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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Oct 28, 2017 10:39:46 GMT -5
{You get a break after midterm? :0 I’m jealous haha. Well, good luck with that mountain of work!!! Don’t stay up too late and procrastinate anyway, like me.}
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Post by Deleted on Oct 31, 2017 9:19:03 GMT -5
Proctor
She’s been letting the others down this past week. Not to get too melodramatic, but Proctor knew that there was a chunk of their group missing that went much larger then Everett. The capture and release had taken something from everybody and she had been forced to face herself at her worst. She’d been filled in on the blanks when she woke at Powerscourt, and was frankly amazed she hadn’t hurt anyone. Well, by ‘anyone’ what she meant was ‘her friends’. There’d definitely been damage, but it was hard to care about that when the damage inflicted had been on the people who’d brought them there in the first place. She hasn’t felt this kind of quiet in a long time, it’s been years since she’d been involuntarily forced to shift into Mode Three. One of the last times she’d done it she’d been 16, maybe nearly 17, and she’d still been in the facility with Alex. That’d been a decade ago, a hopeful part of her had been assured that those days were over. The worst part of the sting was that she’d been wrong.
Sitting here, listening partially to the silent snow falling and partially to Otto spurring Bisera on in their game (either he was letting her win or she was scarily good at this game) Proctor found herself mourning the loss of her ear. Maybe she should just be thankful it wasn’t all gone, but it was hard to stay positive when your balance is thrown off and you’ve lost part of your hearing, after a lifetime of being in peak physical condition simply by existing. Plus, though this was a little harder for her to word, it was embarrassing and Proctor didn’t GET embarrassed. The bottom half of her ear hung uselessly off her face, and the heavy amount of bandages were a pain to put on. Every so often she would feel Alex glancing at her, and suddenly the room would seem uncomfortably warm. No one ever warns you that mortal injuries could be mortifying.
Her hearing had taken a blow, but it was still good enough to hear Marco when he spoke. She set her fork down on her plate, the clink ringing out loudly as every other noise seemed to die down. Otto and Bisera stopped their game, raising their heads with irked and anxious respectively. “Ok.” Her own voice seemed quiet, but there was no need to raise it, “We all need to talk.” She turned her head stiffly and slowly, feeling the gauze stuck to her pull at the small, fine hairs at the nape of her neck, “If we sit here in silence for another week, we’re all going to lose our minds.”
She wasn’t ready to talk yet and it showed, but she wasn’t the leader for nothing. It wasn’t all battle plans and comradery, that wasn’t the kind of life they lead. She stood up from the table and swayed dangerously (even the smallest stumble looks dramatic when you’re over six foot tall), before grasping the edge of the table with her good hand, annoyed at her own biology. This ‘inner ear’ nonsense was going to be a real pain to get used to. Slowly but surely, she crossed the room to the bigger seats, her bandaged arm hanging like a limp wind sock. Life without her dominant arm was also humiliating, she needed help with everything from cutting her own food to tying her shoe laces. She made it over to her own arm chair and sat down on the edge, placing her arms on her spread legs, “There’s no point skirting around what happened; Jean and Bisera were kidnapped and we nearly lost Everett. We’ve never had to deal with that kind of loss before,” she shot the comatose young man a glance, as if hoping that talking about him would wake him up, “But every day we have to deal with something we’ve never dealt with before. I know sometimes it feels like we have a rountine but we don’t.” Her good hand squeezed into a ball and then relaxed. She took a breath and carried on, “None of this is normal. It’s not. But it never has been before, and we’ve dealt with all of that. We can deal with this too.” She raised her dark gaze into Jean, odd sized pupils picking him out of the gloom, “None of this is our fault. We didn’t ask to be born like this, we didn’t even ask to be born. We’ve sent a clear message to the people who are to blame,” She flicked her eyes over to Alex briefly, recalling how the young woman had fought DKC, “And we can’t turn this on in ourselves. It’s alright to be frightened, or upset over what happened because it was TERRIBLE. But we can’t forget that the whole reason we stick together is so that we don’t go these things alone. Any bad thoughts, no matter how difficult.” She regarded Otto with a nod, thinking of how he said what they’d all been fearing, “You can say them out loud. We are the only people who understand what everyone else here is going through, we have to talk to each other.”
She leaned back in her chair with a heavy sigh, “I suppose, for the last week, I haven’t been that open myself. And I’m sorry. But you have to trust me when I say that nothing will make you feel better than just being honest.” She propped her left arm up, pressing her face against her hand, “And as for Sleeping Beauty over there, he’ll be fine.” She promised, letting the words sit for a moment, “He’s healed worse on all of us. Multiple bullet holes, slashed tendons... Val forgive my faulty memory but did he heal your stabbed lung or my stabbed lung?” She asked, determined to think of as many horrible injuries as she could. “Either way my point is, yes, we’ve never seen him have to heal HIMSELF like this before, but I believe he can do it. Maybe it’s just a gut feeling, but he’s tougher then he looks.” As if in response, Everett sighed, shifted once or twice and then lay still again. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they’d had all week. "See?" Proctor said, forcing herself to sound perky, "Pretty soon he'll be up on his feet and bothering all of us like he normally does. It's only taking so long because..." She trailed off, trying to think of a reason herself, and settled on the best answer she had, "Well, it's his first time, I guess. Healing himself properly. Maybe he's just figuring it out. You all know he's a bit of a perfectionist, his subconscious is probably freaking out about the possibility of a scar." Although Everett was among one of the older members, he looked a lot younger than the others. The lack of injury on him, the amount of time he managed to spend in a proper home, and his big eyes all lead him to looking quite young compared to the harder members. Proctor would wager that at the moment, Jean looked about ten years older than him.
"But what's most important to remember is that we've done everything we can." Proctor closed her eyes, rubbing them with her fingers, "Hindsight's a great gift and all that, but right now, in the present, there's nothing we can do that we haven't already. All we're doing by staying miserable is keeping ourselves down. I know damn well a lot of you haven't been eating, don't think I haven't noticed just because I've been in a week long sulk myself." Her tone changed a little, sounding more like her regular self, nagging at kids who don't eat their vegetables, "That's over, everyone is eating dinner tonight, no exceptions. We'll get pizza, or make pasta, or whatever you guys want. Just no more beef and spinach for me; if I have to smell that again, I'll go out for a walk in the snow and I'll never come back." She warned jokingly, pleased with herself when Bisera let out a slightly uncertain giggle.
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 2, 2017 2:07:09 GMT -5
Marco stuck his head out as Proctor spoke, moving himself into a sitting position while still clutching the blankets for warmth, though it was minimal. His head was lowered slightly, and his face was starting to grow cold, but at least he finally sat up and made an effort to show that he heard what she was saying. He knew that she was trying to cheer everyone up, and he appreciated it, but he still wasn't ready to accept the facts. Letting out a small sigh, Marco glanced over at Everett again, waiting for a sign he was ok at least. His prayers seemed to be answered rather quickly, the sigh and twitching being the flicker of hope he needed. That spark of hope arose in the form of a smile, but it died as quickly as it came when Everett lay still once more. He still hadn't woken up, and Blythe fell backwards onto the ground, resting the back of his palm over his forehead.
He couldn't help but chuckle as the leader mentioned something about Everett being a perfectionist, that his body was probably freaking out over the possibility of a scar. At this point, he had only known Everett for about a week and a half, but he had a strong feeling that actually was true.
"What if I'm not hungry?" He whined, staring up at the ceiling with his right hand sprawled on the ground, outside of the blanket. His left leg had also found its way out, and he was half cold, half less cold. He was somewhat back to his old self, having been influenced by the pep talk. Before he heard an answer, however, the boy had passed out in a matter of seconds, snoring loudly. It was about time he fell asleep, despite being uncomfortably cold with his arm and leg and head sticking out. Maybe it was due to the peace of mind from hearing Everett sigh that he was able to pass out so quickly.
