[M] You Can Check Out Any Time You Like, But You Can Never Leave

Charity runs into Diaxio and Benjamin, and the truth comes out

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Gale
Posts: 254
Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
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Race: Human
Occupation: Metalsmith | Resistance Gunsmith
: Artful Gunner
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Wed Jan 09, 2019 7:58 am

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Somewhere Safe? | evening
30 Vortas 2718
It still stung, but the green eyes had focused upon the thin gap beneath the couch. Their nostrils twitched, form tensing despite the hissing complaints, the growing sense of numbness that began to creep down their leg. A weakness, the circulation feeling as if it was draining away – bleeding out into the surroundings and becoming noticeably warm. Or perhaps that was more accurately the dull beat that was beginning to fill their skull, the distinct pressure that pressed against their temple in a lingering threat. What form of threat? Irrational, they saw the thin strands beneath, the small clumps of dust that had yet to be dragged away mingling with hairs. Osta or human? They were not sure – there was too little light to determine what exactly.

They curled inwards as Rhys passed, no longer doting on Charity. They did not meet his gaze, far too aware of the tensing of the fields that threatened to consume the room. Smothering, consuming, it pooled into the depths the situation. It was odd, serving as a filter between one who clearly wanted to rampage, while the other sought something else – softer gentler and far too alluring for her own good.

At least the bucket of water seemed to be doing its work. That was a small mercy.

Gale was silent. Listening to the words as they spilled forth. For them it was too much information – not to process but in the reminder that bliss can be found in ignorance. The less they knew the less of a liability they would be. But that was only a half truth, one who knew could prepare. Vigilance against an encroaching storm. The mind flickered, snatching between the words. It looked not to emotion but to the information. The intent. The baggage of the heart was thrown aside – much like other sensations that smashed against the mental walls of the smith that threatened their prison of solitude.

Establish point one. Drugs. Specifically the Crop. Diaxio also known as Xi. Foreman for an overseer.

The eyes narrowed, darting briefly to the cup that rolled across the floor. There was no smash, merely the rotations as it gradually came to a stop.

“A gun? Did you get a look at it? What can you tell me about it?”

That was the first question. Though less to the others but more to their own internal library of information. Legality aside, firearms were rare; there were few makers, and makers had a tendency to have a particular style. The fact there was a click suggested it was a flintlock. They did not want to jump to the conclusion it could have been liberator. That was far too damning for their own psyche to handle right now.

Three known heads. The next is a Benjamin, the third an unknown.

“How many fields? How many were there? You said there was a woman, describe her.”

An odd question, but it gave them their own mental count – informed them on who they were dealing with and aided with cross referencing their own internal information. Even with the verbal slap thrown at them by Charity, the intoxication clearly overriding their sense of social tact.

And reminding Gale of the place they held in society.

“Yes. You’re right. Of course I don’t care. Stupid selfish human that I am that plays pretend on somethin’ they’re not,” their eyes sifted back to the dust beneath the couch. Was that a spider they saw there? They watched the tiny shape skitter underneath and out of sight, “I cannot help with tomorrow. That’s your fight.”

But what do they lose? They made a threat, for what reason?

“Dunno what answer you want from me. Just a villain here after all. Anyways,” the brow pinched, lips pulling into a line as they felt an unwelcome tremble in their leg, “You seem to think runnin’ away is the way to fix it all. And you seem to think standin’ up will just get you dead.”

Stitches complained. Chest tightening as the berating words slapped against them, self-depreciating and attempting to pull upon the strings of emotion. Gale brushed them aside, “And now you’re being selfish.”

Someone to had to say it.

“But I ain’t a quack to hear about yourself hate and drug fuelled mind. So fuck you and your self-depreciatin’ thoughts. I’m passin’ that buck to Rhys,” the smith gave a snort, “You can either give up, and get fucked lying down. Be another pawn in their game, another cog in their wheel – or you can grow a damned spine and do the right thing. Fight back, if not for yourself then others. For ‘im. For the others who were sunk into and being forced. Wassit… a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”

Gale’s head turned in the direction of Rhys, speaking out, “Less you’re just another one pushing the wheel of the damned and dead.”

“What do they gain if they kill you? What do they lose? What are they scared of,” Gale sniffed, “And who’s pullin’ Diaxio’s chain? You said employed, right? So why is she so interested in keepin’ you in their little circle? Keepin’ you pliable and accountable. What's next?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance

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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
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Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Fri Jan 18, 2019 2:26 pm

30th of Vortas, 2718
HOME | TOO LATE AGAIN
Rhys stared at the back of his eyelids for a few precious heartbeats, the spacious but rather open layout of his otherwise humble for a Sergeant of the Seventen flat allowing him the opportunity to hear every word said in the living area from the kitchen, even above the crackle of the hearth and the thunderous rush of his own elevated pulse.

