LAST SONG ⎯⇁ The Four Seasons, Spring - Vivaldi (.... Viktor's playlist >> )
CURRENTLY READING ⎯⇁ Nothing at the moment, but I would like to re-read the PJO books since the next season of the live action series is coming out soon.
CURRENTLY WATCHING ⎯ Lost (season 1 - technically re-watching, but it's been a decade so lbr, it's a first time watch...)
CURRENTLY CRAVING ⎯ Strangely, nothing right now, but a few days ago I was craving carne asada fries from my favorite Mexican place...
tagged by: @strxgxi
tagging: @monbellemonstre (like I don't already know you... >> ) and I don't have a ton of active mutuals, so... whoever wants to pick it up ig
Sam watched Viktor scrub a hand over his face, watched the edge of fight start to sag under the weight of exhaustion, and honestly he almost felt bad for the guy. He'd seen it a thousand times before, hell he'd even been there himself. Someone who'd been white-knuckling their way through the weird shit until the weird shit started pushing back. There was only so much allotted time before a preternatural being made itself known if someone happened to catch the attention of one, and it seemed to him that this Viktor guy was dancing along the fine line between 'it's nothing' and 'please help me'.
The hunter wasn't about to walk away.
"Yeah," he said quietly with a small smile and little breath of relief behind the word. "Yeah, a diner sounds good. After you." He stepped back first to give Viktor the space to move past him without worrying if he would be snatched up or something, his hands lifting and his palms facing outward in a show of good faith to say 'not gonna touch you, promise'. The alley spit them back out onto the street, neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement and the faint buzz of a transformer somewhere overhead their immediate company. His hunter's eyes still slid to the edges of things like windows, car hoods or the occasional wavering pulse of a streetlight, but his posture softened once they were fully out of the choke point of the alley.
He spoke low as they walked, enough for Viktor to hear him without making it a conversation for the entire block to get in on. One thing about New York City was that sound traveled and a car horn honked a few blocks away could easily carry to them.
"I know this is a lot. I know you've probably been telling yourself it's stress or bad luck or…" He shrugged. "That's what most people do. And nine times out of ten, that's all it is. Just stress and a run of bad luck. But every once in a while it's something else. My job is finding that 'something else'."
The diner loomed up ahead, not far from where the alley had deposited them, its big front windows glowing yellow against the slick dark of the asphalt. As they approached it Sam reached for the door and held it open for Viktor, the gesture that had become one of the most natural things in the world for him. The inside was warm, almost inviting, and it smelled heavily of coffee and fried potatoes. A couple of night-shift workers and a cabbie sat scattered at the tables but for the most part the place was quiet, the waitress giving them a greeting as they entered.
Sam slid into a booth by the window, giving Viktor the side that was facing the door to make him feel more at ease. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an EMF reader, setting it down on the table between them like an oddly shaped paperweight. He didn't turn it on. Instead, he clasped his hands loosely in front of himself as he met Viktor's gaze.
"Alright, so. You can start wherever you want. Doesn't have to be everything, just… a general idea, okay? When did you first start noticing all of the weird things happening? Was there a big change in your life right before it started? Renovations, moving, a promotion? Did you get any gifts around that time, inherit any old family heirlooms? Make enemies with someone who's into wicca? Notice any weird smells when it happens like uh, sulfur or rotten meat?"
Viktor eyed Sam as the man took a step back, giving him ample room to make his way out of the alley without feeling caged in. It was a thoughtful gesture, one that Viktor appreciated. Sliding his thumb along the strap of his violin case, he hefted it higher on his shoulder and gave Sam an awkward half-smile as he slipped past.
They walked in silence for a few moments after leaving the mouth of the alleyway behind. Now that the initial shock of the situation was wearing off, Viktor took the opportunity to really consider what Sam had suggested.
Viktor, of course, was more familiar than most with the concept of unnatural or unexplained phenomena. So it wasn't as if he could simply dismiss Sam's suppositions out of hand. Still, it had been years since he'd had to think of anything having to do with the Umbrella Academy or any of the peripheral nonsense that might come along with it.
So why was he so uneasy with the way Sam had so aptly described some of the observations he himself had made about his life and surroundings in the past weeks?
