#dismaldescrier

[nellabird]

+dismaldescrier

Good morning, fella!

[snoopingscout]

Pressure Cooker

A few days after your first talk with Deadeye, your trial came and went, about as well as you had expected. Fin pulled through (although, you noticed, he seemed to be talking kind of strangely) and the court found you acquitted on claims of self-defense, and from the reactions to some of Fin’s evidence, the media will be singing quite a different tune about the deceased war hero. You couldn’t quite get around the breaking and entering charge, however, and the court still sentenced you to a week of prison time.

You can deal with a week.

Something is giving you a feeling that you need to be here, anyway; ever since the day Scofflaw came to visit, Deadeye has seemed to be... down, you think, but since he hasn’t brought it up, you haven’t pushed it.

At least, until today, which finds the both of you in the cafeteria, and Deadeye’s moping seems to be keeping him from doing much more than poking at his food.

“Y’ know, if you have somethin’ to say, you should just fuckin’ say it,” you say around a forkful of mashed potatoes. “You know I’ll listen.”

[twilit-treaties]

Imperfect Pitch

You've prepared for this. You're ready. You don't feel it, though. You do, in fact, feel a little nauseated. You wish this could be otherwise - you wish you were here to taunt, not to cleave away. You wish, for a small moment, that it was your work that put him here.

Futile, wasted desires.

The room grows colder as you clad yourself in chilly apathy, wreathe the hurt in anger until it's not so sharp in your chest. You're here for one reason, and you won't be deterred from that. The weight of the ring in your pocket, though slight, is reminder enough.

You take a steadying breath as the guards return with Deadeye, and radiate frigid disappointment as you wait for him to sit. Words unspoken sit and curdle like sour milk on your tongue, taste of ash and regret. You remain silent, eyes fixed on your once-kismesis.

[mischievouspicasso]

Deliverance

Missy temporarily leaves the side of her doting moirail. But she's determined not to do so for long. Call it closure. Into the lion's den one last time. And this time she'd remember to close the door behind her.

It amazed her that she wasn't frightened anymore. For a long time Deadeye Detective had scared her more than anything. She'd seen this darkness growing in him for a long while. It had brought her so much pain.

She stepped in and was vaguely aware she was still leaving golden feathers behind her where she walked.

"I need to see Deadeye Detective."

It was hard to argue with an angel. She blinked her two sets of eyes impassively and with them she could see fear. Confusion. They had their own colors and smells.

Extending her hand, she easily overpowered all of them with her own color. She understood how now. It was just like painting over a canvas. She could sweep away this frightening life for a while. A sense of overwhelming peace crashed over them heavy and warm. It was okay. Everything was okay. They just had to listen to her and everything would be just fine.

"Be not afraid..."

She spoke in a tongue she didn't quite know. But she knew they'd understand. She stepped past them into the visitors room looking thoughtful.

"Bring me the Deceiver. The Destroyer. The Defector. Whatever he calls himself now..."

[snoopingscout]

If Deadeye ever looks at Scout's hat more closely, he might find a small piece of paper tucked away inside it, nestled beneath the rim.

It's a photo clipped out of a newspaper, featuring four men-- Scout himself, looking much younger than he does now, Brawler, holding up the smaller Demo, and Deadeye, placing a brand new light grey hat on top of Scout's head.

[snoopingscout]

Felon's Festivities

Christmas, Perigee's Eve, Winter Solstice, whatever people felt like celebrating these days. A week ago, this was the last place you were expecting to spend it. A lot can change in a week, you guess.

It's been a long time since you were at the county prison. It used to be that you had friends in here, but now you mostly just have enemies, so you tend to avoid it.

But now Deadeye's here, and you have a lot to talk to him about-- not least of all the reason for that in the first place. You still have a lot of unanswered questions, after all. 

And perhaps the little gift bag you'd been keeping in the office is a reason, too.

The guard leads you to the visitation room, and you wait for them to bring Deadeye out.

[heavybrulee]

Brawler. You're back.

Deadeye! Deadeye! yes yes I am! Oh man, I need to give you a hug

[snoopingscout]

Soothe

You regret to leave Scofflaw, because it's your own damn fault he's in this state, but your moirail needs you, too-- so you'll just have to leave your matesprit in Bawd's capable hands for now.

Medico greets you at the hospital with a stack of papers, and quickly notices your pained movements. She sends you to a non-emergency ward to, if nothing else, get yourself checked out. After an hour, you finally leave with fresh bandages and a bottle of antibiotics to take over the next week.

You head straight to Deadeye's. You figure you've kept him waiting long enough, although you aren't exactly keen on letting him see your injuries.

You don't bother to knock, just letting yourself into his house.

"... Deadeye? It's me."