xistentia | o1 🦅 I want to walk into the heart of you

Entry tags:

o1 🦅 I want to walk into the heart of you

Characters: John Proudstar & CR
Summary: A series of reunions and confrontations, some of them sweet, and some of them a little more bitter than that. Catch-all for the month!
Date(s): May 2018
Warnings/Notes: Potential mention of trauma, battle, sexual themes, genocide, etc.

closed to kurt;

[Call him old-fashioned. He knows a great deal about technology, its uses for freedom, its uses to oppress it; the most cutting-edge inventions of the United States came out of the military, after all. Even were medicine was involved. Especially where cellular capabilities were in development. And now he's stuck in this -- extra, semi-parallel dimenison, where the universe itself is software? He's already been hunted by enough robot Sentinels to question reliance on anything that prides itself in being chips and wires.

So go figure. When Kurt sees the man, it's because he's nailing a poster up on a public corkboard. It reads:

DID THEY CALL YOU A MUTANT?

SEEKING OUR COMMUNITY WITHIN THE COMMUNITY IN XISTENTIA

John Proudstar @ Thunderbird
You could never tell from the business-like font and grave colors, that John had spent at least fifteen minutes waffling over whether or not to capitalize the -d. It seemed— a little vulgar, for his sensibilities. But he stands back now from his handiwork, hammer in hand, a hand on his hip. Pleased. Hopeful.]

closed to rosie;

Hi.

[He's been watching her work out. It isn't creepy. She pumps iron like no human can, and it's rare and interesting to him still— easy associations in his mind with special abilities that put a target on your back, marginalized people, the politics of his kind. Even if it isn't wise to generalize, he's never been a shy man, anyhow. His long legs cover the space easily. Narrow jeans, and a tanktop that shows off the cut of his tawny arms, the eagle-shaped tattoo marked into one bicep. He smiles at her.]

I'm John. How much are you lifting there? [He nods over at the weights she'd just set down, a few feet behind her. There has to be any number of men, who wish they could be the bench that she'd stretched her long, lean back over.]

closed to lorna;

[By now, she knows he's in town. He's a quiet presence at parties that are loud, a helpful voice on a network full of fearful and troubled people. He's been with Marcos— she might even know that, about the home they've made, bachelor-style, the stuff of some kind of adorable sitcom. It'd be an adorable sitcom, if the situation around them wasn't so fucking dire.

But he hasn't come to find her before now. No guesses as to how he realized it was her, despite that she has her green hair tucked under her cap. He's interrupting her lunch, one of the charming little cafes operated by someone who proudly holds their non-human ancestry public— some species called Kh'ferme, who have fur and slut-pupilled eyes, but are funnily vegetarian. They make the best eggs. John-- probably didn't come here because of the appetizing smell, either.]

How's it going, Lorna? [he asks, sitting in the seat opposite her.]

closed to sonya;

[She doesn't notice him coming in, mostly because her morning class has already grown to seven bodies, many of them eager for her expertise and tutelage. Besides, when you're off the ground and moving through ribbons suspended so many feet off the floor, what you're probably supposed to be paying attention to is not falling. Of course, looking at her, you'd never think it required any effort at all.

The students are dispersing by the time he steps up. Maybe she saw him at some point in the middle of the class, standing back by the windowed doors, watching. His expression hasn't changed the whole time. Reserved, as ever. Disciplined. Maybe careful.

Which is pretty funny, when his stride doesn't stop. He walks up right into her space. He looks for the shift of her eyes, the flicker of expression, that makes the decision for him: if he's allowed to put his arms around her. To kiss her on the mouth.]

closed to ignacio;

[Night-time darkness provides little in the way of a burden or an obstruction to John, who doesn't exactly have 20/20 vision, but nonetheless finds it easy enough to compensate with his hearing, the tracking that's practically psychic in its capacity to extend his understanding of the world beyond ordinary sensibilities. He's restless. He's been thinking-- this isn't his war, and he's also been thinking: that's a lie, of course; this is everyone's war. It's familiar to him, feeling at odds with the people around him, his memory, his principles. He is the descendant of an oppressed people, and yet, he'd gone into Iraq on behalf of the United States government and saw the hate on brown faces. He questions even the daemon that F.A.T.E.S. gave him— the symbolic eagle that's circling overhead.

