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 Posted: Thu Sep 22, 2016 2:55 pm
& FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO OWN YOU
for someone else to throw your heart around.
│CREATED BY nowSERENITY
│· Saxon City Prison.
│· Immediately after This.
│· Closed thread.
│· Julian & Odin.
│· Flashback thread to their time in prison.
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Posted: Thu Sep 22, 2016 5:48 pm
  you try to swim without gettin blood in the water but you're all HEART and GUTS like a ballpark frank
He'd been focused on Leon, that was true.
Ever since the night Odin claimed him, showing mercy that Julian hadn't expected in the least,
but valued beyond any measure, the azurette had been looking ahead. Turning the puzzle.
Trying to see his way around the corner of Hotts' wrath and the encroaching dangers that prison
in general presented. He couldn't do for Odin what the werewolf had done for him. Julian had never
been-- would never be-- an imposing or intimidating figure. And neither was Leon, of course, but at
least the fairy was capable of inflicting damage. Even if the mage wanted to-- And I don't, his weary
mind insisted, murmuring with the sound of a thousand tiny wings in the dark-- he couldn't strike down
any enemies. But he could think. He could turn the puzzle. He could connect the dots and see a way for-
ward, even if the path was narrow and twisted and went in a direction he didn't really want to go. And Odin,
whom he had pushed into all of it without warning, without explanation, had put himself in danger all over
again to give Julian something more precious than he could possibly understand.
His family.
Maybe it had been years, and maybe prison had changed Leon, made him frayed and thin and turned
the dial on his anxious nature all the way to the red. No one could blame him for that. No one in the world,
if they had even the smallest inkling of what the delicate man had endured. But the fairy was still the
closest thing Julian knew to real brotherhood. Someone who had always cared, who had always tried
so hard to help him, whenever he was able. Leon was small, and he was sick from the abuse of the alche-
mists and his own addictions, but he was their best chance. And, more than the strategy of it, the azurette
found that he was soothed simply by the fairy's presence. The familiarity in this foreign place, which he'd
tried to cling to once before only to find himself turned away. Now, even if they were being ushered along by
guards, even if they milled along wearing the same prison uniform, no more free than they'd been an hour
ago, the inkwell felt grounded. Centered. Insulated by the knowledge that this one piece had clicked into
place, putting Leon with them, where he wouldn't be treated like an object, but an ally. Where his Dust might
prove to be a vital defense during the times the werewolf was incapacitated. Where his existence was a
comfort to the mage beside him.
Odin had given him that, made it possible. Leon didn't understand, but the mark would give Julian the
chance to explain. Slowly and stiltingly, trying to spare the ivorette the pain of the Ink moving under his
skin as much as possible, the younger man would find a way to teach his almost-brother that the vi-
olence shown was a pale shadow of Odin's capability. He would know, then, wouldn't he? He would un-
derstand the consideration of the blonde's restraint. Julian would try to enumerate for the fairy all
the ways he could think of to avoid sparking the werewolf's temper, how to keep the peace as much as
possible, how to stand in the center of the storm and try to track its path. Odin's kindnesses were
hidden things, but they were real, and Leon would see them eventually if Julian could only explain.
Moving together in the corridor, back toward the cell block, if he reached out he could feel his Ink there
at the ivorette's wrist. Knew he could manipulate it at that range just as easily as he could push the supply
in his own body to the surface. The difficulty would be in the distance, in the walls of concrete between,
and in the suffering each message would cause. Guilt slashed through the bubble of his serenity, sank
in at the back of his throat like a swallowed razor blade when he thought about that. The necessity of it. Hurt-
ing Leon that way, because normal messages were out of the question. His friend, his brother, the only
family he had left, and Julian was going to cause him pain. Knowingly, willingly. He was lost in the
thought of it when the word caught him off-guard--
Stay.
And like that, so easily, the azurette halted completely, giving Leon an apologetic nod that said the fairy
should go on ahead. Back to his own cell, before it was time to take the count. It's alright, his expression com-
municated effortlessly-- a small smile that was almost contented. The day had gone well. Things had aligned
themselves. He could, and did, watch his brother walk away from him this time without feeling the world drop out
from under him. Because as Leon retreated to his own quarters, the mage turned to look for Odin, to try to
find the reason he'd been ordered to stay put-- and found himself immediately backing away. In through the open
door of the cell he shared with the werewolf, shrinking from the figure that rounded the corner even though
Hotts didn't appear to have seen him.
Before, what he'd felt when he saw the dark-haired man was irritation or revulsion. All the snide comments,
the perverse suggestions, had seemed to Julian like nothing but talk-- something he could respond to
with his own sarcasm. He'd understood nothing. He'd believed Hotts was no more dangerous than his fists,
and the ravenette had used those more sparingly on the mage than most. But there were still little cuts all along
the inkwell's chest and stomach from the shifter's sharp fingers where they'd taught him the error of his assump-
tions. Slow-healing slashes on his inner thighs where Hotts had used his bones like knives and left Julian
bleeding. The throbbing pain at the back of his skull when his pulse picked up, heart speeding into his throat,
taking up too much space there, making it hard to breathe. Whenever he saw the older man, the places Hotts
had touched him-- whether in lust or in cruelty-- started to crawl. And Odin had said for him to stay where he was,
but it wasn't even an idea the azurette could entertain. Wasn't a coherent thought. Wasn't a decision. The
shifter came down the corridor, and Julian backed as far away from him as he could. Into the cell, behind the bars.
He'd have gone through the wall if he could, but the sink caught him in the small of his spine and jarred a
sick little sound of fear from him.
He'd been so calm, earlier. He'd been almost content. Almost happy. Reunited with Leon. Able, finally, to do
something to help Odin. Not useless. Weak, yes, but not without purpose. Not without merit. Not a thing. A
person, for a moment. Just a moment. He had been under the sky and he'd stood up and he'd used his
spine to stay upright and his mouth to speak and he had been Julian or something like him, but when
Hotts rounded that corner all of that was gone. Undone. Nothing. He was nothing but a rabbit in a snare,
and he was tharn, and he couldn't look for Odin, but when his too-wide eyes followed the threat as it moved,
the azurette already saw where his cellmate was. There, sitting on the shifter's bunk across the hall. Talking.
Why?
Julian had no way of hearing what was being said. Not without moving closer, and that was something his
body wouldn't allow him to do. The mage's arms had already come up, wrapping tight around his own
torso, like that could somehow cover all of the places he was vulnerable, but of course that was impossible.
The easiest parts to damage were the ones on the inside, where he was fragile with fear, but there were
so many others that would open like a flower under the sharp edge of Hotts' shifting skeleton. If Odin gave
him back. If Odin had decided that Julian was just a source of trouble, really. Just a lightning rod drawing bolts
from the blue. After all, why should the werewolf protect him? Why pull him out of Hotts' hands to begin with, after
what he'd done? And the azurette had even said it. He couldn't do anything, couldn't help Odin in any way.
Leon could. And Leon didn't belong to the alchemists anymore. In the eyes of everyone who'd been there in the
yard, Leon was the blonde's property. Julian was only extra weight. Julian was only a burden. Why wouldn't the
werewolf want to be rid of him? He'd drawn Odin into his plan without asking, had assumed he knew best how
to draw a wall around the other man to try to protect him, repay him for his mercy. How could he have been
that arrogant? Believing he could do something in this place. Believing he could change anything. Believing
that he had an ally here, in this concrete room. And he'd dragged Leon into it. That was unforgivable. Why had
he thought he could do that?
He was still there against the sink when the werewolf stalked back into the room, and the silence hung between
them like it always did, but Julian didn't vacate the space. Didn't climb to his own bunk and leave the rest of
the cell to Odin. There was no moving under the weight of what was so close to crushing him. The abject terror
of it. Being given to that monster across the hall. No. He'd go back into a box first. He'd give up the sky and his
spine and the tongue in his mouth and he would pace from one wall to the other in the no-time of the beige
room. He would lay on the beige floor and stare at the beige ceiling, and maybe he would kill himself even-
tually, but that would be better than Hotts, wouldn't it? And Leon. What about Leon? What would happen to the
fairy, the only brother he'd ever really had? What, now that Julian had disrupted everything the ivorette
had known for years?
"Odin.." It was half a whisper, catching at the middle, and he wasn't looking at the other man as he said it.
The small of his back was still against the sink, but the rest of his spine had curved a little, bowing the azurette
slightly forward. There was an infinitesimal tremor in the arms he'd wrapped around himself, but his face was un-
readable because the mane of his hair hung to either side, curtaining his expression from view. Really, he prob-
ably looked like he was going to be sick, or maybe like he'd been stabbed, from how he cradled his abdomen.
And his words didn't even have half a spoken volume anymore. They were shrinking, turning into ghosts that
escaped Julian's mouth on shaking breaths. So easily, he'd been reduced to desperate whispers. "Please don't.
Please don't give me back. Not to Hotts. I'll. I can go back to solitary. I'll do something. Get them
to put me away again. I won't be in the way, I won't-- I won't talk anymore. Just don't--"
Something hit the concrete, light. Easy to miss. There, below the fall of bluetealcyan hair. One drop and then
another, between the deep inhales and shuddering exhales of Julian's breathing. No sobbing, no whining.
Just his soft words and the sound of his tears spattering against the pavement.
He'd already learned to cry quietly.
"Please don't make me be his."
OOC: s**t, sorry. This escalated waaaaay faster than I originally intended. D:
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Posted: Thu Sep 22, 2016 9:52 pm
████████ ███████ █████iODIN CYPRESS
________________________________i_______AND MY ARMS ARE TOUGH BUT THEY CAN BE BENT
Hotts was a manipulative piece of s**t. Ian had told Odin once that the best way to deal with sociopaths was to interact with them as little as possible in real life. That they could pick up on your emotions and feelings. The two thought that one of the people their father was working with was a lunatic and used to do all this research to try and find out how they could take the man down. Odin never would've thought that the two of them were learning valuable information he could use once he became a scumbag of society and got locked up in prison. So for now, Odin was going to say as little as he could to the shapeshifter. That involved cutting conversations short — like this one. He wasn't gonna give the man anything to work off of in the future.
When Odin moved back to his cell he was quietly sitting on his bed as he stared at the ground intensely. Prison was intense, man. It was really ******** mentally draining every single goddamn day. Keeping a guard up that had to be bulletproof and stood up against every goddamn inmate's shooting glare was difficult. The stress wore it down a lot. The worries. The imagery your brain came up with as it went wild imaging every little thing that could possibly go wrong. You felt cornered like every option you had was the wrong one. Odin felt like talking to Hotts to let the man know he was in such a vulnerable place was a mistake too anyways. Why the ******** should he take Hotts' word that he won't do any retaliation for pounding his face in? The two of them weren't ******** even. Nobody knew Hotts tried to get back at Odin and barely pulled it off. Everybody knew Odin lost his s**t and broke the man's twisted nose.
Odin didn’t notice that Julian was acting strange. He was still too selfish. Too absorbed in his own head. The werewolf never seemed to care or notice Julian unless it was convenient for him. It was always on Odin’s terms. Always. Never Julian’s. ”Odin…” The boy whispered causing the werewolf to finally look up from the ground. Regret. Physical pain. Odin didn’t know what he was feeling but the whole world stopped spinning. His heart stopped beating. Julian was hunched over with his arms tightly wound round himself. Two small hands clinging round his prison shirt visibly shaking. And Odin was already picturing the worst: I’m dying. That’s what he knew the next words were going to be as he stared at the teal mop-head that was angled downwards.
But how? The alchemists already made a move? Was this Hotts? Did Hotts ******** do this? Did he knew Odin was going to go to his cell? Odin’s legs tore him to his feet, standing up with nothing but an alert gaze stuck on the mage. Odin’s bruised knuckles were clenched so tightly. ”Please don’t.” Odin’s mouth parted slightly. His eyes went wide as the shock went through his spine. It was a punch to his gut that hit him in a deep place. Julian was ******** traumatized. Why had the male been acting normal? In the prison courtyard. He’d even made a ballsy move when he wanted his stupid little prison-boyfriend back. Julian hadn’t said a word about Hotts. Not a word about his head. His head that might’ve been cracked in two. Odin kept leaving his body at that very thought. He floated straight out and ran down the prison hallways making his way right to the prison library. Digging through bookshelves. Finding any shitty medical books they had that would tell him what he needed to do to make a cracked skull and ******** concussion all better. Doctor-Odin would come running back knowing exactly what to do.
Odin couldn’t leave his body, though. He wasn’t a nymph. He wasn’t an advesper. He wasn’t a metamorphosis that could change to something and fly away. He was a werewolf. Standing there. Watching Julian stand there silently crying and begging. Promising he’d do anything to stay away from Hotts. All because Odin tried to trade Julian for a shitty set of prison drugs that didn’t even work that well. ”Please don’t make me be his.” All because Odin was an addict.
Like Leon.
There was no difference between the two. Odin quietly approached the mage and grabbed Julian’s wrist. He moved back towards their bunks, sitting Julian down on his bed. Something Odin didn’t do often. Not when the lights were on. The werewolf sat down next to Julian staring straight ahead. ”Julian.” Odin wasn’t sure if he’d ever said the mage’s name aloud before. The werewolf didn’t usually say much asides grunting and gestures, but, hearing Julian say his name. Julian’s name leaving his tongue. It left a type of goosebumps that made it seem like some special occasion. Some rare occurance. Odin’s hand hovered over Julian’s personal bubble a second. He didn’t know where to place it. Julian’s leg? His arm? His hand?
