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Topics - Beejoux

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16
Roleplaying / Judgement calls [Beau x Will]
« on: January 11, 2020, 02:45:17 PM »
Will knew that taking Beau out of his parent's care was a risk.  He'd known it when he'd left his office to go talk to his supervisor, and even if the other man had signed off on it, he hadn't been happy about it.  He'd honestly expected to have gotten some sort of earful over it by now, but if the Eastofts didn't have his number, or had been content to holler at the rookie at the front desk instead...well, who knew what their motives were.  They made very little sense to Will.

He took a seat on a lounge on the small back patio, and dialed, tucking the phone up to his ear as he slouched down comfortably to listen to it ring.



It wasn't a house line -- of course it wasn't a house line. Instead someone picked up on the other end in a professionally female voice. "Eastoft and Stone, may I help you?"



His brows arched as he listened, surprised for a moment before he recovered.  "Hello, this is officer William Shepard.  I need to speak with Mr. Eastoft concerning a matter with his son."  Vague, but on the off chance the receptionist wasn't quite in the know he didn't want to over explain.



She hesitated just a breath, thinking it over -- checking something, maybe, it was hard to tell -- and then she answered, "Can you please leave your number and I'll let him know when he's out of meetings."



He grimaced just faintly but gave her his number with only a very faint sigh.



She took it very primly, professionally, and let him go to stew it over just a bit -- twenty minutes, maybe.



Impossible to know if Eastoft was actually in a meeting, or if he was just flexing his power, but Will was annoyed with the wait either way.  He stayed in the lounge with his head tipped back against the cushion and one hand laying on his stomach with two fingertips tucked just under the waist of his pants, scrolling absently through something or other on his phone.



Twenty five minutes, then, and the number would ring as private.



Another grimace, lip curling up on one side, but his voice was professional and pleasant as he answered the phone.  "Officer Shepard speaking."



"Officer Sheperd." The voice was smooth and casual, with only a little hiccup before: maybe the secretary hadn't quite passed that tidbit along. "Montgomery Eastoft."



"Good afternoon Mr Eastoft, my apologies for disturbing your work day."  It was polite and pleasant and betrayed none of the disdain Will actually felt for the man.



"I have half an hour." Which was like forgiveness, kind of. He breathed out. "What is happening?"



"Did they fill you in at all when you called the station yesterday, sir?  I'd hate to waste your time more than necessary with repeating things you already know."  He tapped his thumb against his stomach idly.



"He's been taken into custody, which seems extreme to him." It was what he'd heard, whether it was what they said or not.



"He failed his parole check-in yesterday afternoon, Sir."  Extreme?  Hardly.  "As well as made concerning and self destructive comments.  After consulting with my lieutenant on the matter, and keeping discretion in mind, of course, it was decided he should be placed under supervised care."



"He was under supervised care." He said it mildly, absently -- like his attention was wandering. "But if you were concerned, we could have hired a live in."



"There's still the matter of the parole violations, sir."  He closed his eyes, frowning.



"If your magic hadn't been quite so thorough I could have handled that as well." He said it with a certain amount of disdain.



Something about the statement or the tone made Will bristle.  He opened his mouth, bit back whatever unhelpful thing he wanted to say, and reached for calm.  "Be that as it may, sir.  There was a violation, and action has been taken accordingly."



"And the action was to take my son and put him where exactly?"  This was going on too long; Will could practically hear him looking at the clock.



"A protected house, under my supervision."  The man's tone was making it hard to keep the pleasant drawl in his voice as their conversation carried on.



"For how long?" Each word was said carefully, now, like Will was difficult to get through to.



"That depends on how future check-ins go."  He couldn't give a frame of time beyond that.



"Mr. Shepard." There was that edge to his voice again; a little condescending, a bit peeved. "You've already crippled him. This really seems above and beyond."



"All due respects, Sir."  He didn't respond to that edge.  Stayed polite and pleasant despite it.  "After this infraction he should have been looking at jail time, but compromises are being made."



"I definitely don't see how jail is an appropriate punishment, when you've already done far worse." His tone didn't settle, calm down.



"Because there are consequences to actions, sir."  There was something to his tone, something that leaked through around the edges, that suggested he shouldn't have had to point this out.  "He's safe, he's not being ill treated, and aside from a small handful of agents with border patrol, his whereabouts are being kept quiet."



"From everyone, apparently. Including me." Which was afronted and sharp. "My own son."



"We do not just give out the addresses to private residences, sir."  He really didn't want to just hand that over.  "But if you would like to speak with your son later I would be more than happy to arrange that."



"I want to speak to him regularly." Here, finally, was something he could hold onto. "And see him."



"If he agrees," Will agreed, smiling to himself.  "He is not required to talk to or see anyone against his will, but that shouldn't be a problem."



"He should talk to his family." It was brusque, sharp, almost threatening. "We do family dinners on Sunday nights."



"It'll be up to him, Mr Eastoft."  His tone didn't change.



"No, Mr. Shepard, I would say it's up to you." He thought it over just a breath, narrowly. "You could escort."



He sighed softly, finally opening his eyes to look up at the clouds rolling by.  "I can encourage, but I stop short of physically throwing him into a car, sir."



"You won't need to get physical, if you insist he'll come." It was said with the certainty of familiarity. "Just push."



He felt his lip curl again, had to clench his jaw to keep from saying anything unfortunate.  "I'll keep that in mind, sir," he said after a small pause, voice carefully controlled.



"Call me back tomorrow and we'll figure out details." It was slightly distracted, something catching his attention.



He wanted to argue with that order, because it was definitely an order, but he let it go.  "Is there a number I can reach you at that's not at your place of work?  Just in case."



A grumble of consideration before he rattled off a number, quickly. Will would have to jump to get it.



He'd remember, used to having to hold on to bits and pieces of information on the fly.  "Thank you.  I'll be in touch, sir."



"Don't call late at night," another order, thoughtlessly.



A muscle in his jaw jumped.  "No, sir.  Of course not."



"I'll expect a call from you soon." And this was a dismissal. "Good day, Mr. Shepard."



"Good day, Mr. Eastoft."  He hung up, growling softly under his breath as he set the phone on the little patio table beside him.



It left Will to his thoughts - or to find Beau, if he so desired.



He sat for a bit, maybe five minutes, before he rolled back to his feet and walked back inside, heading for the kitchen.



Beaul was there - with a glass of water and the leftovers, mulling them over. He looked a little breathless, like he'd rushed there.



A brow arched as he saw Beau, then twitched as he noticed how breathless he looked, eyes narrowing for just a moment before he shook his head and walked over to a cabinet to pull out a bottle of wine that had already been opened and recorked.



Beau watched him, poking at the container like he was thinking about reheating it - and deciding against it. Eventually he couldn't help himself. "How's Monty, then?"



Will paused at a cupboard, hand on one of the stemless glasses.  "As insufferable as I had imagined."  He pulled it out and yanked the cork out with his teeth so he could pour.


Beau made a sound like a laugh, looking back down to the takeout container.



He brought his glass over to lean back against the counter perpendicular to where Beau was sitting, he took a long drink before looking back at the younger man, thoughtful, vaguely appraising.



His attention was turned downward, a bit flat - and shoulders tense. But he didn't ask what his father had said.



"I'll let you have some of this is you tell me why you look out of breath."  He didn't sound irritated or angry, more curious than anything else.



He blinked, looking back up at Will, and paused just a moment before he got up to grab a glass. "...wanted to hear what you said to him."



He'd suspected, and really, it didn't matter to him if Beau had been eavesdropping.  He'd only gone outside because he wasn't going to force Beau to be present for it.  "How much of it did you hear?"  He straightened up to grab the bottle so it'd be him pouring and not Beau.  Three fingers.  Not quite what he'd poured himself, but more than a sip.



"Only bits and pieces." He shrugged a tiny bit, staring at the pour. "Couldn't get his side, at all, but I can guess."



"Well," he rolled a shoulder as he pressed the cork back into the neck.  "He indicated that if it weren't for those tattoos nullifying magic that's tossed your way he'd be controlling you."



Beau went quiet, then closed up the leftovers to lean back with the wine. "Sounds right."



"He also wants to arrange weekly family dinners."  Will took a drink, leaning back against the counter again.  "I told him it was your choice, and he told me if I insisted you'd go along with it."



Beau grimaced and smoothed a hand over his hair. Then he drank, all at once,draining the glass.



He tipped his head to watch Beau drain his glass.  "He needs his family," he mimicked, snorting softly.



He pushed the glass forward slowly, swallowing, thinking it over. "...if I want my inheritance."



Will shrugged, swirling his wine in his glass thoughtfully.  "I'm not going to force you to go.  He did indicate that you wouldn't have to go alone, but it's up to you."



He licked his lips and looked a little bit kicked while he thought it over. Eventually he dragged a hand across his face. "I don't know. You couldn't tell him no?"


"You could say you're not up to seeing your family at the moment."  He shrugged again, leaned over to pour a little more wine into Beau's glass from his own.  "But I suspect that would only work so long."



He licked his lips, thinking it over, and then leaned in for the wine. "You're not immune to magic, are you?"



Will tapped the edge of his glass against his lip thoughtfully.  "I've got charms that are pretty effective protection against most magics."



Beau made a sound like he doubted it, pulling his glass in slowly. He didn't just down it this time, at least. "It's probably not a good idea."



"No, probably not," Will agreed, taking another drink.  "Probably can't avoid it forever, either.  Not if you want to avoid being forced back."



He looked down into the glass and a muscle in his jaw jumped. "I could be injured again."



The bigger man made an agreeing sort of hum as he set hands and glass back on the counter in front of him.  "He seemed to have gotten the idea in his head that you thought being here was extreme."  But it wasn't like Beau had talked to anyone on the way out, so Will hadn't put any stock in it.  Not that it mattered much one way or another.  Beau staying where he'd been would have had a very bad ending.



He sipped at the wine, uncertainly.  Attention still turned downward. "I don't want to go to dinner."



"Okay."  Simple as that.  Even if Will hadn't thoroughly disliked Beau's family, he still wouldn't have forced him.  It would have been unlawful, at the very least.



"I don't know how long that'll hold out, though." He still didn't look up; shifted fingers around the bottom of the glass.



A heavy breath from Will would indicate agreement.  "He pretty much demanded I call him tomorrow to work out details."  He said it like he didn't believe that's what Montgomery really wanted.  "I only stepped outside because I figured you wouldn't want to listen, but I don't actually care if you do."



"It's my life, isn't it?" He shrugged just the tiniest bit, finally lifting the glass to drink.



"Mmhmm. So you can listen in when I call back tomorrow, or hell.  You can talk to him yourself if you want."  He shrugged again, tapping his fingers against the side of his glass.



"No." That was a definitive no, reflexive. He almost knocked the glass over.



"Figured that."  He slid a fingertip along the edge of his glass before bringing it up for another drink.



Beau rolled his shoulders, hair falling forward around his face, and grimaced. "I have a...a hard time there."



That had been abundantly obvious.  "You don't have to go back."



He shrugged a little bit, took another long swallow, resting his elbows on the counter. "Again, unless I want my inheritance someday."



To that Will could only shrug, head tipped to watch Beau as he drank.  He didn't have any easy answers for him, because it wasn't a straight forward situation.



"Still get something from my aunt, but not until I start a business." He shook his head just a tiny bit.



"Work towards that, then."  He made it sound simple, but to him it was.  Maybe all the pieces weren't in place yet, but it was something to focus on, at least.



He was quiet while he considered it, then puffed out just a little breath. "They are family, though."


"It's not a decision you have to make right now," he reminded him, straightening up to roll his shoulders back, stretching.



Beau shrugged and drank again, straightening as he finished off the glass.



This time Will didn't pour more into it, but instead tipped his own glass back to down the last large swallow so he could take both glasses and set them in the sink.



"Not this week." It lilted just a bit, a rare case where Beau really didn't sound sure.



Tanned fingers curled around the edge of the sink as he turned to lean back against it so he could look across the kitchen at Beau.  "Alright."  He could manage that, at least.  Probably.



He rubbed up the back of his neck again, stepping back away from the counter -- and the leftover food.



He was trying to read him but not quite managing.  However he did glance down at the takeout as Beau backed away from it, took what seemed like a hint that the other man was done with it, and put it away.



17
Roleplaying / Last chances [Beau x Will]
« on: January 11, 2020, 10:00:58 AM »
After the revision of restrictions William wasn't entirely sure which direction Beau would take after he'd calmed down.  If he calmed down.  Not exactly Will's problem, or rather it shouldn't be, but given the protections the little bastard was getting from his parents there was only so much Will could actually do, and if Beau realized that he was going to have to come up with something else.

But that all hinged on the younger man.  Will would wait and see how Beau responded before worrying about it too much.



He came in the next week and sat down and was completely silent the entire time -- staring at Will and letting him do his scans and blood tests then getting up to leave, without even protesting the search for drugs. But the week after, he came in...a little bit off. His balance not quite right. If he'd been behind the wheel, someone surely would have pulled him over to test him for alcohol.



Silent had been fine.  There’d been no fight, no struggle to get Beau to do what needed doing.  This, the unsteady, not entirely focused look to him the following week raised red flags.  Will looked across at him with a lingering frown through the usual checks, moving through them quickly.  When he was finished he tucked it all away again and pulled out a smallish, round container with little strips inside and set it on the desk before getting to his feet.  "Stand up and put your palms on the desk."


Beau pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth like he was thinking about it -- or maybe just gathering the energy to get himself upright again. He put his palms on the desk but it was another moment before he stood to lean on it.



Will tugged his gloves up a little tighter as he stepped around the desk to stand behind Beau.  He didn't say anything, no threats, no taunts, just started in on a very thorough search.



