the mirror. He knew what there was to see. Scott’s audible sigh made Sword grin. He shrugged apologetically but said nothing.

At Scott’s mention of Mario Kart, Sword chuckled a little louder than his previous, closing his eyes when Scott ran his finger across his bruise. His touch was unfamiliar, but not entirely unwelcome. It was nice to be taken care of. Scott’s good looks didn’t hurt none, neither. Lord knew if Rook was in Scott’s position, there would be no tender touches or joking around.

“I’ll let you know when I’m in need of some video game therapy.” Video games like that were no fun to play alone! Sword knew of Scott’s gaming tendencies anyway – he’d enjoy joining in.

When handed an ice pack, Sword dutifully pressed it to his eye. Goddamn it was cold! He made a sound of discontent but held it in place like a man. If he wanted to be cold, he’d step outside, s**t… He cut his glowering session short when Scott prefaced his comments to follow and began to open a cream of some sort. Sword adjusted the ice pack in his quickly freezing fingers, though he lowered it enough to fix Scott with an amused expression at the mention of his guns. He flexed dutifully before replacing the ice pack in its place.

“I’m fine,” He murmured with a sideways smile, “You have any idea how many people would love to have a good looking doctor like you in their bed?”

Sword winked his good eye. He might’ve expanded on that statement otherwise, but as it were, he was feeling pretty poorly. He averted his uncovered eye when Scott offered to listen to him about what brought this on.

“You think I’m pretty, doc?”

He smiled softly, eye roaming across his empty ceiling. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk about it. Much of the bullshit with him and Rook was so incredibly private, no one but the two of them knew details. Which was why so many people assumed they were a packaged deal, he guessed. Part of him enjoyed the privacy they shared, but another wished Rook wouldn’t be… ashamed or whatever to show what they had.

“…all this was basically a self-destructive act to cope with being in relationship limbo with someone who identifies as straight.” He said slowly, shifting his gaze to look at Scott briefly. “I don’t advise pursuing heterosexuals.”

Oh well.

He exhaled sharply and smiled some.

“I probably need to stick to established homosexuals for my own good.”

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[Sevsnapelove09]

Despite the sad occasion, Jocef intended to take the chance to visit with Winston Ydranna and his daughter, Juniper. The chief was familiar with Sari’s family. Winston had still been in office when he’d been stationed in Whistle City. The man had inspired Jocef, he was a paragon of an American. And for the time he’d been there, Jocef had voted for him, if only once. It wasn’t until the chaplain had come to the military base that the chief had gotten to know his family personally.

“Isaiah, this is Lusen, he's Sari’s nephew. Why don’t you show him some of your cards?” the chief said, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at his son and the younger boy.

Isaiah looked at his father, shrugging a shoulder slightly, and looked at the small boy before nodding and taking the other boy away from the adults. He didn’t like how everyone talked so hushed, he knew what was going. He even knew how it had happened. The Chief’s son had been fond of Sari, he was just as sad as everyone else that he was gone. Why did grown-ups have to act like he didn’t know what he was feeling? Regardless, the boy pulled out a stack of cards, but not allowing the blonde boy to touch his prized possessions.

Watching as the boys walked away, Jocef turned back to Juniper and Winston, “Sari spoke so fondly of your son. He’s a beautiful child, certainly takes after his mother.”

As he stood with the former politician, out of the corner of his eye, Jocef spotted a long dark mane. It was Councilman Seryeshka. He was still seated and standing before him was a man Jocef was all too familiar with. Trying to make his gaze less than obvious, Jocef sent a glare in the businessman’s direction. He didn’t like the sight he was seeing. If Wraith Cross was talking to the Councilman, who knew what kind of corruption he may be attempting to inflict on Seryeshka’s integrity? Deciding his staring was impolite, Jocef brought his attentions back to the Ydrannas.

He listened quietly as they spoke, his militant posture slightly relaxed from its usual stiffness. Apparently they were planning on going back to Connecticut rather soon. There wasn’t much of an estate to settle. Whatever money Sari had, he’d left to charity and his home was his father’s former residence. Jocef had no doubts about the legacy Sari was leaving behind. He wasn’t the type that was easily forgotten, least of all by his friends and loved ones.

“Well, if there’s anything more I can do, please, don’t hesitate to ask,” Jocef said with sincerity in his eyes.

Winston shook Jocef’s hand and assured him that he’d already done so much but they would let him know if there was anything they needed further. With that the retired politician walked away, wishing to speak to the minister. Juniper gave Jocef a stiff nod and called to her son, holding out her hand and following after her father.

Jocef turned around to see who was left of the crowd. He spotted the young man that had contacted him, Zale. He felt sympathy for the young man. He’d come to bury his brother but hadn’t been allowed any part in it. A sad story indeed. Before he had the chance to even think about approaching the man, something red at the corner of his eye, pulled his attention.

Wraith Cross appeared to be taking his leave and Councilman Seryeshka was making his way to where Jocef stood. The chief waited patiently as the man approached him.

“Councilman, it’s an honor to meet you again. I’m only sorry it had to be here, sir,” he said reaching out to shake the bureaucrat’s hand firmly, “I have good news, in light of all this sadness. We might be on the right trail to finding who killed your fellow councilman. This arrest would do wonders for morale, I think. It’s what we need right now.”

Jocef wasn’t the type to speak ill of others openly in public. Despite some of his professional and personal distastes for the way Elessa conducted himself, he would never dare speak about them to anyone unless it was a conversation between friends, someone he could trust and even then. He didn’t like spreading about a negative opinion or view of someone. He didn’t want to influence others.

[QueenofHellinPastel]

Akira Danier was grieving.

How could something like this have happened? She honestly did not know someone could just...murder a person like Sari. While Akira couldn’t say they had been close friends, the man had helped her out of dangerous emotional paths several times, and he had earned her trust because of it. And her trust also earned an unwavering sense of loyalty.