”COUNT.”
The lights flickered as the guards alerted the inmates it was one of their daily walk-throughs. They always kept track of inmates this way. Forcing them to line up like cattle. Odin stood back up and stared at the mage. He didn’t want Julian to have to stand just across from the thing that he was traumatized about and crying over. When Odin had been really hurt after the full moon, the guards gave him a break and allowed him to stay laying in his bed. He didn’t know if crying was an excuse to break protocol or not. Odin’s hand that had been hovering just over just moments before grabbed the mage’s shirt and leading him towards the entrance to their cell.
Odin stayed closer to Julian than normal, instead of going to the left side of the entrance like normal, he leaned against the bars just to the side of the mage. When Odin glanced up at Hotts’ roommate, he saw the man had a book in his grasp, As I Lay Dying, sitting in between his fingers as he quietly waited for the two guards to pass. The two pairs of footsteps were moving quickly as they used little clickers to keep track of each inmate they had in the prison block. Odin turned back immediately heading inside his cell once more. He pointed at his mattress, expecting Julian to sit right back where he had been moments before.
”I’m changing my job.” No. Odin didn’t want to change his job. Julian always came back later since he needed to shower after for health reasons or some s**t. Odin didn’t want that. He was given a job that involved working alone and traveling around the prison grounds often. He always got back before Julian did. Didn’t matter what Odin wanted though. ”Where’s Lenny work?” Odin asked, clearly meaning Leon but being unable to remember the fae’s name. He wasn’t sure if they were allowed to request job changes. Odin tried to see his councilor as little as possible to start with since he didn’t want any of the workers to get to know him. Being a suck up wasn’t going to play out well here. All Odin knew was he needed to be ready for whatever the alchemists had coming. That involved finding a way to babysit the two idiots 24 hours a day.
█████ ███████ ████████
OOC: Ugh. Sorry. No chance to proof read or s**t. Rushed the ending.
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Posted: Fri Sep 23, 2016 10:02 am
you try to swim without gettin blood in the water but you're all HEART and GUTS like a ballpark frank
He'd been fine. No, not fine, but functional. Yes, that. Because there had been the puzzle, and it didn't turn itself. And he'd taken beatings before, had his bones broken, limped or crawled away after with blood on his face, and every time he landed on the Steps he apologized for the mess. In pursuit of a goal, and devoted to a purpose, Julian could accept pain as necessary and inevitable. Just a thing that happened to him when he chose to climb down from on high and let people be people. Given free will, they would cause suffering, trying to defend themselves prematurely or express their temper or outline their territory, and the azurette didn't blame them, couldn't blame them. They were afraid, at the heart of things, weren't they? And there, he could prove sincerity by staying still, by never striking back, by offering again and again and again those words that had been part and parcel to who he was. I want to help.
But this was not Haven. He had nothing to offer but blood and bones. Face and hands and other things to be used and discarded. What Hotts had done ran outside the lines of being beaten, because the malice Julian had seen in the shifter's broken face-- the sharp, vindictive glee-- went beyond every aspect of pain that the azurette had ever known. The mage had returned to make whatever small peace he could, but it had already been too late. The greed was still there when the older man touched him, but it was mixed with sadistic cruelty, and it had been hard, then, to remember what he was trying to do. The cause he was laying down for. When Hotts' hands went sharp, and he knew that what lay ahead was going to be torture and rape and the systematic destruction of all that he was and would ever be, Julian tried to go away. To crawl down deep inside himself where no one ever looked, because no one cared. And even then he'd thought, He's going to cut into me and reach inside. He's going to kill every part of me. And I will be gone, and I will be nothing. And maybe then he'll forget about his face. Odin will be safe.
But instead, Odin saved him.
Risked himself, there in front of everyone. All of them, ready to watch Hotts crush a moth beneath his heel, and only the werewolf stepped forward to see it stopped. Only him, even when he stood to gain from Julian's destruction. Even when it would assure his safety if he just turned his face away and didn't look at the inkwell's body, mashed against the bars and bleeding and soon to be torn apart. The rest of them lived in fear of Odin. Treated him like he was a rabid monster. But only he had taken pity. Only he had been willing to carry Julian out of that room where Hotts meant to murder the soul inside him. After what Julian had done to him. Yes, even after that, Odin had shown kindness. Held him while he shook and cried and bled, and the azurette had gone through the shock of what had happened pressed there, to the blonde's chest, with an arm wrapped tight around him. And this time. This time. It'd felt like safety, like comfort. Even if he'd been able to speak, even if he'd wanted to give a catalog of his injuries, it wouldn't have seemed important. Julian St Jude could have bled to death, or succumbed to his concussion, or any number of things, but what he'd wanted to avoid the most was wasting those moments of being cradled close by another living person. Few and fleeting and so rare, the feeling that someone in this place gave a damn whether he lived or died.
Odin, who could have taken everything from him so easily, had instead demanded nothing, had pretended cruelty for the audience, let them see Julian as a thing used and owned without causing pain. To complain, after what the other man had done for him-- to whine about his aching head or the cuts on the rest of him, to speak of the fractured sleep and how cold he felt all the time now-- that would be unthinkable. Odin wasn't responsible for those things. He was the one who'd prevented all of it getting that much worse. The azurette would be fine. As long as he didn't have to be near Hotts. As long as he never looked up again, never cast his eyes out through the bars, never let his attention stray across the hallway. It made the world that much smaller, turned every moment the door was open into an anxiety-ridden stretch of Marco Polo. But he said nothing. Odin was irritated by the sound of him, and after everything, Julian could at least give him silence. Could at least be that considerate, that grateful. Could turn the puzzle inside his own fractured head and try to find a way to make things right. Some way that the werewolf wouldn't be forced to pay for the kindness he'd given. For that, he could pull himself together. For that, he could hold in the terror until it choked him, and he could lay in his bunk at night and bite down on his own wrist when he came awake in the dark, afraid that Hotts would be there pinning him down. If he could help someone else, then he was fine. If he was at least that functional, then there really couldn't be any problem. Nothing wrong with him. He was going to find a way to be of use, and Odin would be safe, and Leon would be safe, and Julian could be happy with those things. He could feel pride in putting something together, he could prove that he was more than something to toss against whatever hard surface was handy. He was fine. He had bruises every day anyway and the cuts on his skin were just a step up from that, so why would he say anything? The back of his head had stopped bleeding a long time ago, and if it was tender and painful and sometimes he felt dizzy or disoriented that was just something that happened when your skull was smashed against prison bars. It only felt like something was dripping down his neck sometimes. Like the moths swirling endlessly around their tiny, flickering light, it was imaginary. It wasn't important. It wasn't a reason to open his mouth. And he had been doing well, hadn't he? He'd believed so. The tight squeeze of fear in his throat had eased for a short time, and he'd been able to breathe. He'd been fine. He was fine. He was--
The hand on his wrist made the azurette flinch, as though he expected to be led across the hall right this minute. Calf to the slaughter. But that wasn't the direction Odin pulled him in, and the reality was even less expected. There were acceptable times to touch the older man's bed, but the only established one during daylight hours was in the morning when he knelt to straighten the sheets. He'd been put here before, with a shove, as the werewolf made for the door. And then Hotts had come calling. Maybe that was what brought the azurette's head up, eyes darting toward the hall before shifting again, rising to the blonde, waiting for Odin to walk away, to let the monster across the corridor claim him. There were tears on the mage's cheeks, but his expression was open and empty, unsettling, the way it might look to see that evidence of sorrow coming from an empty mask, a lifeless mannequin. He was going away again, climbing down into the dark. Preparing, so that when Hotts had him, the parts that mattered wouldn't be there.
And instead, Odin sat down beside him. Not touching, but the shadow of it, radiated in the vague warmth of someone simply being near. Occupying close space without trapping him, or causing pain. It was oddly comforting, even if it was only to tell him what was going to happen, what had been arranged, when it would be. But none of that came out of Odin's mouth. The werewolf simply stared right ahead.
Julian.
Not confirmation or denial, but it was still enough to make him ease slightly. Still enough that the azurette's stare was less vacant than before. Tinged, behind the slowing tears, with a blend of confusion and curiosity. It was the first time, wasn't it? No one in this place had ever used his full name. Even Leon tended toward a diminutive, something he'd been called as a child. And Odin. He'd never even used that. So when the syllables hit the air, it felt strange somehow. As though he'd been given something rare, something with meaning. The gift of his own name. It made something in Julian's chest constrict, but there was no accompanying pain, no fear. This was the very eye of the storm, the very center, where there seemed to be a perfect balance, fragile and precious and coveted. And maybe it couldn't last long, maybe that's what made it so important when it came. But--
COUNT.
Embarrassed, the azurette ran a hand back through his own hair, then scrubbed the heel of his other hand across his eyes. It was a quick and practiced movement, as though he'd been accustomed to doing it for a long time. As though the tears were frustrating to him somehow, or someone had given him the speech about how there's no crying in baseball. He'd never played, of course, but his brothers had always been quick to point out the futility in showing his hurt feelings, and none of them so effectively as Ben. Grow up, Jules. Crying's not gonna fix it. Get up. So when he lifted his gaze again to meet Odin's, and the tears just kept coming, unwilling to leave off even after he'd tried to banish them, he couldn't hold the eye contact for long. Had to look away so that his expression wouldn't crumple into useless fragility. So that he wouldn't be even more pathetic than he already was. If he had to go back, couldn't he at least manage a shred of dignity? Couldn't he do that much? Couldn't he stand there across the hall from Hotts and accept what would happen? That would make it easier, wouldn't it? Know and accept and understand. But there was a traitorous hope in him, too. Odin had changed his mind before. Maybe--
He was so scattered, the werewolf had to pull him to the bars. Using the baggy cotton of Julian's uniform as a lead, the taller man steered him. Stood close enough that if the azurette had reached out, he could have touched Odin easily. And that was strange, too, from the werewolf, who'd always seemed to need his own space. But Julian didn't look up, not there in front of the bars where he might have to see Hotts' face. No, the mage kept his eyes down, as though the fringe of his hair would mask the stupid tears on his stupid face, which he wiped now with the back of his hand. And finally, as the guards moved past, clickclickclicking off the count for their side of the hallway, Julian could retreat back into the cell. The place where, comparatively, he felt the most safe. And yet, when he turned to find Odin directing him where to sit, the azurette still moved carefully. Tentative. Certain, all at once, that it would be now. Impossible, really, given the prison schedule, but the fear lanced through him all the same.
But still, he sat.
I'm changing my job.
What? The words required a shift of gears inside Julian's skull, because he couldn't understand where they'd come from or what they meant. The blonde wasn't in the habit of speaking about himself. Or speaking in general. Was it a subject change? No, because Odin didn't usually do those, either. If he didn't want to hear something, he ignored the person saying it. Julian had learned as much on day one. And he was so busy turning the situation one way and another inside his head that the inkwell didn't even realize that he'd stopped leaking at the eyes.
Where's Lenny work?
Lenny? Leon. He did know what the fairy's job was within the prison. It had been the first place the azurette tried to approach his old friend when his sentence started. It had also been a place he'd rejected when he decided on trying to reunite with the smaller man, because it was easy-- if an inmate behaved well, at least-- to gain access to, and that meant it was easy for Leon's tails to follow him. Something Julian hadn't considered, when it came to planning how to protect the fairy later. He'd been careless there, and his brother would pay for it. Except. Was that what Odin was doing? Offering to protect Leon?
"Library, I think." It was strange, to speak this much. To use words with Odin that came from his throat instead of seeping up from under his skin. Even as softly as Julian was talking, his own voice felt incredibly loud. "He's a lawyer. I'm pretty sure they put him there for the access to legal counsel, but.."
The rest didn't really need to be said, did it? Leon was a fairy. The library was one of few places in the prison where he could be expected to work without injury or undue fatigue. Of course, he'd suffered both anyway. And after what Julian had done, he would almost certainly suffer worse before things got any better. Before, the azurette had been so sure. So absolutely certain that he'd seen around all of the corners. But he was only one set of eyes, and it had taken Odin to see what he'd missed. For that, and for everything else, he looked the other man in the face. Still looking beaten, somehow fractured, but serious for all that. Pieces coming back together a little at a time.
"Thank you. For what you did for him." For backing me up, even though I explained nothing, even though it put you in a worse position. I swear that I meant well. I swear that I believed-- and do believe-- that my strategy was sound. That it would keep both of you safe, in a way. If I have to go back, at least I could do that, first. "I know what he said before, about his Dust, sounded.."
And aphrodisiac, the ivorette had said. Maybe that was how the alchemists used it, but Julian's memory was a very different one. Odin could only go on what he'd heard-- Until Leon does it. Until it happens to someone.-- and as yet all he'd been told was that the Dust was currency in this place. A component for drugs or a means of making people more pliant. It wasn't any wonder if he thought Julian was an idiot.
"When we were kids, he did it to my brother Nat.." And then, to clarify, to defend-- "He didn't mean to. It's just-- Leon got scared. Nat broke my arm because I wouldn't--"
Wouldn't correct his pigments. Wouldn't behave and try to look normal, because without all the ink under his skin what Julian looked like was a Fenwick, and in his childish mind that made Leon his brother. Not Nathaniel, who bullied and kicked. Not Ben, who pushed or slapped with the cold metal of his left hand sometimes when others weren't watching. But none of that was the important part. None of that was anything Odin would want to know. How many words did he have left to speak aloud? Better to use them on something important.
