Ye Olde RP Archive

Ven x Q Private 1x1 RP (gaia)
(continued)

Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]Photo by draggy-chan
Ven had mostly spent the hours after breakfast in the hotel room.

Well, he had left the hotel for about an hour to wander around the streets near by but he got bored pretty soon.
Wandering around all alone had been no fun at all.
The stores were interesting but since he couldn't afford one piece in there they had not kept him entertained for a long time.

After he had returned to the suite he had spent the day laying on the couch.
Luckily there were at least two or three English channels to keep him mildly entertained until Loria returned.

He must have fallen asleep some time because he didn't notice her entering the room.
Her voice woke him up and he yawned while trying to get what she had just said.

Although Ven was not too keen on going to that movie theatre again he decided that it would be better than staying in the hotel for another few hours without anyone to talk to.
"I'll come with you," he replied as he got sat up.

He quickly emptied the glass of water on the table and got up to get ready.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Alright," Loria replied, walking out the door once Ven had finished getting ready. When they were both outside again, she hailed a taxi. Once inside the taxi, she told the driver where to go, but then turned to Ven and asked, "So what did you do all day?"

It wouldn't be long before they reached the theatre. This time they' come much later than normal, so they would probably get backstage just as Quatre had finished his act with the others.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Alright," Loria replied, walking out the door once Ven had finished getting ready. When they were both outside again, she hailed a taxi. Once inside the taxi, she told the driver where to go, but then turned to Ven and asked, "So what did you do all day?"

It wouldn't be long before they reached the theatre. This time they' come much later than normal, so they would probably get backstage just as Quatre had finished his act with the others.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven leaned back in the taxi's seat and yawned.
He felt sleepy... probably because he had not actually done anything all day.

"Not much... I looked at a few stores near the hotel and spent the rest of the day on the couch," he answered as he streched his arms.
"They chose pretty boring English channels, though... The most interesting thing I've seen all day was a dancing elephant"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Loria laughed at the dancing elephant bit. "Well maybe once we pick Quatre up we can go and eat some dinner at a nice place and after that go sightseeing, for once. Once the sun sets, we could make him take us to the Eifell Tower, right?" She giggled. Her mood had improved drastically, and she was trying to make it up to Ven for being a douche the other day.

Soon the Taxi stopped and they got out, then went in the back entrance to the theatre. The pre-show was still going on, but only for about two minutes before what seemed like a very happy group of actors started talking over eachother, Q included.

"Nice Job, Quatre Bornes. I'm surprised you didn't stumble over your lines," one actor said to the Q who quickly took his wig off, followed shortly after by him tearing the upper half of his leather outfit off, and pulling the lower half down enough so his tail could stick out. It was evident he did this since his tail was uncomfortable inside the costume. As soon as it had come out, it was wagging like a playful puppy's.

"Haha! Me stumble, like that would ever happen!" Q playfully shot back.
The short-haired silver man pushed Q slightly, watching the man stagger a bit to regrain his balance. " You did it last night plenty of times!" The one of the other actors said "Oh!" like a foul had just been called, whereas the rest of them, included Q, laughed about it.

Once they settled down in their laughter, the short silver haired man sounded slightly disappointed. "Hey look, your mother's back."

Q waved his hand and gave "Pfft," "She's not my Mom" he whined, walking over to Loria.

Loria had no idea what was going on but she was going to assume that Q was drunk. Which wasn't too odd, but normally he wasn't so happy about it.
"Um..." She didn't even get to start what she wanted to say before Q interrupted her in an uncharacteristic heavy french accent.

"Loria!" he called, arms wide open. He leaned in to hug her. She was so appalled she stood stark still until Q let go of her. The man smelled of sex, tobacco, and booze.

"Well, it seems like... Like you've had quite a night," She huffed.

"Best night I've ever had," He turned to the other acted, "Yes?"
They all laughed in return.

He turned to Ven, next. "Heya, Ven." His french accent was still apparent, though not quite as thick as before.
"How is it going?"


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven frowned at Q and crossed his arms over his chest.
Great, is he drunk or what?

Usually Ven didn't mind drunk people since he loved alcohol, too. A bit too much sometimes.
But he didn't feel very comfortable around those other guys...

He eyed them suspiciously and just murmured a "Hey Q" as reply.

Going sightseeing or visiting the Eiffel Tower when he was drunk?
Ven could imagine a lot of things he'd prefer over that.

[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Why so shy now? You were trouncing around in your underwear the other day, right?" Q laughed to himself. "By the way, you looked really g--"

Loria grabbed Q and pushed him away from Ven. "Qua, what is wrong with you?!" She urged in a hushed tone.

"Hey hey, Lady, don't touch me like that. You know it's against the rules..." He smirked. "I have to touch you first--"

She cut him off, "And what is with your accent? Even when you're sloshed you've never had an accent before."

The short silver-haired man, who was now in normal clothes, came over and put a hand on Loria's shoulder. "Can't you see he is having fun?" His accent, ironically, was less noticable than Quatre's.

"Let him have his fun; he wants it."

Loria pushed the man's hand off her shoulder and stepped back. "Did you spike his drink?"
The other man laughed at her. "As I said, he asked for it." He shrugged.
"Well when will it wear off?" Loria demanded.

The other man shrugged again. "Perhaps in an hour or two."

Loria groaned and grabbed Q's hand.
"Come on, you need to get dressed in your own clothes, so we can go back to the hotel now," she urged.

"Okay, Mother," Quatre whined, moving toward the dressing room.

"Come on Ven, let's go. It's quite obvious I gave Bornes more credit than I should have." Of course, being in his home country probably didn't help matters, she finished in her head.

When Q came out she quickly went outside and hailed another cab. She sat in front while Q sat in the back with Ven.

"So that Tattoo you have," Quatre smirked, leaning closer to Ven, "It was nice. Does it have something to do with your birthname?"


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven raised an eyebrow as he looked at Q, confused about that question.
"You mean the sun tattoo?" He poked his stomach.

"Why do you think it has something to do with my name? My name means "wind" and not "sun"..."
He frowned at Q before he continued "Although "Sol" would be a pretty odd name anyway, wouldn't it?"
Sitting here next to Q who was drunk would have been more amusing if he had been drunk, too.

Sighing, Ven leaned towards Loria who sat in front of him.
"Where are we going now? Back to the hotel, I guess?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q groaned as if he didn't feel like it was worth explaining. But he liked Ven, so he'd do it anyway.
"It's the sun that powers everything, how far away the earth is from the sun controls where the moon comes around, the moon controls the tides, the tides control the wind... So on and so forth." He waved his hand as if it didn't mean anything.

"Let us not talk about our religion," he said, giving Ven a Noogie. It was quick, but it was enough to mess Ven's hair up.
"What did you two do while I was gone? I bet the both of you had so much fun you wished I had disappeared!"

Loria, in the front seat, put a hand to her face. "Yes. We're going to go drop Q off and hopefully he'll go to sleep, and we'll eat dinner without him."

"What? Eat dinner without me?!" Q let out what could only be described as some form of dog-like whine. "That is like punishing me for something I did nothing to deserve!" He huffed, and leaned back against his window, watching the buildings pass by.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven still had one eyebrow raised."The tides control the wind? Oh yeah, whatever you say"
He didn't feel like talking about his Geography lessons now and argue with Q about something he didn't know much about.

"And even if that was true, it would be kinda farfetched, wouldn't it? I just liked it as a nice decoration"
He pulled on his shirt to take a look at the tattoo, as if checking whether it was still there.
Ven really loved the shape of it and how it curled around his belly button.

When Q messed up his hair Ven pulled his head back and growled.
"I stayed in the hotel room all day. Yes, it was so much fun, I almost died from being that entertained," he griped.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q hmphed, leaning his head on the glass and closing his eyes behind his glasses. "Well if it's so much fun then I guess you don't want me around anymore, right?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. His blue shirt was wrinkled, as it was a day and a half old. The smell of tobacco was stronger on it than in his breath. He wasn't the only one who smoked.

"After this I get to go back home, but I guess you wouldn't want to come," he vented. "God forbid I touch you again." He gave a 'tch' sound as he tried his best to face away from Ven. But since he was in such a close vicinity to the boy, it wasn't as if he could just walk away like he wanted to. He decided it'd be better to roll down the window.

It wasn't an automatic window, so Q occupied himself by physically grabbing the rolling handle and trying to push the thing down himself.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven rolled his eyes at that. "Yeah, I had SO much fun being alone all day, you wouldn't believe me"

He turned his head to look out of the window, too.
Actually, he wasn't even angry at Q anymore... He just didn't care about their argument at the moment.
The only thing that kept him from saying "Forget what I said" was his own stubbornness.

He ignored Q's statement and became silent.
If he said "No, I want to come with you", he'd lose against his stubborn mind and if he said "No, I don't want to come", then he would probably never see Q again.

After a few minutes of silence he sighed and gave in.
"No, I want to come with you," he mumbled while still looking out of the window.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q put his elbow on the now opened window ledge. The he heard Ven mutter under his breath.

"What did you say?" His tail began thwapping on the leather seat beside him. It would've been a funny scene, were it not so pathetic.
"You are serious, yes?" There was no denying Q was enthralled. There was also no denying that whatever Q was on, he was being extremely over-emotive.

The more the conversation went on, the more Loria sunk in her chair. Q was acting like a four year old. She was becoming more embarrassed as time wore on. She hoped they could get back to the hotel as soon as possible.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven stared at Q's tail and smacked his hand on it to keep it on the seat and stop the annoying waggling.
"Yeah, I'm serious," he replied and lifted his head to look at Q.

He began to feel stupid, though.
Q would probably have forgotten Ven had agreed to come with him the next morning.

Ven just couldn't decide what to think. He wanted to go home, see his mother again, his best friend...
But he also wanted to stay with Q because... he liked him.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]When Q's tail was taken prisoner by Ven's hand, Q looked down toward the source of the problem. He grimaced as he tried to pull his tail free without using his hands. It was the same reaction a cat would give when it didn't want it's tail being held.

Q grumbled something under his breath in french. It sounded like a full sentence instead of just a string of curse words, but it ended with "Let go" closely followed by Q leaning forward and grabbing each of Ven's horns, one in each hand.

Q was viewing this as a challenge. It was one he would win. His grimace morphed into a grin as he tilted his head down, to make eye contact with Ven.

No, this boy would not win. Q would win. Q always won when it came to rassling.



Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven didn't let go of the tail and he realized that Q was challenging him now.

He tugged on the tail and stuck out his tongue at the other man.
Although he didn't like the feeling of being held by his horns because it made him feel completely helpless, he didn't pull away this time.

"What now, are you going to stay in this position? Rather uncomfortable," he taunted without averting his gaze.
[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]The uncomfortable feeling was mutual. Q's tail was his biggest weakness. A strike to it was probably more of a danger to him than his testicles. But that was why he didn't tell anyone. He didn't want it to be a target.

If his tail was so sensitive, then perhaps - At least, Q hoped - Ven's horns were the same.
"Uncomfortable, yes. Does this mean you surrender?"

The man was at least sobering up a little bit. Had he been more disoriented he probably would have barked. The urge to do so now was stronger than he ever remembered, but he refused. He'd already made a fool of himself with that whine earlier - he couldn't let himself demoralize much more.

His accent was almost gone as well, though his english had taken a turn. It would correct itself eventually, one would hope. But for now, Q didn't realize he was speaking awkward sentences.

Q wasn't wearing a seatbelt, and neither was Ven. The both of them had brought themselves to about the middle of the backseat, giving them both equal space to work with. Q gave a "heh" and pulled Ven's horns toward himself slightly before shoving them backward. Ven's head being his center of gravity, it'd be natural for Ven to fall backward - thus releasing Q's tail.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Not yet," Ven answered and kept the tail in his grasp.
Even when Q shoved him he clung to the tail as he fell backward. He squealed and then let go of the tail so he wouldn't hurt Q.

"Fine, you won" He pretended to pout and stroked the tail jokingly.

Then Ven smirked and attacked Q by throwing himself at him, trying to reach Q's stomach to tickle him.
"Well, okay, not completely! Revenge!"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q winced as Ven pulled his tail, and was prepared to go down with the boy, except he let go right before Q took the initiative. He smirked again, and gave a congratulatory "huff" to himself. Which was, coincidentally, close enough to a dog's bark in spirit, that he'd have to patronize himself for doing it later.

Yes, Q had control of all his thoughts, for now at least. He was still slightly off when it came to motor functions, but he'd cope.

"You gave up quickl--" He was cut off by Ven jumping at him, which Q didn't expect. The man slammed against the corner of the seat, his left leg on the floor and his right somewhere beneath Ven's body. In between slight laughs and trying to breathe, Q would try to push Ven off him, and say "Get off, get off, get off!" as much as he could muster.

It looked more like Q was panicking rather than having fun -- although there was no doubt Q was ticklish. Q was making such a fuss about it, Loria looked back to them and yelled.
"Boys, BOYS, BOYS!"

Just at that moment, the taxi stopped at the hotel. Finally the woman's subconscious thought to itself.
"Break it up! BREAK IT UP!" she shouted.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven was surprised Q was that ticklish.
He had expected him to stay cool but it was way more fun this way.

But Loria's yelling got Ven's attention and when he saw they had stopped he let go of Q.
"Hey hey, sorry," he called out and lifted his hands to show his capitulation.
"No need to shout"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Come on, let's go inside," Loria huffed, paying the cab driver before she got out of the car. She didn't bother waiting for the other two - she just left.

It wasn't so much that she was angry. She was annoyed. Quatre was a full grown man, he should know better than to act like a little kid, even if he weren't entirely himself.

When Ven stopped ticking Q, the model coughed slightly and bent forward, holding his stomach. That jolted him back into the life of sobriety pretty quick - he'd almost barfed up everything in his stomach. He didn't remember himself being so ticklish, either. He shook his head as he tried to catch his breath. "Augh... That was weird.." he said to himself. He was dizzy, but managed to get out of the taxi from his side, close the door and stand outside the hotel for a moment. He needed to regain his bearings.

His tail still waved from side to side, but it was slower now, and much less noticeable than before.
"Okay.." he breathed. "Let's not do that again for a while.." He bent over a bit and put a hand on his thigh, sucking in a few breaths, as if he had just finished doing some heavy cardio.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven also got out of the taxi and followed Q to the entrance, hands on his hips.
"Don't act as if you just took part in in a marathon," he scoffed.

"You look like an old man; how can you be that exhausted just from being tickled?"
Ven grinned and entered the hotel lobby. He held the door open and waited for Q to come after him.

He could hear a loud grumbling coming from his stomach.
Oh yeah, he had not eaten very much all day. And it wasn't even that late yet.

"Come on, I'm starving!"
Ven slightly jumped up and down to show his impatience.

Then he remembered what he had been looking forward to all day and sighed.
"Loria promised me to go see the Eiffel Tower later tonight... but I guess you don't want to go there, right?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Aw, kid, You have no idea what I did last night. I am hardly in any kind of shape for someone to attack my stomach." He let out another breath before ignoring his nausea and following Ven into the hotel.
Eiffel tower, huh? He was pretty sure Ven mentioned it before, on the plane. If both he and Loria wanted to go, he probably should take them... He did kind of act like an ass the other day...

... It would be unfair if he got to party while they were bored. He had also promised to take Loria out to dinner... He would have to just keep his promise. This would probably be the only time they were ever in France together.

By the time they had reached the elevator, Q didn't seem to be having any more problems. He had caught his breath, wasn't slouching, and his accent and broken english were finally gone.

"I'm pretty sure I promised I'd take you to the Eiffel tower. I'm not going to go back on my word."


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven was pretty sure he didn't even want to know what the hell Q had done the night before.
He could imagine quite some kind of things and he knew for sure that he liked none of them.
But he tried not to think about it too much.

"Yes, really?" When Ven heard that he turned around with a wide smile on his face.
Finally he got to see that tower!
Ven sure hoped that it was as awesome and beautiful as people had told him on top of that thing.
He couldn't wait to be up there.

"So you're not mad at me anymore... because of yesterday?"
He nervously played with his sleeves to avoid looking at Q and hoped that he would not get yelled at again.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q crossed his arms loosely over his chest, looking down at Ven.
"No. Why? What happened yesterday?"

He didn't remember much about yesterday. Just that Ven showed up in his boxers because of Loria (though he couldn't remember what Loria had done to get him to do that) and he'd scolded Ven for it. Then Ven said to never touch him again... So Q probably did something bad...

Quatre scratched the back of his head. He knew he didn't start drinking until after Ven and Loria had left, so it didn't make sense why his memory was so patchy before then.
Come to think of it, he really didn't remember much of the night after he'd begun drinking, either, and he was a heavy-weight. Q shook his head.
Whatever happened, it's not like he didn't want it to. Whatever. If he'd forgotten, it was probably best to stay that way.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"'What happened yesterday'? Are you making fun of me now?"
Ven couldn't believe Q would have forgotten their argument.

He tried to remember which floor the hotel room was on and then pressed the button for the 5th floor.

What the hell did he do last night?
Drink until half of his brain cells were dead? Maybe he had taken enough drugs to stun a whale?

Ven snorted and decided it was better this way.
It was probably a good chance to just forget about it completely.

When they stopped he got out of the elevator, stretching his arms over his head and shuffled toward their suite's door where he waited for Q.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"No, not at all... I just..."
Well I was so depressed because you said I could never touch you again so I decided to drink myself away and be at some other man's mercy. Of course he'd never say that out loud.

"Well, I'm sorry for whatever it was I did..."
He knew he'd yelled at Ven about the boxer thing, but the rest of it was kind of foggy. If he concentrated on trying to remember, he'd probably remember everything, but he didn't want to.

Once the elevator doors opened, Q followed Ven to the room, Where Loria immediately asked Ven to get ready for dinner, quickly mentioning something about leaving Q in the room to himself.

"What?" Q chimed in. "No, I can go. Besides. How are you going to go to any real restaurant without knowing french?" It was more of a rhetorical question, but Loria gave Q this evil glare that made the whole room go silent. Her eyes didn't part from Q's for what seemed like a full five seconds.

She quickly turned around and headed to her own bedroom, "You two better be wearing suits when I come back out of this room," and then she closed the door behind her.

Q cocked his head slightly. "What's up with her?"


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Just forget about it, it doesn't matter," Ven muttered with a wave of his hand.

After that he shrugged, clueless.
"Why do you ask me? I'm not the one who has been working together with her for years, right?"

But then he realized he didn't even own a suit. "Uh oh..."
Ven dashed into the bedroom and rummaged around in his bags.
They had bought a lot of nice clothes the day before but none of those clothes could be considered a "suit".

He pulled out the most "suit-like" clothes and held them up.
"Do you think this will be okay or will Loria kill me for wearing this? She went shopping with me yesterday after all..."


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"She only started acted weird when you came along," He grumbled, unbuttoning his shirt. He looked up briefly at Ven's clothes and said "I'm sure it'll be fine..." he threw his own shirt on the floor and started fumbling through his bag.

As he was looking for his own suit (Which, of course, was at the very bottom so it wouldn't get wrinkled) he started getting a panging headache. He assumed it was the beginnings of a hangover, but being as his entire experience was not normal, he really didn't know what to think. He shook his head, pulled out his suit - which was wrapped in plastic, no less - and tossed it on the bed. He then pulled his pants off so he was in his plain, black boxers. The pants were left wadded up on the floor.

He pulled a new pair of boxers from his bag, and took those and the suit to the bathroom as he mumbled "I need to take a shower."
He doubted anyone would argue - he smelled horrible and he didn't want to think about what may or may not be dried up on his body that he was too careless to notice before.

He dropped all the clothes in the bathroom and closed the door, turning the shower on. The sound of the water rushing increased his headache tenfold. He wanted to go to sleep, though he knew he wouldn't suffer as much as soon as he got under the water.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven let out an annoyed "hmph". As if it was his fault Loria was acting that weird.
He didn't do anything to her, did he?

After Q had entered the bathroom Ven changed into the new clothes and sat down on the couch to wait for Loria and Q.
He started skimming through the newspapers but couldn't find anything important or interesting at all.

The last few days had been nothing but chaos. Ven was still incredibly confused.
He didn't know what he should think about his current situation.
One moment everything was awesome, he had fun, even with Loria... and the next moment he'd feel awful, as if he wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.

He didn't even know what to think about Q... That guy was weird. Very very weird.
But at the same time so interesting and capricious that Ven just couldn't turn away from him.

Maybe he should talk to Loria and ask her why she was acting that weird?
He didn't know why he deserved to be treated like some worthless toy.
Great while amusing and loathed as soon as he did something she didn't want him to do...

After a few more minutes of thinking about it Ven decided that it would be suicide to go and talk to her now, considering her current bad mood.
So he just put back the newspapers onto the small table and stood up to look out of the huge window.
It was already getting dark and the city looked beautiful with all those lights.

Again a grumbling sound from his stomach. Couldn't they hurry up a bit?


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]It took about six minuted for Q to get out of the shower. He was still in the bathroom, however. He had turned on the hair dryer, and by that time, Loria was finished getting herself ready, and had come out in a sparkling strapless white dress with black accents about her hips and chest. Her hair was curled and her lips red. She looked much more beautiful than usual. Certainly better than Ven and probably better than what she assumed Q would end up looking like in his suit.

She saw Ven sitting on the couch, and decided she would just stand with her hands clasped in front of her.

Two more long minutes went by, and Loria became impatient, walking around in long circles. Finally a minute later she huffed, "Aren't you done yet?" to the bathroom door.

"Yeah, yeah, hold on," Q grumbled. A few seconds later he walked out, finger brushing his hair, so it was parted to the side over his one eye. While his suit was not technically a tuxedo, it looked as if the man were ready to go to a wedding, or at least some fancy ceremony. It was a black jacket and pants, with a white colored shirt beneath, and a black tie.

When he walked out, Loria's cheeks almost immediately puffed out like a chipmunk's. She walked over and pulled his tie out from his suit. As she was doing so, Q turned his face away, embarrassed. "You know this looks better with a bow tie," she insisted.
Q frowned slightly.

The classy woman took his tie and stomped into his room with his bag, and shuffled around until she found what she was looking for. She came back with a bowtie string and tied it around his neck for him, then stepped back to view her handiwork.
"See, isn't that much better?"

Q shook his head from one side ot the other, as he brought his hand up to try and loosen the string. Loria stepped up and slapped his hand away "Stop that. You're fine."
Q let out a depressed sigh.

"Come on Ven, let's go now. Quatre, you know where we are eating, right?" Loria said.

Q shoved his glasses up closer to his face so he could hide the fact he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Bornes. You know this town, don't you?"

Q just let out a sigh and headed for the hotel door.
Yeah, of course I know Paris. Because everyone who's ever lived in France knows where everything is in Paris, regardless if they've never lived there or - gasp - haven't been to their own country in six years, he thought in his head.

He'd just have to think of something on the way. Any classy restaurant would probably work for her.
[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]When they reached the restaurant, it was very... Well. One would describe it as romantic. Circular tables mostly, some longer tables. For some reason it wasn't very crowded tonight, so Q was able to get a table for the three of them.

The waiters all spoke in french, but since waiting was pretty universal, it was easy enough to tell what they were saying from their body language.
Q took out a seat for Ven, then himself, as the waiter took out a seat for Loria, since she was a woman. He kissed her hand in greeting, introducing himself. Loria giggled in response... Typical woman reaction.

The waiter then showed them the wine list, Q asked Loria what she wanted, she said Chardonnay. The waiter came back with it and poured Loria a glass first, then Q and finally Ven.

After that he walked off.

Loria and Q opened their menus, and Q quickly read over it. "Okay... They basically have fish, steak, or salad. Which do you two want?"

Loria put her menu down, slightly frustrated with being unable to read it. "You order for me. I know you'll get something I like."

Great. As if I needed more pressure, Q thought to himself. "What about you, Ven?"


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven looked around the restaurant. It was very pretty in there, he really liked it.
And it made him feel like being on a holiday journey again.
As far as he could remember he hadn't eaten in a restaurant for ages.
His uncle never had never gone out with him or anyone else and of course he had not been able to afford it himself.

"I can't understand one word of that," he sighed. "I think I'll just take some salad then"
Ven nodded and put the menu back on the table.

After they were done eating he patted his stomach and leaned back.
"I haven't had anything as tasty as this in months, I think. My uncle has always been pretty lazy when it came to food"

He felt content now and smiled at Loria and Q.
"Can we go to the Eiffel Tower now?" Ven asked in excitement. "Please?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]For the most part, they ate quietly, though Q made a point to never touch his wine. When they had finished, Ven asked about the eiffel tower, and Loria immediately piped up as well, clasping onto Q's arm.

"Yes, I want to see the tower at night!" she stated enthusiastically. Q gave a sight, forced smile as he looked down to his plate. The waiter came by laid the bill down. Q looked over to Loria, who looked straight back to him. After a short silence he sighed and reached for his own wallet.

After that was over and they had paid, As Q was walking out, Loria still hugging his arm, the agent piped up again. "Quatre, will you teach me some french?"
Q sighed again. "Pleeease?" she begged.

What had changed her mood so suddenly? She was clinging onto him like some manic squirrel to a nut. He briefly thought about how he could get out of this, and the perfect quote came to mind.
"Quiconque flatte ses maîtres les trahit," he said with a grin. "He who flatters his superiors betrays them; Massillon."

Loria's face puffed out slightly and she hit him playfully, "I was serious!" she whined, though she didn't pursue the foreign language any further.

Q hailed a cab and they were all eventually at the Eiffel Tower.
The place was a huge tourist trap, and night didn't make much of a difference. He really didn't like the Eiffel tower... It was just a huge ugly piece of iron. The only use it seemed to have was for tourism and dispatching of taxis in the first battle of the Marne -- which Q could respect, int hat regard, but it was not something he wished to hang around. There were several other places in Paris he would've preferred to see with his friends. Versailles, and maybe even Carcossonne, for instance... But not the Eiffel tower. And what about the Notre Dames? Did no one care about history or religion? He supposed not. They'd rather visit this horrid iron tower constructed for a silly carnival.

Q lagged behind once he was out of the Taxi. Loria, excited had run ahead. He put his hands in his pockets and yawned, staying where he was. Hopefully they wouldn't notice or care that he didn't want to go up there with them.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven followed Loria and Q to the taxi, frowning as the woman clinged to Q's arm.
He really didn't like seeing her acting like that, it made him feel dispensible.

When they got out of the taxi he was amazed by the huge Eiffel tower.
This was the first time ever he saw it right before him.
It was way taller than Ven had imagined it from the pictures he had seen in magazines about Paris.

He was about to follow Loria but when he turned around he saw that Q was still standing next to the taxi and didn't seem to be interested in the tower at all.

Ven returned to him and tilted his head to one side to show his confusion.
"You're not going to stay here, are you?"
He slightly tugged on Q's sleeve. "You promised to go up there with me, already forgot that?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q took in a fast breath, caught somewhat offguard. He must've zoned off. He still had an underlying headache, and didn't feel like climbing a bunch of stairs.

Lifting his left hand from his pocket, he pushed his sunglasses onto his forehead and looked down to Ven, blinking. If his pupils caught the right light, they would glow like an animal's.

He took a moment to himself to shove all of his own superficial feelings away.
"Of course I'm not," He forced a smile, and slapped his right hand around Ven's shoulders, pulling the boy close to him. "I did promise, afterall."

Loria had noticed they had lagged behind, and was waiting for them. Once Q reached her, he wrapped his left hand around her waist, so she wouldn't do anything stupid since he was also holding Ven.

Q figured he probably looked like a player at this rate, but had distanced himself from what he felt so much so he didn't have to be annoyed that he didn't care. He was ready to pass out for the night, already.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
A smug grin appeared on Ven's lips and he quickly put his left arm around Q's waist before Loria could.

There was a long line of people waiting in front of the elevators but hardly anyone took the stairs.
"Can we take the stairs? Waiting to get into the elevator would probably take hours"

Ven looked up at Q and pointed to the stairway which led up to the restaurant on the second "floor" of the tower.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q looked over to Loria. "Do you mind if we take the stairs?" he questioned.
She shrugged and shook her head, breaking free of Q's grip so she could walk the stairs quicker.

Q looked to Ven for a moment, then took his hand from the boy's shoulders and mused with his hair slightly before beginning the ascent.

Once they reached the second floor, Loria puffed her cheeks once more. "You didn't tell me there was a restaurant inside!"
Q shrugged. "It's not as good a place as the one we went to." Loria huffed a bit, but after examining the surroundings, she had to agree. She wouldn't admit it though.

They then went to the elevator, waiting their turn to get up to the top. Once the doors opened on the fourth and final floor, Q took a halfstep forward before stopping short with a weird look on his face. He immediately growled to a child behind him, who had pulled on his tail, bearing his teeth. He wasn't in the mood for this kind of public annoyance. The small girl shrunk back to clutch her mother, who glared to Q before walking away, and Q was able to continue to the edge, where he could see the sights of the city.

He was greeted with a very brief "Ah, this isn't so boring" thought right before the sight seemed to swirl and he became dizzy. He had an impending feeling he was going to fall over, despite there being a handrail between him and a good bit of floor before the actual edge.

He quickly stepped backward and waited behind the others, so they could get their fill of the sights of the city. In the meantime, he pretended to act like there was nothing wrong by busying himself reading the assortment of signs about the area, detailing how far away cities were from the tower.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven had to hold back laughter when he saw the girl tugging on Q's tail.

But then the sight before him caught his attention and he hurried towards the rail.
He had expected it to be beautiful up there but this was an absolutely stunning view.

Ven leaned over the rail and looked down. "Oh wow, this is awesome!"
He hopped up and down, excited like a little kid.

When he turned around he noticed that Q didn't seem to be very impressed about the city in front of them.
"Hey, why are you looking at those boring signs? Isn't it beautiful up here?"

Ven couldn't stop smiling, this was like Christmas and his birthday together, just better.
He had been dreaming about being up there for years.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q looked over to Ven, then to the sign. "Uh, well.. They're just interesting..." His eyes drifted away as he talked, ".. Is all." He swallowed and slipped his sunglasses back on. Any dolt could read his eyes, he was sure.

"I lived here most of my life, I've seen this all before. You.. You go have your fun." He shifted his weight and crossed his arms at his chest. He seemed uneasy, and tried to find Loria. Once he finally did, he motioned to her as an example. "See? She seems to be enjoying herself."
She was leaning over the rail, letting the wind go through her hair as she admired the view.

He uncrossed his arms and put his hands back in his pockets, leaning back. He just wanted to leave. He didn't want to say he 'felt impending doom', but...


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Oh... yeah, I forgot that you must have been here already, sorry"

When he looked around on the platform he noticed that almost all of the people up there seemed to be couples.
Happy, young and giggly couples.

Ven sighed and turn back to enjoy the view.
He had to admit that he was kinda jealous.
Here he was at one of the most romantic places, at least according to most of the magazines he had read, and although he was not actually alone... he still felt like it.

Ven looked at the lights below him but then turned around again, feeling a bit frustrated.
Q didn't look very happy, either.
"Are you okay?"
Ven tried to look into his eyes but the sunglasses were too dark.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"What?" Q shifted his weight again, impatient to leave. "Of course I'm okay. I mean, I've a bit of a headache, but that's no big deal." He brought his hands up and waved at Ven to shoo as if he were a dog. "Now go enjoy the sight. You always wanted to, right?"

He was just in the midst to turn toward a bench when Loria briskly walked over and grabbed his arm. "Bornes, you've got to see this side!" she proclaimed, trying to drag him off.

Q was normally not one to resist someone when he was dragged along, but this time he did with a grunt, bringing the hand she held up. He strength was much less than his, but she wasn't used to him stopping her. At first she thought it was just play, but by the look on his face (Which was a rigid look of warning, and wasn't very pretty) she knew it wasn't.

He pulled his arm from her's and took a step so he was equidistant between her and Ven.

"What is wrong with you?" Loria accused.

"I can see the town from here. It's beautiful." His voice was monotone. He couldn't take much more of this. He felt like he needed to run away, so he'd locked his knees. He always did seems to get angry when he was afraid or worried about something.

"Come on Qua, it's the eiffel tower, why do you have to be such a dick. This is a once in a lifetime thing for us..." Loria looked toward Ven. "Right, Ven? Make Qua come to the edge," she pleaded.

Q growled back his reply. "No."


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven was confused about the way Loria was acting once again.
"If he doesn't want to, why should I?"
He glared at her, hands on his hips.

Why the hell is she making such a scene now? What is wrong with her this time?

"Maybe we should leave? I got to enjoy the sight like I wanted to..."
Ven put his hands into his pockets and looked from Q to Loria and then back to Q.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q could deal with Loria bitching at him, but once he saw Ven's body language he felt like a monster.

He'd have to suck this up. He didn't know what exactly was wrong with him, but he'd have to deal with it. Q tried to relax and took them both by the hands. "No, you're right. I'm sorry," he said, as he walked over to wear Loria had been pointing. For the most part the other tourists had left. Only a few stragglers and they remained, so they could take their time.

Or, more precisely, Loria and Ven could take their time. Q made it to the edge and affixed himself to the guardrail, locked his knees again and stood rigid.

"Isn't it beautiful??" Loria insisted. Q swallowed and closed his eyes behind the sunglasses. That just made his dizziness worse, and he had to reposition himself lest he fall over. Opening his eyes again, he attempted to look at the sky instead of the street. "Yeah, it is," he mustered.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Loria asked, confused.

Q grumbled. "I'm fine."

This means I'm afraid of heights, doesn't it? he thought to himself. But I can't be. I've never been afraid in the planes. I haven't been afraid when on porches or looking outside hotel buildings. And they were taller than this, right?

All the places Q had been higher than this, he was separated from the outside by glass or another boundary. And the balconies from hotels, well... maybe they weren't as high as he had initially thought. And they certainly didn't have as much of a view of the city.

What he could see was beautiful. And he would've liked it if it did not seem to spiral before his eyes and give him this horrible sinking feeling. He felt like he was going to puke.

"So we saw it, it's great." He pushed himself off the handrail and turned to the elevator, only barely managing to cover up a bit of a stagger from his balance being off-kilter. "Let's go," he insisted.

He felt like a monster for rushing them like this - especially Ven. But he also didn't want to die. All he could think about was someone or something pushing him over the rail and then... splat.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven followed Q to the elevator, a worried look on his face.

When they were inside and on their way back to the ground he stated "You seemed like you were suffering from vertigo. Why didn't you say so before?"

He turned to Q and frowned. He did that way too often lately.
"You could have stayed down there" Ven pointed to the ground.
"I mean, you promised to come here but I didn't know you didn't like such heights..." he mumbled.
He felt guilty now.

"Well, correct me if I am wrong!" he added quickly.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q looked over to Loria, who seemed despondent in her own corner. Then he looked back to Ven, crossing his arms over his chest again. He let out a short, high pitched whine, similar to what sometimes happens when dogs yawn. It was not nearly as loud, though.

"It felt like it wanted to eat me..." he whispered, before shifting his weight once more and looking at the ground. "How was I supposed to know that would happen? I didn't. I have never been up to the top of the tower before. This is the first time I've been up this high, I think. I didn't think I was afraid of heights," he grumbled.

Once the elevator doors opened, Loria was the first out, who hailed a cab. Q followed her, though at a much slower pace, and only reached her when the cab had already pulled up.

Q was embarrassed. He'd never been afraid of anything before. This was new. He didn't like it. Well, that was a lie. He was only afraid of one other thing. But that was different. Those were evil.

Once they reached the hotel room, Q undid his bowtie and took off his jacket, draping them over the couch arm. He unbuttoned the topmost button on his dress shirt, near the collar, and sucked in a loud breath, before he finally sat himself down on the couch, arms over the back.

Loria stayed to herself, going into her bedroom and closing the door behind her. Q knew she was upset. He had just ruined her night. He'd feel guilty about it for a while. At least Ven didn't seem to take it so hard.

But as far as Q knew, he shouldn't be afraid of heights. He'd never had that feeling before... If someone's afraid of heights, aren't they supposed to be afraid of looking down from airplane windows too? Or balconies?

He leaned his head on the back of the couch, taking a few shallow breaths from his mouth. He didn't feel right. He'd been a bit off all day, but at least between the taxi ride to the hotel and dinner he had felt well enough. Now it seemed to get worse. Was he sick, maybe? Did it have to do with last night? Or maybe even this morning? After all, he hadn't really stopped "partying" until an hour or two before the troupe had to go to the theatre...

He let out a guttural growl, geared to himself. He wished he could remember what happened. He only had bits and pieces collected, and none of them were morally decent. He knew he'd taken something with the alcohol. He just couldn't remember what. And even though he'd never taken any drugs before that night, he wouldn't expect the adverse effects to be there, be gone, and then come back worse later. He put his right hand to his forehead and groaned.

And what was up with him? The others either didn't notice it (thank god) or were ignoring the fact that he were acting more like a beast today than ever before. Q was human, and indulging in these retarded primal behaviors was both stupid and demeaning to himself.

Q raked his hand through his grey hair. "Could you go get Loria, please?" Q breathed, turning to his side on the couch and shutting his eyes behind his glasses. "I need to talk to her."

His headache had gone from a minor annoyance to something he didn't think he could fend off by himself. Given much longer, he probably wouldn't be able to stand his own voice.
Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven dropped down on the couch next to Q and yawned.
He was still happy about finally having been on top of the Eiffel tower.

But although it had been beautiful up there he was very worried about Q now.
He looked horrible. Ven was afraid that he might just drop dead right where he was sitting.
Okay, that was an exaggeration, but he really was worried.

Ven decided to ignore Q's request and growled.
He didn't want to get Loria back in here... he was too glad she was in another room right now.

"What's up with you?"
He leaned over to Q and tried to look through the black glasses once again. "What the hell did you do?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Forget it," he said softly. He wanted to talk to Loria. He didn't need to pester Ven with his stupid problems. Besides, Loria knew him better. Maybe she could help him.

But he wasn't going to bother persuing it. Maybe he could just sleep it off. He pressured his temples slightly with his thumb and ring finger before turning to look at Ven and putting his hands down on the couch.

"I just have a really bad headache..." he stated softly. He had begun to sweat a bit now, and Q could hear that faraway buzz/ring of white noise that wasn't really there. "Maybe I can just sleep it off?" He was trying to convince himself.

He was really tired, but he was also restless. It was a confusing feeling.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Fine," Ven snapped and got up from the couch.
He knocked on Loria's door.
"Loria? Q wants to talk to you," he snarled.
When he sat back down on the couch he snatched a magazine from the small table and skimmed through it.

If Q didn't want to talk with him, fine.
This magazine about rich snobs no one had ever heard of and about pregnant 16-year-olds was way more interesting than a sick dog anyway.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q gave a sigh, "I'm sorry," he said, once Ven came back and sat next to him.

Q Sat up and put his hand to his face again, behind his sunglasses. He shivered slightly before Loria finally came out in a huff.

She was about to scold the both of them, before she saw Q and immediately went into sympathetic mother mode instead. She walked around the coffee table and kneeled next to Q, so she could be at eye level with him.
"What's wrong?" she asked.

Q grit his teeth, and tried to say "Can you get him to leave?" as softly as possible. Ven didn't need to hear this.
Loria looked over to Ven for a moment, then back over to Q. "No," she said bluntly.

"Why?" Q whined.

"Maybe it's better if he stays," She lowered her own voice. Truthfully, it was more of a punishment for ruining their trip to France.

Q growled slightly and leaned forward, putting a hand on Loria's shoulder to steady himself as he whispered something in her ear. She frowned in response.

"Well how much did you take?" She asked.
Q answered softly. "I don't know, something every couple of hours until we had to go to the theatre."
"Was it like this when you were coming off before?"

He shook his head, "I don't think I was ever fully sober the entire time..."

Loria hmphed and took Q's glasses off. Q closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them, Loria was staring at him.

She got her answer, they were dilated. Well, they appeared like normal human eyes to her, but for Q, that was dilated.

"This is your own fault," She growled. "You'll just have to work through it yourself. It's probably just withdrawl since you took so much."

She stood up, putting the glasses back in Q's lap. "I'm going to bed."
"Loria, wait..." Q pleaded, looking up to her.

"Oh? Do you want me to only stick around when I'm useful to you? Sorry. I am not your mother, Quatre Bornes." And with that, she walked off into her own room, closing the door.

Q rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a disappointed dog whine escaping his throat.
"I'm sorry.." he whispered again, a shiver going down his spine.

Q breathed for a few seconds in silence, the ringing in his ears getting louder. His hands still over his eyes, he asked softly to the kid sitting next to him, "Aren't you going to leave me too?"


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"You want me to leave?"
Great, now he was going to be thrown out again?
Ven looked up from the magazine in his hands.

But when he saw Q the worried expression returned to his face.
"Hey?" He carefully nudged Q's shoulder. "Do you want some cold water or is there anything else I can do?"

So apparently Q had taken drugs.
Ven had no idea what could help to make him feel any better, he had always disliked drugs so he had no experience with that stuff.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q put his hand sin his lap, fingering his glasses for a moment before putting them back on and leaning against the back of the couch again with a sigh.

"I don't know," he said softly. The ringing in his ears was frustrating, and his annoyance showed through his voice. He could hardly hear himself over it.

"I've never felt like this before."

He wanted to be alone, but at the same time, he didn't. He just didn't want Ven to see him like this. He didn't want Ven to think he was some type of beast, or worse yet, some adolescent who just did drugs whenever he felt like it. If the person sitting next to him were anyone other than Ven, Q probably would've curled into a fetal position by now and tried to lay his head on their lap.

He closed his eyes again, crossing one leg over the other at the ankles. This was undone shortly after. Q really was restless. But very tired.

"I'm just going to try and sleep here," he whispered.

Hot, cold, hot, cold... He wished his body would make its mind up already.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Well, I think water always helps"
Ven got up and took a bottle of water out of the small fridge.

"Are you sure you want to sleep here? I'll sleep on the couch, you can have my bed," Ven offered, holding out the bottle to Q.
"And don't say 'it's okay' this time. I'm smaller than you anyway, so I'll sleep here instead"

Ven didn't even wait for an answer before he hurried into his bedroom and dragged one of his bags in front of the couch.
Then he laid down on the couch next to Q, resting his head on his hands.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q looked over to Ven and forced a wavering a smile. "Thanks." He took the water, but held it between his legs, resting his forearms on his thighs as he watched Ven move about.

He really wanted to sleep sitting up, but.. Well, he didn't want to undermine Ven's decision to be helpful. He had already pissed Ven off enough the last couple of days.

After a sigh, he pushed himself up and slowly made his way to the other room. "Sleep well," he said, a bit halfheartedly, because he knew he himself wouldn't.

Once in the other room, he placed the bottle on the dresser and sat ontop of the bed. He didn't even bother to change, or take his shoes off. He piled the pillows up behind him, so he could lean his back against the baseboard comfortably.

Sooner than he had predicted, Q had fallen asleep. But it was only for about three hours before he entered REM, and started whining in his sleep. At some point he'd fallen over, so by the time he was whining, he was lying flat on the bed.
His whines were those mimicked by dreaming dogs, interrupted by what seemed to be coughs.

Q was having a nightmare. He couldn't see much in it. Just blacks with occasional tints of colors... Mostly an evil looking fluorescent green, and a dark red. it was more what was said that was frightening.

"You would have done yourself a favor had you know come back here, Dog." it said. Q felt like he had a collar on, and it was being pulled. He had a hard time breathing, but didn't say anything in return to what he could feel was his 'master'.

"You have run away from me for the last time. Prove you are still loyal to me. Bring me that Cambion," it hissed. "Give me the Cambion, Quatre Bornes!" it screamed.

That was when Q was awoken by his own doggish yelp of terror.
"Why have you desecrated my body..." the nightmarish voice waned into the now-fading in ringing of his ears.

Q would've laughed at how funny the yelp sounded to him, if he had not been so frustrated that he was even worse a beast now. His brain even considered him a dog! Why would he dream such a weird thing? He didn't even know what a 'cambion' was. But now he had an urge to look it up, to see what the dream meant.

Q put his hand to his face, but as it was in route he noticed a slight green tinge on his palm. He moved his hand, and the green stayed in one place. He found his glasses on the bed, and picked them up. As he did so, he looked into the mirror, only to find his eyes glowing. Not the normal 'catch the light a certain way and glow green' way, but the actual, 'holy shit they're their own light source' glowing.

The ringing in his ears faded, and so did his eyes over time, but they were still a bit.. well.. 'Glowier' than usual. Q could hear Ven rustling outside in the main room, and realized with a stun of embarrassment that he had left the door to the bedroom open, so Ven probably heard his whole stupid-sounding dream-bark. Or whatever it is.

Q slammed his sunglasses on to cover up his eyes. The model could see in darkness normally, but with the sunglasses on at a time like this, he was practically blind, since the glasses were so dark. He'd have to play it off. He couldn't let anyone know he suddenly had glowing eyes. It didn't make any sense. He must be crazy.

Yeah, a hallucination. That had to be it. He still wasn't going to take the glasses off, however.

The model was definately awake now, though. Aside from a slight headache, he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for a while. His heart was still racing from the dream, though in retrospect, he couldn't understand why it had seemed so scary.

He decided to get up and push himself off the bed. Discovering his laziness from earlier (of leaving on all his clothes, including his shoes) he just walked out into the main room, and headed toward the door to the outside. He needed to for a walk. In mid-stride he turned right back around and went back to the bedroom, grabbing his cellphone. He needed to call someone while he was on that walk.

On his second way out, he looked toward Ven, and as he did, stumbled over his bag.
Of course! Q thought to himself. Getting around blind without waking everyone up would just be too easy.

He managed to grab his footing before he fell completely over, but if Ven wasn't awake before he definately would be now, unless the boy slept like some sort of rock from the Dark Ages.

He tried to run through a list of excuses in his mind. None of them seemed believable....


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven had fallen fast asleep just a few minutes after Q had left the room.
And he could sleep surprisingly well on that couch.

Well, until some loud noise woke him up at least.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

What the hell was making such noises right next to him in the middle of the night?
It was pitch black in the room so he couldn't see a thing. But something was moving in front of the couch, it had to be Q... or Loria.
"Q...? Is that you?" Ven mumbled in a sleepy voice, trying to make out what or who it was.


[Q] wrote: Q hmphed.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm going out for a walk real quick. You stay here," He whispered.

Q looked toward the door and walked to it, putting his hand on the knob. Hopefully Ven would just go back to sleep.

[[lol shortest post ever]]


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Hey, hey, hey!" Ven protested as Q was about to leave the room.
"I thought you weren't feeling well! You can't run around in the middle of the night like some kind of insomniac"

Ven jumped up from the couch in the blink of an eye and squeezed himself between the door and Q.
He shivered as he realized it was rather cool in the hotel room and he was only wearing his pyjama pants.

"Don't tell me you're feeling all that excellent again," Ven said, his voice revealing his concern.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q had one hand on the door knob, the other on his cellphone. He quickly shoved the phone in his pocket. Maybe it was best if he didn't bother his father about this. But then, after six years of not having the meds, maybe Q had been wrong about running off. Suppose the drugs from the other day simply aggravated his condition? He had been fine before today...

The voice kind of made sense. Q should've been more apprehensive about coming back to France.

"I don't feel fine," Q argued. Ven was inches away from his face. Q wanted to kiss it and slap it in annoyance all at the same time. "But I want to be outside."

He attempted to open the door and push Ven away. Q liked the cold, and he liked wind. The hotel room was missing one of his key elements. He felt like he was being trapped inside a cage if he stayed here.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven's eyes slowly got used to the darkness inside of the room.
It wasn't that pitch black after all, since the street lights from outside were still there.

"Whatever you want to do, I'm not the one to hold you back or to tell you what to do," Ven sighed and tried to look up into Q's eyes.

"I'm just worried, okay?"
As he said that he quickly leaned forward and gave Q a kiss on the cheek.

Oh fuck.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q sighed, listening to Ven. He felt guilty all of the sudden. Then the boy kissed him, and even though it was only on the cheek, Q immediately got the euphoric high associated with acts that were expected to happen after kissing.

He held his breath a moment, and looked down, staring through his sunglasses as best he could. Everything just stopped for a second. The evil dream and the predictions of what the voice in it could mean vanished. The worries about his eyes and his underlying fears that maybe he was less human than he had hoped disappeared.

It was an unnatural, almost uncomfortable silence.

Q finally let out his breath and sucked in another before quickly taking his hands and placing them on Ven's shoulders and shoving the boy against the door with Q's own kiss - on the lips, of course.
Maybe he couldn't see where he was aiming, but enough practice made it so he didn't have to see.

Q wasn't so much passionate in his kiss. Unlike Ven, he did it out of desire rather than empathy. Q always wanted to do something with Ven, but the kid's innocence and the threats from Loria all prevented him from doing so.

Even though he had a wild night and morning not too long a go with another actor, Q hadn't exactly learned his lesson, and as always, wanted more.

There were a lot of things Q was addicted to, and while Ven was around, Q had gone cold turkey on all of them (aside from that one slipup with sex, of course). Maybe now he could loosen up with Ven, and indulge in his usually less than beautiful habits.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven felt as if his heart stopped beating for a few seconds the moment Q kissed him. He gasped in shock, his eyes wide open.
This wasn't exactly the reaction he had expected.

Ven's brain seemed to stop working and his hands clutched to Q's shirt, pulling him closer.
One thousand thoughts crossed his mind though he didn't pay attention to any of them since his heart had started beating like crazy now.

So this was his first kiss? It was definitely better than he had expected.
The one time he had practised kissing with his best friend at home didn't count.

But suddenly Ven became scared of what would happen if they went on.
He wasn't that naive after all... And Loria was still right next to them...

"Q, wait," he panted as he pulled away.
Ven was breathing heavily, his face red like a tomato although Q probably couldn't see that in the dark hotel room.
"I'm... I don't know what... I'm sorry," he stuttered, still clinging to the other man.
[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q pulled his face away, taking a few loud breaths through his nose.
"What? What do you not know?" he whispered quickly, slightly annoyed.

He didn't want to wait. Q was a horndog, he was ready all the time. Who was Ven to make him wait?

Q pushed his hips into Ven, his hands still on the boy's shoulders, keeping him pressed against the door. The man leaned and breathed into his ear. "Don't know what you want?" He paused to lick Ven's earlobe. "I can figure it out pretty quickly," he sneered, moving his right hand slightly behind Ven's head, to pinch the boy's other lobe between his thumb and forefinger.

Perhaps if Q were not so easily turned on, he would've figured out by now that this was not such a good idea.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven was still panting and his hands began to tremble.
"Stop that, Q," Ven started pleading. He turned his head to the side in a desperate attempt to show his uneasiness.
"Please..."

This is what you get for your stupid behaviour, you fool! a voice screamed in his head.

This had been a huge mistake and here was the result.
Ven let go of Q's shirt and turned his head back to him. "Let me go, Q..."
He tried to escape the Q's grasp but knew it was no use, he was way weaker than the other man.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q pressed his nose to Ven's neck. He could smell... Everything.
"Come on," Q insisted, "I know you want this." He moved his nose to Ven's shoulder, and his right hand to feel Ven's heartbeat.
"I want this," he insisted.

Ven smelled so... Nice. He was a strangely beautiful kid, even with the horns. And his odor seemed to mimic that. He could also smell Ven's arousal, and his.. His fear.

He had an urge to bite Ven's neck, and not in a sensual way either. Q had this vision in the back of his mind, of teeth tearing into flesh and tugging at it, trying to rip it away from bone.

That coupled with Ven's innocent pleas for Q to stop made him step back, and really think about what he was doing, and why he was even in this position - at the door, with Ven in front of him - in the first place.

Q took his hands off Ven and took a few steps back, to make sure Ven didn't feel cornered. Q would've looked away in shame, if he could actually see anything to begin with.
If Ven's eyes had adjusted, he would realize Q had his teeth clenched and bared, as if he were in the midst of a silent growl of anger.

Q was angry. It was just one mishap or another with Ven. Q gave ven so many opportunities, and Ven just stomped on them, with his little innocence act. And then Q would actually fall for it! What kind of idiot was he? He never pursued someone for this long.

For the briefest of seconds, he toyed with the idea that the boy's claim to being half incubus was true.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven wrapped his arms around his chest and sank to the carpet, his back sliding down the door.
"Thank you..." he murmured, still confused.

"I'm sorry... I made a mistake," Ven whined. He felt his eyes filling up with tears and sobbed.
He pulled is knees up to his chest and laid his arms around them.
"I'm such a fool"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q snorted. "I am the fool." His face still full of frustration, he turned around, trying to figure out where exactly he was, and how he could get out of this prison. He still couldn't see anything, so grabbed his sunglasses and ripped them off, throwing them through the bedroom doorway to Q's room, where they clinked against something... Probably the far wall.

After that, he went to the balcony, and opened the door, slamming it behind him. Here he still felt tapped, but at least he was outside. He gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white, and looked down at the street. He briefly felt the effects of his new-found hate of heights before he tore himself away from the balcony, and kicked the cheap furniture on it instead.

This was ridiculous. He wanted to coddle his little 'brother', but at the same time, what if this really was just an act? He had horns after all. Maybe he couldn't trust Ven.
Brave enough to walk the streets in his boxers, but not to be with Q?
What kind of lunacy was this?


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven winced and sobbed again as Q slammed the door shut.

This was ridiculous.
Ven really cared for Q, he wanted to be with him. He wanted to hold him, wanted to kiss him, ...
But he was just a stupid little coward.

Well, what the hell did Q expect from him?
He had just kissed someone for the first time, he didn't even expect Q to return the kiss in the first place.
The last thing he had planned was getting laid, that couldn't be that hard to understand, right?

Ven got up from the floor, his knees still shaking, and reluctantly opened the door that led to the balkony.
"Q?" After hesitating for a second he stepped outside.

"Q, please listen to me," he started. "I really like you... I want to be with you"
Ven stood next to him and started playing nervously with his black hair. "I'm just scared..."


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]What was wrong with him? He couldn't even understand why he suddenly was so suspicious of Ven. Just because the kid turned him down one time..?

When Ven slid open the door, Q turned around, a snarl on his face, his eyes still dimly glowing green. Q made a visible effort to close his lips, so he didn't look so fearsome, but it was a tough battle of instinct versus will.

"I know you're scared." You should be, he added on in his mind.
"I am not myself right now. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry." The look on his face, and the tone of his voice still portrayed annoyance, making his words feel more like lies than sincerity.

He put his hands on the railing behind him, so he could lean back, but not look at the ground. "I'm not mad at you. It's..." His upper lip lip rose slightly, and he fought the urge to let out another growl. "It's other things." I hope it'll wear off soon. I feel like I need to kill something.

Q wanted to look away. Normally he would've, but instead, he simply stares straight at Ven, taking in all his movements, his body language. The boy had become about five thousand times more interesting to watch just in the past two minutes. Q felt like he had A.D.D.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"It's the drugs?"
This thought made Ven's heart sink. "You only did that... because of the drugs?"

He didn't know whether he should be happy that this scary Q wasn't normal... or whether he should be frustrated because the normal Q would have never kissed him.
Maybe he should just forget about it...?

But this time Ven didn't look away, he stared right back at Q, waiting for a response.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"No," Luckily he picked up where Ven was going with that statement. "I don't know what I would've done, but it certainly wouldn't have made you cry. I mean I am not myself as in..."

He growled to himself, finally breaking eye contact. He was almost ashamed to admit it. No, he was ashamed to admit it. "I act more human." He paused, focusing on the foot of the table. His eyes were constantly focusing on different things... Every speck of dust, every mis-stroke of paint. The pattern of the cement it sat on. It was almost too much information.

"I am never like this. I do not growl at people. I do not whine. I do not try to have sex with people who do not want it."

He almost had to force himself to look at Ven again. Instead of concentrating on his eyes, Q stared at his hair. How each strand moved in the zephyrs... He snarled to himself. Why did he care about hair or table feet? He hoped it was the drugs, but there was a worry in the back of his mind that it wasn't attributed to them- at least, not entirely.

"I feel trapped here," he said, his knuckles turning white as he held onto the rail. He shifted his weight to one leg, but his eyes didn't stray from Ven's black hair. "I just wanted to go out for a walk to calm myself, and you sent the wrong impression-- " He shook his head in a growl, "If I wasn't such a harlot this wouldn't have happened at all!" His shoulders shook. He wanted to just bolt. He felt as if he let go, or loosened his grip on the balcony's railing a tiny bit, he would run for the hills and never go back.

This reminded him of when he was a teenager. He should've never run away from his father. If he hadn't, maybe he wouldn't be having an episode right now. He wouldn't be in any of this mess. He'd probably be in the military right now, planning the next move as a Captain instead of some stupid fag with a tail who got his picture taken a lot.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven leaned against the railing, looking at the city.
He had no idea what to say now. He didn't know what was going on with Q and he was tired of asking about it.

"I'm sorry," Ven sighed.
"Why don't you go for a walk now? I won't try holding you back this time"
He turned around and looked at Q.
"I can imagine worse things than some growling and whining. You'll feel better soon, right?"

Ven noticed his heart was still racing. "I think I should go to sleep"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Ven was giving him a chance to leave; finally. Why had he doubted this boy before?

"You shouldn't be sorry. I'm sorry." His voice had managed to loose some of its sting, for once. He could feel himself calming down. He took a deep breath, and loosened his grip on the rails behind him. He felt relieved he didn't bolt like he thought he would.

"I hope this is temporary," he sighed. His green eyes went to Ven's. "You can walk with me, if you want to." He could swear he could hear Ven's heartbeat. Q was probably just imagining things.

"I would like it," he said softly, his eyes searching Ven's face, as if there were something Q was forgetting on it. "If you came."

He was probably overreacting. Yes, this had to be.. Hormones. He had never truly had feelings for anyone before. He was a lay and leave type of person. It must be hormones that made him like this. He shouldn't call his Father so early in the morning, after six years, for a silly overreaction.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
When Q's voice became softer Ven felt relieved at once.
He had to calm down, too. The feeling of his heart racing like that would make him go crazy if he didn't calm down.

"I'd love to" Ven nodded. "But I think I should eh... get some clothes"
He hurried into the hotel room, dropping onto the floor next to his bag that had most of his clothes in it.

As he sat there he had already calmed down a bit and closed his eyes to take a deep breath of fresh air.
Then he quickly put on his favourite shirt, some pants and his shoes and waited for Q to return from the balcony.
He would not have been able to get any sleep this night anyway.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]It was two in the morning, and as soon as Ven was ready, he walked out the door, one hand in pocket. He still wore what he had fallen asleep in - the dress shirt and pants.

Once they reached the street, Q felt calmer by the minute, and even though he wasn't having a conversation with Ven, it was still nice to walk with him.

Although Q was capable of walking quickly, he preferred to take his time, to watch all the activity around him, to envy the buildings, architecture, and statues the United States lacked. As he passed certain places, he wondered if he'd ever been to them before. Q had not lived in Paris, but he did visit once or twice. His childhood was a bit patchy, though. Whether he really couldn't remember, or he just didn't want to was a matter Q didn't really think about it, and it didn't pass his mind now. He was simply relieved he was not acting like an animal any more.

After about five or ten minutes of silence, Q looked over to Ven, to see if he was keeping up. Q's tail was outstretched behind him and slightly curled, similar to a Husky's. His eyes still glowed slightly, although, under the street lamp Q had stopped at, his eyes seemed to glow from the reflective matter of his pupils, rather than of their own accord.
"I had a dream. That's what woke me up," he said. "It was someone who was talking about Cambions. Do you have any idea what a Cambion is?"


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
While they were walking past all these wonderful houses Ven caught himself glancing at Q with his head slightly bend down more than he paid attention to what was going on around them.
The second Q mentioned the word "cambion" Ven's head shot up.

"A cambion? Yeah, I do know what that is" He pointed at himself and smiled.
"There's one standing right in front of you"

Since Q seemed like he had never even heard the word Ven continued to explain it.
"The child of a human and a succubus or an incubus is called a cambion. Haven't I told you the day we met?"
But then Ven remembered that Q had not taken him serious. "Well, you won't believe me this time either, right?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Bring me the Cambion!" The voice had said.
Just remembering what it sounded like sent shivers up his spine.

Q leaned all his weight on one foot, his expression uneasy. "I'm not very superstitious. I don't like believing in that stuff." It was more of a denial, really. If he believed in it, he'd have to acknowledge that he may not be human.

"Anyway," He lifted his hand out in explanation, "The person in my dream was talking about the cambion, like it was a thing, not a person. Are you sure that's the only definition for a Cambion?"

He had never heard the word before. His dream was english, strangely. He wondered if 'cambion' was the same in all languages, or if French had another word for it.
Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"It doesn't have anything to do with being superstitious" Ven frowned at Q.
"I mean, you see me standing here, right? Do you think these stupid horns on my head are some kind of trendy new decoration?"

Ven made a low "hmph" sound. As if he was lying.
Why the hell did Q not believe him?
The guy with the dog tail sticking out from his pants, shouldn't he be the one who would believe in things like this at once?

"The cambion?" Ven looked at him, confused.
"I don't know whether there is another definition for it. But I am pretty sure I am not a thing... Is it that important? I thought it was just a dream?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Abnormalities with humans can happen," He sighed as he turned back around, his tail now low, and slightly swaying from side to side as he began to walk again.
"Just because someone appears different does not mean they aren't human."

He continued for a ways, before answering Ven's other question, although it was probably rhetorical. "I believe dreams have meaning," he finally said aloud, his left hand in his pocket, holding the cellphone inside. "If it seems important in the dream, then it would make sense it would be something important. Otherwise, why would you dream about it?"

Q conveniently looked over the fact that believing dreams were not random images broadcasted to the mind during REM sleep, yet there could be seemingly random 'mutations' to humans in the shape of animal traits was somewhat ironic and ignorant.

"It said other things too," Q chimed, "But the cambion part was the loudest." He put his free hand into his pocket as well. He felt it better to not say what exactly the 'cambion part' was, and hoped Ven didn't ask.

They reached a sidestreet, and Q turned to walk along it.

"Why did you desecrate my body...?" was another line the voice had said, that didn't make much sense.
As he thought about it, his back ached. Q instinctively put a hand to his neck. He felt like there was something there. Like a phantom feeling. But it was just skin. He turned right again, so they were now headed back toward the hotel, though it was on a different street.

He stopped in mid-strike immediately after making the turn. Both hands went to his sides, poised for somesort of attack, and his tail stuck straight out behind him, and puffed out like a cat's. The hair on his head began to follow suit, but it was much too heavy, so did not raise or distort as much.

That was the one thing he was really afraid of. Cats.

He lifted his upper lip in a snarl, a long and deep guttural growl escaping him aimed at the black feline pawing near a sewer across the street. The cat looked up, and arched its back, imitating Q as its own hair puffed out and it too let out the same never-ending growl.

The glow of Q's eyes intensified, and his eyes met with the cat's, whose eyes also seemed to glow.
The cat would occasionally hiss after its growl intensified to a certain volume level. It was saying 'Get away, this is my territory!' Q's growl just kept growing louder and overshadowed the cat's hisses. At the third hiss, it finally led to the expected - He gave several savage barks. With each bark he leaned forward more until he took a step forward to attack the cat - Well it's mine now! I own it, leave me be or I will kill you!

At this, the cat jolted off. Q jumped as if in pursuit, but managed to stop himself. "ArrrrghI HATE CATS!" He shook his head violently for a moment, trying to gain his bearings before turning around. He had momentarily forgotten where he was, and which way was home. When he turned around, he saw Ven. Immediately he did a 180, to face where he had seen the cat, and began walking swiftly forward, shoving his hands in his pockets and breathing hard through his nose, to cover up that he would have kept growling otherwise.

"Forget you saw that," he ordered, keeping his head forward.

Even if Q was himself, the same thing probably would have happened. He hated cats. He always had. And it wasn't because he somehow subconsciously thought he was a dog, either - Every dog Q had ever met loved cats. To him, it was awkward to hate cats.

He considered them truly evil beings. If he could avoid their eyes, he could usually end up being fine. But once he made eye contact with them, he lost it. He'd thankfully never injured a cat, as far as he could remember, but he'd always thought there was something fundamentally wrong about them. As if they were all in on some sort of evil plot to turn him into a monster.

With Q's brisk pace, they'd be back at the hotel very soon. He hoped Ven could keep up.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Oh, I hate cats, too" Ven only shrugged at Q's strange behaviour.
He had decided that none of the things that man did would surprise him anymore now. He'd probably just end up racking his brain otherwise.

"They are kinda... scary," he added, shuddering with disgust.
Ven had to hurry to catch up with Q who seemed to be in a rush all of a sudden.

While they were heading back to the hotel Ven thought about what Q had just said.
He thought it was pretty odd that Q would mention a dream about a cambion right now...
Most people had never even heard that term before and Ven was sure he had not mentioned it the last few days either.

They walked past a church with a big, pretty clock tower and Ven noticed that it was almost three in the morning.
Okay, he was tired now.
He yawned and wished for his huge, soft bed to appear out of nowhere right there in front of him. Oh wait- his couch.
Everything was fine with him if he could just sleep.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q stopped when Ven yawned. He couldn't believe the boy wouldn't laugh at him about the cat thing- Loria had. She didn't let up about it for days.
He thanked Fate Ven hadn't acted the same, then looked toward where Ven had his eyes.

It was the Notre Dame de Paris. He mentally scolded himself for being so close to it and not even noticing. He looked to Ven, before taking in the cathedral again.

He settled down a bit, with a sigh. He wasn't a fan of churches. Being in them made him uncomfortable, even. But he still loved looking at them. The art inside, the people inspired, and the architecture, by itself. If so many people got together to make something so beautiful for a central cause, he would admire it. Regardless if he believed in the same cause as they or not.

"This is one of the Notre Dames," Q said, his tail lowering. "It's a shame it's not open," he remarked to himself, waving his tail slightly as he shifted his weight. "You probably would have liked to see what was inside."

Though most of the Notre Dames looked similar, it was de Reims Q liked the best. He couldn't quite place why. Less tourists, maybe?

"I didn't know the hotel was so close to here... Otherwise I would've made an attempt to come here while it was open."

He turned around and walked to a nearby bench and sat down, arms behind the back of it, legs stretched out. He wasn't tired int he least, and though he did see Ven's yawn, he didn't think the boy was ready to go to sleep.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Oh wow, now I feel stupid. I have read so much about Paris but I didn't recognize this church!"
Ven looked at the church in front of him again.
"It's beautiful. At least from the outside. I don't like to be in churches so it's okay that it's not open. I prefer to look at churches from the distance"

When he turned around he saw that Q had already sat down on a bench.
Ven tried to hide another yawn and sat down next to him, cross-legged. That was his favourite position to sit in.

He closed his eyes without even noticing it.
If they'd stay there for more than 5 minutes, Ven was sure he'd fall asleep.
Even on that uncomfortable bench.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]He didn't like to be in churches?

"You get that uneasy feeling, too?" he asked. "I like being in churches, but I always feel like I'm not supposed to be there."

When Ven sat down next to him, Q took in a loud breath. "I like the stained glass windows the best," he said. "The reflections they make in the sun are amazing."

Q didn't notice Ven had closed his eyes, and couldn't grasp the concept that Ven was really tired. This was like morning for Q. He was ready for his day to start.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven nodded slowly but kept his eyes shut.
"I know what you're talking about. But I won't even enter a church. I guess it's because of that thing that's a part of me. I really don't belong in there at all"
Then he blinked and tried to keep his eyes open but he was too sleepy.

"But it doesn't matter, I don't believe in any of those Christian things like God..."
Ven realized it would probably sound very stupid, coming from the boy who claimed to be a half-demon.
He didn't care for that, though. Religion had never interested him in the slightest and he didn't feel like talking about it either.
"Yeah, those glasses are always pretty. I respect the people who are able to design and make them," he quickly changed the subject.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q chuckled slightly. Glasses, heh.

"Me too. Stained glass windows seem to always be the best feature of any church." He mused.

Ven's voice sounded different, though. As if he were about to fall asleep. "Are you tired?" Q asked. Though it was said in such a way that Q wouldn't believe it if the boy said yes.

"Come here," he said as he reached over with his left hand and grabbed one of Ven's horns, pulling downward and toward himself in an attempt to get Ven to lay on Q's lap.

Q wasn't much for cuddling. He wanted to get right down to the act. But for Ven, he could take a few detours. At least he'd get something out of it, rather than nothing.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Yeah, I am tired. I don't run around the streets at three in the morning usually," Ven replied.
When Q pulled on his horn he almost lost his balance because of his sitting position.

"I'll fall asleep here, just to tell you..." he mumbled in an unenthusiastic attempt of protest before he laughed: "You'll probably have to carry me back to the hotel"
Then he snuggled up to Q, streched out on the bench and keeping his eyes shut.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q gave a "heh."

"That was the intention," he said in reply to the 'I'll fall asleep here' comment.
Q looked down at Ven on his lap, and brushed his hair lightly. As time wore on, Q had to reposition himself a few times, but didn't want to leave the bench. After about an hour he became incredibly bored and decided that, since he didn't want to move, he should try to get some more sleep as well.
His head leaned forward and he himself had slept soundly - albeit he'd wake up with a very sore neck and back - for two whole hours before he had another dream.

He went through his day with the Producer at the theatre. They had talked, and the man was admiring Q's less than human features, asking weird questions about how Q had grown up, or what it was like. The dream itself was in third person, and while Q was in make-up, the Producer had talked to one of the other actors. Q couldn't make out what they were saying, but money exchanged hands. Not many minutes passed before the whole Fight with Ven had happened, and Q forced himself on stage to try to act. However, when he got on stage, he was completely alone. No set, no audience, no staff. Just him.

"As a Guard Dog, you're pretty pathetic," it was another voice. It sounded slightly the same, though this time it was much younger. A shadowy man, presumably the owner of the voice, walked forward. Even though there was plenty of light on stage, Q couldn't make out any details of the form before him.

The shadow rubbed his hands together. "You don't seem to have a third eye, so I have to explain everything in tongue for you. You're one retarded mutt," it said, laughing halfheartedly at his own joke. "The point being is, you've been ignoring us for twenty three years, and it's time you stopped denying your birthright."

Q growled at the shadow. "What are you talking about?"

The shadowman laughed. "You really are thickheaded. He wasn't joking when he sent me to you. Are you going to tell me you don't know what you are? You may be a halfbreed, but that shouldn't mean you can just deny your instincts. Your sight. Your sense of smell. You know people smell different, right? And some people catch your attention more easily? Can't you connect the dots? The people seem different for a reason, to you. It's your job to sniff those people out and eradicate them." He shifted his weight, as if embarrassed he had to explain any of this.

Q put his hand on his chest. "I know exactly what I am. I'm a human being. That's all."

The shadowman shook his head. "I can't believe He hasn't killed you off; you're a bit slow in the head." He took a step back. There was a sense of urgency in the air, as if they were about to leave.
"Well remember this, Quatre Bornes. Bad luck will keep you company until you open that third eyes of yours. You can't take orders properly with that thing closed." He pointed to his head, and walked off stage. "Caio," He said with a halfhearted wave before he disappeared.

"I only have two eyes!" Q shouted back. A stupid reply. A spot light turned on, both blinding and surprising Q into the real world, where he opened his eyes with another guttural growl.

He looked up tot he clock. It was 6am, and the sun was going to rise soon. He found himself in a particularly annoyed mood, though. That mad had done nothing more than insult his intelligence and insist about an eye Q simply didn't have. If Q had three eyes, he would know. And calling him a dog... What an imbecile.

His green eyes narrowed as he looked down at Ven. His growl continued to grow louder, until the point where he should've barked, at which point the growl reverted to a simple gurgle in his throat. Looking around, he noticed people beginning to come outside. Not many, but certainly more than those who were present at three hours prior.

A scowl present on his face, he looked back down at Ven. The horns were a dead giveaway. He shouldn't trust this boy. There was something wrong with him. Ven reminded him of a cat. Just lying there, pretending to be helpless until they attacked...

His tail began to fwap from side to side in annoyance. He wanted to leave. This church and now Ven were making him wary.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven began to shift on the bench.
He had been dreaming about beaches and palms and the sea... when a scary sound had started to make him feel nervous.
It had sounded like a huge dog or wolf lurking in the shadows of the trees behind him.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Q. Ven's eyes looking like those of a hunted animal. He realized the growls had come from Q's throat.
"What's up with you? Is everything alright?" he asked, alarmed by the scary sounds.

Then he noticed that they weren't in the hotel room. "Where are we...?"
He looked around as good as he could without sitting up. "Oh... the bench, right"

Q's growls had sounded different than a few hours earlier, though. Ven was getting a bit wary, not feeling relaxed at all anymore.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q opened his mouth before turning his face away from Ven's. His ehart was pounding in his chest and he began to breathe through his mouth. He had to say something.

He couldn't just say 'well, I don't know what happened, I just decided to act like a wild animal and pretend you were a cat.' This was getting ridiculous. His moods were changing at the drop of a coin. He must be insane. He was a man, he had to be able to contain this. At the rate he was going, those jokes about being a werewolf were seeming less like jokes.

Q closed his eyes and leaned forward, putting his hands on the edge of the bench. This of course meant he was hovering over Ven, but Q wasn't intentionally doing so.
Calm Down, he told himself. No need to act like a lunatic, this is a normal day, in a normal place, at a normal ti- his thought was interrupted as he opened his eyes to look at the large clock on the Notre Dame. His growls began anew. The two towers looked like eyes and the clock seemed to make a perfect angry snarl.

Q knew the feeling was ridiculous and he shouldn't be feeling this way. That's part of why he was so angry at himself. He shouldn't be acting this way. It was unreasonable.
"We should leave," Q forced. His voice didn't even sound the same. It was almost fearsome, but reminded Q more of death metal rockers where the lead singers growled their words. The man was surprsided he didn't have to cough, or his throat wasn't sore.

Q opened his mouth again, and took a deep breath, trying to hold it to stop himself from growling. It only worked for a few seconds before he exhaled in a slight cough and started again.
What new level of Hell was this that he could no longer control his own vocal chords?

In attempt to make himself more muted, he closed his mouth and attempted to keep his lips shut tight. They quivered, but the growl seemed to reverberate through his chest.

His heart still pumped and his tail still waved with force... There had to be something around here that would calm him down.

[[I just realized there is no clock on Notre Dame de Paris. I don't know what cathedral I was thinking of before. Wtf. ...Oh well. Dx]]


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven noticed something was really wrong with Q this time.
Even the evening before he had not behaved as strange as he did now. He was beginning to be scary.
Truly scary. Not just the crazy-dog-guy-scary he had been before.

Although Ven had never been a very sensitive person he wasn't ignorant enough to not notice that.
He seemed to be restless now instead of just not feeling well.

For one second Ven had the strong urge to pull down Q's head and kiss him again, just to distract him from whatever was making him act that weird.
But before he could move he realized that would be a very very bad idea considering the trouble he had brought himself into just a couple of hours ago.
Instead he just raised his hand and caressed Q's cheek like a mother would do when her little child was scared or upset.

"Please tell me what's wrong with you, Q," he pleaded.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]When Ven brought his hand up to Q's cheek, Q jumped, and craned his neck to bite the thing that touched him. But before Q could sink his teeth into Ven's skin, his own hand slapped Ven's away, and held it down on Ven's chest, squeezing it tightly.

Q's mouth consequently chomped on air. What kind of stupid person would try to touch an obviously troubled animal? That kind of shit only worked in movies. That kind of shit was only played by stupid demons trying to look innocent. A warning glare came down on Ven.

"Get off me," he barked the order, but he didn't wait for Ven to comply. His hand let go of Ven's and pulled the boy's horn aside so Q could get up. Once he did, he started walking toward the hotel, but was extremely jumpy.

He looked around for any signs of someone with malintentions, and jumped at any unexpected sound. He needed to be somewhere by himself. All of this pent up rage had to be coming from somewhere. Maybe if he just found a punching bag... He shook his head. It'd take more than a few punches to clear whatever this was. Maybe if someone punched him?

Enough time had passed that Q knew this was not drugs. Or if it was, they were some damn potent drugs. He looked behind him, to see if Ven was following him.

That Monster.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Ouch... hey!" Ven yelled as Q shoved him off.
"Fine! Just run away you stupid beast!" he shouted after him as Q started heading back down the street.
"You don't care that someone might be worried about you, right!?"

He was furious now and he didn't like being in such a state. Not at all.
At least he was not furious enough to lose his temper completely this time.

Actually, he just felt very badly hurt and not all that angry.
This guy was getting more and more ridiculous. Maybe he wasn't even worth worrying about...
Ven didn't get up to follow Q to the hotel. He just sat there on the bench glaring at the stupid dog's back.
[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Stupid Beast? Q rounded a corner and leaned up against a wall. This whole thing was overly dramatic. If he were in Ven's shoes, he would've left already. Why bother with someone who couldn't control his own emotions?

This was stupid. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and closed his eyes in a silent sob. Q was well past puberty and his teenage years, he shouldn't feeling like this, nor should he be treating other people like slabs of meat.
But what should he say. 'Oh Gee, Ven, I'm sorry. I just keep having these dreams about people telling me stuff, and whenever I wake up from them I'm always super angry' He'd totally understand that one, right? As far as Q could remember, he didn't even have dreams normally.
He usually just slept and woke up.

Q let out a cough. Now that he was out of sight of Ven, his growl had finally subsided. The man sighed in relief.

"Can't you connect the dots? The people seem different for a reason, to you. It's your job to sniff those people out and eradicate them."

Maybe Ven was one of those people he was supposed to eradicate? No! What was he thinking, believing what was said in a dream so literally? He had never killed anyone before, and he wouldn't kill anyone now. Especially not Ven. He cared too much for him. Ven reminded him of his first childhood crush. He'd never hurt Ven if he could help it.

But then again, that thing had horns. Eighteen and still a virgin? Having a model drooling over him and still wanting to take it slow? Ven had to be some type of demon. It couldn't be trusted. He was too innocent to be believable. Q let out a short growl just thinking about the dishonesty.
Why was he even thinking this?

"Bad luck will keep you company until you open that third eye of yours."

Was this what the bad luck was? Bad luck with Ven?If so then Q would gladly get away from it. But he didn't have a third eye!

He kicked the wall. This was frustrating.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven leaned back on the bench staring at the corner where Q had just disappeared.
This wasn't fair.

He had never really cared for anyone but his family and his only friend in his life.
The reason for that had been that everyone else had hated him, of course. He had never had the chance to get close to anyone.
The kids at his school had treated him like some kind of monster and their parents had done just the same.

And now Ven had finally met someone who had not hated him. Well, not from the beginning at least.
He felt pretty hated now. Q was probably just toying around with him. Acting all nice and friendly one moment and treating him like dirt the next.
It seemed as if his heart had been shattered to one million pieces.

Ven didn't know what to do or what to say to him anymore.
Everything he did was wrong... and everything he said seemed to be even worse. It was frustrating.
Tears began to run down his cheeks and he buried his face in his hands, sobbing like a little child.
All he wanted was just to be happy for once. Without having to care about these damn horns on his head.
If he had just the money to pay for a surgery to get rid of these... things. He would gladly accept such an offer right now.

How could he return to the hotel now?
Q would probably bite his head off... Or never talk to him again.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]I am so stupid! Q yelled at himself.
He was taking this whole third eye thing too literally. "third eye" had two meanings. He read a lot of books, the subject came up a few times in spiritual ones. He should've figured this out sooner.

He stared at the wall in front of him, taking in a deep breath. The third eye as the mind's eye. You were supposed to be able to gain psychic abilities or something when you opened it. Q didn't want to believe in that sort of thing, but if it would allow him to gain control of the thing that was making him angry all the time... Why not give it a try?

He didn't remember exactly how to open it, but all spiritual books were about accepting oneself and meditation, so he was sure if he just thought of his own way to do it, the eye would open on its own.

Q closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Meditation was not new to him, he just hardly did it. He had to concentrate on his breathing, and clear his mind. Not something so easily done when he was this frustrated. He ended up picturing himself in his home, reading a book. That was calming enough.

Almost naturally, the next step was to picture energy flowing from other parts of his body to where he assumed this third eye was. His heart slowed and he became warm; it was a comforting feeling, almost as soothing as when he had fallen asleep with Ven on his lap.
Finally, he had to visualize this 'eye' opening. Everything in him relaxed, and he forced himself to slowly sit down on the street before continuing.

Sitting was only a momentary setback, soon he was back into the hang of his energy going toward his forehead. Finally, another wave of warmth came before him and he opened his green eyes with a sigh of relief, feeling rejuvenated and soothed. A smile was even on his face, until a familiar voice completely ruined it.

"Oh see, I knew I was wrong about doubting you." It was the younger voice from his last dream. It wasn't so much spoken even, as it was felt. The whole thing was a bit wonky, but he knew somewhere in him he had to stay calm or he'd snap out of this whole meeting worse than he had from the prior dream.

You could've made it clear you meant the Mind's Eye, Q thought to himself.

"I figured you didn't believe in this supernatural thing ,so making it clearer would've been a waste of energy. Just like this communication is. Goodbye." And with that it was over.

Q would've laughed if he weren't so confused.
Insane. Yes. He had to be insane. This reminded him of a Steven King book. Maybe he had ingested some parasite he didn't know about.

Either way, he was calm now. He looked around before standing up with a sigh, and peeking back around the corner of the building, to see if Ven was still on the bench. He ran through what he could say to the boy. All of it was just as retarded sounding as the 'voice' in his head.

He decided he didn't care and began to walk toward Ven anyway. His head and tail low. Once he reached the bench, he looked toward Ven's face, trying to judge his expression.
The model frowned. "I know... No matter what I say it isn't going to help much," he said softly. "But I am deeply sorry."

Deeply sorry? What kind of wording was that? Great, now he was a Class A fag. It added well to his insanity.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven was still sobbing when he heard Q's voice. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and looked up.
It was obvious he had been crying and Ven wanted to slap himself for acting like that.
But maybe this was the last chance for him to get all this shit off his chest.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Ven's voice was trembling.
"I feel as if I was just some little toy for you. No matter how hard I try to do things right" He sobbed again but locked eyes with Q instead of bowing down his head.
"I know I've told you already, but I really like you. I'm totally serious about that but I have no idea anymore what to think about your strange behaviour. If you want to get rid of me, please tell me straight away instead of just trying to scare me... because that hurts"

Ven's fingers started to play with his shirt but he still didn't turn his head away from Q.
"Please just don't make fun of me, I've had enough of that" He took a deep breath of the cool morning air to calm himself down.
He was expecting another weird outburst of growling or yelling from the man in front of him now.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q's eyes watered over. He blinked frequently to keep himself from crying like Ven, however. What little shreds of dignity he could keep at this point, he would fight for. He waited silently for Ven to finish speaking. Q wanted to hear it.

"You do.... Everything right," He said softly, looking to the ground. "I will never make fun of you. I have never made fun of you. I've always protected you.... You mean too much to me to toss around your feelings like that."

He sighed. "I know this sounds cliche, but. It's not you; it's me. I don't know what is wrong with me," he shook his head. Maybe it was time ot tell the truth?
"I know I did something stupid... But when you told me never to touch you again I felt like my heart had broken. I'm not someone who gets into romantic relationships, so... The feeling was awful." He wondered why he bothered explaining why it was awful, when according to Ven, he'd never had a relationship either.

He took a breath and then sat down next to Ven. He wanted to hug the boy, but he thought that would just make this worse, in a way. "For me, it is difficult to love somebody without the physical part of it. And I had been holding off because you said you'd never done it before, and I didn't want to be mean."

He shook his head, sucking in another breath. "Ever since I took those drugs - and I'm sorry I did it - I've been having this weird dreams. When I wake up from them, I am growling and I can't control myself."

He put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes, even though he had not cried. "You have no idea how these feels," he pleaded. "I have no idea what's wrong with me. I have never acted like this before. Never. And even now, I feel as if me being as myself is only temporary. I have spent my entire life convincing myself I am a normal human being," his voice got softer, "Now it's all falling apart, and it's with the one person who I actually like spending the most time with."


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven's eyes widened as he listened to Q.
So he did actually mean something to him? The thought made him feel as if one thousand butterflies were having a party in his stomach.
He didn't know what to say to all that.

"I'm sorry about saying that. I was just so shocked because you had slapped me and, well, I have been afraid of being hit by other people all my life," Ven admitted.
"My childhood wasn't actually what I would have dreamed of so I guess I just overreacted..."

But when Q mentioned his dreams and the effects they had on him Ven just shook his head.
"I know very well what it feels like to lose control. I have had a few small accidents already, the last one almost taking a life"
He shuddered as he remembered that day, "I don't want that to happen again. Neither to me nor to you"

Ven smiled slightly. He had never felt that relieved.
"Please take care, okay?" He leaned forward and pulled Q into a close embrace, still smiling.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q sniffed and hugged Ven back. He put his face into Ven's hair and took a big whiff.
God, he smelled so good. Q just wanted to.. To do naughty things to him. He shoved the thought away and just squeezed Ven tighter instead.

"I feel stupid for asking," he mumbled into Ven's hair. He was older than Ven, he shouldn't be having the same problems as Ven, right?
"But how did you control what was wrong with you?"


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven clung to Q's shirt as if refusing to ever let him go again.
"I didn't control it. I had no chance to do it..." His voice became annoyed with himself at that.
"There was this guy from my school, trying to rape my best friend... I just found them by coincidence and I couldn't hold back. I can't even remember much of that night. Only that I started attacking that guy without paying attention to anything around us"

Ven made a short pause and tried to remember what had happened after that.
"Well, the next thing I remember was blood all over my clothes, my hands, my face, ... and three of that guy's friends trying to hold me back. I had no chance to control myself at all"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q's hopes sank. If Ven never was able to hold back his anger, then Q didn't have much of a mentor.

"You killed someone...?" Q whispered, almost not wanting to believe it. He loosened his grip on Ven, but didn't pull away. He could see killing someone over rape a possibility... But Vend oing it? Ven was so... Ven was Ven. He was to ignorant and weak to kill someone.
Isn't he?

"He is a cambion. He will kill more in his lifetime. You will see his innocence is all a ruse to get to you. Do you know nothing of the Incubi? All they do is use people for their own foolish wants." It was the younger voice from before, but this time, unlike the last, it felt sympathetic. The voice even seemed weaker than before.

Q jumped slightly at the voice, but covered it up by squeezing Ven tightly before separating the embrace between them.

"Our flight back to the US is today," he stated softly. "I think it leaves at nine."

Q's eyes had already thinned to their respective slits, as the sun was rising. He was beginning to squint, and if he stayed out much longer without his glasses he might not be able to take the headaches along with the rest of the stressors he assumed he'd experience during the plane trip... If his new-found fear of heights was any indication.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"No! I didn't kill him!" Ven called out.
"I almost did... but his friends held me back. That was the only thing those people had ever done that I am grateful for," he said and tried to smile.
"I wouldn't be able too look at myself in the mirror anymore if I had killed that guy"

Our flight back to the US?
Ven hat totally forgotten that Q wasn't living in Europe anymore.
He wasn't even sure whether Q had meant "Loria's and my flight" or whether he had also included Ven in that.

"... Are you going to take me with you?"
He hoped Q would say yes although the thought of going to America saddened his heart.
That would take him away farther from returning to Germany than he had ever been.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Well that's good to hear, Q thought to himself, in regard to Ven's attempted murder.
"A lie," the voice interjected. Q curled his lip up slightly in annoyance, but quickly reversed the act, as he didn't want Ven to worry about Q being mad again.

Q sighed at Ven's question. "If you want to go, I will take you," he replied. "But I'll be on a two week break. I usually hang around by myself, so it might be boring for you.... You wouldn't be traveling to any photo shoots or theatres, I mean."

Q scratched the back of his head for a moment, briefly wondering if he would freak out on the plane, or if he would be fine as long as he didn't look out the window. "It's an eight hour flight," he surmised.

Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Of course I want to! I've never been to the US in all my life! And I don't think I'll be that sad if you're not working at weird movie theatres during that time"
Ven nodded, excited about trip.
"Well, if you didn't take me there, you'd have to leave me here on the streets of Paris. And I wouldn't forgive you if you did that"
He stuck out his tongue at Q and grinned.

Then he finally got up from the bench, stretching his legs and arms.
"If the plane is leaving so soon we should hurry up and get back to the hotel, right?"
He turned around and began strolling into the direction of the hotel.

[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]He chuckled. "The streets of Paris aren't so bad..." He stood and put his hands back in his pockets. "As long as you stay out of the bad parts of town."

He shrugged and began to follow Ven, though he lagged behind with his slower pace. His eyes were really squinting now that the sun was up. He had the beginnings of a headache and was blinking frequently as he attempted to see where he was going. For the most part, he couldn't, so simply attempted to walk in a straight line and hope. He knew if he just followed the little blob of Blue he knew to be Ven, he should be fine.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven tried to remember what exactly the hotel had looked like.
He had not been paying that much attention to its facade the days before.
It was only past a few corners, though, so he easily found it.

He turned around to notice Q had been lagging behind and waited for him to catch up.

The streets were still rather quiet.
Not very many people were up this early, especially for a big city like Paris.
Ven enjoyed this relaxing atmosphere although he also liked spending time in busy cities.

When they entered their hotel room Loria still seemed to be asleep.
Ven quickly grabbed new clothes for the day since he didn't feel like running around in the shirt and pants he had been sleeping in, even if it just had been a few hours.
"I'll take a quick shower," he whispered before he hurried into the bathroom, trying to not make any loud noise that would wake up Loria.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Once they had reached the hotel and were inside the room, Q looked for his sunglasses. He found them, thankfully undamaged, and put them on his eyes, just as Ven mentioned something about a shower.

Q went to the bathroom with Ven, but placed his hand on the doorframe and leaned in. "I'll come with you," he said. He hadn't thought much of it at the time. He needed to take a shower, too. They could save time and water.

Of course, the one time he wasn't thinking dirty, he should've been. It came to him shortly after. "No, wait," he winced. "I didn't mean it like that."

Q immediately removed himself from the bathroom and instead busied himself trying to find new clothes.
Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Haha, it's okay!" Ven laughed as Q left the bathroom.
He undressed and hopped into the pretty shower cubicle. He adored the whole bathroom, it was so modern and nice looking.

After quickly taking the shower he got dressed, brushed his teeth and dried his hair.
If Q wanted to take a shower, too, he'd have to hurry.
"You can take your shower now" Ven grinned as he left the bathroom.

Then he stuffed everything into his bags that wasn't in there already and sat down in the living room.
Once again he was waiting for the others to get ready.

His mother and Sascha came into his mind again. He couldn't just leave for the US without them knowing that he was still alive.
Ven had run away from his uncle so they'd know about his disappearance by now. But Scotland was something else than America.
He had to let them know he was alright so he jumped from the couch and knocked on the bathroom door.
"Q? Can I use the telephone to call my family in Germany? Do you know whether that works from here?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]When Ven came out, Q took his change of clothes into the bathroom and shut the door. He was already naked, and right about to turn the water back on when Ven asked him about the phone.

"Uh..." Germany. Wow. He wondered how much that would cost. He looked around the floor of the bathrrom, and reached into his dress pants, where he had conveniently left his cellphone. The same cellphone he was going to call his own Father with, but decided against.

He felt a small pang of guilt for not calling his father, but in the end he figured it had been the best decision. Besides, after six years of never talking to each other, it would have been awkward for Q to call out of the blue. Assuming he even had the same number.

Q opened the door to the bathroom a bit, just enough to stick his hand out. Q wasn't at all ashamed of his appearance, but he figured with Ven, it was better to at least try and be modest. Not that Q was anything stellar to look at without his shorts on.

"Here," he said, holding out the cellphone. "Just try not to be too long. I've never called Germany before... It'll rack up the bill."

Once Ven took the phone, he closed the door and locked it, turned on the water, and took his own quick shower. He finished up about ten minutes later - that included drying his hair - and walked out in another blue shirt and khakis. His hair was again parted to the side, which covered one eye. Q did his uneven hair not so much to cover up an eye, but to cover the diagonal scar over his nose, between his eyes. That was probably the one thing he was ashamed of. He only parted his hair evenly after he'd covered the scar with foundation.

He looked over to Ven, a hand in his pocket. He wondered if the boy had finished the call yet.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Thank you, I'll try to keep it as short as possible," Ven promised as he took the phone.
This would be the first time he'd talk to his mother in two or three months and he couldn't deny he was very nervous.
He sat down on the couch again, waiting for someone to pick up.

"Emily Loraine here. Hello?" he heard a familiar female voice on the other end.
"Mum...? It's me, Ven!" His heart was beating like crazy, he had had no idea how much he had missed his mother's voice.
"Ven?! Oh my God, is it really you? Where are you? Dan told me you had disappeared! I was worried to death! Are you okay?"
"Yes, Mum, I'm alright. I'm in France right now, but I can't talk that long. I just wanted to tell you that I'm fine" "France!? Why are you-"
"I'll tell you later!" he cut her off. "Just don't worry about me, I'll call you again as soon as I can"
"Oh Ven, what are you doing?! You can't just run away and go to FRANCE and-" "I love you, Mum, you know that. I'll really call you later, good bye!"
He quickly cut her off again and closed the phone.
Although he would have loved to talk to her longer she'd just ask all kinds of annoying questions and that was the last thing he wanted right now.

A few minutes later Q returned from the bathroom and Ven held up his phone to give it back to him.
"Thanks" He smiled happily. "I'm ready to leave now. What about Loria, is she even awake yet?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q took the phone from Ven and attached it to his backside. He frowned when Ven brought up Loria. He hadn't thought about her.

Looking over to her door, he said, "I don't know, I guess I'll go check on her..."

He went over to the door and gave a slight knock. No answer. Q exhaled loudly and opened the door and peeked in. After a few seconds he closed the door behind him, walking inside.

Loria was in her bed, awake, hugging a pillow.
"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's you," she answered. "This was my one chance... For Paris.. And you ruined it with your stupid boyfriend." She glared to Q, who frowned even deeper, and sat down on the bed, scooting up beside her.

"I'm sorry. I can make it up to you-- We could come to France after my break. Without Ven," Q pleaded. Although Loria was acting very awkward and mean while Ven was here, they had been together for four years. They were partners, and seeing her this upset disturbed him.

"No you can't," Loria choked. "I'm quitting. You're too old and have too many things wrong with you to continue to be in this business. I have other clients that need my attention."

"Loria, don't do this..." Q pleaded. He knew he should retire soon, but he didn't think it would be this soon. Let alone his agent abandoning him.

"I have to," she said firmly. "We are losing too much money. I'm sorry."

Q's eyes watered. "How much is left in my account?" he asked, almost afraid to know.

"You could probably live off of it for a while, but it's not much. You should get another job soon. I'm sorry, Qua."

Q took a few deep breaths. He was in shock. He didn't know what he should do. After a moment of silence, he bent over and hugged her. "Thanks for being here all these years. I'm sorry I've been such a jerk the past couple of days," he whispered.

She nodded into his shoulder. "I understand," she hoarsed.

Q pulled away, "Our flight leaves soon. Will you be ready?"

Loria shook her head. "That's the other thing," she said, wiping a tear away with her finger. "There are other models here, now. You have to take a chartered flight back. The tickets are on the desk." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I pulled some strings so you at least had first class. I hope you two have a good life together."

Q backed away, and regretfully took the tickets on the desk. "Thanks," he murmured.
He turned to the door to the main room, putting his hand on it before saying, "When you ever come back to the US, give me a call, okay? I like being with you, despite what it looks like sometimes."

Loria sniffed and nodded, and Q walked out the door back to ven, the tickets in his hand, closing the door behind him. He let out the deepest sigh, as if someone had just died.

"It's just us," he told Ven. "Loria isn't coming." He'd leave the rest of the conversation out- Ven didn't need to know.

Q looked at the tickets, studying them for a moment.
"So we'd better get to the airport. It's a normal plane, this time."

Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven looked at Q surprised at and the same time confused about that.
"She's not coming with us? Is everything alright with her?"

He was not actually that sad that Loria was not coming with them.
Her mood swings had been scarier than Q's entire odd behaviour. Going alone with Q didn't sound too bad to him.
But he felt he should at least say good bye to her. He wasn't rude enough to leave without a word.

After hesitating for a few seconds he knocked on the door of her room.
"Loria? Good bye, it was... interesting to meet you"
The word "nice" would have sounded a bit dissembling since he was kinda glad about her staying in Paris.
He didn't even expect any kind of reply so he just turned around, grabbed his bags and smiled at Q.
"Leaving?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Yeah, everything's fine with her. She just has more business here, I guess." He slanted his mouth a bit. He wasn't very good at lying.

Loria replied with a weak, "Goodbye, Ven," When the boy knocked on the door and said his piece.

When Ven grabbed his bags, Q gave a 'tch'. "I'm not ready, yet" he said somberly, shoving all of the things he hadn't put away yet in his bag, before zipping it up and following Ven out the door.

They hailed a cab, and soon enough they were at the airport, with tons of people. Q was uneasy, but being as they'd managed to get through security and everything all right, he should only be waiting for their seats, now.

Soon their flight was called, and they both got on the very crowded plane, though first class made it somewhat more tolerable. Eight hours passed, most of which Q spent sleeping (thankfully with no dreams). He never once looked out the windows, though he had wanted to. He figured on a plane in public would be a bad place to go feral. Or take the chance to go feral, Q didn't know if he still had the height problems.

The plane finally landed in New York. The sun had just set, and after they had past customs and the rest of the normal airport bollocks, they were outside the Newburgh Airport. Newburgh was outside New York City, closer to Albany, and comparatively, much less busy and loud.

It was also not where taxis just waited around, so Q had to call one.
After about thirty minutes they finally were able to get the cab.

The farther they drove, the less and less city their was. The Taxi driver had to be given directions at almost every turn, until finally they reached a dirt road which led to - just as Loria had explained it earlier - a small log cabin in the middle of nowhere.

After Q got his bags out, he told the cab driver how to get back to Newburgh, and they were by themselves, in the dark of the night, in the middle of the woods, at Uncle Tom's Q's cabin.

Q yawned and kicked the door open. He lived so far out, he didn't even bother locking the door... Not that he had anything to steal, anyway.
He put his bags near the door and pushed his sunglasses to his forehead.

There were three rooms and a bathroom, with a mini-garage/storage attached. The three rooms consisted of the main room, where there was a large window, a futon, a coffee table, and three walls full of books. The room immediately to the right of the front door was a kitchen, which had various cabinets, a microwave, stove, oven, and an island, of which there was one bar stool near. As Loria had predicted - no refrigerator.

The room immediately to the left of the main room was Q's bedroom, which had a bathroom attached to it. And again, as Loria had stated before, no lights were to be seen. No lightbulbs in the ceiling, and no lamps.

Q dropped onto his futon and laid his feet on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles, and laying his arms behind the frame. He gave a satisfied sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
Finally home... He thought to himself.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven had been excited about the flight to New York.
This was the first time ever he was in America. Or anywhere outside of Europe, actually.

During the entire drive to Q's home he had stared out of the window and admired the landscape.
No matter whether there were cities or fields outside of the car.
It looked so distinctly different from Europe. He couldn't quite grasp what was different... it just was.

When they arrived at Q's small cabin he called out in surprise "Oh, Loria was telling the truth!? She told me you lived in such a house but I didn't really believe her!"
He felt pretty exhausted, though, so he wasn't all that euphoric anymore. The flight had been too long for his taste.
As soon as they entered the house he dropped on the floor next to his bags and looked around.
"Where am I supposed to sleep?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"She told me where I lived?" He quirked a brow. "Let me guess, she said I was a werewolf, too?" He rolled his eyes. How typical of Loria. At least they played nice for a little bit, then. Loria only made fun of Q to people she liked.

You can sleep with me, he laughed to himself.

"This is a futon," he said, looking to Ven. His eyes still glowed slightly, as if radioactive. "It sort of folds out, into a bed. I can sleep here, or you can.. Whichever you want. They're both equally comfortable." He wasn't lying either; he'd fallen asleep in the middle of a book plenty of times on the futon. That's why it was a futon, and not a regular sofa. Plus, they were cheaper anyway.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Yes, she did," Ven replied and nodded, referring to both of the questions..
"And maybe you're really a werewolf and just don't know of it yourself!" he joked and sat down next to Q on the futon.

"But we don't have full moon tonight, right? So I should be safe. Now move over a bit, I'll sleep here"
He slightly nudged Q's side to make him move.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Hah, I am no werewolf," he remarked. He put his feet back on the floor and scooted over to the edge of the futon, where there was an endtable. On it there were a few books, all of which Q had read before, but he sorted through them anyway, wondering which he could re-read. Finally he settled with a large white book called Crime & Human Nature, a scientific study about how criminals perceived crime. An interesting read, if one was into reference or psychology. Otherwise, it was boring. He moved the book from the endtable to the coffee table, where he also replaced his boots.

"You know I'm not tired," Q said, looking over to Ven. "And we haven't eaten yet."


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven rolled onto his back and looked at Q. "Right, I almost forgot about that!"
Exactly at that moment his stomach made a growling sound as if it had heard the word "eat".
But Ven was too lazy to get up again so he just stayed where he was lying.

"You never seem to be tired! I only got a few hours of sleep the last night and I am still tired..."
Then he shifted so he was lying on his stomach again and closed his eyes.
"I wouldn't mind getting something to eat, though. As long as I don't have to walk somewhere," he mumbled.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q sighed. He slept practically the entire time on the plane.
"I'm nocturnal," he said aloud. Though he had meant to think it. Oops.
Oh well, it didn't matter. He stood up and stretched, wagging his tail.

"You couldn't walk anywhere even if you wanted to. There's nothing around for at least five miles, maybe more. This is private land." Probably the only time I spent an exorbitant amount of money on anything, he remarked in his mind. He was glad he had, though. It was well worth it.

Q pulled his shirt out of his pants, and unbuttoned it. He only wore these things for show. He'd much rather wear his red and black longsleeve shirt, but he was too lazy to unpack it currently.
As he unbuttoned his cuffs, he said "There's some canned stuff in the cupboards somewhere. I haven't been home in a long time, so I'm not sure exactly what is there. I'm going to go see what I have in the freezer, though."

He shrugged as he went out the front door, "Probably leftover deer."

Loria was right, Q did hunt, but not with his hands. He had a longrifle, and a crossbow. Though he more frequently used the longrifle. When Q had been growing up, he was in military school. Q wanted to be a sniper, so he had a certain fondness for patience and guns. Q's father, however, wanted him to be a strategist, so Q never got to attend sniper school.
It wouldn't have been possible even if his father had approved... Q didn't qualify to go into training, not being in perfect "health" and all.

He walked over to the mini-garage, and pulled on the handle at the slide-up door. It wasn't automatic, and a large screech was heard as Q grunted and forced it upward. The door rolled up and slammed at the back.

The Garage itself was fairly clean... For a garage. It had a motorcycle, which was covered, a few workbenched, some shelves with various tools, and a large white freezer. One of the freezes one would see in crime shows where a murderer hides a body. There were bodies in Q's freezer, but they weren't human. Q grunted again as he opened up the door - something he hadn't done in a long time - and was immediately greeted with a puff of cold air and the smell of frozen flesh.

There was maybe a months supply left.One large buck for one person tended to last a long time. The man grabbed the plastic bag a piece of a leg was in, slammed the freezer door shut, walked out of the garage, pulling that door down as well with a slam, and came back into the main house, walking to the kitchen with the bag.

The bag was about the size of a whole chicken. When Q went out hunting, he usually only killed one thing, and spent the rest of the entire day skinning it, cutting it up into small pieces, and preparing it for later.

When Q was by himself, he usually only ate one large meal a day. When he was out with Loria, he tended to eat on her schedule, which was three smaller meals. If Ven was going to live with Q, he might have to invest in a refrigerator, simply so they didn't have to spend so much time defrosting everything. Come to think of it, maybe a pressure cooker would be a good investment, too.

Q took out a large pot and filled it with water, putting it on the stove and waiting for it to boil. As he waited for the water to boil, he cut open the freezer bag and separated the plastic from the meat. Once all was finished, he threw the bag away and put the meat in the pot. He glanced momentarily at the microwave's clock before walking back into the living room and sitting down.

He was bored. International flights always made him a bit stir crazy.
"So I guess Loria told you how boring it is here, too, huh?" he proclaimed.
"No TV, no radio, no video games." He hmphed. "Loria said if she even visited here often she'd die of boredom."


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven stretched out on the futon and watched Q preparing the meal.
"Oh well, I'm not a big fan of watching TV or playing video games. I do it sometimes but I prefer reading a good book"
He pointed at the books lying on the small table "You seem to have enough of those to keep me entertained for a bit... and what are you cooking there?"

Ven sat up and reached for one of the books. He had never heard of any of those books.
"How do you keep yourself entertained when you're here all alone? Besides reading books, I mean. I think I'd get bored if there was no one too keep me company"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q looked over to Ven on the couch."Venison," he replied flatly, replacing his feet on the table.

"Oh? So you like to read? I've tons of different books." He pointed to each wall, "This one's mostly reference or history, that one in scifi and fantasy, and that one..." He pointed the the wall with the least amount of books, "It's military history, and textbooks. But most of them are in french." He looked at the book on the coffee table, with Crime & Human Nature on it. He gave a hmph before answering Ven's next question.

"I'm not here very often. I worked all the time. But I'll just read," he shrugged, "Hunt, basic chores, sleep, work out, cook. Go on walks."

He put his feet on the floor and pushed himself up again. "I'm going to go outside for a smoke. Let me know if that pot in the kitchen makes any weird noises."

With that, Q opened his bag near the door, scrounged around in it for his lighter and cigs, and upon finding them, went outside.
Once he was outside he went to the mini-garage, placing his cigarette in his mouth and bringing his hand up to light it. Just as he produced the flame from the lighter and was bringing it to the butt of his smoke, the voice popped into his mind again.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," it said.

The unexpected jaunt caused Q to jump and drop the lighter. "What the f--" He cut himself off, shaking his hand, as he had almost burned it.

After he caught his breath, he grunted and went to pick up the lighter again. I thought you'd stop this idiocy once I left France! he thought back. Your voice was fading out and everything. He groaned to himself.

"No, dunce. The only reason I was 'fading out' as you say, is because I can only communicate with you at night."

Oh. Q thought. Why shouldn't I smoke? I've done so for four years! He lit up his cig and took a drag in retaliation.

"It may be a sin, but you should avoid it anyway- it messes up your sense of smell."

Q wrinkled his nose. "Fine, whatever. If I do what you say, you'll leave me alone, right?" He said aloud.

"Usually."

"Fine," Q grumbled, throwing his hardly even used cig to the ground and crunching it under his boot. "You win; félicitations."

WIth that, he went back inside, slamming the door behind him.
He looked to Ven. "Did it make any weird noises?" Referring to the pot.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Venison?" Ven laughed at that. "How fitting!"

Then he nodded in response to Q's next question.
"Yeah, I couldn't afford buying a TV of my own and my mother didn't have enough money either, so I just stuck to reading books"

When Q had left the room Ven got up and rummaged in his bags.
It was way too warm in the small house and he didn't feel comfortable in his clothes anymore so he decided to change into his favourite black shorts and an orange t-shirt.
He took a look at the shelves with the books in them to see if he could spot anything he had at least heard of.

But before he could find anything Q came back in.
"Nah, it didn't make any noise at all," he replied and shook his head.
Ven's stomach started grumbling that moment. "Oh god, I'm starving!" he called out, patting it.
"I hope you're good at cooking!"
[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q hmphed, putting his right hand on his hip. "You're so dramatic, you know that? It's going to take at least an hour."

Q sighed and shook his head, putting his lighter in his pocket and heading toward the kitchen. He briefly looked through his cupboards to figure out hat materials he had left, and what he could make with them. He had no problems just eating the meat by itself... Q had pretty much killed all his taste buds long a go.

After some searching, he figured he had enough to make Deer Hunters Stew.

"If you're bored, you can help me make this," he called, getting out a different pot and a cutting board.
"Do you know anything about plants?" he asked. "I've some vegetables out back." Assuming they're still alive, he added to himself.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"One hour!?" Ven sighed. "I'm not dramatic, I'm hungry!"
He followed Q into the kitchen and looked over his shoulder.
"Plants? Uh... if you told me to bring you tomatoes, I'd probably get you radishes. But I can try, just tell me what the things you want look like"

[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q put his hand to his head. How could this kid not know anything about vegetables?
"Okay... Forget that... I'll get the vegetables."

He disappeared into his room and came back with a pen and a piece of paper, and quickly jotted things down.

3 potatoes, cut up
1 onion, cut up
1 stalk celery, cut up
1/2 bell pepper, cut up
1 qt. tomatoes
1 can kidney beans
2 tbsp. Lea and Perrin Worcestershire sauce
Dash of hot sauce
1 tsp. garlic salt
Salt and pepper
Cooking wine


He shoved the paper once he was done into Ven's face.
"Just go through that and put the stuff you can find into the empty pot. I'll be right back with the other things. The measuring cups are in a drawer somewhere..."

Q left the house and came back a short time later with the vegetables needed, and dropped them all on the island with a sigh. He took out a large knife and began chopping up everything on the cutting board after he pulled it to himself. When he finished cutitng something, he'd toss it into the empty pot.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"What the hell is Lea and Perrin Worcestershire sauce? I don't even know what celery or kidney beans look like," he admitted after reading what Q had written down.
He tried to find at least a few of those things to put them into the pot.

"This is like going on a camping trip," Ven grinned as they had finally sat down to eat.
"Well, at least how I would have imagined one"

After he had eaten enough for two lions he leaned back and sighed, content with everything around him.
"Okay, you are a good cook, that was delicious," he complimented.
"But I'm really tired now. You don't mind if I get some sleep, do you?"

[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q shook his head, almost in shame. Ven had to have come from another world or something.

It was maybe 45 minutes before they had their meal ready and Q ate it standing against the island while Ven had the bar stool. Q had no real table to sit down to eat at

"Yeah, a camping trip..." Q grumbled, mostly to himself. He could tell Ven was having a good time, but a camping trip? That was like some sort of backhanded insult. Fortunately, Ven followed it up with a decent compliment about his cooking, which Q thanked Ven for.

"You can sleep in my bed, if you want. I'm going to stay up for a while," he said, picking up the dishes and putting them in the sink.

Unless you want me to sleep with you, he thought to himself.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Oh really? Nice! Feel free to throw me out whenever you want to sleep, too"
Usually he would have denied that offer the prospect of sleeping in a soft bed was too tempting for him to do so.
Ven slid down from the stool and slightly waved at Q while trying to hold himself back from yawning again.
"Good night, Q!"

Then he entered the bedroom and threw himself onto the bed.
This was better than those uncomfortable seats on the plane. He had not been able to fall asleep the entire time during the flight.
Since it was that warm he didn't even bother to get under the blanket but just sprawled where was lying.

Ven fell asleep just a few minutes later.
He had expected to lie awake for a long time since his mind still kept wandering to his family...
But the day had been too exhausting for those thoughts to keep him up.
Flying was not going to be his new favourite way of travelling.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Good night, Ven," He stated solemnly as he began to wash the dishes.

Once Ven was out of the way, Q cleaned the dishes first, then walked around the home for a bit before going outside for about an hour. When he came back inside, he made sure Ven was asleep before taking out his cellphone and calling his publicist.

He explained what had happened between him and Loria, and that he would have to cease use of her services, because he wouldn't have the money.
She said she understood and after some goodbyes Q was off the phone. Once he hung up with his publicist, he stared at the keys, wondering if he should call his father.

Father, he imagined the conversation would start, I am sorry for running away from you, but I'm hearing voices in my head and I think I need another operation. What should I do?

"Don't do it," the young voice replied.
Call my father? Why not?
"You don't need another operation. Those have already ruined you as it is. Another one and you would be useless." the voice warned.
He stared at the phone. Then I should do it, just to get you out of my head. He brought his hand up to begin punching in the number.

Almost immediately he was come over with pain, and had to resort to gritting his teeth and holding his head, hoping it would stop soon.
"You should go to the city tomorrow with your cambion."
Q was still wincing. Why?
The pain surged up again.
"Do not make me resort to turning you into a growling beast again."

The pain finally subsided once Q agreed to take Ven to the city. After a moment of trying to shake off what had just happened, he walked into his bedroom, putting his hand on the top of the doorframe and leaning in.

Ven was still asleep, thankfully. And he was really... Well, he looked good. And he was in Q's bed. He remembered Ven tell him he could kick the boy out any time... Maybe, then...

Q let go of the door frame and walked over to his bed, his tail waving from side to side quietly. He slowly put his knee up on the bed and finally climbed atop it.
He was now right next to Ven's sleeping form, though he was on his hands and knees rather than lying down. Gently, he touched Ven's shoulder.

"Ven?" he whispered. "Ven, wake up?" He shook the boy slightly.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven had just started dreaming pretty weird things.
Something about a pet shop, lots of small kittens and dogs all over the place, his mother and Sascha also being there and looking for a "birthday gift" for him which ended up being a cute little puppy.
As soon as he held the small, brown dog in his arms it transformed into a growling Q with glowing eyes.
Ven grinned at Q and hugged him as if he really was an oversized dog.
But when Ven looked up again he stood in front of a real dog. And a scary one, too.
It was huge, had glowing eyes and was pitch black, its growl sounded like an earthquake and made Ven jump back in shock.

When something touched his shoulder he shot up and looked around in he room to find out where he was.
"Oh god, you scared me!" Ven gasped as he recognized the real, not that dog-like Q next to himself.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q jumped a bit when Ven did, and leaned back when Ven sat up.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Q looked around. Why had he woken Ven up? That was a pretty stupid thing to do.
Well, if Ven was at least half-asleep, maybe he wouldn't remember this later. Q should just go ahead and ask. Now or never, right?

"Uh, so I was wondering..." Q began, putting his hands on his knees, "If you wanted to share the bed."

Smooth move, Square. he thought.

"If that's okay," he quickly added.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Oh, it wasn't your fault, I just had some stupid nightmare... I think," Ven mumbled and scratched his head but he was already forgetting about what that dream had been about.
"Hey, sure..." he replied. "If you don't mind me sleeping here"
Ven moved to the side and finally decided to pull the blanket over himself. That dream had given him goose bumps.
He would probably feel better with Q being right next to him so he cuddled up to him, grinning like a small boy on Christmas.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]When Ven agreed, Q took off his shirt and laid down. He normally only slept in his boxers, but he figured to protect the both of them from potential 'problems' he'd keep his pants on.

When Ven pulled closer to Q, Q combed his fingers through the boys hair, looking into his eyes.
He wondered if he should do anything. Ven complained it was too fast last time, but now they were in bed together. And not doing anything. Q thought it was going too slow. But he didn't want to hurt Ven again. To see him cry again... Was not something Q wanted.

He'd end up using the forward approach. "Ven," Q whispered, "May I kiss you?"
Q closed his eyes halfway. Wow, that really kills the mood, he thought to himself. Things that came out of his mouth never sounded the same as they did in his mind.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven blinked at Q as he heard that question.
He played with a strand of Q's hair and smiled at him sheepishly before he stuttered "You... don't have to ask..."

It was rather akward to be asked something like that.
He felt his face heat up thus he was glad the room was dark enough to hide that he was blushing once again.
Then Ven moved his face closer to Q's and kissed him hesitatingly, hands still entangled in his hair.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]
Q kissed back, of course, and when he pulled away he smiled, "I'll try to remember that next time," he whispered, kissing Ven again.

He pulled Ven closer to him for a moment, before his kisses began going elsewhere. It started with Ven's cheek, to his ear(where he moreso licked than kissed), down his neck to his chest...

Q couldn't remember being happy like this with someone before. When he slept with others, he was happy to have someone, sure. He was happy to get his 'fix' in, yes. And he was releived when the other person did what he wanted. But it wasn't the same with Ven. It was more like... Companionship, instead of just coworkers to a common goal. Q would imagine this feeling akin to loving a mother or sibling or parent. Though Q had never met his mother, never had a sibling, and certainly didn't care much for his Father. His only references were how other people acted around their family, and books. Q was pretty certain he'd finally found someone he was ready to spend time with. Both in the bed and out.

Once Q reached Ven's naval, he had rearranged himself so he was kneeling above Ven. He looked up at the boy, his eyes almost pleading. Q's hands were at Ven's pants. If Ven didn't say no or voiced some other opinion expressing dislike, Q was going to take them off and start placing his kisses elsewhere.


[[If you don't say no, just skip ahead to morning; I won't be on MSN IM for a bit.]]


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
When Q started kissing Ven's stomach he felt that his heart was starting to race once again.
He knew what Q was having in mind but this time he didn't stop him.
This time Ven felt comfortable, he was pleased and way too excited, almost thrilled, to keep him from going on.
Ven locked his eyes with Q's, a happy smile on his lips and whispered "I love you"

The next morning, Ven was waked up by the sun shining into his face through the windows next to the bed.
The birds which were sitting outside in the trees and on top of the roof had already started singing.
Ven blinked and tried to keep his eyes open but he was still drowsy.
When he finally managed to open them he looked straight into Q's face who still seemed to be fast asleep.
Ven could hardly move because Q's arms were still wrapped around his waist, holding him tight.

The last night came back to Ven's mind, making him blush like mad.
He closed his eyes again, a content sigh escaping his lips, and waited for Q to wake up.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]
"Did you hear him? The cambion says he loves you. Loves you! HA! As if those creatures were even capable of such a concept." Another stage, another dream. Same shadowman, same annoying youthful voice so full of insults.

I thought the purpose of opening the Minds Eye was to give me orders. All you seem to be doing is making snarky remarks about what mistakes I'm making with my relationship, Q shot back, his arms across his chest.

"It takes time for Him to twist fate," the shadowman remarked, tipping his hat. If anything the shadowman seemed to be an out of place cowboy wannabe, lost in a see of Chuck Norris fans and past memories of Walker conventions. "Tomorrow you'll meet someone of your own kind. In flesh and blood. He thinks you'll learn better from that than I." the voice snickered.
"I think it's a waste, however. There are so few dogs left. Why waste a perfectly capable one for a mutt like you? If it were in my power, I'd leave you alone. Your blood is so watered down you're practically of no use to Us."

Q shifted his weight. I wish your boss had your same train of thought. I dislike your snickering in my brain.
As if on queue, the shadowman snickered again.
"Take your Cambion to New York City. Everything will fall into place from there."

Maybe then you'll stop infesting my mind with your feeble comments? Q smirked.
"You're a smart one. But remember who can push your buttons, Quatre Bornes. If I had wanted, I could've very well ruined your little escapade last night and turned you Feral." he took a step back, placing a hand on his hat. "I was holding back for your benefit and freedom. You should appreciate it while it exists."
He began to walk off.

Hey! Q called back. Wait!

Q's eyes shot open, and he felt as if he'd drunk too much the night before. He gave a muffled groan, slipping his hands from Ven's body and sitting up, only to be greeted with sunlight shining directly into his eyes.
Like a vampire, he quickly turned his head away with a slight growl. The sun burned his retinas. He put his index fingers to his temples, rubbing them. These constant dreams with the shadowman were really cutting his actual rest time. With a grumble he reached for his glasses and put them on, looking back over to Ven.

"Are you awake?" he asked softly. Q certainly wasn't. This was way too early for him... Even though he technically slept enough hours, he wasn't rested. That and it seemed like the more he talked with the voice, the harder he was finding it to survive on a 'normal' schedule.
Q was so tired... He wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. At least he was thankful he hadn't woken up a growling mass.

Q groaned slightly again, and leaned over to force a smile at Ven.

More forced happiness. Ven did make him happy, but this voice was wearing him thin. Q felt like a liar when he also forced a happy tone. "I hope you like the city... I thought we could go today. To go sightseeing. Yeah?"

Meet my own kind, Q thought to himself. Probably just another person with a tail.
Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven blinked again as he noticed Q was awake. "Yeah, I am," he mumbled and nodded slightly.
Yawning, he also sat up and stretched his arms over his head.
"The city? Sure, I'd love to see New York. We didn't see too much of it yesterday after all"

He hoped the trip to New York City would be more fun and less dramatic than the one to Paris.
The last thing he wanted was something to worry about now.

"I'll quickly take a shower, okay?" he asked and fought his way out from under the blankets.
Without waiting for a reply he grabbed his clothes and hurried into the bathroom.
He couldn't wait to see the city.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]When Ven got in the shower, Q yawned and went to his bag he still hadn't unpacked from, dragging it into his bedroom. After which, he dug around for his usual black/red getup and put it on.
Now that he was home, he reattached the chain to his wallet and wore that as well.

"When you're finished," Q shouted over the shower's noise, "I'll be outside."

The man walked to the storage through the front door, and shoved the garage door open with a shutter and a bang. Another yawn escaped him as he grabbed the sheet covering his bike and rolled it up, placing it under the seat. It was black. It was a "ninja". And that was the extent of Q's knowledge about motorcycles.

He opened his mouth to yawn once more as he mounted the bike and tried to start it up (key still in the ignition- Q had no concept of security in this place), but the yawn was interrupted by the unusually loud startup that echoed through the storage and probably reverberated through the walls of his house.

Q revved the engine slightly, before carefully rolling the bike backward as he was on it(Kickstand still down). Once he reached what could be called his driveway he dismounted, closed the garage door with a slam, and waited for Ven to come outside as the Ninja warmed up.

It was a cool morning. The perfect temperature to Q, he thought, as he crossed his black sleeves over his red chest in wait for his partner. This day would be great.

Except he'd never driven anyone else on his bike before, he hated New York City, and it was a longass drive to New York City.
But other than those things, yes. Today would be great.

Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Taking showers always made Ven feel happy.
It woke him up and calmed him down at the same time.
He remembered he still had to call his mother again like he had promised before.
If he didn't do it, he would probably feel guilty all week. And he really needed to hear Sascha's voice. He was missing his best friend like never before.
Being this far from home made him feel awkward even if he wasn't alone.

"Okay, I'll hurry up!" Ven replied and got out of the shower as quickly as he could.
When he was done getting dressed he went outside to look for Q.
"Are we going to leave already? Oh wow!" Ven admired the motorbike as his gaze fell upon it. "Is that yours? That is cool!"
He examined the bike and nodded.
"My mother always wanted to buy one for me as soon as I got my license but we didn't have enough money so she bought me a motor scooter instead, that thing was eh... cool, too. Kinda"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Hah," Q scoffed.
"Of course it's mine, who else's could it be?"

Q looked down at the bike, an unsure look on his face. Two people on it wasn't going to be too comfortable. He scratched his head.
"Okay, Ven. This is kind of my only mode of transportation, so we're just... gonna have to deal with this. It's about a two hour drive from here to the city. I figured we could stop for breakfast on the way."

With a sigh, he mounted the bike again and looked over to Ven. He would've offered the boy the helmet, but of course... the horns. No helmet would really protect Ven's head with those.

"Just hop on the back and hold onto my waist, I guess..." I hope don't crash. That would really suck.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven noticed the look on Q's face.
"Don't you dare getting in an accident, okay? Unless in one that would break off my horns, then I'd be grateful"
He hopped on the motorbike behind Q and clung to him.
Riding a motorcycle would probably be more fun than riding a scooter so Ven didn't mind that it would take them two hours to get to New York.

The landscape of the area was pretty.
Whenever Ven was not clinging too much to Q to see anything else he looked at the scenery around them.
But after about twenty minutes his stomach started grumbling.
"Can we stop and get something to eat now?" he tried to yell into Q's ear over the sound of the engine.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q didn't necessarily like being held as he drove, but it wasn't as if he didn't like it either. It had never happened before. Q had the same indifference with driving. He didn't like it, but he didn't... not like it.

It wasn't long into the ride that Ven yelled something about eating. Q slowed down and looked around for a decent place to eat. He could find none so decided to stop at a Huddle House. After they both ate, they were off again, and finally they reached the city. The traffic as always, was horrible.

Q sat in traffic for a few minutes, looking around to check for cops, then pulled up on a sidewalk and quickly maneuvered his way around people and cars until he reached what appeared to be an abandoned alleyway with a dumpster and a wooden fence at the end. Q did a cursory look around the perimeter once more before cutting off the engine and slowly backing himself up between the dumpster and the fence. After puttinf down the kick stand, he waited for Ven to get off before he himself dismounted.

Once they both had their feet on the ground, Q popped the seat and pulled out a really thick chain. He attached one end to the bike and another to the dumpster, before covering the bike with the cover from previously and grabbing Ven to lead him away from the alley.

Once they were on the public sidewalk, Q finally gave Ven his attention, crossing his hands over his chest.
"So where would you like to go first?" he asked.

Q hated being here. He hoped he'd meet whoever it was he was supposed to meet soon and give some excuse to get out of here. But he'd put on a facade for Ven.
He'd already ruined Paris, may as well make up for that.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven looked around and was speechless. This city was huge. Crowded. Loud. Hot...
He fell in love with it instantly.

While Q covered the bike he stared up and admired the scyscrapers around him.
"Oh, I've never seen so many tall buildings! Even London seems to be a small village compared to this!" he exclaimed, excited.

Even when they were on the sidewalk he couldn't stop staring at all the things around him.
So many taxis! The streets seemed to be covered in yellow cars.
The streets around them were filled with hundreds of people, little shops, policemen, guys who were trying to sell tickets for sightseeing tours on double-deck busses, ...
He heard the sounds of mobile phones ringing, an ambulance passing by a few streets from where they were standing, music coming from the stores and a lot of chit-chatting.

