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 Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 7:18 pm
The first thing he did when Rep left was pull out his phone. He'd felt it buzz and ignored it, and with shaking hands now fired off a reply. Knowing Peyton she'd been sitting there listening at the door, so he didn't bother calling her. He also didn't bother telling her not to cross the hall. He compromised. Quote: Text to Coyote: give me 20 minutes He paused to collect himself, to slide the goods off the bed and place them gently down on the table that was pulling double duty as desk and nightstand. Two packs of cigarettes--just two--and a tin of something for later. If there was any benevolence in the universe, there was a pack of Zigzags in there too. He hadn't checked. Methodically, carefully, he stripped the blanket off the bed, gathering up the flakes of... whatever it was that Rep had shed inside of it, depositing it into his laundry basket with a grim expression that suggested he'd rather be burning it. Too hot for a ******** blanket anyway, he thought. A broom was deployed next, and then he knelt, scrub brush in one hand and spray bottle in the other, and he realized that he still had not stopped shaking. It was rage, now--bridled, kept on a short rein, but rage--and he bit down on the inside of his cheek as he attacked the floor. He'd still be working on it by the time twenty minutes elapsed--or a little less, if she was in a hurry. Kneeling on the dorm floor worn down by a hundred previous occupants, by a dozen supernatural disasters, a handful of direct monster attacks; a floor refurbished and rebuilt and re-ruined over and over again. His pilfered paper towels were in hand as he wiped up the third pass of cleaner, the first pass that hadn't come up streaked brown and grey and dark red, and his sleeves, forgotten, were rolled neatly up above his elbows. Light streamed in through the open window, incongruously cheery.
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 7:46 pm
Peyton had been listening at the door. She'd also peeked through it once or twice, as well as crept down the hall to hover just outside of room 112 before giving a small, anxiety fueled whine and going back to her own room where she was no less impatient, but far less tempted to yank Taym's door open to bodily place herself between the two men. Needless to say the buzz of her phone came as a mixed blessing. Relief that Rep had left, dread at the aftermath. She'd read it, reread it, and let out an impatient groan before going so far as setting the timer on the damn thing and throwing it on the bed beside her as small hands sank into loose curls and forced them roughly back from her face. It would only take ten minutes before she'd reclaimed the phone and stared down at the shifting digits on the screen. < If they had been fighting you would have heard it.> Warrick sounded bored, but beneath that casual tone was something with an edge. Worry, or nerves. Probably fed by his Partner. I'm not just worried about physical confrontations with those two.The timer went off, and the tiny Sun hopped to her feet and made her way swiftly down the hall. Taym's door was cracked open, an invitation, and she pushed it slowly forward as she reached it, peeking into the room. He was on the floor, paper towels in hand, and the air confided to his four walls smelled strongly of disinfectant and bleach. "Taym?" Bare feet were silent on the hard floor as she let herself inside, closing the door behind her. She moved until she was standing over him, one small hand hovering over his shoulder.
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 7:57 pm
"I'm a ******** adult and I can take care of myself," he said, fixing her with a flat stare. He tried to snap it out, as pissed as he felt, but it wavered and he didn't trust himself to say more. He'd thought twenty minutes would be enough to compose himself. It hadn't been. He looked away, abruptly, and in the split second before he managed to hide his face it was contorted and pained and embarrassed, and his free hand raked his hair back before dropping to his mouth, a nervous and stupid movement, and finally found occupation in clearing up the pile of paper towels by his knee and dumping them into the wastebasket he'd dragged over. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "Everyone has bad timing--" but that cracked too, so he fell silent again.
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 8:08 pm
Hey hand jerked back, fingers curling as she pulled it away and retreated a step. Suddenly unsure, suddenly self conscious and nervous. She'd flinched, jaw moving as teeth pressed together, pale eyes skittering up and away, anywhere but the man kneeling on the floor as he run his hand through his hair, over his mouth. Whatever protective, worried instinct had made her rush over was withering away, shrinking and suffocating within her. "I'm sorry." For caring, for worrying, for not being whatever it was he actually needed in that moment. < Peyton, stop it.> The demon sounded impatient, irritable. I can't."I, um.." She sounded small then. Each time he snapped at her it seemed to etch away at that answering, biting anger until the only thing that ever came in response to his anger was an insecurity that was profound and all encompassing. She took another step back, head turning to glance back towards the closed door. "I just.. I'll go, if you want."
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 8:15 pm
He wished she were almost anyone else. He wanted desperately for her to go, but to do that would be to admit that he needed an empty room to curl up in, and everything that implied. He'd been transparently teetering on the brink of a breakdown and knew that she knew it. He closed his eyes and swallowed, hard, and he pointed at the coat hanging off the back of his chair. "Bring me my cigarettes," he said. And the words weren't entirely level, but they were steadier than they had been. He was struggling to bring his voice under control. "And matches."
