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 Posted: Mon Feb 14, 2022 2:49 pm
It was Headache who got the message. Headache, who assumed Nembus's appearance as a recent favorite, who knew to open the message in Faustite's presence. It hadn't understood the entire message that this one was trying to convey, but it doubted that Faustite would, either. It comprehended enough to agree with Albite's instructions, however, and assumed a barrage of multicolored floodlights that blasted over its owner.
Faustite woke with a terrible start, both blinded and disoriented, and swatted feebly about himself. Dust coated his hand when he caught a handful. He chucked the dust across the room.
When Headache qualmed, and Faustite assembled enough wits to sit up, the pair stared at each other. "I hate you," Faustite muttered, defeated. He rubbed the sleep and tired tears from his eyes. When he finished, Nembus was closer, and held up the tablet's display over her own face.
It was strange, reading the words over a translucent background with a face on the other side, but he ignored the awkwardness for typical youma behavior. Albite's messages were obtuse at best, and impenetrable at worst, and this was one of the many that lay in between — something about coke, and Haymitch (whom he wasn't giving any coca-cola), and pawhands, and tamagotchi, and barbacoa. But there was a location linked to the message, which Faustite took to mean "be here".
As Boy, apparently. As Eion, then?
Yawning, Faustite waved Headache off. "Tell Celadonite to keep a better eye on his boss. Now show me a map of the area."
It took little time to study the surroundings and pick an appropriate drop point. Faustite vanished in moments, then reappeared in the spidering alleyways behind some of the larger buildings in the area. He spent a minute reorienting himself — he wouldn't have Headache to point out the appropriate spots on the map, not without melting it in his own hands — before he donned the guise of sleepy-eyed Eion and soon regretted it.
It was cold. He was cold. Lacking fire, he wasn't warming up his own surroundings anymore. He could hardly hold onto his own body heat, stolen as it was by the malicious wind tunnel of an alleyway, right through his single, long-sleeved shirt. In his haste, he hadn't pulled any jackets; he hoped Albite was inside for all he rushed Faustite out of bed before sundown.
He squinted up at the sun as he wrapped his increasingly cold arms about himself, then started down the alley. Didn't take long to spot the himbo, as Celadonite called him — all long haired and barely clothed and —<********. Was that —
Blood now iced, he froze to the spot. Why was she here? Wasn't she dead? Shouldn't she be dead? He could go now, pretend he never got the message, crawl back into bed, bid Headache to ******** off with any further messages from his subordinate. But what if Albite needed him here? What if she was harassing him with her bullshit logic? What if she was slandering him?
Still sleepy-eyed and reticent, he approached the pair. Everyone else had given a wide berth around them; most of the locals must recognize them for trouble by now, he guessed. He approached Dreads from behind, and when he got close enough, he pushed Albite's arm. "You woke me up."
Then his attention slid to Chrysocolla. Truly, how in the ******** was she alive. Why in the ******** was she alive. "Why is she here."
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Posted: Mon Feb 14, 2022 8:49 pm
"Spice is okay?" She said it half-hesitantly, like she worried he'd snap and find it displeasing, like she was ready to be defensive about it. "Sweet is better, but spice and savory are okay; I don't really like bitter, it's just..." That was all trail-off, because she heard footsteps, heard how the footsteps stopped; Chrysocolla looked up, slow-movement, guileless, and locked eyes with the boy. The way she sized Eion up, saw-recognized- understood in one swift movement, was precursor to a change in state; between one second and the next, the bearing Albite had been talking to was swept away, replaced by something more truly befitting of the title of Eternal Senshi of the Negaverse. Chrysocolla's eyes were blood-crimson, murderous red, but her frown was less pronounced than she internally felt it should be; she stood up a little straighter and looked at him in disdain, in irritation, and only mostly smothered her vitriol - because what she wanted was to throttle him dead, like this, and it'd be easy. Press in, finger and thumb and all grip, and break that stupid human flesh to ash. Or bludgeon and bleed, and splotch her fuku with ruby-red; there were a million ways she could kill him, in theory, if she was willing to burn for it. It was what she wanted. What she wanted was something she wasn't getting. Doubtlessly Faustite felt the same; she'd gotten better about smoothing out her emotions, letting the full transition of thought and feeling not parade by on her face, but apparently he hadn't. The cost of inhumanity, maybe, not that she cared. Let it cost him more. It was -- she wasn't going to look stupid. Not in front of him, who would milk it for all it was worth, who'd seen her cry and made her cry so many times when she was a younger, weaker girl. "She," Chrysocolla said, voice like the dulled edge of a knife, "has a name, and I know you know it, unless you've taken some really bad falls off a cliff in the past couple of years. By the way, you look terrible." Her eyes flickered to Albite. "You didn't tell me you were his." It was all polite disappointment, for all that there was the undertone of threatened violence, of threat and blood and murderous frustration. If she'd known - if she'd known -- she wouldn't have given him the time of day or the benefit of the doubt. Maybe discipline would've been more suited, for the idea that she could've been harmed through his action, his inaction.