After about half a block, Sam started speaking again. As he did, Viktor listened, mildly amused in spite of the situation by the almost gentle way that the would-be lumberjack was addressing him.
Admittedly the phrase 'My job is finding that 'something else',' did pique Viktor's interest.
Idly he wondered if this man, in his unconventional line of work, might have run across any of his 'siblings in spirit' -- those 'other' children of the 43 that had been born to 'virgin' mothers on October 1st, twenty-five years ago.
He didn't say much as they walked, instead casting his eyes around their surroundings.
The diner was a quiet little hole in the wall type of place. Viktor had been there before, though admittedly not recently. He paused in surprise as Sam held the door open for him, but he didn't comment on it before proceeding inside.
He settled his violin case on the booth beside him, patting it softly as if to calm his nerves before folding his hands on the table before him and hesitantly looking up at his unexpected companion.
Viktor's brow furrowed slightly as he watched Sam draw a small device from his pocket and set it down on the table. He stared at it for a moment or two, weighing whether or not to ask the question before dismissing it with a blink and letting his eyes drift about the diner instead. Eventually his eyes shifted back to Sam and he was unsurprised to find the man was already looking at him.
When he started to ask his questions, Viktor pressed his lips together just slightly, an almost imperceptible indication of his anxiety, and perhaps a touch of overwhelm. Bringing a hand up, he dragged it through his close-cropped hair and let out a soft breath as he truly considered the other man's questions.
Some of them were bordering on ridiculous, but the stoic delivery gave Viktor pause. Clearly this kind of stuff was real for Sam, and frankly, Viktor's own story would sound ridiculous to pretty much anyone, so who was he to judge.
So that left the question...
How much to tell him? Certainly not everything, they'd be here all night, and Viktor for one wasn't interested in that.
Still, Sam clearly wanted to help and Viktor had to admit that he had no idea what had been going on in his life recently.
Had he ever?
Viktor waited until the waitress had come by to take their orders -- just coffee please. Once she had poured them each a mug and retreated back to the counter, Viktor took a breath and shifted forward, cupping his hands around the warmth of his mug and resting his forearms on the slightly sticky surface of the table. It was oddly grounding.
"Well, first of all, I first noticed something strange about... a week and a half ago, I guess? Nothing big, just a couple cracks in the glass fixtures around my apartment. I thought it was just the building settling or something... Meant to reach out to my landlord about it..."
He paused and shrugged, lifting his mug and taking a swig of the bitter black coffee. "As for changes, no renovations, no move, certainly no promotion," Viktor snorted and there was no missing the tone that was no less bitter than the drink he was nursing. He moved on quickly though. "No gifts, I- uh, don't really have many friends or enemies, and none of them is into any of that kind of stuff." Small lie, but Viktor certainly didn't think that Klaus or any of his 'family' was directly responsible for this. He hadn't seen or heard from any of them in nearly a decade.
Glancing up at Sam, he raised a brow. "And, uh- no, no sulfur or rotten meat smells," he muttered, unable to help the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he answered the last of the strange man's questions.
"What kinds of questions are these, anyways?" Viktor asked, unable to help his curiosity as he sat back against the booth more comfortably, taking another sip of his coffee.
'Which Subtle Way Of Saying 'I Love You' Are You?'
tagged by: @somethingbcrrowed
tagging: anyone that wants it~
"you're the exception"
your emotional walls have walls. seriously, you've guarded yourself so well, you sometimes forget how to look over your own walls and see the beauty of the world outside the safety of the protection you've set up. you forget how to escape the confines you built for yourself, that is, but some people (some incredibly rare people) somehow know their way through that intricate maze of walls and thorns around you. they're the exception, and terrifying as it might be at first, you'll let them know eventually. you smile at them where you'd scowl at another. you crack a joke where you'd usually stay quiet. you find yourself opening up more than you'd ever imagined. don't tear your fortress down if you don't want to, but maybe try to build your loved ones a little home inside it instead. you don't have to be alone. you deserve better than being alone in there.
