Mirror Image

Greg Booker. 27.

[arya-slezak-blog]

“Quit demanding shit from me and I’ll consider it”. She threw things at him because of how he asked for them. He asked that way because she threw things at him. As most things, it was a neverending cycle with them.

“Yes, you are. Nice of you to think ahead, big strategist, but we’re on our own. Really on our own” she explained with a shrug before she leaned back on the wall. Her powers didn’t reveal any of their enemies close by, they were probably far away, getting more weapons for their last big assault on the two of them. For only two Resistance members Arya and Greg had given quite a fight, proving that Clairvoyance and Damage Transferral could work together well to decimate more than enough loyalists.

“They’d be proud of us, wouldn’t they?” she asked in a low tone, a faint smile crossing her lips for a moment “Derek and Nikolai”. The blonde had sensed his thoughts in regard to his brother and the promise to avenge his death. The two of them had that in common, they were fighting for loved ones who had been taking away from them. Yet she didn’t elaborate on the fact that her vendetta wasn’t the only reason she kept fighting either. Arya wouldn’t admit something like that out loud and she knew Greg would rather keep that thought a secret. So she let him.

“What the-?” she began, her words cutting off as him practically forced her to wear the protective gear. Arya rolled her eyes after his patronizing comment and just pushed him in the chest. “Aww I knew that you were starting to care about me, Gregie. No better way to show some love like a sweaty armor” she stated with sarcasm as she adjusted the gear properly around her body.

[greg-booker-blog]

"What, you want me to say please? ‘cause I don’t do that.” He scoffs, putting down the gun and picking up the switchblade. At the same time, he made a note of ammo and stocks. 

Greg rolls his eyes at her. “How ‘bout you get the fuck outta my head and focus on those bastards, eh?” He was certainly sharper than usual. Their situation was nowhere close to optimistic and it drove him to the edge. They were outnumbered, cornered to the building. If they had a chance, Greg would have put their chance on escaping. It wouldn’t be wise, however, to defend themselves and run. The optimal plan would be drawing them into the building while they slip out and steal their vehicle and make a run for it. He glanced at the remaining explosives and then around the room, studying its structure. He might be able to blow the place up with properly placed bombs...

He snapped out of the schematics of plans when she spoke up. He turned to her, bitterness evident on his face. “Derek hated it when I fought. He would’ve lectured me and shits” He curled the end of his lips. “I’m not doing this for him. They took what’s mine, so I’m taking their everything. It’s a common sense, Slezak.” There was white-hot rage seared in his words. It was quiet, preserving its heat like a metal burning bright in the fire. It was aimed directly to the heart of the Legacy. Derek never understood it, never would have understood his revenge.

Arya, on the other hand, understood it, understood him. She had tasted the loss, the blood on her lips and that salty, bitter disgust toward the world. Sure, they never were one for softness. They were creatures made out of broken mirrors, their words sharp, everything they touch bleeding. Obviously, they never fitted like pieces of puzzles. They weren’t perfect for each other. Broken people are not magically fixed by finding another broken piece. Even if you piece together a broken mirror, what you get is a distorted image. But when you shed some light on it, it shined in no way a perfection would do.

So yeah, without all the mushy metaphors and touchy-feely bullshits, that was why they stood together-- they understood each other, recognized the cracks on each other’s souls. 

“We’ve made this far. If we make it out of this shitstorm in one piece, then maybe they’ll be proud of us.” He added with a small smirk, the kind of confidence telling that he wouldn’t wait around for a chance to come-- that he would reach out his blood hands, snatch the chance by its collar and never let it slip out.

Greg swatted away her hand, snorting loudly. “Unless you can walk away from a shot through the heart, Slezak, you definitely need it more than I do.” He cocked his chin up arrogantly. “And I thought you liked my sweat.”

[arya-slezak-blog]

Aryadna didn’t look at him when he finally broke the silence. “Ask me nicely” she stated with the same amount of emotion as he had, grabbing the flask and throwing it at him. She didn’t even try to aim right, not caring if he caught it or if the flask hit him.

“And they’re not close, stop worrying about when they’ll hit back” she mentioned as she went on typing codes and getting the encypted data for the Resistance. Greg hadn’t said anything about being worried of the loyalists, but it was her he was with, he didn’t need to say a thing and she would still know.

The last bit of information was submitted and she shut down the laptop, slipping it back into the backpack she’d been carrying. So at least the Resistance had what the two of them came for, in case they got killed it would be worth it. More or less. Letting out a breath, she ran a hand through her messy curls and turned to Greg, perceiving him even to the tiniest detail. That was the thing about the people she was closest to, the way her powers let her see them became extremely accurate. It could almost be like seeing them for real.   

