'til we're food for the worms ── .✦

we lay here for years or for hours. so long we'd become the flowers. and they'd find us in a week when the weather gets hot, after the insects have made their claim. i'll be home withyou.

[eatabug]

i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. i have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me. we lay here for years or for hours. so long we'd become the flowers.

MUSE PAGE | DEVIL'S ELBOW

[folliesofmiceandmen]

it's a relief to be away from afterglow, away from people who annoy him, away from exes and ex-flings who he had to do a lot of smooth talking to to keep his own face from becoming ground beef, or to avoid getting into unnecessary fights that would only cause problems in the long run if he were to be reported to any sort of authority. he's been itching to get back into the gym, to get some training in, hell, to just do a nice little quick workout to try and shake out some of the pent up energy that's built up and caused him to become a total wreck.

none of that happens, though, because jd calls him and invites him over instead, and if he said he hadn't missed his favorite humanoid arachnid, he'd be the filthiest liar this side of devil's elbow. so he'd come here instead, just to be in the other man's presence, and he had settled pretty comfortably against the couch despite the fact that jasper is clearly not enjoying this quiet little movie night as much as he is.

he's practically dozing off when jasper speaks, and it jerks him up a little as his eyes twist to face the man with an eyebrow lifted in very clear confusion. did he mean it?

guess it would depend on what the 'it' is.

but the question is answered before he can ask it, and despite himself, dean can't help but smirk a little as he sits up more fully. "can i be completely and totally transparent?" he pauses, but not really long enough to wait for an answer before he continues. "i've had a lot of sex in my day. i'm the kind of guy who can fuck when he wants to fuck, because for some reason, people want to fuck me. and it's an itch that gets scratched or whatever, but it's never meant anything. i used to think that was totally fine and chill or whatever." this time, his pause is a little longer, and he leans forward enough to put a hand on jasper's knee, to give it a light squeeze. "i don't really think that it is, anymore, because i don't want to just meaninglessly fuck whatever throws itself my way. i'm, like, one smile from you away from writing shakespeare over here. i actually want to know you, whether a dick is involved or not. and i wasn't kidding about being good with my hands, so if we think that's a safe bet, that's fine."

[eatabug]

the way dean suddenly jerks upright when he speaks does not go unnoticed by jasper, but he can't bring himself to be offended by it. even if he wanted to, he couldn't. he's been dreadful company since dean's arrived, hasn't he? hardly a conversationalist, he's spent the vast majority of their afternoon together trapped in the confines of his own head. and it's foolish, really, he knows it is. he'd spent quite a good portion of his week snowed in on the compound thinking about the next time he'd be able to see the charmingly enigmatic fighter, and now that he's gone out of his way to secure the opportunity, he's just as swiftly allowing it to fall through his fingers. he's putting dean to sleep. maybe it's not just the venom poisoning his shot at romance.

❝ yes, ❞ jasper answers quickly, and he'll have to be forgiven if his features screw up into something like mild confusion, ❝ yes, i would prefer if you would, actually, i―oh. ❞ all eight eyes attempt to focus on anything other than dean's face as he very bluntly elaborates. he can feel the color rising to his cheeks at the thought, burning and unbidden. of course he would be well-versed in romance. he looks like he'd be quite the lothario, doesn't he? a choked sound escapes him when dean's hand finds his knee, quiet and sputtering and undignified ; it morphs into a laugh in spite of himself when dean mentions shakespeare. ❝ yes, well, he did have a gift for the tragedy, ❞ jasper quips. undeserved in this situation, he thinks, but not unfit. how could his life be anything but a tragedy given the hand he's been dealt? ❝ i didn't anticipate you a poet. ❞

slowly, hesitantly, a hand shifts until it's resting atop dean's, holding it in place. he's still not looking at him when he speaks again, but fingers squeeze lightly around the ones beneath his. ❝ i don't know what i'm doing. i don't―i don't have any experience, not like you do. the thought of physicality with somebody in any capacity is terrifying. and i don't―i won't be able to share a milkshake with you at the diner, or kiss you goodnight. ❞ there's a pause as jasper deliberates his next words. but there's no point in biting them back, is there? not when he's already been so vulnerable. ❝ i'm harder to exist around. harder to love. i don't want to get my hopes up for something without making it clear that you know what you're getting into first―what we'd be getting into. ❞

[gravemist]

OPEN STARTER ellis ward + open. midday, burnington streets.

