THE WHOLE WORLD IS POISON

Today there's more fellowship among snakes than among mankind; Wild beasts spare those with similar markings. scorned by gray.

[fatebinds]

FATEBINDS: dependent blog for @dreadmorehq, written by gray (25, he/him)

maddox "max" morrison (emilien vekemans): leader and vocalist in SATANIC PANIC! and bartender at the roadhouse.

introduction. starters.

shari nadar (geraldine viswanathan): POSSESSED blood tech at dreadmore medical center.

introduction. starters.

kalypso neberu (jade eshete): survivor from THE 2008 MASSACRE and a paralegal at brandt & goetch.

introduction. starters.

nikolas leon walsh (ben levin): haunted sibling from TAINTED BLOODLINES and a dock worker at the dreadmore docks.

introduction. starters.

alan weaver (brenton thwaites): former TRUE BELIEVER and mechanic at baxter's automotives.

introduction. starters.

DISCLAIMER: this blog contains dark themes including: cannibalism, satanic rituals, demonic possession, body horror, gore, etc.

[witheredblumes]

"You think, huh? Well, sounds like it could be worse." Gim says, putting a kettle on the stove and wondering if he still had ice cream in the freezer. "So, is it one of those things where when it's quiet, you think you hear things, or is it even when you have the tv or the radio on?"

[fatebinds]

leon fights a grimace. could be, yeah. not by much, though. it's better that his with someone he trusts than someone he doesn't. "i can barely hear you," he admits, shaking his head. "it's like my head is full of a bunch of... bees."

[witheredblumes]

"Of course not. You better also show up for my meat loaf," Gim said easily, not concerned. He'd rather Alan stop by to wash clothes than wear them dirty, and for him to eat than go hungry. He wouldn't mind if Alan stayed, but Gim knew he couldn't make him. "Get your bag and I'll get you some food, then we can catch up. You can tell me about work and anything else you've been up to."

[fatebinds]

"i wouldn't miss it." as earnest as he is, it sounds hollow coming from him. he hasn't been around for much lately. it's been hard to be. he's always worried his father is lurking in a corner. either way, he'll take what he can get. if john is here, he's at least faithful enough to think that there won't be any explosions while gim is around. alan leaves and returns with his bag slung over his shoulder, feeling awkward passing through the threshold. he's never felt as much like family, nor as much like a stranger. "where, um... where should i put it?"

[witheredblumes]

"Alan." That one word held an entire sentence as Gim tilted his head at Alan. You can always stay here and you can stay for a week and have you ate? all lurked inside that tone, but he didn't ask, instead just looking around Alan. "Where's your clothes for me to wash?"

[fatebinds]

a relieved smile breaks his otherwise tense expression. "...i left my bag in the car," he admits. the thought is easy to follow, although not relevant as far as gim is concerned. he's always worried he won't be welcome back, even when he knows it isn't true. old habits die hard. "i didn't want you to think i only came over for laundry."

[witheredblumes]

"What happened?" Details weren't necessary for him to agree to help - This was his son and Gim felt so relieved and proud that Leon, his little junebug, knew he could come to him, but it was easier to figure out the solution when he knew the problem. "Come on, sit down."

[fatebinds]

"i... don't know," he admits, taking the seat offered to him. before he can think about it, his face is in his hands. "i think i'm hearing things again. i just didn't want to be alone."

[fatebinds]

starter for @witheredblumes !!

"i..." sorry clings to the tip of his tongue, but alan can't bring himself to say it. rather, he knows better. "i was just wondering if i could maybe stay here. for the night. just in case?"

[fatebinds]

starter for @witheredblumes !!

"...i didn't know where else to go." his head throbs like a nuclear bomb has been contained in his skull, panic closing in just behind it. pride is so far gone now, it's laughable. "...i need your help."

[fatebinds]

starter for @godsunderfoot !!