The whole thing, it troubles him. He can't walk it off, but he knows himself well enough, now, to know that he needs to be in motion.]

Hello. [He sees the man's figure in the distance, where trees meet shore.] Don't mean to startle anyone. Name's John.

closed to thea;

[He finds her at the Citadel, one of those low-key community gatherings that the city's resident party-throwers like to put together now and then. He prefers them low-key. He's heard about the sex demons and he was right there at ground zero for the outdoor bazaar that led to the psychic bomb, and he figures smaller get-togethers with less windows are safer. Guerilla tactics, maybe. The life of an underground resistance fighter. Old habits die hard.

But he doesn't look tense as he steps up to her, a lopsided smile on his face.] Hey stranger, [he says.] I got you a little something that's been burning a hole in my pocket for you, a couple weeks now. Gonna assume you're keeping it sober, and this is going to be as good a time as any. You're looking good, Thea.

[His hand is empty when he reaches out to shake her hand. But it's a friendly gesture, in and of itself.]

closed to rafaello;

[he did this after the war, too. have these terrible dreams. wake up, and go outside to be by himself.

he had learned at some point, probably during out-processing in virginia, that this is pretty normal to go through if you've seen some shit. ptsd, they don't diagnose until you've been having the dreams and jumping in and out of your skin for a few months. he had understood, then, that he was lucky. he's been watching himself ever since he left panultima-- wondering if his luck was going to hold out. during the daytimes, it seems likely. coffee in the mornings, hunting, community services and rebuilding in the afternoons, dinner with marcos. nights like this, it's harder to say.

and he'd be lying if he didn't admit, the cut of rafa's silhouette emerging abruptly out in the trees made his heart jump for an instant. just like the arena. but unlike the arena, he can see the hair swept over the vampire's crown is smooth, his shirt clean of dirt and blood.] I remember you, [he hears himself say.] You move like a cat.

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[When he walks over, she turns her full attention to him, with a pleased expression in her eyes, and a bright smile to match.]

You should've joined in on the fun — or showed off your skills, whichever. Or both at the same time.

[A half second's pause, then: ]

What brings you in? Not that I'm complaining.

[The curve of her smile turns to one with more amusement in it.]

[That's not a no. He can read the path of a lynx from the tilt of a leaf. He can track the terror of a refugee family from half a mark burned into dry asphalt. So he can tell when the tilt of Sonya's waist, the quirk of her pretty red head, says: This isn't a no.

He slips his hands around her waist. Her muscles like corded steel.]

Call it inspiration. And Marcos on my ass for not-- doing this sooner. I missed you. But, I wasn't about to try aerial tricks. You know me. I'm a salt-of-the-Earth kind of guy.

Fair enough -- you can always borrow one of the mats for a more grounded approach. Just doing regular yoga, nothing to see here... [She barely holds back a laugh, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug lasting for a couple seconds.]

I'm glad you seem to be doing okay, overall, here so far. [Everything back home felt like a constant mess.]

[It was a constant mess. He's hesitating to speak, a little, unwilling to court the risk of— mentioning something she doesn't need to hear. Not in this time. But there's also a part of him that's easily convinced by the moment, by the smell of her hair and the familiar line of her body against his, that he doesn't need to say anything.

Whether her death was in the past or in the future, it isn't now.]

Well, you know me, [he says.] Bulletproof, supersenses. The only thing I can't do is why we lean on the team. [He smiles at her. It comes easier than you'd think.] Haven't started a business, though. I have to say, it's different seeing you do this. It'd still feel different if they were also mutants.

[ Of course she's noticed but that's only because she was watching him first. She's not shy these days about her interest in people. Not really. But sometimes it was fun to let them come to her, which she wasn't conceited enough to say that she had known John would but- He does. And that's all that really matters in the end. ]

Oh, those? [ she glances back fleetingly, as if to double check the weights. As if she didn't know. ] Three hundred pounds, I think.

