And there they were, for a moment hanging in time. Ace and Ivy. As though she'd never left.
There was a lot to process all at once. Ace, yes, his presence, same as ever; Ivy tried not to dwell on her first returning impression being collapsing immediately into his unoccupied arm. The shotgun on the other side, there were a thousand places and ways he could have gotten that, few of them pleasant. His face was bruised and swollen like hers had been, bandages barely peeking from under his hat, he looked worried. Concerned. That was familiar, too. The shotgun, his name on the announcements, Garren's thief, Tirzah, a million thoughts, possibilities, paranoias. She didn't want to think so hard. If she was weighing all the possibilities still she wouldn't have opened the door.
When he asked her if she was okay, though, she still had to laugh.
"No," she said almost dreamily. "I'm not. Is anyone?"
It felt better if she said it with a smile. She wasn't okay but she'd missed Ace and then tried to convince herself she didn't and here they were. Meilin was dead. Wyatt was dead. Here they were. It wasn't enough, but it was something.
She kept leaning into Ace's arm but managed to stabilize on her feet. Her eye flicked over to Garren, clearly trying to be unobtrusive, and, god, every positive thought she had about Garren made some past version of her pray more and more for death, but. From what she had been able to hear he'd handled things with Ace reasonably well, and he'd done a decent job helping Myles besides. He wasn't Myles, he wasn't even Ace, but between their conversation the day before and her barely-conscious memories of the day past, she decided she liked him.
Not like that. She'd still rather die.
"If this counts as walking," she said with a shrug. Her words were still slightly slurred from exhaustion. She hurt so much she was starting to feel numb. The paradox was at least convenient. She thought about thanking Garren, for letting Ace in or for carrying her or cleaning the glass shards or whatever, but despite two near-death experiences Ivy's ego was not yet so flattened that she could thank Garren Mortimer for anything.
"Did you—"
—sleep okay?, she was going to ask, because that was like friendly in a noncommittal sort of way, but then everything went to hell.
Some part of her knew Myles was there before he said anything. Probably she'd heard his footsteps in a subconscious sort of way, or maybe she just knew because she always knew. She'd told him to get the gun herself, hadn't she? She couldn't quite see him but she could just see it glinting in the flashlight's glow when she looked behind Ace.
"You—"
Ace spoke. It didn't help.
"Hey—"
She looked back and forth between them. Her blinded eye made it impossible to see them both at once. A surreal, disconnected moment, again; she remembered throwing statuettes at Tirzah, she remembered feeling like she was swimming through a dream. A million thoughts, possibilities, paranoias, and she didn't have the space or time to process a single one. All she could do was focus on Myles.
"Myley," Ivy said in a low voice. Instinct had her reach for his shoulder but her brain shot back to his rage and she pulled back as though she'd touched fire.
"It's okay? Yes?" Uncertainty. "It's just Ace, you—we're okay. We're—he's okay. Put the gun down. Please."
who is the lamb and who is the knife?
PM For Entry! Day 9, Post Announcement
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Of course. Of fucking course, he had to go and open his big goddamn mouth. ‘A quieter night,’ yeah fucking right, nothing could ever be that simple out here, could it? No such thing as a ‘quiet night’ out here on-
Wait. Hold on. He hadn’t even said that. That thought had remained firmly inside his head, and whatever god or entity or fuckin’ celestial being that was busy fucking with him had just taken a look inside his dome, gone ‘nice try dipshit’, and messed with him anyways. Which really wasn’t fuckin’ fair, if you asked him; he was supposed to say “It’s quiet… too quiet” before being eaten by vampire bats or whatever.
Yes he was distracting himself from the fucking standoff happening in front of his goddamn face, how did you fucking guess?
Garren took a step back, almost whacking his injured leg into the same table Ace had stumbled over. That had been, what, two minutes ago? One minute? Less? It felt like an eternity now, now that Ace’s fingers danced against the shotgun on his side, and Myles’ knuckles clenched around the gun pressed into his back. His mouth was dry, and the ringing in his head had started up again, as his own hand grabbed onto the table behind him for support.
Maybe if shit hit the fan he could launch it at the other two guys to break them apart. They said people found hidden wellsprings of strength when under mortal peril, right?
“Hey…”
His voice was little more than a croak. He wondered if it was even audible over the ringing.
“We don’t… we don’t need to do this, yeah? We’re all-”
He cut himself off before he could say ‘we’re all friends here’ because really, Garren? Did it really look like they were all friends, here? Did friends shoot each other in the back on the regular? Probably not, but hey, how the fuck was he to know?