It made Beau laugh a little, quietly, dropping his head and leaning into the desk. "This is new." And he didn't sound worried. But then, he didn't have much cause to; it seemed like all he had on him was his ID. Not even his phone, nor a wallet.


Hard to tell if he was surprised by that or not as he walked back around to sit on the edge of the desk near one of Beau's hands.  He picked up the little container, unscrewed the clear top, and pulled out a strip.  "Stick out your tongue."

If there was alcohol in his system, the end would turn blue when it touched his saliva.



He tipped his head, licking the roof of his mouth again, assessing. "You know, it's been a while --" then he stuck out his tongue obligingly, his eyes flashing up to Will's face. The paper was definitely going to turn blue.



"Been a while for what?"  It was absent, like he wasn't really paying attention to what Beau was saying, eyes on the little strip as he pressed it the younger man's tongue.  Then let out a breath as it changed.  "You really just don't learn, do you?"  He actually sounded disappointed as he held the strip up for Beau to see.



He licked the roof of his mouth again, smoothed fingertips against the desk, and closed his eyes for a moment. "Can I sit?"



"Yes."  He didn't move, just looked down at the blue on the tip for a long moment before leaning across the desk to pull an envelope from his top drawer so he could tuck the strip inside, and tuck that into the file folder on his desk.



Beau dropped back bonelessly into the chair, scraping hair out of his face and chewing on words. "So put me in prison. It'd probably be an improvement."



"The problem with that," he started, rubbing his finger and thumb along his eyes and then back through his hair.  "Is your father will intervene."  He sounded tired, frustrated.  But there didn't seem to be any reason to lie about it at this point.  "So we'll just have to get creative."



He made a little sound, stretching his legs out and settling a hand across his eyes. "If it gets me out of that house, it's worth it."



Pale eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked down at him, lips twisting a little to one side.  "Stay here."  He had the first stirrings of an idea, and needed to talk to a supervisor about it.  Without looking back at Beau, Will grabbed the file off his desk and left the office, closing the door behind him.



Where was Beau going to go? He sank deeper in the chair and tipped his head back as Will left, eyes closed for the moment. Relaxing just a bit.



He was gone for a while, at least forty minutes, before the door opened and Will slipped back inside, closing it again behind him.  "Did you drive yourself here?"



He'd fallen asleep; the voice jogged him awake, made Beau blink around, startled. He looked wild for a moment, and lost. "What?"



"I asked of you drove yourself here."  He walked around the desk to put the file back where it was usually situated, then hooked his jacket off the back of his chair with two fingers, slinging it over his shoulder.



He snorted a sound at the idea. "No. Car's probably still waiting around the side."



Poor driver, but at least they were paid well.  Will made a faint noise before gesturing towards the door.  "You're going home and you're packing a bag."



Beau stared up at him, mulling that over. "I can't go home, only back to my parents.”



"Fine, parent's house."  He made another gesture at the door, finally grabbing the handle to open it.  "Pack what you need, then come back out."



"I don't have anything there." He said it a bit blankly, still just sitting in the door and staring up at Will.



He frowned and looked down at him.  "They didn't let you grab anything when they released you from the hospital?"



He laughed, a short bark, humorless, as he looked up at Will. "They took my wallet, this time."



Pale eyes lingered on his face for another moment before going thoughtful, fingertips tapping against the door handle.  "Can you get into your house, if you were there?"



"I can get in, but the driver won't go anywhere but here and the family home." He tapped a toe, fingers flicking idly before he caught himself.



"Let him sit there then.  Come on."  He waited for just a moment before walking through the door to head for the side entrance.



Beau still lingered a moment before levering himself up -- wobbly and a hand on the door as he trailed behind Will. "Got permission to lock me up?"



Will glanced back to make sure Beau was indeed following, noticed the wobble, and adjusted his pace with an annoyed sigh.  "Something like that."



It did make him hiccup, pause in the hall, maybe rethinking just how much he wanted to go to prison.



Another glance back, and Will stopped as well.  "Anywhere's better than with your parents, right?"  Sandy brows arched with the question.



He dragged a hand over his face, definitely too tipsy even now to think this over more. Nodded. And then started after Will again.



Will led him out the side door and into the employee parking lot, weaving through the rows to a nice looking grey sedan.  He unlocked it as they drew close, then paused by the driver side door to wait for Beau to get in.


He didn't look as uncomfortable as he should, though he looked the grey sedan over like it was much less nice than all that before he slid into the passenger's seat.



If Will noticed the look he didn't care.  He just slid in as well and started the thing.  "What's your address?"



Beau rumbled just a moment before he read it off: not in the posh area, as Will might have expected, but downtown, where there were things he could walk to.



Will didn't bother with GPS, just put the car in gear and eased out of the parking lot and out onto the road, heading in that direction.



Beau sank deep into the chair, again, nestled in against the armrest on the door, and let his head slide to the side -- and they wouldn't even be halfway there before he was asleep again.



He'd wake up to a poke in the side, if the car pulling to a stop wasn't enough to rouse him.  "Let's go."


He grunted, rubbed at his side, his hand twitching again, and maybe this time Will would recognize the instinctive aborted magic of it, the thoughtless way Beau went to cast. "....use your words."



There was a very faint smirk on Will's face as he opened the door and stepped out into the sidewalk.



Beau climbed out on the other side, breathing out slowly and blinking up at his building -- which, also, wasn't really a luxury building, not the way that Will might have expected. It was nice, yes, and this part of town wasn't exactly cheap to live in, but it lacked anything ostentatious. He started for the door, rubbing at his side, and paused to buzz someone. A friend on the third floor; he explained he forgot his key and they let him in with an exasperation that showed it wasn't the first time.



Hands tucked into the pockets of his grey slacks, Will followed, pale eyes sliding over the front of the building thoughtfully before they were buzzed inside.  He waited until they'd stepped into the elevator before tipping his head to look at Beau.  "Pack a bag, big enough to last a while.  It and you will be searched, so don't get any(more) dumb ideas."



He leaned back into the corner of the elevator and grimaced -- mostly at the movement, he barely even seemed to acknowledge Will. His head still spun, just a bit, though mostly he'd faded toward the tired that came in the wake of that level of drinking. He climbed out when the elevator stopped -- top floor -- and went to the corner apartment.

It was unlocked. He stepped in, but paused. "....wards'll probably kick your ass if you come in."



It made Will pause just outside, his head tipping as he glanced at the door frame, not that there'd be anything to see on this side.  "What are they meant to do?"



"Kick your ass." He said it frankly, leaning against the door frame. And then, after a breath, elaborated. "They start by switching your right and your left."



Since there was no sense in requesting they be altered or deactivated Will just leaned against the wall.  "Tricky.  Now go, be quick about."



He watched Will in a faintly amused way, and then went in deeper. He didn't bother closing the door; if Will wanted, he could look in and around, could take in Beau's place. Messy, but not a disaster, someone had probably cleaned it regularly once upon a time. It was comfortably and lushly decorated, and had a wraparound balcony in the corner. maybe it wasn't a luxury building, but it was a luxury apartment, for sure.



He gave the interior a mildly curious scan before just tipping his head against the wall and waiting, hands still in his pockets.  Silently keeping track of the time, or lost in thought.


Quick was a matter of perspective. For Beau, quick meant that it was going to take him more like half an hour, as opposed to all damned night. He packed a massive rolling suitcase and a backpack and as he came out through the door he was still looking back in, uncomfortably.



Will turned his head to look down at the suitcase as it was wheeled into the hall and he gave Beau a look before just shaking his head.  "You better be sure there's nothing in either of those you don't want found," he reminded him as he straightened up again.



He blinked back at Will, slowly, processing that. "You excited to look through my underwear?"



"No."  It was dry, and he took that to mean Beau had what he needed and started back towards the elevator.  And at this point it should be clear Will wasn't taking him to jail, but he still hadn't elaborated.



Beau didn't ask again -- maybe just because he didn't want to be shut down again. Instead he dragged everything after them, frowning a bit as they settled back into the elevator.



Will leaned back against the elevator wall with his arms folded, waiting patiently for the doors to open again before heading out.  He didn't offer to help carry anything, but he did walk around to the trunk to push it open for Beau.



Beau stood next to him staring down at his suitcase and then the trunk and then finally up at Will. "You know, you are a lot bigger than I am."


"Are you asking for help?"  He quirked a brow at him, expression hard to read.



He settled his hip against the door and stared up at Will, thinking it over. "Don't you want to prove you're better than me?"



"I don't really need to prove anything to you."  He said it patiently, with just the tiniest hint of amusement.



"And yet you constantly want to, don't you?" He'd sobered up, clearly, for better or worse. He shrugged the bag higher on his shoulder.



"Not really."  He leaned his hips against the side of the car, waiting.



Beau nudged the bag with his toe, like he was thinking about it. "I can't actually lift it."



Grey eyes lowered to the bag before rolling back up, brows arched.  Still waiting.



He drew in a breath and then blew out a gusty sort of sigh -- half-bowing toward Will and managing to make the whole thing into a bit of a farce. "Would you kindly put it in the trunk?"



"kinda sounded like you choked on that," he remarked as he hoisted the bag up easily to put it in the trunk.



"You want me to get on the ground and crawl around?" He was already moving to drop his backpack in the back seat, instead, and reclaim the passenger's side.



He just smiled as he closed the trunk and walked around to get into the driver's seat again, doing up his seat belt before pulling back out into the road.



Beau slumped down slowly and scratched at the tattoo around his wrist as he sagged against the door. And now he definitely wasn't about to ask where they were going.




They could ride in silence, then, or mostly.  Will flicked the radio on low after about five minutes.  They were headed towards a less congested part of the city.  Mostly houses, close together.



Beau sagged and relaxed slowly and, eventually, amazingly, fell asleep again. Even if there was stop and go, even if the music was playing.



About twenty minutes later they'd pull to a stop in the driveway of a bi-level house done in a navy grey hybrid with white trim. Well kept, but not overly large.  Will put the car in park and turned it off.  "Wake up."



Used his words, this time. It did wake Beau up, left him blinking and dazed, staring at the house in a puzzled sort of way.



Will waited long enough to make sure Beau had actually woken up, then he was getting out and walking around to the back to hoist the suitcase out of the trunk and set it on the driveway.


He climbed out slowly, fumbling briefly with the door before he got it. He was still frowning as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Where is this?"



"Think of it like a halfway house," he explained, finally, turning his keys in his hands while he waited.  "We can't take you to jail, this is the compromise."



He shuddered a bit at the idea, still leaning against the car and watching the place skeptically. "What does that mean?"



He started walking towards the front door.  "It means you need monitoring for a number of reasons, and that's not going to happen under your parent's noses."  They were equal parts coddling and utterly inept, all of it fueled by what Will considered to be extreme family narcissism.



Still, he lingered against the car, scraping at the tangled mess of his hair uncomfortably. "By whom?"



He paused on the porch to look back at him, key turning in the deadbolt.   "By me."  His chin tipped up just a touch.  "Unless you want me to take you back to your parents house."



He stood there for another moment, shifting in place -- thinking it over -- before he turned to grab his bag out of the back.



When Beau grabbed his bag Will pushed the door open to go inside.  There were wards here, too.  Meant to keep out intruders, to warn, to dampen magic.


Beau didn't react to them -- naturally, since magic didn't work on him, and apparently it even extended to this. He just followed, looking around uncomfortably. "This is your house."



He shot him a look like maybe he was wondering if Beau hadn’t quite woken up yet.  "Yes it is."  He shrugged off his suit jacket to drape it over the back of a stool, but didn't stop moving.  Instead he lead the way down a hall to a room that was very sparsely furnished, but there was a queen size bed, a dresser, a window, a few small knick knacks on a shelf, and a bookcase.




"You live here." It was narrowed, more thoughtful, following slowly in Will's wake.



He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning to face Beau, arms crossing loosely.  "Yes."



It made Beau smile, all at once, creeping across his face. "I see."



"See what?"  It was amused, almost indifferent.



18
Roleplaying / Check in [Beau x Will]
« on: January 05, 2020, 09:18:26 PM »
Beau should have treated this as a serious affair; he should have showed up early and well-dressed and serious-faced, should have filled out all the required paperwork in advance. He didn't. Maybe Eli had been lax, or maybe Eli had been just as frustrated by the attitude as Will would be, but Beau instead showed up almost twenty minutes later, in his pajamas, with his hair unwashed and a phone in hand.



Will made a show of checking the big watch on his wrist as Beau finally ambled into the station.  He'd been waiting, hadn't had much of a choice about it, and was rather obviously unhappy with not only the delay, but the sorry state of the younger man that he'd been assigned to keep tabs on.  "Oh, finally dragged your sorry ass out of bed, hmm?  So glad you could take the time out of your busy schedule to stop into your court mandated check-ins."  By the end of it the cheery sarcasm held an edge.



Beau had a way of speaking that was casually dismissive, like no one else mattered a lick. He employed it as he took his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. Even in the still-warm weather, he had on long sleeves, pulled around his hands. "What, did you have something better to do with your time?"



"More important than dealing with you?"  Sandy brows arched.  "Literally anything else on my roster today," he deadpanned, turning his attention down to his desk and the paper work on it.  Skimming the file that'd been passed into his care from Eli's.  "I'm sure I don't need to go over why you're here or what's going to happen, so why don't we just cut to the chase?"



Beau made a sound, scratching at his wrist through the shirt -- unintentional, surely, it broke some of the indifference of his attitude. "So I can go home? Sounds good."



"No."  Pale eyes flicked up to his hands, watching as he scratched through his shirt, and there was the smallest upward tick to his lips on one side.  "Pull your sleeves up and lay your arms on the desk, wrists up."