"i was wondering when you'd show up." joint tucked between two fingers, he eyes john with a hazy, but bright, gaze. the night has grown long between them, shadows deep and dark against the purple of evening hues. max's own swells against him, prickling in his lizard brain like a toddler on a xylophone. he just knew. he just knew that he would be here. he knew because he had been told. "nice night, huh?"

[fatebinds]

starter for @godsunderfoot !!

"oh, hey dad..." he'd called to talk to lucy, but it seems like a moot point now. he shouldn't have called. he's just lonely, that's all. just desperate. he's certain john can smell it on him, even through the phone. "i was just... i wanted to know if..." it's hard to even get a sentence out. how disappointing that must be to hear. "i saw the news. about the... meteor shower."

[godsunderfoot]

The question has John cut a glance over his shoulder, and his expression is one of impatient disbelief: the beat of silence provides enough of an answer as he turns his attention back to the tow chain. Son, I know the address. Anywhere you've been, anywhere you'll go, I'll know the address.

A cloud of white dust kicks up in his wake as John drags the chain back to the car's front bumper, crouching to clip its heavy double hooks up onto the frame. He gives it a testing rattle, ensuring both connections are secure so he only has to stand back up from the position once. "Throw her in neutral, turn on the hazards and get on up in the truck. We'll take it nice and slow." He expects Alan to know the basics of towing a car, but providing instruction would help them bridge any gap between what Alan knows and what John needs from him.

[fatebinds]

john doesn't say what they both already know. of course he doesn't need the address. he's probably had it since alan got hired on, if not earlier. and more than that, too. the thought has him gripping the wheel tighter again, knuckles pale in his sights. escaping had felt so good before, after he had adjust to his fear. now it feels like he's never gotten away at all. in many ways, he hasn't. this is just the most glaring, the most damning, of them. alan follows instructions like the son he was raised to be—silent, quick, and careful. he doesn't bother to mention that he already knows what to do here and has, in fact, had to do it quite a few times by now. maybe more than quite a few. still, the words ring in his head. he would have snapped if he still lived back at the farm.

[godsunderfoot]

It's John's turn to snort. Arguing with him is a waste of breath, so he decides to leave the cougar issue alone. Instead he shifts his gaze, sets it back on the cafe's entrance as a few young women sporting Dreadmore University sweatshirts file inside. Suddenly the place has become alive with chatter and John knows the mission is officially a bust... the lonely insomniac crowd has been replaced by a vibrant, friendly one.

"Y'know, you're right. Next time I'll be sure to draw up a bath, set out some cucumber slices and a monogrammed robe. MM, right there on the chest." He shifts a little in the booth, adjusts his sore legs and knees and brings up an arm to lay across the bench's padded back. "So what's the story here, Max? You just slink around, aimless, looking for old folks to harass?"

[fatebinds]

max doesn't have to ask how john knows his initials, given that his full name—as far as he's concerned, anyway—is plastered all over dreadmore for everyone to see. he puts up enough posters for most people to know of him, even if they don't know him. "rose petals go a long way, too," he offers, unserious as always. "candles, too. they really set the mood." now he just wants to go home and climb in his tub, but... that would involve cleaning it. oh, well. maybe someday. "that's actually not a bad idea, now that you mention it. maybe i'll go shake down the old folk's home after this." his real purpose is, um.... well he's getting there. "what are you doing here, old timer? need a cup of joe to get through to five o'clock, or what?"

[godsunderfoot]

I had a plan. Why don't those words surprise John? Alan exists in several versions of the same metaphor, decisions made in the chaos of fear... the family dog dashing from a door left open too long, expecting freedom, only to be hit by a car a minute later. Realizing too late that the grass is greener where it's watered.

Even now Alan exudes that fear, that coiled spring in him like he's ready to run for it, but it's pathetic more than infuriating nowadays. John's boots scrape gravel as he steps back, folds his arms, gives the car and his son a discerning frown...before he starts back to his truck. "Can't have you dying of heat stroke waiting for a tow," he calls over his shoulder, pulling a heavy tow chain out of the bed. "Let me pull you back to town." An order more than an offer.

