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| [Luna's day always ends longer than his best friend does, half of the time, he's usually greeted by Mallory after his guard shift finally ended. Too exhausted for anything, now they've gone to a habit of just falling into each other's arms before sleep takes over. It's comforting in a way, he finds that there's a significant drop to the night terrors he usually experiences. Today... well... today had been different than most. He slides the door open with more strength than necessary, pulling it back to close with just much power. He's just standing there near the entrance of the room, unsure how to speak about what happened.] |
[After the chaos that was the world they left behind, it's really nice to have a sort of routine going, as loose as it is. Luna may come back to the dorm late (ha, always), but Mal's figured out the approximate time to be ready and waiting for him. He's always been eager to see his return just to know that he's safe, but now that their relationship has become something (platonically!!) physical, he's been looking forward to the evenings more and more.
He perks up when he hears the door, snapping shut the book in his hands (yet another field guide to supernatural entities). He's here! It's time for the best part of the day, that makes everything else worth it!
...So why is he just standing there?
God damn it, something's happened.]
Hey... What's up, Luna?
He perks up when he hears the door, snapping shut the book in his hands (yet another field guide to supernatural entities). He's here! It's time for the best part of the day, that makes everything else worth it!
...So why is he just standing there?
God damn it, something's happened.]
Hey... What's up, Luna?
[ Back in room 001, whatever time it is that Mallory decides to come in, he'll be greeted with the same thing: one teenager smelling a bit too much like alcohol sprawled on the floor in a sleepy stupor, snoring and drooling on the wood surface rather than the futon of his a few steps away. Looks like he missed it by a hair.
Maybe Luna will have something to say about it, he was here earlier last night to witness more than one thing that's imprinted as one of those "fuzzy" memories. If it still happens to be night somehow, he might be a tad bit tipsy still if you manage to wake him up. Not enough sleep time was had to get it all out of his system. That liver is young, but not bionic. However, morning will be a killer. Please be easy on the head of it's morning.
Observation: his hoodie is very, very bloody. soaked mostly on the sleeves, a bit on the collar . . . But would you look at that: no wounds. ]
Maybe Luna will have something to say about it, he was here earlier last night to witness more than one thing that's imprinted as one of those "fuzzy" memories. If it still happens to be night somehow, he might be a tad bit tipsy still if you manage to wake him up. Not enough sleep time was had to get it all out of his system. That liver is young, but not bionic. However, morning will be a killer. Please be easy on the head of it's morning.
Observation: his hoodie is very, very bloody. soaked mostly on the sleeves, a bit on the collar . . . But would you look at that: no wounds. ]
[Whatever time Mal returns to the dorm is somewhere in that indistinct area in-between officially being either night or morning. The darkness just before true twilight that is usually associated with a silent and lonesome world, but out in the city streets the spirits are just as rowdy as ever, feasting and drinking and gambling. Hosting shady fight clubs.
Mallory's a little bloodied up himself, but it's nothing he'd consider too alarming. Only some of it's his anyway. The droplets on his shirt are little trophies of a match won, and the jingling in his pockets is the reward. He's sore and he's exhausted, but it's a good feeling, and he can't wait to dispose of the evidence before Luna gets back and pass right out in bed.
He's not two steps into the room before a stronger stench of blood hits him, and that good feeling vanishes immediately. There's a body.
Luna!?
No, that's not him. It's that stupid kid! Or... was? Did Luna have to kill him? Mal squats by Ethan's 'corpse', letting his eyes adjust more to the darkness of the room. He's snoring...?? Ah, right. Just like when he witnessed Eiji's shattered skull reform before his eyes, whatever damage killed Ethan must have healed some time ago.
At least that means it'll be a lot easier to solve the murder mystery. Time to rise and shine and answer for all of this. Mal tenderly SLAPS HIM ACROSS THE FACE.]
Mallory's a little bloodied up himself, but it's nothing he'd consider too alarming. Only some of it's his anyway. The droplets on his shirt are little trophies of a match won, and the jingling in his pockets is the reward. He's sore and he's exhausted, but it's a good feeling, and he can't wait to dispose of the evidence before Luna gets back and pass right out in bed.
He's not two steps into the room before a stronger stench of blood hits him, and that good feeling vanishes immediately. There's a body.
Luna!?
No, that's not him. It's that stupid kid! Or... was? Did Luna have to kill him? Mal squats by Ethan's 'corpse', letting his eyes adjust more to the darkness of the room. He's snoring...?? Ah, right. Just like when he witnessed Eiji's shattered skull reform before his eyes, whatever damage killed Ethan must have healed some time ago.
At least that means it'll be a lot easier to solve the murder mystery. Time to rise and shine and answer for all of this. Mal tenderly SLAPS HIM ACROSS THE FACE.]
