poison

[biohazardly]

GIRL​

It was odd seeing him like this. It’s odd she was seeing him at all. Her brain tried to wrap around it pitifully, painfully. Just as her brain tried hard to wrap around River. It was hard to process the way life and death picked and chose when it was permanent. 

How was she supposed to feel? How was she supposed to react. There was the feeling of blind, angry, hatred that seated itself deep in her heart. Anger created by betrayal, by fear. Created by the feeling of failure he gave her. There was also the feeling of loss. Of something that she thought they once had, the illusion of a friendship, of at least kinship. Everything about that was destroyed, the pieces decimated by truth. 

A lot of things lately were decimated by truth.

“Don’t you walk away from me” Her words come out of her body without her permission. They are laced with every ounce of anger and loss she felt. She shook, trembled slightly at the amount of emotion. A human body could only hold so much. 

Her fists balled up by her sides, trying her best to contain it. She wouldn’t be caught losing control like the last time they were this close. She was better than that. Right? 

A one sided fight. He couldn’t even deign her with the dignity of an even sided fight. She clenched her fists tighter. If she was smart she would call the HRL. If she was smart she would at least call Simon who was probably just finding a parking spot and making his way into the mall. 

But Daphne was never smart was she?

She always made the wrong choices. The wrong moves. And everyone ended up worse for it. So she clenched her teeth and took a step closer to him, he wasn’t getting away that easy.

“Then lets talk. I need answers.” 

        In this moment he thought, truly, of laughing. Daphne’s expression was one of pure and unadulterated, concentrated fury. She wanted him dead so badly. didn’t she? He stared, silent in the face of the storm brewing in her head, concentrated on her gleaming red eyes in the harsh mall lighting. He shifted, turning back towards the exit, uncaring if she was following him or not.

Really it was up to her. Christian no longer had any opinions on the matter. Just a dull ache where feelings should be and routine left in their wake. Even this small bit of exploration left him without the proud glow of accomplishment. Honestly, Reagan would be devastated that he had slipped out of his room wordlessly, that he had vanished again.

If he died again would he even come back? 

He pulled out one of the plastic chairs in the food court, taking great care to settle into his seat, one leg cross over the over, head resting on his fist, eyes flickering over the lines of people waiting to get themselves a meal. His stomach growled. It would be rude to partake of food while Daphne had her talk with him, but the smells were delectable. He could certainly go for Italian.

“Here we are, ask your questions.” His voice no longer carried the confidence it had back when he was just Christian Avitia, instead it was dry and deadly silent, a secret shared between the dying. 

[crispspringmorning]

@biohazardly

Anybody with a trained eye or a professional sixth sense could walk into this city and tell that there was the stench of crime. Well, that and there was a very large record that went down and down and down on a list, something that York had read thrice over already. What a history! Still, it wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the places that he had been before. Some of the purple cities…those were totally lawless.

Still! A city where the criminal underbelly in all its fractured cliques acted as organized as the heroic figures at the top? This was going to be a site to see. Most were the solitary types –

But he wasn’t here for the exploration of organized crime. No. There was another murderer afoot- someone who acted out of sorts. The way that each fingerbone was arranged from the photographs sent - this was a serial killer. And York would find his unsub.

He held no illusions about what he might have to do, of course. Getting in with villains might be one of them. For now though? Coffee. He needed more than a little bit of coffee. Where to go for that though? He had no idea…

So he stopped the first person on the street. “Hey! Where is the best place to get coffee around here. Black, with just some milk. Pour it yourself even. I’m very particular about my coffee, but I need to know what the locals think.”

[biohazardly]

        Oh this was was bizarre. He had crazy eyes and a mouth that wouldn’t stop moving. Oh, oh no. Christian stared silently at the man in question, unblinking until he was allowed a moment to interject. “Ah- well, coffee is simple- but what you’re asking is, well to be completely frank, an odd one. I’m not sure if there a gourmet coffee shops that allow you to pour your own- milk?”

Regardless, he knew this one wouldn’t leave without some sort of directions. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder and gave the strange man a flat expression; “Go to your left and down the street. There’s a cafe there that has specialty coffee. If you go north and keep pushing north you will find yourself at the HRL building and you can ask for directions there.”

Christian adjusted his glasses and began to walk forward, sighing under his breath- it was about time for lunch and something told him not to go to his usual haunt. But he disregarded the mental note, it was likely just some defense mechanism to avoid having to sit near a man who looked and sounded like he was about to launch into a lengthy rant on movie facts.

“Enjoy your day, sir.”

[biohazardly]

starryiis‌:

Grief hung heavy over Daphne Torres. She hadn’t left her bed for several days. Well not besides forcing Daddy to shower and for her to make sure both of them had food in their belly. To be quite honest it was Simon who made both of them do anything of that sort. 

How different she was from a year ago. She realized as she was getting dressed.  She was so trusting, so optimistic of the world, so full of light, and had stars in her eyes. One of Mami’s old work out shirts, leggings, sneakers placed on herself reluctantly. But Simon was insistent she went out of the goddamn house. Just for a little while. Go somewhere where her mother’s memory wasn’t clinging to every square inch. 

Daphne was angry. Angry she had to go out. Angry she had to shower. Angry she had to go on like this. Day to day. Knowing she was a fuck up, that she couldn’t truly save anyone. No one she tried to. She was angry with this responsibility of life. 

The memory of falling flashes through her brain

She shakes her head, trying to push the impulse away from her. She promised. She promised so many people she would never go there again. She promised herself. Simon drove her to the mall, silence as she stared out the window. It was an awkward car ride. They both knew she didn’t want to go. They both knew all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and pretend the world wasn’t so hard and so cruel. 