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Posted: Tue Feb 15, 2022 10:27 am
It was in that moment the Himbo knew. He'd done gone and ******** up. The HOW of it though? Was over his head, beyond his reading comprehension, and above his ******** pay grade! Because one moment? One second? He was talking to a sweet as hell girl with ever-changing-eyes who's heel prints he had on his a**. Cause he'd sent her to the ground like an errant log laid out in the middle of a walking path... which he very admittedly had been....and the NEXT?! "What -- the ********> -- did I miss." His bright-a** smile fell like a lead dove. His thoughts of sweet and savory over spicy scalding hot. Dashed into the dirt. It should've been all good things! His boy was there, looking -- okay -- Faustite, as Eion? Looked half awake and adorable enough that Albite was tempted to sling him into a hug and smother him where he stood.
He was easily swayed, moved at the nudge from his boy. Stood like an angled wall while he felt his gaze ricochet between the two. Ping-ponged between a high and low before he settled firmly on 'whuh?' It was the noise he made and the look that scrunched his face anew. "Cause, to be fair? I'm a lot of peoples. I've got a real -- uhm -- open kinda thing? A big heart. Though I -- unless you wanted a 'date-date?' Which, I get the anger, cause that'd be rude of me to spring that on you. Like, all sorts of unfair. So m'sorry for that misunderstanding. I just -- food? Can we -- can we food first?"
Were they exes...was Chrys Boy!? Did Faustite Girl!?
He felt very firmly like a target on a firing range. From the look on Chrys's face, to the disdain in her tone. Faustites sharp little question. Spouting she's and he's because they knew each other. Albite tried his best to swallow as the air crackled between them. His poor empty headcase billowing smoke from over-processing where he stood....
He just wanted meat! Why was that so hard?
And if the crowd noticed?
If they gave them a little more *space* - a wider berth - like birds fanning out before the affront of an oncoming storm. Like they could feel the tension that was suddenly *there*.
Albite couldn't blame them for it.
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Posted: Tue Feb 15, 2022 2:33 pm
He knew he looked terrible. He always looked terrible. Eion rolled his eyes. "He's my subordinate, not my b***h."
Waru admitted, readily enough, that he wasn't owned by any one person, didn't tie himself to any one person. Which begged the question…
"Were you trying to date her? Because don't." Eion was reasonably sure that Chrysocolla wasn't interested in boys. Not that it would've been a good time — Chrys was something sour, bitter, acrid and broken. Something that Schörl favored, somehow, and repeatedly cast him into the mud to give Chrys something to step on. Now she was here, talking to Albite, possibly about to go eat food with him unsupervised, which could only have ended in:
1) A date.
2) Himbo theft.
3) Death of the himbo.
None of these options were acceptable.
"Standing around in the cold is ******** miserable. Make a decision or I'm going back to bed." Said it to both of them, and folded his arms over his thin frame afterward, as if that would somehow secure his rapidly escaping heat. Shifting, he stood closer to Albite, even as the boy moved away; he'd started to shiver. He would spare this barbacoa thing one more chance before going back to the barracks and going to bed hungry and cold.