[fatebinds]

alan tries to swallow the lump in his throat. he doesn't bother to say that the likelihood of getting heat stroke out here is slim to none, even if baxter's is the worst company in town. they're still faster than the police, most days. not that either would help him here. stuck between a rock and a hard place and a barbed lifeline, he squares his shoulders and tries not to look as weak as he feels. "alright," he croaks more than says, fishing in his pocket for his phone. more to see that he still has it than anything else. maybe if he ends up in a grave somewhere, someone would be able to trace it. for that, a dark voice reminds him, someone would have to care. "do you need the address?"

[godsunderfoot]

John has to work hard against the impulse to roll his eyes at Max's impish responses... He reminds the older man so much of his sons when they were kids, sharp as whips and armed with John's stubbornness and Daisy's sense of justice. "You're right, suppose the outside isn't a problem. A cougar could only find out what's wrong with you once she takes a bite." He snorts into his mug, took a deep, calming drink and hopes the burn in his throat can soothe his spiking irritation...the conversation has his languishing college student packing up his things and leaving the shop, probably in search of somewhere quieter.

And now his unwanted company brings up a cut and before he can stop it John's face twitches into a smile - he drags his eyes back up to Max, the corners of them creasing with faint amusement. "Well, if you'll recall, I offered you your cut. You turned it down. Lead a horse to water, but can't make him drink, huh?"

[fatebinds]

"hey now, my insides are just as good as my outsides." it really depends on who you ask. doctors might disagree. priests certainly would. to him, he's nothing short of peak human condition. it's not his fault that it's so removed from the world they live in that he has to, um... supplement. "pretty sure cougars run away from people, anyway. unless they're bent over. i don't make a habit of bending over when there's cougars around." what is he even talking about, anymore? max snorts. "what, if i joined you and your merry band of men? i've got my own drum to beat on, man." he shakes his head. "you could have at least offered me a shower."

[godsunderfoot]

Nothing could've prepared John for who ends up rolling down the driver's side window, but even more surprising is the very first reaction that springs up to the front of his brain before logic or bias can follow... a blind rush of joy, a father seeing his son's face after much too long.

it doesn't last, though, as what John has become stalks up and grinds that old, soft inclination into the dirt. "I'd say so," John agreed after a second, and now that he's decided not to make eye contact he turns away to watch the smoke drifting out from under the hood. A quick tilt of his head confirms that the car is leaking coolant all over the gravel. "Car's leaking like a stuck pig. A mechanic drives a shit car all the way out here without a plan?"

[fatebinds]

john's moment of joy—invisible to him—isn't shared. alan grips the wheel tightly, lips drawn into a thin line. he hopes his father can't see his pulse in his throat. he's always been a little bit afraid of him. that hasn't changed. if anything, it's worse now that he's away. instead of being a controlling parent, john has morphed into more of a nightmare, a creature under the bed. "i had a plan." it's a weak protest, but a protest all the same. "now i'm on a different plan. i'll just call a tow from the shop." normally, he would step out of the vehicle to do that, but he doesn't trust that he won't be knocked upside the head and dragged back into the woods. at least it would have shown some effort.

[godsunderfoot]

Even for his effort in picking the booth for its view, Max is able to approach and sit down without John noticing whatsoever, and it’s only once his line of sight is physically impeded that he lets out a disappointed sigh. “Wet with water,” is what he says after a moment, flat with that bone-dry not-quite-humor he adopts when a conversation’s outcome holds no importance to him. “Better than the alternative. You’d’ve been run down and eaten up by something before you even saw the road.” 