"... Y'know that's... That's a fair point, kid," he said with a snort, holding out the joint for Viktor to take. He bumps their shoulders together gently, smirking, then looks out at the horizon. The sunset reflects in his bright green eyes, making them sparkle from cerulean all the way to aquamarine. The smirk is still on his face. "Think the others'll go for a little family therapy sesh? Group discount?"
Viktor let a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth as he took the joint from his brother and drew in a lungful of smoke.
When Klaus continued a moment later, he nearly choked on it as he huffed out a snort in reflex. Eyes watering, he passed the joint back to Klaus. He shook his head as he fought to suppress the coughing fit and recover somewhat gracefully. "I think you'd have better luck getting everyone out to a bar together, and that would have it's own set of hazards and challenges."
He paused for a moment, letting his breathing settle as he mulled the thought over. Letting out a dry chuckle, he shook his head once more. "Honestly, though, if we could manage it, I'm sure it would be one hell of a session. We might get fired though," he admitted after another moment of thought. "I don't think any therapist could handle all of us at once..."
𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄: Viktor Hargreeves | The White Violin
bold what always applies. italicize what sometimes applies. 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐭 what never applies.
𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒
avoids eye contact when nervous | maintains eye contact when agitated | avoids eye contact due to being neurodivergent | enjoys eye contact as a means to read and convey emotion | looks down when emotional | looks up when emotional | cries openly | wipes tears quickly | suppresses tears | wandering gaze when lost in thought | holds gaze while thinking | seeks out eye contact for reassurance | seeks out eye contact to gauge enthusiasm during conversations | eyes constantly move during conversation | expressive eyes | emotions only evident through eyes | uses eye contact to intimidate | looks up while thinking | looks down while thinking.
𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒
clasps behind back | rest in lap | fidgets with clothes | twiddles thumbs | chews at nails | pushes back cuticles | draws patterns on table/counter surfaces | makes animated gestures while speaking | only gestures to emphasize | utilizes sign language | speaks only through sign | calluses | scars | smooth | wrinkled | worn | soft | delicate | bony | slender | thick | veiny | touches others while speaking | reaches out while laughing | reaches out to comfort others | reaches out to seek comfort | places face in hands when exasperated | places palms over eyes to hide when overwhelmed | rests chin in hands | taps fingers when impatient | taps fingers when nervous | taps fingers while thinking | scratches scalp | strokes chin | rubs back of head | toys with objects around them | runs fingers over surfaces while walking by
𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇
chews lip | chews at inside of cheek | licks lips | bites tongue | chews on straws | resting frown | resting smile | neutral resting expression | resting pout | grinds teeth | flexes jaw | covers mouth when laughing | covers mouth when shocked | covers mouth when concerned | hands to lips while thinking | covers mouth when chewing | chews with mouth closed | chews with mouth open | smirks | grins | subtle smiles | wide smiles | sad smiles | intimidating smiles | menacing grins | openly smiles | tries to suppress smiles | bares teeth when angry | lips quiver when emotional | stutters | speaks quickly | speaks slowly | good pronunciation | poor pronunciation | moderate pronunciation | purses lips | sucks in lips | holds mouth open when shocked or confused
𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐒
bounces leg when nervous | draws knees to chest when sitting | draws knees to chest as a means of comfort | sits on knees | sits with legs criss-crossed | sits with legs spread open in chairs | crosses legs when sitting in chairs | sits with one leg folded under the other | places feet on furniture | never places feet on furniture | sits on counters | sits on desks | sits on tables | sits on edge of seat | sits hunched over with forearms on knees | arches one knee up | sits on the arm of chairs/couches | feet on dashboard | swings legs back and forth when sitting somewhere elevated | wiggles toes when nervous | wiggles toes as a general tick | shuffles feet | kicks foot into ground | stomps feet | loud footsteps | quiet footsteps | silent footsteps
𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑
runs fingers through hair | tugs at hair | picks at scalp | chews on hair | twists locks of hair while thinking or nervous | smooths out locks of hair while thinking or nervous | prefers hair out of face | prefers long hair | prefers short hair | wears hair back | keeps hair down | smooths back hair | plays with other's hair while talking | plays with own hair while talking | strokes hair to comfort others | likes having hair stroked for their own comfort | braids others’ hair while talking | braids own hair while talking | flips hair out of face | pushes hair out of face | leaves hair alone even when falling into face
"You must know… surely, you must know it was all for you." - [monbellemonstre; from John to Viktor]
@monbellemonstre sent a prompt from x
Viktor blinked dumbly for a moment as he stared at the older man, trying and failing to comprehend just what he was saying. Only a week ago he'd been privately lamenting how he would never truly be able to be with John publicly. There were all those pesky pseudo-royal responsibilities, and the whole gilded cage-closet that Duke Gerard Grey insisted upon.