Food was enough of a motivator that he could forgive Chrysocolla's presence so long as he didn't have to speak to her. He tried to rub away the tired from his eyes so he could better glare at her; it didn't work.
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Posted: Sun Feb 20, 2022 8:06 am
"I don't like boys," she said, scathing-mean, "and even if I did, he wouldn't be my type." Not when her type leaned closer to Schorl, to Cinnabar; it was the realm of the self-possessed, with a fine touch for cruelty. Albite, reduced to a background, reduced to meat with a name; Chrysocolla barely paid him any heed, beating down her own internal want to go shoulders-up huddled into herself the way she often did as a civilian. No. Shoulders down, head high, slight tilt. But that still left the question: what was she supposed to do about all this stuff? The problem of maybe spending time with Eion? Albite was nice, sure, but that probably wouldn't stay. The more time her and Faustite spent together, the more likely it was that -- it wouldn't be good. It'd be a PR problem, she figured, and she really didn't want to get told off by some Infiltration-aligned Captain about how there was need to cover up how supernatural whatever happened would be. "Food isn't worth spending time with you." She huffed, disgruntled, eyes flickering candy-apple red and low-banked flame on and off; contemplated what to say, really thought about it, and then decided it was better to say nothing. Then her words couldn't be as used against her. Better to minimize collateral damage this time. Chrysocolla rolled her eyes, petulant as anything, and teleported away to leave empty air and no aura in radius.
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Posted: Tue Feb 22, 2022 1:11 am
Albite stared at where she’d been, glanced around just in case she hadn’t gone far, then at the crowd, then back at-at — at the thin ******** air where she no longer remained. There were quiet murmurs — that all banked into silence as he whipped a glare around, and tugged Eion nice and close. Like he was afraid his boy would suddenly burst into flames and vanish too. He didn’t know what the hell any of that had been. It was too bad though, Chrys seemed cool - seemed — angry out of nowhere? “Wheelllp…guess she’s allergic to boys then, huh firebrand? Damn. She had really cool eyes too…” and maybe he’d see Chrys later, ask her what was up, remind her that she didn’t have to worry about Faustite being into her - His boss was totally boy aligned in his manner of likings. Which meant Chrys had nothing to fear! “Whatever, you gonna stay and eat? M’sorry I woke you up early.” and he was, except not really, cause Eion looked soft beyond words and sweet enough to murder for. “I still wanna feed — somebody - you? We can even grab a whole bunch and go home - Ah - to your place?” Albite wasn’t sure he’d ever been to Eions? But if they were gonna be dining together and alone - might as well make it a date.
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2022 3:56 pm
His boy didn't burst into flames. He burst into tears.
It was sudden, even for Eion, who had been staring blankly at the spot where Chrysocolla was. Then it surged out of him with a suddenness that startled him, his mind still dewy from dreams. A keening sound rose from his throat, and his face crumpled as he tried — and failed — to hold himself together. Then he pawed at Albite's arm to let him free.
He knew better than to show emotion. Knew better than to show weakness, especially around Chrysocolla.
Especially around —
He gave up trying; there was no chance of escape. No way to shed his falsehood and leave for his quiet, blank room. People looked on, stared at the spectacle, murmured about it among each other. They knew. They had to.
Albite spoke, but it didn't reach him. He sobbed openly, brokenly, and pawed frantic at his own face. Covered his eyes, hoping that he could stop himself. Wadded fistfuls of hair between his fingers. Pulled. Disturbed his tousled hair all the more as his fingers drew against his own scalp, then bit dark lunulas into the skin.
"Tell me this is a nightmare," he murmured, voice overstrung.