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 8:22 pm
She had actually turned to leave, but his voice stopped her, the words making her shoulders slump. One small hand was resting on the doorknob, but it fell away as she went for the coat hanging on the chair. She didn't look at him as she fished the cigarettes and matches out of the pocket. Instead she held them out wordlessly, avoiding his gaze. Don't look, and maybe the growling will ease. Don't make any sudden movements, and maybe the dog wouldn't bite. The ground underfoot was cool and smooth and felt incredibly clean under bare soles. This was the thought she clung to as she stood there and waited. It was casual, insignificant, safe.
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 8:26 pm
He spent a long few seconds struggling with the matches, his hands shaking violently, and finally murmured a curse under his breath that was more tired than angry, and with resignation too far gone to be tinged with anything but the most superficial shame, he held them back out to her. "Light this for me," he directed, without meeting her eye. He pointed at the floor and added: "And sit down, your hovering makes me ********' nervous."
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 8:34 pm
Matches were thrust back at her, and she stared at them blankly before his words sank in fully. She blinked at him, surprised, then took the matchbook from his trembling hands. They were shaking violently. Worst then she'd ever seen them. It made her wonder what happened behind his closed door while Rep was here. It made her wonder what had happened before, when they'd shared 'words'. Wisely she didn't ask him, not yet. Maybe if she waited he'd tell her on his own. Maybe.. She struck the match and the tip flared large and wild before settling into a small, even flame. Kneeling, she held it out to him, a hand cupped around it, and once his cigarette was lit she flicked it back and forth to extinguish it. Thin chest raising and falling as she breathed in the burnt sulfur, acidic and strong. Both matchbook and spent wick were culled into her palm before she folded her hands in her lap. She sat absolutely still before him, pale eyes focused on a point on the floor about six inches to the left of his hip.
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Posted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 8:45 pm
He watched her while he took a drag, while he turned his head to exhale away from her. His thoughts were running back over the conversation with Rep, running back over every accusation he'd silently taken, and in that vein he informed her flatly, tiredly: "I'm not gonna ********' bite you, Peyton." There was no animosity in it. Before he'd come to the Island he'd thought that it would be a relief to escape the labels he'd managed to acquire on the outside. He'd imagined a blank slate, a shed identity, an ability to shake off the preconceived ideas people had about people like him--prejudices that maybe weren't even as horrible and ingrained as he'd learned to think they were. Instead, the dread of being found out had undercut every day of his life on Deus with the tightly-coiled tension of a trap waiting to be sprung. And Rep had made assumptions, but they were only assumptions, but he'd gone and stupidly confirmed them to make a point, and now the trap was armed and oiled and he had no idea where the tripwire was. Being found out was a hum of potential disaster that was growing into a roar. He turned his head again, glancing up at the desk, at his door, at anything but her. "If I ever try to claim I'm anything but a ********' fool I want you to remind me of this conversation," he said, the unsteadiness creeping back into his voice.
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Posted: Sun Oct 06, 2013 1:30 pm
She didn't exactly flinch at his words, but there was more of a reaction then simply raising her gaze to his face. A tension singing along her shoulders, tightening her fingers, before leaking away to leave her looking tired and patient. She was still worried, but her concerns didn't seem to be well accepted at the moment. There was an awkwardness hanging in the air that was impossible to ignore, and the dainty Sun hunter was left at a completely lose for what to do about it. Reaching out wouldn't have helped anything, he'd just jerk away from her, which would make things worse. Dark eyes moved restlessly around the room, flicking over anything and everything. Anywhere but on her, and pale brows dipped at his words, the sound of his voice, when he spoke again. "Taym." Her voice was soft and hesitant. "What happened?"
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Posted: Sun Oct 06, 2013 1:50 pm
His hands were agitated as he smoked, moving in hard, rough jerks. "I got this ********' sword of Damocles hanging over my head," he whispered, maybe to himself. He'd spent a long time telling himself a lie: that the biggest reason that people dismissed him and were disappointed in him was because they had a prejudice against people like him. It was easier to say that they were giving him an unfair label than it was to admit how fair the label was, and as a consequence his ideas of how he would be perceived if the label were re-attached were inflated and unduly heavy. He was suffering under the weight of a lie he'd come to believe, nervous over what was almost certainly a fiction. He reached out and gently, meaninglessly, touched her knee. A tiny reassurance that she was actually sitting there, and actually listening. As if he'd expected her to dissipate, or melt like a snowflake. And then he withdrew his shaking hand. "Peyton," he said carefully. "I need to..." no. Back up, restart. "Rep has decided he... knows s**t about me." His voice was still wavering. "No. ********. He does. And it's like waiting for a bomb to go off. Peyton," he said again, strained, carefully not looking at her, picking at the frayed-out knee of his jeans. "Would you hate me for things I did a long time ago?" Never mind that he gave her plenty to hate him for now.
