#havenofseven

[lcfthaunted]

@havenofseven • Jack sent : “It's safer if you never know the truth.”

Anyone else, it would have earned an eyeroll. It very nearly earns him one, anyway. “If I cared about safe, I would’ve gone back to my gilded cage,” she reminds him, somewhat tartly. “And never is longer than you can guarantee. I’m going to figure it out eventually. Maybe not soon, maybe not entirely, but enough that keeping the truth from me is pointless.” She shrugs, and her pale eyes are almost challenging. “It’s always better to control the narrative if you have the chance. