#a.threads

[containatrocity]

They're uneasy- It's one thing for Raziel to be in town, the fixer's presence a flicker of hope and a herald for something terrible all the same for Absinthe, but to see him floating around people he has come to care for- even in the capacity of a simple priest to a flock- makes their stomach do something uncomfortable, tangled in knots and barely soothed by the salve of a bottle of mead between tattooed fingers. And perhaps they're staring, blue eyes scanning the gathered masses for the white of the other's costume. a touch egotistical, if we're being honest, isn't it? They muse- only to snap from their thoughts as someone nearby speaks. "Ah- sorry? What was that?" He turns, the carefully painted visage of a skull over their features contorting with brows. "Sorry, my mind is... Elsewhere."

[containatrocity]

"Come on. You know how to do this." They sigh, dusting themselves off and straightening back up. "Well. Okay, you used to, then you experienced head trauma, and ten years of continuous, additional trauma on top of the head trauma. But surely it can't be that hard." They step back from the target they'd wiffed particularly badly, a punch thrown missing the mark and his shotgun's report managing to only toss him further off course- the scarecrow's a little more chewed up than it had been, posted outside the town's 'murder house' in front of Absinthe's pile of ammunition and salvaged backpacks.

"And maybe practicing with live rounds was not among your best ideas, but clearly, you aren't used to the recoil anymore." He shakes his hand off, bending to pick up two more shells and loading the ornate sawed-off once more, flicking the barrels back up into place and clearing his throat. "Alright. one more go." They plant their feet, rushing forward to strike their target in the 'throat'- elbow digging into ribs as the hand holding the gun shifts into place under the dummy's jaw- trigger depressed twice mere seconds later- two quick bangs in succession and when they retreat, there's a substantially larger amount of glass in the thing's head than there was previously, shards sticking out this way and that.

And then, the gun's trained on the source of incoming footsteps. "Fuck- you scared me." There's distrust, in his eyes for a moment, before the shotgun lowers. "What are you doing out here." He's making a hell of a racket- it's not like a shotgun's quiet.

[containatrocity]

It's around here somewhere, he knows that much. He doesn't go back to the house a lot- it's blighted, something even the townspeople of Huntsville tend to avoid with a ten foot pole. Absinthe can't blame them, as he climbs the cracked wooden steps to the front door, the scant memories of that night ten years ago come flowing back, in a trickle, a drip- a thin stream of awareness.

your training holds up, steel teeth puncturing flesh to mark the door for your safety- scrawlings of something you can't forget on the walls. what did you forget, Sin?

They stand now in front of browned blood- the presumed ramblings of a madman on a wall with peeling paper. Sotto. Sotto. Sotto. A word he knows, the only one he can remember. He pauses. Memory ebbing back in. Under. It's a moment to realize what it might mean- he moves to the kitchen, pulling the inner board of a cabinet up and loose.

A backpack.

"Christ almighty-!" They're ripped from their task at the sound of somebody else entering, grip on the leather strap tight as they toss it over a shoulder. "You scared the life out of me." he swallows. "nobody- Nobody comes out here." The 12 bodies of his fellow priests had managed to keep that the case for years. That's a bag of supplies on his shoulder though- one labeled with a '9', much like the '8' he'd arrived wearing.

"What... what are you doing out here?"

[containatrocity]

"Ah- could you hold the door?" Sin calls after the man at the door to the Parson's house, arms loaded down with their satchel, a diaper bag, and the baby the bag belongs to, a dramatic coo a moment after their parent's attempt to avoid having to struggle the door open. Absinthe catches up a moment later, breathing a sigh of relief as he clears into the entry hall of the Parson's house. "Thanks, Matt." They breathe, dropping their bags by the door and adjusting Joei in their grip. "I've been seconds from dropping this stuff for like, six blocks." He admits, head shaking slightly. "Definitely overestimated my ability to handle two bags and a constantly moving baby. Lesson learned." He chuckles. "In any case- we've got groceries again, Sunflower sent me out to do a little restocking- and I ran into Mr. Romero on his rounds- he's looking for you." There's a knowing grin on Sin's face, teasing as he elbows Matt faintly. "If you're lucky, it's just a truck issue, if you're unlucky- what do you want me to tell Sunny to put on your headstone, man?"

