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 Posted: Mon Aug 29, 2016 9:49 pm
& I CAN'T BELIEVE
you took my kindness for weakness.
│CREATED BY nowSERENITY
│· Saxon City Prison.
│· A relatively short time after This.
│· Closed thread.
│· Julian & Odin & Leon.
│· Flashback thread. Avengers, assemble..?
│· x
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Posted: Tue Aug 30, 2016 2:05 am
The problem was there, over the horizon, from the second Odin put the ink mage over his shoulder and walked them both back to their own cell. Even before the blonde's ownership had been sealed-- a merciful farce, but embarrassing nonetheless-- Julian knew it, and he was pretty sure the werewolf knew it, too. Odin had challenged the natural order, had welched on a deal the other party had considered already settled, and it was only a matter of time before the repercussions came home to roost. There would be a tiny grace period where the other prisoners were still shocked and vaguely entertained by what had happened, but it wouldn't last forever. The other shoe always dropped, no matter how far it was thrown in the air. Someday, the venomous glares that Hotts turned their way wouldn't be tempered by the wariness imparted by his broken nose, and the shifter would decide it was time to make a move. The ravenette had Faulkner and the rest of his little cadre to watch his back and do his bidding, or at least that was how it seemed. All Odin had was.. well. Julian. Which was laughable, because although other inmates seemed hesitant now about approaching the mage, it was purely because he'd been claimed as the werewolf's property. The azurette held no power of his own. Wasn't a believable threat to anyone in the prison. In all actuality, Julian was a liability as much as he was a symbol of the strawberry blonde's power. Trailing along in Odin's wake every moment, as had become his routine, if anyone did make an unsanctioned move against him it was just as much a sign of disrespect to the larger man. And allowing it was a sign of weakness-- a glowing neon marker showing that what you had could be taken from you, and you could do nothing to prevent it.
It was only one of the things that would start the dominoes falling, but Julian had been thinking about a lot of them ever since that night. The one when Odin wrapped around him inexplicably and inescapably, blanketing the azurette until the shivering and shock went away. After everything that had happened in that single twenty-four hour period-- all the fear and pain and how resigned he had been to suffering-- Julian had lain there in his cellmate's arms, relaxing in slow intervals, succumbing to the warmth. Tears slowing, and then finally stopping. Soothed, strangely, by how gently Odin touched his arm. And the werewolf didn't say anything, didn't offer any explanation for any of it. Why he'd saved Julian not once, but twice. Why he'd claimed the inkwell in front of everyone, even though he clearly didn't want to. Why he followed all of that with tenderness that was so jarringly different from how he typically handled the azurette. Julian didn't understand any of it, but he didn't need to in order to be grateful. And in the dimness, with his back fitted to Odin's chest, he'd whispered it because it had to be said aloud, had to be put to tone to really convey the depth of how he meant it.
Thank you.
But the clock was ticking down, even then. They never talked about it-- there were lots of things he and Odin didn't speak about. But Julian turned the problem over in his mind a thousand times. Feeling out the puzzle. Looking for the answer. Because once Hotts got his nerve back, it would all be over. Maybe it would happen once his face healed some, or once someone else challenged the werewolf's dominance, or if somebody slipped something into Odin's food. But even if none of those things happened-- even if the other inmates lived in perpetual fear of the blonde's wrath-- there was one thing that couldn't be escaped.
The moon.
Once it was full again, Odin would be ushered back to the SHU with all the others of his kind, separated from the main prison population. Then it would be easy for Hotts to step across the hall, and there would be no one to stop him. Julian would suffer then every indignity the werewolf had protected him from, and more. And if the blonde came back early, before he'd completely recovered from the strain his skeletal transformation put on him, the shifter could very well kill him. Because Julian had witnessed the debilitating pain Odin went through, and so had everyone else, and--
That was the light bulb. That was the synapses firing in his brain, associating one memory with another in a way that would make little sense to anyone besides the mage himself. There was the key. Right in that thought.
Debilitating pain.
Day in, day out, he stayed in Odin's shadow. And in that shadow, no one pinched or hit or stuck out their feet. No one yanked his hair or whispered filthy threats. Because they were afraid. For now, they didn't want to tangle. They didn't want the blonde's attention the way Hotts had gotten it. Being in the werewolf's presence meant walking a tightrope between the anxiety of anticipating Odin's less generous moods and the comfort that came from the safety the older man provided. Following behind, sticking close, paying closer attention to surroundings and the people that filled them, because Julian finally had a real cause to. Not just Hotts, with his snakebite glance, which could make the azurette flinch now from across a room. No, that was only the incentive to find the other person he was looking for, and the opening that would make conversation possible.
After all, Leon Fenwick was an especially well-guarded prisoner.
At meals, in the halls, even at showers, the fairy was always flanked by other inmates-- alchemists, Julian knew. The ivorette's owners, during his stay at the Saxon City Prison. The very men that Leon had warned him about when the mage began his sentence and tried to attach himself to someone familiar. Someone comforting, who had been his ally when they were children. Someone who had always shared his own gentle temperament. Someone, really, who belonged in this place as little as the azurette himself. But Leon had been in too deep already by then, and Julian had no power to free him anymore than Leon would have had to protect the inkwell if he'd been free. Since his return from solitary, the mage had met that golden gaze-- so like his own-- only a handful of times, and each one had left his heart heavy. Because his friend, the one who had scolded Ben and Noel for their pranks, the one who shrank down so small to take naps in Julian's hair, was wasting away. Each time he saw Leon, always from afar, despite the closeness of their cells, the fairy seemed somehow smaller than he'd been before. Difficult, for a man that even the azurette outstripped by half a foot. And Julian hadn't fully understood what that meant, before. But he did now.
Only, he couldn't do anything about it. Not with his own two hands. He had no protection to offer, no strength to defend with, no capacity for violence even if he'd managed the other prerequisites. All I have's my honor, a tolerance for pain, a couple'a college credits and my top-knotch brain--
And Odin. Tentatively.
If Odin would work with him. If Odin would trust the mage enough to let him approach Leon on his own. Because Julian was learning to look carefully, to perceive clearly, to gauge threats and acceptable risks. It wasn't, actually, that different from the time he'd spent in Haven's territory, assessing who would be an acceptable candidate for the Saint to draw up papers for. When he really looked, there was only one time that the ivorette could stretch his own legs. When he really thought, instead of living in the paralyzing circle of his own fear, Julian knew that he could approach Leon himself. Because even as small as the fairy was, everyone knew the mage had no real power. A weakling inkwell who'd become somebody's bed pet wasn't something to worry about, only something to snigger over. When Odin wasn't beside him, Julian only ever registered as a victim.
Maybe, for once, that could be useful. He could be useful. On his own, he couldn't protect himself from Hotts, let alone defend Odin. On his own, he couldn't wrest Leon away from the iron grip that was slowly killing him. But in tandem. By connecting the dots. By drawing out the calligraphy, one stroke of ink at a time. Yes, maybe in that way, Julian could do quite a lot.
So he waited. And he watched. Stayed within easy reach of his cellmate each time they were let out into the yard. Kept quiet, the way he almost always did now outside the concrete room he shared with Odin. And Julian observed how Leon's little retinue of masters allowed the fairy to roam, always keeping an eye on their investment but not really dogging his heels unless he strayed too near a rival gang. It was painful to watch his childhood friend, consigned to the ground by the enchantments worked into the fences. They made it impossible to simply fly away, even though the sky overhead probably looked like the most beautiful and inviting place in the world. And when Leon finally turned, looking up as though the azurette's attention had weight to it, Julian smiled just a little. Just a fraction, probably indiscernible across the dusty grass of the field. Trying to will everything to be alright, because what came next would be harder.
Because he had to turn to Odin, then, and had to speak.
"I need you to trust me. Okay?" Softly, calmly, the words were more private than they might have been if he'd Inked them on his face in broad daylight, but he knew how ridiculous it sounded. No one really trusted anyone else in this place, if they didn't want to wind up suffering. All of the gangs seemed to be held together only by common interest, need, and fear. But the werewolf had saved Julian, and maybe he could save Leon. And in the strangest turn of all, maybe the fairy could save all of them. "Just. Stay here. They won't let me near him if you're with me, and I think he can make all the difference."
It wasn't exactly an explanation, but then, Julian didn't exactly wait for an answer before he turned. He hadn't stepped outside a fifteen-foot radius of the werewolf in the last few days unless he was absolutely forced to, but the azurette moved toward Leon without hesitation. Necessity was the mother of invention they said, but it was also the mother of tenacity. Careful, even strides, no looking back at the direction he'd come from, paying only peripheral attention to the alchemists that had the fairy under their thumb. In his life, Julian had accomplished much simply by barreling forward when he was certain of what was right. Often, those accomplishments resulted in multiple visits to a certain caim at the foot of a certain set of steps in a certain part of the slums, since the mage rarely considered his own safety in the implementation of his good works. But Maluk wasn't here now, and if the azurette was broken into pieces he would have to suffer through it without the man's help. Of course, Julian had weathered a good deal of damage already in the last few weeks, and some of it was even starting to heal. Based on his own rate of injury, it was almost time for another punch in the face.
Which was why he stopped well out of arms' reach of Leon. Although the inkwell didn't think the fairy would try to hurt him, he had no doubt that his attendants might if they thought he meant the ivorette harm. Nothing could be further from the truth, but there was no way to know that. None of them would be aware that Leon had always acted like more of a brother to Julian than his own flesh and blood. And although they might know how useful his Dust could be, the mage doubted they understood how quickly that glittering cloud could be loosed into the air when Leon was scared. But Julian had witnessed it, had seen the way Nat-- like a gnat, because he incessantly buzzed about, irritating, maddening, poking fun and playing pranks, never knowing when to quit until someone was hurt or angry-- dropped and convulsed. Shaking, screaming, crying. One of Julian's six bigger brothers, who like all the rest had always told the azurette that crying was for babies and girls. But still, Nathaniel had cried and clawed at his own chest. Insisted that his lungs had ants inside, crawling and biting and eating him alive. He'd been hurting so much, it didn't matter at all that he was a big bad Electric mage and Julian only had his Ink. If there had been a fight just then, Nat would have immediately lost.
Debilitating pain. Like Odin's moon, but for everyone else. And all it would take was faith, trust, and pixie dust. Not for real, the moths plinked against the light in his mind. Admonishing. Just a threat. Just so nobody will want to start a fight. But the light flickered a little. There was a hairline crack in the bulb. So small, but troubling. When the glow was out, something else moved in the dark that made up the difference. And it had no wings, because it was down in the deep, down in the Ink, down where nothing could breathe. But only for a moment. Only when the light flickered. And then things were fine again. Then he was three feet from his old friend and looking on with concern.
"Are you doing alright, little bug..?" It sounded derogatory, but really it was very fond. Something Julian had called the fairy since the mage was tiny himself and didn't quite understand how Leon could become so small and flitter about. Back then, he'd had to look up at the ivorette, but that had been a long time ago. Now, Julian had to adjust his line of sight half a foot downward and he looked at the smaller man from a face that was still half-covered in bruises. And then he said it. Something that sounded simple, but held a wealth of meaning. "You can come sit with us, if you want."
Us. Julian and Odin.
Like it was high school instead of prison. Like doing so wouldn't suggest a turn in the tide, or call the ire of the alchemists down on all of them. But the apologetic quality of Julian's smile said that he knew. He understood. And he did. He knew that if this offer was going to be made, it needed to be made now, before the other inmates started to fear Odin a little less. It needed to be settled before anyone watching even really realized what was happening, or how the power exchange had been meted out. If he'd tried to explain it to the blonde fully, this chance might never have come again. This risk was necessary, to prevent the dominoes from falling when time ran out. Because in chess, while everyone kept their eyes on the knights and rooks, if you were careful-- if you went unnoticed-- a pawn could reach eighth rank and rise again as a queen. And generally speaking, you didn't want to ******** with that particular piece.
It had a way of bringing the pain.
OOC: I have taken certain liberties. If they aren't okay, let me know. XD Julian wants to turn Leon into Regina George and have him rule the schoooool prison.
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Posted: Tue Aug 30, 2016 9:03 pm
 
#997495
Last night had been a failure.
To be more specific, Leon was still alive, thanks to his own cowardice.
The truth was that his suicide 'attempt', if it could even be called that much, had been a half-baked plan at best. He hadn't had access to any of the conventional tools of the trade; not enough of any substance to overdose on (Pike kept all of those, giving them to Leon only a little at a time), no rope to hang himself with, no bathtub filled to the brim and conveniently placed toaster and wall socket. So he'd had to resort to more brute methods. He'd heard that a person could bite through their own tongue, if they were determined enough, and then they would either bleed to death, or drown in their own blood. So the fairy had resolved, as he sat on his top bunk, listening to the slumbering breathing of the giant ghoul below him, that he was going to do just that. It would be painful and messy, he knew, but anything had to be better than where he was stuck.
When Leon Fenwick had first been sent to prison, he'd done everything in his power to brace himself for the experience, mentally. Five years minimum was a long time, he knew. But it also wasn't forever. He told himself, at the time, that he could handle it. He was mentally sound and stable, even if his entire family had abandoned him and cut him off. He was strong, he told himself. He would survive on his own. After all, it wasn't like he was a child abuser or something, and everyone would be out for his blood. He wasn't some high-ranking official or gang banger who anyone had a grudge against. He was a nonviolent offender, and surely there were others like him in prison as well. But the truth was that the whole 'alone' part really terrified him. All is life he had a partner, someone to fall back on and bounce ideas off of, someone to catch him where he came up short, someone to support him when his back was against the wall. But that partner was the reason he was here now, with his back against the wall and nothing but empty air when he reached out his hand. Tacks had betrayed him. Leon had no idea how to do anything alone, much less survive that way in an environment so completely foreign as the Saxon City Prison Compound. He'd been slapped in a jumpsuit, assigned a number and a cell, and been tossed to the wolves. And as the years had passed, they'd worn against Leon like waves crashing against the shore, each passing day wicking a little more of his strength and will away. He'd been broken by the end of the first year. When five men at once had come for him, pinning his slender body down beneath them, he'd spread his wings behind them and dusted them all in a hazy cloud of searing suffering. It earned Leon a deep stab wound in his back and a week in solitary after he was healed. Leon was different when he came out, and so were the alchemists who had claimed to be his friends and protectors. What had once been a circle of fellow intellectuals, who gently tolerated Leon hanging around them and letting their shadows scare off any more predators became a ring of guards and a list of demands, once they found out what his dust could do. The alchemist circle was an interesting faction in prison. Initially, Leon had befriended them because, to his naive eyes, they seemed the most like him. They were varied in size and strength, but they were all men of magic and science, of logic. They weren't like the common thugs they were all locked up with. But no one messed with them, despite their generally inferior physical statures, and practically nonexistent predisposition to combat. This was because, as Leon came to find out, the alchemists were the ones who controlled the flow of substances through the prison. They could even make certain drugs, if given the appropriate time, ingredients, and payment. And in a place as controlled as the prison, no one wanted to risk their connection to what few fixes they could get their hands on. So if the Alchemists said not to ******** with someone, you didn't, and you got to keep your high the next friday, when shipments rolled in. If the Alchemists said to ignore something, you ignored it. If the Alchemists asked, you gave. If they said jump, you jumped, or else you never got your hands on anything good again. Even cigarettes were difficult to get ahold of without their help. And then, of course, their power had been bolstered when they came into possession of a particularly powerful aphrodisiac, with a steady supply to boot.
