capes within METROPOLIS . . . Z E F I R ~

[feral ferrett]

emperor - being a leader; balanced, reasoned power while convincing others to keep position
cups (hearts) - the feeling of abandonment; opposite of reg = love
king - cutting of emotions; hiding your emotions within; not allowing expression
swords [ nine ] - nightmares; worst things about self and others coming true; in darkness personal demons seem larger than ever
swords [ king ] - focusing on real and attainable goals; not daydreaming about how life could be better, but making real goals to
pentacles [ queen ] - focuses on other people's problems instead of her own; caught up in social life instead of dealing with obligations; financial issues








[ j a c q u e s xxxxx g. xxxxx d a g a r d ]





__________________________________________________________


The human mind was a remarkable concept.

Quite frankly, it scared the absolute s**t out of Jacques.

He had been learning everything there was to learn, constantly, thanks to his older brother. He also had to learn some things on his own from his own experience. Then there were the many, many things he had yet to learn and also the things the had learned but didn't keep of importance because they did not seem so to him.

When he saw the disbelief in Kellen's eyes, as if Jacques had just called him the most disgusting thing that he could have ever gurgled as in insult, Jacques nearly staggered away. He was always in fight-or-flight, so for the sake of protecting himself and his best friend, he would choose flight this time around. Kellen wasn't one to fight. Not unless you knew you could beat him.

Jacques could easily hold his own against a spar with Kellen, when they were training, sure. But, a full-fledged fight with emotions raring and all the factors into play? The only way Jacques would remain was if he got the jump on Kellen, knew exactly what he was going to do before he did it. Other than that, he would have been done for.

Kellen scared him, sometimes. Even when they were younger, Kellen would frivolously demand from the skies the showiest showers of electricity or obscure the skies with the biggest clouds - clouds which could have brought along their waking storms as he called them - or even take to the skies without looking around to see if there was something on its way to intercept him... or someone.

For the number of times that Jacques had to bail Kellen's a** out of trouble, Jacques could ponder no repayment. The same went for Jacques; he definitely owed the... the only partner he had left his life. He was beyond grateful for this friendship and, as Kellen whipped around to nearly summon the electricity of tension in the room into solid form, Jacques slowly stepped after the man.

His father was alive, his father was awake.

Jacques looked to Mrs. Tav'Elaon, opposite the bed of Officer T.

He then caught Kellen's expecting eyes once he had surveyed his father. Jacques shook his head. Nothing yet.

This was the kind of stuff that scared him, too. How people could either come to life or never wake up again.

In a matter of years, too, this had happened. Decades and centuries could not settle in his mind, neither could the colossal leaps in human possibility. They went from not having solutions to certain medical illnesses to having something as simple as cough medicine or as intricate as a defibrillator. The wonder of the human mind, creative innovation and the endless possibilities completely overwhelmed the psychic Parisian. However, he knew what he was capable of, and all of that was not done by one human.

Nor was it done by just one super.

He spent his idle time inspecting Officer T. while the doctors also did their things. While he was panicked, Kellen spoke to him in calm tones to bring him back down to the bed. Jacques would then relay the messages that Officer T., partially crazed and delirious from the effects of the drugs and also in his stupor of pain, were willingly sharing to Kellen, who was expectantly listening with attentive ears, as if they would help the tether of mental energy.

Jacques took Kellen outside the room for a moment. He knew they needed their alone time, but they still had things to take care of.

His tone was hushed and calm, just to ensure that, should Kellen agree or disagree with his executive decision, it would be a civilized conversation.

"I'm going back to Business Square. I have to speak with the Chairs." A moment for Kellen to process, decide, and Jacques would assure that Kellen remain with his father, just in case anything happens or whoever did this returned.

"I'm going to your dad's precinct to see if they can get me in direct communication with their liaison. It'll be a lot of work," a dismissive glance down the corridor at a male nurse who was walking towards the Zefir men, maintaining the eye contact that Jacques had unintended, "but," Jacques couldn't look away, finding himself receiving a swift, very subtle wink and a fray of a thought plucked from the air around the brunette's scruffy face.

Can I help that swelling go down?

A concealed blink of the startled Jacques and a follow-up glance to later, and the nurse had successfully inflicted the flirt upon this apathetic, secretly romantic loser. Jacques wrung his hands in one another and turned back to Kellen with sudden haste in his breath. He looked in to the room to see that his father was doing well, resting now, as Kellen should as well. His mother's vital readings were looking better, as well, heard one of the specialists mumble.

"I'll let you know when I get through and.. what they say."

They both knew that they wouldn't say much, but Jacques was going to get them to talk.

He was going to find out what was really going on.

He wasn't scared of the truth.

[feral ferrett]

Well, s**t. Wasn't this something?

Elii, drunkenly surprised by Carl's sudden, pissy exit, winced at the bite his drink suddenly summoned. He had since forgotten what it was like since it was at the bottom of his glass, diluted with ice and a mixer. Whatever the case, he was going to finish it because Carl, unknown by Eliijah, had been a good Samaritan [ for some, odd reason ] and covered it with his tip. If Elii knew this, he'd be sure to compensate for the tip - just the tip.

He staggered from his stool, looking after Carl with numbed stupidity. He knew to carry himself well, but he was having a good time, even with Carl being fussy, as per usual. This tail was always quite the chase, but he had gotten it once and he could get it again.

"Carl, Carl! Wait." An assisting hand on one of the stools along his way kept him from leaning into a woman who was too belligerent for her own good. Had Elii noticed, he would have changed course immediately and came back to Carl with her under his arm. Fortunately for us, we're spared of that horrendous interaction by chance. How serendipitous!

He took another neck of his drink, setting its nearly-emptied existence on the counter where the bartender would claim to protect it but tossed it, knowing the borderline-hunched Elii had enough.

A large inhale straightened the male, his bright eyes focusing on those broad shoulders and that head of messy, tired hair that had seen even the biggest pieces of debris falling all around them when they both thought they were going to die; Elii was nearly out of commission and Carl was still s**t at using his powers. Well, that was something, wasn't it?

He was too drunk to properly use his juxtaposition to the shadow plane outside the bar find out where exactly Carl had gone. But, pursuit would work just as well.

He placed a hand against the frame of the door as he pushed it open and found himself in the alley, too. Carl, a bit hard to see in the dark but just as noticeable from his silhouette, was standing there. Just, waiting. There was something he needed to do.

Elii suddenly felt so much pressure in his life.

"Aw, [********]" he hobbled over to the wall of the building adjacent to the bar and unzipped his pants. Next, he unfurled his belt and proceeded to release his tension and contents of his bladder on the poor, unsuspecting building. As he leaned back and forth and hummed a cracking tune, the stream steamed up, hitting his nostrils but not disturbing him - not because he was drunk off his face, but because he had grown up knowing worse scents than his own urine. Once that was taken care of, he bounced for assurance of completion and then repackaged himself very casually. His hands were wiped on his jeans and he proceeded to turn to Carl, as if nothing had just happened.