@wanderinglcst

[containatrocity]

"Oh- wait wait wait! Hold the door!" He calls suddenly, racing for the entrance of the grocer as fast as he can manage, the three rust-hued doberman mixes running alongside him clearly just excited that they're running at all. "I am- okay. almost there- thank you!" He chimes, low voice pleasant as he comes to a stop and the dogs surrounding him plant themselves beside him in a sitting position. "Stay." he declares, leashes dropped as they do so obediently. "Thanks again." he breathes, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. "I have been making myself terribly inconvenient on grocery runs for other people. Maybe this is a sign." He muses. "But I owe you one." He waves to someone inside, the young woman nodding and moving to grab a box of groceries he'd clearly called ahead for.

"I owe you one." He insists- and right as the offer for 'if you need anything' finds its way to his lips- one of the dogs hikes its leg- and pees terribly close to the stranger. "OH- Heaven! No- bad dog! Oh dear. I'm... I am very sorry." they're flustered now, calm confidence they manage in church long gone with the situation at hand.

[containatrocity]

There's a recognition within him that life is short, and in Huntsville, it's even shorter. There's an understanding that every time they're in the presence of Ondine or Esther, they're putting them at risk.

there is also the understanding that Esther and Ondine will kill him if he pulls away from them again, and maybe death by whatever Huntsville has planned is better than the idea of his neck being snapped by his lovers, so it's truly no surprise that they've elected to attend the festivities- though perhaps a little more surprising that in full view of any who might watch- he reels Ondine into a hug, and crouches to set a fond kiss on the crown of Joei's head, the toddler gurgling before clamoring to her feet- inevitably to try and toddle off to cause some form of baby chaos. "Oh dear, I've gotten her started." He laughs. "How are you, beautiful?" He's nervous- it's clear in the tighter corners of his smile, as tattooed fingers lace in their own. He's trying, if anything he's trying, it's hard to shake the worry that this might get her hurt. "I would have given you and Esth warning I was planning on coming- but after a couple days of thought I wanted it to be a surprise, that I drug myself out of the chapel."

@exmcrtis

[containatrocity]

"Have you not done enough damage to me lately?" It's a fine hello- and if it were for anyone else, they'd be apologetic. But Absinthe doesn't even need to turn around to know who's approached. It's a curse, perhaps- to know one another so intrinsically that Sin could recognize Raziel deaf, dumb, and blind- to hate the person who's scars move in perfect lockstep with one's own. "Whatever it is you are here to say I have... I have no interest in hearing it." They grimace, lighting the end of a cigarette and taking a drag just in time to be staring Raziel down.

It's your mouth muttering filth in Italian in the moment. It's never a problem until you remember you're not supposed to be here, with a fist in your hair and teeth in your lower lip- not with them, anyway.

He tears his gaze away- down. a subtle deferment of power. "What do you want, Raziel? Pleasantries? Small talk? Observations about the weather? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you to let me be?" He inhales, brows knitting as he blows smoke into Raz's face. "Because I would much rather just smoke. I am not often afforded a break from you or your little pet project you've made of Quinn. Or her brute for that matter."

@ambercast

[containatrocity]

There's nothing quite like guilt gnawing at him to make Absinthe crave escape- the art fair is full of booths, music, sound and life- he should be thrilled, they had always cited their fondness for Huntsville's insistence on survival- joy in the little things, despite the circumstances. But their stomach is turning, and in the walls of their mind, Sin is clawing for anything to make their disgust with themselves go away.

The hands are familiar where they sit against your body. You follow them willingly until 'better judgement' settles in. It barely found you this time.

He shakes his head, swallows tightly.

"DADADADADA." Cold spirals down his back as he turns around, blue eyes settling on Joei in- Esther's arms. After a cursory, terrified glance around, for anyone that god forbid- might have heard- Sin swallows- and waves Esther down.

"Hey. I- we need to talk. Or... I need to talk, and I need you to listen. Do you have a minute, Esth?" They've got enough on their plate now- lying to Esther and forcing Ondine to do the same needs to stop- Sin just hopes that what they have to say doesn't... chase them off for good. "It's important. I've. Not been wholly honest, with you."

@estherwestfall