Julian waved one hand, as if pushing that part of the story away. Unimportant, the part about himself. Irrelevant, like the head wound and every other part of the narrative that made him a person instead of a piece of furniture to be moved.
"It came out of his wings, and Nat breathed it in. A lot, probably. I don't know, I was on the ground. " He had to admit that, didn't he? On the ground, in his own little bubble of pain, dirt in his teeth, upper arm bent at an odd angle. Just a kid. But he could still remember Nathaniel screaming. "He started.. clawing at himself. Fell down and screamed and cried. Couldn't move, couldn't zap Leon. Anything. They had to sedate him to keep him from biting his own tongue off."
Sad, and sympathetic, for the brother who'd hurt him so badly, that was how he sounded. Julian didn't seem vindicated, or pleased in the least. No, because whatever Nathaniel had done, no one deserved to feel their own personal hell flooding through every nerve ending. He understood why Leon didn't want to use it. Didn't want to inflict that one someone else. But when the light at the back of his head flickered, the something that moved in the ink beneath didn't have those compunctions. The most efficient answer was before him, and he had seized upon it earlier, there in the yard. And so his voice turned softer still, but grim. Focused.
"But he never went for either of us again after that."
OOC: Lmao. Be careful, Odin. Kid's going to ask you for snuggles if you keep this up.
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Posted: Fri Sep 23, 2016 11:16 pm
████████ ███████ █████iODIN CYPRESS
________________________________i_______AND MY ARMS ARE TOUGH BUT THEY CAN BE BENT
Odin wasn’t sure if he ever had a ‘happy place’. Honestly, the werewolf had no idea why he disliked prison more than his small apartment. It may have been because of the illusion of freedom. It was moments like this, staring at Julian to see the effect he had on people. Julian wasn’t crying because of something Hotts had done to him. He was crying because of something Odin allowed the male to do to Julian. Odin was always trying to balance on the top of the fence, and one day he knew he’d fall. The only question was which side he’d end up on. One day there was gonna be a point of no return and the werewolf had no idea which side he’d end up on. It was hard to lean towards the light when he was constantly doing things in the dark.
Odin pushed people. He wore them down until they gave up on him. Julian was going to be the same. He knew that. Even the letters from Ian were beginning to arrive less and less. Odin hadn’t read a single letter his brother sent, they were always immediately tossed away before Odin glanced at a single word. The first two or three weeks Ian used to write long letters, send pictures, and it seemed the 24-year-old was putting a lot of effort in. Now, the letters were coming less frequently and were dramatically shorter. Odin only had to tear through one piece of paper instead of crumple up a whole handful of them. His brother had probably begun to focus on his own life again. Odin was becoming a distant memory that Ian would forget completely eventually, just like most his old friends had. The werewolf was more of a hassle than most people were willing to deal with. He burned his bridges. Soon, he’d have nothing but water to float alone in.
The biggest demon hanging over Odin’s shoulders had always been his drug problems. It haunted him everywhere he went. It made deals with him. It promised to give him a piece of mind in exchange for another small slice of his sanity when he sobered up. It constantly took hold of his brain making him unable to think clearly. Unable to act appropriately. Unable to lean towards the side of the fence Odin always wanted to get to. Giving Julian to Hotts wasn’t Odin’s decision, but it was his fault. It hurt always feeling in debt to the people you’ve wronged. It was the reason Odin never responded to his brother. Because sometimes there was nothing you could do to take back the things you’ve put them through.
Seeing Julian flinch when Odin touched him was unexpected. Odin stood there knowing that the other male was crying, but being so ready to receive punishment for it? Odin never did much more than tell Julian to shut up when he was annoying. He’d never hurt the kid for something something like crying… I mean… He wouldn’t. Odin’s monster would. For the time being, it was at bay though. Odin would have to find new ways to keep his monster away. Clearly, Julian wasn’t one for being aggressively and violently raped. ”He was a lawyer?” It was difficult to imagine. The small fae sitting across from hardened criminals. Clearly something had gone wrong for the idiot to end up here. Odin had expected Julian to know some details about the fae. But he was getting more than details. ”Thank you. For what you did for him.” Broke someone’s wrist. A foreshadow Odin didn’t know would haunt him long after he forgot about the day he took Leon. ”When we were kids,”
Kids?! The werewolf immediately thought. They’ve ******** known one another since before prison? He already knew how Julian was. Stockholm Syndrome. The type of person who couldn’t separate their logical train of thought from their emotional train of thought. Leon was the reason Julian ended up in here, wasn’t he? A lawyer wasn’t stupid. He probably used the mage. How could Julian be so ******** stupid? Risk their lives over some manipulative childhood friend? Odin had so many questions. Who was Leon? Why did Julian’s brother break his arm? Was that why Julian treated Odin the way he did? He was the Ian of his family?
When Julian explained just what Leon’s dust could do, the werewolf didn’t have much of a reply. Odin was torn and struggling with several trains of thoughts that were tearing him in different directions. ”First off,” Odin narrowed his glance slightly, not because he was angry, but simply out of habit. ”When someone doesn’t wanna use an ability, it’s for a reason.” Odin knew caims who didn’t want to heal people. He met lycans that didn’t want to learn to change parts of their body. He knew mages who never learned to control their magical abilities. There were usually reasons for it. Emotional baggage that made it hard, or physical pain, or unstable thoughts. ”If anyone’s killing someone — it’s me.” Odin said it as though he were offering to take out the trash. He didn’t even understand the dust couldn’t physically harm someone, just cause them pain. But that didn’t matter. "If you think I need to hide behind some pathetic f*****t like him after a full moon then I'll remind you who I am." Odin couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop the threat. It came out like second nature.
When it came to being taken seriously, if someone needed to do something stupid it would be Odin. He already knew he’d be able to cope with it. He had constant dreams that involved him murdering people. The werewolf was made for it. Hell, one week a month he seriously contemplated it over and over and over again. People in pain and suffering made him feel calm. The fairy was a drug addicted piece of s**t. He was a complete mess. If he did anything that would affect him in the long run Odin was almost positive the fairy would kill himself between the withdrawals, the bad thoughts, the nightmares. What’s the point in living once you damage your brain past a certain point? If you do things that weigh down too heavily on you, you’ll be stuck with nothing but depression day after day making it impossible for you to get anywhere in life. You’ll be stuck there in the same pit as you slowly waste away alone and unable to connect with people.
Odin was the only one of the three that probably would end up alone. He knew that. He knew nobody could stand to be around him for the long term. He understood he was violent, impossible, rude, and closed off. The more he tried to open up to someone, the more he ended up trying to hurt them. He damaged people to try and turn them into who he was. Whenever Odin told someone one of his secrets a physical conflict wasn’t far around the corner so he could try and stitch up their mouths. Teach them that sharing information is bad. Forcing them to keep the real Odin tied up and hidden away like the real him was some precious gem that wasn’t meant to be shared with the world.
Julian was the first person in a long time who took a piece of who Odin was. Not through secrets or sharing, but experience. The ink mage was forced to get to know a slice of Odin that the werewolf didn’t even know existed. ”Who is he?” Odin finally asked, nodding towards the cell Leon resided in. Odin might not have liked allowing other people to know him, but he was a hypocrite when the tables were turned. He wanted to know why Julian knew the fae when they were children. He wanted to know why Julian got dragged down into prison with the drug addict. He wanted to know what criminals ******** the lawyer over to get him sent into a hell hole like this. And then, finally, Odin couldn’t hold it in any longer.
”Why you here?”
He phrased the simple question as though he weren’t even interested in hearing the answer.
█████ ███████ ████████
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Posted: Sun Sep 25, 2016 4:39 pm
you try to swim without gettin blood in the water but you're all HEART and GUTS like a ballpark frank
It was a surreal experience. Something that flew in the face of everything he thought he had learned since the werewolf arrived to share the cell with him. Was this a conversation they were having? It felt like one, but the azurette wasn't accustomed to Odin asking questions, or showing much interest in anything, really. Julian could never determine what the other man was thinking, but he had learned to understand certain cues. Most of them were tells that the blond was approaching anger, and they were signs that the mage needed to step lightly. And yet so many of the things he associated with causing that anger were things Odin was now prompting him to do. Sit, speak. And like a well trained dog, Julian did both, and found comfort in it. As strange as it was, as surreal, this lull in the temperamental shift was beginning to be reassuring. If the werewolf meant to return him to Hotts, why speak to the azurette at all? Why bother to soothe him? Why be so kind?
It was a small hope. A desperate one. But Julian clung to it, and felt gratitude for the person who allowed him that much.
He was a lawyer? Was. Julian had used the present tense, but considering the circumstances, Odin was probably more correct. The azurette was the type of person who believed that such distinctions were hazy at best, though. After all, someone could take away your driver's license, but it would be much more difficult to purge the knowledge of driving. Whether or not Leon Fenwick ever worked another case in his life, the fairy was a lawyer in Julian's book. But that was a tangent, and not the answer to Odin's question. A tiny fraction of the way the inkwell used to communicate with others, expounding on all the things around a topic before returning to center. Speaking with exuberance on ideas that impassioned him, and with deep intensity on matters that were close to his heart, Julian had always been willing to talk to anyone, anywhere, at length. But prison wasn't Ru Paul's Best Friend Race, and even with the patience Odin was showing him, it was better to stick to answering as directly as possible, wasn't it? Still.. it was nice. Being treated like a person.
"Mm." It was a small sound. Assent, paired with the nod the azurette gave. A quiet confirmation, but one he added to, not wanting to give the impression that he wouldn't speak if the option was there. This territory was uncharted, and mapping it out was strange. If he said too much, would Odin be annoyed? If he said too little, would the blond lose interest? Julian was startled by how fundamentally comforting it was, just to be acknowledged. Even with Leon in the yard, words had only been a communication of data, the laying out of a plan. There hadn't been time for anything else. Practicality had demanded that he line things up as well as he could and wait for the next opportunity. This was something else. He didn't want to ruin it. "Him and his brother. I didn't really see Leon as much, then. It.. was years, actually. Didn't know he was in here until I arrived myself, and by then.. He's been here a long time."
A soft frown accompanied the words, his brows drawing together, but it wasn't Odin he turned the expression toward. Rather, it pointed out into empty space. Julian couldn't blame anybody but himself for how s**t a friend he'd been, so wrapped up in his own crusades that he left Leon to his own devices for ages without contact. The difference in their ages had shown the most during those years when the fairy twins were pursuing their law careers, and Noel had never liked Julian to begin with, but those were excuses. The azurette had been selfish. Maybe if he'd asked after Leon more, the ivorette wouldn't have ended up in this place. Or, even if he had, Julian could have written. Visited. Helped in his own way to keep that sharp mind from chipping under the thousand dehumanizing atrocities of prison. The way Krish's letters tethered together the pieces for the mage when things threatened to fracture. Maybe. But as selfish as he'd been then, running to help strangers and not sparing a thought for his oldest friend, he was worse now, wasn't he? Because Odin was right. If someone didn't want to use their abilities, there was a reason for it, and Julian already knew what it was. Leon had always been gentle. Kind. It was why they'd synched so easily as children, and why the azurette trusted the fairy so strongly even after the years in between. Leon didn't want to hurt anyone, the same way the inkwell didn't want to. And maybe it would never come to that. Maybe Julian was only paranoid. Maybe the fear of Odin would carry on forever and no one would have to bleed and everyone could braid each other's hair and compare horoscopes. Maybe the moon was made of cheese. Maybe if a frog had wings, it wouldn't bump its a** when it hopped. Julian might be painfully naive, but he wasn't entirely stupid, and--
If anyone's killing someone-- it's me.
He'd been staring at the floor, but the words brought his head back up. Sharp. Startled. If there was any time not to look Odin in the face, it was probably then, but the mage couldn't help it. He'd said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, as though someone dying at his hands wasn't anything to think over. It shouldn't have been surprising. Not when the memory of crushing pressure on his windpipe was still clear. How much of that had been choice and how much had been the moon coming to a swell? He'd always believed, before, that it was firmly the latter, regardless of Odin's temper. But for a moment, Julian wasn't sure. The expression on his face shifted slowly from confusion to concern. Making that decision, going through with something like that, ending a life. Even as much as he wanted to never see Hotts again, was that something he wished on the shifter, or others like him? Off like a lightswitch. Gone. No one really deserved that.. did they? And surely the werewolf understood the price of something like that. What it would cost him. But Odin was already driving the point home, insulting Leon without purpose, and the azurette could only draw his knees to himself, tight against his chest, arms bound around them. An almost unconscious protection of the center of his body. A closing of the gates on all those places where the ravenette across the hall had left him wearing cuts and bruises. All, except the back of his head. He was small, and became smaller in that moment. And it would have been easy to swallow his voice again. To put all of the things that made him a person back into a small box. Shut up, Julian.
But however soft it was when he spoke again, it wasn't silence. And that was something.