-
Alex had never been happier to hear Proctor's voice. Well, she was always happy to hear her speak, but after a week of silence from her, it was no doubt a relief. Everyone else probably thought so as well, because after all, she was the leader. Alex was just worried that something else was wrong beyond the pain, but she didn't want to ask because she didn't want to force the woman to talk. She felt her body relax a bit, shoulders lowering as she let out a sigh of relief. Alexandria hadn't realized how tense she'd been until she leaned back in her chair, resting her arms at her sides and exhaling.
She was already smiling when Proctor met her gaze, a smile that reflected happiness, yet at the same time a hint of sadness. The sadness was for the injuries she'd earned - the half-missing ear, and the limp arm dangling at her side. But hey, battle scars were pretty cool. Besides, that didn't stop Mode Three Proctor from taking out the agent. So she had nothing to worry about after all. Pain was just a reminder that you were alive.
Except...it hurt. Every time she moved her arms, pain shot through them like fire. Imagine a sunburn, but about infinity times worse. Her arms were a bright shade of red and they hurt like heII. She was the kind of person that tried to act as if it didn't bother her, but the second she turned away, she let it all out.
The joke Bernadette made about beef and spinach made her laugh as well, and she kicked back with her feet, leaning on the two back legs of her chair. She locked eyes with Proctor once more, and nodded her head in Jean's direction, telling her that she should go comfort the boy. He was still looking down in the dumps, the poor guy. She thought he needed some personal cheering up.
-
Jean heard everything, but he still remained where he was with his head down. Once it got quiet afterwards, he lifted his head and spoke. "This whole thing is my fault," His voice cracked slightly, but he meant it. "If I hadn't panicked, then none of this would have happened." His voice raised slightly, but he quickly lowered it, afraid to speak too loudly. "I couldn't even protect one person." He was referring to Bisera, recalling how he had watched her get hit with the tranquilizer. He could have prevented everything if he was stronger. Or at least, that's what he believed. It was actually just a matter of being confident in himself and his abilities. Proctor said it wasn't any of their fault, but he couldn't help it.
He leaned his head back down on his knees again, this time starting at the wall opposite him. He knew Proctor and the others occasionally stared over at him to make sure he was ok, but he took it the wrong way, as hatred.
Jean wasn't hungry either. All he had eaten was a half a piece of bread this morning, and after that his self-loathing caused him to lose his appetite, as it had done every day for the past week. He wanted to believe Proctor's speech, he really did, but his mind said otherwise, filling his head with negative thoughts.
"I'm sorry...for all the trouble I've caused." His voice broke off into sobbing, and he moved his hands to his face, leaning downwards. All that training he had done for an actual fight had gone to waste all because he let his emotions get into the way. What a failure.
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 2, 2017 2:22:35 GMT -5
{Sorry it seems so short and bleh, I'm tired and busy lol.}
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Post by Deleted on Nov 3, 2017 12:03:41 GMT -5
dw about it ~ did you have a good halloween?)
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 3, 2017 22:17:19 GMT -5
{I had a great Halloween!!!!! I spent it with my friends. Got a lot of candy too!!!!! How was your Halloween? :3}
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Post by Deleted on Nov 4, 2017 6:17:56 GMT -5
Tiring, but good!! I got a job (minimum wage -.-) and I didn’t do much on Halloween bc I had my formal the next day. It was a lot of fun!! Considering I didn’t really want to go at first ^^’
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 4, 2017 9:10:54 GMT -5
{Congtatulations on getting a job!!!!! That’s always exciting! :3 What’s minimum wage over where you are? Also, this might be a dumb question, but what’s a formal? One more thing, I just wanted to know who your profile pic is lol.}
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Post by Deleted on Nov 4, 2017 13:20:08 GMT -5
Thanks!! For me, minimum wage is £5.22 which isn’t bad I guess, but when I first got the job my manager told me my pay was £7 an hour. He’s a liar, I will Get Him.
Formal was basically my prom lol. Got all dressed up, had a pre in my house, went to a hotel and got totally s m a s h e d. I really wasn’t looking foreword to it bc I’m still closeted and my family think I’m ‘just shy’ and kept trying to set me up with guys. And when I DID ask a guy (close friend, he knows I’m gay) they have now just assumed I’m in love with him, which sucks. But ah well. What can you do.
It’s this guy!! A hero
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 5, 2017 3:09:10 GMT -5
{Oh danggggg. Sue your manager lol jk. But for real go get him back or tell him or something lmao.} {Also cool!!!!!!! Yeah my prom last year went great!!!!!!!! Glad you ended up liking your formal, that’s always nice lol.} {Omg that’s great! I haven’t seen it yet though lol.}
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Post by Deleted on Nov 6, 2017 6:55:48 GMT -5
Proctor "I don't care if you're not-" she started, but stopped with an irritated (actually relieved) sigh upon seeing Marco was finally getting some sleep. Everyone's personal body clocks had been thrown off by the events and aftermath of the siege on the Facility; they were staying up all night, eating something close to nothing, and isolating themselves from each other. At least now they were talking. She was making this up as she went along, but Proctor had a good feeling that that was at least step one checked off.
Otto had been nodding along to what she'd said, and although Proctor didn't miss the glare he shot Marco as the older boy fell asleep, she was glad to see that he and Val were pretty much their regular selves. Not for the first time in her life, she found herself thankful they'd all ended up together. Their own small support system went a long way. When Alex laughed, she turned her head slightly to meet her gaze and smiled back, the action feeling odd on her stiff face. It should be illegal for Alex to look good after a week of repressed trauma and nasty burns up her arms, but frankly Proctor wasn't complaining. The tall woman followed Alex's gaze which she flicked her eyes over to Jean just before he started to speak. She sat there, listening to him, knowing better than to interrupt someone when they're in the middle of pouring their heart out. Once or twice she shot a quick look at Bisera, who looked like she wanted to speak up and comfort the older boy, but the recent memories of what happened prevented her from talking. She wasn't surprised these two were taking this whole thing so hard, she'd reacted pretty badly herself when she was their ages.
At Bisera's age, about 13, Proctor had been recently recaptured after a brief escape, and started to descend into hysterics uncontrollably, a mixture of her powers fully developing and the anguish of being back from where she'd just escaped from. At Jean's age, she'd met Alex though she wasn't exactly overjoyed to see her. Hysterics had shifted into violent outbursts as she hit her peak growth spurt and properly shifted into Mode Three for the first time. Even after she'd come to regard Alex as a friend, and then escaping with her, and then regarding her as something more, it took a long time for either them to get a full night's sleep. All things considered, Jean may even have been taking this whole thing well, considering he was talking about it (but Proctor was no psychiatrist and didn't bother pretending to know anything complex about human emotion.) When he'd dissolved into sobs, Proctor got her weight under her feet and pushed herself out of her chair, crossing the room to him. Funny how long the ground floor felt when every step sent a jarring spear of pain into the space where your ear used to be. When she finally got over to him, she crouched down, balancing at first on the balls of her feet before rocking back and sitting fully on the floor. At least like this they could have a more private conversation, with Proctor's bent knees acting as a pseudo-barrier.
"Hey." She gave the top of his head a gentle poke, "Jean. No offense, but you're wrong." She kept her voice low, hoping the others back near the fire would take a cue and start talking again, "None of this was your fault. It isn't your job to look after anyone. Panicking when faced with something like that," She let her good hand fan out over his hair, soothingly stroking the top of his head, "Is what anyone would have done. You think none of us were freaking out? We were, we were all terrified." Proctor sighed deeply, "If anything, this was my fault for thinking you and Bisera would be safer out in the open then here, in our actual home." She admitted, honest and heavy, "But if we spend all of our time and energy thinking about who's fault was what, then we're just going to be miserable all the time. You didn't cause any trouble, you responded to it and I am so proud of you."