Still, Akira expressed her grief in a very strange way. She acted as though nothing was wrong, even sometimes being overly happy and joyful. However, it wasn’t hard to tell she was faking--her smile was too wide and toothy, her makeup smudged and old. There were dark circles beneath her mismatched eyes. Her hair was lank and lacked the general silken flow it generally possessed.

Today, however, she looked normal; pretty and immaculate in cosmetics and cloth, but she was a wreck. Her friend was being put in the ground. She would never see him again. And she lacked the capability to express her immense sadness in a sane, cohesive way. She was only able to present herself as happy. Which, in turn, made her angry. In short, today was a very bad day for her to be posted at Elessa’s lover’s hospital room door.

Still, she greeted Gil with a smile, kolaches, and coffee. Hardly unusual, but for the copious amounts she brought them in. Akira and Gil would probably not need three dozen spicy cheddar and bacon kolaches...

“Morning, Gil~” she chirped, and handed him a large black coffee. “I didn’t know what you like, so I just got this. I hope it’s enough for the duration of our post.”

They weren't even supposed to be there that long.

Tucking a lock of white hair behind her ear, Akira glanced to the door before setting the food down. The hospital staff had been kind enough to set up a little table and chairs for the officers guarding the door, so she wasn't really worried about being comfortable. She wouldn't be sitting much today anyway--she was too restless. She needed to move, to sweat, to do something to take her mind from this nightmare of a situation the precinct found itself in.

Akira adjusted the gun holster at her hip and took a sip of coffee, the hot cream and sugar leaving a strangely bitter taste in her mouth at the moment.

“Any sign of movement?”

Doubtful, incapacitated as he was...

[QueenofHellinPastel]

Ryuka was usually found in one of four places--the Aphorism kitchen, working at her computer desk, at her sewing machine, or at the pool (it wasn’t the beach, but it would suffice). So finding her in the kitchen on New Year’s Day was no surprise--she’d been making a few traditional dishes. She’d learned the recipes from the owners of the restaurant she worked at for a time, and from the recipes her father left behind. Makani was a fantastic cook, from what she heard and saw from his countless recipe cards. And since he was a walking melting pot of cultures (his family was one of the last standing Polynesian tribes in Hawaii, but he also claimed Filipino, Japanese, and Chinese in his bloodline), the food he left behind was simply mouthwatering. Though it was still early in the day, she’d cooked quite a bit. She wanted everyone to have a little taste at least--it was all she could do to provide a sense of care to some of the Aphorism members.

Already, half the kitchen was filled with immaculate dishes and desserts--Chinese Nian Gao and Jai, homemade noodle dishes like soba, tikoy, poi, pulled pork, strawberry mochi...the list went on. Ryuka had pulled out all the stops, because as strange as it was, she wanted to feel at home here, and making a good meal for everyone was a good way to start.

She was surprised, however, when Spencer joined her and donned an apron to help her cook. The fashionista hadn’t pegged him as a homemaker, she teasingly pointed out, but she watched with interest as he taught her about the Irish side of New Year’s. Corned beef and cabbage...she didn’t really think she’d ever had it.

“Cure for a hangover? Shouldn’t you be eating it every day, then?” she laughed, dusting her apron. She’d already started baking bread of her own, and since she’d been cooking since early that morning she was doused in flour and spices. Still, Ryuka craned her neck to see what he was sprinkling in the pot, but before she could discern what he was using the lights shut down. She jumped and let out a squeak of surprise, nearly knocking over her pyramid of mochi, but Spencer’s half-hearted joke helped in keeping her calm.

Staring at his bum? Hardly. She was more interested in his pot.

...Wait.

“I don’t even think I could find my own rear right now, Spence,” she murmured, voice slightly shaking. She hated pitch darkness--what could possibly be going on? Who was on the PA...?

It was then that Spencer’s phone went off, and she remained in a shaken silence while he spoke curtly to whomever was on the other end. When he hung up and spoke to her, she realized it was her brother and she let out an audible sigh of relief. If Ryuko was already on it, she was sure things were already being fixed...

”Watch my beef?” he asked, and she nodded, though it’d be impossible for him to see. And with that, she was alone.

...It wasn’t that Ryuka was afraid of the dark. She just didn’t like not being able to see at all. It was just...she was such a visual person, that when something like this happened she was relatively useless. She guessed she should work on that.

It was a few moments, but Spencer finally got the lights up and Ryuka sighed once more in relief. Hopefully whoever was doing the pranking was caught; it wasn’t especially wise to break into the office of Aphorism’s leader and mess with the heads of criminals, thugs, and smugglers, then think it okay to make demands for a job. She could only assume that this person was mentally unstable and she made a note to steer clear of him.

A sudden sizzling sound and burning smell cut her thoughts, and she momentarily panicked.

“My soup!”

[Vermidian]

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Sword seemed to sag in disappointment the moment he saw Scott. Well. At least it was a reaction he was used to. Sword seemed to be in a good enough mood, considering how he likely felt. He was well enough to joke but he still looked like s**t. And hey, at least he saw the good in alternative stress relief methods. As in not getting punched in the ******** face and playing videogames instead. And fortunately for Sword, he did as he was expected to with the ice pack so Scott refrained from shoving him off the bed.

”I’m fine.” Sword told him. Scott shot him a look that clearly said ********. But he didn’t say anything.

“You have any idea how many people would love to have a good looking doctor like you in their bed?”

Now Scott looked up at that. His look shifted instantaneously, likely a mixture of confusion and a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look from being complimented. He didn’t get compliments. It just didn’t happen. Ever. Well, sure, he got the occasional one from Rabbit but she was like his sister. Sister comments don’t count. They say things just to make you happy. Being thought of in that way was just something people did do, let alone mention out loud. His face shifted very quickly into a look of concern.

“s**t, man, how hard did they hit you?” Scott was pretty sure that saying something like that had to be a symptom of a concussion. Because really. What.

He made his offer to listen and tacked on a comment about Sword’s pretty face He hadn’t meant to say it and exacerbate the situation but it wasn’t a lie. He did think Sword was a pretty handsome guy, even battered as he was now.