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2022 4:40 pm
All Albites thoughts of food ******** straight off the edge of a ravine - careened over it and burst into something fiery and smoke-filled at the bottom. Eion was eternal whiplash, and of all the times he'd ever seen the boy cry. No, none of what was happening ******** tracked and he had no context for it. Suddenly had a squirming mess in his arms that he clung to - the briefest flash of how this reminded him of -- so many tiny moments of panic before... Seeing Eion break free of Fafnir on an open dancefloor -- of -- Lysi — He wished he'd ever asked questions. Had brute forced answers free. Maybe if he spent time plying Eion in all the right ways, prying at the clearly chipped and jagged bits that even the naked eye could see; even if he cut himself open on pulling the pieces loose. It would've felt better than watching, sidelined and empty of awareness. Helpless to do ******** all. "It's a nightmare." It sure as ******** wasn't a dream. "Eion -- Ei -- s'okay." They weren't doing this here. He wasn't putting his boy through all the things he hated so much, through whispers and stares and concerned clickings of phones slipping out. Especially not a public display that no one else had the right to. The spot of air where Chrys had been received a much sharper look than before. A heated thing, as Albite tried to cobble Eion in close; like he was holding water in a shattered pot. It was the sort of look that caused people to actively avoid nearness to its vicinity, like the earth might suffer for the tiny flare of anger in it. He didn't know what she'd done -- but he knew she'd done something -- Eion almost never cried... Took death blows and endless burdens that would've broken others with ease, but crying? "We're going, yeah? We're gone." Couldn't say all was well and <********> without putting in the effort to make it true. Equal parts shield made of flesh and human cage. Albite didn't bother to wipe at the mess of tears or take Eion's face, simply anchored the boy into him, gave him his chest to hide all the wet high panic in. They were there. They were gone. Albite cared little for image or PR nightmares, no more than he cared if the White Moon tracked him to his shoebox of a home and burnt it down while lay in it. Couldn't picture Eion's space as easily as he could his own. A series of woven rugs to cover the lack of a floor, the beginnings of wood meeting tile only half finished, a couch refurbished in gray chiffon. Set them straight within it and dropped his guise so quickly that he was nearly sick for it -- not his hold though. Too much all consuming fear for that. To do anything more than cling.
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Posted: Mon Mar 14, 2022 11:54 am
The change from strange to familiar shocked him for a moment, brought him back to his senses and halted the hiccups and coughs. Eion snorted back something wet and clogged, collected parts of himself, and tried to suppress a few residual shudders. Even newly put back together, it felt tenuous at best.
It was tenuous at best, for the hold slipped each time he had to take a breath. He pressed himself against Waru's chest, hands clawing rumpled holds in his shirt.
He didn't know when he stopped thinking about Her. It must've been a gradual thing — with more senshi and agents, with more missions, more responsibilities, he had less time to devote to looking over his shoulder. It must've fallen out of habit. Now Chrysocolla returned; was she not Her harbinger? Now he would suffer for being so negligent in his vigilance. Now Chrysocolla could report that Albite was his new plaything, that the pair were on good enough terms that Albite knew Faustite as Eion, and that the pair spent time together outside of missions.
That was plenty for her to reignite Her ruinous reign.
"Stay with me," he mumbled into Waru's chest as his anguish returned, "Don't let Her take you."
He couldn't endure Her twice, not without all the people who doggedly crawled into his wreck of a heart. He hoped against all sense that, if he kept his grip on the boy deathly, then She couldn't summon him out of hand. That maybe teleportation was traceless, and he could spend the next few hours numbing himself again.