“-We’ve all had a fuckin’ bullshit day. I get it. Just… c’mon. Ivy's right. We don't need to... draw weapons, here."
Wait. Hold on. He hadn’t even said that. That thought had remained firmly inside his head, and whatever god or entity or fuckin’ celestial being that was busy fucking with him had just taken a look inside his dome, gone ‘nice try dipshit’, and messed with him anyways. Which really wasn’t fuckin’ fair, if you asked him; he was supposed to say “It’s quiet… too quiet” before being eaten by vampire bats or whatever.
Yes he was distracting himself from the fucking standoff happening in front of his goddamn face, how did you fucking guess?
Garren took a step back, almost whacking his injured leg into the same table Ace had stumbled over. That had been, what, two minutes ago? One minute? Less? It felt like an eternity now, now that Ace’s fingers danced against the shotgun on his side, and Myles’ knuckles clenched around the gun pressed into his back. His mouth was dry, and the ringing in his head had started up again, as his own hand grabbed onto the table behind him for support.
Maybe if shit hit the fan he could launch it at the other two guys to break them apart. They said people found hidden wellsprings of strength when under mortal peril, right?
“Hey…”
His voice was little more than a croak. He wondered if it was even audible over the ringing.
“We don’t… we don’t need to do this, yeah? We’re all-”
He cut himself off before he could say ‘we’re all friends here’ because really, Garren? Did it really look like they were all friends, here? Did friends shoot each other in the back on the regular? Probably not, but hey, how the fuck was he to know?
“-We’ve all had a fuckin’ bullshit day. I get it. Just… c’mon. Ivy's right. We don't need to... draw weapons, here."
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Myles hadn't been able to find the safety on the gun in the dark. It was still on. Even if it hadn't been, shooting Ace right in the back meant risking hitting Ivy. Shooting him in the head would have showered her with blood and brain matter. Even if Myles had been able to call Ace's bluff right here and now, he didn't want to.
He did still have Tristan's knife, but Ace was more likely to make good on the threat if Myles stabbed him, versus all his bravado being worth nil if Myles actually bothered to raise the gun another foot and shoot him in the back of the head. Talking smack was stupid; all Ace really had to do was threaten Ivy, and the fact that hadn't been his first move meant that he wasn't willing. He was just a chained up dog barking because he couldn't do anything else.
Myles was being the smart, rational, cautious one here, and still, still everyone turned on him anyway. He gritted his teeth. Ace was the one who had come knocking in the middle of the night, armed. If Myles did anything to him, it was already self-defense, but once again everything was somehow his fault and not the guy who had barged in on them like this. Had Garren already forgotten what had happened to them earlier in the day? They hadn't even had a chance to process it, concern taken over by patching Ivy up.
He ground his teeth a little more. Ace was right about one thing: he wasn't Declyn. Myles wouldn't have been willing to shoot Declyn twice, even if he'd been invited to.
"You put the gun down first."
He did still have Tristan's knife, but Ace was more likely to make good on the threat if Myles stabbed him, versus all his bravado being worth nil if Myles actually bothered to raise the gun another foot and shoot him in the back of the head. Talking smack was stupid; all Ace really had to do was threaten Ivy, and the fact that hadn't been his first move meant that he wasn't willing. He was just a chained up dog barking because he couldn't do anything else.
Myles was being the smart, rational, cautious one here, and still, still everyone turned on him anyway. He gritted his teeth. Ace was the one who had come knocking in the middle of the night, armed. If Myles did anything to him, it was already self-defense, but once again everything was somehow his fault and not the guy who had barged in on them like this. Had Garren already forgotten what had happened to them earlier in the day? They hadn't even had a chance to process it, concern taken over by patching Ivy up.
He ground his teeth a little more. Ace was right about one thing: he wasn't Declyn. Myles wouldn't have been willing to shoot Declyn twice, even if he'd been invited to.
"You put the gun down first."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"I was born at night, not last night."
Eyes ahead. Don't let 'em see you sweat. Look ahead. Stop shaking, stop fuckin' shaking.
"It's a shotgun and I got my hands full," he reasoned, "I ain't a fuckin' action hero."
His other arm gripped Ivy tighter, for his own benefit. He was scared. He was a coward--what the fuck was this? A big strong guy like him, clinging to a small, frail, girl like her. It was a joke. But it allowed for the mask of confidence, even if it was just posturing and mind games.
The BR-18 was in his bag, just ahead, he could toss the shotgun aside and sprint there. He was fast. He was very fuckin' fast. It was very dark...but Myles was very fuckin' close. Myles didn't have to be good. He could just hit Ace with a bunch of slugs and be done with him. At this point, Ace could hold his head up high and die or he could live and duck.
"I ain't droppin' shit as long as I got a gun to my back, you already got the jump on me, either you gonna shoot me or you gonna shoot me."
Eyes ahead. Don't let 'em see you sweat. Look ahead. Stop shaking, don't fuckin' stop talkin'. The longer he spoke, the more it meant that Myles didn't really want the smoke. Keep 'em talking. It was all posture, mind games--he was just as scared of Ace as Ace was of him. It was light work. Easy.
"Back the fuck up, neither of us want these problems."
And then, against his better judgement and in a sudden display of defiance to his own speech if not actions: he removed removed the shotgun strap from his shoulder and tossed the gun on the floor. The flashlight followed. Neither of that was smartThey landed with loud clangs and separated. He wanted it to seem badass. It was all posture, mind games. It was light work. Easy. Yeah, sure, he believed that.
He closed his eyes, he balled his fist and he prepared for a bang.
Eyes ahead. Don't let 'em see you sweat. Look ahead. Stop shaking, stop fuckin' shaking.
"It's a shotgun and I got my hands full," he reasoned, "I ain't a fuckin' action hero."
His other arm gripped Ivy tighter, for his own benefit. He was scared. He was a coward--what the fuck was this? A big strong guy like him, clinging to a small, frail, girl like her. It was a joke. But it allowed for the mask of confidence, even if it was just posturing and mind games.
The BR-18 was in his bag, just ahead, he could toss the shotgun aside and sprint there. He was fast. He was very fuckin' fast. It was very dark...but Myles was very fuckin' close. Myles didn't have to be good. He could just hit Ace with a bunch of slugs and be done with him. At this point, Ace could hold his head up high and die or he could live and duck.
"I ain't droppin' shit as long as I got a gun to my back, you already got the jump on me, either you gonna shoot me or you gonna shoot me."
Eyes ahead. Don't let 'em see you sweat. Look ahead. Stop shaking, don't fuckin' stop talkin'. The longer he spoke, the more it meant that Myles didn't really want the smoke. Keep 'em talking. It was all posture, mind games--he was just as scared of Ace as Ace was of him. It was light work. Easy.
"Back the fuck up, neither of us want these problems."
And then, against his better judgement and in a sudden display of defiance to his own speech if not actions: he removed removed the shotgun strap from his shoulder and tossed the gun on the floor. The flashlight followed. Neither of that was smartThey landed with loud clangs and separated. He wanted it to seem badass. It was all posture, mind games. It was light work. Easy. Yeah, sure, he believed that.
He closed his eyes, he balled his fist and he prepared for a bang.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
She remembered that night with Ace and Wyatt, all bluster and machismo. She remembered laughing. It was a lot less funny, now that guns were involved.
There was still some stubborn part of her that wanted to roll her eyes, stomp her foot in frustration at the boys talking past each other, issuing threats that she could only pray were empty. But the time to treat things like they were still high school was long past, and it felt like any sudden move, any unexpected sound, could destroy everything in an instant. She was shaking again. Her own stupid gun was in her bag but what would it help if she had it? Who would she even be pointing it at? At least she'd feel some pointless measure of control over the situation, at least she'd be more than a trembling prop in a scene where she had no lines.
Ivy always understood Myles, and she did, even now. All he had to go on was her word that Ace had been good to her five days ago; he'd killed someone in the meantime. He could have changed, or else he could've been uninterested in playing nice with people who weren't Ivy, or else she was wrong to trust him in the first place. Paranoia was good, here more than ever; wasn't the smart thing to assume the worst? She should have let him lead, or else she at least should have talked to him before she opened the door, but, but.
Ace. She had ulterior motives stacked one on top of the other and yet everything had felt so simple. He was too easy to read, too easy to understand, for her to believe in anything but what he showed himself to be. He wouldn't hurt her, and she knew that, and for a moment that was all there was.
She wasn't particularly surprised when Ace gave in first. She exhaled an irrational sigh of relief despite the gun still pointed at Ace's back; as much as she hoped this wouldn't end poorly for anyone involved, it was obvious where her priorities lay. Still, she nodded slightly, glancing at Ace and back at Myles.
"Okay. You—"
She winced, faltering for a moment. She'd tried to shift her weight slightly and pressed her shoulder into the doorframe. She needed to be in bed.
"—put the gun down, Myles, please, I can't—I really can't do this right now, okay?"