She rolled her shoulder back, gesturing to Bisera, "You did your best to keep the both of you safe, and from what I heard, you put up a damn good fight. This was your first real fight, and that's what makes this so awful. I'm sorry this happened, but you have to believe me when I tell you that it's over." Proctor leaned forward earnestly, still lightly thumbing his hair, "Alex took care of the leader in the facility, and the rest of us went through the others like a tonne of bricks." She promised him, "There's no one left. We're safe here." Was that true? Alex told her she'd gotten a direct hit on DKC, which meant he should be dead, but so far they had no confirmation. There was the blonde woman with the curls, who'd been knocked out but not eliminated. The young agent who'd fought Marco and the medic who'd shot Everett both got away. There was some agents she didn't even remember seeing that day, like the sniper Val had taken out, or the female agent with the butcher knife. What about the scout she'd partially blinded? Where were they?
There was no reason to worry Jean about them now. Best to just keep up with this 'comfort' shtick up, though it wasn't exactly what she was used to.
Bisera She heard Jean crying, and wanted to go to him, wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but found herself glued to the spot. Maybe a tiny, hateful, part of her did blame Jean for what happened, at least fractionally. She didn't like dwelling on that however, it felt cruel when her friend was so clearly grappling his own guilt every day. It made her in turn feel ashamed, and she banished those feelings under a mental rug, focusing instead on whatever she was doing at the present moment.
She couldn't really talk about what had happened. She could sit here and play a game with Otto, or watch a cartoon, or trace pictures on the frosty windowpanes with her fingers, but she couldn't talk about what had happened. As Proctor began to talk to Jean in hushed tones across the room, Bisera found herself feeling lucky that it wasn't her getting that talk. She wasn't sure how well she could take it. They weren't done their game yet, but Bisera had had enough of it, "Hey Otto. Are you hungry?" She asked into the walkie talkie, before being answered almost immediately, "Yeah, starving. Want to see what we've got?" She paused and then set the walkie talkie down, "Sure." Addressing him to his face and standing up out of her mountain of blankets. As she passed Marco, she dumped a few extra ones on him to cover his exposed limbs, gently tucking him in. By the time she reached the table, Otto had his whole head in the fridge, "We have burgers," He offered, "Or this ancient ham sandwich which really never should have been allowed to live to such an age."
Bisera took her place at the table, not bothering answer him as he dropped the accursed sandwich into the bin. She glanced over at Alex, "Are your arms OK?" she asked quietly, gesturing to her own, "They look pretty bad." Maybe not the most strategic thing to say, but it was said with worry and kindness. She'd still been fighting the drug when her friends caught up with her in facility, and her memory of that time was blurred to say the least. Horrifically, the most prominent memory she had was seeing Everett get shot. One second he was standing there, pupils slowing shrinking back to their regular size, the next he was on the floor, in a growing pool of dark red. And then, she was waking up in Powerscourt, in her own bed, shivering and crying.
It was a shame that this had to happen now, because normally Bisera would've been out in the snow playing from dawn till dusk. She loved it, it was a good way to bring everyone together. Nothing was better then seeing everyone forget their worries for a bit and just play in the snow (though Otto insisted the best part of a snowball fight was the end.) Her seat at the table faced one of the blacked out windows, she could only see the snow along the edges, where it was building up along the sill. And it really was a shame that the first snowfall with Marco had been such a gloomy one. Bisera would bet good money he made excellent snowmen.
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 6, 2017 23:31:01 GMT -5
Alex lightened up when Proctor smiled in return. In that moment, she could have sworn her pain vanished completely. Who would've thought that a smile was all she needed? Even if it was only for a second, she was grateful. Her face heated up as a blush appeared, the kind one got when they were young and embarrassed about crushes and girlfriends and stuff. Proctor was just so beautiful, you know? She could've gone on and on about everything she loved about that woman.
Kaltman's electric blue eyes followed Proctor, who got up to sit next to Jean. To see the usually cheerful boy completely broken down had made her heart shatter. Any other day, he was up and about, sometimes literally, in the air. He would mess around with his powers quite often (Still abiding by Proctor's rules, of course) by showing Otto and Bisera all these neat little tricks he could do. She found herself missing him playing around, laughing with Otto and Bisera about silly jokes he made up among other funny things.
Well, at least he was back home. Same goes for Bisera.
The stress of them being captured and taken to the lab had vanished, so that was one less thing she had to worry about. Like she had originally thought about a week ago, things would eventually return to the way it normally was, and all of them would be healed, rested, and nourished.
Whatever happened with the facility and the agents was beyond her, however. The place did take some pretty severe damage, as well as the agents. But before she had time to stress about them, she shook the thoughts away.
Alexandria watched as Bisera and Otto made their way to the fridge and kind of stared at them, her mind wandering off. When Bisera spoke to her, asking if her arms were ok, her eyebrows raised and she met eyes with the young girl. “Heh, yeah. They’re fine.” Despite her saying this, she still didn’t move her arms. They hurt of course, but if she didn’t move them then she didn’t have that much of a problem. At this point a week later, her arms were more annoying than painful; that is, if they were kept still. If she accidentally moved them, she had to pay the burning consequences. Better if she just didn’t do anything, right? Proctor was in a similar condition, though it was only one of her arms that hung useless at her side. She would rather Proctor have use of at least one of her arms anyway.
It would be a while before she even wanted to use her powers again. Even after Everett recovered and was in a good enough condition to heal her, she would never forget the agony. But, since she was able to land a hit on DKC, it was all worth it.
The thing about lightning was that you could still survive being struck. Which...was a little disappointing, she might admit. So, keeping that fact in mind, she had a strong feeling he was still alive, plotting something else to use against them. DKC had to have some pretty bad injuries like hers, of course. She had hit him directly in the face, surprisingly enough. It was funny, she still couldn't believe how she had managed to pull that one off. That lead her to think of Everett, and she shot the healer a quick glance, letting out a low sigh as he still didn't wake. Crossing one leg over the other, she realized how anxious she was just waiting for him wake up. But none of them had been nearly as anxious as Marco. Even though he was sleeping and hidden, she could tell he was still restless due to all the tossing and turning.
"How about you? Is your head alright?" She addressed Bisera a moment later, turning to cast a glance at the scar on her head. She avoided mentioning anything about the facility altogether, and could only hope she didn't resurface any unpleasant memories.
-
The boy glanced up as Proctor plopped down next to him, and when she raised her hand to touch his head, his body immediately tensed, afraid he was going to get hit. In the seconds that followed, his eyes widened and his hands shot up trying to protect himself. He then ducked his head, bracing for an impact...but nothing came. As the hand touched his head lightly, he flinched. He knew Proctor wouldn't do such a thing, but the fear had been ingrained in his mind.
Only when she started to lightly pet his hair did he relax ever so slightly, lowering his hands back down to rest against the cold floor.
"It's...it's not your fault. I should have called, I should have done something. Anything." He still pinned the blame on himself even though she had told him countless times to not worry about it, that it was all in the past. The boy tried to sink further into the corner, keeping his head and gaze low. His sobbing had stopped, and all that was left was his sniffling.
At the next statement he almost instantaneously glanced up at the leader, his tired face confused and surprised at the same time.
"I am so proud of you."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was almost too good to be true, like he was dreaming or something.
"Nobody's ever told me that before." His voice was low, and even he could barely hear himself. He didn't say anything to bring himself down this time. That was something he had always wanted to hear, something he had lived his entire life for.