A moment's pause, assessing, chewing it over -- and then slowly he leaned forward, shoving up the sleeves of his shirt to put the tattoos on display. They were shockingly irritated, red around the edges as he spread his hands, an eyebrow raised at Will.



Will folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward, tapping the end of a pencil against the front of the file folder before he touched the tip to one of the overly irritated tattoos.  "Have you been trying to scratch these off?  I'm sorry to inform you, it doesn't work that way."



"I think I'm allergic." He said it blandly, neither a yes or no, and met Will's eyes easily. He looked perfectly comfortable, leaning in on the desk.



"How unfortunate for you," he countered dryly, putting the pencil down and leaning back so he could pull a small medallion from his desk drawer.




Beau stretched his hands out, head cocked as he considered the tattoos. To be fair to him, it didn't look like he'd tried to scratch them off; it did have that puffy allergy feel. Or infection, perhaps. "If my hands fall off, it's on you. You know how much my hands are worth?"



"Not much anymore," he answered easily, not skipping a beat, turning the medallion in gloved fingers before pressing it into Beau's palm.  Cool and benign, just another piece of worn metal.



His hand twitched around it reflexively, halfway closing, and his mouth followed suit, halfway to a humorless smile. "Still more than yours."



He made a soft humorous huff, drawing the medallion up off his hand by the silver chain.  "I wouldn't bet on that anymore."



Beau wiggles his fingers and the smile solidified, without humor or cheer. "I would. Until they fall off and y'all pay for them."



He tucked the medallion away again before pulling out an instrument that looked vaguely like a barcode scanner but sleeker, thinner.  "The entire point of those tattoos is to knock you down to magicless, and if you're getting around that somehow, we'll know, and fix it."



"If I were getting around it I'd look like a supermodel, not like Joaquim Phoenix." It was breezy, wiggling his fingers as he looked up at Will.



"Mmhmm."  He pressed a button on the scanner, gaze on the little read-out rather than looking at Beau.  After a moment he swept the business end of the thing over the tattoos.



"Not that Joaquim Phoenix is a bad look, mind." He said it chidingly, like that was Will's line and he'd just missed it.



He appeared to be ignoring him, at least mostly.  Brows arched, lips twisted up on one side like maybe he was thinking that over, or maybe he was just reading the scanner.



Beau's eyes lingered on his face, steady and narrow, and after a long moment he made a rude raspberry at Will.



His eyes flicked up in a flat look, the arch of his brows incredulous.  "Did Eli indulge you?"



By the time Will looked up, his expression was bland and cool again. "Most people indulge me."



It was the answer he'd been expecting.  Will clicked his tongue as he put the scanner away and then sat back in his chair, hands folded together on the desk.  "You won't find any influence here."



He shrugged just a tiny bit, with a cool smile on his face as he watched Will's face. "Sure, if you say so."


He was effectively ignoring the other man's smile, like it just didn't exist.  "Next time your required to check in you should try exercising being punctual.  Think of this like probation, and your continued remaining freedoms hinge on proving you're no longer a threat to anyone or anything."



"And what'll you do if I'm late?" He was still sprawled out on the desk, wrists up -- the position Will had put him in, but he made it look casual, easy.



Will glanced down at Beau's arms before looking back across the desk.  "Increase these check-ins to a bi-weekly basis, or weekly."  That would depend entirely on level of disregard shown.  "As a start."



Beau smiled at him again, an eyebrow raised -- it was easily mocking, his head cocked to the side. "Ah. Trying to manufacture reasons to see me more already?"



Hands folded on the desk again as he leveled a bored look at the younger man.  "Oh yes, the unkempt deadbeat aesthetic is my thing"  His gaze flicked up and down what he could see of Beau, lingering on the pajama bottoms and the unwashed hair, and his lip curled just a touch on one side.


"You're not alone in that." He said it very earnestly, even if his eyes had gone flat and unfriendly. "Don't need to be embarrassed."


He answered that with a very cool little smile.  "I don't think it's me that has anything to be embarrassed about."  Barbed and condescending



"Well don't worry about me, I've never been embarrassed a day in my life." He spread his fingers again, attention finally dropped to his wrists. Calculating. "You could at least shell out for some cream, though."



"Maybe you should start," he retorted blithely, drumming his fingertips along the top of the file.  "And I'm sure you've got the money to pick up a bit of soothing cream from the CVS down the street."


"Ah, but I don't know how the magic works, or what it is that's irritating me." He looked up at Will again, then, all at once. "Don't you have someone talented I could talk to?"


Well rolled his eyes, like he didn't quite believe there was an actual issue, and held his hand out across the desk, black glove pulled up tight.



"What, do you have hidden talents?" His eyes flicked down to the glove, then back up to Will's face. After a breath, he stretched his arm out.



He didn't answer, just looked back at him before curling his fingers around Beau's wrist to draw his hand closer to give the irritated tattoos a more thorough look.  Then he frowned, brows narrowing slightly as he looked up.  "Have you been trying to perform magic?"



He blinked at Will somewhat lazily -- his skin hot in Will's hands, angry and irritated. "The tattoos put a damper on that, I'd say."



"Keeps you from pulling it off, not from trying."  He rolled his eyes up to Beau's face, like he was already tired of the bullshitting.



There was a little breath of hesitation, the first real crack in his don't give a shit about anything facade, and when he answered it was bland. "Some habits are hard to break."



He'd get a thought so look back in response, and Will let his arm go.  "It's irritated because you keep trying to fight the magic in place.  Stop trying to skirt around your punishment and it'll stop being irritated."



He made a sound as he leaned back, stretching out his fingers and narrowing his eyes a bit. "Are you a smoker?"




Sandy brows rose, his head tipping slightly to one side.  "No."



"Never?" He rubbed a thumb up the heel of his hand, stretching out long fingers.



He exhaled heavily, not sure where this was headed and already bored by it.  "No."



"What a waste of a life." Beau let it go, just watching him across the desk, head cocked. "Are you satisfied I'm still shackled?"


The utter irony Will found in that statement brought a very unpleasant smile to his lips.  "Yes, you're free to go."  He turned to lift his jacket off the back of his chair, standing.  "And be here on time next month."



"Doubtful." He said it easily, comfortably, as he stood himself -- and stretched, slowly, the soft fabric of his shirt riding up as he did, the movement lazily (and probably unintentionally) flirtatious. "Unless you want to swing by my place."




He flicked a glance at him as he stretched before giving a very definitive, "Pass."  Sliding his arms into the Navy jacket to shrug it into place.



He made an amused noise in response, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down into place and shrugging at Will. "Your loss."



"I doubt it," he tossed back blithely, looking up again finally as he slid his fingers together to make sure the gloves stayed in place.



Beau just blew him a kiss in reply and left, off to whatever important tasks he'd been doing that made him late. Probably, sleeping.



Will didn't bother with a response other than to usher him out so he could close the door behind him.  He, unlike some, had actual work to do.




----


It was only a week and a half, though, before Will would be called in again -- probably wishing that Eli had held onto this particular job -- to run an interview on Beau. In the hospital.


He didn't hurry.  Instead he finished up a bit of paperwork at the station before heading down to the hospital, and even there he took a moment or two to chat up one of the pretty nurses before finally making his way down to Beau's room.  A single, of course.  His suit today was a pale, cool grey that made his eyes stand out, and the look on his face when he came to stand at the foot of the bed was just as chilly as a winter morning.  He tucked his jacket back as he rested his hands on his hips.  "This is a little bit sad even for you, don't you think?"



Private medicine was incredible, and here, his parents had been willing to shell out. Beau looked actively like shit now, yellow around the edges, his hair gone flat and limp around his face, his wrists thin and tender. He blinked up at Will in an uncomprehending way, like he didn't remember who he was for the moment.



He just waited, brows arched and lips drawn back in a tight, irritated line.



Maybe it clicked; some spark lit his eyes again, stole away the exhaustion. He tipped his head as he looked Will over, voice hoarse. "Sorry, can I help you?"



"Oh has no one bothered to let you know I was swinging by?"  It was impatient, unsympathetic.  "I'm here because you've violated your parole."  There was maybe a little something there, like to him it'd only been a matter of time before Beau Eastoft fucked up again.



"Ah, I remember you now." No, he'd definitely remembered Will before, but saying it made him roll his shoulders and relax a smidge, eyes closing. "Eli's still off?"



"Eli will no longer be handling your case," he answered easily, almost happily.



"Uh huh." He didn't sound convinced. But then, probably, his father could talk to someone and get it fixed -- if he was willing. If beau hadn't burned too many bridges. "And Jed? How's he doing?"



"Don't you worry about him."  His expression have nothing away.  "You've got enough to worry about on your own."



"What, are you going to put me in jail?" He didn't even open his eyes as he said it.



"Funny you should say that," he tossed back airily.



He held his wrists up, then, even as he yawned -- the IV dangling from one hand and his wrists still incredibly sore. "Take me away, then."


"What are you going to do when daddy decides you're not worth bailing out anymore?"  It was cold, definitely inappropriate, but he just didn't have the patience for it.



"Kill myself, obviously." He cracked an eye, then, and smiled at Will. But, actually, maybe it wasn't a joke. It was hard to tell.


"Fuckin' waste."  It wasn't the first thing that'd popped into his head, not even the second.  "So that what’ this is?"



"Just a mistake." He rolled a hand, vaguely, closing his eyes again -- and smoothed hair shakily off his forehead. "I guess they're serious about not mixing with alcohol."



It looked like maybe Will didn't believe him, but it might just have been the lingering contempt he held for the younger man.  "Where'd you get the pills?"



He rumbled just a little bit, hand sprawled across his face. "Bathroom cabinet."



"Are they yours?"  Tone implied he suspected he knew the answer.



Beau just snorted at that, dropping his arm again at last.



"I'll take that as a no."  He huffed and irritated sigh.  If it were up to him he'd have Beau tossed in lock up for a while.  Or a halfway house at the very least.



It probably would have been healthier for him, too, than the current address. He shrugged a tiny bit, wiggling his fingers again. "You could talk to the doctors about taking away my jello."



He had a thoughtful expression on his face before Beau's comment pulled his attention back to him.  "I'm upping your check-ins to once a week."



That got his attention at least, sharp, eyes open. Got under his skin, annoyed. "Really? Petty."



"We work with what we have," he answer easily, shoulders rolling in a shrug. "Besides, by the looks of your wrists you've been going all out trying to get those marks off, that's reason enough to insist you come in more frequently."



His eyes flicked down to them and then he shifted to put his hands under the blankets, huffing out a breath. "I haven't."



"Really?"  Amused disbelief.  "That red skin says otherwise.  Either your doing it, or you're getting someone to help you."



His fingers twitched, the start of an aborted gesture, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. "It's only been a few months. Like I said, habits are hard to break."



"So's that magic."  He nodded towards his hands, smiling benignly now.  "You get those off and I’ll be very impressed."



"Oh? What would I win." He smoothed his fingertips together.



"Another round under the needle and a trip to prison."  It was almost cheerful, almost a challenge.



"Tempting. Could they be on my face, this time?" He raised both eyebrows, slowly. "My father would love that."



"Face, hands, arms, legs," he waved a hand as he said it, the joke over.  "All over."



"All over?" He looked up at Will,tipping his hand palm up instead. "There are definitely career prospects in that."



He folded his arms loosely.  "I'm glad to see you're doing so well, that means you should have no reason to miss your next check in on Thursday.  I think that'll be the perfect time to go over the amendments to your parole agreement."



He puffed out a little breath, at that, mulling it over. "If I'm out."



"I'll talk to your doctor, see if there's reason why you shouldn't be, and make arrangements accordingly."  It sounded so helpful.



"You're sure you don't want to swing around mine?" He spoke slowly, a bit slyly. "I have proper food."



Will looked down at him, either actually considering it or just making a show of it before pulling a face, unimpressed.  "Thanks again, but pass."



He made a rude sound again, waving that off. "Might not get released back into my own care anyway. Because obviously the smarter solution is to release me into the house where it happened."



19
Profiles / Warrick Valentine
« on: November 30, 2019, 09:13:21 PM »
ESSENTIALS
{alt}

Name: Warrick James Valentine
Nickname: Val, Valerie
Apparent Age: 27
Occupation: Bartender, drug dealer, charm maker, talented magician.


APPEARANCE
FACECLAIM: Thomas Dekker
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 152lbs
Eye Color: Dark brown, usually coal lined.
Hair Color: Brown bordering on black.
Hair Style: Long and shaggy, but stylishly so, also always sporting a five o'clock shadow or trimmed facial hair.
Skin Color: Caucasian, not super pale, but not tan.  He has the phases of the moon across the back of his shoulders, and a white lotus on the inside of one wrist. 
Physique: Slim, might be considered androgynous if his shoulders were a touch less broad. On the pretty side of masculine.  Both nipples are pierced.


PERSONALITY
At first meet Val comes off as carefree and overly friendly, with a confidence that seems hard earned and built up.  Unshakable.  He's talkative and flamboyant, and flirts like he breaths, and given half a chance he will invade the fuck out of peoples personal spaces because touch is very important to him.


IMPRESSIONS
Hard to read, and not just in an ordinary way.  Not nearly as careless or oblivious as he seems.  He's always paying attention, always listening, even when it appears he's not. 

20
Roleplaying / Accidents Happen [Zeke]
« on: November 16, 2019, 09:16:13 PM »
[Wednesday, October __.  3:17pm]
Hey, I know you're not up yet, but I wasn't sure if I'd see you before tomorrow.  I'll be out of town until Sunday night, I got invited on a research dive to an old shipwreck off the coast in Florida. 