"..I dragged Leon into this so you could both be safer. Not to insult you. Not so you could insult him. And not for you to kill someone and wind up trapped here for the rest of your life. "
It didn't exactly count as a show of spine. Not at the volume he used, and not with the sadness in his tone. Not with his chin resting on his knees, arms wrapped so tight around himself that it had to be almost painful. He'd meant well, but that had been the case in the past, too, and there were several times when his best of intentions only carried him right to the abattoir. It had always been easy for others to convince the azurette that he was a problem, that there was something fundamentally wrong with him on some level. Something that made it acceptable for him to take damage, even when he would have decried the same treatment of anyone else. Even being threatened, what he'd taken issue with was the way Odin had spoken about his friend, the person that Julian had thought of before as family. Hell, the wellbeing of the person giving the threat had rated higher on the mage's gauge of importance than his own. No argument as to how he wanted to be treated. Only an expression of concern. Only that curl of his body while he waited to be dismissed. Out of sight, back to his own bunk, brief status as a person revoked for talking back. So the next question caught him off guard. Took longer to answer.
Who? It was hard to answer that question succinctly. Did the blond mean before all of this, or did he mean within the structure of the prison? Admittedly, Julian knew more about one than the other, even with how closely he'd paid attention to the fairy from a distance when his own schedule permitted it. What was it that Odin wanted to hear? The Dickensian version? I was born, I grew up. So he started haltingly, unable to determine what information really constituted who Leon was. How to boil a person down into simple statements, without misrepresenting them.
"Leon Fenwick." Name. Step one. Good job, Julian. "Our families were affiliated socially and financially, so when they held parties my father would send us to maintain ties."
It provided a backdrop, at least. After all, it wasn't as though he could give a dramatic reenactment here. Or, well. Not a large scale one. It took a moment, but the mage rolled one of his sleeves upward, displaying the inside of his forearm. The wrist had been bruised, and badly, where Hotts' fingers wrapped tight to drag Julian into his cell, but the mark wasn't what the azurette meant to show. Beside it, under, through it, the Ink swam up a little at a time. Color, this, unlike the words he often used to communicate with the man beside him. Vivid greens and whites and other bright hues slipped together like an impressionist artwork to draw out the garden with its strings of lights. The hint of formal suits and gowns on indistinct shapes that milled through the flower-strewn background, dancing or chatting or both.
"I'm the youngest, so.. by the time I had to attend, all my brothers already knew people. I couldn't hold my pigments yet, and I think from a distance he probably thought I was Noel.. " A small figure in the foreground, made from an absence of color rather than an abundance of it. The hair, short yet, and white, only a fraction lighter than the skin. Yellow at the eyes. All things considered, it really did look a lot more like Leon than the ink mage himself, except there was a tiny spot floating through the tableau, like a flake of snow. That was the fairy, making a beeline toward the person who shared his coloring and, by process of elimination in a party full of strangers, could only be his twin. "But I.. didn't know anything about fairies. So I--"
Embarrassed. The way he ducked his head wasn't fear, but the good old-fashioned mortification that came from making a terrible mistake, even if it didn't end in tragedy. And, it appeared, the Ink was harder to hold in place with even that little negative emotion rising to the surface. The image sank a bit at a time, fading out rather than fracturing, the way words sometimes did when the azurette was in pain.
".. I thought he was a bug, and I swatted him out of the air. Ben lost his mind at me about it. Leon cried, I cried. We were crybabies, both of us, so we got along after that." Sheepish, the little smile he offered. Self deprecating. "I still am, I guess. "
That's what most of his brothers would say, and their father would have agreed. Stand up, shut up, toughen up. Whatever you are, don't be that. You're doing it wrong. That isn't how normal people do things, Julian. What are you doing? If you can't even get that right-- Jesus, kid, what's wrong with you? Don't you get it yet? Crying isn't going to fix it, Jules. You want someone else to make it better? You know better than that. It's embarrassing how ******** spoiled you are. How can you be so selfish? Do you want to disgrace this family? It's gone on long enough. Come home. This nonsense is making the rest of us sick.
Except they weren't saying that anymore, were they? No. They said nothing at all. All the little jabs and criticisms were absent. All the old embarrassments. The old admonishments for not being as expected. He didn't miss those things. He should be glad that they were over. It wasn't as though he'd relied on them in the last several years. He'd been so stubborn before, sticking to his causes. But he'd always known, before, that if he really needed to, he could show up on the doorstep and be let in. Maybe never really welcome, not with open arms, not with smiling faces, no. Not home, exactly. Just someplace familiar.
Was it any wonder that he wished Leon was his brother, instead of the rest of them? Even in a place like this, where it could get him killed, the fairy had shown more concern than all six of his biological siblings combined. He was trying to think of a way to explain the rest of it. The "who" of Leon, that the werewolf wanted put into words. But another question came before he could phrase it, and it was one that was harder to explain.
It wasn't that he'd trusted the wrong person, because he hadn't. Troy and the rest of his group had distrusted the azurette from the start. Thought he was working with the Division, or maybe the police. And he'd given them a wide berth after the first beating. It was only once they realized what he was really doing that they had any use for him outside of target practice for throwing bricks. The thing was, they didn't want their own papers. Not the kind that he was willing to offer, anyway. A step out of dependence on crime for survival wasn't what they were aiming for. Being a legitimate citizen held no draw, because after all, that only meant working for someone else anyway. How was that any different than being enslaved? Why struggle for crumbs when they could get more running drugs or mugging tourists? And Julian. Well, Julian was using his gift all wrong. Who wanted papers that said you could work for money when you could just print the money to begin with?
But he couldn't explain all of that. Not without giving Odin information that could send the azurette into Division custody. From their point of view, he was probably laundering assets. From Julian's, he'd been helping people. People like Krish and Skye, who were good and just needed the opportunity to live better lives. His work in Haven had been what he was proudest of in all the world, even if it left him bleeding some days, assuring Maluk that he was alright, that it didn't hurt that much, even though the caim would know that it did. Those things couldn't be said. Not to Odin. Not to Leon. Not to anyone but the people who had so badly needed his help.
But he could be honest, all the same.
"Someone threatened my life to get me to help them counterfeit some money. They did a bad job with that, and a better job pinning it on me. " Simple. He even shrugged a little. Somewhere between talking about Leon and talking about himself, his posture had eased. It was his cheek resting against his knees now, so that he could look at the werewolf while speaking to him. You know. The way people did with one another. How odd. And perhaps it was rude for him not to ask what'd landed the other male in prison. To just assume that it had something to do with the marks that had been on his arms when he arrived. But then, if he only had the chance to ask one question-- "Can I ask.. why you never write back?"
A question in a question. So that all Odin really had to say if he didn't want to answer it was No. Still, the azurette didn't try to play off what he was asking. He'd never been good at nonchalance. The letters came, Odin tore them up, and Julian cleared them away. The first few he'd saved, thinking there would come a day when the werewolf wanted them. Needed the comfort of knowing that the outside world was still there, that someone was still waiting for him. And out of respect for the Golden Rule-- do unto others-- Julian never read them. They were, after all, something private-- or as private as mail that was read three times by uniforms before being delivered could be. They'd been addressed to his cellmate, and he'd never seen Odin snoop through his mail. But he did wonder. It was almost as though the older man hated whoever was sending them, or just wanted to forget entirely about the real world. To the azurette, every letter from Krish was a reminder that things wouldn't always be this way. It was going to be the future, soon.
You had to cling to the little things.
OOC:
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Posted: Mon Sep 26, 2016 7:43 am
████████ ███████ █████iODIN CYPRESS
________________________________i_______AND MY ARMS ARE TOUGH BUT THEY CAN BE BENT
When Julian said Leon had already been in prison a long time, some type of hopelessness hit Odin. He didn’t like thinking about it. He could hardly imagine being in the fae’s position, but the things Odin could imagine were terrible. He already knew Leon was here the longest. The guy had been in terrible shape and Odin still didn’t understand that half the bruises Leon had by the end of their interaction was caused by him. Odin was used to feeling frail and weak. Once as a child Ian smashed his fist against Odin’s chest right after a full moon. He had been terrible that month to Ian. Odin had humiliated him in front of a girl Ian thought he liked. The lycan didn’t know Odin had been whispering bad things about him to his friends. He didn’t suspect Odin to be scheming something when the male invited him to play with them. Ian was smiling so large when he was put in the game to play with them, he’d rushed over. Odin called Ian’s name and when the boy turned his head to look at Odin, he was met with nothing but the ball smashing against his face and had a shocked expression smearing itself over his smile and by the time the ball hit the ground Ian began crying while Odin and his friends laughed. Only one of Odin’s friends stood up for the boy, calling Odin a d**k. But that punishment wasn’t enough. That night after the full moon when Ian hit Odin as hard as he could the werewolf let off these awful shrieks as his body convulsed. He had thought his rib cage shot through his lungs and heart and the werewolf couldn’t breathe or make a noise after a while. All he could do was cry and suffer. That was the type of pain that made Odin think he was dying. Overdosing didn’t even hurt that much.
Living was painful, dying was painless. Odin wasn’t sure why everyone fought so hard for the pain. He wasn’t sure why they were trying to do everything they could to avoid death and it’s unknown.
Odin didn’t know how it felt to be weak all the time, but he knew how it felt to feel like putty that once. Realizing he was at the mercy of everyone around him. That was why the werewolf began to lock his door, refusing to let anyone in but Claire after full moons. Leon wasn’t allowed to lock a door and hide away choosing who gets to enter. He was trapped in the middle of an ocean without a boat, at the mercy of the tide which got to throw him around however it pleased. And along came Julian, trying to fish the fairy out of the water in a little rowboat named Odin. The mage trying to do everything he could with the cracked wooden frame to make it back to land.
The werewolf turned his head to gaze at the cell’s bars a few moments, a hazy sight as he withdrew into his body to think a moment about what the mage said. By the time Odin was speaking carelessly again, it was to tell Julian he was likely to end someone. Odin saw the mage’s reaction out the corner of his eye, the shocked teal hair whipping to the side as Julian went startled. It may have been that moment that Julian realized just how dangerous Odin was. It might have been the first time Julian realized what Odin was. Odin was designed for killing. For hunting. For seeing people as prey. His mutated genes broke him, hardly making it possible for the blond to keep hold of his humanity. Sometimes Odin just went so quiet. So tiny. So small. Sitting there knowing it’s wrong but his monster taking over feeling so right. Digging his nails into someone until they shrunk away and looked so small in his grasp. It made him feel like he finally belonged. Those were the moments he felt at peace. The only time he felt comfortable.
”And not for you to kill someone and wind up trapped here for the rest of your life.”
”And the ******** if I’m already here for life?” Odin blurted out without thinking. A powerful response that pointed towards a giant lie. Hinting that he’s past a point of no return. That he’d done something terrible. That he was to be feared. That he was a lost cause that behaved better as a tool than person. Odin the boat. Not Odin the person. He didn’t know why he’d said it, but he wasn’t going to turn round and take them right back. Instead, Odin turned his head away from Julian.
When it came time for Julian to speak about Leon, he was immediately told the two came from well off families. It made Odin’s lips curl. People like Odin never belonged in high society. His father always tried to push Odin away from coming to meetings with clients or spending days at the office. He was proud to show Ian off, but Odin, nobody wanted a loud rowdy child running around breaking things. Odin was always ill behaved, he was always around people who thought the worst of werewolves and held onto stereotypes. When he began hanging out with street rats, he was always ’the rich boy’ they made fun of. Whenever he was around rich people, he was always ’the werewolf hoodlum’ they made fun of. He couldn’t win. Overtime he learned to talk shitty, losing his proper sentence structure and educated tone. He learned to dress with style, but not expensively. He learned to absorb a new identity where everyone forgot he came from money. Where he was just known as Odin.
Odin wasn’t sure how ten years flashed by so quickly, but once they did he found the person he pretended to be came to life. Somewhere between all the pretending and drugs…
A bruise was lifted in front of Julian’s body and the werewolf stared down at the terrible looking patch of skin. Julian casually sat there as though he were trying to show Odin a television show. He narrated the story of how the two met. Some nearly romantic setting quickly changing to a WWE Smackdown as Julian admitted to swatting the fairy away. Odin’s eyes rolled to the side as Julian sat there calling himself a crybaby. Was it justified to cry when something nearly traumatic happened to you? Odin’s eyes scanned over the bruised area as the picture gently faded in and out of place.
That was all Julian gave Odin. No stories involving the guy’s dust. Not stories involving prison. No stories involving the alchemists. It didn’t matter all that much as Julian’s train of thought brought him to why he was there. Julian wasn’t some mentally ill nutcase who’d been off his meds one too many times. He was some moron who took the fall for a guy that threatened his life. Odin didn’t know how he felt about that. If it hadn’t happened, Julian would be out and Odin would have any other cellmate. He’d probably be with Hotts just now chatting to the man through bars as friends. He wouldn’t have ever noticed Leon. Or maybe he would’ve got so wound up Leon would’ve been a hole he used to keep his sanity as he waited to be released. Maybe Odin would’ve managed with just masturbation. Maybe everything would be ten times worse. Odin didn’t know how he felt about Julian being here.
”Can I ask… Why you never write back?”
Silence.