As obnoxious as Max's company is, John somehow knew that, after their last encounter, they were sure to see each other again. Max has the presence of a popular song on the radio (however dated the frame of reference): dogged, persisting, the favorite of some and the dreaded earworm to so many more but, ultimately, harmless. If anything, having someone seated on the other side of the table makes John’s scouting a bit less conspicuous. He takes another drink, licks it out of his mustache. “Meat's good, by the way... little fur here and there, but decent work. You have time to reflect on the experience?"

[fatebinds]

"not just water," he snorts, shaking his head. "you weren't that thorough. if something was going to eat me, i don't think it would have cared if i was drenched or not." his brows arch, a playful challenge glittering in his eyes. "i mean, would you?" it's not being wet in and of itself that bothers him, although it had been a fair inconvenience for him. theoretically, it would have been just as inconvenient to walk home covered in gore and blood... but how is he supposed to know when he's never done it? wet pants, on the other hand... he knows that problem a little more intimately. he would have appreciated the opportunity for a different experience. by the tail end of john's question, he has other problems to consider. namely, his ears going bright pink. reflect? is he trying to imply something? thankfully, his expression holds. maybe that's one advantage the old man has over him—the hat he wears hides the tips of his ears. too bad that max wouldn't be caught dead in something like that. he'll just have to do what he always does when problems arise—ignore it until it goes away or snowballs. "so you admit i'm good for something, huh? don't suppose you ever thought about giving me a cut. you know, for all my help."

[godsunderfoot]

open starter (@wickedresthq)

Too loud. Too old. Too... lethargic.

John has a curious shopping list in mind as he shoulders into the coffee shop, holding the door open for a mother and her kids with a polite tip of his hat on the way in. Of course, they bustle by unbothered, escaping his consideration... Not only would a missing mom make too big of a splash in the Dreadmore Journal, but such a gaping hole carved from a young and growing family wouldn't heal quickly. He's looking for unattached. Apathetic. Bored. And a coffee shop on a sluggish, dreary afternoon in Dreadmore, Oregon couldn't make for better hunting.

It isn't often that John strolls the town for such a purpose - usually he has someone else do the luring, Ari or Luci, maybe even Ethan - but there comes a point where the hungry groans of a thousand empty stomachs are impossible to abide even through countless layers of soil and rock, and if they wouldn't let him sleep anyway, John decided he would see to the matter personally.

He takes his steaming cup of black Columbian roast and heads for a seat, picks a booth near the back for its advantageous view of the rest of the establishment. As John slides into the bench and sits back into it, his hard-ridden bones sighing with relief, he begins to pay subtle attention to a gaunt young man seated at the counter with his laptop: there's a lengthy Word document open on his screen, but John only has to squint slightly to recognize the sensual, naked shapes that linger just behind it.

John takes a long drink of his coffee and breathes out the steam, a dragon with eyes leveled intently on what might be his next meal.

[fatebinds]

a master in the art of inviting himself, max sits across from john without even the slightest bit of hesitation. it's not that someone out of the know ( correct or conjecture ) would find him intimidating—although he's old and broad and tall enough for that—but that, instinctively, they know not to get in the way. max has always lacked that same instinct, whether by birth or by a good stomping out. "i've got a bone to pick with you," he says, brow arched. if there's anything serious about the situation, it seems to pass him right by. not even the intensity of the old man's gaze can shake him. "hey, are you even listening to me?" he waves a hand in front of his face like he's in a trance, and not simply paying mind to someone else. "you know how fucking annoying it is to walk a few miles in wet jeans?"

[godsunderfoot]

open starter (@wickedresthq)

"Well, now." John ambles back along the short stretch of road from where he parked his truck just ahead, hands hooking loose into his belt loops. He stops at the driver side window and, if it still isn't rolled down, he raises his voice just enough to be heard through it. "Having some car trouble?"

[fatebinds]

"...hi, dad." his voice is meek, much quieter than john's. there's no point in pretending like he's in any position to drive away... not when the engine is smoking like this. it's not even his. he's just trying to work out the kinks. "...the engine's busted, i think."