"I've never been here," he finally answered to Q's question. "I don't know where we are excatly, what's the closest thing from here that's worth seeing? I know I'd love to the platform on the Empire State Building but I guess you wouldn't want to go up there so we can go anywhere"
He used his hands as fans because he was already beginning to sweat and blowed a streak of hair out of his face.
"Let's go to a place that has air conditioning? Or trees...?"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q laughed. Trees. In New York City. Sure.

"Don't worry about me. We can go wherever you like. We're not that close to anything, really. But we can take the subway anywhere you want to go."

Q tried to think .He didn't come here too much. Did Central park have trees? Well, if not, it was near enough to Madison Square, and everything else relatively tourist-y.

"I think Central Park has trees," he replied. "We can go there."

And with that he started to walk toward the nearest subway entrance.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Okay! I really want to see Central Park anyway" Ven nodded and followed Q to the subway station.
He grabbed one of the small maps and looked at the station's sign which said "Rector Street".

Before he had a chance to look up where they had to get off the next train arrived and he squeezed himself into it next to Q.
"Oh, we get near Times Square and the Rockefeller Center!" he told Q after studying the small map for a few minutes.
"Can we go there later, too?"

It was pretty hot in the subway as well and Ven started using the map as a fan instead of his hands.
He didn't mind being squeezed between that many people, as long as they left him alone with rude comments, but he saw that Q didn't seem to very happy about it.
They passed 23rd street, Herald Square and Times Square before the display above the doors said "57th street" where they had to get off.

"Oh god, it's way too hot here," Ven groaned a they left the station.
It wasn't any cooler outside but at least it wasn't that crowded.
"That's Central Park over there, isn't it?" he called out and pointed down the street where a few coaches pulled by huge white horses with feathery decorations on their heads entered a big park.
A huge wall surrounded it so only the tips of the trees were visible from where the were standing.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Sure," Q answered Ven's proclamation on the subway about rockefeller center.

And again, once they came up from the subway, "Yep, that's it."

Q, not nearly as excited as Ven, followed the boy into the park. The man yawned again. "I can't believe you think it's hot here."

Q stretched his arms above his head, before shoving all but his thumbs into his pockets. As he walked, his tail swayed side to side. Unseen through his sunglasses, his green eyes constantly surveyed the area for any threats, or someone who seemed to be 'one of his kind'... Whatever that meant.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven stared at Q and raised his eyebrow.
"You don't think it's hot here? Well, I'm not used to weather like this, it's a bit too hot for me" he pouted.
It was a bit cooler in the shadows of the big trees in Central Park and Ven was glad about that.
"Oh shit," he groaned as he saw a small ice cream booth. "I forgot to exchange my money for dollars..."

But before he could worry about that any more he heard a girl yelling behind them.
"No, let me go! Leave me alone you stupid-" "Hahaha, did you hear that, Matt? Our little friend here seems to be afraid of us"
Ven turned around to see what was happening there.
Three guys were standing around a blond girl and apparently bullying her.
"I said leave me alone, I didn't do anything to you, okay?" the girl shouted at them.

When one of the guys stepped aside Ven didn't trust his eyes.
That girl had horns! Just like his own.
They weren't blue but a dirty shade of brown... but they were still horns!

He heard the guys laugh about something again.
Ven growled and ran up to them.
"Hey, you stupid gits! Leave her alone at once!" he shouted at the guys.
The one who had been called Matt by his friend before turned around and looked at Ven, surprised about being interrupted. When he noticed Ven's horns he roared with laughter.
"Is there a new circus in town or what? Or has being a freak become some kind of new trend!?"
"Shut up!" Ven growled and clenched his teeth.

The blond girl sped away from the three guys and hid behind Ven's back.
"Did you hear him!?" she called out. "Shut up and leave us alone!"
"Because we're really afraid of two little kids... sure," the third guy scoffed and took a step towards them.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q was about to offer to buy the ice cream for Ven, when his also noticed the quarrel.

Three seemingly normal men and a girl with horns.

...Horns?
Wasn't that the complete opposite of who he was supposed to be meeting today?

Ven stepped forward and, as much as Q hated to get involved, once one of the men came toward them, Q immediately stepped in front of Ven and pushed them both(as the girl was behind Ven) behind him.

"Hey, Lay off," Q snarled.

The one named Matt took another step and rose his hands a bit. "Why? What're you gonna do about it, whiskers?" The other man was probably referring to Q's black facial tattoos, which Q had not bothered to cover up today.

Q growled in response. "Trust me, making fun of some horned kids isn't worth a fight."

The two guys behind the one named Matt said nothing, but had a look of uneasiness about them. The leader, who Q assumed was Matt, put his hands down in fists. He briefly smirked, holding a fighting stance.

Q took one step forward, taking his hands out of his pockets. "It's not worth it, kid. There's cops all around. Do you really want to risk it for some stupid little freak?"

'Matt' hmphed and wiped his face. There was a moment of hesitation before he loosened up and said, "You're no match for me anyway." He turned to the rest of his group and told them it was time to leave.

Q sighed and turned around, looking at the two cambions before him. There was a brief moment where his heart skipped a beat, and his body went tense. There was an urge to slap them both across the face. As if one of them weren't enough, he now had double the problems to deal with.

Luckily, it was just a passing urge, and after a moment of held breath, he was able to give a sigh of relief and loosen up. He frowned slightly to the girl and turned to Ven, instead.

"I was going to say I'd buy that ice cream for you," he forced himself to smile. "Before we were so rudely interrupted."


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven took a deep breath and growled at the the three guys' backs.
"Thanks, Q," he grumbled, a bit annoyed that Q seemed to think he would not have been able to make these three guys leave them alone.
He wasn't a kid anymore, he could take care of himself pretty well.
But in fact he was thankful because he didn't want to imagine what might have happened if he had freaked out.

The girl next to him had caught all of his attention now anyway.
"Thank you, both of you!" she stuttered and smiled at Q and Ven. "I'm Keira, nice to meet you!"
She held out her hand and waited for Ven to shake it.
Ven hesitated a second but then shook her hand. "I'm Ven," he introduced himself "and this is Q, nice to meet you, too"
"Q? What kind of name is that?" Keira laughed and eyed Q. "You seem familiar somehow, have we met before?"

But she didn't even wait for a reply and turned back to Ven instead, carefully poking his horns.
"I don't meet people who are like me very often, this has to be the first time in years!"
"I can't say that I have ever met anyone like me, to be honest," Ven replied and grinned at her.
He still couldn't believe that he had just met another Cambion... or someone with a similiar appearance to one at least.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright][[Finally got a job, so I haven't been online in a while. Sorry.]]

"I actually get--" that a lot, he finished to himself, noticing Keira had diverted her attention toward Ven. He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at his surroundings once more.

He should probably give them time alone. Q was of the impression that people born with horns popped up very rarely. Of course, part of him wanted to say Hey! I'm here! Pay attention to me! But he was the adult, after all, he should be able to keep his cool.

Finally, after mulling thoughts over in his brain for far too long, he jumped into their conversation, proclaiming at a volume far above the kids: "So! Who's up for the zoo?"

It was the only thing he could think of that didn't involve massive heights and freaking out in front of a stranger.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven turned around and blinked at Q. "The zoo?"
He frowned a bit and tilted his head to one side. "Uhm... isn't that for little children? I'm too old to go to the zoo!"
That was a little lie, though. He knew he wasn't "too old" to go there but he hated zoos.
The sight of animals in cages made him feel uneasy.
He had only been in a zoo twice in his life.
Once together with his mother when he had been five years old. And he had started crying as soon as he had seen the cages.
The second time they had made a trip to a zoo in school and again it had made him feel sad to see the caged animals.
He wasn't an animal activist or anything like that. But he still hated zoos with a passion.
His former classmates had made fun of him that time so he just claimed to be too old for zoos now.

"Can't we go somewhere else instead? And I haven't seen anything of the park yet"
"I guess that's my fault, right?" Keira said. "But I can make up for that! My aunt owns a small café right over there"
She pointed towards a small house on the other side of the small street that lead through the park.
"I'll get you some free ice cream or iced coffee if you want!"
She ran off and waved so Ven and Q would follow her.
"Oh, I'd love some free ice cream! Come on, Q! You can't say "no" to that, right!?" Ven called out and started running after her.
[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q tilted his head slight with a frown. Too old for the zoo? Q liked zoos, but if Ven didn't want to go, that was fine.
Q was still slightly absorbed in his own thoughts when the two of them started running off toward a coffee shop. Q lagged behind as he walked instead of ran. This Keira character was far too energetic for him, but at least Ven seemed to be having fun.

The rest of the day wasn't so bad, either. As long as Q stayed away from the edges of the windows at the Empire State Building and Lady Liberty, he was fine. Ven didn't even seem to notice Q wasn't all over him, since he was too busy with Keira. Their last stop had been the Brooklynn bridge and by that time it was night. They all enjoyed the view, though Q's stomach didn't like it so much after a few minutes.

They began their way back to where Q had parked his motorcycle. Keira was still tagging along. Q didn't think much of it. How to get home with two passengers on a two person only bike didn't really come up. He was still wondering who this person 'of his own kind' he was supposed to meet, and why he hadn't met the person yet. Or even if Keira was the person he was supposed to meet, though that didn't make much sense since Keira was a Cambion, not a person with a tail.

After the last subway trip, Ven and Keira had calmed down to a more manageable, less-annoying level. Q led the way to the alleyway where he had illegally parked when all of the sudden, all of his hairs began going up, just as a cat's when they were encountering something they didn't like.

Q didn't know what he was feeling. It was partly fear and partly anger. Before he could do much, he had rounded the corner to find a policeman in the midst of writing a ticket for his covered bike.
That was going to be a hell of a fine.

The officer looked up from his pad, his eyes were glowing. Before Q even realized it, he began growling, baring his teeth.

"This is the one you're supposed to meet." Less of a voice, more of a feeling.

The officer's eyes were green, just as Q's were, but there were no other 'odd' features about him. He had red-brown hair, very short which led into a goatee through his sideburns. The officer smirked, his eyes flickering over with a look or realization. He put his paper away as he took a step toward Q.
"Quatre Bornes," he said. His voice was smooth, unadulterated by drinks and smokes as Q's was, with a hint of a french accent, played off to be romantic. "I can't believe it." He gave a heh. "You haven't changed at all." The man eyes Q, from his head to his toes, then back up again. "Aside from that grey hair of yours."

Q only increased the volume of his growl. The officer before him gave a curt laugh, as if Q was such a weakling, clearly the growl was worse than any bite Q had to offer.
"You don't remember this man?" the voice offered. "He should be very familar to you. His name is Alexandre."

It took a moment to click. In that moment, 'Alexandre' had pushed past Q and grabbed Keira by a horn, pulling her toward him. "I see you brought a cambion for me?" he smiled as the girl struggled to get free. Her kicks and punches didn't phase him.
"We can eat together."

Q couldn't make out many words, his vocal chords were already gone. His tail shot up and jumped at Alexandre, punching his inner elbow first, then pushing him backward so Keira could get away. His barks were like a rabid dogs. In a flurry Q was able to get Alexandre on the ground, Q ontop of the man's stomach.

Alexander was someone with a much wider build than Q. And once Q had him on his back, Alexandre laughed and simply shot his left hand up, squeezing it around Q's throat. In response, Q's tail swung around wildly, and his hands grabbed at the officer's arm with no success.

"So you lose it at the sight of an alpha, huh? I bet you act the same way around cats," Alexandre mocked. With ease, he threw Q against the motorcycle, both of them falling over. As Q hit the metal, he let out the quick, cut-off whine of a dog before appearing to lose consciousness.
"You are so pathetically human," he sneered, turning to Ven and Keira.

"If that stupid bleeding heart won't take care of you, then I will." Alexandre's eyes seemed to glow more intensely as he took steps toward Keira first, his mouth open. He started to drool, and within the span of a second he had changed. It wasn't a 'morph' or transformation as one would have assumed from sci-fi movies or fantasy books. It was as if their were an illusion of a person, a hologram, and it had flickered and disappeared. No more a police officer, now a very large, very angry appearing dog was standing before them.

Its fur was short and blue-grey. Its size resembled that of a large wolf, though its build was more of a boxy Great Dane. It was really the sharp claws on huge paws and the menacing teeth that mattered.

'Alexandre', with the deepest growl of a vibrating subwoofer, pounced, aiming for Keira. His intent to kill was unquestioned.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Woah, what's that!?" Ven yelled and shoved Keira to the left to get her out of the huge dog's direction.
"What did you do to Q, you ugly, lousy fur ball!?" Ven shouted at it, taking in a stance of defense and clenched his fists.

Keira screamed and tried to hide behind Ven.
"What is this thing?! Did the policeman just become a dog!?"

Ven had no time to reply since the dog was now also attacking him.
He threw himself onto the dog, trying to dodge the claws and teeth while kicking it.
But he didn't manage to avoid the dog's furious bites completely.
As Ven felt the sharp teeth sinking into the flesh of his waist, he yelped and struggled to get away from the beast that was attacking him.

Keira screamed again in shock before she tried to drag the dog away from Ven.
She managed to kick the head of it, making it let go of Ven for a few seconds.
While the dog was distracted Ven got back to his feet, blood dripping from his torn clothes.
He panted heavily, holding his injured side.

This was not good. He'd lose control, he was feeling it already. The pain was making things worse...
Ven was scared of what he might do to Q or Keira if he lost control over himself completely.

Keira was still kicking the dog's head in a desperate attempt of making it faint but of course it didn't work.
The dog snapped at her feet, only missing it by a few inches.
Ven growled and shot forward, kicking the dog into its stomach with all the strength he had left.
The dog let out a dreadful yelp and sunk down to the ground.
It wasn't even unconscious yet but at least it stopped attacking Keira and Ven for a few seconds.

The things in front of Ven began to get blurry and he sunk down to the ground onto his knees next to Keira's feet.
"Ven! Oh my god, you're bleeding like crazy!" she called out, dragging him away from the dog and towards Q.
"I'm okay... really," Ven coughed and tried to look at her but he couldn't really see anything anymore.
"You're not!" Keira exclaimed and hurried to Q's side.
She started shaking him and slapped him in the face when he didn't wake up.
"Q!? Wake up, dammit! Wake up!"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"This is not going well." the voice stated.
People weren't supposed to dream when they had blacked out. Were they?
"Alexandre is your Alpha. It should be pack instinct to follow him, not attack him. Even as stubborn as you are, you know your own limits, Quatre Bornes."
The shadowman tipped his hat slightly. A scowl could be felt, but not seen.

He was going to eat that girl, Q persisted. He said 'EAT'!
The shadowman shook his head. "Do you not understand at all? You dogs are a dying breed. Although your blood has been watered downa nd damaged, we still must use you since your numbers are low."

What?

"You. Are. A hellhound. You know the three headed dog cerberus? You are one of his many many children. The underworld has its own population control, and part of that is we must keep our kind out of human eyes. Cambions are the worst perpetrators against the Veil. They also do no good being alive. The hellhounds take His will and exterminate those that need exterminating. The Cambions, as well as the Incubi and succubi are the most overpopulated. We must take care of them before they completely ruin our confidentiality. We can't have humans coming to us wanting blood contracts all the time. The vampires are enough of a bother to deal with."

Q couldn't really take in what the shadowman was saying. It was as if Q had just been transported into a really shitty scifi movie. The shadowman tapped his foot, shook his head, and groaned.

"Fine, if you won't do it of your own free will, I will force you to take your birthright." The shadowman went to punch Q in the face, but right before the fist hit Q's face, he 'woke up' to Keira screaming at him.

Without thinking, Q jumped at her, hands on her shoulders, mouth on her neck. His teeth sunk deep into her, but his aim had been off. He had not hit anything vital. Plus, his teeth were not as big or sharp as Alexandre's. Q was a human with a tail, with canine-like teeth, essentially. That much would probably never change.

Q was only gnawing on Keira's neck for a few seconds before he smelled a different kind of blood. Ven's blood. He immediately let go of Keira and looked to Ven, then to the sizable dog with what could only be described as a smile on his face, and blood over his muzzle.

Q's growls, ever persistent, turned into a ferocious few barks. The whole thing would've looked ridiculous to an outsider. Q was hunched over barking at a dog. It would've been funny, given any other circumstance.

The dog cocked its head for a moment, before realizing what Q had intended to do. He jumped atop the ex-model, biting at Q's forearm, which had been used to 'block' the attack on his face.
As Q's left forearm was being chewed on like a doggie treat, Q kicked Alexandre in the gut with both feet. It yelped and pulled away as Q heard a bone snap. Ironically, it wasn't his arm.

The ex-model forced himself up, pain flooding his features as he tried to ignore a broken rib. The Dog was getting up before him and immediately behind it was the brick wall. Using his right arm, Q punched the hellhound in the face. It came back and bit his fist, holding it there with a low growl, it drool slobbering into Q's new wounds, stinging like acid.

"You will come back to me tomorrow, Omega." the dog said to him. "And you will be begging for my help then."

"No I won't!" Q barked back, trying to get his fist free, and only tearing up his skin more. A few whines escaped him as he struggled.

"You will; Just watch," growled Alexandre. The dog let go of Q's hand and ran off.
Once the foe was gone, Q went to his knees, his arms shaking, his breath coming in short, painful bursts. He looked over to Keira and Ven. There was blood on each of them.
There was blood in Q's mouth.

He would've thought of going to the hospital, but then it dawned on him that they had no transportation. It was funny to Q. He laughed as best he could through his pain.

He was laughing at himself, mostly. This must had been why everyone was so against him getting a motorcycle.
'dangerous' they had said.
'can't hold three injured people who were just attacked by a huge dog that used to be a human' never seemed to have come up.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Keira stared at Q, holding her neck. "Are you fucking crazy!?" She screamed, grabbing his collar and shaking him again.
She was smaller than Q but she was also furious and her voice was trembling.

"We must do something about him!" She pointed at Ven and rushed back to his side, kneeling down next to the boy who was still sitting on the ground, staring into the air.
The blood had already drenched what was left of Ven's shirt.

When Keira touched Ven's shoulder he snarled at her, gritting his teeth.
"Don't touch me"
Ven couldn't see who was next to him, his eyesight had gone blurry completely by now.
This was worse than being drunk. This was no fun.
At least he had not lost control, that was something he could be glad about.
Ven snorted as he shook off Keira's hand.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q took a minute to gain his bearings. Could they go to the hospital? They probably should.
He looked to Ven.
"You should kill him. He's already so close to dead. Think of all the shit he's put you through." That damn voice again.

"shut up," Q grumped aloud, leaning toward the right on his knees so he could attempt to stand back up again. He outstretched his right leg, then used that to pivot off and finally stand with a grunt of pain. He looked down at Keira and Ven. Ven looked like he was bleeding out. Q should be panicking right now.

"Don't make me do it for you," the voice warned. It was becoming an empty threat.
"You c-" he couldn't even finish the words before his teeth bared and he became a growling mass. Not so empty, after all.

He glared at Ven. The boy had given him so much trouble. The girl too. The girl was mostly healthy, though. Ven wouldn't put up a fight. He was too injured. Stupid blue kid, with his stupid blue horns. Always tempting him but giving him nothing. And now what? He was a freeloader? What a pathetic bastard. Q lost his job because of this kid.

Q snorted through his mouth, probably the canine equivalent of a cat's hiss, and slammed the heel of his boot into the middle of Ven's already gaping wound. He'd lean his weight into if no one bothered to stop him.

Q could still smell that disgustingly beautiful scent. If there was ever a sexual gratification in murder this would be it, right here. Q started to drool, Keira's blood mixing with the saliva on his chin.


Ven Loraine wrote: Ven let out a shocked scream when Q kicked him. He winced since he couldn't see what or who had just kicked him.
He heard Keira shouting somewhere near him but he couldn't understand a single word of it.

In blind rage Ven jumped up to his feet, ignoring the pain from the wound as good as he could.
If it was that beast of a dog again he'd probably be dead within the next two minutes but he wouldn't just sit there and let that thing kill him.

He felt a little bit of his strength returning but his eyesight stayed blurry like before.
Something was moving in front of him so Ven leaped at it, kicking and punching it as hard as he could.
"Leave me alone! Leave me alone or I will kill you! I swear I will!" he shouted, throwing the person or thing onto the ground.
"No one hurts the people I love, okay!? Not a stupid beast like you!"

This time he would kill that dirty dog.
This time there wouldn't be any "classmates" to get him off his prey.
He wanted to see that beast's blood in revenge.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Stupid Beast? I'll show you a stupid beast, Q thought.
Unlike before, Q actually had a bit of a brain about him.

When he was fighting Alexandre, it was purely instinct. With Ven, it was much more refined, based upon martial arts.

What Q didn't know was that the shadowman's threat of making Q rabid was simply a momentary boost. It caught Q off-guard, and would only last for a minute if Q could simply control himself.

If Q couldn't gain his bearings, he really was a stupid beast. One that fought on instinct, like a dog. Ven, however, changed the formula that ALexandre and Q had- Ven had provoked Q. Q had the momentary boost from the threat, but once Ven talked about the 'stupid beast', Q became angry, and wanted to beat the person in front of him up. Regardless if that person should be killed on instinct alone or not. In this case, if Q simply put a cap on his anger, he'd stop fighting and be himself again. But the damage had been done, and Q relied on his military training.

Even if he had been weaker than Ven - which he was not - he still had the advantage now, simply due to Q's experience. While Q had been out of practice for about ten years, the way he grew up could simply not be forgotten. Military academys don't simply vanish from ones memories.

So, needless to say, when Ven jumped up, Q was ready. He had to improvise with his right hand being useless and his left forearm out of commission, but for the most part he could evade and counterattack with his legs. The attacks Q couldn't evade were some of the most painful things Q had experienced. He would never imagine that sort of strength coming from Ven.

They were fighting for no more than thirty seconds when Keira snapped out of her shock and pulled out her cellphone. She dialed 911 quickly, and explained where they were and that two men were fighting, both injured greatly.
"They're friends.... Why would they do this...? He just went crazy..." was a line she had sputtered out before the dispatcher told her to shut up and give details about the injuries.

By the time the ambulance and police actually came by, both he and Ven had each others blood upon them. Their clothes were ruined, their mouths full of their own blood.
Q had what appeared to be less severe injuries. Although he had broken another rib, and he was finding it hard to breath. He felt like he was choking. Perhaps one of his lungs was filling up with fluid. That didn't matter, though. Ven wanted to kill him? Q would kill that bastard right back. Send the Cambion right where he belonged.

As the sirens wailed and the brakes of many vehicles came screeching to a halt, Q had somehow managed to get his boot ontop of Ven's windpipe, Ven on the ground once again.

"This stupid beast is about to kill you," Q spat. His sunglasses had fallen off long a go, his glowing green eyes glaring with sincerity as he put a slight bit more pressure atop Ven's throat.

"Retourne voir la pute qui t'as accouché," Q hissed, lifting his black boot to deal the final blow. That was when someone punched him in the face, and he blacked out.

When Q awoke, he was in a hospital bed. He didn't notice any pain. He quickly looked for a morphine drip. When he found there was none, he sighed in relief. It took him a moment to realize all the lights in the room were off, and the drapes closed. Leave it to the hospital to know his eyes were sensitive to light.

It took another minute for him to figure out where the nurse call button was. When he found it, he pressed it. And waited. And waited. He pressed it again. Maybe thirty minutes a nurse finally came. He didn't have a very good sense of time.

"Oh, Quatre, you're up," the nurse said. Q narrowed his eyes. "How do you know my name?" He asked.

"Your wallet," she said. "You had ID on you." she looked at him questioningly. Hospital policy was not allowed to ask questions about the law. Q could still tell they seared through this woman.

"What are my injuries--no," he interrupted himself. "Where's Ven?"

The nurse blinked. "Who?"
Q growled slightly. "Ven. The boy who was with me. He has blue horns on his head."

The nurse put the clipboard at her side, suddenly feeling impatient. "He's in another room. He'll be fine, if that's what you're wondering."

Q sat up, with a slight wince. A look of worry was absent from the nurse's face.
"When can I get out of here? When can I see him?"

The nurse's eyes revealed she wanted to say so much, but held back. "He's not awake yet. You can leave later today, but you can't see him."

Q frowned. "He's only visiting here. I'm his guardian," he pleaded.

The nurse scoffed, "Some guardian you are, you practically killed him." she went back for the door. "You can see if he requests it." The ending was rushed and spat out as she slammed the door behind her.
She must've been new.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
When Ven woke up he groaned and tried to open his eyes.
He had no idea where he was or how he had got there but after a few seconds he realized it had to be a hospital room.
Lucky. Someone had apparently rescued him from that crazy dog thing.

Ven felt as if a train had hit him. Hard. He had a bad headache and his right side was killing him.
He looked down to see how bad he was injured and felt relieved when he only saw a bandage around his waist and a few small cuts and bruises on his arms.

Then he felt a sudden rush of fear. He was okay, yes.
But what about Q and Keira? He hoped they were okay...
All he could remember was that huge dog attacking them. He had no idea what had happened after that beast had bitten him.

Just a few seconds later he heard the sound of a door opening. It was Keira who tried to enter the room quietly.
When she saw Ven was awake she rushed up to his side and sat down on the bed.
"Ven! Oh good, you're awake. I was scared something really bad might have happened. Your wound looked rather horrible!" she started blabbering.
She looked okay and Ven was glad to see her.
All she seemed to have injured was her left hand which was bandaged and her neck where he spotted a small band aid.

"You're okay?" Ven asked her and she nodded. "Where's Q?"
She hesitated a few seconds and Ven felt his heart sink. "Did anything happen to him? Please tell me he's okay!"
"Yeah, he is okay as far as I know" "Oh good! Can I see him?"
"I'm not sure..." Keira frowned and looked to the ground. "Don't you remember what happened?"
Now it was Ven's turn to frown. "No, I don't remember anything after that dog bit me. What did happen?"

"Idon't even know! Both of you acted very strange. You started fighting as if you wanted to kill eachother!"
"What?!" Ven didn't believe his ears.
"I hurt him? Oh shit, it happened again...?" His voice was nothing but a whisper now.
"Please take me to his room, Keira"
She nodded but she didn't look very happy.

"I'm not even sure whether he's awake or not, though," she said as they walked through the corridors.
When they reached Q's room, Ven hesitated a bit before he knocked and entered.
What if Q hated him for losing his temper in such a way?
"I'm sorry, Q," he mumbled and tried to see Q's face but it was so dark in the room that he couldn't see him very well.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to attack you... I can't remember a thing, I swear"


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Once the nurse left, Q laid back down with a sigh. He could remember everything that happened vividly. And he was ashamed of himself for it.

It wasn't too long after that Ven and Keira walked in. Ven said he was sorry.

"You're sorry?" Q scoffed. He was insulted Ven would even say that.
Then he sat up, looking toward Ven and Keira, blinking slightly. His eyes glowed a faint green, as if floating int he darkness.

"You don't remember anything? Are you sure?" Q almost didn't want to believe it. This had to be a joke.
it had to be.


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven let his head hang down.
"Well, I don't remember much. The dog, yes. The fight, yes... Not much after that, just tiny bits.
I kinda... lost control. It has happened before, I've already told you about that, remember? I didn't know it was you I was attacking... I thought it was that dog!"
He sighed and scratched the back of his head.
"At least I didn't kill you, right? Things could have been worse..."


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Is he serious?

"No, Ven..." Q looked down, his injured hand, which had already begun scabbing over, in his lap.
"I attacked you first. I'm the one who should be apologizing."

Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven frowned at Q. "What?"
He crossed his arms over his chest, flinching as he touched the wound on accident.
Was Q going crazy now?
"Are you serious? Why did you do that...? What did I do to you?!" he hissed.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q was silent for a few moments. He didn't want to answer. He brought his good hand up to his face and wiped his eyes.
"I think maybe we shouldn't see eachother for a while." he grit his teeth.

He was ready to admit he loved Ven now. But he didn't want to endanger him. Right now, Q was Ven's enemy.

"I'm sorry."


Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven stared at Q, he couldn't believe what he had just heard.
"You can't be serious! Have you lost your mind now?!" he gasped, almost speechless.

"And what are you going to do, eh? Return to your little house and leave me here in this city? Great idea, that was really what I expected to happen when I came here with you!"
His voice was dripping with sarcasm now. It was an attempt of hiding how shocked he was.

"I'm getting sick and tired of this stupid game!" Ven snorted.
"I feel like being in a fucking horror movie! Get me a ticket to Germany and you'll not see me again if that is what makes you happy. Don't say you're sorry, I don't want to hear that shit"

Ven would not cry a single tear this time. He wasn't a little 5-year-old.
No, this time Q could go and fuck himself.
"I already regret that I said 'I love you'. I'll make sure to learn from my mistakes in the future," he growled, glaring at the guy in front of him.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"I know," he said softly. "I don't like it either. But I figured..." he swallowed, closing his eyes. "I couldn't tell you what was going on. And I don't want to hurt you. It's because I love you that I think it's best we separate."

Q sniffed, as if he had a cold. This sounded so stupid. And Ven's friend was here, too.
"If I knew how to stop acting like a fool I would. You have every right to be upset."

Q shook his head, and laid back down. He would have put his knees to his chest instead, but he didn't want to stress his broken ribs.

He didn't know what to say about the plane ticket, or living arrangements. Q couldn't even fathom how he was going to pay the hospital bill right now. He couldn't bring himself to say he had lost his job. Now wasn't the best time anyway.
Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
"Oh fuck you, Q. I don't believe a word of what you're saying. You should hear yourself talk and I bet you wouldn't believe that shit either"
Ven turned around without looking at Q again and rushed out of the hospital room, back to his own.
He heard Keira following him in a safe distance and he felt a bit sorry for her. He didn't want her to get involved with this stuff at all.

When he found his room he lied down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Q was right, they shouldn't see eachother. Ven didn't want to see Q's face anymore.
He felt like screaming and he would have given anything for a nice punching bag now.
How could feelings of affection and hate be that similar? It made him angry at himself, at Q and at the rest of the world.

Keira entered the room just a few seconds later and closed the door behind her.
"Hey Ven, I'm sorry... Sounds like things aren't going so well"
He let out a humourless "Hah" at that comment.
"I didn't know you two were a couple," she continued and sat down next to him.
"We have never been a couple," Ven spat out. He wanted her to leave him alone but he tried to stay calm.
"I'm still not feeling well, I'll get some sleep," he murmured and turned away from her.
Keira sighed and got up. "I'll have to stay here until tomorrow. At least the doctor said so... so I guess I'll talk to you later, Ven"
With that, she left the room.

These two guys were so strange. But she didn't want to leave Ven alone.
Somehow she felt as if she had found some long lost brother.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]Q put one of the pillows over his head as soon as Ven left, and began to sob.
I really am a stupid beast. he thought to himself.

Why had he gotten himself into this situation? If he had just left that stupid third eye shit alone, he'd only be having reoccuring nightmares, right? He could've dealt with nightmares. But this? This supernatural crap was not only lunacy, it was screwing with his life.
It had cost him his job, cost him Ven... Cost him hissanity. Could he even be called human any more?

What was he now, but a monstrosity? A person who had everything so well, a person who's life just turned to shit as soon as he met a kid with horns. Then there was the voice in his head head that practically controlled his every movement around Ven.

Why me?

Q coughed, bringing his head from the pillow. Sitting up, he looked over to the pile of his clothing in the corner. Q wiped his eyes, preparing himself for what he intended to do.
Once he deemed himself ready, he walked over, and started to look for his cellphone. Once found, he looked through the contacts list for his father. He hesitated one final moment before hitting 'send'.

"Hello?" His father answered, in french.
Q replied in english, choking back a sob. "Father?"
"Quatre Bornes, is that you?"
".... Yes."

Q sat back on the edge of the hospital bed. "I'm sorry I haven't called you since I disappeared."
The deeper voice on the other end of the phone seemed a bit frantic at first. "No! I've worried about you! Where are you? How have you been? Are you all right? I am happy to hear from you. I have missed you."

All those things, Q was not expecting to hear. He put his palm to his eye with a sigh.
"I'm in America. I've always been here. And..." Q's eyes watered, but he held back any audible signs he was falling apart. "I lost the job I had. I lost my first real lover and--" He was about to get to the worst part when his father interrupted him.

"What lover?! Was it a woman?!" Q's father had never approved of Q's lifestyle choice. It was one of the reasons Q had run away at eighteen. It was also how he got his scar.Coming out when a rapier was nearby to your extremely oldfashioned father wasn't the wisest of Q's past decisions.

Q grit his teeth. "Weird shit has been happening. I hear voices. I see things. I act like a beast. They tell me I am a hellhound. Father...I almost killed my first love because of this voice. It says it can control my instinct, and I believe it. Is this what was happening to me when I was a kid?" He had switched to french because, despite being alone, he felt like he was being watched. He didn't want anyone to commit him to a psychiatric ward, even though he felt he should be in one.

There was a grunt on the other end of the line, and a click. At first Q thought his father had hung up the pone, but luckily he was wrong. "I told you this would happen." the voice was very angry. "This is why I kept taking you to the doctors! But you ran away without continuing any of the treatments! I had hoped... I had hoped you would not regress, but you are no longer my son, Quatre Bornes. You are just a filthy Moreau creation now."
The next line was a sneer, "I'm sure your mother would be proud of you. Don't contact me again." with that, he hung up.

Q looked forlorn for a moment. I probably deserved that.
Then he threw the phone at the wall.
Why did everything have to be so fucked up? Why did he even bother to leave France the first time? He should've just stayed working at the pier. He knew modeling was ridiculous. It had just turned him into more of a fag. Q quickly put his clothes on and walked out of the hospital room, leaving the phone.

After signing out of the hospital, and dealing with bunches of paperwork, he walk outside, immediately burning his retinas. He closed his eyes with a slight growl, and attempted to move onward blind, but bumped into someone. Someone who smelled familiar.

A hand went atop Q's head. It was Alexandre. "You look like a sick sad little puppy."
Q would've looked up if he wasn't still in pain. He could feel the sun event hrough his eyelids. It must be 3pm.

"Come with me," the older man said, grabbing Q's hand and pulling him along.
The outlook of this being good appeared bleak.

Ven Loraine wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v244/draggy-chan/6pgf9cj-1.png[/imgright]
Ven sat on his hospital bed and stared out of the window.
Outside he could see nothing but skyscrapers.
He had found them so pretty the day before... Now they appeared ugly and unfriendly.

All his clothes and belongings were lying in Q's little house. Great.
He wouldn't see anything of that again.
Ven could feel lucky that he had his wallet and his mobile phone with him. At least he had an ID and a bit of British money left.
His phone didn't work outside of the UK, though.

He decided to go and look for some place where he could use a telephone or change some of his money at least.
Maybe they did that here in the hospital if he had a bit of luck for a change.
Cursing about everything that came to his mind, mostly Q, he left the room and shuffled down the corridor to his left.

But he didn't get very far.
After a few steps he heard Keira's voice behind him.
"Hey, Ven!" She was running up to him.
"I know, I know, I said I'd leave you alone for a bit, but I talked to my Dad and he said you could stay at our house for a few days if you want to"
Ven looked at her, confused about that offer. "Oh, thank you, that's very nice but-" "Oh, you can not stay here! Hospitals are awful. You can call your family from our house, too"
She smiled at him and held out a hand, offering him a cup of coffee. "Do you want some? It will make you feel better"
"Thank you," Ven said and took the coffee. He could really need some of that now.

After a few minutes Ven decided he'd go with Keira.
It couldn't get any worse than now anyway, right?
And after meeting Keira's Dad he was pretty sure of that. He was a very friendly man with a gray moustache and a cowboy hat.
He looked a bit funny with that thing on but Ven didn't mind.

"Hello Mister... eh" Ven realized he had no idea what Keira's last name was.
"Rivers" he finished the sentence. "But you can call me George. Nice to meet you," he laughed and shook Ven's hand.

Before they could talk much more, a young nurse rushed up to them.
"Mr. Loraine, what are you doing here? You should be in your room. Please don't run around, you can do that tomorrow," she shooed him away.
"Okay Ven, we'll pick you up tomorrow, then!"
Keira and her Dad waved at him and turned around to leave the hospital.

Ven sighed and returned into the room, lied down on the bed again and turned on the TV which was standing on a shelf on the opposite wall.
This was so frustrating.
He was sure Q would really leave without him and that would be the end of their story.
No fairy tail ending for the demon boy and the werewolf. Just like Hollywood.
Since none of the shows on TV interested him he fell asleep after about half an hour, dreaming of huge dogs, bikes, skyscrapers and blood.


[Q] wrote: [imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v106/Zikos/ART/z-4.jpg[/imgright]"Where are we going?" Q questioned, wincing as he was yanked along the street, his eyes still shut. He found it hard not to trip over things.
"Curb," proclaimed Alexandre. The warning wasn't quick enough. Q wasn't expecting the street's end and fell forward. A yank on his arm pulled him back up.
"My apartment," the man finally answered. They were moving at a brisk pace, as if trying to get out of the public eye quickly.

"Why are you here?" Q growled.
Alexandre laughed. "To get you, of course."
"You know what I mean," Q shot back. He tripped over something else, and was yanked up once more by his elder. "Why are you in the US?"

Alexandre chortled to himself. "New York, new beginning. Sliding door."
That last part was also a bit too slow. Q ran into the door instead of through it. Alexandre laughed and pulled him into the building. Q opened his eyes every now and then. They went up an elevator, down a hallway, up some stairs, into a dark room. Presumably Alexandre's. Finally Q could see again. He plopped himself down on the nearest chair with a sigh, his hands at his head, as if squeezing his brain.

When he looked up to Alexandre, he saw the older man didn't have any sunglasses. "How can you see outside?" the question was tinged with jealousy.

Alexandre put his keys on a countertop, and let out a 'heh'. "Because unlike you, I'm not an abomination." the man walked over and sat on the opposite side of Q, in a chair. He leaned back and placed an ankle on an opposing knee.
"So. It's been eight years." It seemed like Alexandre was trying to make a conversation. But Q wasn't reciprocating. "I'm going to assume Apollyon has told you what you are. Yes?"

Q frowned. "Who?" Apollyon? Q had never heard the name before.

Alexandre leaned forward, placing both feet on the floor. "Apollyon speaks to all of us. Gives orders, jump starts our Urvan." It was clear the man was slightly irked Q seemed confused, but at the same time, it was as if he wanted to teach. A stark contrast to what had happened the night before.

"You mean the voice in my head, and the shadowman in my dreams? His name is Apollyon?" Q put his hands in his lap, looking at the wraps around his left forearm for a moment before he came to the next question. "What's an Urvan?"

Alexandre shook his head. "I blame your stupid father for this," he grumbled to himself. "Urvan is the hellhound part of you. In the simplest terms I can describe." The man clasped his hands together. "He wasn't kidding when he said you were very ignorant."

"I'm... Sorry?" Q wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. The whole thing was going a bit over his head. He didn't want to believe these things, but they had already happened... So it was kind of stupid to not believe them, right? His whole life was ruined, so what could possibly make it worse now?

"You've become a real softie since you left the academy. It's kind of pathetic. What have you been doing all these years? Bonding with housewives?"

Q looked down. "Uh... I was kind of... picked up for male modeling..." His voice had softened, he was a bit embarrassed. And rightfully so, as Alexandre burst out laughing.

"You're kidding right?!" He laughed a few moments more. Then he stopped abruptly. "You aren't kidding?" It was a hope. "You really are a model?"

Q heaved a sigh. "I was. I lost my job recently. Everything was going fine until I went back to france. Then while I was there I met this kid. You saw him- the one with the blue horns. After that, everything went to shit. I started hearing this voice, this.. Apollyon I guess. I had dreams about him, and when I woke up from them, I just lost it. I was growling and my eyes started glowing. I've attacked Ven numerous times. I almost killed him last night. Of course, now he'll probably never see me again. I called up Father. He disowned me. I don't know how I'm going to live, now. The modeling was all I had."

Alexandre snorted. "Well. That's fine. Leave one life for another. That kid is a cambion. They're half-incubus. Once you met him it probably woke up your Fravashi. Who probably couldn't communicate with you correctly and went directly to Apollyon, who has a less than orthodox way of training his hounds."

Q sat there in disbelief. Everything Alexandre said went over his head.

Alexandre simply continued to explain. "Hellhounds have birth knowledge. By the time puberty hits you should know pretty much everything there is to know about the Veil, through communal knowledge. You never have to meet another hellhound or otherbeing to know about the Veil. The problem that arose with you, Quatre Bornes, is that your father was so intent on making you normal, he pretty much damaged your genes. True Hellhounds can appear as human or hound - you don't have that ability. Instead, because of your father, you were stuck in the middle of each somewhere. Which is why otherbeings call you a freak, and it's why you have the problems you do. Despite all the help any other dogs or Apollyon can give, I don't think you will ever be able to change form."

Q shook his head. "Fine. Fine," he growled. "I don't need to know about this Veil, or hellhounds... Or whatever. How do I make them stop talking to me? I don't want to kill any cambions... Or whatever. I want to just go back to being my normal self."

Alexandre hmphed. "Hellhounds are becoming extinct. We need all the numbers we can get. So you can't go back to your old life. We need you here, to help repair the Veil."

"This doesn't matter to me," Q hissed. "Just go fuck some other people and make more hellhounds. Or are you like werewolves? Making more should be simple enough."

"It's not that easy," Alexandre resigned. "Most hellhounds are male, and only the female hellhounds can breed more hounds. If a male hound mates with a human, nothing with happen. It's only when mating with females do more hounds give birth."

That must be why I'm gay, Q mocked himself.

"Then turn the women into birthcows for all I care. Leave me out of this."

Alexandre growled slightly, prepared with a snarky remark, but calmed himself instead. After a slight pause he said, "You can either help, or your situation will become worse, and I'll have to put you down myself. If you can't keep a hold on your own Urvan, then you also compromise the veil, and we'll have no choice."

Q crossed his arms over his chest. "You keep talking about the Veil. It's not like that Vampire the Masquarade thing is it?" Q had read enough of those types of books.

"It's exactly like that. White Wolf is a little bit further down the list on people we have to get rid of, though." He forced a smirk.
 
Voice of the Fravashi RP (Gaia)
has no relation to the book
GCD reg RP taking place after the ven x Q RP

[Q] wrote: [align=center]..:: Voice of the Fravashi ::..[/align]

In Zoroastrian doctrine a fravashi (Avestan fravaši; Middle Persian fraward, frawahr, frohar, frawash, frawaksh) is the guardian spirit of an individual, who sends out the urvan (often translated as 'soul') into the material world to fight the battle of good versus evil. On the morning of the fourth day after death, the urvan returns to its fravashi, where its experiences in the material world are collected.



This roleplay takes place roughly two weeks after this roleplay.

Summary of the Past:
Quatre Bornes, AKA Q, was picked up as a model at the age of 18 by a scout named Loria. At age 24, he's at the end of his long run. He meets a boy with horns named Ven Loraine. Many things happen, not the least of which ends up in the end of Q's modeling career.
Quatre Bornes was born with a fluffy dog tail, and for that reason connected with the horned boy, Ven. They fell in love but something happened when they were in France-- Q began hearing weird voices in his head, having strange dreams and when awaking from that, appeared angered, with instincts to kill Ven.

One such incident causes Ven and Q to go to the hospital. It was found later that Q had attempted to kill Ven after they both had been attacked by a huge dog. A werewolf, perhaps? No, later on, it was revealed that Q was part hellhound, the thing that had attacked them was a full-blooded hellhound, Ven was a cambion(half-incubus), and they were bound by fate to kill each other.

After this traumatic happening, Ven leaves the country to possibly never see Q again. Alexandre, the hellhound that had attacked them, took Q against his will into his apartment, and told Quatre Bornes all of what he needed to know about himself, and the veil.


[align=right]And now for the Present:[/align]
Q becomes despondent. He attempted to kill his lover against his own will because of some "urvan" in him or someshit, and his career is ruined. He has no source of income and although he has a nice cabin in the outskirts of Newburgh, New York, the way he was laid off couldn't have been worse.

Now Alexandre has kept Q in his apartment, refusing to let him go out until Q agrees to help retain the existence of the veil-- that is to say, keep the otherbeings(non-humans) from revealing themselves to the humans. Humans have no business knowing about the underworld and its various species, and being a hellhound means protecting the anonymity.

The worst criminals are the incubus and the cambion. While incubus can mask themselves, cambion are halfbreeds, and are often born like humans with horns and/or tails. They play innocent, but they're two-faced liars who will fuck anything just for fun, but are so fertile they'll probably end up impregnating everything they touch.

Rogue otherbeings will often play with humans, but the cambion and incubus are of particular interest since they are extremely overpopulated-- due to their hypersexual nature.

Which brings into play why they would use Q, who is in himself a halfbreed. He has also been crippled from transforming to his "true" form from various surgeries done to him in the past.
This is because the hellhounds are underpopulated. Only female hellhounds can bring more hellhounds. Male hellhounds mating with other species cannot make another hellhound.
Very few female hellhounds exist these days. They are hunted by the Nephilim, the humans who believe otherbeings and humans should co-exist peacefully.


[Q] wrote: [align=center]Character Roster[/align]
User: [Q]
Character: Quatre Bornes Lee (Q)
Q is 25, gay, an ex-model, and the most watered down version of a hellhound ever. His hellhound abilities are stunted, but with only 20 hellhounds left in existence, the underworld needs all the hell it can get. He's currently an emo whiny stupid bitch.

User: [Q]
Character: Alexandre
Alexandre is a 32(0) year old NYC policeman. Also a hellhound, currently entrusted with both protecting the last female hellhound, Rikki, and babysitting Q.
He seems fairly normal....

User: Overslept
Character: Apollyon
Apollyon, or "ap" as Rikki calls him, is the dog trainer, so to speak. He's a greater demon, the voice in all of the hellhounds heads. He gives orders and protects his charges as best he can, but is also cruel and loves to play mind games, especially with Q... Since Q is a dumbfuck.
He is the maintainer of the veil. He's the police dispatcher, and the hellhounds his police, if you will.

User: Overslept
Character: The Commander
Commander of the Nephilim. He leads the force of humans to destroy the hellhounds.

User: Simica
Character: Rikki
The last remaining female hellhound, 29(0) year old Rikki is under constant surveillance. Hellhounds can only make more hellhounds through a female hellhound. Once she goes into heat, she'll be used simply to breed. But for now, she must be protected so the Nephilim don't get to her and effectively kill of the species.
She's fiercely independent, and despises the thought of having pups.

User: Masco
Character: Rarune
The leader of a squadron of Nephilim.
He's got called in by the Commander to find the very last female hellhound and win the battle over the veil. Sweeeeet.

User: Digitized
Character: Gabe
A Nephilim in the squadron headed by Rarune, this guy is a healer and a strategist. With an odd fondness for weird plants.
And bedhead.

User: Ven Loraine
Character: Echo
An Incubus who cares a little more for sniping than sex. Maybe he carries around such a huge gun in compensation for something more?


[align=center]Vocabulary[/align]

Otherbeings
Things that aren't human. Demons, essentially.
Unlike TV shows and movies, they all live on earth. They do not see the underworld. Think of how vampires work in modern culture.

Vampires
Whiny emo bitches who are so watered down with humanity that nobody cares.

Hellhounds
When in their true form, big, huge-ass dogs. Normally, they appear human. There are only 20 of them left, and their only point of living is to serve Apollyon as protectors of the Veil. They eat other otherbeings, but love halfbreeds the most, as that is who they were designed to kill.
They all have green eyes, poisonious spit(if it gets into the bloodstream. It simply numbs skin if it doesn't), better than average strength, and heightened senses. They can sniff out other otherbeings, tell who is a halfbreed and who isn't, as well as see perfectly in the dark.
The color purple irritates them greatly for unknown reasons.

Nephilim
Humans whose sole job is to destroy the veil, and the hellhounds(since they are the only ones who protect it). Basically your average demon hunters you see in movies about... Demon hunters. Their ultimate goal is to have otherbeings and humans live in harmony.

The Veil
The unwritten law that otherbeings should stay out of humans business. They don't make themselves known, they hide in the darkness, they don't interbreed. Hellhounds and Apollyon live to protect the veil. The Nephilim live to destroy it.
Essentially, it's the same veil as in V:tM.

Cambion
half human half incubus. Their defining feature is the horns on their head. Sometimes instead of horns, they are tails. They coniving, horny little devils who'll fuck anything and probably impregnate anyone they touch. That's why Hellhounds mostly eat cambions, as they're the worst criminals.

Incubus
Otherbeings who are basically sex demons. They fuck anything and don't always have corporeal forms. Their love having sex with humans, which results in so many cambions. They're next on the list for Hellhounds to kill, but are harder to kill and less plentiful than cambions are.

[align=center]Joining?[/align]

If you want to join this RP, you must follow the following rules:

- PM [Q] with the title of "RP Application"(or something similar)
- In this PM, have a sample RP post, preferably a new one involving this plot somehow, but doesn't have to be.
Overslept, Simica, Q, Masco, and Digitized will then review this and accept/deny you.
I'll relay the information back to you via PM.

To be accepted, make sure you:
- can roleplay descriptively
- understand the plot to some degree (feel free to ask eleventybillion questions about it. ;))
- be a GCD reg (ok, not required, but helps)
- have decent teamwork skills
- can play more than one character, and/or can create NPCs if needed
- be a good teamplayer
- helps if you have Skype
- can post actively.

[Q] wrote: It had been two weeks since the incident that had left Q learning of his massive history.
Crippled from his father's surgeries? Unable to transform? Protecting the Veil? Cambions are horrible things that should be killed? Q was having a hard time processing it all. He was still trying to convince himself all this stuff wasn't real. But it was difficult. Everything was making a lot more sense. Why he had a tail, why he had those dreams. It was difficult to deny.

The first week, Q had spent moping about, waiting for his injuries to heal. Alexandre had just talked to him most nights, explained what the veil was for and why they needed him. Apollyon only had 20 hellhounds left. They were fighting a losing battle, and even though Q was a hopeless abomination to their species, they needed all the help they could get.

The second week, Q had receded so far into himself that he didn't eat much, or do much of anything. He slept all day while Alexandre was working on the police force in New York City, and all night he had succumbed to laying on the couch and listening to the TV. His eyes were too sensitive to light that he couldn't see anything other than a glowing screen, but he wanted some form of entertainment, and he couldn't be bothered reading. Besides, All of Alexandre's books were rather boring. Religious texts in one language or another.

Alexandre didn't have much time to dedicate to his horrid job of babysitting the hybrid. He had to work full-time, plus protect another. He'd barricaded Q in his apartment. Apollyon, their boss, had set it up so any time Q tried to leave the apartment, a horrible high-pitched noise would resound his head. It had produced some laughable results to Alexandre. Painful to Q. Aside from this, however, Apollyon stayed out of their business, trusting Alexandre to convince Q to work with them to protect the veil.

But, of the time Alexandre spent with Q, he got nowhere. Q was still just lying on the couch doing nothing half the time. He almost felt sorry for the mutt. He was minding his own business and then all this crap spilled into his lap. But Alexandre had his own worries. He had to be the poor sap dogsitting.

Today was Q's birthday. It was 9pm and he'd just woken up. Alexandre wouldn't be around until 1am or so. He didn't need much sleep, and he'd practically given up on Q anyway.
Q migrated from the bed to the couch, and picked up the TV remote he'd left there, his finger going for the power button.

"This is pretty pathethic."
It was the voice, again. That young voice that had assaulted him so many times before, but not for two whole weeks. It had scared Q, and he dropped the remote. This was apollyon? This was the devil who had decided to speak in his mind again? Why? Wasn't Q doing so... Well?
He was staying in the apartment! He wasn't hurting anyone!

"So your little fairy tale is over and 'ol two horns ran off like a scared puppy, are you just gonna mope around for the rest of your life in this dingy little apartment? What do you want? Whats your plan? Whats your next move?"
He sounded, well... Felt. Aggravated. It was a weird association.

"I don't..." Q began, his voice raspy for nonuse. The voice wouldn't bother letting him finish.

"You can rot for all I care, but the man upstairs says we need recruits and you're it, that means I can't just watch you decompose as amusing as it is to see you behaving like some prepubescent teen. I could care less where your head's at or who you blame for your problems."


"But--" Q was trying to interrupt, but he failed. Miserably. The voice kept talking.

"It's My fault? Fine. Its Alexandre's fault? Fine. Its Horns' fault? Fine. Point is that's called an external locus of control, the mindset of a coward who thinks everything in their life is caused by the actions of others. Why don't you take some initiative, I don't care what the fuck you do- just do something, prove to me you've got the testicles for an internal locus of control and take responsibility for whats happened so far, then move forward with your own goals in your sights."


"But I--" Useless attempt to get a word in edgewise. This voice was rather dominant today. He'd been holding it in for two weeks. He had a lot to say.

"You want to do as I say? You want to go after Horns? You want to try to kill Alexandre? You want to kill me!? Start setting things into motion and who knows- maybe you'll succeed. My point is I have to watch you, and right now I'm bored out of my skull doing it, so come on mutt lets make a show of it shall we?"

Q's eyelids drooped as he lay on the couch. He looked toward the remote. It seemed so lonesome on the floor.

"Are you done, now?" he asked, aloud.

He knew he only had to think back, but no one was here, so he may as well just speak to himself. There was nothing else to do.

"Why do you have to do this to me? You trapped me here. If I'm just going to slow you all down, why don't you just kill me like you say you kill all the other disgusting halfbreeds?"
His voice was a whine, now. He was depressed and thought everything was about him.
In a sense, it was. And that didn't make the situation any better.


Overslept wrote: "Why do I have to do this to you? Well isn't that a convenient question. Why do I have to do this to you? Again the aggressive member in our little relationship apparently being me, and the passive little dog waiting to be taken out back and shot being you. Why do I even need to answer that question? Hasn't Alexandre explained it enough times in the past two weeks to get through your thick little skull? I think my position has been made plenty clear by now, the real question is Why are you letting this be done to yourself? Its all comes back to that locus of control. You've tried the "Eat, Sleep, and Shit" solution now why not go for something a little more creative? I won't be fielding questions that have already been answered in this little therapy session cupcake so you can save the repeats for Alexandre, I'm sure hes not getting tired of them at all."

The lights in the apartment flash on, blinding Q.

"Is this fun? Is this what you like to do on your birthday? Can you even give me a reason for your existence right now? A little faggot like you can't even continue the species and that only leaves me with the puzzling quandary of why you don't just kill yourself right now. Or do you have something better to do? Do you even have a goal? Its your birthday, make a wish."


[Q] wrote: The voice was incredibly talkative today, and seemed to speak a lot faster. Of course, this thing spoke all in english, which made it that much more a daunting task to listen to him and understand. The voice was giving him a headache as it was, but now it was simply pissing him off.

He sat up, about to make his comeback, when the lights in the room flashed on. Q called out in shock, shutting his green eyes and covering them with his left hand. He hadn't had to deal with light for almost a week and a half, now. He didn't have his sunglasses because they were, presumably, still at the hospital, so he had no protection. Being assaulted with light hurt. If there was one thing Q had accepted, it was that he was a nocturnal creature.

The hybrid let out a guttural growl, snarling to the person he knew was not there. It was so much harder to fight someone who was inside of your head.

"How is this not your fault?!" he yelled. "You won't let me smoke, you made me almost kill my boyfriend, you sent me to the hospital, you told Alexandre to kidnap me, you are the one who is so interested in me. I'm going to assume it is also you that makes it so I can't leave the apartment without getting a migraine, and I'm sure it is your fault that I'm even a hellhound in the first place."

He let out a snarl.
"If my mom was a hellhound, then isn't it your fault that she had a kid with a human?!"

Q didn't know how the voice knew it was his birthday-- but he didn't care right now. He didn't care about the wish either, because he knew if it were going to come true it would've long a go. He wanted to go back to the beginning, before this whole hellhound bullshit started. He wanted to not be a hellhound, or at the very least, have this voice not in his head at the most inopportune times. Thank the gods he wasn't masturbating or something. That would be just like him to interrupt during that.


Overslept wrote: "If you were listening at all you'd know none of this is my will, I'm just a messenger. As such not only am I not your "true enemy", but brute force is never going to solve the puzzle set before you, especially for someone as weak as you are. Honestly what is he thinking choosing someone as thick as you, no logic whatsoever. Then again you are just a dog, but the problem is you're a wild dog, and a damned lethargic one at that. Oh well at least you're standing now, you haven't moved that quickly in weeks. As for your mother, sure shes obedient, unlike you, but you don't honestly believe I waste my time controlling her to such an extent as telling her who to fuck and who to chuck do you? That'd be pathetic. No she cursed you to this wretched existence purely of her own volition and now you have to deal with it, which brings us back to why I'm talking to you at all, the part where you deal with it. You can never go back, thats the nature of life, nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart. But if what you really want is for me to stop having to give you these little pep talks then luckily we're on the same page, the more obedient you are the less I have to talk to you so why don't you just stop being difficult? Not like you've got better things to do. "


[Q] wrote: Q growled again. Even though he never knew his mother, he didn't think she would curse him to an existence like this. The voice must be lying to him. Like he lied about Ven. But that was niether here nor there. The lights were on, the gloves were off. Fine, if this voice wanted him to do something, he'd do something.

He got up and began to walk to the nearest wall, his hands outstretched, trying to feel for what was before him as his eyes were still closed. After some tripping and bumbling he found the light switch and turned if off. Finally he could open his eyes again; he could see.

"You want me to do something, fine, I'll do something. Dick." He threw open the door to the apartment, after unlocking it, and began to stomp outside. His grey hair was messed from not being brushed, his clothes were blue dress shirt and tan khakis, which he had not changed in days. He'd stopped caring about his appearance since he wasn't paid to look sexy anymore-- apparently he was too old to be sexy regardless-- and he began to walk down the hallway.

The noise in his head was a loud screetch. It made Q wanted to turn right back around and head into the apartment, onto that cozy couch so he could listen to the Rugrats, or Myth busters, or the news, or whatever else was going on. But he grit his teeth, baring with the pain as he walked down the dimly lit hallway.

Each step he took the screech grew louder, his headache worsened. The very joints in his bones felt like they were shaking from such a high frequency. He couldn't even hear his thoughts anymore, and he was only five feet from the still open door of Alexandre's apartment.

He still walked on, two more heavy, shaky steps, his ears felt like they were going to fall off, his brain felt like it would split open.
He could no longer take it and wanted to turn back around and run for the apartment, but he couldn't let that stupid voice in his head win.


Overslept wrote: He sighed and wondered at the pigheadedness of this creature, had he not just told him that the solution was not brute force?

Why must all my minions be so foolish and brutish, why can't he toss me just one intellectual for once? Though I guess it makes sense, as throughout history its been proven time and time again that the difference between upper class and lower class was education, and the only way to keep them down was to keep them stupid. Even in ancient egyptian cultures their form of writing was so close to having a simple alphabet that could be easily comprehended, but instead they made it ten times more convoluted using a plethora of extraneous symbols with special meanings effectively making it so challenging that even now it take years to learn. It was not because they couldn't make literacy a simple achievement, it was that they didn't want to, for intelligence is of course the key to supremacy and problem solving, and solving problems is the key to succeeding in life. Something you may never come to understand little one, but for now I'll leave you alone, hopeful this will be the first of many actions you'll take as a counterpoint to your recent spell of inaction. Maybe soon you'll realize obedience is your only option, at least for now.


[Q] wrote: Q kept walking forward, though the noise was plenty irritating. The pain he had begun to get used to, almost like how one gets used to horrible tasting beer because they've become more inebriated, or how ugly women begin to look pretty, or some other such allusions that establish the same concept of getting used to something over a period time.

Eventually he made it downstairs, and outside. His hair still disheveled, but his tail carefully tucked away into his pants, he looked around the area outside the complex, breathing through his mouth.

He couldn't hear his own thoughts through the noise, but that meant he also couldn't hear the voice in his head. Was it a worthy trade-off? Almost every second out here was a nightmare.

As he looked around, he couldn't concentrate. He was trying to remember why he'd come outside in the first place. He couldn't.

"I'm out," he said to himself. He couldn't hear his own voice.
"I'm out," he stressed again, barely audible to himself. "What now? You wanted me out, didn't you?"

He groaned, rubbing his temples. He wanted the noise to go away.


Overslept wrote: Remaining silent, he watched carefully.
Who does this mutt think he is, some casual acquaintance I like to chat with in my free time? No you can figure this one out for yourself, I'm not gonna spoon feed you a path like your father did. I just hope this little exercise will build some character. Its called freedom, its what you've been whining for, now that you've got it you want me to hold your hand? Fat chance.


[Q] wrote: At no response, Q let out a growl.
"Isn't this what that dick wanted?" he thought to himself.

He looked around. He was supposed to do something wasn't he? He couldn't see anything particularly important or interesting. He couldn't sense any otherbeings, not that his sense of... sensing... Was any good. Damnit.

He began to walk out from the apartment building and down the street. He still couldn't see anything interesting. He began to get dizzy while he grumbled to himself about how he was listening and this was what the voice wanted, so why was he being punished, but after passing about two blocks, he had a hard time walking at all.

He put his hands to his ears and began to shake. He tried to take a few steps back, but the minimal difference that made did not help him. He couldn't take the annoyance enough to walk back to the apartment, and kneeled down on the sidewalk, shaking.

"Stop, stop, stop," he pleaded with the voice he knew wasn't going to answer back. Eventually he couldn't take it anymore, and finally blacked out. Sweet, sweet euphoria of unconsciousness.

No more noise.


Overslept wrote: Whispering into Alexandres ear "I do believe your dog has gone and run away, you'd better go and fetch him before he gets hit by a car."


[Q] wrote: Alexandre was a thirty-two year old New York City policeman. He did his duty during the day to his city, and then at night, claimed his birthright.

Apollyon had given him a rather boring job recently, however. Not only did he have to be the main protection for Rikki, the last remaining female hellhound, but he also had to babysit that little hellion whiny halfbreed, Q.

Right now, Alexandre was running a hand through his golden-brown cropped hair, as he and Rikki walked together toward a bar. They had gotten rather close, recently. Though Rikki was very independent, and happened to dislike being under almost constant servalliance. She didn't see the Nephilim as any threat. She didn't even think there were any nephilim in this city. Just an overwhelming amount of vampires and Incubus.

"I do believe your dog has gone and run away, you'd better go and fetch him before he gets hit by a car."

Alexandre let out a disgruntled sigh, turning toward Rikki. "Sorry," he said. "I guess we won't be going out tonight..."

"Alexandre?" the woman said, stopping in her tracks and tilting her head. "Is it the halfbreed you're dogsitting?"

Alexandre turned on his heels, walking back toward his apartment. "You should come," he suggested.

"All right, all right. Nothing else to do anyway," Rikki waved her hand and followed after the other hound.

It wasn't long before she sniffed Q out, as her sense of smell was quite a bit better than Alexandre's. They found him passed out on the sidewalk.
"What did he do?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"Ah, Apollyon set it up so if he left, he'd hear a dog whistle, and it's get louder the further he walked. Seems out of character for him to walk out this far, though."
The man pulled up his jeans slightly before squatting to pick up the younger man, arms under his neck and knees.

"Ha, count on Ap to think of a perimeter like that," she chuckled, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Alexandre hmphed. "You know he doesn't like that name." He began to walk toward his apartment. It only took moments to walk in the door and up the elevator. Once he got to his room, he walked in-- Q had left the door unlocked. He groaned inwardly. What a dunce.

Rikki closed the door behind her, waiting for Alexandre to come back from dropping Q on the bed.

"So, can we go back out now?" She asked, a bit impatient. She was ready to hit the bars, to go hunting again.

"I'm not sure if I'm in it any more. I'm kind of worried about the pup," he replied sympathetically.
"Besides, I'm kind of tired. There were a lot of smartasses at work today."

Rikki walked up to Alexandre, slipping her hand around his waist and pulling him close. "He'll be fine," she murred, looking to his eyes. "Let Ap babysit him. You've had him for two weeks. I want to eat something good today."

Alexandre rolled his eyes, and gave a last look toward the bedroom where Q was. "All right," he began begrudgingly. "We haven't eaten in a while."

He turned and went back outside, locking the door behind Rikki.
They'd walk again to another bar. Hellhounds had a passion for walking. They loved to walk everywhere.
And bars, well... They were noisy and rather uncomfortably places to be in, but the cambion seemed to enjoy those locations. Perhaps they'd find one tonight to eat-- as their previous conversation implied, they had not found and other otherbeings for a few days.

If all else failed, they could eat a vampire-- but those were rather gaudy. And they always seemed to travel in packs. They couldn't do much damage, but they could whine and bitch like no tomorrow, and that was almost as just as bad as anything else.


Simica wrote: Glowing dim street lights lit their way as they walked down the sidewalk. Half untied suits walked past, their faces nothing but a blank stare towards the gum littered ground. Aroma’s filling her nostrils, each one slightly different. The soft wind itself caring the light scent of exhaustion with a mixture of human tags. Nothing of full interest to her.

Biting the inside corner of her lip, a bad habit she should have lost ages ago. Though her head stood tall, her eyes trailed upwards. Only ever so often flickering a glance over at Alexandre. The thought of constantly having a watcher, bothered her some.

Her memories flashed of days when she was able to run free throughout long fields when she was nothing but a pup herself. As if the memory was plucked from the foggy stars above her, she turned her head away from them ”Those days are gone... with me being the only one left...” Her lip curled at the thought of having pups. Letting the thought slip through the cracks of her mind as she took a deep breath in, absorbing the scent tags around her.

Running her fingers through the long dark brown hair, her head tilting back slightly. The street lights illuminating the already relative pale skin. “So which one you going to pick tonight Alex?” Her head rolling towards the left. The bright green eyes peering into his, keeping her grip around his waist.

The past month had seemed to go by fast; with a crooked smile she turned away from him, only to feel her body jolt back an inch. Rikki’s eyes widened before she turned back to look at the suit who had bumped into her.

With a slight snarl in her voice “Hey! Watch were you are going!” shaking her head quickly as she started to mumbled under her breath. “bloody suits”

All thoughts ruined by a simple mistake now took her in a new direction. Her own hunger for a real meal slowly taking its toll on her attitude.

With an outburst she dropped her arm from his waist “BAH!” heads turned over to her befor quickly turning away. Gripping Alexandre’s arm she whined hopefully “We are going to find something to eat tonight ... right?” Being how she was. She knew what she wanted and went after it.
[Q] wrote: Alexandre turned his head to Rikki when she spoke again, asking which bar they were going to. He plastered on a fake smile, the kind where his dimples stretched the sideburns that led to his goatee. Alex. Rikki knew he didn't like the nickname. But he had gotten over fighting with her for now.

His hand was still around her waist; the both of them interlocked like two normal city-walking lovers. "I'm not sure yet," he answered softly, his eyes trailing back to the sidewalk in front of him.
His grip of Rikki was pulled free when the stranger bumped into them, and Rikki turned around in disgust.

He quickly pulled her back to himself, rushing a hushed "Calm down, Rikki," and giving a glare to the passerby. He'd smelled innocent enough. Nephilim were only human, but usually they had a weird smell. One of those awkward gut feelings. You just knew when you were dealing with the Nephilim. Not often would there be a new recruit-- it was a family business.

Still, he turned his cautious gaze to Rikki. "Are you alright?" That question was more important than her urge for food. His large hands patted her down a bit, wondering if he the man had dropped anything on her- a GPS chip, wolfsbane, maybe pricked her with something.
It was always best to be careful.

When he was reassured she was fine, he gave a small glare to the woman. "You of all people shouldn't be caught off guard," he warned. She knew that. He knew she knew that.
Not because of the danger, but because she was simply better than that.

One didn't live for over three hundred years like she had to just be bumping into people without knowing beforehand.

Alexandre grabbed her hand in his, and pulled her toward a nightclub called The Castle. It was for the goth community. Mostly full of vampires, but there were some furries too. Furries were little wannabe-were-animals. Wore fake animal parts. It threw some younger hellhounds off, but Alexandre knew better. He assumed Rikki would too.

Even so, the club had many freaks in it. Mostly humans pretending to be freaks, but freaks nontheless. Maybe they might score some hornies. Heh, hornies. That was the cute nickname the humans gave the cambion.

Regardless, Alexandre pulled Rikki through the club lines without another word, paid his fees, and once they were inside, began baring the assualt on all of their senses. In clubs, Alexandre mostly relied on sight first, scent second.

Being as he was only wearing worn jeans and an old white collared shirt (He changed in the locker room at the precinct before meeting with Rikki at sundown), he seemed very out of place in this sea of dead animal parts pinned to humans with too much black smoking too many foreign substances.

Squeezing Rikki's hand, he pulled her up the flight of stairs to the level that was purely for the bar, not the dance floor. It was his experience that cambion liked to mingle more than dance. Perhaps they'd find one here.


Simica wrote: “I know” she stated simply as she was dragged through the line. Her grip tightened around his hand as they were surrounded by the humans. Aroma’s filled her nostrils ”Smoke...beer...human...perfume..” the list went on, each tag brining on another one. Her main focus was now on feeding. Just the thought of a decent meal fill her mouth with juices. With eyes wide open upon the ongoing movement of bodies. Some fully dressed as furries, others showing off their fake fangs. ”Disgusting...”

As they reached the top floor, her eyes reverted behind her to the railing that oversaw the floor below. Letting go of his hand for a moment as she travelled to the railing, arms crossed over one another. “They style is so....odd” Looking down at the simple slender blue jeans and long white tank top. Pulling the thin cloth blouse around her before walking over towards Alexandre. With a half disappointed smile she sniffed the air again.

Pulling on Alexandre’s shirt a bit, her nose rising slightly higher in the air “Do you smell that?” It was faint, but she knew. She knew it was dinner.

Biting the corner of her lip as she smiled, her eyes glazed over at the thought of food. Instinctually, she started to scan the surrounding area. Her eyes falling upon an orgy of people biting each other , a simple statement of the rolling of her eyes said enough of her thoughts on the subject.

“Alex..” tugging again on his shirt. She knew all too well she could easily take off to find it herself; however, she would be scolded for sometime about it. In general the thought of being scolded made her feel like she was being backed in a corner and she had to fight back.

Looking into his attractive green eyes for a moment, she smiled. She knew he would probably take it in a different way than what she was thinking about. As soon as she laid eyes on him, she looked away again, now multi-tasking from her thoughts to tracking down the scent.


Masco wrote: Rarune, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, finally awoke from his sleep. He was finally being called into the Commander's office.

For the first time in his life, he was being called into HQ personally. All he knew about this visit was that it he was to bring Gabe along for the ride.

And here he was now, not more than a day later, sitting in the Lobby, being called in to see the Commander himself.

Nobody has seen the Commander personally without getting called away on some sort of special assignment. They were always to leave right away with their Squad, before anyone could ask questions. Even if they caught them in time, it was all confidential. "The consequences would be very undesirable," is what one was told if one was to ask. Nobody would ever ask what those consequences were.

And yet, here he was, leaning on that wall, arms crossed. Here, about to get his first special assignment from the Commander. Here, about to receive something big and secretive, important enough to convey that message while my Squad goes to complete the task.

One thing was missing to complete this moment of pure achievement.

Rarune looked around the room, suddenly tense.

"Where the fuck is Gabe?"


Digitized wrote: Gabe prided himself on three simple things. One, his collection of rare and exotic plants; two, his ability to strategize and heal (which made him second-in-command of his squad); and three, being as punctual as he possibly could. This very day, possibly the most important in his career, he was fucking up the last of the three.

“Shit, fuck, damn, hell,” A stream of curses spewed continuously from his mouth as he bounded up the stairs to the lobby beside the Commander’s office. “Stupid. Fucking. Alarm. Clock.” He murmured angrily to himself.

Gabe’s shoes made dead thudding sounds against the carpeted hallway floor. “Sorry I’m late!” he burst through the door, his chest heaved from the effort of running. Catching his breath he added, “I’ll be getting a new alarm ASAP.”

He then concentrated on taking in slow, even breaths. Looking flushed and tired as he was would be a bad state to meet the commander in. “So…” Gabe looked to his squad leader, curiosity in his eyes. “When are we goin’ in?” The lopsided grin that he usually wore was now frozen upon his features and his eyes glittered with excitement.

’We’re finally doing it…’


Masco wrote: Rarune couldn't help but roll his eyes at this point.

Not only is the Squad's second-in-command not able to set an alarm, but he also can't seem to keep his hair straight. Not a good sign for the Commander.

He could excuse the botanist needs. Those exotic plants always freaked him out, making him wonder "Why would anyone WANT these?"

He could excuse the shitty personal planning as well. He was the best medic Rarune could ask for, and his strategies were always genius. And if they weren't, Rarune made sure to make them so.

That was one of Rarune's many specialities, pointing out flaws in planning, framework, structures, and just about anything else. It helped to make sure everything went perfectly smooth, which is the very reason Rarune and Gabe were standing in front of the Commander's office right now. Their plans were perfect, though Gabe's horrid timing was always a factor.

But will the Commander be so generous? Generous enough to excuse Gabe's untidiness for how well they can treat injuries? Generous enough to excuse the lateness for their fantastic teamwork on the field? Generous enough to excuse Gabe's exotic plant needs?

"Gabe, don't screw this up," Rarune sighed. He unfolded his arms and opened the doors into the Commander's office. He motioned for Gabe to walk in first and followed him sullenly.



Digitized wrote: Gabe’s grin turned into an angry scowl, but it dissipated as quickly as it came. This was no time for a fight between him and his squad leader.. ‘Hmph, just watch yourself…’ He settled for merely thinking the rude remark rather than snapping at Rarune like he would have loved.

The two of them didn’t always see eye to eye, and the squad hated it more than anything else. Gabe wanted to attack from the west? Rarune insisted on them coming in from the east. It was a no win battle with his leader and it made him sick sometimes just listening to his words.

A few years ago he wouldn’t have dreamed he would have been teamed with such a person, but he was. Quite frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Even though his leader was a know-it-all with a tendency to point out petty and insignificant flaws, he still always led them down the right path.

“Sir.” Gabe gave a quick nod to the commander, as he stepped into the room. He hoped that the other man would ignore his messy appearance, but, with how his day had been going, he doubted it would be overlooked.


Overslept wrote: Sitting up in his chair, the commander unfolded his arms and wave a hand towards the pair of chairs in front of his desk, exasperatedly stating "Go ahead have a seat."

After they had sufficiently settled themselves he began again "I though I told you this was important Rarune, and even if it weren't this isn't the sort of behavior we consider acceptable at this outfit. You're lucky you're good at what you do or your whole squad would have been dropped months ago."

He sighed and and put his hand to his forehead. "I need for you to take this is seriously as possible, your next mission could make the difference in this war. After years of tracking we've finally been able to pinpoint the location of the final, and most elusive, female hellhound. As you know a female is required to produce new hellhounds, and this could mean the end of their reproduction, bringing the end of this battle into sight. We've achieved this to such a degree that her location has been narrowed down to a city, unfortunately that city is New York, so I'll have to ask you be as discreet as possible, something I know you've had trouble with in the past. It took a lot of careful consideration to select your squad for this one shining chance, and an opportunity like this might not come again for years. Because of that, should you choose to accept this assignment, your rewards for success could be great, as could your punishment for failure. You will receive a full debriefing once you've made your decision, normally refusal wouldn't be an option, but with something as important as this I want your total honesty in whether you think your team can handle it Rarune. I'd like you to discuss it amongst yourselves and your team before you give me an answer, this isn't the time to get cocky. Contact us with your answer, that will be all."

He closed his eyes and waved them out, turning around in his swivel chair and hoped to god this wouldn't be a mistake.


[Q] wrote: Alexandre looked about as they walked, eventually slowing down enough for Rikki to lead him around instead. It was important to stay together, especially in a place like this. There was no telling where a Nephilim hid. Not these days. They were too cunning now. So close to winning the battle.

He looked down toward Rikki as she went to the balcony. As he surveyed the lower floor, he felt a tug on his shirt. He briefly thought it was some random clubgoer, but the second time, he knew it was Rikki, and turned to follow her as she dragged him through crowds and squeezed him through estranged humans.

Finally, the crowds seemed to split open and a heavenly light shown down on their prey. It was a man decked out in black leather with red and purple accessories. His hair was in a long braid with purple ribbons, he wore a faux fox tail from his belt, and his horns were six inches tall. Also a faded purple.

Alexandre growled slightly to himself as he watched the young cambion dance. He motioned to Rikki. "You go," he said.
Maybe she could pick him up, get him out of the club so they could feast without all these people around.


Simica wrote: Rikki peered down at the Faggolicious man, he of coarse stood out more so than ever. Looking back at Alexandre as if she had been seen something she couldn’t believe. “You have to be kidding me” Rubbing the nape of her neck before finally exhaling deeply. Her head hung low for a moment before pulling away the blouse and leaving it in his hands. Only leaving him behind mumbling to herself.

“Why does it have to fucking be purple

...well I guess its food...

but why purple”

Waving back at him with a be right back wave.

Her fingers trailed down the railing as she made her way down to the area the unsuspecting food was. With ease she had made her way to his side, even with the difficulty of the nonstop walls of freak show people.

As she watched him dance for a moment, all she could think of was food. It was as if food was written across his forehead, with a sign pointing down on him stating “I am easy, come and get me” in neon colors.

Looking up at him, she flashed a half smile while biting the corner of her lip. Slowly wrapping her arms around his waist as she whispered into his ear. “I have been watching you...” pressing her body against him. The young man looked over at her for a brief moment with a surprised look.

It was only a moment later, they both stood still. The serious look upon his face turned into an outright laughter. Stepping back a moment, all confused, embarrassed and angry at the foolish food. Once he stopped laughing he stood up fully and cleared his throat. Leaning into her for a moment as he spoke softly.

“ I am gay”

The world seemed to darken around her, she had just been pawned by a purple gay man. With a quick flash of her thoughts she turn to look up at Alexandre with a twisted smile.

“then I might have something you may like then” She whispered back. This had caused the man to stop in his own confusion for a moment before nodding his head.

Rikki had made her way back to Alexandres side, still holding the half twisted smile. Leaning against the railing after grabbing her blouse.

Her words spoke plainly, even through the twisted humour she had.
“He is gay” Smirking again before slapping Alexandres ass “go get him tiger, he is waiting”


Masco wrote: "Of course, the only chance of proving my squad has balls just so happens to be the turning point of the war. Fantastic." Rarune thought. "I didn't even get a look at the Commander either. It was way too dark. What am I going to tell the Squad now?"

Rarune's Squad was definitely an odd bunch.

There was their medic and strategist with an odd obsession for exotic plants. Though he got the job done and in ways most would never even think about, he always made sure to take a route to check out a certain spot on the map on the way back. And, of course, there was a plant there to study. But what else could you do, that's also what made him the organization's most powerful Medic. Every potion was perfect and efficient, and Gabe himself could throw them with precision.

Jesse D. McSowerfayce, titled as a Tank, but does no actual tanking. He does all the up close fighting, using whatever tactics necessary to keep the target's eyes on him, if they could. Jesse was the fastest human you have ever seen, while still wielding a handcannon with proficiency. Despite his speed, the ones they target are able to keep their eyes on Jesse and fight back, which is, of course, what is wanted.

There was also James Armstrong, whose arms were larger than tree trunks. This, of course, is offset by his tiny, tiny, tiny gun he wielded. His main goal was to watch Jesse's back and help him distract the target, generally by posing a threat with his menacing arms and using the environment to his advantage. His tiny gun was seldom used, not only for its inability to fire when needed, but because James had horrible aim.

And of course, the resident femme fatale would be Jones the team's mute Sniper. Unspeaking and always hidden, she waited until just the right time to send the finishing blow to the target. She never missed. She always made sure her guns were nice and robust before laying a finger on them.

And lastly, the Squad's lion of a leader, Rarune. He always made sure everyone was prepared for everything and anything, as well as keeping his squad in the best shape and form. He pointed out every flaw in planning and every misfire in exercises; it even went to the point where he commented on clothing. Though HQ allows its members to wear just about anything in or out of the field, Rarune always made sure to comment on the dress of his Squad's members. Rarune liked to think his Squad was the best, and also wanted them to look the best.

And in reality, they were the best, which is why each and every member was considered before the Commander made the decision to assign them to this mission.

With this in mind, Rarune walked out of the office with pride, knowing that his team would surely agree to the task.


[Q] wrote: Alexandre watched Rikki intently, slightly annoyed at the purple hornie. Why purple? The color always annoyed him.

As she spoke to the cambion, Alexandre tilted his neck, trying to hear their words, even though he knew he couldn't through all this music and bass. His green gaze turned into confusion as Rikki walked back toward him.

He's gay.

The news shot through him like an arrow through a cat. He groaned, placing a hand on Rikki's shoulder and pushing her behind him as he made his way to the purple halfbreed.

Alexandre was as straight as an arrow. This was ridiculous. Gay men were fine, they could do their thing. But away from him. Now he had to pretend to be gay. Augh, this was ridiculous. He doubted he could even pull off seeming gay. But all he had to do was lure the guy out of the club, or into a closet...

As he walked forward, he plastered a fake grin on his face, and swallowed his pride. He was comfortable in his sexuality. He would still be after this.

"Hey there, boy," he said with a smirk as he got to the cambion. "Nice horns."

He had to swallow frequently to keep from drooling. And the longer he stared at the outfit of this young man, the more he wanted to just bite his neck and be done with it.

"Hello," the cambion said, returning the smile. Although it seemed more sincere. "That woman sent you over?"

"Yeah. Her name's Rikki," Alexandre replied. "What's yours?"

"Raven," he smirked. "And you?"

"Alexandre. I'm sorry but... I..." He craned his neck toward a nearby door, in hopes the halfbreed would get it.

"Nice name. Outside? Why?"

Alexandre flashed a grin and grabbed the boy's hand, excitedly dragging him toward the nearest door. "You like dogs, right?!" He said to the boy behind him as he rushed through people.

As soon as they were outside, the cambion began to worry. Something was off. Definitely off.
But Alexandre slammed the cambion against the wall, his face coming to the mutt's, his breath heavy and his eyes full of bloodlust.

He debated saving the kill for Rikki, but decided against it, and just clamped his jaws onto the cambion's jugular with his sharpened teeth.
The halfbreed began to scream, began to struggle, but Alexandre wouldn't waste time with feeble entertainment-- his shape turned to that of the large grey hound and he ripped out the windpipe of the victim, letting the now-dead body fall to the floor and throwing up his head to swallow the gullet whole.

His stature was tall, built like a thick greyhound with overtly large ears and paws. His eyes glowed in the darkness, his tail stood straight up and he walked around the body to face the door. He made the kill, but now he'd wait for Rikki to take the first meal. He was a gentleman like that.

A gentleman that was currently five feet tall on his four paws and drooling from his bloodied gums.
But still a gentleman.


Simica wrote: Her eyes screamed with pleasure as she followed closely behind, only leaving a foot or two of space between them. As they left her sight, her pace quickened, her mouth watering at the thought of fresh meat. Pushing the door open, a new aroma filled the night air. Blood.

With feet following the scent, her eyes slowly began to glow brightly against the darkness. The once human figure soon faded into the wind.

Rikki now stood on all fours; dark brown fur covered most of her body. Other than a light blonde tuff around neck that trailed down the center of her chest. Another streak of blond hair on the tip of her tail. If she was of a normal dog size, no one would have thought differently.

With peering green eyes, even in the darkest of nights, they could see perfectly fine. From a far distance she watched Alexandre wait patiently. An inner smile beamed as she made her way next to him. The dark muzzle nuzzling his neck before leaning closer to the body. Dropping the heavy body upon the ground, her teeth gripped around the halflings thigh. Closing her eyes as her teeth sunk easily within the soft flesh.

With a quick snarl, she pulled away a chuck of fresh meat, eagerly absorbing its taste and aroma. The taste itself was almost orgasmic to her. As blood trickled down her muzzle, she looked up at Alexandre. Whining softly to him “Thank you Alexandre”

This was the first time she had called him Alexandre, though will most likely be the last time. Changing the tone of the night quickly as she poked a little fun at him “So you picked up this highly with ease. Are you sure you arn’t... well you know”

Leaving the sentence hang for a moment before she chuckled inwardly as she went back for another bite.


[Q] wrote: Alexandre's ears perked up as did his long neck when Rikki came through the door, finally.

He watched her eat, taking a few steps back, giving her the space she needed to take the thigh. He waited a few minutes, his green eyes full of longing for his own meal, but also practiced patience.
After Rikki had claimed her leg, he jumped in, his snout going for the torso with a hunger-filled growl.

His canines bit through the chest, clothes, bones, and all, and he quickly gobbled up what he could, as if time was of the essence. His tail thwapped Rikki's back, urging her to finish her meal. He didn't want anyone to spot them.

His grey-blue head popped up at her thanks, and then her question. He snorted as a "you're welcome," but instead of answering her question, simply shoved himself into the shoulder of the dead cambion, crunching more bones in his teeth, using his paws to hold down the rest of the body as he gorged.


Simica wrote: They soon finished the body, not much was left of the Halfling. A few shreds of purple clothing left on the cement. As she sat upon the cold cement, the human form became visible. A few steaks of blood still trickling down her chin, though it didn’t stay that way for long, with a quick swipe of her finger she finished the last of her tasty meal.

Sitting there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of having reenergized and a full stomach. It was questionable to where they put all of put the food, however, it did not matter. Leaning forward, she rested her arms upon her knees. Watching Alexandre finish his last bites before transforming back into his human form.

The event at full, seemed to go by all too quickly. It was all too easy, though; she didn’t expect anything less from such a creature. Rolling her head as she jumped up onto her feet. A light smile across her face. It really showed how much a full meal had an effect on her. Now feeling more centered within her mind, she gathered herself mentally.

Her eyes looked down upon the purple horns, her mouth only starting to water again. The thought of Q back in the apartment, blacked out, brought on a form of sympathy. “You know Alex... We should take the horns back for Q. “ pausing for a moment before continuing “He probably would enjoy them” Shrugging her should slightly as she picked them up “Either way, even if he doesn’t want them. They will be good to have later” Licking her lower lip slowly at the thought.
[Q] wrote: Alexandre sat down on his hind legs, licking the blood from his muzzle as best as he could while Rikki brought back up her human facade. He brought his left paw to his face and scratched his muzzle.

I think we should brings the horns to Q.

Alexandre's green eyes looked at her with an incredulous look. "Are you serious?" he seemed to say. His human form came over him, as if an old television had just turned to a new channel. His left hands was scritching his dirty blonde goatee before he wiped his mouth.

"Quatre Bornes doesn't deserve such a gift," he responded, his standing form looking down to the horns. He squatted down and picked up one of the purple horns, letting out a small growl in thought.

"Well," he thought, "maybe if he eats a piece, he will no longer deny what he really is."

Alexandre put the tip of the horn in his mouth, picking at his teeth with it as he stood up.
"Fine," he relented, after temporarily taking the horn from his canines. "But only one of them."

He nibbled on the tip of the horn, biting the end off with a snap. He swallowed it and licked his lips, then throwing the partially eaten horn to Rikki before picking up the second horn, playing with it in his fingers for a moment.

"Why do you care about the pup anyway? You didn't seem to give him a second thought earlier." He quirked a brow, but began to walk back toward his apartment, making sure Rikki followed him.


Simica wrote: Making quick use of the horn, she chewed it up. Licking her lips at the delicate taste. Her head snapped back at him as her eyes narrowed. With a huff and a snort her words bit back “Who says I give a damn”

Following his lead closely, with arms crossed over her chest. “He’s a damn Halfling, a mutt.” The moment of peace was over between them as quickly as it came it had left. “It’s exactly like you said. What use is he if he can’t even accept who he is. Even if it is of a Halfling”

Scents from all around, the similar suits walking by with a mixture of younger generations. By this time the abnormal people and the partiers came out. It would be a good night for further hunting.

Her stomach growled from digesting the once Halfling, only causing her to smile in satisfaction. “I mean, we do need all us we can gather if we are going to do this right. But the fucking pressure” Exhaling deeply for a moment before pushing the thought of being a pup baby maker out of her mind.

“So what do you plan on doing once this is all done for?” Quickly changing the subject that would hit a chord in her heart and mind.

She knew they were coming closer to his apartment. Only to have the night end soon and he being sent to spend the next day caged in a room.


[Q] wrote: Alexandre hmphed, shrugging as he walked. "...Sure."
Did she have a crush on the pup? how unfortunate. Or maybe it was just her natural curiosity. Rikki had never really met Quatre Bornes. Alexandre had seen him briefly in France, acting as an english teacher. He still wasn't sure how Apollyon had pulled the strings to get him there.

Q used to be smart. He must've just been hitting hard times. He sighed.

"What do you mean 'once this is all done for'?" he stopped in his tracks, turning around to the female. "I won't let them catch you." He placed his hand on her shoulder, in comfort.

"You are safe with me. We'll win. And after we're done with the Nephilim, we'll continue living as we choose." he looked directly into her eyes.
He was positive Rikki only felt of him as just a partner, a piece of a small pack. Their numbers were low, and they had been spread out around the world in different countries.
Hellhounds used to be pack animals, now they had evolved to become solitary. The outlook appeared bleak, but in Alexandre's 300 years of living, he still had hope. And he felt for the female. Maybe it was simply hormones, but there was a connection beyond working together. He had hoped it would be reciprocated come time to mate, but he doubted it...

His thoughts shifted off, and he turned around, walking through the revolving door of the apartment complex and to the elevator. Almost home.
"Do you always get so sentimental after you feed?"


Simica wrote: Her lips pressed shut as she kept the words in her mind from spilling out of her mouth. Only leaving her locked onto his gaze. As he turned away from her, she retorted quickly “You only have to look after me because it is your duty. Same with the past one.” She huffed slightly as she walked past him. “And I am not sentimental. I could not allow such things to happen. That would mean I am weak”

Her arms pressed against her chest, getting to the elevator a few steps ahead of him. She stood in silence in the meantime. Impatiently pressing the up button with her arms still firming crossed. As the elevator doors open, she rushed through, placing herself on one side of the small confined room, he on the other side.

It was only a matter of time before they stood at the door of the apartment, the door still locked. Hopefully that meant the pup was still inside and laying on the bed passed out. That was if, all went well.


[Q] wrote: "We live for duty," Alexandre said softly as she walked past him.

They went the rest of the day in silence, up until they got to the room where Alexandre pulled out his keys and opened the door, ushering the woman in and closing and locking the door behind them.

Once inside his private abode, he looked about, his green eyes giving off a faint glow in the dark. Q must have not woken up yet. That was strange.

He walked over to the spare bedroom to see the 25 year old laying with all his clothes on ontop of the bed, his grey hair splayed about, as Alexandre had carefully laid him. For a moment Alexandre thought he looked peaceful, then remembered it was more that this pup was pathetic. He had gotten himself into that mess.

He put the keys in his pocket and walked to the side of the bed, putting the purple horn on the edge, and gently shaking Q's shoulder.
"Hey, kid."

The hybrid moaned faintly and turned away.

Alexandre frowned slightly, then took the cambion horn and poked Q in the middle of the chest with it. "Wake up," he commanded, forcifully pushing the horn in. That would probably leave a mark later.

Q's eyes finally opened, and he gave a growl, shoving Alexandre's hand away from himself, horn and all. "What the hell are you doing?" he whined.

"Waking you up," Alexandre stated the obvious with annoyance. He tossed the horn to Q, who fumbled, dropping the piece a few times in his hands before finally catching it before it hit the bed.

"What's this...?"

Alexandre turned to Rikki. "This is Rikki. She's a hellhound too. She wanted to give it to you."

Q looked at the woman, confused. Then he stared at the thing in his hand. It was purple. That made him annoyed for some reason. Or was that simply because Alexandre had poked him with it? He wasn't sure. He studied it for a moment. This looked familiar somehow.
His hands went over the ridges... It felt familiar.
Ven's horns were like this, the thought suddenly dawned on him.

"How did you get this?!" He looked up to the woman, then to Alexandre with disgust.
But despite that look of disgust, Q couldn't help but keep the horn gripped in his hands.


Simica wrote: Bursting out right as she watched the confusion on his face turn into a disgusted one. “Oh come on, I thought you would have a little sense of what we do” Licking her lips playfully as she leaned against the door frame.

“Just give it a chew and put your childish ways behind you.” She snorted with a more serious look on her face. “How do you think we got it? We ate the damn thing.” Walking up to him, her fingers pressed against his cheek for a moment before studying him close “bah, this is what you are pupsitting. Sad”

Letting her finger tip drag across his cheek for a moment before letting her hand drop to her side. Flicking her hair back with a couple fingers, allowing the visibility of her face better seen. “So what’s his story? Why isn’t he accepting the gift he has been given?”


[Q] wrote: Q snarled as she touched him, and pushed her away, turning his face away. He didn't want a freak touching his face, and also she was close to his facial scar, which he was a rather sensitive subject to him.

But she talked, and said he should... nibble on it?
Q glared at her. "You want me eat this? It's a fucking horn! I can't even chew it! Not that I'd want to, it's disgusting! YOU ATE A PERSON??"

Alexandre rolled his eyes. "I told you this was a mistake," he said to Rikki, crossing his arms over his chest. "He fell in love with a cambion. He was with two of them when I was assigned to pick him up, and he fought me so I wouldn't eat them."

He looked to Q, who glared back.

Alexandre glanced back to Rikki, then leaned over the bed and pinned Q down to the bed by his shoulders. "I'm really sick of your shit," he growled. "You've done nothing for two weeks."

He brought his face forward and gave a feral growl, his breath stinking Q's pathetically human face, his nose touching the young pup in annoyance. "You will eat this. And you will like it."

Q shook his head, "I'm not going to eat a person!" He barked back.
He brought his knees up and attempted to kick at Alexandre, but his frame was to thick for it to affect the grown man, any.

"Rikki," Alexandre ordered, throwing his head in the horn's direction.

It was a long shot, but maybe if Q tasted the horn....


Digitized wrote: After returning to their squad HQ, Rarune had given Gabe orders to assemble the squad while he took a short power-nap. "Hmph, stupid Rarune. Thinks he's so great!" The muttering came out in a rush while Gabe tramped down the hall towards Jones' room. "Taking naps..." The tan-skinned medic rapped on the door twice, foot tapping impatiently.

The door opened and in the doorway stood Jones with her rifle strapped to her back; Gabe was sure he'd never seen her without it save for showers and sleeping. "The big man wants us for a meeting, though I'd give it ten minutes until you come into the main room. He' s taking one of his naps." Air rushed out of his nostrils in a quick snort.

"I'll come." Was all that she, being a woman of few words, said before closing the door.

The second-in-command moved to the quarters of all the other main members of the team, still passing along scathing comments of how lazy their leader was. 'If he wants to sleep then they can all learn about it.'

The main room was a sort of living room, save for the fact that it was much larger and less welcoming than your average living room. Towards the middle of the large space was a round table which looked like it could have come from an office. Gabe slumped down in his usual seat and stared at the ceiling. 'One tile, two tile, three tile...'

(Lulz, Gabe doesn't like being errand boy 8D)


Simica wrote: Shaking her head slightly as she looked down at the struggling pup “boy, we really don’t have much of a choice” With a few steps she reached the horn, biting off the edge of it, her teeth breaking through the bone with ease. Pulling out the chuck of horn, there was no reason to waste it all until they found out how he would react.

“Alex hold his mouth open” She watched Alexandre wrench his lips open, Q fighting back with fury running through his veins.

Kneeling down upon the bed she dropped the horn into his mouth and cuffed her hand over his mouth. The warm moisture from his tongue squirmed as he tried to push the horn out. His own face squinting face of disgust, it was only a matter of time now.


Masco wrote: Rarune awoke from his nap very well-rested. Quick to rise and knowing he needed to make an announcement, he walked to the meeting room.

"I must've been asleep longer than I thought," he said in a very booming voice to a room full of sleeping Squad members. Except Jones, Jones never seemed to sleep too much.

Rapidly, the rest of the Squad alerted themselves to Rarune's presence. With each flinch came understanding, followed by moving their attention to Rarune.

"I have an announcement to make to all of you," he started, "We have been given our first special assignment. No more gathering tasks and rescue missions, we're finally being given our own quest to complete. We are to capture the last of the female hellhounds, staggering the war in our favor. All that is required is your compliance. This will be a unanimous decision, so if anyone objects, say so now."

From the looks in their eyes, they were very excited. Except Jones, Jones just looked attentive.

Jones is very hard to read. There are barely any habits that she has other than carrying her rifle around, and the only facial expression she's been seen to show is her smile.

"No objections? Good. Gabe, go send the message to the Commander. Everyone else, dismissed."


Ven Loraine wrote: Echo frowned when he saw the huge building the hellhounds had just entered. That house really didn't look like the shabby hut he would have thought to be the residence of those ugly dog demons. He ran his hand through his short blond hair and licked his lips, a gesture of excitement he had never been able to get rid of. Echo had found these two dogs after he had already given up his hopes for an interesting night.
Unfortunately he had been too late to save that poor Cambion who had served the demons as a midnight snack. The thought of those filthy dogs going on a Cambion hunt made him furious.
Never before had he been so glad that he was able to hide his horns, his tail and his otherwise "different" features from other people's eyes.
The most exciting part about Echo's prey tonight was the fact that one of the demons seemed to be female. A female hellhound! Could he be any luckier than that?

The blond Incubus played with the gun in his hands without taking his eyes off the entrance for a second. Now all he could do was to wait for them to leave the building again.
Even he wasn't foolish enough to head into a skyscraper and search it for two hellhounds who would be happy to have him for breakfast.


[Q] wrote: Alexandre did as requested, opening the boy's mouth as he held the struggling form, who, by not accepting Rikki's gift, was being extremely rude (among other things).

When Rikki covered Q's mouth, the boy still tried to struggle, to push the chip out of his mouth. He began to whine, the idea of eating a "person" too much for him to handle, especially when that "person" had such a similarity to Ven.

Alexandre couldn't take much more of this power struggle, and quickly shed his human illusion, to stand on the bed with his forelegs, his massive drooling wolfhead roaring and barking into the halfbreed's face. It was loud, predatory.

Eat it! Eat it or I will kill you! was the look Alexandre gave, and it was most certainly not an empty threat.
Startled by the transformation, Q swallowed, and closed his eyes as he did so, a grimace apparent on his face.

Despite all the negative connotations with cannabalism, he couldn't deny the horn tasted amazing. Quite possibly the best thing he'd ever eaten. Much better than the mounds of deer meat he preferred.

His body seemed to warm for a moment, and despite his mental block toward eating "people" he couldn't deny that he wanted more. He wanted to know what the rest of the body tasted like. And that was disgusting.

"You are disgusting cannibals!" he shouted out, sitting up and trying to run from them.
A warning snarl and bark from the still canine Alexandre kept the boy where he was.

Alexandre's large ears folded back on his head, and gave a low gurgling growl, his glowing green eyes glaring directly into the hybrid's own.
Eat the rest, the eyes seemed to order, his lips curling up on his muzzle to display his sharpened teeth.

Q gave a scared look toward Rikki, then to the giant dog Alexandre. He wasn't sure what to do. Why did this have to happen to him?!
His eyes flashed a pleading look toward the horn, and he slowly stretched his left hand for it, subconciously licking his lips, his tail pulling closer to him.

A quick bark from Alexandre told Quatre Bornes he wasn't moving fast enough, and the jolt of new noise urged the boy to grab the rest of the horn and bring it to himself, staring with both hunger and disgust.

Alexandre barked again.

Q wanted to throw that horn at his face, to not succumb to this, but he remembered the last time he tried to fight Alexandre all too well, and his fear of being bitten again by those monstrous jaws began to consume him.

Eat it, Alexandre seemed to urge with his body language, his thin tail rising in an authoritative stance. Eat it! he growled.

Q's wide doe eyes went back from Alexandre to the horn, bringing the bone to his face, finally wrapping his mouth around it.

He felt like he was on the set of a pornographic movie. His first time ever starring and he was just told to give oral to a woman. Now all the spotlights were on him as he edged ever so closer to committing the horrible, disgusting deed...

And the bone cracked with a surprising snap between his teeth. He swallowed.
He liked it.

But that didn't make the grotesque images leave his mind any sooner.
He wanted to cry, but was too shocked to do so.

Alexandre took his paws off the side of the bed, his stance becoming more docile, as did his facial expressions. He gave a look to Q, who seemed like he was going to finish the horn on his own, then glanced toward Rikki.
After a moment, he quietly left the two of them in the bedroom, the giant dog padding carefully across the human apartment toward the kitchen area.


Digitized wrote: Gabe's message to the commander was short and sweet; they were ready, and they were waiting for their send off. The young medic walked swiftly down the hall towards his leader's room. "Rarune?" He called out softly as it was late and he didn't want to wake anyone else. "I've made the call, its settled."

Gabe didn't wait for a reply before he slipped back into his own bedroom. By the bed was a large tank filled with different plants. 'Hm, some water and homemade fertilizer will do...' He picked up a packet of fertilizer along with a watering can and proceeded to feed them.

"Huh, I hope the new HQ will have a place for my greenhouse..."
 
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The Dragster Wave (Gaia)
[1 of 4]

What do you get when you add an ex-French Mafia sniper, a gender confused Russian special services veteran, and an undertaker?

A fucking good time.
------

This is a ridiculously long rp. It's also the only rp I ever "finished" so it has an ending.
2010

Blakaize wrote: {a very poor beginning post}


The pouring rain didn't faise him as much as the way his clothes clung to his body, and how he shivered when he entered the cool coffee shop. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he shifted forward, looking unsure and quiet as a fox approaching a trap, and not realizing where exactly it is. He was wraithlike and flighty, a green horn and an obvious one at that. He saw his 'target' and darted forward, too easily excited.

"Um, hey," he said, leaning on a chair at the table where the sniper sat. "You're Q, right? The merc?" He was talking too loudly, drawing too much attention, and if his master was there, he'd be more pissed than a cat on a hot iron fence. If his master was there, if he even knew his purpose at the coffee shop.

---

The dark haired male fliped a silver bick lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette already between his teeth. He leaned against the wall of a mausoleum, and took a long drag. He looked like any ruffian, a guitar case slung across incredibly scrawny shoulders, a baggy black dress shirt untucked and wrinkled, denim leg bottoms getting soaked by tromping through puddles. The thin glasses he wore were getted smeared with water as he waited.

Eventually, a man dressed in a black suit appeared, a black golf umbrella shielding him from the rain. The more unkempt man didn't seem to notice.

"You Blake Cohen?" The man asked.

"You the man with the deep pockets?" He replied, easily, exhaling smoke. The man's eyes were dark and hooded, heavy eyebrows.

"You'll get half now, half when you bring us evidence," the man said, pulling a manilla envelope from his inner breast pocket. "It must be done tonight. They'll be at a galla, you and your man will have a two hour window."

Blake Cohen took the enevelope and slipped it in the back of his pants, near one of two .45 pistols. He flicked the half finished cigarette at a tombstone.

"We'll take as many pictures as we can," he said, voice raspy only mildly threatening. He jabbed a finger at the man. "You fuck us on this, Montie, and polaroids'll be the least of your worries."

The man, "Montie," glowered at him.

"You bring us the evidence, and then our transaction is finished, mercenary," he spat, turning and leaving without another word. Blake spat at him as well, drawing out another cigarette from the crumpled pack and relighting it.

Where the hell is the Kid at? he thought, actually curious as to what Gabriel Royal, the flighty fuck, was up to.


[Q] wrote: Dressed in a zipped up black jacket and black pants, a man with premature grey hair sipped at his tea. He hated coffee shops, but the boy suggested here. Q wasn't going to be pushy with an obvious first-timer. It wasn't unusual he dealt with these types.

Finally, the boy showed, and the man, named Q, kicked the legs of the chair across from him under the table, pushing it out. "Sit," he ordered, his voice raspy from years of smoking.

His left hand tapped the cup in his hand with mild annoyance. His eyes were covered in dark sunglasses, and he already looked suspicious enough as it was before looking around, gauging if the people around him were actually paying attention to the conversation. Most wouldn't. Normal people didn't believe this sort of thing happened, after all.

His face looked back to the kid, the two black "whisker" tattooes on each side of his chin bending as Q let out a slight look of disgust.

"And don't act so...." He searched for the words, a hint of a long dead french accent in his voice. "...Flamboyant."

He took a sip of his tea, trying to hide his disgust for this place and this horrible excuse for a drink. He would've much rather preferred a bar, but this guy was underage.
"So tell me what I need to know," he said as he put the cup down, his green eyes staring at the kid through his sunglasses.

They wouldn't even have to meet in person if Q would just get with the whole internet and cellphone thing. But he was too stubborn to give in to the new crazes.

[[I post with music most of the time, so for my own reference, I'm going to post what music I listened to during each post.
Imogen Heap - Sweet Religion]]


Blakaize wrote: Gabriel sat in the chair, bouncing slightly at first, but then settling as the older man instructed him to be still. He tried to calm himself. This was a huge success, meeting Q in person. He had heard much about him, usually in back allies and such. He had been asking around for a man with a big gun, and was easy to hire for "erm, services", and the other mercs just chuckled, sneered, and told him to 'look up Q.' So, naturally, Gabriel did, not sensing the contempt and venom in their voices, or the subtle double entandre he locked himself in. He mostly just got dead ends before finally tracking the guy.

"My, erm, partner and me," he said, speaking in a slightly softer, less excited voice. "We've been hired to do some reconissence. We need a look out. You're the best around, right? Sniper wise? We could use your help."

Gabriel was slight of frame, hair died silver to hide his black hair, but he made no effort to hide his bright cranberry colored eyes. The son of drug kingpin Damian Royal, Gabriel got in to this business to avoid getting into THAT business. He specialized in knives, but was often so fidgety, he'd have tiny knicks all over his fingers . . .

"We have money," Gabriel said, after a moment of awkward silence. "Our, er, employer is paying 500k. We can give you a precentage."

Money talks Blake would say. Money talks, sex sells, and guns kill. Got it, kiddo?

Gabriel took a moment to revel in the utter coolness that was Blake, totally unaware of his borderline obsessive hero worship.

---

Meanwhile, Blake pulled out his cell and dialed the kid's number. He wasn't too amused with Gabriel's growing fondness for sneaking out by himself. Royal would skin him alive if he ever found out how many times Blake flat out LOST the kid . . .


[Q] wrote: Q scowled. This wreaked of some sort of joke. It wasn't too rare to be the butt of one, especially if he'd stayed in a town for far too long. He should've left this one a while a go. People were starting to get nervous.

"That's too high a payout for someone like you to be doing that work. I'm not interested in roleplay. If you're serious, show me my part. Otherwise I'm leaving."

Q of course was referring to the money. He wasn't sure if someone actually put this kid up to this, or if he just happened to find him and really wanted a job done and was just making up some high-sounding number to get him interested because they didn't know any better.

Either way, even a greenhorn usually played it out better. You didn't go find some random sniper off the street for simple reconnaissance.

Just then, a cellphone vibrated. Probably the kid's. Q groaned and stood up.
"Your mom wants you back home, kid."

This was another wasted meeting. Too many teens in this town without any real money. He was ready to cross the next big city. Maybe get a Scotch in to cure his oncoming headache from being played again.

[[Frou Frou - Breathe In]]


Blakaize wrote: Gabriel panicked.

"Th-this isn't a joke, really!" He said, trying to be as consistant as he could. So many things happening at once . . . his phone went off, he was losing his contract, he was asked to provide money, proof . . . "I don't have the money, but, my partner does!" He said, standing, holding the phone in an almost death grip. So hard, his fist shook with each vibration from the ringing device. "Here! Talk to him!"

His eyes had a terrible habbit of being openly truthful. Gabriel couldn't lie effectively at all, those eyes gave him away . . .

---

Blake was getting impatient. He heard the other end pick up but all he heard was the ass end of Gabriel and some other fuck's conversation.

" -- to him!"

That was definitely Gabriel's voice and Blake waited as Gabriel no doubt thrust the phone at whoever it was he was talking to. Blake had a bad feeling he was going to be pissed in the next few minutes.

The rain was soaking him, making the envelope of cash down the back of his pants heavier.


[Q] wrote: Q watched as the boy seemed to panic. The twenty three year old (albeit being aged by cigarette use) heaved a sigh through his nose, shifting his weight as he stared at the cellphone.
He hated phones.

But, what the hell. Maybe it'll serve as some sort of entertainment. Anything to make his day a little more worth living.

Q reached his left hand out and took the phone slowly, as if he was only doing this as a favor. Like a bus driver allowing the poor kid to get on without paying the toll because his clothes were raggedy.

The man put the phone to his ear, debating on what he should say.
He took a deep breath, his oncoming voice clearly unamused. Bored, even.

"Your partner is a horrible liar or Your employer is extremely stupid."

Then, almost as if there were hope in his voice:
"... Is it really 50k?"

[[Korn - Liar]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake grit his teeth, free fist clenched. Gabriel was in deep, deep shit. The man's voice on the phone was raspy, a slight accent of some kind of european origin still barely audible. Blake craved a cigarette, craved it bad.

"Indeed he is, our employer is rich, and it's quite a bit more than 50k. Knowing that you know that figure tells me that Gabriel told you the figure, which means, he tried to hire you for something."

Blake exhaled, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, digging for a smoke.

"Now, I've got no fucking clue who the fuck you are," he said, voice a little distorted by the cig between his teeth, lighting it quickly. "But, if the faggot made a deal, the fagot made a deal. Call it theive's honor, but if you accepted, you accepted, so fuck you, your cut is 15%, unless I deem other wise. What he'd hire you for?"

---

Gabriel could hear the irritation in Blake's voice, even over the phone.


[Q] wrote: Q held the phone away from his ear. Although the volume wasn't particularly loud to a normal person, Q had rather sensitive ears, and he didn't know how to turn the volume down. He wasn't in the mood to look stupid in front of this teen he just told off.

As he listened to the man on the other end, he glanced over to the boy.
Hrm. Maybe he had stumbled over something decent.

"Reconnaissance," Q stated blandly. "I'm a sniper."

He waited a moment, before continuing, sounding slightly interested now. His scowl almost seemed to fade. Almost.
"You sound like you're in a hurry. Is your mother coming home soon?"
Q's pitiful attempt at a joke. The voice on the other end sounded rather young. But he'd buy it, for now. Drug addicts and teens. That was usually what Q worked with anyway.

[[Garbage - Nobody Loves You]]

Blakaize wrote: Blake nodded on his end.

"Look out. Good. We might need you. If you're still interested, have the boy lead you to our place. Don't try anything underhanded, either. Russian Nationalists don't take kindly to hostage attempts." Blake took a drag. "You can kill the boy, he royally pissed me off, but the attempt will piss me off worse. Gabriel will lead you here, you can be armed, fuck if I care if you're armed, but if you try anything, don't expect me to be forgiving. 15% take it or leave it, hotstuff."

Blake chose to ignore the comment about his mother for now and snapped the phone shut.

---

Gabriel swallowed when he heard the dial tone coming from the phone and he meekly held his hand out for his phone back.

"He wants to meet you?" He said, smiling nervously.

---

Blake was in the loft long before Gabriel even left the cafe. He set the guitar case down and removed a few weapons, no sign of an actual instrament within. He flicked the butt of a cigarette out the window and resisted the urge to light up another. He didn't have time to hit the convient store for a second pack for tonight, anyway. He'd make his last for now.


[Q] wrote: Q rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and handed the phone to the boy.

"So he says," replied Q. He shifted his weight once more before turning and exiting the coffee shop, into the rain. He waited for the kid to follow.

Once they were both out, Q shoved his hands into his jacket's pockets. "So lead me over to this place you have," Q stated, taking a cigarette from the pack that he'd been reaching for, and casually lighting it with the lighter from the other pocket.

Q had no umbrella, and didn't seem to be bothered by getting wet as he took his first drag, looking across the street as he put the pack of cigarettes away.

[[Cold - Bleed]]


Blakaize wrote: The trek to their newly rented loft was short, and Gabriel stumbled with the keys before it swung open on it's own accord.

The loft was completely empty, aside from a table and a few milk crates. The table was littered with guns and magazines, mostly for .45s. A few knives were stuck in the wall, a makeshift target panted on with red spray paint.

Near an open window, a figure sat, one leg up to his chest, near the open window, a thin ribbon of grey smoke coming from a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. Pale blue eyes rolled to see the newly arrived other men. That cigarette jerked as they smirked and the man stood, looking as unkempt as the pair of them, but just dangerous enough to ward away snide comments.

"You must be the sniper," he said, around the cig in his mouth.

"Blake, this is the ---"

The man jerked his head, glaring at Gabriel.

"'member when I told you your big mouth will get us into shit one day? Well, we're there." He said. He took a long drag and walked up to Q. "You want the scoop first or are you just gonna come in, balls to the wall and hope for a chunk of change at the end of it all?" He asked.

Clamping the butt between his teeth, he extended an empty hand.

"Blake Cohen," he said. "Four years Russian special services. Hired gun since 21. Fuck nut over there is Gabriel Royal. Son of Damian Royal. I'm his babysitter for now. How ya doin'?"


[Q] wrote: Q was quick to finish his cig and had tossed it aside before they'd reached the door to the loft. His hands were at his sides when the door opened and the scene took place inside.

Q stayed silent. Either this Blake guy was lying through his teeth or he was much more accomplished, at least publicly, than Q was. Either way, Q had never heard of the guy. Four years in secret services? Blake probably had a decent reputation on the streets. Q tried to keep away from these types of people.

But, big money for a small job? Could prove interesting.

Q walked past Blake and inside, ignoring the offered hand shake.
The man took a moment to take in the room and its contents before offering his own name. If this guy had any decent reputation like Q assumed he did, he'd know of Q and it would just make him more pissed than he was.

After a few seconds of intentional suspense, Q sighed and focused his attention on Blake.
"I'm Q," he said. While not very proud of the words that came out of his mouth, Q was not intimidated by this man and was clearly unafraid.

[[Nine Inch Nails - The Hand That Feeds]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake was silent for a second, then he laughed, coldly.

"Ves's old second, eh? You know how to pick 'em, Gabe," he said. He put his hands in his pockets, flipped hair out of his face, looked Q full in his. "Like I said, deals a deal. I don't care who you are, or what you did, you're a hell of a sniper. Or is that just a rumor too?"

Blake smirked, amused, mood a little lighter.

"Alright, chuck, the job we've got is a simple one. Two families in this town, big money, deep pocket types. Our employers, the Montegues we call 'em, want into a Capulet grave, dig? It's a baby's tomb, but, apparently, there something other that Junior and the worms in there. The Capulets are very naughty folk, hotshot. They say the tombs got baubles, porceline rattles or some shit, but, this ---" he pulled the envelope out and threw it on the ground, near Q's feet --- "says different. That's just half. The Capulets'd give anything to keep their secrets burried, but the Montegues are giving a fuck ton more. That being said, breaking into this crypt is gonna be hard as hell. We've got a two hour window, and it's a two man job. We need a third, to act as a look out. Use your skills and shit like that." Blake was a godaweful chain smoker and Gabriel noticed it as he lit one up and took a drag. "Kill two bird with one stone. You fire a shot and blow up the brains of some Capulet fuck, we get warned to get our asses out of there."

Gabriel had perched on a milk cart, watching Blake talk, watching Q listen.

"So, sniper, you in?"


[Q] wrote: Q groaned inwardly at the reference to his past. Ves was over five years a go. It was stupid how this shit followed him.

Q stood silently, listening. Taking in this other man's words. He appeared to be older than Q, but his mentality was much younger. The things he added in his speech annoyed the twenty three year old, but it was better this than the bastardized english that the blacks spoke. Or the stuttering druggies.
Scratch that. Q preferred the stutter of an addict over this crap.

Q slowly looked down at the envelope at his feet. He moved his right boot and bent over to pick it up and open it. Despite how taboo that was among more "established" people, Q still wanted to reassure himself that this scenario really wasn't a joke. That there was, in fact, money in the envelope and it wasn't full of sand or something.

With a soft snort, he peered inside, seeing that, yes, it was not a joke afterall. He dropped the envelope to the floor, a few bills sliding out as he looked back to this Gabe character.

"When?"
Blakaize wrote: Blake sensed his annoyance and backed off, taking a drag of his cigarette and looking to Gabriel, who also sensed the drama growing between the two. He swallowed when he saw the bills spill out.

"Tonight," he finally spat out. He wrung his hands. "Tonight, at around ten thirty."

{sorry for the short post, but the real action starts soon enough}


[Q] wrote: Q let out a sigh.

"I didn't expect it to be so soon."
Q didn't seem to enthralled with this job, anymore. It was almost like a chore.
His emotions had been played rather well, today. Disappointment, annoyance, disbelief and hope, and finally, frustrated disappointment.

Q brought his left hand up to scratch his head, brushing back his hair for a moment, as if debating this whole thing. As he did, it was made evident for those paying attention that he had a diagonal scar across the bridge of his nose. He attempted to hide it by parting his hair to one side an over an eye, in the direction the scar ran. It worked for the most part.

"I have to get some things. I'll be back in a few hours."

He let his hair fall back into place and opened the door, leaving without another word.
And, sure enough, about three hours later Q returned, true to his word.

He wore the same- zippered black jacket undoubtedly hiding something underneath and sunglasses. But this time he had a knife sheathed at his belt as well and carried a guitar case in his hand. He'd walked the entire way. Probably not a smart move, considering how long Q had been in town.
But Q didn't care too much. He'd be leaving town after this gig.


Blakaize wrote: They met halfway, both of the mercs spaced well enough apart to make it appear random, and then Blake and Gabriel split up, kept walking in a glorified circle around the cemetary until the light began to fade from the sky.

Blake's throwing knives were at his sides, and one on his leg. A crowbar was clipped to his belt, hidden by his baggy shirt, dangling from a back belt loop. His pistols were in his waist band as well. To anyone looking though, he looked like a street person, wet and grubby . . .

Blake hadn't had an actual smoke in a long while, staking of the cemetary where the Capulets' tombs were. Gabriel was around the block, trying to blend in and, as far as he knew, Q was staking out a good snipping spot. He checked his watch. Ten-o-five. Soon enough, he'd begin a synchronized walk into the cemetary with Gabriel entering on the other side, meeting at the tomb and setting to work.

As he checked his watch, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled the offending object out and checked it. He checked caller ID, a must in his business, and scowled at who it was.

JACKIE-O

Typical of Jackie to call him right when he was about to make the beginning moves to a hell of a chess game. He ignored the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket. He continued to make his rounds, and then his phone rang again.

BRAIG

Now that was interesting. Could have been anything. 'Doctor Doom' called randomly to check up on him . . . but at ten-o-ten, he didn't have the time to talk with him . . .

Blake was making his way towards the enterance at ten-twenty-five when it went off for a third time. He grabbed it angrily and was ready to turn the thing off when the caller ID glared at him and he took pause.

GRAYSON

Now that was a rarity. The man was in Russia . . . why the hell . . .

His watch beeped once.

Zero hour. Time to move. No time to bother with Jackie, Braig, or even Grayson, as he turned the phone off completely and made his way into the cemetary.



[Q] wrote: After Q had returned and Blake had shown him a map of this cemetery, where everything was laid out and who to look for, they parted ways, only to come back partly to the cemetery near go-time.

After the sun had set, Q still had on his sunglasses as he walked the street. Only pushing them atop his head once he'd entered the cemetery and gotten away from the streetlights. He hadn't had a topographical map of the cemetery, but that didn't matter too much- he had a general layout in his mind. Knew where the tomb was, anyway, so he only had to find the best place to protect it.

He felt a little awkward. He was used to killing people. Not hanging around and protecting things that were already dead. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been in a cemetery.

Regardless, it wasn't long before he'd found a good enough spot. Near an iron bench, on a hill. It gave a whole view of the place. He put the guitar case he'd been holding on the seat, clicking it open and taking out the M24 SWS from within a pile of clothing. For someone who held this "certain type" of job, he certainly didn't live like he held as much money as he did.
He brought the object near to his face and checked if it was loaded. It was, but he grabbed some extra ammunition from the pile just in case.

Q slung the cheap rifle on his back and closed the case, leaving it on the bench before walking around and behind it, taking the gun off his back, tightening the bipod, and slipping beneath the bench to set himself up. After he'd done so, he took his glasses from his head and partially unzipped his coat so he could slip the folded shades into his shirt's collar while he lay on his stomach. He set the small box of ammo next to his left shoulder.

The twenty three year old took in a deep breath through his nose, glancing at his own, small watch. He had a good ten minutes to spare. He turned his forest green eyes to his scope, looking through it, searching for the baby's tomb first. He wound up finding Blake instead, and followed the man a bit. He stopped to look at something, probably his cell phone.
It would be so easy to just... Kill him right here... But Q couldn't kill a partner, even if that partner had only heard bad about him. He tsked and broke free of Blake, trailing ahead and finding the tomb.
Now it was time to play the waiting game.

He wondered if anything would actually happen. To hire an outside man to be a look-out... Maybe. But for grave robbery? Q found it a bit unbelievable that people would store something of such high value in a tomb.

[[Evanesence - Lies]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake walked into the cemetery, unaware that for a time, she was followed. He saw Gabriel, pretending to admire some tombstones, and hurriedly heading towards the tomb. The family crypt was sealed tight, but Blake had the tools to remedy that.

The lock was rusted and a chain with a padlock had been placed around the decorative handles. The double stone doors itself were sealed at the seams. With Gabriel as a body shield, Blake pulled a folded multi-tool from his belt and quickly cut the lock, grabbing the chain before it clanked on the concrete paddock were the tomb was positioned. Throwing the chain in the grass made less noise, drew less attention.

He pulled what looked like a can of W-D40 from his belt as well, and sprayed near the seams of the doors. It hissed and smoked, the sealant-dissolver going to work. Once it was done hissing, Blake pulled one stone door open, with some difficultly. It scrapped loudly against the cement and he winced. He was acting like an amature, still wondering about Grayson's phone call.

The worry was gone when he entered the cobweb filled tomb, and pulled the disposable camera from his pocket. He snapped as many pictures as he could, located the baby's tomb, and snapped a few more. He pulled the crowbar from his back and, shielding his face, crashed it against the box, shattering it. He peered inside once the dust cleared and his blood ran cold.

. . .

fucking shit he thought, snapping more pictures.

He came out, putting the camera back, and started to pull the door closed when he heard a sound behind him. Gabriel was at full attention, but it was one of those 'we're gonna die' looks he held in his eyes. Blake glanced over his shoulder and his eyes narrowed.

He turned fully around and smirked, hands going to his belt, an easy, unassuming gesture.

"Evening, gentlemen," he said, showing teeth. In the next moment, both parties snapped to action. There was four he could see, but, pulling his guns, there was just two in his sights. Gabriel had one gun, so that just left one for their good friend Q-y . . .

The firefight didn't last long, because Blake realized that there was more than just four, evident by the intense pain he felt in his left chest, as a bullet flew from a silencer, the guman cleverly hidden behind a different tomb. There were more than four. More than six. Seeing more clearly now as they backed into the tomb, firing as they did so, Blake knew there was more than even a dozen.

He only hoped Q was as good as everyone said, and not a pretty face with a gun and a taste for guys and dolls alike . . .

"Get in there!" Gabriel said, pushing Blake backwards. He was more wounded than he thought, because he stumbled and fell into the tomb, the black shirt heavy and sticky, but not with sweat . . . though he was sweating like a whore in church . . .

Gabriel baracaded them in, bullets chinking against the thick concrete. He leaned against the door, reloading. Blake tried to stand, but his blood preasure was in the toliet. He realized the fitting irony. They were gonna die, in a room full of dead people.

"Think Q can take them out for a get-away?" Gabriel asked, breathlessly. Blake shook his head, he wasn't sure.

"I hope so, kid," he said. "Otherwise we're more fucked than the broad in Junior's tomb."


[Q] wrote: Q watched through the scope as Blake went into the tomb, fighting a yawn.
His eyes rolled at nothing to watch, and in the next moment, some suits were swarming the place.
It was like fucking magic.

Q wasn't expecting it, and so was a little late to take action. There were four at first, swarming Blake and his kid partner. Q made the authoritative decision and decided to leave the four to Blake, instead going for the oncomers. They were pretty damn well cornered, no wonder they needed a lookout.

Q took aim, estimating where the runners would be rather than where they were, and fired. One down. Blake was being shoved into the tomb, and somehow hadn't taken out the fourth guy. Q ejected the shell and took aim again. It was slightly late, but, down went the second.

Perhaps Q took the wrong gun. No one had mentioned "Oh and by the way, there may be an army of people after us. It may be more beneficial to bring a semiautomatic." Or even "You might need more than five shots." Q only had five. Three left, now. There were definitely more men than that. He wondered if it'd be even worth it to reload.

Blake and his partner were now inside the tomb, men around it, trying to bust in. Q took aim again, shot another down. And one more. The men were becoming afraid, looking about for the sniper. Q would probably be spotted soon. As one man, who seemed to be in charge, pointed in the general direction of Q, the twenty three year old shot him in the head, his brain matter spreading along the concrete.

No, no it wasn't worth it to reload. Q would be too slow.
With a grunt, Q crawled from under the bench and stood up once he was out, unzipping his jacket to reveal two glock pistols, each in shoulder holsters.

