agogelogs | say nighty-night and kiss me,

Entry tags:

say nighty-night and kiss me,

WHO? midnighter

thingpuncher & YOU.
WHAT? Fucked up dreams with a fucked up guy.
WHEN? Dec 12-23
ANYTHING ELSE? Warnings for mentions of experimentation on children, kidnapping of children, surgical horror, and things surrounding that... stuff.

Midnighter doesn't sleep much. He doesn't need to. About two weeks out of every month does him fine, and he usually catches it in short bursts, an hour here or there. He doesn't get tired. Yet, a quick half-hour nap turns into a longer night's sleep. The temperature rises in his room, in the spot he sequestered in the library, in a hallway he was passing through, and it becomes impossible to escape the need for sleep. He knows it's bad, he dreads it, but he can't fight it in time. His dreams turn strange, awkward, upsetting.

a. SONGS FOR CHILDREN.

The halls of the alien spaceship are dingy and rusted. Everything is bleak and poorly constructed, dimly lit and broken. A departure from BASE, it seems rather derelict, and painfully empty. Barely any sound echoes through its long, empty corridors, beyond the muffled hum of far off engines.

It stays like that a long time.

Finally, a nose, an ecstacy of fumbling, and one of the rusted wall panels rips itself from the inside. A teenager stumbles out, breathing harshly. He's deeply battered, one sclera filled with blood, the other eye puffy and purple. Bruises run all along what can be seen of his body, followed often by stitch marks signifying some recent surgical procedure.

He looks up at you for a long time without saying anything, his brows knit with concentration. Finally, weakly, "we can escape together."

b1. SAVE THE DAY.

There's something terrible happening in downtown San Francisco. Or maybe it's Oakland. Or Baltimore. Opal City, or Brooklyn. Somehow, it's all these cities, and none of them.

The unmistakable thing is skyscraper-sized beast making its way through the streets, crushing cars and toppling buildings without apparent effort. Covered in scales, eyes glowing red, it's some sort of larger-than-life dinosaur, and bullets bounce right off its skin.

From your vantage on a rooftop, you can see its path of destruction, and how it's clearly heading for you. Luckily, there's a man next to you, and even if he's wearing a rather strange outfit, he doesn't seem at all alarmed. If anything, he seems excited.

"You stay put, okay?" He stands, and in his right hand he's holding... a crowbar. He's going to fight the monster with a crowbar. "I've got this."

b2. SAVE THE AFTERNOON.

It's a normal day in an American city-- somewhere sunny by the harbor. The landmarks are mismatched, yes, but it's clearly America, clearly summer, clearly tourist season. People walk by happily, dating or taking out children, hanging out with friends or watching street performers. Local businesses sell their wares, and you can faintly smell popcorn...

Until a flash of electricity blinds everyone. A crash, and a group of men and women holding futuristic weapons stands in the middle of this idyllic scene, ski masks pulled over their faces to hide their identity. "Everybody stop!" One of them, a woman who has obviously positioned herself as the leader, shouts, "Not that you could move if you tried! You're all caught in the blast radius of our psycho-kinetic scatter guns! The local government has four hours to pay a ransom before we-"

"Shut up." They're not the only ones in a mask. A man, dressed a little out of place with the scenery, walks toward them. "That's not going to happen. I know how this fight ends. I've already played this fight out in my head a hundred times. It ends with me washing bits of you off me and your hostages going home happy. That is, if you don't surrender. You have ten seconds."

The leader shoots her gun at the masked man. He dodges so quickly it doesn't look like he moved.

He's smiling. "Eight..."

c. SONGS FOR MEN OF A CERTAIN AGE.

This... isn't going well.

It's all men's speed dating in a normal looking, if rather large, cafe. Everyone is wearing black. Midnighter is wearing white. Why didn't he get the memo? Was there a memo? Or maybe everyone just knew, don't wear white to speed dating, wear black, maybe that's just something every normal person knows? Does wearing white mean something? Has is he given off the wrong signals, here? The last few people he talked to certainly seemed... uninterested. Well, no, he held their interest, it was just in a 'oh god, this freak, get me away from him' sort of way.

So, normal.

There is a sense of anxiety, of not fitting in, that permeates this dream.

The little clock dings, and you're the next person to be shuffled over to Midnighter's table. Dressed in white, wearing shaded sunglasses, he's... as he normally is. Though his discomfort bleeds into the landscape of the dream, he himself seems calmly detached, collected.