There was still some stubborn part of her that wanted to roll her eyes, stomp her foot in frustration at the boys talking past each other, issuing threats that she could only pray were empty. But the time to treat things like they were still high school was long past, and it felt like any sudden move, any unexpected sound, could destroy everything in an instant. She was shaking again. Her own stupid gun was in her bag but what would it help if she had it? Who would she even be pointing it at? At least she'd feel some pointless measure of control over the situation, at least she'd be more than a trembling prop in a scene where she had no lines.
Ivy always understood Myles, and she did, even now. All he had to go on was her word that Ace had been good to her five days ago; he'd killed someone in the meantime. He could have changed, or else he could've been uninterested in playing nice with people who weren't Ivy, or else she was wrong to trust him in the first place. Paranoia was good, here more than ever; wasn't the smart thing to assume the worst? She should have let him lead, or else she at least should have talked to him before she opened the door, but, but.
Ace. She had ulterior motives stacked one on top of the other and yet everything had felt so simple. He was too easy to read, too easy to understand, for her to believe in anything but what he showed himself to be. He wouldn't hurt her, and she knew that, and for a moment that was all there was.
She wasn't particularly surprised when Ace gave in first. She exhaled an irrational sigh of relief despite the gun still pointed at Ace's back; as much as she hoped this wouldn't end poorly for anyone involved, it was obvious where her priorities lay. Still, she nodded slightly, glancing at Ace and back at Myles.
"Okay. You—"
She winced, faltering for a moment. She'd tried to shift her weight slightly and pressed her shoulder into the doorframe. She needed to be in bed.
"—put the gun down, Myles, please, I can't—I really can't do this right now, okay?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
How badly had Declyn’s death affected Myles?
Garren didn’t think he could ever answer that question. He could barely comprehend how he’d feel with anyone’s death on his hands, even someone he barely knew, even someone he hated. That was still a face and a name and a voice and an existence belonging to someone he’d spent years with, someone who would no longer exist thanks to him. Someone who he was actually friends with? If he’d had to take Demetri down for whatever reason? If there’d been no choice but to pull the trigger or swing the knife? How fucking long would it have taken him to recover from that? Hours? Days? Longer?
And if Garren had been as close to anybody as Myles was… had been… was close to Declyn or Ivy, and he’d been forced to kill them? Whether it was what they truly wanted or not?
God. God, that would fucking haunt you.
No wonder Myles had been acting so erratically, no wonder he was so paranoid at the appearance of someone with a shotgun by their side. It didn’t matter that Ace had been completely harmless since arriving to the house, nor that he’d just chucked his shotgun to the floor. The potential for danger, and being an actual threat, were one and the same. Garren could understand that point of view.
He could barely tell if he was breathing anymore. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d stopped. Maybe the bullets had already flown and this was his purgatory, stuck in this room with the tension crushing down on him, forever and ever and ever. He tried to swallow, tried to remove the feeling in his mouth like he’d just swallowed the entire fucking Gobi. He didn’t say anything, though.
Cause if Ivy couldn’t convince Myles to stand down, what the fuck could he do?
Garren didn’t think he could ever answer that question. He could barely comprehend how he’d feel with anyone’s death on his hands, even someone he barely knew, even someone he hated. That was still a face and a name and a voice and an existence belonging to someone he’d spent years with, someone who would no longer exist thanks to him. Someone who he was actually friends with? If he’d had to take Demetri down for whatever reason? If there’d been no choice but to pull the trigger or swing the knife? How fucking long would it have taken him to recover from that? Hours? Days? Longer?
And if Garren had been as close to anybody as Myles was… had been… was close to Declyn or Ivy, and he’d been forced to kill them? Whether it was what they truly wanted or not?
God. God, that would fucking haunt you.
No wonder Myles had been acting so erratically, no wonder he was so paranoid at the appearance of someone with a shotgun by their side. It didn’t matter that Ace had been completely harmless since arriving to the house, nor that he’d just chucked his shotgun to the floor. The potential for danger, and being an actual threat, were one and the same. Garren could understand that point of view.
He could barely tell if he was breathing anymore. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d stopped. Maybe the bullets had already flown and this was his purgatory, stuck in this room with the tension crushing down on him, forever and ever and ever. He tried to swallow, tried to remove the feeling in his mouth like he’d just swallowed the entire fucking Gobi. He didn’t say anything, though.
Cause if Ivy couldn’t convince Myles to stand down, what the fuck could he do?
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Myles should have shot Ace right then, if he'd been able to. Ivy could be mad all she wanted. They didn't need Ace, and sooner rather than later, the three of them weren't going to look like allies as much as easy targets for someone who was in better shape and better-armed like him.