Charity had been told, specifically, not to tell him what happened, and while the tall not-galdor couldn't give a chrove's erse what kind of personal danger that represented for himself in the end, he was aware that he was no longer able to simply wing his handsome way through life in hatcher-may-care style. His blonde pianist needed his protection, and while Gale would most likely never ask and never claim such a truth, the young human smith he'd come to claim as family probably needed him around, too. Maybe. Sometimes, Rhys wasn't sure, even now, aware of all the social and now personal obstacles between them—

"Diaxio." He echoed in a low whisper, opening his eyes to glare into the living room, glamour bristling as Charity explained everything in a rambling, broken manner. There was a warmth that grew in the cavity of his chest, a little spark that became hotter and more uncomfortable, flames licking their way through his veins as the history of a carefully constructed addiction was revealed to be entirely on purpose and not at all a youthful, lovelorn mistake.

Benjamin's name came up.

And a gun.

What the—

Gods, it was so well orchestrated and organized that the Seventen's mind was already beginning to follow the strands as if they were some very tangible web, his Numbrey-trained thought process already beginning to construct a larger picture and organize everything so neatly into a case, ready to be—

"Godsdamnit." Grunted the wick in the kitchen, a defeated noise that hid in its tone the fire that gnawed at him from within, fully aware of the effects on Charity's sober progress just one strong fall like this would have on her—on them. He'd barely endured her first crawl to sobriety because he wasn't at all equipped, and even though he was very prepared now, the thought of the requirements that had just been demanded on her sank like a knife into his guts.

He uncurled his fingers from the countertop and stared at nothing while Mister Saunders asked more questions, quick-witted and careful to gather more information, but somewhere between her words and her tears, somewhere just when the galdor he loved turned her words inward and dangerously so, Rhys lost his tenuous grip on his own self control. Gale's words only dug a bit deeper under his skin, aware that the young smith didn't at all need to be swept into the tide of emotional things, let alone the rest of the mess. This was all work he should be doing, but how? How could he do anything about any of this without risking Charity's life? Or his career (as if that wasn't already a matter of time)?

Years of secrets, heavy and flammable, roared to bright, fiery life and threatened to entirely consume his ability to string together coherent thoughts. It was too much on the heels of the riot, on the coattails of his father's honesty, on the mystery of Gale's almost-deadly attack, made even heavier by the kind of forced high Charity was experiencing. It all felt like too damn much.

Rhys moved to lean up from the counter, hands reaching, arm sweeping across the tile and spilling every clean dish and cup and even the small wooden rack onto the floor with a satisfying crashing noise, shattering everything in a cacophony of cheap porcelain and inexpensive utensils. He watched it all, everything hitting the worn wood of his kitchen floor and exploding into little pieces on impact as if it was a mirror of his own life, right now, right at this moment. It was something—the sound as jarring as the shock and anger that surged in his insides—but it wasn't really enough of an expression of the helplessness that writhed its way out from the darkness of his mind,

"Godsdamnit!" He repeated, louder than before, crunching over his mess in bare feet to stalk his way back toward the lounge, not even wincing. Expression an unreadable mask of frustration and distress, he barely, just barely, managed to keep himself from further expressing his rage at his own helpless furniture, wringing his hands into his hair before dragging them over his face instead. Overwhelmed with everything as it unfolded—the wounded young human in his home, the totally wasted galdor he loved, and the damning truth of his heritage—Rhys could only clear his head by lashing out at what was immediately within reach before he could at all focus on the bigger picture,

"Enough. Gods, just enough! You aren't a villain, nor are you clocking stupid. You're here because I thought you wanted to be, because I thought I was doing the right thing between us. Listen, even if you don't care—I do. I didn't think I would or I could, but I do. You don't have to be any more a part of my mess than I am of yours, but so help me if you're gonna stick around, stop assuming you're beneath it all. In my home, in this moment, you are not—"

The finger that pointed shook but did not attempt to pierce his sister's sternum despite the force it may have had behind it, and as quickly as it was shoved in one direction, it flicked toward Charity,

"—Gale's right, you know. I won't tell you any different, lover, because you aren't better off anywhere else, anywhere else but with me. You're certainly not better off dead. I'm not even going to have that discussion with you, especially not high. No. You're not gonna just give up because it looks easier and I'm not going to let any of those pieces of shit hurt you. I'm here—" He wiggled his toes because he was aware he'd stepped on sharp things, curling his fingers in and hooking a thumb toward his narrow chest for emphasis, "—I'm here in the middle of all of this shit—your shit and their shit and let's not even bother with my own shit—because I clocking well want to be. Because there's nowhere else I'd rather be. You're all I've got—both of you now—and that's a selfish thing to say even if it's true. But. Here we are. Here I am."