As he flung his jacket open and pulled the right Glock 17 out with his left hand, it was revealed that the shirt underneath had a red torso, and around the man's neck, he wore a silver chain with a heart pendant. A green gem inside reflected moonlight, when it got the chance. Overall, not a necklace a man would show off. Q didn't mean to, and paid no attention to it as he glared at the men coming to him and shot each in the torso. He could've given them headshots, but he didn't want to spend the precious few extra milliseconds to aim for that.

Downing the two men, he ran toward the tomb, leaving his things.
The others saw him, of course, and began to change their focus. Q jumped out of the way as best he could, spinning around and unholstering his second gun. Having two semiautomatic pistols- one in each hand- he finished his spin while firing at the men. In these he did not bothering aiming much more than hitting a general area and getting the men to fall down.
Most of them did. One of them had a bullet graze Q's side. Another got his right thigh. Q aimed for the torsos of the bastards who caused his injuries, and they were the first in the mob to die.

Everyone else was on the ground, bleeding to death for the most part. Q looked at them, breathing hard through his mouth, and carefully shot each of them in the head or heart, making sure they were out for good.

He then holstered his guns and put his hand to his side, feeling the blood. Well. This wasn't good.
He looked to the tomb, Blake and his buddy still inside. Shaking, Q took out his cigarettes and lit two, putting them both in his mouth at the same time, taking deep drags. He knew that was bad and looked silly, but he did it anyway, hoping it would raise his blood pressure faster.

After putting the pack away, he kept his cancer sticks in his mouth and continued to smoke them, one hand holding his thigh, as he forced himself to walk back up the hill and grab his gear.
Once he got there, he put everything away and carried it back. He couldn't leave his shit around, it'd probably be easily traced to him, and he was recognizable enough as it was. He was surprised he really hadn't been locked away yet.

With guitar case in hand, he stopped outside the tomb's door.
"Hey," he rasped. "Open up. They're all dead."
Without really waiting for an answer, Q used his right hand to try and pry open the door himself, two cigs still in his mouth, although both almost gone now, feminine necklace still sticking out of his shirt.

This wasn't that much blood for a normal person, but Q had low blood pressure. He was going to pass out soon if he didn't fix it. He needed to sit down.

[[The Used - The Bird and the Worm]]


Blakaize wrote: Gabriel opened the door a crack, seeing Q standing, his side and thigh bleeding, having heard the reports of the guns firing, having heard further Q's assertion everyone was dead. He threw the door open and pulled Q inside. Blake was propped against a wall, hands shaking as he brought a cigarette to his lips, fumbling to light. He had taken his belt off and tightened it around his chest instead, a tournaquite, keeping pressure on the oozing chest wound.

". . . botched job . . ." he croaked, sounding as if he was being strangled. ". . . not your fault . . ."

He coughed, spitting blood to one side.

"We got the evidence, we need to get out," he said, trying to talk in more complete sentences. He could feel each beat of his heart in his ears. He fumbled to take his cell phone out and turn it on. Gabriel crouched beside him and did it for him, letting Blake's numb hand fall to his side with a thump. "There's a mortorary, a morgue, in the phone book, under Cohen, B, PhD. Call 'm . . . can patch us up . . ."

Blake broke away coughing, as Gabriel swore at the phone for taking so long to turn on and find a signal. He dialed the number, waiting, watching the blood start to pool around Blake's butt as he sat there.

"Yes?" A gruff voice said on the other end of the line. Gabriel almost cried.

"Hello?! Hello! My name is Gabriel! I'm Blake Cohen's partner, he's ---"

"Blake?"

"Yes! Yes, you know him?"

". . . sure, why not? Is . . . he . . . okay?"

"No! No, he's not! He's been shot. So has our other partner. He says he knows you, that you can help."

"Where are you at?"

"At the Oak Hill Cemetery in the city. We're near the center, in a tomb, we need help quick!"

"Calm the fuck down, kid," Blake rasped, spitting blood over his chin. "Braig! Hurry the fuck up!"

The man on the other end chuckled.

"Be right over. Hope you lot don't mind riding grocery."

click

Gabriel looked at the phone, call disconnected. They only had to wait about five minutes before a car horn could be heard. Gabriel aimed his gun outside, saw headlights, and gulped. The door to a black hearse opened and out stepped a tall, insanely thin looking man in a long black coat. He had long black hair, tied back, streaked with gray, and a long scar down one cheek.

"How many?" He asked, towering over Gabriel.

"Three, but only two are injured." He said. The man pushed passed him, throwing a look at Q, but moving instead for Blake. "Sh-shot . . . in the chest . . ."

"Yup. Shot through and through. Nice one." He said, straightening. He looked to Gabriel. "Can you carry 'm into the back of the hearse?"

Gabriel nodded, although his hands shook. The man, whom he assumed to be Braig, turned to Q.

"How 'bout you, Slim? Think you can make it to the murder wagon?" He asked. Gabriel lifted Blake fireman style and carried him out to the hearse. Braig popped the back and the doors swung open, allowing Gabe to place Blake inside. "We'll take 'Blake' back the morgue, yeah? Get the pair of you jokers stitched up."



[Q] wrote: Q lost his balance as he was pulled inside, dropping his guitar case in order to reclaim his stature and stand. His deep green eyes looked to Blake, who was hurt a lot worse than Q had predicted. Q sat down on the cement, tossing the two butts aside and picking out two more, again smoking them at the same time. He tried to pay attention to himself, rather than Blake.

If Q passed out here, it would be... Well, it wouldn't be good. His wounds weren't bad at all. He kept the dizziness at bay while he pulled his case over and clicked it open, searching around the clothes for something. He couldn't find it, and took out the ammunition box instead. He stopped and took his jacket off, revealing a button-up dress shirt with black long sleeves and a red torso. He looked down and undid his own belt, hastily undoing his pants and pulling them down to his knees, to expose his thigh wound. He was wearing black silk boxers, and took special care to make sure his backside was still covered, as if he were hiding his ass from view. After this was done, he took out a bullet from the ammo box as Blake's kid partner dialed up some doctor that supposedly could help them. Q would've marveled at the connections this Blake man had, had the twenty three year old not been thoroughly engrossed in what he was doing. He took the bullet apart with a grunt, some gunpowder spilling out. Q growled at himself, but took the shell and spread what powder was left over ontop of his bleeding thigh.

Q began to blink nervously, breathing through his mouth. It was more of a panic, now. His heart was beating so fast. He didn't even realize the others were still in the room with him. He just didn't want to pass out, maybe bleed out. He hadn't been injured in a long time, and he didn't want to die, or whatever his condition made him do. Shaking, he pulled out a lighter and spat out his two cigarettes on the ground, gritting his teeth in preperation for what he was about to do next.

He flicked the lighter on, and put the flame to the gunpowder at his thigh. Immediately, he roared with pain, dropped the lighter and jerked back a few inches as the wound was burned clothes. He began to pant, looking down at the wound. Yes, he had just sealed whatever shrapnel was in there inside of himself, but it was better that for now than him bleeding out.

Almost as if on cue, another man bolted in. He supposed it was the doctor. The stranger said some words to the other two, then turned to Q. The twenty three year old stared at him blankly, as if he didn't understand. It took him a second to comprehend what had happened.
"Yes, I'm fine," he said quickly, forcing himself up and zipping up his pants, rebuckling his belt and grabbing his coat. He shoved the lighter in the guitar case and closed it, following after the two of them, limping a bit and still breathing through his mouth as he threw himself in the hearse, glad to be sitting on something a bit more comfortable, even though they were technically where a coffin should've been. Irony. Wonderful.

Q kept the guitar case in his hand as he continued to breathe through his mouth, as if panting silently. He rolled his eyes, then shook his head. Still dizzy, but he would win this over. He looked to Blake, who was obviously trying hard not to die as well.
He debated if he anted to help him in the car.

Against his better thought process, he left the case near the wall of the hearse and crawled over to Blake and his kid partner, putting his hands atop Blake's chest and pushing, to keep pressure on the wound.

"Hang in there," he growled. Though there wasn't much genuine care in his voice, he figured it would be the right thing to say at this point. If he were dying, he'd want somebody there. Even if they hated him, he'd rather not die alone. And what good was a panicking kid going to do?

[[Boom Boom Satellites - Dive For You]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig drove them back to an ally. He opened the doors and helped Gabriel carry Blake inside the morgue. He set him on a metal table, and quickly set aside a few cadavers and closed some doors. The basement was cold, sterile. He shed his coat, held the door open for Q to hobble inside. He wore black pants and a wife beater.

A tattoo was on his right bicep. It looked like a celtic knot, but it had an scycle and a hammer in the center. He lit up a cigarette and put on some latex gloves.

"You wanna take a seat, Slim?" Braig asked. "Drop your drawers, I'll see you when I'm done with, heh, Blake over here."

Blake was almost totally unconcious now, and Braig started speaking in soft whispers, almost soothingly, as he started to unbutton Blake's shirt. It was Russian, and Blake murmured similar words back.

"Lie still, lie still."

"I don't want them to see . . ."

Braig peeled the shirt back and whistled. The wound wasn't bleeding much anymore, but it was still oozing slowly. The wound was clean at least. Gabriel gaped, but not at the wound, at Blake's chest.

He wore a sports bra, and an obvious swell denoted size A-cup breasts . . .

"We can patch you up, Blake," Braig was saying, unfaised. "The wound is through and through, and you're a lucky bitch, because it missed the heart. Fucked up this rib though."

Gabriel pointed, at the body on the table.

"What are those?!" He said, his voice highpitched.

Braig was drawing something up in a syringe, injecting it directly into the wound.

"Those, my man, are knockers." He said. He turned to shift through some jars on his work bench, eventually found what he was looking for: stitching thread and a needle that was shaped like a U. He used the top of a skull as an ashtray.

Gabriel sat heavily on a stool, gaping at Blake's chest.

"He . . . he's a girl?!"

Braig clicked his fingers and pointed at him, taking a break from threading the needle.

"He's my sister, kiddo, chill out." He sighed heavily and looked at Blake's pale face. "I tried to call him. Heard some shit on the street, saying that two of the best were walking into a trap. Got Jackie-O to call, even got Grayson to buzz from Russia."

He threw Gabriel a pack of cigarettes.

"You three got set up."

Gabriel didn't smoke, but, he decided now was a good time to start.


[Q] wrote: Q let go of Blake when the Doctor, Braig, carried him out. Q slowly got out of the hearse and took his time getting back inside, making sure to grab the guitar case before he did so.

Once he was inside and the door closed behind him, he plopped himself in the chair and let the case fall, as if not worried about the contents inside of it. Watching the others, he haphazardly gripped at his side, even though it had stopped bleeding. Just a graze, afterall. Still, he was self concious about it. He debated smoking, seeing all the others smoke. However, his dizziness was slowly fading, being replaced by a headache. Q figured he was in the clear, and continued to stare into space.

Hearing russian made him think back to french. He wished he had someone to talk to in his own tongue. The only time he heard his first language was when he spoke to himself.
Q even closed his eyes, leaning back into the chair as he proceeded to ignore the orders for him to drop his drawers. He had almost drifted into unconciousness when the kid knocked him back with his surprised voice. Something about... knockers.
Q opened his eyes, forcing a look. Braig said something about Blake being his sister.
Q was a bit confused at first, staring. He couldn't figure out why he just didn't care. It was almost amusing, in a way.

Q opened up his mouth to say something, when the conversation switched gears. About this being a set up.
"Hah. Well that's typical. I knew a job like that was too simple. Should've stayed with my first instinct." That instinct that it was a joke. Why did he have to keep ignoring that instinct?

"I told him I wasn't up for any roleplay," he grumbled to himself in french, leaning his head back up against the wall, closing his eyes again and relishing the secondhand smoke.
He wondered if just falling asleep was the same thing as blacking out. He couldn't remember.
At least he wasn't dizzy.

Just, really fucking tired.

"Well as long asit's not dying, that is good," he stated, again in French. He'd meant it to be in english, and had to correct himself a few seconds later, realizing his mistake.
"Sorry. As long as Blake's not dying, that's good, I said." He grit his teeth.
"I'm going to take a nap. Patch her up first. Don't touch me while I'm out or I swear I'll..." he growled a bit.
"I'll put a bullet in your head," he said softly, eyes still closed, his countenance softening as he genuinely tried to fall asleep.
It didn't seem hard to do, as the blackness easily engulfed his mind.


Blakaize wrote: Braig smirked, almost chuckled.

"Sweet dreams, Slim. I'll try to restrain myself." He said, shaking his head, and beginning to patch up Blake's wound. The front would need close to a dozen. The back would need less than half that . . .

Some time later, Blake was able to hobble around, his chest heavily bandaged to keep his rib from popping out his skin, the fracture set and restrained. He saw Q sleeping but Braig told him to leave him be, and Blake listened.

Er . . .

For the most part.

It had been awhile since he'd been with another man. Too long, not since his time in Russia. It tickled some of the men pink over there to discover that he was really a she and that he knew yoga . . . or at least was double jointed.

Blake hobbled over to where Q slept and gently moved aside a lock of hair to reveal more of his face. The tattoos were interesting and he didn't look quite as pissed as he did when he was awake. Something glimmered in the florescent light of the morgue and caught Blake's eye . . . a silver heart-shaped locket with an emerald or a peridot in the center.

He ignored the urge to touch it, to try and pry it open, and instead just moved the hair back in place and tried to stand up straight.

"Hey. Q." He said, rasping. "Whenever your beauty sleep gets done, once you get your thigh taken care of, you might wanna meet us in the upper room. Pounds of flesh have yet to be cleaved." He jiggled the camera in his hand, the disposable not yet developed, the evidence of the Capulets' murder of one of the Montegues' girls still in her hand.


[Q] wrote: Q had drifted into dreamless sleep quite fast, exhausted from his small, yet no less important, loss of blood from earlier.

When Blake came over and touched his hair, moving it away from his face, Q did nothing at first. But moving his hair revealed more of the man's tanned skin, a French-South African, with possibly some korean background. Although his bone structure showed much more his south african side. His scar was clean, and ran from above his left eye, across the bridge of his nose, and down to his right cheek. It had either been intended or a one in a million accident. It was seven years old, and rather deep, but slim.

It was when Blake spoke that Q awoke. His hearing was good enough that being in such close proximity and saying something was a bad idea if the idea was for Q to stay sleeping. His eyes opened, green eyes confused for one millisecond, his face filled with hatred the next. Q's left hand rushed up and grabbed Blake's wrist, squeezing it and shoving it away from his face.

Q hadn't heard what all was said, he just knew that Blake was standing much too close for comfort. His green eyes went from Blake's captured hand, to his surprised face, to the camera in the other hand. He wasn't quite sure what to think, but instantly he assumed the worst.

The twenty three year old jumped up and with his right hand grabbed for the camera.
"What did you do?!" He shouted, obviously displeased.


Blakaize wrote: Blake jerked it back and away, husky-dog-blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Come down, Q," he spat, keeping it out of his reach. "What, still asleep or just nuts? I wouldn't take pictures of you, not with this. This's got what's gonna get us the rest of that payment the Montegues owe us."

He slipped the camera back into his pocket and massaged his wrist.

"Seriously? What, were you in 'nam or are you just a spaz?"

He winced, the exertion making his stitches ache.

"You want the rest of your cut? You'll come upstairs, and listen to the new plan."

He left it at that, and went to limp up the stairs. Jackie had come over some time ago.

Jonathan aka Jackie was his twin brother , but instead of going with Braig and Grayson to Russia to look for their father, he stayed in Brooklyn, developing a thick accent and a wise guy attitude. As far as hit man go, Jackie was more of a body guard. Still, he could cook.

"'Ey," he said, seeing Blake ascend the stairs. "How's it goin'? Blondies finally passed out." Gabriel was actually konked out on the couch, which didn't surprise Blake. "'Ows my favorite he-she doin'?"

Blake threw him a dark look and he shut up.

"So, uh. Got shafted, huh?"

"To a point."

"Which party?"

"Probably both. Who knows. I just know we need our other half. we'll give the Montegues their pictures, but I'm not going to fucking let them keep their cash."

Jackie whistled.

"Ballsy."

Blake sank into a chair, and massaged his temples.

"You left Jaiden alone?"

"That kid? Forget about it. He's upstairs on that game control-y t'ing."

Blake's younger brother, Jaiden, was high on his list of priorities.

"We should probably get Isaac . . ."

"That shmuck? Pfft. Dey can get 'm if dey really want 'm."

"Fuck you, Jackie," Blake said, thinking of her less than pleasant younger brother.

Jackie put a can of Miller in front of Blake and sat across from him. He jerked his head in the direction of the basement.

"So, uh, what about the stiff downstairs?"

"Q? . . . He's a partner Gabriel hired. Saved our ass."

"You tappin' that?"

"Would you?"

"I'm not a fag."

"And I am? I said it once, Jackie-O, but fuck you."

Blake winced again and hit the table, applying soothing pressure to his stitches.


[Q] wrote: "Shut up!" It was the only rebuttal Q could think of, his headache following him into his conscious state. "It's none of your business!" Again, all he could think of when questioned about vietnam or just being a nut.

But shortly after, Blake just went upstairs, and Q was left feeling a bit awkward. Almost guilty. Though he didn't know why he felt guilty. He'd never really cared for anybody else. At least, not a mercenary, anyway.

He took a step forward to follow Blake and hissed, looking down at his leg. It had swollen and was now extremely painful. He was going to have to pull the shrapnel out, and there was no way he could do it himself without passing out and possibly dying in the middle because of his whole blood problem. He cursed himself and fought the pain, trying to put on a tough guise and get upstairs, only about five minutes after Blake had reached the destination.

Once he reached the kitchen, he pulled out a chair and hastily sat down with a loud thump, taking no effort to be graceful about letting his weight fall with a grunt. After he had sat, he took his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and put them over his eyes, then reparting his hair to make sure the scar was hidden. After that, he noticed his necklace was showing, and tucked that underneath the shirt.

"I don't care about the money," Q finally said, interrupting whatever conversation they were having that he hadn't been paying attention to. "I want out. I only take safe hits for a reason."


Blakaize wrote: Blake raised an eyebrow.

"There's no such thing as safe hits," he said, eying the way he limped, the way he grunted with effort. "But, if you want out, you want out." Blake nodded to Jackie, who withdrew a .45 and pressed it to Q's temple. "I don't want to kill you, Q, you're a hell of a shot. We need you. What we don't need is you walking on us. If they find you, they'll look for evidence."

He sighed and shifted, his stitches stretching his skin.

"We can -nngh- cut you loose after we're done," he said. "25%. Fuck, I'd give you 33% if I could."

He looked at him honest, less cynic.

Genuine.

"We need you dude."
[Q] wrote: Q put his hands on the table, clasping his fingers together as Jackie put the gun to his head. Q rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. He knew they wouldn't bother killing him. Especially if they "needed" him. He wondered why people even bothered to put guns to mercenary's heads. It wasn't like it was actually intimidating anyone who'd been in the field for longer than a year.

He ignored the gun was there and, after a moment, pierced his lips in thought, before leaning in at the table, closer to Blake.

"You knew of me the second I said my name. Now I don't know what exactly it was you heard, but last time I knew what the gossip was about me, it was that I took out the ghetto trash. This job is too big for me. I was never meant to take it to begin with. I'm too old for this real work. I don't know about you but I enjoy not getting shot at," he said softly, almost a whisper, his voice filled with contempt. "You need me as much as you need that male disguise of yours. Not at all. You just want it because it makes you feel better about yourself."

He leaned back, sitting up straight, and placing both his hands on the edge of the table, as if prepping himself to get up.
"I've been running from the cops and the french mafia for years. I doubt some rich pricks who named themselves after a Shakespeare story would be able to track me down if everyone else hasn't bothered. The only threat I am to you people is if I stayed. I take jobs where I excel over the competition. I don't here. These are more than just thugs with guns, and I have no shame in saying I cannot handle that."

With a groan, he pushed himself up off the table, willing himself to stand.
It was obvious he was in pain, but the sunglasses helped him hide just how bad it was.
"It's not about the money for me. I'm not some action hero. I know my limits, and being shot just reinforced how real they are. I'm leaving, and you can shoot me if you want. It's not like I have anything else going for me."

He turned around and took a step forward to make his dramatic exit.
Only for it to be completely ruined by a muffled whimper escaping his throat when he put his weight on the injured leg. His thigh felt like it was going to explode. Maybe it was infected or something. Q didn't know a whole lot about medical things, hence why he just attempted to not get hurt. It had played out rather well all these years. Generally, he was good at running from people.

The twenty three year old rocked back on his good leg and plopped himself back down in the chair, only for the moment his ass touched the seat to let out a very uncharacteristic high-pitched squeak- something akin to a dog being hurt- as he jumped straight back up, his shoulders shaking a bit as he readjusted his pants and sat back down. Slowly, and carefully this time around. He'd sat down the wrong way the first time. Had hit something he shouldn't have.

After gritting his teeth for a second, expecting laughs at his particular... vocals... he put his forearm on the table, and said, "Well in place of the money you owe me for the first half," he stressed-- as he had not yet taken the first half of his money up front-- "I could use a visit to your morgue friend."

That second accident of his hadn't been his leg, but it had hurt a hell of a lot more. Hopefully the initial shock would wear away soon. He curled his hand into a fist, looking down at the table. He wasn't sure if he hurt more physically or if his pride had just been shattered, given the way he'd just cried in pain.
This was why he couldn't take these normal jobs, anymore. This was why he stuck to safe and cheap gigs. Jobs nobody else wanted because they were below them. Q scraped the bottom of the barrel, because his body was betraying him in ways that just got worse as more time away from France passed. Five years a go he'd been a normal person. Now...
He had to deal with his damn sunglasses all the time, and his... New nervous habits, vocalizations. He was hating himself and in a way he wished Blake's buddy would shoot him for trying to leave.

But despite his ever-shattering ego, he really was so afraid of death. Probably more than anybody was.
Russian secret services.
Damn.
How had some kid like Blake done it?
And Q had barely made it through military boarding school.

[[Splender - Spin]]


Blakaize wrote: For the first time, but for only a split second, Blake appeared female, her eyes growing wider, her breathing taken in with a sharp gasp at his words. They had bit into her like a snake . . .

But just as it was there, it was gone, and he bowed his head, letting his hair cover his eyes, keeping his further emotions from being read. He heard Jackie growl, upset at Q's boldness and insult.

"Then go," he snarled. "If you really don't want us, don't need us, get."

He didn't care when Q got up and made his exit, or tried to, talking about action heroes and limits. The truth was that Blake had gotten cocky, had gotten arrogant, had thought himself invincible. He had survived what most either didn't or couldn't. From the age of sixteen on, he had been one of the best, his family name associated with hits that rivaled The Shooter on the Grassy Knoll.

. . . he's right a small, barely noticable voice whimpered to him. You pretend to be a boy so you can have an excuse to act the way you do. You act like a tough man because it's easier for you to hide in plain sight. To hide . . . hide . . .

NO a stronger voice barked. You are an agent in the Russian Special Services, you've got a record of 26-0 hit success rate, you raised your younger brothers, and you're older brothers raised you. You're strong . . . you're a man . . .

What about Bernadene?

Blake's mind was pulled out of mental limbo when he heard the yelp and looked up. Jackie snickered, oblivious to the tormoil in his brother's head.

Blake bowed his head again. The money didn't real mean anything. It was a perk. A huge perk. Murder for money was a good business. Had bought Braig his home and morgue . . .

"His name is Braig," he corrected. "He's my eldest brother, Braig Cohen. Let me guess ---" Blake did his damndest to pull the contempt back into his voice and favored Q with a dark glare. "That shrapnel in your thigh? Braig can have you stitched up and on your way." He rose, able to make his dramatic exit. "Then, I assume you can show yourself out?"

He stalked away, heading for the stairs. He climbed them with sharp thumps, leaving Jackie at the table with Q. Jackie set the piece down and exhaled, running fingers through long black hair. He looked like the typical gangster from the Bronx. Thin faced and bony waisted . . .

"You sure are a charmer, buddy," he said, rising. He moved around the kitchen for a second. "You want some panzotti?" He was already spooning the triangle shaped, cheese stuffed ravioli into a bowl and ladeling some white chicken alfredo sauce over it.

Blake hobbled down the landing, between his guest room and where Jaiden and Gabriel were either napping or playing a video game together. Grayson's room had laid empty for a while, and it looked as if Jackie had been in his for some time. Braig's was on the other end of the hall, near the bathroom, where Blake was heading, feeling something hot ooze around his stitches.

He passed by a portrait of all of them. Jaiden in the center of the couch, grinning, looking like a deliquent, his dark hair died navy blue. Braig leaned against the side, on the arm rest, and Grayson, his stocky frame a sharp contrast to the thin, willowy frames of his brothers, stood behind the couch, leaning forward, his tawny brown mustache and goatee making him seem comical, like a dolphin, always smiling. Beside him, stood the more serious Isaac. Isaac hated his family, called them criminals, threatened to expose them . . . he was an accountant. This picture was forced on him. And then Blake, looking as he did now, his hair in his face, his pose masculine. He sat beside Jackie, their poses mirrored . . .

A twinge of pain struck him and he lashed out, punching the wall, striking the picture in the process. The glass shattered and the picture fell forward. Blake swore under his breath and bent to retrieve it, when he realized that another picture was tucked behind it. He plucked it out, stared at it. In contrast to the above picture, this one portrayed the family at a younger time. They were posed the same, but their expressions less cocky, more demure or contented. It was taken a year before Grayson got them all started in the Russian military circles.

But someone different was sititng next to Jackie, ankles crossed, hands in lap, hair long and dark, and tied back with a white ribbon.

He gripped the picture in both hands, and prepared to shred it.

"Don't even think about it."

He turned, saw Braig on the stairs, responding to the crash of broken glass. Blake dropped the picture and was in the bathroom before it fluttered to the floor. Braig sighed, and barked at Jaiden to pick up the mess in the hallway.

"Make Blake do it!" Jaiden called, sounding every bit a teenager.

"Blake's preoccupied, Jade," he said. Jaiden had always known Blake as a boy, even when he went by a different name and wore different clothes.


[Q] wrote: Q looked down at his leg, hair hanging over his face as he was given the doctor's name. He appeared almost ashamed. Whether it was because he was showing how physically painful this was for him, or because of how he had just acted was anybody's guess.

He didn't answer Blake's hypothetical question about the shrapnel. Of course it was the shrapnel. It had been a stupid idea to burn the wound shut with everything still inside. Maybe the bullet hadn't exploded and it was in there, digging in deeper with every step he took. It sure felt like it, anyway. It hurt more now than when he'd gone up the stairs.

Finally, Blake left, and he was left alone with the New Yorker.
"So they say," he forced, answering the charmer comment. "I'm not hungry," he hissed again, turning his attention to the hole in his pants, where the bullet had gone through.
It was a lie. Q was hungry, but he didn't feel like eating right now. He'd never eaten while feeling like his leg was going to explode, before. But then again, he didn't ever remember his leg feeling like it was going to explode.

He pushed the torn fabric away, looking at the dried blood over where his new scar was. He wondered if it really had been the best decision. Would he really have died if he hadn't shut it, then? Was there a test for low blood pressure? If he had passed out, and that doctor came, would he have known that he could've had a heart attack while passed out? Or that his brain would be starved of oxygen?

Just then, something crashed downstairs, and Q looked back, trying to see where it came from. He readjusted his weight, to get up and see what the trouble was, but didn't even get a centimeter off the chair before slamming his fist down on the table. That slam was moreso to hopefully cover up the similar high-pitched sound he made to before.
This thing definitely was worse every time he moved, now.

"I burned it shut. Thought it was just shrapnel," he said between heavy breaths through his mouth. "I think I was wrong. I think the bullet's still in there, digging in my leg," he hissed.

It must be nice.
It must be nice to have a whole big family, and a big house, and people caring about you.
Q was almost jealous of Blake. Despite how low Q thought of Blake's... Lifestyle choice--that was, to pretend to be a man-- Q wished he had what Blake had.
A support system.

Q hoped he blew things over proportion. Q hoped he was wrong about how serious his condition was. He hoped that what Ves had told him before Q left the french mafia wasn't true.
But Q knew how lightheaded he got, how dizzy he'd get, he knew how weird he felt when he woke up not remembering anything that had happened, when he hadn't drank anything to warrant a blackout. And he knew how smoking more and more cigarettes helped.
Sometimes, he wished he was still with Ves.
Sometimes, he wished he hadn't been an ass and just forgiven the guy for liking women, had pushed aside his feelings of being used.
Because to deal with this.. Alone... Was horrible. Q had nobody. Nobody but whores and cigarettes, and the whores never stayed by his side when he passed out.

It must've been nice, if Blake ever passed out, to have somebody there, somebody hoping you were okay.

But Q pushed those thoughts away. He didn't like Blake. He just wanted a body. That was no reason to force himself to be with someone. A whore was better for that. He didn't want some fucked up tranny taking care of him. He'd rather deal with a bundle of STDs. It wasn't like HIV or AIDS or whatever else was out there would be worse than the health problems he already had.

He pushed all the thoughts from his mind, and concentrated on his leg, tearing his dress pants up, ripping the hole apart. He liked these pants, but he'd rather have a huge hole in them than take them off. Q had secrets about his appearance that he hid, just like Blake did. But Q's secrets were much more warranted. At least in Q's opinion, anyway.

After the pants teared open, Q licked his left hand and, with the spit, tried to wipe all the dried blood away from his wound. He was unsure how that would help, but he felt like he needed to do something. It was really burning now.

He hoped that whatever had dropped downstairs wouldn't impact this Braig's speediness in getting back up here. Q was going to panic, soon.
He didn't like pain. He didn't want to die. He put on a strong face, but it was all just an act.
He was scared.

[[Linkin park - The Little Things Give You Away]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig came back down the stairs, saw Q at the table, saw Jackie eating the panzotti by the counter. He raised an eyebrow at Q's condition and then made an 'Oh' sound.

"You got shot in the leg? Not just grazed?" He said, realizing his misjudgment. He sighed, figuring the kid had something to do with Blake's current emotional state. "Why didn't you say so? C'mon down stairs and I'll fix you up."

He moved towards the basement door, but, hearingJackie snicker, he paused.

"Kid's been tryin' to get up. Can't do it." He said, stuffing another stuffed dough pocket into his mouth. Braig rolled his eyes.

"Alright. Gotta do this the hard way." He said. He moved over to Q's side. "What we're gonna do is, you put your arm around my shoulder, I hook my arm under your leg, under your knee, keepin' it still, and we go down the stairs."

---

Blake sat on the edge of the tub. looking at his hands. He stood after some time and looked in the mirror.

"Just so I can feel better, huh?" He muttered. Yeah, well, what if it's just to make my life easier? To make a point? D'ja ever think of that, asshole?

Women hit men usually never saw good action. It was usually just a lady with good looks, nice tits, and they'd lure a man in with those, and slip them something to poison them or choke them when they were half-finished. A male hit man could actually have a decent chase . . .

He peeled off his gloves and shirt, unbuckled his belt, kicked off boots, and brought his jeans down to his ankles, stepping out of them. And there he was . . . or rather, there she was.

Blake stood in Bernadene's skin for a second. She popped her neck and decided to try a social experiment. Or maybe not, she thought, her hand on the door knob. Was the mouthy younger male even worth proving a point to?

. . . fuck yes, he was . . .


[Q] wrote: Q shook his head.
"Blake was in worse condition," he said in response to why he didn't bring up he was shot before.
Q had been grazed. The mark was still there, on his side. But he'd been shot as well. The graze was mostly a scrape on his chest, which is why he hadn't worried too much about it.
His leg, however...

When Braig went to the stairs, Q opened his mouth to say something, until the New Yorker said it for him. His mouth clamped shut and he glared at Jackie, who unfortunately couldn't see it through Q's sunglasses.

Braig came back and explained what they were going to do. Q took in a deep breath and did as told, putting his hand over the doc's shoulder, looking up and biting back the whine that wanted to leave his throat when Braig put his arm under Q's knee. This was going to be difficult.

"Do you understand French?" Q forced through grit teeth.
The possibility was slim, but if he could still manage to keep his secrets while being treated, he'd try to.
"I've medical problems you need to know," he said, in his native tongue.

They began their way to the stairs. Q tried to push how embarrassing this hopping looked and simply tried to concentrate on accomplishing the feat.
It wasn't too difficult to not think about embarrassment as the first step made it extremely clear this was going to be one of his most painful experiences ever. He flexed his arm around Braig's shoulder, stiffening. His free arm grabbing the handrail and holding onto it as if his life depended on it.

He opened his mouth at the second step, but thankfully no noise came out. He screamed silently, soon closing his mouth and gritting his teeth so hard he thought he may actually break them as he tried to rush his way down the rest of the stairs in hopes to get the horror over with faster.

[[Imogen Heap - Speeding Cars]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig raised an eyebrow at him, and then spoke, carefully.

"Oui, je peux. Qu'est-ce que c'est ?" He said, softly. He noticed his charges' difficulty. "Hold on, Slim."

Braig swept his arm around and lifted Q fireman style, as he had helped lift Blake when he put him in the back of the hearse. Braig, though willowy and seemingly too sinewy to to much damage, he was strong enough to carry Q down the stairs and set him on his feet at the bottom. He made no snide comment, or any suggestion that he would.

"You go ahead and sit on the slab," he said, moving to his work bench. He lit up a cigarette and started to set up a small work station. "So, uh, what medical history you've got?"


[Q] wrote: "Oh, thank God," Q sighed with relief. What little relief he could while so stiff, anyway.

Q whimpered lightly when he was picked up, and then put back down, quickly collapsing onto the slab.

As soon as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down and recover from what just happened, he looked over to the doorway, which was open. Q shivered a bit, worried just anybody could walk in.

He tried to keep his disappointment hidden, and turned his head to view Braig.
"I burned the wound shut to stop the bleeding, because I can't lose a lot of blood. I thought it was just shrapnel still in there, but I think it's more than that, and digging further in every time I move."

He changed to French, then. "I have chronic low blood pressure. My heart is normal size but most of my veins are too big. I smoke to self medicate. If I lose too much blood, I pass out and I'm afraid of brain damage or heart attack due to lack of oxygenated blood to the brain." He took another deep breath.

"I had medication for it before but I have no access now. It's gotten worse over the years. I get dizzy if I don't smoke for a long period of time. I can't drink alcohol at all any more. I think I slept before because of the problem, when I got here." He switched back to english.

"I don't really know for sure how bad it is. Just what I've experienced and what people have told me. That's why I was afraid to just let my leg bleed out. I don't know how you expect to take the bullet, or shrapnel, or whatever it is, out of me with this sort of problem. But it hurts more every time I move. So please. Do something."
He was begging, it was pitiful now.

"And close the door," He said softly. "I make embarrassing noises when I'm in pain.."
He made similar noises while having sex, too. But the whores were paid not to laugh. And some of them actually thought it was fun. Different strokes for different folks, he supposed.

Q hung his head in shame, continuing to breathe through his mouth. He contemplated smoking now. He hadn't smoked in a while. Not since right before he got here. He supposed he was due for another.

He put his hands to his pants pockets, and realized his jacket wasn't on. His cigarettes were in his jacket's pockets. He sighed.
"So if you don't have anything special you're going to give me, I'll need to smoke a few before we start, I guess.."
His voice was somewhat shakey. It was a combination of pain and worry, and fear.
He'd been cut, before. But before, he didn't have to worry about what blood loss would do to him.


Blakaize wrote: Braig nodded and made 'mhm' noises as he spoke, and drew up syringes and opened up sterile packages of scalpels and clamps. When he was about to light up, though, Braig stuck him with a thin, small needle, near the wound, piercing through the pant fabric, and pushed the plunger down.

"Unless your a hemophiliac, you won't bleed out," he said, climbing the stairs and slamming the door shut. He tromped back down, still talking. "Lack of oxygen to your brain won't be an issue here. You'll be concious during this, Slim."

He flicked a different syringe and cleared it of bubbles.

"What I'm going to do is I'm going to cut open a three inch insician and irrigate the wound. Pick out the pieces, sterilize, stitch it back up. I just gave you a general anestetic. I'll add more as we go along. You shouldn't feel more than a twinge or two."

Braig pulled on gloves and pulled forward a rolling stool.

"I can't do it though denim, though, kid," he said.


[Q] wrote: "I don't think you understand," he said, closing his eyes and wincing at the first injection.
He didn't know why he was correcting a doctor. Was this guy even a doctor? Did morticians have to go through the same training as doctors?

"It's not about bleeding out, it's about not enough blood getting to my heart or brain." He frowned, and looked away.
Then Braig mentioned something about his pants. Q turned and looked down at the already gaping hold he'd torn in them not more than five minutes a go.
He simply grabbed both ends of the hole and tore it apart further, watching the fabric tear and hoping the new hole was a bigger one to work with.

He really didn't want to take his pants off.


Blakaize wrote: Braig rubbed his neck.

"Sorry, my French is a little rusty. I'll see what I can do, but, the thing is that my patients usually don't have a blood pressure when they get here." He sat down, looking at the ripped pants, and shrugged. Whatever suited, he supposed.

Braig decided not to talk as much. Instead, he just put his pack of Pall Malls near Q, if he wanted one, and set to work. He cut open the wound, raw scar tissue giving way.

"The old gun powder trick," he muttered. "Cute. Grayson, my kid brother, tried the same thing." He used a clamp to keep the wound open, wiping away blood as it seeped out, careful. He squirted in saline and a general anistetic. He took a pair of forceps next and fished around for a second or two. "Got any idea what caliber they shot you with?"

He felt the forceps clamp on to something and he began to pull out, slowly.

"Big deep breath when I pull it out, alright?"


[Q] wrote: "Did you have to go to a medical school? Or is it different for your job?" He wasn't sure what the english word for 'mortician' was.

He watched his wound get cut open, wincing, even though it didn't hurt. The anesthetic was doing its job correctly, at least. Q turned and grabbed at the Pall Malls just in case, taking the nearby lighter and lighting it too, taking a long drag.

He looked at his leg, and Braig as he sifted through it. His face paled and he instantly looked away, more than a little creeped out by what was going on with his body. He didn't want to know how this stuff worked.

"No, I don't," Q answered in reference to the calibre.
"Who's Grayson? Is gunpowder not the right way to do it?"

The next line made Q stiffen. He took in a long drag and breathed the smoke out through his nose slowly, taking another drag in preparation for the next thing.
If it hadn't hurt so far, he doubted taking the thing out would hurt much either, but that didn't help his anxiety.

He closed his eyes again and tried to concentrate on how shitty this cigarette tasted, and how it reminded him of a cheaper version of Benson and Hedges.

Then he got to thinking of the first time he had smoked Benson and Hedges, how it was with Ves...


Blakaize wrote: Braig left the forceps in for a second, and re-irrigated.

"Morticians and medical examiners, under takers, whatever you want to call us, have to go to school longer than docs. About ten years. I got the first half of my degree in Moscow, and had to repeat half of that, plus the other half, in the States, to get my liscence. Bullshit, huh?"

Braig flicked some ash from his cigarette in the ash tray he had fashioned out of the top of a human skull. It was an unfortunate left over he had forgot to scoop into the urn after a cremation. Not exactly wanting to call up the family to tell them he left a bit at the bottom of the grate, he just kept it . . .

"Grayson is," Braig said, slowly, carefully removing the bullet. It had lodged itself alright. "My kid brother. He's over with the Russkie's now, body guard work. Gun powder works, yeah, but, not when there's shit in there. Personally, I only used it once, for a pretty nasty gash." Braig winked, the scar on his face, crinkling slightly, and he left it at that.

"Deep breath," he said, suddenly, extracting the bullet. He examined it for a second. He whistled and dropped the bullet into a metal pale filled with peroxide. "You are one lucky bastard, kiddo. It didn't frag, just got stuck in a nerve bundle." He chuckled. "I'd show ya, but, that'd be one hell of a tickle, and you'd probably kick me in the face."


[Q] wrote: "That is unfair," Q replied, still anxious and trying to take the deepest drags possible.

He coughed for a moment, when Braig stopped in his explanation of who Grayson was. Something clicked, but he had no time to make a mention of it before he felt searing pain for just the shortest of moments.

It was a surprise to him, and he opened his mouth, the cigarette falling from it and onto the table.

Deep breath, Braig said.
The bullet wasn't out yet??

Q did as was told, and then, all was over, the pain was gone. Q sighed and let out the softest of whimpers before picking back up the cigarette and placing it in his mouth, taking another drag and expelling it through his nose.

"... Thanks..." He said weakly, looking at the blank slab.
"Let me know when it's closed. It's weird when it's me." What he meant was that it was weird looking at his own insides. He didn't much care about other people's blood and guts spilling everywhere. But his own? That was a reality he didn't want much to do with.

After a few moments, he got the courage to talk again. "What was your last name again? Greyson sounds familiar. He ever get in trouble with The French mafia here in the states?"

[[Muse - Sunburn]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig chuckled, threading that U-shaped needle with the black surgical thread.

"Sorry, kid," he said. He irrigated again, and followed up with saline and some basic peroxide. "Itchy tickle now, it'll pass," he muttered, as he let the bubbles work. He had always hated getting that shit dumped on his scraped knees, it itched like crazy . . . "Cohen," he replied. Braig's brow furrowed when he listened further. "French Mafia? Not that I know of . . . then again, I have enough trouble following after Blake and Jackie's fuck ups."

Braig flicked his cigarette in the ash tray again and, hesitating, just snuffed it out and turned back to his work.

"He's hired muscle. Maybe one of his charges got into trouble. Gray's never lost a charge."

His mind was abuzz with activity. French Mafia? Grayson was never shy about eliminating threats, if his charge was in danger . . .


[Q] wrote: Q finished the cig and squeezed the butt out on the slab next to him, right when the peroxide went in. He hissed, closing an eye, his leg stiffening as he tried to resist the urge to pull away.

"No kidding," he forced through clenched teeth.
All in all this had been a sobering experience. Despite his fuckups upstairs, during this procedure he didn't feel too bad. No weird dog noises like upstairs, which was a relief.

"Must be a false memory, then," Q said later, the awkward feeling passing.
"Grayson's an interesting name."

Q tried not to remember much of what happened while he was with Ves. He'd only been with the man for two years, and it was in one year that the newly-formed French Mafia had taken complete control of the city. It had only been Ves and Q at first, but eventually their 'family' had spread, gained members. Not all French, but most were at least part.
Ves had come from France with Q. Q was only 18 at the time. They'd run away to the US together. Ves had one dream: to be a mafia leader. It was silly and stupid, but with Q's help, he'd done it. Q's one dream was to be a sniper. Ves allowed that, taught Q everything he knew. Which, wasn't much, admittingly. But it was more than Q had in the beginning.
His sense of aim being so good, the rest of it was easy enough to pick up.

Q had acted as Vespasien's second-hand. They both did dirty work in the beginning, but Ves was more of a strategist. Q translated for his older partner when it was needed, as Ves had a hard time picking up english at first. He didn't like speaking it, so Q was his voice.
Ves didn't like getting dirty, so Q was his gun.
He liked the indoors, and was paranoid of snipers after they'd began to overtake the city, and rightfully so. Q became Ves's eyes and ears.

Eventually, another powerful figure came into the family. Alexandre. He had been Secret service. Ves valued his opinion more than Q's. Alexandre said Q hurt Ves's image. That Ves's "lifestyle" made him and the french mafia a joke. Unintimidating.
He advised Vespasien to take his love for Q out of the public eye. To let Q, who was still a little teenager hopelessly in love with his first crush, go.
Vespasien did.
Q was heartbroken. But determined to work through it. To still be the best. To still be Ves's voice, his gun, his eyes.
But then Ves started laying women. Alexandre became Ves's new voice. Q felt used.
Q was left as Ves's gun, and killing people, and protecting Alexandre and Ves wasn't enough. He felt used, grew to loathe Alexandre and Vespasien's decision.

One day, he left. He abandoned Vespasien, and he'd never looked back.
He became an outcast, and the "low budget sniper" he is now.
He dealt with trash, because he felt like trash. And he didn't want to be found, assuming his old 'family' was trying to find him. He didn't know if they were. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the real answer.

In that time of being a vagrant, Q became an alcoholic, and a regular at exotic fetishist clubs. He laid with the whores only the sickest would lay with, and he hoped, somehow, he could see what was so great about women. Hoped he could get past the man that had used and abused him, and see why being female was so great.
And in those three long years of booze and sex, he grew to hate all men, and never dreamed of loving another. In those years years of loathing and carnal need, his body started failing him at an accelerated rate, and he was left as he was now.
Because of everything that had happened, most of his life in the states was a blur.
He'd been drunk half the time, and having to live in sobriety now-- he was too afraid to drink, these days-- was horrible, and depressing.

It'd been a long road to realization that his life wasn't all fun and games. And now that he was there, he wished he'd never left France, never gotten in that first fight with his father.
Wished he had completed his school, and went on to farther his father's chosen carreer path of strategy. A skill Q was good at, but had willfully and blissfully forgotten with his years in the states.

Q looked back to his leg, it now having been closed.
"Thank you," he said. "Do you, ah..." He looked about the room.
"...Have any spare pants?"

He swallowed. "...Can I walk on it? Or will it still hurt?"
He was rather innocent to these things. He'd never been hurt too badly before. He couldn't even remember breaking any bones.
Blakaize wrote: Braig closed the wound, letting everything fall into silence. His mind was still on Grayson and the trouble he might, or might not have, gotten into. Braig's parents seperated when he was younger, and he fended for his younger siblings. Eventually, they grew into their heritage. Their father was a Russian nationalist. Their birth given last names were Canov. "Of Cain," in proper Russian. They changed their names to Cohen to escape stigmas. But they became their own stigmas, marked themselves.

Braig, the under taker, the eldest. He took care of things, he disposed of bodies.
Grayson, the solider, the body guard. He was forced to live abroad, to be closer to his work.
Blake, the assassin. He was always a force to be reconed with. Given the chance, Braig was surprised that he handed gone hand to hand with his assailents.
Jackie, the mobster, the wise guy. He was mediocre, but he was still alive.
Isaac, the good son, the accountant. The black sheep, the estranged brother.
Jaiden, the baby, the deliquent, the trouble in the making.

Braig sighed and finished the final knot, the last stitch. He secured a bandage over the stitch and leaned back.

"Spare pants? Sure. Upstairs in my room. First door on the left. You look about my size." He said, going to wash his hands, peel off the bloody latex gloves. "You can walk on it, sure. It'll twinge if you stretch out the stitches. It'll hurt like fuck if you pop one. All in all, you just gotta use your judgement, Slim. I'd give you pain killers, but, like I said," Braig threw him a smirk. "most of my clients don't need 'em anymore."

---

Blake had changed his clothes. No longer in Bernadene's skin. He sifted through clothes before he found what he needed. Slipping into them, he looked at himself. The corset top and straps seemed off on his body. The bandage was visible, but, not terribly so. He took his left hand and squeezed his right breast, exterimentally.

. . . could he still be Blake, and be a girl at the same time . . .?


[Q] wrote: Q gave a relieved sigh, and hopped off the slab, onto the floor beneath. He was careful to only put the weight on his good leg, only slowly bringing his newly patched up one to the floor, testing to see if he could walk on it.

"Thank you, I will do that," he said calmly, his mood lightened. Braig made him feel safe. But he supposed a doctor was supposed to do that. It must've been a learned skill. In comparison to how he mouthed off to the others in this family, Braig had probably seen the best side of Q.

"Eh, don't worry about the pills," he said later, slowly making his way to the door and opening it. He still limped, but it was much less than before and certainly less painful. In fact, it hardly hurt at all in comparison to a few minutes a go.

He paused for a moment, gathering himself before slowly making his way up the stairs toward Braig's room.

When he got there, he looked around, as if suspicious, then sneaked into the man's room, slowly and quietly closing the door behind him.

Once inside, Q went for the dresser, taking his time, trying to find a decent pair of pants. He eventually came across some black slacks. The twenty three year old took them out of the drawer and turned to the bed, placing the slacks there before sitting on the edge of it.
There, he bent over and unlaced his old combat boots, loosening them and taking them off his feet, pulling them off before sitting back up and undoing his belt, tossing that to the floor.
He stood, dropping his own ruined pants and stepping out of them before turning around and unfolding the black slacks, throwing them by the waistband as if to toss the fold out, and put them near his legs, judging just how well they may fit.

Braig was right, they were about the same size. He thought that a bit odd. Q guessed he was lucky as he stood there, his black silk boxers the only thing preventing him from being completely pantsless.


Blakaize wrote: Blake heard the door to Braig's room open, and decided that he would be best to gauge his . . . her . . . new look. Or, tell her to go change. Blake wasn't sure what he . . . she . . . wanted more.

She didn't knock, just opened the door and realized that that was NOT Braig's butt she was looking at.

"Hey!" She said, stepping in. "Does Braig know you're riffling or . . .?" She paused, blinking.

Well that was a little odd . . .


[Q] wrote: Q flipped the pants again before getting ready to put them on. Just as he bent over, he heard the door open. He spun around, dropping the pants.

Had she seen it?!

Q growled. Not like a man growled, but more bestial, similar to a dog's growl, his upper lip raised.
It didn't register that it was Blake at first.

"Get out!" he barked. If Q had never been serious before, he definitely wasn't playing now.
His grey hair began to raise as the anger consumed his face and body posture. It was if he were trying to make himself look bigger, as if he had just been a victim of some stray static electricity. The pure volume of his hair was heavy enough to keep most of it down, so it wasn't standing upright, but it still made a difference.

The thing that was now hugging the back of his left leg was doing the same. Except its black hair was much lighter, and so was puffing out without abandon, looking as silly as a cat's would when it had been startled.

The tail hugging his leg now was shaking a bit, anxious. It wanted to wag angrily, and it took a lot of effort to keep it from doing so. It was tindrilly, similar to a horse's or border collie's tail. Normally it curled, and if anyone knew their dog breeds well, they would've known it was instead a Saluki's tail, albeit monocolored. Q had made a great effort to hide it. It was his mutation, and nobody needed to make fun of it. He'd made the mistake before with letting anybody off the street know he had it.
He never made the mistake again. Not since he left Ves.
Now, only whores knew, and he paid them to not tell him what they thought of it.

The green eyes behind the sunglasses widened in surprise, Q standing a bit straighter.
"Blake?!"
He couldn't imagine her.. Him... Whatever, in girly clothes. Or with curves. Admittingly, he'd only known Blake for a few hours, but still, it was weird.
He decided he wouldn't address it, and leaned forward again.
"I said GET OUT!" he roared.


Blakaize wrote: Blake just stared, arms down, eyes on Q's face, rather than whats she had thought she had seen. It was . . . kind of cute, but the rational part of her brain said nay, that was impossible. Wasn't it . . .?

When he barked at her again, she snapped out of her surprise and her eyes narrowed, hands balling into fists.

"My house," she said, simply. "You got your leg patched up. Good. You still heading out of town once you get decent?" She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the door frame. Her eyes were serious, but she was inside, still unsure. She felt exposed, pretending to be Blake and a girl at the same time. She wasn't even sure if she was still pretending at all, actually.

Q was an interesting guy, indeed. But, this only lightly registered in Blake's mind. More so, she was concerned with keeping her point well made. She could still beat ass, even if she was to the outside world a girl . . . she was proving it to a lot of people, now, if she was able to go through with it. Q, maybe her brothers, maybe her client-el.

She smirked.

"Cute knees, by the way," she said, unable to resist a jibe at him.


[Q] wrote: Q snorted, surprised that Blake wasn't moving. People usually listened to what he had to say.
Especially women. Blake was now one, so why was she still talking?

He huffed through his mouth, turning his head to look for where the slacks went. Eying them on the floor, he took a step backward, then grabbed them and hurriedly put them on, making sure to not turn his back to her before they were completely zipped and buttoned.

Once he was covered, his anxiety began to subside, and he took his time putting on his belt, though it was clear he was still flustered.

As he buckled his belt, he shot back a, "Women would do well not to step into a man's room unannounced, whether it be me or your brother."

He snatched up his ruined pants and his boots from the floor and briskly walked toward the door, shoving Blake aside, in a rush to leave.
His comfort level had just gone into the negatives in this house.
He didn't need freaking trannies playing with his head, seeing things they shouldn't see, or... Whatever the hell was going on.

"And yes, I'm getting the hell out of here!" he said, working his way down the stairs quickly, wincing as he moved, eager to get the fuck out of this place.

[[Incubus - Rogues]]


Blakaize wrote: "Yeah, well I'm not your average UH!"

She was surprised, losing her footing, shoved aside by a man two years her junior. She blinked, shocked. He had shoved her. Shoved her. After trying to lecture her on how a woman should behave?!

"Cock sucker," she muttered, under her breath. She regained herself and followed close on his heels. "You turn around and you face me like a man, you god damn COWARD!" She barked. "I don't care if you leave, I don't care if you think I'm some kind of transsexual freak." She grabbed his arm and, with surprising force, spun him to face her. He was taller than she was. "I faced MY fears! NOW YOU!"

She gave him a rough shove, settling her center of gravity.

"I've . . . got leverage," she said, her adrenaline pumped mind assuring her of what she saw. "I've been as nice as I think I can be. I didn't take you as some fag, and I'm not going to spread it around that Q was born with a shmidge extra than the average bear or whatever the fuck it is! I don't fucking care. For fucks sake, I was shot to hell, but I didn't let them forget you. My brother stitched you up, we offered you a job, money, food."

She inhaled and calmed herself, finding her center.

"If you're gonna go, just . . . scram." She said, turning and starting to climb the stairs.

The commotion had gotten the attention of Braig, who thought it was Blake punching something again. He was surprised to see Blake on the stairs, looking as she did. Jackie was close behind.

"Ho-ly shit," he breathed, seeing her.

"You got a staring problem, asshole?!" She snapped, climbing the stairs more rapidly. Both men looked to Q.

"The fuck just happened?" Braig said, not threateningly. Mostly in amazement.


[Q] wrote: Q continued walking until he was grabbed and spun around. He lost his footing when she shoved him, and pulled on her arm so he wouldn't fall down the stairs. He tossed his boots and pants down the stairs and turned to punch her in the face, but stopped in mid-strike when she said how she had taken care of him, and wasn't going to spread it around about his "problem."
He growled, opening his mouth to rebuke with some smartass comment he hadn't thought of when she just turned around and left.

He looked to the two other men who just showed up, confused as to what to say. He didn't know what to do, but wound up just not answering them, scowling and running back after Blake.

"Blake, wait--"


Blakaize wrote: Blake looked at him over her shoulder.

"Yes?" She said, turning to face him, arms crossed. She was ready for a fight, if Q sought to bring one. Mauy tai was a martial art that was designed and taught with the specific purpose to break bones, and Blake was well versed in it, having had her left femur broken twice by a member of her batalion while in Russia. Q was a perfect height for her to just deliver a shattering jab to his zyphoid process. But she just waited, making eye contact, while playing out the scenerios of every move he could make in her mind.

Braig, at the bottom of the stairs, was ready to break up a fight, but the phone rang, and he swore.

"Dammit. Jackie, make sure they don't kill each other," he said, going to the phone, yanking it off the hook and barking into it. "What, and this better be good?"

A gruff, quiet voice on the other end answered.

"Брат, какие новости?"

Brother, what news?

Braig's shoulders fell and he struggled to relax. Grayson.

"Yes, yes, Brother."

"And Bernadene?"

"She's fine, she's fine. Blake got a bullet wound, but --- "

Grayson swore in Russian. Braig felt a head ache coming on. He had listened to two different languages today, he was ready for english . . .

"Can we speak plainly?"

"Yes." Grayson replied, softly. "She is alright? How could this have happened?"

"They were set up, Gray," Braig said, leaning against the wall. ". . . hey, something I was thinking of . . ." Q's mention of Grayson being involved with the mafia, or supposed involvement. "Ever had a run in with the French Mafia?"

There was a long pause and then Grayson chuckled, a low rumble over the phone.

"Yes, once. Why do you ask?"


[Q] wrote: Q stopped mid-stride, taken aback. He hadn't been expecting her to actually turn around and eye him in the face. Luckily, his sunglasses were there. Maybe they would cover up just how surprised he was, before he could regain himself.

"My fears are..."
He sucked in a deep breath, piercing his lips. This was different. He knew he was acting completely different toward her, because she looked like a woman. Had she been in her other clothes, looking like a man, he probably would've just continued to leave, or actually punch her. He hated this confusion, especially since he knew he was doing it. Caught himself, even.

He was completely sexist. He snorted, and turned around, eying Jackie still at the bottom of the stairs.

He turned back to Blake. "...Can we talk about this in private?"
It was stupid how his whole demeanor changed just because she was wearing something different.
He would've kicked himself if he could.

He was sure Blake would realize this, too. Hell, it was probably what she fucking wanted.
He knew he was being played, and yet, he did nothing to try to fight it.
He really was fucked up.


Blakaize wrote: Blake considered this for a moment, and then nodded. She walked into her room and sat on her bed, her posture masculine instead of feminine. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. It had been a while since her legs were crossed, like in the picture in the hall. Her pistols were on her bed, magazines out, laid beside them neatly.

"You were saying?" She said, expectantly.

Meanwhile, Braig was silent on the phone with Grayson. He licked dry lips and swallowed hard.

"Do you remember, do you remember some guy named Q? Or maybe who went by Q?"

"Why?"

"French Mafia Q?"

Grayson chuckled again.

"The man I shot mentioned him briefly. Then I got my charge and got the hell out of there."

"You shot someone in the French Mafia?" Braig said, stomach dropping with the implications of such an act. Grayson's tone was serious.

"Yes. Why?" Braig rubbed his temples. "Brother?"

"Ask your nationalist friends about a hit, a hit or a trap, involving the French Mafia, here in the States. Find that out for me and call me back later, alright? You do that, okay?" Braig said, hanging up the phone.

Dots were starting to connect slowly in his head and he didn't like the picture they were making.


[Q] wrote: Q went inside the room, closing the door behind him.
He looked to Blake, just sitting there. Guns there.
He resisted the urge to lick his lips, and instead nervously ran his fingers through his hair, looking away, getting cold feet.

No, He thought. He couldn't just treat her better because she was a woman now. She was still the same as before. Wasn't she?

He gripped his hair, pulled on it slightly before letting it go and rolling his neck, turning his attention back to her.
"Facing your fears, huh?" He said.
"And what fears are those? What's that even supposed to mean?"

It's a man, it's a man, it's a man...
It wasn't working.
He was going to be pussy whipped in a second, here.


Blakaize wrote: Blake smirked and leaned back on her elbows, reclining. She was short, but she had legs, and a slim torso.

"Female assassins have a limited client-el. Women go in, they pretend to be intrested in a target, maybe fuck them, and kill them. The cowardice of knowing what my job entailed drove me to shun myself. I wanted to be more than a trap. I wanted to be the weapon."

Blake noticed his posture and kicked a chair towards him, a spare rolling office chair that she used at her computer desk.

"Take a seat? Anyway. At first, I just pretended to be a male, and then, right at the end, I'd reveal my gender to the target. The surprise was fun at first, but then I just got comfortable and slipped totally into my persona. I called myself a 'he,' I dressed as a 'he,' fuck, I used the men's room . . . I oggled women when I was in clubs, I even considered getting a sex change, but, the docs said I wasn't a good candidate."

Blake shrugged, taking out a pack of smokes and tapped it on her thigh.

"I became comfortable, and see what happened? The second someone get's comfortable, is the second their guard is down, and they fuck up or get fucked up. One of the earliest rules of my job."

She lit up and took a drag, blowing the smoke up and a way from her face.

"So. What's your excuse?"


[Q] wrote: He couldn't deny it. He was looking. He hoped his sunglasses covered it up. Years of treating women like objects and buying them off the street gave him the right to oggle women and not treat them like actual people. Blake, of course, was obviously different.

He looked at her blankly for a second, almost startled by the kicked chair. He sat down, listening. Sort of. His mind wandered to whether or not she really was a good fuck. He shook his head slightly, trying to not think like that.
He wasn't even sure why he was ashamed to think like that. He'd never cared before.

So, what's your excuse?

"I, uh." He looked up at her face, and tried not to stare at anything else.
"Well, my fears are warranted," he shot back, immediately regretting it. He expected to get slapped or something, and braced for it for a moment.

If it didn't come, he'd continue.

"Well, what you saw back there... Without the pants. Obviously, that's not natural. So I hide it. And with it, comes other things. Basically, I know it sounds stupid. I'm only 23 but... I'm getting old. My body just..." he tsked, looking away. "I feel like I'm going to die soon. So I take the safe hits. And you were wrong before. There are safe hits. People who don't shoot back, mainly. I kill for only ten grand a person. People come. I lower the starting price if I feel sorry for the person, sometimes, but... Yeah."

He shook his head, leaning back in the chair.
"And I don't care what the rest of the syndicates say about me," he rushed, as if trying to convince himself.
"I do my own thing. I take the hits I do because I want to... Not because I have to..."
Why was he opening up to her?
Because she was a woman?

He wished she'd just put him out of his misery, already.


Blakaize wrote: Blake's eyes softened slight as she listened to his story. His fears being warranted, and her's not, well that was partly true, but it stung.

"Yeah, but, what is it? Because, frankly, it looks like a . . . dog's tail." She said, softly. He continued and so did she. "Yeah, you're right. But, if that's the case, why keep it up at all? Why kill, if you're killing for free?" She sat up, leaned forward. "Because, deep down, you love your job, that's why. That's what I think. Doctors and lawyers can love their jobs. Maybe us assassins can too?"

Blake flicked her ash in the glass tray on the computer stand and got up, to stretch her legs.

"The only thing I've heard about you in these parts is that you were second to a boss, once. Some say you fucked him, some say he fucked you. Either way, you left and he went on. Appearantly, so did you?"
[Q] wrote: Q sighed loudly.
"It is a dog's tail," he whispered, not liking to admit it.
"I know it's crazy. But I was born with it. And other defects. But that's the big one."

He put his hands on his knees, looking down. He listened to her a bit more now. It was true, he did enjoy his job. But that wasn't the only reason he kept doing it.
"I always wanted to be a sniper. Ever since I was a kid. But after this... I keep doing it because I can't get legal work. I'm an illegal, still. And I'm probably on the most wanted list. It's not like a full head of grey hair is hard to spot."
He sort of wished he could settle down somewhere and not have to move all the time.
There were a few towns he really liked. Had nice waitresses in the fetishist clubs. He could've lived there, indulged in his sins with just one or two girls... Instead of having to find new ones.

"I went on as much as I am able," he said, vaguely. He wouldn't bother validating any of the other of what Blake said. That part of it was behind him. He wasn't fucking any men, ever again. The mere thought disgusted him now.


Blakaize wrote: Blake looked at him for a while, just took him in. He was taller, slim, yeah, he had a tail, but, whatever. The Russians were harrier . . .

Wait a second, wait a second, WHOA a voice in her head, screamed. Nuhuh, no way, no how, THINK AGAIN SISTER!

"I guess," she said, softly, trying to block out the voices in her head. "That's all anyone can ever really ask of themselves, when things get rough." She smirked, not unkindly. "If you ever need a place to stay . . ." She cut herself off, taking a drag from her smoke before she said something she'd regret.

She reached her hand out to Q, a gesture of trust, a gesture of mutual understanding, or at least, mutual understanding of the scrapings from their personal surfaces.

However, it was then that Braig kicked the door open and grabbed Q by the shoulder, spinning him around in the chair. He had just gotten the phone call back from Grayson and had left the phone dangling from the wall when he got the news that Q was this Ves fuck's second in command, and that one of the families likely told the Mafia that Cohen was working for them, probably got their money back if they could get some of the Mafia's men into where the Cohens would be, where they could get to Blake, send a message to Grayson. If Q was involved, Braig was about to find out.

"You," he said, pointing, "have a lot of explaining to do, Slim!" He snarled


[Q] wrote: Q looked down at her hand on his. And was just about to fulfill his desired, al he knew he shouldn't do with her, just ruin everything and slam her down on the bed and--

But nothing ever got that far. He didn't even get a chance to get out of the chair before he was spun around, Braig grabbing him. Oh, he looked mad. That wasn't a good look for Braig.
Q preferred how caring and maternal he'd been before.

"What? What is there to explain??" Q was confused.
He couldn't think of anything that Braig would be angry at him for.
"Do I have AIDS?" he slipped in in french, a bit worried.
The sad fact was that he was serious with that question.


Blakaize wrote: "Hey!" Blake said, snapping at Braig. She couldn't deny she saw the hungry look in Q's eyes, a split second before Braig burst in. "What the fuck, Braig?!"

"Did you have anything to do with this graveyard shit?" Braig demanded, ignoring Blake.

"What?" Blake asked, confused herself.

"Grayson called. He had a run in with the French Mafia, the French Mafia that Q here was second hand to."

Blake looked at Q, feeling a little betrayed.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" Braig repeated.

I doubt it, Blake thought. He doesn't seem the type . . . he's not that deep . . . he's too transparent . . .


[Q] wrote: Q became defensive, leaning forward, bringing his left hand up to try and push Braig off him and the chair so he could stand.

"What are you talking about? You mean the trap? Why would I bother?!"
Q growled, and stood up. Still only in his socks. His boots somewhere down the stairs where he'd left them.

"You WANT me to have been involved? Because I can make it fucking happen," he shouted back, unsure why. It was instinct, he had to make himself seem scarier than the other. Especially when it was in front of a woman. Who was not a woman. Fuck.


Blakaize wrote: Blake grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him away.

"Everybody calm the fuck down! He's got nothing to do with it, Braig, drop it! Why the fuck would he?!" She yelled, standing between him and her brother. Braig seemed to accept this, but still favored Q with a cold stare.

"Just making sure. The French Mafia put a hit on the Cohens, any Cohens. Some fuck named Ves Grayson shot." Braig said. Blake put a hand on his chest and pushed.

"So? And you're saying the graveyard thing was them trying to kill me and Gabriel?" She said. "Bullshit. Too many coincidences."

The phone was ringing, Blake's cell phone. She checked the ID and saw it was NUMBER UNKNOWN.

". . . . It's the Montegues," she said. Braig tried to grab it from her, but she answered it. "Hello?"

"Do you have the evidence?"

Blake swore.

"No, alright, we were ambushed. I've got the pictures but ---"

"We were supposed to have them tonight. I want my money back."

"Fuck too! We were ambushed, and I get the feeling you and your Capulet buddies made up, and got paid a shit ton to have us killed. Maybe from someone who wanted us dead."

"The Capulets and Alexandre are the least of you and your mutts' problems! I will have my money back!"

"So you admit it, you fat fuck! You're in league with both of them!"

"I would have been paid for the mutt, I didn't know that the Capulets were paid to have you put down, but I wish that they had succeeded!"

Blake's voice got deadly serious.

"Now you listen to me. I've got four words for you and your new buddies and this Alexandre sonuvabitch: come and get me."

CLICK

Blake hung up on them, tossing her phone in the bed. She turned darkened eyes to Braig.

"We might have a situation on our hands . . ."


[Q] wrote: When Blake pulled Braig away, Q spread his gait, getting ready for a fight.
Then it happened.
Some fuck named Ves--

That was all he heard, and Q snapped.
He snapped in the wrong language, but he snapped regardless.
"Your brother fucking shot Vespasien?! You idiot! How could you?! You DARE put a hand on Vespasien and--"
Q had his hand up, his body shaking with anger as he snarled at the doctor. Q wanted to pummel this man, and he was about to when the phone rang. It cut Q off.

It's the Montegues.

Q placed his full attention on that phone call. His heart beating in his chest, he tried to calm himself down so he could listen to both ends. He didn't hear much of the other side, but what he did hear was more than enough.

Alexandre was behind this. Alex-fucking-xandre. He was the new underboss. Had taken Q's place, right before Q had called it quits and left. So Alexandre wanted to kill him? He wondered what Ves thought about that.

He turned his attention to Braig. The first male available he could take his anger out on.
He may have left Ves in body, but deep down in his mind, he was still loyal to the man. Not Alexandre or the French Mafia. But Vespasien. And Braig, right here. Braig was related by blood to the man who'd shot Vespasien.

He was going to get his ass kicked.

"Is he even still ALIVE?!" Q roared, rushing Braig.
Q was no good at hand to hand combat. He'd be easy to get rid of. But Q was too full of emotion to try and do something more productive. This guy may have killed Ves by association. And by association, he may as well have killed Ves himself.

Q went to punch Braig in the face. Being of the same height, about six feet, it would've been easy. Regardless of what happened there, Q would immediately afterward attempt to turn and kick the man in the side with his left(and good) leg.


Blakaize wrote: Braig took a step back when Q started screaming.

"Calm the fuck down, how the hell should I know if he's still alive or not?!" Braig yelled back. He saw the fist come up and blocked it, and, in true mauy tai style, brought his fist down on the shin that came up to crack him in the side.

Blake once again came forward, grabbed hold of Q's collar and threw him to the bed, put herself between Braig and Q.

"STOP IT!" She yelled. "God dammit, fuck!" She swore, staring between the two. "Did no one just hear that we've all got bounties on our fucking heads?"

Braig was breathing heavily.

"I don't know if this Ves guy is alive, but, why the fuck do you care?"

"Drop it!" Blake snapped, her hand itching to smack him. "Q . . ." She took a step towards him. "What's going on? Who's Ves? Who's Alexandre? Why do they want you dead?"

"Gray said ---" Braig said, calming himself. "Gray said that he shot Ves in the shoulder, because a deal between his charge and Ves was going sour. The guy fell down, and said something like Q'll get you or some other such shit. That's why I thought you were involved. The fuck is he, your boyfriend?"

Blake spun, back handing Braig. Braig bit his tongue and left the room. He had to fortify the house. He didn't have time for this shit.

Blake, meanwhile, looked back to Q.

"Q, I'm sorry . . ." she muttered. She wasn't sure what else to say . . .


[Q] wrote: Q winced as he was hit, then lost his breath when he was thrown on the bed by Blake.
He quickly recovered, however, and pushed himself back up, watching the heated argument over the two Cohens, never getting a chance to butt in and have his say.
The fuck is he, your boyfriend?
Until that.

Q jumped up, "YOU FUCK OFF, FAGGOT," Q screamed. Obviously, Braig had hit a nerve. A larger one than just shooting Ves had.
But, at almost the exact same time Q shot up to defend his masculinity, Blake backhanded the guy, and he left, leaving Q alone with a bunch of anger and nothing to take it out on.

Q, I'm sorry . . .

Q turned around, looking for something to unleash his fury. The chair seemed good enough.
He spun and grabbed it by the arm, throwing it across the room with all his might.
He watched as it crashed in the doorway, leaving a dent in the wall where the wheels had originally hit. They spun now, as the chair was too big to get through the doorway in the position it'd been thrown.

"No you're not," he hissed.
He looked to her. Her face.
His face.
Q was seeing it now.
Wolf in sheep's clothing.
Man in girl's clothing.
Blake made a rather convincing girl.
What a great plan. Catch Q off guard with some whore.
That was just like Alexandre. Work up some scheme that played with his head.
Alexandre was the best strategist of them all. Had proven it, multiple times.
That's why Ves trusted him.

Q turned around and grabbed Blake's throat, squeezing it between his hands and pushing her back onto the bed, towering over him. His small, tiny body.
How had Q not noticed it before?
"You think you're so smart, don't you, Alexandre?" he growled, speaking to no one in particular.
He could picture that french fucker laughing.
Ruining everything.

It wouldn't surprise Q if Alexandre had somehow poisoned him, somehow was making Q's body fail from miles away. He certainly was able to play Q's emotions well enough from such a distance.

[[Garbage - Nobody Loves You]]



Blakaize wrote: Blake screamed a second after the chair hit, uncharacteristic, but, the fury surprised the hell out of her. She was unprepared when Q's hand grabbed her throat, when he throttled her. For a second, Blake just laid there and choked, then, something else happened. She switched.

Blake brought her legs up, under Q's chest, and kicked. He was sent off of her and she scrambled to get her bearings back. She was on her feet, and she grabbed the back of his head, fingers lacing in grey hair, soft and thick, and drove his head forward into her knee, hitting between his eyes.

She still held to his hair and drug him forward, throwing him on the ground as she had been thrown to the bed. She pulled a throwing knife from her belt and pressed the blade to his throat.

"Now, you just calm down," she hissed, whipping off his sunglasses, grabbing his face with her other hand. "You're pissed, I can see that. You're fucking pissed at Braig. But if you ever --- ever --- try to do that shit to me again, I'll pull your endocrine system out and strangle you with it. I'm. Not. Here. To. Fuck. With. You. Got it? You make a lot of enemies, but, I owe you my fucking life, so don't make me kill you, because I really don't want that shit on my conscience."

She wasn't a heavy woman, but, she put all her weight on his chest, pinned his arms to his side with her knees.


[Q] wrote: Q was choking her one minute, and the next minute, he wasn't even sure how he let her do it, but he was on the ground after being kneed in the head. She took off his sunglasses. He immediately closed his eyes in response, breathing through his mouth.

With his hair and sunglasses out of the way, she could see his scar. But soon she put her hand over his face, putting pressure on it. And something on his neck-- probably a knife. His eyes were still closed.

He took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly and shakily, trying to calm himself down. It all came rushing back to him now, and he had just been beaten by a girl. What the hell?

"Vespasien's the don of the french mafia," Q finally said softly, voice still shaking from the adrenaline rush.
"Alexandre's the new underboss. Replaced me shortly before I left. He's one of the best strategists I've ever seen. Used to be United States Secret service or something. He's french, but was born here."
He took another deep breath, swallowing, his adam apple scraping against the knife at his throat.

"If he really bothered to plan this.... We're fucked..." He said, genuinely believing the words from his mouth.

He closed his mouth, swallowing again and trying to force himself to breathe through his nose. A pathetic, high-pitched whine escaped. His stupid vocal chords. He hoped Blake would just stab him in the throat and ruin his voice, making him physically incapable of these noises he didn't want to produce.

[[Incubus - Light Grenades]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake listened intently, carefully. He seemed to calm down, to come back to himself.

"This Alexandre guy seems to be like a real ass. Why would he target you?"

Feeling safer than before, she got off him and bent, carefully to help him up. When she had taken off his glasses, yes, she saw the scar, and for a half second, she saw the emerald green eyes. Beautiful, almost, not like her cold icy eyes.

"Brilliant Strategist? US Secret Services?" She repeated. Blake smirked, eyes narrowed. "Doesn't sound like that much of a threat. Not for the five of us . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q shook his head.
"I don't know. He had it out for me as soon as he joined. I'd overhear him talking with others to get rid of me, drive me out of the syndicate. I never trusted him. But Ves did."
Q clenched his fists against the floor.
"I just thought he wanted my place. I didn't know he wanted to kill me. I don't know why he'd even still bother, after all these years... I'm not that valuable."

Q opened his eyes, squinting to see where Blake was when she got off him, and get up. When he was standing, he looked about for the glasses. After a moment, he picked the up, placing them on his face again with a relieved sigh, his brows loosening as he watched the world normally.

He turned back to Blake.
"He doesn't fight like you," he said. "Even sitting right next to him, knowing he was playing me, I'd still fall for it. And so would others. He knows how people work. How to make them do what he wants. I don't think your family's smart enough, no offense."

He went to the doorway, picking up the chair and moving it out of the way.
"We're all just chess pieces to him. One big social experiment, and he already knows what the conclusion is."

He looked back to Blake, as if feeling sorry for her. Like he pitied her.
After a moment, he turned around and went down the steps and picked up the boots that he'd thrown earlier. He sat down on the last step and began to put his boots on, lacing them up tight.

Q was preparing to run. He wanted to leave town.
Running away from his problems. That was how he did things. This would be no different. He'd dye his hair this time, maybe get some disguise, or use a taxi driver. Alexandre might not expect him not just walking out of town like how Q normally did it.

[[The Fray - Vienna]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake watched him leave, stood in her room. He looked at her like he pitied her, but, really, she felt so sorry for him. Alexandre thought of her family as chest pieces . . .

Blake's eyes narrowed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Alexandre might have been able to predict what Blake'd do, but . . . The idea struck her as hard as Q did, when he throttled him.

"Q," she called, running down the stairs. "Wait, wait up." She stood on the stair above where he sat to lace his boots. "Alexandre's smart, right? He thinks we're all predictable. Not even fucking Nostrodomus could predict me being what I am. That's the lynch, ain't it? It has to be. It's our one advantage."

She climbed over him, kneeled in front of him, clasped his hand between her two.

"We can use this. We can win."


[Q] wrote: Q continued tying his boots, until she stepped over him and took his hands in hers.
He looked into her eyes. So hopeful. He wanted to cusp her face in his hand, comfort her, do something stereotypical that men did to worrying girls.

He instead took his hand from her's and brought up his other boot, tightly tying it up.
"It doesn't matter what sex you are. You don't act any differently dressed as something else." He tucked the loops into the top of the boots and pulled the pants down over his legs.

"If anything it'd work out better for him. He knows I act differently around girls. But I'm easy to read anyway. Nobody needs talent for a picture book." He grimaced at his own comparison.
He was easy to read, but he should've given himself more credit than a children's story.
It was probably worthless to lie to himself. He was sure anyone who'd even taken a basic college course is psychology could probably figure him out within the span of five minutes.

He walked toward the door. "I'm gonna leave town and hope he doesn't find me again. You should do the same. If he really is out to get you."

[[The Fray - Some Trust]]
Blakaize wrote: Blake's face fell. He really was going to leave. She stood. He was strong, he could be mean, but, in the end, she couldn't really keep him from leaving.

"Before you go, I want to ask you something," she said, keeping her resolve. For what she was about to do, she'd need to have two peoples' worth of it. "I need to know where Alexandre and Ves's base of operations is." She'd go to them herself, or, rather, himself, and only hell would stop it from happening. "If you need a clean get away out of town, we can put you in a coffin, take you to an city limits cemetery, drop you off."


[Q] wrote: Q looked straight at Blake. Stared for a few seconds.
"No." Was all he said.
He wasn't giving her where the French Mafia were situated. They'd probably moved anyway, but that wasn't the point.
He wasn't going to just give up such an important detail because some slightly attractive woman asked him where it was.

As for the hearse deal, he said nothing, but the previous answer still rang true. He didn't want it. It was a nice gesture, but he needed to get out of here his own way. Without the Cohens. He knew what was on his plate next. Was preparing for it.
He was going to try and leave town, but Alexandre or someone under him would stop him before it happened. Q had the slimmest hope that he could make it.
But he doubted himself. It was probably too late. They might be rifling through his hotel room right now. Q was still going to go back for his stuff, regardless.

Q walked to the room where they had first been brought, and picked up his jacket, putting it on, even though it wasn't cold.

He then opened the door to go outside, stopping when the sun hit his eyes. He hissed. His eyes were light sensitive.
Well. All the better. Q normally traveled at night. Maybe they'd expect him to wait.
Or maybe Alexandre was expecting that, and had planned Q to leave during the day as Q attempted--pathetically- to outsmart Alexandre.
There was no winning regardless of what route he took, and with a groan of determination, he walked in the general direction of the graveyard. He'd use that as a landmark to figure out where he needed to go next.


Blakaize wrote: Blake let him go, let him walk, but, deep inside, she knew she'd be seeing him again. Popping her neck, she went back upstairs and changed. Before Braig had the chance to ask her what went down, she was grabbing her supplies. She'd go solo for this one. Slipping back into Blake's truer skin, he set out to pack. It was over kill, to some, but when taken into account, the fact that she was up against three factions of fuckheads, it really wasn't much at all. Two .45s, a dessert eagle in a shoulder holster, his throwing knives on the same belt, and a pair of brass knuckles in his pocket.

He stalked out, dialing Grayson as he left his home. He left a note for Jackie to find.

Gone to get eggs. Be back later.

When Braig saw it, he almost cried. It was what their father wrote, before he left. They never saw him again, because that last hit he was asked to carry out went wrong. The next time they saw him, he was face down in the Pacific.

Blake was on a mission, and come hell or high water, unfortunately, this conflict would end. Walking down the street, it felt like too much of a nice day to let this happen. Ammo instead of a guitar in the case slung over his shoulder, he moved, becoming just another face in the crowd.


[Q] wrote: Nathanael was a blonde-haired, blue eyed pretty boy. He wore a suit, and sat on a bench near to the cemetery's gate. He was supposed to be pretending to mourn while waiting for Q to come along, but he couldn't help become distracted by himself, pumping his hand, watching his veins work.

Alexandre had said Q would return to the cemetery he'd used as a hit before. Something about Q not having a good sense of direction and needing landmarks. That because he was injured, he'd probably wind up someplace he shouldn't have, and in order to get back to his own area, would have to go through the cemetery.

Even if Q didn't, the cemetery was near the center of town, so it was likely he'd have to pass it anyway.
And, out of the corner of his blue eyes, he saw the silver. Q stood out horribly, like a sore thumb. He briefly wondered why Q hadn't bothered to get some sort of disguise, but then remembered that intelligence wasn't one of the kid's strong points. Nathanael stood, and walked out the other end of the cemetery, away from Q.

Now that he knew Q was out and about, he could rendezvous at a different point.
Five minutes later, Q passed an alley and found himself being pulled into it by a hand on the collar of his shirt. He was pushed up against the brick wall, into the shadows of the buildings and away from the sun's touch.

Just catch him by surprise. You probably won't even have to rough him up. Just catch him off guard and scar him with your words. Don't take too long though, someone's bound to be tailing him. Probably a Cohen. Alexandre's instructions. That guy was never wrong.

"Quatre Bornes," Nathanael sneered, pushing himself into Q, against the wall. "Alexandre's been waiting for you to show up."

Q put his arms on Nathanael's. "How do you know my name?" He asked.
He'd half expected this. He thought he'd be ambushed at his hotel room, though. Not here. Did the timing really matter, though?

Nathanael laughed. "You really are easy," he replied. Then his look became serious, and he went to business.
"Alexandre wants you dead. And you know he'll do it. He told me he'd stop chasing you if you killed the Cohens."

"What? He straight up told you that? What did the Cohens do? Why can't he get you to do it?" Q rebuked, a bit confused. That wasn't like Alexandre.

Nathanael brought his free hand up to Q's head, playing with the younger man's full head of silver hair.
"The Cohens shot Vespasien. He almost died. It instilled a great fear in him. More than that paranoia he had before. He says before he died, he wanted to see you again. To apologize. To bring you back where you belong. Take care of you. Or some other fag shit."

Q took one of his hands and grabbed at Nathanael's, stopping him from fooling with his hair. "Don't call him a fag."

Nathanael shrugged, and let go of Q, raising up his hands.
"Regardless, Alexandre gives you a week. He's planning a coup. He'll kill Ves if you're not back with news of the Cohens death before then. If you come and bring proof you've killed them, then Ves will see you and Alex will stay content with where he his."
Nathanael shrugged again.
"But Alexandre had his money that you wouldn't give up the Cohens. So he sent me to stick around if so. I'm supposed to make you watch Ves beg. You're not supposed to know that last part, but I figured, you were good to me back before you abandoned us. So I may as well do you a favor. Tell you that you should kill the Cohens. I don't know why Alexandre has such a fascination with you now, but I don't want Ves dead either. So I'd advise you get rid of them."

Q's mouth hung open. He didn't know what to do.
He'd left the mafia, but... Now Ves's life was on the line. It wasn't hard to believe. The guy was practically agoraphobic when Q left. It must've been worse now. That wasn't good leadership skills. Alexandre probably wanted to be the Alpha dog, now.

"Well. I've told you what you need to know. That's all I've been instructed to do. By the way," Nathanael looked out the edge of the alleyway.
"I didn't see anyone tailing you, but Alexandre said there would be somebody. So you might want to watch yourself."
That was ironic advice, considering the source. Nathanael quickly left, making his way back to the cemetery. He'd only been there about an hour, and now he was going to be particularly interested in this tomb the capulets had been protecting.

Q was left in shock, trying to figure out what to do.
He had loyalty to Vespasien, but Ves had ultimately left him, and this was all ultimately his fault.
However, he hadn't known the cohens for very long, and he held no familial obligations to them. Why should he care if he were to just off them?
He'd grown up with Ves. Ves was practically his brother. Even without the french mafia, Q'd still be obligated to protect his brother...

[[HIM - Wings of a Butterfly]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake went to consider the cemetery, maybe retrace his steps, maybe to retrace his mental focus. Maybe he went just to see what it would be like. The bodies had been picked up, the place had been cleaned. He entered at a different gate than where an unknown confrontation was heating up, and he walked to the tomb where everything began.

A woman had been murdered and entombed with a child, so that a body was never found and was closely protected. The evidence was all on camera, but, not that it mattered now. Not much mattered now. A soft breeze ran through and he realized he would soon not be alone. He moved quickly, stepping towards the tomb and to the side of it, the new comer walking up the path, his boots crunching the gravel beneath them. Moving slowly, now hidden, he set his case down and drew his right .45. It was loaded, the safety was off, and the intruder was fast approaching.

He was in front of the tomb now, and Blake lay in wait. He moved aroud the outside of the tomb, to the other side. As the man turned towards a sound, Blake moved out and stood behind him, the muzzle of his .45 pressed against the base of his skull.

"Don't move. Don't make a sound." He hissed. "Native tongue. Sprechen Sie Deutsches? Поговорите русского? Parlez français?" He waited for a response, applying further pressure to the blond's skull. There were no funerals today, there was no reason for this suited man to be at this tomb. There simply wasn't. He was no Capulet, and he was no Montegue. He could only assume that he was Mafia . . . "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"


[Q] wrote: Nathanael's hands were in his pockets. He heard something, looked around, and... There was a gun to his head.
His blue eyes looked to the hand that was holding it, and the body that held the hand. It was a woman. He quirked a brow.
A rather extremely well-armed woman.
Was this the guy supposedly following Q?

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and slowly put them up in the air. Nathanael had a small pistol at a hidden holster under his pants leg, but otherwise was completely unarmed. He wasn't sent to fight.

"I'm english," he lied. He was french, certainly looked french, but he'd learned english first, so this was perhaps the most convincing lie he'd ever told.

"Is there a problem.... Officer...?" He guessed, hoping to play civilian.
His eyes were mostly blank, awash with confusion.

Nathanael was mostly a messenger, a go-for when it came to mafia matters. While he could stand his own in hand-to-hand, he preferred not to. Unlike most of the others, he actually had a day job, and would've liked to keep it. The twenty eight year old wasn't all bad. He looked up to Vespasien as a father figure, much like the others. Alexandre to a lesser degree... But Alexandre, to be honest, scared him. But he respected the man, most certainly.

Truth be told, the French Mafia had been falling apart piece by piece when Q left. It still held a stronghold over its original city's takeover, but elsewhere its hold were slim. Despite his immaturity, Q had made a decent leader. Rallied the troops, so to speak. Brought them pride. He'd been somewhat of a rolemodel, and because he was so enthralled with Vespasien, raised him on some huge pillar, it was only natural that those under him would follow suit.

Alexandre changed all that. Made the Mafia work through fear and intimidation. Pushed a lot of the original members out. Nathanael didn't know why Vespasien still kept the guy around. Maybe he was afraid of him, too? Nathanael just wished it'd go back to the old days. Before Alexandre.
Vespasien had plans for the city. While originally it was all about blood and gore, after the initial turnover, they did things to better the place, in their view. Ran the town for the better of the commonman, the better of society.
Alexandre had no plan. It seemed like he was just doing things because he wanted to. He found enjoyment in playing with people, knowing he could. The man had a god complex, that was for sure.
But it wasn't unwarranted-- that was the problem.

[[Framing Hanley - All in Your Hands]]

Blakaize wrote: Blake rolled his eyes.

"You have a slight inflection on your vowels. Barely noticable, but it's there," he said. "I'm no officer, and you're not civilian. Let's just be honest with each other for a moment, hmm? This city is mostly Italians, Russians, Irish, a few Germans here and there. Why, pray tell, is there a Frenchie in our midst?"

Blake's eyes narrowed.

"You're a low-rung on a ladder, that's fairly obvious," he muttered, lower than before. "Since you're not a civilian, I'll treat you like a solider. Name? Rank? Batalion? Commanding Officer? Speak up."

Blake wasn't sure if he was going to kill the guy or just fuck with him, leave him some place for Alexandre to find, carve a nice big BC in his chest, let him know that the Cohen's are very much on to his schemes, and more than that, were more than ready to meet him, head on.


[Q] wrote: Nathanael quirked a brow, confused and somewhat fearful.
"What are you talking about? What are you on? I'm just an investor."

He took a few steps back, genuinely unsure of what was going to happen next or what he should do.

[[Sorry for the short ass post; couldn't think of anything else]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake's hand tightened on the butt of the .45, eyes narrowed.

"Investor my ass," he hissed. "Give me something to work with, or I kill you for fun. Understand me now? Because, honey, I've killed for less." He grit his teeth. They could stand here for hours, arguing back and forth about who he was. Blake finally decided what he had to do. "Okay, Mr. Investor, turn around. Turn around!" As he did so, Blake flipped his gun, grabbing it by the barrel and swung out, hitting the guy full force with the butt of the weapon. A waffle pattern would appear with time, along with a BC, albeit backwards, on his cheek, a nice contusion to show his boss.

He'd have to remember to thank Grayson for the personalized .45s.

Blake got his case and high-tailed it out of there. It occurred to him he might be paranoid, but that only occured for a second. It wasn't that he was paranoid, it was that there was actually people out to get him, he thought . . .


[Q] wrote: "What is it? Is it money you want? I--I'll give it to you!" Nathanael's voice showed panic, but he did as the woman said, and turned around, his hands still above his head.
Then she pistol-whipped him, and he was down for the count.

Q, alone in the alleyway, put his hand to his face, debating what to do. He really didn't think he could kill the Cohens. But in the same vein, he didn't think he could just let Ves die. Alexandre didn't seem like the type to be good at hand to hand, but he'd been US Secret Service, so he undoubtedly had more training than Q in that regard.
His only option left was to try and kill Alexandre, but Q would have to find him first...

The twenty three year old brushed his hair back once, twice, looked around then stepped out of the alley, and attempted to get back to his apartment. He walked quickly, taking long strides, when he realized his hands were empty.

He'd left his gun at the Cohen's. Shit.

He pivoted on his heel, turning around and walking back from where he'd come.
Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw something going down in the graveyard. He turned, instinctively to see what it was. Some guy going down thanks to a woman... Who looked a lot like...
Blake?!

Q took a step forward, but then Blake ran off. Was it worth it to chase after her?
She must've been the one that was tailing him.
Did that mean that...?

Q jogged back to the graveyard, to where the man went down.
"Nathanael!" Q called out, shocked.
He kneeled down, looking at the body, slapping the other man's cheek, trying to wake him up.
That was a nasty bruise... Pistol whipped? Why?

"Nathanael, Wake up. Wake up," Q pressured.
Finally, blue eyes opened, rolling back from behind their sockets.
"...Q?" he questioned, confused.

"Nathanael! Thank God. Are you okay? What happened?"

Nathanael frowned. Why would Q care about him?
"I'm okay..." He said, sitting up, hand rubbing his face, getting a tissue from his pocket to wipe his now bloody nose.
"Some lady came out and beat me. Could tell I was french, I guess. Played civilian, but I guess she didn't buy it..." He tilted his head back, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Blake," Q hissed. It definitely had to be her.

"Blake... Cohen?" Nathanael blurting.
"What's he got to do with this?"

"No, that is Blake. He's really a girl. Or something. I don't know." Q replied.

"Uh... Q..?" Nathanael asked.

"What?"

"Why do you care about this? I just gave you horrible news. Don't you hate me?" Nathanael said softly.

"No...." Q answered. "I know you're just the messenger. You'd never hurt anybody if you didn't have to. I remember you."

Nathanael let out a single laugh. "You should come back. The Syndicate's falling apart under Alexandre alone. Nobody sees Vespasien anymore."

Q frowned. "I can't. I'm sorry. But I think I can get Alexandre. Did he tell you what I might do instead of kill the Cohens?"

Nathanael shook his head. "Only to plant the seed that you probably wouldn't."

Q shifted his weight on his knee, scooting closer. "Do you think his god complex would not see me fighting back? Against him?"

Nathanael took the tissue from his nose. "You shouldn't speak of this," he whispered, his voice low. He pointed to his jacket, then made a motion of a finger crossing his neck.

Q got what he meant. His voice went to fear. "You could've told me sooner!"
Q groaned aloud, not bothering to hide his contempt at the conversation being recorded.
All right. Maybe he could work this.
"Well, it doesn't matter. He still won't see me coming. Even with this. Alexandre has no faith in my skills as a sniper. I'll prove him wrong."
He stood up, and offered his hand in order to help up Nathanael.
"Best of luck to you," Q offered, patting the man on the back before he slowly made his way back home.

Q watched him go, took note of the direction, though he knew Alexandre wasn't in this city. He might be later, but now he was probably in a chair in the private building, doing whatever it was he did in his spare time. Probably playing chess with himself or something.

Q looked around briefly for where Blake went, but couldn't find him.
After a small tsk of displeasure, he made his way back to the Cohen's place, walking swiftly.

When he got to their door, he tried to open it and just walk right in, but it'd already been locked and probably deadbolted as well. Bloody Braig.
"Braig!" Q called out.
"Let me in, man!" He knocked hard on the door.


Blakaize wrote: Braig heard someone pounding on the door and grabbed his Casul, back to the wall beside the door waiting. He unlocked it and waited for whoever it was to come in. He pressed the gun to his temple, but then faltered.

"Q?" He said, lowering his firearm for a second. "The fuck you doing back here?" He asked. Blake had been gone for about two hours, and the last thing he suspected was Q showing up. "I thought you were getting the hell out of dodge?"

---

Meanwhile, Blake was traveling along at a steady jog, hitting the CALL button on his phone as he ran. It rang three times before Grayson finally picked up.

"No english, no names" He said, fluent Russian. Grayson made a gruff HMMPH in reply and waited. "I need some information on where to get eggs. Any suggestions?"

"The best I can do is contact the grocer. Who many?"

"A dozen."

"You want to make an omlet? Are you fucking insane? We're all likely to be sick from it, you know."

Blake swallowed as he ran.

"I know. But this is just something I have to do. I need information, I need a decent spatula, and I need someone to watch the chicks while I do this."

Blake, though the common man wouldn't know it, had just asked for a decent sniper rifle, information on the Mafia, and guards for the Cohen household. He said his goodbyes and hung up the phone, jogging towards the bus station that would act as the drop off for Grayson's rifle.


[Q] wrote: Q stomped in the door, only to be assaulted with a rifle in his face. He stopped, taking a step back, when Braig lowered his weapon.

"I was. I left my rifle here. Where's Blake?" Q was in a hurry. He didn't quite understand his rush. Something just didn't feel right.

Blake had way too much gunpower strapped to him. He was probably going to do something stupid. Not that he knew what Blake was prone to doing. He'd only known the guy for what? A day?
But he also didn't want the guy to go killing a bunch of people who--despite abandoning them-- Q still considered family.

Q, after facing Braig, began to breathe through his mouth, stalking through the rooms, trying to figure out where he left his rifle. It'd taken too long to walk over here. He'd expended himself on the way back, and was beginning to feel dizzy. He worried of a blackout, but his mind was racing too much to stop for a smoke.

"She has a cellphone right? Call him. Call Blake." Q turned around to face Braig, who was following him.
"She left with a bunch of shit strapped to her, I think she's gonna go on some killing spree. He ran when I saw her. I lost her, couldn't keep up. Came back here instead-- hoping."

[[Celldweller - Tragedy]]

Blakaize wrote: Braig attempted to follow what the hell he was saying.

"Q, calm down, calm down. Blake's not going to go on a killing spree, he's likely just after that Ves guy, whoever put a hit out on us. He left a note . . ." Braig trailed off, thinking about it more. He sighed heavily. "He's got a phone, but, why do you want him back here? Last I checked, you two had a row, didn't you? I'd imagine you wouldn't want to see him . . ."

Braig noticed the flip flop between him and her in his speech. The kid really was flustered.

"Why don't we just calm down and talk about this?"

---

Blake watched as a burly Russian dropped a long, thin trombone case by a bench at the bus station and walked away. He was quick to come and grab it, and stalk off to a bathroom. He chose a far stall and popped the case open.

An XM3 sniper rifle lay nestled in black foam. Blake knew his weapons and knew this was a decent choice, at least at such short notice. It took a .308 winchester bullet, it's max range was 1000 yards, with a silencer, it was 46.25 inches long, came with a day optic sight and a night vision sight, and, when weighed with the sling, was a cool 16lbs.

He exhaled and switched the rifle into his guitar case, leaving the cheap black trombone case in the bathroom. He burnt the foam over the toilet. Leaving the bathroom after no more than five minutes, Blake was back on his way, wondering about if Grayson was ever going to call him back about information on the Mafia or not.


[Q] wrote: "But that's the thing!" Q was panicking. His nerves were shot. He threw down his hands, trying to reason with Braig.
"You have to tell him to NOT do it!"
He didn't want to kill Blake, but Q would not hesitate if she went after Ves. He couldn't forgive that.

"I don't think Ves put the hit on her, and Alexandre knows she's a girl, which when she was talking to me was some sort of her whole plan or something, I don't know anymore!"

He turned back around, his hands running through his hair. "I can't find my fucking rifle!" he shouted, the last statement only compounding things.

He went for the stairs, shooting down them, holding onto the rail as he did so. When he got down to the bottom, he turned to try and find that room he'd first come in, but after a few steps, lost his balance, and as if the entire room had slipped beneath him, fell backward to try and catch himself. However, this didn't work, and he crumpled to the ground, a loud wheeze-like cry of pain escaping his throat as he smacked his back against the wall.

He sucked in breath through his nose and exhaled loudly through his mouth, trying to calm himself down as in his head, the room began to spin.

Now you've done it, he thought to himself. You've successfully induced your own impending blackout. Congratulations.

But a stronger voice was telling him to just breathe, breathe, breathe.
He attempted to as he shakily fished for the cigarettes in his jacket. He thought it may be too late to rectify this. He might end up passing out anyway. Then what help would that be? He'd be stuck here for an hour or more as his body tried to equalize itself.

Fucking blood pressure.


Blakaize wrote: Jackie and Braig watched as the kid went ape shit, rummaging around the house for the rifle. Which Jackie held. Out to him. As he spazzed.

"The kid's fucking mental," he said, blinking. Braig jerked forward and let out a stream of perfectly incoherent mixed-lingual curses as he saw the kid lose his balance and tip forward, then backwards, effectively knocking himself stupid for a moment.

"Jesus H. Christ, Q!" He said, trying to get the kid to snap out of it. "Wake up! Breathe!"

"Should I get something to stick between his teeth?" Jackie asked, not doing much else besides holding a rifle. Braig threw him an exasperated look, trying to keep Q stable.

"What the fuck for?!"

"To keep him from biting off his tongue or some shit."

"He's not having a fucking seizure, Jack, he's knocked himself unconscious." Braig said, dryly. "Fucking useless. Help me get him into the kitchen. Wait, fuck that, just go and run some cold water. Ice, Jackie, ice cold water, you clear on that?"

Braig lifted Q, easily --- the boy was too fucking skinny --- and carried him into the kitchen. He set him in a chair, his head down on the table, and rushed to the freezer, grabbing some frozen peas in a bag.

"Get soaked wash clothes and put them on the back of his neck," Braig said, messing with Q's fly. Jackie stared at him.

"The fuck you gonna do?"

Braig threw him a knowing and slightly cruel look.

"Waking this kid up faster than the Little Boy woke up Japan," he said, sticking the frozen veggies down the front of Q's pants.
[Q] wrote: The last thing he remembered was reaching for a cigarette and somebody cussing.
The next thing he remembered was unbearably cold pain.
He yelled out and turned his head to the side on the table, throwing whatever it was on his crotch out in the easiest direction. Then he cupped his sack, his whole body shivering. Though that was moreso from the shock than actually being cold.
That... Was cruel.

He breathed hard through his mouth. He was certainly awake. For now. But he couldn't say much for the feeling of impending doom over him. After a few seconds of whimpering like an idiot between pants, he finally found the cigarettes in his pockets, took them out with a lighter, and tried to put the two together, leaning most of his upperbody over the table, as if too heavy to sit himself up.

He put the cig in his mouth, left the box on the table, and kept getting the flame on the lighter, but couldn't seem to get the lighter to end of the cigarette and keep it there. After struggling, his hands still shaking, he managed to get it, and tossed the lighter away, putting his forehead back down on the table, closing his eyes and sucking in the cigarette.

That was certainly creative, and it had worked. Q would've given Braig props if he had the courage or energy to speak or even think clearly at that moment.
"Call..." he forced, his voice obviously having seen better days. "...Blake."


Blakaize wrote: Jackie started to laugh but was punched in the side of the chest by Braig, cutting him off.

"Just rest for a second, I'll call Blake. Just chill. We've got your gun, okay?" Braig said, going for the phone. He managed to dial Blake's number, and ended up getting her on the first ring.

"Blake?!"

"Braig? I'm expecting a different call," Blake said, in the outskirts of town, heading around in a circle, waiting for Grayson to call her back. "make it snappy."

"Q's here!"

Blake almost lost his footing. Q? Back at home? A thousand things went through his mind. Why? how? Was he okay? What did he want? Thank God . . .

"Oh," was all he managed. "Alive or dead?"

"Alive." Braig said. "Er. Mostly. He came back for his gun."

Blake sighed, heavily.

"He's gonna need it. What else does he want? Let me talk to him." He said. The last part was unnecessary, but . . . he wanted to hear his voice.

Braig held the phone to Q.

"Wants to talk to you, Slim."


[Q] wrote: Q took a heavy drag of the cigarette, trying to hold it deep in his throat. He looked up, placing his chin on the table, before seeming to gather the strength to actually sit himself up, not quite "all here" yet.

He reached out for the phone, and took it. He hated phones. They hurt his ears.
He put it near to his own, anyway.
"You have to stop," he said weakly, his voice still shakey. As if he'd just been run over by a truck. It felt like he had. Minus the pain.

"Alexandre knows you're a girl," he whispered.
"Knew you were tailing me. Knows you're coming. Knows I'm coming. That guy you beat up in the cemetary..." Q had to take a breather, suck in another drag, still extremely lightheaded.
"... Had a wire. Caught me before he got to you... I saw you after... Talked to him again... I didn't know... Don't kill Vespasien. Please." His voice was pleading.

"Please," he begged. "He's the closest to family I have."


Blakaize wrote: Blake listened and then sighed. He sounded like he had been crying. Fucking shit, he thought, kicking his feet in the dirt.

"Frankly, Q, I don't give two fucks about this Ves guy or this Alexandre guy," he said, bluntly. "They're threatening the only family I have. He knows I'm a girl, fine. He knows I'm a girl. He doesn't know jack shit else. The dudes French, for fucks sake, no offence. How dangerous can he be. I oughtta just wipe the entire syndicate out. I've got the means, I've got the connections. Grayson can send ten, twenty of the Mother Land's most brutal fucks over on a red eye and then that's the fucking end of it. But . . . "

His voice trailed off.

Blake sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Vespasien won't be harmed in the seige. I promise you that. Now, I suggest you get out of dodge. Braig's gonna have that thing a fortress after a while, once Grayson manages to get through. Good luck, Q . . ."

He hesitated before ending the call. But he ended it just the same.


[Q] wrote: Q listened, trying to remind himself he needed to continue smoking. He didn't want to. He wanted to talk to Blake face to face. Fuck this phone shit.

"Blake, don't harm the--" he heard a dial tone, and looked confused, bringing the phone to his face to stare at it, like it was some foreign object.
Shit, he thought.

Without even thinking, he brought both his hands onto the device, and started pressing buttons.
"How do you redial it??"
He felt like such an idiot. Could work a Sniper Weapons System, but couldn't work a damn phone.

It didn't matter, Braig didn't care anyway. Blake probably wouldn't pick up again.
He tossed the phone on the table and thumped his forehead on the table.
"Damnit," Q grumbled, beginning to gain his bearings.

Why did Blake have to do this? Make him choose a side. Since when did one guy sending a hit out mean genocide? Not everyone in the French Mafia was bad.

Q sat there, head on the table, grumbling to himself as he finished off his cigarette. His lightheadedness was fading, albeit slowly.

Once he felt a bit more normal, he'd attempt moving.


[[Celldweller - Afraid This Time]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake tried to think of what to do next. He was tired, he wasn't as equiped as he should be . . . he missed Q . ..

"Fuck it all," he said, heading back into town. Dangerous as it fucking was, he rode the bus back into town, knowing full well people probably could see him, could recognize him. That didn't matter. He got home around five, and, knocking on the door, he knew damn well, Braig was by the door with the gun, and when he let himself in, he only turned and smirked, a little sadly.

"Miss me?"


[Q] wrote: Q sighed, stubbing the butt of his cigarette out on the table and fetching another one, lighting it with much more ease this time, and taking a deeper drag. He was beginning to feel it take affect. He wondered if Braig remembered what Q had said about his condition, or if all he remembered was that Q couldn't let himself bleed too much.

He looked around, at Jackie and Braig staring at him. Q was starting to regain his composure. Beginning to shed that panicky, finnicky, weak-willed interior of his, and go back to the strong outer shell he came into the house the first time showing.

Q didn't want to do this, but Blake gave him no choice.
Once Q was halfway through the second cigarette, he stood up in the uncomfortable silence, and unzipped his coat, taking out the glock in his right shoulder holster with his left hand, and pointing it at Jackie's forehead. Jackie who, was still holding his sniper rifle.

The clock read three thirty.

"If you don't get Blake to abandon her current mission..." Q stated, 'you' as in Braig, although he was looking straight at Jackie, instead.
"...I won't hesitate."

He clicked the safety off, stiffening his body, preparing for Braig to go apeshit.
Should that be the case, Q was going to fire at the first thing that moved.


Blakaize wrote: 3:30

Braig grabbed his glock as well and aimed it. Jackie glared and raised the sniper rifle.

"Kay, can we not?" He said, eyes narrowed. Braig sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Q, really? I'll try to call Blake again. I'm going to go and get the phone and dial Blake. Just stay calm. I am not going to harm you, alright?"

And thus began the marathon-call-Blake-a-thon-thing. Either he hadn't bother to charge his phone, it was just plain off, or if he wasn't answering, he didn't know . . . Braig was bouncing his head on the table, rhythmicly as he dialed him for the fifteenth bajilionth time . . . dammit . . .

When the bell rang.


[Q] wrote: "There's only one person responsible for this, but she's going out and attempting to kill my entire family. I'm sorry if that doesn't lay well. I'm sure it wouldn't if the positions were reversed," Q replied, eying the gun at his head. He continued to smoke his cigarette, turning his attention to Jackie while he listened to Braig call and re-call Blake.

Q never let up, kept his gun trained on Jackie. But eventually he became fed up with the lack of action, and held his right hand out.
"Give me that, kid," he said, referring to his gun.
"That doesn't suit you."

And of course, just who to barge in at the wrong time than the devil herself?

Miss me?

Q looked out of the corner of his eyes, confirming it was in fact Blake, before training his gaze back onto Jackie, right hand still outstretched for his guitar case.
It was about a full second of delay before Q sighed and clicked the safety back on, lowering his weapon... But not holstering it.


Blakaize wrote: Braig wanted to slap Blake across the face.

"Why the hell weren't you answering?" He demanded. "I've been trying to call for an hour! Your little brother had a gun to his head!" Blake smirked, tired.

"You sound like a mom," she said, running a hand through his hair. "Wait, Jackie had a gun to his head?" He was confused, blinking.

"Q's back," Braig said, flatly.

"Well, I know that, I talked to him."

"And he's a little tweaked about you going on your kamikaze mission, Blakie," he said, bluntly popping him once upside the head. A love tap, but, it awakened Blake's senses.

"What? Why?!" He demanded, dropping his shit and heading for the kitchen. He had pulled his right .45 when he entered and aimed it. "Jack."

Jackie waved at him, a two fingered salute. He had been bored as hell, looking down the barrell of that gun.

"What up?"

Blake lowered his weapon, looking at Q.

"Q, what the fuck?"


[Q] wrote: Q kept the gun in his left hand, but held his index finger outside the trigger guard as he spoke to Blake, turning to face her.

"The fuck was going through your head, Blake?!" He wasn't nearly as agitated as he sounded, the emphasis on his words somewhat faked.
"First you talk about taking Alexandre on, then you set out some plan to take out all the French Mafia? You know I can't let you do that."

Actually, he wasn't sure Blake knew. He just assumed. Mafia was, is, and always would be family, regardless if he was actively in touch with them or not.

"What you did to Nathanael was stupid. It's not going to get anybody mad enough to try and come after you," His voice softened. He couldn't hold the agitation in his voice for too long. He really wasn't mad at her. Well, he was, but he knew where she was coming from, since they were sort of in the same situation. He was sympathizing.

He figured, normally what Blake did would've gotten some lower rung to come over and try and rough Blake up. Maybe that's why Blake did it. But in this particular case, it was Q who was supposed to be taking care of the Cohens. So it wouldn't do much aside from solidify the reality of the situation he was in.

Despite that womanly appearance, Blake was still... Cold, a killer. Certainly not helpless. Somewhat of a threat.

Q looked past Blake for a moment, eying Braig.
"Just what was your plan, anyway? Figure out their location and just waltz in, guns blazing?"
He still spoke to Blake. His face seemed as if it were looking at Blake. But, behind his sunglasses, his eyes peered to Braig, watching him instead.


Blakaize wrote: Blake took the abuse in stride.

"Yeah, actually," he said. "What has the Mafia done for you lately, Q, that makes you so loyal? Last I checked, one of those families were paid to kill you too, when it was found out you were poking around." He shook his head. "I came back out of respect to you. Quid pro quo, you know I can't let a bunch of French fruits --- no offence, Q --- kill off my family because Grayson was protecting his charge."

Braig could see the outline of Q's eyes, looking at him, and not his gender swapping sister. The light was just right, the angle just right from where Braig was, for him to just barely see those green-green eyes. He frowned. This was not promising. Q was torn between loyalty to a Mafia that was far less loyal to him, and some odd kind of semi trust with Blake, and maybe even him.

"This Ves guy," he said. "Can he be reasoned with? If this Alexandre guy is the one being the prick, but Ves is still the boss, maybe we can win Ves over and then use him to fuck Alexandre up."

Blake moved past Q, setting his case on the table and popping it open. Now that he was home, he could take his weapons out, and prepare to fortify Castle Cohen. The only way in or out would likely become the body shoot in the back. That was alright with him, but French good fellas might take offense to having to slide down a ramp that was used to lower bodies into the morgue.

Jackie whistled when he saw the XM3.

"Fucking-A, B," he said, rubbing the black metal, lovingly. "A la Grayson?"

"A la Grayson," he affirmed, lifting it. He put a cartridge in, .305s. "Speaking of the beautiful bastard, any word from him?"

Jackie shook his head.

"Not for a long while. What do you have him doing?"

Blake leaned against the edge of the table, and sighed.

"I've got him looking up shit on the French Mafia," he said. "Maybe I should try to contact him, tell him to line up a few of his bigger boys on a red eye flight. They'd be here by the morning. We need all the man power we can get."

Jackie glanced at Q.

"You're still going to go through with your plan?"

"I haven't been given a different choice yet, so, yeah. But that could change." He said, raising his voice for Q to hear. Jackie popped his neck.

"Our forces are at five, then," he said. Blake snorted. "What?"

"Our forces are at three," he corrected. "I'm not going to late Gabriel or Jaiden in on this. I didn't want to bring you or Braig in. A part of me just wanted to throw them a bone. I'd take out as many as I can, leave a dent, then probably get over powered and executed. They'd have their blood satiated, and you guys could get the fuck back to Russia." He lowered his eyes. Since Q's arrival, he had wanted to be a girl again, and that was confusing enough.

"Are you fucking stupid?!" Jackie exclaimed, grabbing his twin's upper arms. "A suicide mission?! The fucking hell?! Why?!" Blake didn't meet his eyes.

"I guess I'm lonely," he said, shoving him off. Blake sounded sarcastic and snide, but it all hid the truth in his voice. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, his .45s and the dessert eagle in his holsters, a few throwing knives at hand, and went upstairs. He'd set up a sniper post at his window. Lower rung or higher rung, if a French Mafia member came to the front door, he wouldn't walk away from it. But, it was terribly open, terribly obvious. He'd snipe maybe one or two. A half dozen if he was really fucking lucky, but not long after that, he would likely be shot and killed himself.

So be it.

Anything was better than seeing his family killed. Anything was better than having to live with this confusion.


[Q] wrote: "It doesn't matter what they've done for me recently. It's what they did in the past." He wanted to say something about how she didn't understand. But he wasn't going to fool himself. He wasn't some special unique snowflake. She probably knew the feeling herself.

He saw Braig's attention focus on him, probably caught Q looking at him, though Q was unsure how. He averted his attention back to Blake, finally holstering his gun and crossing his arms over his chest as Blake began to talk about Ves.

"Vespasien is the true leader, but he never does anything. He's probably agoraphobic, now. Probably shuffles around paperwork. Vespasien is the true leader, but likely only in name. Alexandre gives orders when Ves is unable to, which... So I hear... Is nearly always."
He shifted his weight, uneasily, sneaking another look at Braig. He seemed the smartest of this family.
Quickly, he again focused on Blake, however, trying to not make it obvious he'd prefer Braig's opinion on this issue. Right now, Sexism was beginning to overtake Q. Anything Blake said that involved a plan, he was going to dismiss as being stupid.

He explained why it was stupid, regardless.
"Nobody gets near Vespasien. Not even most of the Syndicate. Even if by some miracle you could get in touch with only him, he trusts Alexandre's judgment, would probably never disagree with him." Except with maybe killing me, I guess... He wondered.

"Alexandre is like some divine god over there. " He motioned his chin in a general direction of 'there', expressing his disapproval of how Alexandre was raised to such a pillar.

When Blake walked past him, Q turned around to watch the Cohen open up the case. A part of him died a bit. He was jealous. She wasn't even a sniper, and yet she had access to such beautiful weapons.
He kept his astonishment to himself, though, piercing his lips together, giving off an aura of distaste.

He took a step back, listening to Blake and Jackie's conversation, snorting lightly.
French Mafia wasn't a very violent mafia. Mostly lawyers, politicians, investors and such. They controlled money, and for the most part didn't bother going out of their way to kill or harm anyone, unless it was a rival syndicate who would've killed them. Forced self defense, if one could call it that.

In the beginning, yes, it had been about taking the cities over by force. But it'd mellowed since then. And unless Alexandre had dramatically changed how the mafia worked, it was still likely the same. Killing off the Mafia was akin to killing a bunch of innocent people.
People that generally no one liked, but still innocents nonetheless. Innocents who, more or less, were related to Q in some way. Unless there had been a bunch of new recruits after he'd left. Which, with how Nathanael had spoken, Q doubted.

Q slowly stepped away, stalked quietly down the hallway toward Braig while Jackie and Blake talked about what this plan entailed. Although Blake was older than Q, Q still felt like Blake's mentality was much younger than his own. And that had been amplified by her need to suddenly start acting like a girl.

He went to Braig, speaking softly, hoping Blake wouldn't hear. "Can Blake understand French? I want to speak with you privately, if you'll listen."

Q knew Braig didn't like him, much. Q had been extremely bipolar in his one day here, and that probably didn't help matters. As Q watched Blake and Jackie talk about the suicide mission, he talked out the side of his mouth, trying not to show much of what he thought about Blake's plan.
In a way, he was envious. Q had never had family interaction like this. No brothers or sisters. Just the Mafia and Ves, and it wasn't this type of interaction. That's whyy he was close to Braig, currently.
Despite some inner voice telling him he should stay away and not trust some guy he'd just met, a stronger, carnal need for an older brother figure suppressed that. Braig acting as a doctor probably helped. Ves had done similar.

"It's about my current involvement with the French Mafia."

[[Thousand Foot Krutch - Hurt]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig looked at him, more than suspicious. He made a wavering gesture with his hand, to suggest that Blake understood some French. It wouldn't matter in time, Blake already ascending the stairs. It was Jackie that didn't understand a lick of French.

He looked back to Q, arms crossed. Braig was an unassuming, but also an imposing male. He was sinew and roped muscle, his long, dark hair tied back in a rough ponytail, unlike Jackie's, who let it hand loose and down. His face was strong, a defined jaw, but, the scar than ran down one side was frightening. How he got it was a mystery, only that he sealed the wound with gunpowder and a flash of fire.

"Speak," he said, finally, in French. "And be quick about it. Your involvement in the French Mafia. Can it help us?"

He looked to Q, eyes hopeful and almost desperate. Braig liked the kid, to an extend. He didn't piss him off anyway, not terribly so.

Upstairs, Blake set up his rifle stand, his hide, and waited. He was no sniper, no, but put a gun in anyone's hand and there was the potentiality for death. Blake looked through the scope.

Death . . . but maybe not his own.


[Q] wrote: Q watched Blake ascend the stairs, quirking a brow. Really?

He eyed Jackie for a moment, before turning and facing Braig, walking further into the kitchen and out of view.

"No.." He said, straight out.

"On my way out, I was cornered and they're pinning me to kill your family or they kill Ves. Who is..." He didn't want to admit what Ves really meant to him. It was embarrassing.
"Ves is the closest family I have. I'd never do anything to hurt him. They're given me a week. They're not coming here. If I don't bring proof your family's dead to them, they take me and force me to watch Ves beg for mercy. After that, who knows. They may deal with you, then. But as far as I know, Alexandre may just be using your family to get rid of Ves the right way."

He spoke slowly, his tone serious. He wanted Braig to understand how confused Q was about what he should do.
"You understand? Or should I translate?"
That question was sincere.
Blakaize wrote: Braig looked hurt for a moment, then he seemed to understand, and grow stern.

"I understand, Slim. Seems to me like you've got a descian to make." Braig said. "The way I see it, you've got some options: try to kill us, save Ves. Or. Don't kill us, face Ves's 'destruction.' Or. You can always go with plan 'B.'"

Braig poked his chest.

"Help Blake with his plan to save your ass, our ass, and maybe Ves's ass. All you gotta do is ask yourself: who do you love more? Ves or the entire Mafia? After your speech, there's no way Blake's gonna fuck up Ves."

He grabbed Q's chin.

"She cares about you too much," he said, switching to Russian.

"Anyway," Braig switched back to French. "Who would you rather see dead? Ves, us, or Alexandre?" He turned and started to walk for the door. "No matter what you chose, know this: we don't turn on our own. Even if you decide to try and take us out. We'd more likely just keep you blockaded outside than fight you."

Braig stuffed his hands in his pockets and switched to english.

"Whelp~ I've got two stiffs down stairs to embalm. Call me if you need me."


[Q] wrote: Q looked down, feeling depressed. He was hoping Braig could give him some actual advisement. Not the standard "make your own decision". He frowned, and brought his arm up to toss Braig's hand away from his chin, but Braig released the hold too soon for Q to bother. He simply took a step backward after.

He cared about the entire french mafia... He was sort of a role model, or was. Apparently. Maybe. He couldn't say for sure.

When it came to killing people he actually knew, Q had no idea it would be this difficult. Given a picture or a name and a date, he could do it. Not problem. Took pleasure in it, even. Now? The game had changed. Much too much for his liking.

As Braig left him, he looked up.
"Braig... You won't tell her, will you...?"
He didn't want Blake to know he might decide to put a bullet in her head at some point.
He didn't know for sure if he would or not. The line was becoming very blurry in what he wanted to pursue.

After Braig answered (or didn't answer) Q's plea, Q sighed again, taking a moment to recoup himself from his dismal show of emotion, and regain his scowl and defiant act.
He looked to Jackie.
"What are you staring at?" He accused, walking forward and passing by the kid, going up the stairs and slowly walking toward where he assumed Blake was.

He took a cigarette from his jacket and lit it, taking a drag before leaning in the doorway of the room where Blake was pitted. He waited a moment, his back against the ledge and his arms crossed over his chest, watching Blake.

"You shouldn't do that. It doesn't fit you." He said quietly.
He waited a moment before continuing with the next part. "Your form's all wrong."
He pushed himself from the doorway and walked closer over to Blake, kneeling next to her.

[[Imogen Heap - Come Here Boy]]


Blakaize wrote: "Not my news to tell, Slim," Braig called, walking down the stairs, trailing off whistling. Jackie watched the exchange in silence and glared when he was barked at. He let Q go upstairs though, unharmed and unbothered.

Braig fiddled around downstairs, unsure of what he told Q what he believed was only an assumption on his part. Did Blake care? Didn't he? Did she? He sighed and shook his head, pulling out a bone saw and turning to a corpse, freshly delivered earlier that morning. He just hadn't gotten around to burning the fucker yet~

Meanwhile, Blake felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He half turned to face Q and then smirked.

"Oh really?" He replied. Blake didn't flinch or make a move to defend himself against Q as the man kneeled beside him. "Well, Mr. Big Bad Sniper Dude, how do I fix it?"

Blake sat back on his haunches, and then back on his butt, crossing his legs indian style. For a moment, something melted. He didn't so much think of himself as a man. But a girl, who was as good as a man . . . addressing himself as such did make him feel better. But he wanted to let Alexandre knew what he was really up against: a woman, and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

So Blake realized a painful truth. He wasn't a boy. He had never been a boy, and he would never be a boy. He was just . . . a girl in boy's clothes . . .

She moved the rifle butt nearer to Q and looked expectant.


[Q] wrote: Q took a drag from the cig still in his mouth and expelled it from his nose before scooting over and looking through the scope, and down the barrel a bit. He repeated the action a few times, his head bobbing as he adjusted the rifle minutely, as if aiming.

"Well you're scope's off, for starters. That's why you assemble these yourself. It takes hours to configure them right. And sometimes people like to aim differently. Like to lean this way or that." He shrugged, but put the rifle back down and got back on his feet instead of his knees, squatting.

He took the cancer stick from his mouth and set it inbetween his first two fingers in his left hand, looking to Blake.
"But I'm sure you'll manage within the first few shots. Assuming you've ever shot long range before." He was giving her the benefit of the doubt. It didn't seem like she ever had. But he wasn't going to outright insult her at this point in the game.

"It's easier if you lie down on your stomach, instead of sit. If you expect to be waiting here a long time." Which you will, since nobody's coming he added on in his mind.

He brought the cig to his mouth and took a quick drag before taking it back out again, and moving his hand, as if motioning her to "come on". He stepped over to the side a bit, then laid on his stomach, next to the rifle, leaving her room to lay down behind the rifle, as a sniper should.

He put his hands up while he was down, getting in the position, as if he were holding his own imaginary gun. "Like this," he explained. "Have you ever been hunting before?"
He put his hands down and looked back, waiting for her to emulate.


Blakaize wrote: Blake mimicked him, chuckling softly.

"Nah, never been hunting," she admited. "Russia mostly trained me close combat. Long range wasn't as important . . ." She listened to him talk, watched him move. And realize she was about to do something incredibly stupid. But, she was well aware that she only had so long to live, if the French got their way.

Q probably wouldn't mind . . . right?

The split second descian was made as quick as her instincts to kill fired in her brain during an attack.

"Q?" She said, drawing his attention back to her, away from his lesson. Blake knew she was not attractive, not in what she wore now, but, she had known enough men in Russia to know that other assets were more prized, much like her skills as an assassin outweighed the fact that she was a different gender than 90% of the rest of the people in her trade.

As he turned back to look at her, she leaned forward, catching his lips in hers, eyes shut tight.

She had once heard that, the feeling most people got before they died, in a plane crash or when they knew death was imminent, was one of intense need for affection and comfort. Blake's life was a plane, and Q was in the aisle seat next to her.

[Q] wrote: Q turned, leaning his weight on his elbow. "Yea--" He was cut off by a kiss.
Well. He hadn't expected that.

For a second, he leaned into it, putting his free hand behind her head. He was going to mess with her hair, but thought better of it, stopping himself and placing his hand on her shoulder instead, gently pushing her away.

There was no denying he wanted the attention. His heart beat in his chest now, and he was easy to get going... But Q didn't really think of Blake as just a woman anymore. He saw her on somewhat of an equal playing field. Even if it was only some of the time. Right now was one of those times, he couldn't see her as "all woman" and it was weird.
He wasn't ready to accept that just yet.

He turned his head, stared at the cigarette in his fingers and repositioned himself on his forearms, briefly wondering if he should say something.
After a few awkward seconds of hesitation and deep breathes through his nose, he put his arms back up, holding that imaginary rifle.

"It's just like hunting," he continued, trying to ignore it had ever happened, though his voice was shaking a bit. "You put the butt of the rifle near your armpit, and..."

He stopped, looking down at the rug beneath them. He pushed a sigh through his nose and stubbed his cigarette out on the carpet.

"... Maybe now's not a good a time. I'm sure you'll get it. You've gotten the hang of other guns well enough." It was almost as if he were disappointed, though it was moreso in himself than her.
He pushed himself up and stood, dusting himself off before turning to leave.


Blakaize wrote: Blake got up, quickly, forgetting the rifle and about hunting.

"Wait!" She said, holding a hand out. She was breathing heavily. A thousand things she wanted to say. A million. But, finally, she just spat out one word. Calm, not desperate. "Why?"