[ How can slaps be anywhere near tender.
He was home in his mind's eyes, stacking magazines, then the next thing he knew, the winds behind him picked up speed. His body tilted back, his stomach flipped, and he recognizes the fall, a voice echoing up from above the surface he jumped from. You have to stop them! The demi-human blinks, flails, holds his breath when he sees the ground charging at him at that alarming rate. Its gonna be over, It's gonna be over, he tells himself, right before his eyes shut tight and the inevitable crack breaks him. He'll get up again, he needs to. But before he can collect himself, the situation changes faster than he could process it.
An IBM lunges for him— was it Eiji's? Sato's? Those things hate him, even when he's on their side. The ghost's mouth elongates like a serpent's, jagged teeth inviting him back to death while claws drive back to gain momentum to tear him apart. You're not killing me today— I'm not messing this up!
It's this moment, where Ethan reacts. Specifically, to Mallory's slaps that feel like actual punching. Actual punching. Whatever he was quietly dreaming of just got turned completely upside down, very much how life had gone for him, impact jolting Ethan into a halfway point between sleep and consciousness, one that he can't tell is his mind's figment, not right away.
Usually, slaps and punches are a bad thing, a signal of battle. He knew when he had to run, but he knew when he had to fight, too. Gasping in shock and falling into a desperate pant, Ethan's hand reaches for the back of Mal's neck, legs kicking up in panic, all while the other hand shoots out in an attempt to land one tightened fist square against the side of the neck, where the knuckles fit like keys.
Be quick to dodge that, sir. Or not. ]
He was home in his mind's eyes, stacking magazines, then the next thing he knew, the winds behind him picked up speed. His body tilted back, his stomach flipped, and he recognizes the fall, a voice echoing up from above the surface he jumped from. You have to stop them! The demi-human blinks, flails, holds his breath when he sees the ground charging at him at that alarming rate. Its gonna be over, It's gonna be over, he tells himself, right before his eyes shut tight and the inevitable crack breaks him. He'll get up again, he needs to. But before he can collect himself, the situation changes faster than he could process it.
An IBM lunges for him— was it Eiji's? Sato's? Those things hate him, even when he's on their side. The ghost's mouth elongates like a serpent's, jagged teeth inviting him back to death while claws drive back to gain momentum to tear him apart. You're not killing me today— I'm not messing this up!
It's this moment, where Ethan reacts. Specifically, to Mallory's slaps that feel like actual punching. Actual punching. Whatever he was quietly dreaming of just got turned completely upside down, very much how life had gone for him, impact jolting Ethan into a halfway point between sleep and consciousness, one that he can't tell is his mind's figment, not right away.
Usually, slaps and punches are a bad thing, a signal of battle. He knew when he had to run, but he knew when he had to fight, too. Gasping in shock and falling into a desperate pant, Ethan's hand reaches for the back of Mal's neck, legs kicking up in panic, all while the other hand shoots out in an attempt to land one tightened fist square against the side of the neck, where the knuckles fit like keys.
Be quick to dodge that, sir. Or not. ]
[oops did I say tender I meant tenderizing, anyway--
The blow catches him completely by surprise. Ethan doesn't directly hit his windpipe, but the force is enough to still knock a strangled gasp out of him, and he immediately retaliates by grabbing the boy's wrists and throwing his weight on top of him to pin him to the ground.
Mal's no stranger to how people look when they snap out of a nightmare, or the way they lash out at anything that touches them at the wrong time. But he's also had too much experience with people pretending to be dead or asleep just to spring on unsuspecting would-be rescuers (or scavengers). Being no fan of Ethan's, he's all too ready to assume the worst of him. Just give him any excuse to pound that face of his right into the ground.
He leans in close to Ethan, baring his teeth like an angry dog, and lets out a hot breath right in his face.]
Nice try, you shit.
The blow catches him completely by surprise. Ethan doesn't directly hit his windpipe, but the force is enough to still knock a strangled gasp out of him, and he immediately retaliates by grabbing the boy's wrists and throwing his weight on top of him to pin him to the ground.
Mal's no stranger to how people look when they snap out of a nightmare, or the way they lash out at anything that touches them at the wrong time. But he's also had too much experience with people pretending to be dead or asleep just to spring on unsuspecting would-be rescuers (or scavengers). Being no fan of Ethan's, he's all too ready to assume the worst of him. Just give him any excuse to pound that face of his right into the ground.
He leans in close to Ethan, baring his teeth like an angry dog, and lets out a hot breath right in his face.]
Nice try, you shit.
[ The sudden tug and weight over him has that mind spinning— both in thought and literally. Ethan, as much of a hard working body he has ( a h a ), is fairly easily subdued, but not without him whisking shaking, quickened breaths between dry lips. His chest fluctuates from the scare, his ribs rattling with each pound of his heart (that drums straight in his ears, augh—) ]
Ghk—!
