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Roleplaying / Re: Check in [Beau x Will]
« Last post by Beejoux on January 05, 2020, 09:20:31 PM »
He shrugged, his jacket stretching across his shoulders.  "Wherever you end up, it won't prevent you from making it down the station once a week."  If his parents were smart, if they cared beyond just family image, they'd take him back to the family home.



If. He snorted just a bit, thinking it over. "Can't you advise that releasing me back to my mother's medicine cabinet isn't the best choice?"



"I could advise a halfway home, but that doesn't mean you'll make it there."  Pale eyes narrowed just a touch, looking for the angle here.



It got a laugh, short and surprised. "That's definitely not happening."



"Then I guess you'll have to exercise some self restraint."  Which he clearly believed Beau lacked.



"Then I'll be there." It was dry, but without the usual sting. He sounded tired. "Anything to get out of the house."




He was quiet for a thoughtful moment before letting his arms fall to his sides.  "Don't be late."  Still firm, still irritated, not as much bite.  He gave Beau a last look over before heading out the door.



Thursday he did show up on time -- which was an improvement. And he was showered, which was also an improvement, and dressed in slacks and a collared shirt even, and all of it should have had the effect of making Beau look much better. In their way, it did. But there was also a flatness to his eyes, a tension in the set of his shoulders. He'd had a tie at some point, but he'd shed that and undone several buttons, and unbuttoned the cuffs so they didn't come in tight around his wrists. He even had two cups of coffee.



William looked up from the case file he'd been reading when Beau had walked in, then looked up at the clock with brows drawn.  Then the coffee in his hands, then the clean clothes and washed hair.  It put a thoughtful look on his face, like maybe he didn't quite believe what he was seeing.  But that could also have been an act.  "Good morning Mr. Eastoft.   You're looking better."



Beau stared at him a bit flatly, and then looked down at the coffee, and maybe Will couldn't read his mind but he'd see the urge to drop it all over the floor. He didn't offer Will one -- just sat, roughly, the coffee sloshing in cups as he did.



He just stared back, features smoothing into something pleasant.  "Any trouble with discharging or settling...."  He trailed off, leaving it open for Beau to fill in the blank of where he'd ended up.




Another little twitch, and he was definitely still thinking about dumping the coffee on the floor.



Will looked across the desk at him for a long moment before releasing a heavy breath and closing the file to slide it off to one side.  "I did suggest they release you elsewhere."



"Did you?" It was biting, like he didn't very much believe it. He sunk down deep into the chair, stretching his legs out as much as he could.



The tone didn't phase him, he just maintained that vaguely bored expression as Beau slouched across from him.  "I spoke to the doctor before I left, gave my recommendation, but strings had already been pulled."



"Easy to say that after the fact." He finally set the tray of coffee on the desk and shoved it toward Will, where it teetered dangerously.



He caught it before it could spill, a brow arching as he looked down at the cup, then up again.  "You can ask your doctor, if you don't believe me."  Not that it mattered that much to him if Beau believed him.



"Uh huh." Could he, though? That'd require getting to the doctor. Jerkily, he reached up to undo another button on his shirt



Will carefully peeled the lid off the coffee to peer inside, then replaced it and took a careful drink, then a longer one when the temperature proved tolerable.  "Problem?"



Beau stared across at him, flatly. It was unfriendly. "You spend the better part of a week with them and see how you feel after."



"Could be worse, you could be in jail."  He said it evenly, taking another drink of his coffee before setting it down and adjusting his gloves.  A habitual movement.



He didn't answer that. Maybe he wasn't convinced jail was worse. Instead he just stared flatly across at Will.



Will turned his attention towards a small stack of files, looking through them until he found the one he wanted so he could pull it free.  "We can go over the amendments at the end," he said as he sat up a little straighter, leaning forward.  "Arms on the desk, please."



"This again. Really?" He sounded disgusted this time, leaning in slowly on the desk. He didn't roll up his sleeves this time.


Will looked at him flatly, brows arching as he reached to flick Beau's sleeve up with surprising care.  "How were you expecting this to go?"