"Carl!" It was as if he literally had seen Carl for the first time in ages, again, without having actually seen him.

Boy, was Elii excited.

He galloped over, as if they were young again, as if he hadn't brought Carl into the shadows for longer than a night and as if Carl hadn't emerged a completely different human being.

"Listen... Listen, I'm sorry. You know, I'm sorry."

Or, maybe, Elii was going to ackno-- "I didn't know," okay, well, here he goes.

"If I could take it back, I would. Or give it back... Whichever one makes more sense `cause I don't know what I'm sayin', but I really, really ********' miss you, man." He went for an embrace, which was probably shaken off and evaded.

Elii stood up straight, running his filthy hands through his hair, distressed.

"Barb's'nside'n'she wuzzin gonna lemme leave `thout findin' some nice a**, but list...en," he pinched the bridge of his nose, all of the alcohol he had taken in swimming around in his head a lot more frequently than it had been before. He felt very fluid.

"I, uhh, heard y'name coupl'a times dis week," what did this mean? What was Elii getti-- "I don't know who you have on your tail, but," Elii stiffened, his eyes glassing over and his jaws clenched, visibly so dramatic that Carl wouldn't be able to dismiss it this time [ if he was even looking. ]

"Dey comin' to meet you at th'bar, hmmmmmm?"

Okay, I don't know what's happening with this guy. Hopefully we, together, can figure it out, because I don't know how much more of this I can take.









`

[XxBoltxofxThexYewxX]

“Never seen a bluer sky. Yeah, I can feel it reaching out, and moving closer. There’s something about blue….”

Kellen raised an eyebrow to its highest peak, looking at Jacques as if he’d said that the sun rose in the west and set in the east. His first reaction, of course, was a statement that Jacques didn’t need premonition in order to know was coming:

“That’s fine. I’m coming with you.”

And Jacques’ silent and steady gaze was all the answer that Kellen needed to remember what had happened the last time the two of them chose to go and speak with The Chairs. Still in the dark about Jacques’ more successful solo run into the twin buildings of Downtown, Kellen’s mind filled with images of flashing lightning, shattering glass, high winds, and his arms being yanked behind his back in a maneuver that he would have never thought would be used on him.

Today? Today, at this very moment, Kellen was in a good mood. He cast a gaze through the window into the room with his father a mother, a warmth spreading through him as he watched his father reach for a cup of water, carefully, working independently to drink from it before retiring into his pillows and sheets.

“….You are right, of course.”

Though, even as he agreed with Jacques most wise recommendation of Kellen staying behind with his family, he absolutely hated the fact that Jacques was right. It was, after all, very much unlike Kellen to sit in the passive seat of a conflict involving him.

The storm, as he’d preached to his friends and family on multiple occasions, was a dispassionate force. The part of Nature that wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, that which humans associated with flowers growing, and the world thriving. The storm was the part of Nature that people chose to shun, to frown upon, due to its destructive forces. Was it not these very forces, though, they allowed Nature to be as everyone enjoyed it? Storms brought water to plants that needed it was sustenance. Storms brought the shifting of soils, allowing for more nutrient-rich soil to fertilize crops. Storms, he argued, were Nature’s hands-on approach to seeing about change. And lightning.

Well, lightning was just hot-headed and brash….and Kellen couldn’t necessarily say both of those things didn’t always apply to him.

He had watched Jacques move down the hallway, hands reaching to prime a cigarette for him to be about as soon as he was outside of the facility’s walls. It wasn’t until that familiar silhouette disappeared around a corner that he’d return to the room, moving quietly as to not disturb his two sleeping parents. ‘He’s really tired….doctors said that he would be. Won’t be able to stay awake very much for a while.’ Which, though he’d have loved nothing more than to be able to speak more with his father at that point in time, this did give him a bit more privacy in the room to keep on the work that he and Jacques still had to do. Adam’s name had not ventured far away in his mind, and Kellen was still even more aware of the job that Jacques had just embarked upon by himself.

Well, not completely by himself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was almost time for his evening shift to start.

Almost.

Samual had exactly thirteen minutes before his shift would start. Two to walk into the building, 5 to change into his uniform, three to clock in, three to walk to his post where he’d begin the grueling shift of covering the twentieth floor landing. Because, you know, people actually used this entrance all the time and so it was top security. EXCEPT NOT.

Feet kicked up onto an unsuspecting bench, Samual’s eyes were turned upwards into the darkening sky with a lazy droop to them, watching as the clouds seemed to move quicker than one might expect. Wasn’t that always the trippy thing about watching clouds, though? They always seemed like they were moving so quickly when you weren’t moving at all.

“Awh, man, really? Fog at this time of evening? Tch, that’s gunna make my shift all the more miserable.” And, even though he was absolutely right in that the twentieth floor had quite a chill to it when you were stationed outside, it made him all the more grateful for Mar, who had done him well to pack a jacket, just in case. She always packed a jacket, just in case, since he worked outside.

"I’m so free….There’s no black and white, in blue.”

- Y.K

[XxBoltxofxThexYewxX]

ϡ And there it was...

One hundred, sixty six. One hundred and sixty seven if he were being picky. That’s how many different species for flora he found in and around the precinct. They were all rather distinct in his mind, roots a slightly different hue of color that, while probably indiscernible to most eyes, gave him just the differences he needed to tell them apart. He got a name for all of them, ran through his head the different uses each had if they were used as stand-alone plants or combined with others from the same family. Then different families. Then how each of the plants might looked as either focal pieces or accent in some kind of floral arrangement that he was used to creating for sell. Natural longevity, optimal growing conditions, which could be used as a—

Keys clinked, drawing him out of his idle state of thought.

His eyes fell upon the cell directly across from his where, he knew, he’d find Conan asleep. So very little had changed between the two of them in the last fifty seven minutes. Conan had continued to sleep, and Nathan had continued to allow him to sleep, resolving to occupy his time with other thoughts instead. As one guard came in and his most favorite of people stood up from his chair with a yawn and turned on his heels to leave the holding area, Nathan drew his eyes to the new officer with no sign of interest whatsoever. They exchanged a look of idle pleasantry, the new shift’s lips turning up into a smile momentarily as their eyes met while Nathan’s faced remained emotionless.

Taken aback by the lack of….well, anything, the officer’s smile faded and they quickly buried themselves into the book they’d brought with them.

Nathan went back to thinking.

This building would be more than easy to break out of. Exceedingly easy, as it were, given they were on the first floor and not the second. Even through the concrete beneath his feet, as thick as it was, he had established a solid connection with the earth below it and his rapport with the roots strengthened. The one thing, though, that continued to give him slight pause about the whole thing was how he planned on doing this without endangering anyone in the building. Buildings, at least to him, always crumbled quite unpredictably when he set about reclaiming land, and he’d not be able to feel all that good about the escape if he’d left innocent people harmed.