The city is slowly rebuilding what it has lost, but it doesn't help much when there's still so much left to fix. It's disheartening to see the community so tense and on edge, but not even Ellis can justify not feeling that way these days. Snow still sits high in uneven drifts where plows had either missed entire stretches of road or given up halfway through, the main streets carved open, enough for traffic and emergency crews. The farther Ellis wandered from the center of Burnington, the more it looked like the storm had simply swallowed whole sections of the city, waiting to spit them back out. People still can't reach their homes and the government has left them to fend for themselves. There's nothing more to be done for the Ink Well as he awaits the government's help to rebuild, and everytime he steps inside, all he can see is damage and loss. So naturally, he puts himself to work.

He'd grabbed a shovel and just started walking. By now he's lost track of whose driveway he's clearing and the path behind him makes it clear where he's been for the last few hours. His skin is slick with cold sweat, skin flushed and nose pink. His breath fogs in front of him, coat hung open despite the cold, long since worked up enough heat to make the winter feel distant. A knit cap sits crooked on his head, curls escaping beneath it, and every so often he pauses only long enough to flex his aching fingers around the shovel handle before returning to work. The snow is still somewhat hardened by ice, the muscles in his arms and torso burning with the force used to dig, but he welcomes it by now. The shovel bites into packed snow with a dull scrape, again, again, again, and eventually he's so consumed by the repetitive motions of the work that he doesn't quite hear or see the person coming up near him. When he finally does, he forces a smile and stands up straight to face the new companion, "One hell of a mess," he greets, as if that explains why he's been out here for the last three hours nonstop, exhaustion creeping in the lines of his face. "But I'm almost done here. Need a hand with somethin'?"

[eatabug]

the cold here is biting, jasper thinks, in a way his warm texan blood will never fully acclimate to. years, jasper has been in the east atlantic―nearly two decades, if he were to truly sit down and count―and yet, he still sees appalachian winters as a beast of lore in their own right ; razor sharp teeth of ice and snarling slush, waiting to sink into him the moment he steps through his door. as much as he wishes he could enjoy the snow for the aesthetic of it all, it's a truly wretched, miserable thing. if jasper allowed himself to be as selfish as his heart desires, he might still be curled up beneath a thick quilt in the armchair by his bay window with a scalding cup of tea and a good book, a desperate attempt to romanticize the remnants of the storm.

but jasper could never allow himself, could he? not in good conscience. he'd grow restless within minutes. people need help.

it isn't nearly half as difficult to locate his boss in this mess as jasper expects it should be. he's only spent about fifteen minutes driving through poorly plowed roads before melting drifts give way to cleared sidewalks and driveways. they follow a path, clear and methodical ; jasper follows it, and within minutes, a silhouette emerges from a sea of blinding white wielding a snow shovel. jd pulls over and steps out of the car, tugging his coat tighter around him when the wind seems to whip right through it.

❝ that feels like an understatement, ❞ the book conservator laments, his breath curling in front of him in thin puffs as he gazes out at the same stretch of cold, uninviting landscape. ❝ can't clean it up on your own, you know. i was coming to see if you needed a hand, but what it seems you need is a break. ❞

[eatabug]

who: vera ward ( @archivedtruth ) where: the burnington water tower, burnington city limits

❝ thank you for meeting me here. ❞ the truth behind the here goes unspoken, something the former explosives specialist still fears to speak of openly. benedicto is not grateful that the water tower is the designated location for this meeting specifically ; it serves the same purpose that any abandoned parking lot or empty backroad might, and that they chose this particular spot between them is neither here nor there. what does matter to him, what benny is grateful for, is where they're not. any attempt he might have made to reach out to her sooner has been hampered by the fact that she remains on the compound.

she still belongs to the east atlantic army.