Who he really wanted to hear from was Bisera. He felt he had let her down the most out of everyone. She hadn't spoken to him in what felt like forever, and he hadn't spoken to her either. Every time he tried, the words got caught up in his throat. He felt apologizing was the only thing he could do to her. Compared to what he felt he put her through in the facility, (Since her fate rested on his shoulders.) apologizing wasn't nearly enough. He slowly shifted his gaze upwards, beyond Proctor and over to Bisera who was now sitting at the table.
"I'm gonna...go upstairs. I need some time alone. I'm sorry." Jean stated and slowly got up to his feet, making his way to the staircase. As he passed the table, his pace seemed to quicken a bit until he rested his hand on the frigid railing. He paused for a brief second to look back over his shoulder at everyone, the same thought repeating in his mind.
Running away was all he could do, huh?
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 8, 2017 16:13:37 GMT -5
{I totally got my friend to draw some angst of Everett and Marco haha. I’ll totally send you a pic of it when she’s done.}
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 10, 2017 23:59:12 GMT -5
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Post by Deleted on Nov 13, 2017 12:10:39 GMT -5
AHH that’s so good!! I love the colouring on it!!! 00: your friend is so talented omg I’m sooo sorry I haven’t responded! I’ve had a fever all week and could barely use my own hands to scratch my head, let alone type lol. I’m on the mend, so I’ll try and be on soon!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 13, 2017 14:49:13 GMT -5
Proctor Her heart did a heavy drop when Jean flinched, struck for both of them. Like most of the kids, Proctor didn’t know his full story. It was the same with Val, Otto, Everett and now Marco too; they all had untapped lives from ‘before’ that she didn’t want to poke around too heavily in. There’d been clues every now and again that would suggest Jean’s parents had not treated him kindly, but if he did not willing share this information, then Proctor would not try to pry it from him. Her own life had been punctured by people insisting she was violent, and by herself proving them right, much to her own shame and chagrin. Proctor had no love for fighting, and she could never untangle her power from violence, so it became damned over time as well. Let the agents find her demonic, she’d sworn a long time ago to never raise her hands against her own makeshift family, that they’d never have to fear her. Even now, when she knew Jean was flinching from an old fear resurfaced, it hurt her heart. If she could, she would gladly trade places with Everett, taking his healing powers so that she could finally be gentle. But it doesn’t do any good to wish like that.
She felt like she’d been told Bisera’s story a hundred times, from a hundred different perspectives. It always changed, like she was making it up as she went along; sometimes there was a mother figure, sometimes Bisera could only ever remember being alone, sometimes she developed her powers as a preteen, others she’d been doing it from birth. Whenever a new story sounded false (and most of them did) or contradicted an old one, Proctor let it slide. Maybe the young girl’s memory really was damaged, or maybe she was just too sad about her life so far that she reinvented it whenever she could. Who were any of them to judge? Proctor wasn’t even sure where her own name came from, if she’d ever had a mother or father who looked after her. What harm would it cause, to let Bisera invent her past?
”Nobody's ever told me that before." He raised his face, big odd eyes red around the edges from crying, and Proctor shifted her thumb so it could softly swipe away a tear left on his cheeks. He stood up to excuse himself, and Proctor leaned back to stay out of his way as he left. She understood the merit of alone time, and the difference between being alone out of grief and being alone out of contemplation. “Take all the time in the world, little man,” she offered, slowly standing up by bracing her good hand on her knee, “We’ll still be down here when you’re ready.” By the time Proctor managed to stand upright, Jean was at the foot of the stairs, and had glanced back over the tiny crowd. She made brief eye contact, head tilted in a simple question, not pleading or demanding but simply asking, And what will you do now? Once he’d vanished up the stairs, Proctor let go of a heavy, silent sigh, exhausted. All this ‘parental’ nonsense was exhausting.
She sniffed the air, flavoured now by the burgers Otto was making (She didn’t know anything about his story. He had a Boston accent and seemed to be slightly scared of the dark. He didn’t talk at all about the past), and she made her way to the table. She wasn’t hungry, having just ate, but it was good to see the table looking full again.
Bisera She shrugged one shoulder almost off handedly, “Doesn’t hurt much. I barely notice it.” That was a barefaced lie, but she often lied when faced with difficult truths (Is there’s a thirteen year old who doesn’t?), and the scar was difficult. She’d never been seriously injured before, never had to deal with permanent consequences, and she wasn’t a fan of it. It was a stark white spiderweb pattern against her dark skin, and she’d have to grow her hair out to even partially cover it. It had hurt when it’d happened, the dart pierced the gem stone that had been starting to form on her temple, and she could still hear the terrible cracking noise. The pain had lessened to a headache, and then a dull throb, and then had vanished. It still felt raised under her fingers when she rubbed it gingerly, though.
But Alex wasn’t complaining about HER injuries, so Bisera would rather die then moan about her own. That was how little kids got on, and she wasn’t a little kid anymore. Maybe she had been two weeks ago, but she wasn’t anymore. Otto was frying the burgers on the stove they’d stolen from a camper van months ago (same place where they got the fridge. Bisera had petitioned to keep the numerous magnets and won.) and the more she smelt them, the hungrier she realised she’d become.
As Jean walked past the back of her chair, she felt her body tense momentarily, relaxing as he passed on by. They were connected now, they would always have this bound. She wasn’t sure yet as what to do with this information. She was upset that he was upset, but she was also upset in her own right and didn’t want to be near him. She just wanted to eat her burger.
Proctor came over very slowly, not at all like her usual giant, looping strides, and slid into her chair, eyes tired and short hair slightly ruffled. She made eye contact with Alex and gave a little smile, propping her chin up on her hand, before fixing her gaze on the grain of the table, as if too embarrassed by even a small display of public affection. There was a thin line of sheared hair along her face where the bullet had cut a ravine like a farmer in a corn field. Not ready to be finished talking to Alex, but not wanting to talk about sad things anymore, Bisera unceremoniously changed the subject as Otto served the burgers, “How long do you think the snow will last? I think it’s just getting heavier and heavier.”
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 14, 2017 2:10:11 GMT -5
Jean made almost no noise as he walked up the stairs. His footsteps were so light, it was almost like he had no presence at all. When he finally made it to the top, he didn't actually go to his room. Instead, he kept climbing the steps until he faced the door to the roof. He had to force it open due to the large pile of snow which had formed behind it, and it made a terribly loud creaking noise. The depressed boy stepped outside, cold air teasing him and biting at his face. After pushing the door shut, he rubbed his arms back and forth in a useless attempt to warm himself up. It was snowing quite hard still, but the young boy had already made up his mind to do something. Being depressed wasn't an option anymore. Now shaking from the cold, Jean took a few frigid steps forward towards the mini training area they had. It wasn't actually a training area; it was just a designated section they had marked off to train in.
There was a lot of wind at that time, which made things a bit easier on him. He wouldn't actually have to 'create' a breeze, if you could call it that. Instead, all he had to do was redirect the wind, and bam. He could send anyone flying. Just like he had a week ago, during the real fight. He could still remember the agent's bodies slamming against a wall at the dock, and he couldn't forget the sound of bones cracking either. Yet, that still proved useless against their tranquilizers.
But he wasn't here for a show. He was here to make himself feel better, and also train a bit more on his own. Hopefully it would relieve some emotions, because nothing else seemed to work. Every time he tried to make himself feel better, there was always something else he blamed himself for that dragged him back down. He had never wanted to see himself like this either, but his emotions had slipped further down than he expected.
He couldn't even force a smile anymore.