A promise was a promise.

And then there was Conan, who looked as if he needed sleep like a plant needs light. Nathan had always been rather impartial to the whole sleep idea, resolving to subject himself to it every night simply on some subconscious whim; he’d been doing it since he was born. And while he had admitted that it always made him feel better when he awoke in the morning, that couldn’t have equally been because of the rising sun as well.

The defined sound of a page in a new book being turned caught his ear’s attention, and his eyes followed the sound, idly settling on the officer before him. Brown hair, blue eyes, young, looked pleasant enough…and didn’t talk, like the other idiot. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt him to spend a night in this place, if only for Conan’s rest.

If there was one thing Nathan had, it was patience.

[Troubled Monster]

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A D A M XXX⇝ XXXE A S T
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L o c a t i o n | | Bangkok then Met xxxxx M o o d | | xxxxxxxxxx W i t h | | Alson & Olai xxxxx L o o k b o o k | | Casual


“Adam, we just got the approval from your lawyer. Colette caved, you own Roscorp.” The sleek polished black rim of the slender iphone glistened as it reflected the dizzying sun. A permanent appendage of Adam’s arm, the phone, which was constantly buzzing and beeping, was becoming more and more like a tumor growing out of his heavily decorated ear. Certain calls Adam skipped, others were too important to ignore, and some were so pressing that Adam waited like an overexcited child on Christmas Eve to receive. This was the later, and it was worth foregoing his personal involvement with Ermolai’s entrapment. Perhaps foolishly, Adam figured Alson could handle the miniature mission on his own. Being a villain meant being organized, but being a super villain meant delegating. If Adam could do everything by himself he would…it’d probably be more efficient and have the necessary amount of flair to keep whispers in the wind about him, but for someone with big dreams and an even bigger budget, a solo reign of terror was an impossible one. Actually, as Adam ducked into a cloister on the street (he seemed to be in front of some kind of high end shoe store) with an expensive phone pressed firmly to the side of his face, he looked comically normal…or as normal as someone like Adam could look. He was an attention grabber, and he knew it, he probably liked the wandering eyes too. Sometimes Adam stroked his ego and equated all the quick stares to his good looks, but despite his arrogance Adam had a streak of realism in him (believe it or not) and he knew the general public’s attention towards him was likely due to his array of glamorous tattoos that indeed breached the cloaking abilities of his typically form fitting clothing. The ******** off sign on his head probably garnered some interest too…but it scared anyone really interested away, that was its job after all.

“Good, let’s start getting my drug on the market. Have our marketing team start thinking up a better name and once we get the go ahead to sell make sure we make my DNA trail untraceable. No replication possible got it. Kill anyone that gets too close.”

“Got it. I’ll initiate the next step. We should hear from MSP within the next few days. And we’re about to takeover Hethrine Pharmaceuticals. They weren’t able to evade our Wall Street attack.”

“Make sure there isn’t going to be any damage control. Let’s have a smooth operation for once. I’ve got to go.”

Silence cut off any future dialogue as Adam’s thumb effortlessly tapped the conversation killing off-switch. Immediately after the spoken information was passed, written word darted in to deliver a message with a subtle yet blaring vibration that ticked Adam’s cheek. Time hadn’t passed long enough for him to even bring the phone away from his ear. Information overload—how he ran this business even he didn’t know.

Thick eyebrows rose in mild approval as the ariel font informed him of a certain Mr. Tav’ Elaon’s recent awakening.

This was good news. Of course Adam ran the risk of the old man miraculously remembering his very real Adam-induced trauma and pointing fingers, but Adam knew how to play that to his advantage. He wasn’t the only person that was able to look like him, and if Adam played his cards right, which he would, being blamed for a crime he did in fact commit, might actually help him claim innocence. Overall Mr. Tav’ Elaon’s recovery was a wonderfully, albeit planned, event. His drugs worked…not that Adam assumed they wouldn’t have, it just meant that other people would now know that his drug worked and that was an important step in getting it popular. He’d have companies interested in buying it, and doctors interested in using it, which meant he’s have the government and other governments interested in it, and by association, him.

He typed a quick response asking to be kept in the loop, pocketed the phone, which immediately vibrated, then took off to join Alson.

Alson was an interesting individual. He thought himself extremely capable, and sometimes he was. Adam kept him around for a reason, but Adam also realized that Alson could be a ******** idiot. By far the most baffling thing about Alson, was how he was consistently blind to his blunders. The kid was so pissed that he wasn’t getting praise and was complaining about being mistreated by Adam or something, and yet he somehow allowed Ermolai, who really was not that hard to incapacitate, overdose.

“Why didn’t you just smack the pills out of his hand?” Adam was pinching the bridge of his nose so hard a lesser man would have popped a capillary.

“I didn’t expect him to try and kill himself! Do I look like the ******** suicide hotline?”

“No, you don’t, because you’re supposed to look like the homicide hotline!” Adam shouted gesturing his arm out in obvious exasperation. A pitiful sound, gurgling and alarming stole Adam’s blue irises away from Alson’s borrowed face. The man’s body, which had been laid out, shook suddenly as an unpleasant hack erupted from his throat. Adam shut his eyes and breathed in deeply to flush the anger out of his system. He was so terribly annoyed, for two reasons. One, Alson had ******** up and this had not been a part of the plan, and two, Olai was definitely about to throw up and Adam was not in the mood to deal with those kinds of bodily fluids.

A sigh, well, someone had to deal with this and it certainly wasn’t going to be Alson. With an air that was eerily casual for the situation, Adam moved over towards the bed and huffed with this sort of very long-suffering tone to his exhaled breath once he noticed that actually Ermolai had already started to throw up and was choking on his own vomit. Not one to panic, Adam gripped the bulbous part of Olai’s shoulder to roll him onto his side. Red tinted vomit spilled out of his slightly open mouth and spattered onto the sheets like a Jackson Pollock. A violent cough shot out a burst of liquid, and the most ambitious of the droplets hit Adam in the neck while by far most athletic thread of vomit buried itself in Adam’s nostril. He sniffed instinctually, which all things considered, was a shitty instinct, because the putrid acidic stench pounded against the membrane in Adam’s nasal cavity. He shut out that scent immediately. The problem here, other than the obvious, was that Olai’s body was too ******** up because of the excessive amount of drugs in his system to throw up properly. He was going to need some help, and unfortunately for everyone involved, Adam was the one that was going to give it to him.

A decorated finger, perfectly erect and stiff with purpose, pushed passed Olai’s lips as another one darted in and twisted to force his jaws open wide. Vomit poured out of Olai now, coating Adam’s hand and sleeve, staining the pale parts of Adam’s skin a dark maroon. A sudden pinch in his forehead was the only sign of concern Adam revealed. There was a lot of blood in Olai’s vomit, and that was not a great sign.