So Leon became the alchemists cash cow. They started keeping him on a tight leash, and had ever since. To make sure no one else tried to get the goods without paying, he was escorted everywhere he went, followed and watched and flanked, guards to watch him aside from the guards in uniform. It wasn't just for his protection like they claimed, he knew, but to make his own deals more difficult as well. It hadn't been terrible, at first. After all, Leon had rapidly become a heavy substance abuser himself, a habit which the Alchemists gladly supported and encouraged. But as time wore on, their generosity began to wane, and by then Leon was addicted. He needed it, just like so many others in the walls they shared. And over time, the alchemists had learned about all of Leons limits. As it turned out, his body wasn't actually capable of producing an infinite amount of dust. The alchemists settled with harvesting as much as they could, day after day, and it began to take a toll on Leons body. Constantly producing the substance, really only intended to be used in quick bursts to escape danger every now and then, was draining and even painful when pushed too much. It just made his need all the worse.
That was where Pike came in, Pike was the ringleader of the alchemist ring, a lifer with a muscular build and bright red hair. Pike was greedy, in every sense of the word, always asking more and more from Leon. Of course he wasn't a brute, never forced the fairy into anything. But he did manage to make it very, very clear just how difficult his life could be made if he didn't do as Pike wanted. So Leon had bowed, given him what he wanted willingly, not only his dust, but everything else the alchemist lusted after as well. Pike had taken steps to ensure that he and Leon shared a cell, so that he could keep the fairy close, and make sure he wasn't trading off the dust which was rightfully the circles for other personal favors. And currently, Pike was in a very poor mood. There had been another switch, and the alchemist found himself uprooted and replaced by a towering menace of a ghoul by the name of Mallory. What he didn't know, at least not yet, was that it had been Leons doing. Pike had been getting more and more ruthless of late, always experimenting with new ways to improve the dusts potency, and figuring out new cruel ways to coax more of it from Leons body. He teased him with pain, with fear, with hunger and with need, and he'd gotten rougher with his hands. Hoping to maybe gain a small amount of freedom, Leon had made a deal with one of the guards. Ross, a portly middle-aged adversper, was amiable enough, and could be bought for certain tasks, if the one asking had what he was looking for. Of course, Leo had only two things to offer, but it had been enough for Ross. He'd orchestrated the switch, and when Leon saw who he'd been placed with instead of Pike, he'd nearly flipped his lid. He'd hissed through the bars late that night when Ross had come making the rounds, eager to receive his payment, asking him what the hell he was thinking. But Ross had been blunt, and made it clear that he'd carried out their terms, told him beggars couldn't be choosers. Bitterly Leon had made a remark about it not being begging when he was paying, but had gone ahead and given the guard what he came for rather than risk Ross letting it slip to Pike exactly what had gone down.
So Leon had barely slept in the few weeks since, just waiting for Mallory to pounce on him when he was asleep and helpless. He'd heard all kinds of terrible things about ghouls and their eating habits. The Fenwicks had never associated with any ghouls, with the exception of one particularly clever businessman. But he had heard that, rather like vampires, ghouls were said to find fairies particularly delicious. It wasn't a theory he was eager to test. On top of constantly fearing being devoured in his sleep, Pike had decided that it was time, once again, to starve Leon. Not of food, but of his fix. The alchemists had discovered that when he was allowed to abuse different drugs, and then suddenly denied of them, his body went into overdrive, and the stress tended to produce a higher volume of dust. He hadn't had his fix in almost a month, and it was showing. His skin, normally pale, had gone ashen, and dark circles plastered themselves under his eyes. He was always clammy and muttering, and every nerve in his body begged for release, for just a little, just one sniff of something, anything to take the edge off. He couldn't eat hardly for the withdrawal, and he could feel the bolts holding him together slowly working loose. After years of constant monitoring, bullying, abuse, and the rollercoaster of one-sided affection with the alchemists, Leon had decided last night that he just couldn't take it anymore. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision he'd made earlier in the day, and when it came down to it, it had been much more difficult in practice than in theory. He'd stuck his tongue out, placed his teeth around the thick middle of it, and squeezed, but was unable to make himself bite all the way down. Despite repeated attempts to psyche himself enough for it, he simply couldn't bring himself to bite through his own tongue. Finally, out of frustration, he'd punched himself in the jaw, hoping to force his teeth to snap together and bite through. He only succeeded in biting it a little, not nearly all the way through, but blood had poured out of his mouth and he'd spent the night curled in a ball, stuffing dirty sheets into his mouth and shivering with terror, horrified that the smell of the blood might rouse his new roommate and his appetite.
So it was that this morning he woke up yet again, reported back to Pike and the others at breakfast, quietly begged them for something, please, and was denied yet again, went through the routines and found himself in the yard again, working as vigorously than ever. Leons workout routine helped, if only just a little, to distract him from the constant terrible itch that he couldn't scratch. It was terribly difficult for fairies to build muscle, so despite having maintained his regimen for years, Leon was still only leanly muscled, built like a small swimmer. He looked almost as bad as he felt, jumpsuit folded over at the waist to leave his bare chest exposed, revealing the scar below one wing, fully healed by then, and the singular tattoo on his body, the blue scales lining one shoulder. His pallor was sickly, and it was easy to see how he shook and shivered even in the midst of his sit-ups, breath wheezy and uneven. The circles under his eyes accentuated how bloodshot they were, and his cheeks were sallow as they dripped with the thin sheen of sweat, his silver hair clinging in damp clumps to his forehead. Pike had given him a single cigarette that morning, at least, but even that he had to barter for, and it wasn't nearly enough. As he worked, making his muscles pull and contract, he gazed up at the taunting sky above him, so tantalizingly close, and yet impossible to reach. His wings had been the cruelest thing to be taken from him. Leo finally paused, pulling himself up to sit, breathing more heavily than he should have been, after only a few situps, and felt eyes on him. That wasn't unusual, there were usually eyes on him, Pikes or someone. But it was unusual, in the yard. So he turned his tired eyes to meet a pair that almost mirrored his. Julian.
Leon felt like he could weep just looking at him, his Jules, all blue and purple and bruised. He'd done his best to help him, but what good had it done him? He'd been so despaired and overjoyed to see Julian when he first came, and it broke his heart in his chest when he had to tell him to stay away from him. His brother, the only soul left in the world who could possibly understand him, the only one who wasn't an alien to him now. And, selfishly, he had partly been glad. He and Julian really were cut from the same cloth, to both end up here. It made him feel a little less alone, even as he told the mage, panicked, that he couldn't be seen near him. He had dreaded to think what Pike would to to Julian, what Pike would do to Leon, if he knew how much the fairy cared for the younger man, the lengths he would have gone to to keep him safe. But in the end, he had gone to no lengths, and Julian was far from safe. Leons eyes trailed past the ink mage as his old friend turned around to speak to his own personal guard. Odin. Leon shivered just to look at him. He had never met a werewolf before, and was not so eager to go near. Fortunately for Julian, he supposed, most no one did, especially not after that last incident. Odin had a countenance set in what seemed to be a permanent scowl, as though everything the light touched was a source of agitation and disapproval for him. He was exactly the sort that most wanted to leave well enough alone, and exactly the sort that Leon dreaded imagining Julian keeling to. But what could he do? He could only watch helplessly as Julian turned to face him again and started walking towards him. As he did, Leon glanced to the left and right. Surely, Julian was approaching someone else, wasn't he? While it was true that, with their places both firmly established, it was less dangerous for Julian now than it had been when he'd first entered the system. But it was dangerous none the less, for them to associate. The Alchemist circle was very touchy when it came to Leon. But as Julian stopped before him, the alchemists spared no more than a passing glance and resumed their conversations, their quiet wheeling and dealing around paid off guards. And Ross. That fat ******** somehow Julian seemed so casual as he spoke with Leons eyes glued to him. They'd hardly spoken, but Leon had kept his worried gaze on him as often as he'd felt was safe, kept tabs on what was happening to him even as he knew he'd been powerless to stop any of it. What in the world was Julian doing here?
"Are you doing alright, little bug..?" And Leon couldn't help but want to smile at that, but even the little muscles in his face felt too tired to try and muster the movement. He did it anyway, a faint, flickering smile that folded like paper over an open flame.
"....I've been better, Jules." And as much as he tried to sound casual, he couldn't catch the note of concern that clung to the words, the silent questions of 'What are you thinking?' 'What are you doing here?' He was still sitting on the ground, curled over his knees from the crunches he'd been trying to distract himself with.
"You can come sit with us, if you want."
Leon blinked at him, the heavy weight of the implications written clearly on his pale sweating face. The words were so simple, the tone so casual, but the look in Julians eyes told Leon everything he needed to know. The mage was very much aware of what he was doing, the weight of what he was suggesting with the plain and simple invitation. Sure, they might be able to play it off as a simple conversation, but it wouldn't last long. Granted, there wasn't going to be a better time, if he was going to take the opportunity. With Pike out of his cell, if there was any time to make a move, it was now. He glanced past Julian at the werewolf that he shadowed, fumbling for the right thing to say. He had to choose very, very carefully. If he made the wrong move here, everything could end in disaster. The fairy had been ready to end his own life just last night, but the alchemists wouldn't want him dead, and he knew that there were worse things. If he crossed the yard now, followed Julian to stand next to Odin, there was no way the alchemists would mistake what that meant. Would they start a confrontation then and there, in the yard? It wasn't actually terribly likely. The Alchemists power was with drugs, and influence through them. While Pike and a few others may have been kind of burly, he doubted that any of them would be over eager to stir up confrontation with Odin, who had so recently proven his might. But, sooner or later, there would be a fight. The transactions of the Dust, small breaths of ecstasy in a place very scarce of it, were too valuable to the circle even as the supply had slowly begun to wither. What was Julians plan then? Surely he didn't think that Odin could defend them both all alone, did he? But the smile on Julians face said so many things to him. It said he understood, that he knew what he was doing. Even if Leon didn't understand it, it seemed that Julian had a plan. So then the real question was, did he trust Julian? Trust him enough to step in blind to this plan that could surely only end in disaster?
No.
Logic had forbidden it. He didn't trust anyone anymore, and he never would again. If his other half could betray him, anyone could, and they would. But other thoughts rang through his skull. People aren't against you, they're for themselves. Did Julian need him, somehow? Was he seeing some bigger picture that Leo was too strung out to notice? And even if it was the case, did he really want to let what might be his only chance slip by? He'd been driven so mad by the alchemists that he would rather die than continue on, so why not this? If everything was already over, he could at least take a chance fighting, right? And he might be able to help Julian, somehow. But he couldn't stall anymore. If he hesitated now, he'd lose it. So he refocused his gaze on Julian and, after another long moment, he slowly nodded, a grave face behind a simple motion.
"... All right." As simple as that. The fairy pulled himself up off of the ground and rolled his neck nervously, popping the vertebrae at the base and sighing. His hands were still shaking, and the symptoms of his withdrawal made him breathe heavy and quick. He knew that now, cutting himself off from the alchemists, he wouldn't be able to get his fix again. Then again, there was always.... the ghoul. Mallory. Leon cringed at the thought, but he was known to have a few connections, and he hadn't eaten the fairy... yet. But it didn't matter either way now, whether he could get more one way or the other, because he'd already made his choice. He walked across the yard, following Julian like a French monarch on their way to the guillotine. He kept his head up and his eyes forward, even as he flexed his hands, balling them into fists to crack the knuckles on each. and he kept walking, even when he heard the Alchemists who were babysitting him at the moment shuffle and turn as he went. One of them said something, then turned to call after him,
"Hey, Snowflake! Where you goin'?" Leon winced. He'd always hated the nickname. It had been mockingly given to him when he'd first arrived in prison, when everyone joked that he thought he was a 'special snowflake' because he was some fancy-assed upper-class lawyer who thought he was better than the rest of them hoodlums. And, sadly, the name had stuck. It was the only thing the Alchemists called him, with the occasional exception of Pike. He liked the things Pike called him even less. So even when they called him, Leon didn't turn, even though his rational self told him to. Stop, turn around, laugh it off, go back, but no. Rationale had won the day last night, it wasn't going to have this one too. He made his feet move, following after his only friend left in the world and finally dragging to a halt in front of the terrifying figure that was Odin. He glanced up at the man, but found himself unable to maintain any kind of eye contact. He shifted his feet nervously, and rolled his neck again, struggling every moment not to glance back over his shoulder, where he could already hear the alchemists talking in increasingly raised voices. He made himself look at Julian instead. He swallowed hard before speaking.
"So. Uh.... what's up?"
Gods, he was gonna die.
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Saxon City Prison - Yard xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Itchyxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Julianxx ███ X
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2016 7:39 pm
I've been better, Jules..
It was an understatement, the azurette knew, because that's what it would be if Julian ever said it himself. And the concern was there on his face, but all he said aloud was, "It's been a long time since anybody called me that."
There were a thousand different variables to consider. Not least of all the fact that Leon, who was kind and conscientious, had always been fairly cautious when Julian knew him in childhood. And the ivorette had turned him away before. They can't see me talking to you. It isn't safe for either of us. It had been months since that moment, when the ally the mage thought he might have had evaporated in front of his eyes. All it would take was a minute too much of hesitation, one too many questions. If the fairy doubted his intentions, or if he feared Odin more than the slow destruction coming to him under the reign of the alchemists, then this gesture would be for nothing. It was the only gambit Julian had, and the sand in the hourglass never slowed down. If Leon looked at him and the azurette saw fear and apology in his eyes, that would be the end.