Feel free to stay at the apartment, you know where the key is.  Make yourself at home.  If I don't see you tomorrow, maybe I'll see you Sunday?  Dunno how much service I'll have on the boat, guess we'll see...

Talk to you later. 


[Thursday, October __.  7:49pm]
Just got on the boat.  I knew we'd be sleeping in close quarters, but I swear these costs are for grade schools.  Don't think I'm going to fit.  Oh well.  Still worth it.

Hopefully you're taking advantage of a big empty bed.  Hopefully your not out doing anything foolish.


[Saturday, October __.  5:50pm]
God damn, that was amazing!  I've been diving before, but this is the first time I've been to a reef this size, or legit shipwreck.  Apparently it was a trade ship out of the Amazon that got caught in a hurricane.  Real bummer for the people that went down with it, but it's teaming with sea life. 

We also found some old box with a few old coins, and this wicked looking amulet.  You can see it later.  Everyone else wanted the coins, their loss.  This things old as fuck.  Maybe your magician friend can take a look at it?

Anyway, dinner's almost done and I'm going to bed early, cause it's gonna be busy morning and a long drive home tomorrow.  I'll call when I get home if your not there. 



[Sunday, October __. 8:36pm]
911, what is your emergency?

There's a car on its side off the 95, northbound.  It looks like it rolled a few times.  There's a man in the driver's seat, he's not moving.

Can you see if he's still breathing?

I think he is...I can't really reach him, but it looks like his chest is moving. 
... there's a lot of blood, he needs help.

EMTs are on their way already.  Can you see where he's bleeding from?

His head and his left shoulder.  I can't see the injuries though.

That's okay.  The paramedics are five minutes out.  I'll stay on the line with you until they arrive.  Just let me know what's happening with him…



The water was warm, like bath water.  Stretching out on all sides into inky darkness, save for a pin prick of soft, wavering light from above.  Panic sent a rush of bubbles from his mouth, brought in a choking lungful of salt water, and he had to struggle against the urge to cough, to bring in even more water.  Instead he clenched his teeth and swam for the surface, but it was too damn far, he wasn't going to make it…

His body felt heavy, like something was trying to drag him under. Like the water itself was holding him back, pulling him deeper. 

He made one final, futile thrash, arm stretched up towards the fading light, before the last of the bubbles escaped and the tension drained from reaching fingers. 

He woke up gasping for air, sucking in great, desperate gulps to fill his lungs.  Sweat dotted his brow, soaking into the hospital gown and the sheets draped around him. He'd sat up, much too quickly, and motion jostled injuries he didn't even know he had, pulled his attention down to his hand taped to a board with an IV stuck into the back of it. The broken ribs forced him back down with a pained grunt and a lengthy hiss through clenched teeth.  Moving hurt.  Breathing hurt.

Everything fucking hurt. 

What the fuck had happened?

The last thing he remembered was eating breakfast with the rest of the dive crew…

Later he'd learn he'd flipped his car.  That he'd sustained a pretty serious concussion when his head hit the window on the door, breaking it.  Two broken ribs, 3 bruised, thirty six stitches between the gash on his head, the cut on his forehead, and the piece of glass that'd sliced through his shoulder.  They'd told him he was lucky.  That it was a wonder he hadn't gotten hurt worse than he had.  That he'd even survived. The Jeep was totaled.

They'd salvaged his phone—screen cracked through the center now, notifications filled with texts and missed calls—his bag, keys, and apparently the amulet he'd founding in the shipwreck.  He'd been wearing it on the drive home.

Three days in the hospital.  Half of that time spent unconscious, the rest spent making sure there wasn't any obvious brain damage.  The headache had been sharp and long lasting. He still had it when he'd been discharged.  The painkillers they were sending him home with helped.  Dulled it to almost ignorable, but dulled everything else along with it.  Made him feel worse than drunk.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to summon the Uber...

21
Roleplaying / Out of the frying pan, into the fire [Rabi/Tucker/Lukas]
« on: October 06, 2019, 11:58:40 AM »
He'd made it back to the hotel without incident, had used the pen between the empty parking lot and the lobby before going in.  Check in had been problem free, and he'd gotten to his room, showered, and crawled immediately into bed.

His alarm woke him in the morning, but since it wasn't safe for him to go to class he turned it off and got another couple of hours before getting up, grimacing at his clothes from the day before, and ignored them for now.

He'd call Rider first.  Worry about clean clothes after.  He dialed as he rubbed at the back of his neck, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thought over what he was going to say.  It was all still so incredibly foreign to him.

It rang, and rang, and eventually went through to a voicemail -- a voicemail which was not for someone named Rider. Instead it was for James, and breezily said that he was out of town at the moment, but to leave a message and he'd get back as soon as he could.

Tucker pulled the phone away from his ear to frown down at it, rereading the number, and then sighed and hung up.  That wasn’t going to work.  Rabi had told him not to mess with the fae, so that ruled out the next safest, and left...

He sighed as he thumbed in Lukas' number, stomach already twisting anxiously.

Three rings on this one before he answered -- distracted and a bit unfocused. "I don't know this number."

Well at least he answered.  "I got it from Beau."  His voice came up at the end, questioning.  "I've got a magician stalking me, and I heard you could help with protection."

"Beau." He made just a faint disgusted sound, but at least he paused to listen. "How much protection?"

He had to think about that, because he didn't want to leave anything out.  "Making my dorm safe, first and foremost, but if you could make it so I can move around campus and get to my classes again that'd be amazing."

He paused, then, calculating. When he answered, there was just a faint mocking edge to his voice. "Got a trust fund?"

He blinked, frowning.  "N..no.  Um.  I think I was getting help with paying, but I don't know the specifics..."

Again, he paused and chewed it over. "Anything worth trading? I can lock up the dorm, I'd say, but...mobile protection is nuts."

Dark brows creased.  "I don't think so, I don't really have anything..."  He had the pin, but that was definitely not leaving his possession unless it was going into Rabi's, and he had Beau's pen, but that wasn't his.

"You're screwed, then, I think. You want your place buttoned up anyway?" Someone said something in the background and he put his hand over the phone to answer, muttering.

The knot in his stomach tightened, and he bit back a small noise. "Y-yeah.  At least that much."

"Where are you?" He was so casual, coming back on the phone, like this was normal for him; no big deal.

"I'm at the Baymont hotel."  He ran his hand back through his hair and down to rub at the back of his neck.

"Eighty bucks to come out there and look; we can negotiate from there." He sounded absent about it. "Unless you've got something else to offer."

Eighty...  He could do eighty.  "I don't know, but that's fine.  It's not here I need buttoned up, though.  It's my dorm at the college."  He could maybe get a hold of Rabi before he met Lukas...

He huffed out a sound, amused and annoyed both. "The address there, then, and I can meet you."

Well shit, he was going to have to get dressed, call am Uber.  "Do you want me to text it to you?"

"I don't care what you do, kid, just get me the address and I'll meet you there." He paused again, with a hand over the receiver, assessing. "I can get out of here in about two hours."

He bit back an apology, mostly because he wasn't sure what he would have been apologizing for.  "Okay, I'll send it to you."  Two hours gave him enough time to get back, to get clean clothes, to call Rabi.

Rabi would answer a little breathlessly, when he did call -- in the middle of something, or distracted. "Emergency?"

Tucker was buttoning his pants but he paused.  "No, but I have to go back to campus to meet that Lukas guy at the dorms.  I couldn't get ahold of Rider, his voicemail said his name is James and he's out of town."  He said it was a sigh, zipping up and grabbing his shirt.

Rabi drew in a couple deep breaths. "You're meeting him now? When?"

"Not now, like two hours."  He swiped his hand through his hair, trying to tame it and failing.  "He's charging eighty just to meet me, and I have no idea what he wants to just block the dorm.  He kept asking about trading, but I don't have anything to trade."  He sounded stressed, but all things considered that was reasonable.

"You could always try sexual favors." The sound behind him settled as Rabi paused somewhere, assessing. "If he wants money, though, that's easy enough."

Tucker stiffened, quiet for a moment.  "I didn't think that was what...I mean I assumed he wanted like, artifacts or something."  Rabi might have been able to hear the flush.  "I don't know what he wants.  He said we'd negotiate when he gets there."

He actually laughed at Tucker -- the tension in his voice like a balm to Rabi, anyway. "If he opened with cash he'll take cash."

"Yeah, but how much?"  It was mostly rhetorical, because how would Rabi know that.

"A lot, I'm sure." He yawned into the phone, face turned away to smother the sound. "I can probably be there in two hours."

Tucker made a strained noise on his side and then sighed.  "Okay."

"Maybe don't go over until close to that time, though." He hesitated, thinking. "And use the pen."

It made him slow down, sink down on the edge of the bed.  The urgency leaking out of the moment, and his voice.  "Okay, but I want enough time to change.  These clothes are filthy."

"If you'd like. I might cut it a little close, though." He checked the time as he said it. "I'll try to beat you there."

Tucker glanced at the clock next to the bed, chewing on the inside of his cheek.  "I'll do my best, I've got to get an Uber, makes things tricky."  There was a pause, like Tucker expected that to be the end of the call, but he spoke up again.  "Rabi?  Can you bring my books with you?"

It got a huff of breath, annoyed. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

"Okay."  No argument, just acceptance.  "I'll see you there, then."

"Yes." He hung up, back to whatever had him running around a bit. But he'd show up at the dorm around ten minutes before the two hour deadline. Not that he looked like himself, in this moment; instead he took on a college student, in battered jeans and a beanie.

Tucker wasn't long behind, but he'd set the pen to look like the young woman, the most college appropriate, he thought.  He hurried up to the building looking a bit skittish, gaze scanning the parking lot for cars that looked suspicious, but he hadn't seen John's, so he didn't know...

Inside, up the stairs, he probably walked right by Rabi without looking at him.

He fell in a step or two behind Tucker, shifting a bag up on his shoulder. "Cutting it close yourself."

Tucker jumped, hitting the wall as he jerked away from the voice, and stared wide eyed at the other kid.  Recognition came a second or two after, and he made an impatient huff as he pulled his keys from his pocket to unlock the door.  "You told me to cut it close."  He should have just enough time to change, hopefully.

"I didn't think you would, though." He said it absently; he still sounded like Rabi. Mostly.

He shouldered the door open as he turned the key, leaving he door for Rabi to close behind him.  "...we hit traffic.  I thought I was going to be late."  Which explained why he looked so annoyed a moment later as he clicked the pen to drop the disguise.  He didn't waste time though, just jerked the dirty shirt up over his head to throw it in his hamper.

Rabi dropped the bag on the bed and stretched -- and he kept the cute-but-unimposing college student look on. Safer that way, maybe. "I have enough cash to cover it, probably."

Safer, but distracting.  Tucker paused long enough to actually look at him, brows drawn, before turning to shove his jeans off slender hips.  He scooped them up, pulled the pin free, and tossed the pants in the hamper as well.  "I have some cash in the desk drawer, if we need more, but not a lot."

"I've got about twelve grand." He said it absently, looking down toward the bag -- and then blinking back up at Tucker. "How much do you have?"

"Not twelve grand."  His shoulders rounded, thumbs hooked in the waist of his boxers, but he stopped there.  Opened his drawers instead to pull out a white tee shirt and a pair of soccer pants.  "Maybe two hundred.  It's supposed to be for emergencies."  This counted, he supposed.

"It's fine." He dropped onto the bed, stretching out his legs: head tipped back a little while he considered. "Twelve grand should be more than enough."

Just being in clean clothes helped, a lot.   His hair was still a bit of a fluffy mess but he seemed less frazzled on a whole as he moved to sit on whatever bit of the bed Rabi wasn't currently taking over.  "Yeah."

"Unless he changes his mind about cash." Rabi shrugged, watching him with his eyes narrowed. "I don't think I should be here, or at least not visible, when he arrives."

He blinked, head turning to look back at Rabi.  "Why?"  Rabi being there made things...easier.  Like at the bar.

"Because, anyone who figures me out will be...." He flexed his hand a little, uncomfortably. "They'll try to steal it."

Tuck frowned thoughtfully.  "Oh, right."  That would have been bad, especially if it was anyone with magic.  "Can you make yourself unseen?"  He gave Rabi a puzzled look, like he was wondering just how many other tricks the man had up his sleeve.

He made a small sound. "Not reliably. He might see."

He glanced around, lips twisted to one side before dipping his head towards the bathroom.  "If he can't see through walls you could hide in there.  Or the closet."  Pale eyes flicked back to Rabi again.  "Or there's a common room down the hall?"  They were mundane suggestions, but they'd get the older man out of sight.

"Uh huh, I can go to the common room; I wasn't going to go far, but I'm definitely not staying here." He cocked his head just a bit toward the money. "You want me to leave that, or take it?"

"Take it, just in case."  They -- well, mostly Tucker, he didn't know if Rabi knew Lukas -- didn't know if they could trust him.  He hoped so.  Lukas probably wouldn't have been recommended to him if he ripped everyone off, but...

He still felt twitchy, nervous.

"Uh huh. You can just call me if you need it." He shrugged, scooping up the bag and swinging it over his shoulder -- and then paused. "You said you've got two hundred, in case he asks for up front?"

Tuck nodded, folding his hands together and tucking them between his knees.  This seemed somehow worse than meeting Beau, but he wasn't sure why.

Rabi paused, then to count out another handful of twenties and peel them off to hand to Tucker. "That makes five. Just in case."

He blinked as he moved to take it, and opened the desk drawer to dig out the two hundred he had to add to it.  His bills were wrinkly, old, worn, stained.  "Thanks."  All of it was tucked into his pocket.