"It hasn't even been a week." He shook his head, sprawling out his fingers. He'd chewed the nails down to nubs. And his wrists seemed angrier, if anything.



"I didn't check them when you were in the hospital, so it's been two weeks."  He was frowning down at the redness around the ink.  Slid the tip of one gloved finger along the edge of one of the marks to see how raised the skin was.  "You need to stop trying to get around the magic."



Beau flinched immediately, but didn't twitch his hand back. "I'm not."



It didn't look like Will believed him.  "Then what are you doing?"



Beau stared down at the desk for a long moment, fingers twitching, while he thought it over. "You ever try to stop using a word? Something you use all the time?"



"Something to that effect, yes."  He let Beau's arm go, opening the drawer so he could fish out the medallion.



"How long did it take before you said it, or half of it, and caught yourself too late?" He hiked up his shoulders, slumping in against the desk.



His fingers twitched, and he palmed the medallion, other hand moving to pull at the top of the glove again.  "It didn't take that long for the habit to stick."


"Well, maybe it's more like smoking, then." He frowned down at his wrists.



Will shrugged, flicking grey eyes up to look across at Beau.  "If they didn't continuously look worse, we wouldn't have to go through the entire ordeal every time."


"I could cut them off, just here." He tapped just above the wrist, looking back up at Will, then. That bleakness in his expression that made it hard to read if he was joking. "Then we wouldn't have to go through any ordeal, probably."



He looked down at Beau's wrist obligingly, then up again.  "Not every magician needs their hands to cast."



"I do." And just saying it made the tips of his fingers twitch again, reflexively.



"You'll have to forgive my unwillingness to just take your word on that."  As skilled as Beau was, Will was hard-pressed to believe he couldn't find a way to cast without hands.



"It hardly matters, does it?" He wiggled his fingers, still watching Will. "Unless I cut my hands off."



"I suppose not."  He let the medallion slip from his fingers to dangle from the chain, and he lowered it until it rested on Beau's skin, expression a touch thoughtfully.



He smiled, finally, sharp and dangerous. "And then I think you have worse problems to deal with. That would be some paperwork, wouldn't it?"



His eyes flicked up, medallion lifting as well.  "If you cut your own hands off?  I think that'd be the hospital's problem more than mine.  And at that point we'd have to make sure you couldn't cut them off so easily again."



"All it would take is a band saw." He said it smoothly, unhesitatingly. "You know how fast those things cut?"



"Pretty damn fast," he agreed, folding his hands around the scanner he'd set on the desk.  "And it'd make one hell of a mess."



"The problem is bleeding out." It was immediate, agreeing, and also showed the fact he had thought about this. Seriously or not. "There's no more magic to keep it from clotting. And anyone there to see you do it would definitely stop you."



"You'd probably pass out from blood loss or shock before you got through the first wrist."  It was flat, faintly amused.


"Not if you did enough drugs beforehand." He had the answer on the tip of his tongue. And the good news was that it seemed to wake him up, some, dry and familiar and speaking like an actual person.



Will maintained that look of mild, faintly amused interest as he listened to Beau go through what may or may not be an actual plan.  "And how would you keep from bleeding out after?"  Sandy brows arched.  "Or even doing the second with only a bloody stump?"



"Just leave the saw running, put the other hand through." He shrugged that off, head cocked to the side and eyes dropped back down to the scanner.



"You'd bleed out before you could get help probably."  Which wasn't necessarily true, but Beau probably didn't know that.



"Call 911 right before you do it." He said it comfortably, head cocked. But the fire had faded some.



"Still, it's quite the gamble."  He looked down, powering the scanner up.  "And if you really can't do magic without the hands it'd be pretty pointless."


"They'd stop going of their own accord, at least." Probably. Beau shrugged.



"Not a great work around, then."  He held the scanner up finally, checked something, then ran it slowly over the tattoos.



He wiggled his fingers again, watching the muscles move. "It's something."



