[ PRP ] Unfriendly (Lawr x consequences)

[Zoobey]

Lawr would get a text message one following morning.

Text from Caelius

11am. Room 201B

Baneful

 

[Baneful]

"Another meeting?" Was Lawrence's first response when he checked his phone that morning. He assumed some new event had come to light which required further public beration of the entire division. He did not consider for even a moment that it had anything to do with his spar with America, after all, no one had died, and as far as he was concerned that was the only thing on this island that required a reprimand.

Once again he had to get out of his Chantelle disguise, a task which took almost till the time specified on the text.

Lawrence in appearance, he arrived at room 201B at 11AM sharp.

Zoobey

 

[Zoobey]

"Sit." The Death lead didn't bother to hide anything. On his desk was a variety of questionable artifacts, if they could even be called that, and what looked like, predictably, a folder with Lawrence's name on it. It wasn't very thick, but it wasn't quite thin either. He pulled out the first page. "Explain yourself yesterday at the training fields."

For some reason, Oz was there too but the Death Hunter seemed to be either sleeping, slouched over, or in deep meditation. Mark was nowhere in sight.

Baneful

 

[Baneful]

Lawrence sat. He was surprised to hear the question but that was as far as his emotions on the subject went. Explaining it was no simple task, he did not understand his draw to America nor his moment by moment inclinations throughout their encounters. Nevertheless he spoke up, his tone flat and void of emotion.

"It was a spar. Afterwards I was curious about the extent of the wards. There was no malice." He fully expected to end up the way Taym had or worse, but he was not afraid. Butch was, whining and cowering in his thoughts to his irritation, but he felt no different than any other day.

Zoobey

 

[Zoobey]

"Interesting choice word." The Death lead stapled a few papers together, absorbed in busy work while half-listening. "You were curious about the extent of the wards and just happened to drag an Intermediate Hunter without a Fear Shield exactly out of range and continuously assault them, which almost resulted in yet another death by your hands. That makes three, and while I am lenient in some matters, as the current leader of this establishment, as you put it so well, I do not deal well with broken rules under my leadership, as long as I am still here. And I have been here a very, very long time, and am very familiar with this routine."

He paused. "Your accomplice, America, I believe it was, will be executed tomorrow for treason and for aiding and continuously abetting your... curiousity, as you have provided no substantial evidence otherwise. As for you, I am well aware you have a Sahara mission and it will be indefinitely postponed. You will be sent to an isolated base in Antarctica for a ten year service on post. You will not be allowed to return back to the island, and you are not allowed any of your belongings or interaction with any other fellow Hunters. You are dismissed.

Baneful

 

[Baneful]

Lawrence listened in impassive silence as the other man spoke. When his punishment was laid down he didn't so much as blink. He didn't know how they'd found out about the pods but fundamentally it didn't matter, the whys were irrelevant, the fact was that they knew.

America would die. It was what he thought he had wanted but somehow the knowledge was unfulfilling. There was no awakening of emotion, no satisfaction, not even the low level stirring she sometimes caused in him, the stirring that was all the hope he was ever permitted he could understand what she felt. He could try and save her if he wanted to try. He could argue that she was guilty of no treason at all short of being a victim of his attention. But he did not, because he doubted the other man was possible to sway with words or bargains and because at least this way, she would always be beautiful, even if he would never get to write his song. And he could have left and gone after her, tried to beat the executioner to the punch, but such things were crass and rude. She deserved an exquisite death and he would be responsible for nothing less.

Antarctica itself held no fear for him. Not even the loss of belongings or the promise of solitude and segregation made him regret his decisions. He did not get lonely and even death at the hands of the elements held no terror. Besides. Ten years was a very, very long time on this island, and if the other man had been there a long time, as he said, perhaps he was outstaying that welcome. He was good at surviving. Good at outliving. He meant everything he had said in the meeting. Maybe he would be back. Most likely he would die in the snow. Neither option was more appealing than the other.

In his head Butch whined and keened and tried to reason as best he knew how. and he degenerated into a strange sort of cross between a whine and a low, sorrowful howl. He didn't understand and he couldn't console the creature.

Standing, he nodded respectfully to Caelius. "I did not kill anyone I did not mean to. If I had meant to kill America, she would be dead. I did not." It wasn't a defence, he wasn't asking for lenience or respect, it was simply facts, information. "Thank you sir."

And he turned to leave, grieving only for the space where sadness, regret and - if Butch was to believed - heartbreak should have been.

 

[Zoobey]

The Death lead didn't respond to the prompting. There was no reason to because he personally had nothing to lose. Lawrence, America, almost everyone's state of being was just a state. Some were more interesting, and some required a dance that couldn't quite finish, but not this one. Lawr was just a nuisance without any substance.