Odin glanced at Julian half a moment with split lips and a blank look on his face. Did Julian read any letters? Did he know it was his own brother? Odin’s teeth slammed shut as he wiped the clueless expression from his face. Odin didn’t know why he wouldn’t write E. He felt angry when he realized his brother stopped writing every day, but Odin couldn’t bring himself to read the letters. He wasn’t close to the kid anymore. He’d hardly spoke to Ian or his parents in years, and when it was Odin typically only wanted to steal from them or bum more money. It wasn’t because Odin thought it was best for Ian to never hear from him. He wasn’t trying to do what he thought was right. Talking to Ian through texts and letters and phone calls would’ve been perfect. A way Odin couldn’t hurt or harm his brother. A way he could still acknowledge Ian’s existence and treat him like a person.
Dear Ian, Prison sucks. I hate it. Thank you for writing me. Keep doing it. Odin thought, being reminded of how simple it would’ve been to respond to the boy. Knowing how much it would’ve meant. I don’t know. I don’t know why. Because I’ve ******** him over for ten years. Because he saw me cry and I’m angry at him for it. Because it makes me feel weak. Because he knows I’m weak… Because I always choose to suffer alone. That was it. The isolated feeling hit the werewolf’s spine as he had flashbacks to all the times he picked to be alone. The night he overdosed and kept scrolling through his contacts wondering if he should call someone to watch over him in case he stopped breathing that night. He didn’t ask anyone. The day he’d run out of money and was in a strange part of the city and couldn’t stop puking. He stumbled round for two days straight in an intoxicated haze before he finally made it home. It would’ve took an hour to accomplish had he just asked for help. The time Odin’s friend overdosed and their parents asked him to give a eulogy. To be one of the pallbearer. He never called them back. He never went to the wake. He never went to the funeral. He never visited the guy’s grave. Odin always picked to suffer alone.
”Can’t be arsed.” The werewolf said lifelessly. Julian could assume it was because Odin wasn’t going to get out ever again for all he cared.
Standing up, Odin walked towards the cell wall and leaned against it. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to the ink mage like this and he knew it. That’s not what Odin wanted. He didn’t want to sit upon a bed like a pack of girls at a slumber party and chat about life. He didn’t want to know about Julian. He didn’t want to think about how much better it would be for him had the ink mage never been in. He didn’t want to think about the alchemists that would come try and slit Julian’s throat. He didn’t want to think about his food at the cafeteria being drugged. So instead Odin just glared at his favorite crack on the ceiling.
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Posted: Mon Sep 26, 2016 4:11 pm
in the eye of a hurricane there is quiet, for just a moment, in a yellow sky
He'd told the werewolf once that he didn't believe this place was the rest of Odin's life. It had been a belief and a feeling, and Julian was guilty of trusting those things more than he probably should. When he felt something was right, when he believed something strongly, he was capable of blind, stupid, near fanatical devotion to an idea. After all, the law stated that some of the philosophies the azurette most held dear were ones that should be punishable offenses. Slaves were property, and if property ran away it was returned, and if it was liberated then the liberator was actually a thief and had to be punished. What Julian did as a matter of course, providing papers the way he did, was probably considered laundering assets by the Division. But the Saint had never been a danger to anyone, really. Not once. Not ever. It was only that an unjust law wasn't a law at all. It was meant to be broken.
But whatever convictions he might hold about the man beside him, the truth was that they didn't know each other. Julian had assumed the blond's sentence was drug related, because of the marks on his arms, and the way he'd shaken in the dark, suffering from withdrawals. He'd seen it before. Nursed people through it. But by then, Odin had already made an island of himself, and the azurette wasn't sure he'd be welcome on that shore, even if what he wanted to do was offer help. So he'd stayed quiet. Stayed apart. Yet, that perception had colored a lot of what Julian believed. Because yes, sure, Odin had a drug problem. That made him an unknown variable, depending on his impulses. But if the werewolf was in on possession charges, or even distribution, his life wasn't over. He could choose to walk out those doors on release and do something else. Timshel. It means, "Thou mayest." Prison wasn't any place for an addict, not without a strong focus on rehabilitation and therapy. The programs in place here were a start, but with the sheer amount of prisoners and the fear of worse treatment from other inmates if anyone really expressed themselves, showing any vulnerability was out of the question. Even if someone chose to work toward recovery, they would likely suffer for it. So he hadn't looked down on Odin for those marks. Just like he didn't look down on Leon for his sunken eyes and trembling frame. These weren't people in need of judgment, or a slap on the hand. What they needed was help.
But here the older man was, suggesting that everything Julian thought was wrong. Reminding the mage how little he really knew. And it wasn't as though he'd believed that Odin was a fluffy, adorable puppy. He knew first-hand that the blond could move to violence swiftly and sharply. After all, he'd been on the receiving end of that strength. Even if the werewolf hadn't snapped a man's wrist-- I thanked him for that. What's wrong with me? What's happening to me, that I thanked someone for doing that? For Leon. It was for Leon. What would I rather have? Leon with them or Leon with us? Us. Then I don't get to dither over it, do I? Who matters more, Leon or that alchemist? Everyone matters. No. Who matters more to me? -- earlier in the day, it wasn't as though the azurette had forgotten the Thing That Never Happened. The rest had been his own fault, and he would carry the shame of what he'd inflicted on Odin until the day he died, but before that.. The blond had torn him from the top bunk without warning or difficulty. Held down on his throat until the smaller man was certain that he would die. Later, he'd thought of how easy it would have been for Odin to end him. To snap his neck or simply crush his windpipe, or a thousand other things. That he hadn't was something Julian chose to interpret as a mercy, a kindness, a sign of restraint. Even with.. everything else. He'd been left sore, hurting, embarrassed, shaking and shocked, but.. There were so many ways it could have been worse. Could have destroyed him, outside and in, left him bleeding and broken and lost.
And if Odin was so ready to kill someone, if he didn't care about it one way or another, if he was already going to be stuck inside these cement walls for the rest of his life.. Why hold back then? If he had nothing to lose, no sense of sympathy, he would have brutalized the azurette and taken pleasure doing it, the way Hotts wanted to. But he hadn't. So when the werewolf turned his face away, Julian was still watching, assessing, brows drawn together in thought. This was a man he'd likened to a hurricane in his own mind. Was he capable of cruelty? Oh, certainly. In Julian's experience, most people were. But then, the mage believed that most people were also capable of goodness, if given the opportunity. The truth was that he couldn't influence the werewolf in either direction. Couldn't stop him if he chose to take that final step and end someone's life. But until then.. the azurette would cling to his own convictions, his own beliefs. He didn't have an answer. At least not one that Odin would want to hear. I'm sorry, but I don't know that I believe that.
No, that probably wouldn't go well. Probably even worse than his own question, which garnered nothing but stunned silence at first, followed by words that might as well have been, None of your ******** business. Had he pressed too far? Probably. Whatever tenuous connection or understanding had been there, it spun out and snapped in the wake of that single question, and Julian could almost feel the moment it gave way. The comfort he'd felt, the closeness to another living person, was withdrawn. Replaced by the barrier that always stood between them, dividing things into their more natural order. Odin drew just as far from him as the walls would let him go, and for a beat longer the inkwell remained there on the bed, the curl of his limbs uncoiling, arms dropping away to his sides so that his knees could untuck from his chest. A chrysalis opening, because it was time for the moth inside to fly away again. Back to silence, back to his bunk, back to the dark when the lights flickered to signal they were about to go out, that the day was done. Back to the nightmares where Odin never carried him off and Hotts never had to stop, so he didn't. It had been a reprieve, this short exchange of words, this day, with what had felt earlier like a victory. Whatever he'd suggested about his own sentence, however closed off he was in the face of a simple query, the werewolf had shown him kindness. Had stood there beside him at the bars and given Julian a shred of something that felt like safety. Comfort. But it was over now.
"It's alright.." The words were gentle, meant to soothe, but it wasn't clear whether they were for the werewolf or for himself as he stood, drawing the sleeve back down his arm. Julian's eyes were already on the floor, already back down to earth. He'd kept them up a long time, today, but that was over now, too. The tears had stopped, and moments before he would have thanked Odin for that, but the blond had already signaled that he wanted to be left alone. So the azurette turned carefully-- eyes down, not wanting to let them stray across the hall onto the shapeshifter in the other cell-- and climbed onto his own mattress. Leaving every other inch of space to Odin. Leaving the silence where it was. Laying there on his stomach, irritating cuts and bruises to avoid putting pressure on the back of his skull. Because unto every thing there was a season, and the one for gathering souls together had passed.
And he lay still, and he lay quiet, unmoving like that, like a body abandoned or dead. Lay that way through the flickering lights, signaling the impending darkness. Lay that way, but didn't sleep. Not with all the thoughts still chasing themselves inside his head. There were too many things to worry about. Whether Leon would listen to what Odin had told him. How and when the alchemists would respond to what had happened. That he'd wasted his chance to ask whether the werewolf really intended to give him back to Hotts. That he was a weak enough person that he wasn't sure whether he even wanted to know that. Would it be better to have the time to dread it? He wasn't certain. Maybe if it happened, maybe if he finally laid down on that altar and the shifter was allowed to carve him into a thousand broken parts, there would be some kind of balance. Hotts detested Odin, but maybe once he had his pound of flesh that hatred would be assuaged. And the werewolf would be able to protect Leon. Keep him safe. Whatever he'd said about the fairy, the blond had to know that Leon was, because of his Dust, a better bet in most situations than Julian would ever be. But even if Odin would, Leon would never stand for letting Hotts have what he wanted. And then what? He'd tried to think around the corners, but sometimes it was so hard. He came up against all the things he believed and had to stop. Had to accept, or work his way around. Be last, be least. Put others first. Do no harm. Except that the azurette was already doing harm, wasn't he? Maybe some of it was indirect, but not what he'd done to Odin. He'd pushed the other man into something that the werewolf never would have chosen otherwise. Something that had been so painful to him, the blond wasn't even willing to accept that it had happened at all. And still, Odin helped him. What he'd done to Leon, was that worse or better? Leading him away from people who would almost certainly retaliate, tattooing him like livestock. Those fresh marks on his almost-brother's wrist, where the Ink lived now, like a foreign colony. They were meant to be a means of communication, but it was difficult to feel them now, through the walls. Hard to pinpoint, even if he'd been calm. Almost impossible, with the weight of anxiety creeping back into his chest, crawling down his throat. Had he hurt Leon for nothing? Had he inflicted that pain, without really asking, without a good explanation, to no real purpose?
His face was against the pillow, turned toward the wall in the dark, and there was nothing on his back, but not being able to see the open air was unbearable. Made him turn, first onto his side, and then gingerly resting the back of his head against the pillow. Jaw tightening down on the wince that went through him at the pressure, yes, but easing the constriction in his chest, the mounting fear of being held down. No less a possibility, but the looming anxiety of it drew back once he could see that there was nothing there. No one waiting. Irrational. Impossible, with the cell closed. The only one here with him was Odin, and the moon wasn't round enough yet to be at the front of the azurette's mind. Another corner to turn when he came to it.
If he came to it. If he was still alive then, still sane enough for it to matter.
Because with the weight of his head there against the pillow, there were things flittering against the inside of his eyelids. They were moths like he was just a moth, and they could never be eagles, so they flocked together there behind his eyes. And sometimes they died in the dark, and sometimes they didn't. Sometimes their tiny, alien feet tried to grasp a bright bulb in the night and came away singed or burned off, and it was so sad to see them hurt that way, but how stupid could they be? Why keep trying to land there? Why draw in to that light when they had to see it searing pieces off those around them? Oh, but there was nowhere else. It was that, or fly forever. It was that, or just keep going through the dark to nowhere.
He'd slept so little in the last few days, between nausea and anxiety, Julian didn't realize he was going under until he was already gone.
It was the hallway, just outside his mother's apartment suite, and he could hear Liszt playing from under the door. Not a true piano, although Juniper could play beautifully when asked. Just the speakers, filtering the soft noise of the Waldesrauschen across the high ceilings and wood floors during those first hours of the day when Nhu Linh woke to the world around her, all the minds chattering their thoughts so loudly that they were hard to shut out without the background swell of notes. Julian had never liked the song, with its quick rippling of sounds. The way other people might respond with discomfort at sensations or smells, the azurette had always been troubled by noises he found discordant. It was all a mess to him, all a tangle that made his little heart beat too quick in his chest, and he wasn't sure anymore that he wanted to see her, but the door was unraveling thread by thread, and the hallway he was standing in was growing dim from either end, fading away into the dark. The only way through was forward, but the floor had gone concrete from one step to the next, and that was strange, to feel it on his bare feet, and to look down and be troubled at his own lack of shoes. He'd had them, just a minute ago, but they were gone now, and the cold of the cement was creeping through his heels and arches, twining up his ankles.
His body moved only a very little. Fingers twitching against the sheet beneath him, thin frame curling onto its side. For now, it was only the slight elevation of his heartbeat-- anxious, fearful. A shifting in position as he tried to find comfort and couldn't. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the REM cycle as usual.
She was there at the table, his mother, in one of her white ao dai, as she'd worn to school when she was a girl. But her hair had been curled into a riot around her shoulders instead of smoothed into its chignon at the back of her head, and the strands were dark against the pale fabric. Ink black, the mass of them, the mane of them, shaken around her shoulders like a cape. It made a different person of her, as did the smile-- too wide, too sharp, unlike the soft specter of it that he remembered. Who was this woman who reached out? Who was this creature that embraced him without prompting, without the customary question and approval? What she said was, "Here now, you don't need those." And what she did was reach one delicate hand into his mouth to pull one of his teeth. No blood, no pain, but still. Worry as they came loose, one after the other, like a string of pearls. And he could feel them leaving, could feel the wire between each one, fitted perfect and snug, tearing its neighbor out at the root, and then the tongue, and it had been alive once, a thing all warmth and velvet, but not now. It was ivory when it ripped free of his throat, and still the wire kept pulling, dragging something heavier up and out of his too-slender frame. There in his throat, it stuck, and he tried to speak around it, but it was too big, and too bloody, and he couldn't breathe, so the only way through was forward. The only way to survive was to tear it out.