He'd been fine with all that. If a life of shadowed hallways and scraps along the margins of John's life was all he'd ever get. Well... He'd never expected more than that. He'd even made peace with the fact that John would one day - soon - have to get married, to a woman. Have children. Appearances and all that.
But here he was, telling him that none of that mattered anymore. He'd walked away from it all. Seemingly without a second thought.
"Wh-What?" Viktor finally sputtered, his brow still knit into a tight line of incomprehension. "Tell me- Tell me you're joking right now. You just- You can't do this to me, моя любовь. You can't do this for me..." he added in a quieter, almost horrified tone.
A new wave of implications crashed over his mind as pieces fell into place and he realized exactly what an act like this would prompt- what it would mean for John's life. He'd be cut off. He'd have to start over. He'd have nothing. Nothing but Viktor himself. And that- Viktor thought- wasn't much of a consolation prize for the loss of power, wealth, and station on that scale.
He wondered, briefly, if John himself even realized the scale of what he was suggesting. Having been born into such wealth and privilege, did he have even an inkling of what walking away from it would truly be like?
The Duke's wrath would be swift and absolute - titles stripped, family name erased, every door in society barred shut. John's world of estate houses, private jets, and government positions, his web of political allies and business connections, the very servants who bowed to him now - all of it would vanish overnight. He'd become a ghost haunting the margins of a society that had once elevated him, dependent entirely on Viktor's meager means and whatever work a disgraced nobleman could possibly find. The magnitude of such a fall seemed impossible for someone who had never known want, never faced a closed door or an empty purse, to truly comprehend.
Sam let out a huff of amusement initially but it died quick when the trashcans gave another rattle before settling, his eyes glancing at them before going back to Viktor. He shook his head a little as the corner of his mouth lifted, half amused and half exhausted, and his hands lowered just a little bit. The gestures were natural, not really planned or choreographed, but Sam still gave off the energy that he'd done these things a million times or more in the past.
"I'm not selling anything," he said, his tone sounding exactly like his expression. "My name's Sam. Sam Winchester. I'm not selling, I'm not buying and I'm not with the police." He took a step closer, keeping his hands where Viktor could see them just so he knew there was no threat. "I do this for a living."
He let the silence sit for a beat, letting Viktor see that he wasn't trying to scare him or rough him up or whatever it was it might have looked like, considering. They weren't very close to one another but even from there he could read the finer things now. The way Viktor flinched at small noises and the way his eyes tracked light and shadow, it reminded Sam of himself before the hunting had given him more jagged edges.
"Look, I know how it sounds and, honestly, if I were in your shoes I'd be thinking the same thing. But there are things out there that can attach themselves to people, to objects… Inability to concentrate or focus, insomnia, lights flickering or going out when you walk by, things breaking or moving without anyone touching them. If something's attached to you it's only gonna get worse. Much worse. Voices, seeing things, night terrors, sleepwalking, losing time... I don't know exactly what it is yet, but, whatever's following you is only gonna get stronger if you don't let me help."
For a moment Viktor just stood and stared at the other man, his eyes narrowing as he considered what he had said.
I do this for a living.
What's 'this'? Stalking people and freaking them out in dark alleys?
Despite the deep-seated instinct to brush past this guy and not look back, Viktor couldn't help but recognize something in Sam's demeanor. There was a sincerity there that he just couldn't shake off. Whatever else might be true, Sam Winchester truly believed there was something about Viktor that was unnatural in some way. Something that needed to be helped. Or else...
Viktor shivered and adjusted the strap of his violin case across his chest as his eyes flicked up and down the strange man's form once again.