A contrast to the nice crisp bank-fresh bills Rabi had given him, all tidy twenties. He hummed, looking Tucker over, and then shrugged. "Don't offer him all of it up front. Haggle, at least a little."

"Okay."  Like he had any sort of experience in that.  He glanced at the clock as he sat down again, then back at Rabi.  "I don't know how punctual this guy is."  They'd already been cutting it close to begin with.

"Is that you trying to throw me out?" It made him smile suddenly, all teeth.

Dark brows dipped, then smoothed as he cracked a small smile.  "Sort of."  Not that he wanted him to go, but if he was planning on keeping a low profile, standing in the middle of his door when Lukas walked up wasn't going to make that easy.

Rabi made a low sound of amusement and then just stepped back and disappeared, with the cash tucked over his shoulder, unconcerned. It left Tucker alone with his thoughts.

As ever, his thoughts weren't exactly kind ones.  Mostly he tried not to think of all the ways he could screw this up.  He slouched back against the wall, waiting.

Lukas showed up almost twenty minutes late -- pausing at the door to look around a bit, obviously not quite sure where he was supposed to be but also not worried about it. He had a briefcase thrown over one shoulder, the sleeves of a dark blue shirt rolled up over his arms, black slacks. The effect was almost professional, except he wore it more like a costume than like he belonged in the nice clothing.

The man in the hall stood out in a way that caught Tucker's attention immediately.  He didn't fit here.  Not a college kid, not a student.  Pale eyes were a touch wide as he sat up straighter, and a hand came up automatically to try to smooth out his hair, to no effect.  "Lukas?"  Had to be him.

It caught his attention, made his head turn to look Tucker over -- and he smiled, an easy smile like a shark, both eyebrows raised. "Really?"

The rise of color into pale cheeks was instantaneous.  "Really what?"  Unsure of if he should be defensive of that one word question or not it just came out puzzled.

He hummed just a bit, stepping into the doorway, then, to look around the place. "You have a single, at least?"

22
Roleplaying / Divide and Conquer [Rabi x Tucker x John x Beau]
« on: October 05, 2019, 03:01:46 PM »
There was a number of conflicting and confusing emotions swirling around Tucker's head as he hurried away from Rabi's office and towards the entrance to the building.  There was a lot of guilt, a lot of sympathy, and a prevailing sense of unease.  Some things he'd gotten answers to, and some of those answers had just created bigger questions, and it was impossible to not be curious about all of it.  But there was another part that screamed that everything he'd been doing for the better part of the last three days had been nothing but a series of mistakes.

He should just give Rabi the pin.  The other man wanted it, it was probably his, and if he had it he could leave.  Escape.  But everytime he thought he'd made up his mind to do it he'd faltered, hesitated, talked himself out of it somehow.

It wasn't like him, and he didn't like it.

And none of it was doing anything for his anxiety.  Even now, as he passed through the front doors and dropped his skateboard on the sidewalk to kick off on it, his hands were shaking, eyes too wide.  And the conversation with Rabi earlier in the dorm had managed to drag up shit from the past that Tucker really didn't want to see dealing with again.  Painful things.

He probably wouldn't notice the car tailing him: not even as it drove slowly and carefully in his wake, as it fell back to avoid his gaze but turned when he turned. And when he finally made his way back to the dorm room, the car parked a couple blocks down from his door.

He'd have time to get in. To get settled. And then there'd be a knock.

He wasn't usually one for doubling down on the medication in one day, but he was seriously considering it as he tossed his keys on his desk and kicked his shoes off next to the door.  Hoody shrugged off and tossed on the bed with a deep sigh.  Then there was a knock, and Tucker actually groaned as he crossed the room to open the door.  "Why are you even knocking?"  Obviously he was expecting it to be Rabi.

It wasn't. Tall and attractive like a GQ model, John put a hand in the center of Tucker's chest to shove him back into the room, one step and then another, to close the door behind him. "Where is it?"

Pale eyes widened--he recognized the tall man in the hall, and there wasn't even time for Tuck to get a proper gasp out before a big hand in the middle of his chest was shoving him back into the room with a startled grunt.  He stumbled over his own feet, catching himself on the edge of the desk, and there was real fear on his face as he stared up at John.

Somehow he hadn't considered this as a consequence.  With the fire, the police, dealing with Rabi, he'd forgotten...  "I think John's going to be pretty upset with us, frankly."

"What are you talking about?"   He didn't know what to do.  Giving the pin back wasn't an option.

"Don't make yourself a liar." He looked around the place, quick, brusque, before he refocused on Tucker. "You have it on your person, I'm sure."

He swallowed, resisting the urge to reach for his pocket, and did his best to just stand his ground.  Even if the fear showed, his shoulders tense, posture closed off and defensive.  "How did you get in here?"

John reached out to catch the lapels of his shirt, to begin a brusque search -- and didn't bother answering the question.

The fear spiked, and Tucker just reacted, thoughtlessly, recklessly.  "Don't touch me!"  Hands grabbed for john's wrist to keep him from going through his pockets, and at the same time he lifted his leg to slam his heel as hard as he could into the top of John's foot.

He collided, hard enough to make John grunt, and stumble, to make him pause for just a moment. He glared up at Tucker, hopping back a couple of steps. "You're a thief."

Tuck backed up until his legs hit the bed and there was nowhere left to go.  "You're a bastard," he spat back, lip curling as he glared back at the bigger man.

"You're a child." He straightened slowly, scowling at Tuck. "Hand it over and I'll leave."

"Get out of my room."  He couldn't quite hide the tremor in his voice or in his hands, but he baby blues were narrowed, defiant.

"Or what." He tipped his chin up and adjusted his posture. But he was still favoring that one foot.

He didn't say anything, didn't know what to say to that.  Just glared at the taller man, hands balled at his sides.

He moved carefully, adjusting his posture, looking Tucker over -- searching for the sign of something out of place, where he might be holding the pin -- "You have nothing. If you want to fight, we can fight."

It wasn't a fight he was going to be able to win with brute force.  Tuck glanced past John towards the door, to the sides, looking for anything he could use to defend himself.  If he could get out of the room he could find somewhere to hide.

John was still just one more moment, assessing, and then he lunged. He was quick, and he was bigger than Tuck, but he also stumbled on his aching foot. If he was close, Tucker could duck by.

He want expecting the opening, but he was sure as fuck going to go for it.  As John started to stumble Tucker darted to the side and around, and then used his desk to push off of, driving his elbow into the big man's side to throw him further off balance.

He grabbed for his keys, didn't bother with his shoes, and rushed for the door.

John growled and turned to start after him -- off-balance from the blow, and also from getting his feet caught up in the chair. He started after Tucker in a rush, but he wasn't on the soccer team, wasn't running suicides on a regular basis. It wouldn't be that hard for Tucker to outstrip him down the hall.

He'd wrenched the door open and practically thrown himself into the hall.  A bounce off the wall, and he took off in the direction of the stairs, taking them two or three at a time.

John pounded down after him, but he also didn't know this campus. Not the way Tucker would. If he was smart, Tucker would head somewhere public, where he could disappear; by the time John got down the stairs, he'd have to struggle to spot him.

Through the common room at a sprint and past the lobby, Tuck cursed the lack of traction on his feet as he slipped on the linoleum and skidded to the mat in front of the double doors.

He didn't look back, he could hear John charging after him.  Pushing through the doors he jumped the side banister to land with a grunt on the grass to take off running again towards the stretch of shops, and hangouts.  Towards people.

John spotted him and started after him -- but not at such a breakneck run. Instead, this time, he took a moment to fold his hands together, speaking low under his breath. The words were impossible to hear, but when he raised his hand and pointed at Tucker, it was with a charge in the air.

That charge seemed to land on him, and all at once, Tucker's feet felt like lead, his movements slowed to a more sedate pace.

He didn't make it to the sidewalk.  Stumbling instead, his hands thrown out to catch himself in the grass, and he pushed back up to keep going.  Tried to.  Could barely lift his feet and stumbled again.  "Fuck!"  A glance over his shoulder showed John moving towards him, tall and menacing.

At least they were in public, now: John could hardly beat the shit out of him here. Couldn't raise a hand, even; someone would certainly see. So he took his time, straightening his jacket as he approached Tucker. "Now now."

Tucker bristled like a cornered animal as John closed in on him, flipping so he was sitting in the grass instead of kneeling.  He wanted his feet free, if whatever the fuck was weighing them down lifted.  "Get the fuck away from me."

It didn't lift. It lightened, slightly, so that when John settled next to him to put a hand under Tucker's elbow to help him up. "I don't think so."

His arm jerked as John tucked a hand around it to pull him back to his feet, struggling to break free.  And again, he'd just act, automatic and thoughtles--and horribly stupid.  Spitting at the tall man's face.

It got a flash of fury, instead, and John had to visibly fight back the urge to smack him for it. Instead he swiped at his face, fingers tensing around the arm to drag Tucker after him. "Don't do that again."

He'd expected John to hit him, braced for it.  Instead he jerked on his arm again as John started dragging him back towards the dorms.  "Or what?"  Purposefully challenging, trying to egg him on now, maybe.  Mind working furiously to come up with some way to get out of this mess.

Not the dorms: toward the parking lot, slow and steady, chin tipping up. He kept his voice low and focused, even. "You're somewhat hysterical. I think you need to have a seat."

He tried to dig in his heels and that only made him stumble, the only thing keeping him upright the too-tight grip on his arm.  "I don't fucking think so."

If Rabi was there he could toast him, distract him, do something.  Of course he wasn’t there, he was at the office. 

Office.

Eyes going a little wide, Tucker thrust his hand into his pocket to curl his fingers around the pin, thumb pressed against the sharpened point.  Let it work again.  He pushed harder, felt it break the skin.

23
Profiles / SWBP: William Shepard
« on: September 30, 2019, 01:10:25 PM »
{alt}




ESSENTIALS
Name: William Roger Shepard Jr.
Nickname: Will or Shep.  Billy, when Beau's pissed at him.
Apparent Age: 33
Occupation: SWBP


APPEARANCE
FACECLAIM: Chris Hemsworth
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 220lbs
Eye Color: Grey
Hair Color: Sandy brown
Hair Style: Buzzed short and neat on the sides, left a little longer on top and styled carelessly.
Skin Color: Vaguely tan, but it's hard to tell if he just gets a lot of sun, or if it's natural.
Physique: Broad shouldered, slim waist, and very athletic.  He watches what he eats and hits the gym often.


PERSONALITY


IMPRESSIONS
Always wearing gloves, usually a thin, soft material that fits snugly.  He's got a pretty obvious disdain for the entitled upper class and doesn't really bother to hide it.  Also seems to know things he shouldn't.

24
Roleplaying / Pieces in places [Rabi x Tucker]
« on: September 21, 2019, 08:25:49 PM »
Rabi hadn't shown up at the end of the day on Sunday, and Tuck hadn't seen him the morning after.  Which honestly should have come as at least a little bit of a relief, but somehow it didn't.  Somehow not knowing where the man was or what he was doing left Tucker feeling distracted and twitchy as he made it through all of his classes.  He'd half expected Rabi to show up on the way back to his dorm, but that didn't  happen either.

So by the time he did get back he was anxious and cranky, and had every intention of seeking out the little baggie of weed he had rolled up in his sock drawer before trying to attempt any of his homework.


He'd be a hit or two into it before Rabi finally did show up -- not there and then there, sprawling out on his bed, legs stretched, the black eye and split lip still in place. But not the concerned expression, or the nervous looking away. He watched Tucker frankly.

"I hope you really do have a medical card for that."


Slouched at his desk, head back and eyes closed, he didn't notice when Rabi appeared, not until he spoke.  It startled him, badly enough he damn near fell out of his chair, choking on smoke.  It took a solid minute of coughing, wheezing, to draw an adequate breath, eyes watering and face red.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"  It was hoarse and raspy, followed by more coughing.


"Pass it, would you?" He waved a hand vaguely, extended in search of a hit himself. "It's been a rough few hours."


He lifted his hand, joint held between his fingers, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Rabi's face.  "Shit, what happened?"  There was woefully little information Tucker had to work with, but what he did have, the direction that pointed him in, made his anxiety spike back.  "Did John do that?"


A beat, a blink -- and then he looked amused, reaching out to steal the joint for a hit. "If the police come around here, you should for sure tell them that John did it."


It was just getting worse.  "Why would the police come here?  You said they wouldn't be able to connect anything back to me."  To be fair he hadn't completely believed that, but this was the first time Rabi had suggested it was a possibility.


"You called me an Uber." He shrugged at Tucker, casual, as if it hardly mattered. "After my asshole boyfriend knocked me around. Not that I'll admit to it. But there's a ride on a phone that matches up with it, that took me to my office, and security footage that shows I was there, a couple hours before the fire went up."


He had called for an Uber, but that's where the truth ended, and Tucker's brows creased deeper and deeper as Rabi laid out the story.  "But none of that..."  He stopped, a hand coming up to comb his finger's through his hair to push it back from his face.  "I called the Uber after the fire started, we didn't go to your office."  He reached for the joint, hands shaking slightly.


"I never said it was a ride on your phone." He stretched out, taking another pull before he passed the joint over to Tucker. "Hopefully they won't come here. You're not very good at this."


He took a deep pull from the thing as he got it back, sinking back into the chair.  "Uber probably keeps records, they're going to see a car showed up there after, and I very much doubt anyone called for one earlier that just happened to go to..."  Except someone had, him.  "Okay, they'll have the car getting there before, but not leaving."  His eyes flicked around the room, like he was trying to work it all out.  "And you weren't at your office Saturday afternoon."  Who knows where he disappeared to in the evening, but that wasn't here nor there.