She reached up and started to undo the buttons of the baggy shirt she wore. Just enough, just to show a little skin. She had lived so long as a boy, he saw her as a boy. He didn't want a boy . . .

Frost colored eyes demanded an answer from emerald green and for a split second, she understood a lot of things. Pain, want, hunger, desperation . . . pleasure, contentment, desire.


[Q] wrote: Q looked down at her, at her so desperate. She wanted him. Genuinely. But why?
Normally, he would've been incredibly turned on. But now, he found it sort of sad.

"Blake, don't play this game," he whispered, shoulders drooping.
"You won't like how it ends," he warned, running a hand through his hair and turning away from her.

He took another step to the doorway.
Why didn't he notice? The stupid 'teach her to snipe' bull.
He should've known better than to give some sort of false signal.


Blakaize wrote: Blake was silent for a long time, but then she lowered her hand. She was rejected. So be it.

"I understand," she said, turning away from him as well, and hugging herself, looking out the window. She didn't say anything else, just looked out the window, to the night. Blake sighed and turned. She ushered Q out. "I have to change."

The door shut close behind him, almost banging off his rear end.

Blake turned and leaned against the door, allowing herself to fall down it and hug her knees. She exhaled heavily.

"I'm a fucking idiot," she muttered, to herself.


[Q] wrote: Q watched her, startled that he'd hurt her like that. But then she ushered him out and slammed the door, making him jump.
He let out a heavy sigh afterward, however. and made his way downstairs, back to Braig.

He knocked on the door once, before walking in on him and his bodies. He immediately grimaced and covered his nose. Blech.

The smell almost made him forget why he'd gone done there in the first place.
But, he did remember. It took him a few seconds. But he remembered.

"Um.... I don't know if you can help me with this, but I, uh...."
He slowly moved his hand from his nose to his forehead.

"Blake just tried to 'get with me'... If you know what I mean...?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig was busy putting the bodies into component parts, ready to feed them into the crematory furnace. He looked up when Q came downstairs. For a second, he thought he heard . . . naw, he couldn't have.

Could he?

He looked shocked for a second, then grinned like a possum eating peach seeds.

"Condoms are in the top drawer of my dresser. Trojans. Can't go wrong with Trojans, my man." He said, grinning still, as he sawed through a femur. He paused and looked up at him. "What? More of a Magnums kinda guy?"

Braig broke off chuckling, returning to his work.

[Q] wrote: Q turned partially back toward the door, so he could speak to Braig at an angle. He looked up, shocked.
"Are-- Are you suggesting I actually do it?" Q stated, disgusted.
"Are you implying this happens often??"
What, was Blake really a whore afterall? Was this girl trick just something she did to keep guys interested in her?
Maybe she had a thing for tranny chasers?
Q snorted, shaking his head.

"You're horrible!"

He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.
Normally he'd be all for this, wouldn't have given it a second thought, but...
Blake wasn't a whore and it seemed wrong to reduce him to such a level, now.


Blakaize wrote: "Blake is, first and foremost, a woman. Not a lady, but a woman. She deluded herself into thinking she was supposed to be male, because she was more comfortable in that skin. She brought home other gals before, made a big show of being whatever she thought she was. Then she stopped. I thought she went celibate, but, turns out, she was just waiting for Mr. Right. I think." Braig shrugged. "Last time she got any, she was eighteen years old, from a Russian named Vincent. He died in her arms twenty eight hours later. Maybe that's what triggered it. She saw strong men, strong men not mourning, and, to relieve herself of grief, she changed into a pillar."

Braig's tone grew serious.

"She's rediscovered her true self. Don't think I haven't noticed you flip-flopping around, either." He said. "You called her 'him,' then you mixed the adjectives, then you called her by her true gender association." Braig threw him a slightly pitying look. "I'm not saying fuck her brains out. I'm saying . . . give her something that she has been denied for years and years. Or. Don't. It's really none of my business."

Blake, upstairs, changed out of her male!Blake clothes, and pulled on the corset from before, when she dabbled in her gender correctedness. The jacket was given to her by Ivan, and had clubs on it. It was a joke, back when Ivan still cared for her as a brother would. Braig was Spades, Grayson was Diamonds, Jackie was Hearts, and she was Clubs. She was supposed to be hearts, but, Blake at the time found the color combination obnoxious.


[Q] wrote: Q turned to fully face Braig, becoming interested in the story, tilting his head slightly in curiosity as he brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest.

He stepped forward, closer to Braig. "....What happened to Vincent...?"

He was trying to piece two and two together. He felt sorry for Blake.Sorry for himself, now that Braig had pointed out Q's obvious...Insecurities.
So, what? Was he supposed to have pity sex with her?
That might've been even a worse thought than treating her like a whore.


Blakaize wrote: Braig rubbed the back of his neck.

"He died during a training exercise, during the first weeks of Russian SS training. Simple shot to the head. Bernade --- Blake blamed herself for a while, because when he was shot, she tried to drag his heavy ass to safety. Out in the snow, no one could hear her screaming for help. She saw it as her own feminine weakness and she just gave up. Being a girl failed her. She had to mourn, because she was a woman, she could not save him, because she was a woman, and she was expected to move on, because she was a woman."

Braig sighed.

"She hated what she was, so she changed. Despite the fact that she got off on the wrong foot with you, you can see it in her eyes, how much she cares. Something about you intregues her."

Braig shrugged.

"Beats the hell outta me as to what though. It's not like you've got a tail or anything." He said, going back to his work.
[Q] wrote: Q listened intently, and as Braig spoke, Q leaned his back against the wall.
It was interesting, to say the least.
...It's not like you've got a tail or anything.

Q snorted, turned his face away, staring instead at the skull ashtray.

He immediately changed the subject.
"How'd you get that scar on your face, Braig?" His voice was flat. Serious.
If Braig's scar was any bit as personal as Q's facial scar was, it'd be difficult to talk about.

While he was fishing for information, he may as well do so with Braig as well. The scar was something that had in common, though Braig seemed to make no efforts to hide his.


Blakaize wrote: Braig chuckled.

"I'm surprised you can walk with stones as big as yours. Okay. How Braigy got his scar," he said, hefting a tray of body parts and carrying them over to the special furnace. He opened the door, the tray balanced on his hip, and an intense heat poured out. Braig dumped the body parts in and slammed the door shut. "I went to Russia on my own for a while, to find our old man. He was Soviet all the way, and went to keep the wall from falling in Germany. In his mind, it'd ruin all the Mother Land had worked for."

Braig brought the tray to a large sink, took a metal hose and sprayed it down.

"I tracked this fuker for seven weeks. Seven. When he saw me, he grabbed his hunting knife and went balls to the walls. I grabbed mind, and we fought. He sliced my face open, and I think he ended up a finger or two less. By the end of it though, he was running scared. I washed my face in a stream, took an old bullet caked the fucker with gun powder. Then, took a match, struck it on the other side of my face and set the gash ablaze."

Braig turned to him, smirking.

"Hurt like fuck," he said, confirming what Q already knew.


[Q] wrote: Q's eyes went from the skull to the body parts and the stove. He put his hand up over his face to protect himself from the heat, though it didn't do anything, and continued to listen to Braig, laughing at the end.

"My leg was the first time I personally burned anything shut," he offered. "But I had seen others do it in France."

Q's own facial scar was from his father, also. The circumstances, Q tried to forget. He'd forgotten most of the healing process, what had been done to make it scar, as that was part of the punishment. The scar was deliberate; a mark that would haunt him throughout his life. He got it when he was eighteen. Some birthday gift.

Q's mood lightened a little at Braig's story, his sense of humor, and the twenty three year old loosened up a bit.
"Then how'd you get started in this? Burning the dead, I mean. To repeat the schooling for it... It must be something you enjoy. Seems a bit awkward to me."


Blakaize wrote: "Seemed like a logical career choice to me, chuck," Braig said, shrugging. "Hey, ever seen a human spleen before? Up close? No? Well, today is your lucky day, kiddo~ Uuuuuunnnnllleeesss . . ." Braig left it at that, pointing upstairs. "Don't rail her, no one is saying rail her, just . . . you know, shmooze a little bit. She's still convinced she's got a cause to die for. Give her something to live for."

Braig broke off laughing.

"The fuck am I kidding?" He muttered. "So, anyway, kid," he said, changing the subject also. "What about you? Nice hair dye job, by the way."


[Q] wrote: "Not up close," Q offered, but then laughed as Braig changed the inflection in his voice.
The twenty three year old had become extremely comfortable with this man in a matter of minutes.
The statement about Blake would've bothered him just five minutes a go, but now Q was actually considering it. It was just standard 'girl talk' now.

His shoulders rose and fell, and he eventually closed his mouth and stifled his laughs into chuckles when Braig stopped his own.
Then, Braig mentioned Q's hair, and Q hmphed.

While he disliked the subject, his mood was still rather lighthearted, considering.
"It's naturally grey. I used to have dark brown, almost black hair. It looked good. But this..." He made a characteristic frown, lower lip pouting out as if in over-exaggerated thought as he ran his fingers through his hair.
"This I think befits me more."

He placed his arms back across his chest and looked back to Braig. "My tattooes though, I could've done without them. That was a teenage mistake." He was referring to the black "whiskers" on each side of his chinline. More like slim diamonds from his chin to throat; two on each side. He brought his left hand up, stroking his chin, as if his whispers could be felt out of the skin.

Q shrugged and put his arm down.
"My hair doesn't seem to be growing back, hence my bad case of babyface, but. At least I'm not bald." He gave a 'heh', appreciating the little things.
Especially when it came to his body, he tried not to get too depressed over the thought he was dying early.


Blakaize wrote: Braig walked up to him, traced the outlines of the whiskers.

"Yeah, no shit. What were you going for, a cat?" He asked, ruffling his hair. "Baby face, pfft. Jaiden and Jackie have a bad case of babyface. Fuck, wait til you see Ivan and Grayson, if either decide to show up."

Braig reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out an old, folded picture, the one of all of them, when Blake was 16 or so.

"You want some handsome mugs," Braig said, proudly, showing it off.


[Q] wrote: Q turned his head away, trying not to be too upset over Braig touching his face. It was weird, and had he been in a 'normal' mood, he probably would've told Braig to fuck off and not touch him.

Instead, he just tried to move away, giving a 'hmph'.
"I was just trying to be intimidating or something," he offered, stepping back in to look at the picture Braig unfolded. "At the time, I didn't hide my scar, so it matched up well."
His opinion on his looks of course changed over time.

"Hunh," he let out, taking the picture in his own hands and looking at it, tilting it slighly so it could catch the light differently. He couldn't see it too clearly because of the way his eyesight was, but he didn't want to give the impression he wasn't interested.
Ultimately, he gave up, unable to make out much of what it was a picture of, and handed it back, assuming.

"Must be nice, to have a picture like that. I went to a military academy as a kid. All the images of me are super serious looking." He chuckled. "Happiness was banned most of the time."

He scratched his head, thinking back. Damn. That had only been five years a go. It seemed so far away, though.

"Must've been tough, you guys going through training for the secret service. You don't seem like the type to have been through it. You're pretty easygoing. Father was such a hardass all the time. Took training very seriously. Never thought about anything else." By 'father' he of course meant his own. But he'd been raised to not use such possessive uses, and it had stuck with him over time.
His father was also an instructor at the academy. Did that make a difference? Had all instructors been like that? Maybe actual soldiers weren't.


Blakaize wrote: Braig shrugged.

"When our old man disappeared, after the wall went down, Grayson and I went overseas again to find him. We ended up meeting some of the men from his unit. They at first wanted to kill us. Then they wanted to help us find him. But, Dad was tougher than we thought. Joining the services was one of the only choices we had."

Braig trailed off, examining the next body that had to be burned. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head.

"Blake came over for a while. She said she didn't want to stay long, just wanted to learn a few moves to defend herself. They said they'd let her go through a few training sessions. No more. Then all that shit with Vincent . . . they let her stay. But, eventually, I left the services. Got this job, got this house. When we got home, it was like we came home to a different world. Jackie had run away to New York, got mixed up in the mafia up there. He made his own name for himself as a wise guy. Isaac didn't want anything to do with us. The little turd became an accountant. And with all of this going on, Jaiden had grown up into a trouble-making little snot. But, then, it must have been hell for them, seeing us come home, looking as we did. Me, I looked like a fucked up Picasso reject. Grayson had been a teddy bear, if you could believe it. When he came back, for visits, for long term, he was easy to snap. Jaiden had found his cache of weapons, was just fucking around with him. Grayson slapped the shit out of him, barking in Russian about not playing with guns. But, it was Russian, and Jaiden couldn't understand him. And then . . . there was Blake." Braig sighed, heavily.

"She would have killed me if I had told you about her past when she still cared about it. She came home, forsaking her mother's name of Bernadene for a boy's name Blake, dressed like a man, talking like a man, acting like a man. Isaac couldn't take it. They had verbal fuck fests all the time. Isaac called her a freak, a lesbian, everything but a human being. And she took it all in stride. The last straw was when Blake brought home Chelsea."

Braig whistled, grinning almost stupidly.

"Chelsea was a bombshell that Blake dated for a while. She at first didn't know Blake was a girl. Chel was a young mom, Blake babysat for her for a while, and, when it came time for them to consummate their relationship, they didn't. Neither were gay, both were lonely. Isaac ruined that relationship real well and good. He basically threatened that Chelsea's baby boy, Anthem, would be taken away from her, because of her partying, and because of the fact she left him in dangerous hands. Blake never forgave him for that. She hadn't found a lover, she found a friend. She had also found a front, a cover. It made her delusion, more believable."

He went to the furnace, stoked the remains with a poker. The body was burning down faster that it would if he had just thrown it in whole. Tricks of the trade, one would suppose.

"I dunno," Braig muttered, mostly to himself. "We're mostly fucked up, I guess."


[Q] wrote: Q continued to listen as Braig blurted out Blake's entire life history. Q was interested in it, for sure. But he briefly wondered why Braig would trust him so much, especially considering the circumstances. And, Q thought Braig was pretty smart. Q was asking a lot of questions, and never once did he reveal anything about himself that even skimmed the surface of who he was. Not to the point that Braig had offered.

"Seems like it," Q whispered in response to Braig's 'fucked up' comment.

Q debated giving up information about himself, but decided against it. He rolled his head on his shoulders, and looked to the furnace, watching the body burn. Q couldn't look straight into it, as it hurt his eyes, but still, it was pretty interesting to him. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually looked at fire.

"Did you have a mother?" Q asked, hesitant.
Q had never had one. Hadn't really cared too much about them. But... It seemed awkward, to have such a big family and a long history with no mother.

[[Fuel - Innocent]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig shrugged. He glanced at the kid, eying him for a second.

"At one time," he said. "When they broke up, she went left, the old man went right. They both kind of just left us." He pulled the other body on the slab closer and started sawing. "She died about six years ago, I think. I dunno. I came home and they were all eating out of some basket thing. A sympathy basket sent by a relative or something. They didn't seem too distraught, more like happy they actually got free food. She wasn't too important to us after a while, I guess. So, kid."

The left leg of the corpse fell off, sawed through. Braig swore when it hit the floor with a meaty slap, bending to retrieve it quickly.

"Now that you know all this shit about us," he said, sounding offhand and unassuming. "Still wanna off us?" Braig turned to grin, his scar crinkling as he did so. Braig threw in all the heart tugging details he could. Sure, there was no fucking chance Q would have as fierce a loyalty to them as he did to this Ves guy, Braig could see that fucking clearly, but, there was a chance he could become enough attached to refrain from making a move that would force their hand, and off him themselves. He knew it would either come down to him or Blake doing it, too. It would destroy Blake, so that meant, it would have to fall on him.


[Q] wrote: Q watched the leg fall to the floor, distracted momentarily.
When Braig was done explaining about the mother figure, he quirked a brow.

Still wanna off us?


For the first time since he'd been here, Q smirked.
"If I had wanted to take you out, I would've done so already."
His half-smile quickly faded however, and he stuck his hands in his pockets, becoming serious.

"But you know how easily my emotions take over. So just lay off pissing me off, and I suppose we're good." He was somewhat resentful of that statement, hating the truth behind it.

He yawned loudly and rolled his neck around his shoulders.
"Well!" he said loudly, forcing another smirk, trying to psych himself up.
"I guess I'll go take care of that sister of yours, since you want her banged so bad." He forced a few laughs and turned to go, determined to give it another shot.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd do it, but he supposed a make out session wouldn't be too horrible. She wasn't ugly or anything... He just hadn't been physical with anybody he actually cared about- even slightly- in a very, very long time.

Maybe if he just put on the badass act, again. He could get so into character it wouldn't bother him as much. Q made his way upstairs, haphazardly waving goodbye to Braig as he did.
"Thanks for the chat."


Blakaize wrote: Braig laughed, hard. Harder than he had laughed for a while.

"Damn," he said, catching his breath. "Can't beat that. Just remember what Jack Black says: you don't always gotta fuck her hard," Braig broke off singing, flashing him a salute as he went up stairs. "Any time, Slim!" He turned back to the body and started sawing again. "Any time."

The kid wasn't so bad. Reminded him of Jaiden, reminded him of Isaac, and even Grayson. Braig tried not to get attached . . .

Meanwhile, upstairs, Blake was putting the rifle up, changed now, and having put her radio on, a low, local station playing music that was three years old. She happened to glance her reflection in the mirror and groaned. She had tried to smear on some make up when she was changing, but, it had been so long. The eyeliner was too thick on her eyes, and the lipstick seemed not pink enough. Then again, these were six year old, unused cosmetics . . .

"Fuck it all," she muttered, opening her door to head downstairs.


[Q] wrote: Q made his way upstairs, and was just about to hit Blake's room when she came out of it.
Q tilted his head to the side. "Hey there," he said, shifting his weight, bringing his hands out of his pockets.

"What are you so fancied up for? Trying to seduce somebody?" He tried to hold back a chuckle, but failed, snickering a bit instead.


Blakaize wrote: "Gah," Blake said, bringing a hand up to her face. "Don't look at the face. It's a failed experiment. I haven't had a chance to wash it off." She looked at him, more intently. "What about you? Lurking around upstairs, like you are? People will think you're up to something."

She smirked, lopsided. She had been trying to hand at behaving more like a woman. So, she cocked her hip, one hand on it. Blake raised an eyebrow and continued to stare Q down. After her failed attempt at getting some tail --- no pun intended --- she was surprised he'd come back.


[Q] wrote: Q chuckled.
"Hrm? Maybe I am up to something."

He came forward, placing a hand on her shoulder, his other hand coming to her face, cusping her cheek and wiping her lips with his thumb. His aim was to get her lipstick off, but he hoped he made a decent enough show of being... Romantic or something. He wasn't sure, but tried not to let that distract him from his plan. His... Favor, more or less, to Brag.

After brushing her lips a few times, provided she allowed him, he'd lean forward, touching his forehead to hers.
"I came up here to apologize for earlier," he whispered in her face. "Je suis désolé."

He hoped he wasn't coming on too strong. Hopefully she wouldn't mind. Not like he knew what was good or bad, just years of being with harlots and knowing what worked. Generally speaking, anyway.

He exhaled softly through his nose onto her face, staying there for a moment, before pulling his face away, and looking down at her from behind his sunglasses, waiting for her move.
Blakaize wrote: Blake blinked, taken totally by surprise. The man was talkin' French . . . oh, shit . . .

"It's . . . it's okay," she said, finding her tongue under all that drool. "I came on a little fast. You, uh, wanna come in?"

She mentally hit herself in the face. Come in? Come in?! The fuck, he was standing in your house, had been in your house for the better part of a day and a half. Now's not the time to get twitterpatted. Snap out of it, take control!

Blake smiled, appearing to all the world charmed.

Or, not, you ninny . . .


[Q] wrote: Q took his hands away from her, not thinking too much of the 'come in'.
"Sure," he said, turning to go into her room.

As he walked through the doorway, he rubbed the lipstick that was now on his thumb onto his(or rather, Braig's) pants. Once he was inside, and Blake was inside, he closed the door behind them, looking around for a towel or something. He didn't immediately find one.
That must've been why she left in the first place-- to go to the bathroom and wash her make-up off.
Oh well. It didn't make much of a difference. As long as her lips were mostly free and it wouldn't get on him, it didn't matter what the rest of her face looked like. Not that he had really taken in what her face looked like.

Behind his sunglasses, he could look at anything he wanted, and nobody would know. It was one of the few positives that came with the ever-present shades.

He went from the door, back to Blake, coming in close again. He was taller than her, but not by much. Q was about Braig's size, at six feet. He closed his eyes and put his hands on her shoulders, his forehead touching hers again, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose.

After a few moments, he moved to the side, his cheek touching hers, sharing a somewhat modified eskimo kiss, but also teasing her.

At first, he didn't want her. Had been trying to convince himself that it was wrong to be with someone he actually cared about. But now, he was up close and personal. He switched cheeks, and took deep breaths, as if just smelling her. He wanted her now.
He wasn't sure if it was actual want, or just lust.
But in the few seconds of him coming onto her, he now was just prolonging the inevitable.


Blakaize wrote: Blake froze when the door closed behind him. She swallowed and figured she knew what was coming next. Whether or not she was prepared was a different story. She had started it, when she stole a kiss, but was she ready to take what she could dish out?

He was tall, really tall, now that she looked at him, up close and personal. She was short, five foot four at most. She swallowed again, as he held her. At first she was stiff, then she relaxed. Maybe sex was like riding a bike after all.

She raised her arms up to hug him, feeling the soft skin of the side of his face, only a little stubbly with a five o clock shadow, and breathed him in. It was musky, definitely male, but also a little citrusy. Spicy like pomegranate and pepper . . .

Blake was suddenly worried she might smell bad to him. Whether or not that mattered was lost on her next. She pulled away slightly and reached up, slowly, slowly, and touched his sunglasses.

"You have pretty eyes," she admitted, seeing the outline of them behind the lenses. "Is it dark enough in here for you?"


[Q] wrote: He slid his hands from her shoulders to her waist, squeezing her ever so slightly, when she pulled away.
He looked down at her, watching her hand come toward his face.
It was dark enough, but he still didn't feel right without his glasses. Like being naked.
But, everyone always commented about his eyes. He wondered what was so special about them. He didn't think much of them, himself.

He sighed quietly and pulled away from her, letting her go and stepping back, taking his glasses off and putting them on the nearby dresser.
He then came back to her, resuming his prior position of squeezing her waist near to his.
"...Better?" He breathed, his eyes squinting slightly as he became used to the light.

His eyes were a deep forest green that seemed to grow brighter lime green toward the pupil which, as it contracted, formed a more oval shape, not unlike a cat's. But it was dark enough in the room that his pupils were wide enough to be mistaken as normal.

He closed his eyes, regardless, and began guiding her over to the wall, so he could push her back against it. Once there, he brought his left hand up to brush her hair out of her face, then finally leaned in and gave her the kiss she'd probably been waiting for.

[[The Fray - She Is]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake was vaguely aware of her being lead to the wall, vaguely aware of the sudden warmth between her legs, but very much aware of Q's deep green eyes. She was brought back to reality when she felt her back press to the cold, smooth surface that was her bedroom wall, and she shivered at the light contact with her face.

Was she trembling? Slightly. Was she excited? Very. Was she at all prepared when Q kissed her? Not at all.

She stiffened again and relaxed again, molding her body to Q's, running her hands up his shoulders to his hair, lacing her fingers there, deepening the kiss.

This was a wholly unexpected, totally uncalled for, and extremely wonderful chain of events. All at once. She broke the kiss and turned her head to one side, inviting Q to her neck. Though as a man she had tried to play down the pale smoothness of her skin, as a woman, it was an enticing feature, one that had drawn the toffee skinned Vincent to her . . .


[Q] wrote: Q leaned in more (if it were possible), placing more pressure against her lips, trying to push her further into the wall when she went for his hair. It was smooth and silky, as if it had just been washed. The twenty three year old tried to take the best care of his hair, as he believed that once he lost it, he wouldn't be getting any more.
His hair was probably the healthiest thing on him, his skin possibly being the only rival. It was a tanned Caucasian, slightly darker than than a typical white South African's. His skin came from the Mauritian that was his mother, and the part-korean that was his father.

When Blake turned her head, Q didn't hesitate, and planted a few small pecks as he trailed down to the space between her shoulder and neck, passionately kissing there, nibbling slightly. He didn't intend to leave a hickey, but it probably would. He didn't stay at her neck long, however.

He took in a noisy breath through his nose as he gave a slight moan, throwing his head up and going back to her face. He went back to his first move- forehead to forehead, though this time his green eyes were staring directly at her's, at point blanc range.

Q gave her hips an extra squeeze before his right hand left them, dragging it up to a more desirable spot on her chest, where his fingers would cup her side below her armpit and his thumb would massage the more sensual center beneath her clothes.

He shifted his weight a bit as he did this, pushing his thigh inbetween her legs, closing his eyes again and going to kiss her on the lips once more.


Blakaize wrote: She met eyes with him, unafraid, moaned as he massaged her right side, and whimpered as he shifted his thigh. She liked the contact, forehead to forehead, and she smiled, breathlessly. She didn't resist the kiss that came next, either, trying not to seem to eager, trying to restrain herself from body-tossing him onto the bed.

That idea made her shudder and she touched the side of his face. She embraced him more completely, losing herself more than she had before. Out of character, and knowing it. But the steady pump of endorphines into her brain, into the erogenous zones of her body, neglected as they were, refused to allow her to give a damn.

"I'm sorry," she said, in between kisses. "For being a bitch before."

She was also sorry she had put on so many articles of clothing, but didn't mention that allowed.


[Q] wrote: Q wasn't quite as audible as her yet, but when her hand went to his check, he leaned his head into it, nodding up and down, as if trying to get her 'pet' his face. A love rub, so to speak, his eyes still closed, also engrossed in the closeness. He hadn't gotten any in a while, either, though his period of sexual nonaction was much less than Blake's. Maybe two weeks, at most.

When she spoke, he stopped moving his head, opening his eyes partway, looking at her as if he was uninterested, his thoughts elsewhere.
"It's alright," he breathed. "I had plenty of my moments."

He then looked down at their legs, and stepped backward a bit, grabbing her ass with both his hands lifting her up quickly with a grunt, putting his arms beneath her after wrapping her legs around his waist, pushing her crotch into his and leaning against the wall again, having it help support her weight.

Now she was slightly taller than he was.
He swayed his hips slowly, rocking back and forth, to and from the wall, moving his right hand to her head, scratching it lightly through her hair while he looked up at her, almost in a daze.


Blakaize wrote: Blake yelped when she was hoisted up, and some part of her brain cursed herself for sounding so vulnerable. But, even as she did, she loved the contact. She leaned forward, hugging his shoulders, rocking her hips in time with him.

Ah, friction. To a place where the proper friction hasn't been applied in quite some time.

"Maybe, it'd be easier," she said, slipping her hands into his collar, searching for any sensitive spots. "If there were less . . ."

Blake moved her hands down, starting to tug at his shirt, trying to slip her hands under. One worked there, the other tried to fiddle with his belt and fly.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Jackie and Braig had taken up residence on the couch, trying to watch The Price is Right.

"So, they're doing it . . . right now?" Jackie asked, grinning like an idiot. Braig sighed, took a swig from the brown beer bottle he held loosly by the neck.

"Maybe not right now and maybe not ever," he said. "I just know that there haven't been any screaming or gunshots yet, and that's probably a good sign."

Jackie kept grinning, turning back to the TV.

"I always said all she needed was a good lay."

Braig looked at him, then rolled his eyes, taking a longer drink.

"Jackie, shut up."


[Q] wrote: Q gave a "heh" at her yelp, and when she embraced him, around his shoulders, he leaned in and gave her another kiss, sucking on her bottom lip slightly. When Blake put her hand under his collar and touched his neck, he expelled air through his nose, fighting a small moan.

When Blake moved her hands, trying to take his clothes off, he didn't mind at first, until her one hand touched his belt. He gave a closed-mouth disgruntled sigh and put his forehead on the wall near to her head, stopping everything for a moment, as if weighing a heavy decision.

After about a second, he squeezed her buttocks, hoisting her up a bit so he could step back and carefully set her feet back on the floor. Once she stood on her own, he quickly got his arms out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor, and went to unbutton his shirt.
When he finished, he simply left it on him, not taking it off. He liked it better this way.
He then slipped out of the shoulder holsters, laying those on top of his jacket on the floor, later taking his belt off and tossing it atop the rest of the pile of his things.
He didn't bother trying to actually take his pants off, however, and instead focused on Blake.

He helped her take her jacket off, tossing it aside, and then put his hands on her hips, urging her to turn around so he could untie her corset. He made quick work of it, and once it was undone, he wasn't sure what to do with it, so left the actual removal to Blake.

Once she had taken it off, he walked over the bed, flopping backward onto it, his knees over the side, boots still on the floor. He lifted his left hand, urging her to follow, hoping now that she'd be more dominant.

Q could continue being the 'man' if need be, but he wasn't sure how far he wanted this to go exactly, so he decided to leave the decision to Blake, allowing her to take charge, if she wanted it.

[[Breaking Benjamin - Untitled]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake turned, obediently, and felt the corset lighten around her chest. For whatever reason, she covered her chest with her arms, letting the corset fall around her feet. She turned back, still some what covered, and saw Q.

Blake let her arms fall, allowing pure instinct and lust take over, sashaying towards him. She threw a leg over his legs, straddling his waist. She let her hands, finger tips barely touching skin, graze over his abs. She pushed his shirt wider open, moving slowly deliberately. Whether need or want that possessed her now, she didn't feel as awkward as she did when she had kissed him, before, when he told her she wouldn't like the outcome.

Seemed to her, she liked the outcome just fine.

Blake slipped a hand behind his neck, just where his skull met his spine, and applied pressure, beckoning him forward and up, into a more gentle, less harried kiss, both of their bare chests pressed against each other.

God . . . DAMN . . . lifeisgood


[Q] wrote: Q waited, and when she began playing along his abs, he took his first breath in through his mouth, closing his eyes again as she worked her way up his chest, then to his neck, where he opened hi eyes and obeyed her, pushing himself back up to greet her.

His chest just grazed her's, and the tickling of skin against skin made him want her all the more. It was difficult for him to stay gentle as he kissed her back, bringing his right hand to the small of her back and his left behind her head, musing with her hair. He broke his face from hers and planted small kisses starting at the side of her mouth, down her cheek and neck, stopping to take special care to where he'd previously left his mark, then continued the trail down the front of her.

He couldn't stop there, his instincts taking over, and he turned, pushing her back down on the bed as he placed his knee on the bed beside her and let his other leg stay on the floor. He stood over her, moving his hands to right near her sides on the bed as he continued the trail down between her breasts, her naval, and finally stopped where her pants began, blowing air softly in her naval before beginning to unbutton her pants.

[[The Fray - Little House]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake was surprised as she was forced back on her back. Q's shirt was hanging off one shoulder, and she was far from decent herself. And by the way he moved, Q would further that particular condition. Not that Blake minded. This was more than a welcome surprise. Her breathing hitched and she stifled a moan when he traced her body.

Her hands were up, touching his face, while his hands were down, messing with her fly. She was engrossed in his eyes. Her mind, though not focusing on anything in particular besides the here and now, wandered to Q as a person. Really, she thought, I'm doing this backwards. Never was too normal, I know, but still . . .

It occurred to her that she was more exposed than he, and that didn't sit very well with her. So, she amended the situation and reached down again to his pants. Now with the belt off, they were looser, Braig being a bit bigger than Q was. It was easy to slip her fingers, almost all the way to the third knuckle into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him forward, eager for that friction again.

Eager for any kind of contact, with no clue as to why.

So many words she wanted to say, but didn't have the gall to do so. So many feelings she knew she felt, but didn't have the gall to admit. Jesus, what a web she wove.

[Q] wrote: Once Q was able to get her pants undone, he pulled them down slightly, only about an inch or two. Then Blake went for his pants again, pulling him closer, trying to feel him up.
He turned his face away for a moment, then reached down with his left hand took her hand from his pants, placing it in the middle of his chest instead, so she could feel his heart beating hard in his chest.

He leaned closer to her, moving her other hand back to his face. He rubbed his cheek up against her hand, as if urging her to pet him. He left it at that for a moment, before bringing both his knees onto of the bed and positioning himself so he could reach his hand down her pants, and release sexual tension there without the need for him(or her) to strip.


Blakaize wrote: Blake petted his chest, then his face, smiling softly. Then she realized, she was the one getting mostly naked . . . she frowned slightly.

"Here," she said, positioning herself a little more properly. "Don't you wanna . . .?"

She wasn't going to lie. Q was attractive, and the fact that he had a tail made her a little more intrigued. He was slightly animalistic. Q wanted to be petted and nuzzled. Did he want to be properly laid.

Blake grinned, tried to be coy. She traced her fingers up his sides, trying to tickle.

"Shy?" She asked, nuzzling his chin, eyes half closed. "Q . . . that's an interesting name. What does it stand for?"

continued next post.
 
The Dragster Wave (continued)
[2 of 4]

[Q] wrote: Q moaned softly from his throat, barely audible as he pushed his face into her hand, obviously enjoying the nontraditional closeness.

When she repositioned herself, he opened his eyes, looking down at her again, taking in a deep breath. She felt wet and ready, and physically, Q wanted nothing more than to do her right here. But mentally, he was having second thoughts. He'd only promised some intense snogging as the favor to Braig, and it had already gone farther than that. He wasn't sure if he wanted actual sex.

For a moment, he tried to convince himself that sex was nothing. And it was nothing... To Q, at least. He could tell it was much more than just some physical thing for Blake. And knowing that made himself weigh the act a lot more heavily.

He blinked, watching her fingers creep up his sides. He shuddered slightly in response.
He was already going to have to finish himself off later. He was a rather easy lay, normally. But now he was dragging it out and somewhat playing hard to get. He was becoming frustrated with himself, but also wanted to remain stubborn in keeping his clothes on.

He was taken out of his thoughts when she came up and began nuzzling his chin. He heaved a relieved sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, relishing it, his mouth hanging open.

Yes, he was shy. He didn't want to tell Blake all about his sexual...intricacies. That, when he really lost himself, he couldn't help the awkward vocals, that had only grown more prominent over the years, as if he was slowly slipping into insanity and truly believed he was some type of animal... Which he didn't. It was a part of himself he desperately tried to hide. He was ashamed of it.
He didn't want to have to risk not telling her, then wind up making some sort of noise, and her becoming scared or weirded out and losing the mood. It had happened countless times before, back before he had only trusted prostitutes and had actually made a game out of picking up "real" women.

He didn't want to make his tail available to play with, because it was much too easy to make him so aroused it was painful, and it was almost always directly linked to some embarrassing noise that didn't seem right coming from a human throat.

His good looks and worthless french charm act only took him so far.
He didn't want to be seen as a freak. He was much more than that.
He was a person just like anybody else, and he struggled to keep up with that facade of himself.

Q brought his lips to Blake's, kissing her again as he worked his fingers elsewhere, giving a slow massage that gradually increased in pressure with every stroke.
In between kisses, he breathed his nonanswer.
"Privileged information." It was followed by a haphazard chuckle before kissing her again.

[[Garbage - You Look So Fine]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake relented to the kissing at first. Q worked quickly to 'incapacitate' her, and she allowed it, readily. The contact and intimacy was intoxicating. She moaned and sighed, as rough friction slowed and a more delightful, smoother friction began.

If Q was worried, she was worse. What if she had forgotten? What if she wasn't as good? What if, when all the clothes were off, and the bets went with them, Q saw her as inadequate as his lover? She didn't have too much in the ways of breasts, but she was thin. That counted for something, didn't it?

Privileged information . . . she opened her eyes, thinking over the term. Privileged information. Her fingers tightened slightly in his hair and pulling him forward, closer to her face. This close, no kissing, just looking into his eyes, as cliche as it sounded. Privileged information, huh?

She shifted her leg to wrap around his waist and threw her weight, rolling over, now inverted. She leaned forward before he had a chance to protest and held his hands.

"I'll keep your secrets," she whispered, eyes sincere. Blake let go of his hands, cupping one cheek. "We're not so different." She inhaled sharply and forged ahead, too late to turn back and just accept what she had coming, what he seemed willing to give. They'd flown way past the point where heavy petting would relieve anything between them. "I can be myself around you. Give it a try."


[Q] wrote: When he was pulled toward her, Q took in a sharp breath, his hands somehow winding outside of her pants as she stared him in the eyes. He stared back, eyes full of lust, that much was apparent.
But lust was different from love. He wasn't sure what he was seeing in Blake's eyes. Not sure if he really wanted to know, either.

But then she flipped him over. He wound up on his back on the bed again, her ontop of him. He gave a surprised, curt high-pitched bark from his throat, rather soft in volume. Damnit.

She cupped his face, telling him it was okay, but he didn't feel like it was. Sure, she could be herself. But he didn't want to be what was turning into himself.

His breathing came from his mouth now, and it quickened the closer she got to his pants.
"It's embarrassing," he whined.
Not his nether regions, no, but the noises. Not that she had known what he was referring to.

He was trying to come up with some excuse to not go all the way now, trying, like he had been for the past several minutes, waylay the situation. He had no smart solutions this time as she made quick work, sitting atop him.

Well, it was too late to go back now. She was tight, from years of non-use he assumed, and he closed his eyes, taking in a sharp breath as he grabbed the sheets beneath him a bit, trying to work himself in her, but ultimately unable to because of the position she was in.

He sucked in another breath, opening his eyes, and put his hands on her waist instead, trying to lift her and manipulate her that way as a shudder ran up his back.


Blakaize wrote: Blake gasped sharply as he attempted to penetrate her. She hadn't remembered it being like this. Blake hooked her thumbs into his pants, pulling them down more, then slipped hers down until they were completely off. She leaned forward, positioning herself so it'd be easier for him to slide in and . . .

Sweet Jesus . . .

Blake tightened up, unused to the contact, unused to the pressure down there. She thought about trying to talk dirty, but then again, she didn't trust her own voice. Eventually, she recovered and rocked her hips forward, squeezing and releasing in rhythm with some unknown melody. This was an old dance, one everyone knew.

She leaned forward and kissed him, more tenderly that what her lower half was up to. It felt like he enjoyed it, at least to some extent. Whatever the reason, he was holding back. Maybe . . . he was put up to this . . .?

"Should I stop?" She asked, feeling as if she was asking a loaded question. Her hands were still moving around the erogenous zones, sliding over skin. She thumbed his nipples, pert as they were, exposed to the open air. She slid her cheek over his and planted a gentle kiss on the crook, where his neck met his shoulder and waited.


[Q] wrote: Q gasped when she tightened up, only to shiver pleasantly as she rearranged herself so he could more easily move his hips in tune with hers. She kissed him, and he returned it, breathing loudly when she ran her hands along his chest.

Should I stop?

Why would she bother asking that? Now of all times? She could've asked it when he redirected her hand from his pants twice, or hell, before she sat herself down on his penis.
No, now he was too far in to stop. He was slightly angered by even the mention of stopping, now. He'd never been with someone so tight before.

He immediately forgot whatever moral decisions he was debating before, growling at himself audibly, dismissing the question entirely and the assumed answer.

Then, he rethought it.
"Yeah," he grumbled, his voice gruff, as if angered. "I want you to stop. This."
He pulled her off him, then pushed her down on the bed, so she would be in his previous position. He stood at the foot of the bed and grabbed her legs, spreading them apart so he could step in between them. At first, he thrust into her while holding her legs, steadily growing faster and harder. But he soon appeared to grow bored of this, and repositioned her fit on the edge of the bed, her knees bent as he leaned his upper body forward for his hands to grope her breasts while he continued his work downstairs.


Blakaize wrote: Blake, caught by surprise, almost protested when she was pulled off and laid on the bed. Her protests were cut off when she felt him thrust, each movement slamming against her cervix, making her want to scream. She went limp and rigid at the same time, her arms on his shoulders, nails scraping down his shoulders.

She guided his hands up to her breasts, offering them up, with the rest of her. She was glad she was able to goad him out of his shell. It was about time she met Q for what he was. Blake was the fearless one, enough cajones to bait a beast and welcome its wrath.

And Q's wrath was sweet to her. Hot, wet, and tight, they continued, unaware that a plane was touching down somewhere at the municiple airport, unaware further, as the seconds turned to minutes, that Blake's phone, left on the kitchen table downstairs, was vibrating its way towards the edge, finally tipping and falling to the floor, the battery and plastic-cap thing flying off with impact.

Blake had wrapped her legs around Q's waist when Braig went to examine the damage and piece her phone back together. She leaned up to suck at his ear when Braig searched for the charger, to see if he could retrieve the last call, the call history. Blake ran her hands down his back, ending at his sagging pants. The base of his tail . . . She teased it, a little cautiously.

Meanwhile, Braig was plugging in her phone, turning it to silent, and returning to the couch. Jackie was starting to drift off, and Braig hated letting the kid sleep on the couch. If and when he did fall sleep, Braig would be there to prod him awake and lead him up to his own bed. Jackie had very ticklish ribs, so that would be his target. Gabriel and Jaiden had been quiet upstairs, probably enjoying the contact with each other, boys the same age. Probably playing video games and fell alseep . . .

Braig was only half interested in what Q and Blake were up to.


[Q] wrote: [[Sorry to rush this, but I figured two pages of this was enough. xDD]]

Q kept going at it. Steadily becoming faster and harder until she sucked on his ear and went to touch his tail. He stopped for a moment then to breathe, a growl-like sigh rumbling in his throat while he thwaked her hand away from his tail, as if a horse's tail were swatting at flies. Whether or not her hand actually left, he would squeeze her breasts, his closing his eyes and relishing these decided last few moments before bringing his tail up and thrust into her as hard as he could.

Feeling her tighten and possibly shudder with pain, he did it again and again, hoping she'd squeal, but regardless of the outcome it would only take about two more minutes of this before he was done, letting himself go inside her.

He loosened and stopped, but left himself in her, it flinching every now and again in aftershocks. He turned his head to the side as he let out a chuff sound through his mouth before turning back to her and teasing her nipples with his fingers. He did this for only a few seconds, taking in a deep breath through his nose and sliding his fingers lighting down from her breasts to her thighs, afterward slowly stepping out of her, his tail now low and swaying methodically.


Blakaize wrote: Blake didn't so much squeal as moan and whimper, spending herself. She looked up at him, as he left her and blinked. They must look a mess, she realized, propping herself up on her elbows. Now that the deed was done, what were they to each other? What were they now? She couldn't deny that she was attracted to the snarling, growling Q she saw now, but, at the same time, it had taken a rough session to draw it out of him.

She extended a hand to him, inviting him to lay down with her, inviting him to relax with her. But, then, Blake reconsidered and stood.

"I'm going to go and get cleaned up," she muttered, pulling her pants back on. The underwear would be ruined, but, walking around naked in a house full of men was usually frowned upon, so she had to put on SOMETHING as she made her way to the bathroom. "Come with?" It was an offer of a shower, a decent scrub down.

The fact that seed was spent in her didn't occur to her until many hours later, having totally forgot, as if it was possible, that the male sex even did that. She had spent too long in a celibate fantasy land . . .

Meanwhile, the actual phone rang, and Braig rushed to pick it up.

"Cohen Crematorium~" He said, almost singsong. The voice on the other end almost made him cry with happiness. It was gruff and low, the accent thick, after years of speaking it, but at the same time, it was warm.

"Why is the girl not answering her phone, comrade?" The Russian on the other end growled. "My plane touched down, I had to call a cab. I will be there shortly."


[Q] wrote: Q looked down at himself, then to her and snorted lightly, pulling his own pants and boxers up around the front and holding them there as he followed her across the hall, his tail still hanging out and over the lip of the clothing on the backside.

Once in the bathroom, Q tried to remain silent. He had been excellent so far at not saying any actual words, and as he cleaned himself, with her there, nonsexually, he'd gradually become more comfortable and slip back into human mannerisms.

He'd never worried about condoms or pulling out before- he'd been under the impression he was sterile. It would make the most sense, and nobody had ever contacted him before about some unwanted pregnancy. But then again, they would've had to hunt him down since he didn't have a phone and most of the "working women" were on some type of birth control anyway.

When he was done, he dried himself off and put all his clothes back on, walking back over to Blake's room to get his belt, jacket, and sunglasses, putting all of them on.

He then got out a cigarette and began to smoke it, a little late in the game but he figured-- just in case.
After he had everything back on him, his tail hidden in his pants and resisting the urge to keep moving and thus reveal it's location, he looked around Blake's room again, taking everything in.
It smelled of sex. He snorted, unimpressed with himself.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of his decision, yet. Hopefully nothing would change. Right now, it seemed to change his opinion of Blake for the negative. He didn't want to see her right now. Wanted to avoid her and leave her in the street with some money in a pittance "thank you for your time."
He wound up looking out the window, where the sniper rifle had once been set up. A taxi came into view and stopped in front, a man walking out. A man that was coming toward this house. A man that...
He leaned forward in a rush, bonking his forehead on the glass as he tried to look over and get a better view.

That guy looked really familiar. He couldn't place it... Would he recognize Q?
The twenty three year old kept his eyes planted on the man outside, his head still on the glass and following his every move like an excited or worried pup.
His upper lip raised.
Something wasn't right here.

This was the older brother, wasn't it?


Blakaize wrote: Blake cleaned up, washing her hair huriedly, her back to Q in the shower. She got the vibe that for some reason he was upset with her. The pre-orgasm hormones that made her so madly wild for him were gone, fading away. Now, she just wanted to be friends. To take things slow and to enjoy what little company they had together . . .

Blake let him go to her room first, leaving her to finish cleaning herself. When she did return, he was all but plastered to the window, swaying back and forth, as if he was following something. She chuckled, amused by him. He was cute, in a spaz kind of way. The tail, she realized, never bothered her in the bit. It made her curious, and sort of made her wonder what she would look like with one. What her tail would look like, how it would feel to move it . . .

"Easy there," she said, teasing, walking up beside him to the window. "What's out there that's got you so riled up?" Blake put a casual hand on his back, not sexual, more of a friendly 'i'm here' gesture.


[Q] wrote: Q stepped away from the glass, shrugging her hand off him.

"One of your brothers? What was his name..." He searched for it, what he and Braig had talked about earlier. It was difficult. How long had they really been having sex for??
"Greyson. That bastard who shot Ves," he snarled.

He turned to the wall, where he could've sworn he heard the door downstairs open through it.
He opened his mouth to growl, but ultimately did not, leaving it hanging open, agitated.

He didn't know if he should go down there.
He must've met the man before. Seeing him in just a family portrait wouldn't give him this type of deja vu, unless he'd only convinced himself he'd met the man before-- which was possible, but unlikely.

He finally let out that growl. The embarrassment of acting like an animal had left him when he'd had sex with Blake. With her in the room, he didn't seem to care anymore. The subconscious brick wall that separated his urges from how he believed he should act around normal people had been battered down.

Blakaize wrote: "Grayson's here?" Blake said, excited for a moment. Sunovabitch! "He must have gotten on a red eye. He's got connections . . ." She frowned, seeing his agitation. "Hey," she murmured, stepping forward to touch him again. "I'm sure he can explain himself. Just keep it together. He's here to help."

Meanwhile, Braig opened the door to his long distance brother. Grayson was stocky, well built, with a smiling face, a goatee and mustache combo adorning his features. His hair was thicker now, with touches of gray, indicating his highly stressful lifestyle.

Braig embraced him in a tight hug, only to be hugged tightly in return, lifted off the ground.

"You beautiful bastard, you!" He said, clapping him on the back. "I'm not sure whether to smack you or kiss you!"

Grayson laughed and spoke again, his accent still heavy and thick.

"Furst, we eat. I'm starving." He said, his vowels stressed. "Wheyre is the gurl?" Grayson had never addressed Blake as a male, always by the feminine, as if he knew one day she would return to herself.

"Upstairs, with a friend," Braig said, easily. Grayson frowned.

"You allow her to be deflowered? In your own house?" He said, barely able to keep a straight face. Braig slugged him in the arm. They didn't look like brothers, Braig skinny as a rail, Grayson thick as a bear.

"Fuck you, he's a friend," he said, lying easily. He had no clue if Q went through with anything or not, but, it was best to assume the option least likely to cause bodily harm . . .

[Q] wrote: Q straightened himself, trying to buy the excuse Blake made. Then she touched him.
He turned around, grabbing her wrist and taking it away from him.
"We are not lovers! Quit touching me!" He snarled.

Then, he realized what he'd just done, and let go of her, backing away, his facial expression and posture completely changing as he shoved his hands in his pockets, withdrawing into himself, taking a few deep breaths despite the cigarette still hanging from his lip.

"Shit, I'm sorry." There was no excuse for that. He'd be surprised if she didn't blow up on him, as well. Braced himself to be yelled at or smacked or something.

"He's your brother, go see him," He said softly, guilty.

This is why he said he didn't want to play this game. If she actually liked being taken advantage of then... That was different... But if she were a normal person, he was correct in his first assumption that she wouldn't like how it ended.

It would end with him leaving her eventually, regardless if he figured out he loved her or not.
He'd sabotage this relationship himself if he had to.


Blakaize wrote: Blake pulled her hands away, eyes suddenly glaring and severe.

"God DAMMIT, Q!" She snapped. "No, we're not lovers, I get that, I figured that, but for fucks sake, at least you could pretend to not be fucking repulsed by me! I'm not your lover, no, but I'm your friend!" She stormed out, leaving him in her room. Then she turned and came back. "Aren't I?!"

Without waiting for an answer, she left him, pounding down the stairs.

Grayson was eating at the table when Blake came in.

"Bernadene," he said, opening his arms to her, still chewing. Blake didn't step into the embrace.

"Blake," she corrected. Grayson only smiled, and consented to calling her by her new name. She looked female, so, he supposed, it was a small price to pay to have a sister again. "You came to help us with the Mafia?"

Grayson nodded.

"I haf full proof plan for to help us with our problem," he said, starting to eat again. "This Vespasian man . . . for shooting him, he cohmes after my family . . ."

Grayson grinned, reaching out to hold Blake's hand.

"We see him, we apologize!"

Blake wasn't sure whether to smack him or hug him anymore . . .

[Q] wrote: Q was taken aback by her yelling, even though he thought he'd prepared for it. If he had dog ears, they would've wilted. When she left, he looked down, sighing, trying to figure out what to do next. Obviously his social skills were lacking these days.

Then, she came back.
Aren't I?!

He looked up at her at first, turning his head, trying not to make eye contact even though he knew she couldn't see his eyes. She left before he could come up with an answer. He guessed the non-answer was a bad enough rebuke for her to stomp down the stairs.

He sighed again, hanging his head. He went over to the case of the gun, opening it, running his fingers along the barrel, wondering. He wished he didn't have to be such a drama brat.

Eventually, he got what he felt was a hold of his emotions, and finished his cigarette, stubbing it out in a nearby ash tray before slowly walking down the stairs, hands still in his pockets.

When he reached the end of the stairwell, he leaned against the wall at the edge of the railing, watching the family dynamics in the kitchen. He wasn't sure if he should introduce himself or just leave.

Where would he go if he left? He had to come back here anyway. To retrieve his rifle. Or kill them. Or whatever it was he decided he was going to do.

[[Cold - Feel It In Your Heart]]
Blakaize wrote: Blake could feel eyes on her and she looked over, seeing Q. Her eyes hardened, but her mouth remained a straight, severe line. Braig noticed her face, followed her gaze, saw Q and inwardly groaned.

"Hey, there, uh, Q," he said, stepping forward. Grayson looked at him, unable to see, because he was seated. "Q, this is our brother, Grayson."

Grayson stood, still unable to see.

"Q?" He said, brow furrowed. The name sounded really familiar.


[Q] wrote: Q inwardly sighed and walked forward, toward the table.

"Bonjour," Q stated in French, unenthusiastically.

He'd been forced to meet this Grayson guy. Oh well. He supposed it was expected. He gave a brief look to Blake, but chose to ignore it, looking instead at the most foreign of the family. Something was definitely about him that Q had seen before. Maybe they had seen eachother across the street once or twice, but had not actually met before.

The aura around him was stressed, awkward. As if he really didn't want to be there, and was only doing this for show. Like a son that had just met their real father after years of knowing they were adopted, and finding out that father really was a deadbeat.


Blakaize wrote: Grayson rose to his feet, eyes neutral. Yes, he remembered Q. The accent, the French, the face . . . It all made sense now. He spoke in Russian, gesturing mildly at Q, and Blake was forced to translate.

"He says that he knows you, that you were Vespasian's . . . second," Blake said, lying with difficulty. Grayson had said a word less kind. "He says he wants to know why you come here, what your connections are. He wants to know what your . . . intentions are . . ."

Grayson ended with a rough spat.

"He wants to know who's side your on."

Braig stepped between them.


[Q] wrote: Q wished he understood russian. He could tell Blake was hiding something in that translation, and he wanted to know exactly what was said.

He scowled, unmoving as he was spat at, as Braig walked in between them.
Q lifted his head, proud, looking down his chin and nose at Grayson, unafraid to show the known mercenary his neck.

After a moment of trying to think of the best response, he turned his attention to Braig, trying to ignore Blake.
"Things with your sister didn't go well," he said quietly in french, trying to keep it between the two of them. "The decision is more difficult now. Ask him," Q motioned his chin over to Grayson, as if the man were in another room, "What side he wishes I were on. Seems if I was on yours he would still hate me."

---

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Nathanael was taking his dress shoes off and sitting on the foot of a motel bed. He was surrounded by clothes that weren't his, a rather awkward assortment of mostly blacks, some reds, and a large green duffel-like bag in the corner known as a sea bag. It was the room Q had rented but had never been able to get back to after he was picked up by the Cohens.

The frenchman had a cellphone to his ear, yawning as he waited for the other end to pick up while he brushed a strand of blonde hair from his face.

"What is it?" The other end had picked up. Glory.

"Alain! Good to hear your voice again. How do things fair over there?" Nathanael's voice was excited. He hadn't been expecting his adopted brother to pick up. Alain was one of the sharpshooters. Specialized in close combat, though he preferred guns to hands.
There hadn't been much violence recently, so he'd instead been forced to do menial gruntwork in between working as a basic body guard if needed.

"It is not very good. Vespasien is bedridden from illness. Alexandre refuses to seek medical treatment. I am unsure where his loyalties lie. But you know I cannot speak much of this. What news is there on your end? Has this Quatre Bornes decided to come back, or is Alexandre correct in his assumption he will only run away from the problems?"
Alain had never known Q. He'd been indoctrinated well after the younger member had left, hearing only rumors from those who had been in from the beginning. From what Alain had heard, he wasn't a big fan of the guy, and was questioning why there was suddenly so much interest in him now.
If he had been gone for so long, why would it matter what he did?

But when Alain and others had questioned it, Alexandre had always shot back with how some things he was not meant to know, how he couldn't possibly understand the intricacies of what had happened before Alain had joined. Alain, a cool thirty year old, thought it was all a bit too much like a soap opera for his tastes.
He accepted it, regardless. The Syndicate had been rather good to him before Vespasien had been shot. It was only recently there was this drama, with the resurgence of Q being spoken about.
Truthfully, Alain believed Alexandre had drugged Vespasien, and was killing him slowly. Perhaps Alexandre had gone mad, as Alain couldn't see any positives into getting rid of Ves. And his obsession with Q was unreal. Some type of mixed jealousy and hatred. But it was more than that, and Alexandre appeared to be straight or asexual, so it couldn't have been affiliated with love. Maybe it was something else?

Nathanael frowned at Alain's response. "I don't know. I have sent the recording of the conversation to Alexandre already-- That is why I call. But Q spoke of coming there to gun Alexandre down. Q has always been a switch. Who knows if he really meant what he said. If he had, he would be on his way there now. And I am in his hotel room. He has not returned to get his things. I would think that he would come for his clothes first. He didn't appear injured as Alexandre said."

"That is odd," Alain returned. "Alexandre has never been wrong before."

Nathanael shrugged. "Maybe he had healed already? Or perhaps it was covered. Who knows. Regardless, I have a flight tomorrow morning to return. I wanted to know if I was still cleared to do so. Blake Cohen caught me and I was pistolwhipped. I would like to go home."

Alain snorted on the other end. "Alexandre had instructed me to cancel your flight. I apologize, but you're stuck there. He wished to give you another assignment while you were there. Since he believed Quatre Bornes would not kill the Cohens, and you would have to stay there anyway to bring him back with you at the end of the week, he wants you to gather information about the Cohens by tailing them both."

Nathanael's frown deepened. "I don't have that many sick days I can take."

"I'm sorry, Nathanael. You will have to make it work. You always do. Do not worry. Alexandre had said that because you were closest with Q out of the original members that were left, it would be easiest for you to keep in contact. To learn about the Russian Mafia's movements. He says the Cohens possibly trust Q? I don't see how it works, but I believe Alexandre. He is planning some type of war. He wants to reform the Mafia and expand into a more established syndicate. Just do the best you can. I wish you luck."

Nathanael put his free hand to his face, massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger.
"To you also, Brother."
He hung up after that, putting both his hands together as if in prayer, debating what to do.

He came up with a valid excuse in his mind, then dialed his supervisor, asking for more days off.


Blakaize wrote: Braig spoke to Grayson in Russian, the thought that Blake and Q's romp didn't go quite as planned. Still, the pair smelled of sex and soap . . . something must have happened. However, something else had taken precedence.

Grayson spoke back, still in Russian, but his voice had softened. Less gruff, more understanding. He let his hands drop to his sides and Braig turned back to Q.

"He says, he wants you on our side, if you'll be on our side. He says that the Mafia might try to use you as a mole, but he wants you to realize that there is a respect here, one he hopes to be mutual. He can see us conquering a mutual target, together, so long as the links of the chain are strong. So long as the doubt in your mind of whether or not to trust us is cleared."

Grayson spoke, softly again in Russian, and Braig turned to him, wide eyed, repeating his words. Blake covered her mouth, surprised. Grayson pushed Braig a little on his shoulder, and he turned back to look at Q.

"He says . . . he says he wants you to know he trusts you," he said. Braig was handed Grayson's side arm, a basic .45, and placed it on the table, near where Q stood with a metallic thud. Grayson raised his hands up, laced his fingers behind his head. If he were wearing a blind fold and smoking a cigarette, he would look more appropriate . . .

"It was . . . my fault that my family is now here . . . the Mafia wants me dead . . . I say, if I am truly at fault, let me be at fault. Let my siblings be, if blood is what you want. And take from me your pound of flesh." Grayson said, plain, but accented english. He wanted to throw in the man's name, but didn't.

Blake took a step towards Q, one hand itching to touch him. To try and influence his desician somehow. All she did was utter his name once, "Q," and she fell silent when Braig motioned for her to do so.

Grayson waited, a man waiting for the firing squad, totally stoic and calm.


[Q] wrote: Q was silent, his breaths loud, obviously taken aback by this, but who knew which emotion he was feeling. He turned to Braig, speaking in rushed French.
"How could you set me up like this? What exactly did you tell him? Is this change in behavior not odd to you??"

Q's mouth hung open as he began to breathe through it instead, watching the rest of this family.
Was this some type of joke? First Grayson was spitting at him, insulting him, now all the sudden they were best buddies? Sorry? Really? In what kind of fantasy word did they live in, that a simple word would solve everything, would solve past sins?
That never worked. Ever. It was never so simple, so Q had the distinct feeling he was being played, especially if this Grayson was any good as a hit man as his family said he was. There were no kindhearted, sincere mercenaries. They didn't exist because the fuckers got shot.

Q's upper lip flinched a bit. He was fighting the urge to snarl, fighting the urge to say something awful and have the whole family turn on him in this spectacle.

He turned to Grayson, his hands at his sides, his weight evenly distributed between both his legs in case something were to happen.
"You act... Much too nice and sincere...." He struggled, trying to leave the bite out of his voice as he said this. "...To be what your brother says you are..."


Blakaize wrote: Grayson shrugged.

"You must be very good at your job then," he said. "However, my impression of the French Mafia is that it's not exactly the most . . . masculine . . . I want to explain myself, but why bother, when you'd never believe our word over your precious former . . ." He paused and then grinned. "They don't know, do they?"

Blake whacked him upside the head.

"Knock it off, Drama Queen," she snapped. "If you two are done swimming in your own Testosterone, can we please --- ?"

"Will the sniper let me explain or will he just shoot me?" Grayson countered. Blake gave him a very fuck you face. Grayson lowered his arms. "At least we proved he's something of a man, and not soft in the head. I guess that's two rumors debunked about our new friend Q, eh?"

Braig pointed at him, the tension in the room very palpable.

"Just stop, Gray. He's on our side." He said.

"How sure are you of this fact, brother?" Grayson said, smiling. "He never said, he left it up to us to decide. Knowing the French Mafia, let me guess, Mr. Q. You have to either kill us or see Vespasian die? You have to bring proof? Speak up."

Blake knew that Q and her were no longer on good terms. Or goodish terms, anyway. Unfortunately. But she wanted to grab his arm and lead him away from this mess. However, he didn't like being touched. So she left him there to fend for himself.


[Q] wrote: Q balled his hands into fists. He wanted to punch this fucker in the face. No, the Cohens didn't know. He assumed Blake knew, or at least guessed, with the way she kept trying to deflect what Grayson said. But He'd never told them.

Blake of course hit Grayson before he could, so he simply shook his own left fist at his side, holding it all in as his masculinity was challenged. He tried not to blow up. This guy knew what was going on. Blake, Q had his doubts about how professional Blake normally was, but Grayson had that air about him. Especially now. He knew what he was doing.

"Well, now that it comes to insulting me, you can suddenly speak better English, I see?" Q mocked, a growl following from his throat.

"If you want to talk about private matters then I would be more than happy to indulge you without the spectators here," He didn't mean for that to sound sexual, but it might have come out as such. Oh well, he was too angry to bother trying to correct himself.

"In the mean time, I assure you, if I had wanted you dead, none of us would be here right now. Your family would've been dead on your arrival."

He almost wished he wasn't wearing his sunglasses, as his glare would've pierced this man's soul.

Blakaize wrote: Blake was the one who threw him the "oh really" look. She wondered if he would have killed her before or after he got a decent lay out of her.

Grayson shrugged.

"My english is so-so," he said, holstering his weapon. "If you want to kill us, by all means try, but, if you really are on our side, then you're on our side." He smirked. "The Russians aren't as complicated as the French, you see."

Braig rubbed his temples.

"Speaking of the French, the fuck did you do to get us into this mess?" He snarled, his younger brother getting on his nerves. Blake thought about reaching out, maybe rubbing Q's back to get him to calm down, but she remembered his comments before, and just let him stew. Without his sniper rifle, she wondered just how quick he was. It had been awhile since she had a good hand-to-hand with someone.

Grayson didn't smoke. The Russian winter meant it got dark quick, and a lighted cigarette drew too much attention. So, instead, he took out a pack of gum, punching a a white piece from the foil pack.

"Does he want to hear the whole story, or does his blind following of Vespasian extend farther than his mind's eye and heart?"


[Q] wrote: Q watched everything, his whole body tensed up and rigid. He had only begun to loosen up when Grayson got out a stick of gum, but then the Russian mentioned Vespasien again, and he grunted in disapproval.

"I don't blindly follow the man." That was an outright lie, but he didn't want to admit to it. He also didn't want to come out and say 'I want to hear the entire story' either.
He did, he just didn't want Grayson to experience that satisfaction of Q being interested.

"I left the mafia for a reason," he grumbled.

Blakaize wrote: "You don't say?" Grayson said, chuckling. "Alright, pebehok. The whole story. A while back, I was hired with a few in my unit to watch over a wealthy business woman who had a bad taste for gambling and the high life. She somehow got mixed up with your lot and things went down hill. Money loans, etc etc. I accompanied her on a money drop off with your keha."

Braig glared at Grayson.

"Will you please cut the shit?" He said, voice low. Grayson grinned.

"I accompanied her to meet Vespasian, and when the money changed hands, he started talking finances, interest, that sort of nonsense, to the point my charge decided she wanted to cut all ties. One of Vespasian's seconds drew their side arms and the fight was on. I put two in the left, one in the right, but I didn't expect Vespasian to have a weapon. He pulled a piece, aimed, tried to fire, but ---" Grayson grinned. "Not quite quick enough. I put one in his collar bone. He dropped, I thought about double tapping him, but, that seemed overkill. It was a botched job, on both of our parts. I grabbed my charge and left. He said something . . . amusing."

Grayson could see his face, pretty boy looking as if he had been hit by a bus, when Grayson and others in his unit had taken worse hits and kept marching, and could see him mouth the words, even as Grayson spoke them to Q and his siblings.

"Q will see to you, won't stand for this . . . Quatre Bornes . . ." he said, shaking his head. "Needless to say, Vespasian survived, and by the word on the street, he left the bullet in, refusing to try to dig it out, to do anything with it. The reason he's sick now, probably, is because it's turning him septic."


[Q] wrote: Q growled low in his throat, waiting for Grayson to finish. He didn't know what the russian words meant, but he was fairly certain they were insults, given Braig's reaction.

"Vespasien would never meet anyone out in the open like that. You are a liar. Ves was terrified of guns. Your story wreaks of bullshit."

Q refused to even acknowledge his real name, however. Quatre Bornes. Ugh. He hated it. It was a stupid name, but it was at least somewhat better than his last name, which was all too common.

Although leaving the bullet in seems like something Vespasien would do. Ves was terrified of being shot, not the bullets themselves. He had been paranoid, afraid to go outside. Why would it change now for Grayson? For some big laundering scheme? It didn't make sense. Q didn't want to think Ves had changed. It had been three years apart from the man, but Q didn't want to think he had changed.

But even still, the news hurt. Q was calling Grayson a liar but, now he really wanted to see Vespasien. Wanted to know for himself, the truth. Maybe Ves was waiting for Q to come and save the day, take the bullet out, like some gay romance role reversal where Q finally saved Ves rather than the other way around. Q had been quite the submissive back then. Or maybe this was all some sick joke and Ves was playing Q's emotions, wanted to get Q over there to see him die and torture him forever for turning his back on the syndicate.

Q tried to keep the scowl on his face, the defiant posture, but ultimately he felt as if someone had told him his mother was on her deathbed and there was nothing they could do.
Q actually frowned a little, looked down a bit. If he believed to still be capable of crying, perhaps it would be very close to it in a few minutes.

But he fought with himself, clenching his fist harder.
"Vous devez retourner à la prostituée qui a donné naissance à vous," He finally said. The worst insult he could think of.

With that, he turned around and went upstairs.
He was going to go see Ves, afterall. He just needed his gun first.


Blakaize wrote: Braig whistled.

"God damn that was harsh," he said. Blake wanted to follow him upstairs, but stayed rooted to her spot. "You gonna go see . . .?"

"No," she said, crossing her arms. "He's a big boy, he can take care of himself." She sighed. "But, I am gonna go upstairs and get my stuff."

Grayson frowned.

"For what?" He asked. Blake wanted to smack him.

"Your apology thing isn't gonna fly," she said. "There's this other fuck running the mafia now. It's him I'm worried about. If he wants a piece, I'll bring it to him. Q won't fight back, and Alexandre knows that. So, fuck the pair of them, I'm going in."

And so she went upstairs, to grab her own gear. Braig turned to Grayson, who looked back, unabashed.

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"Russian."


[Q] wrote: Q found where the case had been left and picked it up, turning to leave when he saw Blake rush into her room. He narrowed his eyes, but continued to the stairs, descending, giving a passive 'bye' to Braig and a 'fuck you' to Grayson.

He didn't even bother giving them any second to respond, and simply slammed the door behind him, making his way back to the cemetery just like a few hours prior, and then making his way back to his motel.

On his way back to the motel, he realized he hadn't slept in close to 20 hours, and it hit him hard.
The closer he got to his motel, the more he wanted to sleep first. But he kept waking himself up, trying to tell himself that these last few moments would be the last important ones- that he could sleep on the plane if need be.

An hour and a pack of cigarettes later, he opened his door to the motel room and tossed his guitar case on the floor, kicking it in as if it were the reason everything had gone wrong with his life.

Then Nathanael stood up and greeted Q.

The twenty three year old looked at the blondie for a second, trying to figure out if he was hallucinating.
"Why the FUCK are you still here?" Q finally blurted.

"Well, you know how Alexandre is..." Nathanael gave a weak smile, offering a hand, the other in his pocket. "He made me stay."

Q roared with anger, throwing up his hands, his tail fighting to be let loose of its pant leg prison. He went over to the dresser and slammed his fist down on it a few times, finally just bending over and reducing himself to tears.

Nathanael took a step back, left in quite possibly the most awkward situation ever.
"Um... Are you okay...?"

Q slammed his forehead on the dresser, putting his hands above his head as if to hold his face there, breathing in the fake wood.
"I can't do it," Q sobbed. "I stayed with them too long, Alexandre is right, I can't kill them. I don't know why I can't do it. I stand there, picturing myself doing it. It's just so easy. To pull a trigger? Is it ever hard? But no, I cannot do this. No. I have to get close with them, and I fuck Blake on top of it all. I am falling apart Nathanael. I am dying! I can't deal with this drama anymore. I just want to go back to how it was. Back to somebody taking care of ME for once."

Nathanael blinked a few times, grimacing. Was Q having some sort of psychological breakdown? That was a lot of dirty laundry let out to air.
"I'm sure you'll be okay, I mean.."

Q slammed his fist down on the dresser and turned around to Nathanael, cutting the older man off.
"No I won't be, Nathanael! Look at me? I'm fucking crying over a-- a--" He shook his head. "I left Ves because he used me, because he trusted that bastard Alexandre. I spent three years trying to not be some--some fairy faggot and LOOK AT ME NOW!"
He brought his hands to his face, a puppy whine escaping him as he tried to calm himself down.

"I leave him to protect myself and as soon as I hear his injured I come running straight back, hoping he'll accept me again," he whined. "How pathetic is this. I may as well just be a damn woman. I don't have control over anything anymore."


Blakaize wrote: Blake was on the warpath, Braig could clearly see. She had packed her shit up, and was ready to kill someone or some thing. That much was obvious. She had stalked out to the garage, throwing a tarp off a rarely use crotch rocket of a motorcycle.

"Where are you going?" Braig asked, not nearly as ready to go as gunho as she was. "What are you gonna do?"

She swung a leg over the bike, and kicked the throttle, sending the machine roaring into life.

"What I should have done a long time ago," she replied, pulling on a pair of riding goggles. "Don't wait up."

"Are you going to kill him?" Braig asked, feeling wholly responsible for the entire mess.

"Depends on which him you mean," she said, speeding away. Braig watched her go, and swore. Blake was beginning to pick up on Q's cues. She had a very good feeling about where he was and who he was with.

Braig looked back to Grayson.

"I hope you're happy," he spat. Grayson grinned.

"This is the most fun I've had since the Pope almost got shot."
[Q] wrote: Nathanael took a deep breath, trying to be fatherly. "You were saying before about killing Alexandre... Why not do that now..?"

Q put his fingers beneath his glasses, rubbing his eyes, before giving up, taking his sunglasses off and wiping the tears away, releasing another pathetic whimper as he rubbed at his face.
"What are the chances I really will catch him off guard? Slim. And even if I did, whatever new gunner's he got will make quick work of me, I'm sure. If he's any good. I'd be dead before I even got to see the guy, if I went with that intention. And I can't trick him. He'd call me on it. I was being ridiculous before. I've no chance. I am no good at close range, and long range Alexandre is invincible. I just want to see Ves before he dies at this point. I don't even care anymore. I'll watch Alexandre kill Ves in front of my eyes if I must. Maybe then all this shit will be over. I'm dying anyway."

"You're not dying," Nathanael said flatly.

Q sniffed and put his glasses on. "I've been blacking out a lot, Nathanael. I can't control most of these.. Animalistic things anymore. My emotional state..." He looked around the room, noticing the mess, "....Obviously sucks. I belong in a mental hospital. It all got worse after leaving the Mafia. Maybe the two are related. I don't know. I just want it to stop. I just want to feel like... I don't know... And remember things... And not faint."

Nathanael cocked his head, taking another deep breath. He knew he couldn't kill Alexandre either. But maybe he could get some sort of audience with Ves before the week expired.

"Well... Maybe we can go there, and say you killed the Cohens. Pick up some bodies and play pretend for a bit. Then before they look at the bodies we could demand you see Vespasien first."

Q looked over to Nathanael, face pleading. "Really? You'd do that for me..?"
Nathanael shrugged, happy the worst of this awkward scene was over.
"I don't like Alexandre, either. Maybe if we're all going to die anyway... I may as well help you out."
He felt pity for Q. The kid was obviously falling apart over this. He somehow remembered him better. Was let down but what used to be someone he looked up to. It was worrisome and pathetic. But he couldn't just leave him here.

"... Thank you..." Q breathed. He seemed to calm down, standing still for a moment, before taking a deep breath and looking around the room again.
"I gotta clean up this shit.. And I guess get a private plane over there... And I haven't slept in forever..." He massaged his temples for a moment before going to clean up his things, stuffing them in the sea bag.

"I've got a pilot that'll take us tomorrow, if you want to sleep for a while before then," Nathanael offered.

"Yeah," Q nodded as he picked up. "I guess that's best... Thanks, man..."


Blakaize wrote: Blake popped her neck as she rode, thinking about Q. She liked the kid, yeah, liked him enough to lay him. But, obviously, the feelings weren't returned. Fuck him, then, she thought, sighing. It wasn't hard to predict Q, and, asking a few people who might have seen him, her thought that he was in a hotel, no doubt meeting up with some mafia goon.

She sighed, heavily, set the kickstand down as she parked it in the lot of a hotel and pulled her goggles down around her neck. Time to get serious.

EDIT ADDED

Blake just had to flash the false badge at the clerk and she told her where he was, and confirmed the belief that he was not alone. She walked to the room, drawing her .45s as she moved. The room was mostly silent within. She heard the TV on low, and she thought she heard the shower going. She rolled her shoulders and held her weapons up, locked, loaded, near her head.

Blake exhaled once, channeling her energy, trying to accomplish some sense of zen.

She kicked out violently, sending the door flying open, almost off its hinges. She stepped inside, one pistol trained on the blond from the cemetery, the other on Q.

"DON'T . . . fucking . . . move," she said, barking the first word then calming herself.


[Q] wrote: Nathanael watched Q tidy up the place before walking over to his phone, which was on the charger. "Try and get some rest," he offered, flipping open his phone and dialing the pilot who was originally supposed to fly Nathanael home.

Q gave a deep sigh. "Yeah, I'll try... Guess it's for the best..." He put the last of the clothes back into the sea bag, which was perched in the far corner of the room. As he stuffed it all down and locked it, the door was smashed open.

Nathanael closed his phone, dropping it, reached for his gun at his ankle and pulled it on the intruder in all in one move.

Q, after hearing the sound, dropped what he was doing and spun, drawing the handgun from his right shoulder holster on whomever the intruder was. These reactions were instantaneous. Trained. They didn't even know who had barged in until after it had been done.

When it registered that it was Blake, Q breathed a sigh of relief, putting his arm down slowly. He looked to Nathanael, who didn't follow.

"Why are you here?" Nathanael demanded.

"Calm down, Nathanael. I figured she'd follow me," Q offered.

"Doesn't matter," Nathanael said, keeping his eyes trained on Blake.
"This bitch hit me."

"She's not going to hurt you this time, Nathanael," He answered in english, not wanting to give the wrong impression to Blake. He turned to her. "...Right?"


Blakaize wrote: Blake smirked, and cocked her head to one side.

"That's up in the air at this point," she said. "It depends on whether or not he wants to comply, or be a little bitch about it. By looking at him, I'd say he's prime little bitch material."

She didn't lower her .45s, just stared on coolly.

"We've got some options gentlemen. Listening? Yes? Good. You do as I say, no one get's hurt, we get our asses out of the frying pan and miss the fire, OR, you decide to be a bitch, I kill you both, and go on on my own. I really don't want to do the latter, but, then again, given current events, I'm feeling a little squirlly." She pointed at Q. "You're in hot water, but, because of certain THINGS, you're pretty much in the clear, so that just leaves us Blondie here. What say you, pretty boy?"


[Q] wrote: Nathanael's lips stayed tight, a thin line as he simply watched her move.

Q spoke up for him. "Nathanael and I were going to Central and tell Alexandre I'd taken care of you guys. Then before they looked at the body bags we bring, I'd demand to speak to Ves for myself. You should stay out of this, Blake. It's not s--"

Nathanael clicked off the safety and fired a round at Blake.

While not entirely sure of what had just happened, Q immediately brought his own weapon back up, clicked the safety off, and pointed it in front of him. Blake moved, Nathanael didn't, Q shot Nathanael in the shoulder. All this happened in maybe one second. Maybe.

Nathanael went back from the force of the bullet, pointed his weapon at Q and fired, a bullet embedding itself into his chest, nearly missing his heart. In shock, Q fired another one at Nathanael, but had taken no care to aim at all, and missed completely. He leaned back against the wall, dropping his gun and holding his chest, unsure of how long he had before he passed out. The blackening of his vision was almost immediate.

Nathanael turned straight back to Blake, firing at her again in an attempt to make sure she went down.


Blakaize wrote: The bullet bit into her thigh, and a second into her side, grazing it, as she darted forward. She ran slightly bent, and drove her gun into Nathaniel's neck, a blow with considerable force. He stumbled backwards and fell. Blake kicked the gun out of his hand, leveled the .45 and fired a round into his kneecap.

Blake rushed to Q, who's eyes were starting to loll in his head.

"Q! No, Q!" She said. Nathaniel was in agony, but she didn't even register it in her mind to think of saving him. The Mafia would see to him. "Hang on! Hang on!" She went for her phone, only managed to fumble with it, before scrambling to Nathaniel's side, reaching in his pocket.

Ohh, fancy~ She thought, looking at the phone. She fumbled dialing Braig.

"Get ready for a GSW, a big one, to the chest!" She said, almost wailing. Braig hung up on her, no doubt to get supplies ready. Blake hit 2 on the keypad, and sure enough, it speed dialed to an unknown number, no doubt the mafia.

The crisp voice that answered answered in French.

"It's on now, cocksucker," she snarled, making damn sure they heard her fire a second round into Nathaniel's shoulder, who screamed and tried to get to his gun. "Ya here that?! DO YOU HERE HIM?! That's your pretty boy hit man! YOU'RE NEXT!"

She threw the phone against the wall and grabbed Q, forcing him to his feet. She leaned him against the wall, scrambled around to grab his things. His riffle, a pack with clothes that looked like it belonged to him. With all this slung over her shoulders, now she had to drag Q out to the cycle. She set him on the thing, his chest bleeding like all hell.

"Hang on!" She said, sitting behind him, reaching around him to steer. He was limp against her chest. "Hang on . . ." the last words came out in breathless gasps, as she tried to make it back to the Cohen house in one peace. "Stay with me! Q!"

She was pushing 70 in a 55, pushing the needle towards 80. The freeway was just a line of neon lights as she sped along. 85 . . .

"Come on, Beautiful, come on," she breathed, hearing Q's own breathing get haggard. "Don't leave me now, darlin', come on. We've . . . we've gotta save Ves, remember? You hang on, you here me? You hang on, and you think about Ves. You've got to see Ves, come on . . ."

The graze on her side and the bullet wound in her thigh began to throb, but she didn't give a damn. She couldn't let Q die . . . He had rescued her once. Time to return the favor.


[Q] wrote: Q wasn't sure what was going on. Blake was yelling something, Nathanael screamed in pain, then it seemed like hands were all over him. He knew he should've been in intense pain, but strangely wasn't. He was in some limbo where it felt like death was there, waiting, and yet, it couldn't touch him.

Q opened his mouth to say something, something about his condition and how he needed either a cigarette or to be patched up quickly. But nothing came out and if it did, it was a garbled combination of french, english, and some type of dog canine whimper.

He tried to stay awake. Something felt wrong about passing out. Maybe it was his instinctual fear of dying, but every so often he'd try to see what was going on, maybe out of pure curiosity. He'd never been high before. Was he high now?

The last time he was able to see, he was moving. In a car, maybe? Dashing forward. Then it seemed to finally wash over him like a tidal wave, and he was gone, turning into dead weight, his blood pressure dangerously low and his brain crying from lack of oxygen.
Still alive, still breathing faintly, but mentally, unable to do anything.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, Alain growled. He'd been playing secretary again, and he was the one who'd received the call. He got up, almost knowing the answer before even asking, and that was why he was particularly frustrated.

He knocked on a door three times.
"Alexandre," He grumbled.

"What is it? Come in," said a deep, gruff voice from the other side.

Alain opened the door to a main with dirty blonde short hair and a dark goatee. He looked particularly american, and was wearing a dress shirt and pants, sitting at a desk with a bunch of papers strewn about. Alain wondered if he'd actually been working or if he'd simply put on some type of act.

"That Cohen girl killed Nathanael," Alain said flatly.
"That's a shame," Alexandre returned, leaning forward, clasping his hands together, elbows on his desk.

"Well, aren't we going to go get him?" Alain struggled to not yell.

"You know the answer is no," Alexandre said again. "Alain, I need you here. Nathanael was never in full-time with us. More of partner. He was Quatre Bornes's friend. If Blake killed him then perhaps the boy will come here. While I didn't see this happening, it doesn't particularly surprise me, so...."

Alain clenched his fists. "You're just going to wait here...? And do nothing...?"

Alexandre leaned back, putting his hands down flat on the desk. "I'm sure Quatre Bornes will bring the body when he comes here. You should really calm down Alain, these matters really shouldn't concern you. Let's not forget what happened to Clark."

Clark was someone who had grown frustrated with Alexandre's way of working, and tried to challenge him. He wound up not existing. No birth record, no finger prints. Legally he was a dead man. While normally that would've been excellent, Clark was similar to Nathanael. He had another full-time job, one unaffiliated with the mafia, and a family. His life had been ruined. He wound up committing suicide.


Blakaize wrote: Braig and Jackie was ready in the garage when Blake pulled in. They grabbed Q and hauled him onto a stretcher.

"Blake, we're gonna need some extra hands," Braig yelled, as they ran it down stairs. The morgue had become prepared to turn into an OR of some kind. Blake scrubbed up quickly, and Jackie was prepping Q.

"Do we need to intubate?" Jackie asked.

"I don't know," Braig said. "Kid's got some kind of condition. We need to keep his blood pressure up. Epinephrine, pull it up." Jackie did it, quickly. Braig looked to Grayson, who hung in the corner. "You gonna help?"

"I will dispose of the body."

Braig pointed and yelled.

"There's not gonna be a body!" Braig barked. He grabbed scissors and tossed them to Blake. "Cut off his clothes." Blake hesitated.

"All of his clothes?" She muttered, remembering his tail.

"Just his shirt then, I don't fucking care, but we need IN there!" Braig yelled, getting pissed off. "Q? Q, can you hear me? You got a blood type? Q, respond!" He looked to Grayson. "You got O, right? Get to slicing, we need to get him some life juice."

EDIT

Blake snipped off his shirt, ended up helping Grayson hook up to a transfusion machine. It took far too long to get him prepped, at least to Blake. Braig set to work, using his scalpel to slice the wound a little wider.

"Lucky fucker," he said, examining the interior of the GSW. "He's got nine lives, I'm tellin' ya . . ."

"Yeah, well, I think he's down a few," Blake said, feeling tired and low. "What's the damage?"

"Not major arteries. It just barely missed his heart, which is fucking amazing," Braig said, digging around for the bullet. "Then again, it might have some deep tissue damage."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, his chest might hurt like a fucking bitch, even after it heals up. His pec muscle has been fuck near shreded."

Blake felt her stomach drop to her shoes.

"Will he bleed out?"

Braig swore.

"No, but, his blood pressure needs to fucking climb or he'll crash if we set him upright," he said, groaning. "Take that 20cc syringe, fill it with Lidocane."

Jackie hesitated.

"We just gave him a shit ton of eppie . . ."

"He's 70/30, fuck yourself or draw it up!" Braig snapped. "You are not dying on me kid! Not like this!"


[Q] wrote: Q was out cold, his face pale, until the second attempt to raise his blood pressure. His eyes rolled, his heart beating faster, and as he came to he gave a very long, drawn out puppy whine from his throat, it being cut off only a full second later by a cough when Q began to shiver slightly.

Q had no idea where he was, or what was going on. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see much of anything, and he figured his shiver was from pain. He brought his left hand up to wipe his sunglasses away, the shades bouncing off whatever he was lying atop of and falling to the floor.
Q immediately winced, squinting, and blinking his eyes heavily in attempt to get used to the light. His pupils went to hair-thin slits, and he still couldn't see much of anything, though now it was a painful white rather than a devoid blackness. For some reason, he preferred it.

He tried to push himself up, but when he flexed his muscles, he yelped, breathing through his mouth. There was something in his arm, he didn't know what, and something in his chest. He laid his head back down, closing his eyes as his face crunched in obvious pain.

The tail, which had remained rather motionless until this point, began to thrash from side to side in his pants, as fear washed over him. Q didn't know what was going on, and he didn't like being clueless or in so much pain. His heart hurt, his chest hurt, his arm hurt, his eyes and head hurt.

Another long whine escaped him. Followed by another, and again in a continuous stream only breaking for breath. He sounded like an old abused puppy on its deathbed, begging the owner it still sort of loved to stop beating it. Had Q been mentally aware he was releasing such a noise he probably would've cut his own throat to make it stop.
But he wasn't capable of coherent thought, much less any type of speech.

Those who talked around him, he didn't notice. Like murmurs far away. Or if they really yelled at him, perhaps a foreign language he had no interest in learning.
He began to flinch every now and then in combination with his shivering. He wanted to move, wanted to run away, but he felt like he couldn't. He felt if he moved, he'd just hurt himself more, and he didn't want to experience any more pain.

[[Korn - Tearjerker]]


Blakaize wrote: "He's waking up!"

"Fucking SHIT!"

"Jackie, hold him!"

"You fucking happy now?!"

"QUIET!"

The chatter between the three Cohen siblings was cut off by Grayson's roar. Braig snapped out of it, and went back to work, plunging his forceps into the wound.

"Get the bullet, and pull it out," Grayson said, calmly.

"I'm trying!" Braig snarled. His forceps slipped. "Dammit! We're gonna lose him."

"Calm down," Grayson said, his voice deep, trying to soothe. "You've done this hundreds of time. Just pull it out."

"Yeah, but they were all dead first!" Braig yelled, grasping the bullet hard and yanking it out. "Fuck!" He gasped, grabbing, fumbling at the syringe with saline in it. Okay, he thought. Irrigate the wound, you're okay, you're all good. "Blake, help me stitch . . ."

Blake was shaking.

"Will he be okay?"

Braig tried to calm himself down.

"I . . . I think so."


[Q] wrote: Q continued his whining amidst the screaming between all the brothers. His tail stopped thrashing, instead simply shaking as Braig dug inside of Q's chest again, and the twenty three year old sucked in a deep breath, holding it for only a small mute relief before an even louder, extended whine escaped him as he expelled the air from his lungs. It was filled with vibrato as he shook in both fear and pain, and when Braig pulled the bullet out quickly, Q let out the painful yelp of a dog that had just been kicked in its side.

His tail thrashed again and he tried to get up again, baring his teeth, moving his head from side to side and pushing up from his forearms. But he was being held down. Maybe by people? He still couldn't tell, couldn't see. Opening his eyes again, he hoped to see what was going on, but only again he was assaulted with light and hard shadows he couldn't make much sense of.

When the stitches began, Q seemed to lose it completely, bringing his knees up and trying to push away, run off, fight whatever was poking himself. He was washed over by fight or flight, and whatever drug they had pumped into his veins was begging him to run away and never look back.

He thrashed the arm that wasn't connected to the transfusion machine around, trying to shake whatever was holding him off as he began to huff his breaths, starting to panic. He didn't need people poking around in his chest.

At this point, he started to slowly become vaguely aware of what was going on, what he was doing. He stopped his whines and whimpers, but his tail continued to thrash, and Q became agitated that it had such little area to move in his pant leg. But there was nothing to do about it, as getting away from whatever was going on right now was a little more important.

[[Korn - Falling Away From Me]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake was struck hard in the stomach by one of his boots, and Jackie was backhanded in the face. Braig was able to dodge, and kept working.

"I don't care if you have to sit on his chest hold him down, Jackie," he snarled. Blake leaned close to him, holding his arms. "Blake, talk 'm down!"

Blake leaned close to his ear and whispered, trying to break through the violent wall of pain Q was bashing his head against.

"Q, please," she said, softly. "Please, calm down. Don't be scared. It's me, Blake. Braig's here, Braig's helping you."

"I can't hold him," Jackie grunted. He reached over to draw up some of the normal sedative Braig kept handy, but he almost got a scalpel to the forehead.

"He'll crash! We're already almost killing him with all that fucking speed!" Braig snarled. "Just hold him down!"

Just three more stitches, Braig screamed at himself. Just three more!


[Q] wrote: Q managed to get his arm free, for one moment, got his leg free when Blake moved. He tried to turn on his side, roll off, but Jackie came back at that point, shoving him back down. Q growled in frustration, a gurgle deep in his throat. He closed his eyes again, throwing his head back, craning his neck, as if in the middle of some scene where the main character began turning into a werewolf for the first time.

The only difference was Q appeared very much human, and no noise came from his mouth when he threw his head back. Blake started trying to talk into his ear. He wanted her to go away. Who was she to tell him what he could and couldn't do?!
He hardly knew her! And then. Braig's here... Braig's helping you..

Fuck Braig! Braig was the one who had told him to knock up Blake to begin with. Got him into this whole complicated mess to begin with!
Q wasn't quite sure how he had ended up on a table with people around, probably operating on him... The last thing he could remember was Grayson calling him out on being a fag. And.

Grayson.

Q seemed to calm down a bit, relaxing his muscles, his arched back dropping back onto the platform, his tail slowing its movements. He still shivered, but it was less pronounced. But it was the calm before the storm. A guttural growl formed, rising slowly in volume from his throat as his muscles began to tense again. The cornered dog ready to bite back full force when the master stuck its hand too close.

[[Korn - Twisted Transistor]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig finished the stitch and pressed a hasty bandage to the wound.

"Grayson, get in front of the door. When I let go, he's gonna want to run. Blake, Jackie, on three!"

Braig was ready to instant carnage when Q got to his feet. The kid was freaking out hardcore. Probably because of the 30+ ccs of lido and eppie in his system.

"One . . ." he said, making sure the bandage was tight and in place. The stitches were tight, and he hoped that he wouldn't pop them when he sat up and furthered to thrash, but, Braig'd fix that when he got there . . . "Two . . ."

Blake was ready to snap his knee cap if he tried to run, if he tried to attack her. Jackie was ready to run as well, unsure of this kid now. He was so violent, almost like an animal . . .

"THREE!"

All hands were off, Blake, Jackie, and Braig letting go, allowing Q to move about freely. Grayson was a solid wall of muscle in the door way, not willing to allow the 23-year-old to access the upper level of the house until he calmed the fuck down.


[Q] wrote: Q opened his eyes again as the countdown began. As if he knew, instinctively, what they were planning for him. He glared at them, though he still couldn't make out who was who, he could at least discern shapes of people, now.

He brought his head up, to watch them preparing to shoot backward. Moved his head to follow Grayson, but focused his attention on Braig, who happened to be the first one who was in his line of vision. Blake still was at his side. He could feel her there, Her and Jackie. But being as they were somewhat close together, he didn't want to bother, as if knowing his limits- somehow judging- two against one wouldn't be quite as fair to him.

They all finally let go of him, and his growl grew into that angry get the fuck away or I'll kill you! bark as he shot up and rolled off the table, landing on his hands and knees on the ground. He stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily as he tried to overcome his sudden dizziness. He wheezed a bit, choking on all the slobber he'd produced in order to lubricate his overworking vocal chords. He shook his head once, licking his lips and swallowing back his saliva.

It had only been a few seconds, but felt like much longer than that when Q regained what little bearing he had and stood up, eyes wide and pupils almost nonexistent, looking around, trying to figure out where the hell he was.

It took a lot of brainpower for Q to process what he saw with any efficiency. His vision had degenerated so much over the years, that the world to him was an extremely over-exposed photograph. Only hard shadows outlined things for him, and in actual lighted areas his vision was, for the most, black and white only. Given much lower lighting, he could see a few desaturated colors. The threshold had lowered over time, now to the point where he saw the best in near to perfect darkness and fluorescent lights gave him headaches. After he'd stopped drinking, the constant headaches were probably one of the reason he acted like he had a stick up his ass half the time.

After a few more seconds of looking around, Q thought he could make out a door. It was in the general direction Grayson had gone for. Q's shoulders heaved as he took in deep breaths.
He shot for it.

He didn't even want to hurt anyone anymore, he just wanted out.
He lowered his head and rush-tackled(bum rushed?) Grayson, hoping to just barrel past him and, at the very least, get some place was a little bit darker.

[[Korn - Blind (lawl, lots of Korn today...)]]
Blakaize wrote: Grayson was a solid wall of muscle and sinew. He weighed a good 190. When the scrawny dog-like man came at him, he only tensed his shoulders and grunted when he was hit full speed. he caught the boy before he fell, and shoved him back. He crossed his arms and smoothed his goatee.

"Q, calm down, you're going to hurt yourself," Braig said, hoping he would take his advice. The kid had turned into some kind of animal. The blow to Grayson looked like it hurt, a lot, but the Russian special agent didn't budge.

"He is part dog?" Grayson asked, as the kid tried to bum rush him again snarling and whining. It reminded him of the Irish Wolf Hound they kept back 'home,' in Moscow, Fang. Blake fidgited. She didn't want to come clean about his 'condition,' if it could be called that. She still cared for him enough to want to protect him from the scrutiny of her not-often-kind older brothers.

"It's just the drugs," she lied.


[Q] wrote: Q snarled, a short whine escaping him as he was pushed back. He lost his balance momentarily, but managed to regain it and go for Grayson a second time, his speed and strength substantially lowered, as if he had given his all the very first time.

Grayson didn't even have to push him back the second time, and Q stepped back, trying again, but this time it was more of a shove with his shoulder. He had quickly exhausted his limited supply of energy, and slipped away from Grayson, his shoulders weak. He didn't want to continue standing, but he knew it was wrong to crawl.

He put his hands out to where he assumed the wall was, and it took a few steps to actually touch it. Once he had, he leaned his shoulder against it, dragging it along the wall until he found a corner, where sat down with a exasperated sigh and curled into a ball, his knees to his chest and arms around his legs.

After the adrenaline rush went away, he was crashing, though mostly it was an emotional one. He laid his face in his hands, breathing heavily. At every deep breath he took, he realized his chest hurt more and more. He started to whine, but made a mental effort to cut it short-replaced only by his shaky breathing. He wanted to go to sleep, but he wasn't sure he should.
Had he just had a heart attack? His chest hurt. That's what happened when somebody has a heart attack, right?

He squeezed his legs with his hands, shaking a bit, reality slowly coming back. He finally was able to mumble something. Horribly pronounced, as if he'd only just learned how to speak it, his voice cracking in the middle, his vocal chords incredibly sore.
"Make it stop,"
He wasn't quite sure what he was referring to exactly, but he shoved his head further into his arms, if it were possible.

Q'd never been high, before. Never been so pumped full of drugs that he could remember. He didn't know what had just happened, but he did catch the tail end, the rushing off the table and into whomever was at the door-- he hadn't been able to make out who it was. He was embarassed. There was no recovering from that. He didn't know if it had been the drugs that made him do it, or if it was all in his mind-- but if he had done it, then the drugs had only amplified what was in his mind, hadn't they?

Meaning he really was this. Didn't it?
Another whine came from him, again cut short with conscious effort. He growled at himself. Somehow that was more acceptable to him than sounding like a puppy.

[[Korn - Eaten Up Inside]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake wanted to walk up to him and hug him, but, that would probably get her smacked, so she left him where he was hunkered. She looked to Braig and Jackie. Grayson, surprisingly, was the one who knelt by the boy.

"I know you can hear me and understand these words," he said, in broken, terribly crafted French. He only had to learn it on one mission, and though slightly proficient, he wasn't as good as Braig. "You alone have the power to save the ones you care for. I know, there is no love lost between us. I, who so hurt the man you love, and you, who act as the tool of his vengeance against the ones I love. But. Despite what you are, despite who you are, there are still those who care for you under this roof. Braig, who in his heart, and with his hands, that tend only to the dead, heals you. Bernadene, who cares for you, and sees you as she has seen no man in years. An equal. Pick yourself up. Carry yourself to victory. But lean on those willing to support you on your journey."

Braig was behind him on the stairs now, trying to hook an arm under Q's.

"Come on, Slim. Up you get?" He said, gently, ignoring his brother's words. Blake and Jackie, the twins, stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for further instruction.


[Q] wrote: Q shook his head slowly in his arms as Grayson spoke. They would've been uplifting, perhaps, at any other time. But not this one.
"No," he whined, his eyes still tightly closed when Braig caught his arm.
Q did as he was urged to, standing, though weak. "I don't wanna do it anymore," his voice squeaked in the middle.
"I wanna die a man, not this.... Disgusting..." he shuddered, leaning against Braig and walking to wherever it was they were going.

Soon they hit stairs, and Q was forced to open his eyes again, looking down.
"I..." He tried really hard to speak english, but he had a horrific accent, and his high-pitched, cracking exhausted voice remained. "...Can't control it anymore..."

As if to demonstrate, another pathetic whine escaped. He opened his mouth, forcing words out to belay it. "I hope they kill me!"
At the mere mention of such words, he shuddered again. He was terrified of death, and pain, it was obvious now. But living as something that was less than a man hurt him even more.
He figured, something must've happened to his brain. Had it been damaged while he was on the table? He still couldn't remember what had happened to get him there, or why his chest hurt.
Weren't those things he should've remembered?

The last thing was Grayson. Then he was going to go to his motel room. But he didn't remember ever getting there. Was he ambushed on the way? Had Blake shot him?
He wheezed, covering up a whimper. Or trying to.

[[You know, Blake still has that wound in her thigh. Px]]


Blakaize wrote: "That's just the drugs talking," Braig said, soothingly. "You'll feel better in the morning. You want food? We've got penne pasta. Everybody loves penne pasta . . ."

Blake watched as Braig led Q towards the door, past Grayson, who watched on. She took a step forward to follow. What she would do with Q in such a condition was beyond her. Blake just wanted to know if he would really be okay.

A lightning bolt of pain went up her leg and she almost buckled. Jackie, ever the faithful younger twin, was there to catch her, and Grayson was thundering down the stairs. The adreneline of trying to save Q had made her forget and block out the pain of the direct bullet wound to her thigh.

"Fucking HELL!" She swore, harshly, as Jackie helped her hop towards the metal slab. It was smeared with blood from irrigating Q's wound . . .

"You are injured?" Grayson asked, captain obvious.

Blake grit her teeth and tried to steady her rammering heart.

"Times three," she said. "One in the chest, a graze in the side, and one in the leg."

Jackie looked pensive for a moment.

"That's fucking weird."

"What?"

"You and Q have the same wounds, tit for tat, exactly."

"Fuck off."

"No, seriously, remember?"

Blake shoved Jackie away, and focused on trying to keep herself from moaning in pain.


[Q] wrote: Q gave a slight whimper of disapproval before going into Braig's bedroom and being set on the bed. He asked about pasta, Q shook his head and laid down on the bed.

Then, he heard Blake call out and lots of thumping down stairs.
He shot up from the bed, standing, taking a few steps toward the doorway, only to grab Braig and prevent himself from falling down, still having no energy.

He grunted, leaning his forehead on Braig's shoulder.
"I did it... with her..." he rasped, trying to keep his voice low. Accent still coming in an out, just like the volume of his voice.
"But... I fucked it up, Braig..." Maybe now the drugs really were talking.
Or maybe it was just huge lack of sleep.
"I told her I didn't like her.. Pissed her off... I'm sorry, I just... Having emotional difficulty these days..."
He squeezed Braig's arm with his left hand and rocked for a moment, as if prepping himself to step backward onto the bed.
He did finally, and sat back down on the edge. "Sorry. Make sure she's okay? I didn't mean to hurt her..."


Blakaize wrote: Braig cursed under his breath, mostly at himself, for even suggesting that the two try to pair up. His hopes for some sense of normalcy for his sister, dashed . . . Then again, how normal was Q anyway?

"It's my fault," he said. "For even suggesting it. Don't worry about her." When the kid actually seemed worried, Braig felt a tiny spark of hope light in his chest. "I'll check on her, but, you're worse off right now. Just relax." He made sure Q was steady, then set about to remove his shoes, get him more comfortable.

Meanwhile, Grayson was examining the bullet wound, or rather, the wounds, in her thigh and the healing one on her chest.

"You will forever be a mystery to me, Bernadene," he said, tutting.

"You can take your tsking and shove it up your ass, Grayson, I'm fine," she snarled.


[Q] wrote: Q shook his head once on the bed, putting his hand on Braig's shoulder again, in attempt to push him away.
"Thanks," he said, simply laying atop the bed, keeping his boots on and laying on his side, back away from Braig.

It didn't take long at all for him to just black out, again. He hadn't slept in so long, combined with all that had happened, he was exhausted.


Blakaize wrote: Braig slipped his boots off anyway, pulled the light sheet over his chest, and gently removed the glasses, placing them on the bedside table. He dimmed the lights and slunk out, heading back downstairs.

Jackie was standing beside Blake, who was sitting on the slab, supporting her head on one hand, looking as if she was suffering the mother of all migranes.

"You got shot too," Braig said, matter of fact. As he passed the sink, he grabbed some gloves and pulled them on. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He knew . . . a lot of things now. "Where?"

"Thigh. Looked to be a standard glock. .45 at best." Blake said, a little hollow. Braig could tell, already, that it shredded through the muscle, probably lodged in bone. But he could get it out. Her eyes met his for the first time. "Is he stable?" It was a neutral enough way of speaking. But her eyes gave her away so cleanly.

"I can fix you up," he replied, pointedly ignoring the last question for a while. "Jackie, Grayson, I'll take it from here. Er, best to guard you-know-who's room until he gets off the meds?"

Jackie nodded and headed upstairs. Grayson lingered for a half a second before following. Now it was just Braig and Blake.


[Q] wrote: Q was already asleep when Grayson came up. The twenty three year old breathed through his mouth quietly, curled into a slight ball underneath the cover.
An hour or so in he re-adjusted himself in his sleep, undoing his belt and pulling his pants down a bit to slip out his tail, spreading it across the length of the bed underneath the sheet as it had been cramping. But after this, Q slipped right back into unconsciousness with ease.

He didn't wake up until ten or more hours later.
That was when he got up with a grunt and put his socked feet on the floor, getting up carefully, his balance feeling a bit off kilter. He was quick to recover however, and walked over to Braig's dresser, which had a mirror.

Leaning his hands on the dresser, he looked at himself closely in the mirror- his hair was a mess, he could swear he'd aged by at least three more years, and to him, he felt even more ugly than before. He grimaced, bringing up his left hand to brush his hair and cover his scar, afterwards tracing his first two fingers up his tattoos on his chin, as if they had a certain texture. Why had he gotten these? The huge golden ankh running up his back under his shirt was even worse.

He didn't know why he was going through this self-depreciation phase again. He leaned down, putting his forearms on the dresser and hanging his head ontop of them. He felt like he'd woken up from a real bad trip down Bourbon street.

His shoulders raised as he took in a deep breath, trying to remember what exactly had happened. Blake and he had had sex. Grayson came home, called him a fag, Q left to get his things from his motel room and see Ves? Maybe? Then... He woke up here.
Why?

He ran his fingers through his grey hair, clutching his head as he brought it up, looking in the mirror again.
Well, he'd been shot, he knew that much. His chest hurt. His green eyes looked down at his shirt, which had been carelessly cut open. A pitiful short whine escaped him. His favorite shirt, now destroyed.
Spreading the cloth apart, he could see the bandage in the mirror. Q ran a finger over it, wincing as he crossed the stitches. His tail, which was still free, began to wave with a bit more speed at the agitation, somewhat echoing his heartbeat.

Q left the wound alone, fighting his curiosity and trying to waylay it by instead looking for another shirt. One of Braig's. Q searched through drawers, and found one. Pale blue, but to Q it appeared grey.

Q took his shirt off and let it fall to the floor, putting on Braig's and buttoning it up. In this rather plain getup, he almost seemed... Normal. Boring, even. Q would've laughed if he still weren't dispairing over his lack of memory. He knew it was a bullet wound. So the memory must be in his head somewhere, right?
Who had shot him?

He grumbled, low in his throat. Then another followed from his stomach. He hadn't eaten in as long as he hadn't slept. With a disgruntled sigh, he grabbed his tail with his right hand and guided it back into his pant leg, adjusting himself and the pants slightly before buckling his belt and slowly making his way downstairs. He wondered if anyone was home. What time was it even?

He found the kitchen by himself, and started slowly looking through cupboards, finding a pan and placing it on the stove. He looked rather quietly, but anyone who watched him could tell he was having a hard time. Not only was he lost in where everything was, but it was particularly obvious that his vision wasn't the best, with the way he felt the edges of things or squinted.

After he had the pan on the stove, however, he went on to find some eggs, cheese, a fork, pepper... which had to smell and sneeze afterward to confirm it was pepper, and when it all came together, he was making himself an omelet.

It seemed strangely comforting, to cook. He appeared alone for the most part. He wasn't going to question it as he messed with the eggs in the pan with the fork as they cooked, making sure it was all even.

[[Switchfoot - Don't Be There]]


Blakaize wrote: Grayson had been silent as death as he slumped against the wall, seeing Q leave Braig's bedroom and head downstairs. He followed after, almost stalking him. It had been quite some time since Blake had limped upstairs, and hidden in her own bedroom. Braig had delivered the news that her gait would be off for a good long time. She could still push herself to sprint, still do her usual gymnastics and such, but walking was difficult. She looked old, with that one leg not bending all the way as it should have.

And Grayson blamed himself.

He had antagonized the boy, the boy was important to Blake, the boy left, Blake followed. The fire fight that ensued had left one of them near death and the other, his dear sister, crippled. He sighed, heavily, and watched as Q ransacked the kitchen. Er, maybe ransacked was the wrong word. Either he was blind or just clumsy or just awkward. Probably a combination of all three.

Unfortunately for the Cohen children, they were culturally bankrupt. By the time their mother and father left, they had been in so many different countries, over twenty different religions, and, eventually, some things stuck, but to different ones of them. Their features were such that they could pass as whoever they pleased to pass as. Braig appeared to be very distinctly British, or even slightly Germanic. Grayson himself had bonded with the Russian in his blood. Blake crossed the Russian/German boarder and settled for Prussian. Jackie had been in the Bronx so long, he began to become Italian, and no one really knew where he had picked that up, aside from the Bronx. That was one place where they never really stayed too long, while their mother popped out children as she followed her slightly psychotic father around the world, as he tried to relive his days as a Soviet. Isaac was very frankly American, and that is what kept him from connecting with their lifestyle. Jaiden seemed to channel that one year spent in Japan, but he was too young to truly adapt yet so . . .

An egg broke, slipped from Q's hands as he tried to crack it. It left a splattering of slimy film and the shattered white fragments of shell. This broke Grayson from his reprieve in his mind and he stepped forward.

"Do you want help?" He asked, trying to sound neutral.


[Q] wrote: Q picked up the bigger pieces of the shell out of the pan, putting them aside and taking the fork to try and fish the smaller pieces out, the rest of the egg cooking.

When Grayson asked if he needed help, Q flinched a bit, surprised he was there. How long had he been? But unlike how Q normally reacted, he played it cool, keeping to his work and not looking back.
"No thank you," he said flatly.

Q, after removing all of the shell (that he could see, anyway) from the pan and cracking another two eggs, stirred it all together, adding the cheese and pepper as if he'd done it a thousand times before. He scratched the yolk in the pan a few times before speaking up again. It was clear Q was depressed, but in this household, who wasn't?

"I thought you hated me... Grayson?" he said, turning around to face the man. Q said Grayson, as if he were unsure that that was the man's name. Q could only remember their five minute encounter, wasn't too sure if the name he had was correct.

Q blinked a few times, trying to take in what Grayson looked like, but for the most part, only able to discern the shape of a male figure. Q seemed disappointed, and his eyes were highly emotive, the forest green displaying his faintest emotions for all to see. Depending on the sunglasses for sight in lighter atmospheres for so long had crippled Q's facade skills, if he ever had any to begin with.

"... So why are you here? Just making sure I don't kill anyone?" Q sighed, turning back to his eggs. Perhaps he was stress cooking moreso than just cooking out of necessity.


Blakaize wrote: Grayson blinked.

"Hate you? No, not terribly so. Call me a mama bear if you must, but, I am protective. Unfortunately. Being the biggest of my siblings, I feel obligated. However, obviously Braig trusts you, and Berna---Blake." He put his hands in his pockets. The boy was making omlettes. Interesting. Very French, he noted. He liked eggs, but, Braig usually got the white ones, and living in Russia, he trusted the brown spotted ones more. "Actually, I was asked to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. Braig had brought you back from the brink of death, but to do so, he had to introduce some . . . medications to your system. Low blood pressure, or something, he said. It's part of the reason why you acted so strange earlier. Why it felt like you had electricity in your veins, do doubt."

Upstairs, Blake sat at her computer, surfing aimlessly. Really, she was searching for information on the French Mafia, entering names, hacking into Interpol . . .


[Q] wrote: "Acted strangely..." He mulled aloud to himself, turning the stove off, and messing with the eggs with the fork. Moreso for something to do with his hands than any particular reason.

"... I don't remember anything after I left the house. I know where I was going and why, but I don't remember getting there, getting shot, or anything until waking up a few minutes a go."
He grunted, cutting a piece of the yellow out of the rest with the fork, as if getting ready to eat it. But really he was pre-occupying himself so he didn't have to face Grayson.

"And yes. I have a condition. It's gotten worse over the years... I should've retired, but I was never actually shot before... So I didn't worry too much about it..." His shoulders slumped forward as he looked down at the eggs, thinking back to what he'd been doing before he got shot.

He was slowly remembering bits and pieces. Right now he was thinking back to the... what? Psychotic break? Where he had begun crying in front of Nathanael, about trying so hard to be a man and still winding up being a giant fairy.

Grayson probably thought the same.
It was more or less true anyway.


Blakaize wrote: Grayson watched him carefully.

"Do you want help in this matter? Do you want our help, I mean? You can't do it on your own. Or, at least, it would be very hard." Grayson studied his movements. He was at his breaking point, this much was obvious. "What have you to lose in this matter, if you weren't to kill my family? How easily can you hide yourself?"
[Q] wrote: Q slunk over, letting go of the fork and placing both his hands on the stove.
"I was kind of hoping this would be it," He said softly.

"I am going to die soon anyway. My body is not the same anymore." He turned the pan on the stove, pushing it away from himself.
"You can eat this if you want," he breathed, turning and going back up toward the stairs, to Braig's room.

He didn't want to talk to Grayson about this. He wanted somebody to just hold him and coo and say everything was okay, and coddle him.
And the thought of wanting that sickened him more, because it was what Q had been trying to rid himself off for three years.
He wanted a man, and it made him sick to his stomach.


Blakaize wrote: Grayson blinked, confused.

"What the matter with your ---" and then he was alone. "Body?"

Meanwhile, Blake tapped the keys of her computer hard, trying to retrace keystrokes and codes. Interpol had beefed security, but, not too much. She could still get in, it would just take longer.

She heard someone on the stairs, passing her room. The breathing and labored wheeze made her think of Q, and a part of her wanted to see if he was okay. Instead, she just stayed put. There was no . . . no point in trying to see something between them that wasn't there. All they were to each other now was a warm body, the passenger sitting next to you on a plane that was nose diving. In dire situations, you just had to find someone to hold onto and love. To hear it told back to you, in the moments before you died.

Blake snorted at herself, clicking away at solitaire while she waited for a hacking system to bypass some firewalls.

"Yeah, whatever, B," she muttered to herself.


[Q] wrote: Q went upstairs and back to Braig's room, taking off the shirt and dropping it on the floor before climbing back into the bed, pulling the sheets over himself like a child trying to find some privacy.

Once they were pulled over his head, he loosened his pants again and let his tail out, curling into a ball afterward.
Maybe he'd just end up doing nothing at all, and this would all blow over. Alexandre would kill Ves and the Mafia would turn into a full blown syndicate and it wouldn't be Q's problem.

It would suck that he'd probably be hunted down once and for all, but it wasn't as if Q had anything to live for currently. Underneath the covers, Q could see more clearly, and he looked down at his silver heart necklace, with the green gem in it. He frowned. It was a gift from Vespasien a long time a go.
I am giving you this so you can get rid of those dog tags, He had said. This will look so much better on you, Quatre Bornes.

Q choked.
This whole situation was rather ridiculous. He felt like he should be a teenager right now. At least then he could chalk up this terrible outlook of the world to raging hormones.


Blakaize wrote: Braig had beaten Jaiden's narrow butt twice in Grand Theft Auto Vice City, and was starting to get bored. Jaiden sat up and pouted.

"Hey, Braig," he said, after a while. "When is Isaac coming back?"

It was a sore subject, and Braig winced.

"Soon, kiddo. Erm. Get some sleep." He said, getting up and leaving. He stood outside the hall, listening to Jaiden whisper to an obviously jealous Gabriel. He sighed and wandered across the hall to his own room. There was a lump in the bed, where Q was. He opened the door, stood there for a while, and then backed out again.

EDIT:

He stood there for a while, listening to himself breathing. He sighed heavily and reentered his room. It was HIS room after all.

"Hey," he said. "You awake?"


[Q] wrote: Q flinched beneath the covers. He wiped his face, though it had no tears, and reorganized himself, slowly bringing his head out from the covers to see who it was.
Braig.

"I'm sorry for taking over your room," he offered softly, turning away, propping his head on a pillow and pulling the sheets over his shoulders, making sure it was only his head that was peaking from under the covers.


Blakaize wrote: Braig shrugged.

"No problem," he said, honestly. "You were about to die. Least I could do. You, uh, feeling any better?" Yeah, after getting shot in the chest? He shook his head and reentered the room more completely. "Listen. About this mafia thing . . ." What was he going to say? What could he say?


[Q] wrote: "Don't worry about it," Q cut Braig off about the 'mafia thing.'

"I'm not going to be killing anybody. I think it's best I called it quits completely. I'll take all this as a good queue for retirement. I've got a nice enough amount of cash to live off for a while. Maybe try to get a real job for once. I don't know."
He wasn't too invested in the idea of getting a real job. He wasn't too invested in life at all at this point.

Q brought his legs to his chest beneath the sheets, curling into his ball again.
"....Grayson didn't have to tell you about me. You already knew, didn't you? Blake too. About my relationship with Ves?"
He grit his teeth. He didn't know why he was bringing it up.


Blakaize wrote: Braig shrugged.

"We could always use an extra hand around here . . ." he offered. The kid looked depressed. At the Grayson question, he balked. This was tricky, he thought. Do I, or don't I? "At first, nah. Blake and me didn't have that much of an inkling. I only aggravated the situation when I thought of you and her maybe . . . I dunno. I guess I wanted what you wanted, a normal life. But, then again, normalcy always evaded us, our kind."

He rubbed his neck.

"We can help you, you know. If you want it. Seems like this Alexandre guy is the one causing all the trouble . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q tched.
"I spent so long trying to get rid of that part of myself... Then Grayson comes barging in and ruins all the progress I had made," he whined. Q had more or less convinced himself to be homophobic.

"I don't care anymore, about Alexandre. Or Ves. It's none of my business. I am disassociating myself. If his new goons find me and kill me off, so be it."

He turned around, facing Braig before sitting up, making sure to pull the covers with him, so he wouldn't show his chest. Q was particularly self-conscious of his body, despite nothing being outwardly wrong with it (aside from the tail, anyway).

"I'm sorry my past has caused such... trouble with your family." His green eyes looked down, not wanting to look Braig in the eyes. "I'm sorry for being as juvenile as I am. If I were more of a man I would be handling this better."


Blakaize wrote: Braig stepped forward and smacked him, lightly.

"Snap out of it, kid," he said, softly, not cruelly. "We'll get our way out of it. We always do. Besides, if this Alexandre guy is going this far out of his way for little old you, what's he gonna do when other syndicates piss him off? He needs to be knocked down a notch." He seemed to get angry then, not at Q, but at something else. "And I'll be damned if we ain't the ones who do it!"

With that he stormed out of the room, and down the stairs.


[Q] wrote: Q swallowed after being slapped, listening to Braig's words. When the other man stormed out, Q looked up, raising an eyebrow, a little confused.
What had just happened?

That seemed like a weird thing to get worked up over. He tilted his head for a second, looking at the empty doorway, and where he assumed Blake's room was across the hall.
He gave himself a few seconds before he sighed, getting up out of the bed, putting back on Braig's shirt and hiding his tail in his pants again.

The twenty three year old then went down the stairs, following Braig's trail.
"Are you okay?" Q asked once he finally reached the other man.
That seemed like the right question to ask, though it was rather ironic considering the source.


Blakaize wrote: Braig sighed, heavily.

"I just . . . I feel like my unit is falling apart," he said. "I've always wanted to fix everything. But . . . I dunno . . . There's so much I can't fix anymore, I'm just starting to get frustrated."

He shook his head, tried to think. Grayson was lurking nearby, but, true to his MO, he stayed silent and unseen.


[Q] wrote: Q stepped forward, leaning his head to one side, trying to be understanding. It gave him something to focus on rather than his own depressing situation.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I've never had any sort of.... traditional family before. So if it's me, I apologize. If it's any consolation, I think what you have here... These family dynamics... Watching your siblings interact.... That's something that cannot be duplicated. It's... Uplifting. Even if you don't think it's perfect, it's much greater than anything I've ever had."

He shifted his weight, the bullet wound in his thigh becoming a bit sore as he looked down.
"I've grown a bit jealous," he admitted.

[[Snow Patrol - Set the Fire to the Third Bar]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig looked at the kid, examining him carefully.

"Why do you think so poorly of yourself? I just, noticed, ya know? You can be kinda hard on yourself, and stuff."

He seemed a little awkward at first, but, then favored Q with an stuffy hug. Usually, he'd deal out bro-hugs, but, this was a full-circled hug, both arms, chest to chest. He patted his back once and stepped back.

"We can help you beat Alexandre, slim, but, we can't help you . . . beat you. Get it?"


[Q] wrote: Q quirked a brow. Braig was speaking differently. Was he nervous?
And then the hug came.
Q didn't know what to do at first, but then at the thought of losing it, quickly returned the hug, squeezing back, relishing it. He almost didn't let go, but he had to make an effort to not make the sentiment awkward, so when Braig pulled back, Q hesitated, but did as well.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Q forced a smirk.
"I guess I'm kinda down because..." He forced a cough and scratched his head, turning away.
".... All that's happened, I guess."

He put his hands down, relaxing for a moment, before turning back to Braig and forcing himself to look at the other man in the eyes.
"Thank you. For all that you've done," he said, his eyes sincere, if not a bit fearful.
"Others would've let me die."
Blakaize wrote: Braig was surprised, a little bit shocked. He recovered himself quickly though.

"Hey," he said, rubbing his neck. "Don't mention it."

They lapsed into an awkward silence and Braig wasn't entirely sure what do to. What really could be done? He hadn't expected a thank you, for doing something anyone would have done. Still, though, there was a lot the kid was keeping from him. He just had that kind of feeling about it.

Blake had finally cracked Interpol, but, she wasn't interested in messing with it now. There was still a few days before the time limit was up.


[Q] wrote: [[You never told me you posted!!]]

"No. It's worth mentioning. Because it means a lot. Especially considering how I treated you."
He swallowed, scratching his head and tearing his eyes away, looking down at the floor, embracing the awkward silence for a few moments before trying to break it.

"Uh. I made eggs..." Q offered. They were probably cold by now. "Assuming Grayson didn't eat them, anyway."


Blakaize wrote: Braig shrugged.

"You weren't THAT bad, Slim. Trust me, one of these days, you'll meet Isaac, THEN you'll see an ungrateful bastard." He said, trying to laugh it off. He smirked at the thought of eggs. "Sounds great. I mean, hell, you're French. Probably make a mean omlette du fromage, yeah?"


[Q] wrote: Q's mood lightened. "Yes, I suppose."
He even gave a faint smile, his posture straightening as he made his way to the kitchen, to the omelet that was, in fact cold. He stuck the fork in it and ate the piece he'd cut out, swallowing.

"Well, it's cold obviously, but I can make another easily enough."
He cut it up and ate the rest of it quickly, turning on the stove and preparing to make another.

Meanwhile, were Blake to access the right pages on Interpol, she'd learn that Alexandre was an Alexander Ferguson, a US Secret Service official investigating a top secret government project in France, who later went AWOL. Vespasien Laurent had been an honors student at a private military academy, excelling in Strategy. He was filed under missing persons and was under suspect of running a syndicate in the united states, after having stolen government property.
Quatre Bornes Lee, also known as Q, had also been filed under missing persons. He was a student of the same school as Vespasien, also majoring in strategy, but somewhat of an average student, instead excelling more in linguistics. The image of Q was much different from how he looked now, much younger, no scar or tattoos, and his hair was dark brown, almost black. The page seemed to have been tampered with, but it was thought he'd gone with Vespasien to run the french syndicate in the united states, but his current whereabouts were unknown. Further prying would suggest he was some sort of government property, as his father was one of the commanding officers at the academy and was one of the prime suspects Alexander had been investigating. But how they were related wasn't explicitly mentioned.


Blakaize wrote: Braig was used to cooking, not being the fed. He sat at the table and watched while Q worked, only wondering slightly about him.

Meanwhile, Blake started typing in statistics. She figured she'd start with Vespasian, but, just knowing what his first name was, it would take some time for her to sift through all the Vespasians until she found the right one. She could narrow the search, by putting in his nationality, but that still left her with . . .

"500?!" She gasped, eyes narrowed. "500 mothers decided to curse their children with the name Vespasian?! Really?!"

Grumbling still, she kept on searching, kept on sifting.



[Q] wrote: Q's mood continued to slowly improve. Cooking for someone else was uplifting to him. He used to do it for Ves. And in his cooking for Braig, it had forced him to eat the cold omelet. He hadn't eaten in a few days, so that was probably healthier than nothing.

In a few minutes, he had finished the cheese omelet, taking the fork and the pan over to Braig and putting it on the table. Q hadn't bothered with a plate- he felt eating straight out of the pan was fine.

He handed the fork to Braig and waited.
"I don't know if it's really french or anything," Q chuckled. "I taught myself how to cook."


Blakaize wrote: Braig chowed down. It was pretty good. He would have added other stuff, but, for a self-taught cook, not bad. Not bad at all.

"Damn good," he said. "Hey, if you want, I can teach you how to cook. Like, more complex stuff." He grinned. He had taught Blake how to cook, so it probably wouldn't be that hard.

Upstairs, Blake was about two steps away from slamming her head into the keyboard.


[Q] wrote: "Oh, yeah!" Q seemed to light up, remembering.
"That's right, you keep offering me mancotti or something. I'm sorry!" He scratched his head, making more of a show than anything.
"I just haven't been too hungry lately. But yes. Yes, I would like that. You teaching me, I mean."

He gave a 'heh', closing his eyes with a smirk, indulging in the attention he was receiving. It was obvious he hadn't had much in the way of positive social interaction in a very long time.

Q's tail began to wag in his pants leg, making a slight swishing noise. He opened his eyes and glared at the wall and tried to play it off, putting his left hand on his leg, his fingers grabbing the back of it, and in the process, also his tail in an effort to keep it from moving as much.
It worked.
He held his fingers there for a few seconds before he was sure he mentally had control over it, later removing them and turning his attention back to Braig.

"... Were you speaking of right now? Or you meant to say another time...?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig rolled his shoulders.

"Whenever. Jackie and Jaiden are both bottomless pits, so, there's usually a lack of food around this place. We could probably make damn near anything and those two putzs would eat it." He leaned against the table, watching him carefully.

Good God, he realized, to himself. When was the last time I had a fucking shower? Christ . . .

Upstairs, Blake was starting to read up on who she believed to be Vespasian, Q's Vespasian, anyway. She patted her legs out of habit, looking for her pack of smokes. She had lost them somewhere along the line, and would probably have to open up a new pack. Dammit, she thought. That was a half-pack of unfiltered Lucky Strikes just fucking gone . . .

She let the file download as she went to snoop in her brothers' stuff for a pack. She figured Braig wouldn't miss a few menthal Malburos~


[Q] wrote: Q looked to Braig, watching his movements.
"Is now okay? We could try something now...?"

He was a little too eager. He wanted to get his mind off everything else, and he hadn't cooked anything decent in a very long time. Being stuck in motels, he had pretty much been limited to stew and eggs. He hadn't stayed in one place long enough to bother with anything too complex, though he could vaguely remember experimenting with things when he was with Ves.

How old was Braig, Q wondered?

That was a random thought. Q gave a 'heh', shifting his weight to the other leg.


Blakaize wrote: Braig cracked his knuckles, a hold over from the services, and straightened, standing up.