At least, you know, visually.

"You can call me M."

d. LOST & FOUND.

Or maybe you're not asleep when Midnighter is. Maybe you're lucky enough to stay out of his dreams. Maybe you just find him slumped over in a hallway, or in one of the library chairs, sleeping and quietly twitching. Every once and a while, he whispers a word or two, usually something like, "stop," or, "Andrew."

It might be a good idea to wake him up. Or, you know, try.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Travis appears as he always does in his own mind's eye-- dirty jeans, well-worn red pleather jacket, unfortunate anime t-shirt-- and, unthinking, pulls back the chair directly across from the Midnighter and slides neatly into it.

"M. Does it stand for anything?"

His gaze rests on M's, never breaking. Speed dating is a foreign land; men's speed dating, even moreso. He hasn't yet thought to question it, the anxious energy in him and around him simmering under his skin like a bubble bound to burst: instead, he sticks to the only person in the room who's thus far acknowledged him.

Okay, so this guy looks... odd, but who the fuck is Midnighter to judge? He's apparently wearing the wrong color anyway, and at least they're together in that. The quasi-solidarity should set Midnighter more at ease. It doesn't.

This shit always goes to hell eventually.

"Midnighter," his grin is wide and easy, hiding all that goddamn tension best he can. "Let's say I had an eclectic childhood."

It's probably a good thing Dorian wasn't asleep when Midnighter was, Mages were remarkably lucid dreamers and dream walkers, they bled into everything and if Midnighter's dreams were unsettling before, they would have been worse with Dorian wrapped around them. That's part of the reason he's been doing his best to sleep as little as he could manage and he looks both worn out and slightly injured...a mage's body can ultimately be impacted by their sleep. If attached to a demon they could potentially die or become possessed and transformed into abominations, no one wants that.

A few injuries was par for the course in some cases, he had control so it rarely ever happened, but these strange sleep spots were having an odd effect on everyone. Doian included and, surprisingly, Midnighter.

It was unexpected, seeing him like this, not in the library of course, but asleep and off of his guard, that's unexpected and Dorian would have left well enough alone if he didn't know better himself. Additionally it looked more distressing than sweet, which was something he could have teased the man about...but not this. So he starts off with a gentle shake, hoping that this sleep isn't as deep as it looks...no effect.

"Oh, come on now, don't make this embarrassing," because Dorian doesn't want to have to grab him bodily and shake him, which he does to no effect. Given the futility of the effort he stops, offering up a long suffering sigh...this is really not his area of expertise, to be honest, he's never been responsible for the sleeping habits of anyone other than himself...it was such a personal thing. Especially when one was muttering names in their sleep, he should rightfully piggy-back the man to a bed and be done with it...but there was the unpleasantness that he knew the man had to be experiencing and so he tried again.

"Well okay, if you insist on sleeping like the dead I'll have to play rough so don't be too fussed," and by rough Dorian using magic, using a winter spell he made certain his hands were freezing enough to produce a sharp cold but not enough to be scathing or cause damage. Once satisfied with his icy fingers he laid one hand on the side of Midnighter's neck and the other on the side of his face. Honestly that would have more than done it for Dorian, it was the rudest awakening he could think of. Well, he could shock the man, but ice was less abrasive in his opinion...so much so that even Dorian was having a hard time tolerating it, maybe this was hurting the mage more than Midnighter, who knows?

The fight computer doesn't, actually, control him. It analyzes, it gives him options, it lets him see things other people can't, but it doesn't make him do things.

That said, its suggestions aren't made to be ignored.

Groggy from sleep he didn't want or need, Midnighter's first reaction is to attack. He's touched-- painfully, though the pain is so little compared to what he's seen in his life that it only registers as intention-- and he reacts with violence. Quick as a whisper, Midnighter's firm hand goes to Dorian's throat.

Just as fast, his eyes open. He remembers that face. How the fuck could he forget it?

A second later, his hand flutters back.

"Shit," he says, angry with himself. "Fuck. Sorry."

Dorian would like to say he played that one off suavecito, but it didn't even come close to nice and smooth, Midnighter was far too quick for Dorian to properly react to him otherwise there might have been a barrier between that hand and his neck. He should have been able to predict such s response, to be perfectly honest, after all who likes to be woken up so rudely and if someone had iced him he would have been complaining...loudly.