[ The darkness makes it difficult to make out something other than a very tall, bulky black figure that still looked too identical to the ghost of his dreams. During those quick moments, he still squirms, still attempts to tear his arm away from what chains them and bucks under him to get the thing back. From what little his eyes could show in the dim lit room was antagonizing fear. For one, being immortal never meant he'd get used to kicking the bucket every time. Not just that— there was more than that involved in his senses bring him to fight.
The thing speaks. The thing breathes— hot against his face and no homo. When Ethan's eyes squint hard through their shocked widening, he attempts to lift his head, pausing in movements with soft gasps, then realizing the danger was another a little too late. He drops his head back against the floor with a heavy thwack, and regrets every second of that sleep. ]
Fuck—
[ What do you get when you drink, don't brush you teeth and don't shower after bleeding a great degree? What's hushed onto Mallory's face as he groans and catches up with his rattled breathing. ]
I didn't mean it, I—! Owowowow—
[ ow his head, ow his wrist, ow his body pleas get off— ]
Ghk—!
[ The darkness makes it difficult to make out something other than a very tall, bulky black figure that still looked too identical to the ghost of his dreams. During those quick moments, he still squirms, still attempts to tear his arm away from what chains them and bucks under him to get the thing back. From what little his eyes could show in the dim lit room was antagonizing fear. For one, being immortal never meant he'd get used to kicking the bucket every time. Not just that— there was more than that involved in his senses bring him to fight.
The thing speaks. The thing breathes— hot against his face and no homo. When Ethan's eyes squint hard through their shocked widening, he attempts to lift his head, pausing in movements with soft gasps, then realizing the danger was another a little too late. He drops his head back against the floor with a heavy thwack, and regrets every second of that sleep. ]
Fuck—
[ What do you get when you drink, don't brush you teeth and don't shower after bleeding a great degree? What's hushed onto Mallory's face as he groans and catches up with his rattled breathing. ]
I didn't mean it, I—! Owowowow—
[ ow his head, ow his wrist, ow his body pleas get off— ]
[Uuuuugh, there it is, that putrid, bitter stench rising up to overpower even the alarming smell of blood. Mal wrinkles his nose and loosens his grip on Ethan's wrists, sitting up, but still straddling his hips and still no homo. For a drunk, his reflexes are pretty impressive to have taken Mal by surprise like that (at least that's how Mal sees it). He makes a note to be more careful in the future, lest he end up being the one pinned.
His lip curls as he rubs the side of his neck, prodding at the tender flesh with his fingertips. He can already tell that's probably going to leave at least a lighthickie bruise. This may be his fault, but he's going to hold it against Ethan for quite some time.]
You want to tell me what happened to your shirt?
[In case he's forgotten, let Mal be a pal and help him out. He grabs a fistful of the front of the shirt and tugs the crusty fabric up to Ethan's nose, all but smothering him with it.]
His lip curls as he rubs the side of his neck, prodding at the tender flesh with his fingertips. He can already tell that's probably going to leave at least a light
You want to tell me what happened to your shirt?
[In case he's forgotten, let Mal be a pal and help him out. He grabs a fistful of the front of the shirt and tugs the crusty fabric up to Ethan's nose, all but smothering him with it.]
[ A lot less drunk and more riding the waves out of drunkness, but a scare that was ready to maul his face off could do so much to an Ajin boy . . .
This is really not homo.
Ethan would like to go back to sleep and sleep in if he could, but he's getting a fistful of his own clothes shoved in his face and a whole ton of mad handling over him. Shutting his eyes tightly and turning his face, his nostrils flare, the familiar scent of blood invading his awareness. Sudden awareness turns into a gnawing feeling of dread; the memory is a fuzz, but he hadn't been completely tanked with booze enough to forget the whole night. His gaze flinches at the older man's, and he holds his breath.
He got dumber, and maybe had to regenerate a finger (s???). And some of his arm. Fell a few times. Did he die and didn't notice? Christ— When was the knife game a good idea?
(Apparently, when you're hanging with a bunch of other buzzed immortals and drunk you just wants to fit in). ]
Uh— That's— [ God damn it— ] It's nothing, ah— [ Submissively, his hands raise up for Mal. ] It was just a little— It was meat.
[ He tries not to hit his own face with that one, but it really was the only thing he could think of in the midst of covering his tracks. ]
This is really not homo.
Ethan would like to go back to sleep and sleep in if he could, but he's getting a fistful of his own clothes shoved in his face and a whole ton of mad handling over him. Shutting his eyes tightly and turning his face, his nostrils flare, the familiar scent of blood invading his awareness. Sudden awareness turns into a gnawing feeling of dread; the memory is a fuzz, but he hadn't been completely tanked with booze enough to forget the whole night. His gaze flinches at the older man's, and he holds his breath.