"It's a cry for attention at best," he said flatly, the amusement from early gone now.  "Temporary, painful, and crippling."


"I do like attention, though." He said it idly, eyes flashing back up onto Wills face. "Done?"



"Temporary attention."  It'd be a serious breach of his parole, and it wouldn't matter how rich he was, or how well connected his parents were, he’d be locked up somewhere.

Probably not jail...

Will gave him a thin lipped look before glancing at the scanner and put it away again.  "With the tedious bits, yes."



He leaned back then, slow, to relax boneless down into the chair. He watched Will as he worked. "Don't make any promises..."



He rested his elbow on the desk, and set his cheek in his upturned palm as he opened the folder and slid the top most page a few inches from the rest so he could read it over.  "What promises would I be making?"


"That the tedium is done." He said it dryly, still watching Will, his eyes narrowed.



"For today it is."  The amendments to the parole agreement weren't tedious, he didn't think.  Beau might disagree.  He nudged his glasses up his nose as pale eyes skimmed across the page, and then finally looked up when he'd finished, apparently satisfied.



Beau was still staring across at him, and his expression had faded to distant and unfocused again, his mind somewhere else. He had his hands tucked into his armpits.



"Starting today," he spoke with authority now, enough to grab Beau's wandering attention.  "In addition to the previous restrictions placed upon you, Abbott Eastoft, the following addendums have been added to your parole agreement and will be strictly enforced.  Failure to uphold these new restrictions will result in compounded sentencing, or incarceration."  He was reading from the page, and glanced up at this point.



Beau stared back at him, coming slowly back into focus. Dully.



When he knew he had Beau's attention he went on, skipping over a bit of the legal jargon to get to the meat of it.  "In addition to narcotics, you are now barred from medications, both approved and unapproved.  You are also barred from alcohol, and venturing into establishments where alcohol is their main source of revenue."



And that stunned him into an even more dull kind of since, mouth parting just a little.



The paper was nudged back neatly with the rest in the file, and the folder was closed, a gloved hand settling on top of it as he watched Beau.



He blinked once, slowly, without sitting up. "You can't do that."



"I can do that," he corrected without lifting his head.



"Why?" It was heartfelt, miserable, for the first time his indifference fading back.



Sandy brows arched.  "You violated your parole, should have been incarcerated for it, but again strings were pulled to keep you out of trouble."  The usual bite wasn't there, he said it all matter-of-factly.



"But what's the point?" He didn't lean forward. "Who does that help?"



"I'd say the intent is to help you toe the line, but I'm not entirely sure you're capable of that." He scooped up the file to be added back to the stack he'd taken it from originally.



Another moment of baffled silence before it turned to frustration. "This was your idea?"



His head lifted, fingers knitting together.  "I had a hand in it, yes."



"So it's petty cruelty." Beau stood up, jerky, and undid another button.



"Sit down, Mr. Eastoft."  He said it evenly, unimpressed.



"We're done, aren't we?" He shook his head, struggling to get out of the collared shirt and down to the undershirt.



"No, not quite."  He looked almost bored, but he was watching every move Beau made now.



"Get to it, then." He scraped his hair back and threw the shirt in the chair, scratching at one wrist.



He made a soft tsking sound as he leaned back in his chair, softly chastising.  "Just as addendums can be added to your parole agreement, they can also be removed."  He glanced down at the shirt in mild exasperation.  "At my discretion, given good behavior and time."



"Fuck you." It was, maybe, the first really impolitic thing he'd said since they first met; didn't court the boundaries but shook with frustration.



"If that's the way you want to play it then it's going to be a long time before you get those freedoms back."  He knew the one that stung the most, or thought he did in any case.  But even with Beau swearing at him Will hardly reacted at all.  Not angry, but concerned, just perpetually unimpressed by the show.



"You're so full of shit." He dragged both hands up through his hair, eyes pressed closed for a moment.



"Am I?"  Lips pulled in a small smile.  "Are you willing to bet what little freedoms you have left on that?"