“Are you feeling better?” the blonde asked almost mechanically. Not because she wasn’t concerned about him -she was, a little bit- but they had never been two very caring people, however they might feel about each other rarely showed. Arya had sustained a few injuries throughout the mission as well, but Greg had been the one with worse luck. On the bright side, his skills were made for getting the shit beaten out of him and walk out like nothing happened.

[greg-booker-blog]

Greg caught the flask without a trouble. If he didn’t, it would have hit him right in the head. “Quit throwing shits at my face and I’ll consider it.” He retorted as he screw opened the bottle. He took a swig of the drink in hopes of it would cure his exhaustion. 

“I ain’t worried,” he muttered, huffing. “It’s called strategic analysis. They’re gonna come back and I’d like to be ready.” A part of him was worried, no doubt. And Arya would know with her mind reading bullshit and stuff. But without half-fake bravado and aggressive attitude, Greg Booker wouldn’t be Greg Booker. Putting down the flask on the side, he reached for his backpack. One by one, he laid out his armory. Greg was never much of a fighter, but he knew his way around firepower.

“I am now.” He replied curtly as he picked up the pulse gun. He checked for the battery. He would have to look for a makeshift energy source... Possible tactics and upcoming bloodbath weren’t the only thing on his mind. The possible scenarios were running the back on his head, a die-hard habit of his. His reckless behaviors drew a stark contrast when he was in danger. After all, he was a survivor. He would take any dirty, below-the-belt tricks to win-- because death wasn’t allowed to him until he avenges his brother...

The revenge was not the only reason anymore, though.

After letting out another huff, he got up from the floor, took off his bloody jacket. He pulled the tactical armor over his head, underneath his typical t-shirt with weird prints. He walked up to her, and basically shove her the protective gear. “You’re probably gonna need it more than I do.” He smirked somewhat patronizingly as if his intention was to mock her that she couldn't keep herself safe.

[greg-booker-blog]

Greg leaned on the wall, wiping the blood off of his cheek. His back slid down leaving the trail of red on the wall. As always, there was no wound, no broken bones on him. His ability reflected off any damage he sustained. It didn’t replenish the loss of blood, however. Fatigue was written all over his face.

Barricaded to the top floor of the building they hid, there was no way of telling when the loyalists would hit back or how many enemies would flood in through the door. There were only two of them: Greg himself and Arya. It was foolhardy, almost a suicide mission to ambush the transport and intercept the date drive with just two of them. But because it was daringly borderline idiotic, they never saw it coming. They were able to secure the drive. The tricky part was getting out of this mess. Greg wasn’t sure how they would manage that.

“Yo,” he called Arya working with her laptop, uploading the data to the Resistance server. “don’t hog the drink, asshole. C’mon, pass me the damn flask,” That wasn’t the first thing he wanted to say, but he and his crude way of expressing things filtered the words.

[qjp-deactivated201501-deactivat]

[dominic-cross-blog]

“What the hell am I doing?”

It was a question Dominic had grown very accustomed to asking himself. It fit so many aspects of his life, but most recently, it was usually in regards to Greg Booker. The two had fallen into a weird not-necessarily-friends with benefits pattern and Dom didn’t quite understand it. Especially in those moments when it wasn’t just sex. When they were snarking at each other back in forth, or when they got deep in discussion of something that most people in the school wouldn’t understand, Dom found himself genuinely enjoying the other’s company. Of course, that didn’t change facts. Letting out a heavy sigh, he poured himself a drink, draining the glass as he heard the knock. “Door’s open, not that you’ll wait for me to say that.” He poured another glass, turning with a wry smirk. 

[greg-booker-blog]

Greg glares at the door he has been entering and coming out quite often last few months. At first, it was simple. He was drunk and horny. Cross didn’t complain. Well, didn’t complain much. So it was simple in and out, quick relief-- pun intended-- Now, they talk. Not meaningless chat. Conversations. Although half of time they are rolling eyes and scoffing and arguing, Greg finds himself smiling around that asshole, and keeps returning to this place. And that pisses him off. When did I become soft? Ha, that’s what he said. He knocks the door with unnecessary force, then opened it without waiting as Cross expected. He closes it behind with his foot. “I need a fucking drink.” He grumbles as he marches up to the other and snatches the bottle of whatever the hell it is, then chugs it down. He flops down on the bed, glaring up at Dominic. “I mean, this is all your fault. You’re being annoying. What the fuck are you doing?”