“You think I’m pretty, doc?” Sword asked, smiling.

Scott stared at him, pausing for a moment, but honesty was the best policy.

“You’re a handsome guy. Ain’t no use in denying it. Although you might not be the prettiest face on the block at the moment.” He shrugged.

He was still stunned that Sword had even stopped to consider him attractive. Seriously, he didn’t remember even one person who’d done that. Ever.

Sword broke a little on the topic. He didn’t go much into detail and that was fine. Scott hadn’t expected him to. Self-destructive act was ******** right. And Rook being straight. Ah, s**t, he’d been in that boat before. s**t blew. Sword looked at him and told him not to pursue heterosexuals. Scott chuckled a little.

“Nah, man. I learned my lesson about crushing on heterosexuals back in high school. Although he never really knew I existed so, uh...” Scott shrugged before reaching up and taking away the ice pack. The swelling had gone down slightly but he’d need to keep icing it. Most of the cuts looked okay but one of them might need stitches. Eight or nine from the looks of things.

“I probably need to stick to established homosexuals for my own good.” Sword commented. Scott nodded slightly, giving him a thems-the-facts look.

“I’m a doctor, not a heart surgeon.” He said, popping in a Star Trek reference because why the hell not. “I don’t do open heart surgery or fix figuratively broken hearts. I’m s**t at both. I do... however...” He touched the open cut gently. “...do stitches. And I think you need some.” He sighed. “You wanna sit up a little more so I can put you back together? Looks like it’s already been cleaned out okay. Glass cuts?” Scott tutted his tongue but left it there.

When Sword sat up, he could see a few more bruises blooming. There wasn’t much he could do with that, unfortunately. He took hold of Sword’s chin gently and angled his head to be more or less upright.

“This is gonna sting a bit so try not to move too much.” Scott warned. A bit was probably an understatement but somehow Scott doubted this was Sword’s first time getting stitches. Not to mention, Scott was good at stitches. Lots of practice stitching people up in the back of vans had given him plenty of practice.

It took him all of five minutes to do the stitches, expertly bobbing and weaving the needle through inflamed skin. It bled a little but Scott had that wiped away a few seconds later. He dabbed it gently with some antibiotic and popped a bandage over it, more for show than anything. Still, it looked better than small, neon blue stitches.

“There you go. All set with that one. You did good.” Scott held up a finger and reached back into his bag, pulling out a cherry tootsie roll pop and handing it to Sword. “Those’ll need to stay in for a week or so. You come to me and not one of those t**t aides that pass out pills, you got me? And you keep it as dry as you can for the next 48 hours. You need to wash your face, fine – but don’t soak it or anything. And definitely do not scrub it.”

While Scott spoke, he started dabbing antibiotic cream in other places and covered some of the deeper cuts with bandages. He didn’t see any more that really needed stitches.

“Okay. Next step. How do your ribs and stomach feel? Because guys tend to hit abdomen and face when they brawl.” Scott pointed out. He’d been beaten up a couple of times in high school. He could handle it but it had sucked.

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[Gekyll]

“Good evening…”

“…Commissioner.”

The motion of Lucien’s fingertips against his palm was relaxing in the sense that it reassured him Lucien was alive. Overall, the atmosphere was… tense. He suspected he would not like the turn their conversation was going to take, and after hazarding a glance at his watch, he realized he was already late to the funeral. Even if he left right then, it would be long over by the time he arrived.

“[********]” He muttered, rubbing his coarse jaw firmly, eyes fixated on the wall before him. He had wanted to share just a little part of how Sari had changed his life with his comrades and friends. Sari probably didn’t know… never knew… how much he had done—“Damn it.”

Elessa removed his hand from beneath Lucien’s absent touch, hands coming to rest together between his knees. He hated this entire pile of s**t that was in his life. Sari was dead, Lucien was missing bits and bobs, and Elessa was never as unsure of himself as he felt then. He didn’t know where he stood with anyone or anything. His career was quite possibly in jeopardy. Elessa’s already shaky standing with Lucien seemed even more precarious and likely to cave in from under him.

He wasn’t quite sure how to handle the entire miasma, the responsibility, the burden.

He tried, hard, to focus on the tale Lucien was recounting, but his mind flickered rapidly between stills taken of the lonesome alley Sari’s body lied in, cold, and bloody, and so very ******** dead, and how he felt over the past week of hell battling Lucien’s delicate condition and the death of a friend. He’d never felt so defeated in his life. With all of his strength and power, none of it prevented any of this awful s**t that had happened to people he loved and wanted to protect. What power did he have, after all?

None.

Elessa shifted in his seat and swallowed with some difficulty. Was it getting hotter?

Lucien’s fond words about someone he’d previously hit on did little to improve his state of mind. He knew Lucien was a bizarre one, but—what was wrong with him? Lucien was imparting so much of his life with so little prompting, and here he was hardly focused and jealous? He had no right to be jealous.

Elessa shook his head tersely when Lucien apologized. He waved dismissively – throat too tight to make a sound – and stared at the stuffed bear on the counter he’d purchased on a whim to greet Lucien with once he woke up. He had a number of small gifts to offer but the time didn’t feel right, nor did he think Lucien was in mood to…

He glanced to Lucien to see the redhead drag a finger across his throat illustratively. He looked away sharply, spine straightening and clearing his throat. He breathed in, deep, heavy breaths. He couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t bear to think of Lucien the way Sari had been, so—so

Elessa rose suddenly, turning his back to Lucien to just—breathe in—don’t vomit—stay. He settled his hands on his hips, head tipping back slowly. He needed to collect his bearings. Lucien was, for the time being, quite alive.

He nodded his agreement when Lucien voiced his exhaustion. He couldn’t look at him. He knew what he’d see. Resignation, uncertainty, and the world’s weight in sadness. He had worn that expression – that attitude – for the better part of a week.

He was just a man.