Inability to concentrate or focus, insomnia, lights flickering or going out when you walk by, things breaking or moving without anyone touching them.
The smaller man only just refrained from flinching as Sam listed off each of the so-called symptoms of this 'something' being attached to him. Without prompting, his mind summoned up at least half a dozen occurrences of each from the past several weeks.
Now, night terrors and sleepwalking... those weren't necessarily foreign to Viktor as it was. He'd struggled with both fairly regularly throughout his childhood, and to a lesser, though still non-zero, degree after moving out of the Academy.
Whatever's following you is only gonna get stronger if you don't let me help.
Viktor chewed his lip gently as he wavered on the edge between telling the stranger to fuck off and giving him the benefit of the doubt and hearing him out.
Finally, he let out a sigh as he made up his mind. Reaching up, he scrubbed his face wearily and took another wary step closer. "Alright- I'm not- I'm not signing up for anything, but-- I guess I can hear you out. Think we can get out of this alley, though?" He paused and frowned for a moment as he thought. "…There’s a diner around the corner with half-decent coffee. If you’re really set on talking, maybe there." He dragged a hand through his hair, feeling and sounding more tired than he had a right to be.
"I need you to channel the confidence of a mediocre white man!" - [to Viktor]
@somethingbcrrowed sent a prompt from x
Viktor adjusted his grip on the bow between his fingers. He couldn't seem to get it to settle right. It was too light, or too heavy, too something. It practically felt like it was going to jump out of his hand.
His palms had grown sweaty despite the cool April air drifting through the thin walls of the community center's auditorium. The acoustics of the room were supremely lacking. The sound of the other audition pieces had come up as hollow and dry in a way that Viktor couldn't help but worry about. His apartment, shitty as it was, still had better acoustics than this place, and yet he was expected to perform here for others? Judged on the quality of a sound that he couldn't control?
Through the heavy curtain, he could hear the murmur of voices. Professional. Bored. Tired of listening to countless nineteen- and twenty-year-olds play the same tired set of audition pieces. Butchering them, more like.
The Riverside Youth Orchestra wasn't exactly the New York Philharmonic, but it was a step up from busking on street corners and taking out Craigslist ads for violin tutoring. He needed something that looked like forward momentum on his resume.
More than that, he needed to prove to himself that he could do this. That he could get up in front of other people and play without his medication removing all the sharp edges of his anxiety and smoothing them out into something that was emotionally manageable but artistically... hollow.
He hadn't played since he'd stopped the meds. Not really, not outside of short teaching moments and the training he and Klaus had been working on for his abilities. Truth be told, they still scared him, but he did feel far more in control of them than that first afternoon in the forest when he'd accidentally killed Klaus during their first experiment. That had been nearly six months ago now. Top surgery had presented its own barriers as well, both in his artistic growth and in terms of learning to control his abilities.
It had only been a month since he had been able to start properly preparing for this audition. He felt woefully underprepared.
"Viktor Hargreeves?" The voice carried through the curtain, clinical and impatient.
"That's you, V." Klaus's voice was barely a whisper beside him, but it still made Viktor jump. He'd almost forgotten his brother was there, slouched against the wall with his arms crossed and that particular brand of restless energy that meant he was trying very hard to be supportive instead of disruptive.
Viktor took a deep breath and looked toward the curtain. He'd already tried to back out of this three times already. The first time he'd left home, he'd made it to just outside the community center before his self-ridicule had convinced him to turn around and head home. He'd gotten back to his front door before he managed to change his mind back and got right back on the same train to head back.
The second time he'd actually gotten inside and had spent twenty minutes in the bathroom giving himself a pep talk that -- ultimately resulted in him heading for the door again. Klaus had caught him that time, and steered him toward the 'backstage' prep area.
The third time, he'd packed his violin back in its case right here in this hallway, fully prepared to leave, but Klaus had stolen the case and refused to give it back until Viktor agreed to at least try.
"I can't do this, K," Viktor groaned quietly, staring at the curtain with wide eyes, practically able to see the judgmental stares of the panel of musicians beyond. "My hands are all shaky and- And I just know I'm gonna fuck up the opening. Then they're gonna cut me off before I even get to the good part and--"
"Viktor Hargreeves, you're up!"