"Okay, let's start with something easy." He said, taking out ingredients from the fridge. "Crunchy cheesy pasta stuff easy." He murmured, realizing he was such a woman sometimes. He watched Rachael Ray between embalmings, when business was slow. Sighing heavily, he set his 'work station' up, a hold over from medical school.

Blake returned to her computer, lit up a smoke, and took a deep breath. The filtered kind, she usually liked better, but her unfiltered Lucky Strikes usually got the job done quicker . . .


[Q] wrote: Q gave a slight chuckle, watching Braig with curiosity. "You're sure that's not too easy?"

He walked back over to the stove, waiting for Braig to get everything out and lay it all down.
His attention became diverted.

"Can you teach me in Russian?" His tail began to wag again, making a shuff noise against his paint leg. Q was getting a bit too excited. This was actually happening. It wasn't all show, Braig actually cared, actually wanted to teach Q something.

As for the Vespasien Laurent in the Interpol database, the record read something like the following:
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 200lbs.
Age: 25 years
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown
Ethnicity: French
The description of his was followed with an outdated image. One from the academy of Vespasien in uniform, hair cropped short, face clean of hair and piercing blue eyes. The kind that could pierce someone's soul. Held authority, intellect, could stir fear if needed, but for the most part were complacent and caring.
Vespasien in this day in age looked nothing of how he used to. He now had finger length brown hair and wore primarily trench coats with large pockets. When Q had known him, he hardly went outside. Had become rather agoraphobic shortly after the trip to the United States.
But after Q left, Ves was slowly breaking his way out of his shell with Alexandre.


Blakaize wrote: "Easy enough, Slim, but with many steps," Braig said. He raised an eyebrow. "Russian? Tch, if you can understand." He said, laughing. It was a odd request. "But, okay. First, we boil the water. Easy enough, you can handle that, right? Now, while the water boils, we take some of this bread." He said this while taking a long bagette like loaf and began to cut it into slices. "Crunchy bread, thick slices, like this. Then, you take olive oil, any kind, and you drizzel it over your slices. You put it all on a cookie sheet and put it into the oven. Toast, right?"

Braig was careful and slow, feeling Q's eyes on him.

"Once you got the water boiling, you pour in your pasta pieces, and let them sit until they get soft. Erm, they might turn green, but, that's okay, it happens a lot. Cheap pots Jackie bought me for Christmas. Okay, now, take some of the white cheese and grate it, nice and thin . . ."

Upstairs, Blake studied the picture of Vespasian. Dude looked serious enough, but it had been years since this page was properly updated. Obviously, the government didn't see him as a threat. There were some links out, to separate profiles, at the very bottom of his own. Two names stood our to her. One of them she assumed was Alexandre, the other, well . . .

Her mouse hovered over Lee, Q. B. for a moment . . .

klka

She clicked it, despite her better feelings to just leave it be . . .


[Q] wrote: Q was trying to follow along. He didn't understand most of what Braig was saying, but the cooking being completely hands on helped. When Braig got the olive oil, Q couldn't make out what was happening.

"Wait. Wait. You're going too fast."
Without his glasses, it was extremely difficult to see. And the olive oil was mostly glass, the liquid too light for him to make.
They both didn't have many shadows, nor hard edges, so to Q Braig was pretty much moving his hands along in the air.

"What did you just do there? In english?" His green eyes, pupils still hair-thin, squinted, even though he knew that wouldn't help. His eyes weren't hurting him, which was strange as he should've had a horrible headache by now, but he was dedicated in trying to learn this.

He was growing a bit upset. He didn't want to admit he couldn't see what Braig was doing when it was clear to a normal person. But he still wanted to follow along.

Quatre Bornes Lee, also known as Q, had also been filed under missing persons. He was a student of the same school as Vespasien, also majoring in strategy, but somewhat of an average student, instead excelling more in linguistics. The image of Q was much different from how he looked now, much younger, no scar or tattoos, and his hair was dark brown, almost black. It was a little shorter in this image, and slicked back, which was unusual given how military academies normally had very strict hair guidelines.
The page seemed to have been tampered with, but it was thought he'd gone with Vespasien to run the french syndicate in the united states, but his current whereabouts were unknown. Further prying would suggest he was some sort of government property, as his father was one of the commanding officers at the academy and also one of the prime suspects Alexander had been investigating. But how they were related wasn't explicitly mentioned. Instead, there was a note written in the bottom, which could also be found at the bottom of Q's father's page as well as Alexander's. "See associated file in JWICS," followed by a string of numbers used to identify specific articles of information.


Common Aliases: Q, Bornes, Qua, Lee
Height: 6'
Weight: 190lbs.
Age: 23 years
Eyes: Green
Hair: Brown
Ethnicity: Mauritian (French)


JWICS was the Joint Worldwide Intelligence Communications System, used by the U.S. to transmit Classified up to Top Secret information.


Blakaize wrote: Braig looked at him, confused and concerned.

"You okay, Slim?" He asked, wondering if it would be okay if he put a hand on his shoulder. The kid was squinting, his eyes looking strange. He set aside his things and waited, wanting to know what was up. He'd seen eyes like Q's before, but only on special effects contacts. He hadn't noticed it before, since he usually wore sunglasses ----

Sunglasses . . .

"Here, I'll go get your shades?" He said. Maybe the kid had sensitive eyes? His low blood pressure affecting the sensitive nerves in his eyes, perhaps?

Meanwhile, Blake was staring at her screen, not sure what to believe.

"JWICS? Holy shit,' she muttered, wondering what else Q was hiding. Clicking the link sent her to a log in screen, where she would be forced to enter data only supplied to top government agents to access this part of the site. Popping her neck and cracking her knuckles, she started to hack again. She was pretty certain this "Alexander" guy was really "Alexandre."

"Oh, you coy bastard you." she said, sneering wolfishly.
[Q] wrote: Q shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. Just explain that last part, with the bread, in english."
He closed his eyes, calming himself, trying not to get upset again. He didn't want to ruin his good mood.

"I don't know any russian. I just thought maybe, I could catch on... You know?"
He sighed, relaxing himself, looking back to Braig.
"So. Just do the last part again," he forced.


[[You're going to have to give me some time to come up with JWICS pages. I've never thought through it fully because I didn't think it'd ever come up. Q doesn't know.

Addendum:]]

Once logged into JWICS and accessed to the correct article, Blake would find something not many eyes had been privy to. There were several "cover pages" claiming this to be top secret and to be protected and not duplicated, as was custom for almost any page on this intranet.

However, once passed these buffers, the article would go into depth about a "tribe" of Mauritians that were thought to be Cryptids, or more specifically "werewolves."
A few special operatives from France (As France owned the Mauritius island) were sent there, one of them being Kyouki Lee (Q's father). The mission lasted several years, and four children were born, one having the civilian name Quatre Bornes Lee, project name "The fourth", as this child was the last before the group went back to France.

All four children- under the so-called Black Woods Project - were bought by the United States Military and left primarily in the French Military's care. All four children had been born appearing to be more-so wolf than human. The first three children had been subject to many experiments in attempts to create military weapons or "train" the "werewolves" to be used for military purposes as well as find out what abilities the so-called "werewolves" were capable of themselves. The fourth child, the youngest, was the least bestial, and through genetic engineering was able to appear mostly human and more "domesticated", whereas the prior three children eventually died from immune system deficiencies and had been rather feral and unruly to deal with.

Still, Black Woods was able to confirm the existence of werewolves or werewolf-like humans, mostly due to the results of the successive tests upon the first three children. The fourth's original intention was to become a super soldier and pass as a human being. Various tests estimated that the life span of the fourth would be a meager 25 to 30 years at best, and would not be able to participate in most cardiovascular activities due to complications during the "humanizing" cosmetic surgery and bioart, rendering the fourth child useless as a super soldier.

Around this time, the CIA became aware of this huge breach in ethics(Black Woods had taken place without the Government's consent), and demanded to dismantle Black Woods.

At this news, Kyouki Lee pulled the fourth child and "hid" him in the french military academy, pulling several strings to allow the child to stay as a student and himself as one of the commanding officers. Alexander Ferguson was the leader of the Black Woods investigation, and after successfully apprehending most scientists and US military officials involved with it, his last open lead was the missing fourth child and its connection to Kyouki Lee.

Not much more information was available on the page, as all those who had knowledge of Black Woods had been jailed or killed, the only exceptions being Alexander and Quatre Bornes, who had both gone missing. Vespasien Laurent was thought to have "stolen" the fourth child and fled to the US, with suspicion of Alexander Ferguson following them. However, all persons were missing with precise whereabouts unknown, and Quatre Bornes Lee was presumed to have died of natural causes due to lack of medical treatment.


Blakaize wrote: Braig wasn't fooled, and was still concerned.

"Russian's hard to learn. You want to sit down? I can go get your glasses, it's no big deal . . ."

Upstairs, Blake stared at the screen, totally unaware that she had let ash fall in her lap. Cryptoids . . . werewolves . . . Lee . . . Quatre Bournes . . .

Suddenly the tail, the eyes, the conditions all made sense. She wanted to sprint out of her chair, run downstairs, grab hold of him . . . whether she wanted to mother or love him, she wasn't sure. She was just sure that something was wrong. A child created to be made into a super solider. This was shit that went on in Russia. Not here . . .

"Not here," she whispered. She began typing furiously. Oh, the shit had hit the fan, in quite a few ways. This Fergusun guy . . . he was next on her list. If he was who she thought he was . . .


[Q] wrote: Q was beginning to get upset. He shoved Braig in the shoulder.
"You are making it a bigger deal than it is! I don't need the glasses!"

He put his hands in front of him, on the stove, with enough pressure to make Braig listen, but not loud enough to be considered a slam.

"First, we boil the water. Easy enough." He recited in Russian. Though he had a somewhat bad english accent, it was understandable. "Now, while the water boils, we take some of this bread," He spoke, annoyed.

"First, we boil the water, then while water boils, we take some bread. Learning languages is what I am good at. Please, just do the last step in english. The, ah... "Then, you take olive oil, any kind, and you drizzle it over your slices..... Part."

He gripped the stove's ledge tightly with his fingers, and after a brief second of Braig just staring at him, he turned his head away, bending forward, as if he were in pain. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and pushed away, walking to the table and pulling the chair out forcibly and sitting down. The mood had been ruined.
"Forget it. It's not worth it, anymore."

Well, if there was one thing Q was especially good at, it was being a drama queen.
He crossed his arms on the table and put his face atop them with an angry sigh.
It was about the damn sunglasses.
But he was a bit more sensitive about people knowing just how bad his vision was. If he had to pick, he'd rather people know he had a tail than he had bad vision.

He used to be able to see things. He remembered what things were supposed to look like. But over time it had just gotten worse and worse, and now his vision was just some moving sketchbook, almost. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd been able to see much better before that made this so wrong to him.

He used to be able to look at pictures, and enjoy them. He used to go out in the day without getting a headache, and just wearing normal sunglasses. The day he had to get an optician to make him the special sunglasses at gunpoint was a bad one.
If Ves had not been there to support him... Q probably would've drunk himself to death so long ago. He was surprised he was still alive now.
His mind went back to the image Braig had handed him. Of the Cohen family. He couldn't see much of anything on the paper. It looked like a big black blob, to him.

One of these days, he was going to go completely blind. His night time vision wasn't that great, either. What would he do when his eyes degenerated to the point where street lights hurt his eyes at night? Why were his eyes not hurting now, when normally he'd have a migraine?

"I don't remember anything that happened last night," Q admitted, his voice muffled as his face was still in his arms.
He looked up, searching for Braig. "How I got shot, or what happened afterward, or anything before this morning. Your brother said I acted strange on drugs." He looked down at the table, frowning. "What did I do?"

[[ 菅野よう子-フレンズ ]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig was taken aback by the shove, but the shouting.

"You, uh," he said, turning back to continue his work. Suddenly taking the bread out of the oven, throwing it in the blender and making fine crumbs and straining the pasta, adding the cheese, mixing it all together and junk . . . wasn't as much fun . . . he looked at Q, confused as hell. "What's wrong?" He asked, although he listened to Q's explanation and then sighed.

"Well . . . We didn't want you to die so we pumped you full of lidocaine and epinephrine. Pretty standard, but the doses were huge. You, uh, were a little fighty. You eventually ended up on the stairs, pushing against Grayson, but, then you hunkered down and . . . said you wanted to die."

Braig sighed, rubbed his neck.

"I'm . . . sorry, kid."


[Q] wrote: Q brought his hands to his face, elbows on the table. The heels of his hands dug into his eyes while his fingers tugged at his bangs. He took a few deep breaths.
...you wanted to die.

"It's not your fault," he hoarsed. "Thank you for saving me."

He didn't know what was wrong with him. Why he acted like this. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Ves seemed to have just accepted all of who he was, tried to get Q to cope with it, and things were happy. But now. Q didn't trust Blake, he didn't know why. Because she was a girl?
And Braig. Braig still didn't know. Probably. Unless something more happened last night. It probably did, but Braig was keeping silent about it. Q let out a short whine.

"Do you think if we just sat on our butts and did absolutely nothing, Alexandre would get bored and forget?" It was a hopeless dream. Q was going to try and convince himself it would work, anyway.


Blakaize wrote: Braig sat beside him, thought about rubbing his back. That trick usually worked when Jaiden was choked up. He sighed and knew that Q didn't like to be touched.

"Maybe," he said. "He seems like the jerky type to do such a thing," he said. Braig was so worried about the boy, but Q was so damn dramatic, so judgmental of any act of kindness. It was like trying to coach a cat out from under the table, after they had been fixed. "If you . . . ever just want to let it out, you know? . . . just . . . don't keep it in . . ."

Way to go, there, Dr. Phil, he thought, bitterly. He heard someone on the stairs and looked to them, seeing Blake's bare legs coming down. She wore her usual top, but had put on a pair of short-shorts, for comfort. She saw Braig and saw Q, and she looked like the second cat in the family, wary of the other cat in the room.

"Oh, uh . . . you're up," she said, looking at Q. She wouldn't deny that she loved his eyes. Their color, their shape . . . of course, her affection was never and would never be returned. "Feeling better?"


[Q] wrote: Q looked up, watching Braig. "Really?"
He was hopeful. The response was to both Braig's assumption about Alexandre's personality and the Dr. Phil stuff, which Q had never been subjected to, before. No Television. No 'talking about feelings'.
Q had pretty much repressed everything since he left Vespasien.

When Braig looked to something behind Q, Q turned around as well, his green eyes catching Blake's. His shoulders slumped, as if he was hoping for someone else to have come down the stairs. He turned back around, his eyes looking back to the table.

"Depends on your opinion of 'better'," he sighed.
".... Last night was a hell of a trip, apparently."

He leaned his head in his left hand, leaving the other on the table.


Blakaize wrote: Braig smiled softly.

"Yeah really. Any time you think it necessary." He said. He frowned at his reaction to Blake, but Blake took it better than he had expected.

"That sunova bitch in your hotel room shot you," she said. "Considering you were almost dead when we got you here, yeah, you're better." Her thigh had a now-uncovered suture line on it. It looked red, sore, a little weepy.

Braig rubbed his temples. These two . . . He thought. What do I gotta do? Put a bell around their necks?

"Erm, I was wondering if I could talk to you, Q," she said. Braig blinked. His sister looked at him pointedly. "Alone, if possible."


[Q] wrote: Q quirked a brow at Blake's response.
"Who, Nathanael?" He gave a slight snort. Nathanael didn't seem the type, but he'd take her word for it. He doubted Blake would shoot him, and it was probably just those two in the motel room with him.

At Blake's other statement, he pushed himself up from the table with a grunt, still a little fatigued.
He walked over to Braig and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I will take you up on this offer later," he spoke in hushed french.

He turned back around to Blake, looking at her curiously. "Sure, I guess. What about..?"

[[Yoko Kanno - Night Owl]]


Blakaize wrote: Blake walked into a side sitting room, Braig called his library. A little nook where there was a book case and chair. She was unsure how to proceed, but, she did anyway.

"I . . . I know," she said, softly, unable to meet his eyes. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. How would Q take her knowing? She couldn't not tell him. He had a right to know who knew his business, in her mind. She wanted to fortify his trust, not destroy it later, if he found out she knew he was a government pet project . . .


[Q] wrote: Q followed her into the room, and watched her. When she said she knew, he looked at her blankly at first, then frowned.

"...What do you know?" He was confused.

If she was talking about his tail, then, of course she knew. They had had sex. It was out and about.
He looked down at her, his brows creasing together.

He really, honestly, had no idea what she was talking about or why it upset her.


Blakaize wrote: Blake seemed flustered.

"I know, I know . . . I know about your past, about your father, about the other three kids," she said, wringing her hands. It was all upstairs on her computer. She had read it over once or twice, to make sure she wasn't high or tripping balls because of the drugs Braig gave her for pain when he stitched her up.

"I know about your father, about the Mautians or whatever they are called. I know, but, I'm also saying, I don't care. It doesn't . . . change anything."


[Q] wrote: Q squinted, still trying to figure out what she was so flustered about.

".... Yeah, I was born on Mauritius. It's a french-owned island off the coast of Africa. And Father was a commanding officer at the academy I went to.... What are you so upset about? What other kids...?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, then scratched his head with one of his hands, trying to figure out why she was making a big deal out of what seemed like nothing.

"... Why were you drudging up my past, anyway? There's nothing interesting about it. I ran away from France when I was eighteen."


Blakaize wrote: She blinked, taken aback.

"Er. It's all on Interpol. In the secret shit. Q . . . Don't you know?" She said, confused. Did he . . . did he not know? He probably didn't . . . now here was a moral dilema. Tell him and let him be miserable, but know his own life, or, let him be in the dark.

Either way, knowing Q as long as she did, miserable seemed to be status quo.


[Q] wrote: Q recrossed his arms, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Interpol? What are you talking about? What don't I know? The only 'secret shit' I can think of is that I have a tail, Blake. And I'm not that stupid. I know about that."
Blakaize wrote: Blake frowned.

"You don't know . . ." she said, running a hand through her hair. "Listen, if you ever want to know the truth, the reason WHY you have a tail, you come see me. I book marked the site anyway." She left, brushing past him, smelling his usual musk, and hurrying back upstairs.

Braig was waiting for him in the kitchen, mixing the cheese covered pasta, strained and lightly dried so as not to be soggy, and added the crunchy bread crumbs. It was pretty good, he thought, taking a few bites. The cheese, pasta, and crunchiness made a pleasing texture for a meal. At least in Braig's opinion.


[Q] wrote: "Uh. I was born with it, maybe?" Q shot back at her as she left.

Know the truth. Right. He huffed, expelling the air through his mouth, waiting a moment before walking back in to the kitchen. Smelling the food, but still having no appetite. He sat down with another huff, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together, leaning his forehead against them.

Blake wasn't here anymore.

"Braig. I can still speak with you? Or that offer is not on the table anymore?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig nodded, wondering if he should serve up the casserole like meal he had made.

"Sure, it's still on the table," he said, sitting down, across from Q. "What's wrong?" What did Blake talk to you about?

[Q] wrote: Q grumbled softly in his throat.

"I like you, Braig. I feel like I can...Connect with you." Q looked up to Braig, trying to gauge his response.

"The thing is... I think... Did Blake tell you about me? Last night, did anything... weird, that you're not telling me, happen?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig blinked.

I like you, Braig

He swallowed. Like . . . like-me, like-me? Like, like-like? Why am I thinking in the terminology of a sixth grader?!

Braig snapped himself out of it and looked at Q more intensely.

"Last night? Blake? No. She just brought you in and said you had been shot. Why?"


[Q] wrote: "Because...Well, I was born with a tail. And now apparently Blake thinks there's some huge conspiracy behind it, because it was on Interpol or something." He unclapsed his hands and let one cusp his cheek, watching Braig.

"But, aside from that... Sometimes I feel like... This body.. Isn't right? Like I can feel myself dying."
He placed both his hands flat on the table and looked down. "And I'm afraid."
His voice cracked as he admitted the last part, a small whimper coming from his throat.

He swallowed.


Blakaize wrote: Braig gapped at him.

"You have a tail?!" He said, blinking. He cursed himself in an instant. "Fuck! No! That came out wrong! Gah! Lemme try again . . . um . . . besides your wounds and your heart condition, I think you're okay?"

He tried to force a smile but it failed. Instead, he reached across the table and touched his hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

"It's okay to be afraid," he whispered. "I understand. It's okay. I mean . . . you're not alone . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q gave a sort of wheeze-laugh, similar to a hyena. He closed his eyes, somewhat assuming that this was how Braig would react to the tail news.

He immediately stopped his emission when Braig went to touch his hand. He looked up, at their hands, then to Braig's face, who seemed concerned.

Not alone? Who was Braig kidding? Of course Q was alone. Blake had mentioned three others.... But. No. That was ridiculous. His tail was a birth defect, that was all.

Q snorted, putting his right hand on top of Braig's. "Do you want to see it?" Q asked.
"The tail, I mean."

Blakaize wrote: Braig inhaled sharply. See it? See the tail? Er, what would it look like? Fleshy and short? Well, what else could it have been.

"Er . . . only if you trust me, slim," he said. He put his left hand atop of Q's. "I don't want to upset you . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q shook his head. "Blake saw it already, and I think you know I feel about her..." He was almost ashamed to say the words before he pulled away from Braig's grasp, standing from the chair and loosening his belt.

He held one hand on the front of his pants and pushed the back of them down a bit, his boxers as well. He hmphed as he brought his tail up, and eventually pulled it out with aid from his hand. After it was out, he tightened the belt again, and buckled it.

He shook his tail a few time, slapping it from side to side as a horse would try to shoo flies. It settled down shortly thereafter, however. It was long, feathery, and black. Stopping at about his knee, the long tindrils mimicked that of a husky tail. But to those who knew their dog breeds, it appeared more more of a Saluki, albeit monocolored.

He walked toward Braig, and turned a bit, giving Braig a closer, side view as it swayed side to side idly. "You can touch it, if you want... I guess." He was a bit apprehensive. His tail was extremely sensitive, but as he had stated before. He liked Braig.

And this new thing that Blake brought up. He didn't know what it all meant, but maybe it mean that there wasn't much time left for him.


Blakaize wrote: Braig frowned. The tail didn't look like a common or even a rare human mutation. He knew enough about anatomy and humans to know that no where did the canine homosapien lines crossed to have enough latent DNA to cause such a thing. While it did suit Q, it only made him more of a mystery. Braig stood and walked over to him.

"What do you have against my sister? Can't you see she cares about you as much as I do?" He muttered. He saw the tail sway and bit and was as apprehensive about touching it as Q was about it being touched. "Okay, Q, I'm gonna be honest. That's weird. But, you're just trying to distract yourself." Braig realized he could do more damage than good here, but, he'd have to put it all on the table to win anything anyway. He reached out and touched Q's face. "That's what I think . . . "

Upstairs, Blake was once again hacking the government. She was pissed that Q didn't believe her and worse, she had a feeling he hated her. A part of her just wanted to show him he was a government guinea pig to hurt him now. After everything I did for you, she thought, printing out the sheets. I could've just left you to die in that hotel room, but, I didn't.

Of course, she'd never say this to his face. No matter how much she fumed, she couldn't do it.


[Q] wrote: Q watched Braig's face, a bit disappointed in his reaction, but unsurprised.

Q looked down, feeling guilty when Braig's sister was brought up.
"I don't know..." He said. He didn't want to come out and say 'because she's a woman.' Even for someone as uncultured as Q, he knew that view would get him a swift kick in the ass.

You're just trying to distract yourself.

Braig touched Q's face, and the twenty three year old gave a slight shudder, his tail hugging his leg. Q wanted to move away, but was trying to force himself not to. Ultimately, the will to stay stationary won over.

"Because... Maybe... I've never liked a woman before... Where it meant something?" he was confused, and apprehensive to put words to it.

Then it finally clicked, what Braig had said.
Can't you see she cares about you as much as I do?
So did that mean that Braig... Liked Q too..? Like that? Q was hopeful, but at the same time, something ugly deeply churned in the pit of his stomach.

He wanted to turn away, was suddenly questioning his original intent, when he started this conversation. What did he want the outcome to be?

[[Muse - Sing for Absolution]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig pulled him into a hug, much in the same way he did Jaiden and Jackie, when they were young. Just hugged him to his chest, ran his hand through grey hair and sighed. This was what the kid needed, he thought. Not a fuck, like I though before. He's am emotional time bomb and I just aggrivated it by having him get a little ass . . .

". . . . everything will be okay . . . " he whispered. Though it felt like a lie, he had always said this, whenever any of his siblings were hurt or worried or stressed. Hearing the words usually calmed them down, gave them confidence. He hoped it would work for Q . ..


Blakaize wrote: Braig pulled him into a hug, much in the same way he did Jaiden and Jackie, when they were young. Just hugged him to his chest, ran his hand through grey hair and sighed. This was what the kid needed, he thought. Not a fuck, like I though before. He's am emotional time bomb and I just aggrivated it by having him get a little ass . . .

". . . . everything will be okay . . . " he whispered. Though it felt like a lie, he had always said this, whenever any of his siblings were hurt or worried or stressed. Hearing the words usually calmed them down, gave them confidence. He hoped it would work for Q . ..


[Q] wrote: Q didn't know what to do at first. His arms were dead at his sides for a few moments, a little shocked at being pulled into a hug. After a bit, he finally wrapped his arms around Braig also, digging his face into the man's shoulder.
He smells nice.
That was a weird thought. He squeezed Braig, a soft whine escaping his throat.

"I don't want to deal with all this now," he said into Braig's neck. "I just wanted to be left alone from everyone. It wasn't the best life, but I got... What I wanted. Now, all this... Old drama..."
He rubbed his face into Braig's shoulder, as he were a cat trying to headbutt the owner.

He took a step forward, squeezing Braig again, briefly. Maybe this really was what he needed. Some sort of genuine, nonsexual, closeness.

"I don't want to die," he whispered, laying his head still on Braig's shoulder again, bringing his hands up from Braig's waist and holding his shoulders from behind, instead. "But it feels like it's coming anyway. And sometimes... I wish it would just take me already, but," His voice cracked at the but.
Braig had surely done it. Q was a child now, his voice raising an octave with another whine that morphed into speech. "I'm scared."
He pushed his face into Braig's shirt, choking back weak sobs.

Ves had always been there for these... Attacks? They had even happened back then. But it was genuinely worse now. Ves made him feel safe. But Alexandre didn't. Ves was dying, whether or not Alexandre was going to actually kill him, whether or not Q was there to watch. The guy that was there, that had always told him it'd be okay, that Q could really take care of himself, wasn't around anymore.
The alcohol that convinced him he was an amazing shot and lover, couldn't be used anymore.
The women that he paid to oggle him and say sweet things weren't around anymore.

Q could take care of himself if he tried. If the years he had done so away from Ves were any proof, he could do it. Put on a face and act cool and badass and shoot things.
But what he really wanted was just someone to take care of him. He wanted that mother he had never been able to meet. He wanted someone to tell him that everything was fine and he could overcome his illnesses, just like anybody else. Any normal person. That Q was normal.

Q knew none of it was true, but he still just wanted someone to try and convince him anyway.


Blakaize wrote: Braig rubbed his back and tried to shush him, almost cooed at him.

"Hey . .. shhshh . . ." he said, softly. He could understand the kid's dilemma. He was lonely, but he wasn't nearly as emotionally mature to handle it. Maturity wasn't required all the time in their line of work. Q was able to get by by acting like johnny badass, but, in Braig's experience, most gangsters and mobsters were mama's boys. He knew that at one time he was one.

"Let it out, kid," he said, sighing.

Upstairs, Blake was suiting up again. She wanted a walk, bad. She didn't care who came with or if they even cared. She just trudged along and on, walking down stairs, seeing Braig and Q but not giving a damn. She just walked down and out the door. As she walked, the city was dark and damp. Still, though, she lit up a cigarette and thought about stopping at the convenience store and getting a new pack.

Oho, she thought, hearing a set of footsteps fall into step behind her. You want to play?
[Q] wrote: Q began to whine, a high-pitched hmmm from his throat, as if begging for mercy.
"I can't control it anymore; it's all wrong. I can't..." He whined again, shifting his weight and pushing himself deeper into Braig's embrace.

"I can't control the noises anymore. I think I'm going to die soon. I don't want to die," he whined again, beginning to shiver.

Outside, Blake turned around, her eyes catching a man. He was 6'1". Short, dirty blonde hair grew into a dark brown, almost black goatee that framed dark blue eyes. He almost seemed.. Innocent. He smiled, taking his hands from his brown blazer's pockets. he wore a wool business suit. Had just come from a flight. He'd grown a bit bored.

"Hello, little lady," he grinned, his words sly, slithering off his tongue as if practiced over a thousand times. Tinged slightly with a french accent, almost as if intentionally.

This was Alexandre. This was the man Q had been so afraid of.

"You must be Blake."


Blakaize wrote: Blake smirked, turning to face him completely.

"Depends on who's asking," she replied. "I'll admit, you caught me on an off day." She opened her arms slightly. There was something very distinct she didn't like about this guy. "So, how about we introduce ourselves? You obviously know me . . ."


[Q] wrote: "Oh, you probably know of me by now," Alexandre shrugged a bit. Complacent. He didn't feel threatened at all.

"I am one of frenchie's friends. You know. Grey hair, dark sunglasses. Mysterious, suspicious guy. One of my sons, if you will." He gave a close-lipped smile to her, looking down on her.

"I've come to pick him up, take him back home. Maybe pretty him up a bit, so he can see his old pal on his deathbed."
He knew what he was doing. He really wanted to get under her skin. He wanted to know just how deep the relationship between this girl and Q was.

"You know," he crunched his brows together, the 30-something seeming a bit annoyed or confused, "Does crossdressing make a difference for him? Because, as I recall, he was quite the little fairy. I bet he wished you had a dick." He sneered. "Pity with such a pretty thing like you."


Blakaize wrote: Blake raised a eyebrow.

"One of your sons . . .?" She repeated, kind of ignoring his other words. Then she looked surprised. "Oh! How coy. Alexander to Alexandre. Clever."

She chuckled softly.

"Deathbed. What'd you do, poison his fruity ass?" She said, chuckling some more. She threw off her coat and faced him. "Sorry, but, I can't help you. You want Q, you'll have to go through men who are about twice as thick as your scrawny ass to get to him. As for me having a dick, by the looks of it, I've got more balls than you cheese eatin' surrender monkies."

Blake settled into a defensive position and cracked her neck.

"Say good night, D'Arc."


[Q] wrote: Alexandre shrugged. "Close enough. I wasn't undercover."

He watched her, listened to her talk about Q. He brought his hands up a bit, keeping his wits about him, still rather unphased.
"Oh, please, girl. You misunderstand me. I am not here for a fight. You russians are all so... Physical." He gave a slight smirk.
"I'm merely here to talk. We are all simply a victim of circumstance, here. And your insults amuse me. I am very much American. And much more experienced than you."

He motioned his head to the door, as if egging her on to go back inside.
"You should be careful. That mouth of yours could get you into a lot of trouble. I am sure the boy... Has been riled up more than once because of what you say to him. Insulting his roots."

He took a careful step toward the door of the home. It seemed he really wasn't interested in fighting.


Blakaize wrote: Blake held her arm out, baring his entrance slightly.

"He doesn't want to see you. Victim of circumstance or not. If you want to see him, we'll have to do this more diplomatically. I'll go and talk to him. If he wants to come with you, he'll come. If not, well, you'll have to sweeten the deal."

She popped her shoulders.

"American . . . how'd you get mixed up with Ves then? How is he your kid? Answer some questions, get some answers about the fruit. Comprede, comrade?"


[Q] wrote: "I don't know. You seem to be in a bad mood. I don't want the boy to get the wrong impression of why I'm here."
He turned to her, cocking a brow at her question.

"He's my son as in, I looked after him. Helped to raise him. I assume you know of the French Mafia by now. He was under me. Everyone who was under me saw me as a somewhat fatherly figure. That's all it is. Ves was very accepting. Open-minded. I can speak french fluently. He let me in. Nothing to get 'mixed up in', as you say."

Blakaize wrote: Blake rolled her eyes.

"No offence, but he's already got a shitty impression of you to begin with," she said. "I can't let you in. It's not my house. You'll have to take that up with my brother. Braig. Until then, you keep your punk ass on the stoop. You move, one muscle towards the door, I will not hesitate to smear you. Everywhere. Immediately. Got. It?" She said, curtly.


[Q] wrote: "Of course," Alexandre responded, kindly.
"I will wait here. Let me know how it goes."

He stood up straight, putting his hands back into the blazer's pockets as he watched her go inside.


Blakaize wrote: Braig was holding Q close, trying to soothe him. The kid was near tears, he was afraid, and he needed someone to hold right now. He didn't noticed when Blake reentered the house, just continued to hold Q, continued to pet his hair and continued to coo at him.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered. He wanted to finish up with a "i'm here," but his sister interrupted him with a shocking revelation.

"His royal douchebag Alexandre is outside the door," she said, gesturing over her shoulder with a thumb jab.

Braig felt something in his mind shatter, and he figured it was likely his piece of mind.


[Q] wrote: Q continued to hold Braig, shivering. His whines had started to die down as Braig pet his hair, that seeming to comfort the twenty three year old. Then, Blake came in and in no gentle way barked about Alexandre being there.
Q shuddered, holding Braig close like a protective mother for a moment, then finally, regretfully letting go and rubbing his eyes, shaking his head, trying to shake out that badass act.

After a few seconds of breathing heavily, calming himself down from the... cry spell... for lack of better wording, he grabbed his tail with a grunt and shoved it back down his pants, wincing as he did so, as it was clear that, normally, he probably would've taken more care to hide it in his pants leg.

Q looked to Blake, then Braig, wide eyed, as if expecting them to do something. He then turned his back to them and back toward the kitchen stove. He walked to the counter, and searched around for something that looks like a knife block. He didn't know where his gun was currently, nor any of his things. He didn't feel like asking for a weapon, so he'd just take one. If he could find one.

He ran his hands over things shaped sort of like knife blocks. A bread box, a toaster. He growled at himself, his facade beginning to mask what he really felt.
"I need a weapon," he hoarsed, finally. He didn't want to open up any drawers because he wouldn't be able to tell what was actually a knife and what was just some other kitchen utensil. He didn't feel like feeling each piece in a drawer with his hands and risking an injury to himself, either.

"Don't you have any knives?" he grumbled.


Outside, Alexandre gave a comforting smirk. Around the corner, hiding away in an alley was Alain, ready to come running if anything were to happen. Hopefully this would be quick. Just a few 'hey how are you, where is Grayson, and oh by the you're dying now's. Well, Alexandre thought.
Perhaps it was best he simply sedate Q. That would be easy enough. Or convince him to come along. Oh, how watching Q fall apart at Ves's condition would bring him such great joy.

Of course, this Cohen business... He had to take care of them as well. But that was mostly just lip service.

[[Submersed - In Due Time]]


Blakaize wrote: "What's your plan?" Blake asked. She went to the drawer and pulled out a paper knife. "He's not alone. He's ballsy, but, he's not dumb enough to come alone."

Grayson jogged in, looking a little worried.

"I heard someone say that bastard's name. What's going on? How can I help?" He asked. Braig went to a cabinet, pulling out a few bullet proof vests.

"We're nipping this in the bud," Braig snarled. He's come on my turf now, he thought. And he's not going to know what'll hit him.


[Q] wrote: Q turned, glaring at Blake, the scowl present on his face. He looked down at her knife, and wondered if she was going to offer it to him. He held his hand out.

"Hah. Plan. I don't know. I don't have one."

Q turned to see Grayson come down the stairs. Damn. He must have some super human hearing, then.

"Nothing. Everybody... Calm down. Just. Just let me handle it. It's very uncharacteristic for Alexandre to be... Well anyway, I just don't think it's wise to just go barging out there all at once. Did he say what he wanted? Maybe we can just talk. Me and him."


Blakaize wrote: Braig shook his head.

"I'm not gonna let you go this alone, Slim. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did." He said, honestly. Blake looked at him and then back at Q. She held the knife out for him to take.

"One of his lackies shot me. Twice," she said, pressing the handle into his hand. "You think you're gonna do this on your own, you're nuts."
[Q] wrote: Q snorted, ignoring Braig and staring at Blake.
"If you really wanted to take him out, you would've done so at the door, not come in here and get me. So if you want to kill him that's fine, but I'd appreciate being able to talk to him first."

He took the knife, gripping it tightly.
"Alone," he stressed.

Now that he had the weapon, he went to the door Blake had entered from.
He wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen, but Alexandre should've never come here in person. Why would he?


Blakaize wrote: Blake followed behind him.

"I didn't have a goddamn weapon on me," she spat. "What'd you want me to do, kill him with my death lazer?! Q!" She grabbed his upper arm, pulling him back. "He's out there, alone. Now, for some kind of strategic mastermind, that's awful weird, ain't it? He's up to something, up to something in the worst way. You can't keep doing this shit alone, goddamit!"


[Q] wrote: "Aren't all you russians supposed to be good at hand to hand?" he mumbled before he was grabbed and pulled back.

He turned around on his heel, bringing the knife up to stab her in the chest. He stopped himself within about six inches of her person.
"Does it really matter what I want to do with MY life?!" He growled, then looked at his hand.

For a brief moment, fear shone in his eyes, and realization crept onto his face. This was his suicide, wasn't it?

He turned around quickly, pulling his hand from hers.
"You can go out there if you want I guess I just think it'd be beneficial maybe if I could talk to him before we went all guns and roses on his ass," he grumbled.


Blakaize wrote: Though Braig and Grayson was ready to jump when the knife came within inches of her bosom, Blake only stared.

"You're right," she said. "Go on. Get." Blake crossed her arms. "Who cares what you do with your life? Not us, not anymore. Go ahead and get goin'."

Blake popped her neck.

"But, it's on our doorstep. We'll clean up the mess." She snorted, looking away from him. "I figure . . . an American wanna be strategist and a kid from some French island would take two .45s . . ."

She fell back into like with Braig and Grayson. Braig shoved her, roughly.

"No! You're not going to shoot anybody, goddamit! Just because you're fucking mad or whatever!" He said. Things were getting way out of hand . . .


[Q] wrote: Q watched her.
"Whatever," he finally said, turning around and walking out the door, slamming it behind him.

When he looked up, there Alexandre was. Right in front of him, standing with his hands in his blazer pockets, ever-present complacent smirk on his face.
It was almost as if Q wasn't expecting him to really be here. It was surreal.

Q stopped, standing straight, the knife gripped in his left hand. He let out a low grumble from his throat.

"Oh Quatre Bornes," Alexandre said. "A knife? What are you doing with that?"
He brought his hands from his pockets, raising them. "You know, I've come unarmed."

Q let out another growl.

"Anything for you to feel safe, I suppose," Alexandre relented, placing his hands back in his pockets and watching Q with his blue eyes.
"I see you're not wearing your sunglasses. What happened? Is your eye sight better?"

"Shut up," Q barked. "Why are you here? You'd never come out here by yourself. What's going on?"

Alexandre rolled his head on his shoulders, taking his time. "You're certainly tightly wound these days," the man thought aloud. "What has you so on edge?"

Q raised his upper lip, another growl coming from him, and he lunged his upperbody forward, taking half step, trying to be menacing. Alexandre did nothing but quirk a brow, thinking to himself how animalistic the boy had become.

"Vespasien is very ill and he has pushed me to come pick you up and fly you back to see him. He has past helping. He is going to die, this much is fact."
Alexandre paused, watching Q loosen up a bit as the sadness and guilt became evident in his eyes.

"Being as I've run out of time and the... Accident... With Nathanael, I have come here myself to pick you up and bring you back to see him, as are his last wishes. Your lover doesn't have long."

Q shook his head. "Shut up! He's not my lover!"

"Sounds like you're in denial, kid," Alexandre let out a 'heh'.

"How do I know this isn't some trick of yours? You have a bounty on my head! And the Cohens?!" Q thrust his hand toward the house.

"Quatre Bornes, if I had wanted you dead, I would've had Nathanael shoot you. And while it does give me some pleasure to see you break, I do respect Vespasien. I figure, the least I can do is give him his dying wish."

Q creased his eyebrows together, biting his lip, taking a step back. Ves really was dying. It wasn't a trick. He wasn't sure he could handle it. His eyes filled with guilt. He did this. If only he had been there to protect Ves-- No! No. Ves left him. He left Ves. It was Ves's fault. The bastard shouldn't have bothered to toss him to the side just to get with some girls.

"What if I don't want to see Ves. I'm done with him. I was done when I walked out three years a go. I don't want to see him. He can go die alone for all I care," he lied.

Alexandre chuckled. "You and I both know you don't feel that way. It's written all over your face. Without those sunglasses of yours, you are even easier to read, Quatre Bornes. You should really work on that poker face." He brought his hands from his pockets, stepping forward.
"Besides, even if you did think that way, I would force you to come anyway. So it is best you come of your own free will."
Alexandre offered his hand for a handshake.

Q stepped forward once, anxious. He didn't know what he wanted to do. He took another half step, bringing his right hand out to shake Alexandre's hand, but before touching it, brought it back.
"I want Braig there." He said sternly.
"And Blake." Blake was more of an afterthought.

Alexandre frowned. This was sadly unpredicted. "I am sure you are aware that the Cohens would very much like to kill me. I cannot bring the wolves into the pasture."

Q growled. "I'm not going unless I'm accompanied by one of them."

"You'll have me," Alexandre offered.

"Hah! You? As if I ever trusted you."

Alexandre leaned back, heaving a sigh, thinking to himself. He didn't want to resort to violence. That was too tiresome.
Which one was Braig? The mortician? He didn't seem so bad. Perhaps smarter than he looked, but he at least was much less trigger happy than that Blake woman appeared to be.

"All right," Alexandre relented. "Your new boy toy can come if he must. Vespasien won't like it, however."

Q snorted and turned around to get Braig.

[[Submersed - Hollow]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig was leaning against the counter when Q entered. Blake was upstairs, communicating with him via a walkie talkie. He gave Q a pitying look and turned the unit off.

"Now, that is the walk of a man who has made up his mind to do something," he said, softly, watching him.

Upstairs, Blake had her rifle trained on the fucker in the ally on the side of their house. She had just radioed Braig downstairs and told him about the spare guy. Alexandre was a smart fucker, but not Blake's kind of smart.


{did I imagine it, or wasn't there some dude in the ally? there was, wasn't there? :sweat:}


[Q] wrote: Q looked around, surprised to see Blake gone. But Braig was there, at least.
He sighed.

"Somewhat. You're coming back to headquarters with me to see Vespasien. Grab some spare clothes or something. I hope you're okay with a plane ride. Do you know where my sunglasses are? I need those and..." He looked down at the knife in his hand.
"...My guns, I guess. But I don't know where my shoulder holsters went either."

Outside, Ves rolled his head on his shoulders again with an agitated sigh.
Only a few more days, then he would have everyone in this vicinity dead. He'd have all the Cohens gone. And as soon as Vespasien was done confessing his love to the dog boy, Alexandre would kill him, regardless if the Cohen was there or not.
He wasn't afraid of a Cohen.

[[Yes, there is a guy in the alley. He's simply watching and not doing anything, though. It's Alain.]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig raised an eye brow.

"Are you high?" He asked. "Go to the head quarters? The French Mafia? The ones who want us dead? Have you thought this out, at ALL?" Braig sighed and shook his head. "I get that you love the guy but, Jesus, Q . . . Is he worth dying over anymore?" He rubbed his temples. "Your . . . your sunglasses are upstairs. Your guns are in my room too . . ."

Upstairs, Blake felt her heart pound in her chest. She had her gun trained on the guy in the ally, and she sighed, heavily. How easy would it be to just put a bullet in the back of that guy's head?


[Q] wrote: Q was taken aback for a second.
No, he hadn't thought about this, at all.

"I... Well, uh... It seems like there's a ceasefire until Ves dies. And, he's uh. His dying wish was to see me. So I just kind of blurted out I wanted to be accompanied....."
He looked down at the floor, frowning.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just... Didn't want to go by myself, and I... Feel guilty about all this..."



Blakaize wrote: Braig sighed.

"I . . . I'm gonna go with you, Q. And when the time comes, I want you to come back here, and tell my sister that I love her, and tell my brothers that I love them," he said, nodding. "You love Ves, and I can see that. If it's what you want, to be able to see him one last time, I'll come with you to let you see him. So, go get your stuff. We better hurry."

He exhaled heavily and popped his neck.

"Me and you, Slim. Let's go."

Blake was getting itchy. She just wanted some action, some chance to get back at them for shooting her in the chest and thigh, for shooting Q in the thigh and chest. She popped her neck.

"Just one wrong move, buddy," she whispered. "Give me a reason."


[Q] wrote: "... You're not going to die, Braig," Q tried to reassure him, but ultimately didn't sound too convincing.

He jogged upstairs and looked for his things, finding his glasses and putting them on, as well as his shoulder holsters and jacket. He came back down, waited for Braig, and when Braig showed up, Q went outside, back to Vespasien, who was looking at his watch.

The 30-something looked up, glancing to Braig. It was obvious Alexandre didn't like him. But, the man put on a welcoming face, gave a small smirk and offered his hand.
"You must be Braig," he said. "I'm Alexandre."

Around the corner in the alleyway, Alain stayed quiet and motionless. He had watched the whole thing take place, though he couldn't hear what was going on. He knew Alexandre was going to take Q back to headquarters, but this other guy... Why was he out here? And they were shaking hands?
It didn't add up. Where was the first woman who had gone inside?

He decided to bide his time and wait for the signal. It'd do Alain no good to question Alexandre's methods. He'd already gotten in enough trouble as it was.


Blakaize wrote: Blake's breathing caught in her throat. Braig . . . BRAIG?!

"Sonova ---" She snarled, under her breath, slinging the sniper rifle around her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Braig shook hands with Alexandre, not bothering to hide his distasteful look.

"Braig Cohen. You're the fuck that wants my family dead." He said, matter-of-factly.

Blake leapt out of the window, landing behind Alain as silently as she could, wrapping one arm around his neck as quickly and silently as possible, pinching off his windpipe, until he went limp in her arms. Her eyes were dark and cold.

It was one thing for Q to throw himself into danger constantly. It was another when he started dragging them into it. Braig had always done his best to help and protect her. Time to return the favor . . .


[Q] wrote: Alexandre shook Braig's hand as he spoke truth. "Yes. That would be me, But not today."
After he let go from the shake, he motioned toward Q. "You're lucky the boy likes you so much, otherwise you may be stuck here seething in your hatred for me as I kidnapped him." He laughed, obviously quite proud of himself, before it was cut short when he noticed Q looking over toward the alley where Alain was waiting.

In the alley, Alain swerved around when some idiot tried to 'quietly' jump through a window. There was no quiet about that.
They somehow got their arm are his neck, and were attempting to close his windpipe.
Alain grit his teeth and elbowed his assailant in the gut with left arm as he tried to look down, bringing his chin to neck in order to allow him to breathe.

He began to throw his weight backward, trying to shove Blake into the wall behind him and get her to release him that way. If that didn't work, Alain would try to push Blake to his left or right side, get her to use a side headlock instead of be straight behind him.

"What are you looking at, boy?" Alexandre stressed, trying to get his attention off the spot.

Q cocked his head. "Nothing," he said. "Just thought I heard something, that's all."
He turned his attention back to Braig and Alexandre.

"Let's go before it gets too late," Q offered.

Alexandre's eyes narrowed a bit, unsure. Q did have better hearing than others, he'd assumed, but Alain was quiet and was instructed to simply watch unless something happened.
Unless... That Blake girl...

He turned his attention to Braig. "Where's your sister, Braig?"


Blakaize wrote: Blake bit back a grunt when she was elbowed. She instead hissed in his ear.

"Bring it on, buddy." She snarled. She let go of him, twisting his neck, knocking him a little off balance. As he staggered, she leapt up, a more flashy spinning kick than she had first intended. She struck out again, catching his face with her boot. One, two, three kicks in succession, and she finally grabbed his hand as he staggered and yanked him forward, bringing her knee into his chest.

Braig looked back to Alexandre.

"Don't look at me," he said, raising his hands. "I'm her brother not her keeper. However, I pity anyone who tries to look for her, if I did know where she was. She's a bit of a pistol, God love her." He grinned, well aware that Blake had gotten herself in deep shit. He'd get the satisfaction of watching her beat French ass and get herself out of it, though, which was alright with him. "Nothing to worry about, in the ally, I hope. After all. You came alone, right, Alex? Can I call you Alex? Mind if I smoke?" He said, pulling a pack out and lighting up. "Nice night, eh?"


[Q] wrote: [[Not appreciating your autohits. >_> ]]

Alain was let go, and his hand immediately went to his neck as he breathed, still gathering his bearings when she gave him a spin kick.
She went to do it again, and Alain ducked, running backward in an effort to evade. He hadn't quite recouped himself enough to go on the offensive just yet, so the best thing he could do now is avoid getting hit.

When she grabbed his hand and tried to pull him into her, Alain twisted the opposite way on his heel, throwing his non-pivotal foot behind Blake's ankle and attempting to get her to fall on her back or at least let go of him long enough for him to grab the gun out of the holster on his right hip.

Outside the alley, both Alexandre and Q glared at Braig.
To Alexandre's surprise, it was Q who acted first, grabbing Braig's cigarettes and throwing them in a random direction.
"Why would you do that?!" Q barked.

Alexandre was taken aback, but decided to play along. Alain could hold his own. And if not, well, then that was another potential problem taken care of. "Yes, Braig. Why would you do that?"
He took a step back, his hands in his blazer's pockets.
Alexandre really was unarmed, save for a syringe with fast-acting sedative intended for Q, but he knew enough martial arts that he believed he could win a fight against Braig if need be.

continued next post.
 
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The Dragster Wave (continued)
[3 of 4]

Blakaize wrote: [[fuck, sorry. head trauma. I haven't action rped in a while.]]

Blake swore in her mind, as she fell backwards. Dammit! She thought. She'd have to be quick, once she hit the ground. She could hear arguing, it sounded like Braig and Q . . .

"Not like this," she gasped, seeing the man reach for his gun on his holster.

Braig glared at Q.

"She's acting on her own! I didn't do shit!" He said, He pointed at Alexandre. "You still can't see it, can you? He lied! He said he was alone, but there's some fuck in the ally, isn't there?! Isn't there?! For God's sake, Q, snap out of it! He never cared about you, or even Ves!"


[Q] wrote: Alain took out his gun with his right hand it in one motion, pointed it down at Blake while flipping off the safety.
"Who the fuck are you and why are you here?!" He shot out.

Alain was only a 5'7". He had black fanned-out hair that, if straight, probably would've reached his shoulders. He was much more simple than Alexandre, wearing jeans and a loose dress shirt.

Outside the alley, Q stared at Braig in disbelief.
"He never said he came alone! He only said he came unarmed! What does it matter if he came with another guy or not? If he wanted us gone he would've done it a long time a go! He had plenty of chances!"

Alexandre watched the spectacle, lips tight. In his mind, he was madly laughing. He had Q firmly wrapped around his finger, and the poor kid was the only one who didn't see it. It was sad, in a way. But so much more entertaining.

Q took in a deep breath through his mouth. "He doesn't have to care about anybody to follow rules to just protect himself. I'm sure anybody can see that as soon as Ves dies he's going to take over, but until that time, if he tries anything, there's a thousand people that'd be out to kill him if he did anything to Ves or I!"

Alexandre quirked a brow. So Q wasn't completely blind. Maybe somewhere down the line he just forgot how to use his information gathering skills to his benefit.


Blakaize wrote: Blake glared up at him.

"My name is Blake Cohen, and you fuckers shot me," she snarled. Blake swung one leg around aiming for his ankles.

Braig's eyes were narrowed at Q.

"I've been with you, this entire time! If she's working on her own, she's working on her own! What did I tell her to jump using my mind powers?! Don't yell at me because you're upset about your boyfriend!" He said. He threw a dark glare at Alexandre. "Ya know what? Take him! I'm sick of him and his PMS emotions! You've got your sunglasses on, but you still can't see!" Braig dropped his shit, the duffle bag he had carried. It just had clothes in it. His dessert eagle was in a shoulder holster under his jacket. Braig turned back to the house, heading it. Braig stopped, turned around again. "I can't believe I let myself get attached!" He yelled, pointing at Q.

Okay, so he was losing control, had pitched a minor fit. Right now, his eyes were on Q and Alexandre, his actual thoughts about Blake gone. Blake could take care of herself. Q was his responsibility for a time.

"For fuck's sake, I can't believe I let myself care about you." He said, accusingly. "Even for a friggin' second. You confused the hell outta me and now you wanna go with the fucker that wants you dead, yell at me, accuse me of shit?" He put his hands on his hips, well aware he probably came across as a jaded woman. "Ever thing he's just keeping you alive right now because he's a sadistic fuck? You know, watch you suffer with Ves and THEN kill ya both? Duh, Q!"


[Q] wrote: Q stared blankly at Braig as he pitched his fit. Braig was right. He was so completely right that Q didn't understand why he was acting this way at all. Alexandre simply watched with slight slight amusement. Perhaps he had given Braig too little credit for his intelligence. But then again, he seemed to have become quite attached to Q. He wondered briefly if all homosexual relationships were full of such drama. Had they even had sex yet? The tension could've been cut with a butter knife. Did Blake know?
Quite the love triangle.

"Let's all calm down here," Alexandre offered, trying to take the edge off.
"I can understand why you're both upset, however you have my word that not one of us here will be injured tonight nor until Vespasien dies. But I will make sure there is a fair game. It wouldn't be in my best interest to take you out without a fight."

Back in the alley, Alain didn't grasp what Blake had said before.
"I didn't fucking shoot you!"
But then Blake went to trip him, and he fell, only barely managing to let go of his gun as it misfired into the wall.

He took no time to hesitate, however, and quickly reached his hand out from his place on the ground, to yank her own ankle out from under her.

At the gunshot, Q and Alexandre turned toward the alley. Alexandre had a sort of bemused look on his face, and Q seemed horrified, saying nothing and running straight over to the sound, taking no care for anyone else.

Alexandre looked over to Braig.
"That boy has never met this gunman before," he stated calmly, as if this were an idle chat between two businessmen.
"He must really care for your sister to run after her like that."

Q stopped at the alleyway, seeing some guy and Blake going after eachother. The guy was on the ground, so it seemed Blake was winning, but... What had caused the gunshot?
Q watched them both, attempting to figure out who it was that had been injured as he breathed through his mouth.


Blakaize wrote: "Do I look like I give a damn?!" She snarled. She flipped off her back, going for the gun. She ducked when it discharged. The guy yanked her back to the ground and she snarled again, kicking at his face. When Q came to the mouth of the ally way, she scrambled to get to her feet. She still had the sniper rifle on her back, and she struggled to grab it and turn it on the guy, but the strap had gotten tighter around her shoulders, and she struggled with it. "Help!" She said, looking to Q with large eyes.


[Q] wrote: Alain grunted as the woman tried to go at his face. He rolled away and got up as she messed with her backmount and called for help. At that, he turned around, seeing Quatre Bornes for the first time. But he didn't have much time to oggle as Q growled like some type of animal and went to punch him in the face.
Why the face? Every time!

Alain stepped into Q's gait, "guiding" the 23 year old's hand to the side, then grabbing his shoulder and tossing him over in an akeido move known as a barrel roll, Q landing on the ground with a grunt on his side, sliding toward the wall.

The wall where the gun was.
They both saw it at the same time.

Q reached for it and Alain kicked it out of the way. Q got up as quickly as he could, letting out some type of animalistic roar-- it was fucking creepy, to say the least-- and bum rushed Alain, pushing his back into the other side of the alley.

Alain called out, but started to punch at Q's back. Q, with his head against Alain's chest, began to punch Alain's gut. At that, Alain threw his knee up into Q's face.

Q let out a shrill whine or bark as he doubled over, giving Alain enough time to pick up the gun and point it at the both of them, though he didn't fire just yet.
Had this been any normal fight, he would've gone straight for the gun. But something in him wanted to stay true to this weird ceasefire Alexandre wanted.
Maybe it was fear for his legal status, maybe he just didn't feel like killing these people who were only trying to protect themselves. Well. Maybe. He decided he hated both of them.

Fuck it.

He aimed the gun at Q, but then reconsidered and brought it on Blake, who seemed to actively be trying to kill him the most. He fired once at her shoulder.


Blakaize wrote: Braig gave Alexandre a cold look.

"I bet you think you've got that kid under your thumb," he said. "And maybe you do. But, things are getting slippery now, ain't they? You're having trouble hanging on to all your minions. You're time is short."

In the ally, Blake ducked, a half a second before the gun fired, and was able to miss the bullet, whizzing past her ear. The sniper rifle slipped off her shoulder and she was able to catch it, finger on the trigger. When she popped back up, the rifle was straight out, towards Alain.

"Drop the gun or I will shoot your ass quicker'n shit," she spat, nerves settling, oddly, feeling better with a gun in her hand.


[Q] wrote: "No," Alexandre chuckled.
"I can agree that things haven't gone quite according to plan, but it's not slippery at all."
He looked to Braig. "You know, you don't seem the type to... Be into boys. I wouldn't have pegged you at all. That, in particular, may become slippery later. Especially with your little love confession earlier."

He rolled his shoulders, taking in a deep breath.
"Unless Quatre Bornes dies in that little scuffle over there, we're still leaving. Please make up your mind if you still do not want to come."

Alexandre began to slowly walk over toward the alley where Alain had been stationed.

When Alain shot at Blake, Q pulled out his own gun and pointed it at Alain. Q's left hand held the gun while his right still held his gut, which felt horrible. Q wheezed in between breaths.
He looked to Blake, who was pointing a sniper rifle of all things at Alain. Would that even work at such a close range? Q had never tried it. He wondered what aiming was like.
Now probably wasn't the best time to think these things.

"I know you won't believe me, but I'm under a ceasefire. I'll only kill you if you attempt to kill me. And how it's looking right now, I could get away with shooting you. But I'd really like to avoid that, and just go home. I want your word that if I put my gun down..." Alain looked to Q as well as Blake, "... You will as well. I don't want to be shot in the back."


Blakaize wrote: Braig smirked.

"Guess you're not so omnipotent anyway," he said. "And what makes you so sure he's gonna come with you?" Braig went to put his hands in his pockets and felt the dessert eagle against his arm. One wrong move, fucker. Give me a reason.

Blake wasn't sure her sniper rifle would work at this range. If anything, it'd mangle the hell out of someone, or at least injure. She wouldn't be able to kill shot worth a damn. Her eyes narrowed when the other spoke.

"By my count, there's you and there's pretty boy up front. Inside that house is four gunmen who are just waiting for a reason to blow your brains over the concrete. So, as for "getting away with shooting us," fat fucking chance." She said. Blake drew a deep breath. "But, alright. Fine. On three, we lower our weapons. Then, we talk this out, like fucking adults. You make one fast, suspicious move, I put one between your eyes. Got it?"


[Q] wrote: Alexandre stopped in his stroll, looking back to Braig over his shoulder, his eyes full of knowing. A secret only he knew, and smirked.

"Quatre Bornes had no mother. Vespasien is the boy's first lover, his maternal figure, and the reason," Alexandre pointed at the bridge of his own nose, "he got that nasty facial scar."
He let out a 'heh', replacing his hands in his pockets.
"That's why he'll come. Even if he could somehow convince himself he hated Vespasien, he would still come."

He looked toward the alley for a moment before reconsidering, and turning around to face Braig again, stepping closer to him.
"It took almost a year of digging at those two to get them to break up, and yet you can still tell in the way they hold themselves that they feel it was a mistake. There is something to be said for that."

Once he reached Braig, he stopped, spreading his weight evenly between his legs. "I like you Braig. I can see why the boy takes an interest in you. You're intelligent. You hold yourself well. If you end up not wanting to kill me when this is all over, I can see you becoming part of the Syndicate, if you'd like."

Alain grit his teeth as he held the gun facing Blake. He wasn't too worried about Q, who seemed to only be taking orders from the girl currently. He nodded. "That's fine by me."

Q's shoulders rose and fell as he breathed heavily, a wave of dizziness beginning to take hold, as if creeping on him slowly. He creased his brows together.
"Count, Blake," he ordered, watching Alain.

Before Blake could even begin, Q squeezed the trigger anyway, the bullet going through Alain's neck.
Alain fell to the ground, cracking his head on the pavement.

Q clicked the safety back on and let his arm fall to his side, swallowing as he looked at Alain.
"Why did I just...?" He couldn't even finish his thought.

"Why would you bring a sniper rifle to a close range....?" Q didn't finish his sentence either, though he wasn't really talking to Blake. Moreso thinking aloud.

He backed up a few steps, his vision blurring, and slid down the back of the wall to sit. He put his gun down and fished through his pockets for cigarettes.
Gone.
Of course.

He leaned the top of his head against the wall and closed his eyes as he took deep, loud breaths, trying to slow down his breathing.
When was the last time he had smoked at all? Yesterday?

He wanted to ask Blake for some smokes, but he had the sneaking suspicion she still hated his guts. So for the time being, he suffered in silence.


Blakaize wrote: Blake blinked, realizing what had just happened. She . . . she really was going to let Alain go. She wasn't going to shoot, if he didn't shoot. Why the hell . . .?!

She dropped the rifle, as if it burnt her hands to hold. She looked back to Q.

"Hey," she said, looking at him, intently. "What . . . why would you . . . that wasn't right, Q!" She finally spat out, staring at the kid. Alain was dead. There was no guessing at that. Bullet to the neck, you were fucking done for. She leaned against the wall beside him, slid down it, so they crouched side by side.

Braig gave Alexandre a "are you fucking kidding me?" look.

"Er," he said. "Thanks, I guess. Though, thanks, I'd rather not. As for Q . . . why not just leave the poor kid alone? You're an ass, a possible, supposed strategic genius. What the hell do you have to gain from watching Q suffer? Sadism only goes so far."


[Q] wrote: "Wasn't right?" Q breathed.
"He was pointing a gun at you."
It was all empty words. Empty words, that had no meaning. He didn't know why he did it. Maybe he just wanted to kill something. Maybe he wanted to control a situation where normally no one would have control.
He continued to focus on his breathing, his shoulders rising with every breath, as if he'd just sprinted a marathon.
"I'm sorry," he rushed between breathes, "For how I treat you."

Alexandre shrugged.
"He is the one that got away, you could say. At first I was simply searching for him. I worked for the government, you see." He neglected to mention which government.
"I had exhausted all my resources trying to find this boy. I left my job behind to try and find him. It consumed me. Quatre Bornes is very good at disappearing, despite his looks."

He looked back to the alleyway, having not heard a gun shot in quite a while. Perhaps it was over, finally. He wondered briefly who'd won.

"When I finally found him, I realized... Chasing him had been such fun that I couldn't bare to leave it at that; to just turn him over and call it a day. So I found other ways to pre-occupy my time. I got him to leave of his own volition, and waited a year, concentrating on Vespasien's french mafia. Then I was able to pursue my dog chase again."

He hmphed. "To be honest, I was beginning to believe that he had died already. You're the one who oversees the wounds, yes? Then you must know of his condition. I can only imagine how he goes on. Especially with how... Easily excited he becomes. It wouldn't surprise me if he had some form of cancer these days as well."

He shrugged, as if it made no difference to him. "Let us go see who won the scruffle, yes?"
He walked back toward the alleyway once more.


Blakaize wrote: Blake looked at him, eyes sad.

"I was gonna let him go," she muttered softly. She winced at his apology. "Don't sweat it. Everything's cool on my end. Don't mention it."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. This . . . this entire thing . . . I'm too old for this crap, she thought . . .

Braig maintained eye contact, frowning.

"So. You're one of the ones who made him what he is? Drop it. Get a new hobby. Leave him alone. Yeah, his condition is terrible. He almost died on the table. Got him back by almost exploding his damn heart. He's gonna die anyway. You've got nothing to gain." He said, not wanting to think about what if more of HIM worked for the government.

He cocked his head in the direction of the ally.

"I hope, for your sake, that you can replace your man," he said. "Regardless of if Blake or Q lived or died. If he got shot and killed, he got off easy. If he shot and killed my sister, or my friend . . . fucker's in a world of hurt."


[Q] wrote: Vespasien paused in his footsteps once more, a grin coming across his face. He turned to Braig.
"I will have a new hobby soon. I'm going to take the boy to see his lover die, then I'll kill him myself and bring his body to the government. That is, if the poor kid doesn't kill himself first after he sees the condition poor Ves is in."

He took a step forward to the alley, almost there. "I tell you this Braig, because I know you won't be able to stop it."

He continued, turning the corner to see both Blake and Q on the ground. Alain had bled out on the pavement. Alexandre sighed. A shot to the neck? How odd. Were they aiming for the head and perhaps missed? Neck was an odd spot to aim for.

You broke his eyes from the gore of Alain and turned to Q, who seemed to be struggling. The boy had probably tried his best at hand to hand and was now trying to prevent passing out.
He hmphed, and stuck his hand into his right pocket, taking out a pack of cigarettes - Benson & Hedges - and a lighter. He took out one, lit it, and took a small puff, coughing a bit.

He squatted down and handed the lit cigarette to Q. "Here, kid."

Q opened his eyes, looking to Alexandre wearily. He gave a short ruff sound from his throat, probably some mix of a growl and a snort.

"Come now, it's in my best interest to get you to Vespasien as quickly as possible. And having you black out wouldn't be a good thing," he coerced.

Q grunted and took the cigarette, forcing himself to take a long drag, coughing slightly as exhaled.
After a few drags, his breathing began to calm, and Q pushed his glasses up ontop of his silver hair, glaring at Alexandre.

"I want Blake to come, too." He grumbled in french, his words running together.
Alexandre scoffed. "You and I both know only one can go."
"He is dead. There's an extra seat. She'll fit it." Q of course was talking about the jet, which wasn't very large.

Alexandre chuckled a bit. "You're in no position to put up a fight with me, boy. Only your boyfriend can come. If he even chooses to still come."

Q frowned. "Braig knows french," he grumbled.


Blakaize wrote: Blake looked between the two. Alexandre was close enough to her for it to be a severe temptation to attack his ass. But she held her tongue, and kept her fists and boots at bay. Braig helped her to her feet. She shrugged him off with an "I'm fine," and looked to Q. They exchanged some words in French, she heard her name a few times, but she glared just the same.

Braig's expression matched her own.

"I guess you won't have a new hobby after all, Alex," he said, taking Q's arm. "Come on, Slim. He doesn't want to play ball? We don't have to listen to his shit."

Oh, I can't change it huh? He thought, gnashing his teeth. You don't know who you're dealing with, buddy boy.
[Q] wrote: Q stubbed the butt of the cigarette out on the pavement, taking Braig's hand and pulling himself up with a grunt. When he got on his feet, he almost immediately lost his balance, leaning against the wall again.

"Not yet," he groaned. "I need a few more minutes..." He green eye begrudgingly looked toward Alexandre, begging.

With a smug look on his face, Alexandre repeated the process of taking the first small drag to insure the cig was lit before giving it to Q, and placing the pack and lighter in his pocket. As Q took the long drags, it obvious that he didn't like it, Alexandre briefly wondered what would've happened if he had spiked the cigarettes.

But that was a bit low, even for him. So the thought passed as quickly as Alain's life had from Q's gun. The 30-something man turned his attention from Q to Blake and Braig for a brief moment, before cracking his neck.

"Ready?" Alexandre questioned, ignoring the others words.

Q rubbed his eyes before giving a pleading look toward Blake. His attention diverted to Braig shortly after.
"Please come," he said to Braig.
He wanted to say more, but he didn't want Alexandre or Blake to understand it, and Q knew no other languages well enough to say them. Plus, he was pretty certain Alexandre understood most of them, anyway.

Alexandre looked toward Braig, wondering, before turning his attention to Blake. "It all should be done by the end of the week, if you wish to barge in and kill us all then."
That is, if she had even figured out where the headquarters were.

He turned back to Braig and Q. "Well come on, then."


Blakaize wrote: Blake shook her head.

"I'm coming with you," she said. "You've already proven that you can't be trusted. You think I'm gonna let you take my brother and Q with you after that? Pfft, fuck you, sugar."

She shook her head, patted her pockets for a pack of cigarettes. She plucked the one Q was dragging off of from his lips and lit a Lucky Strike.

"Here. Unfiltered. Better for ya," she said, sticking one in her mouth, lighting one for him.

Braig looked from Q and his sister to Alexandre.

Please come

"Looks like we're still trying to play ball, Alex. You take the three of us to see Ves, we go without a fight. You try to take only two of us, we'll fight you and it's 3 against one. Unless you lied again and have other lackies scurrying around the back roads?"


[Q] wrote: Alexandre snorted. "It will be him and you," he said to Braig, "Or just him. Your choice."

He watched the interaction between Q and Blake, which reminded reminded him of a baby sitter scolding a young child. Q groaned deep in in his throat as he was given a different cigarette, but otherwise made no protest, and continued to smoke the new one. He just disliked smoking in general. He only did it because it helped him deal with his problems.


After a few seconds, Q spoke up again, albeit weakly. "He's right. I'm going to go regardless." He looked down, bringing his sunglasses back over his eyes, taking a deep breath without inhaling the cig. "I want to," he admitted.


Blakaize wrote: Blake wanted desperately to put her cigarette out on Alexandre's face. Smug son of a whore, she thought, taking a deep inhale.

"What have you got against me, chief?" She asked, sarcastically. "I knew you were a coward, I didn't think you'd be scared of a woman."

Braig wanted to shush her.

"Calm down." He muttered to her. He looked to Q. "It's a trap, Slim . . . please tell me you can see this is a thinly veiled trap . . ."

"He can't see," Blake muttered. "He's too close, he can't see it. He's got tunnel right now, and Ves is at the end."

"Blake, shut UP!" He snapped. God, he didn't need her lip right now!


[Q] wrote: "Oh, it's nothing personal," Alexandre snickered. "It's just that you've proven to be quite trigger happy, and I wouldn't want to put everyone at risk."

"It's ok," Q said weakly, in response to Braig's outburst toward Blake.
"It's true. I just want to see him one last time. I doubt Alexandre would lie about Ves dying."
He choked on the cigarette. He'd never had an unfiltered one before. It tasted horrible. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out on the wall behind him, letting it fall to the ground afterward.

"Even if it is a trap, I'm dying anyway. If you want to try and kill Alexandre for me afterward, then come. He thinks you're too coolheaded to pull a trigger. Maybe you are. But there's no way he'll let her," Q motioned his head over to Blake, "On the plane."

Alexandre listened intently to Q, though played it off as if he were more interested in Blake's reactions to a language he gathered she didn't understand.


Blakaize wrote: Blake nudged Braig.

"What'd he say?" She asked, taking a drag. Braig sighed.

"He says you can't come ---"

"Like hell I can't ---"

"You can't." Braig said, simply. "The head hauncho over there's scared of you. 'Fraid you'll pull the trigger on his ass." He shrugged. "You're not going. I'll go. Don't worry. Q gave us expressed permission to kill him when this is finished." He opened his jacket, revealing his eagle. "So. Where's the jet?"

Blake swore and snuffed out her cigarette, pulling one last drag from it.

"Bullshit," she muttered. But she was already thinking. How could she follow? How could she find out where they were headed?


[Q] wrote: "I'm sorry, Blake." Q said softly, pushing himself off the wall slowly, gathering his bearings.

He looked to Braig in an almost pleading manner before placing his sunglasses back over his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose a bit before walking over to Alexandre.

"Yes, where is this plane?" Q questioned.

Alexandre gave a heh. "A jet. It's at the private air strip downtown. We can walk if you want."

Q hung his head. He wanted to walk, but he didn't think he would be able to make it that far. Once they were out of earshot of Blake, Q spoke in english.
"Will there be food?"

"We can get it once we get back home. Unless you think I will poison it," Alexandre gave a wary look to Braig with the remark.

"That's fine. Get a cab or something, though, please..."

Alexandre dug in his pocket for his cellphone, calling for a driver. A black mercedes pulled up just the three reached the main road.
"Don't get any ideas, Braig. This man is not one of mine," Alexandre stated before getting in the passenger seat, leaving the other two to the back.

Q got in, sitting down and immediately putting his seatbelt on before looking down at his lap.
He realized he'd left one of his guns in the alleyway. Now one of his shoulder holsters was empty, and he felt uneven. He briefly wondered if Alexandre was perceptive enough to notice things like that.

He turned to Braig, in order to get his mind off things.
"Thank you," he said softly. He meant for coming with him.


Blakaize wrote: Braig shook his head.

"Think nothing of it, Slim." He said. "Oh. Fuck. Alexandre. I have to lock the garage." He turned and pulled a keyring out of his jacket pocket. He clicked the small black remote on it and the garage door lowered, hiding the two cars and Blake's motorcycle from view.

Blake, in the allyway, sighed. She felt so helpless, so cold. She walked back towards the house, watching Braig and Q get into the car. Braig had his key ring out, had put it back in his jacket after the garage door closed.

"Alright. Let's get this fiasco underway, shall we?" He said, turning back to the car. "Bernadene. Remember to check on the boys, while I'm gone." He said, in fluent Russian.

Blake, on the steps, watched the car door closed and ground her teeth.

Check the boys? She thought, repeated it in her head. Yeah, because I'm your fucking house wi----

Blake blinked and hurried into the house. Check the boys?! She had seen Braig with his key ring out!

"You beautiful bastard, you!" She breathed, heading for her room, to the computer


[Q] wrote: Q watched the scenery pass by, unable to discern much of what was going on outside the window.
It was only about a ten minute car ride before they reached the air strip, where the plane was already ready for take off.
Alexandre got out, and waited for the other two men to follow him before continuing to the jet. He nodded to the pilot at the door in a friendly manner, apologizing for the delay, then went up the small stairs into the aircraft.

Inside were four leather seats, somewhat of a miniature air bus. It appeared that Alexandre- or at least Vespasien- was rather frugal.

Alexandre showed Braig and Q where they could sit and he himself sat in front of them.

Q sat down and buckled up, keeping his head down, as if trying to sleep. Eventually he did fall asleep, coming to when they landed on the other side of the country approximately two hours later.

Once they landed, Alexandre led them out, thanked the pilot, and proceeded to bring the other two men to yet another car, where that driver finally took them to a large, nondescript sky scraper with tinted glass windows and doors.

Q was hesitant at first, as this was not the building he'd been based in, but reluctantly followed Alexandre through, who waved and nodded to a cute receptionist and led the two men to the elevator.

"Would you like to eat now, or do you want to see Vespasien first?" Alexandre asked once they stepped in.

Q looked to the walls of the elevator, becoming uncomfortable. Despite feeling like he was starving to death, he replied "Ves first."

"As I thought," Alexandre reputed, pressing the button for the 12th floor.
After some time passed, Alexandre broke the uneasy silence with "So I suppose you see things aren't how you left them, Quatre Bornes."

Q frowned. "No. What happened gas station?"

Alexandre chuckled. "We mostly deal with insurance now. It's gotten us a lot farther. Vespasien was trying to become somewhat of a peaceful leader. You can see where that got him." His blue eyes looked to Q's sunglasses. "It appears the common man believes insurers are more evil than rogue gunmen." He chuckled again before the doors opened to the 12th floor.

Alexandre led them down the hall, to a room on the end. He knocked on the door first, before opening the door slightly and poking his head in.
"Vespasien. I brought someone to see you. As you requested." He spoke in french.

A weak voice answered. "Quatre Bornes?"

"Oui," Alexandre nodded.

Q pushed Alexandre aside and shoved himself through the door.


Blakaize wrote: The keyring in Braig's pocket had a GPS installed, so Blake or Braig could always find the keys. When he used it to close the garage, he activated the blip system. Upstairs, Grayson and Blake were at her computer, tracking him.

"He's in the air, now," Grayson remarked, as Blake got her contacts ready. They needed a ride, they need cover, they needed some decent body armor. "He's moving fast."

"We've got to move faster," she said. There was a knock at the door and Gabriel pushed his head in. "Busy, squirt. Scram." She snapped. Gabe only smiled, sadly.

"You guys said you needed a ride and stuff?" He said, softly. Blake eyed her apprentice. The kid had kept himself sparce since the incident in the cemetary.

"Yeah." She said, suspicious. Gabe beamed.

"I can get you guys a ride, and guns, and some other stuff."

Grayson raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of 'other stuff?'" He asked. Gabe grinned again.

"Pipe bombs and concussion bombs!"

Blake and Grayson stared at the guy. Blake's hand itched to smack him. He was fucking joking around at a time like thi---

"My dad's a drug dealer, remember?" He said, winking. Blake blinked. She had forgotten that fact. Gabe's old man had connections as well.

Blake pulled him inside the room.

"Best get busy," she said, handing him her phone.

MEANWHILE

Braig eyed the body on the bed, eyed Q. He had been silent through most of the journey, silent still, as they entered headquarters. He only hoped that Blake had gotten his hint and was tracking him . . .


[Q] wrote: Alexandre sighed disapprovingly and opened the door after Q pushed passed him to let Braig and himself inside.

The room was bland, meant to be an office space, but had been set up to suit Vespasien- a small bed and a table with many different medications and discarded foods. No IV, no heart monitor, no resident nurse. They had not been lying when Ves had refused to see a doctor.

Q immediately went to Vespasien's side. At one time, he'd been a strong man, light brown hair and green eyes, medium build. But now, the man was pale and gangly, obviously on his deathbed. His shoulder wound had been wrapped, but underneath it was visibly infected. The man was probably in an enormous amount of pain.

Q, at the side of the bed, took his sunglasses off and looked Ves in the eyes, taking the man's good hand into his own, holding it.

"Oh my god," Q rebuked. "What happened? Why did you not seek medical attention? How long have you been like this?!"

Vespasien simply smiled, obviously out of it. Perhaps not completely there in mind.
"Bornes... I missed you. You and your pretty eyes. You look even cuter now than before." His voice was soft and caring, like a mother's.

He let go of Q's hand and reached up to touch the twenty three year old's face. Q leaned down into his hand, bringing his own hands to guide Ves's to pet him, rubbing his cheek against Ves's palm for a moment before staring at the man intently.

"Please, Vespasien. Tell me why you are killing yourself? This is not like you. This is wrong."

Vespasien breathed a 'heh'. As if Q couldn't possibly understand.
"I made a mistake, Bornes. What Alexandre did for the mafia... It was good. We are so large now, and have become nonviolent for the most part. He improved our image and my poorly constructed plan. But in following my dream, I neglected yours. I loved you, Bornes. I always did. I did not want you to leave, and I did not mean to push you away... I was blinded by my goals... All you wanted to be was a sniper... And I thought that was all... I didn't realize how much you cared for me, too..."

Q was breathing through his mouth, a headache overcoming him, soon to turn into dizziness. He was becoming much too anxious.
"That's no reason to kill yourself!" Q choked. "You got your dream, you can still live it! This is so stupid of you! All those times you told me to live on, to embrace who I was, you gave me hope. And you would not listen to your own advice?"

Alexandre took in a deep breath, wincing from it.
"I realize it is rather stupid of me... But love does stupid things. I thought you would never come back. I was beginning to believe even this situation would not bring you back to me, you were so good at disappearing, even Alexandre couldn't find you for two years.... I just wanted to apologize to you, in person. In a way I knew you would consider sincere..."

Q growled. "Vespasien, killing yourself is not a way to apologize! How do you think this makes me look? Why would you punish me again? Living without you, the person who convinced me to live in the first place after Father disapproved of me? I--"

Vespasien coughed, then shushed Q, tapping the boy's hand. "Calm down, Quatre Bornes."

Q whined, and leaned in further to Ves's face, to whimper as a puppy would in between his next words. "I am dying, Ves. I am dying too. But the difference between me and you is I did not wish this on myself. I did not actively try to worsen my condition. You can beat this. You can live on to do what you want. I did what I wanted. I was a sniper. I loved you for a time and I still love you, even now. Though I am hurt. But I have a year left, maybe less. I want those last moments to be with you. Why would you do this to me?"

Q grit his teeth, closing his eyes and going down to his knees, lying his head on the bed. Ves rubbed Q's head, ruffling his grey hair.
"I waited too long. I'm poisoned now and I'm very tired. I have not been eating anything for a few days. I told Alexandre to end my suffering after you came. Even on these many drugs, I am in so much pain from the injury. I know it probably does not make sense to you, but I just know that... That this would be the best way."

Q started to cry.

Alexandre left his room in the corner, his evil smiling face replaced with a serious business-like expression long a go. He went to the cabinet on the other side of the room, opening it and working to fill a syringe with a lethal overdose of morphine.

When Alexandre was done, he walked over to the opposite side of Vespasien's bed, carefully turning the man's arm and beginning to inject the drug as he began to tighten up in pain.

Q's head shot up.
"No no no no, You can't do that yet!" He turned to plead in Vespasien's face. "You can't go yet! Don't do this to me, Ves! This is worse than the first time! Ves!"
Q began to choke on his own breath as he grabbed Ves's sheets and shook the man slightly. But it was too late, Alexandre had finished injecting, and pulled the empty needle out, stepping away.

"Don't listen to his lies, Vespasien! All Alexandre has done is lie and manipulate you! Please! Vespasien! Ves! Wake up!"

Q lost it at that point. Ves had stopped moving and tears were streaming down Q's face. He was shaking, his vision going black as he hyperventilated, his heart beating so hard in his chest he swore he could feel his stitches pulsating.

"Ves! Ves! Wake up! Don't do this! Ves!"

[[Tryad - This]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig stared, wide eyed, at the exchange. And here he stood, watching it all. Watching a man die in front of him. And watching Q suffer it along with him. He saw Alexandre go to the cabinet and pull back the plunger to a syringe full of morphine. But, even though he probably could get to him in time to save him, or at least stop Alexandre in the first place, he was rooted, transfixed.

Was this what it was truely like, to these people? Was this all life was? As Alexandre stood back, near the bed, to watch the death, as Q begged Vespasien to stay alive, and as Ves himself drew deeper and deeper breaths, slower and slower, Braig made up his mind.

He drew the dessert eagle in his shoulder holster and leveled it at the back of Alexandre's head.

"Hey, Alexandre?" He said, waiting for the man to turn around, applying a little pressure to the trigger.


[Q] wrote: Alexandre turned, his expression still serious. He saw the gun, and opened his mouth, but then he heard a drop on the floor.
His attention diverted and he looked to Q, who had passed out and lost his balance, becoming too worked up for his own good. Alexandre snorted.

"This is rather anti-climatic, don't you think?" He turned back to Braig Alexandre's hands slipping into his blazer's pockets.


Blakaize wrote: Braig shook his head. The gun was aimed square between his eyes.

"Nah. I think this is the perfect end to this story. Right here. Game over for you." He glanced at the hands in his pockets. "You try anything I won't hesitate to drop you were you stand. I'd do it right now, but, first, I have to get something from you."

His eyes narrowed.

"You helped create Q, when Q was just your lab rat. I want to know how to prolong his life. How do I reverse the damage you've done to him?"


[Q] wrote: Alexandre shrugged.
"If you're going to kill me anyway, what point is there in me helping you?"

He sighed. "I had nothing to do with his creation."

Alexandre let a few more seconds pass before taking his chances and quickly pulling his hands from his pockets, his right hand holding the sedative that was originally intended for Q, should the boy not have been so willing. Alexandre went to shove the needle/pen into Braig's side.
It wouldn't kill him, or even injure him- just put him to sleep pretty quickly, should it contact.
Blakaize wrote: Braig saw it coming and blocked, back peddled. He had to move quickly. It was a nasty looking needle, and it was clear that Alexandre wasn't dealing with a full deck.

"You son of a bitch," he said, surprise still in his voice.

Meanwhile, Blake, Grayson, and Gabriel were in the back of a black van, speeding down the interstate. Her mobile phone, connected to the internet, tracked Braig's location. They were each packing heavy heat, sporting bullet proof vests, and blue tooth ear pieces.

"So," Grayson said, checking various magazines he had clipped to his belt. Reloads. "We are two veterans, one rookie, taking on an entire mafia syndicate."

"This isn't us taking on anyone." Blake said softly. "This is a rescue mission. We're heading out to get Braig." She thought for a moment. "And Q." Grayson groaned.

"You can't be serious. Why? Why not just LEAVE him?"

Blake sighed.

"Because, I owe him."


[Q] wrote: Alexandre recovered from the block, side-stepped, followed Braig. His left and free hand went to smack the eagle out of the russian's hand. Should that fail, he'd go for the elbow, jabbing it, attempting to loosen the gun that way.

Should that also fail, Alexandre would go again with the needle, ducking into Braig's stance and attempting to jab him in the chest with it.


Blakaize wrote: Braig dodged again, though he caught an elbow to the chest. However, it had the opposite effect than what Alexandre had hoped for. His hand tightened around the gun, and it discharged, sending a bullet into the floor.

Braig shoved Alexandre away from him and bent his knees. He'd go for a kick, but that would give Alexandre a fleshy target to sink his needle into. And Braig didn't want any of that . . .

Meanwhile . . .

"We're here," Blake said, as the van parked. She, Grayson, and Gabe climbed out. Blake had her usual two side arms, but she also had her sniper across her back, and a simple sawed off in her hand. Grayson eyed her, weary.

"What's with the shot gun?" He asked, regretting it.

Blake cocked it.

"It's a decent bludgeon, pretty devestating shot . . . plus, it just sounds cool."


[Q] wrote: Alexandre was startled slightly by the gunshot, giving Braig time to go for the kick.
Alexandre was kicked in the stomach, but as he began to double over, he grabbed Braig's leg and held onto it, plunging the pen/needle into his ankle before letting go, holding his gut for a moment, then going to punch Braig's face.

While this was going on, Q laid passed out on the floor, his body slowly equalizing. Though who knew if the poor kid would wake up the same as he was when he was down. It was arguable he had minor brain damage from the last time he was shot and operated on due to Systemic hypoperfusion. If Q was having continuous problems that seemed to be getting worse, who knew when he would have a stroke, or if he had already had one.
Regardless, the twenty three year old would probably become conscious in about ten minutes.

[[Sorry for making you wait so long for such a shitty ass post. D; ]]


Blakaize wrote: "God DAMN you!" Braig swore, feeling darkness eat at the edges of his vision. He leaned against the far wall, trying to stave off the inevitable. "Sh-shit . . ." He said. His eyes didn't widen when he saw the punch come and he fell to the ground, the gun skittering across the floor. "That was fucking cheap . . ." he managed to say, reaching out, grabbing hold of Q's ankle.

hang in there, slim he thought, trying to keep his eyes from closing. When the darkness finally took him, he realized just how deep in trouble he was . . .

Meanwhile, Blake, Braig, and Gabriel were crass in walking to the door.

{equally shitty post. sorry, I thought you had forgotten about me. XD}


[Q] wrote: Alexandre watched the other man went down. A pity, considering he could have made a great ally.

The man bent and picked up the gun, checking if it had anything left in it, and that's when he heard people taking no effort to be quiet coming down the hallway and toward them.

It was probably the Russians. Braig had probably planted something or communicated their location somehow. No matter..

The man looked at Braig, who had grabbed Q's ankle. That was weird.
Regardless, Alexandre began trying to shove Braig's body underneath the bed, where he'd be mostly hidden. When the body wasn't moving fast enough, he began to kick it with his heel until it was mostly under.

He yanked Q's arm to splay the kid's body more prominently across the floor and stood up again, pointing the gun to the boy's head, using him as a hostage. He waited for the others to find this room.

If they did barge in, he'd make a split decision, and rather than try to negotiate, he'd simply fire at those who opened the door without hesitation.


Blakaize wrote: Blake, Grayson, and Gabriel found the door, and, hearing nothing within, were ready to kick the door down.

Blake stopped Grayson from doing it, though.

"Something doesn't feel right," she muttered. "Gut instinct." Blake reached out, and knocked, hard. Three steady beats.

"Alexandre," she said. "We don't want to hurt anybody. We just want to collect the pair and get. Got it?"


[Q] wrote: Alexandre mentally cursed himself. What kind of people were they to just knock on doors?

"That sounds like a bold faced lie to me," Alexandre shouted through the door, keeping his eyes on the unconscious Q, should he wake up.

"They would've returned unharmed if you had just let everything be," Alexandre finished.

It seemed almost worthless, now. He wanted to kill Q. He had been waiting for it. And really, nothing was wrong with simply letting he and Braig go. Nothing was wrong with being nonviolent about this. But it ruined all his plans, and seemed rather anti-climatic for how much thought he'd put into all this. And he didn't want to end with a feeling that something was missing.

That's why he couldn't just kill Q now, while the kid was out and he had every option to. Alexandre moved the gun and shot the deceased Vespasien's mattress, then turned and pointed his gun to the door.

He still wanted to shoot whomever wound up in here first. If he could induce a gunfight-- well that would be pretty entertaining, at least, right?


Blakaize wrote: "What, did you expect honor among thieves?" Blake countered. "You haven't exactly been a choir boy."

Grayson leaned into his sister.

"This is no time for negotiations!" He hissed. Blake shook her head.

"I have to try," she hissed back. "Please, Alexandre, there has to be a way for us to ---"

The gunshot rang out and made Blake's blood run cold. Shit, she thought.

Grayson pushed her aside.

"Enough negotiations!" He grunted. Blake pressed her back against the wall, on the other side of the door.

"He's got a gun trained on the door, idiot, think for once!" She said. Grayson kicked the door open and then hit the dirt, trying to avoid the fire fight for a moment.

Blake turned the corner at the same time as Gabe, both of them fireing. In the split second before she shot the sawed off she had carried in, she managed to observe the situation.

Four people in the room. Q, unconcious on the floor, Alexandre, over him with a gun, unknown male on the bed, and Braig's left leg sticking out from under it. The smoke that rose from the mattress made her think it was another trap.

That split second was over as soon it began, both her and Gabe pumping the triggar. Gabe aimed for his knees, Blake for his shoulders. For whatever unknown reason, neither felt like making a kill shot.

Grayson got to his feet and aimed, ready to make it if necessary, if all else failed.


[Q] wrote: Just as predicted, as soon the door was opened, Alexandre shot at the man coming in, who subsequently dove to the ground. Alexandre continued to shoot at the man on the floor anyway, not really knowing nor caring who he was as he emptied the clip and went down from the injuries he himself were bestowed.

He dropped the gun as he fell to his knees, watching everything as if it were happening in slow motion. Why this? Why now? Everything was falling apart. Nothing was going according to his plan anymore.

When everything seem to have calmed down a bit, guns trained on the fallen Alexandre as he bled, biting back his pain and words, Q groaned and rustled, slowly getting up to his knees.

Alexandre looked back in surprise. His one chance! He had to go for it.
"Quatre Bornes, what are you waiting for! Get them!"

Just as Alexandre had predicted, Q went on instinct before thought, took one look at Alexandre and then to Grayson, who was the closest. Q growled and jumped up, but immediately fell back down to the floor since Braig's hand kept him weighted down.
Q looked back with a whimper, and then to Alexandre again, his mind finally processing the situation.

Q backed up as best he could against the wall, on his hands and knees. "Please tell me this is it," he whispered to himself. "This is the end?"

He looked to Grayson, then Blake who had guns on them both. And finally, not caring, he looked under the bed at Braig, who appeared to be dead. He lowered himself and crawled toward the man's face, lightly slapping it. "Please... Not you too...?"


Blakaize wrote: Grayson was shot three times, twice in the shoulders, once in the thigh. He leaned against the wall, wincing. Blake moved forward, after the clip had been emptied, and leveled it at Alexandre. Gabriel crossed the room, checked the pulse of the man on the bed. He couldn't feel one . . .

All eyes went to Q, when he spoke. Blake was aware again that her brothers were injured. Braig looked like death, Grayson was still able to swear in Russian, which was a good sign, so she focused on the eldest child . . .

"What happened?" She asked, looking to Alexandre. "What happened to Braig?"


[Q] wrote: Alexandre looked tired, stressed. He wondered if he'd bleed out.

He forced a smirk. He'd be an ass to the bitter end.
"Who's to say?" He mocked.

Q continued to pester Braig with child-like innocence, whispering for him to wake up. The twenty three year old laid his head on Braig's chest, hearing a faint heartbeat. Q sighed in relief, however he was still worried. He had no idea what was going on.

He had to figure out what was going on. He closed his eyes, pushing his forehead into Braig's chest, trying to recall the events up to this point.
They flew here... And Alexandre took them to see Ves. Then... Ves killed himself? No, Alexandre killed him.. But Ves wanted it... And then, Blake and Grayson and someone else was here, Alexandre was down for the count, and Braig was unconscious.
He must've blacked out again. Q closed his eyes and began to sob. He'd fainted and all this shit had happened. He didn't even know what it all meant.

How could he have just blacked out during all of this? Why couldn't he had protected any of these people? And why was he crying now? He felt so useless, and weak.

Q moved his head to Braig's, placing his ear near Braig's mouth and nose. Braig was breathing too. Faintly, but it was there. That was good, too.
But not good enough.

"What did you do, Alexandre?" Q whined at the other man's back. Pathetic.

"Maybe if you hadn't passed out, you'd know," Alexandre replied.

Q raised his upper lip and snarled. He crawled out from under the bed and punched the man in the back. Alexandre simply grunted, as there wasn't much force behind the punch- Q had no ground to stand on, and was held in a rather awkward position given Braig's dead weight attached to his ankle.

"What is your problem?!" Q shouted. "Why do you have to do this to me? To everyone!"

Alexandre let out a 'heh'.
"There was nothing better to do. And your expressions are priceless. I wish I could see the look on your face now--"

Q reached out with his left hand and pulled Alexandre backward, toward him by the man's neck.
Q held Alexandre's neck as hard as he could while he tried to drag Braig forward to get a better hold on Alexandre.

As soon as he was close enough to Alexandre, Q began to slam Alexandre's head into the floor.
"You see my face now?!" he barked. "Is this so entertaining for you!!"
Every time Q slammed the man's skull into the tile, he brought it back up only to do it again. He wanted the man to die.


Blakaize wrote: "Q, stop!" Blake said, trying to grab his shoulders. "Don't, he's not worth it! Not like this!"

Grayson limped towards them, knelt beside the bed, pulled Braig out completely.

"He looks drugged," he muttered, breathing heavily. He glared at Alexandre the tile smeared with blood from a now open head would. "What'd you hit him with? Speak, or we let him have his way, and just kill you."

Blake rolled her eyes, trying to keep her hold on Q.

"Don't," she muttered, trying to restrain him. "Don't." She wasn't sure if Alexandre was still alive, or if life had a meaning for him anymore. Head trauma that bad, who could tell if he would just have a splitting headache or be a vegetable?


[Q] wrote: [[I forgot whether or not Q has his sunglasses on. I'll assume he doesn't and they're on a counter somewhere for now]]

Q slammed Alexandre's head into the tile one more time after Blake gabbed his shoulders. The blood pooled on the tile, and Q breathed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling, his body shivering from the strain after all it had been through-- and with no food. He couldn't remember the last time he ate, and to even accomplish this strength from his deteriorated condition was rather impressive.

The twenty three year old let out a disapproving chuff sound from his mouth as he breathed through it, it feeling very dry.

Q's green eyes glared at Alexandre's blue eyes, still staring at him. Alexandre was still alive, but barely. He'd be dead very soon, and there was probably nothing anyone could do about it.
Even so, the bastard still had a small smirk on his face.

Q couldn't stand it. He roared with anger and lunged forward again, Blake holding him back. Q struggled against her, but eventually gave in, a low canine growl coming from his throat. He didn't even try to hold it back anymore. Where previously he would've been embarrassed at such displays, now it just seemed natural. A part of him like anything else, and had been for so long that he didn't even recognize he was doing it.


Blakaize wrote: Blake groaned, realizing that Alexandre was indeed a vegetable now. There was no way a conscious person could have those eyes . . .

Grayson smacked the side of Braig's face and the mortician was roused ever so slightly.

"Wha---?" he moaned, eyes rolling up in his head, eyelids fluttering. He was clawing at the edge of consciousness, totally unaware of what had transpired when he was in la-la-land.

Gabriel wasn't entirely sure what to do next. He had arranged the mission, and, now that it was over it felt . . . anti-climactic.
[Q] wrote: When Q heard Braig's voice, he turned his head.
"Braig!" He was relieved. As if he had seen a long lost friend. Q obviously held the man in high regard.

The next words seemed awkward, however.
"Please let my leg go."
He looked down to his ankle, still gripped by Braig.

Q took a deep breath, calming himself down. He felt better now that Braig was awake. He didn't have to worry about whether he would die in his sleep or not.

There was something awkward about all this. There were two dead people here and a bunch with guns, and he was sure that given any other time, he probably would've been aggravated by the lack of closure.

But right now the simplicity that Braig was okay made everything better, despite him still being in Blake's grip.


Blakaize wrote: Braig blinked, almost fully awake and let go of his ankle, laying his hand beside it instead. He had . . . just wanted to keep a hand on the kid, to make sure he wouldn't slip away from him. He had no idea why he felt that way.

Grayson hooked his arm under Braig's knees and another under his shoulder and tried to lift him.

"The authorities will probably be storming this place in no time," he grumbled.

"Wait," Blake said, letting go of Q and moving to dig in Alexandre's coat pockets, his trouser pockets. "Dammit!" She swore, realizing there was just about nothing there. No clues, no keys to what to do next. She had at least figured a puppet master would have had a better contingency plan than this . . . "You're right," she said, finally. For some reason she reached up and closed Alexandre's blue eyes. "Let's get out of here." Blake stood, offered a hand to Q, to help him get up.


[Q] wrote: Q chuckled slightly, taking Blake's hand and getting up with difficulty. "Police."
As if the thought was hard to believe. He didn't see police coming here.
Everything was rather unreal here.

Everything was so... White, too.

Despite his better judgment, he wrapped his arms around Blake and gave her a bear hug. He breathed in her scent at her neck deeply before breathing out his "Thank you for coming." But he was a bit unsure as to why he was thanking her.
He didn't care.

He let go of Blake and looked around, taking in everyone that was there.
"... I'm sorry I've involved all of you in this," he said softly.

He shook his head, as if trying to gain his bearings.
"But you're right. Let's get out of here anyway."
Even though he said the words, he made no effort to move from his current position.


Blakaize wrote: Blake returned the hug, not minding the awkwardness, only enjoying this singular moment of peace. She shook her head, breaking away from him.

"Don't be," she said. "These things happen . . ."

Blake glanced at Ves in bed and sighed. Alexandre and Vespasian gone, now the only corner of the triangle left was Q . . .

"Let's go home . . ."

Grayson had lifted Braig up, the slimmer man not complaining at all. He was still too dosed to give a damn. Gabriel had already gathered up whatever he could, hoping not to leave a trace of them behind.


[Q] wrote: Q nodded in agreement, not quite all present and acting a bit off.
He began to walk toward the door, still breathing quite heavily.

They all made it back to the outside of the building when Q looked around, taking in the atmosphere without his glasses. He blinked a little confused, unwilling to admit he couldn't make sense of much.
"... How did you get here? ....How are we going to get back?"



Blakaize wrote: Blake looked to Gabriel.

"That's a good question," she said. "When will your men return with the van?"

Gabriel bit his thumb nail.

"Not long . . . " he said. "Within the hour, definitely." Grayson groaned.

"Idiot," he snapped. "Weren't you the one worried about the fucking cops? Now we're just supposed to wait around for our ride, hmm?"

Gabriel flinched.

"You got the guy's number?" Blake asked. "Call him up, tell him to get his ass over here." She watched as the blond fumbled with his phone and was able to dial. He told them to hurry, but they claimed to be at least ten minutes away. Blake was not happy about this development. "Let's just hope the police are fifteen minutes away."


[Q] wrote: "Don't worry about the police," Q said, squinting his green eyes as he watched the family bicker.
"I doubt anyone will want to avenge Alexandre's death. We probably did them a favor."

Q felt a bit detached. Like he wasn't really there with them. That everything was too perfect, and this was a dream.

He put his hands into his pockets and began to watch the street again, wondering briefly if he had always thought traffic in the version of a moving sketchbook was so interesting.

He cocked his head to the side, a bit too calm for his own good, especially considering what had just happened. Maybe he was in some type of emotional shock.
"I'm thirsty," he stated blandly.

He looked to the others, his pupils thin as hairs and gave a brief smile, as if they were his family.


Blakaize wrote: Blake looked to him, noticed his eyes and frowned.

"We'll get you something to drink when we get home," she said. "I promise . . . how are you feeling? Did you get injured in the fire fight?"

Blake had heard Braig mention his poor health. That, and, her knowledge of his true origins, made her worry about him . . . about how much time he had left.

"You, uh . . ." she said, searching her pockets for a crumpled back of smokes. "You want one?"


[Q] wrote: Q continued to watch the street.
"I wasn't hurt. Just a little tired. I haven't eaten in a while."
He turned to her, seeing her offer a cigarette.

"No...." he said, eyes searching for this elusive van the boys had spoken of.
"I hate those things. I only did it so I wouldn't pass out."

He frowned slightly. He was pretty light headed as it was now, but being as he had passed out what was it? Twice today? He didn't feel like it could get much worse now. He really didn't want to smoke. It was Ves who had taught him how to smoke, anyway.
Ves was gone.


"How are you? Were you injured?"
He turned to Blake again, a worried look on his face.
Though he couldn't see her much anymore, he still had preferred it when she acted like a boy. He supposed that said loads about him.



Blakaize wrote: Blake put her cigarettes away and looked at Q closer. A part of her wanted to touch him, on the arm, the shoulder. Make sure he was okay . . . but she also knew he didn't care for her.

"A few minor things," she said. "When we get home, we can get patched up . . ."

Blake missed acting like a boy as well. She had to change to female for this mission . . . but she felt better if she could just go back to referring to herself in the masculine. It made her feel stronger than she was, an illusion others believed in as well.

The van pulled up and Gabe was quick to clamor inside. Grayson next, holding onto his elder brother closely.

"We have to heal the healer, it seems," he muttered, looking at Braig's face. He was pale, still heavily drugged. Blake met eyes with Q, seeing them for how green they truly were.

"Let's go," she said.


[Q] wrote: Q was last to climb into the van, sitting next to Blake. He had to rearrange himself at first, as how he sat wasn't very comfortable with his tail. But when he was done, he looked up to Blake, who met eyes with his.

He seemed confused for a second, turning his head like a curious puppy, before he reached over and just hugged her again, his arms awkwardly around her shoulders as he leaned into her, closing his eyes.

He stayed like that, in awkward silence for a moment, before he said "I'm sorry I was such a dick to you. I don't even know why I was acting like that. All you ever did was care about me."

His eyes turned to Grayson, who mentioned healing the healer. Q gave no comment and focused his attention on Blake again, still embracing her, like he had taking a shot of LSD and the contact was something he just didn't want to lose.


Blakaize wrote: Blake stiffened in surprise and then relaxed. She looped an arm around his waist, equally awkward.

"It's . . . okay," she said, licking her lips. "You were stressed."

Grayson raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He folded a jacket, a spare he had left in the back of the van when he had suited up, put on the bullet proof vest, and placed it under Braig's head, no longer cradling him in his arms, but laying him on the van's bench seat beside him.

The ride was smooth, and they passed sirens wailing as the drivers ferried them across the highway and back into the city.


[Q] wrote: Q put his hands on her shoulders, pushing himself away from her momentarily while he scooted closer toward her. Then he leaned toward her again, his left hand under her chin. He was going in to kiss her. Part of him knew that was wrong, but he didn't care and so went to do it anyway.


Blakaize wrote: Blake blinked at him, unsure of how to react. Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering. She closed the gap between them for a moment, a small, closed lip kiss. And for awhile . . . she was pretty sure things were going to be okay . . .


[Q] wrote: Q was slow at first, unsure for the first few seconds of the kiss, but he quickly was able to push logic and worry to the wayside, going straight from sappy romantic right into lusty scoundrel mode.

He pushed his lips into hers, kissing her passionately, taking no heed to Grayson's muttering. His left hand went from her face to her hair and the back of her head while his right hand went from her shoulder to her breast. Realizing the bullet proof vest was there, he moved to her hip and aimed to slink his hand in through her clothes, squeezing beneath her ribs. He brought his lower half even closer, trying to push her against something, let her know he wanted more than just a kiss, if that were not already plainly evident.

He spread his feet out on the floor of the car. He'd never done this in a moving vehicle before, it was all pretty exciting and unpredictable for him.

His heart pounded, and he began to breathe heavily already, having to pull away from her and the kissing at times to take breaths through his mouth. He was either having a very good time or was having a little trouble keeping up with himself. Truth be told, it was the latter. His body was exhausted and he was sore all over, almost felt like he was going to pass out again. He didn't know why he had suddenly gone for this, but he wasn't going to bother questioning himself. He wanted it, he was getting it now, no need to punish himself for getting what he wanted.

[[Cold - Stupid Girl; Fresh Body Shop - My Great Descent (yes. There were two. >_>)]]
Blakaize wrote: Blake blinked, putting her hands on his face and pushing away.

"Hey," she muttered, around the kisses and sloppy handwork. "Wait, now?!"

Grayson glared and wanted to throttle the boy, but he had Braig's legs across his lap. He could do nothing about the near assault befalling his sister.

"Just, wait a second!" She hissed, holding his upper arms, staring at his face, looking into his eyes. "Here, now?! Q?!"

She could feel the weakness and fatigue in her bones and arms. The adrenaline was just not there anymore.


[Q] wrote: Even as fatigued as Blake was, she still had more strength than Q left.

It took a while, but when she grabbed his forearms, he pushed himself away, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through his mouth still.

"What...?" He rasped between breaths. "...You don't want it...?"
His eyes were beginning to turn red from strain. He squinted at her, not realizing it. He probably should've had a killer headache right now, but all he felt was mostly lightheaded and detached.

"I don't understand," he rushed, his voice strangely calm amidst his heavy breaths.
"You would've died for this before."


Blakaize wrote: Blake's eyes were hard and cynical.

"I'm not one to turn down sex, no, and yeah, I probably would've killed for it before," she said, breathing heavy. Her lips felt swollen . . . "But I am not screwing under the watchful gaze of my brother and apprentice."

Even as she spoke, she realized that she was partially lying to herself; her mouth said one thing, her body another, as she went to embrace him, hold onto him, again.


[Q] wrote: Q snorted.
"The pretend they aren't there. You don't look at them, they don't exist."

He leaned into her again. She may have had his arms in control, but it was the rest of his body that had the most weight. And it was his mouth that kissed her lips again. His mouth that nibbled at her neck, his nose exhaling harshly on the saliva he left on her skin.

He tried to put his hands on her hips again.


Blakaize wrote: Blake closed her eyes, mouth tight. He was hitting all the right spots and, for now, she almost wanted to do as he said. Pretend she had nothing to lose . . .

"That's enough," Grayson's voice said, bitingly cold and stern. "I don't care if you want to knock boots, that's none of my business. Exhibitionism is all well and good, but have a little decency, Bernadene."

Snapped out of it, she pushed Q away again and rubbed her face. What was the matter with her . . .?

"Later," she muttered, still rubbing his face. "We're almost home . . . Later" I promise . . .

The rocking of the van did the opposite for Braig what everyone wanted for him: he was lulled into unconsciousness, tired, drugged, trying to convince himself it was a dream . . .


[Q] wrote: Q looked to Grayson after seeing Blake's reaction to his words. The twenty thee year old gave a warning predatory growl from his throat.
It had gone from trying to understand and be nice about things to anger and annoyance. Blake was his and Grayson was stepping in on territory he didn't belong in.

He looked back at Blake, his snarl softening slightly. "You will let him control you like that? You are your own person. You are old enough to get what you want." His own voice was also stern, trying to prove a point. A very ironic one considering the situation, but how Q saw the situation was biased of course.

He grabbed Blake's hands and went into her again, biting her neck in less a show of lust and moreso one of ownership. Should Blake resist again, she'd overpower Q, but Q had a distinct feeling she either would hold back or not resist until the deed was done.
Save for Blake actually wanting to get away from him or Grayson jumping the seat, Q was going to have his way with this girl.

Should the bite get through without resistance, he'd start undoing her vest and shirt...


Blakaize wrote: Blake opened her mouth to point out said irony, but couldn't form the words, bitten and forcibly restrained. Grayson sat in shock. Did he just . . .?!

"Q!" Blake hissed, feeling his hands work on the front of her clothes. "For fucks sake . . .!" She blinked, retaining her dry sense of humor still. "Okay, bad work choice . . . listen to me, dammit!"

She tried to push at his chest, but she could tell it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. She had no leverage now, the back of her arms pressed firmly to the seat-back.

The van stopped, and the driver turned in his seat.

"Is this the pla . . . whoa . . . uh . . ." he said, blinking himself when he saw the scene in the back. "This . . . this is their address right, Gab?"

Gabriel nodded, the coward, trying to open the door and get out.

"I . . . I gotta get back to the warehouse, guys . . . uh . . ." the driver continued, watching even though he didn't want to.

Grayson hoisted Braig and made his entrance.

"You heard the man!" He barked, standing outside the van. That was, for him, a long van ride, the longest he'd ever had to endure. He had a feeling though, that for Q and his sister . . . it wasn't near long enough . . .


[Q] wrote: Q ignored them all, giving another growl in response.
"stop," he said to Blake, who was feebly resisting.
Q, even now as he was focused completely on getting her vest off, thought it rather funny that he knew right now he was weaker than her, and yet he still was able to get his way.
That just solidified to him, in his mind, that she wanted this.

He pushed her vest across her arms, not caring if it actually came off all the way or not. He then pulled her shirt and bra up to her collar bone, his hands playing with her exposed breasts for a moment before throwing his face in, licking, sucking, nibbling.


Blakaize wrote: Blake's eyes went wide when he buried his face between her exposed chest and for a moment, her mind stopped to assess the situation.

She was in a mafia van.
She had just rescued her friend and her brother from a rival mafia.
That same friend was now two steps above the status of raping her.
Her brothers were outside the van . . .

Deep blue eyes narrowed as she started to realize the full extent. Her right hand, gripped his upper arm tight, squeezing to the point she imagined bruising would result from the grip and pushed, hard.

"No, you stop it," she snarled, though her voice was not raised above a speaking level. While his ministrations felt amazing, needed, craved, she wasn't about to be his blow up doll. "Inside. I give you my word. IN. SIDE."

Blake put both hands on him now and pushed him away, not too forceful that he fell or stumbled, but enough to remove his body from hers. She stood, removed her hands from him to cover herself, and went to leave the van, headed for the back double doors.


[Q] wrote: Q yelped when she squeezed his arm, letting out a disapproving growl when he was finally pushed away. She went to leave the van, and he followed, scowl back on his face, obviously displeased.

When he was outside, it was pretty clear his eyes were close to being bloodshot, and they began to tear up. He paid no heed to it however, and went inside, following Blake.

"I am not about to wait two hours in a plane for this," he hissed to her.
"It is either now or it will never happen again."

If he had wanted to just rape her, he was pretty sure he would've just shoved his dick inside of her and been done with it. What made him happy was what made her happy, and he was pretty sure that if that bastard Grayson hadn't intervened, she would've been quite happy fucking in the car.


Blakaize wrote: Blake gave him a disbelieving look. Sonova . . . Weighing her options, she grit her teeth.

"Excuse me for having some class and not wanting to fuck in a dirty van," she shot back. The driver, still listening with the windows down, made a hurt sound. "No offense . . . Where did you plan on having this done, up against a wall, on the seat, where?!"

Grayson cleared his throat.

"Oh shut up," she shot at him. Then she pinched the bridge of his nose. Gabe also cleared his throat. "What, kid?"

"If it's a matter of where . . ." he said, slowly, taking out his cell phone again. Blake gave him a look.

"You gotta be fucking kididng me . . ."

"My father owes you a lot. He won't mind lending you a private car or something, I don't think."

"So, what, 'hey, Dad, Blake wants a quick lay, send a limo, will ya?!'"

". . . stretch or hummer?"

"Fuck you, kid," she spat back, turning away from him, adjusting her bra and shirt, nervously. She rubbed her face. She looked to Q, wondering just what his sick bastard of a mind thought of the situation. She had always heard of women threatening sex denial to their husbands. She never thought she'd be on the wrong end of that equation, not in all her years.


[Q] wrote: Q snorted through his mouth, almost a forced cough.

"Forget it. Let us just get in the plane and leave. I am done with this." He raised his chin in the air, his voice and demeanor giving off the feeling of some chauvinistic european upset that things had not been exactly how he wanted them.

"I will be no more bother to what is it? Ms. Bernadine."
He crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth closed as he forced himself to breathe through his nose.
This didn't work however, and he soon found his posture wavering, losing its edge, and his breaths coming through his mouth again. He looked about ready to pass out, simply from sheer exhaustion. His body needed fuel. More sleep, food, liquid. Something. The momentary rush of blood and endorphins was now over and his energy was quickly depleting because of it.

He hadn't eaten for at least two days. Maybe three. He was surprised he wasn't catatonic.
As soon as he was on that plane, he'd be in a deep sleep. Even before the thing took off.


Blakaize wrote: Blake's mouth opened.

"Oh, hell no," she snarled. "Don't be a bitch about this, Q." No one told this kid patience was a virtue . . . "I just helped save your butt and you want to pull this, it's not gonna happen!" She said, pointing at him. A part of her wanted to grab his collar and lean him down to her level, but she didn't. Instead, she just hissed. "You don't call me that. Don't you ever call me that again. I get pissed when Grayson does it, dammit . . ."

Blake was kicking herself now. If she wasn't so fucking persnickety, she could have gotten a decent romp, but nuuu not in a van. The other Blake wouldn't have give a damn . . . would he . . .?

She'd never thought she'd be tripping over herself to be with a guy that she clashed so much with, but at the same time, understand at least to an extent.


[Q] wrote: "Blake," Q breathed, not bothering to hide the exhaustion anymore and giving up his act as he looked down at her, a tear slipping from his watery eyes down his cheek as he squinted at her.
"You do realize I just tried to rape you, right?"

He sneezed, holding his gut afterward.
"It doesn't matter," he said after he recovered. "I wouldn't have been able to finish anyway. Be greatful for what you got while my adrenaline was pumped."

He put his hand out behind him and backed against a wall, leaning against it so it could help him gently lower himself down to the floor, where he sat with a sigh.


Blakaize wrote: Blake's eyes never left him, not even as he lowered himself into a sitting position. She knelt beside him, hesitating before wiping the tear away.

"What makes you think I care?" She muttered. "I only resisted because I'm no exhibitionist. At any other time, at any other place . . . what makes you think I'd say no?"

For a moment they just sat in silence. She slipped an arm around his shoulders, one arm around her neck, trying to lift him.

"Come on," she said, softly. "Let's go home."
[Q] wrote: Q flinched when she put her hand on his face. He had not been expecting her to actually touch him, almost as if his depth perception was off.
He really couldn't see much of anything anymore.

As she spoke, he grunted. He wondered if she knew he only used her for sex and to feel good about himself at this point. He wasn't sure he really cared about her. At least not emotionally.
He would've looked at Braig to reassure himself at this point, but he didn't bother- knowing he wouldn't be able to discern what group of black lines was Braig anyway.

He grunted again as he begrudgingly got up with Blake's help, another tear from his watery eyes. His retinas were probably burned by now. If Q ever saw what his eyes looked like now, he'd probably freak out. He wasn't even aware he was crying, or they were watery, even. They were numb, which was why he had not cared to wear his sunglasses lately.

"Your plane's here already...?" He asked, not quite sure how Blake expected them to get home. He doubted they had a private jet like Alexandre did.


Blakaize wrote: "Not a plane," she said. "Helicopter, one of Gabe's dad's."

The van couldn't go the distance the heli could. They'd be home in an hour and a half, if the helicopter was on time. Sure enough, fifteen minutes only had to pass for all of their ears to hurt with the sound of the beating propellers as the helicopter lowered itself from the sky.

"You guys look like shit!" The pilot yelled, really bellowing if they could hear them over the sound of the machinery.

"Just fly," Grayson said, climbing aboard, and strapping himself and Braig's quasi-conscious body in. "Are you coming or not?" He yelled, towards Blake and Q.


[Q] wrote: Q whined when the helicopter came close. His ears throbbed at the low chops of the helicopter's blades, and his instinct said to run away fast.

He had no energy to and Blake urged him forward, so he just followed her. When he sat down inside the vehicle, he searched around for headphones of some kind. He found some and shoved them on his ears, heaving a sigh of relief when they drowned out most of the vibrations and noise.

When his ears were taken care of, he tried to strap himself in, having difficulty but eventually managing to get the buckles buckled.

He'd never been in a helicopter before, and he was sure that, given any other time, he'd be all for looking out the window and enjoying the view or just the general experience of being in a helicopter, but right now his ears were still pounding enough for him to be incredibly uncomfortable and his body was wanting him to sleep.

It wasn't long before the man just gave in to it all, leaning his head back and passing out, it limply leaning against the back of the seat once he was out.


Blakaize wrote: Once they were near home, the helicopter landing near a dock, another van taking them back to the Cohen's home, Blake had to half drag Q into the car, put him in the van, buckled him. Despite her wounds now starting to throb, she still drug him inside the home, place him on the couch, and started to see if Braig was back in normal sorts.

"What IN THE FUCK was that?" He muttered, one hand gripping his nauseas stomach, the other on his face. Grayson pressed a cold washcloth to the back of his neck.

"You were drugged," he said. "Can't you remember?" Braig swallowed, and nodded, slowly.

". . . Where's the kid?" He asked, voice dry and cracking. Blake, sitting at the table with him, jerked her head in the direction of the living room.

"Couch surfing." She said, simply.

"Dickface?"

"Alexandre's dead . . ." Blake said, frowning, assuming that this "dickface," was to Braig, the puppet master Alexandre.


[Q] wrote: Q was in and out of it when Blake dragged him to and fro.

When he wound up in the house on the couch, he was out again, only half-waking enough to change position every now and then. His face was in the seat cushions when Braig awoke. Q was semi-awake by that point, and pushed himself up a bit to rest on his side, his face all wet with tears. His neck hurt, probably from sleeping in the awkward positions he'd been sleeping in, and his arm hurt. Where Blake had grabbed him.

Q haphazardly wiped his face while he laid down, rubbing his eyes. They felt kind of swollen to the touch, but he didn't have a headache or anything, so he thought nothing of it, instead groaning slightly and changing his position again, so he was facing the back of the couch. He readjusted his pants to let his tail out and flop lazily off the side of the couch to brush the floor. He wasn't sure if the others knew about it, but at this point in the game, he either had become truly apathetic to everyone else's views or just wasn't thinking cohesively.

Q had heard Braig's voice. The guy was alive- that was enough for Q right now.
He wanted to go over there and hug him or something, but he was too tired.
He knew he should probably eat. And he was still thirsty, but he didn't want to interrupt their family time, so kept silent, closing his eyes again and trying to sleep.

He'd stay there all day and night if nobody moved him.


Blakaize wrote: It was almost three AM when Blake remembered Q. She was stepping out of the shower, stitched up and less ragged. Grayson had been treated as well, after Braig's hands stopped shaking. Braig himself was curled up with Jaiden, the younger boy worried for his older brother and Braig in need of some human contact while he slept, still slightly paranoid. Who wouldn't be?

Blake came down stairs, and found Q, still passed out on the couch. She walked over to him, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a shirt that fell off her shoulders. Her hair was messed up, damp, mussed, in her face. She shook his shoulder, rousing him.

"Hey, Q," she whispered, crouching to look him in the face. She spoke softly, well aware that Jackie was asleep in the Lazy Boy in the den. They had all steered clear of Q, in the living room. Braig had, as he passed the couch, hastily pulled down a blanket over the kid's butt. Blake assumed it was because his tail was out. "Come on, Q, you're sleeping in a bed tonight. I'll take the couch."


[Q] wrote: Q came to when he was shook, letting out a torrent of air through his nose as if he were a discontented horse. He turned on his back to face whoever it was that was touching him.

Q groaned in disapproval. "I don't want to. The couch is fine," he whispered, his eyes were still red and swollen, but less so than they were before. Sleeping off a lot of it must have helped.

He closed his eyes, readjusting himself, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

"I don't want to move," he repeated. He was genuinely still tired.


Blakaize wrote: "Tough shit," Blake said, patting his shoulder. "You're gonna mess your back up. Come on, up to bed. You'll thank me in the morning." She tried to lift him, grabbed his shoulders, worked her thumbs into the blades, massaging away knots that felt like they were walnuts buried into his skin.

Her own fatigue protested to her trying to lift something again, but, this had to be done. She had already convinced herself to do this and, by God, it was going to get done.


[Q] wrote: "No," He whined. "Leave me alone..!"
She pulled his front half off the bed, and Q put his hands on the floor, holding himself in the awkward position where the rest of his body lay on the couch for a moment as Blake massaged him. He winced, letting out whimper that grew into a whine and moan as he stretched himself out, his vertebrae popping as he arched his back and slowly climbed off the couch afterward.

He gave a few heavy breaths through his nose as he stood. Waiting.
Q eventually say back on the couch, breathing through his mouth- though normally.
He rolled his neck on his shoulders, working to stretch out or prop everything there.

After everything was all settled, he still didn't get up. He simply hung his head, arms between his legs.


Blakaize wrote: Blake felt a third presence in the room and she glanced on the stairs. There stood Jaiden, young looking, tired. He was rubbing his eye, looking ten years younger.

"Jaiden," she said, disapprovingly. "What are you doing up? Go back to bed."

". . . don' wanna," he muttered, looking half asleep. "Braig kicks."

Blake frowned and looked back to Q.

"Will you go sleep with Braig, in his bed?" She asked. In her mind, it killed two birds with one stone. Braig needed someone to ride out the night tremors with him, while she didn't want Q sleeping on the couch like some dog.

Jaiden was already climbing the stairs back to his bed.


[Q] wrote: Q looked to Jaiden with his tired, overstrained eyes. It was odd how this kid and Blake could look so much younger with some sleep and a shower, but Q felt and probably looked at least 20 years older.

When Blake asked him to sleep with Braig, he turned his head, scratching the back of his head with a groan, as if he had to think about it. He exhaled loudly and got up, tossing the blanket on the couch and beginning to walk toward the stairs.

When he reached them, he gripped his hand around the rail-something he'd never done before when he wasn't injured- and leaned a lot of his weight into it, as if he were a 90-something walking.

His tail swayed from side to side, exhausted. Everything in Q's body said it should've stayed on the couch. Or at the very least, taken an elevator. By the time he made it to the top of the steps, he had to catch his breath for a second before continuing. In that second, he looked to Blake still at the couch, longingly, as if he'd been a dog kicked outside.

He finally tore himself aware from the look and went into Braig's room.
Q sat on the corner of Braig's bed and bent over with a grunt, begrudgingly untying his boot, and being rather vocal through his breath about it.


Blakaize wrote: Braig was laying on the other side of the bed, his back to Q. When he heard the wheezing and whining that was Q's breathing pattern, he roused and rolled over, only a quarter turn. He took a deep, 'i-just-woke-up' breath and rubbed his eye, swallowing a little.

"Oh hey," he muttered. "Mmm . . . come on in?" He rolled over completely on his back and stretched. He yawned, exhausted. "Extra jams're on the dresser . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q pulled his boot off after unlacing it, letting it carelessly fall on the floor before he turned to look at Braig.
It took Q a while to decode the sentence and realize that by jams the guy meant pajamas.

Q turned back to his second boot, bending over to unlace it. He held back a cough.
"I was just going to sleep in my clothes, if that's okay with you," he hoarsed.

He pulled his other foot out of the boot and tossed that on the floor as well, turning around and climbing on the bed, crawling toward Braig and throwing himself down over Braig's arm, on his side. Q was far too lazy to get under the covers.
He scooted up closer, placing his head near Braig's armpit, his own arms between their chests.

He exhaled loudly through his nose, glad to no longer be doing anything physical.
It wasn't that Q was in a bad mood- he wanted to be here, with Braig. It was just that he was so tired. Probably not from eating for so long. He felt incredibly weak.

"Are you okay...?" He whispered,


Blakaize wrote: "Yeah," Braig said, not minding Q curling to him so. ". . . Are you okay? I heard you went a little crazy . . ."

He rolled over on his side, laying his head on his bent arm, facing Q totally.

"Jeez, kid, you look like shit," he muttered. "Tired?"

{shit post is shit}


[Q] wrote: Q watched Braig, hesitating before answering. "... Yeah," was all he said.
He put his forehead into Braig's chest, pushing into it slightly, as if trying to be pet. It only lasted about a second before Q gave up, succumbing to the fatigue.

"I haven't eaten anything in a while... No drink, either. I'm running on fumes, I guess. I just want to sleep," he mustered, bringing his knees up to his chest.

"But Blake said I needed to keep an eye on you..." He breathed.
A couple of minutes later, Q was already asleep again.
Some watch he was.
Blakaize wrote: Braig pet him lightly, thinking to himself. He sighed, listening to the kid.

"Tomorrow . . . when we all feel better . . . I'll .. . I'll take you to a diner . . . I'll get you a big ice cream sundae, a root bear float, a burger, whatever you want," he muttered He felt like he was backtracking with a child, trying to soothe an upset ten year old.

He chuckled when he was told of Q's "mission."

"Just . . . Just sleep buddy. I'm okay," he muttered. When Q's breathing became even, deep, rhythmic, Braig leaned forward and kissed his forehead softly.