He got dumber, and maybe had to regenerate a finger (s???). And some of his arm. Fell a few times. Did he die and didn't notice? Christ— When was the knife game a good idea?
(Apparently, when you're hanging with a bunch of other buzzed immortals and drunk you just wants to fit in). ]
Uh— That's— [ God damn it— ] It's nothing, ah— [ Submissively, his hands raise up for Mal. ] It was just a little— It was meat.
[ He tries not to hit his own face with that one, but it really was the only thing he could think of in the midst of covering his tracks. ]
[Come on, dude, you didn't even try.
Okay. Maybe, just maybe, he's still waking up and a little bit buzzed, so it could be less that he thinks Mal's an idiot and more than Ethan just is one. Doesn't mean Mal's going to go any easier on him, unfortunately. He pulls him up just a little before letting him drop back to the ground.]
Really.
[He stares down at Ethan to get a better look at him. If it were someone else's blood, it would have splattered all over his skin too. And the unused futon looks neat-ish enough that it doesn't look like there were signs of a struggle in the room, and the floor's clean, so it doesn't look likely that Luna had to kill him after all. He glances up to the corners of the room, holding his breath, but of course there's no monitor jutting out from the wall, no red glow of death...
This really is just some drunken fool who got into a stupid accident, isn't he? Ugh. Mal finally pushes off of him and stands to peel his significantly less bloody shirt off.]
Tch. If you want to pretend you didn't go and get yourself killed like an idiot, at least hide the evidence.
Okay. Maybe, just maybe, he's still waking up and a little bit buzzed, so it could be less that he thinks Mal's an idiot and more than Ethan just is one. Doesn't mean Mal's going to go any easier on him, unfortunately. He pulls him up just a little before letting him drop back to the ground.]
Really.
[He stares down at Ethan to get a better look at him. If it were someone else's blood, it would have splattered all over his skin too. And the unused futon looks neat-ish enough that it doesn't look like there were signs of a struggle in the room, and the floor's clean, so it doesn't look likely that Luna had to kill him after all. He glances up to the corners of the room, holding his breath, but of course there's no monitor jutting out from the wall, no red glow of death...
This really is just some drunken fool who got into a stupid accident, isn't he? Ugh. Mal finally pushes off of him and stands to peel his significantly less bloody shirt off.]
Tch. If you want to pretend you didn't go and get yourself killed like an idiot, at least hide the evidence.
[ But what if he did, what if he put in so much effort and— well, that's what he gets for improvising poorly. Truth be told, Ethan looks ready to stumble the hell right out there as soon as Mal drops him, eying the man and his suspicion. He keeps staring, and watching, and drinking up detail that made the boy's head pound even more than it wanted to. It makes him wince, as does it make him look like he's been cornered. His legs feel disgusting, but maybe he could still struggle out of here without walking on noodles, or losing his balance.
The reply isn't exactly what he was waiting for, and he visibly falters for seconds before he follows through, palms sticky with forming sweat. Wait, did he know? How the hell did he know? No, he couldn't know— or could he? Was that why he was being watched with the stink eye since day one? He thought it was because he walked in on him spooning a dude—
Unfortunately, Ethan isn't good at lying. He's the picture of worry, shifting to his feet in a wobble and taking a step back. ]
Er, c'mon, That's— People don't just come back like that, Mr. Mallory . . .
The reply isn't exactly what he was waiting for, and he visibly falters for seconds before he follows through, palms sticky with forming sweat. Wait, did he know? How the hell did he know? No, he couldn't know— or could he? Was that why he was being watched with the stink eye since day one? He thought it was because he walked in on him spooning a dude—
Unfortunately, Ethan isn't good at lying. He's the picture of worry, shifting to his feet in a wobble and taking a step back. ]
Er, c'mon, That's— People don't just come back like that, Mr. Mallory . . .
Maybe not usually.
[If Ethan cares to ogle his SHREDDED BOD, among all the fresh cuts and bruises and older scars, there are four wounds that really stand out. Two? One angry red gash on either side of his left shoulder and a similarly bold but slightly neater mark of something that impaled him just beneath the ribcage and went right out his back. They're not new, necessarily, but they sure as hell haven't been there long enough to heal properly. Between those and the hack job of an amputation beneath his false hand, should this guy really be alive either?
He barely even spares Ethan another glance as he tugs the prosthetic off and sticks it in with his meager belongings. Facecloth... He had one somewhere in this pile, ah, there we go-]
Youkai aren't usually real, either.
[Off he pops into the bathroom to give his face a quick wash. For a second it sounds like he's going to leave it at that, but then he suddenly speaks up over the running water.]