But he didn't.
And something about that made Julian feel a twinge of guilt, because it meant that whatever happened now would only come to pass because the other man had trusted him. If things went badly, if Odin wouldn't accept Leon, then the consequences the fairy would face for his attempt at defection would be the inkwell's fault. It was only one more reason why failure was not an option. He would have to trust that the werewolf would help. He would have to trust his own ability to make Odin see why doing so was the best option. The safest option. The only one Julian could envision that ended with avoiding violence as much as possible. Oh, how little the mage actually understood.
All right.
The ease of it made him blink once, slowly, because he'd expected his old friend to dither a little more over it. But then, Leon had been in this place for years already. Suffered under the yoke of the alchemists for a period of time Julian wasn't even sure of. He wasn't the soft creature he'd been as a child, regardless of his diminutive stature. It saddened the azurette to realize how threadbare the fairy had become, and for the first time he wondered how Leon must see him, how different he must appear to someone who had known him on the outside. Already his integrity had suffered, because there was a time when this course of action-- holding Leon's Dust as a warning, like the threat of nuclear war-- would have been repellent to Julian. He would have squared his shoulders and talked about what he could live with, what he was willing to die rather than do. But that was before Hotts' hands turned to knives. Before the shifter showed how easily he could stab through the werewolf's flesh. Before Julian's head had been cracked like an egg against the bars of that other cell.
Desperate times, and all that.
If they'd been kids still, he'd have taken one of Leon's shaking hands in his own as they crossed the yard, the way he'd unthinkingly done at social functions when his own elder brothers were crass or cruel. I don't want to be in your family anymore. I want to be a Fenwick! He'd been all of six when he said it, stubbornly slipping his pigments so that he even looked more like the fairies than the rest of his own litter. White hair and white skin and luminous citrine eyes, he could have been Leon's brother, except for his lack of wings. And Nathaniel had shoved Julian casually to the dirt, scuffing a booted foot against his baby brother's side without a moment's hesitation. If Ben sees you like that, you'll catch hell. C'mon, Inky. If you're a fairy, you'll get up and fly away! Of course, Julian had been crying by then, sand in his teeth, but he'd kept his canvas blank anyway, because Nat couldn't make him change. Except the fifth son fetched his foot back again and kicked a little harder, a little higher, and through his own scream at the snap of his upper arm the mage realized that Nathaniel was screaming, too. Eyes wide and streaming tears, his older brother had been surrounded by a cloud of something gold and glittering, something that Leon's wings fluttered against, dispersing it. Dust.
No, he couldn't hold the ivorette's hand, even though it would have been as innocent as it had always been in childhood. And now he wasn't relying on Leon to protect him just from bullying elder brothers, either. As they moved along the dusty field, a voice spoke up from the corner where the alchemists were gathered, but Julian didn't bother to listen to the words. Only the tone. Irritated, a little suspicious, but lacking determination. No follow-through, exactly as the azurette had believed. Hoped. They didn't like it-- of course not, when Leon was integral to so much of their product flow-- but with Julian shepherding their lamb into the werewolf's reach (and how was that for irony) they were powerless to act. For now.
It was something the inkwell was willing to consider a victory, even though it was clear from his old friend's body language that Odin scared the s**t out of him. Was that how Julian himself appeared to others? Almost certainly. It was why everyone would assume the blonde had sent him to collect Leon, rather than viewing it as an action of the azurette's own devising. The message sent was that Odin could take what he wanted, even if it was a key piece from an established gang's method of commerce. That in itself would make the werewolf's reputation loom larger, make some of the other prisoners wonder just what the alchemists had done to cross Odin, to make him angry so that he collected a pound of flesh from them.
Unfortunately, there was nothing gained without something ventured, and the gamble was in whether Pike's ire would outweigh his prudence. Without first hand knowledge of the redhead, Julian couldn't be sure. Could the alchemist hire help that would make things difficult? Yes, if anyone was willing to take the risk of facing Odin. But could Pike, or any of his gangmates, succeed against the werewolf on their own? No. Julian didn't believe so. He'd watched and he'd considered, he'd turned the puzzle upside down and inside out. This could be the answer. This was the only one that had presented itself to him, over and over again in the night when he stared at the ceiling above his bunk.
The azurette looked from one man to the other and took a deep breath, feeling like Lucille Ball. Because the skeptical annoyance on Odin's face, paired with the queasy fear on Leon's, told Julian that he had some 'splaining to do.
"You're strong, and you scare them, but your threat will wear out eventually." Was it strange that he said it almost.. gently? To the fairy beside him, it probably sounded like the mage was trying to avoid Odin's temper or appease his ego, murmuring the way he did. Quiet, not to be overheard, but also because Julian was sharing a knowledge that he viewed as a rather grim truth. When the counter wore down, someone would step up, and they might not aim for a wrist. Might not stop at drugging the werewolf and letting him walk away. "I can't help you in a fight. I would if I could, but I can't."
And it was true, startlingly. Julian St Jude, who had never been able to stomach the thought of striking another living soul, even in defense of his own life, would have done it for Odin if it was necessary. If he was capable. But he wasn't, and couldn't. All he could do was drag Leon into the mess and hope that between their two skillsets the fairy and werewolf could aid one another.
His hand came to rest on the ivorette's shoulder, a sign of solidarity, of welcome. A display easily seen from across the yard, even when the words he was speaking couldn't be heard. There was no going back from this point. Julian wasn't asking permission, only begging forgiveness for something that had already been done. In one fell swoop, as far as the alchemists were concerned, Odin had snapped up one of their product sources. And he had accomplished it not by brute strength, but by assessing when and where Leon would be least guarded, and then sending in a representative that wouldn't be considered a threat. Now, the werewolf wasn't only physically threatening, not only willing to ignore the unwritten rules of trade and ownership, but able to use cunning in situations where his bare fists might fail. If Julian was going to stand in Odin's shadow, then the shade would be as large as he could possibly make it.
"What I can't do, Leon can." It sounded ludicrous. The fairy was just a bit over five feet tall, struggling every day against the slender, graceful build he'd been imparted at birth. His pale skin would bruise under any rough pressure, and he was trembling from withdrawals besides. Leon looked like a stiff wind would blow him over, or maybe just one of Odin's patented glares. But if the proof was in the pudding, the ivorette was one big b*****d of a caramel-coated flan-- or would be, given time to rest and recover. If he wasn't being farmed for the byproduct of his fear, if he was allowed to live in even comparative safety. "If you don't let them take him back, his Dust could keep the dumber and braver ones away."
When you can't. The words went unsaid, yet they were there at the side of Julian's face, out of Leon's sight, but completely visible to the man meant to see them. A tiny moon Inked onto his skin, waxing and waning through its phases just at the corner of the azurette's eye. Flickering and then gone. The understanding that even Odin had his moments of weakness, and that because he'd saved Julian, claimed Julian, those moments would be even more dangerous for him from now on.
"A small force can look large when it's arrayed right, and sometimes a threat works better than a punch. " Like stretching an army across the horizon, even if it was only three soldiers deep. The sight of an enemy spanning far and wide, the illusion of being outnumbered and outgunned, could make all the difference. Could snap morale even in an established group, or make a less confident gang more willing to form alliances, create trade agreements. It was all just conflict theory at its most basic, and that was at least something Julian understood. "What we're up against is the Matthew Effect: the concept that those who have control will keep control. Resources, or signs of status. Well, people only have something until it's taken from them, and the other day you took me from Hotts. Today, you took Leon from the alchemists. "
You. Not me. Julian had been the one to walk across the yard, but every eye that fell on him would only see an extension of Odin. Odin's property. Odin's resource. Odin's ornament and pet. A thing that the werewolf owned. Trinkets didn't act on their own.
"And just like Hotts, they're going to be angry. But they're also going to be scared. And that is what really takes their control and makes it yours. "
OOC: Julian means well. I promise. He only sounds a little like a sociopath.
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2016 2:34 pm
”The ******** is wrong with you? Odin asked as he quickly reached round the sharp object pulling it from his skin. He glanced down at the small tear from where he’d been stabbed and saw the young inmate wasn’t really aggressive. Hell, he didn’t seem anything but scared. As Odin’s gaze hit the boy’s there was a tension as his attacker slowly moved forwards, hesitantly.
”Um… Hotts’ said…” He glanced over his shoulder and took in a deep breath. Then the kid broke his script. ”Just he did me this favor once you know? I-” Odin just stood there glancing from his small wound to the boy Hotts’ had sent. Odin had never been in a fight with someone he had nothing against. It didn’t make him angry when some little punk was just trying to do what he had to do. Odin knew he should’ve battered the kid’s face in to send a message. Maybe it was a test to see if he would or not. Dim eyes shifted as the werewolf saw the boy take something from his pocket. Another small shard of scrap metal from a building or something. If this was the only person Hotts’ could get to ******** with a werewolf Odin didn’t think that the LSSFJIOGAJORGIAEJGIOA ******** lights out.
Odin hit the ground with his body convulsing violently as everything escaped his head all at once. The younger inmate stabbed at Odin’s shoulder and sent a shock through his entire body. The werewolf was left desperately trying to regain his breath as the mage turned around checking to make sure nobody was around again. ”Hotts wanted me to say, like, you’re meant to apologize. You wronged him man. If you’re any smart you’ll just be a team player and, like, just stop being a...” He paused as he quickly began to leave the scene of the crime. ”Acting like a werewolf. Something. I forget everything he said to say. Just… ********. You get the point.”
It took Odin a while to stop drooling and gain control of his body again. Two guards saw him laying down and screamed at him so Odin tried to explain he’d just twisted his ankle and fell without stuttering too much. It was ungraceful when he had to try to get back on his feet again and act like nothing had happened. He stopped by the bathroom after work and threw his shirt in the trash since he’d be able to change once he got back to his cell. They had sweatshirts and s**t in commissary anyways he could use as replacements. When Julian finally came back after being hosed down from his shift, Odin wasn’t feeling particularly good. Luckily, it wasn’t abnormal for the werewolf to be in a foul mood for no reason. He was allowed to pout whenever the ******** he felt like it and nobody would bat an eye.
Julian didn’t need to know about that stuff anyways, it didn’t concern him.
Except it did. Anger that spread like wildfire caused people to hurt the weak links. It didn’t matter what metal you were made of when in the end you were a piece of a broken chain. If Odin was someone who had to deal with repercussions, Julian was someone who faced the same threat. The only difference was Julian was the weak link between the two. Odin learned to stick to the ink mage like glue. The male acted hostile and unforgiving to anyone who even thought about approaching them. You could be an innocent little ******** and still put out plenty of damage. Odin wasn’t showing any restraint. He should’ve battered the kid the second he’d gotten stabbed.
It was a sunny day when Odin was staring at the basketball court. He dreamt plenty of times about walking up and asking to join but he knew better. Nobody approached anyone in prison unless they wanted something or were looking for revenge on someone else’s behalf. Odin learned that by now. Everyone you associated with was a piece of you in this place. Since Hotts’ and Odin broke into their fist fight he found people didn’t even stare at him much anymore. Second Odin seemed to be anywhere people were turning their backs and completely ignoring him. They wanted to shut down anything to do with him. "I need you to trust me. Okay?"
”Hm?” Odin’s eyes caught onto Julian’s. Odin was saying s**t but… It was more like a conversation from heart to heart than verbally. Julian didn’t really edge Odin on trying to get him to open his mouth in public. Occasionally the werewolf would scoff, grunt, or nod. Hell, sometimes Odin’s only response was a lifeless: Acknowledged. It wasn’t like that this time. Julian had some type of urgency talking about them. Someone found Julian when Odin wasn’t around didn’t they? Hotts’ must’ve — No, Hotts wasn’t anywhere nearby. None of those guys were.
Instead, Julian walked up to one of the most delicate looking males Odin had seen in his entire life. Icy hair that fell down across his face. A body that was smaller than most girls Odin ever saw. Did people like this become friends in prison quietly off to the side since they could understand what one another were going through? Was this Julian’s only friend? The two exchanged a few words and then Odin watched as they both trotted back over to the small territory that he claimed.
"So. Uh.... what's up?" The fae asked, which Odin was already ignoring as his eyes were already pointed towards Julian with a narrowed brow. "You're strong, and you scare them, but your threat will wear out eventually. I can't help you in a fight. I would if I could, but I can't." Who was they? How was this going to solve his problems with Hotts? What is up, Julian? Odin quietly exchanged the question with his stern expression as he waited to hear what in the ******** he thought was going to be happening. Then the genius started off his pitch by opening his damned mouth to say that s**t. What Julian couldn’t do, Leon could.
”He gonna be tagging in during fights then, eh?” Odin asked sarcastically as he looked back at the pathetic sight. He had to be under a hundred pounds. The fae’s eyes were all sunk in and his limbs were unable to remain still. It reminded Odin of his withdrawals and comedowns, which sent an odd familiar feeling bursting through his veins. The werewolf crossed his arms, his gaze falling back to the fae. It really didn’t matter if this was Julian’s friend. Odin couldn’t watch over the two of them. Worrying and stalking Julian was hard enough. He was pushing his luck with all the bathroom breaks he took to try and stalk by the laundry facility hallway to be sure nobody strange was shoving their noses in the area. He couldn’t keep lying to the guards saying he had explosive diarrhea forever or he’d probably lose his bathroom privileges for using it to get out of work and focus on other things every half hour. Sometimes when Odin’s paranoia was getting the best of him he spaced it to every twenty minutes. Once he even slipped off without asking permission when his overseer was checking on some other groups leaving Odin unattended for a random amount of time. He knew he was pushing his luck and would get caught doing something sketchy at this rate.
But to double that up? Was Julian smoking crack to come up with that idea?
Odin remained quiet as Julian finished his pitch. Thinking Odin was meant to be some crimelord running the prison. Thinking that Odin’s ego was big enough to think he could protect anything. The werewolf’s teeth were exposed a moment as he snapped his mouth shut at the thought. He stared towards the fae again. It sucked, it really did. Had Odin been in either of their positions he would’ve hated his life. Odin had some type of immunity due to his muscles using a higher percentage than the average person most days of the month. He’d never be in the position Julian and Leon were. Odin would never understand anything the two of them were going through. That must’ve been why Julian was trying to hard. Nobody else had Leon or Julian’s back. They had to try to do what they could for one another.
