Iɴᴛᴏxɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ

[scambiare]

      “If you die, I’m killing the subordinate who takes over your gang after you.”

[intoxiicates]

     "If I'm going to die, I'm not going alone. I'll breathe toxic gas over this whole damn city and take you all down with me."

[scambiare]

      “Way to make a guy feel special.” He sighs, tempted to snatch Laz’s hand back. It wasn’t discomfort he was feeling. As he’d said before, it only hurt during the process of the change - the reforming of bone structure, the shrinking and stretching of skin. After the change, it only tingled for a moment while he adjusted. “Always happy to know I’m a freak among freaks.” Of course, he knows that’s what he is. First he’d been a freak because he was one of the rare few to receive powers rather than go insane. Now he was an even bigger freak because he’s the only case of re-infection. The only confirmed case of someone’s power changing. “Your hands are colder than I thought they would be.”

[intoxiicates]

     "Aren't we all?" He responds, giving a partial sigh at the mere thought of normalcy. The idea was more of less a dream of his past self; as he was now, there was no turning back. He could feel it in his bones, the quiet stabbing sensation of being eaten alive by anthrax -- under his fingernails, even. "Freaks, I mean -- an entire city of freaks, really." As for the warmth of his hands, he shrugged and confessed, "It's nothing new, they're always like this. Well, nowadays, at least. It was the complete opposite before I learned to control my abilities -- a handshake meant certain death about a year ago."

[icylook]

[scambiare]

[intoxiicates]

[intoxiicates]

[scambiare]

      He stretches himself out on the couch, his head resting at Laz’s lap.

            “I feel like you’re about to say something I’m not going to enjoy.”

[intoxiicates]

     "Remember that inky black shit they stuck me with?" The Spitter sighed, brushing a hand over the other's hair almost anxiously. "I don't think it's working in the way they wanted it to."

[scambiare]

      “You didn’t used to.”

            “I miss when you used to yell at me.”

[intoxiicates]

     "Yell? Ah, right -- the whole 'stay out of my territory or turn you into a great big puddle of guts' spiel. Speaking of which, there's something I've been meaning to mention --."

[scambiare]

      “Someone looks upset.”

[intoxiicates]

     "Don't I always?"

[intoxiicates]

     Sigh.

[intoxiicates]

     Nobody seems quite as bothered by this heat as he is. Based on rarely used critical thinking skills, he can infer that either: a) it's the toxin in his blood reacting differently to the weather than normal, or b) he's getting sick. 

          "Hey, is it hot out here...?"

[rabidtadpole]

        ☢-] He won’t eat non-flesh eaters probably. Even if he did, though, would Laz really be able to get rid of him?

[intoxiicates]

     He'd better not. And that really depends on how fond of noxious fumes and other dangerous forms of acid he is. No one really likes waking up to their skin oozing onto the floor.

[rabidtadpole]

[intoxiicates]

     If he doesn't eat the other gang members, maybe Laz will be nice enough to let him stay.

[iures]

[rabidtadpole]

[intoxiicates]

[rabidtadpole]

[intoxiicates]

[scambiare]

      “Lets just say you’ll owe me a favor. A big one. Because kisses won’t cover things this time~” And if it hadn’t been clear before who he was, it probably was now. 

            “How would you feel if I told you the boys across the city found a snazzy lookin’ man in a labcoat snooping around last week?” He fixes a playful grin over his features, gaze watching Laz’s face carefully. Studying his reaction. “How would you feel if I told you they had him tucked away all nice and neat for safekeeping?”

[intoxiicates]

     A hint of surprise catches normally glassy pink hues, quickly replaced by a linger sense of urgency at the other's words. If they had caught someone responsible for creating the black muck coursing through his veins, of course he would want the chance to speak with them; that and a few other things. Fingers curl into the rough skin at his palms, a look of mild seriousness and concern taking pale features as he answered, "I would feel --...like doing something violent. But did you really manage to bag one of 'em? If you're playing games with me, Cecilio, you'll wish you hadn't asked for those kisses." Because they'd be filled with nothing but arsenic and rat poison.

[scambiare]

      “I have one.” He chimes, hopping into the closest thing that might constitute a chair for all intents and purposes. In reality, it’s a chunk of crumbling wall and dust falls from it when he sits. But it seems stable enough, and he’s tired of standing. He’s been walking all day and he’s tired. “I’m prepared for all potential situations, sir.” His tone is mocking. Whether Laz knew it was him or not, he wasn’t sure, but he was intent on playing along regardless. “And really, invitations aside, you’re going to want me here.”

            “I’ve got some faaaaancy news for you from some friendly neighborhood birdies.”

[intoxiicates]

     "Don't call me sir, you sound like one of those damned army goons," he retorted, a shake of snowy tresses being given at the confirmation of his inquiry. Stopping a few footfalls short of the room he'd made his base of operation, reddened hues fell back toward the other at the mention of information to be shared; whether this was Cecilio or not, he knew enough to make himself useful, apparently. Sighing slightly, the leader allowed himself to lean a single shoulder against a crumbling doorframe, smoke escaping his nostrils unintentionally. "And what are you expecting in return? I haven't got much to offer, though I'm sure you know that already."