I already told you I don't give a shit what you're doing with your time. But if something out there has it out for you, you'd better come clean right now.
[The last thing he needs is something following Ethan back here.]
[If Ethan cares to ogle his SHREDDED BOD, among all the fresh cuts and bruises and older scars, there are four wounds that really stand out. Two? One angry red gash on either side of his left shoulder and a similarly bold but slightly neater mark of something that impaled him just beneath the ribcage and went right out his back. They're not new, necessarily, but they sure as hell haven't been there long enough to heal properly. Between those and the hack job of an amputation beneath his false hand, should this guy really be alive either?
He barely even spares Ethan another glance as he tugs the prosthetic off and sticks it in with his meager belongings. Facecloth... He had one somewhere in this pile, ah, there we go-]
Youkai aren't usually real, either.
[Off he pops into the bathroom to give his face a quick wash. For a second it sounds like he's going to leave it at that, but then he suddenly speaks up over the running water.]
I already told you I don't give a shit what you're doing with your time. But if something out there has it out for you, you'd better come clean right now.
[The last thing he needs is something following Ethan back here.]
Edited (right=/=left hurr) 2017-03-09 00:35 (UTC)
[ Oh Mister Mallory
Lips press tightly together when that's said, shutting him up like an easy, easy zipper that just needed a light little pull. His eyes still stay though, wandering to what his foggy vision could pick up in the dimly lit room. One thing that Ethan has crossing his mind, with the cuts, the scars— is he trying to say something? Wait. But why would he have scars if he'd just reset sooner or later if he were a . . .
Nah. He disregards the thought as silly of him, especially when the prosthetic comes off.
Down comes the nervous fumbling of fingers in hands, though, because something's really not adding up. He didn't know something that the other man did, and when Mallory turns to go to the bathroom, it leaves Ethan in quiet thought— maybe too much of it at this hour, with his entire being still feeling bleh. You can imagine how much he really did drink before enough to do something stupid enough to reset, then drink a little extra after that with a clean slate.
Both hands come up to rub his face, run through his mess of hair while water runs— that was dangerous clurichaun booze that he'll think twice about revisiting, as much as it really felt like a blessing at the time. Post boozing has not been a blessing. Nevertheless, Ethan forces himself to stand with a wince, eyes shutting tô hold the headache together; with fingers to his temple, he follows after, a question beginning to form right at the tip of his tongue.
Mallory speaks up right when he turn the corner to the doorway, nearly jumping out of his skin and holding the wall to prevent a stumble back. A blink, and for the duration of that silence afterwards, he's almost forgotten to answer. Don't get him wrong, it's not that there's something after him, it's just— well, nothings after him. But why is he dropping?? These hints?? ]
—Oh, uh— N-no, nothing's. Nothing's following me. [ . . . At least he thinks. He looks down at his shirt, the sleeves, stained and still gross. He tugs at the fabric to get a better look, features giving a slight grimace. He needs to wash this off, at sloppily pulls at his clothes to pop it over his head.
With them in his hands, he asks, quietly and with surprised caution, ] So . . . You don't care?
[ ???? ]
Lips press tightly together when that's said, shutting him up like an easy, easy zipper that just needed a light little pull. His eyes still stay though, wandering to what his foggy vision could pick up in the dimly lit room. One thing that Ethan has crossing his mind, with the cuts, the scars— is he trying to say something? Wait. But why would he have scars if he'd just reset sooner or later if he were a . . .
Nah. He disregards the thought as silly of him, especially when the prosthetic comes off.
Down comes the nervous fumbling of fingers in hands, though, because something's really not adding up. He didn't know something that the other man did, and when Mallory turns to go to the bathroom, it leaves Ethan in quiet thought— maybe too much of it at this hour, with his entire being still feeling bleh. You can imagine how much he really did drink before enough to do something stupid enough to reset, then drink a little extra after that with a clean slate.
Both hands come up to rub his face, run through his mess of hair while water runs— that was dangerous clurichaun booze that he'll think twice about revisiting, as much as it really felt like a blessing at the time. Post boozing has not been a blessing. Nevertheless, Ethan forces himself to stand with a wince, eyes shutting tô hold the headache together; with fingers to his temple, he follows after, a question beginning to form right at the tip of his tongue.
Mallory speaks up right when he turn the corner to the doorway, nearly jumping out of his skin and holding the wall to prevent a stumble back. A blink, and for the duration of that silence afterwards, he's almost forgotten to answer. Don't get him wrong, it's not that there's something after him, it's just— well, nothings after him. But why is he dropping?? These hints?? ]
—Oh, uh— N-no, nothing's. Nothing's following me. [ . . . At least he thinks. He looks down at his shirt, the sleeves, stained and still gross. He tugs at the fabric to get a better look, features giving a slight grimace. He needs to wash this off, at sloppily pulls at his clothes to pop it over his head.