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Posted: Mon Mar 14, 2022 6:34 pm
*Who's 'Her'?* - that question hung unasked. No matter how it sat like fire on the tip of his tongue; got shunted straight into ******** *no*. He wanted to peg it on Chrys, on himself? Something he'd done or something she'd said that'd set Faustite off into a spiral. He shoulda warned his boy better about the company he had, instead of springing it on him like the worst sort of surprise. There was no undoing it though, only weathering the storm that came after. He could no more un-ask Faustite to meet them than he could claw the sadness from his chest, nor swipe all those heavy tears from his eyes. "Shhh, s'okay. No ones taking me anywhere." tremulous little whisper that he pressed heavy into the halo of ink that made up Eion's hair. Let his hand heavy on a hip, squeezed, before stroking up and down his spine. Long smooth press of palm and thumb over the stretch of fabric, till he could feel the notch of bone n rib underneath. What was he to do but lay out promises he hoped to keep. To lull softly words that he meant - always always always.It was all his fault -- but he could fix it. He could stay. Easy enough to acquiesce to. Simplest thing Faustite'd ever needed from him was staying. "M'all yours Ei, right here. Promise. We're home, we're safe. M'not going away. I promise." He wasn't leaving. Swore it up and down in a whisper while he smothered Faustites agitated movements against his form, let him claw and cling at the bulk of soft muscle and shirt beneath his hands. No one would find them there, in his little rat-hole hovel of a unit. The ache that speared his heart enough to shove it in a vice, dragged out by the sound of Eion so-so-hurt and yet? With no obvious wounds that he could fix. No visible bleed he could staunch that wasn't some internal thing. He could hold him though - he would - even as the tears soaked clean through and his fingers lost touch for the rough fabric. Cradled Eion's head, his body, close enough to his staccato heart and steady breathing. In-out, slow, deep, even keeled rise and fall as he stood silent and waited it out. Until Eion felt less like he was going to tremble apart back into death... Couldn't have that - he'd just barely gotten him back and whole again!
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Posted: Thu Mar 17, 2022 4:41 pm
With slow, dawning awareness came slow, dawning reality. Minutes had passed, and they still stood in Waru's ramshackle shitheap of an apartment. He knew he hadn't seen Schörl with Chrysocolla, hadn't heard anything about Schörl's return. Half the team was still missing. They were each coming back piecemeal, each from an unrelated event, so far as he gathered. If she had returned, she wouldn't be as subtle about it. Wouldn't let him have this much peace.
Eion snorted back some of his upset. "Best you don't break your ******** promises," he mumbled against the soft fabric of Waru's tee. "You don't go away. You don't leave me."
Not like Cybele, or Nembus, or Heliodor. Not like his family, either.
"You ask my permission before you leave the ******** Negaverse," he continued after a snot-stricken breath. "You ask my permission before you die. You decide to kill me, you die with me. Understood?" He blinked away another smattering of molten hot tears.
He paused for a minute afterward. Eion wondered if he could go back to being alone, having known so many people, having gotten close to a few of them. He couldn't erase the marks they left behind, however — he doubted that joining the ranks of the White Moon could entirely excise their influence.
After being with Alkmene, he developed the absurd habit of brewing a fresh cup of coffee, about once a month, and trying it. As if his tastes would've changed in such a short time. As if he miraculously figured out how to dress the coffee into something near potable. Each time, he discovered that he hated it as much as the last. And yet, the cursed tradition continued.
Waru carved into him his own influences, too — Eion couldn't count the number of times he tried to deduce what Waru would do in some social situation. And sometimes, as Eion, he would revisit the places where Waru had grabbed food with him, or some other member of the team, and he would play Waru's ghost by perpetually haunting his wake. He'd even absconded with a few small nothings from Waru's apartment as mementos stashed carefully in subspace.
"Hungry. Tired." His voice was muffled when he pressed his face more fully into Waru's shirt. Boy had a comfortable pair of tits. "Make us breakfast. Going to nap on your couch."