That it felt like a relentless vice even if it was only for a moment was enough to send panic temporarily rushing through him. Brief, but it wasn't brief enough to hide the expression, and it was no minor feat to take Dorian by surprise as it hardly ever happens. So he's quite grateful when Midnighter comes to his sense a moment later, after all the mage is of the opinion that he's too beautiful to die in such an ordinary manner.

Death by accident, that's not how he wanted to go.

"Hu...h..." Dorian managed to breathe out, he had to make sure he could actually do that...and he could, very good, and then he laughed it off a bit.

"Don't be too concerned I'm a mess anyway," a fact he's trying not to think about--the dark circles of his eyes, unkempt hair, unshaven, scratches peppering his skin...no he doesn't want to think about it at all, "truth be told you were so adorable I didn't want to wake you, but you also seemed distressed. Probably should have woke you in some other fashion. Ice can be a bit jarring...clearly."

Dorian was rubbing the feeling into his neck, because, really...some hold, "are you...alright?"

"Adorable," Midnighter says, voice gruff and warn, but amused through it all. He starts to stand up, whiping troubling dreams from his past from his eyes. Fucking bullshit, what the hell is going on? The grin he gives Dorian is all posturing, falling back into a persona he wears like his own skin. It's who he is, after all.

He's a fucking superhero.

"I'm the Midnighter. I'm always okay."

He runs his hand through his hair. "Try not to choke out handsome men, though. At least, not unless they ask politely first." Anything to move away from even the appearance of weakness.

"Yes...well the sleeping bit was adorable, but the distressed bit...is debatable," he's heard of other people being pulled into dreams that belonged to others and it sounded like magic he was only too familiar with. It didn't sit well with him these strange dreams, he's only fortunate in that he hasn't shared a dream with anyone else yet. His own dreams are already terribly vivid without having the additional person inside of his dream space.

"Not the least bit fussed? You're taking it better than most," including Dorian, but he knows posturing when he sees it and he's more than happy to posture along side him, but Dorian isn't a superhero. He's just vain, different motivations entirely.

The choking out bit inspires a velvety laugh from him though, consider him distracted Midnighter, compliments are an excellent way to derail the conversation, "we should probably establish safe words and gestures first, I'd be more inclined to ask politely."

"I'm not most people." Larger than life boasting is his bread and butter, not least because it's true. He isn't like most people, he isn't like any people. Where it counts, he's barely even a person. So he grins and looks away, and everything's alright. He walks down the corridor, away from the cloying warmth of his resting place, expecting Dorian to follow.

He tilts his head to the side, expression fond and sharp. "Date first. I'm a fucking gentleman."

"No? Well we might have to explore the whole truth of it privately at some point," he does make it a point to distinguish himself from most people, Dorian has noticed, but aside from what he's told the mage already Dorian's still curious about the differences. Curious by nature, he's hoping that some of those details will reveal themselves in time.

As expected, Dorian follows, for the company naturally...and the company is compelling and appealing...blunt as well which denoted a sense of honesty. Dorian could appreciate and admire honesty, but what took him off his guard was the dating first remark, Dorian was serious about the wine-ing and dining, but half joking about the courting aspect.

He was used to being treated like a port in a storm, brief, physical encounters were acceptable...probably why he's giving Midnighter that look, it's because the man is a unicorn, "you're the boss and you're quite possibly the first who's ever insisted upon it. That certainly sets you apart from most men in my experience."

Congratulations.

He's used to getting weird looks. He really doesn't give a shit. Dorian's comment actually elicits a proud smile from him, genuine as it is sharp and full of teeth. He likes being the kind of man who insists on getting to know his dates. Casual sex is boring, and for a man with a fight computer in his fucking head, pretty goddamn unfulfilling. It takes more effort than dating does, for far less return.

So the looks he gives Dorian in return is with more pride than shame. He wants to be himself at all times, no more hiding or lying, so... he will be.

He leans just slightly toward Dorian with a cocky, utterly pleased look. "You're welcome," and then he's walking again. "Where's your capsule?"

Dorian doesn't mind the pride at all, he's a fan of pride in the event that no one has noticed with enough hubris of his own to choke a horse with. It's an intriguing thing for Dorian who has never been on what one would call a date, cultivating any kind of relationship with a man that wasn't a physical one was...frowned upon. So he was navigating territory he didn't quite understand, a place he'd been barred from due to his status.

Physical attraction was natural, but in terms of nobility procreation and marriage were completely separate due to matters of inheritance and so looking for or expecting more was selfish and deviant behavior on Dorian's part. It had been drilled into his head his entire life.