[ A woman of her stature and frame shouldn't be able to lift three hundred pounds on as easily as a piece of paper, she knows. Non-humanity is just another thing she isn't shy about these days though. ]

How about you, dude? How much do you lift?

Dead lift, under duress, I haven't checked in awhile. [A lopsided smile on John's face, a glint of tooth that's bright contrast against his complexion.] For a war, things are pretty uneventful around here. And I'm not complaining. On the other hand, with the reps... [His eyes drift toward her weights.

Incidentally they also drift along her body. Appreciation for the flat of her belly, the shape of her thighs.]

Last time I pushed something like five hundred pounds. It was a lot, but I didn't feel like I was approaching my limits. Might just be out of practice with having an actual gym to work with. [He grins at her.] Is yours called Earth? You have wi-fi and too many Starbuckses? Marginalized people with enhanced abilities, maybe.

You're telling me, [ she says to that, about war. It wasn't anything she figured she'd be intimately familiar with but, well. Life can throw some pretty mean curveballs, it seems.

But it can throw nice ones, too. Like guys checking her out at the gym when she wasn't planning for it. ]

Oh my gosh, dude, that's like. Three of me? Maybe four? I believe it though with those biceps. [ In contrast to her, lithe and lean muscle. Also in contrast, she's a bit more obvious. ] But, yeah, I'm from earth. Wi-fi and Starbucks - though not a huge coffe fan - and way more out there than most people realize. Er. Realized.

[A moment, and then he offers her a hand on impulse. Inviting her to get up. He nods his head over to the right, indicating the area sectioned off for martial arts training. Pumping iron is very well, but he has a certain suspicion that those scars don't just come from hoisting weights in the safety of an air-conditioned facility.]

What do you mean 'out there?'

[He isn't prying, not exactly. Not in the sense that he's unwilling to share. God knows he's spent enough time in his life thinking about why they fight, and these allies are unknown quantities. If, you know. Uniformly hotties. That much, you can tell just by looking at them.]

[ She regards the extended hand for only a couple seconds before reaching out to grasp it. This isn't usually how this goes, but- She likes it when people surprise her. When they're interesting. John, so far, is very interesting. ]

My world's complicated in that's several in one. A lot of people thought there was just humans, but then- Surprise. There's a whole world of us demons just waiting around the next reality.

[ She gives a stretch as she says it. Causal. 'Us demons' is nothing she ever thought she'd be able to just say one day. But two years in these nexus worlds and four at war openly declaring what they were, well. It understandably changes a person. ]

Demons, [John says. Despite his predisposition to be quite open to people of unusual looks and backgrounds and 'supernatural' abilities of course, those words still have. Connotations, where he comes from.] Back where I come from, 'demons' don't exist. Far as we know. A religious concept, mostly, about creatures who by nature want to hurt or even kill others.

[He's

a little blunt, maybe. But not unfriendly, as he opens out a tattooed arm, invitingly, starting toward the martial arts area. They have everything from punching bags to blocks of concrete set up over there.] What does it mean in your world?

Demons, [ she echoes, stepping easily onto the cushiony mats lining the floor. His is a familiar tone. Demon, people would say, and she could hear the connotations they held behind them. While not holding anything like the heat of hatred behind many a hunter's hiss, it still had its own weight. It held it's own connotations for her what he might think. ]

Hell exists, in my world. Not quite like The Bible depicts it, but- Close enough, in my opinion. It's where I'm from. Where all demons are.

[ It's here she smiles, just as pleasant as always. ] We're more varied than just red tails and horns though. Some of us hate or eat humans. Usually both. Some of us don't. [ More than she had actually known after centuries of feeling alone. Her blond hair is suddenly bunched and tied back. If they might spar, better safe than sorry. ] But it's probably a safe bet that more do.

I think it means the same thing as being human though. We're all different, we all just want to live. [ At least, I do. ]

( She's not hiding, despite what it may seem like. Avoidant is a little more accurate a word for where she's been. She's been here and there with Marcos, but they were alone when it began. Since, there's been more. John.