Odin turned away from the fae once he was finished playing out some sob story about how Julian and Leon might’ve bonded or met one another throughout their prison sentence. ”Tch.” His eyes were lifted towards the three that had been heckling the fae. So dust? Those guys were using some dust? Did fairies have a limit as to how much they could produce? Was that why Leon looked so ******** up? Was fairy dust the base of the makeshift drugs floating around the prison? He couldn’t sit there staring at the alchemists like this. Odin stood up and grabbed Leon’s arm. Roughly, be tore the fairy away from Julian and began to head back to where the delicate boy came from. Back to where the trash belonged. He stretched his leg out, shoving Leon over his limb forcing the fairy off balance and to go plummeting towards the floor.
”Sorry. Think you guys dropped this.” Odin said, speaking to the first inmate in what seemed like forever. ”Thought I’d bring it back.” Odin’s boot landed on Leon’s side as he forced the fairy to roll onto his stomach as though he’d run away if he weren’t restrained. He didn’t know how s**t like this worked. Figured he’d play it safe. Not like he wanted Leon to get up anyways. One of the alchemists stepped forwards and swung his arms towards Leon throwing some profanities around as he began to lecture the fairy for running off with Julian. Odin crossed his arms as the alchemist knelt down to drag Leon back to his feet from the filthy ground.
CRACK.
Odin had slammed his foot down on the alchemist’s wrist snapping the narrow bone. The satisfying break caused some nearby heads to turn. The two alchemists’ faces went to shock as they stared at one of their own trying to work out if he was okay or not. ”My bad.” Odin said rather lifelessly. He wasn’t the type that was good at acting or messing with people like this. Odin was no Hotts’, even though that’s who he was trying to copy. The werewolf was never good at being anything but scary. He would never seem sly or smart. He’d forever just be a scary brute. ”I slipped.” The alchemist with the broken wrist was quietly muttering nasty things under his breath as he retreated and stood back up trying to figure out what he was supposed to do to help his new injury. He had glazed over eyes, but a tough expression glued to his face as he backed up to be closer to his own. ”Hm? One of you want him?” Odin asked offering for one of the others to come take Leon. When an untrained dog was growling at you with a toy, you don’t reach in close to it’s mouth. The alchemists weren’t morons.
”Guess not.” Odin muttered bending over and ripping Leon up by the hair. He moved back over to Julian pushing Leon towards the ink mage. There. Julian could have his friend. Odin tried his hardest to focus in on the basketball game and not the alchemists that might be snitching on him to send him to the SHU where they’d immediately take Leon and Julian back, branding them both on the foreheads for what Odin had done. He tried his hardest to ignore any strange looks they were getting for just making a scene and the bad thoughts that were circling his head about all the enemies he kept making that were starting to pile up. Odin didn’t know why the fairy was important to his cellmate, but Julian was the one who started being ballsy first.
Maybe the two of them were dating and that’s why he was so important to Julian.
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Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2016 11:50 am
#997495
These days, 'apprehensive' had become Leons default emotion. If Tacks had taught him distrust, the men in prison had schooled and mastered him in it. If anyone else had come up to him, said the same things, smiled the same smile, made the same offer, Leon wouldn't have given them the time of day. In this place, everyone was just clambering over one another, trying to get ahead however they could. There weren't friends here, Leon was convinced, only tools. Even as Julian stopped their fateful march in front of the fearsome werewolf that other prisoners skirted around and away from, he was unsure of Julians intentions. The younger man had been a close companion in his childhood, but those times and that place were a lifetime away. Julian had been in prison not a fraction of the time Leon had been there, and neither had Odin. Could they possibly understand the implications of what they were attempting? Was Leon meant to be some unwitting pawn in a master scheme, another stepping stone on their way? Was he going to be used yet again, by the blue-haired stranger who used to be his friend? As much as Leon wanted to help him, to protect him, he couldn't help but feel the skepticism in his guts. This move had a purpose, an end goal, and Leon only had two things to trade. One of them, although widely appealing, was something that most everyone in prison could offer if need be. The other was his Dust. And considering that these days, fewer and fewer inmates were attracted to him (turns out shaky, sunken, and sweaty aren't exactly the most appealing traits), he somehow doubted that his body was what Julian and Odin had in mind. So he watched Julian closely as he spoke, giving an infuriatingly vague explanation of what this idea of his was.
Your threat will wear out eventually, he said. What, exactly, did he mean by that, Leon wondered? Studying Odins face, all stony and clenched, focused on Julian, Leon couldn't imagine ever not being afraid of him. Well, no, that wasn't completely true. Back when he was still working in his firm with Noel, the two of them had actually represented one or two guys like Odin, all stern snarls and stony expressions. But for all of their pomp, they needed the same things as their other clients, wanted to avoid the same repercussions, feared the same fates. Even thugs were people, then. Back then, any threat men like Odin posed had been distant. The threat of violence was something for uncivil places, and those men had needed the twins, needed their help and their skills, needed them enough to listen, to abide by the fairies rules. But that world, where men like these were simply people who needed his help, was worlds and years away. Men like this domineered Leons life now. Faeries didn't last long in places like prison, they simply weren't built for it. Leon was too small, too weak, to cowardly. He would always have to hide under someones boot. He'd thought that with the alchemists, he would have a shot. An even trade, he'd naively assumed. He would give them his dust, and in exchange they would protect him. What a laugh. Now Julian proposed that he give control of the Dust to someone else, to a stranger with a face that could curdle milk, and who turned into a literal monster one night of the month.
Leon blinked. Oh. Oooohh. That was what Julian must have meant. Leon had never met an actual werewolf in his entire life, as far as he knew, so that little bit of information had slipped his mind almost entirely. Werewolves were mutated lycans, bigger and stronger than most (which was saying something, as lycans tended to be a burlier race than most as it were), but their bodies weren't properly adapted to transformation. When the monster settled down again, a werewolf would be incapacitated. And in a place like this, incapacitation meant being a giant red target to anyone you had pissed off. It seemed rather unfortunate, since werewolves seemed practically wired to piss people off. So there was a gap in their defenses. Julian had become Odins property, Leon knew, as much as he himself had been the alchemists property. That made Julian a target, like breaking another childs toy on the playground when he kicked dirt in your face. As much protection as Odin offered him, Julian was a sitting duck then. Leon pinched his eyebrows together, a fierce expression of concern painting his exaggerated features. That was a pretty big issue, the enemies that Odin had made on Julians behalf would tear him apart.
"What I can't do, Leon can." Wait, what? "If you don't let them take him back, his Dust could keep the dumber and braver ones away."
If Leon hadn't already been sweating from working out and withdrawals, he would have started then. He expected the threat of Leon's Dust to scare off his enemies. Ooooh boy, this was a bad move. This had been the wrong play, Julian was barking up the wrong tree in the wrong forest in the wrong climate. He was looking in tropical when he needed temperate savanna. No one was afraid of Leons dust, not anymore! Was Julian out of his mind, to think that Leon could scare anyone away?? Leon squinted his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as Julain continued talking about the illusion of control. He really was a greenhorn to all of this prison business, they both were, if they thought for a moment that this illusion was going to keep them safe. Maybe it would keep the alchemists at bay for a while, because they were a more cautious bunch than most of the prisoners. But everyone else? They were in here for a reason, for not listening to reason and caution, for pushing into danger, for becoming dangerous, for ignoring the big flashing neon signs that said to them 'Hey, this is a very bad idea, and will have serious consequences!' People like this learned through being beaten bloody, for being subjugated and forced to kneel. Julian thought that they would be staved off by the shadow of a threat? They might be cowed by the show for a little bit, but not for long. Sooner rather than later, they were going to strike back. And when they did, all of them were going to be in deep s**t. Helplessly, he glanced at Odin again, hoping that somehow, maybe, this brute would at least be able to see the flaw in this plan. He couldn't help but flinch when the werewolf turned his disapproving gaze on him. But could Leon really be blamed, when men twice his size wouldn't life their gazes to look at him?
”He gonna be tagging in during fights then, eh?”
At that, Leon blinked, confused for a moment. Had there been a miscommunication somewhere? While the remark was clearly the werewolfs idea of being facetious, had he somehow missed the real point? The issue wasn't a matter of his lack of ability to fight, the issue was that the threat of using his dust wasn't going to be enough to scare anyone away, for any length of time. Maybe Odin could resume control of the distribution, make a few new friends that way, if he played his cards right, but... wait. The fairys eyes darted back to Julian, staring with a burning question,
He does know what the dust does, right?? As Leon stared intently at Julian, trying desperately to suddenly develop telekinetic powers so that he could have an extended conversation on exactly how ******** up this entire idea was, and what the hell, did he seriously not tell Odin anything about what he'd just gotten them all into, he suddenly felt that iron grip around his arm. With a yelp, he was suddenly being dragged away, staggering to keep himself straight as Odin yanked him across the yard. What was happening, what was the werewolf doing? He lifted his eyes and saw where the monster was dragging him off to; right back into the waiting arms of his alchemist babysitters, all watching him intently. Oh no.
"Ah-! W-wait-! Wait wait, no, don't- Oof! Leon was sent sprawling into the ground with a thud, managing to mostly brace himself with his arms so that. at least, he didn't bang up his face again. The dirt clung to his skin, sticking with the sweat that covered him. As Leon tried to push himself back up, he felt Odin push him back down with a foot, pinning him on his stomach.
”Sorry. Think you guys dropped this. Thought I’d bring it back.”
"Idiot!" Leon began scolding himself silently, gritting his teeth and flinching at the barrage of insults, both from the alchemists promising punishment, and from within his own head. "Numbskull! You completely ignorant, naive, short-sighted moron! Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to run off, huh? You knew Julian was new at this, you KNEW! You knew that it wouldn't have lasted anyways, and now look! All you've earned yourself is extra torment! Stupid! I should never have looked up, I should have ignored him, I should have done like always and just do what I'm supposed to! Why do I always have to make things difficult for myself!?" He winced as one of the alchemists kneeled down and reached for him, no doubt to yank him up and slap him for being a dunce. But Leon found himself thinking, "This is probably for the best though. Odin must have seen how that plan couldn't work. Maybe he's smarter than he looks. This way the repercussions will be minimal (aaand mostly to me). They can backtrack like it never happened, figure out something else, an-"
CRACK!
Leon recoiled - as much as he could, stuck under Odins boot - at the sound. For a moment, he wondered which of his bones had been broken. But the pain never came. He tentatively opened one eye, realizing he'd screwed them both shut in anticipation of a blow. But he was still on the ground, and the alchemist who had been in front of him was backing away, swearing. Leon tried to crane his neck to get a better look at the situation, but stuck like he was, it was impossible. What had happened?
”My bad.” Odins voice again, although Leon couldn't see his face. ”I slipped.” He could hear the familiar voices of the alchemists, muttering and swearing and sounding generally very displeased, moving back from him just a little. So if one of his own bones hadn't been broken, that could only mean...
"...s**t." He'd overestimated Odin.
”Hm? One of you want him?” And, as expected, he was answered with sullen silence. Leon could practically feel the smoldering anger rolling off of the alchemist circle. But they wouldn't risk a direct confrontation, especially not with a werewolf. They were brainy types, not brawny ones. Even with three of them, they wouldn't push their limits. ”Guess not.” Just as the pressure was released from his back, Leon felt long fingers tangle themselves in his hair, and he was suddenly being yanked up.
"Agh-!" He yelped, just a small sound, and struggled to get his feet back under him before he was literally dragged along. He staggered along with Odin as he stomped back across the yard, keeping his hands on the werewolfs wrist to try and alleviate the stinging pain along his scalp from being manhandled. When he shoved him again, releasing his grip on the fairys hair, he staggered forward a few steps, practically colliding with Julian and steadying himself with his hands against his old friends shoulders. He took a moment to catch his breath, as his heart was racing at a thousand miles an hour. But after a moment he released the mage, holding his hands up and taking a step back. "s**t. s**t. s**t, s**t, s**t s**t."
"I'm... I'm okay. I'm fine." He said it aloud, half to Julian, who he was certain would be concerned, like always, and half to try and convince himself of it. Breathless, he turned to look at Odin over his shoulder. "You... you're insane!" And he knew that he shouldn't have said it, but adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, spurred on by the fluttering bird of a heart behind his ribs. He turned his anxious gaze to Julian again, trying his best to explain his distress to him, since clearly the mage was the only one who had any inkling of the magnitude of what was happening. "Julian, this idea, this plan of yours.... it can't work! Ugh, Odin, you shouldn't have done that... dammit!" He covered his face with one hand, rubbing the back of his neck with the other. He wished he had a sugarcube or something to munch on. "Look, if... if you'd been here and tried this, say, two years ago, after I dusted Vlad and the lycans, it probably would have worked. After that, no one would touch me with a ten foot pole. But no one thinks about that these days! When they think about my dust, they aren't threatened, they're not afraid! All anyone thinks of the dust anymore is the aphrodisiac! There's no invisible threat for them, I'm just a drug source to them! Julian, the threat of dust won't scare them off!" He didn't mind that he looked manic and panicky. To anyone watching, it would just be typical Leon behavior. He was pretty much always manic and panicked these days. But he did keep his voice low, so that only Odin and Julian could hear. "And now, any inmate with a fix to get or an itch to scratch is going to be your enemy as well. The alchemists aren't strong, but they're vengeful, and anyone who deals with them is going to do whatever they tell them to do. Dammit, dammit, this is all ******** style="color: grey"> His mind was racing, and he brought his hands up, balled into fists on either side of his head. His fingers twitched and his throat ached. He could really, really use a dose of something, anything right about now. He needed a solution. Julain had brought him in, trying to help him and foolishly believing that Leon could help them in return. Wasn't there any way to make this plan salvageable? "No, no it's impossible. No one is afraid of me, haven't been since then. They won't. ...unless..." He blinked suddenly, staring at the ground in consternation. The answer was simple, wasn't it? He'd said it himself. If they'd tried after he dusted Vlad and the lycans, the five who'd pushed him down, who he'd dusted and sent, screaming and trying to tear their skin off, to the med. Only two of them were left, but even after two years, they wouldn't go near him. At that time, everyone had been afraid. No one but the alchemists had dared get too close. After he dusted them. That's all this plan needed, wasn't it?
Just a little reminder.
But could he do it? When Leon remembered those screams, they bounced back and fourth against the insides of his skull, he couldn't help but shudder. He could even still hear Nats screams, the way he'd cried and bawled, just a child. Could he do that again? On purpose. He lifted his gaze, suddenly somber, to Julian. He'd been trying to protect him the first time, hadn't he? He could barely remember why, over the sound of those screams.