“He’s dying.” Adam’s voice was bland and void of emotion. An angry spasm shook Ermolai’s body and forced him to sputter and choke.

“Okay” Removing his sick soiled fingers from Ermolai’s mouth, Adam lifted his torso off the mattress and twisted him around so that Ermoali’s back faced his own chest. With some sort of practiced grace Adam used the heel of his hand to roughly hit the part of Olai’s back adjacent to his chest. Vomit flew out in a terrible explosion but Olai still choked.

“Alson, call Josh and tell him what our friend here did. Tell him we’re coming by and we need immediate medical attention.”

“Got it”

“And Alson, can you not ******** up a simple phone call. It’d be really nice if you could just do your job.”

“I said I was sorry…”

The sound of Alson calling was muffled by the surprisingly constant hacking on Ermolai’s part. A quick turn around reveled that the overdosing man’s lips were blue, so he was suffocating, but why? Adam pinched his lips together in mild annoyance then shut his eyes in understanding as realization hit. There was probably gunk stuck in his throat.

He tipped Olai’s neck downward to get gravity on their side then leaned his torso down to circle his lips around Ermolai’s entire mouth. With one sharp and final suck, a chunky glob of vomit and blood flew out from Olai’s esophagus and into Adam’s mouth. A gasp filled the suddenly silent room as Olai greedily sucked in air. Adam spat the vomit from his lips. Alson gawked aghast and disgusted.

“Okay I think he’s good to travel.” Silence was not Adam’s preferred answer. “Alson?” Adam spun around with a heated expression in his eyes. Alson was frozen in place, but his expression moved into an uncontained grimace.

“We’re going.” Adam swept Olai into his arms bridal style—an image that might have been heroic if they both weren’t covered in bodily fluids.

Their exit wasn’t even a tiny bit ostentatious thanks to Adam’s ability to erase them from existence, and thankfully a private medical team was waiting for them when they got back. It took hours to stabilize Ermolai’s condition. He wasn’t about to step into the light at the end of the tunnel, and while that wasn’t the answer Adam really wanted, it was good enough for now. Once Adam got the signal that Olai was able to withstand an incredibly long flight, they packed up and boarded Adam’s private aircraft. Olai, of course, was very much unconscious. As far as Adam was concerned this was the ideal way to move him. Once they were back in Metropolis everything would be so much easier to deal with…and hopefully Olai would wake up. Adam’s drugs were in his system now, and he was told that soon they would be done rebuilding Olai’s damaged body.

A day later they were back in Metropolis. Shrill yappy barks welcomed Adam and his entourage back home.

“Hello baby! You missed your daddy huh?” The little dog jumped out of a suited man’s arms and frantically ran towards Adam. Its skinny legs reached up and battered Adam’s shin as the little docked tail wagged so fiercely the whole back half of the miniature pinscher’s body shook. Adam scooped the dog up and it freaked out even more, though onlookers were certain such a feat must have been impossible. Adam kissed and the dog licked.

Stone tried to make judgmental eye contact with anyone she could. She did not understand Adam and Rocky’s obsession with each other…like, at all.

A day later, when Adam was furiously texting twenty five people at once, desperately trying to organize Friday’s pizza party (apparently the entire HR department was on a juice cleanse and was asking if there such a thing as liquefied pizza) a knock on the door forced him to look up from his strongly worded text about the idiocy of trendy liquid diets.

“He’s awake.”

“I’ll be down soon.”

After smoothing out his pants, Adam re-buttoned his jacket and held in a primal scream when Susan from HR insisted that more people would want pepperoni than plain. They’d been over this so many times! He even had his research team do a study about this! They needed more plain pizza than pepperoni! Why did no one understand that!? After locking his emotions down Adam embarked on the journey to what was pretty much Ermolai’s room.

After several more arguments about the pizza party via text, Adam pushed open the door and stepped into Olai’s room.

“How are you feeling?”

[feral ferrett]

Well. Wasn't this some s**t?

That was a long a** plane ride. Let me tell you: stuck between a large a** man and some random woman who thought it was the first and foremost important thing in the world to make sure her child - seated in the aisle directly adjacent to her - was enjoying the movie. First flight from the midwest, Ingrid could tell. Hopefully, it was their last. Same thing for that man who was big as s**t - he needed to be kicked off the plane before they could have a crash landing at takeoff.

She rolled her tongue over her obnoxiously white enamel. One of them was fake - visibly so - because of the scuffles she got into and how this hot-headed b***h headbutted her because Ingrid had her pinned against the asphalt. But Ingrid took it like a champ, `cause Ingrid ain't no kind of b***h. She made sure to burn her name into that b***h's hair. And when Ingrid got up to brush herself off, it was only then that she felt the tooth resting at the bottom of her incisors, the taste of the iron in her blood flooding her senses.

She saw red.

She was furious.

Just as furious as she was coming through customs again. They always stopped her. Always. No matter how many ******** times she showed her passport or told them - in American English where she was coming from or who she was traveling with - no one, because she left with no one - they always managed to come up with some bullshit question to keep her longer.

A tug of her straight hair beneath her bandana and she stifled raising some b***h-slapping all over the security as they looked at her right as she walked alongside them.

She wanted to ring out and cause a scene. She wanted to purse those velvet-gloss lips of hers and spit coal-tinted profanities at them. However, her lipstick was nothing to play with and she wasted breath on no fool.

Her bags were heavy as ********.

She had dropped them off at her uptown-man's place, told him she'd be right back and continued on her way. Her seven-inch heels carried her debonaire aura, adorned with gold chains and buckles that were more menacing than how heavily she intended to parade over the concrete, making sure that everyone knew she was back.

Ingrid Duchamp was back in Metro City.

First order of business, she was gonna find that little fertilizer ******** and remind him that he wasn't going to ******** up the city again just because - just like everyone in their friend circle knew - Scott was coming back to town.

Or, at least, most people in their friend circle knew. She had kept in touch with Gaspard's foolish self while he was in France and when they last spoke, he said that he'd be seeing her soon enough; she knew what that meant. But, when Gaspard told her that Scott was still alive, that he was on his way back to the Metro, she had to race back and make sure it was true with her own eyes. Aside from her internship, or something, running its course and rolling over its expiration date. She had a great tussle with plenty of muscular men in the heart of the city of brotherly love. Or maybe it was the windy city and its breath-taking men. Whatever the ******** they called that place. She was there for the experience and the networking.

Both of which she did... very frequently.

She tugged at her jacket and called her downtown guy. He told her the sitch and dropped her off right outside of Precinct No. 16. It looked untouched.

Good enough.

She marched in, peeling her shimmering shades from her face and stared into the receptionist's face, smokey eyes unwavering with inquisition. With demand.