Sonya...

When John sits in front of her, she looks up from her meal and watches him. Sits back in her chair. Looks him up and down, wondering what kind of conversation this is about to be. )

Sure, John. Take a seat. Make yourself at home. ( She shrugs. ) Act like we didn't just break up back at home and everything's normal.

What do you want?

We did break up. Everything is shit. [John doesn't usually swear, even when discussing extremely serious subject matter, such as the end of the Multiverse. Sometimes he'll punch a table in half, but that's different.] Our world is almost gone. And that's not just me being real dramatic about your breakup. Our breakup. But there's that, too.

[His jaw tightens slightly. He doesn't punch the cafe table in half.]

I want to know how it's going. How the baby is. How this war sits with you. Whether it's changed the way you see the enemy at home. If they're all the same. You want to go ahead with those, or should I keep going?

( she can't help but laugh low under her breath as he talks about whether her view of the enemy at home has changes. she rolls her eyes, shakes her head, before looking back to him. )

Seriously? You think this changes anything?

( she leans forward slightly, eyes burning into his. )

We could save all of humanity from destruction here working with F.A.T.E.S., and they still will try to put collars on our necks and call us freaks.

( she settles back again, her gaze relenting. )

This doesn't change anything. Once we're done here, it all goes back to exactly like how it was before. No one's going to thank us, no one's going to welcome us home with open arms, and no one's going to accept us.

So no. This doesn't change anything about how I see the enemy at home.

( with a heavy sigh, she relents a little further. ) The baby's fine, though.

[She can see the tension gathering in his jaw as she speaks, and he listens. Collars, all of humanity. It's nothing they haven't talked about to some extent or another already, but it had been one thing, to hear it as she dragged an airplane out of the sky, killed a man in burning wreckage. It's another to hear it when their world has technically ended. He doesn't know what he'd been expecting.

No, that's a lie. He hadn't expected anything. He's become good at that, over the years. It's probably why he and Marcos argue half the time they do; he's always been a little more conservative with the risks that he takes.

But then she says the baby's okay. And it's like someone popped a screw in the cut of his skull; the vein fades out of his neck, a fraction of tension disappearing from the grit of his teeth.] Good to hear. About the baby, [he says.] As for the rest, how are you going to square it if you have to work with the humanity here? What is that going to be for you?

Exploitation? Deception? Are they different because they aren't the humans you knew, or would that be too much like condemning all non-mutants because of the apathy and ignorance of the ones who've hurt us?

[ Ignacio stood with his hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on something out in the distance from his position at the edge of the forest. Not too far from him was a cozy beach house, beyond that was the vast ocean with the large moon reflecting on the gentle waves. During low tide everything seemed so peaceful, though that was interrupted by the scent of a creature nearby.

Not quite human, which was welcomed because he couldn't stomach a human right now, and it was coming closer. He turned his head in acknowledgement when it spoke and offered a nod of greeting, privately amused that the being thought he might startle him. ]

Hola, [ he spoke, his Spanish accent thick. ] hello John. I am Ignacio. Are you visiting them? [ he nodded towards the house, curious to see if John was friends with the residents. ]

Edited 2018-05-07 19:35 (UTC)

[John lets his eyes focus past the vampire. He's able to pick out the house easily, even if 'night vision' isn't exactly what's written on his label. His label transcends real sense, if you ask him, but he's never been in a hurry to meet the scalpel that would probably best be able to tell him the mechanical details of what he can do.

It's a cute house. A beautiful sea. Some shit you'd find in Ikea, if you weren't living on rations in an over-crowded safehouse.]

No. I was going for a walk. Feeling out the perimeter of the new home. Only sixty miles in any direction, but it's still a much bigger perimeter than I'm used to covering. [He smiles at the vampire.] You? Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you if you were on a way to a sleepover. [The sex positivity of this place is weird. But cool.]

A... what?

[ It took Ignacio a moment to figure out what John could possibly mean by that, then he chuckled with a shake of his head. ]

No, I was not going to that home. I am enjoying the view. You see, I am a painter and I take inspiration from certain views. The beach, a small home, the moon above the water, it would be a painting that tells a story.