He would have to.
He swallowed hard and lowered his hands, slowly.
"Unless... unless I did it again. If I.... if I dusted someone else, they'd stay away. R-right now, I think, everyone's forgotten, or they don't think I'd do it, but...but I think it's possible. It might be the only way." He looked at the ground again, away from Julian. For everything, he did still want to protect him. He didn't know anything about Odin, aside from the dirt clinging to his skin and the stinging of his scalp, but if they could work together and keep Julian safe, he'd endure it. He glanced over his shoulder again at the alchemists, shooting him dirty looks and already scheming and, likely, trying to figure out how to break the events to Pike. Could he do it? Could he purposefully dust someone, just to prove a point? He tried to imagine it, Pikes face contorted in pain. What would his screams sound like? Would his voice crack? Would he cry? Would he beg, like Vlad had begged, to die, to end his misery?
.... Leon would manage.
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Saxon City Prison - Yard xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Mortifiedxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Julian & Odinxx ███ X
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Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2016 5:56 pm
He had been, once, someone who was capable of expressing himself to others almost flawlessly. Precision of language, of tone, of cadence, were things that Julian had learned at a young age because he had nothing else to offer. He was an ink mage, a communicator, a conduit for words and pictures. He had learned from Yew that things which went unspoken could have unpleasant results, could give rise to implications that were never meant. From his mother, the lesson that gesture and expression were, in their own way, just as effective. Leigha, she had been the one to teach the azurette that all of those things could be used to guide, to prompt, to affect, until the needed result was achieved. But, interacting with Odin, most of those abilities went unused or discarded in favor of silence. Julian had mostly only gotten the impression that his presence was an annoyance that the werewolf had to bear because they shared a cell-- at least, before the other man had claimed him so publicly. In recompense, the mage tried to pay him back by irritating the blonde as little as was possible. When he communicated with Odin in the safety of their own space, it almost always came in the form of Ink across Julian's features, something read and then gone, messages that others could not overhear and which the azurette was careful not to let them see. His voice, and all the gifts of tone and timbre that went with it, had become an old ghost, roused from the grave only at times like these.
Was that why he didn't explain better? Of course. Yes. Moths in a frenzy of movement, flittering in the dark. A thousand tiny legs touching down on a blazingly hot light, singed, taking flight again in desperation. No up, no down, in the dark, but somehow there were the dried husks of them dropping away one at a time. Thinning the cloud of hurrying wings. And the light sizzled inside the haze of their orbit, the dismal plinkplinkplink as they battered against the cracked glass. Julian would have laid it all out in detail, if he had been able. He would have explained to Odin, who had the right to know things that bore on his own safety and wellbeing, things that might require more of him than he was willing to give, things that earned him enemies and made him their focal point. He would have given Leon, who was his friend and his brother, a little bug that needed protecting in his own way, the knowledge of what all of this might entail-- what he could expect and what he could fear, not just from his old affiliations, but from the werewolf Julian had spirited him to. Do no harm. Plinkplinkplink. Be last, be least. Be kind, be patient. Be gentle, be honest. Believe and be good, Julian. Believe and be good.
Yes. He was only naive and compassionate, expecting a threat to stand like a wall against men who had done murder and rape. He didn't want anyone to get hurt for real. The entire thought of violence was abhorrent to Julian, who had spent years of his life taking beatings and trying to shield, with his own slight frame, others who couldn't defend themselves. If he didn't explain, it was only because the window of time was so small, and he wanted to help Leon, and--
If he'd laid the plan out before acting, it would have given Odin time to shut him down. Time for the werewolf to make it clear that he would not be party to it. And without Odin-- without the threat that the larger man represented-- none of it would have worked. It had to be this way, because surely the blonde would see that once Leon was there, standing beside them, the dice had already been thrown. Julian's cellmate quipped about the fairy tagging in on fights, and the azurette stayed silent, looking abashed, looking embarrassed. But somewhere, in the seconds when the light at the back of his mind flickered and left the inside of his skull black as midnight, dark as Ink, Julian thought, You don't understand. If Leon tags in, the fight is over. Any of these big, scary guys falls down, begging to die, crying their eyes out, and it's done. They're done. No matter who they were, they'll be the guy who wet himself when they went up against a tiny fairy. Even the ivorette, who knew what his own Dust was capable of, looked at Julian with confusion. Maybe he'd forgotten that Julian knew. Maybe he'd forgotten about Nathaniel, and that was fine. It was years ago, and probably hadn't meant to Leon what it had meant to the azurette, who had never been able to look to his own brothers for help.
But with everyone already talking amongst themselves, noting the alchemists' recent loss, it wasn't like Odin could just take Leon back.
Except that was exactly what the werewolf moved to do, and Julian felt his stomach drop the second Leon was wrenched away from him. Even then, though, the inkwell didn't speak. Didn't voice the dismay that showed so plainly on his face as his body lurched forward a step, instinctively following as though he might be able to catch hold of the fairy's hand and keep him from being tossed back to the sharks. But even if he'd been able to do it, that particular tug of war would have been short-lived. Between Odin's strength and the ivorette's frailty, there was nothing Julian could do but make things that much worse. His friend was already going to suffer because of the mage's stupidity, his blind faith that Odin would understand the situation and assist in it because--
Because what? Because you're a team? If you really believed that, you wouldn't have pushed him onto the chessboard just now. You would have asked. Why should he trust that you're trying to help? Why should he stick his neck out for Leon? You took advantage then and you were trying to take advantage now, and he sees it, and whatever happens to Leon is your fault. So watch, Julian. Stay right where you are, and don't you dare close your eyes, because you're the one that did this.
The yard wasn't large enough to make his friend's sounds of pain and fear inaudible, and the azurette flinched at each yelp, his fingers curling loosely around his own upper arms so that he seemed to fold in on himself, seeking comfort. The back of his head was hurting, throbbing with the accelerated pace of his heartbeat, but Julian was aware that the feeling of liquid seeping down the nape of his neck wasn't real. It was imagined, like the moths and that single lightbulb inside a dark room. A figment inside his skull, nothing more than that. If he touched the place where Hotts had slammed him against the metal bars of the shifter's cell, his fingertips wouldn't come away wet and black with Ink. The wound hadn't bled after a few hours, however much it sang at night, keeping the azurette awake despite how exhausted he was. That was fine. You weren't supposed to sleep with a concussion.
In the waking world his eyes were trained on Odin, on Leon trapped beneath his foot, on the alchemists coming to gather their errant belonging up and take him away again. The fairy would suffer, and the werewolf would present himself as nowhere near as terrifying as everyone assumed, and it would be worse than if Julian had only sat silent, letting the clock tick down, letting the inevitable horrific retribution barrel towards them. Something twisted and writhed in his throat, bile climbing up as his stomach curled into a knot, watching Odin prove that he hadn't understood what the mage meant to--
SNAP
He flinched back at the sound, at the way the alchemist's wrist bent at an odd angle. Everything gentle in the mage recoiled, his hands tightening around his own arms, fingers unconsciously tracing the place where one of his brothers had lashed out in almost that exact same way to leave the bone broken. Nathaniel did that. When Julian was still smaller than Leon, Nat had kicked him that way, and the pain had been excruciating. The roll of nausea when the bone cracked. Julian knew how that felt, and a sick sympathy welled in him for the stranger across the field. But underneath it was something else, something the azurette turned his inner eye away from, not wanting to see. It was dangerously close to satisfaction, to approval and appreciation, because that stranger was part of the ring that had put Leon in such a sorry state and this was divine justice. And because yes, Odin had understood. The blonde had listened and chosen to add his own measure to what Julian had asked of him, and the result was something that every prisoner present would understand. Like Old Guy and the bar of chocolate, it wasn't enough to own something in this place. The lesson was taught in prompting someone to take what you had, and then destroying them when they tried.
I didn't mean for that to happen-- The denial raced through his mind, watching Odin drag Leon back. The fairy was propelled in his direction, and Julian caught the smaller man as gently as possible, holding the ivorette by the shoulders and hushing him softly, soothingly, as though Leon's judgment of the werewolf were only his nerves. He was listening with half an ear to his friend's tirade, the words rattling off one another in a litany of couldn'ts and shouldn'ts and wouldn'ts. Was that how Julian himself had sounded, not even that long ago? No, because the fairy really did understand how things worked in this place. He was trying very hard to be the voice of terrified reason. Leon had been in prison for years already, had likely suffered every unkindness that there was. The ivorette was slim and shadowed under the eyes, shaking and straining under Julian's gentle touch, mouth going a mile a minute, and the mage didn't try to interrupt him at all. Not even to comment on the other uses the inmates had found for the fairy's Dust, although it was a surprise to him, something he hadn't surmised. Right in front of him, Leon was breaking down, shattering apart, and the azurette's heart hurt to see it. To see his friend this way. Bright and brilliant Leon Fenwick, whom Julian had always looked up to as a child. This was happening now because the inkwell didn't know how to leave things alone, didn't want to que sera sera right into the next minefield Hotts-- or anyone else-- could devise. Those weren't good enough reasons for the panic he'd put in Leon's eyes, or the danger he was drawing down on Odin. Julian was good intentioning all of them right to hell, and the only consolation he had was that they were all headed there in separate vehicles anyway and it would be more efficient for them to carpool.
No one is afraid of me, haven't been since then. They won't. ...unless...
It was then that the azurette's eyes flicked over Leon's head, landing on the werewolf, staying there, focusing. And there was gratitude in the look, naked on his face, written on his features the way he so often wrote his thoughts onto his own skin for Odin to read. Because like Julian himself, the fairy was a gentle creature, someone who had lived most of his life by reason. Leon didn't want to use his Dust to hurt people-- And neither do I, whispered the plaintive voice of the mage's conscience-- but he needed to be ready to, if it came down to it. The ivorette didn't believe that Julian's plan had any merit, any basis, but Leon could give it those things if he needed to. If he was shaken enough. And whether it was years of abuse under the alchemists or Odin's display just moments before, the inkwell's old friend seemed to be realizing what was necessary.
The thing that Julian had understood implicitly from the start, no matter how his delicate sensibilities shied away from the truth.
Unless... unless I did it again.
There it was. The azurette's suggestion tumbling past Leon's lips, as good as assent. The little big-brother he had always looked to when they were both small, stepping up. Trying to help Julian. Trying to keep him safe. It made the mage feel as though all of this was inexpressibly cruel. He was cruel. Relying on Odin, relying on Leon, putting them in danger to try to provide even a small umbrella of safety for them both. And you, Julian. Don't forget. Don't pretend your hands are clean.
And so he let go of the smaller man's shoulders, brushing the dirt from the fairy's uniform. Careful, because the ivorette was already bound to bruise after the way Odin had handled him. Unacceptable in the future. Julian had gotten used to being tossed in one direction or the other whenever the strawberry blonde saw fit, but Leon was too small for such treatment. Fairies couldn't take consistent abuse like that. It was, at least, something the azurette could do for his friend. The brunt of Odin's temper was something he would bear, going forward, in any instance that Julian could turn his cellmate's attention.
"It's alright, little bug. You're alright." Calmer than he had any right to be, the mage said it. And it was true, really. If the werewolf had meant to truly injure the ivorette, he would have done much worse than bruises and hair pulling. Although there was no way for Leon to know it, Odin had again given a kindness. In time, the fairy might understand, but for now it was understandable how jittery he was, how afraid. "This isn't the blitzkrieg, don't go throwing yourself into a fight until you need to. Let the rumor grow, let yourself recover as much as you can. And please.."
Softer, trying not to let the werewolf hear, almost sheepish. "..be kind to Odin. He's risking a lot."
OOC: Sliiiightly shorter post, due to interactions and whatnot.
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Posted: Wed Sep 07, 2016 8:04 pm
Odin always had to be introduced to new places with his parents or slaves there to explain to people they couldn’t hug him or sneak up behind him. That they shouldn’t touch him without permission and if he was unconsciously lifting his upper lip to showcase his teeth they were to just back away and let him cool off. Odin never followed the rules of society. Were his parents even shocked when they found out he’d been arrested? Were they worried when they were told he had charges for battering a police officer and nearly gnawed his own arm off when he was finally restrained and thrown in the back of the cop car? Did the lawyer tell his parents he was having a ******** conniption fit while he was sobering up in the drunk tank?
Odin didn’t know why the ******** he did anything he did.
He never understood but he always knew he didn’t belong in society. The worst part was knowing that he’d probably be back in prison after he got out. How the ******** was he to go through life ignoring everything he’d built up to? Ian told Odin that their father met with some people a couple times and gave them money. It was the only reason his charges were dropped for attacking the policeman. If it weren’t for his dad Odin knew he’d already probably be ruined for life. Be in this place for years. Odin was a disappointment.
The blond’s face gentled ever so slightly as the sound of cracking bone hit his ears. That was Odin’s meditation. His hunt. His stress release. When he tore Leon back towards Julian and shoved the fairy into the mage, Odin immediately went back to sitting down. Something in him was calm. The werewolf had gotten into a lot of drugs prior to prison to help keep his monster at bay. When a full moon was coming he could feel relaxed and high instead of desperately feel the need to snap his brother’s neck. Bad days turned to good ones. He couldn’t stand being around people. He could stand talking to people. Joking, even. Odin didn’t have any drugs in here though. Instead he was locked in a cell silently screeching: I WANT TO KILL HIM. I WANT TO BITE HIM. I WANT TO DESTROY. I WANT TO KILL HIM. KILL HIM. I WANT TO KILL HIM.
Odin didn’t know if Julian understood how much danger he was in being around him. If Julian hadn’t channeled Odin into a new way to release some of his angst he would’ve snapped the boy’s neck and tried to tear him to pieces. Julian hadn’t the slightest clue how close Odin was. He didn’t understand that he saved Odin a lifetime in prison and prevented murder charges by doing what he’d done. If Julian wanted his friend, he could have him. Odin wasn’t going to make it seem like a big deal. It wasn’t. Nobody would give a s**t about some stupid fairy. They’d find someone new to use as the group sex doll. Or whatever they wanted Leon for. It wasn’t like the werewolf ever focused in on the details of things.