it has only been a matter of months, but benny believes that years could pass, decades, and he would feel no less loath to return. in spite of this, he did wish to speak to her. ❝ before i left, you said you would like to speak to me about something. circumstance did not allow me the opportunity then, but i thought, if possible, i could extend the offer now. ❞

his good eye drifts from the young private to the ladder ascending the water tower ( the other eye is still in the possession of the gardner twins as they design and program an off-market replacement, a thick black patch temporarily in its place ) and benny blinks, looking back toward vera. ❝ on the condition that you do not make me attempt to scale this thing before doing so. i do not think i could make it to the top in this state ❞

[eatabug]

who: dolores muñoz ( @folliesofmiceandmen ) where: dolores' place

the first thought that strikes him the moment he's jerked from a dreamless doze is that he's not entirely sure what's woken him. it is immediately followed by the realization that he cannot even recall falling asleep in the first place. benny blinks awake to fabric shrouding his vision ; the rough upholstery of a half-folded cushion presses creases into his cheek and he's tangled up in a throw blanket that looks―and feels―distinctly unfamiliar. he didn't fall asleep in his own bed. it's tuesday, jamila's at the diner on tuesdays. this isn't her bed either. it takes a moment for benny to get his bearings and realize he's dozed off, evidently mid-visit, on his younger sister's couch. there's a stubborn crick in his neck that suggests it was as unplanned as it feels.

sitting up hurts worse than he'd care to admit and benny has to bite back a groan as he pushes himself upright. rising to his feet his worse, but he can hear a clatter in the kitchen, and he expects he owes dolores an apology at very least for showing up just to sleep. it's a slow shuffle across the room but benedicto gets there eventually, dragging a hand over his face as he tries to acclimate to the brighter lighting. ❝ i understand now why the pain medications come with all the warnings―do not mix with alcohol. do not operate the big machines. ❞ he'd had a single beer while he was talking to loro, only one, but it caught up to him quickly. ❝ you should have woken me. i would have slept the entire day in your living room. ¿qué hora es? ❞

[murdcrofcrows]

who: @eatabug ( benny ) where: mama muñoz's house

while the majority of the muñoz and other extended family, including his father, have been standoffish. with the exception of his abuela, who has welcomed him into her home with open arms and bash simply was not going to deny her anything she wanted. she was a breath of fresh air in this confusing situation and place. in fact, the moment they were let out of the community center, he was quick to volunteer to help her home ( along with others, of course ). once they were there he agreed to stay and help her clean up. his knee was still a bit sore, but it was not even close to what it was before.

youthfulness pays off again.

he was taking the last board off the picture window when he saw benny walk past it to come in the house. "oh hey, um, sir?" he hadn't tried that one out on the older man quite yet. the awkward greeting could be shrugged off to easy distraction by the smell of whatever his abuela was doing in the kitchen. bash's stomach made a sound affirming his thoughts. "she um, disappeared into the kitchen like an hour ago saying something about me looking too thin, like you." bash chuckled and shifted it to a tight lipped smile. "anyways, um, how's your ass bone or whatever?" something else abuela filled him in on.

[eatabug]

he should have reached out to him sooner. he should have said something sooner. benny knows this. sebastian is his son, he's blood. he still thinks about the fact that he'd not spoken a word of their family's plan to journey to the community center when they were in the bunker. does he regret it? of course. it wasn't as if bash had slipped his mind. no, it was an almost intentional neglect, wasn't it? he'd barely been able to find the words to speak to santiago and connie. he couldn't have held a conversation with bash, not any that mattered. he'd found his way along all the same, and that counts for something, doesn't it?

for the family, at very least. it does nothing to assuage his guilt.

something in his stomach turns to stone and begins to sink the moment he catches sight of bash through the window. but it's too late to turn around, isn't it? and he shouldn't turn around anyway. god, that'd be worse than what he did at the bunker. he'd told mamí he was coming, too, he can't just not show up. benny stops in the doorway, squeezes his eyes shut and takes four deep breaths, one right after the next. on the last exhale, he pushes the door open.