"There's video footage that shows I was." He blinked at Tucker, eyebrows raised.


He opened his mouth to ask how, then seemed to think better of it and shook his head instead.  A sound caught in his throat, something overwhelmed, or resigned, or both, and the hand not holding the joint had fallen over his face to rub at his eyes.  "So John beat the shit out of you, somehow I found out and summoned an Uber to pick you up and take you to your office."


"Yep. He was a controlling fuck, he wouldn't let me have my own cell phone." That much, maybe, was true. He stole the joint back.


There was just the tiniest resistance before he let the joint go. 'How am I supposed to have known?  Was I there to see it?"


Rabi shrugged a little bit, waving the joint in the air. "Alternately, you could get that hair pin off your hands and I could leave. Then you can just tell the police I'm a liar and I set the fire. Tell them the truth, no harm no foul."


It would have been the tiddiest solution.  He should have just handed it over, but he didn't.  Instead he took the joint back.


"In which case, I'd say probably you witnessed a fight in my office, and then I admitted to you that things were rough at home in a moment of weakness." He sprawled back onto the bed, slowly, closing his eyes. "Unwillingly."


"Right," he agreed around the end of the joint, pausing to take another drag.  Continuing after he exhaled again.  "That works, but what prompted me to send an Uber on that day, at that time?  Cause it just being a crazy coincidence that I just happened to send one, and you just happened to not only notice it sitting outside, but realize what it was there for and hop in.  That's all really fucking reaching."


"I called you, obviously, as one of the only people who knew what was going on. From the house line." He shook his head just a tiny bit, brushing a hand up the side of his face.


Tucker just shot him a look, brows drawn down and pale features sliding back into the same on-edge crankiness he'd been all afternoon.  After a moment he huffed out a sigh, the hand with the joint waving.  "Fine, that works."


"Hopefully they won't talk to you directly anyway. I hardly gave them your telephone number." He shook his head a bit, tipping his head back. "You're too much of a disaster."


He looked like he was considering asking whose number Rabi had given but stopped himself from it.  He really didn't want to know, and it was probably better that he didn't.  To the disaster comment he'd merely offer a derisive snort as he folded his arms on his desk and dropped his chin down on top of them, watching the smoke swirl up from what was left of the joint.  "You killed my buzz."  More tense now than before he'd started smoking.


"Again, it wouldn't take much for you to be rid of me entirely." He said it smoothly, without sitting up. "You could tell them it was all me."


Tuck didn't bother to look back at him, just stared unhappily forward.  "You ready to tell me what's going on yet?"  It was so easy to tell himself that was why he was holding onto it.


He thought that over, then tipped his head just a little to watch Tucker through slitted eyes. "Magic, obviously."


"No shit it's magic, people don't just pop in and out of places.  They can't make themselves or other people look different."  And they can't just start fires like that...but he hadn't seen, being steered towards the door.  "Why? Why did you want me to take it, and what is it?  Why burn the house down in the first place?"


Another long pause, and then he sat up, leaning forward on his knees. "Because he did beat the shit out of me. And starved me. And locked me in. So fuck him; he deserved it."


Tuck lifted his head at the tone, then stiffened, eyes going wide and features shutting down.  His fingers twisted into his own sleeves, throat moving as he swallowed, and finally he'd jerk his gaze away, breathing just a little too hard now.  When he spoke it was hollow, almost deadpan.  "He did."


"You going to do the same thing?" It came with a lift of his chin, a mocking lilt sliding into his voice.


He shook his head, too fast, murmuring an almost breathy, "no."


"Uh huh." He sat back as he said it, completely disbelieving, falling back into Tucker's bed.


He shifted, sitting up a little, but only to unfold his arms so he could rest his head against his shaking fingers.  "You should have waited until he was in the house..."


"Probably." He said it idly, staring up at the ceiling. "But this way I can make it look like he did it."


There was no response to that, just the deeper inhale that came from taking in another deep pull, and the pause as he held it in.  It was all just a little too familiar.


"Does that help any?" He wiggled his fingers, vaguely, in Tucker's direction. "Can I go yet?"


He didn't seem to notice at first, but he'd hand the joint over as he slid the chair up and stood.  "I'm going to get something to eat."  He seemed very distracted.  "Do you want to come?"


"I probably shouldn't. I'm supposedly still in my office." He turned the joint over in his hand, debating. "If you wanted to bring me a sandwich, though, you could."


He was slipping back into his shoes, hadn't looked back.  "Sure.  What's your favorite?"


He shrugged briefly, dismissively, finishing off the joint and snubbing it out casually with his fingers. "I don't care."


"Okay."  He said it as he stepped through the door and let it close softly behind him.


Rabi didn't follow him; didn't bother or didn't care. Instead he just went back to his office, with the door still closed and locked, so no one would know he wasn't there.


Tucker didn't come back for a couple of hours, but the take out container he set on his desk was still hot.  A French dip and fries, au jus in a little plastic dish.  He didn't see Rabi, again, and just went straight to the bathroom to take a shower.


He didn't show up in the room: had more sense than that, right now, and other things he had to handle. The police would find two of Rabi's paintings in John's office, one slashed with a knife, which should help his case. And Rabi still, theoretically, in his office.


Tuck would show up at the office maybe an hour after he'd gotten back to his own dorm.  Long enough to realize Rabi wasn't coming back and to recall what the other man had been saying before Tuck had pretty much ran for it.  He had his skateboard in one hand, the take out in the other, but it'd cooled significantly at this point.  He used the toe of his shoe to knock.


The first knock wouldn't get a response, but a second one would; a sudden shifting, a rustling and a low grumble, and he'd answer the door. Maybe the bruise around his eye looked a bit nastier, now, blooming. His hair stuck up wildly like he'd been asleep. And he had a harried, worried expression on his face until he saw Tucker and let it relax. "Aha."


"That's really disconcerting," he'd deadpan back, frowning up at the bruise around Rabi's eye.


Rabi raised an eyebrow and stepped back to let him in, smoothing his hair down easily. "I'm brown, and I'm attractive; everyone would suspect me, otherwise."


"Still."  He walked past him into the office and set the food on the desk before flopping down into one of the chairs.


"I can take it off, if you'd rather, but..." He shrugged, looking down at the food -- and then grabbed it to sit behind his desk, legs sprawled out, and crack it open. He dug in unhesitatingly, speaking around the food. "I might forget to put it back."


"Not the bruise, the," he paused brows dipped as he thought about how to explain it.  "That instant, seamless fade from trauma to fine."


Rabi chewed at the mouthful of sandwich, his head tipped while he considered that. "...you're young."


"It's still creepy."  He'd shoved his hands in his pockets, attention turned to one of the paintings but it didn't seem like he was really looking at it.  Still distracted.


"Why?" He was working through the sandwich like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Or, at least, like he hadn't eaten since the last time Tucker fed him.


"Because it's like you're wearing a mask, but I can't tell what's real and what's fake."  There was something to it, a note of experience, like maybe he wasn't just talking about Rabi.


"Well, none of it's real." He flicked that away, briefly, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. "Everything is a facade, no? It's a mask."


"So you were always just pretending to be a dick?"  There was a bite to it, but then tucker seemed to realize what he'd said and the tension riding in his shoulders loosened with a sigh.  "Sorry."


Rabi laughed at him, licking the juice from his fingers as he leaned back in the chair. "This isn't even my face, really, so."


That was strange enough to finally pull Tucker's attention back to the man behind the desk.  "What do you really look like?"


"Not like this." It was easy, and dismissive, shoulders hiked up in a shrug. "But life's easier in a human shape."


Tucker frowned thoughtfully.  "Why that face, then?  If you can be anyone, like anyway you wanted, why did you pick this?"


"It was a while ago. And a different place." It made his casual smile fade away, the flash of amusement on his face.


He nodded, like maybe that made sense, before his head tilted.  "Human shape... Does that mean what you really look like isn't...human?"  Brows creased.  "What are you?"


"I don't want to go there." He rolled his shoulders, reaching out to poke through the takeout box for any more crumbs.


It looked like maybe Tucker wanted to push it, but after a handful of seconds his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked back towards the painting he'd been staring at earlier.  "Fine."  He'd actually gotten a few answers the time around, it was a lot more than he'd been expecting.


"Is that enough, yet?" He rolled a hand, casually, in Tucker's direction. "Or is it making you hold on harder."


Baby blues flicked back, looking at Rabi, at his hand.  He did reach into the pocket of his hoody, but what he pulled out was a Hershey bar.  He tossed it on Rabi's desk as he reached for his skateboard and stood up.  "I don't know."


"Yeah, that sounds familiar." He said it slow, dry, mocking but -- with real heat behind his eyes, when he did. "Every fucking time."


It made him flinch, his hand falling away from the handle on the door.  "Why don't you want to tell me what it is?"


"Because I'm pretty sure that once I do you'll change your mind and just hold onto it until the day you die. Or someone steals it from you." It came out low, slow, his head tipping back into the chair.


"Has not telling someone ever kept that from happening?"  Dark brows arched earnestly.


"People always find out eventually." It was said a little bit bleakly.


He swallowed, something conflicted flickering through baby blues as his hand started retreating to his pocket.  When he realized what he was doing he stopped himself, a small sound catching in his throat.  Instead he reached for the handle again, opening the door finally.  "I have to get back.  I have..."  He backed through, lingering for a moment, and then let it close.


Rabi waved, as he went -- just one hand raised, but somehow it was sarcastic.

25
Roleplaying / In hot water [Rabi and the Cops]
« on: September 21, 2019, 12:58:28 PM »
Rabi never came back to Tucker's rooms: instead he finally gave up and went back to his offices, to set things in order, to figure out what to do with himself while his life was on hold. And to take some time in front of a mirror, to adjust his appearance. It meant that when anyone showed up to question him, he'd have a really nasty black eye and a swollen lip, like he'd been knocked around a bit.


It wouldn't take too long for a pair of someone's to come knocking.  Tipped off that Rabi had been seen on campus again, or possibly already been there themselves.

Wertz was tall with short brown hair and  thinner physique.  He had a bit of stubble around his jaw and, though he looked young, had a thoroughly unimpressed expression on his long face.  Jaded, even.


Mid-thirties and fair-haired, Smith was baby faced and sweet-eyed; a little bit heavy through the middle. He followed in Wertz's wake, knocking at the door, and Rabi limped over -- not too exaggerated -- to let them in.


Wertz gave a very polite, but not very warm smile as the door opened.  "Good afternoon Mr. Mahar.  I'm officer Wertz, this my partner Smith, and we were wondering if you might have time to answer a few questions concerning a fire."  And he gave the address, dark eyes flicking over the bruises, the busted lip.


He looked Wertz over, expression going guarded and tight -- and then looked to Smith, who seemed more inclined to just study the pictures on Rabi's wall. "A fire?"


He nodded.  "That's right.  Saturday afternoon."  A look was cast around the office, then back down to Rabi.  "Could we come in and talk?"


He licked his lower lip slowly, which drew perfect focus to the split down one side, his eyes skitting from Smith back to Wertz. "In here?"


"It would be more private," he pointed out reasonably, and as cold as his expression could be, he at least sounded polite and sincere.  "But we can talk here if you're more comfortable with that."


"It's just..." He licked his lip again, tenderly, looking past him toward the door. "Well, I guess we can close the door? I'm supposed to have office hours..."


Wertz smiled a little brighter and it managed to thaw him out a bit.  "We'll try to make it quick."  At the moment Rabi was only a person of interest.  In need of questioning, but not yet a suspect.  There was no reason to be anything but patient and understanding.


He brushed at his jaw but nodded, taking a step back to let them in -- pointing to the chair and then hesitating a little. "There's only one."


"We appreciate you taking time out of your work day to speak with us."  He'd glance at Smith before sitting down.  Of the two of them, Wertz was the more intimidating on his feet.


 Smith wasn't intimidating in any way at all. He didn't smile, but he blinked at Rabi a couple times, and then set to circling the room. As much as he could. Looking things over.


Hands folded in his lap, Wertz sat in the chair leaning just slightly forward.  "We're trying to put together a timeline for Saturday, so to start, could you tell us if you were there that morning?"


He made a sound, faint -- the start of some comment, aborted, swallowed. As he sank down to sit, he looked a little queasy. And it was a bit over the top, like he was woozy and out of sorts. Dramatic. "Well. Yes. For a while."


Dark eyes sharpened, just a bit, but he maintained that polite smile.  "Could you walk us through your day?"


"I don't really..." He faltered, again, somewhat carefully, with fingers at the split lip. His eyes flicked away and then back, somewhat uncertainly. "I don't want to...bring trouble, or anything like that."


Wertz glanced up at Smith before smiling gently back at Rabi.  "There's a suspicion of arson and possible foul play regarding the fire at the house, and in order to rule you out as a possible suspect we really need to you walk us through your day with as much detail as possible."


"We had a little...argument, Saturday morning." John probably hadn't said anything about this. In fact, he'd probably blamed Rabi roughly, sharply, and certainly, when they interviewed him. But John also hadn't looked like someone beat the shit out of him. Rabi cleared his throat and dropped his eyes. "I thought it'd be smart to sleep in my office for a bit."


A little notebook appeared, Wertz's hand poised over a page with a pen.  "Can you tell us the nature of the argument?"  Still polite, but down to business now.


He licked his lip again, started to answer -- and then stopped. He looked just a little bit overwhelmed. "Well. I'm not exactly...I don't always really understand....what he's angry about."


Wertz nodded like he understood, but he'd still persist.  "Anything you remember about it would be great.  If something specific seemed to trigger it, what happened during."  He glanced up at Rabi again, focused on the injuries.