Breaking another man’s wrist made that all seem so far away for the time being. A small content victory that got rid of Odin’s anxious thoughts and pent up anger. Though the moon wasn’t too large yet. Odin’s monster could be fought to bay regardless of if he’d had the small release or not. ”You… You’re insane!” The fairy was the most stressed of the three of them. Odin wasn’t in the mood for lectures, his eyes glazed over as he tried to withdraw deep into his head. Ramble ramble ramble. The two were probably reuniting or talking about how great Odin was. Yeah. It felt good to be appreciated. ”All anyone thinks of the dust anymore is the aphrodisiac!” Odin’s brow lifted into the air slightly as he glanced towards Julian and Leon. Aphrodisiac? All Leon was capable of was getting people off? Odin just broke someone’s wrist for the prison’s whore? No, the prison’s roofie? If someone had that dust put on them they wouldn’t be able to say no would they? What the ******** s**t was Odin supposed to do with that?
His dirt-colored eyes widened slightly as he slowly began to connect dots. Fairy dust could be used to hold over the worst of drug addicts. Odin knew drugs were inside the prison, even though he didn’t have the contacts for them. With lycans hired to smell the place through twice a week nobody could keep drugs long. People were finding ways to make them inside. Odin had sort of figured that. It was obvious. The prison had its own vibrant economy flourishing in the shadiest corners where sales were made beneath the shadows. That’s why Julian made it seem like some big deal. Odin just…
Calm. Calm. Calm. His facial expression didn’t change much as he thought a long line of curses he would’ve shot towards Julian and the ******** fae had he the opportunity to act like the savage brute he was. It’s not that big a deal. Surely there is another fairy or something they’re working with. A ghoul’s spit. Anything. Although Odin knew the ******** ghouls had their own small crew marching round the place. The guys with Leon wasn’t part of that group. It was almost comedic, expecting there to be a long line of fairies for people to choose from. What fairy was ******** stupid enough to get sent to prison? What fairy walked around murdering people with their delicate punny skeleton lining their insides? Leon was the first one Odin had seen around the place. He can’t be their only source. Odin tried to hang onto what Julian said. People were scared of him still. They would be for a while. And what? Two weeks until the full moon? One? It was hard to keep track without his phone notifications, which honestly, even on the outside he was awful with since he kept pawning or selling his phones for more drug money. It’s a miracle Odin hadn’t slaughtered someone because he forgot his day of the month was coming.
The fairy went on talking about if he were to dust someone or some s**t. Odin, not really understanding, rolled his eyes as he pictured the fairy trying to rape his way through their enemies. He was too busy trying to deal with the conversation bouncing around in his own head. ”This isn’t the blitzkrieg, don’t go throwing yourself into a fight until you need to.” Julian reassured his stupid little friend. Odin really wasn’t sure what the ******** he was supposed to do. He didn’t know why the ******** he did anything he did. Why’d he care about what Julian wanted? Sure, he felt bad for people in Leon’s position but not like Odin could walk around changing the way prison was run. Hotts already had him on edge. Odin didn’t know if he had anything to offer the man to try and make a truce so he could put his focus on whoever the ******** he just attacked. Did people hold grudges in prison? There had to have been some trade Odin could make. Some favor Hotts needed done. Odin didn’t have to join Hotts’ little ’crew’ to get on his good side. He didn’t need to trade Julian either. That was out of the question. ********. Just how badly did Odin owe Julian to start with? How even were they?
”Stop with the ******** yapping. You’re doing my head in.” Odin finally spoke. ”Obnoxious a** voice.” He followed up, muttering the words as his eyes pulled away from the two and their circus act of a conversation. He slowly got up and moved towards the two, reaching out and gripping both their collars pulling them in closer. ”I told you two to go play.” He muttered in a low tone, as though he were some fed up babysitter abusing the two siblings he was supposed to be watching over. Odin didn’t say that, but he meant it when he shoved the fairy towards the mage. Odin had been feeling so good with the new relaxed adrenaline rush that he wasn’t even sure what happened the few moments after he walked back feeling like king of the world. It was sadistic of Julian and Leon taking that feeling away so quickly. Odin couldn’t feel like he’d won for more than five ******** seconds? ”If you don’t want the fairy, give him back. Otherwise shut the ******** up about it.” Odin’s narrowed glare shifted.
The fae. He snarled at the sight of the new joke of a man. ”You ain’t here to think.” Odin said sharply. He had a million questions for the fairy. The ******** was his name again? Odin already forgot. Who exactly owned him? What did they do with him? What was his purpose? Was his dust seriously that useless? Useless was probably a bad word. The idea of being put on the brink of some horny intoxicated state scared the s**t out of Odin. Could Leon’s dust be used to even manipulate people like Odin? To make him do things he’d want to kill himself for? What sort of retaliations had those people done in the past? What was Odin supposed to look out for? Where the ******** did the fairy even work? Odin would have to constantly be swinging round both their jobs. ********. Maybe he could get them both switched to the same job to save him the hassle. There had to be someone he could pay off. Something that could be done.
None of those questions were allowed to be spoken. Instead, Odin needed to act like he had nothing but answers. Like he knew everything Leon didn’t. Like he planned for this to happen in the first place. ”And you sure as s**t ain’t here to do.” Odin let go of Julian’s collar, reaching up to rest his hand against Leon’s collarbone. ”You break any prison rules without asking me first and I’ll break your neck to call it even.” Because after all, anyone caught using powers or abilities in prison got it bad. Everyone did it at one point or another. Just like drugs. But the ones who got caught were usually made an example of. Given years onto their sentence at times. Odin wasn’t sure if fairies producing dust counted. Not like Odin knew much about fairies to begin with. The werewolf was never friends with any.
Odin took his hands off Leon without doing anything more. ”That includes drugs.” Odin added as he went back to his spot, sitting back down as he began to pick at his nails. The werewolf gave Julian one last glare. He tried to silently tell the mage they’d better not run off worrying about s**t they couldn’t do anything about. All his expressions looked the same though. There was no way he could spell out a thousand words with his stone facial features. Not since prison. Not since he went sober. Everything was stone.
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Posted: Fri Sep 09, 2016 2:28 pm
It would be stupid not to fear Odin. And Julian was stupid in a lot of ways, but not so much that he completely ignored the danger of his cellmate or trusted the other man's self control to prevent him from causing damage. If he'd known about the werewolf's inner monologue, he would have been uncomfortable, but largely unsurprised. Odin had, after all, dragged him from rest one night to batter and almost murder him, and the fact that he hadn't been in his right mind made the future that much more uncertain. Two weeks from now, Julian St Jude might be dead. Less than that, if things went completely sideways with the plan he'd cobbled together, or if Odin tossed him too roughly against any hard surface. And probably, for what the azurette had done to the other man, he deserved to be treated that way. Undoubtedly, after what the blonde had done for him, Julian owed Odin everything, even if all he had to offer were things his cellmate didn't even want-- protracted insight and half-formed strategies, vague devotion and a ludicrous intent to protect.
"Using it on just anyone would send a message, but you're not well, little bug. If you can, you need to conserve your energy. Wait for the right moment. The most efficient subject, one that will cause the most hierarchical displacement." He spoke calm and quiet, but he was staring intently into the fairy's face when he said it, trying to bring his friend back to center. The ivorette had always been skittish, but the Leon he was looking at had been subjected to years of fear and mistreatment. His tiny figure was slight and sick with the effects of drug use and withdrawal. But there was no judgment in Julian's expression, no disappointment. Whatever had happened in the years between, he was still speaking to Leon Fenwick, and the smaller man was smart. He would make it through the adrenaline spike and understand what the azurette was saying to him. He had to. "You've been here longest. You can keep us from getting short-sighted."
Us, like this was a team being put together. At least he hadn't made the Mulan reference. Sometimes, you don't aim at the Hun leader barreling down on you on horseback. You aim at the mountainside, and let the avalanche take care of the rest. He also hadn't talked about how the situation was essentially reverse Jenga, looking for just the right piece to pull to undermine everything on top. Aw, little Julian was growing up.
Now he just needed to get his old friend to understand how to interact with Odin.
Leon had called the blonde insane, but that was because the fairy was frightened of the circumstances he now faced. There was no way for him to know that what he was dealing with was actually closer to a force of nature. Odin was a hurricane of a man, appearing to outsiders as an unpredictable and unstoppable damage machine. Floods of rain water and high powered winds and lightning strikes only ever seemed to destroy, the way the werewolf's temper and strength could. But there were moments, brief and arresting, when Julian had been able to stand in the eye of that storm and feel protected by the chaotic rage swirling all around him. Never entirely safe, no. Debris could come from any angle, or he could be swept away in the rising flood. And if he moved too far, didn't correctly read the direction things were going in, he could find himself out there again, battered by the wind, thrown against anything still solid enough to hold up to that force. Odin wasn't tame, by any stretch of the imagination, and it would be easy for someone like Leon to feel as though he'd been dumped from the frying pan straight into a nuclear reactor. The ivorette wouldn't know about Odin's moments of restraint, or how it was a kindness that the werewolf visited such minimal force on both of them. He'd likely heard or seen some of what had happened between the blonde and Hotts, but that was a skewed perception all on its own, because from the outside Odin had doubled back on a trade, dragged the azurette back to their own cell, and used his mouth where everyone would be able to see-- or think they were seeing-- what was going on. But even Leon could never be told the truth of it, that it had been embarrassing but otherwise harmless, a show put on for the audience. The werewolf had claimed Julian without actually abusing him, had saved him from Hotts not once, but twice. And the mage had lain tucked to Odin's chest for hours after, wrapped in a confusing warmth and tenderness that he hadn't expected in a million years. It would be stupid not to fear the older man, but then, perhaps Julian was more than a little stupid. His prudent wariness was probably not prudent enough. That Odin had shown the capacity for restraint-- for a species of lesser cruelty that the azurette was naive enough to think of as kindness--didn't undo all the other things he had done, or was capable of doing. He'd just finished breaking someone's wrist, and had already returned to his seat, staring off into the distance the way he sometimes zoned out looking at the cracks across their cell's ceiling. Yet-- and Julian even felt a certain degree of shame about it-- the inkwell had decided already who his allegiance was going to, and a part of him, deep and far below, approved of Odin's action because it was necessary for maintaining a brittle bubble of safety. Those broken bones turned the azurette's bloodless coup into a sharp and stark lesson for those that might deny the werewolf what he wanted. Julian's own hands were still clean, even if his conscience might never be again.
Stop with the ******** yapping. You’re doing my head in.
And although the azurette's lips had been parted, ready to murmur something else to the fairy beside him, the response was instantaneous. He fell silent easily and without question, hands at his sides as Odin's fingers curled into his collar and lurched him forward. The effortless eye contact Julian had been giving Leon just seconds before-- steady, and actually a bit intense-- was gone as though it had never existed, and his gaze dropped even though the fairy had been pulled up just the same as he was.
I told you two to go play. He hadn't, but then, Odin's communications were almost never clear. Things thrown on the floor of the cell were to be cleaned up or disposed of, and Julian usually needed to trust to his own judgment regarding which one the werewolf meant. The azurette himself had been tossed to the concrete before, supporting his own theory that whatever he found there was something Odin was simply done with and had no further use for. Things in or on the blonde's personal space were not to be touched unless given express permission or direction. And behaviors that others took for granted-- eye contact, speech, maintaining boundaries-- seemed to be taken as a kind of challenge, grating on Odin's nerves until his temper was riled. The inkwell had pushed more than enough for one day, and the outcome had been debatably positive. There was no reason to argue, no reason to correct the other man and set off another charge of annoyance.
If you don’t want the fairy, give him back. Otherwise shut the ******** up about it.
There. That was all the blonde wanted. And in the future, Julian would understand what a shove like that-- Leon getting pushed into his arms-- had meant. There had been no third with them before, that was all. They would go now as Odin had expected them to, and the azurette would file the information in with all of the other unwritten and unspoken rules that made up his interactions with the werewolf. Except those narrowed eyes turned away from Julian to settle on the fairy beside him, and that was when a thread of real anxiety stitched through the mage's lungs, sharp, conflicting with his breathing. Odin's hand left the front of his shirt and settled at Leon's clavicle, a threat that would be all too easy to carry out, and which made Julian's throat go tight. Guilt. Worry. Didn't the blonde know how delicate fairies were? With Odin's strength, it would be so easy to leave the ivorette broken. He wanted to slide between the two, but couldn't, aware of how that defiance of the werewolf might play to the other eyes in the yard. Instead, the hand at his side found Leon's and gave a gentle squeeze-- reassurance. Don't talk back, don't argue, don't cry. I don't know how he'll react if you cry here in front of everyone. Just listen. Nod to show you understand what he's saying. Just nod. He couldn't do more than think it loudly, unable to speak the words with Odin right there in front of them. Couldn't Ink the words across his own face where they would be seen. Couldn't even slip them under the fairy's skin like a a tattoo, to be read later and understood.
Although. That was a thought.
But as soon as it skittered across the azurette's mind, Odin was gone again, returning to his place with a glare that pinned Julian where he stood. Whatever it really meant, the inkwell interpreted it as an admonishment to keep Leon out of trouble, to make sure that the fairy behaved as Odin had directed. It was, after all, Julian's doing that the ivorette was with them at all. Leon was his friend, his brother, and his responsibility. Whatever happened to him would be on the mage's shoulders for the rest of his life.
Favoring Odin with the very softest of nods, Julian turned, gently pulling the fairy by the hand to bring him a little further from the werewolf. He'd worried before about the contact, but that was when Leon still hung in the balance. Now that the ivorette had been publicly and violently claimed, Julian didn't even think twice about it. He led the smaller man off, within the orbit of Odin that others would be hesitant to enter, but only just. For the moment, the blonde's anger was what they most needed to avoid. Even with the added distance, he would be able to hear them if they spoke too loudly, and so the inkwell brought the forefinger of his free hand up against his own lips. A childish signal, but a fairly universal one. Speak softly or not at all. And to reflect it, Julian actually whispered so that his mouth barely moved. "It's alright. It just bothers him when I talk, so usually I Ink it out. I just.. can't really do it out here."