Even if the safety had been off, his hands were probably shaking too hard to pull the trigger properly. The clatter of Ace's gun hitting the floor made Myles jump, but he used the movement to move back, acting like he'd meant to do so all along. Okay. Good. Now he had to get Ivy.
Even if the safety had been off, his hands were probably shaking too hard to pull the trigger properly. The clatter of Ace's gun hitting the floor made Myles jump, but he used the movement to move back, acting like he'd meant to do so all along. Okay. Good. Now he had to get Ivy.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
The feel of the metal coming off his back was so strong, it might as well have been a gunshot.
But it wasn't now, fuckin' was it? And that was good fuckin' news--far as Beats was counting.
He stumbled forward, letting Ivy out of his grasp as she leaned towards the doorway and making his way forward through the dark room. His foot kicked his gun and if God had a sense of humor, the damn thing would've fired--but God wasn't that funny, if he was even paying attention. The past eight days were plenty of evidence to the contrary.
He turned around and faced where he came. He stood as tall as his 6'3" form could let him, he puffed out his chest, his fists were balled up at his side. He gave the signature dudebro head tilt. He was trying to look tall and strong--shirtless and wearing a baseball cap, he no doubt looked more tailgating frat bro than murderer. What did looks really count for anymore anyway?
There was a certain casual boldness and false bravado in his actions that belittled the seriousness of the situation. It was a fucked up power dynamic he had found himself dead in the middle in and he was responding to it in a more fucked up way. Now he and Myles were in a crazy off and there was no way Ace could win that fight. But, this is what he did, right? Write checks with his mouth that he had to cash with his ass? Whatever. It didn't really matter. Shit worked out in it's own weird way. Ten times outta nine.
He stared at Myles, he tried to look confident, calm, cool and collected. He knew he was failing.
"We good?"
But it wasn't now, fuckin' was it? And that was good fuckin' news--far as Beats was counting.
He stumbled forward, letting Ivy out of his grasp as she leaned towards the doorway and making his way forward through the dark room. His foot kicked his gun and if God had a sense of humor, the damn thing would've fired--but God wasn't that funny, if he was even paying attention. The past eight days were plenty of evidence to the contrary.
He turned around and faced where he came. He stood as tall as his 6'3" form could let him, he puffed out his chest, his fists were balled up at his side. He gave the signature dudebro head tilt. He was trying to look tall and strong--shirtless and wearing a baseball cap, he no doubt looked more tailgating frat bro than murderer. What did looks really count for anymore anyway?
There was a certain casual boldness and false bravado in his actions that belittled the seriousness of the situation. It was a fucked up power dynamic he had found himself dead in the middle in and he was responding to it in a more fucked up way. Now he and Myles were in a crazy off and there was no way Ace could win that fight. But, this is what he did, right? Write checks with his mouth that he had to cash with his ass? Whatever. It didn't really matter. Shit worked out in it's own weird way. Ten times outta nine.
He stared at Myles, he tried to look confident, calm, cool and collected. He knew he was failing.
"We good?"
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Myles let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. The flashlight on the floor threw Ace's shadow behind him as he stepped away from Ivy and Myles, making a monster on the wall. He recognized the fighting stance, but what was Ace going to do, as long as he thought that Myles had a loaded, ready-to-fire gun? Now that there was some distance between them, he breathed a little easier, but he still kept the gun up to deter any sudden movements.
He moved to Ivy's side, peeling one hand away from the grip of the gun to reach out to her, expecting her to take his arm like always. "Yeah," he said to Ace. "We're good. Now buzz off."
He moved to Ivy's side, peeling one hand away from the grip of the gun to reach out to her, expecting her to take his arm like always. "Yeah," he said to Ace. "We're good. Now buzz off."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?"
'What the fuck is your problem?!' was what he wanted to say--instead he simply responded with a palpable frustration and desperation. He had conceded and obeyed all of Myles' orders and this is what it got him? Just getting sent on his way after being punked and threatened? What was the next move? Getting robbed at gunpoint? By fuckin' Myles? He was the one who came in here with two big ass guns! He was the one who should be scary and powerful. Fuckin' Myles? Fuckin' Myles! Jesus fuckin' Christ--this shit was ridiculous.
He stared at Ivy and his expression softened, he tried to speak with his mouth but he could only articulate with his eyes. They screamed one word each, all caps and with exclamation points in between blinks:
HELP! ME!