[pebbles--deactivated20170913]

[08932859830628-deactivated20170]

[greg-booker-blog]

he really did a number on you, didn’t he?

[greelin]

“explain the character’s motivations and the reasoning behind his actions and who he is”

well

there we go

[dominic-cross-blog]

“I wasn’t aware you were allowed property rights as a student of our lovely school.” As the bartender walks away, Dom just watches Greg. Not with particular interest, but more about passively studying his mannerisms. He rolls his eyes, taking another drink. “Oh, your wit is unmatched. Truly, you are in a league your own.” He speaks with a level voice, boredom coloring the words slightly. At the drawled offer, he raises an eyebrow. Nothing good would come of that. But maybe he was in the mood for bad. “Very well then, Mr. Booker. Since you so graciously offered.” He sets his drink on the bar, pulling a stool out to sit on. “Though we both know that I am never considered great company.”

[greg-booker-blog]

“Fuck property rights.” Greg waves off Dominic as well. “I come here almost everyday, I make the bartender come. That makes this bar mine.” He can hear Wilson coughing but of course, he ignores it. He didn’t hear complain when they were in the storage room. “At least I have a league. You’re, what, unqualified for the game at all.” Greg wouldn’t say the man doesn’t have any sense of humor. But criticizing and mocking are just his way. Dominic takes the bait which is obvious, so he had it coming. Greg kicks the stool effectively makes the man stumble. “What I don’t get,” he cackles as he whirls the poke. Then he points it at Dominic. “is that you have a fucking ego yet keep belittling yourself-- well, not belittling. You are little. A blind can see that. But it’s gettin’ pretty annoying. Choose a side. Be a cocky asshole or a pathetic self-loathing sack.”

[limitlessplaylist]

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I found love  Where it wasn’t suppose to be Right in front of me…

[dominic-cross-blog]

Escapism being the necessity it was, Dominic chose the bar for proximity, and the apparently wrong belief that he’d not have to deal with any of the St. Mary’s headaches that plagued his day to day. He orders a double whiskey on the rocks and looks at Greg with a tired expression. “That is an unpleasant surprise on both sides.” Paying the bartender, he takes a long drink before sighing. “The things you do not know could fill volumes, Mr. Booker. I’ve told you that before.” With that, he starts toward the far corner. “I’ll leave you to your food and whatever it is you do when you’re not in the school.”

[greg-booker-blog]

“You shouldn’t be surprised. This is my bar.” He dismisses Wilson with a curt gesture. To be fair, he basically comes here five days a week. “The things I do not know are the boring things. Exhibit A.” Greg points at the other man with the folk. Feeling sort of triumphant over driving out Dominic and annoying him at the same time, Greg scoffs at the man’s back. “Oh, no, please. By all mean, join me, Mr. Cross.” He drawls, obviously in no sense genuine. “I’m sure you’d make a great company.”

[greg-booker-blog]

If you could have one last moment with your brother to say your goodbyes, what would you do and what would you say?

“What the fuck kind of fucked up question is that? ...Punch that bitch square in the face and say ‘hoe don’t you dare’.” 

[greg-booker-blog]

Greg enters the usual bar with his hands pushed into the pockets. He nods at the bartender Wilson and slides onto the stool. As always, he starts with beer and orders fries. He gulps down half of the bottle, then with another swig he empties it. He was about to call out Wilson and ask if he is up for a quick bj when he senses someone approaching. “...what the fuck?” is the reaction he gives to the face of Dominic Cross. “Well, consider me unpleasantly surprised.” He sneers as he stabs a fry with the folk. “I didn’t think you knew how to leave that shithole.”

[aryadna-slezak]

“What’s awesome about that? You don’t even swing for my team, Gregie. If you did maybe I’d agree. Just maybe. But you don’t, so your attributes are useless” she replied with her usual bluntness and unabashed demeanor. “You kept Dick. Not everyone would have put up with that” she pointed out with a smirk. “Clearly I don’t or I wouldn’t have dumped him with you. Aww it’s good to hear your son has reached his teenage years” Arya told him with a teasing tone, giving him a pat on the shoulder. The Clairvoyant just waved off his comment and shrugged like it didn’t really matter. She’d gotten some information out of him, that’s all that really mattered. “You’re such a Neanderthal. Having eidetic memory is not that weird, Gregie, get over it. So if it bothers you that much dump your fuck buddy and find someone else, end of story”.