Elessa only turned when Lucien asked him to leave. He faced Lucien with his black suit and face full of apprehension and looked him over. That origami bird… Heh, Elessa had taken so much pride in it when he first discovered the little gift, but now… Now the damn thing felt like a bad omen. He stepped in closer to Lucien and shoved the white birds he had attempted to replicate into the trashcan. He stooped momentarily, perhaps to impart a kiss, but apparently thought better of it, and left the room.

[Gekyll]

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xxxxxxxxxxsчrαcusє ȷαxoɴ ɔαɗєxxxxxxxxxx

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❝ɴever coulɗ ɗecide

ʜow чou ωanʈed us ʈo be.❞

❝ωʜч ωon'ʈ чou sʜow

чour inʈenʈions ʈowards me?❞

Scott’s expression in response to his statement of being fine was classic. That tell-all look of ‘********’. He’d never been subject to one of those looks from Scott. First time for everything! Scott had it down pretty well. Poor guy seemed like he did his fair share of scowling. He heard people gripe now and again about the doctor’s bedside manner, but eh, Sword figured if he had to stitch idiots up all day and listen to their embellished war stories, he’d be grumpy too. As it were, Scott seemed peachy one-on-one.

The look that followed, however, struck him as odd. Sword blinked his surprise and returned his quizzical look, though for different reasons. He thought for sure Scott would return with some clever yet blunt comment to shut down any further flirting. Instead, he looked surprised! Scott’s surprise took Sword by surprise.

“Wha’?” He asked when Scott questioned how hard they hit him. He grinned a little and reached out to gently nudge his upper arm, “Nah, I’m serious! Everyone fantasizes about a steamy doctor at least once in their life.”

Offhand, he wondered if he crossed a line or somethin’, but he didn’t dwell on it long. Fortunately (unfortunately?), his ails required more of his attention than dissecting Scott’s bizarre reaction to a jest did.

“Won’t lie, tho’, one dude had a mean swing…” He touched the swollen corner of his lip carefully in remembrance. That one had hurt the most, if what hazy memory he had of the night prior served him well. Pretty sure he had bit his tongue and cut the inside of his lip in the hullabaloo.

Eh. His own fault.

When Scott confirmed his attractiveness, Sword laughed with genuine pleasure but shook his head. “Hungover, beat-to-s**t dudes your thing, Scott?” To each their own~ s**t, he wore his bruises well. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass the pretty boy torch to whoever is next in line. Maybe Jose.”

Now there was a classically attractive dude. Tall, dark, handsome, with a foreign accent to bring everything together in an exotic bow! Shame he had such low self-esteem.

Sword grunted softly, his head throbbing to remind him that it still hurt. He closed his eyes momentarily, hoping that resting his eyes for even a moment would ease the discomfort. No luck, it seemed. s**t, he needed water, and as much as it turned his stomach to think about, something to eat. ******** alcohol, man. He hadn’t thought he’d consumed so much, but apparently that’s what happens when you rage chug whatever shots the bartender sends your way.

“Ouch,” Sword muttered in response to Scott’s mention of his high school crush not knowing he existed. “Bummer, that. Awkward age for us all.” Oh well, Scott’s crush probably grew up to beat his wife or was so far in the closet he’d found Narnia by now.

Scott’s Star Trek reference earned a hearty giggle from the convalescing male.

“Dammit, Jim!”

He chimed in before Scott proceeded to explain that he didn’t and couldn’t fix broken hearts. He emitted a soft, passive ‘eh’. Not much anyone could do in that regard. He appreciated that Scott wanted to help make him feel better, though. Stitches, while temporarily a source of ire, would do him good, so he guuuueeeesssed…

Sword sat up with some difficulty, resting against the blank white wall behind him. He pulled his sheet and blanket up to attempt to cover some of him in case Scott was squick when it came to nudity, but gravity bowed to no one, so that didn’t work out all that well for him. He grunted his confirmation when asked if it was glass. Right around when that blow was struck was when everything got blurry.

He curled his hands into fists when he was warned, and sucked in a sharp hiss when he first penetrated flesh with his needle. Definitely not his favorite thing in the world, but he managed after that first one. He gradually relaxed his hands until they were no longer fists, and by the time that happened, Scott was finished.

“Quick work,” Sword commented with an impressed nod. Very nice. He had people drag a** when putting him together and damn did they piss him off. When presented with a tootsie pop, Sword chuckled and took it with a soft ‘thank you’. He unwrapped it and promptly popped the treat into his mouth. He sucked on the sucker while Scott gave him his dutiful tale of care. Meanwhile, Sword nodded appreciatively. He knew the drill.

“Couldn’t tell ya’. I don’t remember jack s**t after the eye incident.”

He gave another shrug, removing the candy with an audible pop. He gestured to the ice-pack covered eye with the sucker on a stick. In a way, Sword was pleased to have been in a fight. Letting all that aggression go was… relieving. Sure, there were safer, healthier ways, but that was the first method to present itself, and with booze in his system…

“Outside of stomach upset and a migraine headache from hell, I think you set me up real good, Doc. Thank you.”

He popped his treat back into his mouth and sat up without aid of the wall in order to prop several pillows up behind him. He shifted into an elevated prone position, sighing heavily once his achy bones settled. Aaaah, that was better…

“What’s new in your world?”

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[Gekyll]

Vivi’s body flinched when the harsh speaker located in room over boomed throughout his suite. A hollow breath passed his lips, and his arms stirred overhead. His brow drew tightly together, golden eyes cracking open through heavy eyelids with great effort. As though watching a heartbeat monitor, mostly transparent sound waves bounced before his eyes, fluctuating with each word filtered through the PA system. Vibrant spheres of violet and blue filled what little he could see in the nearly black bedroom.

Who the hell… was…

He bent his right arm in an attempt to sit up, but paused when he felt an increased pinch in the bend of his elbow. He tilted his head to inspect, eyes widening and finding himself significantly more conscious at the sight. He swallowed to wet his suddenly dry mouth and turned his head to look at the same area of his other arm. Two syringes were rooted firmly, one in either arm.

