Mistakes Made
@spitefulspades
Mistakes have been made.
He doesn’t see that any more clearly than he does when looking at the small screen of his outdated laptop. It barely works. The internet connection is slow as hell. He likes it that way, it keeps him away from communication. It keeps him away from all of that. But now.
Now.
He closes it, quietly. Sees Mabelle’s message on his phone, and ignores it. She’s been busy. He’s.... been alone. And he knows that she’d give him the world and a spoon of sugar if she could, but there’s things to attend to, things bigger thanhim. Maybe he needs mortal. Mortal, and messy.... and petty. Maybe.
Besides, he’s wiping away tears and at least he’s feeling something. Feeling something almost feels new, nowadays. All the in and out, latitudinal habits got old quick. He used to be dynamic. He used to take risks.
He steps into Midnight City not looking like himself. Pyjama pants. A frame shirt. He knows where Spades must be. He’s built himself a new hideout, a new center of violence and hate, and who cares who sees him - civilians, Tracker, who cares, who... he felt remorse, he said he was wrong, he didn’t sound like himself, and it’s simultaneously the best and worse thing Droog has ever seen.
He clambers into steel and concrete and why the hell was this place so cold, and he knows why, feet clicking against the ground. He runs. Is he lost? Maybe. Who cares. He just listens to the sounds of the place, feels out the passages and uses a palmed purple flame to light the way. He’ll find Slick. He has to.
It’s easy to find the secret passage. Slick was so predictable that it almost makes him laugh. He slips by a crony, and he remembers what this feels like. Who he was, once. A lifetime ago. Two lifetimes ago.
The biggest chamber....a cement throne....
There he is. Droog takes a breath. “Slick.”