That was that.

His eyes wandered to the door and for a ragged breath, he imagined himself slipping through it into the darkness, a force of angry vengeance strangling galdori drug pushers in their sleep.

Snapping back to the moment, shoulders sagging, the tall blond did his best not to totally deflate into a puddle of impotent misery, throwing up the hands that had tangled his hair into an unkempt mess, "It takes a special kind of ersehat to put together something like that, and it sure as Hurte's stripes isn't that stopclocking dumberse Benjamin. Especially because I haven't even caught wind of this yet, and it's probably been on purpose—for years, Charity. Years of my life and your—"

He sat then, sunk like a stone onto his floor as if struck by something hard and sharp, eyes wide. Adrenaline crawled away and left something far stronger in its wake—fear.

"—only your chroveshit of a father would ploy to keep you under his thumb like that. For clocks'sake. I know he's been consorting with the Oculus and this sort of corruption doesn't at all surprise me because Morde is such a godsbedamned idealist. But, Charity—shit. Diaxo has been in your life your whole childhood. In all of our classes—"

He was going to kill that man.

And he wouldn't be sorry when he did.

He wanted to break every bone in Benjamin's body, too.

Would it be worth it to walk away from his entire career for these violently indulgent things? Was this a selfish delusion or the only solution?

Right now, he couldn't tell the difference.

Unable to finish his thoughts, racing and wild as they were, very angry at everything and everyone, Rhys fell quiet, the weight of unfiltered horror clingy and suffocating, crushing his ribs. Guilt was there, too, so much guilt. He blamed himself for ever letting Damen intimidate him—even if the man wasn't ultimately responsible, he was involved. He had to be.

Rhys flopped backwards, arms splaying across his floor and a groan that best described his sense of angry, exasperated overwhelm escaping through grit teeth.
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Mon Mar 25, 2019 9:03 pm

30th Vortas, 2718
ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS| LATE NIGHT
Charity blinked, frowning and rubbing her eyes.

“Fields? Two..two? Maybe three. I don’t…I can’t remember. Uh…human. Taller than me. Dirty blonde hair.” She muttered loosely in reply to Gale’s question, unable to focus on intimate details, her mind fuzzy and disjointed. Lifting her head again, the blonde took a ragged breath and shook her head.

“I didn’t mean—” Charity began, before letting her head loll to one side and staring at the hardwood floor. No matter what she said, no matter what she did, the human would dislike her. She couldn’t say the right thing, ever. Put her foot in her mouth every clocking time.

“And now you’re being selfish.”

The pianist closed her eyes, nodding with agreement. She was selfish, and useless. She had pulled Rhys and now Gale into this mess, when she should have just dealt with it all herself. Could have dealt with it had she just let it go. Stupid, stupid messed up Charity. The analytical and blunt being before her continued to speak, digging into the older woman's cracked and creased emotional state, telling her things she already knew. Lifting her hands to her head, Charity curled delicate fingers into pale locks and squeezed her eyes shut with a sob.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She whispered at Gale’s questions, lost in the heaviness of the opium and feeling a thick wave of nausea, jumping and staring at the kitchen at the sound of smashing and breaking. Her heart raced wildly and her wavering field drew back in confusion and fear. As Rhys stormed into the room, her violet gaze dragged up to him and she felt fat tears roll down her cheeks again.

“Rhys—” She began, cowering under his rage and his hurt, watching him sink to the floor with another shuddering sob. The whole room was turning slowly, spinning, and her stomach churned.

“I’m sorry.” The galdor breathed, standing suddenly, wobbling on woozy legs. She extracted herself, leaning on the couch and the walls, stumbling rapidly from the lounge room to fold to her knees in the bathroom over the porcelain lavatory and empty her insides. Whether Rhys followed her or stayed in the lounge, she couldn’t have said, as leaning an arm on the side of the bowl, she succumbed to the depths of her high. Sleep, or just unconsciousness, either way there was no more to be discussed with the blonde in this day.

In the morning, perhaps they would have more to say, but for now everything was out. Everything was laid bare. The consequences would come, though what they might be only the Circle knew.

Good or bad, they would come.

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