"Nnuh.." An inarticulate negative, groaned against the pillow where his fingers were wound tight, fists full of the fabric that Julian clasped to his chest. Again, he rolled. Squirmed his body against the wall as though he meant to crawl inside it, and let out a soft noise-- sick, pitiful-- when there was no way. His knees pressed to the concrete. His face pressed to the pillow. It was like the azurette was trying to disappear, to wink himself out of existence by folding inward until there wasn't a single part of him left. But he couldn't, and that was the problem. The sharp, quick stuttering of his pulse and the way his breaths were starting to come so short, as though his airway meant to tighten itself down to nothing. Fight or flight had never even been a question for Julian, but there was nowhere to go.
So his own hands came up, gripped the wire. It was slick, suddenly. Glossy red and glossy black, mingled together, because Nhu Linh's fingers were bleeding. But Julian helped her pull. Helped her rip and rend and shred his throat with the prize she wanted to retrieve. And he had no tongue to taste it, and he had no teeth to bite down, but he knew it was his heart and that it was not whole. There were pieces of it trapped, deep. Chunks of heavy muscle fighting the squeezing peristalsis of his body. It hung at the end of her string, and it dripped Ink and shredded tissue onto his bare feet, but his mother seemed unbothered. Her bloody hands were decking him in the gory garland of it, teeth and tongue and torn heart, and he didn't die the way he expected to, but his arms were bound down with that single, sharp thread. Kept at his sides. Kept still while he struggled, every movement biting deeper, slicing inward. And he was crying, now, oh yes. This was a pain he could feel, a thing that went unnumbed, but when he opened his mouth to beg, it was only the Ink that came out. Bubbled viscous and thick out of the ruin of his throat, past his lips. His new voice. His only voice, anymore.
But it wasn't.
The sound that crawled out of Julian's throat started as a whimper and ended on a pained sob as he turned on the bed, fingers clawing into the sheet beneath him, pulling it free. He was a trembling thing, the heart inside him beating so hard that it was almost shaking him apart, or maybe the tremors were only from how cold he felt. There was something the mage was saying, through the sharp inhales, the whistle-tight closing of his throat. Some choked and broken word, plaintive, through the tears that were in his hair now and on the pillow and in his own mouth. He was only salt and fear now, something in him snapped. Everything wrong, everything at unsettling angles, everything making the pain in his chest worse until it felt like the ribs would splinter into a thousand pieces. Nonono--, a mantra that ran together and became one long moan of terror.
"You have three." She said, "Don't worry so much about this one." But he didn't understand. Couldn't grasp the words while the wire dug deep, cutting chest and thighs. Yet when he looked down again what bit into his flesh, what tore into soft skin and sinew, were a pair of hands. Tipped with sharp shards of bone, each digit sliced at his body without hesitation, without restraint. It was Hotts who was dissecting him, opening his torso with fingers that felt like razors, smiling that twisted smile. Taking him apart. Destroying all the things inside, one layer at a time.
And that was when he started to scream.
OOC: Oops. D:
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Posted: Tue Sep 27, 2016 6:30 pm
████████ ███████ █████iODIN CYPRESS
________________________________i_______AND MY ARMS ARE TOUGH BUT THEY CAN BE BENT
Odin had never been good at sleeping too heavily without drugs to assist him. Sometimes smells would wake him, other times sounds. This time, the werewolf’s eyes shot open when he heard the sound of a cell door opening. That wasn’t supposed to be here. Odin laid there with a twitching ear as some footsteps moved. The cell next to him. The fae.
s**t.
Odin spun around and quickly scurried to his cell bars. He leaned his forehead against his cage just enough to see a guard outside the cell. Back turned. This was bad. Why the ******** was a guard doing that? Odin whipped his head to the side when he heard Julian’s body shift. Did he wake too? Odin went still as he heard quiet whispers. Hardly audible. ghouls' idea, you know? More mumbling. W-what!? No! No, I-I didn't, I-
Trouble. He’s in trouble. Odin wrapped his fingers round the bars. He’d just laugh at me. I can’t get to him. I’d look a fool. He rested his forehead against the bars and shut his eyes. If he just allowed himself to see red and began clawing at the small stretch of wall between their cells would it make a difference? The werewolf was tired. He was trapped. Helpless. He couldn’t help anyone. If Julian woke the boy would flip his ******** lid. Odin turned his head to look back at his cellmate who still had no idea.
blue, wolfface suddenly… scream… hands on the wall… P-Pike, please, y-you have to believe me… NO!
Odin’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t even react since he didn’t know what was happening. Was someone about to rape him? Shove so many drugs into his system he’d overdose? Beat him? It was so quiet. Odin didn’t get any hints asides from the boy’s desperate voice. He held the bars tight trying desperately not to do anything stupid. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene. There were times to interfere and there were times to quietly plan a retaliation. Hotts didn’t do anything after Odin had beat the man’s face in. He quietly waited for a chance to make a move. The alchemists didn’t approach him right after he took the fae. They waited quietly for a chance to make a move. This move.
”I’m wondering why you’re in my cell at three in the morning, friend. I think you’re lost.”
... Who? The answer was obvious. There could only be one other person in there who owned the cell. Called it ‘his’. Leon’s cellmate. There were a few thuds, a few bangs. Then the unlocked cell door was flung open and Odin saw the assailant thrown out into the hallway. He was tossed next to the correctional officer’s feet. Odin slowly backed away pushing his body against the wall so he’d be more difficult to see. So he’d remain out of sight. Odin stood there against the wall for a very long time as he waited for things to calm down. Leon was okay. No reason to have shaky hands. No reason to be sweating. No reason to be very still feeling as though his feet were sucked into dry cement. I really don’t want to be here. Odin realized as he turned his head to see his crappy mattress. The werewolf didn’t want to be sleeping on that plastic thing. He didn’t want other inmates to have upper hands just because they could make deals with guards and get on their good side. He didn’t want to worry about Leon and Julian day in and day out. Odin let out a deep breath and slowly felt his body slumping against the wall. I’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Doing anything else in the world. And he turned resting his hand against the bar going across the bed that Julian used to scurry up to his bunk each day.
Then Odin heard the shriek.
He quickly tensed his arm and tore himself up to clasp a hand over Julian’s mouth. ”Quiet.” Odin whispered. ”What’s wrong with you?” Once he was sure the mage broke out of the confused haze and realized whatever he was screaming about had been… Not there? Odin glanced at the wall wondering if Julian knew anything had happened to Leon. It seemed to take place hours ago as Odin silently stood there listening in to everything he could. Invading their privacy as though it were his fulltime job. He was still awestruck that nothing terrible ended up happening to the fae. He owed someone a favor and didn’t know how to repay it.
The werewolf waiting to make sure nobody woke. A few inmates screams filled the hallways as they told Julian to shut the ******** up, but nobody important seemed to care. No guards came to check. Nothing. The neglected line of cells was quiet as ever it seemed. With the person who tried to assault Leon out of commission, Odin was sure the guards had other things to worry about anyways. When the werewolf was sure Julian was back in reality and stopped with the screaming, he gently removed his hand that was clasp tightly round the mage’s mouth. ”You can’t be screaming like that at night.” Odin whispered. ”They’ll think I’m tearing you apart.” And it was then that Odin remembered what Hotts had said about the ink mage’s skull. Cracked. Broken.
He pushed on Julian’s cheek, angling the mage’s head so he could carefully run his fingers through that teal hair feeling for anything that wasn’t right. There was a bump on the boy’s skull but Odin had something similar once that lasted for months before it finally went away. The werewolf tried to make it seem like he was simply running his fingers through Julian’s hair. He didn’t care what the mage thought. He’d spent enough nights forcing the boy to act as his bedwarmer that he was sure Julian was used to it. Once the sun went down Odin was allowed to do whatever he wished and when morning came it vanished from existence. The moon kept secrets from the sun. Once daylight hit the horizon it destroyed any pictures that the moon’s memory had put in place. And that kept Odin sane. Knowing that he was allowed to have his safe place underneath his captor. Underneath that one silver orb that caused his blood to boil the larger it got.
So Odin continued to pet Julian as he waited for his answer as to why the idiot had been trying to stir up trouble at a time like this. A time when he should’ve been asleep for hours… If Julian even did sleep through each night after Odin sent him away. The werewolf knew many people never got comfortable enough to call prison home. He knew that many inmates woke a torturous amount of times each night. It wasn’t hard to see them walking around each day with bags under their eyes and a bad attitude trying to start trouble just because it was uncomfortable for them.
OOC: Sorry. Shorter side. I've got a lot I need to do in RL tonight!
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2016 12:55 pm
in the eye of a hurricane there is quiet, for just a moment, in a yellow sky
He'd been a light sleeper for as long as he could remember, waking in the dark at any small sound. As a child, it had been the slight snick of the door when Willow drew away from his bedside to leave him alone for the night. Alone, he slept more fitfully, but he'd never wanted to call her back again, knowing that the woman had other things to do with her time. After he moved out, of course, there was no Willow to sit beside him until he dropped under, and the foreign sounds of his horrible apartment building had kept the azurette awake and anxious often. It was better when he could wind around a girlfriend, drown out the other noises with the slow rhythm of their breathing or heartbeat, or collapse exhausted beside them on the bed, lulled to sluggishness in the afterglow. Sara'd never minded tucking herself right against his chest to let him twine around her, as long as she was well and truly tired out before then. Even Deirdre, who'd teased him mercilessly about being afraid of the dark, had been willing to let him play with her hair until he dozed. And the thing was, he hadn't been afraid back then. Worried, sure. In a strange part of the city, trying to do things he'd never had to do before, anxious about being robbed or beaten up. But that wasn't the same. He was young. Life had been kind to him.
But he learned.
And with the learning came the night terrors. Horrific and agonizing, the kind of thing he wished he could wake from easily. Except that he didn't. Even the sounds from the cell next door-- muffled, but still out of place enough that they'd have woken him at any other time-- hadn't moved the ink mage from his tangle of sheet and uniform. Hell, under normal circumstances, just the werewolf standing that way, right next to his sleeping place, might have been enough to rouse Julian. Instead, it was the hand over his mouth, clamping down, stopping the sound that tried to escape. And the azurette, disoriented, eyes wide and dark with the full dilation of his pupils, thrashed weakly under the grip of Odin's palm. Turned his head one way, and then the other, trying to dislodge the hold the other man had on his jaw. Because in those first moments, he was still feeling claws against his ribs, tearing in and under, dragging weak mewls of suffering from his torn, destroyed throat. The werewolf climbed onto the mattress alongside him, and Julian's arms flailed, pushing, accomplishing nothing at all. Hands flat against Odin's chest, he rocked weakly, crying into the blonde's palm, breathing hitching sharp and quickquickslow, like the unsteady race of his pulse.
Quiet.
He wasn't sure where he was. Nhu Linh's, but not. Concrete floor, cold on his feet. No. His feet were tangled in the bedding. It was the wall that was concrete, not the floor. Both. Yes, both. Bars on the front of the cage, and he was crying, but he wasn't bleeding, and everything was wrong, but at least Hotts wasn't killing him. The fingers he'd felt digging through his guts were over his mouth instead. But the voice didn't belong to the shapeshifter, and Julian tried to slow down, tried to focus, but it was almost impossible.
What's wrong with you?
So many things. Thousands of things. Where should he start? Couldn't, though. Hand over his mouth. Voices from the hallway screaming for someone to shut their ******** gob. When was this? Not before. Old Guy hit, he never held. If this was then, he'd have more bruises. If this was then, things were already wrong. Julian had thrown things, not screamed in the dark. Same effect. Disrupted sleep until they took him away and put him in a box, and in the box he went a little crazy until he couldn't stand the thought of prolonging the stay there with more bad behavior. And then? Then. Odin.
The blond's hand left his mouth and Julian nodded shaky agreement with the other man's whispered order. You can't be screaming like that at night. No. He couldn't. He'd wake the other inmates, and they would yell until the guards came, and eventually they'd remove him from the block to avoid having everyone else riled up that way. But that wasn't what Odin meant. They'll think I'm tearing you apart. Why? Why would they think that? Confusion chased across the azurette's features before he remembered, before his brain caught up, or maybe slowed down, enough to see the sense of it. Sometimes Odin shoved him, and once-- But the man was a werewolf, and the guards would assume, and then it would be the blond who suffered. So Julian wet his lips, a quick pass of his tongue to keep the lower one from trembling stupidly. Stared back at his cellmate through those blown pupils, and pushed the Ink up through the skin of his cheek, to write the word SORRY there. Quiet, Odin said. Be quiet. So he didn't even whisper. Didn't sob anymore. Breathed deep and tried to make it slow. Slower, at least.