Clenching his fists, he took a sharp breath before pulling back and throwing the hardest punch he could. He could feel a burst of wind propel forward, clearing a path in the snow in it's wake. He continued punching over and over countless times, imagining the agents in front of him. After a while, the cold air wasn't as cold, but his hair and clothes had snow on them.
Luckily, he was feeling a bit better mentally after that. Though he might've gone a tad overboard, because his head was aching, chest was burning, and he had coughed up a lot of blood. His powers put a heavy pressure on his body, especially his chest and head, and that told him when it was time to stop. He was afraid to use his powers too much, terrified it would damage his internal organs beyond repair, to the point that even Everett wouldn't be able to do anything.
He turned and hurried back inside, hand resting on his chest as he stumbled his way over to his room. He was nauseous from working himself too hard after not sleeping or eating. A loud thud came from upstairs as Jean ended up collapsing on the cold hard floor, but he was fine and ended up just lying there for a while, waiting for the pain to go away. Walking out in the blistering cold like that without a coat or any type of jacket didn't help either. More coughing fits came over his body that stained his sleeves red from blood, (Due to him wiping the blood from his mouth) but after a while, he went silent again, staring up at the ceiling.
It all paid off in the end though; Jean was somewhat a bit better mentally, and all he needed to do was go outside and punch the air. Maybe he would go back down to eat something soon. The smell of food was teasing him.
-
Valerie had accidentally dozed off...again. She had been awake on and off, perched in a chair with her arms crossed. The palms of her hands ached and were still a bit blackened from the explosions she wreaked upon the facility, but she was still the same old Val. She yawned loudly, stretching out her arms as she did so. Seeing everyone had gathered at the table, she stood up and walked across the room, grabbing a burger and taking a seat.
"Thanks Otto!" Just staring at the food made her mouth water, and she began to indulge in the flavorous burger. She glanced down the table, noticing some empty chairs. There were only three who were not currently present at the table: Jean, Marco, and Everett. With a disappointed sigh under her breath, she knew that meant Everett still wasn't awake. Poor guy. She turned her body, giving the healer a quick glance. It wasn't like she could really see him under all those blankets, but she knew he was fine, so she didn't worry over it.
Finishing the burger and getting up to grab some more food, she gave a friendly smile as she passed everyone. There wasn't as much chatter or noises as usual, because the noisy one, Marco, was asleep or something. She honestly had no idea. Same for Jean, since he wasn't in the corner anymore.
She had to settle for regular bread today, (She didn't want to mess up her hand anymore than it already was, especially since they were down a healer) huffing quietly to herself and slapping some butter on it. Not having her usual toast had been the most disappointing thing the past week, besides the gloomy atmosphere and everyone in pain, of course.
Leaning against the counter, she took a huge bite out of the bread. It wasn't much different than toast, but toast had just the crispness she wanted.
-
Marco shot straight up into a sitting position, emerging from the pile of blankets and breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room frantically. His sleep had been cut off by a nightmare, though it wasn't unusual, especially this past week. The others also seemed to have nightmares, because he had woken up to Jean panicking a couple rooms over.
"Ughhhhhhh." Marco groaned, slapping one hand on his face while the other rested on the ground. He had forgotten where he was, but he recognized the place after lifting the cover of darkness.
"Remind me to never go back to sleep again." He shook his head to himself as he spoke, still groggy from just waking up. The facility was still fresh in his mind, so of course his subconscious made him have a nightmare of it. It was either him being tested on, or him staring at Everett's bloody body. Curse his subconscious. He stood up to his full height before plopping down on the edge of the chair Everett was on. "Still nothing, huh?" Marco reached out to move the blankets, uncovering Everett's pale face. He could've sworn some color had returned, but he couldn't be sure.
"So, how much ya bet that he won't wake up today?" He was addressing Proctor mostly, a grin spreading across his lips as he stared over at her, one eyebrow raised. She was fun to annoy. "Tell ya what, I'll do whatever you want for a day if I'm right." He was completely serious too. The others might think he was joking, but he was always up for bets, dares, and challenges. There was absolutely no way he'd back down from one. The boy kind of felt like the bet was in his favor anyway, and highly doubted she would even take the bet. But it would be a big shock to him if she did.
-
Proctor sat down right next to Alexandria, so she couldn't help but raise her arm, petting Proctor's hair lightly for a second before moving to pat her back in an attempt to make her feel better. (She looked exhausted, after all. Couldn't blame her.) Oooohhhh man did her arm sting now. It completely slipped her mind that her arm was in bad condition, AGAIN. (She totally hadn't been forgetting every single day this past week.) Alex took a long breath, internally screaming from the agony of how bad her arms felt. She proceeded to rest her hands back down against her side.
"Glad to hear your head is doing better." Alex smiled sincerely, addressing Bisera. She could tell the girl wasn't exactly telling the truth, but it was fine. "I think we all need Everett though. It couldn't hurt, especially with that neat little calming power he also has. Though I wouldn't all go to him at once." She spoke to everyone now, her voice raised slightly so Marco, who was across the room, could hear.
She really wanted one of those burgers, but she wouldn't have been able to pick it up anyway, much less hold it for a lengthy period of time. And it would be really weird to ask someone to feed her, though she had no choice this past week. But for now, she could live. Everyone else seemed to be busy eating anyway, except for Proctor who had eaten beforehand, and Marco who was still across the room next to Everett.
"Well, I do know we still have plenty of time to play in the snow. This winter has already been a long one, I don't think it'll ever stop." Alex laughed, trying to bring about some happiness.
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 14, 2017 2:13:41 GMT -5
{My friend is happy to know that you liked the drawing!!! } {And awwww, I hope you recover quickly! }
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2017 12:36:35 GMT -5
i see your aesthetic has changed somewhat lol )
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 16, 2017 13:14:29 GMT -5
{Lol yeah it’s changed a bit! And you always have the most interesting profile pictures lol, I never know who they are. XD Except that one girl from the hex girls from that one episode of Scooby Doo, I did recognize her.}
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2017 15:22:35 GMT -5
Thanks lol. This guy is Micheal, a character from the Good Place. He’s pretty funny, but mainly I like his Dapper Old Man vibe, that’s how I’m tryna be. Ted Danson plays him! That’s cool.)
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2017 15:22:46 GMT -5
Proctor If she really wanted to, she could've heard what he was up to up. She could've tried to track Jean's steps, listened for his breathing, but she really didn't want to. Not tonight. Aside from giving the boy some much needed privacy, she wasn't sure she had it in her to use her powers. She was exhausted, after a week of restless nights, and her ear (or what was left of it) throbbed like crazy if she tried to stretch out her capabilities. The headaches weren't worth it. Hopefully this was only a temporary thing, she'd grown so used to advanced senses that life without them was pitiful.
When Alex reached up to pat her hair, Proctor ducked her head to dutifully accept the gesture, leaning slightly in to the contact. It felt good, to be touched gently. If they weren’t both in so much pain, it would’ve been nice to fantasise about lying down with her somewhere quiet, and keeping each other warm under heavy blankets, listening to the snow. However, as little as she vocalised it, Alex was definitely in a lot of pain. Such a small, indulgent daydream would have to wait. A little flushed by the romantic fantasy, she tried to ustract herself by watching Bisera unhinge her jaw like a snake and try to eat a whole burger at once.