[Q] wrote: Q didn't think much of the diner. He wasn't hungry, and hadn't been for a long time. But he was thirsty and consciously doing nothing about it. He slept soundly for the rest of the night, unmoving.
He had probably overslept by this point, but he didn't really care.

A few hours later, after the sun had risen, Q began to tense up, his legs and tail twitching, his breath becoming uneven. He let out muffled, half-yips every now and then, and his skin became clammy, as if he should've been sweating but was not. This continued for a minute or so until Q's eyes opened and he immediately loosened, having realized that whatever it was that had gotten him so tense was just a dream. He didn't remember what it was, just that it had made him tense. He sighed with relief and looked up, wondering if Braig was still around as he straightened his legs, trying to stretch them out without actually getting up.


Blakaize wrote: Braig had turned away from him, rolled over in the night. He was, by this point, just being lazy and sleeping in. Now that he was fairly sure no one was going to die in the near future, he'd just let things wind down . . . and let Blake do the house work and shit for a change. His younger sister was always out and these past few . . . wow. It was only days . . . had been the longest she had been home.

Blake, on the other hand, was down stairs at the kitchen table, just sitting, trying to sort out her thoughts. That night, even after waking Q and trying to get him to come to bed, she didn't sleep. She just redoned Blake the Boy's clothes and fixed her hair that way. Her voice changed back and she sighed. She looked at her hands.

"Well. At least things are returning back to normal," she muttered. In the back of her mind, a different voice whispered to her. Ain't nothing normal about you, sweet heart. You think you're a boy, your family has been shot at more in the past week than ever before, and you've got a mild case of the hots for a boy with a tail . . .

Blake allowed her head to fall to the table with a clunk. The doorbell rang and she got up to go see who it was. She looked out the peep hole and swore out a blue streak. She unlocked the door and glared at the man standing there, who glared right back at her.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Isaac?" She said, addressing her younger, right-side-of-the-law brother. She shuddered visibly as she thought more about him. An accountant. Bleh . . .

Isaac just glared back at her. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"I'd like to talk to Braig, if that's possible," he said, voice crisp and less rugged than Blake's male vocal inflections. "Where is he? In the Pit?"

The Pit was Isaac's term for Braig's basement and crematorium.

"He's upstairs sleeping," Blake said, honestly, his eyes half lidded and unamused. Isaac blinked.

"It's almost ten in the morning."

"No shit, sherlock. You're more than welcome to come in and wait . . .?"

Isaac said nothing, just stepped over the threshold.


[Q] wrote: Q saw Braig still in bed, and breathed a sigh of relief.
The twenty three year old got up on his hands and knees, his tail waving haphazardly in semi-circles as he gently shook Braig's shoulder under the covers.

Q wanted to climb in, but felt it too awkward now- plus, he was a bit hot. And still thirsty.
"Braig?" he asked, his dry throat apparent in his raspy voice. "Are you awake?"

Q had feelings... Wanted to maybe.. Lick his face or something, but it seemed too weird. Even after all they had been through together, he was still nervous, anxious, not sure if Braig even swung that way. Or if he himself did, either.

So he stayed where he was, his tail beginning to slow down more and more the longer it took for Braig to respond. Q didn't really want to leave the bed.
He would've rolled over and kept sleeping if Braig weren't there.


Blakaize wrote: Braig stirred slightly, waved him away.

"Five mo' minutes," he muttered, sounding thick and slurred. The shaking persisted and he rolled over, just a quarter turn, to face Q. "Oh hey . . ." he said, rubbing one eye. "Dude . . . what time is it . . .?"

He sat up then, popped his neck using both hands to turn his head.

"Well . . ." he said, sounding more with it. "I slept like a damn rock. How 'bout you, Slim?"

Downstairs, Blake poured his brother a cup of coffee, set it in front of him. Isaac didn't touch it.

"Sorry it's not Starbucks, ya money bags, bastard," he muttered, sitting across from him. Isaac took a sip, cringed and then looked back at his sister. "So. What you want with Braig?"

"I heard from the neighbors that this was quite the happening place to be," Isaac said, dryly, pushing his glasses up again.

"No shit?" Blake asked, playing it off. Pretending he didn't have holes in him like swiss cheese.

"Yes," Isaac said, pushing on. "Appearantly, quite a lot of activity, a scuffle in the ally, strange cars, you blazing around on that damn death machine of yours." Blake smirked.

"Yeah, well, talk is cheap," he said, leaning back in the chair. "You talk to our neighbors. Ya fuckin' stalker, you." Isaac frowned.

"I heard, also, that Grayson has returned from Russia. So, I figured something was up, for him to have come from his new homeland." He said, tapping the table restlessly. "Mind telling me what's going on?"

"What, a brother can't come home to see his family? You're such a heartless prick, Isaac," Blake said, smirking, showing teeth. Almost vicious . . .


[Q] wrote: Q sat on his ankles, tail dragging over the covers from left to right when Braig finally sat up.

"I don't know. Day time, some time." He frowned a bit. "Sorry."
He genuinely felt bad for not knowing. He would've wondered why, at any other time.

But now he was thinking too simply, and spread and his legs a bit, rearranging himself.
"I slept like.. I slept well, is all." He blinked a few times, as if something were in his eyes, then looked back down to Braig, his pupils thin as slits again.

He'd left his sunglasses across state lines.
It was all right.
He couldn't feel the pain in them, anymore.
But he wasn't thinking enough to be worried about it.

"I'm thirsty," he said, the statement followed by a small puppy whine.
"Blake said she'd get me something last night but I guess I passed out before she did?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig rolled his shoulders. He was a little concerned about his new friend's eyes. He'd find him new sunglasses . . . somewhere . . .

"Knowing Blake, she's got coffee made," Braig said, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Wanna head down stairs with me. I'm fucking starving."

As he descended the steps, he felt a knot settle in his stomach. There was a slightly unfamiliar voice talking to Blake's, in the kitchen, it sounded like.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Isaac . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q's posture wilted.
"I don't like coffee..." he said quietly.

He wanted Braig to go get water and bring it back to him. But Braig had just got up and left, heading down the stairs. Q let out a small whine. He didn't want to leave the room.

He crawled to the edge of the bed and sat with his feet on the floor for a moment, before deciding to get up and actually follow Braig down the stairs.

He walked slowly, posture rather lazy and still tired, his shoulders slumped. He held on to the handrail on his way down and was breathing through his mouth once he reached the bottom, with Braig and two new people - Blake (who Q didn't recognize) and Isaac.

Q's tail lowered between his legs and stayed there as he frowned.
With Blake done up the way she was, he didn't recognize her new body shape with degraded vision. Then Isaac was completely new. Q didn't know what to think.

He slipped closer to Braig, growing anxious as his mouth hung open. He was like a small child, reaching for what was the only thing familiar to him.


Blakaize wrote: Blake smirked and waved at them.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," she said, her voice switching back. She blinked. She hadn't realized she had switched . . . Isaac raised an eyebrow. That was the first time in a long time that he had heard his sister's voice.

Isaac, nonetheless, stood up.

"Braig, we need to talk," he said. Braig raised a hand, shutting him up, walking towards the oven.

"After breakfast, dude," he said, shaking his head. Blake blinked, crossing her arms. Something was up . . . Q was acting, strangely. It seemed for every step Braig took, Q took . . .

She stood up, and took a small step towards Q and her brother.

"Hey," she said, reaching out to Q. Isaac looked at him too. He frowned, a look of distaste.

"We're taking in street children now? Pfft. Fantastic," he muttered. Braig glared at him.

"He's not a street kid, asshole . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q squinted at where Blake's voice had come from, and stopped in his tracks, staying close to the wall when Braig left for the oven.
Despite practically starving to death - his shortness of breath and pale skin making that rather apparent to those who knew what to look for - he still didn't feel hungry.
Only thirsty.

"...Blake?" He leaned forward, trying to discern her shape. He couldn't make it out still.
"You look different." That much was obvious, really. But Q wasn't good at being subtle. Now, or ever really.

He looked over to Isaac, who wasn't happy to see him, and had called him a street kid.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
He didn't really look familiar, and Q was too tired to put up much of a fight either psychologically, verbally, nor physically.


Blakaize wrote: Isaac crossed his arms.

"No, you do not," he said, simply. Braig sighed.

"Just say what you want to say, and then get, Is," he snapped. Isaac blinked at him and then harumphed.

"I came to check on you, because I had heard you were all involved in some kind of trouble," he spat. "I see now, my worry was unfounded."

"Aw, you still worry about us, Isaac?" Blake said, mockingly. Isaac said nothing more, just grabbed his coat and left. Blake glanced at Q. "You okay? You look like hell."

"He's thirsty," Braig said, pouring some water, stepping away from his eggs. "Here ya go, Slim . . ."

Blake reached in her shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of rectangle shades. Q's . . . though the right lens was cracked and broken.

"Picked 'em up on the way out," she muttered. "I'd have forgot about them. Maybe they'll help you see better?


[Q] wrote: Q watched the situation unfold, and the guy leave.
He briefly wondered if it should've happened like that.

Then, the glass of water was shoved his way. He blinked, taking it in both of his hands, and looking at it dumbly for a second before setting it on the table, sitting down.
That was when Blake held the glasses out to him.

Without thinking, Q reached over to take them from Blake, knocking over the glass of water he hadn't even touched yet with his left arm as he reached out.
He immediately retracted, without the sunglasses in his hand, and put both of his hands instead on the table, searching through the pool of water blindly for the clear glass he couldn't see. When he found it, he righted it, then stepped up and to the side of the table, the water dripping down it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I... Didn't see..."

He took a deep breath in through his mouth, wiping off himself after opening his eyes again, slowly coming to the few senses he had left.
"I don't think the glasses will help," he said. "I stopped wearing them because the... Sun doesn't hurt anymore?"
He raised the inflection of the last word, as if the statement were a question. He looked to Braig, then the table, and hung his head again at hearing the water dripping on the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said again.


Blakaize wrote: "No big," Braig said, sighing a little. He smiled at the kid, then frowned. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Blake, however, had always been frowning. She remembered what she had printed out, only a night or so ago, where she learned just what Q was . . .

She swallowed. Was he degenerating?

"Q?"


[Q] wrote: Q heaved a sigh of relief, going back to table and pulling out a different chair, away from the spill. He plopped himself down in it, and looked down at the table, glad to be sitting. It seemed he couldn't stand without getting tired for very long.
He figured it probably had to do with not eating.

He had to think long and hard about Braig's question.
Are you sure you're okay?

He stared away into the table, trying to go through all of his thoughts and come up with some sort of cohesive answer to that question. He wanted to say yes. He felt okay.
But he knew something was so wrong. He could remember, even a few days a go, not acting like this. Being annoyed at the stupidest things, being embarassed at this. Now, he didn't care. It was as if he never cared.
But his memories proved otherwise.

Q?

He brought his head up, Blake stealing him from his thoughts.
"What?" he looked for Blake, finally settling on that vague outline that didn't look like she had before, but he had come to accept as it being her now.

"What is it?" He repeated.
Blakaize wrote: Blake held her hand out to him.

"Can I show you something? Do you trust me?" She asked. She had picked up on how different he was acting. It was if he was reverting . . . He was degenerating . . .

Braig looked at his sister, curiously.

I can't let him go into this without knowing . . . she thought.


[Q] wrote: Q looked at Blake suspiciously.
"I... Guess so..?"
He gave a cursory glance to Braig, looking for approval before getting up and taking Blake's hand.

As Blake began to walk away, Q followed, but still glanced behind him toward Braig, opening his mouth to ask the man to come along, but nothing other than a faint whimper came from his throat instead.

As if he'd given up, he simply turned his full attention to Blake, squeezing her hand.
At least she felt the same.


Blakaize wrote: Blake led him up to her room, sat him down on her bed and took the printed paper from the printer-tray. She handed them to him.

"I . . . I'm sorry I snooped," she said, moving her hair out of her face, putting it into more of a similar style to what it was days ago, when she came out as a female. "But . . . now that I know . . ."

What could she say here? I'm sorry, but I think you're dying? I'm sorry, but I want you to get some help? What?!


[Q] wrote: Q was sat down and handed a bunch of papers.
"What's this...?" He asked blankly, briefly looking through them.

He moved over to the window so he could get more light, and brought the papers near to his face. He saw his legal name. He saw a really old image of himself.
He saw an associated JWICS page, which was also typed out. It talked about Black Woods. Q had never heard of it before.

"Where did you get this...?"

He didn't really believe what he was reading. He didn't remember any of this. He would've thought that if all this had happened, he would've remembered it.
Werewolves? Secret agents? Super soldiers? Q didn't know of any of it. Cosmetic surgery so he looked more human?
That... Could make sense, but then Q didn't remember that much either.

"I... I like boys," Quatre Bornes repeated to his steaming father. The Officer grabbed a rapier, unsheathing it.
"You want to be a fag, Quatre Bornes?! You want to ruin everything I worked hard for?! That face I made you? You don't deserve it! You don't deserve such a pretty face if you're not going to use it for girls!"
He struck his son's face with rapier, sliding it across the bridge of Quatre Bornes' nose. The skin split, and Quatre Bornes began to bleed, and cry, and try to cover his face.

Kyouki grabbed his son by the hair, pulled the boy's hands away from his face, and prepared to burn the wound shut, ruining the face he had taken so much time and risk to mold. Such a beautiful face had not been made for use by a fag, and he was certainly regretting it now.
"No, Father! What are you doing?!"


Q frowned, his eyes tearing up.
Things were starting to piece together.
Father always insisted he was human, but if he was 'normal' like everyone else, why did he get such special treatment? He didn't have to cut his hair like the other boys. It seemed they were afraid of even speaking to him, or sneering. As if they had been told to avoid him lest they be punished.

He remembered going to doctors, taking a lot of pills... His condition only became deteriorating when he left the doctors. He had never questioned his Father until he got his scar...

He kept reading...
... Expected to live twenty five to thirty years at the most...

Q was twenty three. Almost twenty four.
He knew he was dying, but still, he didn't want to believe it.
He'd probably be dead within the month, maybe sooner, if he kept acting how he was now.
But he didn't want to accept that. He didn't want to die.

He let out a long, pathetic whine as he dropped the papers.
"Why would you show me this?"
He put his face in his hands.
"I didn't want to know!" He grabbed at his grey hair, pulling at it, trying to tear it out but not having the strength to.

His whine turned into a high-pitched growl, which slowly turned into some horrible combination of yowl and yell. It ended up sounding like a pathetic human trying to horribly attempt a howl in pain. That's really all it was, truthfully.
A human acting like a dog.

Or was he a dog that was just in a human skin now?
"I'm human!" he shouted, the whine following him again as he began to shiver.

He still hadn't eaten or drank anything.
He began to breathe through his mouth again, almost hyperventilating.
He'd probably pass out soon just from the mental stress, if nothing else.

He'd never known any of this information.

Blakaize wrote: Blake didn't move as he read, only stepped forward when he started to freak out. She didn't care if he struck out, lashed out at her. She held him anyway.

"You had a right to know," she whispered. "Knowing this . . . maybe someone can help make you better . . . help . . . prolong . . ."

Braig took the steps two at a time, found Blake and Q in his sister's room and saw Q, crumpled as he was, pressed to Blake's chest, almost crying.

"Jesus, what the hell did you do, Blake?" He asked, moving forward. "Talk to me, Q . . ." He said, taking his face in his hands. Held by Blake, touched by Braig, there Q stood, for now. And Blake wasn't sure how much longer she had with the strange boy she had come to care for . . .


[Q] wrote: "No!" Q shouted, shaking. He weakly punched her chest when Blake pressed it toward him.
"No!" He whined, his voice had risen a few octaves. He sounded - and looked - very feminine.

Was he over-reacting? How was someone supposed to react to this?
And to give it to him now? On practically his deathbed?

"You don't tell people they're government dogs!" He shouted as he punched her chest. "You don't tell people that!" His whole life had been a lie.

His very basis for being had been a lie. Maybe if he had been of more sound mind, he would've taken this a little better. Maybe, if he hadn't starved himself, or suffered a stroke the last few times he'd passed out and was mentally capable of handling this situation, he wouldn't be crying and confused.

But now there really was no hope. Now it was right there, on paper. 25 - 30 years, the most. That was probably given laboratory conditions and constant observation. The kind he'd gotten in france. The kind he fucked up by running away when he was 18. He was assumed dead now. Because of his 'delicate body'. He was supposed to be dead. He was past his prime. He was the last Dodo bird that had escaped from captivity.

And what was he now?
Some criminal, some piece of government property on the most wanted list on INTERPOL.
What would they do if they found him now?
How was he supposed to get help?

They'd either.. Put him down or jail him for life like a normal human given his criminal record, or they'd cart him off the some place and do tests on him, and question him about stuff he didn't know, because he wasn't human.
Who was to decide?

That's why Alexandre had had it out for him!
Alexandre knew! That bastard knew, all along, and this all was just some crazy experiment to him. To see how a man-dog-thing acted in his little game. Did Ves know too?
Is that the reason Ves took an interest?

Did anybody really like him for him? Or did they only like him because his body was different? His DNA was fucked? He was man's best friend? Perfectly bred for loyalty, some human version of a collie.
And who the fuck was he now?

Assumed dead.
A name on a paper.
An interesting experiment with a loose end.

Who the fuck cared now? He was just a specimen. A sample. The fourth in a line of three fuck ups before him.
Because he was the more docile one.

He was Dmitri Belyaev's first domesticated fox.
Would Q have been used as some breeder if they decided to re-open the program?
Or was his health and mind so far gone that he wouldn't even be considered as a good penis anymore?

No matter what way he looked at it, he was fucked.

"You don't tell people this!" He said again. "You don't tell PEOPLE this!" As if he was trying to convince everyone he was a person, and nothing else. Not the cryptid they called him on paper. They thought he was a humanoid animal. Not an animalistic human. There was a difference.
He had fought so hard to be normal. To be a person. And now look at him?

Degenerated to whining and growling and whimpering like a pup. Did dogs cry?
He was certainly crying now.

Braig came up, took Q's face in his hands. Stared at him.
Did Braig care?

Q closed his eyes, gritting his teeth behind closed lips. His whine had been continuous until now. Now, it fluctuated as Q tried to stop it. Tried to be human. He eventually gave up.

Braig was a doctor. In France, Q had been surrounded by doctors.
Maybe they only helped him because they wanted to figure out what this could do. This Q guy. Pet, even. Braig had patched him up, been so accepting, even when Q had been embarassed by the bestial noises he made while he was in pain.
And then there was the time he had been drugged. Q never knew what happened there, but if it had been anything like the first time he'd been drunk, then he probably acted like a dog.

Braig had convinced Q to fuck his sister.
Braig was a doctor
.

Q pulled himself away from Braig, from Blake.
"You bastards!" he barked.

"You were all in on it! That's why you got me involved! That's why you- you tried to get me to fall in love with Blake! Have sex with her! Why she dressed like a boy! To-- to lure me in!"
He growled, turning violent in his panic.

"You just wanted more government dogs! Russian pigs! Of course you'd want some super soldier children on your hands!" He shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was spouting out, but believing it in anyway, completely over-reacting, over dramatizing every move he made.

If she's pregnant, I'll kill it! I'll kill you! I'll kill everyone, with my own hands! Without a gun!
That's what Q would've said, if he were speaking english.
But at some point in between insulting the russians and glaring and growling at the both of them, his brain had decided to communicate with just the use of barks and growls. So while Q didn't realize he was speaking in what would probably been some horrible type of canine tongue had it existed, he was certainly shouting it very loud at them, much to his mostly human vocal chords' dismay.

He backed himself into a corner of the room, his eyes full of hatred as he watched them.
Everything was a lie! You were playing me the whole time! And I trusted you!

This entire scenario, from the moment Q had gotten the papers from Blake and started reading them until now, there had been a white noise in the back of his mind. Faint, annoying buzzing. Simple white noise that he would've disregarded any other day- it happened sometimes.

But as the situation progressed, as he became more and more freaked out, and could hear his heart in his chest, feel his blood pumping in his ears, the noise progressively became louder. And when he began to back himself into the corner and bark and growl the others in his own made-up language, it grew to an unimaginable level. A high-pitched squeal that stung. It felt like his head was going to explode. The noise was the only thing he could hear, the only thing he could feel was the massive pain in his head, and after he'd finished his last line of fearsome canine tongues, he yelped in pain, his hand going to his head and his body going to its knees as his vision blacked out.

He could remember this pain. It was so much worse than any other pain, like a trillion wasps stuffing themselves into his ears and stinging the very cores of his brain, all injecting their poison at once.
The few seconds he was conscious felt like life times, and for once he was thankful he blacked out. Falling limply to the floor. This was the first stroke he'd ever had while he was awake, and if Q had had the capacity to, he would've hoped it would be the last.


Blakaize wrote: "God damn you, Blake!" Braig snarled, holding him up, steady. "Don't you dare die on me, dammit!"

Blake helped him settle Q to the floor.

"I'm sorry!" Blake said, protesting to every word. She had only wanted Q to know the truth. She wouldn't want to hurt him. "Wait . . . you convinced him to do what . . .?!"

"Shut up!" Braig barked.

He cradled Q's head. The stroke was pretty bad, and though Q's eyes had been filled with hatred and cold rage, now, they held fear.

". . . come on, buddy," he muttered, his lips to Q's forehead.


[Q] wrote: Q was gone by the time Braig and Blake had put their hands on him.
His breathing was faint, his heartbeat seemed normal, so he was alive, that much was apparent.

But conscious? No. The twenty three year old would be in the cold, black world of unconsciousness for at least an hour, possibly more. His brain needed time to completely reboot.
It needed to assess just how bad the body had it, and how far Q had pushed that body to its limit before this final, emotionally traumatic hoorah.

Q hadn't eaten in two, three... Maybe four days. That alone should've made him tired and bedridden. But because of all the events that had conspired against them- the wounds, the emotional stress, the insomnia, Q had been pumped with adrenaline for half of a week and the damage had been done.
The knowledge of his birth was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he needed time to just press stop, hit rewind, and start all over.

When he finally did come to, almost an hour and a half later, he coughed, as if waking from drowning in a pool. He then opened his green eyes slightly, turning to his side as he shivered, hugging himself.

He was extremely lightheaded, and he didn't feel right- disoriented- but his first few thoughts were that he was cold, his gut and throat hurt when he coughed, and he was thirsty.


Blakaize wrote: Braig had stayed with him, rode out the difficult periods of unconsciousness, and when he came to, he pressed a glass to his lips, tipped it so that Q felt the water on his lips.

"How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Do we need to go to the hospital?" He asked. Blake had already threatened to take him. If the doctors tried to make a fuss about his tail, his true nature, she vowed to pull a John Q and lock down the hospital at gunpoint until the kid was better. Braig knocked her out with valium to get her to sleep and quit rambling.



Blakaize wrote: {he's in a bed :gonk:}

Braig spoke slowly back to him, in french.

"How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Do we need to go to the hospital?" He said, trying to assess Q. Would the kid even let him touch him?


[Q] wrote: Q took in a deep breath, looking away, instead to the ceiling. Q couldn't see much of anything. It seemed like everything was worse. The atmosphere still had that sketchbook feel to it, but there was far less black now. Q couldn't even see Braig's face. He may as well have been blind for real, now.

He decided to answer one question at a time.

"...Everything hurts..." He answered, in english.
Truth be told, Q thought he was speaking the same language he had been spoken to in, but apparently, to the outside world that was not the case.

"I want something so I don't have to talk... paper, maybe..." He thought, his words and thoughts slow, as if they were challenging for even himself to decipher.

He closed his eyes, a shudder washing over him. He pulled a sheet closer to his face.
"What would a hospital do...?" he questioned no one in particular. "...I'd probably have more chance with a vet at this point."
Well, his self-loathing was back.
Perhaps that was a good sign.

Some hint of his personality was still around.


Blakaize wrote: Braig fiddled with his hands.

"I've got an old chalk board, a slate. Will that work?" He said. He frowned as Q continued. "A hospital'd keep you alive . . . call me a selfish ass, but, I'm not ready for you to die yet. I barely even know you, and that's my fault. I want to know you, I want you to live a while longer . . . despite what you say about me and Blake being evil . . ."

Meanwhile, Blake was in the bathroom, checking for a pregnancy test. The fancy one, with the VCR like instructions, that claimed to tell you of your pregnancy five days before your missed period. Could she be all of about four days pregnant . . .?


[Q] wrote: Q frowned. Would've grunted or snorted if his throat wasn't killing him.

"I don't remember what I said," he hoarsed, in french.
"I read the papers, I remember I became mad and confused, then just... Pain." Despite his eyes being closed, he looked away. "Sorry."

Q pulled the cover up closer to his chin. "I think chalk will work."

He turned to Braig, opening his cloudy eyes again, searching for the man he couldn't make out the details of. He became depressed rather quickly.
"I never asked if you were straight or not...." he mentioned.
It was random, but true. Q had never asked. Wasn't sure if Braig was romantically attracted to... Well.

He'd hope Braig would just understand where he was going with that.


Blakaize wrote: Braig dug around and found the slate, had to dig around longer for a piece of chalk. He had to go downstairs for it, but when he returned, he had thought on Q's words long and hard.

"You said that I was in on the conspiracy," he said. "You said that I was using for a glorified stud . . . as for my sexuality." He sat down, handed Q the chalk and slate. "To be honest, I don't even know anymore. Maybe I knew at one time, but I don't know now, nor do I care. Right now, I just care about you, making sure that you don't die before I've got the chance to tell you . . ."
[Q] wrote: Q waited patiently for Braig to return... Not as if there was anything else he could do.

When the man did, Q watched his face, tried to read his expression, but couldn't. His head was just a shadow. As he took the slate and the chalk, his head cocked a bit, confused as to what Braig was saying.

He put the chalk to the slate, but decided against writing his question.

"Tell me what?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig hesitated.

"I want to make sure you're well first," he finally said, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath. "Get well, and I'll tell you."

Blake realized, meanwhile, that she'd have to wait. Wait until her missed period, or around that same time, to test herself. It was set to be an agonizing a week or two before the end of the month, when her cycle usually started up again.


[Q] wrote: Q shut his eyes, disappointment clear in his face. He knew he wasn't going to get better.
Maybe he might not die as soon as he thought. Maybe. But these things that had been happening, the things that he had lost... They weren't coming back.

He wanted to cry, and that shown on his face well.
But he held it back, instead taking the chalk and slate into one hand and slowly backing his back against the wall, so he could sit up. Once he was finally up, his head rolled for a moment as he managed through a small dizzy spell. But it was over in about ten to twenty seconds, and he readjusted his pillow so he could get kind of comfortable.

He looked down at the slate, put the chalk in his left hand.
It just dawned on him that he probably wouldn't be able to see what he wrote.
He pressed the chalk down, making a small dot, then dragging it down and making a short line.

... His theory was correct. He couldn't see it.
Q clenched the slate with both of his hands, holding it tightly and pushing it down on his knees as he hung is head and choked, falling apart.
"I can't see anything," his voice broke as he said it, his eyes filling with tears.
"I'm not going to get better. It's over for me. Even the paper said that..." He didn't even bother to finish, instead putting his face in his hands, pulling at his hair.

His sight was his most precious possession. He had excellent vision in the beginning, and it was the one thing he could see getting progressively worse every day as he aged. He was okay with the blackouts, the random loss of memory, the smoking, the being helpless at random times.
He could play all that off, surprisingly.

But his vision, that was something he had been ignoring for such a long time. He had held the optician at gunpoint to produce his one-of-a-kind sunglasses. Ves had helped him do that, convinced him to try.
But even with the glasses, they still got worse.

And then, whatever had changed, where he couldn't feel his eyes anymore, didn't get the headaches-- but his vision was just as bad-- he had thought... Maybe it would stop.
Maybe he could just learn to see things like he was seeing them, and play it off as if he could see more than he could, as he had been.

But now, he couldn't do it anymore.
He technically wasn't blind yet, but he...
... He may as well have been.

[[Frou Frou - The Dumbing Down of Love]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig frowned at the slate.

"We can take you somewhere to get your eyes fixed. I can find you a surgeon. If you'd only let us, we can . . . we can fix you . . ." he said, pushing the slate back into his hands. ". . . do you trust us?"

He wasn't sure why he had asked that. He just wanted to know. Maybe it would help him sort out his own feelings.


[Q] wrote: Q whined, his vocal chords grating against eachother, forcing the sound to an almost unnatural stop as soon as it started.
"I wouldn't make it through the surgery, I can't even make it through being mad at somebody, even if they put me down, my blood is bad...I haven't eaten in days... I'd go braindead. Or I'd overdose on anesthesia... My body isn't right, they had a whole team of doctors in France and I just took a bunch of pills, I--"
He shook his head, burying it deeper in his hands, no longer embarrassed by how weak he was coming off. He didn't care. He'd been bottling this up for a really, really long time.

He took a break in his words, to just cry a bit, shoulders shaking as he let years of this shit finally spill out.

"I'm scared," he finally relented, whining the words, his voice high-pitched.
"I want to go back home. I want..."

He had to take a break to cry again.
He wanted Vespasien back to hug him and say everything was okay.


Blakaize wrote: Braig watched for a while, struggled to understand. His final question remained unanswered, but, as Q broke down, he didn't really care. He just reached out and held onto Q, pressed him to his chest and tried to shush him.

"Hey," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Don't . . . don't cry . . . it'll be okay . . . if you're hungry, just tell me. I can get you food. I'll make you whatever you want. We can get through this, I know we can . . ."

I hope we can.

He didn't add the last part, he didn't want to worry him.


[Q] wrote: Q was held and shushed by Braig. As Braig ran his hand through Q's hair, he began to calm down, his own hands to his chest. His face had moved to Braig's shirt, so he could cry there.

They stayed for a few minutes as Q tried to regain himself, tried to get some sort of composure.

It took a while.

"I lost my appetite a while a go..." Q confessed, his head on Braig's chest, listening to the other man's heart.
Q took in a deep breath from his mouth. "I know I need to eat, I'm so weak... But I'm just not hungry. I feel like I'd get sick if I ate..."
His brows creased, not sure what to make of his own urges- or rather, the lack of its urges.

He brought his arms out, reached around Braig's midsection and hugged the man tightly at first, then simply clung to him like that loosely.

Q was nothing like the strong face he put on for Blake, or... Anyone.


Blakaize wrote: Braig took him by his shoulders.

"Please, just hang in there," he said, looking him in the eyes. "We can fix you, you just have to let us try! You just have to trust us!" He frowned and then did something odd. Something he did for Jaiden and Isaac when they were worried. He pressed his forehead to Q's, and spoke in a low, even tone. "I'm terrified I'll lose you . . ." he confessed, a rare sign of weakness, of pure blunt honesty. "I don't want to lose you before I get the chance, before I grow a pair and actually tell you . . ."

He shook his head and moved away.

"What's your favorite food? If you had an appetite, what would you want to eat?" He asked, eyeing him carefully.


[Q] wrote: Q looked into Braig's eyes when he came close, breathed through his nose as Braig spoke directly into Q's wet face.
Q gave Braig the most hopeless look he could manage, and it seemed to be even worse when Braig pulled away from him.

Q looked down.
He didn't believe it was possible to be fixed. If it were, he would've done it by now.

"If you can really find somebody..." He said, almost a whisper, as he if he didn't want to say it, "I would try surgery...."

He sat there for a few seconds, quiet, listening to his own breath for a few moments.
"I really wanted to try... Whatever it was you had been teaching me to make, before...." he said quietly, somewhat hopeful.

He sobbed again at his next thought, however. "I wanted to learn how to make it with you..."


Blakaize wrote: Braig's mouth was a thin line.

"How are you with flying? Grayson knows . . . doctors," he said. He hesitated at the use of the world "military doctors," but, right now, the commies were their best bet. He smiled, sadly. "I'll make you some. Once we get you patched up, I'll teach you again. I promise, okay?"


[Q] wrote: Q let his mouth hang open, although he was, perhaps uncharacteristically, breathing through his nose.

"...I was okay with flying... But I think now I will pass out if I even stand. Who knows, that far up in the air, what my body will do now."

If Q could shrink deeper into himself, he did just then, as he replied to Braig's cooking.
"I can't see... There's no point, now... But thank you..."


Blakaize wrote: Braig put his hands to his ears.

"Stop it," he muttered. "We can fix you!" He had realized he was crying until he was already bolting from the room, heading downstairs. He stopped at the bottom, kicked the wall, and then ran back up the stairs. "I know you're a mess, I know, I get it! If I have to get a friggin' boat and take you oversears to get better, I will. I don't . . . I don't care what I gotta do, I just know, I gotta do it!"


[Q] wrote: Q was left confused when Braig left downstairs, giving a faint laugh when he came back up.

"You're strange...." He remarked.

Q looked up, searching for Braig standing there.
Q couldn't make out his face, but could make out his form, albeit barely. As long as he didn't stay still, he didn't blend into the surroundings.

"Come here," he hoarsed, waiting.

When Braig finally did come, Q closed his eyes and looked down again, though this time it was more him relaxing than being depressed.

"You do what you have to. I'm kind of stuck here..." He forced a smirk.
"Pet me," he said, waiting.

"I like it when you do that."


Blakaize wrote: Braig didn't hesitate. He came forward, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled Q to his chest, running his fingers through silver-grey hair. It was oddly calming, and he was recalled to the time when he had a puppy . . . He winced at the thought and just clung to Q.

"I'll make you better. Better than how you are. The least I can do is give you your sight back . . ." he said. Braig sighed, and patted the top of Q's head. "You need a bath."


[Q] wrote: The twenty three year old was pulled forward, and practically melted in Braig's hold, just relishing the touch, only half-listening to his words.

"hah," Q let out after the painfully short embrace.
"...You are not the first to say such a thing."

His tail dragged between the sheets, repositioning itself to his left side,
"I don't know how I will do it now, though..." He relented.
"Maybe I can wait till I get better?" He was hopeful.

He didn't want to take a shower or bath. He was accustomed to not taking that many anyway. But failing that, he would've liked to hear Braig chuckle at the remark.
Blakaize wrote: Braig frowned.

"At least let me wash your hair," he said, unaware that his hand was still over Q's. He realized that, though he was skinny and often called death personified, Braig was a little bit bigger than Q was. He smiled, softly, sadly. "i'm not gonna give you a sponge bath, so, just throw that fantasy out the window, Slim." It was a joke made in poor taste, he realize, a second after it left his mouth. "I'm kidding. Er, about the fantasy part. I'm not kidding about the sponge bath. No sponge bath for you. But, I can wash your hair, if you let me."


[Q] wrote: Q looked away, taking a large breath.
"I don't think I can walk. So it'd probably just be easier to not pet, if it's really that gross."

He let himself fall down on the bed, leaving the pillow where it was.
Now, as Q lay flat on the bed, on his left side, he closed his eyes again.
"I don't get seasick," he said quietly, referring to a comment that had passed long a go.
"I came here from france on a ship."


Blakaize wrote: Braig chewed his lip and then peeled away the blanket from where it rested around Q's waist. He slipped an arm under his thighs and wrapped the other around his shoulders, lifting him easily.

"See? Easily remedied!" He said, laughing almost. The laugh was mostly to hide his horror at how light the kid was . . .


[Q] wrote: [[If you don't do it, I will. D: < -does this- Hope you don't mind.]]

When the sheet was taken away, Q shivered a bit, then winced when he was picked up, taking a sharp breath once he finally was in the air.

It took a lot of strength to hold his head up, but he managed, becoming dizzy as he was set back down on the toilet. Q took a few moments, as if being carried were some very tiring activity, then worked on unbuttoning his shirt. He only unbuttoned it about halfway before he pulled the rest of it over his head, too lazy to do the rest, dropping the dress shirt to the ground.

Next, he went to the belt, doing it by feeling since he couldn't tell what he was doing by sight. After some effort, the belt was undone and the pants were unzipped while Braig ran the water in the tub. He turned to see Q half naked, and said "Hey, I said no sponge bath, remember?"

Q looked up from staring at his crotch, startled from his thoughts about how he was going to get his pants off.
"Oh, well I..." He swallowed, looking back down at his pants. "I just figured since we were in here, it would be easier to take a bath afterall. Even if I just sat in there by myself, I think it would make me feel better..."

He flicked the buckle of his belt absentmindedly. "If you don't want to see me naked, I'll just call you when I'm done...?"

He looked back up to Braig, waiting for a response.
Q wanted to fall asleep again. Every inch of him was tired.
He didn't want to die, but, he did want to fall asleep and not wake up for a very long time.


Blakaize wrote: {XD damn skippy!}

Braig blinked and then smiled, softly.

"Nah, I'll stick around," he said. "I don't want you to drown . . ." Braig helped Q with his pants, hooking his thumbs into the waist band and pulling them down his skinny, pale legs. This left Q sitting on the toilet in his boxers and suddenly, Braig felt like a pervert. "Uh . . . you wanna do the rest? Should I turn around, or . . .?"

Braig got tired of acting like an idiot and tipped in some cheap shampoo into the running water. Christ, he thought. Yeah, because a bubble bath fixes everything, you ass. His thoughts were scathing and very true to his personal feelings.


[Q] wrote: Q blinked blankly, not expecting Braig to take off his pants. He would've done it himself...

"I don't think I'll drown,"
He said looking to the bath, then to his boxers.
He wondered how bad his skin looked. He wondered if he was still tan at all. But those types of thoughts were useless, now. He really should be concentrating on how he was going to stand up or something.

"You're going to see me naked eventually anyway, so if you are not going to be embarrassed, I won't be either," Q offered. Though that was kind of a lie. He'd be embarrassed. Just for different reasons other than his penis hanging out.

Q snorted and leaned back after a moment, pulling the legs of his boxers until they finally left his thighs and easily fell to the floor. After a few seconds of waiting there, he leaned forward, testing his legs and if he could hold himself up. His sense of shame had left him long a go. He'd cried enough times in front of Braig to be okay with looking like an invalid for now.

He put his hand against the wall and slowly stood, leaning most of his weight against the wall through his left hand. When he was finally up all the way, he staggered briefly as his vision was overcome with black and he was overwhelmed with a spinning feeling. It only lasted a few seconds, however, and after he took about two or three heavy breaths, all was back to normal and it seemed like his legs would him.

He looked to the tub, and made his way to it, extremely small steps.
His legs felt heavy and stiff, but he felt that if he could just make his way to the tub... He'd be okay.


Blakaize wrote: Braig helped Q into the water and left him with the wash cloths and soap, sitting on the toilet, letting Q some sense of dignity. A part of him wanted to talk. About what, he wasn't sure. He just knew he wanted something to break the silence, the monotony.

Braig washed his hair for him, kneeling by the tub, tending to him as if he were a child. After a time, tested the water and found it to be getting luke warm. He grabbed a towel and helped Q stand. A while back, Jackie had bought some of those hooded bathrobe things, and it hung around Q's shoulders. It was too big for him, but, the hood helped get his hair dry, so Braig decided to just tell Jackie he lost the fucking towel.

After he was more or less dry, Braig lifted Q and carried him back into the bedroom.

"Um. What's your size clothes? I'll have Blake go out and buy you some," he said, muttering. The clothes he had been wearing were dirty, bloody, almost in tatters.


[Q] wrote: Q slowly washed himself, losing the soap many times, being unable to see it. He found himself staring quizzically at the bathtub half the time, procrastinating with washing himself as he watched the water move and how it appeared to his eyes. He could remember what things looked like before, but things worked so differently now. It was like some sort of artistic movie with several levels demanding interpretations of the symbolism.

But eventually it was all over and he was washed and dried and given a robe and carried back into Braig's room. Q sat on the edge of the bed, letting his legs hang over the edge, bare feet touching the carpet. He looked down and re-arranged the robe so it wasn't underneath him, and he could spread out his tail behind him, it scraping from side to side behind him a few times before it finally settled near his left leg.

Q reached down and picked it up, feeling it in between his hands.
"I can't just keep wearing your clothes?" He asked.

He felt a bit better, now. Slightly more relaxed, less stressed. He wasn't really thinking about how he was going to die anymore. Maybe being mostly naked helped with that. Who knew?

The twenty three year old wiggled his tail, as if his tail and hands were controlled by different minds. His tail attempted to get out of his hands grip. Q tilted his head and finally let go, the tail tapping the side of the bed a few times in annoyance before it settled down again, and Q started to stroke it, petting it, as if calming it down as he smoothed the long tendrils against the bed sheets. Though Q couldn't tell, their were a small number of grey hairs littered throughout the tail, something that was not present even a week a go.


Blakaize wrote: Braig didn't respond, just sifted through his stuff to find an over-large button up and a pair of boxers.

"Will these work?" He asked, showing them to Q.

Within the next weeks, Braig forced Q to eat. It was a hard, difficult thing to do, almost having to hold the kid down and force feed him. Braig had to leave Q alone for a while after the first episode, because he couldn't stand the hurt and hate in those green eyes. He'd always return and, eventually, Q started to get his weight back up. He could walk a little within a few more days. Late at night, Braig would make phone calls overseas, using Grayson's black book to contact them.

The Russians said they would help, but it wouldn't be easy. The Cohens had to arrange their own boat to Russia. There was a 40% chance he would survive a full on revamp of his systems. It'd just have to be an eye surgery and an open heart . . . They'd basically tighten the heart muscle using some electricity to help with his blood preasure, prevent more strokes.

He'd never be the same, but he'd be alive.

Braig felt like an ass. He was hiding so much from the kid . . . hiding the figures on survival, hiding the actual procedural details, what would happen to him while he was under the knife . . . hiding the fact that Blake, who had made her self purposfully sparce from Q, was with child . . .


[Q] wrote: [[Did you forget that Q's been wearing Braig's clothes for pretty much this entire rp? :XD]]

Q went through the days, sleeping for most of them. He was eager to drink, albeit slowly, but was much harder to take to food. He sat and looked at it for half an hour or more the first few times. Braig kept yelling at him to eat or force feeding him, and just wasn't very receptive at first. The first time he actually ate a meal, he did end up throwing it all back up.

But Braig kept at it anyway, having the idea to turn a lot of food into shakes or liquids at first and work up from there. Eventually Q could walk again, but on the whole, Q appeared to be broken. His spirits weren't up and he was quiet most of the time, lost in his own world, examining the happenings around him with his broken eyes.

Braig kept talking about how he would fix Q, and Q would voice his appreciation, but ultimately didn't believe it would happen- he thought it was just something Braig wanted to believe.
Q had long a go accepted his fate, and now he really was just living to please Braig. But he wasn't sure how far he could take it.

At times... Q believed... Maybe he could get better, and he'd try. But being greeted by challenges for such simple things... Rather than grow agitated at his failures, he simply went more inside of himself, became quiet, and grew a sort of child-like innocence about him.

Eventually the day came when Braig said they had a boat. They were going to go to Russia, and Q would get better. Q didn't believe it at first, but when it was proven to be true and they got on the boat, Q's hopes began to rise. But as days passed on the boat, they sank again. He spent most of his time either sleeping or watching the ocean pass by, relishing the sea breeze through his hair. By that point he hardly ever spoke, instead communicating through a more bestial form- body posture, facial expressions, tail movements, as well as the occasional growls, grunts, and whimpers. The more time went by, the less human Q cared to act.

[[FFX OST - Sending to Another Dimension]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig leaned over the railing of the vessel Grayson had set up to take them to Russia. Blake and Grayson had accompanied . . . He had noticed Q's regression but had hoped to just write it off to seasickness.

The doctors, once they docked, met them. They were taken by train to the medical facility and the operations were underway within three days of arrival. First was the heart surgery. The electricity plan fell through when they took various pictures of his heart, echocardiograms, and other such long words . . . his valves were huge. They had to take valves from a separate, dead patient to make it work.

Braig had promised Q he'd be there when he woke up, but, Q had been put into a medical coma for three days after the initial surgery. When he came out of it, he had been extubated, and was asked if he had any pain.

The doctors said that the operation was, on the whole, a success. Grayson translated for Q.

"They say they have successfully extended your life . . ." he said. He left out the part about how that extension was only about five years. Blake was there, she had heard, and she was sad . . . she didn't show it. "They say that . . ." Grayson frowned and repeated what the doctors had said. "They can do your eyes in sixth months."

Blake gaped.

"Six months?!" She said.

"They can't push it forward?" Braig said, calmer. Grayson sighed and tried to debate the issue with the doctors.

"It's a risk . . . if Q wants to take the risk, sign a waver, say that if he dies on the table, we can't come back and sue . . ."

"Are they fucking serious?" Blake snapped. "This is an illegal operation anyway, ain't it, and they're concerned with this shit . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q breathed through his nose when he awoke. He mostly felt... Weak... and tired.
He didn't have any pain, aside from the soreness in his chest. He felt weird, overall... Like his body wasn't his own anymore.
He wanted to go back to sleep, but something in his head told him he should listen to what the people around him were saying. Most of it was gibberish he didn't understand. Probably russian.

Then Grayson told him his condition, and about his eyes.
Q didn't seem to have a reaction at first, simply smacking his tail against the bed, beneath the sheets in response, his eyes searching around the room for Braig.
But Q couldn't discern one person's figure for another, and was left to guess which one it was.
He let out a somber growl, as if mulling it over.

He closed looked straight ahead, at no one in particular- probably one of the russian doctors.

"How will the fix my eyes?" He finally spoke in french, his voice gruff from non-use, almost sounding more like a growl instead of a reply. He still spoke french in response to english, and english in response to french. "Will I be able to see normally in the day again? Or will it be like before, when I was nocturnal?"

It didn't occur to Q that he'd never told anyone how his eyes worked, so they probably had no idea what he was talking about.


Blakaize wrote: "The docs say that certain cells in your eyes are degenerating. They can reverse this, but they want you to get fully healed before they open you up again," Braig clarified. "But, if you sign a legal waver, they can do it as soon as your stitches heal, in about three weeks."

Blake rubbed her face. She had still been keeping the fact that she was carrying Q's child from him. The doctors had been fascinated by Q, but, under threat of international conflict, an empty threat expressed by Grayson, they kept their traps shut. She had to disclose the fact she was pregnant to the harbor master, and the doctors were interested in the infant.

"D'you think we can wait . . . maybe a little longer than three weeks. Maybe a month or something . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q let out a low grumble, closing his eyes.
"I had perfect vision until I was 18. Unless they can get it back to that, there is no point in trying."

He opened his mouth, as if to yawn, baring his teeth, but not breathing through the orifice. Truth be told, he was simply stretching his mouth as it felt weird to speak for so long after refusing to. Paired with however long he had been out, his mouth was almost numb.

He let it hang open for a while, before closing his mouth and snorting, his tail tapping the bed and sliding across it once to and from his thigh before becoming still again.

"It is your decision, Braig. I only live for you, now. I trust your choice."
Q said the words nonchalantly, as if there were no weight to them. Q wasn't really thinking about what he was saying, and didn't realize how what he said could be taken.

Regardless, he rubbed his face against the pillow and gave a soft grumble, trying and succeeding in falling asleep once more.


Blakaize wrote: Braig blinked at Q's words, but, forged ahead. The kid was just out of surgery, he was still a little punch drunk . . .

"Give us about eight weeks," he muttered to the docs. "That seems like a safe bet . . ."

Blake crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to think.
[Q] wrote: [[Well I'm not sure if I'm doing this right, but I want to get this over with]]

The next few weeks were filled with more sleeping, and a new struggle with eating. Q's will to eat was almost non-existent, even though it was clear he needed to eat even more to help himself heal.

Q still avoided human speech as much as possible, still "speaking" like a dog through his throat or bodily signs. Whenever Braig brought up Q's eyes, Q would reply with a small grumble and a curt "It's your choice." Any follow-up questions or comments were greeted with various growls or just Q repeating that it was up to Braig.

Eventually, Q was prepped to go under the knife again. While the first time, Q had been somewhat fearful, this time, Q had little reaction, treating it as more of an annoyance than anything else.
It took several hours for the Russians to do their thing, and afterward, Q had been blindfolded for while. Though Q wasn't exactly sure whether it was days or weeks, as his perception of time had been slaughtered at that point. Everything ran together.

Finally, it came time for the coverings to come off. The doctors slowly unwrapped the bandages, explaining - as Grayson translated - what it was Q was expected to see, and that blurry vision for the first few days was expected.

Once everything was off, Q blinked his new eyes several times, trying to get used to the light, and all the colors. All the new visual stimuli was a bit much at first, and for the first few seconds he almost wished he couldn't see, as it brought him a headache. Everything was out of focus at first, but it gradually became manageable and less confusing.
Tears began to form and roll down his face. Not from any particular emotion - Q was rather stoic through all this - but because his eyes were stressed.

The now twenty four year old was hesitant, at first. Unsure of his surroundings. He hadn't seen color alone in almost six years. How he remembered things looking and how they actually looked were different. He slowly moved his head around, breathing through his mouth at the anxiety out of habit.

He stared at the mob of doctors for a while, his breath slowing, becoming a bit uneven. He recognized the type of uniforms they wore. They were affiliated with the military. Of course he couldn't recognize rank, and their uniforms weren't the same as the French, but there were certain similarities that couldn't be denied. Q's upper lip curled a bit, and he fought back a growl.

A soft snort escaped him and he turned to Braig. Surprisingly, his eyes showed more concern and disappointment than any type of anger. Q spoke very slowly, his mouth working out the words, as if the language were difficult for him, or he had just learned it and wasn't sure he was speaking it correctly.

"How... Are you... Paying them..?"

It seemed difficult to believe that they would do it for free, and if they did accept money, it seemed like it would be more money than the Cohens would ever have.
There must have been some type of favor. Did they study his insides and keep samples while he was out? Become their lab rat, was that the payment? Would Braig actually let them do that?


Blakaize wrote: Blake sat in a corner, a blanket across her lap, hiding the ever growing baby bump she sported. She, Grayson, and Braig winced at the payment question.

"It's . . . complicated," Braig said, holding Q's hand. "They wanted to study you, but we told them no. So . . ." so instead they're taking preliminary studies on Blake's baby, in vitro "We worked something out. Call it a favor . . . "

He shook his head, as if to clear it.

"Can you see any better?" He asked, squeezing his hand.

Blake sighed, wiggling her foot, legs crossed, arms crossed. The Russians said they wouldn't bother too much with the baby once it's born. But they wanted to know how the Americans did it . . . The child was set to be a first in genetic testing. From a normal human and a first generation genetic hybrid, it was anyones' guess what it would end up looking like.

She had kicked around the idea of an abortion . . . but then, with the bills piling up for Q's two surgeries, well, fuck . . . the kid made itself useful. Once it was born, she wasn't sure if she could keep it, or just give it to the Russians . . . she was fairly sure Q wouldn't want it . . .


[Q] wrote: Q's throat grumbled, not pleased with Braig's answer.
Q wanted to push it, wanted to figure out what exactly they had sacrificed, but didn't, too afraid of coming out of his shell just yet. He instead kept blinking his tears away, watching Braig.

"I can see colors..." He said, still slow and hard to decipher. Q had a thick throaty accent to his english, now. It was similar to what his french sounded like these days, but his french had still been easier to decipher in comparison.

He looked down at Braig's hand, and squeezed back, his free hand reaching to Braig's face, and if Braig didn't move, it would touch his scar, running his hand over it, comparing how it felt to the way it looked.
Scars looked so much different, now. More... pronounced. Not more noticeable, per se, but they had texture to them, now. Before, it just seemed like lines. As he ran his fingers over Braig's scar, he let out a contemplative growl, low in his throat. Probably his new version of a "hmmm".

He wondered how his scar looked in color.

"...Mirror..?" He asked, taking his hand away.
He wanted to see how he looked. Did he look how he remembered?


Blakaize wrote: Braig let Q touch his face, let the kid run his fingers down his scar. The scar tissue didn't register any feeling aside from the fact that it was being touched. It felt good to Braig, looking into Q's eyes, realizing they could see again . . .

Blake got up, not thinking about her stomach, and grabbed a small hand mirror. She walked over to Q's beside, opposite Braig and nudged it towards him.

"A word of warning," she said, softly. "You're no beauty queen right now . . . you need a bath . . ."

Braig almost chuckled, but kept it to himself. Kid had a serious case of bed head. He looked tired and worn. The skin around his eyes were red and irritated. Otherwise, he looked alright. Just a little rough around the edges . . .


[Q] wrote: Q gave a lighthearted grunt. Always with the bath, these people were.

He turned to Blake, hesitating in taking the mirror as her figure came into focus. He tilted his head, a bit confused. She looked... Different. Not how he was expecting. But then again, she had changed her look so many times during the time they had known eachother, he wasn't sure what he should've expected.

He looked down from her face, to the mirror, and took it. For the most part, things were still blurry, and he disregarded Blake's plumpness as a trick of the eye.

He looked at himself, blinking heavily before wiping his tears away and bringing the mirror closer. He watched his eyes. They really were pretty. Maybe everyone had some merit, afterall. If one could see the soul of someone through their eyes, then maybe Q was a rainforest.. Or that type of celtic greenland one only dreamed of. He wished the rest of him were as simple as his eyes, despite them being cloudy and red.

The next was his scar. He ran his finger across it, breaking away from Braig's grasp. It was a lot bigger than he remembered it being. It felt like it consumed his whole face. And his facial tattoos... Horrible idea. Why had he gotten those? At least they kind of blended in a bit better with his skin now that there was more color in his face. Less color than normal for him, but this was the first time Q was seeing himself in a long time, so he didn't know how much color his face was supposed to have.

He finally went to his grey hair. Putting the mirror down on the bed, he looked down into it began finger brushing his hair. It was all so foreign. Things he thought he knew were completely different now. He wondered if he preferred the simplicity of his old vision over this.
When he was done finger brushing his hair, he took a deep, startled breath, as if an idea had just washed over him. And it had.

He grabbed the mirror in one hand and shoved the bedsheets off him, to his waist, bringing his tail into view. Q remembered it being black, maybe a desaturated brown, but as he looked at it now, he saw it mostly an even mix between black and white. His tail was sporting a somewhat salt and pepper look now. A disappointed growl escaped from him, his shoulders slumping.

He pulled the covers back over himself, and leaned forward, looking at the mirror. Not so much at his reflection, but just the mirror itself. He wondered how it worked. He wondered if he could watch TV now. Of all the thoughts that past him, that was the most interesting one. Televisions just looked like big blank white screens that emitted light. Maybe now he could discern what they were actually broadcasting.

As he watched the mirror between his fingers, it reflected Blake's form again. He looked at her through the mirror, wondering if that was the way she had always looked. He frowned, not quite sure where to go from here.

"When... Will we go back...?"
He wanted to finish with home, but he wasn't sure he wanted to admit he was part of a family, yet.
That was too unfamiliar.


Blakaize wrote: Braig smiled. He had guessed, maybe, that Q was for the most part happy with his new eyes and such. Blake frowned at the last question. She glanced at the doctors, who were looking over ultrasounds now.

"Soon," Braig answered. "Whenever you're ready to go home, we can go home." He said, eager. Blake gave the doctors a cold look. They had enough data, she thought, knowing that Grayson would relay the information if only she gave him the word. They can make their own freaky hybrids now if they wanted.

[iThey can leave me and my family alone now . . .[/i] she thought.

"Real soon," Blake said, and the doctors looked disappointed, as if they read her mind.

In about another week, they were boarding the boat back home. Q could walk, er, sort of. He was unsteady, and needed to hold onto something, worrying his legs would give out. To make up for the balance owed, Grayson had signed a contract with the Russian military. He was always on call, now. If they needed him, for anything, he'd be forced to come within 24 hours . . . and this contract lasted for the next fifteen years . . .

Grayson claimed he did it for Blake, so that the child she carried wouldn't be military property. Blake wasn't entirely sure of the validity of that statement, but kept her mouth shut.


[Q] wrote: Despite still not talking much, it was evident Q's mood had improved. On the boat, he spent most of his time leaning against the railing, staring at the sea and admiring the waves and various wildlife that lives above and below. It also helped to strengthen his legs.

There was something very alluring about the ocean. Q relished his time outside as if it would be his last time ever seeing it. The sea breeze smelled and felt good, and he wondered if other people felt this way about water, or if it was just him.

Looking at the ocean gave him a lot of time to just think about things, and wonder. While he was in that hospital, or facility, or whatever it was.. He hadn't done much thinking at all. He'd been in a state of dumb nothing. Now, his humanity was slowly coming back to him. But in different ways.

His nonverbal cues became slightly less bestial over time, replacing growls and grumbles with hmms and head nods. His english got better over time, his voice softening, his vocal chords seeming to recover from the wear and tear.

Still on the boat, they only had one more day left until they reached the United States again. Q's vision had become focused, and he could see just as well as anyone else could, now. His appetite had come back for the most part, and he'd eat when he was hungry with the others.

Standing at the railing, he watched the American coast, trying to remember what he had felt the very first time he'd seen it with Ves. Then, Braig came by, standing next to him.
Q looked down at the water, placing his forearms on the railing and interlocking his fingers over the side.
"Do you ever think about what would our lives be like, if we had never gotten our scars, Braig?" he said softly.

In order for Q to not have received his, he would've had to keep his homosexuality to himself. And if that had happened, he probably would still be in the French Military. Or died a lot sooner. Or both. Who knew.
He probably would've been an officer, like his father. Someone very high rank. Probably successful... Well-respected. Despite all his obvious flaws.
Would that have made his life any better than how he was now?


Blakaize wrote: Braig chuckled softly.

"Sometimes I do," he said. "I didn't have much to lose, tracking down my old man. If I had never gotten this scar, I probably would have a partner by now." He did laugh then. He glanced at Q and then did a double take. Q's face, against the background of a seemingly never ending oceanscape . . .

"I wish I had a camera," he muttered. "I wish I could sketch . . ." I wish I had the balls to come out of the damn closet . . .

He cleared his throat.

"What's the first thing you wanna do when you get back to the States?" He said, smiling softly. "When I get back, I think I'm gonna go for a nice long walk. It's not so cold over there, this time of year . . . a nice walk in the park, away from the cemetary and the morgue. Relax, you know?"



[Q] wrote: Q looked up at the coastline, again.

"Father gave me my scar, too." He said. It was sort of ironic, how after all this time, Q still respected his father enough to not use possessive pronouns for him. "He did it to specifically bar me from getting a partner. He did it when I told him I was gay." He frowned, having never actually told the story aloud to anyone.

"I think... A scar only limits you... as much as you want it to." He pushed himself off the railing, and faced Braig. "I mean, I still got laid. What's stopping you?" He smirked, shifting his weight and leaning his elbows against the railing behind him.


"I would like a walk," he said softly, nodding slightly. "I would like...." his eyes drifted back over to the coastline, "...To see everything."

He forced a small smirk again, looking back to Braig as he stood up straight.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"I didn't deserve this gift. But you gave it anyway. Thank you."


Blakaize wrote: Braig swallowed around a ball of cotton in his throat. Q's eyes were too honest, too green, too deep . . .

He faced Q completely now and decided to take the plunge. Jumping in, balls to the wall, no going back.

"Yeah, you're right," he muttered. "Hey, listen . . . back when you weren't with it, I'm not sure if you remember. You kept saying," he paused, licked his lips, "you kept saying that your only reason anymore was me . . . something like that . . ."

Braig gripped the railing hard, until his knuckles turned white.

"Did you mean it? Was it the drugs talking . . .?" He said, feeling his throat close up around itself. "Q . . . what I wanted to say, before, but said you had to hold on . . . what I had trouble saying before . . . I . . . me too."

Braig felt as if he'd get sick. Me too . . . me too?! That's how you're gonna tell him, that's how it's gonna be?! You ignorant asshole, what the fuck?!


[Q] wrote: Q watched Braig's face, eyes searching, trying to read what he was thinking. He was worried.

When Braig finally finished bumbling for words, Q just stared for a bit, unsure of what to say or how to respond. That hesitation probably wasn't the best way to handle it.

Q didn't remember saying that, but he didn't want to admit it, because it was true.
"I meant it," he finally said, unsure if this was really the best way to approach a response.
"I had no other reason to live. I was ready to go. I had done everything I wanted to with my life."

He stepped forward, putting a hand on Braig's shoulder.
"Haven't you done everything you wanted to do?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig swallowed.

"No, no, no," he muttered, rubbing his face, running his hand through his hair, down the long pony-tail he had always put it up in. "Not by a long shot . . . my bucket list ain't done yet . . ."

Dammit kid . . .

"I guess I can try to cross things off now," he muttered. "Ain't getting any younger."

And that was when he looped one arm around Q's waist, the other around his shoulder, and pulled him forward. At first, it was sloppy at best, Braig's lips meeting Q's, tight-lipped and overly serious. Braig hoped that, given the chance, Q would let him soften and deepen the kiss.

But all of that relied on what Q did next . . .


[Q] wrote: Q listened, tilting his head at what Braig was saying. Q became even more confused, more worried he wasn't getting the right idea. But all that went to the wayside when Braig grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss.

That was pretty much the last thing Q had ever expected of Braig. Q had believed Braig to just be a very caring person, like any doctor should've been, maybe. All the weird signals.. Q didn't think Braig was into men, and had written off the possibility of more than a sort of mother-pet relationship long a go.

Q was surprised at first, obviously, and tensed up, his arms all sorts of uncomfortable. But a second or two passed and Q was softening up to this idea. He wrapped his hands around Braig's waist and kissed back, closing his eyes.


Blakaize wrote: Braig broke the kiss and looked down at Q.

"This is what I wanted to tell you before . . . this is what I wanted to tell you once you were well again . . ." he said, breathing heavily. He held Q to him, tucking his head under his chin, running his fingers through his hair. It felt good, to hold something and have it hold him back . . .


[Q] wrote: Q sighed, leaning into Braig as he was pet. His knees weakened a bit, and he squeezed Braig.

"I love you too," he said softly, perhaps too soon.
Q didn't really care.

"But I don't understand... You tried to set me up with Blake..."

continued next post.
 
The Dragster Wave (continued)
[4 of 4]

Blakaize wrote: Braig shook his head.

"I thought it was best for both of you," he said. "I didn't realize what you wanted, what she wanted, what I wanted. I just tried to pair the spares and it backfired." He sighed heavily. Love? Did he love Q? He was smitten with him, but love?

"S'okay, now, Q," he muttered. "You and me . . . pretty soon we're gonna be home and we can pick up the pieces there . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q brought his hands to his chest, hoping Braig would continue to hold him. Despite his tough guy exterior, he very much preferred to be the submissive. But then, it seemed Braig was very much the same way.

He stayed there for a moment, then looked up at Braig.
"Um... Speaking of pieces..." he felt awkward, breaking what could've probably been a very romantic thing.
"Was Blake always that... Big?" He frowned.

Q didn't have much experience with females. It really didn't dawn on him what pregnant women looked like.


Blakaize wrote: Braig winced.

"Q . . . I don't know how to tell you . . . I don't want to ruin this," he said, holding Q's hands between his own. "It's all my fault . . ."

He took a deep breath and looked away from Q, to the overlooking ocean. He swallowed hard, and remet Q's eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Q . . . Blake's pregnant."


[Q] wrote: Q blinked blankly. "Oh."
He didn't see why it was such a huge deal at first.

Then it sank in.

"Wait, WHAT?"
Q tore away from Braig, taking steps back as he tail waved around wildly. All that socialization making Q act more human immediately fell over and died.

The twenty four year old curled his upper lip and growled.
"With MY seed?!" he shouted in french, unbelieving.

"I'm sterile! I can't mate! Why didn't you tell me earlier?! Get rid of it! Why can't you get rid of it!? Out of all the pain and torture I've been through, you would want to wish that on another child?! Don't you realize--" Q put his hands to his chest, "I did not originally look like this! This body was given to me, that baby will look like a Dr. Moreau beast!"

Q turned to the railing, the thought quickly passing through his head of jumping as he grasped it with his hands, his knuckles turning white, his tail still upset. He simply looked over the edge, breathing through his mouth, a bestial growl coming and going, as if it were out of practice.
Then he started to wheeze.

He bent over the railing, his tail calming down as he struggled to breathe at all.
His mouth opened and closed as his lungs clamored for air that they weren't getting enough of.
Eventually Q dropped to his knees, turning his back to the railing and sitting, holding his chest with his eyes closed ad he struggled for about ten more seconds. It seemed like ten minutes, but finally it was over, and he had calmed down enough to breath again.


Blakaize wrote: Braig watched, unsure of what do to.

"Q, please listen to . . . Q, I . . ." it was hard finding the words to say. Braig frowned, feeling himself lose his temper slightly. "Stop it."

He crouched beside Q, tried to look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, I said I was sorry, but there's nothing we can do now." He said, sternly. He tried to find the right words to say next. "The . . . sonograms look normal . . . no strange bone structure at all . . . maybe all those traits are recessive. It'll look normal, and fine. And if it doesn't, well, it's our problem, isn't it?"

[Q] wrote: Q shuddered a bit, surprised his body was still so weak, but thankful he hadn't passed out or something.

He glared at Braig.
"I am not blaming you. This is not your fault." He spat.

"I do not want to be a father. I was never meant to be a father. I hope that thing is stillborn."


Blakaize wrote: Braig winced. That was a little harsh . . .

"You say that now," he said, sitting crosslegged in front of him. "But, who knows? Maybe it'll be cute?" He smirked, and poked Q in the stomach. "You're not so bad yourself."


[Q] wrote: Q swatted Braig's hand away.
This was not a good way to 'start' a 'relationship'.

"Don't pretend this isn't serious. Why would she keep it? I was a huge dick to her anyway."
He put his hand on the deck and pushed himself up, walking away from Braig and toward the inside of the ship.
He was going to find Blake. And be more of a dick to her.

Perhaps kick her in the stomach, hope it'd be hard enough for a miscarriage.


Blakaize wrote: Braig swore and got up, jogging after him.

"Q, wait!" He said. "Hang on a second. I'm sorry, I was only joking." Braig couldn't deny that Q hadn't been the best to Blake . . . but the look in his eyes made him think he was capable of much worse. "What are you planing on doing? Q!"



[Q] wrote: Q kept walking as Braig followed him.
"How far along is she?" His concept of time was fucked.

"There's no reason we can't abort now--" he stopped in his tracks.
At first they wanted to study you, but I said no... So we worked out a deal...

A growl grew in Q's throat and turned around and punched Braig in the face.
Q may have hated the baby, but in his own, sick, messed up way, killing it was his way of protecting it from the atrocities that he himself had been through (despite not remembering them).

"You paid those military fucks with the baby, didn't you?! You said they wanted to study me, but you wouldn't let them! How fucking low can you go, Braig! If I had known--!" He roared with anger, suddenly extremely uncomfortable in his body, unable to express just how angry he was in the way he wanted, which was strangely-- biting him.

Stranger things had happened with his brain since his last stroke. He had all sorts of different feelings about himself now, and if this was going to be anything like what another living being was going to experience--

"How could you do this to me?! Where the fuck is BLAKE?!"


Blakaize wrote: Braig took the hit and spit out blood from where his teeth tore at the inside of his cheek.

"What. The Fuck, Q?!" He snapped. "No, we didn't give the Russian the baby! But they have pictures, they have sonograms and cells, yeah. It was Blake's decisian. It was either the baby you want to fucking kill, or you, and she chose you." He stood up a little straighter. His jaw hurt. It was a really good hit . . . "If you want her so bad, go and find her. She's down below, in her room, probably."

Braig wiped his mouth. His lip was bleeding, and the corner of his mouth throbbed. There'd be a lovely bruise there come morning . . .

"They don't have the baby, they have no CLAIM to the baby. The baby's with and will remain with Blake," he said, trying to calm himself. He turned and started to walk away from Q. "That is, if you don't kill it first."

So much for coming out. So much for admitting his feelings for the kid. So much for being happy once they get back home.

"Fucking dammit!" Braig swore, kicking at a metal wall.


[Q] wrote: They don't have any claim over the baby--

"Bullshit!" Q barked. His own knuckles bled from the impact. His hand hurt horribly. He didn't remember punching people hurting him so much.

As soon as Braig turned around, Q did as well, and he searched the boat for Braig's room. He wasn't really sure where it was, which showed mountains about how much he paid attention to things these days, but the boat was rather small so it didn't take much time to find it.

He didn't even knock on the door- just barged right in, and gave her the most awful glare he could give. It rivaled the glare he gave them when he'd had his stroke, when he had said he would kill them all in his bestial tongue.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he growled. "Why didn't you get rid of it? I am not supposed to have children! I am supposed to be sterile! Why did you give it to the Russians?!"


Blakaize wrote: Blake returned the glare, only it was more of a "oh, fuck, you again" look.

"Piss off, Q," she said, turning back to her magazine. "I didn't give shit to the Russian's aside from cell scrapings from my vaginal wall and some from the uterian wall, maybe a fuzzy sonogram or two." She rolled her eyes and stood up, pushing past him, towards the outside. "I didn't abort it because I didn't want to, how's that for an answer? I figured you'd not want anything with it, so, I figured, it's mine."

she went out onto the deck, found Braig.

"So, you'll never guess what happened just now," she said, looking like she could spit nails.

EDIT:

Braig gave her a tired look.

"Q?"

"Yeah," Blake said, calming down slightly. She leaned on the railing, seeing the coast come gradually closer. "Why did we do all this? He's been a thorn in our side since we started."

Braig nudged her. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"You don't mean it," he said. "He's a nice kid. He's just been hurt so many times . . ."

"He's gotta hurt us too?" Blake fired back. Braig put a finger to her lips.

"Chill," he said, trying to soothe. "I promise nothing bad will happen. To either of you two."

"Three," Blake said, touching her stomach. She brought in a heavy breath, trying to think more clearly. "I think maybe I should duck out of the house for a while. Let him stay. It's better that way, besides."

She left the railing and Braig let her go. He wasn't sure what he could accomplish by following her anyway. Blake returned to her room, half expecting to be attacked from the shadows as she made her way down there.


[Q] wrote: Q stared at her in awe. She had never stood up to him before, yet here she was now, standing her ground and insulting him. Then she pushed past him, causing him to lose his balance and hold against the edge of the door for support. And she just... Walked off.

"It's mine just as much as it's yours!" Q shot back, though she was already gone at that point.

He pushed himself forward, took a few steps to run after her, but decided against it and kicked the doorframe instead with his boot. He felt weak, as it didn't make much of a sound, so he kicked it twice more, giving it his best effort. It still felt much weaker than what he remembered he could do before all the surgeries.

His body must still have been failing him.. His muscle probably deteriorated.
He let out a chuff sound from his mouth in annoyance, and looked to his fist, with his bloody knuckles. Blood looked so different now.
It almost didn't seem as real to him.

He shook his head and let out some hybrid of a growl and yell of frustration and turned in a random direction, hoping to find a closet or something to hide in.
He went to the bow of the ship, found the captain's room, which was currently unoccupied being as they were actually steering the ship. He sat himself down in a corner there, at first with his knees to his chest and his back to the wall, but later he went to his side in a somewhat fetal laying position, his tail curled around in front of him like a sleeping cat.

At that point, he lost it. He didn't break down and cry, but he did breathe heavily and unevenly, not sure what to do with himself. He'd lost control of everything. He had been ready to die, ready to leave everything. But then Braig and Blake wanted him to live, were the ones that pressured him to get better, forced him to extend his now meaningless life.
If he had died then, his life could have been worth something. He had finished his goals, he had seen his lover die, he had killed his one true enemy.

But now, he owed Braig his life, as if it was in payment for the surgery, and he was a slave to Blake, who now bore a child he didn't want.
Everything would've been so much simpler if he had just died back then.
He had been ready, then.
He didn't know what to do with himself now.

Blakaize wrote: Blake walked past where he sat, almost not noticing him at first. She paused, turned back, and stared at him. She crossed her arms, a scowl coming to her face.

". . . is it just because no one's ever been kind to you before or is it because you just don't know how to show a decent amount of gratitude?" She asked. "Is it because no one ever shown you any degree of caring that you're totally snubbing Braig, or what?"

She let her arms drop to her sides.

"What do we have to do to let you know, to open your eyes and make you see, that for right now and for a long time after, you mean something to us? You're not a lab rat to us, not a slave or a solider." She huffed out a breath. "What am I doing? Wasting my friggin' breath, is what I'm doing . . ." she muttered, turning and leaving him, not sure if he heard her or not.



[Q] wrote: Q didn't look at her, was hoping she'd pass by. By that time, the twenty four year old had already tired himself out, and was almost to the point of sleeping.
While he did have a rebuttal for the last part of Blake's little speech, she left before he could get it out of his mouth, so he simply snorted and let out a soft whine instead after she walked away.

He knew how to show gratitude. And he had. He thought he had been bonding quite well with Braig, actually, until he learned that Blake had a kid-- his kid-- growing inside of her.
It didn't even make sense, because he should've been sterile. Everything pointed to him being unable to have kids. Did that mean that all those whores he'd came inside of-- did he have other children he didn't know about? Had that been Alexandre's plan? Get Q to like women so there'd be some type of dog-baby army of his?

He entertained the thought, not seeming so crazy to him for a few minutes, before he let it go and continued to mope.
He briefly wondered, what it would be like to not be here. As a human. Would he had had just as hard a time if he were a dog? Would that have mattered? Would he even feel, as a dog?
It became more apparent that he acted very canine. He had growled and whined and done so many dog-like things just in the past week, not to mention times before those.
He'd always liked being pet, and there was a strange calmness in being told what to do, and doing that, and being praised for it. Did normal people feel that?


He wondered if, maybe, he wasn't really some werewolf. What if he was really just a dog, that they had somehow given a human body. Is that why he had dreams where he was just a dog? Is that why he felt, sometimes, that his body wasn't right?
Or was it all just his brain playing tricks on him? He couldn't imagine how many cells died from his binge drinking, smoking, constant blackouts and strokes he had. Maybe every person had some sort of kinship to an animal that they regressed to when they were - or thought they were - dying.

Anubis, he thought, As a god you never questioned yourself. But where would I belong? Would I stay with the animals or the humans who have died before me? Or would I have no place to go? Is my heart even light enough? Or would I be fed to Ammit?

Q had not thought of religion for a long time. He had a great gold ankh tattoo on his back, in attempt to hide many scars. He had gotten it because at the time, the sun was killing his eyes and he thought it sort of ironic, and proof enough that at least some sort of sun god existed. Egyptian mythology seemed like the most plausible answer. That was what Vespasien had implanted into his head, anyway. Maybe he had only done it because all the Egyptian gods were half human half animal, and in so getting Q to believe in such gods would make him believe he was a god. And Q had, for a time. He and Ves had been successful. And Q had such incredible aim...
But now he was just a mopey sack of bones who couldn't even control his emotions very well.
If I get to live again. I want to just be a dog. Everything seems so much simpler that way...
He grabbed his tail, stroking the tip of it. It made him feel better.

He wanted someone to pet him on the head. But after punching Braig in the face, it probably wasn't a good idea to go to him. He should apologize. Q let out a whine from his throat and brought his hands back to his chest.
I never thought just being human would be so difficult. Why do I think like this now? I never cared before...

Q had all these emotions he didn't want to deal with. He crawled from his corner of the room under the bed, and fell asleep there, waiting to get out of this boat and to a better hideaway from people.


Blakaize wrote: "I told you," Blake said, about three hours later, as Braig drug her around the ship, looking for Q. They ended up in the room where, unbeknownst to them, Q lay asleep under the bed. "I talked to him and then I left!"

Braig was almost hysterical, trying to find him.

"What did you say to him? What did he say to you?! Dammit, Bernadene, where is he?!" Braig yelled, upset. Blake scowled at him.

"I. Don't. Know." She spat. Braig kicked a wall, furious.

"I've got to find him," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "I never got to tell him . . . he told me but I just sort of shrugged it off . . . dammit all! Fucking dammit!"

Blake blinked, confused.

"Tell him what?" She asked. Braig didn't meet her gaze, standing by the bed where Q lay beneath.

"I still have to tell him that I love him . . ." he muttered, before tearing out of the room, terrified Q had jumped overboard, or worse.


[Q] wrote: From underneath the bed, Q's eyes opened when he heard Braig and Blake come in, fighting. The twenty four year old didn't move, but instead watched their feet as they argued with eachother. When Braig kicked a wall, Q flinched, and watched Braig walk out.

Q tightened in his ball, watching Blake, who was still in the room, for a time. Should he come out now? It would be sort of weird. What kind of person hides under a bed?
But he didn't really consider himself a person anymore...

Q instead waited for Blake to leave, watching her feet until they left the room and he couldn't hear her steps anymore. When he thought it was safe, he crawled out from beneath the bed, quietly slunk past Blake's room and tried to avoid being seen by anyone, and went back up to the deck, which is where he assumed Braig to be.

Once he was on the deck, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He felt a lot smaller than he was, and wanted to lie back down again, just disappear and not have to worry about anything.
But as he stood there, he let out a small whine. He wasn't sure if he had done it on purpose to catch Braig's attention, or if he had simply done it because of how down he felt currently...
But no doubt Braig was near and he would've heard it.

Q felt stupid.
He shouldn't even be playing this game.
He wasn't two years old...


Blakaize wrote: Braig heard the whine and whirled around, looking for the source. He saw Q, standing alone on deck, and ran for him, grabbing him in a hug.

"Oh, thank God," he breathed, gasping. "I thought . . . I dunno what I thought, but, Jesus, I was so fuckin' worried."

He gave Q the smallest of squeezes, pet his hair and rubbed his back, breathing in his smell and trying to calm his racing heart. Q was safe. Q was here. He wasn't so scared anymore. He should just calm down.


[Q] wrote: Q did nothing when Braig grabbed him. He didn't return the hug nor say anything at first.
He let out another small whine that transformed into words.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, as Braig toke him in.

"I feel...." He whined softly again, lightly wrapping his arms around Braig's waist. "...Weird."
He didn't know how to explain it, and simply left it at that, rather than try to form some sort of coherent explanation.

"I didn't know what to do so I hid for awhile..."
He felt like a child. He wished he didn't realize how childish he was acting. Maybe if he had just acted childish and hadn't known better, he wouldn't be so ashamed of himself.

His tail waved idly, and Q rubbed Braig's back a bit, but also pushed his face into Braig's shoulder, inhaling the other man's scent. Despite their earlier conversation, this relationship still screamed of mother - pet material.

Q wasn't sure he wanted to change that dynamic.


Blakaize wrote: Braig closed his eyes, pressed a kiss to Q's temple. He pat his hair and sighed.

"It's okay, just relax now," he said. "I'm sorry for acting so harshly with you. Forgive me?"

Blake, meanwhile, felt a little seasick. She had managed to avoid morning sickness early, had figured she was out if the woods in that regard . . . she was wrong. Holding her stomach, she inched away from the pair. They probably didn't want to see her hurl anyway. . .


[Q] wrote: "Not your fault," Q reminded. "I'm sorry I punched you."
He simply stood and in their embrace for a while, relishing it. He wondered if things would always be this sappy.

The next day, they reached port and went home. The months passed and Braig and Q grew closer, Q accepting Blake's pregnancy but still unapproving of it. Q became rather active, in comparison to how he acted before around the Cohens. He went out on walks, took up hunting, and would disappear for days at a time to get a good catch and bring it home, where he and Braig would cook it together. Q got to be pretty good at Deer Stew, at least.

There were times when Q did lay about. He found he could watch TV when previously he had been unable. When he wanted to be lazy, he'd sit on the couch for hours, loading his head full of entertainment. While he was still very emotive with his tail and didn't hide it anymore- he was very much a person, also.

Except when he came back from hunting trips. He would return to 'normal' within a few hours of being with the Cohens, but when he first arrived, sometimes he could be a bit scary with his growls and reversion to a more bestial nature.

Eventually Blake came to the point where she was expected to give birth soon, and Braig convinced Q to stay around, not leave for any hunting trips. Q did as was told, but wasn't very happy about it. He didn't want the baby born. He was still hoping it would be a stillbirth, but had kept the contempt mostly to himself. He'd avoided Blake as much as possible, not wanting to become too attached to the unborn child. He had assumed Blake had named it by now. He wanted no part.

Despite the baby, Q was mostly happy. His tail had completely greyed by this point, but the only problems he had these days were breathing, and headaches. Occasionally he'd get what seemed like an asthma attack, and the headaches were always constant. He assumed he had some type of brain tumor growing, but had kept the knowledge from the others. He didn't want to worry them, or risk going through some other life-extending procedure. He had done so much with his life now, that it really would be a curse to live again.

He didn't know how long he had left, but the headaches were getting worse - from the assumed tumor or the impending doom of an unwanted baby, he was unsure - but he still felt like he had plenty of time left, so was in no rush to worry about death.

For now, though, he laid on the couch, watching some Russian soap opera. Q had picked up quite a bit of Russian, but was nowhere near being proficient- he could understand, moreso than speak. A part of him was saddened by the fact he couldn't seem to learn things so fast - or at all - anymore, but he still didn't let it get him down.


Blakaize wrote: Blake's body wasn't meant for pregnancy. She was too thin, her hips too narrow. She looked like she had a balloon under her shirt, rather than a baby inside of her.

She saw Q, on the couch, and sighed. All of 8 and a half months pregnant, she hobbled over to him, her hands on the small of her back, trying to support the weight. Her OB said it was a boy, a boy with a faint heart beat.

"Hey, Q," she said, standing behind the couch, watching the Russian version of "Days of Our Lives." She had noticed that their DVD collection had grown in recent months, Braig buying movies for Q to watch, now that the TV had become one of his new best friends. "I'm heading in tomorrow, or the next day to induce. Braig's probably coming. Will you be there too?"


[Q] wrote: Q had a delayed reaction, chuckling after Blake came by in response to something funny on the telly.
He eventually dropped his feet from the sofa to the floor, however, and turned to look at Blake.
"I'm sorry? Induce?" He wasn't really sure of the term. "Oh, you mean labor? Induce labor?"

He tilted his head a bit, then his attention averted to the show, which was still playing. He debated pausing it, but sighed instead.

"Yeah, sure. If you want me to go. I mean, Braig would probably force me anyway."


Blakaize wrote: Blake frowned.

"Force? You mean you don't wanna go?" She said, half hoping maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he hated her, but, for the baby . . . maybe he'd lighten up? "I mean . . ." she sighed. "Yeah, see ya then, I guess."

She turned and walked for the stairs, struggling up the first few steps.


[Q] wrote: Q watched Blake struggle up the steps.
"I'd be going for you if I went. You know how I feel about the kid," he said softly, giving a quiet snort and turning back to the television, his tail tapping the couch cushion beside him. He watched the happy characters on the television for a few seconds before he decided he didn't want to see it anymore, and got up, pushing the TV and DVD player off.

"I'm going for a walk," he said loudly, before leaving.
He wasn't mad or anything, he just generally thought it good form to tell whoever wanted to know where he was going, considering he had basically been on house arrest for the past month.

He went out the door and headed out to the park. Then to the cemetary, where all the shit had began.


Blakaize wrote: "Be careful!" Braig yelled back at him, from the kitchen. He went to the door, watching Q walk down the street. "Don't go to far. I mean . . . dinner's in a couple . . ."

Grayson, in the den, snorted.

"Let 'm go, Mom," he muttered, just loud enough for Braig to hear.

Blake, meanwhile, made it up to her room and sat at the computer. The sonograms all looked human, or as human as fetuses looked. Still the fear was there that it wasn't quite as human as she had hoped. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't . . . Maybe Q was right, and she was carrying a monster inside of her.

Whatever she gave birth to, she had to at least give birth to it. What she did with it from there was her own business.


[Q] wrote: Q wasn't really in the mood for dinner, and was out of the house for about an hour, taking the scenic route, and stopping in the cemetery to just look at the tombstones and mausoleums, admire the soft hint of nature that was there to grace the dead. He wondered where he was going to end up when he died. Probably in a little vase or something. He sort of hoped his skull didn't end up being Braig's next ash tray.

By the time he got back, they'd probably already had dinner. Unless Braig had forced them to wait. Which... Q wouldn't put past Braig to do, but, hoped he hadn't.

He made his way back to the Kitchen, in a somewhat better mood. Moreso reminiscent than anything, he guessed.


Blakaize wrote: Braig sat at the table alone. There were plates in the sink, aside the one in front of Braig. He pushed the food around on it with his fork, mostly untouched otherwise. He looked up when Q came in and smiled, a little tiredly.

"Hey," he said. "Erm. Leftovers."

He could hear Jackie, Grayson, Gabe, Jaiden, and Blake in the living room, watching TV or a movie or something. It occured to Braig that, what had once just been home to him and his youngest brother, part time home of his younger sister, had turned into the HQ of almost all of the Cohens and now extended family found within Gabriel, Blake's apprentice, and Q . . .

"Want me to heat some up for you?" He asked, standing, grabbing the plate, and making for the microwave.

[Q] wrote: Q saw the untouched food, and when Braig grabbed the plate and went for the microwave, Q frowned and gently grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"No, it's okay," he said. "Braig, What's wrong?"
He was a bit concerned. Braig was sitting by himself, hadn't touched his own food...?


Blakaize wrote: Braig rolled his shoulders, one of his tells. He rubbed his neck and exhaled heavily.

"I'm worried. I feel like . . . I dunno . . ." he said, laughing weakly. "I know you're sick of hearing it, but, with Blake being in the condition she is . . . I just want the baby out so I can stop worrying about it."

Braig broke away, stuck the food in for about a minute and a half, and leaned against the counter, facing Q.

"You got me thinking," he said. "On the boat. How you've done everything you've wanted to . . . Well, I wonder if it's true. Is there anything else you want to do? I mean, aside from just living here? See the Grand Canyon, any of that sappy stuff? Swim with sharks, dolphins, fuck, seals? Anything?"

In the living room, Blake frowned, one hand on her stomach. It wasn't a pain, just a sense of emptyness. Like she wasn't carrying a baby anymore.

"B?" Jackie said, sitting between her knees, on the floor, looking up at her.

"I don't know," she said, staring at a corner, when, really, it was just where her eyes went. "Really, I got nothin'."

Jaiden, beside her, blinked and put a hand on her stomach, which she batted away. She hated it when people touched her stomach anymore. In the market, on the street, always with the "oh when is it due?!" or "good luck! -rubrubrub-" and Blake had to bite her tongue to keep from telling them to kindly fuck off.

"Are you gonna have the baby now?" Jaiden said. Blake flicked his nose, scowling.

"Don't fucking jinx me," she said, scowling. The odd feeling hit again and Blake winced. It was more pronounced this time. "Oh, fuck . . ."

She pushed herself up, wobbling slightly. She walked into the kitchen, holding her stomach.

"Braig . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q eyed Braig, both concerned and a bit suspicious.
I know you're sick of hearing it...
... I just want the baby out so I can stop worrying about it..


Q sighed. Braig cared more about this baby than Q did. Q had bitten his tongue many a time to prevent him saying it loud, too. It'd probably only get him a slap in the face, anyway. He hated thinking of the last argument they got in over the baby.

Braig kept talking, though, about what Q wanted to do with his life. Did Braig think he was going to die soon? Why think about this stuff now?

"Fuck seals...? Why would I want to..." he quirked a brow, but didn't have a chance to get corrected about his misinterpretation when Blake came in.

He turned, eying her. The microwave began to beep. Q reached back and opened the door slightly, slamming it back shut again so the noise would stop without breaking his gaze from her. His attention was focused on her pants, which were wet.



Blakaize wrote: "I think we have a problem," Blake said, sounding restless and struggling. Braig blinked. "I think my water broke." Her brother frowned.

"it's a little early for that, isn't it?" He said, almost praying that it was true. Blake shook her head, gritting her teeth.

"I'm not sure if they're contractions or just fucking pain, but, dammit," she said, having to lean against something now. "We better go . . ."

Braig yelled for Grayson, who came in, looking bored. He happened upon Blake, glanced at her, then did a double take.

"Now?" He said, blinking. Blake scowled.

"No, later, YES NOW!" She snapped, holding her stomach, almost bent over. She glanced at Q and swore. "Braig, just . . . Jackie and Grayson can take me."

Braig looked taken aback for a moment.

"You don't want me to come with?" He said, reaching out. Grayson was already helping her to the door.

"You should probably stay with Q," she called back, trying to take the four stairs in the front and almost failing miserably. Braig scowled.

"I'm coming with you, dammit," he muttered. Then he paused and looked back at Q. "Will you be okay by yourself? Did you want to come see it born?"


[Q] wrote: Q just stared. It was like some fog of death slowly rolling in, and he was too afraid to move out of the way of impending doom.

You should probably stay with Q
That snapped him out of it.

No, Braig cared. Braig cared about this kid, and Q cared about Braig. And Q cared about Blake, despite how he acted. This was basically his family, too. And while he absolutely loathed the idea of being a father himself, he didn't want to rain on everyone else's parade to the hospital, which he understood through various entertainment mass media, was supposedly a really huge deal.

He looked blankly at Braig for a moment when asked if he wanted to see the baby born. Q avoided falling into the trap of giving his actual thoughts and said "I'm coming" and jogged after them.
Did Blake even want him to come?

It sort of seemed like she did, with what she had said earlier that day, but, now he wasn't so sure...


Blakaize wrote: The car ride was quick and harried. They had to wait in the ER roughly fifteen minutes, before Blake threatened the nurse and she called for a wheelchair.

"We're probably going to have baby soon," the doctor said, a middle aged woman with peppered hair. "Does the father wish to be present? Otherwise, family has to wait in her room. It's in the Women's and Children's Center. Room WCC504."

Blake turned around in the chair, facing her brothers, Gabriel, and Q. They were getting farther and farther down the hallway.


[Q] wrote: Q's face paled as he walked. He felt lightheaded and slightly dizzy. He didn't know what to do. He didn't think this would ever come up. Part of him told him to shove Braig up front and say that Braig was the father. How would the nurse know, really?

Instead he sputtered, hesitated, finally said, "Do you want me there?"
It wasn't an annoyed type of question. Q did care about Blake. But pretty much everyone knew he didn't care about the baby, and he'd told Blake already today that if he was going to go, it'd be just for her.

Maybe it was terrible to twist it around like that, to put the pressure on Blake instead of him. But he wasn't really thinking right now.


Blakaize wrote: "You're the father?" The doctor said, looking to Q. Blake, meanwhile, looked at her lap, turning very quiet. "Well, come along, Dad, let's get you in some scrubs and ---"

"No," she said. "I'll do this alone."

The doctor looked concerned, sad.

"You sure you don't want someone with y---"

"No," Blake said, more firmly. She looked to her family. "Go wait for me. I won't be long."

They wheeled Blake behind a set of double doors, leaving the boys standing there, watching.

" . . . ouch," Jackie said, frowning.


[Q] wrote: Q stopped in his tracks, watching her get wheeled along the rest of the hallway.
Q knew where she was coming from. Understood, even. But he still felt like he had just done something terribly wrong, had disappointed someone so much that they didn't even want his company- baby or not.

His heart sank.
Ouch, Jackie had said.

Q punched Jackie weakly in the shoulder to get him to shut the hell up.
"You say you're the father Braig. They won't know the difference," he said, turning around in the opposite direction.
"I'm going to the cafeteria."

That was a lie. He didn't know where he was going. He really wanted to go outside, but he doubted he could find an exit. He hadn't even walked five feet from the others and he was already completely lost.

[[The Fray - Over My Head (Cable Car) ]]



Blakaize wrote: "You know I can't do that, Q," Braig said, almost calling to him as the 24 year old retreated. "Remember the room number! That's where we'll be!"

-time skip?-

Four hours later, Blake was wheeled in on a stretcher-bed, and behind her, a little plastic tub on wheels. Inside, lay a slightly pale, wrinkled baby, tightly swaddled. The nurse looked a lot more happy than Blake, who just looked tired.

"Hi, everybody!" The nurse said, smiling brightly. "This is Talon Lenox Cohen. 7 lbs, 3 ounces, 10 in long." She looked around. "Does Dad want to see Baby?"


[Q] wrote: Q never found the cafeteria. And two hours of wandering around the building made his legs tired. He finally sat on a random bench, in some random, seemingly quiet waiting room. He had absolutely no idea where he was, and had become incredibly depressed over it.
Maybe he really was completely worthless.

He put his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees as he bent over, holding back the whine that begged to come from his throat.

About fifteen minutes passed before some nurse came to him, standing over him and saying, "Excuse me sir, but pets aren't allowed here."
When Q looked up, he saw her motioning to his grey tail beside him, laying on the bench. She probably thought some animal was hiding behind him. It was something that seemed to happen every so often now that he didn't tuck it in his pants.

"Uh, it's not..." He grimaced, his shoulders slumping and looking down, feeling as if he were about to cry.
No, I can do this alone, Blake's words kept running through him.

"I'm sorry," he said, and simply disregarded an explanation and walked off, the tail, obviously attached to his butt, following him.

About thirty minutes later, his sadness had turned into frustration that he had no clue where he was and definitely could not remember what room number he was supposed to be in. He did find a bathroom, and stuck himself in that, running the faucet and splashing water in his face, trying to gain his bearings. But when he looked at himself in the mirror, he didn't see a man. He saw a dog in human skin. An animal desperately trying to play the man game and losing. Q threw his fist down on the sink counter, his hand making a low 'thunk' on the thick slate.
He stood there and sobbed to himself for a few minutes, letting out canine whimpers and whines, before he finally calmed himself down enough to turn off the faucet, collect himself again, and walk out of the bathroom with a grumbling sigh.

He walked around aimlessly for another 30 minutes, it dawning on him that, not only was he completely lost, he had absolutely no idea what room number he was supposed to be in. He thought it ironic that he could clearly remember Braig yelling at him to remember the number, but not the number itself.

He began to grumble to himself, but passed by a front desk. After chastising himself at first, he turned around and went back to the desk.
"Excuse me," he said.
"My, er, friend is having a baby and I have no idea where I can meet her."

The nurse looked up to him, giving him a weird look - probably his tattoos, he guessed - and then said, "The Maternity Ward is almost on the other side of the building..."

Q growled at himself.
"Yes. I'm incredibly lost. Could you give me directions..."

The nurse listed off some directions, that seemed to be a mile long, and Q thanked her and took his precious time following everything, looking for signs to the maternity ward. He had to stop and ask for directions about three more times, and when he finally got to the maternity ward, he had to ask another nurse, "My... Friend, is having a baby. And I don't know what room she's in..."

"Sir," the nurse said, giving him that same weird look as the other nurses, "I'm sorry but only family is allowed to the room."

Q frowned. "Her name's Blake Cohen. It might be under, ah... Bernadine instead of Blake. I'm..." He almost mumbled the last part, seemingly ashamed. "The father..."

"You're the father? Weren't you there during her birth?" The nurse asked.
Q was withdrawing more into himself.
"Yes, technically. I was here when she was brought in, but I went the cafeteria and got lost and now I don't remember what room I'm supposed to be in..."

The nurse looked untrusting. With how weird Q was being about the baby, she told him to wait a second, and she consulted some other nurse to get their opinion behind a door.
When she came back, she told Q to sit and wait in the lobby area. Q heaved a sigh and simply did as told, sitting with his head in his hands, fingers running through his hair, knowing perfectly well that nurse was just trying to get rid of him and he would probably never make it back to that room.

He was debating if it was all right by him. He really didn't want to see the baby, still.
Or deal with the judgmental stares. If he walked into that room, he would just be weighed down by this overwhelming feeling of shame.
He already felt bits and pieces of it now.

There were too many stressed out people in this room.
The chairs were curved down, and he was sitting on his tail, it between his legs. It began to wiggle slightly, agitated. He hoped Braig would come out and find him or something.
There were babies crying here and Q didn't even want to be near them.


Blakaize wrote: Braig winced at the nurse's question.

"Erm . . . he went to get something to eat . . . nerves," he said, lying easily. "Lemme go find him?" He got up and left, heading back to the lobby. Blake held her arms out for the baby and the nurse handed him over easily.

"He's so perfect! Aside from a little spinal extension from his hiney, but, that can be removed once he's a few days older," the nurse said, trying to be comforting. Blake, Jackie, and Grayson exchanged glances.

"Thanks," she said, weakly. That "spinal extension" would not be removed. Ever.

Braig entered the lobby and looked around. Here was Q! Looking nice and nervous. He walked out and touched his shoulder.

"Hey," he said, smiling softly. "Get lost? Blake had the baby. He's okay, and she's just tired. Did you want to see them?"


[Q] wrote: When Braig touched Q, he jumped, flinching as he looked up.

He stared at Braig for a few seconds. His question was loaded. Braig seemed extra happy though. Q's eyes narrowed in shame and he looked back down at the floor.

"No," he voiced. "Maybe I shouldn't have come after all."
His voice was low, as if he really didn't want to be heard.

You'd make a much better father than I would, Braig he thought.

[[Wolf's Rain OST - 菅野よう子-フレンズ ]]


Blakaize wrote: Braig frowned.

"Are you sure?" He said, sitting next to him. "All you have to do is make a cameo . . ."

He, in the back of his mind, thought that maybe it was a lost cause, as if he was trying to force a stubborn horse to water. But, then again, he had to believe that Q trusted him. That Q . . . loved him . . .

"I'll be right there with you . . .?" He said, hoping this would sweeten the pot slightly.


[Q] wrote: Q ran his fingers through his hair.
"No," he said in answer to 'are you sure'.

"I just...I don't want a kid, Braig. I really don't. I can barely handle taking care of myself. And it probably doesn't even look human. I walked around completely lost in this stupid building for three hours, Braig. And the whole time I was thinking. 'I'm worthless. I can't handle this.' And I was hoping something would happen and I'd wake up from this dream or the baby would really be a stillborn or..."

He grabbed his hair and pulled at it a bit. "I'm not supposed to have a kid. I don't want it. And I'm too afraid to go back in there at all. I just want to go back home and quietly pack all my things and disappear before you all get back so I don't have to deal with it."
Blakaize wrote: "No one's making you claim the baby as yours. You're a sperm donor, not a Dad, if you don't want to be." Braig said, sighing. "And you'd be surprised. The kid doesn't look too terrible, if you asked me anything." He reached over and held Q's hand. ". . . please don't."

He was surprised by how small he sounded.

"I don't want to wake up one morning and find you gone," he said, honestly. "Not yet . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q heaved a sigh, and held his hands over Braig's, bringing it to his face and exhaling through his nose on it.
The twenty four year old was still anxious.

"But Blake hates me now. She probably doesn't want me to have anything to do with it anyway..."

He leaned his head on Braig's hand.

Blakaize wrote: Braig snorted.

"No, she doesn't," he assured him. "Besides . . . she's too tired right now to hate anything. And when we get home, she'll be too busy to hate you there too. She doesn't hate you because of the choices you've made Q. I don't think she can."

a part of him wanted to lean in and give him a reassuring kiss, but decided against it. He just stood, taking his hand away from Q's face.

"So. Are you coming into see them? I'll be right there with you."


[Q] wrote: Q let out a grumble from his throat and reluctantly stood, waiting for Braig to lead the way back to the room. Once they actually got there, he made an extra effort to look at the room number and memorize it this time.

He looked in the room first before actually going in, watching the others. He was hesitant to step in, but once he finally did, he watched Blake and the baby.
It was cute... He guessed.

He stood by the far wall, near the corner, and hoped they wouldn't ask him to hold the baby. He eventually couldn't look at them any more and looked at the floor instead, his arms crossed over his chest as if he were a child that had just been reprimanded and force to go say sorry to someone they really didn't want to apologize to.


Blakaize wrote: " . . . Hey," Blake said, holding Talon to her chest still, patting his butt softly, comfortingly. Talon, only a few hours old still, was just beginning to open his crusty eyes. Doing so, they stared around without seeing, he opened his mouth, tongue sticking out slightly.

Blake didn't offer Talon to his biological father. Just sat there in bed, patting him.

"Did you want to know his name?" She asked, gently, not wanting to impose on Q's self-imposed depression.


[Q] wrote: "Hey," Q echoed back, not sure what else to say.

He looked up when Blake asked if he wanted to know the kid's name.
"Sure?" He said quietly, a bit unsure.


Blakaize wrote: Blake turned the baby around so he was more or less facing Q.

"Talon Lenox Cohen." She said, simply, turning him back around. Now that Q was here, she didn't know what she wanted him to do. She was wary of handing him the baby, or even letting him near Talon. Mostly because she was worried he'd dash him against the door or hard tile floor out of spite.


[Q] wrote: Q sighed and leaned against the back of the wall.
"Cute," he lied.

He didn't really... hate the baby. It looked human, at least.
For that, he was relieved.

But, Talon? Really?
Why would she name it something like that? He'd be made fun of for the rest of his life. "Talon" wasn't some jungle native. If Q's name were talon, he probably would've changed it pretty quickly, or went by something else.

Which is sort of what he did, anyway. His name was Four Corners after all.
Continue the lineage of stupid names, he guessed.

He looked at the others in the room, all seeming to be disappointed in him. Q frowned.

After a moment of extremely uncomfortable silence, he scratched the back of his head.
"So I was thinking, you know, now that this is taken care of... I could go on another hunting trip.
Maybe try my luck at a bear."

That way maybe if he died, he wouldn't have to deal with this 'father' stress.
And if he didn't die, then, well, at least he'd killed a bear. That would be pretty badass.


Blakaize wrote: Blake sensed his distaste. Hey, if he had any other bright ideas, they could always stop the nurse and get a rename. She figured he'd not want to talk about it. She gave him a dry look. As if he wanted anything to do with this baby.

Still, though, Blake shrugged.

"You do what you want," she said, looking at the baby, moving to sit cross legged.

Braig frowned at the chemistry.

"Er. Maybe he can grow into 'Talon,' there, B?" He muttered. The more he kicked the name around, the more he could see his sister's insperation for it. "Talon" was a character in a book she had read. In that book, the character had only a mother . . . it was cruel of her to try such a stunt . . .

Blake threw him a look as well, and shrugged.

"Hey, if you have any suggestions," she muttered. "Thought of it on my lonesome. It'd be nice to get some input."

Braig winced.

" . . . You're tired," he said. "We'll leave you alone?" He said, gesturing to the door, glancing at Q. If he left, he was taking Q with him. And if Q left, Braig would be right behind.


[Q] wrote: "I don't know anything about naming, and neither did my parents," he replied to Blake. "So no... But it would be kind of cool if he could name himself when he was older..."

Q looked to Braig, who seemed like he was trying to get Q to leave.
He was a little conflicted, now. On one hand, he'd actually gotten kind of interested in this naming conversation.
On the other hand, all he could think of was 'Thank GOD' and wanted to get out.

He chose the more selfish option, as per usual.
"If you want," he said to Braig, and began to walk to the door.


Blakaize wrote: "And what do we call him until he names himself?" Blake said, staring at him. Braig sensed the hostility and grabbed Q's arm, leaving the room. Blake hadn't realized she had raised her voice and upset the baby, who responded by wailing.

At this time, Grayson, Jackie, Gabriel, and Jaiden removed themselves as well. So now, only Blake and her baby remained in the room, glaring at no one.

"Shh," Blake said, rocking the baby. "Calm down . . ."

Braig walked with Q outside of the hospital, going towards the car.

"We better head home . . ." Braig said, sounding tired.


[Q] wrote: "We could ca--uurk!" Q was pulled away by Braig, losing his balance briefly as he was yanked out of the room. Once they were in the hall, Q pulled his arm away.

"What? Did I do something wrong??"

He grunted when Braig suggested they go home. Then the twenty four year old sighed, quieting down simply following Braig as he led the way out of the hospital.


Blakaize wrote: Blake, lonely, and nursing a baby, sniffled, having lied to the nurse as to where her company went. She looked at her phone, on the side table, and kicked around the idea of calling Isaac. If only for the company . . .

Meanwhile, Braig looked to Q.

"I know you don't like the kid," he said, "and you weren't brought up traditionally, but, could ya at least try?" Braig was unsure how to proceed. In all honesty, Q was the most difficult partner he had ever had. He was emotional and in the habbit of taking every negative comment as a personal attack . . . So Braig was torn . . . between this beautiful creature that he was growing closer to each day, and his sister.

"What WOULD we call him if we were gonna let him name himself when he got older?" Braig said, frowning, thoughtful. "I mean, I dunno . . ."


[Q] wrote: "I was trying!" Q proclaimed. "I thought there was a connection. I mean, Blake seemed to think the naming himself idea was clever." He pierced his lips as he walked.

When they reached the parking lot, he said, "I was going to say Talon was fine until he named himself," shrugging. Although it was obvious he didn't really like the name Talon. But it wasn't as if Q really had a choice in the matter.
The baby was all Blake's.


Blakaize wrote: Braig sighed.

"Just . . . nevermind," he said, getting in the car. He felt suddenly very tired. "When we get home, I'm gonna go take a nap. Wanna come with?"

Meanwhile, Blake broke down upstairs and grabbed the phone, dialing Isaac's number. He was there within 15 minutes, looking concerned and, for once, like he actually cared about her.

"Why didn't you tell me before?!" He said, almost hysterical, seeing the infant in Blake's arms. "Who's the father?! Where is he?! Were you raped?!"

Blake gave him a tired look.

"The baby's father doesn't want anything to do with it," she said, heavily. "And before you say anything, he has no money, so no child support. I'm on my own with it."

Isaac looked suddenly sad. He sat down, looked at his hands.

"I . . . admit, I haven't been a very good sibling to you," he muttered. "If . . . you need a place to stay . . ."

Blake nodded.

"I get discharged with him in two days," she said. "We have to schedule a surgery to remove a mild birth defect . . . but . . . Can you head to the house and get my stuff?" Isaac swallowed.

"Does this mean . . .?"

"Yeah . . . I don't think I can be a hitman anymore . . ."

Isaac heaved a sigh of relief and reached over, touching the baby's face.

"What's his name?" He asked, softly. Blake had been kicking names around since Q told her that Talon was a dumb name, since he suggested he name himself, of all retarded ideas . . .

"I dunno yet," she admitted. "I was kicking around Nicolai, after they all left."

Isaac glanced at the child.

" . . . He looked like a Nicolai . . ."



{moral event horizon, omgwtfbbq?!}
[Q] wrote: Q heaved a sigh through his nose as he got in the car.
"Sorry," he said, still feeling as if he did something wrong, but wasn't sure what exactly it was.

He looked down once the car started, and on the way back, he eventually put his elbow in the window and looked out, watching the other cars pass as well as the buildings.

"I'll sleep with you if you want," he finally said, several minutes later, his chin on the palm of his hand as he watched the scenery pass by. "But afterward I really do want to go on that hunting trip."

He'd been cooped up in that house so long waiting for the baby to come out simply because Braig asked him to not go out, that he was starting to get cabin fever.
Plus, he felt that maybe it would be better for all of them if he just disappeared for a while.


Blakaize wrote: "Go ahead," Braig said. He figured the kid wanted to get out. "Just be careful." Plus, he also figured Q didn't want to be around when Blake finally came home with the baby.

They got home, and Braig heaved himself up the stairs, feeling exhausted, as if the feelings waited until he stepped foot in the house to hit him broad side. He went upstairs, barely managed to kick off his shoes before crawling into bed. On top of that, he felt emotionally drained. He was out around the same time his head hit the pillow . . .

{i wanna suggest a time skip . . . }


[Q] wrote: Q followed Braig, but was a lot slower than the other man to get to bed. Q took a pit stop to eat the food that had been left in the microwave before going up to the bed. He found Braig already asleep.

Q sighed and took his boots off, crawling on top of the bed and overtop Braig, kissing him on his forehead and then his lips lightly. Q didn't really want to wake him up, but...

The twenty four year old laid ontop of Braig, over the covers, although he let his weight go to his bent knees that straddled Braig, rather than through their stomachs.
Q put his head on Braig's chest, listening to him breathe for a while, his own mood steadily becoming worse and worse until about twenty minutes he was stifling sobs.

Getting back up, he lightly kissed Braig's forehead again, then breathed in his ear for a few seconds.
He tried to think of what to say to the man. 'I'll miss you,' or 'I love you' seemed far too sappy.
He eventually hesitated for so long that he retreated from Braig's ear entirely and went to the basement after picking up his boots to pack up all of his gear, including things he didn't normally bring, like extra pans and a mini-stove and a bunch of extra camping gear.

Q was trying to be pretty quiet about it, but with the way Braig was sleeping, he assumed it wouldn't matter how loud he was anyway, as Braig was pretty far gone in his sleep. Or at least seemed like it.

Finally, Q had his boots on and was dragging his rather over-packed and heavier than usual backpack through the hallway toward the door when he caught Jaiden staring at him down the hall.

Q's green eyes glared at the boy for a moment. "What?"

"Hunting again? Blake's not even back yet," the kid said.

"You and I both know she doesn't want to see me around here anymore," he grumbled. "Besides, I really want to try my hand at some bear."

Jaiden grumbled, not really believing him.

"Just go play your game station or whatever the fuck. You never cared about me, either," Q growled.

Jaiden hmphed, and went back to where he came from.
Q sighed in relief and continued pulling the backpack to the door.

Eventually he got there and stood it up on it's side, squatting so he could get into it, the pack slightly taller than himself. He fell back once or twice, struggling with the weight, but he finally got it on and he was out of the house less than five minutes later.

From there, he hitchhiked down the hallway and toward the mountains. Surprisingly, those who picked him up treated him pretty kindly. Q had never hitchhiked before.
Once he got as far as the cars would take him, he hiked further into the woods on the mountainside than he ever had before, and set up camp near a stream.

He'd stay there for two months.
Normally he was back from his trips in two to three weeks.


Blakaize wrote: The two months were murderous for Braig. He tried contacting Q, off and on, but, after about three weeks, the attempts were less frequent. Worse, two days after Q's departure, Blake and Isaac showed up on the doorstep, and while Blake and Braig argued over what she was up to, Isaac packed Blake's things.

"I'm leaving with Isaac, living with him," she said, one arm bent, the baby carrier slung over it. She had changed the birth certificate to read "Nicolai Braig Cohen" rather than what she had originally wanted to call him. "It's better this way." She kept saying. "This way, you and the family, and Q, won't have to put up with me and the baby."

"But we WANT to be around the baby!" Braig had protested. Blake just gave him a hard glare.

"Well, speak for yourself," she said. "It was painfully obvious he didn't." Braig grit his teeth.

"That's not fair to him," he said, or tried to, before Blake shoved a letter into his chest.

"Just give that to him," she said, as Isaac came down the stairs, carrying her bags.

Blake and Isaac left, and though Braig called her every other day, she seemed no more willing to return than she did that day. She lived up-town now, far from the burrow where she used to live. She talked about getting a job at Isaac's firm, which, surprisingly enough, did have some connections to the mob. For all of Isaac's bitching, he was no different than them. He just didn't kill anyone, only ruined their credit, sat behind a desk . . .

She sent various pictures of "Nic" as he grew or did various things. Braig hoped to convince her not to remove his tail once he reached six months of age. Blake seemed stubborn in that regard as well.

As for the letter that she had given Braig, the envelope marked with a large Q in permanent marker, Braig had put that in his drawer, for when Q came back home . . .


[Q] wrote: It had been two months before Q even bothered to attempt leaving the mountain. He had killed two cubs, and mama bear hadn't been too happy. Q had a lot more scars to prove just how unhappy she had been, and probably had successfully shaved a year or two off his life with the stunts he had pulled. He had been moving his cap site steadily down the mountain, but every time he moved he head to leave more things behind. His guns had run out of shells within the first month, so they were near the very top of the mountain whereas there were various other things littered down at various places Q had stayed.

Mama bear always seemed to find him however, probably because Q had been rather insistent on keeping the skins of the cubs as trophies. No doubt, plenty of animals could smell him from yards away. More than once he encountered wolves, but they generally left him alone when he actually seemed to speak their language.

Eventually he made it down to the road, and the Sow finally gave up following him.

Q was quite the site to see for five days. Tattered clothes, covered in dried blood, smelled of death, carried a grocery bag of rotting flesh he occasionally ate from in one hand and the two cub pelts in the other, who rivaled Q's stink.

Five days was how long it took for him to walk back to the Cohen's household. Around day three he wasn't even really sure he was walking the right way anymore, but low and behold he wound up at the door, halfway to three months. Maybe he shouldn't have come back at all.

He didn't knock or anything, just walked right in, dropped the bloody bag and bear cubs on the kitchen table, immediately attracting flies and emitting a putrid stench Q had long a go become immune to, and headed for the bathroom, where even if someone did talk to him, he'd keep walking and only grumble in response.

Q looked every bit like he should've been dead. It was as if he had walked straight out of some zombie film, and he was the zombie. There was crusted blood all over his mouth, face, arms, pants, hair. His clothes were practically falling off, having been clawed to shreds and never washed.

He turned on the bath, struggling with it for the first few seconds, as he'd legitimately forgotten how it worked. He second-guessed the process and turned on the shower instead, stepping in the stall first and taking his clothes off and tossing them on the floor only after they too had been soaked in the shower.

He was in the shower for a good hour and a half, scrubbing all the blood and grime off. When he finally got out and dried himself with the towel, he still didn't look that clean. But, he had tanned significantly, so his skin mimicked the appearance of dirt rather well. His teeth and breath were horrible, caked in guts and blood from eating raw meat. The twenty four year old looked around for mouthwash, not really comfortable with actually washing his teeth.

Once he found it, he gurgled it a great many times, using up almost half the entire bottle, every time he spit more crimson-soaked saliva.
When he was done, his mouth felt funny and fizzy, but he assumed that was what it was supposed to feel like.

Standing naked, he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked different. Older, maybe. His right shoulder had four huge claw marks that ran down to his abdomen. They had scabbed over and the surrounding area was purple and yellow. It was infected, and while it looked pretty nasty right now, it had looked much worse before Q had taken the shower.
Almost as if to mark some sort of ironic symmetry, there was a huge bite mark on his left shoulder, four claw holes where the Sow had stood on top of him were over his heart, barely missing it. All those were also infected, but seemed to be faring much better than the slash marks.

Q had bulked up quite a bit. He was sporting a six pack now, and his arms were thicker. Fighting bears did that, apparently. Or maybe just running from bears did that. He didn't know.

He grunted, not fully out of his 'wild' persona. Part of him didn't want to revert back to a person. He liked the living by himself and lack of emotions and talking with wolves.
But he knew he'd eventually return to the civilized english-speaking world that held Braig and the others.

He left the bathroom, unphased by his nudity, and walked into Braig's room, searching through the drawers for some pants. He'd forgotten which drawer had them, and he wasn't really sure if he wanted to actually wear them, so he made the process of searching for them last as long as possible.


Blakaize wrote: Braig, at first, seeing Q standing naked and looking as if he had taken a beating from a bull shark, thought that he was dreaming and having a nightmare all at once. He had been a little pissed about the nasty raw meat in the sink, as well as the skins on the counter, but, Jackie was already bitching about that, so Braig had almost forgotten about it.

Q looked like hell.

"Uh . . . yo," he said, not really sure what else to say. His wounds looked pretty nasty, like they needed some antiseptic. "Wanna . . . come down to the basement and let me take a look at those?" He asked, stepping forward and touching the back ring of teeth that made up the bite wound on his shoulder.


[Q] wrote: Q heard Braig, but paid no attention as he continued to search through the drawers. He had opened one drawer, but didn't have time to look in it, as that was when Braig touched him.

Q immediately swung around, snarling, grabbing Braig's hand and pulling it and consequently Braig into the wall.
It was only immediately afterward that Q realized what he had done.
The twenty four year old gave a sort of 'I know I'm in trouble' whine, immediately rushing to Braig's assistance, helping him back up if he needed it, and letting out whines of apology.

Q wasn't quite ready for words, yet. It normally took him awhile from any camping retreat, but normally he wasn't so... Violent.
Although, it should've been understandable, considering the condition his body was in, and the animals he'd been putting up with for the past two months. He had always been on edge.


Behind Q, the drawer still hung open, the letter addressed to him inside, waiting to be found.


Blakaize wrote: Braig smashed into the wall, rattling pictures and a few things on the dresser. His head cracked into it and he slumped forward with a loud wham. He saw lights flash behind his eyes and struggled to get off of his stomach and onto at least all fours. He was breathing heavily.

Fuck, he thought, eyes screwed shut and leaking tears. That fuckin' huuurt . . .

"Jesus, Q," he moaned. "What did I say?!"



[Q] wrote: Q immediately went to his knees in front of Braig, continuing to whine.
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..! He wanted to say.
Braig didn't speak animal. The twenty four year old closed his eyes, trying to force it. He hadn't used that certain section of his vocal chords since he got to the mountain.

"Irrm Srorrry," he growled. And it did sound more like a high-pitched growl than someone speaking english. He finished the pitiful phrase with an actual growl to himself, his voice lowering as he tried again.

"Nrot yrrou," the words grumbled deep in his throat, but with each word it seemed to be getting better.
"I jrrumpry," He closed his eyes and grumbled again to himself, almost wishing he didn't sound like a dog trying to act human right now. What a talent it would be if he could just immediately switch back and forth like he used to be able to with french and english without wreaking havoc on his vocal chords. They already hurt from the english words, and he hadn't even spoken ten of them yet.

He gave another sympathetic whine, and got on one knee, putting his arms under Braig's armpits, heaving him up with ease back onto his feet.


Blakaize wrote: Braig nodded, waving him off. He had figured as much. He allowed himself to be lifted and sat back on the bed.

"Looking for pants?" He finally said, rubbing his lower back. Christ that hurt, he kept repeating to himself in his mind. "You were in the right spot. Erm. Also. When you're ready, there's a letter in there."

He got up, limping slightly, and shut the door. If Q was going to go wild, Braig could more easily control him if he wasn't accessing the entire house, just Braig's room.

Braig eased back onto the bed, wincing and hissing. There would be a lovely bruise there in the morning . . .


[Q] wrote: Q watched Braig quizzically, arching a brow before turning with a slight sigh and looking back in the drawer that still hung open.
A Letter?

He took the envelope and set it atop the dresser, getting the whole pants thing out of the way first, as he assumed Braig didn't want to look at him naked. They'd never had sex. Q often wondered if they could really be considered a couple.
But that was neither here nor there. He took out a pair of pants and unfolded them, slipping them on without any underwear, and zipping them up.
He then closed the drawer, adjusted the pants slightly, and opened the envelope, his silver tail waving side to side unevenly.

Nobody's written me a letter before...?

He took out the paper inside, dropping the envelope on the dresser as he read the paper in his calloused hands.
Q ---

By now, you've probably heard from Braig or the others that I've decided to move out of the house with the baby.


Q's mouth opened, he gave a chuff, slightly disappointed, but also aggravated. This wasn't a good start. He looked over to Braig, wondering if he had read this letter or knew what it was about.

Over joyed? I had figured. Anyway, I've decided to move out for a number of reasons, the paramount being you. I know you didn't want the baby, I know you want nothing to do with it. I'm not sorry I had it, and I don't think I ever will be.

But, I'm not going to force you to have anything to do with a child you despise, so, I've left. It's not your fault, the fault doesn't really rest with anyone as of just yet. I just had to make this decision on my own and now that's it's made, I don't regret it.

The baby's name is Nicolai Braig. Yes, I changed it. You're a terrible liar.


Q snorted. Nicolai.... So close to Nicolae...

Writing this, I realize how pointless it is. You'll likely just get mad and throw a fit. But, I've already started, why not finish? Maybe this will keep you from trying to find me?

I just wanted to say this one last thing: that baby, for all you dislike it, for all you hate me for having it, is proof. Proof of your humanity. You scared me, all those times you reacted strangely, all those times you seemed to believe you weren't human but animal. Nico is proof that you are human on the inside, no matter what defects you may sport on the outside.


Q growled low in his throat. Human. Hah. Q had fought so hard to be a human. Just like everybody else. And look at the irony now? He was reading this hoping he wouldn't go back to a human. He was torn. His upper lip curled up and his grip on the paper tightened, the pace of his tail flicks quickening but still uneven. His shoulders tensed, beads of water still visible on his back and over the huge golden, albeit faded, ankh tattoo between his shoulder blades covering his many surgical scars.

He kept reading.
He was born with a "spinal extension;" a tail. I've been kicking around the idea of having it removed, if only to make sure that if you ever meet, when he's older and I've got no control over how he thinks or feels, when he's old enough to draw his own conclusions about the world around him, you won't be burdened with trying to tell him that you are his biological father, and he won't be confused by your tail or you yourself. He can live blissfully unaware, and you can live blissfully unburdened.


Q let out a sharp chuff obviously disagreeing. He grumbled, in his currently preferred canine tongue, that he would be dead before that kid ever thought for himself. He also fought back the urge to say 'I told you so'. The kid wasn't human after all.

But Blake had been unclear. Had she cut the tail off or not? Q's tail was sensitive... By the time they had wanted to clip it off, the surgery was too complicated and they didn't want to risk it.
That much he remembered, because he had complained once or twice to Father about his tail...

You never have to tell him who you are, never have to admit to anything. He is, for both of our sakes, I will say, not your son. Biologically, yes, emotionally, no. I hope this will bring you the peace and happiness you deserve.


Q snarled again. He wasn't sure why he was insulted by that statement, but he was. He wanted to rip this letter in half. But there was one more paragraph. He may as well finish.

At one time, I think I might have loved you. Unreturned affections being what they are, though, I've decided to just let you be happy. It is likely that you may never see me again. I've accepted this fact, and I apologize for the pain I've caused you in the past.

Yours,
Blake


With a snort, he finally did what he wanted, and ripped the letter in half. His brows furrowed together and breathed through his mouth loudly.

He turned to Braig, a second or two passing before his countenance and posture softened.
He gave a much more human sigh, as if passing into a calm water. He had been slightly hunched over, and now he stood up straight, watching Braig with caring eyes.

It seemed as if the more time Q spent just looking at Braig who was still obviously hurt, the more weak Q became. And despite his body being much stronger than Braig's now, he could still give off that aura of helpless innocence with an unmatched talent.

"Brasement...?" He asked, his voice much less feral, despite having somewhat of a growl-slur.
Braig had mentioned it earlier... Something about cleaning his wounds.

Maybe that would make them feel better?



Blakaize wrote: Braig hobbled down to the basement and set about to fix Q up. He thought about talking to Q about the letter, about how it made him feel. Nicolai was his son, after all. Surely, somewhere, he felt something for him. If not Nico, than what Blake was going through.

Then again, Braig thought, bringing up Blake might not be wise. Blake had been courted by, and was currently seeing, a young man from the Turkish mob there in town. Sadiq Lorden Jr. was a hit man, usually called "Little Sadiq," because his father, and don of the Turkish mob, was his father, Sadiq Lorden Sr. Because of Isaac's magic with numbers, the Turkish and Italian mobs have gotten close, and thanks to Blake's looks, it was easy to make it permanent.

Braig was so lost in his thoughts that he was a little rough with his removal of the slick-mucus and scabs to flush the wounds and clean them with antiseptic . . .

[Q] wrote: Q followed Braig downstairs, and sat on the table as Braig did... Whatever it was he was doing.
Q grunted at the pain every now and then, but eventually Q only tightened up slightly in response. A few silent minutes passed, and Q watched Braig with a curious eye. Not his hands or his work, but his face.

Q's vision was beginning to fade again. His blackouts had started to come back, too. It happened after the Sow had attacked him the second time. After that, they kept on semi-frequently, his ever present headache very slowly becoming worse over the weeks. He was worried. That was why he came back.

But maybe he should've stayed.

"Wrry arre you so quiet?" Q finally said.
He didn't like where his thoughts were going.
"Whrat's wrrong?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig shook his head.

"That letter . . . Blake in general . . . she's been writing us off and on . . ." he shook his head. "Just . . . just general shit on my mind."

He drew in a deep breath and tried to focus himself. His head hurt, like the back of his eyes were aching.


[Q] wrote: Q looked down for a moment, waiting for Braig to come back and touch his chest again. Q grit his teeth, but then grabbed Braig, paying no heed to how dangerous that may be depending on whatever he was doing to Q's wounds, and pulled Braig in for a kiss on the lips.

Originally, it was going to be just that.
Originally, Q was just going to leave it at some random, sappy thing.
But that one quick stolen kiss opened up a gateway to a long forgotten, once over-active sex drive.
It came back full force, and Q wanted all of Braig, right then, right at that moment.

Q disregarded any tact and slipped off the slab, pushing Braig against the nearest wall. Q's hands held Braig's wrists behind him, over the counter. Q grumbled what could've been perceived as a moan as he smelled Braig's neck, then kissed it, then smelled it again.

Braig smelled so good. So much better than nature did. So much better than just meat.
Blakaize wrote: Braig gave a yelp of surprise, before his mouth was otherwise occupied. Restrained, manhandled . . .

"Q," he said, breathlessly, between kisses. His head was pushed to the side and his neck was assaulted. "Q . . . wait, not yet . . . your wounds . . ."

But he didn't even believe his own words, even as he spoke them. They were meaningless and empty . . .


[Q] wrote: Q growled. "...can wait. Unimporrtant."

He sucked on Braig's earlobe a bit, running his tongue over the rim of the rest of Braig's ear, later exhaling loudly through his nose and rubbing his cheek against Braig's before stepping into the other man, pushing his hips into Braig's.

Q let out a huff through his mouth, shaking his head as if to dry wet hair. It almost sounded like a purposeful sneeze. His tail rose a bit as it wagged in haphazard semicircles, and after 'recovering' from his 'huff', he rubbed his cheek against Braig's again, almost as if caressing him.