His breath came faster, and it was then that he realized he didn’t remember going to his room, or… laying down… certainly not shooting up. He hadn’t touched a needle in over a decade, would never—

…but he could feel the enticing pull, that comforting numbness he hadn’t felt in so long…

He allowed his eyes to close, the part of his mind that fervently questioned this circumstance slowly dying down in favor of relaxation and quiet. This week had been a frantic one for almost all of Aphorism, though no one felt the pressure more than Venna himself. He was used to cops making impassioned cries of bringing Aphorism to justice, some idiot from Red Moon attempting to frame them for a crime they didn’t commit (and Vivi knew none of his members were inane enough to kill a ******** beloved police chaplain—and he knew through zealous interrogation), even a member of his getting into s**t and winding up in the hospital.

All at once?

That member being his second?

Vivi’s by then relaxed features stirred into that of agitation as rational began to win out over the delicious silence permitted by the familiar sensation of sweet, sweet morphine… This wasn’t right, he swore he’d never again—

His cell phone sounded, and for a moment, he considered ignoring it. Oh… Maybe he hadn’t hallucinated the voice and power outage (when did that happen?) after all. Hallucinations? On morphine? Vivi’s brow furrowed as he fought to sort that out in his sluggish mind. He’d never hallucinated bef…ore… He glanced back up to the second syringe in his arm. It took on a vibrant yellow glow, as though it were made of those glow-sticks.

…the possibility he hadn’t done this to himself at length crossed his mind.

He managed to lift his arm to withdraw the syringe from his arm, and repeated the process on his other arm somehow. He pushed himself to sit, though the movement caused vertigo. He could see the air shifting to accommodate his movement.

“s**t—” He uttered when he remembered that his phone was going off. He groped for it weakly, finally locating it beneath his pillow. He never put his phone beneath his pillow. “Ryuko?” He questioned, not bothering to check the ID in an attempt to catch the caller before they hung up. His voice was hoarse, and to those who knew Vivi, would sound a mite panicked.

“Ryuko, there—”

He stopped talking so that Ryuko could. He looked around slowly, eyes taking in his room, in all of its malformed shapes, and inverted color. A few items had been knocked to the floor, and a framed photo sat on his long, horizontal dresser—of him and Ryuko from some celebration a year or more ago—stared at him. He didn’t have that photo displayed… A small bullet hole centered Ryuko’s forehead in the photo, and the longer Vivi stared, he swore it started to bleed.

He sucked in a breath, looking around, and finally, down at himself. No blood that he could see, but was he-… He was dressed in an ornate kimono, and it was suspiciously similar to one Ryuko had stored in his apartment.

Someone had been in Ryuko’s room.

Trespasser?

Vivi pressed a hand to his forehead and hunched forward, line of sight away from the furniture that seemed to be laughing at him by shifting side to side. It was all in his head, he told himself, but that only made it worse. If he couldn’t rely on his mind, what could he rely on?

“I c—I don’t—” He whispered with some difficulty. He didn’t know what was going on inside his room, much less what was happening outside of his building. Hadn’t he heard a mention of explosives? “G-get out of the building, everyone, and—have someone bring this idiot to my—” Office? Why did he feel uncomfortable with the thought of his work space? “[********]”

He hunched further, breathed deeply, and forced himself to think.

He wanted Ryuko out of the building, without a doubt. He needed to stay safe—or was it better to have him in his line of sight?

“Have someone bring him inside the lobby and tell him I’m coming down to him, un-armed. Sound the fire alarm, something, evacuate the building just in case. You—damn it, Ryuko—” Without knowing all of the variables, he couldn’t make a proper call, and even if he did, clearly his judgment was impaired due to [******** drugs in his system that should not be there.

Whoever did this, it was fairly reasonable to assume they’d already fled the premises, which would make Vivi’s room safe for Ryuko to enter and escort him out. Did he really want to chance that?

He didn’t hear anything to lend credence to the theory his assailant remained…

“I’m in my room. Someone was here. I’m drugged. Come help me get downstairs, but for God’s sake, keep your weapon ready, watch your back and do not go into your room.” He paused to take a breath, deeply reconsidering his directive. He needed to know Ryuko was safe.

“…stay on the line with me.”

[Sevsnapelove09]

Jenique sat with Rook, on the bench, her loosely linked with his. The silence between them was understood. There was lamentation whirring about the female’s head. She’d had a lot of time to think…about everything really. At the moment, all she could think about was the last conversation she’d had with her older brother. He’d been harsh but truthful.

All that didn’t stop her from her newfound ambitions of finding her son and trying to get him back. She knew she’s ******** up. But she’d been young, drugged out of her mind, and completely mentally incapable of performing her motherly responsibility. At the time, maybe it had been the right thing to do. Still, she didn’t understand why Jocef hadn’t taken Adam as his own…

And though she wasn’t in top form now, it didn’t change her feelings. She hadn’t done drugs since before prison, her mental well-being was back up to par and she felt she could be now what she couldn’t then. The thought did cross her mind that she was criminal still, which was why she’d resigned herself to illegal actions. She’d never be able to get him back any other way. She couldn’t get a real job, she was an ex-con with blue hair and tattoos all over.

“Rook…I’m going to get him back,” she said, her voice determined,"I don’t care what I have to do. I’m getting him back. And have pity on anyone that gets in my way.”

She got up from the bench and folded her arms as her brain went to work trying to iron things out. She was done moping around and done with feeling sorry for herself because of past mistakes, dwelling wouldn’t get her anywhere. It wouldn’t be easy and she might even have to enlist the help of her hoodlum brethren but she’d get her son back. Legality wasn’t exactly her forte anyway. She was stopped by a thought. She’d almost have to kidnap him.With her fresh from prison, she’d be the first place they looked. And her brother would help. Too bad he wasn’t dirty like that a*****e partner of his had been, she could use a cop friend right now. Maybe she’d ask around, see what she could dig up.

“You know what? I’m gonna head back…I got a lot of thinking to do. You’re a big strong man, I’m sure you’ll be okay. Unless McCreepy over there decides to make you his prom date,” the female said motioning to a tall man with black hair that did seem to be looking in their direction, “I’ll see you at HQ."