He was in prison. He was serving a sentence for counterfeiting. His cellmate was a werewolf named Odin, and Hotts was a monster, but he couldn't walk through cell bars, and that meant he was still across the hall. Julian put the details back together inside his head, drawing them forward and using each one to push the haze of the nightmare away. The hand in his hair helped. The warmth of being near to someone, occupying the same space benignly this way. He'd become accustomed to the blond drawing him in, but still wasn't sure what it meant. There were times when he wondered if Odin was trying to comfort himself in some way, or if it was something else. Concern. Compassion. And the way those fingers kept carding through his hair, massaging at his scalp. That's what it felt like. Odin soothing him. Trying to bring him back to center.
And it took a moment, but slowly, so slowly, the azurette eased. Relaxed under the careful petting, never realizing what it really was. Julian simply moved closer, arms folding in against his own chest, the petals of a flower tucking inside their calyx. His forehead came to rest just under the werewolf's collar bone, but he didn't try to hold on. Knew better. It would've been comforting to hold and be held, but as with so much else that went on in their daily lives, Julian believed these moments existed purely on Odin's terms. He had to be grateful for what he was given, and never seem to expect more than that, because if he pressed-- as he had earlier, asking a question in return-- then the werewolf would shut him down.
".. Bad dream." He said it as if that was all it had been, all they ever were. Like it was as simple and childish as that. Like he wasn't still crying a little, there against Odin's chest. Whispered, lips brushing the fabric of the other man's uniform because he'd chosen to hide his face. Ink was less an option when he couldn't stand to be looked at. "Happens sometimes."
Sometimes. Every night, or every other. Never before had it devolved into screams, but then, Julian was usually more aware when he woke. Could usually understand where he was, and that the things that had happened-- vicious, horrible, painful things-- weren't real. It was terrifying in a different way, not being able to differentiate like that. Not being able to escape the dream just by waking up. And what if it happened again? What if the guards came, like Odin thought, and tried to punish the werewolf because Julian couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"I'd tell them, you know.." Just a murmur. So quiet, so soft. Embarrassed. "That you don't.. You don't hurt me."
OOC: It's okay. XD I understand completely, because I wrote this before work.
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2016 11:49 pm
████████ ███████ █████iODIN CYPRESS
________________________________i_______AND MY ARMS ARE TOUGH BUT THEY CAN BE BENT
Julian began to fight Odin, his head tearing away as he tried to tear from the werewolf’s grasp. Odin’s eyes narrowed as the frantic ink mage reached out nearly attempting to break free. Two hands were placed against his chest, the mage holding Odin as though the werewolf would weigh down and crush the poor boy to death. Then after a slow pause Odin was watching the hurt expression through the dim light as Julian began to cry. Silence, as the mage always did. Hell, Odin was sure he didn’t even notice half the time when the boy cried. Julian had managed to teach himself to suffer in silence. Odin didn’t mind crying. The male saw it as a way to release stress, and that was it’s only use. He did have a problem allowing anyone to see him in the vulnerable emotional state. Crying was a way to alert everyone that you weren’t okay, and Odin hadn’t had a chance to get his release since he’d been placed in prison. That might’ve been why he felt his heart get torn a few inches deeper into his chest.
SORRY
Odin’s body finally seemed to relax as he gently placed his hand next to the pillow that cradled the mage’s head. He didn’t need to try and plug the mage’s mouth any longer. Julian re-joined the living. Odin’s body seemed to melt in the spot next to Julian, the two grown men obviously couldn’t fit comfortably on a s**t mattress like the ones they provided in prison. Odin couldn’t even lay on his own and feel comfortable. Sometimes he contemplated placing his blankets on the ground and sleeping on the hard floor. The only thing that seemed to stop the werewolf from acting like an immature beast was his cellmate. The plastic-like mattresses weren’t so awful when you had something else to focus on.
Odin continued to gently pet the boy’s head as the mage found a place where it belonged beneath his chin. ”... Bad dream.” The mage finally spoke. A bad dream did all that? Ian had a friend in high school that took two months off. When Odin asked why his brother told him that exams had stressed him out and he began to have dreams. Demons. They found him from his vulnerable state and the nymph had two enter his dreams. Before Ian had a chance to tell Odin any details about the dreams or demons his friend had met — Odin laughed. Instead of listening the werewolf went straight to calling names. Telling Ian that his friend was weak. Stupid. Couldn’t even keep demons out his head. Odin never cared to sympathize or try to understand people and their suffering. ”Happens sometimes.” Julian told him. People like Odin would never be able to understand or fathom what demons were like. There would be no reason for Julian to admit the truth if that was it anyways. Odin didn’t know what would happen if a prisoner ever reported that demons were contacting them. Were they even treated?
Odin didn’t know if it was his place to ask his cellmate. He wasn’t sure if mentioning something he knew nothing about was acceptable. He didn’t know if Julian was hiding it for a reason. Before Odin had a chance to ask, Julian said what had been on his mind. ”I’d tell them, you know… That you don’t… You don’t hurt me.” Except Odin did hurt him. That wasn’t what Odin cared about at the moment though.
”No guards.” Odin said immediately, his arm slowly leaving Julian’s head and dropping to the mage’s body. He tightened his grip slightly as Julian was pulled against him. It was hard for the werewolf to shake the sight. The guard standing with his back to Leon as an intruder had been threatening to do something terrible. Odin didn’t trust the guards to do their job. They weren’t here to make friends. They were sheep. Uneducated buffoons that couldn’t find any better jobs. Running around playing cop since they were too stupid to pass the test to become a real one probably. They wouldn’t care if Odin did or didn’t do something. If someone paid a guard off or found one that associated with their friends on the outside or god-knows-what. If there was one thing Odin found, it was that he didn’t have much power in prison. He wasn’t tied to one of the gangs that had resources and s**t people wanted on the outside. He didn’t have any magical abilities that allowed him to produce anything inside prison someone might want. He wasn’t allowing anyone to know he had access to money.
All he had was some broken mage and a tiny fairy who were both scheming some stupid plan to try and make the fae the one who was going to be protecting the lot. Anyone with better resources could flip the tables and have the guards ******** Odin’s life over. It didn’t matter what the evidence was. The guards were stupid. They’ve destroy any holes in the stories and it would be Odin’s word against theirs. It didn’t matter what Julian said. Julian was another lying prisoner. A degenerate. ”We’re staying away from the guards.” Odin said as though it were just that easy. As though they could get through a day of prison without having to interact with multiple prison guards each day. Odin didn’t even consider the possibility of trying to befriend a guard. Find one he could try to bond with. Find one he could ask to watch his back. Find one that he could offer his services to, if any even wanted some shitty fairy dust. Odin had trouble seeing any use for Leon’s dust asides making it easier to rape someone. Sprinkle a little dust. Watch them squirm. Even if they hate what you’re doing, the dust will make sure their bodies respond. Turns you so stupid you ******** lose all control of your muscles until it’s over and you’ve sitting with nothing but the weight of whatever happened to you.
Odin didn’t know what he’d do if he were in that position. If he were Julian. He kept going back to that. Being placed in Julian’s position anytime he thought of the fairy’s dust. Ask if Leon controls when the dust comes out or not. He thought to himself, his eyes staying straight towards the ceiling as he refused to acknowledge Julian was pulled against him. That wasn’t what Odin said, though. The random topic wouldn’t have made any sense. It was late. The both were tired. Julian was clearly having a rough night. Odin’s eyes had bags that were growing out of control they might’ve qualified as tumors at this point. Sleeping was exhausting for the werewolf when he had to put so much energy into jolting away every ******** twenty minutes.
”Was it demons?” He finally asked. A slightly more relevant topic. Finding out what the screaming had been about. Knowing if Julian needed help. Knowing if something was wrong. If anything hurt. If his head was pounding. If his bad dream had anything to do with all the abuse that stained his body like a crime scene.
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Posted: Sun Oct 02, 2016 10:51 am
in the eye of a hurricane there is quiet, for just a moment, in a yellow sky
Where he lay was tiny, between the wall and Odin's larger frame, and if Hotts had had his way, the inkwell would still have been thrashing, trying to escape the confines of that small space. If the azurette still felt trapped, still felt held down, it would have made all the difference, turned these moments into a rictus of terror. If it had been anyone else. But it wasn't. It was Odin, who'd saved him twice and claimed him once without doing anything to him at all, really. The werewolf had given him Leon, his only family, one of his very few real friends in the world beyond Krish. He'd pulled Julian up and out of the nightmare, just like he'd lifted the mage out of the cell across the hall, and as strange and small as the detail was-- he'd climbed onto the upper bunk to do it. Odin had never come up before. It was the place Julian was sent back to when the blond was ready to sleep, and Odin had never followed him before, never joined him in his own space. But there he was. Helping the azurette feel safe, lulling him with warmth and contact in a way that made what had happened before almost invisible. Before had been the mage's fault. Before had been Julian's doing. Odin could have hurt him for it, could have let Hotts have him so that he'd pay for what he'd done. But he didn't. So even if the younger man's chest still felt tight, the reason why was completely different than it had been only a few minutes before. Gratitude. Absurd and abundant gratitude that he was allowed to nestle there, under Odin's chin, the blond's arm folding around him to seam the two of them together. If it hurt the bruises that littered his thin frame, Julian didn't complain. His own arms, folded against his ribs, stayed where they were, only very tentatively turning so that he could place his palms at Odin's chest, just below his collar bones. He didn't argue or try to state a case in response to his cellmate's mandate on guards and interacting with them, didn't point out how futile it would be to try avoiding them inside a prison. Julian only nodded, a movement that probably felt like a slow nuzzling into the crook of Odin's neck. Unthinking agreement.
He couldn't have mustered a rebuttal if he'd tried. Too exhausted, too fatigued from the effort of moving his battered body from place to place throughout the day. Beneath the ruddy gold of his eyes there were near permanent smudges, marks of how his sleep went more often than not. He didn't want to go back under, not on the coat tails of the nightmare, but the warmth of the man beside him was comforting. Made him blink slowly, eyelids fighting against what felt like magnified gravity. Julian almost missed the question. Had to fight back toward waking to understand what it had been. But once he knew, there was no longer any danger of the azurette slipping into easy rest.
Was it demons?
He hadn't considered it, which was stupid, wasn't it? Even if he was a lesser mage, he was still part of a race that was prone to spiritual suggestion. And it had happened to Ben once, hadn't it? They weren't close, but in the family compound anyone's absence was something easily noted. It was the summer after the metal mage turned sixteen, and when the new school term started Julian didn't need to watch his back quite as much. Didn't need to look out for Ben's left arm, all titanium, shouldering him out of the way as the bigger St Jude wandered through the lower grades on his way to basketball. The metalmancer was just missing suddenly, and it was Charles who had to explain. Father sent him off somewhere. A school out of state, so it won't break the papers. Lyn says Ben's out there wrestling his demons, so.. I guess he must've been under more stress than we realized. Engagement and all. Julian, only eight at the time, hadn't put much thought into what it all meant. For him, the result was only that his big brother was on a long vacation-- one that lasted two years, and gave the inkwell a long reprieve from his bullying. And then, of course, when Ben finally returned, there was the wedding, so he must have been better by then. More subdued than he'd ever been, but maybe that was what happened when spirits got inside you and hollowed you out. Julian wasn't sure.
It was a nebulous threat. Something no one really knew that much about. Guidance counselors at school were always telling their mage and caim students to come to them if they had any strange dreams, any undue stress, experienced any auditory hallucinations, but how was anyone to tell the difference between what was normal and what wasn't? And here, in this place, there wasn't even that option. If it was a demon, what then? Wasn't it better to ignore an influence like that? Prevent it from gaining power by denying it attention and focus?
"I.. don't know, honestly." An answer to the questions circling his throbbing skull just as much as an answer to Odin's question. Spirits tried to influence, didn't they? They must, or otherwise they wouldn't be considered so dangerous. The end goal for a demon was probably possession, but from the hazy edges of the nightmare it hadn't felt that way. They weren't trying to add anything to Julian. "They were taking me apart. My mother and.. and Hotts."
It was hard to even say. ********, he was pathetic. Turning the shapeshifter into some kind of Voldemort.
But maybe Odin was right. Maybe that was what the moths were, when they swam across his vision in droves of delicate half-singed wings. Maybe that was what'd made his mother's smile so sharp and unfamiliar, an amalgam of Hotts' mocking sneer and Nhu Linh's soft curve of the lips. It would be easy, wouldn't it, to blame everything he'd done lately on some outside force. A demon, coming to him through his nightmares and pushing all his beliefs and ideals under, to make his actions acceptable. But that wasn't right. Julian chose everything he'd done. Pulling Leon away from the alchemists, putting the fairy and werewolf both in added danger in an attempt to somehow make them safer through alliance. Whatever his misgivings, he'd worked around them. Whatever the bleatings of his own delicate heart, he'd chosen not to listen, even when he knew what would happen. Knew Leon would come to the conclusion that his Dust had to be used to be seen as a viable threat. Knew it would hurt his almost-brother to push the Ink under his skin, but he'd done it anyway. Was that what it was, then? Just his subconscious quailing at all the parts of himself Julian was tearing loose and letting go? Teeth and tongue and heart. You have three, Nhu Linh said. Three what?
"I thought it was just.. from my head."