"I mean your faux sympathy and acting like you're anything other than a courts mandated sociopath." Saying it loud cooled him again, made his shoulders relax a little. He shrugged at Will, still standing.



"And who should I have sympathy for, exactly?"  His brows arched, voice even.  "The spoiled rich boy using magic and money to breeze through life?  Or how about the fool who decided to throw a giant party with no means of vetting whose getting in, or what's being passed around?"  He leaned forward a little.  "The one that should have gone to jail when people died under his watch, but got off with a slap on the wrist and magical restriction.  You tell me Me. Eastoft.  Where should my sympathies be, with you? Or with the families of the deceased?"



"So bring their kids back to life." He said it sharply, leaning in toward him, a hand on the desk to show off the angry tattoos on his wrist. "Maybe I could have."



He glanced down at the tattoos, then but at Beau's face again.  "It shouldn't have happened in the first place."  His turn to sit forward now, his chin tipped up.  "Tell me something.  When they told you what happened, were you sorry?"



He stared down at Will, eyes narrowed while he considered. "I didn't kill anyone, or hurt anyone; I just provided the space. Anyone who hurt anyone else would have done it otherwise."

92
Roleplaying / Check in [Beau x Will]
« Last post by Beejoux 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."


93
Profiles / Re: Lavi Reijonen
« Last post by stella cinere on December 27, 2019, 03:37:37 AM »
94
Profiles / Lavi Reijonen
« Last post by stella cinere on December 27, 2019, 03:36:00 AM »
ESSENTIALS
Name: Lavi Mikkel Reijonen
Nickname: Lavi, Mikkel, Mik
Apparent Age: Early/Mid thirties
Occupation: Freelance bounty hunter for SWBP

APPEARANCE
White shoulder length hair with black stripes, broad shoulders and chest and too many scars to count. His left eye is cursed and his right eye as a black sclera with light grey to almost white pupil. Rather tall standing over six feet in height.

PERSONALITY
Ex-solider/ex-merc Lavi is used to spending most of time dealing with combat or getting into situations that shit hits the fan pretty quickly leaving him to think on his feet and dragging those who can’t keep up over his shoulder. He is good about keeping promises and doing what he can to reassure the safety of those he is responsible of he is also good at being a complete ass to those he doesn’t give two shits about or those who piss him off. While emotions are not his strong suit he understands facing things head on and the need to be blunt about almost everything. Former drug problems, has kept his out of it and rather clean for years.

IMPRESSIONS
Something lurking beneath the surface, a little feral and threatening there.
95
Profiles / Re: Torrin Lynch
« Last post by stella cinere on December 13, 2019, 07:18:57 PM »
96
Profiles / Charles Harkins
« Last post by blue on December 10, 2019, 01:08:22 PM »
ESSENTIALS
Name: Charles Harkins
Nickname: Charlie
Apparent Age: Early to mid 20s, maybe
Occupation: ??

APPEARANCE
Face claim: Tom hardy

Charlie's about 6' even, with dark brown hair that's just long enough to be pulled back into a messy paintbrush ponytail. His skin is white, paler than one would expect from a big guy with a certain level of athleticism. He also generally has a five o'clock shadow.

His face is square-jawed and strong, a classic 'all-American' look, except for his mouth which is almost excessively full.  His eyes are gold, rimmed with a very dark ring. His build is broad-shouldered with heavy arms, very clearly the body of someone who spends an awful lot of time working out. He wears dark colors, fitted shirts and comfortable pants, heavy jackets that hide the strangely crooked shape of his shoulders.

PERSONALITY
Charlie is angry, stoic and stubborn; he has a lot of frustration and negative emotions that he keeps carefully under wraps...but when he bursts, it's frequently disastrous.