"Alright~" She sang, sighing in her mature, absolute alto of a voice.

"You've got a person I'd like to speak to in here? Goes by the name of Nathan. Do you need his last name?"

"Sorry, ma'am, there are no visitors allowed currently. There is a situation that involves the Chief--"

"Well, this is just as important, get'im out here."

Silence and a glare from the pudgy fellow he was about to burst out of his shirt. Ingrid grinned. She was about to burst out of hers too, but only the top half of the shirt.

"Please~" The sultry tone was kind and docile enough to calm the nerves of the over-achiever.

"I'll call him, but I can't guarantee that he'll come and speak with you."

"That's as good a guarantee as I'll take; I'll be waiting right here."

She had a package of gum and decided, at that very moment, that she would unwrap a stick, push it through her lips with her fine, "did" nails and watch the receptionist watch her.

She offered him the package and blew him a kiss.

"Take one, boo. You deserve it."

"... Thanks."

As he relaxed at the sudden charm Ingrid was laying on him, his superior peaked through the doors. As soon as pudge-chewer heard the door, he scrambled in his screaming rolling chair, nearly collapsing beneath his violent thrashing to regain his professional composure.

"What. Is. It?"

"I phoned them because it was urgent, I didn't expect you to come to the front."

"Well, they said it was urgent, and I see no stars or garters."

"Well, as I lay dying," Ingrid chimed in, like some secret code, "Mister Chief, Key of the City Leaf."

If she wanted to, Ingrid could have blasted them all into next week. But, for the time being, she had to reason with them. And reason, she did. She explained how she was an intricate, private investigator - a trade she had developed while in the Mid-West - here to question the recent officer-gone-some-other-s**t on behalf of the Metro's superior, municipal department, the City Leaf.

It was standard protocol for conditions such as these, the Chief knew. The Chief would understand.

She marched right on through without any further arguments after showing her proper identification, badge and further paperwork. As she would follow through with her procedures, the Chief's men would call their supervisors to confirm that they had sent someone over to investigate.

Just because Ingrid had never come in before to investigate something. Especially not something like this.

She reached the holding confinements, crossing her arms and pursing her lips.

"Well, Nathan. I never thought you were one to actually do the time for.... whatever crime you did."

Flashing her ID once again at the meager guards, she then looked to Conan, a warm smile crawling across her lips.

"And you, poor little thing." She stalked closer to Conan, eyes piercing into his soul as if she was ready to burn him into oblivion.

"You look like you're about to drop. Like you've been through the worst thing possible."

Just ******** do it already.

A huff escaped Ingrid's lips as she rolled her dark eyes.

Jeez. Even when I didn't ******** anything up, he's still on my a**.

"You two ready to come out and answer some questions?"

An inconspicuous wink to Nathan and a peck to the air for Conan would let them know that she was on their side.

Or, rather, they were on her's.

"Can you bring them to the room, please?"

She walked down the corridor to the left to the reinforced room, knowing good and well they wouldn't immediately oblige. She turned, glared at one of the guards who was watching her waist, and turned back around fully.

She chuckled.

"I suggest, Officer," her hands were twined in one another, as if perpetually drilling their way vice the cop, "that rather than staring at me while I kindly ask you off things, to do your job if you're sightly and keen on keeping it."

Ingrid did not move from her spot until the man, with another fail of a stare-down, faltered and begrudgingly dragged Nathan first, then let his colleague the keys to drag Conan. Unheard of, two suspects in the same chamber, but there was one of her and she seemed very pressed and just as capable. The boys were pushed past her, head lowered and back tiredly hunched.

"Thank you."

She set herself behind the seat opposite the side of where Conan and Nathan were distanced. The door behind them was closed, heavy and echoing in the bare, chrome room, and locked, the few lights overhead flickering spontaneously. One at a time. Then the circuits all regulated and they were back in a normal, nice room.

"Now, my kind officer," she caught herself. With a slight amendment to that greeting, she glanced to her right - their left - at the one-way window that had several officers peering in through.

"Or, would you rather not be called an officer? I don't know how you guys deal with sentiments and all that stuff." She watched as Conan or Nathan could have possibly been attempting to exchange words or looks with one another, but she nipped it in the bud.

"I'd prefer you speak to me or look to me if you had any questions or concerns, capisce?"

A motherly smile somehow found comfort in her high cheekbones and flawless, deep and rich-hued skin.

"Now, my question is for you is this:"

"Your name is surname is Lindal..." She mused, attempting to recall the first name, then a spark: "first name Conan, correct?"

[XxBoltxofxThexYewxX]

ϡ And there it was...

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

9:57 AM, right on time as usual. A tempered hand silenced the beeping coming from a phone on the desk, and the smooth sounds of chair wheels on linoleum filled the immediate surroundings. Officer Walberk had three minutes before his overnight extended shift was over. Metropolis paid good overtime to its police for, and with the recent mayhem concerning other precincts, there had been need to spread resources all over the place. Precinct 16 was holding down the fort, and Officer Walberk had been the Fort Master the previous night. Boots thumping on desk wood, magazine reading Fort Master Wally.

He’d even made himself a little sticker to prove it.

Each respective officer kept the same hours, lest they were called in by routine. With crime being relatively stable and their Chief finding that one Conan Lindal and Nathan Dezian counted as VIP, other precincts had been picking up the typical ‘911’ call slack over the past four days. This was Walberk’s fourth and last overnight, and he was slated to enjoy a nice three day weekend.

It took him exactly three minutes to pack up his belongings from work, shut down his computer, and run last minute routine checks for safety before taking off. All there was to do was wait for his replace- ahhh, there she was. Elissa. Always on time. He stepped outside of the precinct door, ducking to avoid some low hanging foliage.

“Hey, Elissa!”

“Hey Wally, what’s up?”

“Not a whole lot, shift’s done so I’m headed home to the wife. You know how impatient she gets.”

“The wife. You mean your cat, Wally.”

The statement was flat, but anyone could have mistaken the sudden color in her cheeks for something specific.

“Ahahah…ha, yeah, you got it Elissa. She doesn’t cook for me, so I have to cook for her.”

“Well, maybe one day you’ll get someone to cook for you instead.”

A giggle.

“Hah, that’ll be the day…hey, Ely, did we have landscapers come out recently to redo the front?”

And they both stood there momentarily, taking in the sheer lushness of the plant life that had taken over the front of the precinct. An archway of ivy had grown from either side of the sidewalk that lead to the parking lot, the grass looked radiant and perfectly kempt, given the present season. Elissa was sure that she’d never seen the rose bushes in such splendor, either; it was a romantic sight, if she had to say so herself. “It’s really…beautiful.”