'What the fuck is your problem?!' was what he wanted to say--instead he simply responded with a palpable frustration and desperation. He had conceded and obeyed all of Myles' orders and this is what it got him? Just getting sent on his way after being punked and threatened? What was the next move? Getting robbed at gunpoint? By fuckin' Myles? He was the one who came in here with two big ass guns! He was the one who should be scary and powerful. Fuckin' Myles? Fuckin' Myles! Jesus fuckin' Christ--this shit was ridiculous.
He stared at Ivy and his expression softened, he tried to speak with his mouth but he could only articulate with his eyes. They screamed one word each, all caps and with exclamation points in between blinks:
HELP! ME!
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
It would have been so easy, wouldn't it, to have just slipped her arm into Myles's, the way Ivy always had. To shrug at Ace's distress, maybe apologize with her eyes when her mouth wouldn't make the words. To wait and watch him go and know she'd almost certainly never see him again. Myles was clearly on-edge; she hardly needed to make it worse. They could go back to bed and she could hold his hand until they both stopped shaking. It would've been fine. They would've been fine.
Ace looked at her. It would have been so easy, wouldn't it, if only she hadn't looked back. She didn't care about Ace, not in a way that mattered, right, she'd told herself that a dozen times since his lips had first touched hers. Not in a way that mattered. Like that meant anything at all, here, now. Nothing mattered more than this. There wasn't time.
"Wait."
Stepping between landmines. With the gun in Myles's hand and Ace's on the floor the worst that could happen is Ace would die here and it would technically be her fault. What did it say about her, that she could better live with that than with him walking away?
"You can—it's late, it's dark, you need somewhere to stay." She directed those words at Ace before looking at Myles. She didn't move away, but she didn't take his arm, either.
"It's just one night, Myley. He can go in the morning. Yes?"
All she wanted was something she would never find again.
Ace looked at her. It would have been so easy, wouldn't it, if only she hadn't looked back. She didn't care about Ace, not in a way that mattered, right, she'd told herself that a dozen times since his lips had first touched hers. Not in a way that mattered. Like that meant anything at all, here, now. Nothing mattered more than this. There wasn't time.
"Wait."
Stepping between landmines. With the gun in Myles's hand and Ace's on the floor the worst that could happen is Ace would die here and it would technically be her fault. What did it say about her, that she could better live with that than with him walking away?
"You can—it's late, it's dark, you need somewhere to stay." She directed those words at Ace before looking at Myles. She didn't move away, but she didn't take his arm, either.
"It's just one night, Myley. He can go in the morning. Yes?"
All she wanted was something she would never find again.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"No," Myles said, even though his throat was already growing tight, and if he said anything else, all his disbelief and the anger that suddenly bloomed in his chest would come spilling out.
He was doing this for her. He did everything for her, and they didn't need Ace. Ace didn't need them either, and he had to know that. There were a dozen other houses. He didn't need this one, and he didn't need Ivy, but here she was giving him the invitation anyway when Myles was risking both their necks with his stupid gun that he couldn't take the stupid safety off of to keep her safe. He had shot Declyn for her, and she was still choosing someone who didn't matter at all, for what? Because Ace made her feel safe? Myles should have made her feel safe! Ace was an intruder, and she was still inviting him to stay, and no matter how many ways he flipped the situation around, Myles couldn't understand why.
Even in the dark, he could tell that his vision was getting blurry.
"Fine," he ground out. "Sure. Whatever. You want to just give him all our stuff too?" His voice was rising, and he knew that the wobble in it was obvious now, but he didn't care. "How about I shoot myself in the head too so he doesn't have to, what about that!?"
He turned away instead of peering through the darkness at Ivy's face, not knowing if he wanted his words to hurt her or not. He didn't deserve this, but who cared what he deserved, right? Myles stomped forward a couple steps and snatched the shotgun up off the ground, at least depriving Ace of that. If he had been able to flip it around and figure out how to work it in those few seconds, he might have shot Ace anyway.
"Do whatever you want. I don't care. Not like anything I do matters to you anyway."
He was doing this for her. He did everything for her, and they didn't need Ace. Ace didn't need them either, and he had to know that. There were a dozen other houses. He didn't need this one, and he didn't need Ivy, but here she was giving him the invitation anyway when Myles was risking both their necks with his stupid gun that he couldn't take the stupid safety off of to keep her safe. He had shot Declyn for her, and she was still choosing someone who didn't matter at all, for what? Because Ace made her feel safe? Myles should have made her feel safe! Ace was an intruder, and she was still inviting him to stay, and no matter how many ways he flipped the situation around, Myles couldn't understand why.
Even in the dark, he could tell that his vision was getting blurry.