He dropped his eyes like he was embarrassed, but he was too dark to flush, to show much more than that. He shrugged just a little tiny bit. "It blends together. Dinner, I think? It started with dinner, and what we were going to eat?"


"Saturday morning?"  He'd made a little note, but he looked up again.


"The conversation was. But it was dinner plans." he fidgeted a little bit, shifting in the chair. "How bad was the fire?"


Another notation, Wertz nodding.  "Bad, it destroyed most of the house."  There was a bit of compassion behind that, a little sympathy.  Impossible to tell of it was feigned or genuine.

He nodded towards Rabi.  "Did that happen during this argument?"


He started to reach up toward his eye, then stopped himself -- and Smith watched the motion through narrowed eyes, frowniing just faintly. Maybe it was a bit dramatic. Of course, Rabi was a bit dramatic. Maybe it was in character. "Oh. Ah. Yes. I fell."


Wertz's expression hardened, a little of the warm draining from dark eyes.  "You fell?"  It didn't sound like he believed it.  "I would like to remind you that we're trying to put together an accurate time line to determine the events leading up to fire."


He looked down, rubbing his hands together -- and then sliding palms up his arms. He started to answer, and then bit down on the words, like he was restraining himself. Struggling with it. "Well. Yes."


More doubt.  "So what happened after 'you fell?'"  He was writing again, and even glanced up at his partner.


Smith looked back at him, an eyebrow raised, somewhat skeptically. But then, he was looking at some of Rabi's art, which was a bit out of control. Messy. Rabi flicked him a look too, picking around the edges of his fingernails. "I left. A friend called me an Uber."


"And what time was that?"  The pen paused, eyes on Rabi again.  "And what's the name of this friend?"


"I don't know what time it was, and it was one of my students." He blinked at Smith, seriously. "Is John alright?"


Wertz would let Smith handle that question.  "I need the name of the student, and a phone number if you have one.  Were you with this student for the rest of the day?"


He shook his head a little bit, looking around the office -- and then back to Wertz. Carefully, he set to pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. He gave Tucker's name and a number. "I came here."


Brows arched.  "Can anyone confirm that?"


"I don't..." He blinked up at Wertz, then, all surprise, and discomfort. "I don't know. Why?"


"Because we know approximately when the fire started, and unless you can provide a reliable alibi we can't rule you out of the suspect pool."  He looked up then to give Rabi solid eye contact.


Rabi just gave him wide eyes like he couldn't imagine why -- and, really, the bruising around his eye looked very dark in this moment, very intense. Maybe it even looked, a little bit, like he'd tried to makeup over it. "Me?"


Wertz nodded, brows arched.  "You, John, anyone else that might have been at the house that day, or who might have had a problem with you or John."


"Well." He hesitated over his answer, staring at Wertz like he was trying to figure out where to start. But, at least, it didn't seem like he was backtracking. "Well, John was a bit...he was a bit worked up. That's why I came here. There might be security footage..."


"We'll get back with him about security footage, but until then, if there was anyone you happened to talk to when you got here.  Any cameras you might have passed, anyone you might have called from your office that would have a phone log available."  He'd lowered the notepad to his lap, pen tucked between his fingers.


He shrugged just a little bit, slowly, helplessly. "I was a mess, I didn't want anyone to see... but there's definitely a camera in the back parking lot."


"That's good, we'll contact the security office after we leave here."  The notebook was tucked away again along with the pen, and Wertz pulled out a card to offer it across the desk to Rabi.  "If you happen to remember anything else, please call.  Also, please stick around the city for now, until we have a chance to clear you."


"Where else would I go?" But he paused after he took the card, a but dramatic. "Where am I going to stay? Where's John?"


The officer had gotten to his feet, but he paused before turning to the door.  "At a hotel, I think."  But he was frowning.


"You said... what about my studio?" He looked a bit stricken. "My work?"


"I can't speak to what parts of the house were hit the worst, but you can contact the fire department.  If they don't know for sure they'll at least be able to tell you if it's safe to go in to try to salvage anything."  He pulled the notepad out again and flipped it to the back so he could write down a name and a number, then tore it out to hand it over.  "Ask for Andrews."


"And John?" He put a dose of panic in his voice this time, reaching for the sheet. But maybe jt was too little too late. "Please let me know where he ended up."


For a moment it looked like he might not give him the name of the hotel.  Like it was a bad idea.  "The Westen over on Summerset."


"And he's okay?" Rabi shook his head, still looking up at Wertz.


"Some burns, but nothing serious."  He was watching Rabi's face, trying to read his reactions as they flowed across tan features.


He breathed out as he sat back, like relief. Picture perfect relief. It was too perfect, maybe. "I'll call him."


Wertz nodded, glancing at Smith before offering Rabi his hand and a smile.  "I think that's all we need from you right now, thank you for your time, and our condolences on the loss of your home and personal effects.  Again, if there's anything you think of that we might need to know, big or small, please call the number I gave you."


Smith was studying a painting in yellows and oranges, but he looked up and nodded at Wertz, then at Rabi, who was nodding slowly.


With a nod Wertz went for the officer door, holding it open for his partner.  When it had closed behind them and they'd gotten a little bit aways from it, Wertz glanced at Smith.  "What do you think?"


"Weird guy." Smith was brief, succinct, shrugging at Wertz. "Lies in there. Not sure what he was lying about, though."


Wertz gave an agreeable hum.  "You think the boy friend roughed him up?"


"The boyfriend definitely roughed him up, did you see the shiner?" He shook his head, starting back for the car.


"And the lip."   Wertz frowned thoughtfully.  "But he lied about it.  Could have been afraid, but," he shrugged.  "Something seems off."


Smith shrugged, brief. "Security footage'll show."


"Right.  I want to call the kid that supposedly called for the Uber, too."  As they hit the door he held it for Smith.

26
Roleplaying / Breakfast business [Rabi x Tucker]
« on: September 21, 2019, 12:03:04 PM »
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It wasn't an answer but it did mean he got a little quiet and time to himself to actually process what had happened.  He ended up staying away from the dorms for a couple of hours.  It was close to four by the time he let himself back into his room, a half empty to-go cup in his hand from the Sonic located a few blocks away.

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Rabi was sprawled out on his bed, legs stretched out, and his expression lit up at the sight of the food. Partly it was because he was so skinny; he probably needed food. But partly it had to be due to the smell that clung to the room: slightly sweet, but mostly marijuana.

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He wasn't surprised to see Mahar there, but he did pause just inside the door, brows creased as he sniffed the air.  Familiar but not, marijuana mixed with something else.  He glanced back towards the other man's hands as he closed the door behind him and set the take out bag and cup on an empty spot on the desk.

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He had a red solo cup in hand, with the expertly rolled joint perched over it. And Rabi looked relaxed: moreso than Tucker'd ever seen him before. "Are you sharing?"

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His lips twitched as he thought about it before he finally nodded to the joint in his hand.  "I will if you will."

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There wad a pause; Rabi tool one more long pull, blowing it out in a few perfect rings, before he offered the joint to Tucker.

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It hadn't come from Tucker's own stash, he didn't think.  Seemed higher quality, more potent, probably a lot more expensive than anything Tucker could afford.  He eyed the joint, plucking up the food and his drink again to head over to the bed so he could toss the bag on his teacher's stomach and reach for the offered joint, tucking it between his lips like it wasn't the first time he'd done it as he took a seat on the end of the bed.

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Rabi watched him out of the corner of one eye as he dug into the food - apparently neither picky nor shy. "Surprising."

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He took a long drag, holding it in as he leaned back against the wall.  Smoke trickled from his nose before he exhaled completely.  It seemed to help, at least the tension had left his features.  Or maybe that had more to do with the couple of hours to himself.  "What's surprising?"

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"They don't drug test athletes?" if there were fries, he started there: slouching, legs stretched out and eyes half closed as he worked through them.

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Tuck gave a non-committal sort of shrug, eyes on the joint.  "I have a medical card."

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"Uh huh." Rabi'd already worked a good way through the joint; maybe that was why he didn't demand it back. "Who doesn't."

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Another drag, and Tucker sighed as he released it, his head tipping back against the wall.  "What else is in this?"

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"Flavored hashish." He spoke around a good mouthful of fries, already reaching for more. Not like a hungry man; like a starving man, maybe.

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"Ah.  It's smooth."  He tipped his head, eyes opening so he could look across the space of the bed to where Mahar was lounging.  "Better not be getting crumbs in my bed."  There was a beat, head features pinching just slightly.  "Looks like  I should have ordered more, shit."

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"I can go get more, probably." He shook his head a little bit, chewing and swallowing -- and made no move to get up and do it.

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Tucker had snacks squirreled away, some cup-soup and other easy to make meals.   The usual diet of college students with limited funds.  "There's some protein bars over in my gym bag."

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He thought about that, head tipped to the side -- and then opted to finish off Tucker's Sonic take-out, instead. Tucker could eat the protein bar. "How'd your walk go."

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The take out had started with 2 double cheeseburgers and fries.  He'd thankfully already eaten one, or there would have been a bigger protest as Mahar mad the second disappear in record time.  Like he hadn't eaten in days.

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To that question he shrugged, lip curling up on one side before he brought the joint up again.  The smoke escaped as he spoke.  "Fine, I guess."

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He licked ketchup from the inside of his thumb as he leaned back, idly poking through the bag for leftover fries. "Helpful?"

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"Yeah a bit, but I don't imagine it'll last."  Not if Mahar insisted on sticking around and being a cryptic son-of-a-bitch.  He frowned down at the joint and gestured for the solo cup, not wanting the growing ash drop on his bed.

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Rabi stared at him blankly for a moment, eating the last fry -- and then understood, offering him the cup. And stealing the joint back in the process. "You could have it over and done with right now, you know."

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Well he didn't need the cup if the joint was gone as well, so he set it on the bed propped up against his thigh.  "But I wouldn't have any answers, and the questions would always be there."

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"Sometimes that's how life is." He drew again, and this time took a moment before he blew the smoke out. It escaped in the loose shape of a jellyfish.

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The jellyfish was distracting, catching and holding Tucker's attention for a few long seconds before he looked back at Mahar.  "Yeah, sometimes we don't get what we want."

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Rabi shrugged just a little, crossing his legs as he settled back on his elbow. "Your life would definitely be simpler without me in it."

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Tucker's turn to shrug, and he slouched down a little further, head tipped back, eyes closing once again, and loosely crossed his arms over his stomach.  "I already told you, it's your choice."  And he'd leave it at that, not interested in riling himself up with another useless argument.

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"It's not." He said it smoothly, unhesitatingly. "And it becomes even less so if I tell you more."

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"I don't know how you expect me to trust anything your saying when your so damn cagey.  I can't, and until that changes I guess we're at a fuckin' impasse."  He didn't bother looking over again.

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"I haven't lied to you a single time." He shrugged, tapping fingers against his knee, and drew again on the joint.

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"Omission is still dishonesty.  You might not lie outright, but you aren't giving me anything." He snorted.  "No, worse.  You're actively choosing not to tell me.  Which I wouldn't care about, except now I'm involved in all this.  You act like I can just hand this thing over and it all goes away, but that's not how that works.  I was in that house, my fingerprints are all over, and if there's anything left after they'll still be there, tying me to the scene."

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"There's nothing left." He said it easily, unhesitatingly. "And I killed the camera footage."

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Dark brows dipped.  "How would you even know that?"  And of course there'd been cameras, a place like that.

That seemed to settle a little more heavily on Tuck's shoulders because he sighed, eyes half opened to stare up at the ceiling like he might find answers up there.  It couldn't be any less helpful than the man lounging beside him.

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"I went back." He shrugged a tiny bit, leaning forward to tap off the joint next to Tucker.

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His head tipped back down, watching Mahar lean closer to tap off the Ashe in the cup at his side.  "Did you Uber , or just appear there?" There was the slightest edge in his voice.

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"I don't have a phone. John wouldn't let me." He looked up at Tucker as he said it, blinking slowly.

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Well, it wasn't a direct answer, but it might as well have been.  "Why not?"

He didn't think he'd get an answer to that, but he was looking at the other man a little differently, pale eyes flicking to the threadbare clothes, the empty take out bag, and his frown turned more thoughtful.

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"I think there was a good amount of sheer malice in what he did." Rabi leaned back again, shrugging. And he seemed blase about it. Weirdly so.
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"Why did you stay, the pin?"  Free will.  Tuck's lips pressed together as his mind circled back to the argument he'd heard a few days before.

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"I heard the way he talked to you."  He looked down now at his own legs, and his arms tightened unconsciously around himself.

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Rabi made a sound -- confirming, maybe, but it was hard to tell -- and finished off the joint. It should have burned, stung the tips of his fingers, but it didn't seem to bother him.

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"What else did he do to you?"  It was said almost absently, distracted, but after a second Tucker jerked his head up, an odd look on his face.  "You don't have to answer that, sorry."

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It made Rabi smile, though, slowly, like he couldn't help himself. "You ask a lot of questions you don't actually want the answer to."

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He was looking at him warily now.  "I do want to know, I just...shouldn't have asked that."

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"You really don't." He flicked ash from his fingers, too, and then levered himself up to go poke around in Tucker's gym back for the protein bar, too. "You don't keep chocolate?"

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"The bars are chocolate."  He reached for the cup, the empty fast food bag, and leaned up towards the head of his bed to toss them both into the trash can beside his desk.  Then he just flopped over, worn out, one arm draping down off the side of the bed.  "Why don't I want to know?"

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"As a rule, human beings don't do well with suffering. The flip side to empathy, I suppose." He found one of the bars and then sighed, turning it over. "This isn't chocolate. It has chocolate, but it isn't."