Officer Walberk sneezed. “Wonder what’s got the boss in such a good mood that he’s spending resource funds on gardening? I thought he was still in a huff about our detainees.” He wiped his nose with a squint about his eyes, body language forecasting another outburst shortly. Elissa took a step back, finding it surprisingly endearing that his allergies were flaring up; his forehead got the cutest little wrinkle when he was about to sneeze. His sudden wave of farewell and back turning caused her to stifle her smile – another day, she told her self. Another day.



--------------------------

The sun was up. He could tell that the sun was up, despite his inability to see it within the stale walls of their confinement. Nathan had counted three cycles of the sun, and they were on their fourth. He’d counted that Conan had slept for approximately half of that time. Nightmares, Nathan wagered, had been the majority of his subconscious’ focus during his sleep cycles. Something in Nathan wanted to be able to help Conan, make him not squirm and moan so in his sleep; more than twice, the thoughts to have the bars separating them ripped from their hinges by the earth came to mind. But, the even greater thought of Conan being safe, in that cell, and being allowed to rest was what stayed his mind. No one had ever said Nathan was anything but patient.

Well, except for that particular instance when he was referred to as fertilizer.

So, just how had Nathan passed the time? Well, he’d made something of an acquaintance with one of the officers, whose first name was Elissa (it didn’t take long for her to ask for him to drop the formality of Officer as a prefix.) When able, they talked about a few different things, if Conan was asleep. Hushed tones were a commonality between the both of them, as if Conan’s slumber required it. Turned out Elissa was a particular plant enthusiast, and that was something Nathan could appreciate in a human. When Officer Elissa wasn’t around to talk to, it was his best friend Walberk who maintained a strict bout of silence in the holding halls during his watch. So, Nathan took this time to do a bit of plant management in his local surroundings.

His eyes were forward, looking at a silent guard that was intently watching the screen of his phone. This particular watchman Nathan didn’t know, and Conan’s silence that morning hadn’t given him any kind of clues. It was, subsequently, a welcomed relief to even him when the sound of metal being moved filled the halls signaling a door being opened. Two pairs of footsteps reached his eyes, one the usual hurried steps of an officer wearing work boots that he’d grown to know very well. The others, however, rang in a much higher pitch than boots. They were female foot attire. His gaze raised as his interest was piqued – good thing too, for something interesting to come along. The interior of his holding cell had finally become a bit…boring.

“H-hey! You’re not authorized to be back here! There’s a strict no visit-“

“Well, Nathan. I never thought you were one to actually do time for….Whatever crime you did.”

The voice struck him as familiar before he even registered the face in the light he’d grown more than accustomed to seeing in. It was a voice that he’d never forget, one that had been committed to his memory from the first night he’d heard it, amongst many other voices and the entirely-too-loud impulsive music of a C.L.U.B.

This was Ingrid Duchamp, friend of his friends. A woman unlike any other woman Nathan had ever met before. He’d not seen her in a while, but time had done nothing to weather the aura she put off. It was still just a striking as ever. Ingrid had turned her attention to the other cell, speaking to Conan.

It was at this point that a particular amount of dialogue happened between Ingrid, officers within the hallway, and perhaps even Conan as they shroud of silence was burned from the room by the fiery personality that had entered. Nathan’s mouth remained closed the entire time, the thought in his head and his emotions expertly hid on that blank canvas of his face. As his door unlocked, and he rose to his feet steadily, he stood to his full height and exited the cell, filing into line directly behind Conan. They were a picture of opposites, the two of them. For, while four days of holding with minimal food and less-than-deal conditions had worn Conan down (nevermind his odd sleeping behavior,) Nathan felt and looked as he had when they took him into the cell.

They were led into a holding room and forced into seats, something that Nathan allowed to happen if only because he’d resolved to be led for now. Even as the room cleared out of bodies, save the familiar figure before him, Nathan couldn’t help but feel as if he were still being watched. He decided to remain silent, mind grasping at memories of a cop show that he’d seen at some point.

Cops certainly were never as eccentrically dressed as Ingrid Duchamp. That much he knew.

[feral ferrett]

`

#87633E

Burning.

That's all he felt.

He felt it in his nose, first, because he inhaled very subtly, trying to make the flames stop curling in his nose with tinier breaths. Then came his throat as the breaths slithered down his swollen throat. He choked to life, just like how he had almost choked to death on those ******** pills.

His eyes gave him trouble when he tried to open them by his own will. It took mental assurance to even move his eyes, which burned as soon as light dove through the parted lids. He immediately closed them, wincing with all the lasting agony he had experienced in that split-second. His head thundered as he felt just about every blood cell in his body collide with one another on their Grand Prix. He felt heavy, he felt full.

Burning from his nose and throat then awoke in his shoulders and branched down to his chest, primarily within the muscles and his lungs, where nerves were the most noteworthy. His lips parted to assist in his breathing for the time being. He heard his own breath - muted, but still hissing in his eardrums. There was also a warm hum - like his vocal chords or the whir of a machine; or the ghost of an early morning jet as it wafted through the skies, free of any burdens, obligations or responsibilities. Free of all of that. His chest rippled with the flames as they danced down his abdomen, tightening and taking no visible differences other than a bit of skin shifting just beneath his ribs. His shoulders contracted to flex away the pain, though it did not disperse as easily as he prayed it would.

He rolled over onto his side and found that the shift engaged all of his inactive muscles and even the ones that never got to see action during any part of the day. They all seared, they all coursed with vicious and ferocious flares of pain that contorted his features. He wrenched his body in ways that should not have been physically comforting, but they were the only ways, aside from his routine grunting, that would have summoned alleviation from this torture.

He felt the marrow in his bones soon burn. He felt it in the density of his hair and the deep-seated masses of his organs. It felt like a complete genetic makeover. He did not know what happened, where he was, or why he felt like this, but there was only one name that came to mind at that moment.

Ambrozij.

He had not thought of his brother in so long.

The name reverberated off the curves of his mind and in the chasm of his soul. It gave him peace. It made him still.

His eyes twitched as he attempted to relax, finding peace in the temporary coolness of his body. It was soothing, it only lasted a few seconds, because everything tightened, like a strike of lightning. Taut and alert, Ermolai ripped his eyes open to see the ceiling above him. It was colored something dark that he couldn't register by first glance. He then realized that there was something over his face that was not over the rest of his body, and as the sheet prevented the artificial lights from stabbing him again in the eyes. He did not have time to properly disrobe himself of the false head-garb because his body flailed in an attempt to protect himself from the unknown.

He was sprawled on a bed, as if he had just fallen onto it, and in came an attractive Adam. He wanted to pin Adam against the bed in that very instant when his brown eyes laid on the distracted man. He felt fire in his loins, much like it torched everywhere else, though he did not speak when he was first addressed.

"I'm feeling just fine, thanks."

He felt like he had the worst hangover there was in the entire archive of encounters with any kind of status-altering experience. Adam's voice was once comforting and coaxing and calling to his inner desires, but right now? Right now it just sounded like a drone, like a buzz in his ear.