With them in his hands, he asks, quietly and with surprised caution, ] So . . . You don't care?
[ ???? ]
[While Ethan's mind is a throbbing, overthinking mess, Mal's reached a point where he can settle down and turn to much simpler thoughts: God I'm tired. Wow, that's a nasty cut. I wish Luna were here instead of what's-his-face. I want to be held. All the pleasantly inconsequential worries that feel light as a feather after his earlier paranoia and suspicions. A nice bit of respite before his fears crept up on him once again as he slept and began the cycle anew.
He reappears in the doorway and drops the damp, pinkened washcloth on Ethan's head as he passes him.]
Hate to disappoint you, but I've got bigger problems than crying over some stranger's death. Especially when it doesn't even last.
[As he speaks those words it does strike him that it's just a little messed up that he means them. Wasn't there a time when even hearing about unnecessary deaths of innocent people ate away at him for days, weeks? How many did he have to witness before he started growing numb to it? So much for letting his mind drift to the simple things.
He frowns a little to himself as he starts unrolling his futon. Forget this whole "being awake" thing. He is so ready to leave the waking world for a while.]
He reappears in the doorway and drops the damp, pinkened washcloth on Ethan's head as he passes him.]
Hate to disappoint you, but I've got bigger problems than crying over some stranger's death. Especially when it doesn't even last.
[As he speaks those words it does strike him that it's just a little messed up that he means them. Wasn't there a time when even hearing about unnecessary deaths of innocent people ate away at him for days, weeks? How many did he have to witness before he started growing numb to it? So much for letting his mind drift to the simple things.
He frowns a little to himself as he starts unrolling his futon. Forget this whole "being awake" thing. He is so ready to leave the waking world for a while.]
[ Wow, okay. Very little time is needed before the teen drags the cloth off his head. Like he wasn't dirty enough already, he has to have another dude's blood crust on him (how'd he get hurt, anyway? Maybe he got into a fight, it wasn't improbable). Making a face to the comment, Ethan is reminded of someone else, a conversation that only seems to further upset his flipping stomach and still too fresh in his mind to stick in a mental drawer. He has reasons not to argue with that anymore, he had his opinions and everyone else had theirs. With a huff, he balls the dirtied fabric with his own shirt, and calls out as he leans his body to the wall. He'll clean these . . . Soon. Himself, too.. ]
How'd you even know?
How'd you even know?
Edited 2017-03-09 15:15 (UTC)
[UUUGH JUST LET HIM SLEEP
But that's actually a pretty valid question so fine. After all, he was pretty horrified when he found it out himself. He leans over to his little personal pile of stuff and pokes around in it while he offers his casual answer.]
Some magic the Witch has over the workers. You die, you come right back. I think most people know about it.
[That doesn't mean he particularly wants to experience the pain of death anytime soon. Or anything that could be worse than death. He fishes a switchblade out of the pile and tucks it under his pillow. Good. Now he can settle down.]
Don't get carried away with that. Who knows when it wears off.
[He grunts and rolls over to put his back to Ethan. Congratulations! Hetrusts considers you enough of a non-threat to do that.]
Now go back to sleep, Erik.
But that's actually a pretty valid question so fine. After all, he was pretty horrified when he found it out himself. He leans over to his little personal pile of stuff and pokes around in it while he offers his casual answer.]
Some magic the Witch has over the workers. You die, you come right back. I think most people know about it.
[That doesn't mean he particularly wants to experience the pain of death anytime soon. Or anything that could be worse than death. He fishes a switchblade out of the pile and tucks it under his pillow. Good. Now he can settle down.]
Don't get carried away with that. Who knows when it wears off.
[He grunts and rolls over to put his back to Ethan. Congratulations! He
Now go back to sleep, Erik.
[ . . . Oh.
Okay.
So they definitely weren't talking about the same thing. Don't mind him trying to cover his gawking (poorly), eyes almost owlish as he tries to pick that up. His analysis could only go so far on its own. The Witch can bring people back— Just how much power does she have? Is she a Goddess? Can she bring other people back, too? ]
She can really do that?
[ Even if he's talking to himself at this point, he holds the bundle to his legs. Catching a glimpse of a blade makes his glance linger, soundlessly slipping down to the ground (the landing isn't too graceful, alas), and keeping the clothes on his lap. More sleep wouldn't be such a bad idea if, you know, he hadn't been TENDERIZED to consciousness. And with that bit of information? It makes his head corkscrew so bad he's too gross to sleep yet. Maybe a shower was in order, he doesn't— feel good.
—And then you get his name wrong, enough that he shrivels like a plant. That sure is a trip down memory lane that he'd rather conk out of his life, forever. ]
. . . It's Ethan.