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Posted: Fri Mar 18, 2022 6:29 am
Waru stood struck for a moment by an undefinable emotion that stirred in his guts - clawed rat-scrabble quick at the back of his mind. How all of his boys words sounded like possessive panic - so damned relatable - and distantly, also like vows. 'Til death do us part' type s**t and ********, but there was some deeply, undeniably greedy part that was all 'self' and relished hearing the words spoken. Wanted it enough that his teeth itched, like he needed something to chew on before he said things he couldn't take ******** Eion wanted food. "I Promise. Like I'd ever let you go on without me...even unto death." warm rumble of breath and shudder of cushiony bulk where Eion had his face buried. He nodded, knew it was bad form to feed whatever sorta demon this was that lurked in the wet-shiver of syllables Eion spoke, and sounded hunted to Waru's ears. A shame that he was bad form personified, and would eagerly indulge his boys worse habits till he found the source to rip them out --- till they reached a breaking point -- all the ways he would've balked at being leashed even so tentatively a year ago, but now? It wasn't worth getting worked up over. Easy enough thing to give a warning of come and go - to agree to ask his fieriest boys permission for death - as if there was ever any other ******** option worth entertaining, any better way to go than by his hand and leave. "We're gonna talk about this eventually Ei....just, so much ******** later, yeah..." Whether that later was today, tomorrow, another lifetime? Waru didn't know for sure. What he did know, was that Eion' was scoopable, easy enough to trundle into his arms and press kisses to; before depositing him onto his couch in a gentle heap. Yanking throws that'd come in microfiber mustards, green-grays, and burgundies. He entertained getting more thick sherpa in ash n' coal, in shades of purples. An array of nonsensical colors, pile that'd grown with the winter and people he'd found himself having around. He was sure he had Alexa's somewhere, tucked away into his closet, the smell of caoco and cotton candy body spray irreparably woven into it. The brightest ******** pink anyone'd ever seen. Not that it mattered right now. He had goals and tasks and Eion to tend to in a moment of stunning vulnerability. All the tear's he'd ever gotten from his boy before - the ways those ended in them tangled irreparably closer; woven into knots in a bed - on the couch - in his kitchen. Except this wasn't a loss of a sibling and his self scorned, or the frustration of a new love seeping through the cracks - not a death - something other? Whatever - his mind growled later - his hands got busy with minutiae of touch as his mouth ran on parallel to his thoughts "...like.. way later. I'll wake you up when foods done, kay?" if he could steal another kiss and smooth Eion's hold free, fight down the urge to smother him like some oversized mother hen. It didn't help that Eion was travel sized, that was the joy of him. Easy to carry, terrifyingly so at times - in ways that made him want to feed calories into his boy like some manic master chef on a malicious mission. He wondered often at investing in glass cups and ceramic mugs - whichever could take the heat more. Something thicker than china for all that it seemed Ei's drinkware of choice. Knew it was only because it'd be something he'd be less likely to break; he'd smashed enough of Eion's things. Left them broken. Not this. This was a promise he'd keep. A thing he wouldn't bull in a china shop shatter accidently as was so often his nature.
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Posted: Fri Mar 18, 2022 4:22 pm
Whether satisfied by it or not, Eion let the subject drop with Waru's promise. He said nothing more for a time, and allowed himself to be picked up and carried about by the bigger boy. His sniffles were something frequent, clockwork for their spacing, though no more tears were shed. He clung to the boy, met kiss for kiss in his quiet desperation, but invariably, Waru would pull away. And once he was set on the couch, Eion seized a handful of mismatched throws and decorated himself in them, layering one after the other until he felt sufficiently insulated from even an imagined draft.
He was a different kind of tired than he'd been when he woke up. Eion wondered why Waru wanted to talk about it at all — what was the point of talking about anything, when it changed nothing — but the boy was easy enough to distract. New toys, sultry promises, urgent missions — Eion had his pick of misdirections.
Eion didn't want to let go when he tasted his boy's lips again. Wanted to linger there, share the heat and breath between them, have their conversation in the language of affection. That was always easier with Waru, having a dialogue like that. But Waru was always so insistent on English, on yammering out whatever half-formed thoughts he was excited to string together. Always jumping from topic to meaningless topic, threatening Eion with boredom unless he derailed Waru's delicate train of thought. Sad, then, that he had to let the boy go.
He'd become an S-shaped lump, with a tousled black mop draped dramatically over two atramentous, baleful eyes. Those eyes followed Waru into the kitchen while he shuddered under the bulk of blankets.
Eion grunted his assent, then rolled over i his nest of throws. As he snuggled against the couch pillows, he felt something unrelenting — then he pawed between the cushions, found a shotgun staring back at him. "******** do you need a shotgun for. Whatever," Eion rolled his eyes at the prospect. "Whatever." He shut his eyes to it.
Better to take the nap while he half-listened to Waru bang pots around and sing to himself in the kitchen. Better to doze off again, and hope that a second waking put him in a decent mood.
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