She made her way into the mall as Simon went to park the car. She wandered through, not really heading to any particular place, just….. wandering. Like a ghost, or more like a wraith as her emotions boiled under her skin. Into a store, any store, she made her way in. 

Imagine her surprise when she saw one source of these emotions down the aisle of the first store she walked into. 

He was different slightly, but she couldn’t mistake those features, that stance. 

Someone she once thought was a friend.

The first person to break her belief in the world.

She drew in a breath. It was sharp like the knives she wanted to stab into him. Like the words that she wanted to fling toward him. Sharp like the pain that coursed through her body at all hours of the day now. 

Daphne thought she was going to scream. How was he here? How was he alive? And the most dangerous thought of all. How does he get to be alive while she is dead?

In what universe was that fair?

He turned to her and spoke. And she lost all those sharp words. She lost all thought and energy. All she could feel was drained. He spoke and questioned her.

“It’s you.” Her voice shook as it came out. The only words that made it out.

        “It’s me.” Christian responded, turning to face her entirely, his hands loose at his sides. He didn’t raise his hands to defend himself; he hardly moved to acknowledge Daphne. It was odd- he wasn’t sure he felt much of anything. 

Maybe there was the old, protective spark there. The desire to keep her safe; to see her success and be proud that despite him, despite his meddling that she was so close to becoming powerful and independent.

He brushed his silver hair from his face and tore himself away from the clothing rack, slowly stepping away from any objects that could be destroyed by an overzealous superhero. It was likely that Christian would be thrown through a wall, where his bones would knit together and he would ask he if she thought she was going to kill him.

Christian offered a hollow eyed smile, no warmth remaining on his features. It was hard to feel anything except grief and fury. Yet, he felt none of it towards her. No, it was at Circuit. Circuit who was already dead, he and his meddling little rabbit. Both of them torn from his grasp before he could administer the final blow.

He glanced at Daphne for a brief moment and began to turn, began to walk from the store despite knowing it would very rapidly become a problem. That Starry Eyes had had enough and one day she could kill for real, that she could tear the life free from another being and enjoy it.

It made him sad.

“If you want to fight me you’ll find it to be onesided.” He announced, tossing one errant look over his shoulder at the girl. They were hardly far apart in age, a good five or six years in gap. They could have been siblings in another life, in some world that wasn’t made to crush and tear at hope. “I’m open to conversation but if you wish to do away with me do so quickly.”

[biohazardly]

open starter

        To say that he was dead would have been an understatement. Christian had clawed his way out of his own, shallow grave before he had been found by Reagan. He was cold, his skin drained of color and his hair now stark white from the shock of it all.

He deserved it but he was still left with a trembling anger that shook him at night, that could not be assuaged by the warmth of his boyfriend. He was dead but he could not remain dead. His wounds would knit together, he would wake up in the dirt, alone and confused. Effectively, Christian Avitia was immortal.

He pulled at his long hair, the silver strands falling around his ghastly pale face in waves. Ah, his hair. He had not cut it since his first death, it was nearly at his mid back now. He pulled it into a strangled ponytail and grunted his disapproval, slipping outside into the midday sun.

He wanted to shop, without Reagan, left alone to his own devices to explore downtown Olive. Maybe he would find something nice to bring his spirits up; perhaps he could, for a moment, escape his overbearing lover for merely a moment. Yes, Christian was aware the man was afraid, he was afraid he would lose him again.

The Lich found his way to the mall, mindlessly flipping through the racks of some little outlet store, humming along to the deafening song that was left bit-crunched through the stores shitty radio. It smelled heavily of perfume and bodies; he could acutely sense he was not alone here. It was bold to assume he would be alone in any retail store, there would always be someone.

But this someone was acutely aware of Christian’s presence. He could hear the uptake in their breath, the pumping of their blood. What reaction was this, he wondered as his gaze lifted, pupils sharpening into slits. 

“Can I assist you?”

[biohazardly]

open starter

        Christian was one for the gentle vibrancy of a nice evening in a cafe, graded homework spread on the table. He took a sip of his coffee, marking off yet another successfully graded essay. This year his class had been full of loud, young students with bright eyes and hungry minds. He capped his pen and played his fingers over the table, mind wandering somewhere further away for a mere moment.

Was he happy? He had stability for the first time in all of his 27 years of life; he graduated early and became a doctor far earlier. He found himself stretching, a yawn catching in his throat. He rubbed one yellow, catlike eye and squeezed the other shut as well. Maybe he was happier with his more illicit work.

He closed his laptop with a small snap; gathered his papers and began to rise. Christian took his last sip of his drink, waiting until the last of the sugars from the creamer dissolved on his tongue, and then turned to toss the empty cardboard and styrofoam into the proper receptacle. 

With little flourish he turned and found himself slamming into another; their drink splashing onto the floor and quickly turning into a sticky mess that coated shoe, pant legs and (more bothersome) his laptop and the physical copies of the essays that he had yet to slip into his bag.

“Ah,” His gaze flickered towards the soaked electronic and to the small cup that seemingly held a fountain of endless coffee. It was almost a moment that seemed to be engineered exactly for him to be forced to talk to someone else, as if a god of boundless cruelty was laughing at his series of implausible failures.

“I’m sorry, I’ll buy you another drink.” Christian’s gaze did not once fall on the individual before him, instead he went to work salvaging as much as he could of his work and his now sticky laptop. Ah, well, Tanit had backups of his files somewhere, probably.