IMPRESSIONS
There is something birdlike about his eyes, his features, even the way he cocks his head. Not a friendly songbird but a bird of prey, staring at you a little too long, ready to take you down if needs be. His expression can go flat and unreadable, dangerously still, a mask that gives nothing away.
97
Profiles / Warrick Valentine
« Last post by Beejoux 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. 
98
Roleplaying / Accidents Happen [Zeke]
« Last post by Beejoux 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...
99
Profiles / Lissa Rivera
« Last post by AMItotic on October 24, 2019, 02:46:35 PM »
ESSENTIALS
Name: Elizabeth Rivera
Nickname: Lissa, Liss
Apparent Age: Early 30s
Occupation: Bodyguard

APPEARANCE
5'8", stocky and fit, with a long mane of unruly dark auburn hair, she looks like she was born for freckles but bleached by her vampirism. She has bright smiling brown eyes that seem like they're up to something and a toothy grin, hardly putting the effort in to keep her inhuman nature a secret. Whatever she's wearing, she always looks at home, be it tactical gear or a slinky glittery gown, though on her days off she prefers warm colors, leather and furs.

PERSONALITY
Lissa's a big-hearted woman with an easy smile, a hearty laugh, and a penchant for mischief. Independent and curious, she has a habit for putting her nose in places it doesn't belong, be it forbidden towers or off-limits backstage areas or other people's private lives. There's never been a closed door that Lissa respected, and she has the tendency to steamroll other softer personalities in her own thirst to see and touch everything. A hedonist and a player, she enjoys the finest things life has to offer, and she's willing to set morals aside to have access to the things that she wants. She makes connections quickly but not deeply, and only keeps her loyalty to a small list of people close to her heart. Though she isn't the slightest bit shamed of her own vampirism, she refuses to turn anyone else, and the reason she gives people changes every time they ask. The thing she fears most is being caged, so she does her best not to want anything she couldn't obtain by her own power.

IMPRESSIONS
A big cat at rest and lounging, summer campfire smoke, the warmth of a sunburn. Lissa's warm, but she isn't gentle, and there's a certain element of ironic self-destruction in a vampire who feels and acts so fiery and feral.  She seems up to any challenge, like if you revved at her from a stoplight she'd be down for a race, but no so invested to feel jilted when she inevitably lost. If she's after you, it's nothing personal--she just wants her life more than you want yours, clearly.
100
Profiles / Alcine Winter
« Last post by AMItotic on October 24, 2019, 02:25:24 PM »
ESSENTIALS
Name: Alcine Winter
Nickname: none yet
Apparent Age: Early-mid 20s
Occupation: Clerical assistant

APPEARANCE
Alcine looks like a tree thats shed its leaves for fall--tall, spindly, and desaturated. Her skin is pale and almost paper-like in texture, her flat hair the faded yellow of old pages, her eyes grey and downcast in a way that is tired, but not sleepy. She wears little round spectacles on a sharp nose that is just a bit too big for her face, and she only ever wears work clothing, crisp button-ups and trim pencil skirts with flats, always flats. No matter how new the clothes, she manages to always look antiquated, like something just misplaced in time. Alcine looks and carries herself like she's fragile, like one wrong stumble would cause her to break.

PERSONALITY
Alcine is quiet, self-sufficient, and prefers her own company, often shrinking away from crowded events or loud people. Her knowledge is encycolpedic, and she's happiest when asked questions about a topic she knows about, but it takes work to bring her out of her shell and get her to speak at length. Mushrooms and fungi are of special interest to her, the things that thrive away from the sun and in deep, dark caves, untended by anything--she feels a certain kinship with them, if she allows herself to admit it. A shrinking violet and a bit of a pushover, it's difficult for Alcine to stand up for herself if someone applies peer pressure, but she's more likely to avoid the confrontation than to give in to demands. The one thing she does know is that she will never allow herself to be taken to fae again--and under that wilting exterior is someone ruthless and exacting, if pushed.

IMPRESSIONS
Mildew, decay, the hollow feeling of a building that's long since been abandoned.  On the surface, she seems fragile--those with more intuitive talents may recognize that she's poison and rot underneath. She's certainly not human, but plays one by day--those who have dealings with the fae might recognize her as marked by the Winter Court, hence her last name--not a fae herself, but someone taken and so warped by proximity to fae magic that it still lingers in her bones.
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