You are new then? Welcome to the end of the world, John. Where are you from? America?

[John's eyebrows shift slightly— it's been a long time since he thought about art, never mind spoken to someone with a propensity for it. He turns to look at what Ignacio describes, and it's different framed in an artist's perspective, his voice. It's beautiful. That's true enough. He wouldn't have thought to ring a story around it. He'd sooner think: tactics. The direction of the wind. The solace of nature only slightly marred by the imposition of man.]

I am new, [he confirms, looking back.] The way you describe it, I can see that. Yeah, I'm from North America. United States. I'm one of the native peoples.

John, [he abruptly remembers to say, offering Ignacio a hand to shake, suddenly thinking himself rude.] Good to meet you. How about yourself? You know about America. Not everyone does.

Yes, your accent told me as much.

[ He felt that he had an ear for such things. He reached out to grasp John's hand, his skin unnaturally cold- unless you considered something that felt dead and yet still talking to be natural. His grip was firm but not aggressive, polite. ]

I am from Spain. Madrid, to be precise, but I am very fond of Barcelona. You could say that my true home in the sea, as I love to sail the globe amongst her waves. Tell me, have you travelled much?

[The temperature of the vampire's hand is profoundly strange, but John isn't one to judge a man by his physiological differences from your standard human. He has friends with laser fingers-- as Ignacio's about to find out, probably. He has friends with stone skin, green hair, pointed ears. Tails and Devilishly red eyes.

If anything, maybe he's a little biased toward the people who are strange to look at, to touch, to befriend. His smile warms a fractional few degrees when he releases Ignacio's fingers.]

Never to Barcelona, [he says.] But I've been told about the native accent. The 'th' in the middle of the word instead of Barcelona, as Americans say. [Bar-se-lona.] I've traveled within my home country and with the military on deployments to the Middle East, but that's it. Iraq, Afghanistan. Qatar for a little bit, too. It's odd, but this place is more like home than anywhere I ever went overseas. Especially how few people there are. The reservation was small, too. Was your community like this one?

[ Ignacio listened patiently as John spoke, his nod slight when there was mention of military deployment. Then he chuckled at the question and shook his head. ]

No. Perhaps I should clarify, I am the Vampire Lord of Spain. My community is vast, our numbers many and our influence spans the world. Or at least, it did. No longer. Now we are here, the last line of defense as it were. It is a harrowing thought, yes?

Still sober, something I can hold onto is staying clean in spite of everthing. [Thea's able to say that with some pride.] Just dealing with the fallout from the spill our guts festival more than anything else at the moment. [But she does offer Proudstar her hand.]

[He smiles at her, and nods. Shakes her hand and then releases it. Approval, not that she needs it.]

Congratulations, [he says.] And now this is for you.

[He brings his other hand up, out of his pocket. In it is a small piece of petrified wood, thoroughly worked with a knife and polished over. The shape of it is a simplified, symbolic wolf, with the number 2, and the letter X carved into it.]

So you don't forget your pack. The 2-- that's the number of years sober, of course. But I figure the Apocalypse deserves its own marking. [He taps the 'X.']

[A smile escaped Thea as she accepted the wood piece, tucking it into her jacket pocket for now.] The end of life as we knew it does deserve a marking indeed and two years clear, two hard fought years. [But the fallout did a number, she's sober but her emotions took a hit.]

I guess I shouldn't say 'You should be proud.' But I'm glad for you anyway.

[He reaches over-- slow, so she can shift away if she doesn't want. Grasps her shoulder reassuringly. His metabolism is mighty, feeding warmth into her arm.]

If you need someone to take tea or juice with, I'm your guy.

[the last announcement he'd seen had been jughead's network newspaper article. observing how john goes totally old-fashioned with the paper on a cork-board thing makes him grin, prominent canines peeking past the blue of his lips.

now, since he's close enough, kurt can read the paper a little better and the word mutant immediately pops out at him. near his legs, shebad rubs up against him, insistent that they keep moving, although he is more than distracted by the flyer. it's not often people go around posting things like this, openly looking for other beings with supernatural abilities, so he can't simply pass this up because his daemon is impatient.]