The voice was sharper now, definitely impatient. Viktor's breath caught in his throat. Behind the curtain, he could hear the rustling of papers, the scrape of chairs. Waiting.
Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make this moment any easier to bear. He could feel the whisper of the air moving around him and he took a slow deep breath through his nose, feeling the buzzing-under-the-skin sensation of his ability soothe somewhat.
Then he felt Klaus's hand on his, gripping his hand awkwardly around the neck of his violin. Viktor dared to open his eyes and meet his brother's.
"You got this, V," he whispered, eyes bright with the kind of absolute certainty that Viktor had never been able to muster about anything in his life. "I just need you to channel the confidence of a mediocre white man."
Despite everything, Viktor actually cracked a smile at that, the corner of his mouth twitching up crookedly. "That's... terrible advice..." he muttered, but even as he said it, he felt the trembling in his bow hand lessen slightly.
Klaus wasn't wrong exactly. A mediocre white man wouldn't have been standing there, silently reciting all the things that could go wrong, the ways he might fail. He'd just walk right in like he belonged there, make some wise crack, and start to play. He'd assume that the panel wanted to hear what he had to offer, that his interpretation of the piece was worth their time.
A mediocre white man also wouldn't be hyper-analyzing the way his shirt fell across his shoulders or fit across his chest. He wouldn't have spent the last three weeks practicing in his apartment at all hours, working around the lingering stiffness in his shoulders from surgery, terrified that his neighbors would complain about the noise. He would have just… played.
"Viktor Hargreeves, final call!"
Viktor felt his stomach lurch again, but this time the sensation was different, more muted. He met Klaus's eyes and nodded gratefully before shaking off Klaus's hand on his own, giving his bow arm a little shake as well before stepping up to the curtain and through.
"Sorry, I--" Viktor caught himself and bit his cheek hard enough to make it bleed. A mediocre white man also wouldn't apologize for making them call for him three times. "I'm Viktor Hargreeves and I'll be performing Bach's Adagio from Sonata No. 1 in G minor."
Swallowing tightly, he settled the violin against his neck and closed his eyes as he brought the bow up and drew it across the strings. The confidence felt strange and borrowed, but it was enough to get him started. And ones his bow drew across the strings for the opening notes, everything else fell away except the music.
The notes bloomed warm and rich in the harsh space, the sound somehow fuller than the room should have allowed. Viktor felt that familiar stirring under his skin -- his ability responding to his intent without conscious direction, subtly reshaping the acoustics around him. He reined it in gently, letting the music exist in the natural space, but the brief moment of enhancement had been enough to settle his nerves.
Sam had been living out of his duffel bag and running solo in the long, lonely months since Dean had vanished, supposedly into Purgatory, and New York? Well, it wasn't exactly supposed to be on his route. Upstate maybe but not the actual city. Big city hunts were always a mess, too many prying eyes and too many cameras to get caught on. But when a handful of separate reports crossed his radar within the same week, in the same general area, it was enough to get his attention and change his route.
Flickering lights in an auditorium, falling glass from a chandelier that barely missed a violinist mid-rehearsal, a cab driver reporting his headlights flickering out and cracking the moment a fare exited the car and even reports of phantom cold spots in subway tunnels combined with the words 'sudden' or 'accident' or 'impossible'.
At first he treated it like a standard haunting case, figuring that New York was so old and so bloodstained it wouldn't be surprising to find one or two restless spirits tied to construction nearby. He started with the concert hall's auditorium, talking to janitors, ushers, anyone who might've seen or experienced anything firsthand. They all said the same things about weird disturbances but nothing that could be explained or specified. Then came the subway station where a transit worker swore an icy gust nearly blew him onto the tracks, but that was even less spirit-like than the last.
The more Sam investigated it the less it looked like multiple ghosts and the more it looked like the activity seemed to move, always in the same general area but never quite pinned down. It made him think of Bobby and the flask, which had led him to the conclusion that it wasn't a place that was haunted. It was an object, and whatever object it was, was being carried around by someone who probably had no idea what the hell was going on. Either that or they had a poltergeist riding their ass.