There it was. The first acknowledgement of that crack he'd heard when his skull hit the bars of Hotts' cell. Julian hadn't even mentioned it after it happened, but then, he'd been even more of a mess than he was now. Trying so hard to hold the Ink inside his body, so that he wouldn't stain the sheets of Odin's bunk, wouldn't leave smears of viscous black on the werewolf's pillow. The blond had been kind enough to hold him, to save him, so he could at least do that much. Now, the wounds were closed, the sharp marks just dull aches and frightening reminders, except for his head, which sometimes felt like it meant to burst. But these were things he hadn't bothered Odin with. Not just because neither of them could really do anything about it, but.
"It's not as bad as it was. Less dizzy now."
OOC: Jesus, Julian. You sap.
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Posted: Mon Oct 03, 2016 9:17 pm
████████ ███████ █████iODIN CYPRESS
________________________________i_______AND MY ARMS ARE TOUGH BUT THEY CAN BE BENT
”I... don’t know, honestly.” Julian responded hesitantly when Odin asked if it had been a demon. It certainly ******** sounded like demons. The werewolf shut his eyes tight a moment as he tried to remember if fairies were one of the races that even risked having that happen to them. Maybe Odin had been half-asleep when that all happened. The guard. The voices. The body smashing against the different surfaces. Maybe everyone was just ******** dreaming of some ******** demons and Odin was caught in the middle just watching the aftereffects of it all. That could happen, couldn’t it?
For ******** pull yourself together. Odin quickly reminded himself. Allowing his brain to mimic the behaviors of some paranoid lunatic wasn’t going to accomplish anything. ”They were taking me apart. My mother and… And Hotts.” Odin’s sharp gaze immediately transported to the side, through the bars and across the hall and the distant outline of the bed frame Hotts and his cellmate shared. Seriously? Odin wanted to ask. The werewolf didn’t know what sort of comfort he could offer. He’d already dealt with this. It shouldn’t be a problem. He’d already, quite literally, knocked Hotts out of the picture. Julian was there. Odin told Hotts off. There was no reason for this. There was no reason for Julian’s eyes to swell up and beg him not to hand him over to Hotts. There was no reason for the nightmares. Why were they happening? Because he doesn’t trust me? Odin wondered. But why would he? He questioned. If we hadn’t been locked in this cell together he would’ve never glanced at me twice. Never in the real world. We’d have nothing to do with each other. Odin needed to remind himself that there still was an outside waiting for him. A place he could go to once this was all said and done with where he’d go back to the life he was used to.
”I thought it was just… From my head.” The mage stated, causing Odin’s breath to cut short. The werewolf froze in place as he waited. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. Maybe some realization to knock the wind back into him. ”It’s not as bad as it was. Less dizzy now.” Odin’s hesitant fingers slowly curled inwards as he held down on the boy’s shirt, gently moving two of his fingers back and forth as he felt the fabric beneath his fingertips. That steady motion must’ve continued for a while before he finally inhaled again, his even breath continuing again. If the mage had some re-set button, Odin would’ve pressed it. If only Julian had been knocked so hard that he couldn’t remember what happened to him. Well, perhaps not knocked hard, but knocked in the right place. Odin could hide a lot from Julian. He could hide the retaliation Hotts tried to take on him. He could hide what he’d heard from Leon’s cell before the mage woke. He could hide his train of thought and the worries that were tearing him apart. He could hide his paranoia and fear pretty well. Odin couldn’t hide Julian’s own injuries from him though. The ink mage had to deal with that himself.
Odin didn’t know what to feel when he wasn’t feeling confident he could keep the ink mage safe when the alchemists would get everything they wanted from killing the boy. It was difficult to worry about Julian’s head when his entire life was in danger. ”You had a fall out with your mom or something?” Odin’s inner detective came out ready to figure out why in the ******** Julian’s mom was working with Hotts in destroying her own child. Odin sure as s**t didn’t get along with his parents but he never dreamed of them hurting him. Hell, the werewolf usually had dreams that he was beating the s**t out of people. If he had the ability to climb into other people’s dreams… He would’ve been Julian’s dream-Hotts. It was so therapeutic beating someone’s fake face into a bloody pulp. Odin always woke up feeling particularly rested and rejuvenated after having dreams like that. It was a way for him to release stress and handle his gunked up emotions that typically formed dreams of those sorts.
He’d never been on the receiving end, though, at least, not that he could remember.
Ian had once told Odin that everyone had dreams every night. The werewolf never looked into if that was true or not, but according to his brother dreams happened every sleep cycle and it was just a question of if you remembered them or not. When Odin took his gaze away from Hotts’ cell he realized he was asking Julian personal questions again. The werewolf didn’t want to try and get to know Julian and better than he needed to. He didn’t want to be attached. He’d already found himself doing favors and protecting the mage but there was no reason why. Ever since Odin had raped the mage everything went toppling south. He’d been sucked up by a black hole and there was no way he’d ever come out the other side as the same person he used to be.
His little brother came clawing his way back into Odin’s mind after he’d discarded the idiot’s dream theories. Ian used to love dreams. He’d always search them on the internet and keep a dream journal and believed that they all had some deep meaning you were to use in order to help you be a more balanced person. All Odin’s dreams had s**t to do with him being unbalanced. The only dream Odin could remember the meaning for was one where he had been a vampire. Fighting the urge to drain someone of their blood. He looked up the meaning himself and it was quite literal: To dream of being a vampire and wanting blood can mean you feel as though you are draining, or leeching someone of their time and energy. That was the gist of it anyways. It was the first time Odin realized just how awful he was for Ian and his parents. How terrible he made the household. The day Odin decided to leave seemed like a lifetime ago. Back before he dropped out of college for the first time, back before he’d been consumed up to the neck in drugs. Back before he fell past the point of no return he was taking dream meanings seriously because of Ian always pushing it on him.
”Hotts ain’t allowed to touch you.” Odin followed up his statement. ”Should say it to his face so you can get over it.” Odin said, suggesting Julian face the man he’s terrified of as though it were nothing. ”If it bothers you that much.” Odin never had to run from his fears like other people. He was always perfectly content bashing his skull face-first into whatever obstacle or person got in his way. If Hotts scared Julian this badly, he was sure a simple confrontation would sort it.
There was no noise, but it was as though Odin changed gears with the flick of a switch. There should’ve been a click as he was turned off. He sat up without warning, taking his fingers away from the fabric he had been fiddling with as he swung his legs over the bunk and hopped down. He didn’t say goodnight. He didn’t explain if he was tired or sick of the mage. Odin simply peeled himself from the top bunk like a filthy band-aid and sprawled out on the bottom bunk where he felt his heavy eyes fluttering as he struggled to keep them open. He went to sleep rather quickly.
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Posted: Sun Oct 09, 2016 1:51 pm
you try to swim without gettin blood in the water but you're all HEART and GUTS like a ballpark frank
It was better, being close like this. Better, against the warmth of Odin's chest. Like the cell they shared, Julian wasn't sure when he'd started thinking of the werewolf as a safe place. And, also like the cell, the azurette knew that he couldn't count on the other man to always impart a feeling of comfort. There were unspoken rules, there were lines to toe, there were the new complications of the alliance Julian had tried to put in place, and.. there were moments like these. Part of it was the simple imperative of all social creatures-- he knew that. He had, after all, focused on sociology in school. Contact like this wasn't an option, but a biological need, shared by most living creatures. Put people together for long enough, and they would either kill one another or learn to coexist. And the curious thing was that they often tried to do the latter, even against the odds. Julian had always believed that that said a lot about the innate goodnesd of people in general, but then, he'd never actually put it into practice. Never had to, exactly. He'd always chased the feeling of connection with others, but hadn't been forced to exactly rely on anyone. So, maybe it wasn't trust. And it wasn't, exactly, affection. But laying like this against Odin had become familiar-- a known variable, something almost-but-not-quite predictable to frame the rest of his experiences. Something that made him feel safe, if a little confused. Because the blond never gave a reason for what had become a near nightly occurrence, and Julian never asked, too afraid that doing so would mean losing the warmth of Odin there beside him, the solidity of the older man's stronger frame. Even the rhythm of the fingers against his uniform, testing the fabric, was better than the alternative: laying alone in the dark to return to his nightmares or stay sleepless.
And the entire time, he was oblivious to everything. Odin's worries, Odin's fears. Not because he didn't care, but because the azurette knew by now that asking questions rarely resulted in answers. The werewolf could ask things of Julian, expect responses, but turn about usually only meant that the blond would retreat into silence.
You had a fall out with your mom or something?
The nightmare. Of course, when the inkwell put Nhu Linh in the same terrible context as the shifter who'd tried to rearrange his braincase, Odin was bound to think he was scared of the woman. Even Julian wasn't sure why she'd featured so sharply in his dream. She was an acquiref taste, and slightly intimidating just by virtue of what she was-- a self-imposed hermit, without the ability to turn off her telepathy, communicating without barriers into the minds of those who entered her small, private world. But Julian loved her, didn't he? She was his mother. They'd never been exactly close, but he'd taken pains to visit her even once he'd left home, trying to make certain that she wouldn't be lonely or bored. Maybe that was why. Maybe it was just that he--
" She's.. alone. " He murmured, shaking his head against Odin's sternum, a nonverbal negative to show that he hadn't fought with his mother. "I can't go back. So she'll.. probably be lonely from now on. Maybe I just feel guilty."
It didn't sound convincing, even to his own ears. Not a lie, just a conjecture. An effort at reaching for a reason even when one was well outside his grasp. Hotts made sense to him as a nightmare creature. Without question, his mind's association of the man as a monster matched exactly with Julian's waking opinion. But Nhu Linh..
"We were never very close.. When I was growing up, she wasn't--"
With his face against the front of the taller man's body, he didn't know Odin had been looking across the hall. Didn't understand that the werewolf was staying silent out of contemplation rather than allowing for Julian to explain himself. So the assertion that Hotts wasn't allowed to touch the azurette caught him off guard. Made the words, however soft, die in his throat. Made the slim slip of his body tense there, as if waiting. Made his heart stumble in his chest because even if Odin didn't understand-- and his suggestion that the ink mage rub Hotts' face in the shifter's loss of promised goods made it abundantly clear that he didn't-- at least he'd set the other fear to rest. The real one. The buzzing anxiety at the back of his mind that Odin was going to give him back.
Hotts ain't allowed to touch you.
Structure and implication, the precision of language. Odin said it so simply, as though it were an immutable fact, but that had its own meaning, too. Allowed. That single collection of letters. Two syllables. Timshel. It means, "thou mayest." But Steinbeck's East of Eden aside, Julian turned the concept inside his head. "Not allowed" meant "prevented from", but it necessitated enforcement, and that meant Odin, didn't it? Because he'd already kept the inkwell from the worst of the shapeshifter's predations, not once, but twice. And even though the azurette had only really succeeded in drawing more unfriendly eyes toward the werewolf, here he was, reassuring Julian in his own way. Making it clear that he wasn't going to be handed back to Hotts, and then closing the door on the entire discussion. It was startling enough that Julian moved, coming to sit up as the blond disappeared down to his own bunk, taking the warmth and comfort with him. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the vacated space, easing back against the pillow slowly to stare up at the concrete of the ceilng. It shouldn't have surprised him. There was a timer on each and every interaction with the werewolf-- one that ticked down in silence, giving no indication when the tentative connection would be severed. When Julian remained silent, Inking words onto his own skin, the moments felt like they lasted longer, but he wasn't sure if that was reality or just his own stretched perspective. He was alone again, and the mattress felt large and empty, but he nestled in the warmth where Odin had been moments before, and that was something. Laid there with his own arms still curled against his chest, turning the words back and forth inside his head. Using them to drive out the last lingering images of the nightmare, the last vestiges of panic and pain.
Tell him to his face, Odin said. As if it would change things. As if it wouldn't sound, to Hotts, like a challenge. As if Julian didn't amount, on his own, to a fly easily swatted. But the werewolf meant well, and intent weighed heavily for Julian. Had often, in the past, outbalanced the actual result when he measured it against things that others had done to him. Now was no different. Whatever his trouble in understanding the vulnerability of the azurette's position, Odin had still tried to make things better. He'd shown kindness when the ink mage was in tears, not because he had to, but-- And honestly, Julian wasn't sure why. The blond could have stopped his screaming and then left him to struggle back toward sleep. Could have let him stand alone against the bars as the count was taken, and not cared whether he cried. Could have really returned Leon to the alchemists. Could have left Julian to Hotts, to be mutilated and raped, or maybe killed.
But he didn't. Even when it would've made his own life easier, Odin chose to be kind. Surly and threatening and silent as he was on most occasions, the werewolf waited for the moments when mercy was needed, and then his harsh edges smoothed and softened just the tiniest bit. Why? There were no clear answers. No real reason that he should bother to assist the person who'd assaulted him, drawn him into something he hadn't wanted. Julian didn't understand, and he couldn't ask. He could only be grateful, and feel his chest expand with the way he breathed deep against the pillow, as if he could draw in the dimming warmth that way.
There was nothing he could do to return the feeling, to give Odin the same sense that things were.. not right, no, but okay. An unseen island of fleeting security and fragile comfort. It wasn't in his power to offer those things, because he couldn't do what the werewolf was doing for him. Couldn't stop anyone from laying their hands on Odin at all unless it was by simply standing in the way. And in those seconds after the other man left his bed, it was something he'd have done gladly if asked. The swell of gratitude in him, of quiet fondness, was complete in that moment. And it was good, probably, that Odin was no longer there beside the azurette. Because Julian..
Sweet, simple, stupid Julian could have kissed him just then.
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