You're looking for mutants? [inquires the teleporter, stepping a few paces closer, tail flicking rather eagerly.

if there's anyone that looks more appropriate for such a thing than him, he'd love for someone to point them out.]

[It's been awhile since he heard that word, mutants, in a voice that he didn't recognize. And it's almost like being snuck up on, despite that John is functionally impossible for any walking person who doesn't have super walking powers to properly sneak up on. It's startling.

And when he turns around, sees Kurt's face-- blue, his vivid eyes, the tail swinging behind him— John can't help it. A grin breaks over his face, and it's like seeing the sun come out in the middle of a rainstorm. His smile is very brilliant. He steps over, visibly has to restrain himself from the urge to give Kurt a hug. It's bizarre, how you might miss living among near exclusively your kind, and hiding from humanity, until suddenly that isn't an option anymore.]

I am. I'm John. Or Thunderbird, if you prefer those names. There are at least two more like us in this city right now. What's your name? [He offers a hand.]

[startling him hadn't been his intention, although he doesn't quite know he did, so it's not a thing for him to linger on. what nightcrawler does dally on is responding right away; he can't help being somewhat spellbound by john's sincerity and it makes him smile in return.

had this been their second or third meeting, he might have followed through on the other man's gesture. lord knows he lets people closer than he should at times, but this doesn't seem like one of them. the fact 'thunderbird' (a codename, he assumes) as he calls himself ends up unmistakably resisting the urge to hug him gives kurt an exhilaration he hasn't felt in a long time. it's not often one meets a person this heartfelt.

what an excellent introduction.] Nice to meet you, John. [a pause, his fangs on full gleam now.] Or Thunderbird. Normally, I use people's names. If you'd prefer I use your alias, I'm fine with that, too. My name's Kurt, but Nightcrawler is my codename. [he reaches to shake john's hand, no hesitation and totally amicable.] Who are the other two mutants you know?

[Something about John's reaction lags behind for a second or two after Kurt says his codename. The stirring of an instinct, half of a memory. But it's not as if they floated every X-Men member's photo in front of every successive generation of freedom fighters, and perhaps even if they had, there wasn't much time to spend studying them. John has come across many mutants who can't pass for human in his time. Lorna's green hair was one of the least odd traits.]

Kurt then, [he says, after a moment. This is a different kind of war, after all. After giving the other mutant's hand a shake, John releases him.]

My friend Marcos Diaz is in town. His-- [...ex? baby momma.] My other associate, [sounds diplomatic,] Lorna is around, too. I haven't run into anyone else from my world. Our world, maybe. I left in early 2018. We were fighting anti-mutant legislation, and a lot of corrupt government activity that never made it onto the books. [His way of gently navigating around the fact that even he is increasingly sure, the average human would have voted in horrific treatment of mutants. Especially those who looked like Kurt.]

[an odd fall behind that kurt notes, but only acknowledges with the slightest wrinkle of his nose. he thought it might have been recognition or something similar for a moment; there's been plenty of times where he's wrong, of course, although he likes to think his intuition is pretty solid.]

John it is. [the limb promptly withdraws once released, hands tucking loosely into his coat pockets.]

Marcos and Lorna, [he repeats, focusing on the names instead of john's slip-up. neither of them he recognizes, but that doesn't mean much. kurt could have met them in passing and not gotten a name, seen them on the network, skimmed a synchr profile-- along with many other scenarios that could be drummed up had the other male not mentioned corruptness and anti-mutant things.] So, it's not as peaceful as we would have hoped for in the future. [subtle enough, he'd say, despite his gaze flickering away.]

If what we were hoping for was anything resembling 'peace,' then yeah. Unfortunately. [John shakes his head, the bright embers of his excitement dimming for a moment. It's good to be with other mutants because of the struggle they share, but that doesn't erase the fact that it's a struggle.] Anybody who thinks times are easy and well enough has their head in the sand. Unfortunately, that's a lot of America right now.

[He grasps Kurt's shoulder, just briefly. Old military gestures.]