[Bharune]

X
X

Tormented and vulnerable, he just wanted Elessa to go, and when he voiced that plea his blonde lover didn’t question him. The older one said nothing and Lucien kept his head dipped, fighting to reconcile himself into some more rational state of mind, and before the redhead could register the sweep that cleared away Elessa’s creations the commissioner was gone.

Anger and resentment and self-loathing erupted and burned deeply, scorching red-hot, searing him with contempt for everything within his path, and had he not been bound he might’ve found the next few moments frighteningly destructive. His hands shook, clenched, but he remained still, afraid of what he might do if he allowed himself the comfort of motion. Accept it, he counseled himself. He’d only wear himself to exhaustion by swimming against currents he couldn’t redirect…

Lucien took a few moments longer to quell his rampant thoughts and emotions, and, without acknowledging the few gifts strewn about the table, he used his free hand to pick up the golden origami bird from among them. He felt a swell of bitterness and reproach for Elessa’s carelessness and his own foolishness; something so personal, so private, should never be openly displayed. How many times did he have to learn the dangers of leaving evidence of his secrets? Some of his enemies -- his comrades -- could cut him open in an instant and dissect him to his very core, and here he was, sharpening the scalpels that would enable them to do so. Being so very proficient at this task himself, Lucien knew how little it took and just how much damage could be done; he might as well be laying splayed open on a medical table.

But just as importantly, Lucien needed a visual, and perhaps he could thank Elessa for leaving him the means to accomplish that. Symbolism had always been a crucial element to his operation, and he relied heavily on such measures not only to express or understand himself, but as a method of autosuggestion; something he was very acquainted with. Will and conviction were supreme, powerful, and he was the master of himself. He would take what he needed. He would discard the unnecessary, the hindering.

Elessa had brought it here and put it on display.

Elessa had abandoned it, consciously or not.

But it was Lucien who had created it out of some desperate desire, despite knowing how foolish and wrong it was. It was he who had crafted this symbol, this paper bird from childhood toils that represented a feeling of…

…contentment. And peace. Of…wholeness and connectivity…not in solitude, but found only in the presence of another person. Of comfort, and…belonging. The bird did not represent Lucien Serbanescu, for Lucien Serbanescu was not a bird; he was the tree the birds nested in.

The bird was Elessa Villier.

More specifically, the bird was what Elessa Villier meant to Lucien, except that Elessa was not made of the paper of lonely years, forged by his own hands in attempt to ease the poisonous fog of emptiness and isolation. In the worn but unyielding tree that represented Lucien’s spirit, Elessa had come to reside of his own accord, and though he was not the only bird there had only ever been very, very few.

Slowly, deliberately, Lucien unfolded the first bend of the shimmering crane. He watched every motion, silent, aware of nothing beyond the sense of unmaking what he’d created. He couldn’t force the bird from his tree, but one’s conviction had the remarkable ability to alter their reality, and Lucien’s was even more powerful than most. Calm now, he meditated more objectively on his feelings as he retracted every fold and dip and finger-press. The scars of the figure would never leave the glimmering material, but the structure of it was beyond recognition.

Severance hurt, and he felt that sharp ache acutely. He would miss Elessa.

But it felt right, and he realized his motivations weren’t entirely selfish. He did not want Elessa this way. And he did not want that familiar guilt and shame of destroying something cherished. With the gold wrapping paper returned to its natural state, Lucien smoothed it out over his sore legs, then folded it a few times into a small square. He would miss Elessa, but he wouldn’t forget or discard what they shared.

Before he’d finished this endeavor, unfamiliar voices started filtering his room as a heterosexual pair of nurses entered, automatically breaking the silence with their questions and observations. He didn’t answer as they buzzed around him; it took all of his self-restraint just to allow them to touch him and check his vitals. When questioned more insistently, he responded with simple, heavily-accented words to feign an impaired understanding of the American dialect.

It was the male who requested to see his damaged eyes and, without waiting for a response, reached for his face. Instinctively, Lucien deflected the man’s hand, though he regretted that the action would likely cost him the minor freedom of having it unbound. His gaze darkened, but to avoid being perceived as any more of a threat he didn’t immediately meet the eyes of the two nurses.

“For now, I do not consent to any further treatment or medication,” he stated lowly, his English understandable but broken. “And I want to establish a medical proxy.”

It was time to set aside comfort and pain, to tuck away remorse and insecurity and cease all such thoughts, rendered insignificant by the great task of escaping his imprisonment with the fewest repercussions. A misstep could mean death or incarceration or an even greater permanent disability, and Lucien had to avoid becoming expendable to the syndicate at all costs. He needed his every thought to be precisely constructed and skillfully executed.

The nurses objected, of course, attempting to explain his current treatment, his condition, and why the fluids and painkillers were necessary, but Lucien gave a firm shake of his head.

“I know my rights,” he declared, and this time he chose to regard the medical personnel trying to dissuade him, using the hardness of his gaze to reinforce the authority of his decisions. “So remove this IV and bring me the necessary paperwork.”

He would get through the basics and procure clearance for Tom himself.

[IFTK Guide]

Ｄａｔｅ

Friday, January 1st

Ｔｉｍｅ

Afternoon ー＞ Evening

Ｗｅａｔｈｅｒ

Hot - Warm - Nice - Cool - Cold - Freezing - Nuclear Winter - Sunny - Windy - Cloudy - Humid - Foggy - Snowing - Thundering - Tornado - Hurricane - Nuclear War - Apocalypse

Ｅｖｅｎｔｓ

Event - Funeral of Sari Ydranna (Completed) - January 1st

Holiday - New Year's Day - January 1st
Birthday - Isabelle Sterling - January 1st
Birthday - Sid Sargeras - January 5th
Birthday - Jenique LeBane - January 26th

[Bharune]

Draith Nathaniel Rook tossed a small pebble mindlessly into the towering, multi-tiered fountain displayed before him, and the minute rock bounced harmlessly off one of the statues before disappearing into the water. Shifting his hand to separate another tiny stone from its kin, he repeated the gesture.