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 10:42 am
#997495
Leon was trying to calm himself down, he really was. He knew that having a panic episode in the middle of the yard wasn't really going to help anything, but the fairys emotions were a rampaging rollercoaster that he couldn't find the brakes for. There were a multitude of factors playing into the warped carnival grounds reeling through his mind. The biggest factor was, in all likelihood, the withdrawals. They exaggerated every issue, exacerbated every anxiety, and generally turned Leon into a walking wreck of nerves regardless of the circumstances. So adding in the pressure of having just royally pissed off / screwed over the men who had been his captors and overlords for the past several years wasn't exactly helpful. Necessary, possibly? But that did nothing to alleviate the dread hanging over him, his personal sword of Damocles. Sooner or later the thread was going to fray too far, the question was simply when. The anticipation of the blow could be even worse than the act itself, and the fear threatened to eat the fairy alive. To speak nothing of the terrifying figure whom he had elected to entrust his fate to instead. Odin practically radiated violence, each move of muscle a veritable threat. The fairy held no illusions about the werewolfs strength. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had a mind to, Odin could break him in half without even trying. Maybe this had been a bad call after all. Pike may have been sadistic and experimental, but the head honcho of the alchemists at least had the decency to feign some form of civility. Odin, it would seem, attempted no such concessions. Had he simply traded several milder jailers for one severe one? Even if Julian seemed to trust him, Leon was also painfully aware of the fact that the ink mage had already been forced to endure a lot of the prison culture which Leon had managed to dance around in his first year. And as his remaining brother had lain his hands on his shivering shoulders, the fairy did his best to stifle the fear that his friend was already gone, somehow. That this person, blue calm in a storm of violence and chaos around them, was just some shell or hollow imitation. Julian had been erased somehow, brainwashed and written over and replaced with this somber acceptance and quiet obedience, and all of it was some ridiculous conspiracy to ruin him. Logic told him that the idea was far-fetched and ridiculous, but The Itch pestered him, ever persistent with its 'what if? what if?' chanting in his ears. Leon did his best to remind himself that even if the notion were somehow true, the die had already been cast. Whether this Julian was his brother, a stranger, or a manipulator, Leon had made his decision, and would have to rely on his help either way.
So he drew in shaky breaths and tried to quell the furious pounding of his heart, nodding as if he understood and tugged on the lower half of his uniform, drawing it up and over his shoulders again.
"It's not as if Julian is the only one who's changed." Leon reminded himself. How must he look? He preferred not to think about it. It had been years since he'd seen Julian before he turned up, quite unexpectedly, in prison alongside him. He and Noel had understood that he had largely fallen out of contact with most of the St.Jude family. They no longer saw the azurette at the gatherings their families hosted. Noel had been unperturbed by it. His twin and Julian had never shared the closeness that he had with Leon. In fact, as teens, the fairy brothers had even quarreled about it on a few occasions while away at boarding school. Noel had always been a jealous type, and the brief times when Leon had lashed back at his twin were quickly tempered, Noel demonstrating exactly how he was capable of using Leons every weakness against him. Was that where it all started, Leons tendency towards submission? He had been more feisty in those times, rising to defend Julian from his twin as well as Julians own brothers. Even when he had been afraid, when he had cried, he still stood up, still had the gall to rebel. Was it Noels fingernails biting into his wrist that cowed him? Was it the pressure at his throat, being unable to move, to breathe? As quickly as Noel had learned cruelty, it seemed, Leon had learned to avoid it. Keep your head down. Agree. Do as you're told. Don't take stupid risks on behalf of others. Yet here he was, as the stranger Julian held him so gently, a bruise starting to form on Leons upper arm to match the one on the azurettes face and Pike and his lot no doubt already plotting their retribution. As logical as he claimed to be, the fairy sure seemed to have trouble learning from his past mistakes. But he did his best to comply with Julians gentle soothing sounds, and nodded again as he spoke.
"This isn't the blitzkrieg, don't go throwing yourself into a fight until you need to. Let the rumor grow, let yourself recover as much as you can. And please...be kind to Odin. He's risking a lot."
Leon had never been very good at schooling his expression. The best he could do was to put on his cold face when he was in the courtroom, a stony mask that wasn't just a different emotion, it was no emotion. And Leon hadn't put on his lawyer persona in quite a while. So he only realized a few moments later that he must have been looking at Julian like he had two heads. Right. As if Leon hadn't been able to hear with grueling clarity exactly what Odin could do, had done, to Julian. As if the sounds hadn't bounced off of the walls hauntingly even as Leon hid his head beneath his pillow to try and muffle the hellish nightmares out. No. Odin was the one risking a lot here. The ******** werewolf who could probably tear through a small armada, the guy who every other prisoner in the yard was already flinching away from, who'd not moments ago shoved the fairy into the dirt and broken an alchemists wrist. He was the one risking a lot. Not Julian, sweet eyes and bruised cheeks who was more gentle even than some faeries Leon could name. Not Leon himself, who shivered at even the thought of a fight, who the alchemists were doubtless plotting all manner of torturous experimentation for when they took him back. No. No, they wouldn't take him back. They couldn't. If they did, then the moment the full moon rolled around... Leon lifted his eyes again, making himself study Julians face, so strangely calm and soothing. Maybe he just didn't know how tenuous the situation really was? That wasn't likely, Julian had always been bright. If the alchemists took him back, they would both be in for it. Even if Julian was a stranger, they both had a lot to lose, so they were in it together. for better or for worse. So he did his best to seem coherent, and to listen, as Julian spoke. Told him that if it came down to dusting someone, it couldn't be just anyone. Julian sounded like one of those shogun commanders in the old samurai films, pointing their swords at the scroll maps spread out over low tables to indicate what points to strike. He was right, of course. Leo couldn't get away with just dusting anyone in sight, not if he wanted to get out anytime soon.
"You've been here longest. You can keep us from getting short-sighted." Yeah, and at the rate things were going, he'd be stuck there long after they were gone, too. But Julian made a fair point. They were stuck together, so Leon would do his best to find what was left of the feisty little fairy who had once thrown rocks and dirt at a boy twice his size and yelled at him, who had dusted someone once to protect the azurette already (admittedly quite by accident, but the result was the same). That fairy was still in his head somewhere, wasn't he? Brave even through tears. Leo wasn't sure if he could properly play the part of the samurai to Julians shogun, but he would try.
Leo started to open his mouth to say something to let Julian know he understood, but a growl startled the words away from him. He started a bit as Odin told them to pipe down, and couldn't help but shrink back when the werewolf stood and approached them, flinching when he grabbed him and Julian both by the collars. If Julian was the shogun and Leon the samurai, did that make Odin the demon on the mountain?
”I told you two to go play.”
"Huh?
Had he missed it?? Odin hadn't said anything like that... ”If you don’t want the fairy, give him back. Otherwise shut the ******** up about it.” Leon blinked, still managing to look afraid despite suddenly feeling incredulous. Like hell Julian could just 'give him back' even if he wanted to. Didn't Odin understand the position the three of them were in?? Even if he didn't understand what his dust meant, and what it could do, surely he could understand that after his little bone-breaking display the only way they'd accept Leon back was taking him by force, by plowing over the three of them and their little alliance. If it could even be called that much. It certainly didn't feel like it as Odin loomed over them both, informing them that they weren't to think, weren't to act. And it certainly didn't feel like Odin needed anyone 'being nice' to him. He seemed to do just fine without. People like him probably spit on kindness. When the werewolfs grip shifted, releasing Julian and moving to rest one big hand on him, Leons heart thrummed faster, and he was suddenly keenly aware of how easily the small bone of his collar could snap with the slightest pressure Odin chose to apply. ”You break any prison rules without asking me first and I’ll break your neck to call it even.”
He was terrified, unable to keep his gaze anywhere near Odins. More than anything he wanted to shrink down and fly off, disappear and withdraw, from Odin, from the alchemists, from everything, but there he was anyway, trapped and pinned, that threatening pressure on him. But, seemingly out of nowhere, he felt a warmth wrap itself around his hand. Julians hand, holding his, squeezing just the barest bit, holding him. In that moment, Leon couldn't help but love Julian all over again, stranger or no. He held on to the inkwells hand as he nodded, a little too afraid to form proper words, and also keeping in mind that just moments ago Odin had made a comment about his 'obnoxious-a** voice.' Would he really do it? Maybe breaking his neck was an exaggeration, but Leo somehow doubted that he'd hesitate to break other bones just to prove a point. He glanced back at the alchemists, the one already slinking off to tend to his wrist. Odin had done that, and he'd hardly batted an eyelash by the sound of it. But that rule couldn't be too difficult to follow, could it? After all, Leon had been aiming to get out early on good behavior anyways, trying for his minimum sentence of five years. He'd actually been sentenced to fifteen years (it was amazing what influence the cheated wealthy had) and his record was (mostly) clean. But his stint in solitary had put a good dent in those hopes already. They had gone very easy on Leon, he was aware. It was agreed that his dust was a fear response, understandable for someone of his size, and in the position he had been in. He couldn't always control when it happened, so his stay in solitary was all the punishment they had deemed to give him. But he couldn't just go around dusting everyone who seemed like a threat. If he did, he might end up being stuck inside for his full fifteen, or maybe even longer. No, he'd listen to Odin on that front. No dusting anyone, not yet. No breaking the rules. He could do that, gladly. Odin released him, and before the fairy could breathe a sigh of relief, he added,
”That includes drugs.”
At that, Leons stomach ******** couldn't do that, he was already going nuts. If he could get his hands on something, anything, he'd seize it. There was no way. How good was Odins nose? Would he be able to tell if he went behind his back? It wouldn't be worth the risk. He tried to tell himself that he was already going through the worst of withdrawals, Logic said it would be best to just ride out the storm and let it go, but he knew that if he got the chance he wouldn't be able to resist. He hadn't anticipated a command like that... he was still a little dumbstruck as Julian led him away, putting blessed distance between them and the werewolf, even as the heat from where his hand had lain on him still lingered against his skin. He really had gotten himself into a mess. The alchemists would have at least given him his fix eventually. But he gladly held on to Julians hand, quietly relishing the simple, gentle touch he had been without for the past several years. And when Julian deemed them to be the appropriate distance away, he turned to him and raised one slender finger to his lips. And it was suddenly as if all the years between them were gone, and it was all just some silly game, a made-up adventure for the two of them to play out through the gardens, crouching beneath the tall flowers and shrubs, putting fingers to their lips as bigger boys stomped right past them. They would smile at each other and creep quietly, Leon shrinking and flying ahead to make sure the coast was clear before circling back to Julian. They would hold hands as they ran from hiding place to hiding place, and make up all kinds of stories as to where they were going, why they were hiding, why they had to be quiet. Reasons that were better than 'our brothers will hit us if they find us.' They were pirates on the run from the navy, or brave adventurers studying a primitive tribe. They were knights fighting dragons, detectives cracking a case. Prisoners trying to survive in the walls. Like it was just another one of their games. Leo and Juju trying to sneak by, hiding behind the scary werewolf and coming up with plots. Kids in a garden, rather than two men covered in bruises and new scars, who each unbeknownst to the other, had already been prepared to die at least one. Just kids playing a game, not prison convicts who ran a very real risk of dying if those plots fell through.
"It's alright. It just bothers him when I talk, so usually I Ink it out. I just.. can't really do it out here."
"...When you talk?" Leon followed Julians example, keeping his obnoxious voice low so as not to rouse the scary werewolfs anger again. But his tone was incredulous again. Even simple speech irritated Odin? Would they always need to whisper around him? It sounded ridiculous, as if they were living with a boogeyman living in their closet that would come out and eat them if they raised their voices too much. Leon shook his head. "So is he always this.... personable?" Before he could continue, he heard a familiar voice from across the yard, and winced at the sound.
"Snowflake! You in some ********' s**t now! You know that?" Even as Leon glanced in their direction, he saw the alchemist who was spitting at him being pulled aside by one of the others in the circle, seeming to be reprimanding him while casting furtive glances back at Odin. They were afraid of him. But it wasn't going to stave them off. Even ignoring the raw aphrodisiac properties of the Dust, it had proven to have valuable chemical components for a great deal of the alchemists jerry-rigged concoctions. There as no way they'd let it go. And as furious as Pike would be when he got wind... what would he do? Leon elected to ignore the shout, and turned his attention back to Julian, voice a hoarse whisper again, "The alchemists won't try anything yet. They never make any moves without consulting Pike first. There's no way Pike will confront Odin himself. He's... weird, about shifters. I think he's a little afraid of them. But once the fire dies down, they're gonna blacklist us. That means we don't get access to any product. That's not really a problem, of course-" Although, even as he said it, Leon shuddered again and swallowed hard. His throat and mouth felt like cotton. "But being blacklisted also means that anyone who wants anything 'extra' from them can get it if they uh... you know, solve the problem for them. If the 'problem' goes unsolved for too long, they'll embargo. That means no one gets anything until it's resolved, or the embargo is lifted. That is what's gonna get us in trouble. Our best bet is to find a way to make them give up completely before they get to the point of calling down an embargo." He pinched his eyebrows, staring down at the ground as he thought. "And, as far as the dust goes.... we'll only have one shot. The last time I dusted anyone... ah, right, you weren't here, then. Well I dusted Vlad, he's not here anymore, and some of his lycan friends, and it landed me in solitary for a while. That was just a first offense, I don't know if they'll take it so easy on me a second time. Once I've done it, they'll almost definitely lock me up again, I don't know for how long." As much as Leon dreaded being shut away in solitary again, he tried to console himself with the fact that there, at least, he'd be away from Pike and Odin. But he worried about what it would mean for Julian. "So, we'll have to time it right." Even whispering about it seemed like lunacy. Leon had never in his life actually planned to dust someone, never done it on purpose. Not like this. Sure, he'd purposefully emitted dust for the alchemists to harvest from him, and he'd purposefully batted little flurries of it when someone wanted to feel good for a while, in exchange for little favors here and there. But really dusting someone, to the full extent of his power? Dusting someone with the intent of bringing them to their knees in pain, that was new. The words seemed alien even as they came out of his mouth. Although, speaking of words and mouths. "And, how are we going to communicate anything? I mean... if just talking annoys him?" He lowered his voice even more as he referenced Odin, glancing at the stoic figure over his shoulder. For Leon, it was important that he be able to talk with Julian somehow, and it wasn't as if they could just text each other.
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Posted: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:55 am
Julian hadn't said a single word against it when Odin laid down his sanctions for Leon, although he'd seen the fairy's expression flicker at the mention of the drugs he would no longer be allowed to do. The azurette hadn't needed that reaction to tell him that his old friend had been using, or that it had been a while since he'd had a fix. He'd seen the mark of withdrawal on enough people in Haven to recognize it. Point of fact, the same mark had been on the werewolf shortly after he arrived. A near-suicidal emaciation that came from prioritizing badly or the body rejecting sustenance once it was given. A sunken look to the eyes-- fatigue, exhaustion, caused by restless movement in the hours that should be devoted to sleep. Dehydration from always sweating. Muscle spasms and irrational behavior and above all, desperation, because even if the mind was strong enough to know it was hooked on poison, every other part wasn't capable of caring about that. There were programs in here to try to combat that kind of dependency, but how were those supposed to work when self medication was, for many inmates, the only method of escape? Yes, Julian had seen it before. In Haven. Over and over and over. No way out meant nothing to lose, and nothing to lose meant that people would do whatever gave them relief. There, the azurette had been able to shine a ray of hope, to talk about a better tomorrow, to forge papers that made those things tangible if people were willing to reach out for it, work for it, let go of illusory freedom for a chance at the real thing.