[greg-booker-blog]

“Um, the fact that tolerate your annoying bitchy ass? My wit? I’m a fucking catch. So of course. If I were a straight, you’d totally be all over me. Sucks to be you.” He shrugs with a cheeky grin. Her comment about Dick can’t turn it off. “Another evidence that I’m fucking awesome, ‘cause I’m enough to tolerate you. Even though you’re a horrible person... and stop calling it my son.” He swats her hand away. “It’s fucking weird for me. There’s nothing to dump or not. He’s not my fuckbuddy. It was a drunk, one time thing. Who even uses that word? Just, mind your own sex life.” 

[panoramicperspectives]

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[dominic-cross-blog]

“As if you didn’t expect to get a rise out of me. I pushed your buttons, you were trying to push back.” He speaks matter-of-factly. He raises an eyebrow. “That’s pretty much the exact reason you need to prove your work to me. You are correct, now I know you do your work. Backing the fuck off is not in my wheelhouse of party tricks, so you’ll have to deal with it. I’ll give you whatever grade you deserve, you self-important asshat.” Being poked in the chest annoys him, but he doesn’t act on that annoyance, instead enjoying the change of emotions on the other’s face. At the question, he just shrugs with a half-grin. “You were so keen to believe that I was looking down on you, judging you based on actions carried out in and outside of the classroom. I was assuring that I don’t, in fact. I respect your work, and my virtue of our night together, you as a person. For a brilliant individual, you’re kind of a dumb bitch.”

[greg-booker-blog]

“That would have been a pleasant incentive but that wasn’t my purpose. I was just making a comparison that you would understand.” Scoffing, Greg waves him off in a clear irritation. “This school is fucking stupid. I ain’t wasting my time on some papers to prove that I can jump a hoof.” He flips off Dominic yet again. “Ha, if I pass this class, I have no business left with your bitchy face. Self-important or not, my work is better than most of the dumbasses you teach. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna pass.” He squints at the man with an incredulous look. He was doubting the words, especially ‘respect’ coming out of Dominic’s mouth. The next, however, are lost in translation. “Ew, okay, why the fuck are you puttin’ it like that? Our night together?” He seems to be irked by that. Frowning his entire face, he turns around and walks off. “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

[dominic-cross-blog]

“You came here, quite ostensibly, to drop my course.” Dom reminds him, watching with mild curiosity. At the comment about Desmond, he laughs. “If you thought that would anger me, you’re wrong. I’ve told Desmond the same thing.” He doesn’t react as the other shows him his own mission record. But once he is showing him the alternative strategies for failed missions, it is clear from his face that he is impressed. Almost proud. He takes a moment after Greg finishes berating him to continue looking at the files. Then, he walks to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a file folder. “You mistake me for some of the other faculty here. I do my research. I know all about your mission history. Every report in this file.” He sets it beside the laptop, arms folding over his chest. “As for the second part, at what point did you indicate to me this is what you were doing? I’ll save you the time: you didn’t. You don’t get to be pissed at me for something I had no way of knowing about. That’s not how this works.” He laughs, the sound bizarre because there was no smile to accompany it. “You really think I was judging your work based on your personal life? Have you paid no attention to anything we’ve done? I judge your work based on your work. Your personal life is an entirely different matter. But I had no work to judge. Leave me a copy of these alternate strategies and I’ll review them.” He smirks, shaking his head. “If I thought lowly of you, Greg, you’d never have made it to my bedroom. Despite how lowly you think of me, I do respect what I’ve seen of your work. You’re engineering is almost unmatched. Some of the designs are a bit…ostentatious, but they are wholly functional and very effective. I was just waiting for you to prove that your intellect extended beyond that.”

[greg-booker-blog]

“No one said nothing about pissing you off, moron. Just pointing out the fact.” He replies in barely contained calm. After his finale, Greg breathes angrily with a glare. Surely his pride was hurt and he really really reheally wants to sock this bitch in the face. He is almost proud of himself for not carrying it out. It slightly bothers him that Dominic has studied his work, but he is far too pumped up to point that out. “Why the fuck do I need to prove my work to you except for a stupid class? It’s not like I need your approval. Now you know I do my work, so back the fuck off.” He snarls at the man, taking a step forward to poke him in the chest menacingly. “Just give me whatever grade that’s a pass.” His look goes through a transformation of angry, confused then pumped up, egotistic smug. “Fuck yeah. Tell me something I don’t know, bitch.” A sudden confusion follows up, though. “What’s that has got to do with sex? This is not about sex, for fuck’s sake-- what the fuck is wrong with you?”