"Fine," he ground out. "Sure. Whatever. You want to just give him all our stuff too?" His voice was rising, and he knew that the wobble in it was obvious now, but he didn't care. "How about I shoot myself in the head too so he doesn't have to, what about that!?"
He turned away instead of peering through the darkness at Ivy's face, not knowing if he wanted his words to hurt her or not. He didn't deserve this, but who cared what he deserved, right? Myles stomped forward a couple steps and snatched the shotgun up off the ground, at least depriving Ace of that. If he had been able to flip it around and figure out how to work it in those few seconds, he might have shot Ace anyway.
"Do whatever you want. I don't care. Not like anything I do matters to you anyway."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
That hurt. Myles knew it would, and that's why he said it, and Ivy knew that, and it didn't matter. He wouldn't stay upset with her for long; that didn't matter, either. He'd screamed at her and she'd run away and that had been this fucking close to the last memory she'd ever had of him. He'd be okay by morning, but there wasn't time.
She shouldn't have stepped forward. Probably she should have thought of the right words to say and just said them, probably she should have gotten Ace's help, probably there was a better way. Her body was barely functional, more cut than skin. She could walk three steps, still. She didn't fall. She kept her weight on her feet when she wrapped her arms around him even though instinct still made her afraid. He didn't hold her, but he didn't pull away. That had to be enough for right now.
"Myles," she said, softly, her head resting gently on his shoulder. "Myles."
She didn't cry, this time. She was far too tired. They'd both lived through an eternity in the last twelve hours, to say nothing of the days that came before; he'd nearly watched two people he loved die and her skin burned behind her bandages as she pressed into him. He'd saved her life. He was still wrong. But she had to hold him together.
"I need you to trust me."
He would never trust Ace, no matter what she said, no matter how sure she was. She was blinded by muscles, he'd say on a better day in a better world, and she'd laugh, and he'd roll his eyes. It would never happen, in a better world. Ace was too soft for her. Funny thing to think, now. Funny how it was still true, despite everything.
"I can't fight with you anymore, I just—"
She almost did cry, then.
"I can't. Please."
They'd never had an argument that wasn't solved over a few drinks, a bad movie, some music, some gossip, some tears, sometimes, not until today. Every time she felt like a piece of her had been cut out, waiting patiently to be slotted back into place. It was always so easy, but it still always hurt. God, if he asked again she'd let Ace go, it didn't matter that she was right, she just needed to be whole again, what was she thinking? She'd nearly lost him that morning because she'd been too stubborn to turn around. What did being right matter?
It took thirty seconds for him to hold her whole heart in his hands. That was how it had always been.
She shouldn't have stepped forward. Probably she should have thought of the right words to say and just said them, probably she should have gotten Ace's help, probably there was a better way. Her body was barely functional, more cut than skin. She could walk three steps, still. She didn't fall. She kept her weight on her feet when she wrapped her arms around him even though instinct still made her afraid. He didn't hold her, but he didn't pull away. That had to be enough for right now.
"Myles," she said, softly, her head resting gently on his shoulder. "Myles."
She didn't cry, this time. She was far too tired. They'd both lived through an eternity in the last twelve hours, to say nothing of the days that came before; he'd nearly watched two people he loved die and her skin burned behind her bandages as she pressed into him. He'd saved her life. He was still wrong. But she had to hold him together.
"I need you to trust me."
He would never trust Ace, no matter what she said, no matter how sure she was. She was blinded by muscles, he'd say on a better day in a better world, and she'd laugh, and he'd roll his eyes. It would never happen, in a better world. Ace was too soft for her. Funny thing to think, now. Funny how it was still true, despite everything.
"I can't fight with you anymore, I just—"
She almost did cry, then.
"I can't. Please."
They'd never had an argument that wasn't solved over a few drinks, a bad movie, some music, some gossip, some tears, sometimes, not until today. Every time she felt like a piece of her had been cut out, waiting patiently to be slotted back into place. It was always so easy, but it still always hurt. God, if he asked again she'd let Ace go, it didn't matter that she was right, she just needed to be whole again, what was she thinking? She'd nearly lost him that morning because she'd been too stubborn to turn around. What did being right matter?
It took thirty seconds for him to hold her whole heart in his hands. That was how it had always been.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myles stood stiffly as Ivy closed the distance between them and locked her arms around him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hug her back, and even if he did, he had a gun in each hand and every touch could hurt her more, in a more immediate sense than whatever he said or didn't say.
He should shoot Ace. Ivy shouldn't have gone running out to him. Garren ought to do something. If they could just remove the problem, everyone would see that Myles had been right all along, and they could get back to resting like they ought to be instead of standing here arguing. But no, of course not. Of course Myles was the bad guy here, and he was the one hurting Ivy, not the stranger trying to force his way into their dynamic.