Okay.
So they definitely weren't talking about the same thing. Don't mind him trying to cover his gawking (poorly), eyes almost owlish as he tries to pick that up. His analysis could only go so far on its own. The Witch can bring people back— Just how much power does she have? Is she a Goddess? Can she bring other people back, too? ]
She can really do that?
[ Even if he's talking to himself at this point, he holds the bundle to his legs. Catching a glimpse of a blade makes his glance linger, soundlessly slipping down to the ground (the landing isn't too graceful, alas), and keeping the clothes on his lap. More sleep wouldn't be such a bad idea if, you know, he hadn't been TENDERIZED to consciousness. And with that bit of information? It makes his head corkscrew so bad he's too gross to sleep yet. Maybe a shower was in order, he doesn't— feel good.
—And then you get his name wrong, enough that he shrivels like a plant. That sure is a trip down memory lane that he'd rather conk out of his life, forever. ]
. . . It's Ethan.
]
Sorry I punched you last nite Mr. Malery
[ Hopefully, you can read that crazy handwriting. ]
Crazy dreams
I was going to tell you earlyer but you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you up.
—Ethan
[ The "h" in Ethan is also squished in between the "t" and "a" last minute. He can totally write his own name. ]
[ Hopefully, you can read that crazy handwriting. ]
Crazy dreams
I was going to tell you earlyer but you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you up.
—Ethan
[ The "h" in Ethan is also squished in between the "t" and "a" last minute. He can totally write his own name. ]
[What the hell is this chicken scratch. An... apology? Oh, right. Last night's wacky misunderstanding. You'd think after a bit of sleep Mal would be less irritable. And he is! But he still crumples the note up.
And just kind of holds it for a while, sitting there with his arm resting on his knee, gazing off at nothing in particular. Well, he gets the nightmare thing at least. He probably hasn't done the kid any favours in getting him to relax or feel safe. Ugh... he'd better not have spooked him into thinking he has to avoid the room again. At least his clothes are still here, so he'll be back, right?
So he leaves a note on top of them.]
Don't drink so much
-Mal
ps: you have a good hit
And just kind of holds it for a while, sitting there with his arm resting on his knee, gazing off at nothing in particular. Well, he gets the nightmare thing at least. He probably hasn't done the kid any favours in getting him to relax or feel safe. Ugh... he'd better not have spooked him into thinking he has to avoid the room again. At least his clothes are still here, so he'll be back, right?
So he leaves a note on top of them.]
Don't drink so much
-Mal
ps: you have a good hit
[Tucked into his mailbox were two things. A notebook filled with a bunch of copied notes, what she promised. Then in a small folder is something else. If he were to open it up, it would a nearly written bundle of papers. There was a note on the top of it.
Thanks for your help earlier. I hope this covers our little promise, and it isn't god awful. I haven't thought of a title yet, but here it is.
-Riye]
The Knight chased the dragon to the ends of the earth, at least that was what he planned. Through the ashes of the villagers, the wreckage of homes, and the graves of those who felled before, he fought with the might he had. Sword in one hand and strong in spirit, he pressed on. Injuring the dragon more within each encounter.
One fateful day, the dragon stopped his fire breathing. He stopped his devouring of the ashes of those he killed. His wounds were too great. So when the Knight appeared again, the dragon laid before him. He was too weak, but not weak enough that he wouldn't soon recover. The dragon knew he had few options, and even fewer moments.
The Knight stood in front of the dragon, sword in hand held tightly. Just because he stopped, doesn't mean his stance necessarily halted.
"If you had anything else to say, foul beast, say them with haste; for neither I nor my blade had tired."
The dragon pulled out three orbs and offered them to the Knight. "Your strength is impressive, your spirit had been un-wavered, and your mind sharp. You have surpassed every other Knight I have faced. You are destined for greatness, and I offer you what will make you stronger should you spare my life."
The orbs shone with red, yellow, and blue individually. One danced in fire, the other glistened like the roaring waves, the other sparked like a lightening storm.
"The one in flames shall entrust you with power, passion. Power in strength and soul, since you are surely to find a wife to wed and to protect with all your might. The one with the ocean's waves shall give you wisdom, you shall be wiser than your peers since your mind will be able to see farther. The one that sparks with life and excitement will give you courage, to face every single fear you could ever have-"
The dragon's words was cut short as the Knight drove his blade into the dragon's chest. The sword would sink into his scales with every breath the Knight would take.
"You offer me power and passion, when you have danced in the ashes of my loved ones and allies I swore to protect. You offer me wisdom, when there would be no one to hear any words in the ruined villages. You offer me courage, when I have chased you across the land to end what I started."
The dragon's words turned into whispers, as he soon felled to the cold and dead ground. It would stare into the eyes of the Knight, who had shown pain and anger. There was nothing that relented, and he was going to be sure the dragon heard each word before he passed.