As Marco gracefully awoke, Proctor twitched one eyebrow, listening to him prattle on as per usual. As annoyed as she may seem to be, it was nice to see him more like his usual self. She would never admit it to his face (god knows his ego is big enough as it is) but the loss of his normal presence had been nearly as big a blow as losing Everett. He was so loud, and vibrant, that the sudden melancholy behaviour was worrying at best and scary at worst. She hadn't expected him to pine away as he had. Now that he seemed to be on the mend, she could safely file away this knowledge for future teasing, should the occasion arise. "Really?" She asked, incredulous, "But you already have to do whatever I say," She responded in tandem, not to be outdone in anything, even taunting, "So that bet is meaningless." She gave a heavy, sarcastic shrug in a what-can-you-do? fashion. "And although the odds seem to be pretty heavily hanging in your favour in that little wager, you're forgetting how long we," she gestured to the table, "Have known Sleeping Beauty, in comparison to how long you have. This? This is nothing. I've never met anyone as melodramatic as that boy. There's no way he's waking up today. He's going to milk it. Guaranteed." It was a bit of a gamble, making jokes about Everett, but it was a risk worth taking if it cheered people up. They had to address the elephant in the room, and then ridicule it, "He once declared himself 'bedridden' over a paper cut. I'd say," She leaned back in her chair, like an old farmer on a rocking chair on his porch, "At least another three days. Minimum." That was a total guess, completely unfounded, but it may be enough to get the ball rolling. “You could come over and join us, you know.” She offered, nodding to an empty chair, “As soothing and calming as your presence is, I don’t know if hanging around Everett like a shadow is medically beneficial to him.” It was disguised as a joke, but he needed proper rest. Worrying like this would only stress him out.
Bisera “I hope it keeps up,” she commented, twirling a finger into one of the tight curls of her hair, “I love cold weather. No offence Otto.” She offered, as the freckles boy shot her a playful glare over his shoulder, still cooking away. He brought the food over, having cooked plenty, and Bisera grabbed the one closest to her. She tried to eat the whole thing in one go, opening her mouth wide and twisting her head in various directions to try and discover the most profitable angle.
She chewed away, swallowing quickly as not to be left out of Marco and Proctor’s conversation, “I bet he’ll wake up in... two days.” She guessed, simply for the hell of it. Maybe wishing it would help it come about? Across the table, Otto slid her a fizzy drink and questioned, “But WHAT do you bet? There have to be stakes.” He looked pleased with himself until Proctor hit his arm, muttering “Don’t TEACH her how to GAMBLE.”
Bisera hummed for a bit, taking another bite of her burger before piping up, “I’ll brush the floor in everyone’s room if I’m wrong.” A dangerous play. Fighting talk. Otto took a bite of his own burger and spoke with his mouth full, “I bet four days, and I’ll go out in the snow with no shoes on,” he finally relented and swallowed before carrying on, “If I’m wrong.” In an annoyed fashion, Proctor gave a sharp tut, “I’m not betting anything. I’m just right.” The young girl glanced over at Marco and Everett on the sofa, taking a sip of her drink and letting the bubbles make her eyes water. Four days seemed like a long time. Hopefully they were all wrong.
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 16, 2017 18:26:57 GMT -5
Marco crossed his arms with a defeated huff, turning his head away at Proctor's point that he already had to do whatever she said. But he wasn't about to admit defeat, no way. Not this guy. Never in a million years. "I don't have to listen if I don't want to. Rules were meant to be broken. Anyway, when have I ever listened to y-" Cutting himself off with a click of his tongue, he instantly regretted speaking, realizing how he had been doing everything she'd said. In his defense, he still remembered her threat that if he ever used his powers outside, even if it was so much as a single snowflake, she would hang him by his feet in the sea water. (He got the shivers just imagining it) The thing was, she could easily do it if she wanted to. Because as much as he hated to admit it, she was far stronger than him. But then again, Marco was the kind of guy who would still try to fight her. Even if it was just some silly arm wrestling, he would totally be up for it. His ego was just that massive.
"I may not have known him as long as y'all have, that's true," The next words came as a huge surprise, even to himself. "But he's my soulmate." He grinned, giving off a slightly embarrassed chuckle. Marco did always say the first thing that came to his mind, so it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. "I mean...it sure...felt like we've known each other a long time?" Embarrassed/flustered Marco was a rare sight to behold.
Shaking his head to himself, the boy pulled the covers back over Everett. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to leave him be for a while. And with that, the boy whined about having to walk all the way over to the table, slowly getting to his feet. His dramatic attitude could've earned him an Oscar, because nobody else in the world would've complained about walking twenty paces forward to get somewhere. The icy boy snagged a burger as his tired body plopped down in the empty chair. In record-breaking time, the juicy hamburger was gone as he scarfed it down. Guess he was hungry after all. He then raised his eyebrows, grumbling to himself about how he had unintentionally obeyed her AGAIN, which only proved her point further. Man, she was good.
"If I had to guess officially, I'd bet five days." For once, he thought long and hard. Thinking about what he was going to put down for a bet was always a tough decision. "And...I'll let Otto choose what I get to do if I'm wrong. Fair enough?" He tilted his head at the boy, waiting for a response. He knew Otto still had stuff against him, there was no denying that fact. But maybe this would make things better between them.
"Give it your worst."
-
Jean eventually went back downstairs, stepping in during the whole wager conversation. He acted as if nothing had happened while he was upstairs, but his wet clothes and red nose was an obvious hint that he had went to the roof. At least down here was nice and toasty, since the outside weather showed no mercy with below freezing temperatures. (At least that's what he thought it felt like outside.) He had never been happier to thaw out, the feeling finally returning to his numb face. Jean rummaged through the cabinets and grabbed an empty glass, heading to the fridge to fill it with water. Listening to everyone talk again was nice, but he preferred to stay silent, sipping his glass of water while his head rested on the elbow he had propped up on the table. Jean's hair was messy, and so were the sleeves of his shirts. But he did join everyone at the table, so that was a step forward for him. It was almost like he was trying to warm up to everyone again, sadly enough.
It had been like this when the boy first joined maybe a little over a year ago. He had always kept his distance from everyone, staying silent as he was taught. Those two things were due to the traumatic experiences from his past, yet he still hadn't openly admitted it to anyone. He had heard somewhere that it was better to talk about things, yet he was afraid to say some of the things that had happened to him. It was just a lot to handle. And...some of the things he had done weren't that great either.
Jean leaned over to the side, reaching to grab a burger after all. His stomach lurched at the thought of eating something this big after barely eating all week, so he split it in half, leaving the rest back on the plate. Slowly but surely he ate, his brown and blue eyes fixated on where Everett was.
"I bet he's going to wake up tomorrow." Even he had some hope for the boy, since everyone else had set the bet higher. "And I...I just want to make things better for everyone. If there's anything I can do, I'll gladly do it." Jean's voice was sincere, and he set the rest of his burger down for later. He had eaten a little more than half, but even that little was way more than a measly half slice of bread.
"I just...don't want anyone to be mad at me." Bisera had every right to be mad at him, and he couldn't get over how she tensed up when he walked passed. She was his best friend, and he didn't want to screw it up like he had everything else. Jean just wanted to fix what he thought he had done, in any way he could. He tried his best to smile at everyone, but there was barely any emotion behind it.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 20, 2017 12:00:03 GMT -5
Proctor Leaning with her chair all the way back, Proctor had tilted her head back over the top, so only her chin and neck were visible to anyone standing in front of her. It was a nice workaround to stretching, seeing as it was a bad idea to move her arm around too much. But this also meant that her head snapped up almost comically when she heard Marco, "He's your what?"
She struggled with romance. It involved trust, and being soft, and she wasn't built for those things. The trust she felt for the Powerscourt gang had taken years to cultivate. Sure, it got easier every time she met someone new, but ten years ago she would've left any one of the kids alone on a stormy night if it meant saving herself. It made things with Alex occasionally difficult. Her own emotions were a dangerous minefield, and being physically comfortable around someone was as tricky to her as speaking a foreign language. Any brush of skin-on-skin for her normally meant from kind of brawl. It was hardwired into her to be suspicious of anyone she met, so to trust someone completely and entirely was no small feat. To hear this meat-head whom she'd previously dubbed as a nice enough guy but not that sensitive pledge his soul to Everett? It was a shock. She followed him with her dark eyes as he made his way over to the table, blanking out the rest of the conversation. Her attention was briefly divided when Jean reappeared, and she was glad to see him eat something, but she still leaned forward on the table, incredulous. "I'm sorry," She said, pushing both her elbows down on the table, "Rewind a bit. He's your soulmate?"