After this, Q let go of Braig's hands and looked down at the man's shirt, beginning to unbutton it.
He only unbuttoned two buttons before he became annoyed at such things and took both sides of the shirt and just tore it down the center, ripping the buttons off with a long, irritated growl.
When the shirt was open, Q's tail began to wag a bit faster and Q started to kiss Braig's chest, his hands over the man's nipples and his kisses working their way upward back to Braig's mouth, until they were touching lips again.

As far as Q could remember, this was as far as it had ever gone physically between them, and it was going to go farther pretty quickly unless Braig did something about it.


Blakaize wrote: Braig whimpered, he couldn't push Q away with his hands held and kept from moving. All he could do was writhe. He physically couldn't stop Q. He tried to shift his hips, eyes shut tight as his shirt was ripped open and his chest assaulted.

He shifted his knee and let it rub against Q's groin, shoving it between his legs.

This was as physically as they had ever gotten and it was a shame that this was so. Braig had wondered, in the back of his mind, what Q was like if he had Braig all animalistic and such. He'd never say it out loud, but, he would think about it, especially when he was alone and Q was hunting.


[Q] wrote: Q closed his eyes as he continued to kiss braig, his hands on the other's chest, his throat giving a low murr, the reverberation passing through his lips and into Braig's when the other moved his leg.

After a moment, Q pulled away only slightly, whispering in Braig's ear.
"Blake irs scarred of me whren I act like thriis."
He licked Braig's earlobe once before continuing.
"Arre you scarred whren I act like dog?"

Q expelled the air loudly from his nose and looked at Braig.
He still wanted to have Braig. But Blake's letter had hurt him, and he really did want an answer.
He didn't want to scare Braig, too.
He could stop himself, now... Maybe...


Blakaize wrote: "No," Braig said, licking his lips. "No, never." Never scared of you . . .

He tried to reengage Q in a kiss, his hands moving to his forearms. He hadn't even realized they were free . . .

. . . I'm scared for you . . .

Upstairs, Jackie was answering the doorbell, and he opened the front door to a very different version of his younger brother and older twin sister. Beside the two of them, stood a 6 ft 3 in, toffee skinned man of about 27. He had long {obviously} dyed white hair, pulled back in a loose pony tail, tied with a red ribbon, and tortoise shell eyes.

"Uh, yo," Jackie said, surprised to see them. In front of Blake, in a stroller, was baby Nico. "Oh, hey!" He said, finally finding himself. He hugged Blake. "What brings you here?"

Blake looked sheepish for a moment. She had let her hair grow out, and had it clipped in a messy bun.

"I was wondering if Q was here?" She said. Isaac rolled his eyes in distaste. "I need to ask him a very serious question."

"He's not going to care," Isaac said, but he was hushed by the taller man.

"This is important to her," he said, his voice soft, but deep. Jackie raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, fuck, sorry, this is Sadiq Lorden," Blake said, gesturing to the man.

"Just call me Mr. Moral Support," he said, smirking. Jackie smirked right back.

"I thought I saw Braig and Q head into the basement. Q's a little beat up. Er, went camping." He said. "Want me to go get 'em?"


{ccccccombo breaker~ mood killer! XD}


[Q] wrote: Q grumbled, "Good," and was taken back into the kiss voluntarily.

His hands went from Braig's chest down to the man's pants. It was almost as if as soon as Q had reached the desired prize, Jackie came downstairs.

Q didn't hear what the man said, but slowly turned to look at Jackie, a protective growl escaping his throat as he glared. Q stopped what he was doing, but left his hand where it was, his tail waving about in an obviously agitated manner.



Blakaize wrote: Braig was panting heavily as Q's hand gripped him. Ohgodohgodohgodohg---

"Hey, Braig, there's someone here ta---"

"GODDAMMIT JACKIE!" He yelled, frustrated. Q was growling at him and Jackie back-peddled up a few stairs, blinking hard, frightened. "FUCKING KNOCK!"


[Q] wrote: When Braig yelled, Q flinched. The twenty four year old hadn't expected Braig to actually lose his temper. When Jackie finally left, Q stared blankly at the empty doorway for a moment before turning to Braig, who seemed to have lost all the arousal Q had spent putting into him.

Q's tail stopped waving and slowly lowered in between his legs. He gave a dissatisfied grumble and pulled his hand from Braig's pants, taking a few steps back and letting the other man regain his bearings; stand up straight.

The only reason Q had lost his own desire was because Braig had lost his, and it almost didn't seem like it was worth the effort anymore. Q had come so close. Braig had been so self-conscious, and he had almost had it, but then... Jackie. Of course. If it wasn't one thing it was another.

Q snorted in disdain and leaned back against the slab from before, crossing his arms over his bare chest, his wounds still wet from whatever it was Braig had been doing to clean them. He threw his head to each side in an over-exaggerated 'no' headshake, similar to a bored elephant as he growled to himself, disappointed in everything. Not only had he failed to please himself, but he failed to finish off Braig before something happened. He was just a huge failure.

No, He thought to himself. You learned something.

Q gave another curt snort, looking down at the floor.
He's more attracted to the animal. Isn't that the part of you that you like the most too?

Q grumbled to himself. It was true; that was true. But acting like that scared Blake. It scared the first person he had had feelings for in this family. And while he had moved on since, possibly too far, it still held a great weight. He had hated acting like a dog too. Until he almost died.
Then he suddenly was all interested in it.
But Braig...

Q brought the hand that had touched Braig to his nose and smelled it.
Braig will never have sex with me, he thought.
Maybe it's better that way.

He refolded his arms over his bare chest and looked back up to Braig, a slight frown on his face.
"Betterr see whrat it's about," he groaned, like an older sibling pestering his younger about being called to by their mother.

He turned to the door and was going to work his way toward Braig's room.

"New shirt first," he ordered.
His voice was still gruff, a bit gravelly around the edges, but for the most part it seemed like the 'growl' had left his language for the time being.


Blakaize wrote: Braig looked at Q as he moved away from him.

"H-hey," he said, reaching out. Was he just gonna leave him . . .?! "Wait! We . . . we can start over! Please?"

It had been so long since he had sex with someone else. He'd always been alone during times of passion, and it felt so good, having someone else touching him for a change.


[Q] wrote: Q stopped in the doorway, a decidedly human hmph escaping him.
He couldn't start over now. He'd already started sulking.

"No," he said turning to Braig. "Let us get... dressed. Then see what he wants."

Q blinked, tilting his head slightly, waiting for Braig to come on.


Blakaize wrote: Braig gaped at him. Really?!

". . . sonova . . ." he muttered. He heaved a heavy, dramatic sigh and hobbled forward, heading for the stairs. His picked up his shirt and wore it like a jacket, open in the front. He'd just put on a wife beater and call it a day . . . He was suddenly very happy that Jackie had gotten him dirty magazines as a gag gift one year . . .


[Q] wrote: Q watched him, curious. Was Braig still turned on? Had he guessed wrong?
Q frowned and followed Braig upstairs anyway, to the man's room, where he picked up a shirt for himself. It was just a plain blue dress shirt, did absolutely nothing for Q's figure, and took much longer than Q had desired to button up.

He left the cuffs unbuttoned, and watched Braig afterward.
"You.... still want it...?" he asked, confused and unsure of how he should've worded his question.

"Maybe... After. In locked room...?"
Q winced, inwardly cursing himself.
You are speaking english horribly, he chastised himself in thought.


Blakaize wrote: Braig followed him up, and, pulling on a shirt as Q fixed himself up, glanced over his shoulder.

"Hmm? Yeah, maybe later," he said, trying to hide the crack in his voice. "Best see who this visitor is first."

He tromped back down the stairs and hung a left into the living room, where Jackie sat with Isaac, Blake, the baby, and some random guy.

"Oh, hey," he said, unenthusastically. Great, he thought. Blake is gonna kill Q's libedo quicker'n shit. Likely the presence would infuriate him enough to send him into a rage where he would say or do something. Blake had brought a stranger here as well, which wouldn't help matters. But, judging by his looks, Braig had the opinion that this was one of the men that Isaac worked with, Lorden Sr.'s Jr . . .


[Q] wrote: The twenty four year old quirked a brow at Braig. He didn't seem too truthful about that statement. Q's shoulders dropped a bit and he walked downstairs, yawning silently as he stopped near the mass of people.

He saw Braig and Jackie and began to walk forward, but then Isaac, some white haired guy, a very feminine Blake and a baby came into view. He stopped, watching them from a distance.
A dog eying where he knew the electric fence was.

He knew they saw him. He saw them.
Q gave a wide-eyed look at the baby. One of those looks passed over his face.
The looks that read Oh I see. So there won't be any time for me anymore.

But rather than greeting them, or even saying anything at all, he slowly took a few awkward steps backward and quietly headed back to Braig's room.
He wasn't mad. He didn't look mad.
He just looked like he had walked in on something he was completely uncomfortable with dealing with. Entering that room would probably give him a very similar feeling to what Jackie had encountered with Braig and Q only a few minutes a go.


Blakaize wrote: Blake saw Q and stood, baby on her hip. She looked slightly guilty and unsure for the first time. She suddenly didn't want Sadiq there. It felt like she had brought him as a shield against Q, almost as if she brought him to hurt Q, as he had hurt her . . .

"Can we talk?" She said, bouncing Nico slightly. She glanced at Sadiq, who seemed interested in Q, at least curious about him. "Alone?"
[Q] wrote: Q's back was to Blake already, but he stopped when she started talking. At first, he froze, tensing up. Caught redhanded in his avoidance plan.

But after a moment, he loosened up, his tail shaking slightly as it went limp between his legs and his shoulders slumped. It was clear Q was dreading whatever it was Blake wanted to bring up.
"If alone is no baby," he sighed, grimacing.

He really didn't want to talk about this thing. This thing is why he had left to go hunting for so long. He had been trying to avoid it. And now it was here.
Around him.
Like a bear trap.
How had it had such perfect timing?

He turned around, finally, watching Blake for only a second before seeing the baby and looking away, as if the kid burned his eyes. Now he felt guilty too.
He hmphed and made his way upstairs.
"Your old room?" he said, his back to her again.


Blakaize wrote: Blake hesitated, then nodded. She turned and walked back to Sadiq, on the couch, who took the baby himself, bouncing him slightly.

"You go," he said, quietly. "Me and Nico'll be okay." He smiled at her and Blake smiled back, not as enthusiastic. She walked back to Q and nodded, heading up the stairs to her old room. She shut th door behind him when he had finally came in.

"Q, we need to talk about Nicolai," she said, sighing heavily. "I know you don't care about him, but I figured I'd at least get your input on what I should do with his health. I can't make the descian on my own. It didn't seem fair."

She messed with her hands.

"The doctors say they can arrange to have his . . . tail removed as soon as three weeks. They wanted me to think about it though, and the more I think, the more undecided I am," she said, honestly. "I just . . . I . . . hmm . . . How'reyoudoing?"

The last bit was forced, her trying to cover up her own nerves.


[Q] wrote: Q went into Blake's room, which hadn't changed aside from the distinct lack of things in it, and sat on the bed, arms between his legs, elbows on his knees. He looked at the floor. His day was completely ruined now.

He listened to her talk about the baby, then forced a question in about him. He forced out his own heh.

"You have good timing," he said. "I only came back from mountain hours a go." he closed his eyes, scratching his head. "Gone for long time. English suffers. Sorry."

He dropped his hand back to his knee, then awkwardly brought it back up to his face again, putting his face in his palm, obviously having a difficult time trying to wrap his head around this. He looked like a depressed drunk desperately trying to sober himself up to take some overly important news.

"I read letter. Sounded like you want nothing to do with me. Why did you come? How you know I was here so quickly?"

He took his hand from his face, letting it drop once more. He continued to look at the floor, refusing to look at her as he shook his head.
"You know I do not care what you do with baby. I remember clearly: you say it is only yours. If it yours then hard decisions all yours too."
Q didn't want to have this conversation.
It was hurting him.


Blakaize wrote: Blake shrugged.

"I didn't know you were gone so long, gone at all," she said. Jaiden called me She frowned when he heard her next words. "If that is your feelings on it. I suppose you're right." She wrung her hands. So that was that . . . now it's over . . . okay . . . no regrets now . . .

"Thank you," she said, moving for the door. She hesitated, unable to stop herself from turning back around. "Is it just because he's half mine that you hate him? Is it because you just can't the thought of a baby . . .? What did he ever do to you aside from being born?"

Feeling as if she said too much, Blake left the room, went back down stairs.

"Okay, that's done," she said, holding her arms out for the baby. Sadiq frowned.

"That was quick," he said, handing Nico off to her. She set about to strapping him into the stroller. Braig frowned.

"You're leaving so soon?" He said, missing her. Blake nodded, not making eye contact. "I was hoping you'd at least stay for dinner."

"Best not to linger," she said. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"What's his problem anyway?" Sadiq asked, hands in his pockets. Braig waved him off, turning his attention to Blake.

"I always want you around, B!" He said. Isaac gave Sadiq a "better not ask" look, but he frowned and crossed his arms.

"I mean, really," he pressed on. "He's not paying support, he doesn't come by to see Nico at all . . .'

"He doesn't have to," Blake said, making for the front door. "Nico's more or less not even his."

"Still though, it's bullshit that a person doesn't want ANYTHING to do with his kid! What kind of huma---"

"Just drop it, Sadiq," Blake snapped, striding for the exit. "I don't want to hear about it anymore! It's fucking over!"


[Q] wrote: Q clasped his hands together, squeezing them tightly, his knuckles turning white.
"I don't hate you, Blake," he whispered. But she was already gone, and she had probably not heard.

Q brought his hands to his face, and he lost it again. It was always something to do with Blake when he cried. Always. Blake made him feel so helpless, so useless, like a nothing. All the time. And it was all his own fault. Q knew he could fix it if he just tried. But he didn't, and that hurt even more.

He forced himself up to close the door to Blake's room so no one would see, and then sat back down on the bed, putting his face in his hands again. He started to shake after the tears just came rolling down his cheek.

He wanted to hate the baby. He was trying to hate the baby. He'd made it less of a person. He called the baby just 'baby', 'kid', 'it'. He had refused to acknowledge its worth.
In the beginning, before it was born, Q just couldn't handle the idea of being a father, at all. He had no family experience. He would never understand how anything worked. He was supposed to be sterile. It was all too much for him to take.

But after he saw the baby, when it was born. And just now.
He felt so empty. And it wasn't an emptiness because he didn't care about the baby.
It was the emptiness he felt in that he knew he'd never be able to take care of it.
Even given the best of circumstances, Q would never live to see the baby past five years of age.
With circumstances like they were, Q was pretty sure he was going to be at the end again on his twenty fifth birthday. He didn't want to tell anybody. He didn't want them to worry.

He was kind of hoping that Sow on the mountain would kill him. But even though he had passed out multiple times up there, he was still here. Even though that mother bear had been on top of him and was crushing his chest, he was still here.

Damn his fear of death. Damn it to the christian hell!
Maybe having a son wasn't so bad. Maybe he even... wanted a son.

But why? When he was just going to die before the thing even walked? Before it could say a word? And then, in the best years, Q wouldn't even be there. When the kid was a teenager, dealing with all of the weird feelings and urges Q had dealt with, he wouldn't be there to explain. He wouldn't be able to tell him that the reason he couldn't sleep at night was because he was supposed to be nocturnal, or that when he sometimes was so sure he had an extra set of ears, he wasn't going crazy.
No one was there for him, and no one, even if Q wanted to, would be there for that kid.

Q looked down at himself, his face and hands wet, and the shirt clinging to the moisture around his wounds. He didn't know why he did what he did next.
He clawed through the shirt, over the scabs of the huge slash mark. Q's entire body shuddered and he grit his teeth at the pain of going over such sensitive bruises. But he continued to scratch, imagining an itch that didn't exist, wanting to see himself bleed.
He pushed the fabric of the shirt into his opening wounds, and the harder he scratched, the worse the pain became, but the better he felt. Eventually he began bleeding, but it didn't seem like it was bleeding enough. The wounds had had too much time to heal.

He felt lightheaded, but it definitely wasn't bad enough to pass out. Not even close.
He just wanted to black out and forget this. Pretend it never happened.
But apparently he failed at even that.
He gave up, the small blood stains soiling Braig's otherwise perfectly good shirt, and giving into his anxiety attack, crying more and shivering like a lap dog with a nervous tick.


Blakaize wrote: Braig wouldn't let Blake leave. Not just yet.

"Lemme go get Q," he said, trying to convince himself he could fix things. "We can work it out."

Blake didn't know why she stayed, but, she did. Nico was moving his hands, his arms, almost all he could do at this age. Sadiq let his hair down and retied it.

"is this guy . . . unstable?" He asked. Braig shook his head, heading upstairs.

"No, he's just upset!" He said, calling downstairs. He opened Blake's door, finding Q, weeping, shaking, and tearing at his wounds. Braig's shoulders fell. "Oh . . . Oh, Q." He said, feeling a deep sorrow settle in his stomach.


[Q] wrote: Q heard someone outside of the door, and then Braig came in.
If it were possible, Q shook more.

"No, no, no!" he sobbed, shaking his head and turning his back to Braig. "I not want you to see me like this...!"
He let out a whine that cracked in the middle, as his vocal chords still hadn't decided where they wanted to be yet. Q ducked his head, putting his arms over it, as if trying to hide.

"I am not this!"
He grit his teeth, his head slowly falling into his lap. He couldn't stop himself from crying, he couldn't put on his tough guy act. It was all torn away and he didn't know why he couldn't get it back and pull his facade back on.
"I'm not, I'm not...."

He took a deep breath through his mouth, a high-pitched, low in volume, very human attempt at another whine escaping him.
Nervous breakdown.
Hello.


Blakaize wrote: "Q, Q calm down!" Braig said, rushing forward. He took Q's shoulders, tried to hug him from behind. "Please, honey, everything's gonna be okay, just . . . just breathe, try to calm down!"

Braig ran his fingers through Q's hair.

"Everything's okay . . . you're just all worked up . . . please, Q . . ."


[Q] wrote: Q jumped when Braig touched him, but let Braig hug him. He let his hands fall and they lightly held Braig's forearms.
"I don't want you to see...." he forced, his voice lower and tears beginning to slow.
He squeezed Braig's arm as the man pet him. Q still shook. That much seemed to be out of his control, but the petting was calming him down. Or at least seemed to.
Being pet had always helped calm him down.

He closed his eyes, choking back a few sobs.
"I not this weak," he pleaded. "I am not..."

He rubbed his eyes on Braig's arm, his teeth still clenched as he breathed heavily through his nose. Which, given the situation, even Q was surprised he wasn't breathing through his mouth. But maybe that was because his jaw was firmly locked shut right now.


Blakaize wrote: "Of course you're not," he said, whispering, petting Q. "Shh, shh, just calm down . . ."

He tried to rock with Q, tried to calm Q down.


[Q] wrote: Q rocked with Braig, eventually able to dry his face and breathe somewhat normally. His tail began to, somewhat erratically, drag across the bed from side to side, and the shivers didn't completely stop, but would stop for a few minutes then occasionally start back up again for a few seconds, as if chills were randomly going up Q's spine.

The twenty four year old sniffed every so often, and finally was able to voluntarily break from Braig, wiping his face completely clean, although his eyes were red and swollen. He stood, and looked at Braig, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming him and another spontaneous shudder following.
He frowned, watching Braig watch him, and for a moment, it seemed like Q was going to cry again. But instead, the man looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath through his mouth, visibly filling his chest.

His silver tail waved normally from side to side as Q held his breath for a moment.
He looked back to Braig, expelling the air through his nose.
Q visualized it all being over, and everything that had just happened had left with that breath. He turned and walked across the hall to Braig's room, his tough guy act coming back pretty quickly.

Q looked about for a pair of sunglasses. Any kind. It didn't matter what. Luckily Braig had some. Q put them on and went downstairs.

His plan was to clean out the sink. Presumably, the raw meat and skins were still there. He was going to prepare the meat for a proper dinner. That would take his mind off things. And something about blood... He just wanted to see red, as if it would prove to him that he were more of a man, as if that could absolve him from crying.

But on his way back to the kitchen, low and behold, Blake, Isaac, and that new guy were all still there. Q scowled.


Blakaize wrote: "You guys want to stay for dinner or what?" braig asked, nervously, rubbing his neck. He had managed to calm Q down and got him down stairs. Now he just needed to keep him civil.

Grayson was at the sink, staring at the skins and meat. He frowned.

"Is this dinner?" He asked, picking at it.


[Q] wrote: Q hmphed. He didn't like how New Guy was staring him down. Q glared right back at the man, although the sunglasses prevented his eyes from being seen. Oh well.
His attention was luckily diverted to Grayson, who was poking at his meat.

Q walked over to the sink and picked up the bag.
"Don't want it, don't eat it," he grumbled, taking the bag out of the sink and holding it by his side.
He took a moment to actually stare down at the meat.
It'd be fine for him to eat, but even if he cooked it, it would probably taste bad for them. He hadn't stored it properly, after all. It still stank.

"....Anyway," he forced, not willing to admit his mistake, "I am sure Braig wanted to cook something."
He looked over to Braig, then back to his meat for a moment.
"I will go store this properly, before it gets worse than it is."

He gave a cursory I'll deal with you later glance to New Guy before quickly walking down to the basement and heading for the bigger freezer.


Blakaize wrote: "There's a freezer downstairs," he said. As Q left, he sighed, heavily. Braig turned back to his siblings, his nephew, and his sister's new friend, Sadiq. "So, uh . . ."

Several pairs of worried eyes looked back at him.

"Who want's Itallian?"

Braig busied himself with dinner, trying to get his mind off of Q, and Q's problems. Sadiq looked at Blake.

"Odd bird, isn't he?" He muttered, gesturing towards the basement. Blake only sighed.

"He's been through a lot," she said, softly, trying to explain it to herself as well.


[Q] wrote: Q, in the basement, plopped the meat on the floor, and opened the big storage freezer. It still had game in it, but not as much as Q remembered before he left. He guessed Braig had been slowly preparing and eating it while he had been away.
That would make sense.
Life would go on without him.

Q sighed, and reached inside the freezer to get the empty zip-locked bags he kept there. Really, he should cook this first but... He wanted to avoid being with the others as much as possible right now. And, he assumed this meat would just be for him. It had been out for a week or more. It'd probably make the others sick.
Real food would probably make Q sick. He hadn't even had cooked food in about a month.
He was going to have to pretend to eat at this dinner. Or actually eat and puke his guts out after. Both were not very fun prospects.

He closed the freezer and put the empty bags on top of the lid, lifting the meat and plopping it there as well. He opened one of the bags and held it, grabbing a piece of meat and waving it around a bit to rid it of flies before shoving it in the bag. Completely unsanitary, but that was how he had been living for about two months, now. He repeated the process until all the meat was in zip-locked bags, and tossed them in the freezer.
Afterward, he took the plastic bag with the blood and juice in it to Braig's incinerator, crumpled it up, and tossed it in before turning the thing on and watching it burn. Q left the door open and watched the flames devour the melting plastic. He brought his blood stained hand to his mouth and licked it a bit, entertained by the fire. After a few minutes passed, Q finally got up and turned off the incinerator and washed his hands.

He then looked down to his shirt, and realized that there were blood stains from where he had scratched earlier. He hmphed, but decided against doing anything, and went back upstairs, where everyone was sitting at the table and Braig was huddled over the stove, looking a bit stressed.

Q softened up a bit and walked over to Braig, brushing their shoulders together, standing close. Braig probably hated this type of PDA. But to be frank, Q didn't remember if it mattered around Braig's family. Had they not already at least assumed...?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, watching Braig cook. He wasn't really clear himself on what exactly it was he was apologizing for. "Can I help you with anything? I won't be able to eat... I have been on raw meat for a while...." His voice was soft, apologetic.
Q did like Braig's food, but it seemed like he was very rarely capable of eating it without getting sick.

He changed his line of thought, still whispering so his conversation with Braig stayed private. "Who is the white hair man? He gives me strange looks. Should I say my tail is fake...?"
Blakaize wrote: "That's okay . . . I understand," Braig said, cutting vegtables. Meanwhile, Sadiq blinked and turned to Blake.

"Did he just say raw meat?" He whispered. Blake waved him off.

"He's a naturalist," she lied.

Braig shrugged.

"His name is Sadiq Lorden Jr.," he said. "Hitman for the Turkish Mob; his father's the don, he does his banking at Isaac's firm . . .Just play it cool, don't over exaggerate it. He probably won't even notice."


[Q] wrote: "Turkish mob? I thought we were done with this business." He gave a tch, making a mental effort to keep his tail still. It had been so long since he put on this human act, he wasn't sure if he could keep it on for very long. He had enjoyed being quite the animal.

He leaned his shoulder against Braig's. "You are sure you don't want me to help you with something?" he urged.

He really didn't want to sit at the table and get involved in some awkward conversation, but it was looking like he was going to have to. Just in case, he tossed around some topics in his head, hoping to keep the attention off himself and the baby. He'd have to prepare himself for this one.


Blakaize wrote: "Really, really," he said, making a shooing gesture at Q. "Just go ahead and take it easy. You've been through hell for two months."

Blake didn't get up from her seat, bookended by Isaac on her left, Sadiq on her right. Grayson sat at the other end of the table, opposite Braig's usual seat. There was a seat between Jaiden and Jackie open, directly across from Blake.


[Q] wrote: Q expelled the air from his lungs through his nose loudly. Didn't Braig realize that being with Blake was hell too? Had his anxiety attack not just happened because of her?

He turned around anyway, and looked at the open seat between Jaiden and Jackie. Jackie was okay... Jaiden was somewhat of an annoying kid. They got along alright, but Q acted like the disgruntled older brother half the time.

He pulled out the chair and twisted it around backwards, so the back of the chair faced the table. Q straddled the chair and put his forearms atop the back, leaning against it. Sitting like this, he wasn't worried too much about the other man seeing his tail. So long as Q kept it low, which was usually the case unless he was angry, anyway. So no harm, no foul. It almost immediately began to idly sway side to side.

"Well you are in for a treat, Sir," Q said, putting on a fake enthusiasm and not bothering to try and pronounce the name Braig said this man possessed.

"I have been on a mountain for almost three months. Just got back today." He looked to Blake. "You have good timing."
He looked to Isaac. "I've been hunting bear. Hardest thing I've ever done. Especially alone. I have some very entertaining war stories."

He gave a genuine smirk and mused with Jaiden's hair. "Want to hear?"


Blakaize wrote: Jaiden smiled. He had grown close to Q as well, worried about where he had been for eight weeks.

"Sure!" He said, happily. "A bear?! Really?! That's so cool, Q! Did you get bit?"

Isaac was unamused. Hunting bears . . . bah. Sadiq, however, crossed his arms and smirked.

"Hunting bears in the mountains alone for three months? Ha!" He said, laughing, smiling. He was actually interested. "I can see what Blake saw in you, really wild life you lead. What'd you use to bring 'em down?"

Blake shifted uncomfortably. Sadiq was talking to Q, Sadiq was talking to Q, Sadiq was . . .

This couldn't end well.


[Q] wrote: Q looked to Sadiq, giving a genuine smirk.
"Well I got two cubs with an M40. That was my mistake. I wasn't thinking."
He reached over, putting his hand on the table, "But THAT'S what makes my story so interesting!"
Q was actually getting into it now. Sadiq seemed nice enough, didn't seem to be judging him anymore. And Jaiden was always up for the hunting stories. He felt accepted, at least for the time being.

He turned to Jaiden. "Well I did get bit. But there's a story behind that too. Let me start from the beginning, okay?"

He looked to Sadiq and Blake as he told the story, motioning with his hands at various points.
"So I go up to the mountain, right? And the first few weeks is just tracking. Didn't see much of anything. Silly me, I had been using my one gun for small game to keep myself fed for the month. But then I finally saw this... Bear. Just a normal Black bear. But as I'm watching it through the scope, these two cubs come out, playing. And I'm thinking to myself. How awesome is that?"

He stopped to take a breath, putting his arms on the back of the chair again, trying to calm himself down, as he was getting a bit excited.
"So I stupidly shoot the cubs first. It was a horrible decision, I know. The Sow turns around and sees me, and I guess I had not really been keeping track of my shells..." Q had actually set himself up for disaster. The mountain was sort of a botched suicide trip, but they didn't need to know that.

"There was nothing left, I had no other ammo since I hadn't brought enough supplies. Mama bear comes charging at me, and I..." He chuckled. What he had really done was hold his ground and bark at the bear, but he obviously couldn't tell these strangers that, so he made up the next part.
"I ran for my life, basically." He got up and turned the chair around, sitting in it normally so he could lean his upperbody against the table, and get more into telling his story.

"Got back to camp, got my knife, huge fight ensues. This bear and I are going head to head. My fire's still going, I got a few slashes in on her but ultimately she runs off after I roll her in the fire pit."
That wasn't exactly how it had happened either, but he wasn't in the mood to admit to everyone that that was when his blackouts had started coming back.

He stopped for a second, trying to regain his thought, pick up with something truthful.
"So when the bear seems to be gone, I go back to the cubs, right? Thankfully she's not there anymore. It was a bit strange, but, the whole reason I'd come on the trip at all was to get a bear. I figured I'd take my win where I could get it. I pick up the cubs, toss them in my bag, and start moving my camp further down the mountain to get away from mother bear, start heading back.

"I was okay for a few days, had gutted the cubs but kept the skins. Wanted to show them off. I'm not very big on the proper way to do things as I'm sure you can tell by this point. I've sort of taught myself everything as I've gone alone. So it seems that the mother bear had followed the scent of her dead cubs and it was me and her, duking it out again. There is no wraith like a mother's scorn," He laughed again.

"I was roasting some fish and she came up from behind me. I thought it was just a wolf roaming around, they tended to do that at this camp, so I wasn't paying much attention," He had had a few more encounters with wolves before this, but again that story was for another time. Nobody needed to know about his 'canine bonding'.

"Then--" He slammed the table, "BAM!" He leaned back. "All up on my back, almost threw me into my own fire. We turn around and wrestle eachother, but she got me good. Cracked a few of my ribs. We rolled around, but I got her in the mouth with my knife-- oh man, she was NOT happy about that. She managed to pin me down, dig her claws in my chest and it felt like she bite my damn shoulder off."

He got up and pulled the chair out behind him, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt and pulling down the collar, showing everyone the bite wound, bending down if Jaiden wanted to touch it.

Once show and tell was over, Q kept standing but continued with the story. Truth be told, he'd blacked out at the time again, so the next part was somewhat imagined.
"I stabbed her in the throat a few times and she passed out ontop of me," he lied, "After quite possibly the longest breathless moments of my life I managed to get out from underneath her and move camp again, further down. I thought she was dead, and there was no way I'd be able to carry her down the rest of the mountain to show off. I had plenty of the meat from the cubs left, so I just left her there for the wolves."

He went back to truth at this point. "A few weeks later, I'm still out there. I'm not really sure why I stayed. Still had the cubs, stinking. A bunch of animals were bugging me about them. But I really wanted to bring them here, and I didn't really have what I needed to store them properly. Guess who shows up again? But this time I was in the river taking a bath."

He put his hands on the table, bending over, keeping his voice low as to increase the suspense. His tail was waving excitedly behind him.
"Momma bear is at the riverbed. Staring. Watching. Me and her make eye contact. I didn't believe it. Again? I'm waiting for my own doom. She knows I have to come out. I know I have to come out. Guess where the only weapon I own is? Next to her paw."

He slammed the table and stood up straight. "Got out of that river like a cockroach from a flashlight, went for the campfire, trying to pull the same old trick. But She wouldn't have it-- she knew what I was up to, and right when I had a stick ready to poke her with the fire she ganked it--" he made an arm motion as if he was swiping the fire branch from an imaginary hand himself, "and gave me this roar, this, 'you dare try the same thing again?!' remark to me. Oho, she knew. She knew. Much smarter than I predicted, anyway. In my shock, she ripped me a new one."

At that point, he lifted up his shirt from the bottom and showed them the rest of his chest. The huge slash marks going from his shoulder to his abdomen and the holes near his heart where she had stepped on him and had probably broken a few ribs. If his ribs were still broken, Q didn't feel it. They may have healed. Broken bones had never really been a problem for him. Just skin.

Once everyone had seen the gashes, he sat back down, pulling the chair in.

"I'm still not sure how I got out of that alive, but I'm here now. Obviously."

Q looked at his wrists, which had several light scars from bites and scratches. His hands were where they shouldn't have been.

In truth, Q had passed out again at the end of that last battle, and the Sow had waited for him to wake up. They'd had a long chat. Q wasn't exactly sure he fully understood what the bear was saying, but it basically just had proven a point that it was only letting him live because she had known he had wanted to die, and she was not the one who would grant him that wish.
She had also given off the feeling that, just because Q wanted to die, didn't mean he had to take others new lives and despite it being the will of nature, Q had an unfair advantage and he knew it, and the Sow was going to force him to live for the unlived lives of her cubs.

No one really needed to know that, either. Q wasn't even sure he could really talk to animals. Maybe he was just imagining it. It wasn't like english language. It was wholly different. He wondered if the Cohens assumed he could talk to animals, being as he had always come back from hunting trips acting like one. His head tilted.

"I came back here," he said, a bit calmer, but still obviously happy he was the center of some positive attention for once, "...covered in blood. I looked pretty bad. First thing I do is take a shower. Braig was going to help clean up my wounds, but that is when you came. And that is my story."

He gave Jaiden a playful shove. "I had put the cubs on the counter for you, but someone else must have put them away."


Blakaize wrote: When Q was finished with his story, all eyes in the room were on him. Braig had even turned away from the pan seared scallops he was working on to gape.

". . . You had a knife fight . . ." Sadiq said, blinking. "With a bear?!"

"You could have been killed!" Blake said, disapproving.

"You killed baby bears?!" Jaiden said, blinking at the knowledge that Q had left them on the counter for him. "And you brought 'em back?"

"You got chased around for close to two months by a full blown Sow?!" Sadiq said, leaning forward on the table. It seemed unbelievable, but the kid's wounds said that something similar had happened to him. "You . . . you should see a doctor."

"Wow, Q," Jaiden said, totally shocked and in complete awe of his new older brother Q. "That's so fuckin' rad."

Grayson was quick to chastise, reaching over easily and pinching Jaiden's arm.

"Hush," he snapped. Jaiden didn't look sorry for the out burst, and bright teal eyes begged Q to continue.

"


[Q] wrote:
". . . You had a knife fight . . ." Sadiq said, blinking. "With a bear?!"


Q nodded, proud of himself. "Yes."

"You could have been killed!" Blake said, disapproving.


"But I wasn't," Q said, wagging his finger and putting his chin up.

"You killed baby bears?!" Jaiden said, blinking at the knowledge that Q had left them on the counter for him. "And you brought 'em back?"

"Why wouldn't I bring them back, kid? They're BEARS! I killed them!" He gave Jaiden another playful shove, quite obviously beaming with pride, and possibly genuinely happy for once.

"You got chased around for close to two months by a full blown Sow?!" Sadiq said, leaning forward on the table. It seemed unbelievable, but the kid's wounds said that something similar had happened to him. "You . . . you should see a doctor."


"Braig's as fine enough a doctor as I'll ever need. But yes. Very scary. I didn't get much sleep." He laughed a bit.

"Wow, Q," Jaiden said, totally shocked and in complete awe of his new older brother Q. "That's so fuckin' rad."


Q turned to Jaiden and gave him a noogie. "I know, right?! Best thing I've ever done."
He noticed Jaiden get hushed by Grayson, and Q replied by giving a rebellious smirk.
"You know, maybe you should come with me sometime. Make a family trip out of it? It'd be awkward if you don't know how to use a gun already. Everyone else in your family is good at it. And sniping is my favorite thing. We could set a new SWS up. I could teach you all how to do it. I know Blake was terrible that one time she tried."

He put his hand on Jaiden's shoulder, keeping it there. If this were any picture, it was one that alluded to Q being a decent father. Maybe.
"I'll pack it right this time and we could go for bear again. You know, with guns. Not knives." He grinned.


Blakaize wrote: Sadiq whirled to look at Blake.

"You said you used .45s." He said, frowning. "You had a sniper rifle? Did you use it?"

"I did," Blake said, frowning at Q. "And if I remember correctly, me and that gun saved your butt at least once. Even if I did try to use it . . . close range."

"Yeah!" Jaiden said, practically bouncing. "Let's go on a hunting trip! We can go and get some bears and stuff! And we can get, like, beards and junk!"

Grayson frowned, but he was fighting back a smile, as he gave a fake glare at Q.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself," he said. "You've got the boy wanting to be Grizzly Adams."

Braig rolled his eyes and shook his head, smiling. This was nice he decided.

"Okay, scallops are done. Pasta's almost ready." Braig said, wiping his hands. Blake clicked her tongue.

"You cooked the scallops before the pasta? How amateur," she said, chidingly.

Braig snapped a towl in her direction.

"Hey, you think you can do better, Miss Lived-on-Rations-for-three-weeks, be my guest!"

Jackie snorted.

Sadiq grinned. Maybe, he thought. Despite all of what Blake had told him about how odd her family was, maybe things weren't so bad. He leaned back in his chair, one arm going around her shoulders, and easy gesture he hadn't realized he had made.


[Q] wrote: Q threw back his head and genuinely laughed. Probably something he hadn't done since he was a child.

"I think you're a little young to be growing a beard. And you see I don't have one. You don't need body hair to be a man." He chuckled to himself. This hair was the last he had, and he hoped to high heaven it would never be accidentally cut, because it wasn't going to grow back.

He looked to Sadiq, who put his arm around Blake. Q's acceptance was tested. He flashed a protective look, but tried to ignore it and play it cool for Braig. He didn't want to make this awkward.

He looked to Braig, bringing the food down to the table. Q wanted to eat it so badly, but he was afraid he would throw it all up later.
Maybe if he could just try...

He looked back to Sadiq. Still all over Blake.
He fought back a growl. He needed to be human for this dinner. His tail twitched and he looked to Braig's chair. Why couldn't Q sit next to Braig?

He had the distinct need to make Blake feel jealous right now and rub how gay he was in this couple's face.
Jackie was between Braig and Q, though. He gave a small hmph.


Blakaize wrote: Blake, for all her new found feminine traits, dove into her food, spearing a scallop with her fork and nomming it.

"Good Lord, Braig," she said. "I missed your cooking. Isaac can't cook worth a damn and is too cheap to let me buy the good stuff."

"We don't need seven dollar a pound scallops," Isaac grumbled, the tight ass.

Sadiq was waiting for his food to cool down, and absenting rubbing a small circle on Blake's shoulder with his fingers.

There was a small sound and Blake stood.

"Nico's hungry too, I guess," she said, leaving the kitchen for the living room, where Nico was still in the baby carrier, had been napping. Now he was crying, wanting to be held or fed.

His arm rest gone, Sadiq leaned forward and cut a scallop in half, chewing it.

"Christ," he muttered. "It is really good."

"Well, what the hell did you expect?" Braig said, smirking. He glanced at Q, staring at his plate of food, not touching it yet. "You want me to make you something a little lighter, Q?"


[Q] wrote: Q found himself glaring at Sadiq's treatment of Blake. He hadn't noticed at first, but when he caught himself, he was thankful he still had sunglasses on. He looked away and back to his plate, then to Braig.

"No, that's all right," he said softly.

He took the fork in his hands and poked at his plate a bit, somewhat disappointed and trying to hide it. He looked back up to Sadiq.

"Yeah, Braig is the best cook their is. Except when it comes to game. I think I'm a bit better," he gave a 'heh', trying to brag. Q had unintentionally fallen victim to the 'I have to prove I'm a better man than you' syndrome.

"So just who are you, anyway? Are you and her dating or something?"


Blakaize wrote: Sadiq blinked at the questions, then grinned.

"Sadiq Lorden Jr.," he said, easily. His name was pronounced "sad-ique," almost the same way as the first few syllables of "sadistic." He rubbed his neck, a little uncomfortable. "Me and Blake? Likely not yet. We've been on a few dates. She's a sweet heart, and when I met her, she was on her own with a baby, so I figured I'd be nice to her."

He popped his neck and Braig didn't like the way conversation was going.

"We might, once Nico is a little older, and she has more time," he said, taking another bite. "For right now, I just sort of think of myself as . . ." he grinned, and Braig could definatly see his father, Sadiq Lorden Sr., the sadistic bastard, in his eyes. "Her body gaurd."


[Q] wrote: Q just glared at the man.
He.. figured he'd just be nice to her..?

The fact that Q thought pretty much the same way was irrelevant at this point. In some ways, Q still thought of Blake as a boy, despite her being older than he was.

"Blake's not the type of gu--" he had to cut himself off, and he looked down, taking a deep breath. Okay, Q. Deep breath. Don't jump off on this man, and don't call Blake a guy. Those were two decent starting points, right?

He looked back up and mustered a fake "Sorry."

He put his fork down, and looked straight at Sadiq. "Blake is not the type of person that needs protecting."


Blakaize wrote: Sadiq shrugged.

"I know," he said. "It's not that she needs it. She deserves it."

He went back to eating, not saying anything more, waiting for Q to respond.
[Q] wrote: Q growled, low in his throat.
"Oh and I assume the fake protection from your father is what she deserves then? You look like a frail old man. I doubt as a don's son you could do much more than hold a gun and point in a single direction. Hell, I bet Isaac could outperform you, and he hates this family."

That was to say nothing of himself, having been basically an underboss at one point. He didn't want his own mafia ties in this. That was long over.

It was clear Q's opinion had been formed, and this was going to get into a worse argument the longer he stayed. He was going to degenerate into a growling half-human if Sadiq wanted to continue with this.

Q's tail flicked to the side, aggrivated, like a continual motion of a horse's tail flicking its back to rid the rump of flies.
The twenty four year old got up and excused himself from the table, beginning to walk toward Blake and the kid, to give her some huge piece of his mind about this guy.

Probably using her. Who knew why, but, his mind was going into horrible places, and he was being quite the hypocrite, considering he had just got done telling Sadiq she didn't need to be protected, but Q was going to try and protect her anyway.


Blakaize wrote: "Q," Braig said, blinking. "Don't ---"

"It's a free country," Sadiq said, frowning. His arms were like pythons, crossed over his chest. "He's entitled to his opinion. Just like I'm entitled to mine. Dead beat dad, anyone?"

"You have no clue what's been going on!" braig said, coming to Q's defense. Isaac rubbed his temples.

Meanwhile, Blake was trying to get Nico to take his bottle in the living room. She heard raised voices, but ignored it. She did look up when Q walked in.

"Not hungry?" She said, blinking.


[Q] wrote: Deadbeat dad, anyone?

Q snarled and turned around. Had he not been so encapsulated with television prior to Nico's birth, he wouldn't have known what that term implied.
But he knew now.
And that was all that mattered.

Q turned around from Blake and went straight back to Sadiq's chair.
"Get up," he ordered.
He didn't care that Braig had stood up for him.

"Get up and you say that to my face."


Blakaize wrote: Blake was up and running.

"Q, stop!" She said. "The pair of you, knock it off!"

Isaac was up, not wanting to be between Q and Sadiq. He took the baby from Blake's arm and moved away from the fight. Sadiq pushed his chair back and stood, a few inches taller than Q.

"I said," he repeated, slowly. "Dead. Beat. Dad. You knocked her up and left her."

"I forfeited him as the father!" Blake said. "I told you that! He doesn't have any responsibility for it! As far as both of us are concerned, it's not his!"

"Doesn't matter, it's a matter of decency!" Sadiq snapped. Blake slapped him and he shut up. A solid, open hand slap across the face. She pointed at him, the smaller woman brimming over with fury and disdain.

"You. Stay out of my affairs," she said, her voice low and steady. Sadiq looked at her, surprised, eyes wide. "You have no idea what passed between us. You forget your place."

She whirled and turned to Q.

"And you," she said. "You can't pick and chose when to care."

She turned on her heel and marched out, taking the baby from Isaac and heading for the living room. She was living, this time, dammit. Braig wasn't going to stop her.


[Q] wrote: Q's upper lip raised and he grit his teeth. But then Blake had to butt in and take his glory.
He growled when Blake told him he couldn't pick and choose when to care, but fuck that. He cared now, and that was good enough for him.

He turned back to Sadiq after Blake had left. He wasn't going to let it just end like that.

"Just because I'm not there doesn't mean just anybody can take care of that kid, and I CERTAINLY don't want some fucking TURK with a silver spoon in his mouth fathering MY SON!" He roared, for the first time actually taking ownership of the baby in anyone's presence.

Q swung his left arm toward Sadiq. Q was only six feet tall, so it was going to be tricky, but he had planned to grab Sadiq's neck and slam his head into the table.


Blakaize wrote: Sadiq leaned back against the swing and grabbed the back of Q's head, applying sufficient pressure to reverse Q's momentum and send him towards the table.

"I SAID KNOCK IT OFF!" Blake yelled. "We're leaving."

Braig leapt up when Sadiq touched Q and gave him a rough shove away, Sadiq releasing Q.

"that'd probably be best!" Braig said. "We all just need to calm down."

Blake looked at Q.

"Your son? Honey, you didn't want anything to do with it. 'All mine,' remember?" She said.

"Kid's crazy," Sadiq said, regaining his footing. "Kid's fucking insane."

"Oh, I'm drowning in the testosterone," Blake said, snarling at him. "Wait in the car."

Sadiq adjusted his jacket and threw a glare at Q.

"Thanks for a lovely evening," he said, dryly, to Braig, as he left.


[Q] wrote: Q hadn't gone up against a person in so long, that he just went down. That said nothing of how weak his close-combat fighting skills had been in the first place.

His head went right into the table, and he was left kneeling on the floor trying to recover from the room spinning.
He didn't understand what Blake said to him, and it probably was better left that way, as he would've blown up at her again.

Sadiq left, and Q slammed his hand down on the table's edge, his other hand on his head as he pulled himself up. All his anger was gone, as now he was just in a terrible amount of pain. The headaches he'd been dealing with ever since he learned Blake was pregnant seemed to take this wonderful head trauma as an opportunity to explode the pain to his brain.

Once he got up, he sat in the chair Sadiq had previously been sitting in, and waited for some sort of speech. He knew he was overdue for one.

He adjusted his hand, letting out a groan. Putting his right hand to his face, he put his left down on the table, not realizing there was a small amount of blood on it.


Blakaize wrote: "Are you okay?" Blake asked, softly, standing in front of him. "I'm . . . sorry. I thought you didn't care . . . who was around Nico." It was obvious she was picking her words softly. Braig was already trying to fix an ice pack for Q's forehead, a bruise blossoming in the center.


[Q] wrote: "Go home," Q groaned, "Judge people better."

He had wanted to say so much more, but he really hurt right now. His pride, well... They had seen him in worse situations, so that didn't really matter as much. Q would probably always be more proud of himself than he should be at the most inopportune times.

"Go home," he repeated, putting his other hand to his head. He felt like he needed to put pressure on it. It relieved the pain a bit for him.


Blakaize wrote: Blake frowned.

"Why did you go off on him anyway?" She asked. "Sadiq doesn't usually just call people out. You were getting along fine before I left."

Braig put the icepack to the growing goose egg on Q's forehead.

"Q wanted to know if you two were dating," Braig said, tired. Blake blinked.

"Dating? Sadiq and I? What does he care?!" She said.


[Q] wrote: Q swallowed and took the icepack, pushing it hard against his head.
"Go home, Blake," he said again. He was at the risk for becoming a broken record, but he didn't want to tell her the truth.

Then, it came. Q's stomach flipped, and he swallowed back a bit of puke. He didn't know if he had made any noise as he clamped his mouth shut and gulped it back, his muscles tensing up. But that didn't really matter, as immediately afterward, Q fell forward on the table, unconscious.
Now everyone knew the blackouts were back.
Great.


Blakaize wrote: "Shit," Braig said, trying to hold onto him. "Dammit!"

Isaac seemed to panic.

"He . . . he should go the hospital . . ."

"What?" Braig said, looking at him. "No, no, he's fine. I can take care of him." Isaac wrung his hands.

"You're a mortician, Braig!" He said. "You're not a doctor!"

"I can take care of him!" Braig snapped. Isaac was already pulling a cell phone out of his pocket.

"I'm calling an ambulance," he said, trying to dial.

Grayson snatched the phone away.

"That's not wise," he muttered, and Isaac looked more panicked than ever.


[Q] wrote: Approximately fifteen minutes later, Q came to, immediately getting out of the chair and aiming to swiftly walk over to the bathroom. He didn't make it.

He managed to get out of the chair and turn, and push whoever was in the way - if they even were in the way- aside, but at about the third step he just completely lost his balance and went down to his knees.

The reason he had gotten up was because he had thought he was going to throw up. But after a couple of seconds of being on the floor, he realized that he didn't have to throw up anymore. At first, he thought he was going to pass out since he felt so dizzy, but when he leaned himself against the wall (making no move to get up from the floor), he thought that this was a bit different. This wasn't right.

He took the sunglasses off and held them in his left hand for a second, looking at them, then wiped his head, which he had remembered feeling tender, it wasn't now, he noticed, and his head... He still had the headache, but it wasn't as bad as before.

Epiphany.
He wasn't going to black out.
He had just woken up from being unconscious.
"Shit," he cursed to himself, and slowly stood himself back up, leaning on the wall and looking to the others.

Blake, Isaac, Grayson, and Braig were all still there. It couldn't have been long, then, if they were still here. Or maybe it was a long time and they had just stayed to worry over him?

Q couldn't think of anything decent to say, and he wasn't willing to admit his weakness, his decline in health. His calm from before turned to rage that it had all been found out too quickly for him to be comfortable with.

"I thought I told you to go home!" He barked.

Who knew where that fucker Sadiq went? He must've been around, too.
Q couldn't remember much of what happened after the Turk had thoroughly owned him.

And if Jaiden had seen.... If Jaiden was still here, Q'd probably throw a huge fit.


Blakaize wrote: Jaiden was pitching a shit fit.

"Is he okay!? What happened?! Is Q okay?! Is Q gonna die?! Don't go towards the light Q! Izzy, call an ambulance! Is he gonna be okay?! Braig, is he gonna be okay?!" He was saying, almost sobbing. Baig was kneeling beside Q, trying to help him up. Blake handed the baby off to Isaac and kneeled by Q as well.

"I can't leave you like this," Blake said. "Just breathe and try not to over exert yourself."

". . . Maybe Isaac should call an ambulance, you guys," Jackie said, softly. Braig glared at him. Q's wounds were infected. They were likely making him very sick.

"Q, can you hear me? Focus on my voice, alright? Listen. I'm going to work on getting you to your feet, okay? Blake's going to help. We're going to get you to your feet. We're gonna get you upstairs. We're gonna get you into bed. I'm gonna get my shit up from downstairs and work on finishing cleaning those wounds, alright? Are you ready to move yet?"
[Q] wrote: Q's dizziness had subsided, that and his collapse probably a by-product of him getting up too fast the first time. He ignored everyone and had gotten up, leaning against the wall for a moment.

But when he heard Blake's words, and Jaiden's freaking out, and even Jackie's mumble about an ambulance, and of course Braig, Q stood up straight and yelled,

"EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN!!"

He waited for everyone to shut up and took a breath through his mouth before continuing.

"I am not a piece of glass and I am NOT broken. So get the fuck away from me, and if you don't live here, get the FUCK OUT." He snorted, a short growl following as he headed for the table.

He grabbed the icepack from it and turned around and went down to the basement with it.
"And if I see you again, Blake, Ra so help me, I WILL KILL that BABY!"

He went down into Braig's work area, and there was a very audible door slam.

The baby killing had been an empty threat, but Q just wanted Blake to get the hell out and quickly. The threat sounded real enough, and at one time he really did feel that way, so maybe she and the others would buy it.


Blakaize wrote: Blake
Lost
Her
Shit

Braig could only watch as his sister yelled down the stairs, unleashing holy hell.

"YOU WOULDN'T LIVE HERE EITHER IF YOU WEREN'T WITH BRAIG!" She yelled. Isaac had to grab her from going downstairs to follow Q. "I'M SORRY I EVER GAVE A DAMN ABOUT YOU! YOU'RE SELFISH AND A FUCKING BRAT! DON'T WORRY, YOU'RE NEVER GONNA SEE THAT KID AGAIN! MARK MY FUCKING WORDS, QUATRE BORNES, I AM FUCKING FINISHED WITH YOU!"

She stood at the top of the stairs, chest heaving.

"GO TO HELL!"

She shoved Isaac off her and strode towards the door.

"Blake, please," Braig said, trying to stop her. Jaiden had run up stairs, to avoid the drama. Blake took a swing at him, which he dodged.

"Get off me!" She snarled. "Go down stairs and patch up your boyfriend."

Braig knew Blake had a mouth on her. This was one of the few times he ever saw her so livid.

"Let her go, Braig," Grayson said. "Let her calm down and ---"

"You heard the little freak!" Blake snapped, totally loosing her mental filter. She was on a roll and not stopping any time soon. "He's gonna kill my kid. If he comes near me, if I even THINK I see him out of the corner of my eye, I swear to God, I will tear his throat out with my bare hands."

And then she was gone, out the door, towards the car. Isaac struggled after, getting the stroller, getting Nico in it and out the door before Q decided to hurt it . . .

"I understand you care for that . . . boy," Isaac said, panicking slightly. Braig gave him a cold look. "But she's your sister."

And then he was gone to.

Braig was left, standing in the foyer. Jackie had left to console Jaiden, and Grayson stood beside Braig. He gave his older brother a look.

"You need to talk to that boy," he said, turning and leaving.


[Q] wrote: Q stood in the middle of the dark room with the icepack in his hand, breathing through his mouth. He felt weird. His heart was racing. Adrenaline pumping.

Blake yelled at him, cursed him, told him to go to hell.

Q shook his head and tossed the icepack on the metal slab of a medical table.

Good, he thought, referring to what Blake had said. Maybe now it won't hurt so much anymore.

He realized his mouth was hanging open, and closed it, a small whine emitting from his throat as he began to breathe through his nose.

Q looked around the room. It was too dark to see much. His eyes didn't seem to be adjusting very well to light changes these days.

Why did I come in here? he asked himself.

He snorted, giving up on trying to figure out the reason for coming here in the first place, and grabbed the icepack from the table, sitting on the floor and leaning his back against the table and putting the ice on his forehead, closing his eyes.

He assumed Braig would come in at some point, but Q was kind of hoping he wouldn't.
He just wanted to avoid people right now.
The longer he was here, the more he felt like going back to the mountain and picking up where he left off.


Blakaize wrote: Braig came downstairs, looking around in the dark for Q.

"Well, that was . . . . " he said, trailing off. He sighed. "Q . . . You know I care about you right? You know I care a lot?"


[Q] wrote: Q winced when he heard the door open. And there was Braig.

He opened his eyes and looked at Braig's form in the shadows, the icepack still held to Q's head.
He still had a pretty bad headache. That Turk had fucked him up good. At least on the inside.

".....Yes," Q finally said, looking away, a bit ashamed. "But you shouldn't," he finished softly, almost a whisper.


Blakaize wrote: "But I do," Braig said. "I also care about my sister, and my nephew."

He sat beside Q and sighed, heavily.

"You just . . . need to take some relaxing time . . . just veg out for a while . . ." he said. He felt 100 years old. He was being pulled between a lover and his family. He didn't want to chose, but keeping the peace was starting to get to him, in the worst way.


[Q] wrote: Q leaned his head back, dropping the ice pack on the floor and knocking his head against the pillar of the table.
"Braig," he hoarsed.
"When I left on that hunting trip, I wasn't planning on coming back alive."

He closed his eyes and put his hands on his bent knees, sighing through his nose.

"I didn't want to come between you and your family. You should've just let me die when I was ready." Q's voice was eerily flat, lacking emotion.

He looked over at Braig.
"I am happy that... I got to hunt, and figure out things a little more... And I am thankful that... I got to see again..." Now he was emotional, clearly very close to crying, as the shock of this entire situation and what he had just done began to sink in.

"...But I really was ready to go. I was not meant to be here now. And all this.... This, crap... That is happening because I am emotionally unstable... I am sorry."
He softened his voice, looking at the floor. "I'm sorry." he said again.

"I should've just stayed on the mountain."


Blakaize wrote: Braig kissed the side of Q's head, his temple, running his fingers through his hair.

"No . . ." he said, softly. "I would have missed you too much."

Meanwhile, Sadiq was driving a still stewing Blake, a wailing Nico, and a simpering Isaac back to Isaac's loft.

"Sooo . . . should we call the pedatrition?" He asked, glancing at Nico.

"Yeah," Blake said, rubbing her temples. "We're gonna get that thing removed and burned."


[Q] wrote: Q whimpered, his eyes tearing up.

"I thought.. I thought everything was going to be okay. That I had avoided this place for so long that.. Maybe everyone thought I had run away. And Blake wouldn't bother me about the baby anymore..." His voice cracked at 'baby', and that's when the tears actually began to fall.

"The blackouts came back when I was on the mountain, Braig. They came back and the only reason I came back here was because I was scared. I didn't want to die yet, even though I had purposefully done stupid things in hopes I'd die up there. I was too afraid of the stupid blackouts and..."
He let out another whimper, taking a moment to catch his breath. He started to shiver.

"And Blake came back so soon, about... About it... And I wasn't ready to deal with it. I couldn't..." He took another breath, another whimper. His hands went to his face.

"I don't hate it... I don't hate her. I'd.... never kill it... But I'm gonna die before it can even walk so... What is the point? Why should I be a burden? That's why I don't want to deal with it, that's why I try to avoid Blake. Why get involved with something like that when you know you're not going to live to see it walk or talk or anything? Why would you?"

He took another break, but turned and leaned on Braig's shoulder, trying to get into the man's lap.

"Every time I look at them, I realize just how close I am to dying," he whined, his voice much higher than usual. "...It hurts...."


Blakaize wrote: Braig looked at Q with pity. He was so sure he was dying, so sure every head ache was a sign of impending doom. He was in the wilderness for two months, got bitten and scratched by a huge bear, those wounds later become infected, and he goes septic, BUT the black outs and pangs can't be related to that high ammount of psycho-social stress.

"Don't talk like that," he said. "You just need to get well. You're sick, the wounds are infected."

Braig sighed.

"You went into the pregnancy in pessimism. Even the man with no arms and legs, one eye, no teeth, and totally deaf can see the glass-half-full side of things."


[Q] wrote: Q began to calm down a bit, his tears beginning to subside, but his body still shivering, as Braig pet him. Q went silent for a while, just trying to stop his tears and breathe, as he looked at the floor, his tail lifting and slapping against the tile every so often.

He put his hand on Braig's opposing shoulder, pushing his thumb into the other man's muscle.
"I hope you're right," he hoarsed, loosening his grip on Braig's shoulder and closing his eyes, head leaning against him.

After that, they were just quiet for a while, Q's tail slaps light but audible, his thumb barely massaging Braig's shoulder.

Eventually, he opened his mouth, taking a sharp breath before saying what he wanted.
"I wish you'd go hunting with me."

He whispered it, as if afraid of the reaction.


Blakaize wrote: Braig pat his shoulder, sighing.

"I probably will, some day," he said."You have to get better first."


[Q] wrote: "But I was better, and you'd never go..."

He slapped his tail down on the tile a final time before breaking away from Braig and leaning his back against the pillar once more. He sighed and looked down, beginning to unbutton the shirt, from the top downward.

It was a slow process, but once it was unbuttoned, he spread it open and slipped out of it, tossing the shirt beside him.

He looked back to Braig, giving a short chuff.
"So make me better. So you will go with me."

His body was still shivering slightly. Q was anxious but, he was also cold.



Blakaize wrote: Braig hooked his thumbs into Q's pants and lifted up, trying to get Q up.

"Let me finish cleaning these out," he said, softly. "Then we can go and rest. Upstairs, together. I'll even turn on the TV. We can watch a movie."

He touched foreheads with Braig, breathing around a lump in his throat.

"Whatever you want to do."


[Q] wrote: Q groaned, and with effort, got up and sat atop the slab.

When Braig touched foreheads with Q, he closed his eyes, and took deep breaths through his nose.
"I want you to go hunting with me," he whispered, determined.


He rocked his head, turning it to the side, opening his eyes and pulling away. He dragged his tail across the table to hug his leg and looked at the incinerator. A chill went down his spine, and he shuddered, a more visible shiver than his still-constant ones.

"If you're not scared of dog me, then I want to be that all the time." He looked to Braig, as if pleading. "With you."
Blakaize wrote: Braig looked at him, unsure. The kid's psyche was so messed up. He never wanted to admit it, but, now he sort of had to. He wanted to be a dog, all the time. He wanted to hunt, all the time. And he wanted Braig to help him do it.

". . . if that's what you want," he said, softly.


[Q] wrote: Q watched Braig, and couldn't get a decent read on him. Did Braig feel sorry for Q?
That's kind of what it looked like.
Disappointed, maybe?

Q sighed through his nose rather than say anything, and looked down, disappointed in himself.
"I'm sorry," he said finally.
Though he wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for.

He brought his left hand to one of the long claw marks, picking at the scab absentmindedly.


Blakaize wrote: "Don't do that," Braig said, catching his hand. He smiled, softly. "Lemme patch you up. I know it itches but, we can't get it more infected."

He set about to further clean the wounds and wrap it with white gauze. Doing it this way meant that Braig would have to re-dress the wounds daily, but that was preferred. That way, he could let the wounds get some air, so it wouldn't fester.


[Q] wrote: Q stayed silent through the rest of the process, watching but not really paying attention to what Braig was doing.
The twenty four year old ended up with wrappings all over his chest and one over his shoulder. When Braig was done, Q fingered the wrap over his shoulder, rubbing it slightly.

"Blake won't let you see the kid because of me, doesn't she?" he said, still looking at his shoulder, watching the gauze react to his fingers' presence and pressure.


Blakaize wrote: Braig shook his head.

"Not while you're at the house, no. But, I suppose, I can go see her. She doesn't have to come see me. I could meet her at the park or something." He said. Moreso, he thought, Blake isn't so much scared of Q anymore. He sighed heavily. Braig realized that the only reason he would consider going to see Blake, rather than having her come to the house, was because she openly threatened to kill Q, and she was not nearly above doing it . . .


[Q] wrote: Q looked up to Braig, putting his hands in his lap.
"Why didn't she come over while I was away for so long?"

He exhaled loudly, almost a snort.
"It's not right. You clearly love that kid."


Blakaize wrote: Braig shrugged.

"She didn't know you where away. She was busy with her own life," he said, softly. He glanced up at Q, frowning. "Yes, I do love Nico, and I didn't appreciate you threatening to kill it just because you were miffed at Sadiq and Blake." Braig's brow furrowed. "Q. If you're going to live here, maybe we should lay some ground rules. I know you don't like Blake, I know you dislike Nico. You live here because I care for you. This is my house . . . I respect you enough not to pull your tail. Respect me enough not to act like you run the place."

Braig finished with the dressings and walked to the stairs.

"I think I'm gonna take a nap," he said, feeling tired.


[Q] wrote: [[I'm going to NPC someone. Hope you don't mind~]]
Q frowned and looked down, ashamed.

"Good night," he said quietly, listening to Braig leave.

Q stayed where he was, just thinking to himself for a while. After a few minutes, he slid off the slab and picked up the ice pack, quietly going upstairs.
He stuck the ice pack in the freezer, then went up to the bathroom and grabbed his wet, dirty, shredded clothes. He carried them back down to the basement, where he hovered over the washing machine, staring at his clothes for a few minutes, trying to decide if it was worth it or not.
Ultimately it was not, and he ended up tossing the clothes in the garbage instead and heading to the freezer.

He took out the meat he'd brought from the mountain and opened the bag, setting it atop the freezer when Jaiden came around.

"Is that bear?"

Q jumped a little, having not heard him come down. He looked over to the kid for a second, then back to the meat, putting two and two together.

"Oh. No. This is..." He looked down at the meat, then heaved a sigh. "To be honest, I don't remember what this is. But I ran out of bear meat a long time a go. Sorry."

He poked at the meat through the plastic bag, leaning up against the freezer.

"Why did you lose to that guy? You can fight a bear but you can't fight a normal guy?" Jaiden asked, curious.

Q brushed his fingers through his hair and grunted slightly.
"Bears don't move as fast." He looked over to Jaiden, "Don't you have a video game or something to play? Why did you come down here?"

Jaiden tilted his head. "I wanted to talk. Jackie's afraid of you. Everyone wants Braig to get you out."

Q sighed and went back to poking his meat. He was getting some pep talk from a kid.

"I know," he said quietly. "Braig just went to take a nap. I was thinking about leaving again."

"Why do you have to be so mean to everybody?" Jaiden asked.

Q had to reiterate to himself: He was getting a pep talk. From a kid. He frowned.
"I'm not mean to everybody. I treat you and Braig nice," he suggested, looking back over to Jaiden.

"Why? What's the difference between us and everybody else? And you yelled at me when you left. You're not always nice. You hurt Braig too."

Q stood up straight. "I hurt Braig? How?"

"You left without telling anybody. He couldn't get a hold of you. I don't say much but I'm not stupid. He hurts when you're gone because you're not there but he hurts when you're here because you push everyone else away," Jaiden said.

Q sighed and went back to poking his meat. "Yeah and how would you suggest I stop being so mean?"

Jaiden said "Stop yelling at people and telling them you're going to kill their babies."

Q shook his head, giving an empty laugh. "And you think you're so much better than me, kid? You know how to handle this? Why'd you REALLY come down here? If everybody hates me I don't see why you don't too."

Jaiden frowned.
"I wanted to play mario kart with you. But Jackie doesn't want me to talk to you."

Q quirked a brow. "Mario kart? What's that?"

Jaiden chuckled. "A video game. Will you play it with me?"

"Uh..." Q looked down at this meat, then zipped it up and brought it with him. "Sure, I guess. But I've never played a video game before."

"NEVER?" Jaiden's face lit up.

"No, never. I don't even know how they work."

"OH MY GOD! This is going to be the funniest thing EVER!" Jaiden proclaimed, and ran upstairs.

Q quirked an eyebrow and followed, meat in hand.


Blakaize wrote: {{i'm borrowing the fuck out of Q. Forgive me . . .}}

after spending time with Jaiden, Braig noticed that Q . . . changed slightly. He became a little less feral, as as much as five months passed. It was slow, it was odd, but . . . He seemed to slowly grow more content. Or, perhaps, it was an act . . . Braig couldn't know for sure and didn't want to ask. Instead, he just enjoyed Q's company.

Blake didn't call the house again until after Nico's operation. The appendage was removed. The doctors foresaw no complications. Braig, also, noticed that, though Q answered the phone on the day she called {Jackie and Braig would busy at the time} she blew him off completely, and waited nearly five minutes for Braig to finish what he was doing to get to the phone. She sat on the other end in silence while she did, even though Q still held the phone to his ear.

Braig was both happy and slightly upset to learn that Blake and Sadiq were hitting it off. Sadiq, apparently, was talking about marriage, sometime in the near future. Braig wanted to attend, but that would mean leaving Q all by himself while they went to the ceremony.

Q and Braig would still sleep together, Braig occasionally trying to fondle Q in some way, lay waste to the flesh of his neck, simple signs of affection. As the seasons began to change, as Christmas came near, Q and Braig took to talking walks. The long felt coat Braig bought Q hid his tail, so he could walk with it free of his pants.


[Q] wrote: Q had begun to accept things as they were. He wanted to spend time with Braig. He didn't like the idea of everyone being afraid of him.
He went back to acting human, being normal.
He liked video games.
He was horrible at them, and Jaiden would often make fun of him, but he still enjoyed playing them.
He'd make frustrated displays, yelling and cursing at how the game was rigged and how it would be completely different if he were actually doing what was in the game.

Jaiden found it incredibly hilarious when they would play first person shooters and Q would be killed by him. Q hated playing those games because he claimed it was nothing like the real thing and he couldn't understand how it would ever be considered a substitute and that if Jaiden really wanted to learn how to shoot, he should do so with a real gun.

Eventually, Q did start teaching Jaiden how to shoot with real guns, despite Jackie's distaste. Over the months, Q had become somewhat of a legitimate father-figure. Or possibly older brother. Or maybe that uncle that nobody really fully approved of.

When Blake called, things were a little stoic. Q tried to make empty conversation. He even seemed a little interested in how things were going, but Blake remained completely silent. Q didn't push things.

Braig had given Q updates every now and then, in passing, about Blake. Q could tell it hurt that Braig couldn't visit Blake and the kid as often as he liked. Q tried to convince Braig to go see his sister more often if that's what he wanted, even though Q still seemed to have no interest in his own son.

Their bed life was fairly dead. Q never made the first move, and when Braig did, Q would reciprocate, but never to the point of sex. Q had accepted that sex would never happen such a long time a go that it was almost inconceivable to think of even trying now. That and to a certain level, Q was scared... He didn't want to ruin anything between he and Braig, go feral, or worse, pass out during sex.

Q, now 25 years old, had taken up smoking again. But he'd been very sneaky about it. The house still smelled of smoke in places, and Braig had never fully quit, so Q would just smoke in the areas that already stank and when no one was around. Jaiden caught him once or twice, but never said anything.
Braig had never walked in on Q smoking, but the now 25 year old had developed smoker's cough, so it would've been dumb for Braig to not make an assumption. Or perhaps Braig thought Q had a small cold and was being willingly oblivious.

Still, nothing was ever said about it, and they still enjoyed eachother's company for the most part, even if the conversations were mostly empty. Braig didn't want to talk about death and Q didn't want to upset Braig. Braig probably thought Q was just overreacting anyway.

Braig had bought Q a nice longcoat. It wasn't really Q's style, but... Q didn't really have a style any more. It was the thought that counted, so Q wore the thing as much as possible. Almost christmas. Q had never celebrated the holiday. He wondered if it would snow. He wondered if Christmas was a huge thing for the Cohens.
Thanksgiving had been fun. Maybe even the happiest Q had ever been.

On one of their long walks, Braig mentioned that Blake was going to get married to Sadiq. Q still hated that guy, but he'd given up being petty about it. Blake obviously wasn't going to be a part of his life anymore.
"You should go if you were invited," Q said.
"Why are you so worried about it?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig shrugged, balked at answering the question. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and stared off, the snowy, steel grey sky staring back at him, reproachfully. He sighed and looked back to Q.

"I want to go," he said, shrugging. "I want to go, and so does all of the boys. Hell, me and Isaac have actually been talking, talking for the first time since he left . . . But . . . I can't chose between you and my family. I love you both too much. Blake said you could come but . . . I'm not sure if you would want to . . ."

He fell back into silence and they walked back to the house. When the day before the wedding came, Braig was surprised that Q was still humoring the idea. When the door bell rang, several hours after the rehersal dinner, Braig didn't expect it to be who it was.

Blake stood, still in the black heels and Audrey Hepburn-esque dress and felt driving coat she wore to the rehersal, stood on the stoop. The car in front, still running, was driven by Sadiq, and Braig could see him sitting there, looking a little strained. From the moment of engagement, Braig knew that Blake had the man wrapped around her little finger. He was devouted to her. He loved her. The rehersal dinner was a little awkward. The Turkish Mafia, the Don in particular, though he seemed as taken by Blake as his son, was wary of the Russian-mixed family. Sadiq's mother, Elizabeta, didn't approve of Blake at all, or her family, or the child Nicolai. But, Big Sadiq put his foot down against his shrew of a wife, and called Blake his daughter.

Blake standing on the stoop brought Braig out of his thinking.

"Is Q here?" She asked. Braig nodded. "I didn't see him at the rehersal."

"He didn't want to come." Braig said, honestly. Too many unfamiliar people, too close a proximity to Q's least favorite people.

"You said he was humoring the idea of coming to the wedding?"

Braig nodded, again. Blake seemed to steel herself for a heavy blow and spoke again.

"May I speak to him?" She asked. Braig blinked.

"I, uh . . . yeah. He's in the living room. He and Jaiden are playing a game, I think," he said. Blake walked past him and into the living room. She stood on the threshold. She saw that Jaiden still wore at least part of the suit he wore to the rehersal dinner.

"Quatre Bornes," she said, simply, making her presense known. Jaiden sprung up instead, rushing to her.

"Blake!" Jaiden said, hugging her tightly. "What're you doing here?" Blake smiled at her littlest brother. He had been very talkative at the dinner.

"I'm here to talk to Q. Mind giving us a second?" She asked. Jaiden hesitated, then nodded. Blake walked past him as he brushed past her, heading upstairs, or just to the stairs themselves, likely to listen and wonder at it all. She stood in front of Q, steeled herself again and spoke. "Q. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. Sorry for the letter, sorry for everything I've said and everything I've done to you. I know a big part of you hates me. I know. I know you don't like Nicolai for whatever reason. I love him, though. He reminds me, daily, of you. Because of your eyes. He has them too . . . I can never forget you know."

She took a deep, shaky breath and continued. She pulled a small white box out of her purse and pushed it into Q's hands.

"You never forgot Vespasian. I hope that . . . you'll never forget me either." She said. Blake leaned forward and kissed Q's cheek. "Goodbye, Q." Without waiting for him to open the box, she turned and walked away, out the door, down the steps, into her car.

Inside the box was a plain silver oval, a locket, with a deep blue stone in the center. There was no note. No inscription on the back. Inside it, however, was two pictures, and a lock of pitch black hair. One picture was of Blake when he had first met Q. The other was of Blake as she was now.

---

The wedding itself was elegant and beautiful. Dozens and dozens of white roses. Blake herself was resplendent in a simple white A-line dress with a beaded corset and a sweet-heart top, the veil covering her face, her dark hair contrasting sharply, piled on top of her head in a bun. Her bouquet was a cascade of white roses, a single red rose contrasting as sharply as her oil-colored hair contrasted her dress.

The Eastern Orthodox minister conducted the ceremony.

"Do you Sadiq Roland Adnan Jr. take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?" He asked, his accent only slightly heavier than the other Turks.

Sadiq gave a curt nod.

"I do." He said, clearly.

The minister turned to Blake. She looked slightly nervous, even from behind the pale, pearl haze of her veil.

"Do you, Bernadene Nana* Cohen, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and obey, until death do you part?"

Blake gave Sadiq a dry look, that was clearly seen, at the "obey" part, but she nodded once and replied "I Do" all the same.

"Then by the power invested in me, I know pronounce you man and wife," the minister said. He turned to Sadiq. "You may kiss the bride." Sadiq took one step forward and lifted the veil away from Blake's face and kissed her, very softly, on the lips. He then held her hand and the two turned to face the congregation. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Sadiq Adnan Jr."

Both families and friends clapped and stood as Sadiq and Blake made their way back down the aisle and towards the door.



{{* = Nana, Blake's middle name, is pronounced "nii-ah-nah" after the Norse Goddess Nana, Baldr's wife.}}


Lori Lentil wrote: Q watched Braig. "I don't want to get between your family. I want to go too."
The levity of the situation did really occur to Q until much later, when he figured out what exactly a wedding entailed. Braig had begun explaining some of it, and that was when Q began to get cold feet, said he didn't want to go to the rehearsal.

He wasn't sure he could take the wedding, but he wanted to. At the last moment, he backed out the day before the wedding.
Blake randomly showed up.

Q dropped the controller and stood, hearing his full name.
"Blake?"

Jaiden let them be alone and then Blake started apologizing. "You don't have to--" but Blake wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise, and a white box got shoved into his hands.
Q was baffled. "Blake, I--" Cut off again, this time by a kiss and her walking out.

She made it seem so final. Like they would never see eachother again.
Was that really how it was going to end?

He felt so alone in the room, stood in shock, before finally looking down at the box, and walking over to the coffee table, sitting it down to open it.

Jaiden came back. "Oooh, what'd you get?"
Q hushed Jaiden absentmindedly, his grey tail wacking the boy in the face.
"Hey!" Jaiden rebuked.

Q saw the necklace, and his heart sank. He didn't know why it sank, exactly. He just felt irrevocably saddened all of the sudden. He closed the box and went to Braig's room with it.
"Sorry kid, you're going to have to finish the game by yourself," he said as he walked away, closing the door behind him.


The next day, Q was at the wedding.
He looked... Younger. Or maybe, he actually looked his age of twenty five.
He wore a black tuxedo with silver vest and bowtie that matched his hair. The suit had been tailored to allow his tail to be outside the pants. Whether it would cause undo drama at the wedding, he was unsure, but doubted any of the other guests would do anything about it aside from whisper.
At best, his tail seemed like a nice match for his tux and evened out the greys, at worst, it was a weird hunting trophy worn with misplaced fashion interests.
Around his neck, tucked underneath the collar and shown under the bowtie, was the silver chain, with two pendants- one with green gem inside, and one with blue.

Q stayed close to Braig the entire time. Possibly a bit too close for Sadiq's family to like. Though Q made no romantic moves, it was clear the twenty five year old was anxious, out of his element, and looking to the older man for support. Q had worn a suit before - this very suit, in fact - but it had been so long a go that he hadn't remembered how uncomfortable they were over long periods of time or even really how to sit with it correctly without fear of it tearing. And he had certainly never been to a formal event of such magnitude.

He bore through it all though, however, remaining uncharacteristically silent, watching with his still bright, soulful, forest green eyes. And he clapped and smirked with the rest of them when the wedding was finalized.

Once the main ceremony was over and the reception began, Q broke from the crowd and disappeared into one of the bathrooms with a stealth matched only by a chameleon.

Once there, he took off his bowtie, and loosened his collar, bending over the sink. He took deep breaths, breaking free from his act and letting the anxiety attack he had held back for basically the entire day free. After a few seconds, of this, he moved over to a bathroom stall, closed the door, and began to smoke.
He felt dizzy, and his condition was just getting worse. He didn't know how long he had left, but his current problems seemed to have to do moreso with his head rather than his heart or his blood.

About 20 minutes and four cigarettes later, Q had managed to clam himself, make himself presentable, and went back out to the wedding, as if nothing had gone wrong.
He found Braig, said he'd be walking back home, and Braig seemed worried but let him go.

Q was at the house an hour later. Another hour passed before he began to chain smoke and cook dinner for the people coming back... Who, he realized only later, would probably be full.
Q was still in the suit, though the bowtie was off, collar relaxed, and jacket was hanging over a kitchen chair. He seemed almost like a new age butler as he flipped pancaked in the pan. He didn't know why he was making pancakes. It just seemed like the right thing to do, at the time.

When he heard the car come into the driveway, he put the pan down, put out the cigarette in his mouth and quickly dumped the full ash tray into the trash, following it up by tearing up a just-made pancake and tossing it on top of the cigarette butts to belay suspicion. He wafted the air around him as best he could, and quickly folded up one of the finished pancakes and took a bite out of it, hoping it would absorb the smoke in his breath.

The others came in when Q was already half-finished eating the one pancake and he'd just turned the stove off, calling it a day after realizing he'd already made a stack of 20 pancakes.
Stress cooking, maybe?

Q finished the pancake in his mouth, swallowing, then asked how the rest of the wedding went without him.

When the end of the day came and Braig was ready to go to bed, Q slipped into the bed with him and sighed before finally saying, "I want to go hunting again."
He paused.

"I'm sorry. But this will be the last one. Then it will be out of my system forever, and I won't go hunting again."

He looked to Braig, as if pleading.
".... Will you come with me this time...?"


Blakaize wrote: Braig was surprised by how well Q was taking everything. The wedding went off well, and the reception was fun. Q smelt of smoke, but that was no surprise. He was nervous, no doubt.

When he mentioned the hunting trip, Braig felt sad. He touched the side of Q's face, looked deep into his eyes. A hunting trip. One last hurrah . . . Why not?

"Sure," he said, licking his lips. "I'll go with you this time." He leaned forward, scootching on top of the sheets towards where Q lay, and gave Q a soft, easy kiss on the lips. " . . . I love you."


Lori Lentil wrote: Q was actually thankful Braig said yes, but also a bit surprised. He had declined every time before.
"Really?" He said, somewhat excited. His tail tapped the bed beneath the sheets, and Q returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around Braig.

"You mean you are okay with me acting like a dog up there?" He asked, his voice somewhat high-pitched, ".... Or you mean it has to be a 'normal' hunting trip... And I am human...?" He tacked on, disappointment clear in his voice.


Blakaize wrote: Braig embraced Q, tucking his head under his chin, and sighed.

"Whatever makes you happy, Q, makes me happy," he said. Braig absently petted the top of Q's head, running his fingers through his hair.

[Q] wrote: Q sighed.
"But I want to make you happy," he said, before drifting off to sleep.

The next day, Q was getting everything ready. He had called it a hunting trip, but in reality it was more of a camping trip. He didn't bring his own gun. He told Braig to pack his own clothes and weapon if he wanted, but Q had everything else handled.

And then they were off. Except Braig wanted to drive up the mountain. That seemed fair... So Q agreed, and they drove up the side of the mountain, with Q pointing where he should park the car so they could travel by foot the rest of the way.
Eventually, Q found one of his old camps from last year's Bear hunt. It was strange how so many things were still around, even after so long.

Q told Braig that this was the last place he had actually been able to pitch a tent from his last trip, and said they may as well camp here, and then they could hike up the rest of the mountain. Three days up and three days down. Then it would only be a week long trip and Q could show Braig how wonderful the wilderness was and what he was missing.

They pitched a tent and cooked around a campfire. As hours went by, it was obvious Q was withdrawing into himself, slowly seeming to become someone else. He was not turning into some ferocious creature, just a different type of man. Quiet. Hidden. Once it was completely dark, the both of them staring at the fire, Q leaned on Braig's shoulder, his breath shown in the air as he said softly, "I love you too, even though I never say it."

It was a bit awkward. It seemed like Q was hiding something. Or a lot of things, as he wasn't talking much at all.
That first night came and went, and before sunrise Q was up again, packing up everything as Braig slept in.
Once everything was away but the tent, Q woke up Braig, they disassembled the tent, and went further up the mountain, where it started to snow. When they found another place to camp, they set up the tent together, and Q began to bring Braig with him to 'hunt'. Q was wordless, just grunting and using hand motions for Braig to follow along and stay quiet. It was somewhat of an adventure, ending with Q eying some rabbit, crouching down and watching it for a while before pouncing on it like a cat, quickly cracking its neck. Turning to Braig, Q gave a smirk, as if showing off how proud he was of himself, bringing the 'gift' to Braig and hugging the man, later kissing him a bit.
When night began to fall, Q made rabbit stew for himself and Braig. About an hour into it, though, wolves began to howl, and Q pointed to the sky, and the moon that would be full tomorrow night. He grinned again, hoping Braig would understand, but not really caring if he didn't. After they heard the faint wolves' songs for a while, that was when Q ended his own silent streak and went from mute native american visage to playful puppy.

As they ate, Q's tail wagged and he licked Braig's face, trying to be cute and funny. If Braig liked it, that sort of puppy love would continue onto the tent, and they'd cuddle before going to bed.

Once again, Q awoke before Braig, this time a bit later, right when the sun was rising. He once more packed everything and awoke Braig to disassemble the tent. They hiked further up the mountain, to the treeline. It was at least three miles. While Q had no problems, Braig was not used to the exercise, and it was clear Q was growing aggravated. Rather than the innocent puppy of yesterday, Q had turned into more of the feral dog today. When Braig had to sit and rest, Q would wander around ahead and occasionally bring back some 'prize'. Fish, another rabbit, berries.
At the last leg of the journey, Q left Braig and came back with a snake. It looked dead, but in reality, it was just hibernating, its cold blood making it too slow to do much in response. Q snickered, giving a playful growl when Braig didn't like the gift this time.

Q eventually wrapped the snake around his neck, much to Braig's dismay, and they made the last leg of the trip before setting up camp near to wolf's territory. When they sat down, Q set up the tent by himself as Braig rested, and then sat down next to Braig, finally taking the snake from his neck and biting the head off with his teeth, spitting it out across the way. He put the forward half of the snake into the fire, watching it burn with its tail hanging outside the fire ring. After a few minutes, Q took it out, and tasted the meat, growling to pressure Braig to try some as well as he held it up for the man to eat it.

Eventually, night fell again. The wolves began to howl, much louder. It was evident that the canines were much closer now. It was an eerie singing. Q only sat by idly for the first five minutes before unexplainably putting sand on the fire and putting it out, taking Braig's hand and pulling him into the areas of the woods, far from their camp with no trails.

Q growled for Braig to be quiet, and eventually they reached an outcropping where Q sat himself and Braig beneath a tree, so they could see the bright, full moon in clear view. The howls stopped for a while, but returned a few minutes later, venturing closer and closer. Q still growled for Braig to remain silent and still whenever he tried to talk or move. Eventually the wolves came back into view, singing their songs to the moon right in front of them.

Q had wanted to share the wolves songs with Braig. His hand touched Braig's, and he held it on the ground. Q didn't know if Braig felt this was romantic, scary, or just plain weird, but Q enjoyed it and wanted to share it with Braig. That was all that had mattered to Q now.

As time went on, the wolves became bolder, and two yearlings approached Q. They sniffed at him and Braig, yipping quietly and giving playful growls. Q gave gruff chuff noises and growls back, as if they were communicating.
The two went back to the main pack and a different wolf returned. A fully grown, all-black she-wolf. This one stood proud, stared at Q, who stared back, as if they were communicating wordlessly. Then they both looked to Braig. Q gave a nurturing growl and lifted Braig's hand, slowly and carefully placing it on the she-wolf's back. Q let out a sort of murr sound, and wanted Braig to pet the animal, his tail swatting the ground idly, awaiting to see Braig's reaction.

When the encounter was done, the wolf ran off and continued to howl with the others, joining in the eerie choral celebration of the moon. Q sighed and laid in Braig's lap, moving the man's hand and urging him to pet Q's hair.
After a few minutes, Q stopped moving his tail, and he took a deep breath.
"Thhaank yrrooo," he forced in his grumbled, broken english. "Frrorr evrrrythrring...."

Q took another big breath through his nose, and exhaled it as a small whine, falling asleep soonafter. About ten minutes later, Q would take no more breaths, and he would make no more movements. Nor would he ever wake up.


Blakaize wrote: Braig enjoyed the days with Q. Just him and Q. The snake upset him a little, but, watching Q interact with the wolves enchanted him. It was nice, seeing them interact. This, he thought, to himself, was where Q belonged. This was Q's home. This what what Q needed.

"You're welcome, Q," he muttered, petting Q's head. He noted the slowing in breathing, the way Q seemed to grow cold and limp. A knot rose in his throat and he felt moisture on his face. "N-no," he moaned, watching, and holding Q as he drifted away. "No, no, I need you . . . please, don't . . ."

Swallowing, weeping softly, Braig realized how selfish he was being. He leaned down and kissed Q, not caring if he was dead or alive. Not now . . . Crying, letting the tears hit Q's fair face, Braig choked back a sob.

The wolves watched him from a distance. They watched as the man threw his head back and yelled, a long wail of anguish, much akin to when a member of their pack died. They moved closer, gathered near without Braig making any move to shoo them away. They raised their heads and howled too, long, sad howls.

Braig craddled his dead companion, rocked with him and cried.

"I love you," he sobbed, holding onto Q's body tight. "But even after everything . . . why couldn't I save you?"

The wolves heralded Q's death throughout the mountains, and carried it on the wind.

In town, Blake, at the moment of Q's death, placed a hand over her heart. She felt suddenly immeasurably sad, as if someone she dearly loved was gone.

Braig spent an hour, crying and craddling Q. Finally, after the wolves had left, he set out to create a place for Q. He dug, with his hands, with the small camping shovel Q had brought. In that tiny clearing, Braig made a grave. He wrapped Q in the blanket that they had shared and placed him in the grave, but Braig couldn't bring himself to put dirt on Q's face . . . He had to call his brothers.

Jackie and Grayson came to bury Q. Blake arrived because Jaiden had called her distraught. She held Braig while he sobbed and she cried too. And they buried Q there, in that spot, where he had found the wolves, where he and Braig had shared one last moment. They placed a simple marker there, a stone slab about the size of a shoe box. Grayson carved, with some difficulty, the letter Q into it and placed it there. And the Cohen siblings returned to town, Braig feeling totally lost and alone. And the pain of that lost never left him, not for a very, very long time.

The wolves returned, sniffed around the grave, and stood vigil, continuing to howl intermidantly, continued to herald the death of Q . . .

Braig could hear them in his sleep . . .

{{FIVE YEARS LATER}}

Springtime.

A muscular man with white hair followed his wife, leading her five year old son and their infant daughter up a slope, into the forest, behind her older brother. It was a silent, careful procession.

Once Braig Cohen, and his sister, Bernadene Adnan, her husband Sadiq, and Braig's nephew, Nicolai, and niece, Loralai, reached the clearing, he felt a small pang of saddness, but also a swell in his heart. Since the death of his partner, Q, Braig had made yearly visits to the site. It had become overrun with wildflowers. Nicolai looked like a tiny version of Q, and once he reached the clearing, he broke off into a run, racing through the floors, chasing the butterflies that took wing when he tramped through.

Bernadene, once called Blake, stood beside her brother, rubbed his back comfortingly. They watched as Q's son found the marker, a new one, a better one placed there about a month after his death, and wondered at it.

"Mommy," he said. "What does it say?" He pointed and Blake moved forward, kneeling beside her son and the marker and read, running her hands along it, reverently.

"It sais "Quatre Bornes Lee. Friend and Father. Most Loved of His Family."" She read, carefully. Nicolai's attention span waned and he sat down beside it, rubbing the smooth stone.

The family remained there for a while, and then they started to make their procession back. Braig lagged behind.

"Give me a minute," he said, softly, to his sister. Blake nodded, Loralai in her sling on Blake's chest, babbling nonsense baby-language.

". . . He's in a better place, Braig," she muttered. Braig smiled, saddly.

"I'd like to think that. I'd like to think he never left too." He said, turning, hands in his pockets, returning to Q's grave. He kneeled, totally alone now, closed his eyes, and swallowed around a fresh knot in his throat. The tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and he relived the pain of losing Q again.

He heard the crack of a twig and he spun around, facing the sound. For a shining, beautiful second, he thought he saw Q standing there, green eyes smiling, smirking at Braig, silver hair reflecting the sun. I'm here. Didn't you miss me? Braig thought he'd hear the wind say as a breeze rush by. Braig cherished those almost-moments, when he'd see Q out of the corner of his eye, see his face in a crowd.

"I love you, boy," he muttered, petting the stone, as he had always petted Q's hair. "I miss you."

I never left he wanted to hear the wind say, thought it did say. Braig cried again, but smiled all the same.

Q came into his life like a whirlwind, a storm that destroyed everything Braig once new, but replaced it with over a year of happiness. Braig smiled, still weeping, and stood.

He wouldn't have wanted it any other way . . .



Fin​
end
 
Post Nuclear Fallout v2 (Gaia)
With Tsurai
2004
[1 of 10]

Q wrote: This is private. It means YOU CAN'T JOIN. Sorry, buddy.
(But if you want to read it, go ahead. ;))
...................................................................................................................................................................................
<img src="EXS" align="left"><center>








Tsurai is an 18 year old kid, stranded in the wilderness during the Great War. When Nuclear weapons were used, he was taken into Fallout Vault 335; Tsurai's not exactly sure how he got there, actually, but one day he woke up and he was there.

Lots of partying went on in The Vault, as it was composed of mostly men. They wasted their alcohol and beer rather quickly in a post-apocolyptic party, where Tsurai got so drunk he puked on himself, and they had to throw away his only shirt.

A year went by, and rashions got low. Tsurai had begun starving himself to give the children a chance to eat, although he didn't let others know. He was the kid and the jokester in the Vault, and liked cheering people up. But he has his own torment inside him.
</center>
<img src="EXS" align="right">















<center>Isiah, on the other hand, is a heavily tattoed Irishman who loves to smoke. He passed the time in the Vault by reading smut over and over again, changing the story to his own liking.
Tsurai was attracted by Isiah's many tattooes, and they became touch-and-go friends. Little did Tsurai know that Isiah was part of an old religious cult, dedicated to fighting and pain.
And moreso, Isiah was an in-the-closet homosexual.

Leaded by Tsurai's anxiety and his own boredom, they wander out of the vault together with a heap of their own supplies in search of some new landscape and a new crowd. There, Isiah and Tsurai will share more than punches and stories. Because simply put, a kid as staright as an arrow and a muscular Gay Irishman don't mix.
</center>






----

Evil Disco: Water dripped from the musty, mold-ridden ceiling, the lucky few who had managed to reach the bunker in time cluttered together in seperate groups for warmth. Although the bombing had ended months and months ago, the few survivors opted to remain underground- radiation is a cruel and evil mistress.
Over the months, provisions were beginning to run low, and the pressure to venture out was growing. Fresh water was becoming a thing of the past, and recycling what they had was becoming a nearly impossible task.

Against the metal wall, pariah from the myriad of other groups, sits a man, appearing to be in his mid to late twenties. His clothes are tattered but well kept, as neat and clean as can be expected. What skin that can be seen is dotted and decorated with intricate, tribal tattooing, perhaps denoting a former career in some cultist priesthood. His hands and eyes pour over the tattered pages of a book, short auburn-red hair falling into his eyes, occassionally pushed away with a thick finger. He ignores the incessant drip-drip-drip that echoes through the enclosure, the only sound beyond it the occassional cough of another survivor.


Me: A blue eye opened from behind a barrage of brown bangs. That eye pierced the cieling from the head that laid on the pillow on the top bunk.

Two arms, rather muscular were behind the head as the eighteen year old lay on the bed, the other eye opened after a blink.

Military tags were on the neck of the young man, keeping the bare chest cool with their metal.


A tattered jean-covered leg shifted to the side of the bed, followed by the other, so the boy could peer down at the others from where he resided.

Hands grasped the edge of the bed, his long hair dangling over his shoulder from the rubberband that held it behind his neck. He really needed to get that cut.

Tsurai would have to say that he was the youngest one here. Everyone else was realy twenty or over and him.. He was just a little kid when all this happened.

But still, growing up underground wasn't so bad. He managed to have a pretty good character. He smiled as he yelled down at those already awake. "Hey down there! Who's up for some beer?" he laughed.

He was trying to make a joke. He knew there was no beer left.

Evil Disco: Isiah would look up in reproach, growling and turning the page.

Get my hopes up, why doncha.

He turns another page before sighing, shutting his book. He's read it too many damn times to go through it again. He pushes hair out of his eyes, digging through his jacket for his last carton of cigarettes.


Q wrote: "Of course," Tsurai answered, hopping down from the top bunk near Isiah, ripped pants nearly falling off him with the action.

The eighteen year old had no belt, and getting skinnier it was hard to keep his hips under his pants. Besides, he was a free man, and didn't have any underclothing on for his "prizes".

It seemed he didn't care when his pants seemed to sag, anyway. He wasn't gay, and assumed that no one was gay around here, so no one would look.

Regardless, Tsurai stood up after his landing and pulled up his pants before leaning over to look at Isiah's now closed book.

"How many times have you read that now, Isiah? 500? It's gotta be filled with porn or something to keep you reading it for so long."

He looked at Isiah's face through his own dirty bangs. Isiah didn't talk too much. With all those tattoos, he was kind of frightening, really.
In fact, Tsurai got the impression that Isiah and most everyone else thought he was an annoying kid who abused food.

But the eighteen year old hadn't eaten in a long time. His stomach growled at the thought- Tsurai was trying to give the others a chance to eat...


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah shrugged, tossing the worn paperback to Tsurai. "It's a romance novel. Not quite porn, but nearly." He dug through the multiple pockets in an old, faded pair of fatigues, finding the raggedy cigarette carton. He shook it, ten or so cancer-sticks rattling within. He had been hanging onto the thing for nearly half a year- by now all the cigarettes were stale and disgusting to the taste- but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he would 'suffer' through it.

The nicotine still felt good anyway. He pulled a lighter out of his deepest forepocket, putting the cigarette between his lips, bouncing as he spoke. "You don't mind if I light up, do you?" It was mostly just a formality- he wouldn't care if Tsurai said no, anyway.


Q wrote: Catching the book, he opened it up to a random page.

"Any good? And nah, why bother asking anyway... We're all gonna die at some point." he waved his right hand as if shooing away a fly, signalling that he didn't care.

In the meantime, Tsurai read a few lines of the book about how these two people loved eachother and would do anything for eachother.

A grimace came over his face and he sat down, oddly unable to tear his eyes away from the book.

"This..."

He still read on, "Is really corny..."

Finally he got to the part about 'revealing his sex to her' and tossed the book to the tattooed man. "How can you read this?"


Evil Disco wrote: He lit his cigarette, tilting his head to put it at the right angle against the lighter's flame. He took a quick, brief puff, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a little before exhaling.

"Slowly and in small, short bits, that's how. It's better than contemplating my navel anyway."

He took the cigarette from his lips and toyed with it along his fingertips. "I guess it'd be more interesting if you kinda mad libbed every adjective or something." He shrugged before taking another brief puff.

He leaned his head back against the cold, cement bunker wall, sighing, smoke sailing upward. "I can't believe I'm gonna die in this dump."


Q wrote: "Contemplating your navel?" he said with a confused look.

Tsurai got up and pulled his ever sagging pants up.

"How long do you think we've been down here, anyway? One or three years? What?"

[[Would've been longer, but post got deleted and I'm lazy. You still need to accept me in your guild, disco.]]


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sucked down all he could of his cigarette before flicking the butt at the disfunctional sink mounted on the opposite wall, exhaling smoke in a steady downward stream.

"Count the scratches on the wall and figure it out." He grunted a little at the primitive etchings. "No matter what the number.. too damn long, anyway."

His gut grumbled in agreement. Food was running low and clean water was quickly becoming a thing of the past- and the smell of a bunch of unbathed people, crammed together in a lead lined bunker, wasn't exactly pleasant either. He rolled his neck on his shoulders, slumping further down the wall.


Q wrote: Tsurai leaned back against the bunk bed.

"What happens if you drink the shower liquid?" he asked, cocking his head.

He was really pondering it, seeing as it was the next best thing.

"I heard you get really sick, but, I've never tried it..."


Evil Disco wrote: "Do you know what that shit is? Badly refined piss and spit. I'm not sure any part of that makes for healthy drinking." He yawned, big canines shining, before shaking it off.

He ran his eyes down the hall at the huddled crowds of hungry people- the occassional moan or whimper from someone sleeping was the only real sound above quiet murmurs of subdued conversations. The confines of this place were beginning to drive him crazy, the people and the stench. It was all becoming too much..

"I give it another week," he spouted, randomly.


Q wrote: "Another week for what?" Tsurai asked, scratching his head.

"And if it's piss and shit, why the hell are we cleaning ourselves with it?"


Evil Disco wrote: He groaned.

"It's recycled piss and shit, ass. I'm saying another week until we run out of food." He rolled his shoulder a little. "It's gonna get ugly."

He shut his eyes for a moment. He didn't relish the thought of fighting the same people he had helped save, and had been saved by- it was a disgusting thought but an ever-nearing possibility. Even if it meant fighting and killing.. it was better to kill and live than to die and be eaten.


Q wrote: "And that makes it better?! Jesus. I'm never taking a shower again." he crossed his arms over his chest, looking away.

He didn't want to even go to the bathroom.

"Yeah, well, the food shortage isn't so bad. The guys are getting desperate for sex." he shuddered to think.

Two men were doing it in the shower the last time he had gone to the bathroom. They didn't even bother to lock the door.

Tsurai grimaced at the thought of even being remotely related to any sort of homosexual.

"Never taking a shower again," he repeated softly, thinking to himself.


Evil Disco wrote: He rolled his eyes. "Desperate is an understatement with some of these fucktards. If they need it so bad, they can fuck themselves to death outside in the radiation."

Isiah had long since learned to more or less curb any urges- besides, at this stage of the proceedings.. any sort of relationship was dangerous. He didn't want to have to end up defending somebody. Becoming attatched just meant another limb to saw off when times got rough, and he didn't want to lose any more blood from that particular vein.

He leaned his head back to spit in an upward curve toward the sink at the opposite wall, groaning. "Goin' stir crazy, on top of it."


Q wrote: "'stir crazy'?" he asked, looking back to the man, a bit confused.

Tsurai thought about Isiah's last comment... Outside in the radiation...

"We've been here so long, I wonder if it's begun to wore off... We could maybe search for our own food... Couldn't we...?" He thought to himself.


Evil Disco wrote: He snorted. "Y'know. Stir crazy? Staying in one place way too long? You kids. I swear all you learned in school was cheap oral sex." He placed his palm against the wall, pushing himself up from his sitting position onto his feet. He brushed his hands off on his pants, messily, yanking his jacket off arm by arm, his faded, thinning undershirt doing little to hide deep black tattoos. He slung the coat over his shoulder, craning his neck sideways to look down the hall, groaning. "Pissants."
Q wrote: Tsurai narrowed his eyes.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said, monotonous, in reply.

Truth be told he didn't really get past middle school.... After he learned how to read and write, and basic math, he was pulled out.

"Where are you going...?" he asked, pushing himself from the bed, taking a step closer to Isiah, admiring his tattooes silently.

[[Wow, this post sucks. X| ]]


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah snorted, walking out into the hall, stepping over sleeping couples and scampering children. "Fuck if I know.. Sitting around in one place all day doesn't exactly suit my fancy." He started toward the exit- a long upwards tunnel toward the surface, maybe three hundred feet up. The dumwaiter had broken down a long time ago, during one of the routine tests- and there wasn't anybody left with the technical knowledge to fix it. He stared upward, popping his neck in the process. "Ugh. I hate this place.."


Q wrote: Tsurai grimaced for a moment before following Isiah out the room and to the end of the hall.

He stared dumbly for a moment before figuring out what Isiah was staring at.

"Um... Don't you think, if you go out there, you should have some... Supplies or something first...?" He stammered.

"And I guess a way to get up to the hatch wouldn't be too bad either...


Wait! Why am I thinking about this! We can't go out there! radiation and... Other crap! Gah.... I have no idea what I'm thinking about..."



"I'm confused," he thought aloud.



Evil Disco wrote: He snorted, craning his neck upward to try to see the end of the seemingly ongoing tunnel upward, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms tightly over his chest. "I'd need a lot of things. Like. No will to live." He slumped down the wall. "Not gonna be too long for that count.."


Q wrote: Tsurai had no idea what Isiah had said, and let out a loud exhale as he turned around to go back to his cot.

He took his empty duffelbag from under the bunk bed and tossed it at Isiah as he walked back "Catch," he stated as he threw it.

Once thrown, the eighteen year old looked back down the hallway.
"You're intimidating, why don't you go over there and steal some food.

.. We can put it in the bag and then leave."

Tsurai still didn't know how to get up to the door, but he assumed that the food should come first.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah gave him a funny look. "Somehow I think we'd better figure out a way to get this door open before we go around, pissing people off. It wouldn't surprise me if Ezekiel was keeping a baretta around for the occassion."

He craned his neck upward, cupping his hand over his brow to block out auxillary light, sighing. He looked back down at Tsurai.

"How much you weigh?"


Q wrote: "I don't know. A hell of a lot less than I used to weigh, that's for sure."

He crossed his arms over his chest, his stomach grumbling for food.

"Maybe around a hundred pounds," he thought aloud. "one fifty, maybe."

He looked up at Isiah, "Why, you gonna throw me up there?!"

"My pants would probably fall off..." he said to himself, almost blushing at the thought.


Evil Disco wrote: "If you think you could reach." He stroked his chin a little, craning his back to look all the way up. "I think I could do it. One fifty, you say?" He chortled. "Pipsqueak.."

He straightened his spine. "Don't know how we'd get the food up. Toss it up to you, I guess. You'd have to have some serious upper body strength to open the thing while hanging off of it, though.." He smirked at Tsurai's relatively diminuitive build. "Don't think you can manage it."


Q wrote: "hey!" he rebuted, "I may look scrawny but I have you know I'm twice as strong as I look! Maybe more...!"

Tsurai crossed his arms over his bare chest, looking away from Isiah with a "hmph".

"Thinks I am such a pussy..." Tsurai grumbled in his mind.

His green eyes looked up at the door, trying to figure out how to open it if he were hanging off.

He tried to picture in his mind doing that. Maybe if he.. Swumg around in a little circle...

No, that's just get him dizzy...

"Pfft. How much do you weigh?" He shot back, refusing to admit he had no idea how he'd open the thing once he got up there.


Evil Disco wrote: "Two fifty." In reality he had no clue- at his height he was around two seventy five- but diminishing musclemass and lack of food contributed to a considerable weight loss. "Two much for you to toss me, anyway."

He groaned, grinding his teeth a little. "Not like we couldn't build a ladder.. or maybe get another volunteer. We'd have to be quiet about it, though.. Ezekiel wouldn't like it much if we were bustin' up his little facist state he's got going here.."


Q wrote: Tsurai looked at the floor, thinking for a moment.

Finally, his head popped up with an idea.

"Hey! We could bring a bunk bed over here and stand on it..."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well.. we'll do that last. We gotta get food and water and supplies first. And you, skinny-" He pointed a thick finger. "Better get a jacket."

He straightened his collar a little, opening his jacket. It was more intimidating if everyone had a good view of his tattooing- and he was hoping that intimidation would be all it took to get what they needed from the others.


Q wrote: Tsurai frowned at the skinny remark, taken aback by the pointing.

"That's not my fault!" he reputed.

"At least I show compassion by letting other people eat..."

Rushing out of his thoughts, Tsurai's left hand grabbed for the jacket Isiah had taken off.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah shrugged. "Okay.. That'll work. You go grab a bunk bed.."

Isiah grabbed a duffel bag from the wall, emptying it of contents- old porno magazines and an empty soup can- before rolling his head on his shoulders. It had been awhile..

He pushed through crowds of hungry sullen people to the kitchen- where he promptly emptied shelves into the bag, dragging his arm down the shelftop to push clattering cans off in a stream. People were slow to protest- by the time someone had said something he had already cleared that shelf and was working his way through prepared canteens of water.

Isiah snorted, curling his fist. "Back off."

That would be enough for now. He plowed through a growingly irate shuffling mass, tossing the bag on top of the bunkbed that Tsurai had dragged over, climbing up to the top bunk before yanking the boy up after him. "Hurry up and open that sucker.." He lifted Tsurai up onto him without warning, trying his best to place Tsurai's feet on his shoulders. "Lock your knees, dammit!"


Q wrote: [[0_o Isiah! >.o ]]

Tsurai put Isiah's jacket on while he walked over to his bunk bed. It took the kid a while, but he finally managed to push it under the vault, albeit accompanied by a horrid scretching noise of metal on metal and glares.

The eighteen year old, upon Isiah's yelling, got on the bunk, and was then picked up.

Tsurai gasped in surize, locking his knees on command, and grasped the wheel of the thing to be opened(forgot the names >.o) with cold fingers.

He grunted with effort, but finally, after much pushing on the man's shoulders with his feet, he got it open, and jumped off Isiah.

"Don't do that again..." he growled.
Evil Disco wrote: Isiah tossed up the bag after him, hitting Tsurai firmly in the chest. He pulled himself out of the hole, arms flexing and pulsing as he yanked himself out.

"Aw, you'll get over it." He knelt first before standing, brushing himself off.

Yellow, dead grass as far as the eye could see- miles and miles of wasteland, the occassional twisted tree clinging to unlife above windtorn plains. Isiah strained his eyes along the horizon, dirty clouds hiding a strong, piercing sunlight- the only relief from cold sharp winds.

He sighed, glancing back down the hole- people had begun crowding and murmuring down at the bed's base. "We should get going.." He squinted against clouds to find the sun, glancing at his watch. "West should be.. that way." He pointed ahead. "There used to be a town that way, if memory serves me."


Q wrote: He caught the bag with an "Umph", glaring up at Isiah while the man climbed out.

"get over my ass," he thought to himself.

Tsurai looked down with his green eyes, then back up, and shoved the bag up to Isiah.

"Yeah, whatever..." Afterward, Tsurai crouched, and jumped up. Jumping was never his strong suite, so he fell a bit shorter than expected, Hanging onto the edge of the opening.

With another grunt, he swung himself and was able to get up onto the dead grass.

Rolling over on his back, Tsurai looked up at what was supposed to be the sky. "Is it day or night?" he asked.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed, pointing up to where he thought the sun was. "Day, I think. But I wouldn't be too surprised if it remained visible throughout the evening hours, as well.."

He caught the bag, slinging the havy thing over his shoulder. The cold was making him goose-bumpy and he didn't like it- but that was something he could acclamate to. He was glad the boy managed to grab his jacket.

"Well..." The sentence trailed off elsewhere. He offered Tsurai his hand to pull him up onto his feet. "You ready?"


Q wrote: Tsurai grunted and pushed himself up on his own.

He looked down into the safehaven for a while, frowning, and then turned and began walking the opposite direction, a "yeah" coming from his lips as he zipped up Isiah's coat.

Even with the coat, the boy thought he'd freeze to death. Gergia never got under 30 degrees. And it barely ever got down to the forties at all. Tsurai hugged himself and silently thanked Isiah and the gods for having a jacket, regardless of how useless it seemed.

[[Hey, did you know that there were homosexual pedophiles in the death camps during WW2? I guess anyone could assume that, but, there were! -points to book with one line of proof- Do you want to make an RP around that? Like, over PM or something? During this or... If we ever finish this rp?]]


Evil Disco wrote: [[You want to make an RP about homosexual pedophiles? Were they the nazis or fellow prisoners?]]

He trudged along with Tsurai, the tattoos along his arms highlighted as the bare white skin turned a subtle pink from the cold. He folded his arms into his pockets, dead, nearly freeze-dried grass crunching underneath his boots. He looked over to Tsurai, shaking his head. "Kids today.. Wait until it gets dark, and we'll see how cold you think it is."

[[oh, sometimes my talent makes me shudder with. amazement. :xp: ]]


Q wrote: "Oh thanks," Tsurai said, sarcastically.

Around thirty minutes passed before Tsurai talked again. Looking over to Isiah, he asked, "Hey, Isiah... Why do you have so many tattoes?"

[[The nazis were the pedophiles.]]


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah gave him a strange smile- just the slightest curl on the corner of his lip. "Let's just say I'm a glutton for pain, huh? It's too long a story.."

He shoved his hands uncomfortably into his pockets, eyes far off as though reliving a memeory. His face wnet strangely blank while he thought before dropping it.

A plastic smile returned to cover up any real emotion. "None of your business, anyway, kiddo."

[[Yeah, I could go for that. This may sound kind of sick but Nazis fascinate me. Pedophiles, less so, but I could certainly give it a shot. I don't know which role you're interested in, but I don't think I could play a good child if I tried.]]


Q wrote: He hmphed.

"Fine," he shot back, walking onward.

They were going to die out here. And it was all Isiah's fault.
Gah, why did he bother?

Stupid teenage curiousity. He should kick himself.

"You have no idea where we're going, do you?"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed and rolled his eyes. "Boy, I told you. There used to be a little settlement about fifteen miles west of here. It wasn't much but we might be able to find clean water and food, enough to get us somewhere else.." He was beginning to be skeptical as to whether people could survive this sort of onslaught..

He sighed. I knew I'd die a lonely faggot..


Q wrote: He sighed, leaving them both in silence for a long time.

"I've got time," he finally said, looking up and cocking his neck to see Isiah.

"For the tattoo story." His hands were already shoved in his pockets, so he kept them closer to himself before and in fists as he arched his back backward to see Isiah, giving him a small smile.
"Not like we're busy or anything," he joked.

Turning forward again, he walked forward while saying, "If you were so into pain, why didn't you get branded or burned? Or even a full color tattoo or piercings? Not those weird bars you have.

Not like.. Some type of weird Indian..."

Now he was just blathering on. "I mean, aren't you Irish?" He turned around again, began walking backwards.

[[I'd be interested in the not nazi character. ;) Sorry for taking so long to reply.]]


Evil Disco wrote: "It has nothing to do with my ethnicity," he spat, curtly. His shoulders tensed up a little, giving Tsurai a cold look in hopes of dissuading him.

He folded his arms behind his head, sighing, shoulders slumping downward. "I ran with a bad crowd. Good enough for you?" He didn't want to tell the boy too much- he didn't want to relive the memory. Hopefully, all the people who had participated in his ruin were dead.

Raised arms revealed more black ink traced along his obliques before he dipped his hands back into his pockets. "You shoulda brought your own damn jacket, kid. I'm gettin' chilly."


Q wrote: Tsurai hmphed.

"Hey, I ran with a bad crowd, too. Doesn't mean I got all these tattooes over myself."

Tsurai turned his back to Isiah and stopped, taking off the jacket so his back that was full of pale white scars could be shown to Isiah.

"See, I just got stabbed in the back a ton. Literally."

He put the jacket back on and started to walk backward again, smirk on his face.

"And where I come from... It's not cold. So I went shirtless a lot of the time. But not here. You atleast have a shirt. I got nothing."

He playfully lifted his left hand and waved it, urging Isiah to come forward. "You'd have to beat this jacket off me if you want it again," He chuckled.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah laughed out loud at that one, shaking his head, teeth shining in a grin, eyes shut. "Boy, it wouldn't take much."

Tsurai was a skinny little thing. Isiah thought could tear through him like paper if need be- he doubted it would come to that, but it may..

"I don't think your crowd compared in the same way. The tattoos were kind of.. a rite of passage. In a sense. A show of loyalty."

It was really beginning to sound like a gang- Isiah shrugged inwardly. He would let Tsurai think that if he wanted to.

"I won't beat the jacket off of you. Too lazy."


Q wrote: Tsurai turned around with a "heh".

"You were a member of a cult, then?"

The boy placed his fists in the jacket's pockets once more, glad to have them there.

"Good, 'cause I'm still too cold for comfort."


Evil Disco wrote: He sighed, nodding slowly. "A cult."

He was hoping Tsurai would drop it. His eyes dropped down to the ground to avoid eye contact. He was trying to wipe his mind free of all the bullshit he had to put up with in his teen years- the last thing he wanted to do was go on about it to some slack jawed kid, anyway.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, thumbs out, blowing his breath upward in a stream that dissapated within seconds of it's exit, breathing deeply to fight off the urge for a cigarette.

Q wrote: Tsurai began looking up at the sky for a while, mind wandering off with the amount of poisionous gases in the air. Or, he assumed they were poisonous, since they were so colorful.

".. When do you think we'll get to that place...?" he said quietly, about a half hour later.

[[Har! We did it again! Who's carrying the duffel bag os supplies, Naner?]]


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah had been enjoying the silence that had been provided. "I dunno.." He scratched the back of his head, turning to walk backwards to try and estimate how far they had gone. "Uhh.." He turned back around. "Tomorrow morning, I guess. If we're lucky."

[[Tsurai's got it. D:]]


Q wrote: Tsurai adjusted the duffel bag so it was atop his shoulders, and he could lean his head against it.

He closed his eyes and replied, "That with or without sleep, ya boring bastard?"


Evil Disco wrote: He rolled his eyes, snorting, folding his hands behind his head. "Without. Think you can handle it, pussy boy?" He winked. "You want me to carry that duffle?"


Q wrote: He took off the bag and tossed it at Isiah.
"I'll give it to ya cause I know when I can use people."
He gave a smirk, and kept walking, back to Isiah.


Evil Disco wrote: He rolled his eyes, slinging the duffle bag over one shoulder. "Don't think too highly of yourself, kiddo." He yawned into his fist, boots crunching along dead grass.

He bit his lip hard- the taste of blood would ward off the nicotine urge for now- sucking his bottom lip, eyes contorted in pain.


Q wrote: [[Meh! I can't reply to that! Time lapse! D< ]]


Evil Disco wrote: [[Feh, makin' me do it. ]]

The rest of the night was spent trudging along- the sun rose with still no sight of the town Isiah had hoped for. Tired and hungry, Isiah sighed, dropping the duffelbag on the ground before setting himself down hard on his haunches.

"To fuck with this. Gimme a half hour." He lay down, laying his forearm over his eyes to block out the approaching sun.


Q wrote: Tsurai was walking, half asleep.
When Isiah stopped, Tsurai turned around.

Tsurai yawned, his whole body shaking.
"Now wouldn't be a good time to say 'I told you so', would it? Being as... I said you had no idea where you were going. Ugh..."

Tsurai collapsed onto his knees and crawled over to the duffel bag.
He began to unzip it while he asked, "What's in here..?"

Briefly, he thought about spending the night inside the thing, with the coat. Even though the sun was now rising, he was still freezing.

Tsurai started looking through the things in the bag for something that might keep him warm, mumbling something about hwo he can't sleep because he's "so fucking cold".


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes, grabbing Tsurai by the back of his collar, thumping him down close beside him. "Don't get too comfortable. If I didn't think you'd freeze I wouldn't letcha share my body heat."

Isiah wasn't exactly snuggly but he was warmer than cold bare ground. "Stop whining.." He yawned, shaking it out.


Q wrote: When Tsurai was grabbed, he immediately called out, "Hey! What're you--?!"

But then he was placed beside Isiah, and shut up.
He copied Isiah's yaw and leaned against the man.

"God, you're warm.." he mumbled, pulling his arms inside his jacket and closing his eyes as he stopped shivering.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes. "That'd be the Irish blood. Be even warmer if I had some liquor." His eyes rolled shut, falling into a fitful sleep.

He woke several hours later, thoroughly baked by the piercing rays of noon-day sun. The front side of him- what wasn't shielded by Tsurai's sleeping form, anyway- was a deep pink. He hissed with pain, gritting his teeth. He wasn't quite ready to open his eyes against the light.. He shook Tsurai gently, a thick hand on the boy's shoulder. "You awake?"


Q wrote: [[You finally made it! Sorry for my laggage.]]

Tsurai, once shaken, tried to grab Isiah when his eyes opened, but realized his arms were inside the jacket.

He fussed with it rather humorously, finally thrashing it off, and then frowning in embarrassment, crossed his arms over his bare chest and looked away.

A few seconds passed before Tsurai fell onto Isiah again, yawning. "Whatever it is, it can wait," he grumbled.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah hissed with pain as Tsurai lay his head back down on burnt flesh. He sat up with a jolt, sending the boy's head into his lap... accidentally. "Damn, boy, watch it.."

He squinted against harsh light. "We sit here too long, we'll cook. Get up."


Q wrote: Tsurai brought his head up just milimeters away from the crouch-shot.
He glared at Isiah, scratching his head. "What was that-- Oh."

The boy saw Isiah's sunburns and couldn't help but laugh. Tsurai lived in a place where the sun was hot and the UV Rays were worse. It was a miracle he hadn't gotten skin cancer, but what was great about being him was he almost never got sunburn.

He didn't remember how it felt to have sunburn, so he thought it was a pretty minute thing, and for someone like Isiah to be complaining about it- when he seemed so strong- was just funny.

"Cooked? Here?" Tsurai chuckled and took off Isiah's coat as he stood up, chucking the cloth on Isiah's lap.

"You need this more than I do."

The eighteen year old looked to the duffelbag, his stomach growling.
going to his knees, he opened up the bag and started looking for something to eat, still lightly chuckling to himself about Isiah's misfortune.

[[FATE's back up. Want to go in her thread? I meant to catch you over IM and ask, but you're never around. D: ]]
Evil Disco wrote: Isiah grunted, setting himself onto his feet. He pulled the jacket on over his burnt skin, hissing with pain all the while. "If it weren't for your inability to withstand cold, boy, I wouldn't be so fried.." It hurt to talk- to squint. He groaned deep in his chest.

Rather than turn a deep, uniform red, he was freckled- as was the irish way- all over where the sun had managed to hit him. He picked up the duffle bag, cursing quietly as he lay it down on his shoulder. "Well..."

The sentence trailed off to nowhere. Instead of bothering to finish it, he turned in the direction he had headed the day before.

[[I want to, but I work 20+ hours a week.. and unfortunately, I am also taking 12 units. I hardly have time for sleep, much less another RP with more people. Back at my guild there are only a few, so I'm not inconveniencing as many. :( ]]


Q wrote: [[but if we were ELITE members, then we could be on our own timeline and it wouldn't matter.]]

Tsurai began to search through the duffelbag until he heard Isiah get up.
"Isiah!" he turned to glare at the man.
"What are you doing?! Come back here!"

He turned back to the duffelbag and collapsed overtop of it, dramatically muttering to himself, "I want breakfast...!"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes. "Breakfast? Didn't you eat before we left?" He sat back down, grumbling to himself. "Fine.. fine. If you want.." He pulled his legs in to an uncomfortable, stiff indian position, hissing due to sunburn.

[[It'd still be hampering to FATE members should they decide to go after eliters.. but I'll think about it, okay?]]


Q wrote: [[I guess marvelling at it from afar wouldn't hurt. ;_; I'm in so many rps I've forgotten what ones I'm in. So I guess it's better to not join... D: ]]


Tsurai pushed himself up and started looking through the duffelbag again.
"Besides," he said in a normal tone, "Now that we're alone, I can quit giving the kids a chance to eat. Contrary to popular belief... I haven't eaten in..."

He found a can of soup and held it to his face, as if reading it- but he couldn't read. He'd never told anyone, though.
Pictures of carrots and peas were what he was looking at. He wanted to drool.

"... A really long time," he said softly.

He let the can fall between his legs. "you got a bunsen burner in there or something?" Tsurai asked, a bit more serious than he was used to being around Isiah. Oi, being out here was making him feel depressed.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah digged around and produced one, pulling out his dwindling book of matches to start the flame. "Go for it, kiddo."

He watched Tsurai study the can, chortling a little. "I wouldn't worry about the experation date if I were you. It's not really a rule so much as a suggestion.. and it's not like you've got much choice."

He tucked the matches back into his pocket, his fingers brushing against cigarette papers. He groaned in his chest, gritting his molars to fight off the craving as best he could..


Q wrote: Tsurai took the burner and looked it over.
"Battery operated?" Rethorical question.
He took the matches and ignited the gas, putting the can overtop of the flame.

Tsurai then stood up and searched through his pants, looking for his switchblade. The search was slow, but it pushed the old pants farther than they should've gone; amazing they didn't fall off, actually.
In fact. Tsurai's hair was black.
Not that everybody's wasn't.

Tsurai narrowed an eye, giving the air an evil eye and finally pulled out the switchblade from one of his back pockets.
Sitting down, he flipped out the blade and waited for the can to be ready.
God, he was so hungry.

His posture slumped and he began to redo his dark brown rat's tail in boredom, trying not to drool infront of Isiah. He had to keep swallowing.
This was embarrassing!


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes wandered south for just a second before he shut his eyes tightly, unfolding his legs to lay down on his back. That should be the very last thing on your mind, you dumb bastard.. He hissed as burnt flesh touched the bare hot earth- even when shielded by the jacket, mere contact was painful.

He exhaled slowly, trying to think about other things.. He was hungry too. Food's a good thing to think about.. Fuck, I'm hungry.. bad idea. He moved his arm to massage his temple with his forefingers. He didn't want to eat until he had to- and he had certainly gone through worse. He wasn't nice like Tsurai was- women and children be fucked.

"Make it quick, okay? We've got to get going."


Q wrote: "What's up with him?" Tsurai thought to himself, taking the can off the burner and extinguishing the flame.

He put the burner back in the bag, and pryed open the can with his switchblade.

"You want any..?" Tsurai asked, half-minded. A few seconds later he shrugged and drank the thing himself, not waiting for Isiah's reply- he didn't seem like he wanted anything anyway.

After downing the whole can he looked inside it just to be sure it was all gone.
He shouldn't have enen bothered heating the thing up- it all tasted like crap on a stick.

Tsurai put the can on the ground and stood up, watching the annoyed Isiah.
"I don't see why you're in such a rush," he grumbled, kicking the can away from them.
"You've got the jacket. And you wincing all the time. Come on. Don't be such a pussy!" He was joking now, although it didn't really sound like it.
"Sunburn is a kid's woe."

No truer statements have been said. Tsurai smiled to himself and zipped up the duffelbag before pulling it up and over his shoulder.


Evil Disco wrote: He sighed. "You know what else is? A black eye and a fat lip. So don't sass me boy, or you'll be feeling my pain pretty quick." He rolled over onto his side, groaning.

Years of being cooped up and celibate were beginning to make him cranky... some stupid kid mouthing off at him didn't make his situation any easier. . .


Q wrote: [[I like your coffee mug. ]]

Tsurai rolled his eyes, urning to Isiah.

"You're up, you're down, you walking or not? Seriously, Isiah. Make up your mind!"

Tsurai crossed his arms over his chest as he said in a half-assed comment, "You're acting like a fag."

Bah, Isiah's grumpiness was contagious.


Evil Disco wrote: It took him a second to get to his feet before Isiah slugged Tsurai across his jaw, lip curled back in a sneer. "Listen, you little fuck- you keep your fucking mouth shut, or I'll make it so it hurts to talk."

He was sick of Tsurai's bullshit, and Tsurai was getting dangerously too close to home.. Seconds after the fist had been thrown, he began to second guess his movements.. Denial was a sign of guilt.

"Just.. shut up, let's go."

[[Yeah, I've got that GODDAMMITINEEDMYFIX look with the cig and the mug. ]]


Q wrote: Tsurai saw it coming. He just... Didn't do anything.
And he really couldn't figure out why.

It all felt like it was going in slow motion- Isiah getting up, punching him, The duffelbag falling, and Tsurai spitting out blood.

He glared at the ground, body shaking.