"Do not patronize me with a promise of perfection. I am no man without sin, or regret. But you do not deserve to speak of mercy to me, cowardly beast. Your gifts matter none in a world you sought to destroy."
As the dragon closed his eyes, the Knight stared down at the fallen creature.
Thanks for your help earlier. I hope this covers our little promise, and it isn't god awful. I haven't thought of a title yet, but here it is.
-Riye]
One fateful day, the dragon stopped his fire breathing. He stopped his devouring of the ashes of those he killed. His wounds were too great. So when the Knight appeared again, the dragon laid before him. He was too weak, but not weak enough that he wouldn't soon recover. The dragon knew he had few options, and even fewer moments.
The Knight stood in front of the dragon, sword in hand held tightly. Just because he stopped, doesn't mean his stance necessarily halted.
"If you had anything else to say, foul beast, say them with haste; for neither I nor my blade had tired."
The dragon pulled out three orbs and offered them to the Knight. "Your strength is impressive, your spirit had been un-wavered, and your mind sharp. You have surpassed every other Knight I have faced. You are destined for greatness, and I offer you what will make you stronger should you spare my life."
The orbs shone with red, yellow, and blue individually. One danced in fire, the other glistened like the roaring waves, the other sparked like a lightening storm.
"The one in flames shall entrust you with power, passion. Power in strength and soul, since you are surely to find a wife to wed and to protect with all your might. The one with the ocean's waves shall give you wisdom, you shall be wiser than your peers since your mind will be able to see farther. The one that sparks with life and excitement will give you courage, to face every single fear you could ever have-"
The dragon's words was cut short as the Knight drove his blade into the dragon's chest. The sword would sink into his scales with every breath the Knight would take.
"You offer me power and passion, when you have danced in the ashes of my loved ones and allies I swore to protect. You offer me wisdom, when there would be no one to hear any words in the ruined villages. You offer me courage, when I have chased you across the land to end what I started."
The dragon's words turned into whispers, as he soon felled to the cold and dead ground. It would stare into the eyes of the Knight, who had shown pain and anger. There was nothing that relented, and he was going to be sure the dragon heard each word before he passed.
"Do not patronize me with a promise of perfection. I am no man without sin, or regret. But you do not deserve to speak of mercy to me, cowardly beast. Your gifts matter none in a world you sought to destroy."
As the dragon closed his eyes, the Knight stared down at the fallen creature.
[What's this...? She actually did it. Good for her! He still can't believe that he of all people gave a pep talk, and that it actually inspired something. Time to see what this future award-winner's like.
. . .
He never cared much for the reading assignments in school. Yeah, he did them, filled out the response questions, but they were all just words to him. Yet the mere words on the papers in front of him now paint a vivid image in his mind: a knight with hair as silvery white as the blade he wields, silhouetted against a blood red sky in his relentless pursuit against a black and white dragon. Never losing sight of his goal no matter what he's lost or what he's offered. Making no compromises.
Mal finds himself reading it over once more, a small smile tugging at his lips. If he put his heart on display for his loved ones when he fought in the ring, then is this a similar display from Riye? He's flattered.
He's not sure how to write a review of it, so maybe he'll just. Go hand it back in person in the library the next day.]
Yo.
. . .
He never cared much for the reading assignments in school. Yeah, he did them, filled out the response questions, but they were all just words to him. Yet the mere words on the papers in front of him now paint a vivid image in his mind: a knight with hair as silvery white as the blade he wields, silhouetted against a blood red sky in his relentless pursuit against a black and white dragon. Never losing sight of his goal no matter what he's lost or what he's offered. Making no compromises.
Mal finds himself reading it over once more, a small smile tugging at his lips. If he put his heart on display for his loved ones when he fought in the ring, then is this a similar display from Riye? He's flattered.
He's not sure how to write a review of it, so maybe he'll just. Go hand it back in person in the library the next day.]
Yo.
[The day was average. She was stocking her books, organizing, doing the usual. Not thinking about what she did earlier.
It's been a day.
It's done. You did it. You're waiting judgment.You can't take it back. No matter the anxiety you have. That was when she saw a familiar figure walk in, she saw him this time. It might have something to do with her looking back and forth at the door, half expecting next to all of her nerves. Yet here he was. Here it went. She sat up straight.]
Oh, hey.
It's been a day.
It's done. You did it. You're waiting judgment.You can't take it back. No matter the anxiety you have. That was when she saw a familiar figure walk in, she saw him this time. It might have something to do with her looking back and forth at the door, half expecting next to all of her nerves. Yet here he was. Here it went. She sat up straight.]
Oh, hey.
Edited 2017-03-11 22:21 (UTC)
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