"I want you and America here tomorrow at eleven. You will be heavily monitored until then, any misconduct in behaviour will shorten your stay on Deus, permanently and immediately. We will outline the procedure then." He was already signing the release forms and didn't quite seem to be in any more of a talking mood. Both occupants in the office were unforgiving, one simply had more power.

Baneful

Feel free to rp with America first/ etc. When you guys are ready just rejoin this RP... assuming things go well

 

[Baneful]

Nodding, Lawrence left the room and knew his destination the moment he wandered into the hallway, he didn't bother to get changed into his Jan attire, instead he was dressed all in white, coat and scarf included as he headed to seek out America.

One day. One single day before he would be sent away for what might as well have been forever. And he wanted to see her, as much to inform her of her looming fate as simply to look at her.

He was curious if she would rebel against her fate, if she would try and save herself the way he never would. He didn't know if she would attack him or if she wouldn't even want to speak to him. And once again thinking about her, whatever it was that skirted around the void stirred again.

The first place he looked was the infirmary, it stood to reason given the severity implied by Cael's comment earlier, and politely collaring one of the less hostile looking techs, asked if America was around.

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

The medic opened their mouth to make a no doubt dismissive reply when they suddenly stopped and nodded toward the doors where the redhead had just entered. Pale, bruised, her wounds openly displayed with the greasy sheen of ointment, she'd obviously seen better days. Yet striding across the infirmary hall in worn, comfortable pajamas, she stared dubiously at the bowl of jello in her hand as if its mysterious coloration was the greatest of her worries.

America looked very much her age right up until she looked up and directly at Lawrence. There was that odd cessation of movement and noise that happens sometimes. The sort that creeps into crowded rooms and insinuates that, ultimately, we are all so very much alone and everything else is just window dressing.

The girl's expression froze for that moment, shocked by the sudden appearance of her enemy, stripped of his most familiar persona, her newest nightmare standing casually in the light of day.

Stryker was a whisper of reassurances, of storms and ashes and how they were a phoenix. The worse they burned, the greater they were reborn. There was nothing to fear in this hallway.

Lifting her chin, America turned away from Lawr and sat down in a waiting chair. Back straight and proud, she took a dignified bite of her jello, a queen on a hard plastic throne.  

[Baneful]

Lawrence didn't smile. Nothing about his expression altered. Jan for the time being was left with the possessions he would be unable to take with him. But at least he got to look upon her again, to see the youth and relaxed ease drain away from her, to catch a glimmer of something else that was there and just as quickly gone.

He moved with effortless grace to sit as close to her as he could get away with.

"I was sent here to deliver grave news." he said. "By Caelius, no less."

 

[lizbot]

Her spoon stilled and dropped back into the bowl with a clatter. Taym? She mouthed the question to him, expression alarmed.  

[Baneful]

Such compassion. He wondered what it was like to be so dependent on the wellbeing of another individual, to dread every moment that the news you would receive would be that you most dreaded. And he supposed if he had been able he might have been jealous, there was no one who would mourn his passing. It did not matter ultimately, sentimental tripe, grief could not bring the dead back to life.

He set a hand on her knee gently, if he got away with doing so.

"No. Not Taym. If he is dead it is not something I am aware of. I know only what I saw at the meeting." He shook his head. "It is in fact you, who are in dire trouble. You are to be executed tomorrow at eleven. For treason."

And in a genuine attempt at reasonable consolation. "At least Taym is no longer your primary concern."
 

[lizbot]

She ignored the hand in her relief, then incredulity. Setting her lunch aside, America drew out a pad of paper and pen. Mouth hard, she scrawled across the page and tore it off to hand to him.

I will be there. I will not be executed. ******** off until then a*****e.

The girl pointedly returned to her food, expression growing distant with obvious plans being formed.  

[Baneful]

He read the note and something sharp seemed to enter his gaze. She was truly radiant in her defiance of the inevitable. Fear of death. It had to be. "I sincerely hope not. Your death would be most unfortunate."At least at the hands of anyone else. Neatly folding the note, he tucked it away in his coat and gave her a curious look. He did not remove his other hand and had no logical explanation for his negligence in doing so. "And in far better news no doubt, my actions have earned me what seems to be ten years in a remote Antarctic post. Perhaps it would provide further incentive for you to survive. Survival would most likely be in a world without me."
 

[lizbot]

America tilted her head in silent consideration of his fate. Finally she decided that it was a sort of comfort, even in her refusal to accept her own execution, the idea of his long term banishment was a relief. Appreciative, she nodded, gently patting the hand on her leg before removing it delicately with two fingers like a piece of trash.