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Pale eyes were watching him as he moved around the room, and it should have been weird, him being there, but with everything else that'd happened it just wasn't anymore.  "I think there's a Snickers in my desk."

The rest of it was mulled over for a moment before he finally asked.  "So you aren't human?"

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"I never said that." He dropped the protein bars and then went for the Snickers with a grimace. "This is barely chocolate either."

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"No, but normal humans can't just appear in places."  The hanging hand flopped lazily.  "And that's the best you're going to find in this room, but there's a vending machine in the lobby."

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He rumbled and stood, stretching his neck as he did, and flicked Tucker a look. "Which way?"

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"Down stairs in the common area."  He flicked a look at the desk.  "If you're not going to eat that Snickers give it here."

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Rabi tossed him the candy bar as he headed toward the door. "No point running off, I'd find you."

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Where would I go?

He snatched the Snickers out of the air and rolled into his side so he could tear into it, but beyond that he didn't bother moving much.

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Rabi was only gone about ten minutes, and came back with one of everything chocolate out of the machine.  Which was remarkable, since he didn't have any cash.

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He'd lost the hoodie, was laying on his back now with one leg bent and the other stretched out.  He had the pin out again, it was resting on his stomach with his hand laying on top of it.  "That's a lot of fucking chocolate."

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"I haven't had chocolate in the better part of a decade." He set it down on the edge of the bed to poke around for something dark.

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He made a face, lifting his head to look at the pile of chocolate.  "John again?"

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Rabi shrugged and ripped the package open, sitting on the corner of the bed with his legs stretched out. "Am I sleeping here?"

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"Are you?"  A dark brow arched.  "I thought you had no where else to go."

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"I could go sleep in the park I guess." It was said smoothly, slightly challenging. "Of course, I'm brown. Good chance they'd pick me up for it."

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"That's not..." Tuck sighed, dropping his head back down on his pillow.  "You can stay.  Just don't be a dick."

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Something about that made Rabi freeze, all at once -- and then go silent, just holding his chocolate bar against his knee. It made him grimace.

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The lack of snappy comment was what drew Tucker's attention back to the man and he frowned at the look on his face, pushing himself up on one elbow.  "What's wrong?"

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He had to force himself, moving carefully, to take a bite of chocolate -- and it didn't look like he enjoyed it at all. "I'd go sleep in my office, but if the police came around, it could be awkward."

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His head tipped thoughtfully, watching.  Knowing something had happened but having no idea what.  "It's fine, you can stay."

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"I'd rather sleep in my office." There was something a bit black behind it, now. He polished off the chocolate bar.

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He shouldn't have cared, and earlier that morning he wouldn't have, but his dislike of the teacher had changed in the last five or so hours, grown, faded, become a hell of a lot more complicated.

Complicated enough for Tucker to sit up, pin dropping into his hands in his lap.  "Because I implied you were a dick?"

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"Because you told me not to be who I am, or who I want to be." He stood, then, to throw out the trash.

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The confused frown just deepened.  "Since when does it matter what I want or think?"

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He didn't answer, that, just rolled a hand dismissively.

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"It's not like I'm your boss."  He wasn't exactly sullen, but the flip in mood combined with how tired he felt was making him cranky.

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"Then it'd be better if you didn't tell me what to do." It was still -- he had to say it delicately. Without looking up.

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"Why are you being weird all of a sudden?"  A pause, followed by an amendment.  "Weirder."

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Again, he just shrugged instead of saying anything, gathering up his chocolate.

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It was still light out, not even seven yet, but all Tucker wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep.  Instead he looked across the room to the door to the shared bathroom.

"Fine, whatever.  I'm going to go take a shower.  Just..."  And he stopped, a clean pair of shorts in his hand from a draw.  "Never mind."

He opened the door and stepped through, letting it close behind him.  And he must have taken the pin as well, because it wasn't on the bed anymore.

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Rabi wasn't there when he came back out, so maybe he had decided to go sleep in his office. Or the park. Or maybe he'd found somewhere else.

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The empty room was surprising though Tucker wasn't sure why.  Nor could he pinpoint the uneasy feeling that settled between his shoulder blades as he let himself fall back into his bed in just the clean shorts.

Pin in one hand, phone in the other, he thumbed in a search for antique hatpins into Google.  Not knowing if he'd find anything, or what even he was looking for.

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He'd get pictures, mostly. The one he'd found looked more middle eastern or southeast asian than the fancy western ones, though. And Rabi still didn't come back.

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The sun hadn't quite set before Tucker had surrendered to the exhaustion.  He fell asleep with the pin still in his hand but his phone laying on the bed beside him.

27
World Building / Tearmann: Gossip Mill
« on: September 12, 2019, 11:19:18 PM »
This thread is make it easy to figure out what different characters may or may not know about various people or circumstances around the city.  If people are talking about it, if people could have feasibly seen it, if something happened that could have potentially been felt by others, this is the thread for it. 

Just post with the nature of the information, if there's any stipulations on who might know it (Like if only the fae would know, or only the vampires.  Only magical folks, and not humans.), and how this information is available.

28
Plots / Bee plots!
« on: September 11, 2019, 10:44:32 PM »
Ezekiel Young -- A marine biology major on his way to earning his doctorate, as well as a TA for Bio 1.  Zeke is in his mid twenties, comes off as studious and inquisitive, and seems capable of getting along with everyone.  Despite that, he tends to be a bit of a workaholic, or perhaps shows introverted tendencies.  He's also from a very very long line of vampire hunters, the Young name can, in certain circles, be notorious for it, but Zeke gives the impression of a normal human who is completely unaware of the supernatural aspects of the world around him.  In reality the veil had never been a thing for him, he's been taught about vampires and, to an extent, other nonhumans for the majority of his childhood and adolescent life.  Back at the beginning of the year his best friend was murdered by a vampire, and he's been searching for the bastard ever sense, with the help of Ever.  Very recently, after a long diving trip, Zeke was in a very bad car accident that should have killed him but didn't.  In fact, he not only recovered, he did so quicker than he should have, and has developed strength and a few other less beneficial quirks.

Good for:  School interactions, tutoring, being charming, having his family name recognized, creeping sensitive people out with his possession.

Could use:  Possibly more friends.  People he could accidentally hurt if/when he loses control of whatever magic is riding him.  People that can help him control what's happening to him, or give him information about 'healing' vampires.



Fletcher Lewis -- Former bassist for the hit band Tuck Fhis, Fletcher had fallen into a deep spiral of depression and drug use after the band broke up unexpectedly, and Fletcher lost both the music and the people he loved all in one fell swoop.  The partying lasted  for a number of months and very likely would have lead to a very tragic end until Rowan found him at Beau's fateful warehouse party.  After spending a month or so looking for the mysterious man Fletcher now has a contract with a fae prince and seems quite infatuated.  He's got a very addictive and co-dependent personality, but an extremely good ear for music, and a natural talent for picking up instruments and composing.  When he plays or sings it draws the attention, elicits emotions, almost like magic, though he seems completely human.

Good for: Random interactions all over the city while he works through a list of places to visit.  Being recognized for either being in Tuck Fhis, or being seen around town with Rowan.   

Could use:  People from the past, dealers or acquaintances, coming back to find out where he's been.  Fae poking at him because they've seen him with Rowan or recognize his pin on Fletcher's shirt.



Tucker Williams -- A junior at Tearmann University.  All Tucker wanted to do was keep his head down, play soccer, and get through school without drawing too much attention to himself.  Instead he's been manipulated by his art teacher to steal a magical artifact for him, but for a number of varying reasons Tuck refuses to give the item to Rabi, and now they're in a stalemate.  He's an anxious kid that will not willingly speak about his past, and can come off as sullen and skittish.  He is 100% human, but anyone sensitive can get a sense of something magical off him at all times.  Very recently he met Avery, and seems cautiously optimistic about where things are going.

Good for:  Student interactions around campus.  People sensing the subtle magic coming off him and trying to figure out what's up with him.

Could use:  Not entirely sure at this point, but i'm open to ideas!



Beanna -- Beanna is tall, elegant, beautiful, and refined, but prolonged time spent in her presence can leave a person feeling incredibly anxious or uncomfortable, perhaps even frightened.  She's a noble from the Sluagh Court, and despite her appearance she is 100% unseelie sidhe.  Usually she stays in the UK preforming diplomatic duties to maintain peace between various fae courts, but currently she's in town to investigate the murder of a young noble from her court.  Working with Corbin.

Good for:  Making people squirm.

Could use:  Acquaintances or lovers while she's in town.  A lead on the one responsible for Slate's death.  To run across someone using or selling the strain of highly potent drugs Slate and Juniper were developing.



Zhilan -- The young(seeming) head of the Bái liánhuā (White Lotus) Trading Company that is secretly, but not so secretly, a drug operation and purveyor of black market goods and services.  Outwardly she comes off as a very ambitious and shrewd business woman, but in reality she's ruthless and quite cutthroat.  Rumor has it she killed the previous head of the company and that's how she took control, but it's unwise to relay such suspicions to her face.  He domain is a vast marketplace where one could find anything from rare artifacts to drugs, to company, and everything in between. 

Good for: Giving other dealers a hard time and trying to scare them off.  Threatening people.  Providing really potent narcotics to humans and nonhumans alike.

Could use:  Flunkies of all sorts.  Someone under her employment that could have preformed the hit on Slate.  Lovers.  Enemies.  Rivals.



William Shepard -- SWPB officer currently keeping tabs on Beau Eastoft.  He's a powerful touch clairvoyant that goes nowhere without gloves.  He comes off as incredibly ambitious and driven, usually fairly no-nonsense and dry, but every so often his sense of humor peeks through.  He's worked for everything he has, and doesn't bother to hide his disdain for the rich and entitled  inhabiting the city.  First impressions are of a very honest officer that seems impervious to bribes or manipulations,  but how true is that really?

Good for: All your SWBP needs.

Could use: More interactions with other SWBP agents.  To accidentally learn something he shouldn't or doesn't want to know through his clairvoyance.   



Warrick "Val" Valentine --  Val, sometimes known as Valerie, is bright, friendly, and flamboyant.  He's a man of many talents and many callings.  Primarily among them, the man is an above average magician who works half the week as a bartender, and fills his free time making charms or selling drugs.  He's a member of the Bái liánhuā (White Lotus) Trading Company and carries their mark on the inside of one wrist, and through that connection he's got the hook up on some of the finest narcotics coming into the city.  At the moment he's playing host and house with recent escapee Charlie Harkins who just happened to wander into the club Val works at one afternoon while the bartender was doing inventory.  He's still trying to suss out and untangle the other man's awful past, while doing what he can to help him adapt to life in the city.

Good for:  Club Rps, drug deals, gang rivalries, charm making, or flirtations.  He's sort of a seedy jack-of-all-trades, and can fill many roles.

Could use: People asking around for Charlie (Poke blue about filling a role from his past!), trouble from the rival syndicate group in the city.



Keiran Greene -- Keiran is short and almost delicate looking for a man, and maybe that contributes to the somewhat prickly and reserved air about him.  He doesn't strive to be the center of attention, and in fact prefers to blend into the background more often than not.  He's a hobgolbin, a lesser Fae in the service of the Sluagh Court in Ireland, though Keiran left the UK almost thirty years ago to be out from under their thumb.  He realized not long after that that he could make a decent living putting his abilities to use as a thief for hire, and enjoys the money he makes from it.  His clothes are designer, his apartment is modern, and his bike is top of the line. 

Good for:  Fae interactions, being hired to steal difficult to obtain items at a high price.

Could use:  Fae interactions, meeting more people in general.

29
Profiles / Zhilan
« on: August 03, 2019, 10:32:12 AM »
ESSENTIALS

{alt}
Name: Zhilan
Nickname: Boss, bitch
Apparent Age: Late twenties/early thirties.
Occupation: Head of the Bái liánhuā (White Lotus) Trading Company


APPEARANCE

FACECLAIM: Bai Ling
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 98lbs
Eye Color: Cerulean blue
Hair Color: Black and white in altering streaks
Hair Style: Long and straight with angular cut blunt bangs
Skin Color: Olive tan and pale caucasian.  She appears to have vitiligo
Physique: Very petite
Extra: Has a tattoo of a white lotus above her right breast


PERSONALITY

Any misconceptions a person could form based on Zhilan's dainty appearance disintegrate within seconds of meeting the woman.  Shrewd and domineering, Zhilan gives off the air of someone used to not only getting their way, but getting it instantly.  Not spoiled, but willing to do anything and everything to get the things she wants.  She runs her business with an iron fist, insubordination is not tolerated in any way, shape, or form.  Those that can't toe the line have a way of disappearing from the city completely. 

Vices seem to be Zhilan's one and only love.  She is almost never seen without her gold pipe in her hands and the haze of cloying smoke surrounding her.  She enjoys drinking, gambling, fucking, and makes no efforts to keep any these habits under wraps.  To some she might appear like a loose canon, but White Lotus is thriving under her ownership.


IMPRESSIONS
She always seems to be warm to the touch, and during spikes of anger the air around her feels heavier and harder to breath.

30
Profiles / Beanna
« on: July 08, 2019, 10:54:42 PM »
ESSENTIALS
Name: Beanna
Nickname: -
Apparent Age: Late twenties
Occupation: Dignitary

APPEARANCE
FACECLAIM: Elizabeth Debicki
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 178lbs
Eye Color: Pale grey blue
Hair Color: White blonde
Hair Style: Waist length, with a gentle wave to it, but she almost always has it drawn back away from her face.
Skin Color: Milky pale.
Physique: Tall, lithe, modelesque. 

PERSONALITY


IMPRESSIONS
Initially nothing other than a slight prickling of other, but time spent in her presence can leave a person feeling on edge, restless, or even anxious.

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