He shifted so that he sat up, though not too quickly because he still felt overfilled with liquids. He then smelled the acidic taste that connected with the breath he exhaled. A grimace plainly smoothed its way into his features. He slowly worked his way to the edge of the bed, his legs dangling for a moment. He gathered his breath and then sat up again. He had his bearings. His legs touched the ground and he leaned forward onto his knees. He hunched over, feeling as if he were going to dry heave at any moment. It was not far enough up in his throat, though, to engage his gagging. He sighed, this time his breath accompanying the exhale to ensure that he was okay.

Clearing his throat, he looked up to Adam.

"Do you have any water?" Through a squint, he saw the man motion to something beside the bed. A table. A bottle of water and a glass to fit whichever Ermolai preferred more. Truth be told, there was liquid in both - the bottle partially emptied into the glass - which was all he needed. He reached and found that the glass came flying to him quicker than his arm has reached for it. Pausing, he blinked in disbelief, inspecting his juxtaposition without budging too much. He had to be imagining things, because his hand was just as close to the glass as it needed to be for him to pick it up off the bedside table.

Shaking his head, he hastily drank from the glass, needing the water more than ever.

He immediately regretted necking it as he did. A sharp pain gyrated in his gut. He felt like the water had rushed through his body and cooled it all just to solidify and explode from his stomach. He lurched forward, clutching his abdomen and slowly suspending from the edge of the bed. His body rocked once and he landed on his knees, face shoved into the hardwood flooring. His skin ripped as he hit the head of a nail and scraped the side of his face, slinking into an outstretched body. His groans and moans rolled from his gut through his throat. They barreled whimsically, as if he were having a conversation with himself. Each pitch was different but some connected to others.

A seat along the wall of the room, large and cushioned appropriately to accommodate someone, rolled forth and pummeled Adam from behind in its bee-line to Ermolai.

His eyes shot open and he sat straight up, his eyes open and black. Pitch black.

Like the darkest of clouds in the stormiest of skies, they were shadows.

The chair stopped flipping with Adam and held Adam, carefully nestled.

A vacancy guided Ermolai's voice, which seemed a bit different - a bit more grounded and guttural. His few years of smoking were showcased in this voice as well, straining his vocals with their hushed force. With this voice came a rising to his feet, slowly and contently. He composed himself and nodded behind him, his messy hair bobbing above him and his unshaven jaw dropped and hydrated lips agape slightly to roll his tongue against his molars.

"Do you have time out of your busy schedule? I've been actually meaning to ask you since I last saw you."






{ DOESN`T MEAN I`M HURT DOESN`T
{ I DIDN`T GET WHAT I DESERVE NO BETTER OR NO WORSE

[XxBoltxofxThexYewxX]

ϡ And there it was...

This…

This was the point in which a series of questions were asked by the present officer. The thing he had to look forward to as of now, since he’d pin pointed this particular scene in his memory bank, would be hands slamming into the table, voices being raised as blame was thrown from cop to the accused, and maybe even some sort of physical confrontation that would result in someone running in to restrain the assailant, screaming “Calm down, Charlie! He’s not worth it, man! He’s not worth it!”

Except Charlie here was Ingrid Duchamp. And that simple fact, by itself, meant that whatever happened in this room would be very unlike what he’d witnessed once on television.

He had been unable to shake the suspicious feeling that he was being watched, even as Ingrid and Conan began their communication back and forth. This room, like any other room in this building used for captives, had no windows in it that allowed natural light in. There was, however, that pane of glass against the wall that, at glance, served no purpose whatsoever. Nathan allowed his gaze to settle on the pane, unwavering.

“Hey, Elissa, who is she? Never seen her here before, but she’s got those two in there with no one from our Precinct.”

“Oh, I’m not sure honestly. Only heard that her name is Ingrid, and she’s got the proper credentials – she checked out.”

“Dressed like that, you’d-“ And his voice dropped, almost as if he thought she might overhear him if he spoke too loudly.

“You’d think that she was from the Feds or something…”

It was not lost on Elissa the particular inflection in his voice. Her eye roll was absolutely lost.

“Yeah, well, wherever she’s from, I’m just wondering what their interest in them is. They’re both local cases, Conan and Nathan…and I’m not even sure we have that much on them…”

Whisperings in the observation were heated and fierce as the officers of Precinct 16 speculated over what, exactly, was going on within that interrogation room. The hot topic for most cops concerned this hew bombshell of a female who, within ten minutes, had the entire precinct under some kind of control. For the females in the room, the topics turned down a different path as they discussed if her attire was, truly, work appropriate. For those who were better about their senses, like Elissa, they listened intently to the dialogue happening in the room between Conan and Ingrid. A few of them, had fallen silent, weirded out by the gaze from Nathan into that room. They swore it was impossible to see into the room, that had been promised to them during all of their trainings. Yet, they couldn’t shake the feeling.

Nathan had realized why he felt like he was being watched.

He’d spend a number of days within this particular place, devoid of any floral life inside of the its walls. Stayed within his cell, quietly, as Conan worked through whatever strange nightmares that seemed to keep plaguing him every day. Patience had been his staple, his foundation, as he fought against what parts of him that wanted to break free of this jail with Conan, to deliver them both back into the wild and natural world. A world where he felt more at home.

It wasn’t until he realized that he was being watched, spied on, that he suddenly felt the humanity in him. Patience was no longer a thing, replaced instead by something that prickled in the back of his head and down his spine.

A plant in its most natural, untampered state, grows within the ground unruled by any kind of restraints. Roots stretch and spread throughout the soil as far as they see fit, unless stopped by an opposing force. The resilient and unrelenting things they are, roots are known to overcome a number of seemingly impossible obstacles, including but not limited to concrete, metal, and people. People, people that were looking at him from behind a tinted piece of glass. People, this Ingrid Duchamp who was spending her time with her imposing form standing over the two of them with her questions. People, his Conan Lindal who’d had an abysmal week.

Nathan allowed a bit of himself to sink into the ground directly beneath the room they were situated in. Caged was something that he would not remain for much longer. The plant in him was done being constrained. The human, it remembered Ingrid’s wink, Conan’s affiliation with this place, and it’s promise to do no more harm to innocent citizens. It was, in fact, the thing that stayed his hand.

"Nathan, don't say anything. If they don't release you, demand a lawyer."


Nathan said nothing, for he had nothing to say. He wasn’t leaving without Conan, and he wasn’t being made to stay within this building any longer than he decided. Perhaps the sentiment wasn’t evident on his face, as nothing ever was, but his posture. The way he continued to sit within the chair as if he weren’t worried about a single thing. And that steady gaze he shifted from the spying window back to Ingrid as he awaited a response from her.

Those things spoke of something, most definitely.