❝ sir? ❞ that's new. he's not entirely sure he's a fan. ❝ no, please―just benny is fine. ❞ dark eyes flicker toward the kitchen at the mention of his mother―sebastian's abuela―and a short huff of a laugh tumbles out of him before he can stop it. ❝ of course she did. she does not believe in metabolism. if you are thin, you must not eat. i have heard this many times before. food is a love language in this family. ❞ there's a brief, hesitant pause before he adds, ❝ do you know what she is making? ❞

benny is already moving toward the nearest armchair when bash very bluntly inquires about his injury, and his answer is an involuntary grunt as he moves to sit. ❝ sore, ❞ he answers simply. ❝ you were also hurt, no? when the―the, uh― ❞ benny stumbles for a moment over a word he cannot remember the name for in english. ❝ ―el alud, when all of the snow fell. are you okay? ❞ it seems as good a place as any to begin to broach the subject of an apology. he hadn't even asked that yet. ❝ sit, please. talk to me a moment. ❞

[eatabug]

who: javier muñoz ( @apocalyptixs ) where: the muñoz-o'halloran home

❝ dios mío, i feel like somebody's withering tío right now. ❞ if the complaint sounds tight, that's because it is ; even now, days after they've all been granted release from the community center, every single step he takes is another throbbing reminder of how aggressively benny had fallen on the ice. everyone who'd made the trek from the bunker felt the impact of the journey, benedicto knows he is not special in this regard, he only thinks he is perhaps unluckier in that it was his ass that was bruised. santiago may have broken his arm, but at least he had a splint. what does benny have but a donut-shaped pillow and an embarrassing lump? ❝ all i need is un bastón y un cigarro, hm? ❞

benny shuffles past his brother toward the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and dropping the pillow onto his seat with an unceremonious and undignified thud. ❝ you say nothing about my pillow, ❞ benny warns as he grips the edge of the table to gingerly lower himself down. ❝ you say nothing, or you will be the one needing it next. ❞ in spite of the threat, the next words out of the older muñoz's mouth are a request. ❝ ¿café? santi brewed a pot before he left. ❞ it's just as much an offer as it is an attempt to get his brother to snag him a cup too. he should've gotten one before he sat down, but he's certainly not about to get back up again. ❝ and then i promise i will quit wasting your time and cut to the point. ❞

[eatabug]

who: daye kang ( @folliesofmiceandmen ) where: outside of daye's house

❝ don't―! ❞ the word rushes out of him the second the door swings open enough to catch a glimpse of his stepdaughter behind it, and mikaere swiftly reaches out to press his palm to the door, holding it open before she can make any move to slam it in his face. he's sure she'd like to. their relationship has been this way for quite some time now, hasn't it? and it would seen that every time he's shown up on her doorstep as of late, it's been in the presence of some crisis or another. ❝ don't close the door on me, baby bug. please. i'm not here to disturb your peace, i assure you. i just―i had hoped you might have a moment to talk. ❞

that, at least, is the truth. he's not come here to cause any harm. he intends no chaos.

are his motives strictly pure and wholesome? well, that's neither nor there. he's here to check on her. to make sure she's alright after that horrific storm. what does that make him if not a loving and concerned father figure? ❝ i haven't come begging for a place to stay, either, if that's what you're worried. you won't have to try and scrounge up an excuse for why dear old dad can't stay on your sofa. it's fine. i've somewhere to go, somewhere to be. i just wanted to see you. ❞

[eatabug]

who: draven thorne ( @murdcrofcrows ) where: the sound factory

it is no wonder to mikaere that so may members of the eclipse flock to the sound factory for refuge when they're not within the safety of the ranch's perimeter. or what was that safety, rather. the listener has already fought his way through ice and snow to return to what remained of their home. he knows better than most how little there is left. but this place, despite its flashing technicolor lights, it's dark. it's loud. it's a place someone could very easily disappear. draven might not be among the children working at the establishment, but mikaere keeps tabs on his own well enough to know that draven's band plays there from time to time, the one they're in with their future apostate of a lover. the children might be scattered to the wind for now, but he'd been hoping he might find the speaker here sooner or later.