That's why he's so curious now, uncertain of Midnighter's plan, if he has one, but he seems so sure at the moment and the mage wanted to know where that degree of certainty would take him, "capsule 5."

And Midnighter, well, he's deadset on riding this good feeling and ignoring the whole... choking thing. That really isn't his ball. Feels too much like bringing his work home with him.

"You'll just have to tolerate me in these 'rags'," he says, joking faintly. "Hope you can stand it."

Edited (a very important edit.) 2017-12-29 01:20 (UTC)

Dorian's not overly concerned about the choke-hold Midnighter had on him. Did it hurt? Maker's balls it did. Were there residual finger impression on his skin? Probably. Was Dorian surprised? Not at all, he might have retaliated with similar force, but it would have involved magic.

Additionally bruises didn't stand out quite as much against his skin.

"I suppose I've no choice, only if you can promise the same," Dorian had been told he looked stylish in the distressed clothing, but he felt like he just stumbled out of a moth infested wardrobe, "we're in a similar boat, as they say...at least until something more appropriate comes along."

What he wouldn't give to find someone with enough talent to weave metal and fine fabric together cohesively.

"I'm told all of the capsules are of a similar make," he was a bit in despair honestly. Dorian's not a bulky man, but he was reasonably tall and possessed enough mass to make manuevering spaces awkward. It doesn't stop him from opening the door and letting Midnighter in once they arrive, "you should feel right at home."

"I'm at home anywhere," he says with a grin. Being homeless will do that to you. He keeps walking. "What've you got for food? Since we're short on movies, might as well skip straight to dinner."

He's bullshitting it, he knows. He has no clue what he's doing. But after that display... he just wants to seem like he does, seem confident and in his element. It's all a lie, skills he learned from being Lucas Trent for so long, but these aren't the worst ones. They're just... survival tactics.

"An observation I'm only too keen to enjoy," why? Because the kitchen is upstairs and from his vantage point he is able to watch Midnighter climb those stairs. No harm in looking, right?

Inwardly Dorian wanted to groan at the mention of food, he had a selection of things in his refrigerator, but nothing came close to his standards, "only the best selection of synthetic food and beer available."

Which is clearly not saying much. Oh there were fruits, vegetables, meats, cheeses, bread and things of that nature available, but it didn't taste quite the same, "I wish I could do better by you, honestly."

Dorian's a showman, synthetic food would not have been his first choice for a date, but more than that he had to wonder at the intention here. Reaching the top of the stairs he leaned against the wall, watching Midnighter with a curious sort of fondness, silent for a long moment before decidedly opening his mouth, "I'm not certain if you're forcing yourself or not, but it's alright..."

Midnighter doesn't get it at first, looks around to see where Dorian is staring-- and laughs, confused and short. How utterly fucking silly.

No, it's only when he's poking around in Dorian's fridge-- all of it looks perfectly edible, but it seems Dorian just likes to complain-- that the other man's words catch him short. He looks up, brow furrowed, concerned.

"Forcing myself?"

Dorian is incredibly picky, all part of living such a privileged existence, but his complaining is as much a part of that masking aspect of his personality as Midnighter's bullshitting is part of his.

Not that the complaining isn't genuine, it's mostly genuine.

"I get the impression that there's something else on your mind...I understand distractions, but if there's something you need?" Dorian gestures uselessly with his hands, not completely certain what he's trying to convey, "This is not the part I'm very good at, if I'm being honest."

Midnighter frowns, looking almost hurt for half a second before he covers it up. And they were doing so well. "I don't know," he says, not expecting the truth until it falls out of his mouth. "My last breakup was shit, and I keep having nightmares about being tortured. So, yeah, a distraction would be nice."

But. But. He heaves a slow sigh, shaking his head, hands on his hips. "That isn't fucking fair to you though, shit. I'm sorry."

"I've been a port in a storm before, so that's not the problem for me. If you need a distraction, I can provide and I'm very good at it, but I don't want to use you or take advantage," of any vulnerabilities is the part left unspoken, he doesn't think he needs to say that out loud, after all, he'd just woken Midnighter up from a distressing dream, "you're witty and a prepossessing sight to witness, I could easily get lost in you...and I take what I am offered, because I'm not a good man."