The worst part of this was not that Tsurai had been hit, but that he knew he was too weak compared to Isiah, too weak from not eating in forever even if Isiah was a normal person. That's what got Tsurai.

His pride was shot. He gave small growl, another cough of blood, wiped his face and shook his head, trying to get his bearings, and then fell to his knees next to the duffelbag.

The eighteen year old grabbed the thing and got back up, glaring at the back of Isiah's head before slumping his posture and slowly walking behind the man.

This was demeaning. Tsurai stayed silent for a good portion of the day, trying to shrug off the fact that Isiah really didn't mean to act like Tsurai's dad.

And Tsurai... really wanted to kill that man. But not Isiah.
Isiah was different. Tsurai didn't know why, but the man was, so he just let himself be the silent packmule for now.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah continued forward in the awkward silence most of the day and through sunset, following the same direction he had been working toward. He was kind of enjoying the quiet- gave him time to think, anyway.. He regretted being so hard on the boy.. but he had to learn. Someday, he had to learn.. and that day was today.

You can't go around throwing insults and not expect that kind of reaction..

After sundown it got too dark to keep going- the stars were blotted by dirty clouds, and it was hard to discern their position. He turned back around, pulling off his coat now that the sun was down. ". . . Sorry."


Q wrote: Tsurai dropped the duffelbag and grabbed the jacket with a "hmph", barely making eye contact with Isiah.

After putting on the jacket and zipping it up, he fell to the ground in an Indian-style sitting position.
He stuffed his hands in the pockets and frowned, looking away.

Tsurai opened his mouth to ask if they were going to stop tonight, since they walked through the night last time. He thought better of it, snorted, and fell onto his back, knees bent upward, looking at the sky.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes, plopping down nearby, folding his hands behind his head before he lay down. "Fine.. you can stay in highschool as long as you want." He shut his eyes, grinding his back teeth.

I wonder how long the little queer expects to keep this up, he wondered. He shut his eyes, sighing. He'd better get used to it.. this is the world we live in.

Q wrote: Tsurai let his legs fall down on the ground.

"I'm not in highschool," he grumbled.
"I never even went," he rolled over behind the duffelbag.
"Just admit you're lost," he mumbled as he began to shrink into the jacket, trying to get as much body in the fabric as possible.


Evil Disco wrote: "I'm not fucking lost, kid.. and don't worry about missing out on high school. It sucked balls." He sat up, brushing the dirt off of the back of his neck. I could have sworn we'd have found the damn place by now.. He groaned again about his sunburn, peeling off a piece of skin from the back of his neck. "Fuck.. I hate this climate."


Q wrote: "You hate this climate? I could die in my sleep while you're sitting there complaining about a petty sunburn," Tsurai grumbled, pulling himself completely into the jacket.

Now the only thing human about him was the hair at the top and the shoes peeking from the bottom of the man on his side in the ball inside the jacket. He shivered one, stating under his breath, "What a drag," which could easily be misheard as something else, Tsurai was confident Isiah couldn't hear him anyway.

He shivered once more and closed his eyes, attempting to go to sleep in warmth while not suffocating himself.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes, running his hands through intensely red hair, back and forth- it was too short to be too messy but he hated the way it matted after missing a few showers. "Gain some weight or something. You have no fat to keep you warm."


Q wrote: Tsurai growled and poked his head out.
"I'm thin blooded. You know. The kind of people that don't get sunburn or complain about heat," he sneered.

Then he stuck his arms through the sleeves of the jacket and crawled over to the duffelbag, opening it up, suddenly becoming thirsty.

"Atleast I give the kids chances to eat," he said searching through the bag, taking out cans and putting them outside without looking at them.
"Unlike some Tatooed Irishman who hoards himself over the food with the big menacing muscles!" he finished sarcastically.

By this time, not only were the cans out of the bag, but also a majority of the supplies. Tsurai had been taking out things that there was no point in taking out.
He finished with the bunsen burner and then just fell down on his back next to the duffelbag.

Tsurai unzipped the jacket with a heaving sigh and answered the question he knew was coming. "I don't know."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah watched him, a brow rising over his eye while he tried to figure out what the boy was planning on doing. When Tsurai answered the look he shrugged. "All right boy.. but for the record, you cracked first."

He pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt to pick a rock out of the tread in his boots. "Kids are just gonna suffer, anyway. If their mothers had an ounce of mercy, they'd slay em in their sleep before they starved or got cancer."

He paused moving for a second to think that phrase over- brutal as it sounded.. he was forced to agree..

"And as for my hoarding.. I gotta feed these muscles, boy, otherwise I'd end up looking like YOU."


Q wrote: Tsurai sat up, rubbing his head and growling at Isiah.
"Don't say that. Not about kids."

Tsurai tensed up from the children slaying comment. That hit a nerve. And Isiah insulting his lack of muscle hit another one.
Tsurai popped.

He stood up and let the jacket slide off him, then ran to Isiah like a rabid dog.

Isiah was already sitting, so Tsurai just bent over and grasped Isiah's throat in his left hand to choke and restrain the man, while punching the irishman's head with the other.

"You filthy asshole! Damned fucking faggots, the lot of you!"

[[Not enough sleep = illiterate Q]]


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's face flew sideways with the first strike, cursing, his voice choked. He grabbed the front of Tsurai's dogtags and yanked him down, bashing the teen's head against his, then tearing his hand off of his neck, pushing him back.

He stood, turning his head and spitting- Tsurai had split his lip. He pulled his lip back, canines gleaming.

"Just fucking accept what's around you, you little 'tard. This ain't no world for children."

He ran his eyes down the boy, his fists clenched, arms tense. He was ready to break him if Tsurai ran at him.. though he didn't want to.. the boy had made it this far..


Q wrote: Tsurai was pushed back and when he was free from Isiah's onslaught, he coughed, shaking his head, trying to clear the dizziness.

"Doesn't matter what kind of world it is," he growled hoarsely. "They can still survive."

Tsurai took a deep breath, muscles tense as he glared at Isiah. It seemed like a stand-off between them for a while. Tsurai only shook.
Then.
Five minutes later, he let himself fall into a sitting position, then onto his back and mumbled, "I'm hot."
He probably had a cold.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah plopped down onto his haunches a moment after Tsurai did, visibly untensing, his shoulders falling. He lifted his finger to his lip to try to ebb the bleeding, grimacing at the familar steely taste of blood.

"Well.. you should, after I bashed you like that. Lie down, okay? You need to get some sleep before we start off again."

He was afraid the boy wasn't handling the weather too well- Isiah was used to cold- it was the heat he couldn't handle. He didn't have much more to offer the boy than the jacket he was wearing.


Q wrote: A rumble came from deep within his throat as he turned on his side. "All you did was push me outta the way.
Or you mean this morning?"

He relaxed his whole body, closing his eyes.
They burned and he could feel his heart beat in his ears.
He frowned and looked back at Isiah.

"You get sunburn and I get a fever. What a great group we make," he remarked sarcastically.


Evil Disco wrote: He laughed a little, though there was a sad ring to the sound as he lay on his back, rubbing his face with his palms, groaning.

"We weren't meant to survive, I guess."

Isiah had almost forgotten about decking the boy earlier.. well.. time flies. And he still deserved it, stupid little fuck... Tsurai just refused to learn his lesson. He's gotta learn someday.. even if I have to pound it into him..


Q wrote: He hmphed.

"Surviving is easy," he rolled back away from Isiah. "If you have help."
He paused to be dramatic as he uselessly crossed his arms over his chest with a huff of hot air.

"Parents and children."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah snorted. "Stupid fucks keep having babies, too. That's something I didn't get, even before the fall.." He pulled his hands from his face to lay them behind his head after brushing dirt out of his hair, picking a blade of dead grass now and again.

"I can't think of a time that I was so desperate for ass that'd I'd be willing to make a fucking twenty year commitment for it."

He was meandering mentally now, trying to push away from the tender subject that Tsurai had come after him for earlier. Enough drama for one night..


Q wrote: Tsurai's eyes teared up- not cause of emotion, but because of his illness, not that Isiah could see, anyway.

"Some people just want to..." His voice cracked, but he covered it up with a mock-cough.

"Have sex," he quickly finished.

Maybe it wasn't all from the fever.

"Condoms or whatever just ruins it, I guess." - That sentence was added on for no real reason other than to clarify, and Tsurai's voice was strained when he said it.
After he did, he went ahead and coughed again, trying to get his dumb memories from his mind.

The fact that that mind was easily wandering because of the fever... Didn't help so much.
Evil Disco wrote: "That's what a fucking bottle of KY is for. Pretty simple. And chicks can just get over it."

He sat up, wandering toward Tsurai, plopping down near him to dig through the jacket, fumbling through the other pockets to find his cigarettes- and his lighter. "Fuck, whatcha gotta crush em for.."

He dumped the jacket after pulling a cigarette from the carton, leaving the carton in the pocket, taking the lighter with him. He fumbled with the clumsy plastic thing. "Fucking Bic.." Before finally getting it to light, holding his cigarette in his teeth.

He sucked in, one long draw- his chest visibly rose and fell, smoke running from his nostrils. He lay back after that, staring upward. "Women are nothing but trouble, anyway."


Q wrote: He flopped over on his back with a smirk.
"Must be if you fuck people over by choking them with their necklaces and then headbutting them."

He opened an eye, then his face went white.
"Shit."

It was finally piecing together now.

Tsurai shot up like a bullet, paying for later with more dizziness.

"You fucking are a fag!"

God, Tsurai was slow! Why didn't he figure this out before?!


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes widened, pupils shrinking- the rest of his body didn't move, though muscles tensed in his neck. He finished exhaling, body loosening a little, eyelids drooping.

He paused, taking another short puff, leaning his head back to blow a smoke ring upwards while he gathered his thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm a fucking fag, Tsurai. I fuck men." He took another deep breath after pulling his cigarette from his lips, flicking off the ashes on his knee. "Or I did. The fact of the matter is, I'm the faggot who beat your ass."

He watched the boy, head quirked, left fist clenched should Tsurai jump for him. He didn't want to have to waste his cigarette- if he could, he would grab the boy before he got started.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, either. Because you aren't my type."


Q wrote: "I can't believe this," he whined, sitting back down, now facing Isiah with his legs folded in an Indian Style.

"Why am I such an idiot?" He grumbled to himself.

It's because he was sick, her surmised. He was only not thinking straight because of the fever, he convinced himself.

"You... The..." His voice had gone up a few octaves.
He reached over and grabbed the jacket, bringing it over his lap, remembering how low his jeans were.
"... Looks..."

He let himself fall onto the ground, wincing from the pain still there from Isiah's headbutt. Then he treid to calm himself down by taking deep breaths.

"How can you..."
He wanted to be accepting, really he did, but they way he grew up shaped his mind only one way.
"So you..."

He remembered what he sawa few weeks a go, in the bathroom. The two men.

Tsurai turned over on his stomach, lifting himself up as if he were going to do a round of push ups, and vomited.
He wasn't sure if it was moreso from being sick or being gay, but... It all just made him sick to his stomach.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah snarled. He grabbed Tsurai's head by the back and shoved his face down into the mess he made. "Eat it, you little fuck, because you just wasted the only fucking food you're gonna get for today." He twisted Tsurai's face back and forth in the muck before pulling him up out of it and tossing him on the ground.

"I feel like I'm stuck in the fucking fifties with you people. Jesus Christ."


Q wrote: Tsurai managed to close his eyes before being shoved into his own puke, but that didn't make it any less grostesque of an action.
It made him want to throw up again. But he swallowed it down, because Isiah was just... Ugh, he didn't want to think about it.

Tsurai had been through many different types of abuse. He'd been through drug abuse and physical child abuse, he'd been through emotional and parental abuse.

And of those horrible things in his past, he couldn't ever remember being shoved into his own vomit. Still, Isiah was reminding him of his dad even more every hour that passed by, and he could feel the hatred just boiling up in him.

But when Isiah let him come up for air, Tsurai didn't do anything other than gasp for that much-needed oxygen.
He coughed, wheezed once or twice, drooled a bit, and shook his head.

Then, he shivered, grabbed Isiah's jacket from beneath him, and whiped his face off on the back of the jacket.

"You dumbass," Tsurai shot at Isiah once he sat up.
"I didn't vomit 'cause you were gay, I did it because I was sick!"
He didn't really know that for sure, but he wanted Isiah to feel guilty.
He doubted that Isiah would ever feel guilty about anything, though.

The boy panted and wiped the jacket's back on some clean ground.

"I'd fucking beat your stretched ass all the way to hell and back if I could see straight," he thought to himself.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes. "You really ain't gonna last out here long, kid, if you can't even hold down your damn spaghettios."

He sighed, the stench making him queasy. His stomach rumbled with both disgust and hunger. He punched the ground beside him, growling in his chest. "If you wanna fucking talk to me about it, you can. Cuz this is the last time we're gonna."

He turned to Tsurai and studied his face, trying to make sense of him.


Q wrote: Flopping over on his back, he took some more deep breaths.
"Talk about what? Being gay?" He frowned.

"You fuck men in the ass, is there much to talk about?"

He put his hand over his face.
He was really, really hot. He wanted to take his pants off, but now with Isiah being gay and all... He was going to think twice about everything.


Evil Disco wrote: He groaned. "Nevermind..."

He watched Tsurai more closely, sighing. "Stay down, kid.." He lay his palm on Tsurai's forehead, frowning at the heat. Isiah pulled off his shirt- well, his undershirt, anyway- and fanned Tsurai with it, best he could.

The sunburn was going down- tattoos stood out against freckles and porcelain, woven intricately over his arms and across his chest. Stupid little fuck is gonna die out here..


Q wrote: "Ugh. Thanks," he murmered.
A shiver went down his spine, and he wiped his face again even though there was nothing on it.

"I do have questions, I just. Won't remember the answers tomorrow morning so... What's the point?"

He put his arm over his eyes and let out a sigh.

"Sorry about the... Stuff. I just. Never met a gay guy before."


Evil Disco wrote: He snorted, still fanning. "I bet you have.. you've just never known it." He sighed, pulling his legs in. "We're not any different, you know.."

How to explain it all..
he mused. So much was held in the tiny syllable 'gay', even though it was all so simple.. Putting the concept into words..

"Fuck it.. you gonna be okay?"


Q wrote: He shifted the arm up.

"Well I was... But then you shoved my face in my own puke."
He shivered from the thought.
"Now I'm probably going to go through puberty all over again."
He covered his face again and looked away from Isiah.
"... Asshole."


Evil Disco wrote: "Dickwad."

He took another short puff on his cigarette, setting his shirt down across his lap. "I dunno if you're supposed to sleep or not with a fever.. but if you're gonna die anyway, I'd rather do it sleeping."

He blew smoke upward in steady, slow rings. He wondered how long it would take Tsurai to accept- and then, perhaps, grow accustomed- to the knowledge he had just aquired. He was sickened that he needed time at all.. Back in the Regan years, sure, but now? After it was all over?

He took another short puff, turning his head to glance toward the horizon. "Up to you, though."


Q wrote: "I'm not gonna die," he groaned.
"What? You never been sick, before?"

He smirked. "That a thing with gays? Never getting sick? I'd be gay like that if it gave me a great immune system."
Tsurai forced a laugh.

Then he calmed down, got all soft. "I'll try and sleep, but I doubt I can."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah mussed his hair. "You're probably pretty tired, kiddo. Been a lot of walking and ass-beating going on."

Smoke punctuated his words as he went, finishing his cigarette right up until it burnt his fingertips. He cursed, quietly, tossing the thing down and letting it burn in empty dirt.

"I been sick for awhile, Tsurai. After it keeps happening you just get used to it."

He folded his shirt in his lap out of compulsive habit, even though there was nowhere to put it. He lay it down behind him, laying his face on it once he lay down. "Sleep'd do us both some good."
Q wrote: "With what...?" Tsurai said softly, letting it hang in the air.

He was almost positive that he wasn't going to get an answer.

He fell asleep rather quickly, although it was probably more of a passing out type of thing.

And when the sun came up, he had Isiah's jacket over himself like a blanket, and was waken up by the horrendous light. Tsurai covered his head with the jacket, a small groan escaping from him.
It felt like he had a hangover. And his face felt weird.

Underneath the jacket, he halfmindedly ribbed his hands over his face and felt it...

Pimples.

Even though Tsurai was sick, felt like shit, probably still had a fever, and was sweating from the heat, to boot, he shot up and went over to Isiah's sleeping form.
Grasping the heavy man's shoulder's, he violently shook the Irishman, yelling "I told you I told you I told you!! LOOK AT THIS! I'm not 15, you asshole! LOOK AT ME!"

Tsurai may have been as straight as an arrow, but he still had dignity. And being called a pimpleface was not something Tsurai was going to look forward to.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah yawned, one eye opening before the other. It took about thirty seconds to gain focus before he started laughing- quietly at first, but with growing volume and intensity.

"You've never had the CHICKEN POX you little cretin? Oh, man. You're in for it now." He sat up, adjusting his boots- he had tried to kick them off while he slept with no success. "We better find that town today so we can get you to lie down.. I can't believe.." He chortled a little more. "That's just pathetic, right there."


Q wrote: [[Ee gads! You're ALIVE!]]

Tsurai glared at the man as he laughed.
Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, and just punched Isiah in the face from where he was sitting.

"Asshole," he muttered.

Chicken pox?

How fun. Not one day was he ever sick and then all the sudden. BAM. Chicken pox.

"This is why you don't shove people in their own puke!" Tsurai proclaimed.
"Fucking twit," he muttered under his breath.

[[Try QuikTrip. Weekly paycheck at 8.50 USD an hour for part time. ]]


Evil Disco wrote: [[I make 9.00 an hour plus tip, honey. ;B New jobs are awesome. I stopped working at Tard-get and finally got a Starbucks job where they won't treat me like a dog.]]

Isiah took the hit squarely, turning his head back to where it was before the blow, rolling his jaw on it's hinges. He waited for a moment. "Granted. But that's not what gave you the pox. Someone in the vault must have had it.."

His eyelids slid halfway down, chortling with the tiniest smidgen of humility as he raised his hand to rub his throbbing jaw. "With a little practice, kid, you might make a decent scrapper someday."

He glanced upward at the position of the sun, frowning. "Look. You gonna be able to walk, or do I need to carry you?"

[[sorry about not being around. Target wanted me to work every god damn day of my last week because they were angry with me for leaving. Haha. So I was working two jobs for awhile, plus school. FUN!]]


Q wrote: [[lucky fool. (about the 9/hr waitressing)]]

Tsurai groaned, plopping himself on his butt across from Isiah.
He didn't want to be carried, he had some dignity. But he didn't want to exert himself, either.

However, he had his pride, and, after some thought, with another groan he forced himself up and started walking.
He was sweating a lot, and Tsurai was really thirsty (As sweating will dehydrate, and all).

Tsurai was embarrassed. He wanted to see his face, and yet he didn't. He'd never been sick before, he was afraid of what he looked like, but then, he wanted to know, just to pulverize Isiah for it.

And while the boy's mind was wandering, he managed to think about what Isiah said:
A little practice, and you might make a decent scrapper, one day.

Bah. He was trying to decide if he should be insulted or flattered.
And being felt flattered seemed totally wrong, considering Isiah was gay, so Tsurai settled on being insulted.

And that was about the time everything started getting blurry.
Then he got dizzy.

Tsurai immediately stopped walking, trying to blink off the blurriness. Everything was not spinning.
But. It felt like it.
Tsurai began to unknowingly sway and afterward, promptly fell on his back, muttering a "Make it stop, make it stop..."

Tsurai got dizzy easily, and now he was both scared and sick to his stomach.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah walked after him, waiting for him to tire himself out. Once he collapsed, Isiah gingerly picked him up, hefting him over his shoulders. "You should have let me carry you, kid." Isiah had to adjust the duffle's weight from one arm to the other to keep good balance.

He held Tsurai tightly to keep him from injuring either Isiah or himself if he decided to struggle, pushing up the next hill. "You need to learn when you're beat. Pride'll be the death of you.."

Isiah's thoughts raced. It'd been awhile since he had chicken pox- he must have been six or seven- and he knew that the older you were, the more of an ordeal it became..

He wasn't sure how to handle it. His parents had kept him in bed and fed him chicken noodle soup- the white man's cure- but that obviously wasn't an option for Tsurai. For the time being, Isiah just wanted to get him out of the heat.

He trecked on for a little while longer, his sunburn growing darker, groaning as sweat cooled his temples, staining his undershirt. He was beginning to think that perhaps, starvation was a far better alternative than death by heat stroke..

We gotta find town soon.. it shouldn't have taken us this long..


Q wrote: [[If you're waiting for me to come up with a town or something, I've got nothing.]]

Tsurai coughed when he was picked up, and held on to Isiah's shirt for about ten minutes, shaking, as Tsurai still felt like he was going to spin out of control.

But it seemed like after the ten minutes, the spinning subsided and the eighteen year old weezed, hoarsely whispering, "Tsu-rai, I can't... Breathe.."

He would've normally began to kick free after that, but the kid was too tired, lazy, and ill to begin even trying.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed, pulling Tsurai down from his shoulders to cradle him against his chest instead. "Better now?" He grunted as the grade became steeper, leaning forward to adjust to the change, sweat rolling down his temples. "Fucking heat.."

He knew that it wouldn't be long before he became severely dehydrated, and he wouldn't have the strength to push on- at this point, he just had to have faith that over that hill, town would be there..

And so it was.

Lying at the bottom of what was once a basin lay a missmash of shanties, tents and ruined buildings, streets paved with rubble, people wandering aimlessly between stained awnings.

Isiah visibly untensed, shoulders slumping downward. "Finally.." He looked down towards Tsurai's face to gauge his wellness, if any, groaning before starting down the hill toward shade.

Immediately upon arrival, Isiah set Tsurai down in the corner of a ruined building- the brick was cool, shaded from sunshine by a crudely drawn tarp over it's top corner. He then set down the duffel bag, plopping down next to the boy, picking out their canteen of water and handing it to him. "Here."

[[sorry if I'm more absent than usual. My girlfriend dumped me and I'm trying to find that comfortable numbness.]]


Q wrote: Tsurai didn't answer, and curled into as much a ball as he could in Isiah's arms as he went over the hill, and back down again.

When the eighteen year old was put down in the shade, he opened an eye, and for a moment, thought he was drunk, as he couldn't focus.
But then a canteen got thrown at him. Tsurai let it fall in his lap with a sigh.

Begrudgingly, he picked the canteen up and handed it back to Isiah, saying, "You need it more than I do."

And with that, the kid looked around wearily, then squinted.
Then shook for a moment.

Then finally lost it.

Dropping the canteen, he clamped his hands to his face and started scratching it as fast as possible.

"THIS ITCHING IS GONNA FUCKING KILL ME!" he yelled out.

He was tired of holding it in.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah laughed out loud- the laugh quickly turned into a cough. He curled his fist and coughed into it, shaking his head. "I can fight for my water, boy. You'd better take a hand-out when it's offered."

He tucked the canteen back nevertheless, having a feeling Tsurai wouldn't take it. "We really need to find you better shelter than this.." Isiah was finally beginning to feel the repurcussions of too much sun. He felt a little dizzy and sleepy.. but not much else.

He lay his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes, enjoying the cool shade. "I was going to get up and do something but.. I don't want to leave you to protect our stash here.." He dragged the duffel bag between them. "I'm gonna take a nap, okay? You should do the same."


Q wrote: Tsurai kept scratching himself. He felt like he had fleas.. Only.. A bajillion times worse.

And fleas were already pretty bad.
The more he scratched, the more it itched, and that's why Tsurai hadn't itched untl this point, and now that he had given in, it'd be harder to stop again...

Gah, it was just like drugs!

Regardless, after the night, and the carrying, Tsurai seemed okay mentally, as it was now just the itching that was bothering him. If he had a fever, he didn't mind it, and he wasn't really dizzy anymore.

"Oh, shove it!" he proclaimed to Isiah.
"You need that water. YOU are getting heatsroke. I can tell.. Through all this..."

Tsurai growled and sat on his hands, flinching every now and then as he glared at Isiah.

".. itching..." He hissed.

"You drink the damned water. I can wait. I'd probably just throw it back up, anyway." His left brow twitched.

"And if I weren't..!" Tsurai lifted up his fist, hand red. "If I didn't itch so much, I'd fuckin' punch you senseless for laughing at me...!"

Moment of pause.

"Argh....!"

He went back to frantically scratching himself.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah chortled. "That's why I laugh. I know you can't fight back." He begrudgingly opened up the duffel bag and took a meager sip from the canteen- enough to get rid of the constant, dry itching in his throat- before screwing the cap on tightly and putting it back. "You might as well just roll around in the dirt. You'd cover more bases that way, eh?"


Q wrote: Tsurai frowned, groaning, "That'd probably just make it worse."

Tsurai sat on his hands again, rolling his head on his neck for it to crack as he winced at the lack of scratching himself.

Tsurai's back had next to no feeling in it, so he wondered if there were even any pox on his back. He tried to concentrate-as that's what he usually did to see if anything was on his back, but he couldn't even feel the brick wall because of the itching.

Finally, with a groan and a shake, Tsurai turned his back to Isiah and said, "Are there any on my back anyway?"

From all the sun the kid was getting, he had begun getting a tan, and his native American roots were coming through. That wasn't why his back was mostly unfeeling, however.
With his tan, the scars on his back became more noticeable.
There were obvious stab wounds all over it, but then there were also huge gashes from burns that seemed to connect the stab wounds together, like a sick game of connect-the-dots.
They were horribly white, and even shiny now with the sweat from Tsurai.
The back would feel weird to someone touching it since the stab wounds would be deep in the skin, while the burn wounds protruded outward.

It was almost a shock as to how anyone could do this to someone else, since before, because Tsurai was so pale, the scars were so hard to see that most people missed it unless they inspected closely.

"I can't feel any." He hmphed. "But then again I can't feel anything back there, so are there any?"

And indeed there were none; the skin tissue was too scarred to grow anything new.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's face twisted a little once he saw the familiar scarring on Tsurai's back. Denziens got pretty used to the like- it was a way of life..

He leaned forward as if to inspect more closely, one fingertip running down scar tissue- there would be no feeling, anyway.

"Nope. Nothin'."

Isiah wouldn't press him about it, though it was worrisome. It did answer several questions, but he would keep that to himself. He didn't want Tsurai turning around and asking him more questions.

He looked up at the awning, the sun moving quickly westward it seemed. "I'm telling you, kid, I need sleep. A little rest probably wouldn't hurt you much either."



Q wrote: Tsurai sighed and leaned back against the building again, sitting on his hands.

"Fine, go to sleep, then." He looked up at the sky, back of his head against the brick.

"But I can't. Too much itching. I'm sure I'll black out later, anyway."

Tsurai took out a hand and rubbed from his collarbone to his abs.
He was forcing himself to be slow with it; maybe it would go away.

He continued that for ten minutes, his body shaking more and more for trying to ignore the itching. Looking back to Isiah, who was now asleep, Tsurai let out both his hands and scratched frantically at his chest again, peeling off dead skin.

He felt like a really scrawny, dirty dog.

After five minutes of scratching, he looked over to Isiah again- he was still asleep.

Tsurai got up and took the water canteen. He took a few swallows, put it back, then hid the duffelbag under a pile of loose tarp a few feet from Isiah.

The eighteen year old got walked down the "road", looking for dirt he could roll in, but found something better: A well.

Tsurai's right hand instinctively went to his dog tags, and pulled on them at his neck, scratching the back of it with the chain.

He then put both hands on the well and looked down in it, blinking.

Tsurai seemed to stare into space for a moment, or maybe a long moment, before someone tapped him on the shoulder and he swiftly turned around, fist in the air.
"Who's there?!" he called, before he noticed a dirty blonde man with a surprised look on his face.
The stranger lifted up both hands apologetically.

"Sorry there," he said. "Don't hurt me." A small chuckle escaped him, and he motioned to the well.
"There's no water in there, it's dry. Just wanted to let you know... Which.. What happened to you...?"

Tsurai growled and turned back to the well, putting down the bucket, only for it to clatter at the stone bottom. He groaned.

"Chicken pox," Tsurai said, moping. "And I was looking for mud."

"To stop the itching?" The stranger questioned.

"Yeah."

"I've got something better you can use. It's a lotion. Come with me," the blonde-haired man said, turning to walk off.

Tsurai pushed himself up and followed the other man, fists clenched while various parts of him flinched from trying not to scratch.

Five minutes later, Tsurai and the blonde-haired man were in a half of a house, Tsurai in a chair.

The stranger was hunting through a cabinet somewhere, and finally pulled out a clear glass bottle, corked, with some thick orange-colored stuff in it.
Tsurai guessed the man was right, and it was lotion.

Setting the bottle on the table, the blond-haired man sat opposite of Tsurai.

"My name is Simon," he stated. "What's your's?"

Tsurai blinked a few times, looking around suspiciously. Even so, the past was behind him, and Tsurai did trust this man...

"Tsurai," the eighteen year old finally stated, taking the glass and uncorking it with a "pop".

Just as he tipped the bottle over to put some lotion on his hand, Simon got up, walking to him.
"Need help?" He said, dragging his chair and twisting it to sit next to Tsurai.

Even more suspicious now, but not truley caring, Tsurai handed Simon the bottle, who in turn took it on his hand and held the hand up.

"May I?" He suggested.

Tsurai shrugged. What could it hurt, he figured. "Sure."

Simon leaned over and slopped the lukewarm lotion on his side, down his arm. It did work, and smelled pretty nice too, so Tsurai began to relax a bit.

It was ten minutes, and Tsurai had basically let Simon touch all over him, that was, until Simon got to his thighs, and his too-low pants. And touched something that he wasn't supposed to.

Tsurai stood up with a start, "What was that for?!"

"It was an accident. I'm sorry. Won't happen again, I promise." Simon meekly smiled.

Tsurai glared down at Simon for a moment, who was still sitting.
"Listen. Thanks for the lotion, but, I've gotta go. I have a friend waiting."

Simon gave a look of disapproval, but only replied, "Will you come back later? Can I meet your friend? Tsurai?"

Tsurai walked out, "Yeah, sure," he said absentmindedly, "And thanks again."

He made his way back to Isiah, covered in orange.. Lotion, which actually DID work, surprisingly, and stood over Isiah for a few minutes, pondering on whether to sit or not.

And whether, if what just happened, had really, purposely happened, or really was an accident. Tsurai instinctively pulled his pants up at the thought of either.

He needed a belt.
Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes opened one by one at the scent. He breathed in deeply, his brow furrowing forward. "What the hell happened to you? Get lost in a pumpkin patch?"

He inhaled a little deeper, trying to attatch the familiar scent to it's memory, but it failed him. He sat up, crossing his legs stiffly, grunting as sunburnt skin felt like stretched leather over his back.


Q wrote: Tsurai smirked. He was getting more relaxed as time wore on.

Squatting down, in front of Isiah, in the short time that passed already, he didn't care about his pants stretching with how he squatted, hands on his thighs.

"Heh. Some random guy I found decided to help with the itching."
He scratched the back of his head a bit, pushing his brown bangs out of his face.

"It works, that's all I'm happy about."

Tsurai fell back on his butt, one leg bent on the ground, the other bent upward, right elbow on knee. With this, the pants gave even lower, to where a certain amount of hair stopped.
Tsurai didn't seem to notice. He wanted to lay down on his back, but feared he'd get the lotion dirty.
And why that was worrying him, he wasn't sure. But life was beginning to seem better and better by the minute.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah was beginning to feel the same somewhat numbing effects even just from the smell- the old memory banks were shaking off dust but he had yet to link the scent to something.. but he was having a feeling it was a someone...

"What guy? Did he tell you his name?"

Isiah was beginning to sound- and feel- very motherly, but at present, he didn't much care. The usual, this world isn't meant for weaklings mentality was fading away steadily, as was his anti-gay resolve not to look Tsurai over like a piece of meat.

He shut his eyes tightly, sighing. "Pull your pants up, kid."


Q wrote: "Simon." Tsurai looked down and couldn't help but chuckle. He crossed his legs indian style instead, which rose the pants half an inch.

"What's it matter to you?" He said, chuckling at what seemed to be Isiah's pain.

"You said I'm not your type, anyway."

Somewhere in his head, there was a tiny voice saying "Right? RIGHT?"
But the cloudiness of.. Whatever the lotion seemed to be doing had taken over by that time, and Tsurai gave into his full-out laughing.

Except, it wasn't a funny type of laughing. It was an evil type of laughing. Maniacal, even.

Tsurrai couldn't help himself, his own eyes closed and he put a hand over his mouth, shaking his head slowly at the pictures he saw in his mind.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's face contorted, groaning. "What he look like?"

Simon... Simon.. fuck me.. who the hell is Simon?! Isiah grunted through his nose. "You're acting like you got high or something. What else did you do?"

Isiah was half sure that the boy had gone off and smoked a doobie- which of course, wouldn't help the situation any, as it just made you both hungry AND thirsty- and if that was the case, Tsurai was due for the most parent-like lecture of his life.


Q wrote: "That was all," he said, taunting, as he got up, the upper half of his body seeming to be quite numb, as it wasn't moving the way Tsurai wanted it to.

Opening his eyes, he glanced to Isiah. "I've gotta go... Somewhere. Kill... Something..."

Tsurai forced himself to stand straight up, hand to his forehead as he chuckled softly. The lotion had mostly done its job, now.

Tsurai's skin wasn't so wet from it, or so orange.

He took a step forward, almost losing his balance.
"Baseballbat," he mumbled to himself. "Whereisit?" He whispered.

He turned to Isiah. "Doesn't matter. I can make do..."

Tsurai gave a large snicker, lifted up his right leg, and shoved his foot heel-first at Isiah's groin.

Tsurai was actually aiming for the man's gut, but, well, certain things did that to you.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes widened seconds before the strike, but not fast enough to save the family jewels. He doubled over, hot tears streaming down his face, his already red expression darkening with pain and anger.

"You stupid.." He sucked it in. "Little fuck.."

He tightened his face up. "I'm gonna fucking kill you... what the hell did you fucking smoke?!"


Q wrote: Tsurai's eyes teared up and he fell over, almost ontop of Isiah, but somehow magically made it to just lean against the brick wall, legs and arms spread, erection fully apparent.

Ah, it was over. He was now completely numb.
"I... Didn't do anything..." He breathed, completely unaware of what he had odne, and his voice was also.. Completely different.

Tsurai couldn't move, but that didn't seem to irk him. What irked him was that he needed to bang something.
Horribly.

"If you had a pussy, Isiah..." He didn't finish.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes widened a little as the throbbing pain the base of his abdomen diminished, by minute degrees. "What the fuck is WRONG with you? Go fucking wank somewhere! Why'd you have to crush my dick to do that!"

He grit his teeth, the pain too intense to make logical thought possible. "You stupid little fucktard!"


Q wrote: Tsurai exhaled apologetically.
"Sorry.. But could ya... Stop yelling... Maybe?"
He wasn't exactly sure what he did to make Isiah yell so loud, but he was beginning to feel blueballed, and he had to do something.

He was trying to move but nothing was happening. It seemed like some magical seperation line went through his neck that prevented his lower half from going anywhere.

Except up, anyway.

"Isiah... Hey.." His eyes haphazardly moved over there, then his head to look at the heap of pain on the ground.

"Isiah... I don't think... Never been... THIS H... I'm asexual, man... What's going on...?"

He was talking nonsense, now. One moment he was moving his mouth, the next moment he had no idea what he just said. Was he speaking a different language, now?

That was great.


Evil Disco wrote: Cyrus leaned against the side wall, chortling quietly in his chest. Isiah hadn't looked up until he heard the laugh- his teeth were bared in an angry snarl.

"Simon my fucking ass.."

Cyrus ran his tongue across his teeth, striding idly over toward Isiah and Tsurai, spurs jingling on his boots. "Well if this ain't sweeter than Aunt Yoko's sweet tea, I don' know what." He turned his boot to slice Isiah wickedly across the face- there wasn't much Isiah could do in terms of dodging, in the serious pain he was. "Stay put. I'll take care of this lil' problem for you."

Isiah gurgled through a steady flow of blood- but it wasn't long before Cyrus kicked him solidy in the temple with the heel of his boot. Isiah slumped over, blood trickling down his face and into the dirt.

Cyrus slid down the wall toward Tsurai, kneeling in front of him. His chest was bare- he was wearing an old, faded and ripped jean jacket, open- the scent that he had rubbed all over Tsurai was even stronger as Cyrus leaned over him. "Poor baby. I didn't make you feel better?" He smiled a little wider, strands of blond hair falling down from behind his ear. "I promise to make it up to you."


Q wrote: Tsurai saw Isiah get hit- twice, actually. And the only thing that crossed his mind was, "His name isn't Simon?"

Tsurai closed his eyes and slid down the wall so he was on his bare back. He gave some sort of weird mixture between a moan and a groan.

Tsurai tried to say something along the lines of "It feels weird," but nothing came out. His whole mind had completely escaped him now.
He was putty in Simon's.. Or.. Cyrus' hands.


Evil Disco wrote: Cyrus pulled him up onto his feet, wrists locked on Tsurai's wrists. "Lemme find you a place to lie down, huh?" His voice was syrupy sweet, and it would seem to the boy that his scent got stronger all the time. "Out here in the sun's no place to be, anyway."

He dragged-pushed-pleaded Tsurai down the street until he found a more secluded spot- really, the only four walls with a door- the ceiling was a tarp of old clothes crudely drawn together, but in about an hour, the sun would go down, and all the ugliness would fade from view.

Within there wasn't much more than a trunk, a desk missing a leg and a cot- comfortable for one, miserable for two- but Tsurai wouldn't know the difference. That was one of the many joys of the pheromone wonder-drug.

He lay Tsurai down on his back before shoving a chair underneath the door's knob to keep it shut, pulling his jacket off of his torso.

"Daddy's gonna make it all better.."

A few hours later Tsurai would find conciousness. Cyrus was sitting across the room, smoking a cigarette, pants undone, feet bare, otherwise unclothed, watching him as he slept with a sort of sick, pleased grimace of a smile as he waited. "Good morning."

In reality it had only been perhaps three hours, stamina willing. Tsurai had promptly rolled over onto his back and fallen asleep after Cyrus had relieved him.


Q wrote: Tsurai coughed, his throat was dry and sore. So were his lower regions, but painfully so. He turned over on his stomach, only to feel a damp bed.

This wasn't looking to good. He pleaded that when he looked over at who said good morning that it was a girl.

"Please, God, let it be a girl," he hoped.

He looked over. Simon.

He looked back at the bed and shuddered.
Taking a deep breath, he sat up. His pants were at his ankles.
Another shudder. He pulled them and redid them.

Looked at Cyrus again. His pants were undone.
Another shudder.

Tsurai was beyond pain, now.
He was in the shock stage.

He looked at the bed.
Stains.
Another shudder, although this time violent.

His butt hurt so much he had to stand up, and shuddered again.

"... Where's... Isiah...?" His voise was barely audible. Tsurai was now shaking all over.

"Try to hold it in," he pressured himself.
He felt his mind breaking. He was going to have a panic attack...


Evil Disco wrote: The cigarette bounced on his lip when he replied. "Does it matter? You're not his type anyway." He crossed his legs at the knee, pulling the cigarette from his lip after a short drag, tapping the ash onto the bare dirt floor. "If it's any consolation.. you squeal like a little girl."

Cyrus blew smoke upward in a steady stream, the fading light illuminating the end of his cigarette. "I'm somewhat surprised he hasn't come looking for you. Loyalty was one of his best traits."

Isiah had yet to regain conciousness, though he was nearing that point- and once he was awake he'd be angrier than a mob of hornets.

((hah, crappy post.))
Q wrote: Tsurai couldn't hold it in.
He found the nearest corner, put his hands over his head and screamed, "Oh my GOD!"

Before he fell to a squat in his little ball in his corner, crying like a baby who just woke up.

He rocked back and forth, tears streaming down his face as he was sobbing out some words resembling "not true" or "Not possible" over and over again.

He hadn't had a panic attack since... When his girlfriend and kid were murdered and, remembering that just made him cry and shake more in his corner.


Evil Disco wrote: Cyrus laughed a little, smoke floating around his face briefly. "And you loved it, you little faggot. Every second."

He was more than likely high on something or other. A syringe was set on the only available surface- it looked dirty and the needle tip was blunt and useless.

He finished his cigarette, sucking on it until the paper burnt his fingers before tossing the hot ashes onto Tsurai in his corner. He exhaled the rest of the smoke through his nostrils, pulling a knife from his belt to pick his nails.

"Stop whining. It's the only ass you'll ever get."


Q wrote: Tsurai turned away when the ashes were thrown to him, his skin twitching from the contact, although ultimately, it didn't hurt that much.

Tsurai then stood up, tears still on his face and body still shaking as he eyed the needle on the table. His eyes, very briefly, shown the want and need for it. Another drug user would know that look. A look of tempatation, when someone was trying to quit, or already had, wanting to go back ot their former addiction.

But instead, the boy grabbed the syringe, needle pointing upward at his wrist and tendons, and he rose it above his head, like a knife prepared to stab someone.

And that's what he was going to do.

"You FAG!" He screamed, needle coming down on Cyrus' head.


Tsurai either didn't see the knife in Cyrus' hands, or didn't care, because if the boy wasn't stopped, he'd keep stabbing the man who raped him, yelling out profanities at every turn, loud as day in his already-raspy voice from the fever of before and god-knows what else from a few hours a go.


Evil Disco wrote: Cyrus tightened his grip around his knife, running his tongue across his teeth. He raised his bare foot as Tsurai charged, using the boy's force against him, holding Tsurai back by his gut. As the boy's torso flew forward, he grabbed his stabbing-wrist with his left hand and squeezed, tightly, his smile turning darker, wolfish, laying the cold blade of his knife against Tsurai's cheek. He applied enough pressure to cause a sliver of a cut to appear, blood running slowly in a single stream down the blade.

"Listen, kid. You're either with me or against me, huh? I'm holding all the cards. Chill out."


Q wrote: Tsurai was held, and forcefully let the remaining air from him through his nose.

"You raped me," he growled.

Tsurai's face was already ruined with.. Whatever the pox things were called, and being no stranger to pain, the knive at his cheek, of all non-fatal places, didn't phase him much.

His left hand was free, he brought it behind his back and in a fist.

"I'm against you, and you left jokers in your deck," he proclaimed, throwing his left fist to the side of Cyrus' head.


Evil Disco wrote: Cyrus bent his knee and kicked back, sending Tsurai either onto his face or pedaling backwards- the front legs of his chair jumped up as he pushed back, the knife's blade dragging down Tsurai's face.

Cyrus licked the knife clean after he stood, rolling his neck on his shoulders. "Don't call me a fag. You recieved." He chortled, tightening his grip around his knife. The morphine made him a little shaky on his feet- the overall euphoria was still going strong- even if he was going to go down now, it'd be a good way to go..

At this point, Isiah had found his feet- unreliable as they were- and was wandering the streets in an attempt to find Cyrus and Tsurai. He asked around for Cyrus- no luck. He started asking for Simon- with the right type of people- and it didn't take long for him to start pummeling Cyrus' door, screaming and cursing for entry.


Q wrote: Tsurai let go of the needle and fell on his back, needle bouncing somewhere to the side.

Now a long slice from his right cheek to his chin, he was bleeding all over his face and neck. The boy closed his eyes, lying limp on the floor, trying to figure out if Cyrus was going to kill him now or if Tsurai played dead he'd be okay.

That didn't make much sense as a thought process, but neither did the situation he was in.
Plus, his fever was flaring up again; probably from all the "action".

Cyrus was walking toward Tsurai with the knife in tow, and when Isiah started banging on the door, they both looked with an awkward parallel facial distortion of anger.

Tsurai quickly got a hold of himself, however, and rolled toward the door, getting up and running to dislodge the chair from the beneath the doorknob.

"Isia--" He couldn't finish, because at that point, Cyrus had grabbed a hold of the chaino n Tsurai's dogtags, choking the boy.

Tsurai's face turned red underneath all his blood and he kicked the chair from the door, just before he fell over from a combination of fever's dizziness and blood loss.
Pair that with how Cyrus didn't let him fall all the way-- Tsurai thought his neck was going to break. He wearily tried to get back on his feet while clawing at Cyrus' hand as Tsurai's face began to turn blue.

Tsurai's dogtags were a queer kind. It was a signature of his family. He'd been given the chain at birth; there was no latch, he could never take it off, and it was just small enough so it couldn't slip over his head, no matter how hard he pulled(although Tsurai didn't try to pull it off that much, considering the head pain of chain squeezing against skin).
The dogtags were blank, and the chainw as actually meant so people could choke the person wearing it- supposedly a sign of strength to take on challenges, or something... Tsurai never looked much into it. They were just dogtags, afterall.



Evil Disco wrote: The door came open with a rush just as Tsurai freed it from the chair's clutches. Cyrus' lip curled upward, tightening his fist around the chain, his knife held in the other.

"Don't come another step closer, faggot- I'll stab him through the temple and cover you in grey matter." Isiah was frozen there, for a second- unarmed.

It took him half a second to grab the chair that Tsurai had torn from the door, and another half second to swing it cleanly at Cyrus' head.

Cyrus had enough time to gasp before crumpling to the ground, his knife clattering in the dirt, his grip opened immediately upon impact. Isiah closed the distance between them, picking up Tsurai by his shirt and tossing him into the corner- gently, relatively- before proceeding to beat the living hell out of Cyrus' unconcious body until the chair was in little wooden bits.

Isiah panted, breath, spit and blood running at the same time from his mouth with each ragged exhalation. He swallowed heavily and turned toward Tsurai.

"You okay?"


Q wrote: Tsurai was free, and immediately sucked in the air that he had taken for granted most of his life. Being shoved to the side, he turned away from Isiah beating the living hell out of Cyrus as he gagged, coughed, and just overall tried to suck in as much air as possible.

Then the pain in the ass hit him again, and Tsurai fell to his side, laid on the floor, panting, and trying to decide whether or not to close the gaping wound on his face or just leave it bleeding. Lightheaded as he was, he decided to close his eyes and leave the thing alone.

"Well I've got like an inch deep cut on my face and I'm bleeding profusely," He whispered, trying to be funny, and miserably failing at it. "But otherwise, aside from the lightheadedness and it hurting to talk, I think I'm just about dead.." He coughed.

"Alive, I mean. Or blacking out. Whichever."

Sqeezing his eyes shut even more, he wished he would black out. Everything was beginning to spin slowly again.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah kicked Cyrus' unconcious body under the cot, grunting. "Lemme see."

He lumbered toward Tsurai, gingerly turning the boy over to have a look at his face- he hissed a little in empathetic pain just looking. He set his face a little more sternly. "That's all right.. We'll clean you up.."

Isiah sighed. He wanted to get Tsurai out of here, but it's the only cot he'd seen.. we was beginning to miss sleeping above ground.. And the trunk might have something.. valuable..

Might have some rubbing alcohol or peroxide, anyway.

Isiah picked up Cyrus' knife from the floor, plopping down in front of his trunk. He turned the blade toward him and bashed at the lock once or twice- the thing was old and tired. Didn't take long to give.

In hindsight, he could have just searched Cyrus' body.. but he thought even unconcious, Cyrus may have taken far too much pleasure in that.

He pushed open the trunk, a myriad of powder and liquid substances lined neatly within- syringes, CC bottles, even a little analog scale.. and gauze.

He pulled out the wad of white wrapping-stuffs- it unravelled quickly, a tiny bottle of peroxide and a tube of neosporin plopping down into his lap. "Well.. Better than nothing.."

He knew that Tsurai may need stitches- but even if the boy did, he wasn't going to be the one to administer them. No way in hell. "Deep breaths, kid.."

He lumbered back toward Tsurai, leveling the boy on his back, tearing off a piece of gauze, pouring peroxide on it. "This is gonna sting, okay?"

He wiped, gently, along Tsurai's wound, wincing a little for the boy's sake. Even from memory the pain was formidible.


Q wrote: Tsurai's face was still wet with tears from the panic attack before, and new tears started slowly when he was turned on his back, but then tore anew when the peroxide came on him.

He shook his head side to side, "No! Quit it!!" He yelled hoarsely; now he was just losing his voice.
Tsurai grabbed Isiah's hand and with shaky breaths and shakier movements, the boy pulled himself up, using Isiah as leverage, and then sat on his thighs, positioning himself so he wouldn't tear another hole in his ass.

Then, after he was positioned, he quickly took his hand from Isiah's, as if it burned him to touch the man. And, phychologically, it did.
Isiah was gay. Cyrus was gay. Tsurai had just been raped. Now what?

Tsurai didn't even know what Isiah was doing to him, anywayway.

Looking to the bloodied mass that was Cyrus on the floor, he hoarsely said, "Why aren't you burning it shut?" As if that were the normal thing to do under the circumstances.

And to Tsurai, it was the normal thing, but Isiah didn't know that.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's face twisted a little. "Burning it shut? With what, a soldering iron?" He snorted, shaking his head back and forth. "And you're crazy if you think you're getting your hands on my lighter, kid. I need that sucker."

He didn't even blink an eye at how much blood the kid lost- it was already beginning to coagulate and scab, anyway. "We can either wrap your face or you can try not to talk to much. Either way, I win, huh?" The bad attempt at humor was inherent in a quick, half felt smile before it faded away into instant guilt.

"What were you doing with Cyrus, kid?"


Q wrote: "Fine, wrap it," he mustered with a sigh, his posture slumping.

He turned his face to the right, so Isiah could do what he wanted with his huge slash.

"...Dun wanna talk about it..."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah grunted. "Too bad. You're gonna have to." Isiah offered him the tube of neosporin. He didn't want to have to put it on himself if he didn't have to- he'd hurt the poor kid. More than he had to, anyway. The peroxide was bad enough.

Once Tsurai was finished, he tore off another piece of gauze to fold into a pad for his face (ha) before wrapping once to hold it there- he then wrapped once or twice down his neck, before realizing he didn't have anything to pin it with- he picked out an earing and pinned it with that instead.

"Start talkin'."


Q wrote: Tsurai didn't know what the neosporin tube was, and when he was handed it, he took a brief look at it before saying "no thanks".

When Isiah was done, Tsurai laid back down on his side and closed his eyes with a sigh. Sleeping on the floor was just fine. His head was pounding, anyway.
"No," he whispered.

He didn't want to talk about what Cyrus did to him; it was humilating...
 
Post Nuclear Fallout v2 (Gaia)
With Tsurai
Oct 2004 - Aug 2005
[2 of 10]

Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed. He combed Tsurai's expression really closely before giving up. He had a vague idea- but no idea as to the extent...

It had been a long, long time since Cyrus and Isiah had spent time together. He had been a teen then- he had trusted so much more... His memories of Cyrus weren't exactly positive, but nothing like Tsurai would have of him. Not even remotely.

He gently combed through Tsurai's hair with his hands. "Okay. We need to find a place to stay after I rob this bastard blind. Hopefully, I killed him." He turned back toward Cyrus. Though he lay in a crumpled mess, he was still breathing, slowly and shallowly. He grunted. He didn't think he had it in him to kill him..


Q wrote: Tsurai forced himself up on two legs, albeit looking like a fish out of water doing it.

"Don't touch me," he growled as he got up.

Tsurai's own hand went to his forehead to feel more sweat while he turned his head to see what he was looking for..
And there it was. Walking toward the door, Tsurai took his hand from his head and grabbed the knife with it, stumbling and falling back on his knees with it in his hands at Cyrus' head.

He stopped there for a moment, hesitating, left hand rubbing the red marks still at his throat.

Finally, he took the knife and slowly, wearily, weakly even, slid it into Cyrus' throat until it touched bone, where Tsurai stopped.

He flopped over on his side again with a sigh.
"Leave it there, he'll suffocate in a minute..." He breathed, closing his eyes. "If you take it out, he might survive... I'm going to... I'm gonna..." He shuddered.

"Sleep now..."

And with that, he fell into a deep sleep, similar to unconciousness, but not quite so.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes squinted together, tightly- he gulped, shoulders slumping.

He waited until Cyrus' gurgling had ceased before he walked over toward Tsurai and picked him up, limply, laying him on the cot.

It wasn't until Tsurai's weight brought the stains to light that he knew. He immdiately picked the boy back up, carting him out to their original abode, laying him there. The sun had long since gone down and the ever pervading heat was long gone.

Isiah wrapped Tsurai in his jacket and picked up the duffel bag before leaving to ransack what was left of Cyrus' last belongings. After he was finished, he stuffed everything of worth into the duffel- and crammed Cyrus into his trunk.

That way, anyone who came sniffing around would know the price you pay.

He wandered back to Tsurai, lying in the opposite corner. He didn't want the kid to get any wrong ideas, though he feared for his thin-blooded compatriot.. if Tsurai needed warmth he would have to come and get it himself.

He leaned against the back wall- the brick was cool, surprisingly enough- folding his arms over his chest before shutting his eyes and attempting to find sleep.


Q wrote: Tsurai had slept for a few hours, waking up in the night frequently inbetween weird, fever-induced dreams.

By morning he was covered in sweat and more dehydrated than before, but still wanted to get up and move someplace. He still wasn't used to being sick, and although he felt like doing nothing, he still wanted to do something.

Isiah was still asleep, so Tsurai decided to force himself up, and using support from random walls and upstanding debris, walk from place to place to get a better-fitting pair of pants. Or a belt. A belt was probably a better way to go.

Going from place to place in a daze, with how he looked, no one would help him. Everyone was more bigoted than before the bomb.
If you were dying, they didn't want to waste supplies, if you were living, you kept the supplies. That was all.

So Tsurai decided to stop trying. He found some rope, and tied it around his pants to keep them up, then collapsed at the well an hour after dawn.

Some time later, as Tsurai had zoned out and wasn't exactly sure what time it really was, there was a shadow looming over him.

Looking up, Tsurai realized it was a person. A woman, actually, and she bent down to look at him.

"Is that you, Tsurai?" She asked, crouching to look in his eyes.
Tsurai looked away, not saying anything.
"You grew your hair out," she tried to touch it, but Tsurai grabbed her wrist. "Don't touch me... Urgh.." He winced.

"What happened to you?" She said, trying to pull her hand away, but Tsurai wouldn't let go.
"Your face? You're so skinny now, and you... Chicken pox? Let go.." She finally pulled her hand from him.

"What vault were you in?" Tsurai said hoarsely.

"Wasn't in one," the woman smiled, lifting up her shirt and turning to the side, showing a very large, hideous burn. "I got this.. But I managed."
He put down her shirt and asked, "What about you? Why are you out here?"

"335..." Tsurai rasped. "What are you doing here... Why aren't you in Georgia...?"

"I was looking for you... And now that you're... You look so bad, Tsurai. I thought you were dead. And you look like you are, and... Come on, I can help get rid of the pox for you."
She stood up and offered Tsurai her hand. Tsurai took it and pulled himself up, falling back on her.

The woman, who was named Alex, put Tsurai's arm over her shoulder, and she supported him as they walked. But it had only been two steps when Tsurai unexpectedly stopped and said, "Wait... Isiah..."

Alex looked at the boy questioningly. "The book? I didn't know you read the Bible..."

Tsurai shook his head, "No... I'm travelling with him, let's go back so he doesn't..." He coughed, forgetting to put a piece of his sentence in, ".. Know where I am."

"Alright," she replied. "Where is he?"

Tsurai pointed in the general direction of where Isiah would be.
"On the bricks."

Evil Disco wrote: Isiah still lay where Tsurai had left him, his limbs wrapped idly around the duffel bag, to make sure it wasn't pilfered while he slept. The sun had crept up on him in sleep, darkening the enroaching burn down his exposed side, freckles appearing everywhere.

He groaned quietly in half sleep from the burning pain of a steadily worsening sunburn, but exhaustion kept him unconcious- his body wanted him to sleep as much as he could before braving the elements again.


Q wrote: Alex and Tsurai reached Isiah's burning form.
"Denzien..?" The woman growled to herself, but Tsurai by that time had gotten out of his mind again, and haden't heard her.

"He's almost worse off than you, Tsu-"

"Huh?" He only heard part of his name.
"What?"

Alex narrowed her eyes and tore of Tsurai's jacket, "Give me THAT," she groaned, throwing it ontop of Isiah.
"Now wake him up," Alex ordered.

"Yer not my mom," Tsurai groaned, leaning all his weight on Alex, practically falling over.

With that move, though, Alex felt his fever getting even worse.

"Jesus, I guess if you never get sick it really pounds you the first time..." She kicked Isiah's duffelbag.

"Get up Ezzekiel.. Er.. Jesus.. Ugh... What was his name?"

"ISIAH! Damnit, get the fag's name right..." Tsurai yelled.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah grunted, shaking his head back and forth to wag away sleepiness and half concious dreams, squinting against sunlight. He groaned, quietly and inwardly, at Tsurai's new label for him. He sat up, suddenly feeling out of place, eyes widening at Tsurai depending so much on what looked to be a very frail woman.

"Dammit, Tsurai.. What stupid shit have you gotten into now?" He corrected himself quickly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with his fist. "No offense meant, miss."


Q wrote: Alex shifted her weight to support what was now all of Tsurai's weight. She growled in annoyance, replying with a quick "None taken" comment with an afterthought in her mind going "ya dumb denzien."

But the last part wasn't verballized since Tsurai, the residential ill idiot, started to say something along the lines of "shut the fuck up," but came out more of a garbled mess, and promptly lost consiousness, where Alex allowed the boy to fall to the ground as she narrowed her eyes at her fallen comrade.

"I think the fever's killing his brain cells," Alex sighed, bending over to pick the boy up with a few "mphs" of effort.

"Now come on, we're going to my house, Denzien.. Ezeikel.. WHatever the hell your name is..Denzien..."

It was apparently clear that she hated Denziens, by now.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah grunted, standing, hefting the duffel bag over one shoulder before lifting Tsurai from hers, slinging him over his shoulders easily. "Ex-denzien," he felt obligated to clear that up. He adjusted Tsurai to lean him more against his neck so the boy's body wouldn't roll back and fwump onto the ground if he loosened his grip a little. "Dare I ask how you know the boy? Or do I not wanna know?"


Q wrote: When Tsurai was taken from her, she glared at Isiah and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I had him just fine, Ezekiel." She answered while she walked.

"I was in one of the gangs he was in before the bomb. Had a crush on him, but he was with Kris with the time... Lucky bastard..." She said to herself.

"But whatever. Point being is, I don't care if you're ex- or not, you're still a Denzien to me, Denzien."

So by this time she though his name Was Ezekiel, but was calling Isiah Denzien. Ha, how wonderful.

They reached a tent, where Alex told Isiah "Ezekiel" Denzien to wait. She crawled in and got out a few things. A towel, for one. A pair of jeans, a shirt, one of those long fuel lighters, a few washcloths, a bowl, and after some liquid-pouring, the bowl was full of water.

All these things were pulled out in front of the tent, in a decent-sized pile. She got the towel and flapped it in the air to lay it out for Tsurai to lie his hed on, and Isiah and Alex to sit on either side of the boy.

She put the washcloth in the water, then had it dripping ontop of Tsurai's forehead while she began to pull off the kid's medical wrapping on his face.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah played along, laying Tsurai down on his back, gingerly. "Chris? He was with Chris?" He was now genuinely confused. If that was the case.. whatever Cyrus had done to him, wouldn't have been.. that traumatic.. He sat down where she had planned him to, crossing his legs stiffly.


Q wrote: "Yeah, you know h-- Oh my GOD... What the hell happened?"
She had finished unwrappinf Tsurai's face at that point, and had seen the huge gash in his face.

Alex frowned. She didn't want a scar on Tsurai's beautiful face... But with a gash like that, it was inevitable, no matter how it was fixed.

She reached over for the lighter, and got a flame before she thought better of it. She put the gas lighter out and leaned back into the tent, getting out a bottle of liquor.
Putting that in one hand, she got one of the extra washclothes in the other, and poured some of the alcohol onto the cloth.

Then she put the bottle down, and started wiping over the gash with the alcohol that had soaked into the washcloth.

TEXT!


Evil Disco wrote: He grunted. "Whatever happened to stitches? Tsurai got stircrazy and went looking for trouble." He dug through his duffel to pull out a cigarette, his muscles tense with stress and addiction, nabbing the lighter from her with a quick 'if ya don't mind' before lighting it and tossing it back into place. He took a brief puff, blowing smoke upward, leaning back against his palms. "Wine would work better if you got it."


Q wrote: She glared at Isiah again, grabbing the lighter back from him before the man could toss it. "I DO mind."

She slammed it back on the ground, finishing her work and tossing the liquor-soaked wascloth purposefully onto Isiah's face, and thus, his lit cigerette.

"I'd APPRECIATE it, if you didn't tell me what to do," she growled, expecting Isiah to catch fire.

She took her lighter back and lit it again, placing it at the very end of the gash, then quickly turning it off once the flame flared up for a moment and blistered Tsurai's skin over.

After that, she put the lighter back in the tent, keeping her gaze on the Denzien at all costs.

"I can't sew, and I think he'd freak out with a bunch of thread in his face, anyway. And I didn't have wine, 'else I would've used it. Actually, Tsurai's used to damn gunpowder. But that's just inhumane. Not that anyone has any, anyway."

She hmphed and decided to watch Isiah get burned before starting on Tsurai's pox.


Evil Disco wrote: The cloth lit quickly- Isiah wasn't about to give up his cigarette- instead he tossed it off to the side in the dirt, grunting. "Listen, girl- I'm probably about ten years your senior, not to fucking mention I've patched up about ten times as many little arrogant fucks in my time then you could ever hope to till the day you die. Take the bloody advice of a veteran."

He didn't want to leave Tsurai in her care- he was afraid she may exploit his weakness for her own uses, as was the way women worked, to his knowledge- but she had so much more than they had at their disposal.. getting rid of her was beginning to look very attractive.
Q wrote: "I'm sure. And all the people you cared for are the ones your probably fucked over yourself, Denzien. I wouldn't be surprized if You're the one who put the gash on Tsurai!"

Alex shook with anger, but she wouldn't dare touch Isiah more than she already had; even if he was ex-, he could still kill her 50 times over.

She reluctantly turned her back to the man to get something out of her tent. It was a dirty vase full of some salve.
She grabbed a fistful of dirt anf put it in, placing her hand on the top of the vase, and the other grabbing it hard as she shook the dirt in the rather heavy substance. After about a full minute of that, she threw the glass at Isiah.

"You put it on him if you know so much, then, Denzien." She growled, wiping the stuff she'd gotten on her palm over Tsurai's face, around the burnt-closed gash.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah grunted- old loyalties were forcefully dragged into the open, a vein he had struggled to bleed dry over the years. "Listen, you ignorant pigfuck- shut your mouth about something you know NOTHING about." He dug out some salve with two fingers, not knowing what the fuck the dirt was supposed to do- clot blood, maybe? "I don't think dirt's the best way to get rid of the damn chicken pox."

Q wrote: She growled right back.

"I know PLENTY about it! All you do is fight and kill and then you lick your wounds like the fucking rats you are!" she yelled.

Then, she later said, "I don't even know why Tsurai is hanging out with you. And it's called witchcraft, dumbass. Medically, Salve is for treating the pox. Dirt is for no itching. I've got my own damn reasons for the ingredients, so I'd shut my ass if I were you, Denzien, because if it isn't for me, 'Your' Tsurai would still have a huge gaping gash and chicken pox tomorrow."


Evil Disco wrote: He growled, deep in his chest, before bringing his hand back to backhand her across the cheek, sending her reeling. "Don't assume you know SHIT about my culture, fucktard, or I'll show you what it's like, and I don't think you'll like it." God, he hated women..

Nevertheless he did as told and began putting the salve on Tsurai's speckled skin, turning to flick cigarette ash from his cancer stick before returning to his work, growling low and dangerously in his chest.


Q wrote: Alex was slapped, and fell over like a lawn chair in a windy storm.

Suddenly, she didn't care if her ass could be handed to he rby Isiah anymore; she wanted to punch him into oblivion. And she stood up to do just that, but was interrupted by Tsurai groaning.

"I know enough about Denziens to know you don't treat women like--"

With a surprized, yet caring look on her face, she got downo n her knees and stared at Tsurai expectantly.

"...K.r.is..?" Tsurai moaned.

Alez looked happy, and grabbed Tsurai's nearest hand, clasping it in her own.
"Yes?" She said. "I'm right here, Tsurai."

Now she was completely ignoring Isiah, regardless of what the man did.
Tsurai squeezed Alex's hands. "It feels...." His face twisted, only half awake. He looked as if he were in pain. "... Weird..."

"Sh, sh, sh," Alex reassured. "It's just some salve that I made for you, for your chicken pox. And your gash is shut, now. And.." She pushed Tsurai's forehead washcloth away, feeling his his head, then his cheeks.
"And your fever broke. That's why it feels weird."

"It doesn't have drugss in it, does it..?" Tsurai asked.

Alex started tearing up. Whether that was from what Tsurai said or just a delayed reaction from the large red spot on her cheek, one couldn't tell.

"No," Alex said. "It doesn't..." She squeezed his hand again.

"Good... Because I don't wanna kill anybody anymore... I Don't want to kill anybody anymore... Don't make me.." He let out a heavy sigh.

"Tsurai, Tsurai. I know you're all awake now, why don't you open your eyes?" Alex pleaded.

Tsurai laughed. "I dun wanna see how crispy Isiah got cuz I forgot to give him his coat... And I'm tired. And my face hurts. And conking out ontop of Alex was embarrassing... I wonder if she kissed me when I was out. I bet you she wanted t-" he opened an eye and saw Alex.
Then his whole face turned bright red.

Isiah was done with the upperbody, and that was all Tsurai really needed. He got up and glared at Alex. He wanted to kill her.

"ALEX!" He screamed.

Why didn't he know she was going to do something so mean?
"You WHORE! Why did you do that! Kris is DEAD! Why did you do it?! Why did you...!" His whole face scrunched up and he began to cry.

"Tsurai I only did it because your face lights up every time y-" But by that time, Alex was being strangled by Tsurai's frim hands. He had kneeled infront of her, started shaking her while clenching her throat.

"Your nasty tricks can't get any WORSE!" he cried. "You know I killed her! Why did you make me think she was alive! It was one of your damn spells again, is that what it is?! YOU WITCH!"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes widened steadily until the climax of the argument, tearing Tsurai's hands from around her throat, wrapping one of his arms around Tsurai's torso and arms, keeping the boy's limbs pinned to his sides. He scrambled backwards, sliding along his rump and pushing with his boots against dirt until he hit the door.

"Chill out, kid. You don't need more blood on your hands, from the sound of it."

His brow cut down against his eyes, his face sharp angles, bent in anger, his tendons tightening as he inadvertently tightened his grip on Tsurai.


Q wrote: "Isiah, you fag!" Tsurai called out, struggling to get back up and kill Alex, who was now sitting where she was before being choked, in a sort of shocked awe.

"LET ME GO!" The boy had gotten enough leverage with his legs to try and stand up, but at that time, Isiah had simultaneously tightened his grip, causing Tsurai to fall and cry out in pain. He could feel his bones about to break.

At this, his pupils widened and the blister from his wound split open near his jawline when Tsurai started yelling out profanities at Alex in english and some mangled Japanese- not that any of them would know what language that was, anyway. It was old and dead. Like Latin in 1990.

Tsurai was no stranger to pain, and when he was pissed; he got pissed, so it was no surprize that after a few seconds of profanities, he tried to get up again, lunge at Alex, even, but his right shoulder decided to dislocate instead of letting him attack the woman.

There was a loud resounding "pop" from this, of course, a following grunt from Tsurai, and then at the same time, Alex started drawing weird shapes in the dirt and frantically chanting something equally awkward.

Of course, upon seeing that, regardless of how hurt Tsurai was getting, pain obvious on his face, he started piinning Alex with words about her witchcraft, saying how she was a stupid, conniving bitch, and that her spells weren't real - although Tsurai believed in them, suffice to say - and that Alex should go fuck herself and her dad.

Then his last part of the speech, -something about a retarded kid named Sarah- was cut off by Alex throwing the dirt that was the weird symbols at Tsurai's face.

That got him reeling.

Now there was dirt in his eyes, so he was trying to shake it out, closing his eyes, trying to cry it out, but with a few last words of that strange language Alex was saying, Tsurai stopped struggling and laid still, trying to catch his breath.

Alex did the typical three-point catholic "thank you GOD" thing before letting out an astronomical sigh of relief.

"He's so dumb sometimes," she forced a smile. "You can let him go now," she offered.

Alex took a deep breath and combed her fingers through her hair.
"Sometimes I wonder if he would still go after something if his legs fell off, heh. He's so stubborn. Especially with pa.." She saw the look on Isiah's face.

"He's.... Fine...?" She wasn't sure what to say.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes darted from Tsurai's limp body back up to her, back and forth, before tightening his grip around Tsurai with one arm, grabbing onto the doorframe with the other for leverage. "What the fuck did you do?!" He turned Tsurai in his grip after he was steady on his feet, trying to connect eye contact. "Kid?"


Q wrote: Tsurai was pickedup, and summarily shaked by Isiah, yet his eyes were closed and he groaned something that was supposed to be "stop it" and "That hurts," but said them both at the same time and ended up with "stop hurts."

"Quit it, you're gonna give him a concussion or something!" Alex shouted, standing up and reaching out to take Tsurai from the man, as if the boy were a precious ragdoll of her's.

"He's asleep. In the head. Maybe for an hour or so, depending on if you wake him up or not." And then, with a proud look on her face, she finished, "But only I know how to wake him up."

At that point she braced herself from a murderous outrage from the Denzien.
She was getting a weird vibe from him. Maybe Isiah was gay, as Tsurai had insuinated. But then... Hrm. If that was true, then Isiah probably had a crush on the boy. And at that, she couldn't help but chuckle. Tsurai was straight as an arrow.

Maybe not too sexually active, because of his past, but, definetly straight.


Evil Disco wrote: His grip tightened around Tsurai, one hand smacking her hand away. "Don't touch him, you witch." His voice was deep, low and rumbly with carefully contained anger. His eyes were cut into slits, green iris burning with deep resentment. Tsurai's injury wounded him like the wound of a child would hurt his mother- as much as Isiah had struggled not to become the boy's guardian it had happened all the same.

His options were limited. He couldn't leave with Tsurai in this condition- despite that she was a filthy liar of a whore, if Tsurai didn't come out of it, the guilt would lay squarely on his shoulders. Should have let him kill the bitch.. He slumped back down onto the floor, loosening his grip on Tsurai. He turned him gingerly so that the back of his head would rest against Isiah's shoulder, cradling it there, his rump hitting dirt in Isiah's lap, legs splayed over Isiah's as the denzien sat indian style to support him. The anger from his eyes remained, but he had all ready decided that acceptance was his only option.

"What do I have to do to wake him up?"



Q wrote: Oh, this was too good to be true. It was all adding up. ex-Denzien and they way the man held Tsurai, and protected him..

She'd never physically spoke with a gay person before.

Alex simply, outwardly, hmphed and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you're being so rude to me, I don't think I'll say."

She put her hand to her face, thinking, imaginaing. Oh, if he was really gay...

"But maybe if you kiss him...." She let it hang, trying not to act too interested, but still glimpsing back to Isiah every other second, to see his reaction.


Evil Disco wrote: He gave her a strange look. "What, you into that?" He glanced down at Tsurai- he was desperate, but he knew Tsurai would never, ever forgive him, especially after what Cyrus had done to him.. or what Isiah assumed he had done.

He glanced back up toward her. "I sincerely doubt that'd help anything."


Q wrote: She turned around. "Well, good luck trying to wake him up without doing it," she shrugged.

Inside, Alex was already so fluttery. Isiah wasn't even really objecting! He was really considering it!


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah glanced back up to her and then to Tsurai, grunting. "Why? It get you off?" His lip was curled upward in a sneer. Kissing Tsurai, he was sure, would bring forth a completely new level of discomfort that Isiah wasn't sure the boy could handle. Tsurai was so damn touchy, even if he had to to save his life, Tsurai wouldn't agree to it.

He had to try to weedle his way out of it, if he could..


Q wrote: The woman hmphed.

Alex was what you would call a "fag hag". She was an adimate lover of gays. However, her love was secretive, since in Georgia, it was a gay-hating world. You either stayed in the closet or you weren't in Georgia. So Alex had never actually met and talked with a gay, nor seen any of the entertainment she so desired.

That stated, she covered her mouth with a hand and said, with hesitation of the excitement of her own to follow, "Kissing him will wake him up."
Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's eyes cut into slits. "If that's the case, sugar, I don't need to stay here." He was nearly positivie that a kiss wasn't going to wake someone from what he assumed was a chemical attack. He repositioned Tsurai in his arms, standing as though he were ready to leave. If she were going to try to make a better offer, now would be her only chance- he didn't really have any sort of backup plan if she didn't..


Q wrote: "Fine, fine," She said, turning slightly away, hand moving from mouth to under her chin.
"But then I guess you'll have to wait, and of course, deal with your pretty bad sunburn. I bet you'll get cancer soon.."

Alex let out a sigh, "If your skin is all bubbly and peeling, you won't look like much of a threat to people who hate Denziens," she shrugged and sat down, cross-legged, watching him.

"Or you could sit, and kiss Tsurai, waking him up," she drew bored circles in the sand, trying to act uninterested. "And solve your redskin problem."
Shrugging again, she said with another sigh, "But I guess leaving is good too..."


Evil Disco wrote: He grunted. He wasn't sure she could solve all of those problems, but the prospect of being sunburn free was very tempting.. and Tsurai..

He groaned. Though his gut fought against it, logic won out. She was holding all the cards. He was only holding Tsurai.

He was momentarily tempted to ask what sort of kiss it would have to be- but he was afraid the answer he would get would go too far. "Just kiss him, huh?" Any sort of kiss, Tsurai would be angry about, but if he could manage to stay away from his lips Tsurai might forgive him.. someday...


Q wrote: Giving a small smile of success to herself, she hurrily added, "On the lips; don't get any smart ideas. But since you're being so wary about it," she rolled her eyes, "There doesn't have to be any tongue. Fair enough, Denzien?"

Alex waved her hand in the sand ot get rid of her bored circles, then watched intently.


Evil Disco wrote: He sighed, repositioning Tsurai in his grips, laying his shoulders on his upper arm, holding his head in place with his forearm. He shut his eyes tightly, brow furrowing, mumbling a quiet sorry. He kept his lips tightly pursed, merely brushing them against Tsurai's before pulling away. "There."


Q wrote: Alex sighed and fell on her back, now bored.

It wasn't nearly as long as she wanted it to be, and now that Tsurai wasn't doing anything different, she knew the Denzien would catch onto her.
In fact, he already had, really. With the "What? You're into that?" comment minutes before.

She gropped for something in her tent without looking for it, and finally, her fingers found what she was looking for: the canteen.

"Here," she tossed the circular thing to Isiah.

"It wasn't nearly what I was looking for, but there you go anyway. Just splash him in the face with some water and he'll wake up."

Ales was grumbling. Not one true bit of pleasure at all. What did it last? a tenth of a millisecond? Sheesh.


Evil Disco wrote: He sneered, pulling his lip up. "Water? You made me do that for fucking WATER? I coulda pissed on his face for free, woman!" He unscrewed the cap, splashing a meager amount on his face, shaking him a little. "Wake up, punkass."


Q wrote: "Yeah, but I doubt you would've pissed on him. Admit it, you like him."

Tsurai shivered and his green eyes popped open.
After some blinking and figuring out where the hell he was, he cried out, "Al-EX!"

Alex put a hand on her face. "Oh. Right, right. Sunburn for your Denzien. Uhh..."
Turning on her stomach, she crawled into her text, looking for something.

Tsurai let out a furious growl and despite feeling really good from that forced sleep, still wanted to kill the person who did it. He tried to get up but fell on his butt and yelped, as it was still sore from that one time...
It hurt worse than his face did, and anyone could easily tell.
"What are you doing, just sitting there?" he mustered, "Aren't you gonna do something? Isiah..!"

He kept trying to get in a remotely comfortable position, but everything hurt, and just... Stood up, left eye twitching from pain, anger, and god knows what else.

"There it is," Alex muttered, coming out of the tent with another glass bottle.
"This, and the salve that you put on Tsurai should help your Sunburn. But it will take longer to heal than Tsurai's pox."


Evil Disco wrote: After Tsurai had stopped struggling, Isiah forced him first onto his rump and then onto his back. "Be still, dammit, whatever's wrong with you is only gonna get worse if you thrash." He opened his palm and caught the salve, making a wierd face at it. He declined to answer Alex's first taunt, not sure whether he should use the wierd shit she had given him.. but he'd used it on Tsurai without complaint..


Q wrote: Tsurai's face contorted into horrible pain when Isiah pushed him down. He hated being weaker than Isiah.

Tsurai was like a dog with how often he growled, and, he threw his head back while he made a sound similar to that of a dog about to bite someone's head off.

The kid managed to rip Isiah's hand away enough so he could roll onto his stomach, which, although still painful, was not as bad as when he was on his back. Of course, that gave rise to a whole new predicament, as Tsurai had done something in his pants. He wasn't quite sure of what it was, yet- diarrahea or blood or some other liquidy thing- but he had a horrible feeling he was going to find out very soon.

"Tsurai... Those didn't happen to be.. Girl's pants, before you put them on...?" Alex queried.

The eighteen year old snarled and covered his hands over his head. Well, that solved what he didn't want to know. "No," he said curtly.

"You're..." The fag hag covered her mouth with her hands and closed her eyes as she shivered, only imagining... "You're..bleeding." Her voice was so soft you could hardly hear it.

Tsurai, instead of clenching those cheeks, pushed his hands onto his head so hard that his arms began to shake, and his head began to pound.
He wanted this day to end. He wanted to die and just be done with being humiliated.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's head crooked to get a good look before his brow dived in anger at Cyrus. Cyrus's.. less than powerful size had made it easy enough for him to use Tsurai without lubrication, but.. Tsurai was a proverbial virgin. He groaned, yanking his pants down his legs, kneeling beside Tsurai, lifting his legs gingerly to pull his oversized camos over Tsurai's relatively diminuitive lower half to cover him. Underneath he was wearing plain white boxer shorts- black tatooing showed through most of it- they were old and worn and thin and left little to the imagination. "It's okay," He whispered. He gave Alex a very cold look. "Don't get any ideas."


Q wrote: "I'm not!" Alex pointed out, as if Isiah was accusing her of something.
Although. Isiah did look good... Mighty good... She was too preoccupied with being worried about Tsurai.

Tsurai began to sweat.
"What are you doing?" he grumbled.
"I'm better off just... As it is.. Without..." Can't think...
"Just. Put your damn pants back on, fa-" he stopped himself and gave a small, barely audible whimper instead of completing the word. "Sorry." He forced.


Evil Disco wrote: He grunted, a frown tightening his face a little, stubble giving him an even darker appearance. He fwumped back down onto his ass, groaning. "I'm glad I killed that fucker.." He muttered. He didn't want Alex to think Isiah had fucked him. For one, Tsurai would be so mortified by the mention he would die, and second, he didn't want her to have any evidence to back up her theory on his fondness of the boy.

He wasn't sure what Tsurai would want him to say reguarding Cyrus. For the time being he would keep his mouth shut. It was Tsurai's decision whether he wanted to tell her, or not.

Q wrote: "Tsurai, are you o-"

"Just... DROP it," tsurai growled, shaking his head in the ground. "Drop it, drop it, drop it. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want ot think about it. It didn't even HAPPEN."

Tsurai grit his teeth so hard his gums began to hurt.
"You didn't even kill him, Isiah. I did." He accused.

Tsurai pushed himself up and stood, shaking his head to get the dirt off his face while he patted his head to get the sand out of that. Of course, while that happened, the string came undone and now he looked like a girl.

Typical.

He glared at the two, then sunk his weight in his knees as if he had given up.
He stayed like that for a moment, looking up at the sky, and then went to his knees, purposefully falling face-first in the ground again, dirt getting in his open burn and making him hiss slightly.
"Just. Kill me now, already," he muttered.
"Just do it."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed. "Worse things have happened, believe it or not." He wrapped a thick arm around Tsurai's shoulders. He wanted to keep Alex at bay and nearness was the only way to do it. Women tended to take advantage of these delicate situations..

He wasn't sure what to do, now, and the draft was making him increasingly aware of his nudity.
Q wrote: Alex wasn't going to take advantage of this at all; she was too busy trying to not look like she was listening. Which was hard. Because she really was worried about this, and she really wanted to know what had happened to Tsurai, but was utterly clueless as to the matter.

"No they haven't," Tsurai grumbled in rejoinder.
He thought being raped was bad. This was worse.
He sighed and tried to just... will himself to die. Of course, that wasn't going to work at all.

"I suck at life. Just put me out of my misery, already."

Alex had never seen Tsurai so depressed. She couldn't understand why a little bleeding, regardless of where it was, made him hate himself so much.

"Tsurai, you... You've lived through worse. Why give up now?" She asked.
It was true, his life had been one shitpile after another, but this occurance alone wasn't that bad.

"Leave me alone," he muttered. "You never help anything..." Tsurai grumbled.

The young woman was awestricken. She blinked back some tears before saying, "Atleast I try!"
She put her face in her hands. "You have so many people who care about you, Tsurai, and never once did you ever consider their feelings! It was all about you! You ARE better off dead! I'm sorry for every helping you!"

And with that, like any heart-broken girl would, Alex ran off.
And all Tsurai did was give a sigh of releif, still trying to will himself to be dead.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah groaned, watching her go, rolling his eyes at the obvious female weakness before slumping against the wall. "Give me my cigarettes and lighter out of my pocket kid. You're full enough of yourself to think I'd try to feel you up."

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes shut tightly as he struggled for words to say. "You know, kid, in this day and age, if you don't have a will to live.. you don't have anything. If you really wanted to die, you'd all ready be dead. Would have stayed in the vault and starved, or stayed with Cyrus until he killed you, or just lay down on the long trip here and waited for the sun to take care of you." His fingers twitched a little as he waited for his cigarettes.

"So I don't think you really want to die. As far as I'm concerned, you're just fucking lazy. The problem was solved. What the hell are you crying about? So the stupid bitch saw you bleeding! She obviously doesn't GIVE a fuck."

He yanked his boxer shorts down as the legs were creeping up and revealing a bit much- he was glad Tsurai was on his front or the kid would have had a heart attack.

"I'm not old enough to give sagely advice, kid, but if I were, I would say go through with it. Because there's nothing to look forward to anymore." He was beginning to voice what he was feeling more than what he felt Tsurai should do, and it was obvious as his voice died down and became gritty and low. "You have to be a masochist to enjoy life."


Q wrote: [[I actually have a fever now, so aside from it taking me ten times to understand that post, I'm sorry if I screw this one up.]]

Tsurai lazily put his right hand in Isiah's right pants pocket and pulled out a lighter. Then he did the same for the left side, but got out cancer sticks instead. He would've turned over on his back to give them to Isiah, but, his ass still hurt so he just looked up and put them both in one hand and shoved the pile in Isiah's general direction, lying his head head back down afterward.

"You..." he began. He wanted to say something like, 'you wouldn't understand', but... Gave up on it. He just wanted to drop the whole subject.

Of course Isiah wouldn't understand; Isiah didn't have blood pooling up in his ass. However, Tsurai decided to bring up something else.

He was too embarrassed about the whole blood-ass situation to talk about it.

"... Why did she keep calling you Denzien...?" He muttered. "Is that where your tattoos came from...?"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah dragged the cancer sticks and lighters toward him. Cyrus' supply had replenished his and he was a little less scant about using them. He lit his cigarette, groaning at the question. He took his first puff before answering, smoke punctuating his words.

"Yes, that's where the tatoos are from. I don't know how she recognized them. I had never thought that we were so widespread.." He dropped the lighter, setting the box of cigarettes aside, picking up the jar/bottle (?) of salve and eyeing it momentarily, wondering if he should use it.


Q wrote: "So... If you're this.. Denzien... Thing... What makes them so bad...? Alex seemed pretty demeaning about it."

Tsurai frowned and sat his head ontop of folded arms, looking over to Isiah, watching him smoke.

There must be a blood lake in his ass, by now. Tsurai frowned. He didn't want to ask what he should do.. If he sat up it'd all go down his legs, and, he didn't want that. But at the same time, he had to wash it, and.. His last expierence with a shower... Wasn't all too great...
Tsurai flinched at the thought of the two men with nothing better to do in the vault.


Evil Disco wrote: He watched Tsurai's expression, trying to think back on his first experience that left him in the same situation. "Don't worry about it. The best thing would be a shower or a hot bath but I don't think water's a commodity we can afford right now. Nobody'll be able to tell through the camo." He took another brief drag on his cigarette before considering Tsurai's question.

"The reason I think people might think it's bad, kid, is that it's old. Older than Jesus. And traditions that go along with it are just as old." He blew smoke upward from the corner of his lip. "I dunno how much I should tell you, kid. It's dead now. Or at least, I hope it is. The troupe I ran with probably died in the fallout."


Q wrote: Tsurai scowled lightly. "You seem to be beating around the bush a lot about it."

After a pause, he looked the other way, at Alex's tent, and a few moments of silence passed before he said very quietly, "I don't want it running down my legs..."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah frowned a little. "I don't know if there's much that can be done to preven that, unless Alex never started using tampons."

His eyes ran down the black tattooing down his thighs and legs, groaning in the faint memory of the pain he had endured for something he had struggled to leave behind. He took another long drag of his cigarette, hoping to kill off the brain cells involved in the memory. "Well. What do you want to know?"


Q wrote: "Uch. I don't.. Pay attention to.. Uch." He shook his head.
"And besides, even if she didn't, they're probably all gone by now. Not that I'd wear one, anyway."

Tsurai tried to think. He looked at the ground and gently hit the back of his head with his right hand.

"The tattoos, then. Why so many tattoos? That must've been a fucking pain. To sit through..." He looked at Isiah, then up and down at all his skin. "All of those damned things."

Of course, Tsurai secretly admired Isiah. The boy had always wanted a tattoo of some type or another. Just. Never got a chance. And his skin was already so scarred up, he doubted anything would look good anyway. A dragon would've been nice.
Maybe. A dragon eating a cross. Over his chest. Full color. Or maybe just grayscale. That would've looked awesome. Tsurai instinctively pulled on his blank dogtags, the chain rubbing the back of his neck. There was a long, red line from doing ti so much. But it didn't hurt at all. Not as much as his face or his ass, anyway.

Damned ass.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah took another brief puff on his cigarette, blowing smoke from his nostrils. He readjusted his legs to give himself a little more decency. "Different tattoos for different things, kid." He watched Tsurai, shuddering inwardly with impotent anger at Cyrus. Not much more they could do to him.. but.. why Tsurai?

He knew the answer then immediately. Because Tsurai was easy, he thought. Like I was. Stupid. Trusting. In dire need of help and without an discrimination as to where they would get it.

He began to feel a hot tinge of jealousy in his gut- was it jealousy? It may have been fraternal rage at the man who had so hurt the boy who was in his protection. It was easier to think of it that way.


Q wrote: Isiah was sure being curt about everything.
"So, they mean something, then?"
Tsurai propped himself up on his left forearm and pointed to a swirly, pointed, kind of fountain-type line thing that he could see under Isiah's shirt.
"What's that one mean, then? The swirly one on your abs, I mean."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed, pulling his shirt up to get a better look at it, in an attempt to recall the memory. He was reluctant and that is why his answers were so short. Tsurai, however, was inable to take a hint. He frowned at first at his lack of definition, but understood that you needed protein to feed muscles, and it wasn't as though it had been raining steaks lately..

Though one hand was holding his shirt up, his other traced down the designs, struggling to pull the pieces together from his memory banks. "Battle of the Kanes.. I.." He paused. "It was a military conflict hundreds of years ago. A bunch of denziens died. Why'd they make me ink this crap?"


Q wrote: Tsurai frowned in confusion, placing his hands on the ground but keeping his chest up.
"That doesn't make any sense.." but it was cool looking, anyway.
He decided to move on. "The one on your left breast. Kind of looks like a shell. There's two of them. What're they?"

No, Tsurai didn't get hints. Or maybe he did, but just wanted to keep his mind off his ass. And he was going to complain about his ass every waking minute of his life. Yes, yes he was. Fucking ass.


Evil Disco wrote: He gave Tsurai a wicked look. "Breast? Kid, it's a pec. Breast. You're gonna be a virgin the rest of your life." He finished his cigarette, pulling his shirt back down, hissing as the paper burnt to his fingers. He crushed the remainder into the dirt floor. He was done with questions and answers hour.


Q wrote: Tsurai narrowed his eyes. "What? You prefer me to say boob? Cause that's what it looks like to me. You're lucky I called your stomach abs. It's more like a beer belly. I never got why the called them pecks, anyway.
c'mon, though. The tattoo looks pretty cool, what's it mean?"

Tsurai closed an eye and started fingering his burnt face, trying to get the dirt out from laying on it all this time.

"You're lucky> I always wanted a tattoo." He hmphed, giving up on the burn, blinking and staring right at Isiah. "All I got where some damned scars."
He looked down, then away. "Ugh, you're drooping, you know. I think you should take your pants back."

Great, now, not only did Tsurai had an ass problem, he felt bad about his size. Well, he shouldn't he was straight and had a kid once. That was way more than Isiah would ever get.
Evil Disco wrote: Isiah glanced down, grumbling to himself, yanking his boxer's legs back down his thighs. "Fuck, you'd think fuckin' xl'd fit. And they're called pecs because the muscle is called 'pectoral' genius." He lifted his fingers to touch the tattoo in question, trying to remember what he got it for. "I think that was my coming of age, actually. Sixteen. Everyone gets a different one. I forget what it means... Your alpha picks it out for you."


Q wrote: Tsurai pushed himself to his knees.
"Oh, alpha, huh? Makes you think like you're a packa wolves." Now he was standing up, and all went down his legs.
The one time he forgot about his ass, and he had to stand up. Brilliant.

Tsurai's face turned white.
With a hmph, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked all mighty, trying to cover up his embarrassment, even though he knew nobody could see anything.
"Maybe, if you weren't so damned Big, you wouldn't have a problem. The vagina's only like. What? 3 inches? OH WAIT. You don't do girls!" He mocked, laughing.

Then the laugh went into a groan where he held his face with a hand, "I am so dead..." he muttered. More to himself, then to Isiah.

Honestly, he was waiting, asking, to be beaten up, now.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah's manhood was being affronted again- to be frank, the little skinny stick-boy had no right to tell him ANYTHING about manhood. "Listen, kid, I've fucked my share of women. Not something I'm proud of, but I'm SURE I've fucked more than you. Lie back down. Gravity's going to make it worse."

He was more dilligent about his boxer shorts, holding one leg in place to keep them from sliding around any further. It was Tsurai's own damn fault anyway. A slight blush warmed his neck and up his chin, freckles standing out a little stronger.


Q wrote: As if he weren't jealous and self-concious enough.

"I'm sure. 'Cause you probably broke a few bones what with your humungus ball of metal you call a piercing," he grunted, referring to a certain Prince Albert.

Tsurai couldn't stop himself. He always got this way when he was insulted somehow. And gravity making his ass worse? Well. It couldn't get any worse. What with the huge burnt slash mark on his face and the blood dripping down his legs and wearing two pairs of pants, noting short of scalping could make Tsurai's position worse.


Evil Disco wrote: "What the FUCK were you looking at my cock for, you little faggot?!" The piercing wasn't by choice, but taking it out would risk infection and he had grown.. fond, one could say, of the...

At any rate.

He groaned, instantly regretting spitting that out. He tightened his arms, ready to go after Tsurai should the boy get crazy. It wouldn't take much..


Q wrote: "Well I couldn't help it, the thing's so fucking big it has it's own fucking climate!"

He glared at Isiah. "I may be the one with the ass bleed but we BOTH know which one of us is the faggot," he warned.


Evil Disco wrote: He grunted, lifting his lip. "It's not a word that hurts me anymore, kid. Faggot only hurts men who aren't out of the closet yet and don't want to admit it yet. And trust me kid, I'm nothing special."

At least, that's what he thought. He just thought Cyrus was diminuitive, and the last 'boyfriend' he had was a massive ethiopian. Most of the trists of his youth were long gone from memory. They held no real value, nothing worth remembering, anyway.

He smiled, turning to Tsurai. "Girls like the piercing, anyway. Extra stimulation." He said 'stimulation' with a flourish of sarcasm.


Q wrote: Tsurai's whole body shook with anger. Boys not out of the closet, extra stimulation.
Argh. Not that Tsurai cared about sex, anyway. He only had it once. The memory scarred him so much he never did anything pass kiss again.

"What... Did you say..?" Tsurai forced, his hands going into fists.
He was straight. Maybe asexual. But Tsurai didn't know that term, so to him he was straight. He didn't look at men.
So to have someone accusing him of doing it was just god awful.

That dog came out in him again.
If he knew the term, he'd probably be a therianthrope. A doberman who's eyes had flames in them and made the growling bark before rushing at Isiah, right fist aimed for face.

And if that didn't work, there was a back-up knee to go for that obscurely large dick of Isiah's.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah was somewhat unprepared, seated and in no position to fight- he lifted his hands to stop Tsurai's fist before his face but could not block the blow to his lower half. He yelped, crumpling over into a fetal position, tears burning in his eyes. "You stupid.." He grunted, eyes shut tightly, face twisted in pain. "Fucker.."


Q wrote: Tsurai was kneeling, and now wincing because of stretching certain muscles that... Were already injured... But regardless of that, while he hissed from ass pain, his hands went for Isiah's throat.
The Denzien's neck was thick, and hard to squeeze. So Tsurai took a different approach.

He let his right hand grab Isiah's face, thumb and fingers on opposing temples, covering the man's eyes, while left hand raised for a punch to the man's throat, instead.

That would put Isiah out cold, considering how Tsurai's knee was still on Mr. Albert.


Evil Disco wrote: The pain was so intense that sentient thought was difficult for him. Isiah reached up and grabbed Tsurai's dogtags, yanking him off of his genitals, Tsurai's fingers tearing across his face. He panted, rising to his knees painfully before sending a hard right across Tsurai's nose. "You little pigfuck!"


Q wrote: Tsurai was yanked down and to the side, losing his balance, falling on his ass.

He yelped in pain, but still brought both arms in an X-block to protect his face.

Now that his arms were numb, he jumped back up on his feet, so the searing pain in his butt would cease, albeit by a small bit, and Tsurai forced and elbow at Isiah's "abs".


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah grunted, grabbing Tsurai's elbow and twisting his arm unnaturally, stretching his tendons. He knew if he pushed harder they would snap, and there would be no way for Tsurai to regain use of his arm after that. He pushed more by minute degrees, causing incredible pain. "Say give."


Q wrote: Tsurai threw his head back- a nasty habit that didn't make this situations any better- and gave a silent scream of pain, tears welling up in his eyes.

He wasn't going to say it. He forgot why they had begin fighitng to begin with, but he wasn't going to lose to Isiah. The kid threw his weight forward in his little screech of acrid pain and kneed Isiah in the crotch. Again.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah roared. This ongoing assault to his jewels was going to make walking VERY difficult for the next few days.. He twisted Tsurai around, opening his hand minutely to let the boy move without tearing his arm off, until Tsurai's shoulderblades were pressed against his chest. Isiah's teeth dragged against his neck, close to his ear, pulling Tsurai's arm back again- one more degree and the joint holding his shoulder and arm in place would dislocate. "Say GIVE you little fuck!"
Q wrote: Now he really was paralyzed by pain.
His head went back again, leaning on Isiah's shoulder as he squeaked.
Tsurai was too short; he kept trying to stand up higher, to make the pain lessen, but it wasn't helping. Isiah was too strong.

"ngh..." Tsurai was involuntarily twitching, now. "NO! LET GO!"
He couldn't say it. Wouldn't say it. Don't make him say it.

His shoulder was spasming. "GIVE! GIVE! GIIIIVE!" he screamed.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah released him, shoving him onto his face with a palm to his back, grunting. "You need to learn to pick your fights, kid." He reached into his boxers and readjusted, grimacing at the intense burning pain that reverberated into his gut. "Jesus H. Christ.."


Q wrote: Tsurai fell to his face on the ground, trying to get up some time later, but his arm was too messed up to do so.

So he just laid there. And after around ten minutes of dead silence passed, Tsurai grumbled something.

"I'll take your boxers if you take your pants back."
Kind of random, but the blood all down Tsurai's legs was bugging him. And he wanted to get it off. But he didn't wear anything under his pants, and he didn't want to get naked in front of Isiah.


Evil Disco wrote: He sighed. "All right." Isiah yanked his boxers down his legs. "It's too bad, kid, that chick would be screaming and pissing her pants if she saw this." He handed the thin white things to Tsurai quickly crossing his legs, palms wide to cover his member as casually as possible.


Q wrote: "Yeah, whatever," he grumbled.
Damned man proud of his largeness.

Tsurai quickly pulled the second pair of pants off him and threw them at Isiah, grabbing the boxers quickly.

His neck was red from a blush... amung other things, and he went into Alex's tent, changing in there.

Of course, as he was on his knees in the tent, an arm came out and yanked the towel in the tent as well.

Tsurai wiped his ass the best he could before putting the boxers on-as they were white- and then stood outside with just those on, and streaks of blood going down the back of his legs.

The boxers were very big on Tsurai, like large shorts, which was... Okay, he guessed, but he wasn't much of a shorts person. He liked pants.
Now that he was standing, he bent over with the bloody towel in hand to wipe his legs off, right arm limp because the stinging numbness was too much to deal with. It wasn't worth the pain it took to move.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah quickly yanked his pants up, gingerly zipping over his now extremely tender area. "I swear kid, if you gave me a bruise you'll never hear the damn end of it.." He almost wimpered buttoning before laying his head back, sighing with relief that it was over.


Q wrote: "Well, you shouldn't get so attached to something... You'll lose it. You're so proud of your fucking dick it sickens me."

He hmphed, dropping the bloodstained towel on the ground and standing up straight.

"And I SO would've won if I didn't need my arm..." he chuckled.

Love-hate relationship this was, one could assume.


Evil Disco wrote: He rolled his eyes. "At least I've got enough to be proud OF, kid." All this talk of penis was becoming far too mundane and casual. "You really shouldn't be moving around so much."


Q wrote: He narrowed his eyes. "That was low, man."
But he quickly recovered, ignoring the moving comment.
"I don't have to be proud of my penis. It's not like I'm having sex with it or anything. I'm a snuggle kind of guy."

He just realized what that sounded like.
He went pale, and decided to change the subject.
"Let's, uh, get out of this town," he coughed. "Before Alex comes back."


Evil Disco wrote: He grunted, rolling his eyes. "Kid.. I'm telling you.." He sighed. Tsurai wanted to bleed through goddamn white boxers, in front of every damn body, fine. He could do that if he wanted. He stood, wincing, adjusting again through the ctoch of his pants. "I'm not sure there's much of a town to go TO.."


Q wrote: Tsurai grunted, grabbing his pants and dragging them behind him as he walked over to Isiah.
"Telling me WHAT?"


Evil Disco wrote: He sighed, speaking slowly as though he were talking to an invalid. "Telling you that it's not going to get better if you keep moving around like this.. And besides. If Alex? That's her name? Comes back, the two of us can make quick work of her." That sounded dirtier than he had meant, but ah, well. Tsurai knew his intention.


Q wrote: Actually, Tsurai didn't. He was dense, especially since they had just finished talking about penises.

"Quick work of her? What the fuck, Isiah! I may not like her, but I'm not gang rape her!"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah shut his eyes, rubbing his temple with two forefingers. "As in, beat her up. Keep your mind out of the gutter for like, ten seconds." He groaned with intense frustration coupled with the burning, lingering pain in his genitals. He was somewhat surprised hec ould get up.. but he had suffered worse pain in the past.


L wrote: [[Too lazy to log off mule, sorry]]

"She's... Not like that," Tsurai sighed.
"I know... I want to kill her sometimes... But. She really doesn't want to hurt anybody. So.. If you hurt her... Isiah, I swear I'll... It'll be more than just your huge penis that will be stinging."
Evil Disco wrote: Isiah groaned, taking a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling, before turning his head to Tsurai, an earnest look on his face. "Look, kid. I'm tired of you thinking you stand a chance against me. You don't. One of these days, when you rush at me like that, I can, and will, break you and half. I don't deserve to be treated that way, kid. I'm not going to let you abuse me anymore."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes remaining steady and cold on Tsurai.

"So stop trying. You have nothing to prove."


Q wrote: "I know you can. Easily. But I can still hurt you in the process of going down. Not that..." He would..

Tsurai looked around for a moment, twisting his neck. "Where'd you put the duffel bag?"


Evil Disco wrote: He snorted. "Shit.. I dunno. It's either back where I slept last night or in Alex's place..." He thought hard. He didn't remember bringing it with him. "I bet it's hidden back where I slept. C'mon. I don't think anybody would be digging for it."

He headed back toward where he had slept, people sparsely scattered here and there, holding quiet curt conversations. Eyes followed him- the tattoos made him.. an object of interest. He groaned inwardly. He hated feeling like one man freak show.. there had to be something better to look at..


Q wrote: Tsurai sighed and followed the man.
"I... Really want to leave." He admitted. But the, quickly added, "If that's okay with you. I'm sorry, by the way. For the nut crushing and shit."


Evil Disco wrote: He grunted. He would accept the apology after his nuts stopped hurting so bad. He still walked a little slowly, but long legs made him seem to move at a much more normal pace. He found the spot where he had spent the night, and sure enough, the dufflebag had remained unbothered underneath a pile of rubble. He uncovered it. "I know you do, but I don't know where you wanna go."


Q wrote: "Well, this whole time, everything has been centered around me. And. I don't want it to be that way anymore. I know your pissed and all, and then Alex got pissed at me..." Man, what Alex had said, plus the other events, had really gotten to Tsurai.

"I just think, maybe I should shut up for a while and let you do everything. Cause I don't know what else I should do." He tried to preoccupy himself by bringing his pants up and trying to fold them with his one good arm.

"I cause nothing but trouble, anyway."


Evil Disco wrote: He sighed inwardly. It was one of subtle relief. "I'm glad you managed to pull your head out of your ass. Just being in your teens doesn't make you the smartest person in the world." He grunted a little, remembering his own awkward teen years. "Doesn't make you invincible, either."

He plopped down beside the duffle bag, unzipping it, digging through it to find a can of soup. "You should eat."


Q wrote: "So should you." Tsurai replied, letting the now-folded pants fall to the ground.

"I don't think I can sit, anyway." he added, watching Isiah sift through the contents of the bag.

"What kind of soup is it?"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah turned the can in an effort to read the old, faded, warped label, squinting a little before handing it over to Tsurai for deciphering. "Shitn'Piss soup." He dug through the duffle for the can opener, finding it and yanking it out from beneath other cans. "We got snot in there too if you're interested."


Q wrote: Tsurai looked confused, not really appreciating the joke.
The label didn't have a picture, so he was left for the worse.

Handing the can to Isiah, he said, "That doesn't really tell me what it is. I can't read the label."


Q wrote: Tsurai looked confused, not really appreciating the joke.
The label didn't have a picture, so he was left for the worse.

Handing the can to Isiah, he said, "That doesn't really tell me what it is. I can't read the label."


Q wrote: Tsurai took the can and glared at Isiah.
"I didn't mean it like that. I meant the label was too screwed up."
The kid was very sensitive about not being able to read. He wanted to, really he did, but he had never gotten the chance.

He could, however, read numbers. That was the only thing, however.

Tsurai idly looked in the can, frowning.
"You can get sick for not cooking it first, you know..." but didn't do anything to back up the statement and quickly gulped the contents down, coughing from distaste afterward.

"...Eeeewww...."

Evil Disco wrote: He rolled his eyes. "That shit was pasteurized before it even hit the can. That 'cook before eating' bullshit is just so it won't taste so damn bad." He scraped his tongue along his upper teeth, making another face. "You know what I could go for? A beer. Like. Ten beers."

He tossed the empty can over the crumbling enclosure wall, grunting.


Q wrote: Tsurai rubbed his mouth.

"I doubt there are any left. And we don't need to waste food bartering for alcohol anyway. Besides... You already smoke. You don't need... What? Three cancers at once. Skin, liver, and lung. Jesus man, working on a record?"


Evil Disco wrote: He rolled his eyes. "Trust me kid, it's an Irish thing. The drink's melife's blood boyo." He recalled the accent tenatively. His father had been the last to have kept it in his family. "And I didn't always smoke this much. Before I was a babysitter it wasn't really that much of a necessity."
Q wrote: "Babysitter, huh? Oh, that's REAL funny." Tsurai glared.

Bending over, he picked up his pants and put them on his head, holding them in place with his left hand and started walking off.
"As I said, let's go."

Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes, zipping up the duffle bag and hiding it back underneath the pile of rubble where it had been before. He really wasn't up for more walking around after the punishment his crotch had been dealt, and after the speech Tsurai had given he was surprised he was still intent onto going into town. He didn't know what Tsurai planned to see there.. or if there was much to see.

He stood slowly, grunting a little in minute pain. The burning was dying down, but he knew it would take a week to be able to walk normally. He chortled. Well, that at least was an experience men of his 'ilk' were used to.

He followed after Tsurai, hands in his pockets. "Why the hell you wearing pants on your head?"


Q wrote: "Keep the sun out of my eyes." He turned around, taking them off, only to see Isiah without the duffelbag.

"By 'Let's go', you know I meant LEAVE here, right?" he grumbled.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah tipped his head to the side and promptly raised his middle finger. "Just a moment master, give me time to do your bidding." He plopped back down by the duffel, folding his arms behind his head. "Enjoy your trist into town, son."


Q wrote: Tsurai growned.
"Jesus."

He walked over to Isiah, put the pants ontop of the duffelbag, and without thinking, picked the bag up with his bad arm and moved to walk off.

Of course, instead of walking, it was more like a grunt and falling on his ass, followed by more of a yelping whine, and then jumping back onto his feet, holding his shoulder, a growl following while his brows twitched and Tsurai winced.

"Ugh, I hate you so much," he hissed.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah watched the charade before standing, lifting the dufflebag from him, tossing it over his shoulder. He gave Tsurai a smug, yet reproachful look, waiting for perhaps an apology or an admission of weakness. He knew he wouldn't get one..

"You done being a dickwad now?"


Q wrote: "Probably not," he groaned, closing an eye.

Tsurai started walking forward, hunching.
"Why don't you do us both a favor and tape my mouth shut," he said cynically. "The slash is opening up more, anyway."
And it stung.
He just hoped he could concentrate on that pain rather than the kind in his rectum.


Evil Disco wrote: "No tape. And I'm sure you'd find a way to be annoying without talking." He nearly shuddered thinking of all the ways it was possible.

He was becoming really, intensely tired of caring for Tsurai. And caring about him. The kid had NO sense of gratitude, and he wasn't the type to give without a return, not forever. Even the fraternal need to protect him was wearing down with Tsurai's constant attitude. Tsurai was so intent he was RIGHT all the time, and it was rarely, if ever, the case. Isiah had ten times Tsurai's maturity, though the age difference wasn't THAT nominal. The kid owed him respect. He probably owed him his life.

Pain didn't teach him any lesson, that was obvious. Neither did talking or any more humane way of teaching. He was about ready to dump the kid on Alex's lap and leave him there.


Q wrote: Tsurai hmphed. "I don't mean to be," he said quietly.

Argh, Tsurai just wanted to have fun. Ever since... Ever, his life was one pile of shit after another. He wanted to have fun, now. He wanted to be nomadic, and enjoy life, and... Do all the things he should've been able to do when he was ten.

But it wasn't working. Everything he tried was slapping him right back in the face. Maybe Tsurai should do it alone. Being nomadic, and trying to have fun.
But Tsurai wasn't the type to be a loner. Even with other people he was lonely, and he hated it. He had the worst inferiority complex, which frequently turned into a superiority complex just to try and add up to what Isiah was.

Tsurai just... Didn't know how to stop or say sorry well enough. He was used to beating people up and doing what elders said, and now that he had to ability to do what he himself wanted... He was going overboard.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed and surveyed him. His parents did a real whack job on him, he thought. No guidance. Smart kids, without a guiding hand would turn into what Tsurai was- braggart and filled with fake bravado, but always inwardly looking for approval. Isiah had been that way at eighteen, too.

Life had kicked him hard enough in the ass to make him wary of acting the way Tsurai did. But he was sure that even his makeshift Denzien family had offered him much more than Tsurai's had. Judging by the scars, anyway.

The curiosity was a tight pang in the bottom of his gut but he didn't want to intrude on Tsurai's privacy. Tsurai wasn't much for keeping secrets, in his experience. When Tsurai wanted him to know, he would know. He wasn't sure he could handle whatever had happened to Tsurai, even from a second perspective. Something horrible, to keep him the way he was.

"I know you don't," he answered curtly. "You gotta accept I've got a little bit more life experience on me, kid. The extra years really do wonders." He watched his face a moment longer to gauge if Tsurai was taking it well or not- he couldn't tell, so he tried again. "Sometimes it's better to be the willow than the oak."


Q wrote: "I did. I mean. I do. You being older, I mean."
Tsurai stopped and stretched, scratching the back of his neck, and wondering if he'd ever find another piece of string to tie his hair back. He needed to cut it, or something. It was itching him something terrible.
But luckily, that was the only thing. The chicken pox weren't bad at all. Whatever was making him feel greasy probably helped that. Was it Alex? Probably. He couldn't remember between all the voluntary and forced losses of conciousness during that time period.
He'd just assume it was Alex's doing. She was good with that.
Would also explain why his face was burned shut, too.

"I don't understand." He turned around, still scratching his neck as he blinked in confusion. "Types of trees...?"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah sighed again, shaking his head back and forth slowly.

"It's not an irish proverb.. I thought..." He groaned.

"The story goes.." He paused.

"Maybe it's Aesop. Anyway, the story goes that an oak was talking to a willow tree- bear with me. And the oak said, 'How weak and fickle you are! Even gentle breezes shake your branches!' Blah blah. 'I stand tall against all odds!' And the willow replied something witty like 'Sometimes it is better to bend.' And the willow .... snorted.. contemptedly or something. The next day there was a great hurricane, and the oak, rather than bend, was uprooted entirely from the ground, while the willow had simply let it's branches whip around with the force. So in the end, the willow was standing and the oak was felled."

He blinked a few times. He had never heard it told so horribly but the idea was there. "Understand?"


Q wrote: Tsurai frowned. He didn't think it'd be a good time to ask who Aesop was.
"No," he said curtly, turning his back to Isiah and walking out of town again, the already thin masses of tents and half-down buildings getting even thinner.

Tsurai tried to busy himself by exercising his sore shoulder. He tried just making fists, first, and eventually moved up to rotating it in circles every now and then, his muscles spasming in retaliation.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah groaned, audibly this time. "The moral of this story, kid, is that it's better to be flexible. That way when something bad happens you're more able to handle it." He watched Tsurai clench his fist. "Roll your shoulder, kid, slowly. I didn't pop it out, but I bet the tendons are hurting pretty bad."


Q wrote: Tsurai sighed. He still didn't get it.
He wanted to, but neurons just weren't connecting.

"I'm fine," Tsurai admitted. "I've had worse. I'm sure it'll heal eventually."
The eighteen year old brushed his left and good hand through his brown hair while they passed what seemed to be the last of the neighborhood rubble.

He was thinking. Or trying to, anyway. His was pretty narrow-minded, and it was painfully obvious to him now that an addage was chucked his way.
Tsurai was already pretty down, but now he decided to do something about it. Maybe.
He had always wanted to learn how to read. And maybe reading would help with... Aesop. Or whatever the hell it was.
Stopping, Tsurai turned and looked at Isiah, a depressed look on his face.

"I'm sorry. About blowing up on you before. Over the soup, I mean. That look on your face... On everybody's face... Just really gets to me."
He frowned.
"I really can't read."

He wanted to ask if Isiah would teach him; that had been his plan when he started talking, but now it just seemed really stupid to voice. SO he just hoped Isiah would get the hint.
Isiah was always good with that.
Evil Disco wrote: Isiah scanned his face again, nodding. "I didn't think so." He shrugged a little. "You're quick enough. It won't take you long to learn.. assuming you stop being so stubborn for a change."

He didn't want to say it so bluntly, but denziens were more or less lost on subtlety. In that sense Isiah was no exception. "You aren't the only one, Tsurai. Lots of kids your age missed out on it just before the war. There was too much going on for schools to be in session, as I understand."

Isiah had lived in a more or less suburban setting most of his life. Never too rural. He had assumed that the one room classrooms of the deep south, or hickville, or where ever Tsurai was from pretty much shut down after the warnings started. ... But Tsurai should have been able to read a little.. He groaned inwardly. He was slowly beginning to detest Tsurai's parents.


Q wrote: Tsurai groaned. "No, all the schools kept going on. I just never went."
He turned again and started walking once more.
"My parents taught me a lot of math when I was little, and that was it. I never went to school. Too busy with..." How to describe it?
Tsurai didn't want to go into a big speel about past shit.
"... The family business." He decided was a good way.
"Chores, I mean. Lots and lots of them. School only got in the way."

He scratched his head, then shook it and shuddered. Bad memories.
"You got a knife on you? This hair is really bothering me..."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah remembered the knife Cyrus had used, kneeling before dropping the duffel in front of him, unzipping and digging around before he found it. "How short you want it, kid?"

Isiah's hair was getting a little out of control as well- the longer it got, and the more sweat and dirt it carried, the more curl showed through- Isiah guessed he would just shave his head later.

I should have assumed as much, he mused. Kept him at home as a fuckin' slave. What kind of future did they expect out of him?


Q wrote: Tsurai walked over to Isiah and kneeled down over the duffel.

"I dunno. Just give it to me and I'l chop whatever comes off."


Evil Disco wrote: He turned the blade toward himself, handle-first toward Tsurai. "Okay. Don't go crazy or you'll have to shave your head." He smirked at the idea. "I bet your head's shaped too funny for that to look good."


Q wrote: He took the blad ein his left hand.

"Yeah, right. My head's shaped fine, thanks."

Tsurai backed up a little, and put the knife in his right hand. He was right-handed, afterall. Tsurai didn't have much of a grip but he figured it'd be good enough.

Taking his left hand, he reached back and grabbed his hair in a ponytail fashion. Then, he carefully, painfully brought his right hand back, underneath his left hand.
Anyone could tell that merely having his right arm back in that position was very painful for him, but Tsurai, despite his arm beginning to shake in reprimandment, was going to be stubborn about it.

He let his hand go, and, like a spring, the knife went through his hair and in an arc, straight to the ground where the boy let go of the weapon.

He looked at the big chunk of brown hair in his left hand, then tossed it in the air.

As if he were holding back a cough, he rushed out the words, "Okay I'm done," and held his arm to his chest as he shook, now paying for what he knew he shouldn't have tried anyway.

Now, it suddenly began to make sense. "Guess I'm," he struggled, "an Oak tree, huh?"
He pretty much doubled over after that and gave a quiet hiss.


Evil Disco wrote: He nodded, smiling as he watched the epiphany wash over the younger male. "Right. Oak through and through." He knelt next to Tsurai, placing his open palm over his shoulder and squeezing, gently, feeling for any abnormalities. When he found nothing he smiled, weakly. "Just let me help you next time, okay? You're gonna make that arm unusuable."


Q wrote: Even though nothing had popped out of place, it still hurt to have Isiah poking at it.
"Ungh..." He closed his eyes tightly. "Stop. That hurts," he growled.
It shouldn't be lasting this long. It should be one quick punch of pain and then fading away. Maybe he pulled a tendon...

"Besides, you're supposed to keep using it if it's only sore... Or else it'll get stiff, right? Or maybe they just made that up..." He hissed. One could only guess who 'they' was.
"Something's wrong. It shouldn't hurt this bad...!" Tsurai called out and let go of his right arm, physically doubling over this time while he involuntarily stiffened all his muscles, causing him more suffering.

Maybe the pain was combining itself with something else, but that didn't make any sense.


Evil Disco wrote: He grunted. Years of dominance battles in his Denzien days had taught him how to care for each wound- and if a tendon was stretched, then yes, it SHOULD hurt that bad. "Use it, but not too much. The way you were stretching it may have exascerbated the problem." He sighed, watching Tsurai crumble. Again.


Q wrote: "exer-what?" Tsurrai cried.

Even if it was a pulled tendon, which it probably was, it shouldn't hurt that badly. Tsurai had pulled tendons before- never in his shoulder, though.
Maybe it was. He didn't know every kind of pain on the planet.

"Ugh... Speak in english, will you?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Tsurai had to get up. He was only making it worse, crunching like this. Whatever "it" was.

The eighteen year old managed to get to his feet, but was still hunched over and panting, which was not what he wanted. He needed to stand up straight, but Tsurai wasn't sure he could do that right now.


Evil Disco wrote: "Exascerbate.. make it worse." He grunted, standing with him, placing one hand on Tsurai's chest, the other on his lower back, pushing in opposite directions to straighten him, waiting for the expected 'pop'.


Q wrote: "Ahh... No... Wait..!" But Isiah knew better than that and now Tsurai, after some random vertebrea popped and his muscles loosened up, was standing up straight and very dizzy.

Lightheaded, and dizzy. But most of the pain was fading away. Thank God.
Now he was just sore. He didn't want to fall over, so he leaned heavily on Isiah for a while until the noise in his ears went away. Which would only take a few seconds.

"... Ow..." Tsurai moaned.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah rolled his eyes. "You're a real glutton for punishment, you know that? You need to take a god damned break and stop working yourself so hard, or you'll die."

He was tired of Tsurai's constant ups and downs. It was wearing down on his parental resolve to solve Tsurai's problems. He was beginning to think Tsurai was beyond saving, if he didn't even have the sense to rest an injury.


Q wrote: "I'm not working myself hard at all. This is me taking it easy."
He stood up on his own, shaking his head a bit.

"If I was working hard, I wouldn't even be sitting here complaining about how bad it feels. I'd just be doing."


Evil Disco wrote: "You gonna fucking take my advice or not?" Isiah answered, curtly. Tsurai had better bow to me on this one, he mused. "Because if you aren't, you can go ahead and work that thing until it rots and falls off."
Q wrote: Tsurai pretty much wilted on that one.

"Yeah, I guess."

He sighed, looking back to the tent town.
"Still want to stay...?"


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah glanced backward, grunting. "I dunno, kid. I don't know if we'll FIND another settlement. I don't know if we need one. But trust me, about thirty minutes out we're going to start seriously missing the shade." He turned back toward the open plane in front of him, setting his jaw. "I don't know if it's the best thing, right now, to wander off and hope for the best."


Q wrote: "What do you think is, then? Because I don't want to be raped and duped into thinking somebody's my dead girlfriend again."
He paused.
"But then I don't want to be shoved into my own barf, either."

He shuddered.
"Ugh, do what you want. I'm just dead weight."
He would've sat down, but he was worried about his ass, so he resolved to looking up at the sky and scarring his retinas with sun.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah grabbed his nose and yanked his face back down so he wouldn't bloody hurt himself. "Stop that." He grit his teeth a little, clucking his tongue as he thought. "You're the one who has the problem going back, kiddo. I'm just not sure we should head out before we have any information. Of course, this doesn't look like the town I heard about.. we might have more of a ways to go.." He grumbled inwardly. He had been given bad information and there wasn't exactly a lot of leeway to play around with. "What I think would be best is to wait for you to get into top condition before we head off into the unknown. It might be more than we bargained for, and you'll need your health."


Q wrote: When Isiah let go of his nose, he sneezed.
After rubbing his nose with his lft hand, he said, "You make it sound like I'm worth anything when I fight."

Ugh, his nose was a delicate thing. He sneezed again. "Don't do that."

Tsurai turned around and headed back to town. "I still need to work on getting another set of pants, anyway," he mused.

Then a thought came into him.
"We could stay at Simon's er. Cyrus', or whatever the fuck his name is... That was at least half a house. And," he sneezed again. Damnit. How come Isiah always knew right where to touch him to get his body annoyed?

"Jesus," he grumbled. ".. He has food and shit," he finished.
Then he sneezed again.
"Damnit, Isiah. I don't know how you do it..." Tsurai snuffed up the all of... Nothing, in his nose, and tried to hold back an oncoming sneeze.

And failed. Of course.
"Isiah...!"
It was like the guy had put a curse on him or something.


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah chortled. "That's what you get for being an ass, ass." He sighed. "If you're comfortable staying there, I am. We'll have to get rid of the.. trunk and it's trove within before we make it permanent, though. Assuming someone hasn't all ready."

He was somewhat glad Cyrus hadn't said anything to Tsurai about their previous relationship. He had assumed if he had, Tsurai would have popped up with a thousand questions that Isiah wasn't exactly prepared to answer. Isiah had never known Cyrus to be a rapist.. he had never thought..

Cyrus wasn't a good person, he remembered that much very well. But he never thought he would rape somebody. Especially someone so young.. He turned toward Tsurai for a moment, watching him as they walked. He didn't look as old as he said he was, cut down his face and all. And knowing him made him look much, much younger.. He cursed himself for ever getting involved with someone like Cyrus.


Q wrote: He hmphed, sniffing again.
"You're the one I'm worried about. You were going to let the bastard live, if I'm remembering correctly."

Tsurai wouldn't be surprized if he wasn't remembering correctly. He was cut in the face, pretty much strangled, and drugged to boot. So Tsurai was pretty sure atleast one memory of the whole ordeal was made up from something.

"The trunk was where all the stuff was, wasn't it? So if you really did put him there... Which I don't remember you doing... We're gonna have to take him out again to get more supplies." Tsurai didn't seem too caught up on it. He was acting like it was an everyday thing, desecrating the dead.
Even added an afterthought of, "I don't think there'd be too much blood.. If all I did was stab him in the windpipe... If that's what I even did..." His head popped up.

"Did I do that? A lot of that's a blur."


Evil Disco wrote: "I cleaned it out." He patted the duffle bag. "Before I stuffed his fat ass into it." He tried to remember if there was blood- he didn't recall.. "I don't think there was too much blood, either, but in this heat he's got to have started stinking by now."


Q wrote: "well if you did clean it out, then there's nothing to worry about."

He stopped when he riched the famous well. Tsurai shuddered.

I can take care of those Chicken pox. My name is Simon...

Tsurai shook his head. The guy was dead, he wasn't going to let it bother him.

"I forgot where it was. Do you remember? The, uh, house, I mean."

Everytime he started putting "uh"s into sentences, it was always apparent his mind was some place else.


Evil Disco wrote: He nodded, leading Tsurai down the wayward path Isiah had taken to find him. He pushed the half-door open. There was no rotting-flesh stench- he looked over toward the corner where the trunk had been, and it was gone. Someone had all ready taken care of it.. for what purpose, he didn't want to know.

The cot was still there, but the three legged table had been taken. He held the door for Tsurai. "Go in and lie down. On your back. If you lie on your side you might make it worse."

Q wrote: Tsurai looked around. Something was missing. His brain just couldn't connect what it was.

He didn't really want to force his mind to remember, either.
He was trying to figure out why he hadn't gone ballistic when he'd been given the drugs, though.
He'd never been given a gang rape drug before...

"I don't think... I mean...."
There was something wrong with the bed. He couldn't figure out why he was against it, thoguh.

Tsurai's posture slumped. "Not on my back. I don't think I'll be able to lie that way for a long time."

Cyrus had said something when Tsurai was sitting on the bed... Something important...


Evil Disco wrote: He blinked once or twice, sighing. "Just lie down, then. I think my jacket's still in the duffle. I understand if you don' wanna go on the cot." He didn't want Tsurai lying in dirt, but Alex had covered him in dirt-salve earlier so he figured it would be more good than harm in the long run. He sat down on the cot instead after shutting the door, yanking the jar of salve Alex had given him for his sunburn. "Should I try this voodoo juice?"


Q wrote: Tsurai gave in and went over to the bed, lying on his stomach. head on left arm so it wasn't in stains of.. He didn't want to think about it.

"Voodoo juice?" he chuckled.
"Yeah, you should. She's good. Alex doesn't have anything that would like.. Make you her slave or anything. Besides. I haven't been itchy at all since you put it on me."

He shut his eyes with a sigh.

Cyrus said something.. What was it...? Tsurai opened an eye and found himself staring at a stain. He wondered if it was his. Then he frowned.

You enjoyed it.

Tsurai shuddered, then made a small, barely audible whimper sound as if he were cold, closing his eyes covering his head with his hand.

"Did.. Uh... Did you..." Tsurai swallowed and tried to just fall asleep instead of thinking about it.
".. Nevermind. Forget I said anything."


Evil Disco wrote: Isiah was midway from finishing his left shoulder, giving Tsurai a strange, pleading look. "You can ask me, Tsurai." He wasn't sure about what, but he was nearly positive it would be about Cyrus.. If answering some questions would make this easier for him.. despite the strong conflict of interests, he would try to as best he could.


Q wrote: Tsurai sighed.

"What's the first thing you remember when you came in? Did you see anything... Between me and.. Him?"
That wasn't actually what Tsurai was going to ask at first, but he figured,
"no, I really don't want to talk about it" wasn't going to get him anywhere but trouble.