❝ they follow you. they listen when you speak. comes with the title, i suppose, but the point remains. ❞ mikaere says this apropos of absolutely nothing upon ordering the both of them a round of drinks. his long limbs are folded precariously on the barstool as he addresses draven, his hands gesticulating in such a way that it's a wonder of physics he's not been thrown entirely off-balance. ❝ you need to look out for them, do you hear me? you will have better access to much of the eclipse than i will, i'd imagine, and i need you to swear on the dread father that you will not allow them to stray from the light. ❞ he reaches for his drink when it appears on the bar ; something fruity and unnaturally colored, it tastes like rancid sugar water going down. he takes another sip. ❝ have you found somewhere to stay? who are you taking shelter with? ❞

[insainted]

There's a deep sigh of annoyance at Mikaere's repetition of what they must do, stay in the box in the hole in the mountain, wait for the storm to pass. There's already a restlessness starting in the bottom of its stomach, but the calm lull of Mikaere's voice always does enough to curb the worst of its instincts. Then again, they've never been in a situation quite like this; in situations where even he can't tame the beast, Cilou has always had the opportunity to disappear into the woods surrounding their home, sometimes days and nights at a time.

Their current circumstance simply doesn't allow for as much.

Sitting up, Cilou gently paws his chest with steel-reinforced claws, intricate carvings within thick steel that comes to a sharp, rending point on each digit. Steel, ultimately, is more durable and far more easier to clean, and having them attached to it as they are, very difficult to get them off it. As sharp and deadly as they are with any intention, however, the sharp tips slide along fabric without tearing, without even hitching, instead finding a button to play with, to keep its attention.

"I have not," it confirms, green eyes shifting up, the reflecting features of the back of its eyes anatomy reflecting whatever low light the space provides sharply, like bright green orbs staring out of the dark. "There's no place to run. Nothing to hunt." There is, though, plenty to hunt, but none that it can hunt without leave. It gives Mikaere a little pout, leaning its face closer to his until their noses are almost touching. "Do you want me to find what this place is hiding?"

[eatabug]

an involuntary shiver races down the listener's spine at the sensation of cold metal claws scraping down the front of him, nary a single hitch of steel on fabric to spur his breath to catch. that's something that's always fascinated mikaere about cilou, hasn't it? something that's always delighted and endeared him to it. they're quite a dangerous creature, deadly by design, and yet―he lifts a hand to stroke at its dark hair like one might deign attention to a cat. a pet. it sits in his lap like one. answers to him like one, as well. it's difficult not to be charmed by obedience wrapped in such a gorgeously disturbing little package.

❝ oh, but there is plenty to hunt in here, little bug. don't tell me those eyes see nothing of the possibility here? i'd hate to be disappointed by such blatant lack of imagination. ❞ he doesn't mean people, of course. at least not yet. they've still got supplies, they've still got their numbers. mikaere leans forward to match its gesture when it leans impossibly closer to him, their noses bumping in the low light. ❝ this bunker has secrets, love. is there anyone better to sniff them out but you? i should think not, but please, correct me if i'm mistaken. ❞

[eatabug]

who: ursula broussard ( @murdcrofcrows ) where: samara's office

❝ thank you for taking the time to see me, sweetheart. i'm sure you must be so busy. ❞

there's a rare softness to samara's tone that's reserved most often for only the dearest of friends―and people who have something samara wants. in this moment, ursula sits teetering in precarious position between them both. she is a friend, of course, insofar as samara manages to make or keep anything resembling one. she's more of a networker than she is a friend, but she makes an effort to appear more genial than she is. she's noticed it tends to help more than it hurts.

❝ please, please, come inside. make yourself comfortable. i'm sorry i couldn't ask to meet you anywhere other than my office, but i've just been so swamped i feel tethered to this thing. ❞ samara rests a hand atop her desk briefly before rising to her feet to usher ursula inside and shut the door behind her. of course samara had heard what happened at the community center, even before the roads were thawed ; she's got eyes and ears in enough places that news gets back to her quickly. and of course she wants details, she wants information, but she knows better than to be pushy about it.