He sat on a bench away from the original procession, which had ended some time ago. His mother had not been there.

How could she miss the funeral of her own son? It occurred to him that, perhaps, the officials had been unable to locate her, so she wasn’t even aware of what had happened to her youngest (as far he knew) child. Surely if she’d known, she would’ve come, right? Lorraine might’ve been neglectful, but…she had loved her children.

Right?

“Who ******** knows,” he mumbled, his next pebble bouncing off an angel’s tit. Well, if she couldn’t be bothered, then neither could he.

Rook had intended on asking Elessa if the police had managed to contact her, but even the commissioner seemed to have better things to do. He didn’t know how he would’ve gotten Elessa’s attention without drawing any suspicion, but…he would’ve figured something out…but Elessa hadn’t shown, either. Rook frowned; he’d had something to tell that big lug…

Now he was just killing time until he was ready to wander back to RMHQ. He’d relaxed considerably once the police had dispersed, so his black suit jacket was draped over the back of the bench, the long sleeves of the button-down his only protection against the chill. His MP3-player and headphones were strewn about his lap, but currently off; he’d intended to listen to something, but having his hearing impaired out here, in the open, unsettled him. So they lay forgotten while his mind did the work of entertaining him, running through everything he’d already pondered over and over as if some new discovery might suddenly be revealed.

He did feel better, so he was glad he’d attended. But now that it was over…

He wasn’t sure what to do. Just go home, get up in the morning, go to work? It seemed so surreal, almost wrong.

Rook didn’t like it.

But thinking about it made his head hurt and his chest constrict painfully, so he just continued his tasks of tossing his rocks into the fountain, paying little mind to anything else. He didn’t know how long he’d stay here, but he was hoping…something…

…some idea…or some person…or a feeling…

…would compel him to go back to living his own life, which suddenly felt so undeserved. He knew there was nothing he could do about that feeling, though, so he didn’t dwell on it. Instead he allowed his thoughts to quiet while he listened to the distant thrum of cars, this time aiming for the angel’s other breast.

s**t happened…

[QueenofHellinPastel]

A few hours into her guard duty, and Akira couldn’t take the stillness and silence anymore. It was infuriating, frustrating, maddening, and she couldn’t stand the blank white walls and the smell of sickness hanging in the air. She’d missed Sari’s funeral, and that didn’t help matters. He was her friend, and Akira didn’t really...have many of those anymore. She needed to see him one last time, to say goodbye and assure herself that their friendship wasn’t in vain.

So, unabashedly, the officer pulled out her phone and texted the one person she knew would understand the most.

‘Bronte, do you think you could come cover for me? I missed the funeral’

It didn’t really take long for her phone to buzz back, and she sighed in relief.

‘Be there in ten. Save a kolache for me.’

As promised, ten minutes later the big Italian was there, eyes still a little red but seeming much more at peace than he had in days. He scooped Akira up in a big, tight hug for a moment, then let her down wordlessly, nodding his goodbye.

It was all the woman could do to keep her eyes dry at that point, and once she was safely out in her car she leaned her head against the steering wheel. She’d go home and change first; she didn’t want her goodbye to be formal and stiff. Akira wanted it to feel like old times, back when things were simple and full of laughter and color.

So, home she went, changing into some jeans and a warm sweater, before she made a quick stop at a coffee shop and a flower boutique. She and Sari used to get together after work sometimes at that shop and get tea. It was a therapeutic method of relaxation for her, because there, with Sari, Akira didn’t feel like she had to keep up appearances. She could talk about little things, big things, or nothing at all. She could be quiet if she wanted to. She didn’t have to be charming or pretty with him; she could come to him at the end of the day with her eyelids sagging and her hair frizzed to the ceiling, and Sari wouldn’t care.

...He’d just smile, and she’d be grateful for him being there.

Akira pulled into the cemetary drive, her yellow Scuderia glaringly obnoxious against the somber greys and whites of the snow-dusted headstones. Gathering her things, the white-haired woman adjusted her scarf a bit and set out along the path. It didn’t take her long to find her destination.

She was far too absorbed in her own thoughts to pay any attention to the man on the bench nearby--even so, she didn’t even register he was there. The sight of Sari’s name on a tombstone was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to look at that it was the only thing she could see. He was there, under the freshly dug earth, his body cold and unmoving. He wasn’t smiling at her now, and she’d never see it again.

Biting her lip, the woman sat down on the hard, frozen ground at the base of his grave, and choked out a little sob. The tears stung her cheeks like little frozen needles.

“Here,” she murmured, “I...I brought you these.”

She set down a small bouquet of yellow tulips, the color splashing a bit of life onto the dirt where her friend lay. She moved again, this time setting down a mug of hot honey-mint tea, and folded her hands around her mug of steaming peppermint. It was their preferred brews, and...she thought sharing one last cup would give her the closure she needed.

“I wish I could have been there, Sari,”she choked, “I’m so sorry. I know you’d tell me it isn’t my fault, but I’m so sorry...”

Akira was sorry that things had to end the way they did. She should have spent more time with him, should have taken him out to the beach, or to a party, or out to dinner at her favorite sushi parlor. She knew it was her grief talking to her, but at the moment it was too loud to hear the voice of reason murmuring in her ear.

She passed a gloved hand over her face in an attempt to brush away the tears, but the only thing she succeeded in doing was smudging her eyeliner a little. A cold breeze blew by and ruffled her white hair, stinging her eyes into watering a little more.

“You were...you were such a good friend. I wish we’d talked more. You knew so much about me, but I hardly knew anything about you, and I’m...I’m sorry for that. I was selfish and...and...”

Another sob choked the words from her throat, the lump of grief painful and hard to swallow.

“I know you’re happier where you are now, Sari, but I miss you already. I miss you...”