That was how Sam ended up tailing the one he'd traced all of the activity back to, a thin man carrying a violin case named Viktor Hargreeves. On the surface the guy looked just like any other New Yorker trudging along stuck in their own heads, but Sam was watching more closely than anyone else. He could see the streetlights flicker as the guy walked past them, had seen electronics in parked cars and sitting in storefront windows glitch as the man passed by them and he knew that whatever this man was dealing with, whatever spirit was haunting him, was following him closely.
Very closely.
Sam kept to the shadows Viktor turned down an alleyway, jaw tightening as the trashcans rattled and the alley's single streetlight popped and sent down tiny shards of glass to the street. The hair on his arms began to raise as the ozone shifted around him, and when the guy finally turned around to face him with a forced bravado Sam didn't move forward, didn't wanna risk it. The guy was already on edge, clearly, and whatever was going on with him probably wasn't helping the haunting at all. Ghosts and poltergeists fed off that kind of stuff, negative energies. Instead he kept his stance steady and raised his hands slightly in a non threatening manner, palms facing Viktor.
"Easy, alright. I'm not here to rob you, or- or 'shake you down'," he said, voice steady as the hunter in him took over. His eyes flicked to the broken streetlight, then to the violin case, then back to Viktor's eyes. "Look, I think-- I think there's something following you. It's hard to explain, but just hear me out, alright? I think I can help."
Viktor almost laughed in spite of his nerves. His hands clenched and unclenched reflexively against the strap of his violin case as he flicked his eyes up and down the tall man's form, assessing.
"Uh, hate to break it to you, man, but I'm fairly sure you're the only thing following me," he muttered after a moment, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as he judged that the man wasn't about to rush him. He didn't let his guard down completely, though.
Even if the man wasn't rushing to attack, he still stood between Viktor and the mouth of the alleyway. He could try to make a break for it, but the man’s stance suggested he’d be caught before he made it three steps. Better to close the distance, at least enough to get a read on him.
Viktor's eyes flicked back to the man once again. He stood confidently, if non-threateningly (at least for the moment). Something about his posture prickled at the back of Viktor's mind. He was reminded oddly of his brothers, though he couldn't exactly put a finger on why, or even which one for that matter.
The trash cans gave a final clatter before Viktor took a breath, resolved. They settled finally in the next moment, though Viktor hardly gave it a second thought as he slowly approached the man.
It was still dark in the alley, but as he grew closer, with his eyes somewhat adjusted, he could make out some of the details of the man's profile.
He was tall. Even taller than he had initially appeared from several yards away. That quirk about his posture was even clearer up close. Despite the steady, non-aggressive look in his eyes, there was something that meant business in there too. It made Viktor shudder, particularly as he replayed the guy's statement over in his head.
Self-consciously, Viktor stuffed his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders and consequently making himself look, and feel, even shorter than the other man in comparison. Even hunched, he had to tip his chin up further than he liked.
“So… what exactly did you mean by the whole ‘hear me out’ thing?” he asked, his voice skeptical. “Because if this is some kind of pitch, I’m not buying.”
[ CORNERED ] - [monbellemonstre; dealer's choice all around!]
@monbellemonstre sent an ask from x
Viktor tugged the strap of his violin case higher on his chest, his face settling into a frown as he pushed through the doors of the auditorium and into the chilly New York evening.
It was late and most of the other musicians of the orchestra had already left. Viktor had been asked to stay back to chat with the conductor... again.
The man's soft-spoken but firm reprimands kept ringing in Viktor's ears as his worn boots tromped down the rain-slicked sidewalks.
You were late on your entries. Off by nearly a full beat in the second measure of the third movement. And the intonation in your solo? Unacceptable.
Viktor gritted his teeth and shook his head, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders as his step quickened, but it didn't make the voice any quieter.
You understand that excuses don’t change results. You have talent, Mr. Hargreeves. Enough to hold this chair. But you’re wasting it.
The implication was clear as day, even if the conductor hadn't spelled it out. If he didn't shape up, he would get bumped to fourth chair... or worse, dismissed entirely.