❝ can i get you anything? coffee or tea? i just wanted to check on you after―well, everything. how you holding up, honey? ❞

[eatabug]

who: diego gomez ( @folliesofmiceandmen ) where: their home

maybe it's in poor taste that she went straight back to her office the moment the roads were cleared enough for her to get out of the ❛ emergency shelter ❜ and back to the governance building. by then, she could have very easily driven straight past and to her home, where diego was likely waiting. how he'd managed to get himself snowed in at the community center in town of all places was beyond her, but they'd communicated enough that she was confident he was alive and well and on his way back to their place as soon as the opportunity arrived. was it her fault she'd gotten snowed in at the research center of all places, well-away from her laptop or anything beyond her phone with which to do work? she needed her things, and then she'd go home.

but it's never quite that simple, is it? and it's nearing sundown by the time samara finally leaves the building, and the streetlamps are on when she finally arrives home. diego's car is parked out front, though, at least she won't have to wait for him. she wonders briefly how long he's been here, how long he might have been waiting on her. she doesn't let herself dwell on the thought long. instead, she drops her keys in the dish by the door and kicks off her heels. coming home after a week away feels like exhaling a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding.

❝ diego? ❞ samara calls as she walks through the house, dropping her bag on the sofa on her way to the hall. ❝ where are you? nevermind, don't answer that, just meet me in the bathroom in five minutes. i need a shower. ❞

[insainted]

There's a reason why—outside of Ziggy—Ares Graves counts among Monty's best friends. The man doesn't ask questions, doesn't make judgements, and he knows people. He knows Monty, that's for certain, at least. There hadn't been a question about whether he's okay, or how he's doing. Simply took him along and gave him the exact thing Monty needed to block the world out, especially now, when it's needed most.

Monty sits with his eyes closed, finally not a roiling pit of emotions, of wanting to scream at the slightest touch or noise, or like he's going to do things he might regret to the next person so desperate for his attention. It's this stillness, this lack thereof that he experiences now that makes him realise just how bad it'd gotten. And they're still fucking stuck here.

"Yeah," he murmurs his agreement at Ares' sentiment. He wants to sleep in his own damn bed, with his girlfriend wrapped around him, in his own damn house, with no people there. Obviously that's not an option right now. Perhaps a two week—or a month long—holiday will set him straight for once.

Reaching out to take the offer, Monty takes a long drag, holding it in his lungs before letting it go again through his nose. "Doing better. You're a lifesaver, I appreciate you, man. Really." And he does. Delphie did what she could with limited tools, but sometimes it takes a... more medicinal hand. "Zig's at the compound, I think they're alright. Joni's..." Well, he hasn't gone to check on Joni yet, has he? What kind of shit brother is he, really? "She's looked after. Gonna check up on her once we're done here." He hasn't even gone looking for their mother. What a disaster.

"Saw Apo's here too. Adonis here too?"

[eatabug]

❝ don't mention it. ❞ ares means it, too. he might not grow his own supply ( he's been looking into it, though―it would be more economical, more practical, especially if it's only for his and his brothers' private consumption ) but ares likes to stay well-stocked, and when he realized he'd be spending an indefinite amount of time in an emergency shelter in town with the rest of the general population, he made sure not to skimp on the green when he was packing. and smoking monty up feels like a small price to pay for the company of a friend. he's happy to provide. ❝ you need more, you come find me, alright? ❞

ares shifts on the crate he's turned into a makeshift stool, grunting as the plastic crosshatch cuts into his ass. yeah, no, he'd much rather be snowed in at his own place. if it weren't for the fact that apo and harmonia were already here, he'd have stayed exactly where the fuck he was. family comes first, though. so here he is, trying to catch a buzz in a goddamn closet.

❝ she's looked after, ❞ ares repeats with a snort, reaching for the blunt again. ❝ why'd you gotta make it sound so cryptic, huh? ❞ he's not actually expecting an answer, more ribbing monty than anything, but it is an interesting choice of phrase. ❝ better she's here than there. i haven't heard much coming out of that bunker, but from what i have heard? ❞ ares lets out a low whistle before taking another drag, holding it in his lungs long enough to shake his head. ❝ not the place to be. ❞

he looks back toward monty at the mention of his own family, his free hand instinctively drifting toward where his phone rests in his pocket. his only current connection to adonis, and it's dodgy at best. ❝ yeah, yeah, apo's here. harmonia, too. fucking adonis is out on the compound though, doing lord only fucking knows what. i've been trying to keep tabs, but service is shit. ❞