[feral ferrett]

Ingrid, seated patiently waiting and patiently Ingrid, watched. She sat there and watched the two gather their bearings. The conditions that these officials kept their citizens in were remarkably horrendous. To have them so disoriented spoke volumes. She didn't need to ask them questions about how the beds were or how the meals were, simply from how rough they were looking. Her smoky eyelids slowly closed and then rose with just the same deliberation. She would wait for Conan to join them, truthfully, and for Nathan to acknowledge that he was his own person.

It seemed as much, though she would have to put in her two pence.

Leaning forth with intention to scrutinize the ex-current-cop-without-labels person, she pulled a pen from her shirt and rest it beneath her cupid's bow, inviting him to educate her more about how well of an officer he was for knowing, pretty much verbatim, sections of the Metropolis Officer Handbook and s**t like that.

Holding up a hand at the end of his yapping, nearly convulsing in his seat to try and convince Nathan to remain silent, who visibly had no intentions of harping out since he emerged from gridiron, Ingrid smiled sweetly.

"You should also know, then," she hummed in a sensuous drawl, looking for words to remind him of their current state of existence, "that there is a lot more to it than just that. In the enforcement of Martial Law, all those pages of the rules are chocked out of the windows and the higher-ups," she thumbed the metaphorical and symbolic glass ceiling in the corner of the room behind her as she sat upright, "call the shots."

She proposed herself with a simple shrug and raise of her palms. Her expression did not read any less credible than it had before.

"I'm here on their orders to see what trouble you've been stirring."

Conan barked again. Someone needed to feed this puppy. Or pet him. Something.

"Alright, alright, Officer Lindal," she preferred his professional title just to keep it cordial and ensure that he wouldn't lunge at her, baring those smart teeth of his across the scratched-up metal table between them. She reached into her bustier part of her body and emerged with a nice little leather sleeve, a face transparent with plastic. She offered it to Conan by placing it securely on the table.

"As standard procedure, I'm obligated to show it to every employee in here. But," she sighed, shoving it to Nathan, in case he was wondering as well, "because I'm so amazing at what I do, I've skipped right up some ranks and they've got me on this unmentionable organization that's 'always on the job,'" she surrounded the dovetail of the statement with air quotes and a whimsical glance to the top right corner of her vision and a wobble of her head. She was being silly, easy. "Long story short, there are a lot of people we both answer to who, quite frankly, I can already admit for you that you have no clue exist."

A shrug.

"That kind of stuff prompts your entire Precinct and all of its sisters to buzz every time I have to come in. Doesn't help that they're all in standard uniform and I'm rockin' the runway." She pursed her lips, a glimpse of the true, exquisite Ingrid breathing for a moment as she got carried away. She did actually like talking about herself a lot and would not shy away from an opportunity. "So don't look so smug, 'cause I'll smack that grin off your face quicker than I backhanded the dumbest b***h who spilled so much drank all over my red bottoms." A casual lull of her jaw and a lean into her chair set her into an even more comfortable state of being. "Along with that rank beard you've got going." More so under her breath, but still unfiltered.

"But, Nathan, I do say you're looking a lot better than I've seen of you some years back. I was talking to Gus," she looked down to her nails away from him, "and he's been doing real well in France. He also said that he had been talking to Scotty-boo for a bit." Her gaze flickered from her sharp manicure to Nathan. Then, immediately, she inspected Conan's face, gauged his suspicions and then grinned cheerily. "Scott was scared of you, you know. He almost panicked and broke down to me on the phone. I told him I couldn't have no man who wasn't strong enough to hold his balls." She exhaled a stream of air through those pursed, jet-black lips and dispelled a speck from her perfect nails.

"Anywho, those pictures he sent me of all the damage done was... very frightening."

She rolled her wrist, insinuating she was getting to the point. Eventually.

"You can see where I'm going with this; the babies, the Zefir Trio. Apparently they've been banging at some doors and, quite frankly, our higher-ups don't like it. So," she looked to the window where everyone gathered for this television special, "I've been sent here to ask you what you know of what's going on with them to see if there's anything they can be helped with."

It was so vague and so impartial of Ingrid's familiarity that Nathan would be able to understand what she was getting at. She was for the supers, through and through, being one herself.

I just need their help, is all.

[feral ferrett]

He was seeing s**t.

He was definitely seeing s**t.

Carl split in two, though still conjoined as they hazily melted back together or peeled away from one another. What he didn't see, however, was that this was coming. I mean, he didn't object - hell, he would never object. But it was just so sudden.

Ah, ******** it.

Carl's hand splayed on his face and there was a sudden desperation to be touched, to be acknowledged that Elii gladly engaged in. He would give Carl everything he wanted, just because Elii knew him. Things got messy, fast, but they were still the same Elii and the same Carl that they always knew. A half-efforted smile through the groans of gnashing lips and rushed breaths to find his hands snaking down the small of Carl's back. His back was pressed firmly against the building he had just pissed on - though not in the same spot, thanks to Carl's direct bee-line - and his legs were straddled slightly to permit Carl any room he wished to curl into Elii's malleable, inebriated form.

There was a hiccup of sensitivity that almost snagged Elii's lips from their fixed point on Carl's, and Elii's lazy eyes popped open. Carl's eyes were hard to see in the dark. Carl's voice, though, rang out loud and clear over the slight bustle that swam in Elii's disoriented eyes. He almost threw Carl back and sobered up from fear.

"C-Carl, what--"

Shadows screamed from Carl's face. Every pore on his face suddenly leaped out at Elii. This wasn't actually happening, but Elii could see and feel all of the darkness that was enveloping them. It was terrifying, truthfully, and although Elii hid very well behind his secure facade of "a*****e" and "confident" something was... amiss.

He wrenched Carl's arms up in an awkward angle so that he had the advantage of the struggle, in case Carl suddenly lashed out against him.

The darkness he saw retreated into Carl's flushed features. Shadows curled from his mouth, enticing Elii to kiss him again with its curling translucence. He did not know how to handle this, but he knew one thing was for certain: something was right.

The only clear though he had in his head at this moment?

Well, ********. Now who am I gonna ******** tonight?

He rolled his tongue to the front of his lips, drunkenly maneuvering his brain cells to engage his actual body and roll them over in Carl's feral momentum so that he had Carl pinned against the wall.

"What the ********, Carl?! What's happening?! What is back!?"

Just a second ago, he knew what happened. But, now, faced with the shadows pouring out of every orifice from Carl, he did not understand how to prevent this. He felt the shadows of the alley slither around his ankles, trace his shoulders and narrow itself at his neck. They were in some serious trouble.









`

[feral ferrett]

`







THIS STORY IS NEAR ITS END
THOUGH IT SHALL NOT BE THE END
FOLLOW THE NEXT STEP IN THE CAPES WITHIN METROPOLIS SAGA
CASCADING

`