Viktor wasn't sure what it was exactly. It wasn't as if it had always been this difficult. He wasn't the best violinist in the orchestra, for certain, but more and more lately it seemed he'd been struggling to string together the most basic melodies without the utmost concentration. Pieces he had been able to play practically in his sleep mere months ago were now a struggle, not because of the notes themselves, but because of what seemed to happen the moment he let his concentration slip for even a moment.
Broken strings. Toppled music stands. Someone swore a crystal jewel had broken loose from the auditorium's chandelier one night during a particularly rough crescendo.
It had started around the time he'd started cutting back on his medication, though he failed to see why the correlation had any relevance at all. It wasn't as if the pharmacy shortage had somehow impacted his ability to string notes together. Right?
Viktor had tried to reason that easing his medication would be a good thing. After all, the dull empty feeling he got from them was pretty horrible. It couldn't be all that bad to give his mind a rest from all that, at least until the pharmacy got things back in order.
Of course, he hadn't counted on the increased stress of his seemingly ever worsening performance in the one thing he felt was a true passion of his.
Viktor bypassed the subway entrance, resolving to walk the blocks between the rehearsal hall and his apartment on foot. He was simply too restless to take the train. The walk would do him good.
As he walked, his mind continued along the same whirling winding path, playing over and over the same familiar tracks.
You're not good enough. - It's never enough - It's only a matter of time before you screw up again, why bother to try?
With each block, Viktor's thoughts wound tighter and tighter, pulling his focus in even as the evidence of his passing began to show in the street around him -- a flickering light here, a popping electrical wire there. A couple times, lights on parked cars seemed to flicker and dim before cutting out again as he walked past, completely oblivious.
It was only when the street noise faded around him that Viktor looked up from the sidewalk beneath his boots, brow knit in a frown as he looked around at the alley that seemed to close in on either side. The trash cans along the walls rattled slightly, though there was no wind to stir them. Swallowing tightly, he paused for a moment, mentally retracing his steps.
Wrong turn.
It had been too long since he'd walked this route home and he had been too distracted to notice. Too late, he realized there was another detail that had escaped his attention. He'd gained a tail. Several streets back if his belated sense of the sensation of observation could be trusted.
A mugger? Given the time of night that was the most likely scenario.
Viktor swallowed tightly as he turned slightly, back toward the mouth of the alley. It was dark, but his eyes were adjusted enough that he could see the tall figure standing several feet away.
His heart leapt in his chest and he felt a tingle in his veins as adrenaline flooded his system. He let out a nervous chuckle that came out as more of a cough, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.
"If this is a shakedown, you've picked the wrong target," Viktor said, trying to sound more confident than he felt as he wracked his brain for self-defense training that had been a compulsory part of his upbringing, even if he hadn't ever had as much opportunity to use it as his siblings.
The rattling from the trash cans intensified somewhat and halfway down the alley, a light fixture shattered, plunging the alley into even murkier darkness.
𝜗𝜚 ⠀𝗕𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗕 ﹔ violent action prompts ! please like or reblog if you plan on using . don’t claim as your own . TW : VIOLENCE, BLOOD.
[ CORNERED ] sender corners receiver.
[ CAUGHT ] sender catches receiver doing something they shouldn't.
[ SLAP ] sender slaps receiver.
[ BREAK ] sender breaks receiver's bones.
[ PINNED ] sender pins receiver against a wall.
[ SPARE ] sender spares receiver.
[ YANK ] sender grabs receiver by the hair.
[ BITE ] sender bites receiver.
[ QUIET ] sender clasps receiver's mouth.
[ SCAR ] sender leaves receiver a scar.
[ BLEED ] sender makes receiver bleed.
[ BETRAY ] sender turns against receiver all of a sudden.
[ FOOL ] sender tricks receiver into trusting them.
[ KNOCK ] sender knocks receiver into unconsciousness.
[ WIPE ] sender wipes away blood ( that they've caused ) from receiver's face.
"Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?" (from Obi-Wan to Anakin ; Clone Wars Era)
Anakin glanced over at his former Master with a smirk, twirling his lightsaber with a flourish. "You know, Master, I'm really not certain that I could." Turning on the spot, he cut down another line of battle droids and then turned back to Obi-Wan. "Makes you wonder where I picked up the habit from..." he added with a pointed glance at the man.