[eatabug]

who: demi wallis ( @folliesofmiceandmen ) where: outside of demi's place

it's been months now at least that ares has been trying to land himself a date with the sweet blonde waitress down at the red line ; months of buying more cookies and muffins and pastries than he ever had any intention of eating on his own and months of telling apollo he'll babysit harmonia just so they'd have an excuse to go see the ❛ cupcake lady ❜ at the diner even after he's already been that week―and so he can see his niece, of course. he's not a monster. family is the most important thing to him, in fact. getting to see demi for a few minutes while he's spending time with harmonia is just a bonus. the cherry on top.

but of course, the moment he'd worked up the nerve to actually do something about his ever-present infatuation, the entire east atlantic was hit with a freak storm that swiftly shut down any and all plans he could've made. they were snowed in on opposite sides of devil's elbow. he could hardly even talk to her for a whole damn week. the one thing he did manage?

securing a raincheck on their date.

he might be overdressed now, ares thinks, standing on her doorstep and waiting for her to come to the door. but he wants to make up for every single misstep that's led him here, and he intends to pull out all the stops. he told her to dress nice and make sure she didn't have anywhere to be early tomorrow morning, then promised to pick her up at six. when there's no immediate answer, he knocks on the door again before taking a step back. he did get the address right, didn't he? it's fine. it's fine.

she'll answer.

[murdcrofcrows]

who: @eatabug ( ares ) where: wder / daily burn

"you hear someone got murdered while we were all in there, man? that's fucked." harmonia had been there with them. ever since apollo found out about all the gang war bullshit carrying out during the storm, his mind has been churning. obviously he knows that ares already heard about the dead biker, pretty sure it was in the paper and probably knew their name and everything else on top of it. if they tried to discuss things ares didn't know about, there would be very little for the two of them to talk about.

they were playing a stupid game on one of the old tvs in ares' office. most everyone in the building was gone ( not that it would stop them from doing exactly what they were doing right then ), so apo took the opportunity to light up and chill out before he had to switch over to dad mode. harmonia was with his ex-mother-in-law who was staying with him until her home could be repaired.

"i think we should get a new building or fix this one up enough to get a generator so we can run independently and hide out here in the future when shit goes south." he offered his thoughts out loud, he'd need to get adonis in on it too. maybe if not that place they could do it at the sound factory instead. just not with the general public where people are getting murdered and shit. "or maybe the sound factory? what d'you think?" he handed the joint back up to him.

[eatabug]

❝ yeah, i heard. ❞

his tone might appear flat if there were anyone else around to overhear it ( there isn't ) but ares knows that if anyone can hear the exasperation hiding in the simple answer, it's his younger brother. and to be clear, it's not that ares is bothered to discover the information―quite the opposite, actually, he prefers that any and all news be funneled back to him directly because, more than his job, it's literally his entire fucking life―but apollo is by far not the first to have mentioned to him, and he's still incredibly fresh off an hours' long rant from his editor-in-chief about how the entire operation happened right beneath their noses.

hirsch was upset by this. ares, very justifiably, was not. he's here to publish news, not make it for being the dumb motherfucker who got got next. as far as ares is concerned, that murder was none of his business until after it happened. he was too busy looking after his own to worry about what some bottom-of-the-barrel criminals were up to.

❝ fucking glad we kept eyes on harmonia the whole time, ❞ ares continues, his gaze still locked on the screen so he can keep whooping his brother's ass at super smash bros. ❝ can't trust anybody in this city. whole fucking place is crazy. bunch of them moth fuckers there, too. snow took out their shit. the bugs are scattering. ❞

ares, once he's secured a comfortable enough lead, looks away from the game to take the joint from his brother. ❝ we could build, ❞ he offers around a drag of the joint, taking another swiftly behind it so he can hand it back to apollo and get both hands back on the controller. ❝ expand. ❞ the word comes out in an exhale of smoke as he looks between apo and the screen. ❝ we need enough space for family, but i want our staff to have somewhere to go if shit gets real. this place isn't big enough, not right now, but we own the land around it, too. quite a bit of land. we keep it close, we can continue to operate here no matter what happens―boom! got ya, bitch. ❞