Yet he's good enough to express that he's not interest in hurting Midnighter any further than he has been, which is contradictory, but Dorian doesn't notice it. He has no experiences with relationships so he cannot pretend to understand what a shitty breakup would look like. No frame of reference there. And if he was dreaming about being tortured...well...Dorian would like to do something about that, honestly.

Midnighter just kind of... stares, standing there in what passes for sweatpants and rags, feeling suddenly very... lesser. If anything brings to mind his stint of homelessness, it's this. He doesn't let himself show the feeling (he hopes), just closes the refrigerator and moves away from it. Not ready to leave, not yet ready to go.

"I... don't know what to do with that." Admitting ignorance always hurts, but he almost did this guy really wrong. He realizes that now, and guilt wells in him. That, and the determination to pay his fucking dues. "I don't know most things. I've never had a, you know, a relationship that didn't end up in shit. Or a stabbing. The stabbing was pretty recent. Look, I- I'm wasting your time."

He shakes his head. If only he had a speech prepared, some fine words to hide behind. He can usually pull something like that out of his ass, but not after the dreams and standing here in another man's apartment, caught out being a fucking asshole.

"It's only a waste of my time if you leave," Dorian smiled indulgently before crossing the small kitchen, there isn't much in the way of space between them anyway, one or two strides with his long legs and he's standing right in front of Midnighter. It's not meant to be intimidating, if anything he looked like he might scoop the man up, but he didn't. What he did do was brush his knuckles against his companion's jaw, gently, before withdrawing the hand, "we established a date, didn't we? And I do want to get to know you better...even if the circumstances are a bit peculiar?"

Giving Midnighter some space Dorian took the opportunity to throw open the refrigerator, still not too fussed with their options, but if it looks edible to Midnighter he's not above putting together some kind of spread, "you're several steps ahead of me, I've never been in a relationship so I'm not the most tactful of souls I'm sure. Still, if you stay and you want to instruct me I'm all ears, as they say. Or we can do something else, it's completely up to you, but I have to admit, I'm not ready to let you go just yet."

"I-" His smile is twisted out of place. This is too much for him. The memories are too fucking recent, and what he feels for this man is... friendship, and maybe more, but not quite yet. He doesn't think he's ready quite yet.

He was just afraid of being alone.

"Let's... see where things go?" It's an impossible vulnerability, and Midnighter hates it-- that much is obvious from his wince after he says it. Still, it's the truest, most real answer he can manage.

Dorian is well aware that he is a dream, he'd rather not be mistaken for one, however, so whatever Midnighter wants it should be nothing less than genuine. Dorian is no backstabbing ex-boyfriend nor is he interested in torture and as long as what Midnighter needs has nothing to do with the strange dream states they've had to endure then Dorian was satified with anything.

Even the shitty spread of fruits, meats, vegetables, and cheeses he was currently plating.

"Just tell me that flirting is still on the table, because it's like breathing," it really is, no one was safe from the full force of his personality and that included men and women.

He watches Dorian plate food with a watchful eye, trying to make sure he remembers how that works. He knows shitall about plating food, after all. "If you stop, I might be offended." He laughs, light and warm, to cover up the fact that it's dangerously close to the truth. He likes being flirted with. Feeling wanted is fucking nice.

Dorian has no talent for cooking at all, but foods that are already prepared to be eaten are easily enough to plate. He's just highly coordinated, the mage doesn't really have any experience plating food himself, being a noble brat, but he's seen plated food so many times he could reinterpret it on a plate blindfolded.

"It pains me to think of what I would be missing out on if I stopped...perish the thought!" Dorian passes off the first plate to Midnighter before stooping down to the refrigerator yet again to check the beverage status, "water, or watered down ale?"

Ryuji looks on incredulously at the scene unfolding, and he can't tell which is more unsettling- the fact that there's an actual freaking godzilla like thing threatening to trample the city, or the man next to him is clenching a crowbar, talking about it like it's his own private Excalibur. He swallows the lump in his throat. No amount of protein in this morning's (recycled) breakfast could prep him for this particular exchange, so he just silently... blinks at Midnighter.

"Dude. You're gonna take down a monster with a crowbar? What are ya gonna do, pluck its scales out one by one?"

Coming from the guy with a metal baseball bat in his hand, like his choice of armament is going to be any better.

"You've got to be bloody joking."

In another time, Henry would've fucked right off. He wasn't paid enough to deal with shit like Godzilla or final bosses in the form of a parade float (it's a dumb story), but he isn't getting paid here whatsoever.