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Posted: Sun Oct 06, 2013 2:45 pm
Peyton wasn't entirely familiar with the expression, but for once she didn't ask him to clarify. It wasn't exactly hard to piece it together herself, not with all the clues laid out before her. One thin, shaking hand touched her knee lightly, and she dropped her eyes to it before it was removed, and she had to fight not to reach out and catch those retreating fingers, to give them a reassuring squeeze. Tiny hands stayed folded on her lap, but she moved so she was sitting a little closer, a little less on guard, If he needed a touchstone, she could be that. Pale eyes blinked back up at him as he said her name, but her brows drew in as he paused, restarted, then corrected himself. It made her chest hurt, throat constricting painfully. The waver in his voice was damn near heartbreaking, but it was nothing to that last vulnerable question. Full lips parted, ready to tell him anything he wanted to hear if it would just take away whatever pain and worry was gripping him, but she couldn't give him empty reassurances. She owed him more then that. So she looked away, searching her self for an honest answer. Did it matter what he'd done in the past? Did former sins mean anything now? Maybe they did, but she carried her own demons, her own past, and who was she to judge anyone on their own? It made her wonder what he was afraid to tell her, and she tried to imagine Taym in a darker light. She licked her lips, then looked back up to meet those dark eyes. Short of could blooded murder, or rape, she didn't think her opinion of him would alter drastically. They were all hunters now, they were all fighting together. The past was in the past. "No, I don't think so." Her head tilted as she watched his face, and she lifted a hand, reaching out to absently straighten the collar of his old button down, smoothing the material lightly over his then chest.
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Posted: Sun Oct 06, 2013 3:25 pm
The initial silence was painful--it felt like confirmation of his overwrought fears--but became reassuring when she answered. She'd had to think about it; she hadn't just dropped the words she thought he wanted to hear. He did her the favor of not jerking away from her hand when she touched him, feeling like he owed it to her and, if the truth will out, feeling somewhat reassured by the fact that she wanted to touch him anyway. "I did a lot of stupid s**t," he said, after a long pause. It was very quiet and very thin, as though it were stretched over a thought too big for the words. "And I hurt a lot of people. But I'm not... I'm better." He laughed, suddenly, a laugh without any humor in it. But laughing was dangerous. Laughing was too much like crying, so he stopped, cut it off, before it went places he didn't want it to. "Have you ever seen Trainspotting?" he asked. Because he couldn't bring himself to put into actual words what it was that he wanted to say. He was deeply, irrevocably ashamed--of his own stupidity, of his own fallibility, of his own lack of willpower. Of his burgeoning realization that it had taken agreeing to die on a desert island and abandoning everyone he loved just to stop doing something stupid, and then doing it again. He'd always thought he was somehow exceptional. The small moments of realizing that he wasn't--that he was anything but--hurt. How the hell was he supposed to make himself useful here if he couldn't break one stupid destructive habit outside? He'd let himself live a life marked by eating other people's thrown-out leftovers and being chased out of bus stops at two AM by irritated cops who treated him like a stray dog. He'd accepted that. What kind of person let that happen to themselves? People like Rep's mother. People like him.
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Posted: Sun Oct 06, 2013 6:05 pm
When he didn't pull away from her hand it made her smile, soft and open, and honest. Small fingers lingered on the threadbare fabric, let it slip through them as she retreated out of her personal space and sat with her back up against the side of the bed. She still had the matchbook and spent match, and she set the former on the ground next to him before rolling the letter between thumb and forefinger. He'd done stupid things, hurtful things. He was better now. She let that sink in, rolled it around in her mind, and ignored Warrick's initial suspicious rumblings. The demon growled, low and long, but Peyton sat quietly, let him talk, and when he asked if she'd ever seen Trainspotting she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I haven't." Surely there was a point in that question, but she hadn't even heard of the movie, let alone knew anything about it. It did make her look up though, and there was no judgement in those pale eyes, no demand in delicate features. She watched him patiently, waiting for him to say more, or not to say more. Curiosity was there, of course, but it didn't overwhelm her sense of loyalty. They were friends. She was, just maybe, his only friend. That meant something.
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Posted: Sun Oct 06, 2013 6:58 pm
Another slow, agitated drag, before he reached up behind himself to drop the cigarette in the ashtray. Taym abandoning a lit cigarette to burn away--even mostly-smoked as it was--was probably the most alarming thing he'd done so far. He tried to say something. He'd hoped the hint would drop, but it had soared over her head. But every word that came to mind was too sharp-edged, and felt like it would cut his mouth if he spoke it. After a long, visible struggle, he acted instead. He was still not meeting her eyes, his own downcast and he hoped, fervently, hidden enough that the suspicious shine of them in the window-light would go unnoticed. He reached out and took her hand, gently prying the match out of it and putting it on the floor, and turning his right arm palm-upwards, he put her fingers on the crook of his elbow, where the marks that marched right down toward his wrist were faded but not gone. "How's your shoulder?" he asked roughly, as though he hadn't done that at all.
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