Proctor didn't want to sound cruel, or sceptical, but it was a lot to take in so suddenly. "You've barely known him two weeks. And most of that time he's been unconscious." She reminded the group, as if any of them could've forgotten. "Soulmate's a pretty heavy word to be throwing around." She glanced at Alex, looking for some form of backup, "Right?" The last thing this group needed was drama. Didn't they have enough of that? Romance meant uncertainty, which was just another word for trouble. She hadn't even been aware Marco liked boys, though it wasn't like she could smell that kind of thing.
Otto He wasn't a bad cook. All things considered, he was pretty good, though everyone knew Val was the Queen of toast. He wasn't about to try and challenge that. He'd definitely gotten better since settling down with a group , gotten more practise making dinner instead of stealing it. The burgers were nothing special, honestly they were a bit plain, but right now everyone just needed fuel. And he could provide fuel.
He didn't want to listen to Marco right now. He didn't like the way he made everything a joke (but in his own hypocrisy, he also didn't like it when he was moping around depressed.) and he didn't want to hear him talk about Everett. When Marco proclaimed Everett was his soulmate he actually guffawed, loudly, and tried to turn it into a cough, taking a long sip of his drink to make up for it. "Oh, I will." He promised, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to dry it off.
Sorry this is short and not that great ;-; )
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 20, 2017 12:02:13 GMT -5
{Don’t worry about it!!! I just got in class though, I won’t be able to reply until later.}
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Post by Deleted on Nov 20, 2017 12:03:40 GMT -5
alright see you then c: liking the lotor! )
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 21, 2017 1:41:52 GMT -5
"He's my...y'know..." Marco turned his head away from everyone, feeling a bunch of eyes staring him down. "Soulmate." He repeated, finishing the rest of his sentence in an almost shy tone, contrasting the sarcastic one he always had. And surely he didn't act like he was into any kind of relationships or anything of the sort, but if he felt something, then he wasn't going to just ignore it. He rested his hand on the table and started drumming his fingers, obviously embarrassed and wishing he could take back that one word. He didn't expect her to be that surprised.
"Yes, that's exactly what I said. So what's the big deal?" He tilted his head as he spoke his question, confused as to why Proctor was so surprised. "I'm not just 'throwing around' that word like it's nothing. I actually mean it. I like Everett." Awkwardly, he reached over, stretching his arm out to it's entirety to grab another hamburger. "But I don't wanna admit it to his face. I'm not good with these things. And...I don't know. What if he doesn't...like me?" He successfully stuffed half the burger into his mouth at once, avoiding having to talk for a little. It was perfectly understandable if Everett didn't like him in that sense. And yes, they barely knew each other. But what did that matter? Marco didn't think it mattered. The week they had spent together when he was still conscious was far crazier than anything he had experienced in the past. And if near-death experiences wasn't enough to bond over, then he'd be damned.
Once he finally finished chewing, he lifted one hand up to run it through his hair. "If any of you tell him about this, I won't hesitate to freeze you." He could be dead serious if he wanted to, and he always made it clear when he did, this time cracking each individual knuckle. "Enough about me, tell me about yourself." He set his food down, folding his hands together and crossing one leg over the other. "Go ahead and tell me, to my face, that you've never had that feeling before. Hm?" He challenged, leaning forward in his chair. He nodded his head from her over to Alex, continuing to pester her. "Is there something I don't know about? Go on, I'm waiting." In a matter of seconds he changed the center of attention from him to Proctor. Again with the whole 'lovebirds' thing he mentioned before, he totally caught on to every single time they locked eyes and smiled at each other. His expression was smug, as if he had just made the best comeback known to man.
{Ahhhhhh mine's really short too I apologize as well haha.}
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Post by Deleted on Nov 21, 2017 12:30:13 GMT -5
She had never been to a tennis match, or played in one, and she'd certainly never sat down and watched one on TV, but Proctor was familiar with the metaphor of people 'watching a conversation like a tennis match'. Eyes flicking back and forth without any other body part moving. That's how it felt currently. She could see Bisera's big black eyes going from her to Marco, filled with curiosity. Likewise, Otto was watching the whole thing with narrowed brown eyes, looking less amused and gradually more and more uncomfortable with the whole thing. Proctor could only imagine how she looked herself.
"Look, if you like Everett, that's your business but rushing into..." Marco clearly wasn't comfortable, and frankly, Proctor seemed to be on the same plane as him. She wasn't good at these kind of talks, and the fact this was happening in front of everyone was mind boggling, "This kind of thing is a bad idea. I mean, are you sure? We've all been through a lot in the past week, and you know - emotions are running high. And all that." She said, grasping at straws. She couldn't form a cohesive argument because she couldn't even conceive that this was happening. It was mad. All she wanted was for everyone to sit down and eat together, not to officiate a wedding. Annoyed at her own lack of articulation, Proctor shifted in her seat, ignoring the pain that the movement sent up her arm and ear. If Marco had said anything else, anything, Proctor would've been more than happy to sit here and debate with him. Puppy love? Not her style.
She rubbed the back of her head with her good hand, feeling unbelievably tired all of a sudden, but she raised her face back up to face Marco when the conversation took a disastrous turn, "Hey, watch it." She felt her face heat up a bit, and this only added to her annoyance, putting a touch more edge in her voice, "This isn't about me, or anyone else." She added after a moment's thought, quite deliberately not looking at Alex, "I didn't just declare my love at the dinner table, and I sure as hell didn't just throw my emotions into the middle of the conversation." She'd never spoken to any of the others about Alex, at least not in a biblical sense, hell - she'd barely spoke to Alex about her own feelings. What could you do? She's got repressive emotional issues. Any small form of tenderness or affection, even as miniscule as running her fingers along Alex's hairline, took a great amount of courage. This sudden 'throw-it-all-into-the-open' business was not appreciated by the young woman. If any of the others knew about it, they sure hadn't gotten that information from Bernadette Proctor. Still, it was hard to hide anything from anyone in such a small living space. "So you better wipe that look off your face Blythe, and maybe fliter what you say for once."
Even though she was embarrassed and angry, something about bickering felt good. It'd been a tense week of silence, and they were breaking the ice ('breaking' seemed to gentle at the moment, 'shattering' may be a better term) at last. It felt more normal, like some of the stiffness was melting away.
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Post by Møиø¢ħяøмe on Nov 21, 2017 14:30:58 GMT -5
"Chill out, I'm not going to rush into it. That's why I said not to tell him." The boy shrugged both shoulders, his tone almost like one of a leader. But that was ironic, because everyone knew he'd be the least perfect fit for a job of that caliber.
The twenty-one year old choked on the other half of his burger when Proctor said 'she didn't just declare her love at the dinner table'. He had been about to say something to refute her statement, but he immediately lost his train of thought while trying to drink something to get the food down so he could breathe again. That was enough food for now, he felt bad enough already for practically shoving the dry burgers down his throat. "I could've died just now!" He declared, huffing in disappointment at how nobody came to his aid. But he wasn't all that surprised, and instead laughed it off. "Try me." He responded to Proctor's "So you better wipe that look off your face Blythe, and maybe fliter what you say for once."