And yet... he can't exactly leave this guy to fight it with a crowbar. Not that he thinks Midnighter is at all bothered by the notion, judging by his gleeful reaction to this all. Activating his Cross Sword, he grits his teeth, ready to take off.

"Think I'll get in the way, or just want all the fun for yourself?"

Does this guy have a fucking lightsaber? And Midnighter is the joker? But his smile stays firmly in place, utterly comfortable in his environment.

"Only one way to find out."

Look, lightsabers are very efficient and fashionable.

"After you."

He's almost tempted to vault off the edge of the building before Midnighter does, though. Just to keep shit consistent with his character.

Too late, Midnighter's already doing it for you. He vaults right off the edge, smiling all the while, to sink his crowbar into the monster's juicy eye. It screams and fire leaks from its mouth in plumes.

"You're missing the fun part!"

He's got no excuse now. With a heavy sigh, he leaps off the building, narrowly missing the burst of fire as he jams the fiery blade into its other eye. The rush of air is nice, he's missed the exhilaration of flying through the air. The monster flings its head from side to side, blinded now in both eyes while continuing to shriek terribly.

Now, how does Midnighter plan to use a crowbar to take this thing down?

Once the creature stays relatively still enough for him to scale it, Henry makes his way to the top of its head. Keeping his stance low, he touches the scaly surface.

"Huh, wonder if I can pierce this."

"O... okay."

She only knows one kind of escape. It isn't as hopeful as he says, right then. But what option does she have right then? hands wrapped around opposing elbow. Shivering the ship, she looks sorely out of place and mostly miserable. "Which is the fastest way out?"

Some part of her knows it's off, her dreams are always empty things, like much of her life, her brain can't supplement sensations it no longers remember clearly. So it can't be hers, even this whole place looks like the back end of an Atlas base.

She looks perfectly in place. The plates on her head, the sickly pallor-- so there aren't any stitch marks, but she's been worked on. He didn't know anyone else had been made, transformed, destroyed and reconstituted as he had.

Maybe, for him, the metal plates are next.

"I don't know," he all he says, and motions for her to follow him as he crawls out of the tunnel he crouched in. He crosses the hall and begins to rip apart some of the wall paneling with hysterical strength; the rusty metal twists in his hands, protesting, but ultimately complying. "But I'm gonna find out."

She wastes no time following him. Scrambling along after him when he rips the panel off the wall ( holy shit - what is he? Brick? ) - ignoring the thumping lump in her throat, the quickening heartbeat. "If you can get me to a machine... I can probably help."

Whatever this place is, whatever is going on with it, she's still her - right? Right. Or at least enough her to try.

"A machine?"

He turns back to the girl, and considers the proposal. There's... an idea, one that the computer already hates, but he doesn't care. He reaches out, taking her hand and bringing it to his temple.

"Can you make me strong enough to get out of here?"

He's tried before. It always ends in failure, always, always.

Edited (blehhh) 2017-12-23 23:26 (UTC)

Her breath comes short when he touches her - not for what he's done, but it never stops being something that happens now, and it's terrifying. That touch. To be touched, to reach and be reached for and she nods, very slowly, her fingers tremours of the earthquake that sits under her skin.

Wetting her lips, she's careful. "If you're sure, it'll mean my... mind is inside of your... your systems. You don't have too."

There couldn't be something more personal than that.

"I don't care." In the years to come, he'll care very much about his own privacy, but now? What does privacy mean when they cut you open whenever they please, strip you of your dignity, insert new muscle and bone and tissue at their whim? He presses her hands harder to his temple. "Make me stronger. I'll get us both out. I promise."

"Okay... okay..."

She's never done something like this. Into someone's cybernetics. That strange half-world that is between her body and her markings. Carefully, either to assure him or herself about what was happening, her fingers smooth against his hair. Taking long, low breaths.

"Hold onto me. Until I tell you to let go. I am not sure if it will hurt or not..."

But as her eyes close she leans in, her breath becomes even, deep and the light pulses under her skin to a steady rise. Sun between the cracks. The press of her abilities that are at once a brush and a shove. Looking, searching for where she can latch her mind like a fulcrum as a ball of light builds in her hand, pressed against his skin by his temple. Cool and hot, all at once. Clean and chemical. "... don't fight me, I've got you. I'm looking after you."

When her eyes open, they glow too. "Ready? This might... tickle."