In here, all he could do was hold Leon's hand and pray that the fairy would have the wherewithal to listen. Because Odin was right-- no one in this situation could afford to be addlebrained. Not now, not ever. The werewolf had gone through his own week of shaking and suffering. Odin had had the marks of needles on his arms when he arrived. He knew what he was talking about. He would know that addiction never just went away. But as much as the strawberry blonde might have similar experiences, Julian hadn't seen even a flicker of sympathy in his eyes when he'd delivered his threat.
And maybe, although it hurt to see the man who was almost a brother to him put through more fear, that was for the best.
..When you talk? The query sounded like Leon didn't believe him, but Julian nodded anyway, the way someone might respond in the affirmative if asked whether the sky was blue. There could be a thousand reasons why, and the azurette had considered a couple of them-- maybe werewolves simply had a more attuned sense of hearing, the way some lycans had, or maybe Julian's tone reminded Odin of someone he hated-- but ultimately the outcome was the same. The blonde's temper just couldn't seem to take prolonged periods of speech from the smaller man, and it wasn't as though the ink mage didn't have other methods of communicating, writing the words onto his own face. After what he'd done to Odin, it was a small enough concession, wasn't it? And it had become so commonplace that Julian didn't even realize he'd responded to the fairy nonverbally until the next question came and he had to open his mouth. Words were easier with Leon, with whom he'd had a thousand chattered conversations as a boy, but still the azurette kept to a near whisper. Personable? What could he say to that? Only the same thing he'd told Hotts when the shifter had offered manipulation as currency. Odin was who he was. Leon had been a witness to violence, and the fairy had always been quick to tears or terror, gentle of heart the way that Julian had always been. Is. Am. Are. Was. Were. It wasn't a wonder if he found the larger man intimidating or off-putting. Leon hadn't been the one to feel the sharp needles of Hotts' fingers slicing him at chest and thighs, hadn't felt the back of his skull crack under the skin, hadn't been flooded with relief and gratitude when Odin ended all of that, to his own detriment. Julian had. But the ink mage couldn't explain any of it, not here or now, maybe nowhere and never. So he let one shoulder rise and then fall, a half shrug that was entirely noncommittal, promising nothing.
It was all to the good that he hadn't said anything, really, given that it would have only been interrupted by the alchemists across the field. He felt Leon's flinch more than he saw it, because his head turned slowly, letting his gaze rest on the source of the words. Thoughtful, the look in Julian's eyes. Assessing, rather than challenging. Watching the ants tumble over one another as they struggled to rebuild a blocked passageway. The rude gesture the other prisoner made in response wasn't exactly a surprise, and the azurette returned his attention to the fairy beside him, expression as mild as ever. In fact, since Hotts had slammed him against the bars, intent on making Julian the recipient of all his rage, everything the mage did seemed oddly.. serene. At least until he laid down to sleep. But there was no way for Leon to know that, either.
Julian watched, and Julian listened, quietly absorbing the things the other man was telling him. All of it supported what he had already seen-- anger from the ivorette's old minders, but no forward momentum without permission, indicating a strong chain of command. Pike was the top of that particular food-chain, and the name of the game was supply and demand. For Leon, and those like him who'd gained a habit since arriving, a source for drugs was a consuming need. It was a thing that would make them desperate and foolish and dangerous, which would also make them eager to curry favor, and his old friend was right. That would be the sticking point. When irrational need overrode the self preservation instinct, or when the threat of Odin's wrath wore thin, every inmate in the place would draw up to that line in the sand and step right over. Worse, Julian hadn't counted on the possibility of Leon having used his Dust here before. If he was sent to solitary, he was out of the game. Physically safe, but there would be a punishment, wouldn't there? An extended sentence, even. That prospect damaged the azurette's calm more than any yelling from the alchemists. Whatever he was doing, his intentions were good. He couldn't allow Leon to sacrifice more of his life. Not for any reason. And yet, the fairy seemed resigned. Determined. Willing. We'll have to time it right, he said. And Julian only nodded, feeling something twist at the back of his head, unpleasant and wet with ichor and not really there at all. Just a figment, gone when he blinked, once, slow.
How are we going to communicate anything?
He had seen what other mages of his kind sometimes did with their powers. Every one was different. Other forgers he'd worked with had laughed at Julian, watching him pull tattoos from the skin of ex-slaves, watching the azurette get sick from it as his body filtered or purged the synthetic material. They didn't seem to have that problem. Their blood was blood and their ink came from vials or bottles or antique stones that they carried with them. Even to them, he'd been something of a joke, something of a freak. They could work with anything, be it ever so humble as a Papermate pen, without feeling fatigue or illness. Not so for Julian, whose well came from inside, a macabre twist on his essence of life.
But in this, at least, it could be useful. If he could get past the infernal softness of his own disposition.
"There's something I could try.." And he really was whispering now, frowning just the slightest bit, displeased with the rest of what he had to say. "But it.. would be painful. If I did it. And.. probably every time I used it."
The thought of hurting Leon-- hurting anyone-- was abhorrent. But necessary. This time, necessary. Momentary pain might protect the fairy from much more in the long run. Could he live with that? Could he live with any of what he was doing? That had been so important before, but maybe Odin had always been right. Maybe it had only been stubborn stupidity. A flicker in the light. Clouds passing over the sun. Julian's own skin was thin, permeable, so that he could draw Ink to its surface when necessary, hold it in the lower layers as reserve pigments for hair and flesh. Other people were not so. When he drew ink out, removing the tattooed marks of ownership, it was always painful. Searingly so. To force his own organic mix under the skin of another person? That would be cruel. Not torture, maybe, but highly unpleasant. And then, for them to feel it moving, taking on shapes and letters, rearranging. Julian couldn't imagine it. Couldn't accurately determine how far the range would be, never having tried it. But I could do it. I could see. I could learn. And surely they'd be blood brothers, then, or as close to it as could be managed. Even that wasn't a justification, although it had been a cherished wish in childhood.
"I would be able to send messages, but there would be no way for you to reply.. No way for me to know if you were free to read them, or if anyone else could see. " Messages in bottles, except each one would probably feel like a lit cigarette across the fairy's flesh. It might make all the difference. It might make no difference at all. But his eyes shifted, glancing aside as the gate began its slow roll open, signaling the end of yard time. Soon, every inmate would be expected to file back in, and stragglers would be rousted by uniforms. There were no more minutes left to agonize over it, to perfect it, to try to plot out a timeframe where the two of them would be alone. Such a thing would be impossible. Julian knew that already. So his hand shifted in its grip where it held Leon's. Casually, his first two fingertips pressed to the ivorette's wrist, keeping the contact between their sides, as though they were only lost children. Half a foot taller than the fairy, his hand was the larger. Nothing would look amiss unless Leon flinched away. And if he did, what then? If the guards didn't notice, Odin would. And how would Julian justify using his powers when the werewolf had just finished forbidding Leon to use his?
No more time.
"I'm sorry for this, little bug. It has to be now and you have to be quiet. Hold on tight. I'll make it as quick as I can."
Deeper, his fingers pressed as if taking Leon's pulse, shielded from view by their two slight frames. If anyone had been close enough, careful enough, staring intently, they might have noticed a thin seam of black where Julian's skin made contact. Where Ink rose to the surface and then-- feeling like a cut for the mage, as though he'd sliced both digits, making his lips press together tightly-- circled against the pale barrier of the fairy's flesh. Growing warm with constant friction, and then hot, until that layer of the skin broke, and the black liquid was free to seep in, and under, into foreign territory that the azurette couldn't yet navigate. Leon's blood beaded against his fingers, tiny drops that could have resulted from any small abrasion, but when Julian finally let go of his old friend's hand, looking a weak apology at the fairy, what he left behind were two smark marks. Stark onyx on reddened alabaster.
Two of his fingerprints.
OOC: Am much sorry. Julian has learned a certain degree of pragmatism, and this will be terrible for everyone involved. Ever. Also much sorry if this seems rushed. It's 5am, and I'm dead. D:
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Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2016 8:00 pm
Little bug.
They even had pet names. It made the werewolf’s stomach churn, not as though he were going to be sick, but as though his muscles would get so tense that they knotted up four times over crippling him in the position he was in forever. Butterflies, maybe? Odin wasn’t sure what butterflies even felt like. But this might’ve been it. The werewolf only felt himself growing agitated as Julian acted like Leon was heaven sent for the two of them. Odin wasn’t impressed that the fae had been here the longest. Of the three of them he was in the worst shape of all them. Who cared how long you were in for if you were beat down as ******** over the amount of time? He wasn’t going to do anything Leon came up with, otherwise Odin himself would end up being someone’s pawn.
Didn’t take long for silence to overtake the two. Julian and Leon were quickly moving away to speak to one another about… Probably Odin. He sat back down glaring towards the two feeling enraged Julian was probably telling Leon all about how he was a lunatic and it was nice to finally talk to someone sane. That he was probably happy Odin had made the stupid move to take the fairy even though he had no ******** reason to. Why the ******** did Odin let Julian have his little friend? Why the ******** didn’t he think anything through in the slightest? Some guards came through rounding everyone up like cattle trying to lead them back to their cell blocks. They’d have fifteen minutes to get their s**t together and make it back, then they’d have to line up for one of the daily counts to make sure nobody snuck off to a place they weren’t supposed to be. Odin kept close to Julian and Leon’s heel as he followed them through the doors leaving the small amount of daylight they were allowed to bask in.
As Odin wandered back to his cellblock, he paused glancing over at Julian taking note that Hotts’ cell was still right across from them. ”Stay.” Odin demanded from Julian, treating the boy like a dog. He pulled away from the ink mage and walked into Hotts’ cell, sitting on the man’s bed. His roommate glanced at Odin before quietly pretending he was busy doing s**t in the corner of the room. Clearly, he didn’t want to get between the two. He knew Odin wasn’t here to play a game of cards.
And when Hotts’ turned the corner Odin saw the man flinch backwards slightly, jumping as the unexpected nightmare appeared on his bed. ”What are you doing?” Hotts asked, glaring towards the werewolf. He was cautious making sure he didn’t even enter his cell completely. Odin could tell the man was thinking this was some form of retaliation. Odin heard the terrible noise as the man’s bones snapped out of place, forming a sharp spike towards his knuckles which was clearly large enough to do some serious ******** damage. ”Trying to snap my wrist won’t end good for you.” So Hotts was keeping up with Odin’s latest moves then. The werewolf stood up and gave the man an unamused look.
”Calm it. Ain’t here for that.”
”I’m not protecting you. Offer is off the table after the s**t you’ve done.”
”I don’t need protection.” Odin reached over and wrapped his hand around Hotts’ prison uniform yanking the man towards him. There was an awkward tension between the two as Hotts tried to put the puzzle pieces together to figure out if Odin was about to lose his s**t or not. Hotts’ nose was still ******** up. He wasn’t looking for a round two. Not like this. Odin could see how tense the man was, so he gently pushed Hotts’ towards the back of the cell. ”How do I make people know I’m serious about s**t?”
”Kill someone.” Hotts said without hesitation. Odin’s brow rose in the air.
”So kill you to make sure no ********’ kids come try to shank me again?” Hotts laughed. Then a long silence trapped the both of them. Neither of them knew what to do. One wrong word and they’d be forced to fight each other to the death. There was a lot of tension in that small prison cell. ”I know they’ll go for…” Odin glanced over his shoulder a slight second. He lowered his tone. ”Already know nobody wants to cross me. If they wanna be taken seriously they’ll kill someone, then? Does that rule go for others too?”
”Sometimes.”
”They’re gonna kill the mage and blame it on me.” Odin muttered quietly gnawing at the tip of his finger. ”I’ll be took away and they can have the fae with nobody in their way again.”
”Thinking this through for the first time?”
”I’ve already almost killed him.”
”I know. I heard. Literally.” Hotts glanced down at his hand. ”They can probably try to mix up a potion to make you especially wound up, you know. Alchemists are the ones who make potions to numb werewolves. I’m sure they can do the opposite. They might tell their friends working the cafeteria to slip it in your food. They might hire someone to inject you with it when you aren’t expecting it. They might just kill the mage themselves and have a shapeshifter or lycan scratch it to s**t then leave him back in your cell. Who knows? Though… Why do a job yourself when there’s a perfect willing candidate right in front of you?” Odin rubbed his forehead and glared at the ground. ”Anyone would volunteer to be a witness for some free drugs.”
”Stop talking.”
"Might not matter anyways, he's probably brain dead as it is."
"What?"
"Wifey."
"What?" Odin asked again, waiting for a proper explanation.
"Pretty sure his skull is cracked in two. Heard his brain rattling 'round in his little skull." Hotts seemed sadistic. Pleased with himself. Odin's teeth clenched together, his lips gently lifting. Anger. When Odin looked up he saw Hotts was smiling at how concerned the werewolf looked. "Should check that he hasn't got a huge gap in his skull." The werewolf didn't know why Hotts was trying to push his luck. Odin was this close to snapping. His. Hotts was talking about ******** with something that was his. Odin's lips closed tightly as he re-gathered himself. Calm. He was calm. He was asking a favor. He was fine.
”I need you off my back.” Odin lifted his shirt displaying the large scab over his torso. ”You try to ******** with me again and I’m gonna tear a hole in that elf’s throat.”
”Touchẻ. You’re learning pretty good ain’tcha?” Hotts’ bones began to snap back into place as he stretched his arms out to the side. ”Don’t touch Faulkner. He’s a good kid. I don’t want the alchemists thinking any of my guys need to face up against you. Gonna back off anyways until they finish you off. I keep those kids out of trouble.” Odin didn’t respond. He just stood there. ”What? You’re clearly thinkin’ something.”
”Tch.” Odin spun around and briskly walked back to his cell roughly sitting down on his bed as he placed his forehead against his palms. He would’ve glanced towards Julian but the werewolf knew he’d do nothing but picture murdering the boy over and over and over again. Instead, all he could do was try to occupy himself with other thoughts. Any of thoughts. Unfortunately for him, he had none.
END THREAD
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