With that he stuck his tongue out at the leader like a little kid trying to mock someone. The look she gave him just then was more than likely enough to scare the living hell out of DKC. He then shook his head and put his palms up in the air defensively, "Alright, alright. I'm done talking about that." Pause. "But I can't help my curiosity." He grumbled, wishing he could've at least gotten something out of her. Then he could totally use it against her. Just like...
"Oh man, you should have heard yourself in the facility. You actually did howl, I couldn't believe it! Wish I had gotten that on video. And that 'Call Me Maybe' song, haha. You know, I didn't think you had it in you. Emotions other than serious, I mean." If he had been any closer to her, she could've easily reached over with her good arm and knocked him out with a quick blow to the back of the neck.
"You're lucky I can't shock you right now." Alexandria piped up, grinning at Marco who just couldn't seem to stop talking. She throughly enjoyed listening to everyone's conversations as she rested her eyes. There wasn't much she could really do without the use of either of her arms. That made these last seven days more of a catch-up-on-sleep and recover mentally type of week for her.
Marco rolled his eyes, lifting both of his feet up onto the chair he was on to try and get comfortable. With a small sigh of exhaustion, he rested his head on his knees. He didn't know how else to pass the time other than annoying Proctor, which seemed to be his new all-time favorite hobby. He sat on his cold hands, still slightly black at the fingertips, attempting to warm them up a bit.
"So, Otto, think of anything things for me to bet yet? Everyone's dying to know. Or I could just hand it over to Proctor, I'm sure she could think of a million lovely things to do to me." For the record, he was doing this to himself, but if it meant the harsh glaring from Otto would stop, he was all in. To be honest, he didn't mind leaving his bet up to someone else. If the punishment was up to him, all he was able to think of was putting duct tape over his mouth. He didn't have any other talents to note. He couldn't clean, and he especially couldn't cook. If the cooking was left up to him, then they would be having half-cooked hamburgers. The middle would straight-up just be raw meat. And that's exactly why he always stuck to easily packaged food.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 22, 2017 14:47:52 GMT -5
Proctor For once, she was glad to talk about howling. ANYTHING was better than talking about her more intimate feelings. Proctor really needed a therapist or something, but who among them didn't? "Yeah, yeah, yeah." She rolling her hand on her wrist, relaxing a little, "I howl occasionally." Better to play this one off than to show how much it actually humbled her, "It has been known to happen. There are worse things I could do, like, I don't know, giving myself frostbite in my fingers every single day." The first time she'd howled, it had been a bit of a shock. It was years ago, back when it was just her and Alex. They were hunkered down in an empty apartment, the owners of which seemed to be on holiday, and this meant Proctor had access to an actual TV for the first time in- well, in maybe for the first time. There'd been a nature documentary on, the 'David Attenborough' kind of thing, and this episode was about animals that live in groups, with the main focus being on a family of wolves. It wasn't bad (if a touch depressing at times), but when the obligatory montage of the wolves howling to each other came on, Proctor felt a deep swelling in her stomach, almost like she was going to vomit, that burst out of her in an involuntary howl. She'd clamped her hands over her mouth, face burning and eyes wide, only to do it again through her fingers. Needless to say, the TV didn't go back on again for a few days.
"I didn't think it was such a big deal to like some pop music." She defended herself, scratching absently at the table, "Her songs are catchy. I don't think that can be denied." It was odd to see her sit so stiffly and speak about something so young and fresh in her usual blunt, jagged way, it was almost funny. "And you don't want to see my other emotions, Blythe. They're not pretty." When Alex joined the conversation Proctor was suddenly reminded that the other woman was here. Some part of her had hoped that she hadn't heard some of the other stuff. Being overheard talking about your significant other was like being caught sneaking out; you were left vulnerable and completely open.
Otto barely reacted at all when Marco addressed him, though the chilly room felt notably warmer now when compared to the beginning of the meal. "I dare you to leave." His monotone voice indicated he was joking, but a total lack of emotion was jarring coming from Otto. Like a fish out of water. "Or at least, jump in the dock water." He rectified himself, maybe he could feel Proctor sending him vibes not to push it, or he just wasn't in the mood for total confrontation, though that was doubtful. Boy loved drama.
Everett When he was 11, he'd been at the beach with his family and went in the ocean to swim. It was a small beach, and the water was clear. Safe. Small, clear jellyfish were common, but harmless. The Darling family were vaguely aware that global warming had affected the habitat of stronger jellyfish, and that some of them were seeking homes in the refuge of celtic bays, but it had not occurred to them that day that they might be at this bay. As a result, two hours later Everett, the youngest child of four, was swiftly driven to the local hospital by his father, jibbering and writhing in his seat, a searing pain cutting through his whole body. That afternoon, and then evening, and then night, passed in a slow, hellish blur for the young boy. The morphine caused him to itch and no pain killer could help him, until he passed out of exhaustion at roughly a quarter to four in the morning. When he woke the next day, he would be too weak to walk, and would spend the next five days or so being fussed over by everyone who met him. He'd get over the accident in about two days, and be laughing about it a week later. Unbeknownst to him for at least another year, the accident had awoken something inside of him that could not be put back to sleep. It wouldn't be until he was 18 that he figured out the jellyfish incident was the catalyst in the timeline of his power.
After that, he judged all events by the pain he'd felt from the jellyfish. If wiggling a loose tooth was one, and the jellyfish was ten, he could rationalise any kind of pain. It helped. Just as he never forgot the pain, he also never forgot the feeling of falling totally and completely unconscious; his body's last ditch attempt at saving his mind from having to suffer anymore. At first, he thought he's simply grown more empathetic, but he would learn in time that he'd gained a new ability, a sixth sense for pain in others. It made places like hospitals and retirement homes hell, but graveyards and running tracks strangely blissful. Cathartic. He hadn't thought of the jellyfish when he'd been shot, he hadn't thought about anything but being shot (understandable) but the memory had returned to him a week after he'd been pumped full of lead. He hazily wondered if the reason he'd been so weak after being stung was because he'd been trying to heal himself. Then he wondered why it was so dark. And then why he couldn't move.
Oddly, he didn't freak out. A part of him, small and getting bigger, knew that he was still asleep. Unconscious, was a better word. He wasn't comfortable or uncomfortable, warm or cold, in pain or at ease, he just was. Then he wiggled his big toe. It took a lot of effort, but he did it, and it was like flicking the switch on a light and watching the room pour into existence. He became aware of how warm he was, and how something heavy but soft was covering him completely, and that it made his breathing air stuffy. Soft dark light came through, it was vaguely red, and then he realised that dull thumping ache in his chest was from where he'd been shot. It was suffocating under these blankets (for that's what they had to be) and he thought he could feel the long couch underneath him. He was back in Powerscourt. Thank god.
He shifted his shoulders, trying to sit up, and was gifted with a blinding blast of pain across his sternum that knocked his breath out of him. So that wasn't going to work. Trying a different technique, he slowly eased his arms up from his side, bent them, and used his hands to push the covers back off his face. Fresh air flooded him and he moaned softly, eyes stuck together at first, but fluttering open after a few stuck blinks. He could hear people arguing, and he could see a blurry recreation of what looked like the ceiling. A fire was lit, and he was only wearing his trousers. Even through this blurry, incomprehensive state, he felt embarrassed, and hugged his bare chest to cover it. There was a new mark on it, nearly smack dang in the middle, raised red skin, the surrounding area being heavily bruised. It was so sore he felt numb.
He had no way of knowing this, but veins in his eyes had burst, filling up the white of his left with blood almost entirely, and some in his right too. The iris of his left eye had filled with blood like a glass bowl, a level of red just about coming up to his pupil. He moaned again, a little louder, when a deep breath filled his lungs. People were still talking. Were they at the table? "Hey." He croaked, unable to turn his head and look at them, "Hey."
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