[eatabug]

who: kai rivera ( @murdcrofcrows ) where: the sound factory

flashes of bright cerulean pulse in a violent rhythm as indika's good foot hits the floor with another heavy thump, the third in just as many minutes. he's getting winded now, and it's starting to frustrate even his normally calm and unflappable demeanor. he shouldn't be having this much difficulty getting up such a short ladder, the very same one he's ascended every single day up until now to access the controls in the light booth. of course, every other time he's ever tried, he didn't have an oversized boot with zero traction immobilizing his entire left leg below the knee. he knows that if he could just figure out how to swing his leg up onto the rung and hook it into the corner, he wouldn't keep sliding off, but it's easier said than done.

the fourth fall sends a bolt of pain lancing up his leg and indika groans, pushing himself off the ladder and leaning back against the booth instead so he can bury his face in his hands. he can hear snickering from a few feet away, someone clearly amused by his wasted efforts. indika doesn't need to look up to know who it is. ❝ when i told mr. graves i could come back to work, i didn't think about this, ❞ he says, scrubbing at his face with his palms before looking up at kai with a sigh. ❝ is inability to climb a ladder a good enough reason to fire me? ❞

[insainted]

Devan had expected some manner of negative reaction, but certainly not to this extent. It catches him off guard, certainly, eyes blinking as Indika sinks into what he can only describe is a meltdown. Now, Devan can't say he knows the guy, not like his twin, but he certainly hadn't expected... this. "Have you been taking drugs, man?"

But there's something wrong, aside from the emotional distress. Devan has been around people pushed to the physical—and sometimes mental—brink all his life, he knows instinctively how bodies ought to move, and he couldn't shake something being off. And with his experience out in the field, having seen more injuries in his three decades on this planet, it doesn't take him long to hone in on exactly what's wrong.

"Holy shit, dude," they say as they quickly move forward, coming to a sliding stop by Indika's feet to carefully pull the leg of his trousers up for a better look. Fuck, how long has he been walking on this? Glancing up at him, Devan shakes their head, quickly getting up. "C'mon, big guy, you need help."

Without asking, Devan pulls Indika's arm around his neck and hauls him up, pulling the majority of his weight onto their side so make sure he's not putting any more weight on the injury. "What the hell happened to you, huh? How long have you been sitting with this? That's fucking stupid, you know what could happen if you let shit like that go untreated? If you can even walk properly again, you might end up just hurting the rest of your damn life."

[eatabug]

❝ what? ❞ for a moment, indika isn't sure what devan is asking him. is he on drugs? why would he be on drugs when he'd just come from the snow? surely he would've gotten lost. when the whole world is covered in white, everything looks like everything and nothing looks like anything anymore. it's too easy to get turned around. he would know, he'd done it with a clear head. no, not clear, was it? clouded by dreams, by river. ❝ no, i'm not―no drugs. it's―it's the cold that makes my glow flicker. or the adrenaline, maybe, not―no. ❞ he says it as if that's what made them suspicious. ❝ no drugs. they're not here? ❞

devan still hasn't answered his question. indika doesn't understand. he'd seen it so clearly. the vision was supposed to take them to river. not to the compound. not to devan. why would the dread father trick him like this? it couldn't be punishment, could it? he's devout. he's faithful. was it because he'd left listener kahn? he couldn't protect the listener. and what was the vision if not a direct message from the dread father himself? he'd only been doing what he thought he was meant to.

so caught up is he in this awful spiral of thought that indika doesn't even realize devan's come closer until they're hoisting him up out of his seat and pulling him into their side when he starts listing unsteadily the second he's on his feet. ❝ i don't know, ❞ indika confesses, leaning into devan. they're a warm, solid presence. he's still shivering. ❝ no, i do know. i don't remember. or maybe i'm not sure? i walked here from under the ground. there was a shelter, but it wasn't a shelter, and the dread father―he told me river was here. he showed me. i thought i was supposed to leave. ❞

he blinks, his shoulder pressing into devan as he tilts his head to better look at him. ❝ is it bad? the snow―i couldn't feel it, not for very long. i couldn't feel much of anything. ❞