The obvious, automatic response was I do trust you, just not him, but that wasn't true. He couldn't trust Ivy like this to make the best decisions, because her first decision had been to throw the door open and invite in yet another complication. He couldn't even say that and explain why she was being ridiculous right now, because that would just make everything worse.
"I said I don't care," he muttered. He shifted like he was going to pull away, but he didn't yet. He just kept standing there, jaw set, staring into a dark corner of the room because if he looked around and saw Ace, he didn't want to see the smug triumph or whatever Ace was feeling at successfully making himself the wedge driven between them.
He should shoot Ace. Ivy shouldn't have gone running out to him. Garren ought to do something. If they could just remove the problem, everyone would see that Myles had been right all along, and they could get back to resting like they ought to be instead of standing here arguing. But no, of course not. Of course Myles was the bad guy here, and he was the one hurting Ivy, not the stranger trying to force his way into their dynamic.
The obvious, automatic response was I do trust you, just not him, but that wasn't true. He couldn't trust Ivy like this to make the best decisions, because her first decision had been to throw the door open and invite in yet another complication. He couldn't even say that and explain why she was being ridiculous right now, because that would just make everything worse.
"I said I don't care," he muttered. He shifted like he was going to pull away, but he didn't yet. He just kept standing there, jaw set, staring into a dark corner of the room because if he looked around and saw Ace, he didn't want to see the smug triumph or whatever Ace was feeling at successfully making himself the wedge driven between them.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Ivy pushed up on her toes and kissed him on the forehead.
She didn't remember why she'd done it, the first time she had. It was hard to remember clearly why she'd done anything she'd done when she was five; she assumed she'd seen it in a movie or something. But one day she'd walked into class and first thing walked right up to Myles and kissed him on the forehead and he'd freaked out, which was not really what she'd expected to happen (what on earth had she expected to happen?), but it was very funny. And she'd gotten in trouble, because she wasn't supposed to touch other kids without permission or whatever, and Myles had felt bad about that, so she kissed him on the forehead again, and it was just as funny the second time. And then it stopped bothering him, and she just did it, sometimes, because she wanted to, and then one day she stopped, for no real reason other than she hadn't thought about it, until one day he came over sobbing harder than she'd ever seen and she'd held him and brushed his hair and whispered every affirmation she knew, and she kissed him on the forehead, and they remembered. And he laughed. And things would get better.
It had to be enough.
"You're bad at not caring," she murmured. She couldn't smile, not yet, but it was there in her voice.
"I love you, you know," quieter, still. She rested her head on his shoulder for another moment. She thought she could hear his heartbeat, real and vital, but it must have just been her own. It didn't make a difference.
She thought about taking his hand but the risk of him shaking her off felt more real there, somehow, so she stepped backward instead. He needed his space. She needed to breathe. He hadn't rejected her, he hadn't yelled, it would be okay. She didn't have to beg for forgiveness. Her chest still hurt. He held her heart, still, but she had to trust him, too.
She didn't remember why she'd done it, the first time she had. It was hard to remember clearly why she'd done anything she'd done when she was five; she assumed she'd seen it in a movie or something. But one day she'd walked into class and first thing walked right up to Myles and kissed him on the forehead and he'd freaked out, which was not really what she'd expected to happen (what on earth had she expected to happen?), but it was very funny. And she'd gotten in trouble, because she wasn't supposed to touch other kids without permission or whatever, and Myles had felt bad about that, so she kissed him on the forehead again, and it was just as funny the second time. And then it stopped bothering him, and she just did it, sometimes, because she wanted to, and then one day she stopped, for no real reason other than she hadn't thought about it, until one day he came over sobbing harder than she'd ever seen and she'd held him and brushed his hair and whispered every affirmation she knew, and she kissed him on the forehead, and they remembered. And he laughed. And things would get better.
It had to be enough.
"You're bad at not caring," she murmured. She couldn't smile, not yet, but it was there in her voice.
"I love you, you know," quieter, still. She rested her head on his shoulder for another moment. She thought she could hear his heartbeat, real and vital, but it must have just been her own. It didn't make a difference.
She thought about taking his hand but the risk of him shaking her off felt more real there, somehow, so she stepped backward instead. He needed his space. She needed to breathe. He hadn't rejected her, he hadn't yelled, it would be okay. She didn't have to beg for forgiveness. Her chest still hurt. He held her heart, still, but she had to trust him, too.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."