You're in something like my past, then. Outright war. [A beat.] At least, I guess it's better to think that way than the future. Have you ever heard of the X-Men?

[both of their earlier enthusiastic attitudes fade somewhat then, since kurt can't help sighing heavily at the revelation. so, no matter how hard they fight, the mutants of the future are still treated poorly. (or worse?)] I wonder if something in the past can be changed to prevent this from happening ...

[eventually — albeit a bit reluctantly — he raises his head and meets john's gaze, the edges of his lips curving.] Well, we'd taken out an enemy that was pushing us to the brink.

Actually, I have. [his smile widens now, shoulders straightening.] I'm an X-Man.

[ The forest is the only place that Rafa really hunts here. It's the best place for running, for pushing his speed to its maximum and testing the predatory instincts that he otherwise keeps locked down. Animals don't provide a great deal of sport, honestly, and their blood never tastes as good as a human's. But it's better than not hunting at all, and certainly safer for the local population.

Today he's been running since the sun went down. He doesn't go out in the daytime anymore, not even with his sunglasses. Not since Panultima. The evening air still holds a taste of warmth from the day that was, but the moon has risen, and the stars are starting to peek out. It's partly for them that Rafa stops, and partly for the scent that hits his nose.

Humanish, but more than human. Masculine. A hundred thousand times more appealing than anything else he's found in this forest, and familiar, to boot. A face swims into his mind; strong, attractive, but wary and tense in his memory. Rightfully so, since the memory comes from the arena. He'd wanted to save this one, and now he's here. Rafa comes to a halt, watching him with curious eyes. He doesn't look tense now, even though Rafa had clearly taken him unawares. He can hear the thudding of his heart, the way it races, sending adrenaline to every limb. He catches that scent, too, and thinks about how that is Nikolai's favourite additive to blood.

It's not Rafa's.

He smiles, straightening, and bringing his hands to clasp in front of him. ]

You made it here. [ He says, unnecessarily, since that fact is evident. ] I am glad. My apologies for startling you. This forest is dangerous, you know. There are monsters here.

[ He means the rock trolls, but in truth, the greater monster is standing in front of John right now. Rafa wonders if he knows it. ]

[John has a long and enduring acquaintance with the monstrosity of creatures that can think and choose and make decisions. He's also seen terrible storms, animals feeding on carcasses. He's seen disease eat people from the inside-out. But somehow, horror with a sentient edge to it has always been uncomfortably, intimately familiar. Maybe it's because he was Sioux in a white man world, a mutant in human society. Maybe it's because he was in the Army, and followed as many orders he hadn't thought through as ones that he had.

But even he is fallible, with his first impressions and the habit of thinking beautiful things are likely good. And as he looks at Rafaello now, limned in forest light, well. Who can blame him?]

I did, [he says. He smiles. It's easier now, out of the arena, if not entirely without caution still. Panultima was recent enough that he still feels its aftershocks when he wakes up in dark rooms, hears words that land too close to the 'home' he'd been imprisoned in for months.] No apologies required. [A beat. He thinks about whether he should say this, and then he spreads his hands int he cool air.] It's a free country. Or-- free interdimensional pocket space. Either way, probably the last of its kind. You should enjoy your long walks and chance encounters when you can.

What was your name again?

[ Rafa comes closer now. John's scent washes over him, but he gets a better look at him now. No longer caked in mud or fear, he looks far more refined. Caramel-coloured skin, dark eyes, dark hair. Almond-shaped eyes, too, hinting at Native American ancestry. Not something Rafa often comes across in his European home. Compared to him, John is enormous, too; tall, broad, muscular. He makes Rafa look small. ]

Rafaello d'Este. Please call me Rafa. [ He says, tilting a smile up towards those impressive heights. ]

When I saw you in the forest I told you I would try to save you. It is because I went there from here. I was supposed to be of help, but as it transpired, I needed help myself. If you are walking, would you be opposed to company? We can talk further, this time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

o1 🦅 I want to walk into the heart of you

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I'm so sorry, I was convinced I'd already replied! (cw. blood drinking)

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