The woman stayed there for a while, hunched over in the cold. Her words were long drowned out. What else could she say to him? She'd said she missed him, and that was really all that needed said.

Besides, it was cold and she just wanted to go home and sleep it off...

Standing and grimacing, Akira adjusted her scarf, using the end of it to blot at her tears. However, before her face was dry, a particularly hard gust of winter wind unwrapped it from about her neck and it took off, dancing around in the air in a haphazard jig that lead it towards the fountain

No--that had been a gift from her mom!

Gasping a bit, Akira's puffy, mismatched eyes widened, and she took off after it, white hair whipping in her face as she chased the offending garment.

[Bharune]

Rook was out of stones, and he didn’t possess enough ******** to go scrounge up a few more, so he sat quietly instead, his foot tapping to some unknown beat. Besides, he’d hit that elusive left breast twice, so his game with himself had already been won.

Now what?

Maybe he’d hit up the ‘Dillo for a few drinks, then call Sword and apologized profusely for…hell, he didn’t know. Not seeing him, he guessed. How much was he in the doghouse, anyway? Couldn’t a guy get a break, given the circumstances? Who knew with Sword. Sometimes Sword seemed to understand him better than anyone, and sometimes he didn’t seem to know him at all.

Though, he shouldn’t drink alone. When he was in a dark or depressed mood, it never ended well.

“So much for keepin’ me out of trouble, J…” he mumbled wryly, but he couldn’t really blame her. And maybe a few hours of peace and solitude wasn’t such a bad thing, anyway, if he could avoid going on a binge. What was the likelihood he’d have the discipline and good sense to stop imbibing after just a few drinks?

…Not…very high….

Before Rook could decide anything, a ripple of gray fluttered through his periphery, caught up by the violent wind. A woman’s shout quickly followed it, and before Rook even knew what was happening he was up on his feet, his MP3-player clattering to the cobblestone perimeter that surrounded the fountain. His first reach missed, so he lunged forward another stride, one hand dropping to grip the edge of the fountain while his other one darted up to grab the carefully-knitted garment. The wind tried hard to pull it from his grasp, but Rook prevailed, and when its chilly fury finally abated the scarf settled back into gently-fluttering benevolence. The tip of it just barely brushed the water’s surface before Rook could pull it away, but all in all, it was dry and undamaged.

“Gotta watch your back ‘round these rougher parts,” he chided when he sensed her approach, then turned to address the woman and relinquish her treasured possession. “What with all the…”

Rook stopped short when he saw her, his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprised. Even though she had an obvious look of sadness and tears – both shed and unshed – she was extremely beautiful, her long, platinum hair flitting in the wind and glowing coldly in the overcast light, and her eyes—

The third dropped his own hazel gaze momentarily, shifting in slight discomfort. Stay focused, Draith, he berated himself. He wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, on account of all the cops and politicians and other potentially-problematic associates of his brother and his brother’s family lingering around here. Considering there was a warrant out for his arrest, he didn’t need to be stirring up the pot, especially with the WCPD on the warpath.

But…well, he couldn’t exactly keep the scarf he rescued, now could he? It was kind of done now, and he’d just look even more suspicious if he acted all shifty. Better to play it off and hope she didn’t recognize him, especially since that warrant was old news, anyway.

“Here ya go,” he said with a small smile, lifting his hand and eyes so she could retrieve her scarf. “That was a close one; almost had to scrap with that goose over there.”

He nodded towards one of the geese floating in a lazy circle, honking angrily at them, its kin waddling about the cobblestone.

“Look at it givin’ me the evil eye…” he remarked, then turned his smile back to her. “Terrifying. I think I could’ve taken ‘em, though.”

[QueenofHellinPastel]

Though Akira was fast, the wind was faster and a lot more violent. It whipped the scarf around, intent on tearing it from her forever, but then a hand reached up and snatched it from the jaws of certain unsalvageable, watery death. She slowed her running to a jog, eyes lowering from her prize to the man holding it.

“Gotta watch your back ‘round these rougher parts, what with all the...”, he said, then paused, looking at her. Unconsciously, Akira flushed a bit, that old model-mindset reminding her that her makeup was smeared and her hair a tangled mess. However, he looked down for a moment, and she took that second to study his face.

He was very handsome, she had to admit, though he looked like he was feeling down in the dumps himself. She also noted his wind-bitten cheeks, and she wondered how long he’d been out here, in the cold evening air by himself. And what for?

The man smiled then, handing her scarf back. He seemed friendly enough. Reaching out, Akira managed to smile back at him, though it was still slightly subdued.

”Thank you,” she nodded, folding the scarf carefully around her neck once more. She really appreciated it; though the scarf wasn’t particularly expensive, it was a lovely gift from her mother, before she forgot how to knit.

“That was a close one; almost had to scrap with that goose over there.”

The words took her by surprise and Akira let out a short, soft laugh, one that--unfortunately (her dignity!)--ended in a hiccup. Clearing her throat, she followed to where he gestured, looking at the ruffled geese and reached into her pocket, jingling her keys at them. With a few more angry honks they waddled off, and the woman looked back to the stranger in front of her.

”I dunno, they look pretty mean,” she teased, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. ”I might have been the one to come to your rescue, at that point.”

Akira paused then, shifting her weight, before she glanced down at her hand. The thermos mug of peppermint tea was still steaming in her hand, the warmth seeping through the glove and providing a nice source of heat against the cold of the evening. She thought a moment, then smiled, offering the thermos to him. She didn’t really need it--she’d just go home and have some.

”Here. You look like you could use it. You must be freezing.”

He didn’t even have to drink it--not many people liked peppermint tea. He could just hold it for a while if he wanted, warm up a bit. He could even toss it, Akira didn’t mind. But he’d saved a precious gift for her, and it was the least she could do.

”How long have you been here, anyway...?”

After the question left her lips, Akira realized how rude that might have sounded--not many people liked to be questioned about grieving. However, it wasn’t good to sit for so long in the cold, and she was trying to make conversation. She felt like...she needed the company right now, and he looked like he might have needed it for a moment...