All through this, his hands are on hers, and his expression is one of raw determination. Fear is gone. There's a chance they can get out of here. He'll take it. He doesn't give a shit about logic or safety or second chances. He wants to go.

"I was awake," he says, because maybe it'll put her at ease, "when they put the computer in my head. When they- cut into my skull. You can't hurt me." Nothing can hurt him anymore.

Her eyes fix, clear in the light. It seizes up, full and angry and she doesn't know that maybe. Jack ad always made sure she was under when they put the plates in, put the ports into her spine. Cut her open to make sure he'd have the most powerful siren.

"We're going to kill them." It peaks, maybe she is just as bad as Jack. That rage is a visceral thing in her tongue, and she lets it fill his. "All of them. They won't ever touch you again. I'll make sure."

And it breaks, waves against a cliff, she shudders into his systems in a blaze of light. Pouring herself into every nook and cranny. Crackling as her body shifts, the air shimmers in a sickly purple light. A twist where it swirls between this place, the space beyond space that stares back in the corners of this boxed in the ventilation shaft. Her body isn't a big thing, all bones and soft skin, where no one, nothing, touches her, but right now it's full. Full enough to take up all of him, as it pours out and out and out.

And when she shifts, the intimacy of the connection prompts him to move as she feels her way through his body, just as she said - tickling, she remembered the first CL4P-TP had said - from where the systems were curled up in his limbs, his mind. Searching, look, and she feels his mind pressing against hers where it weaves into cybernetics, his mind where it pulses and shudders, and lines herself to his thoughts as she keeps search, and in that moment, she knows him, she knows all of him. His wants and hates, his desires and loathings. Her head tilts up, her mouth parted in a shuddering sigh. Holding the taste of it inside her throat. Another person. Right now, all her own, selfishly she takes as selfishly she had been denied. Possessively, her mind swallows it whole, taking it all into herself like it always was hers.

"Found you."

A flood, then, of pushing hard against those limits as she beats and beats like waves, still, like these fists could have his strength and she pushes once and hard against his mind again, all of herself at once it clicks. A powerful she allows to his limbs. It could destroy him but - she knows - it'll be worth it. It will always be worth that self-destruction.

Then she snaps, without the eridium to sustain her, her body crumbles out from underneath her, sagging immediately into him.

The person she'll find is a black hole. He doesn't know his name. He doesn't know his age or how long he's been here. He only remembers the pattern, the terrible rhythm of his life: wake up in a cell, be pulled off to the operating table until the pain makes him pass out, and wake up in a cell again. Sometimes he looses days, maybe months. It's impossible to guess with any accuracy. Everything is a blur. Who is he? Who was he? He knows he's from Earth, and that he speaks English, and that America is a place he's been, but the rest of it?

They wrote MIDNIGHTER outside his cell. Why?

It's all darkness, and then she's there, filling it with light. Pain, too, but it's so minor it barely registers. He is, for a moment, her fucking puppet. Fine. Better hers than theirs. At least he chose this.

He catches her with too-fast reflexes, looks down at the crumpled girl in his arms and feels something like sorrow. Is this his fault? "I'm sorry." And then, more quietly, because he thinks he hears something coming- "what did you do?"

The light dies on her skin, but her gaze when it opens against isn't any less sharp. Direct. She might be in pain, she might be weak - but like him, it's minor to what has to be done. "You have no limitations. I removed what they have in place." She stays weak in his arms, held there, breathing unevenly - fast, slow, fast, fast, slow. An irregular heartbeat. Whatever strength she has, goes into being as little of a burden as she can be. Pushing herself up a little bit to speak clearer.

She knows what she needs to fix it.

Thank God she'll never see it again, here.

"But... if you try to pull too hard, you might rip your muscles. Be careful how you use it." She isn't under illusions. It will take a minute to get her strength back - and to do what he needs to do, he's going to have to leave her there. Good, he should have his freedom. It's not like bodies were ever anything other than shells.

"Thank you." He reaches out to-- hug her. He's seen hugs before. He knows what they're like, even if he can't remember why, or even when he's seen them. But it's a good thing to do, he thinks. "I won't let you down."

And then he's crawling through the vents, leaving her to fight off the aliens that have been keeping them captive.

(And somewhere, Midnighter awakens startled, his hands reaching for his temples-- but as always, he's alone in his own mind.)

(Thank fuck.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

say nighty-night and kiss me,

c u l8r

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b1 (get in here yoshitsugu!)

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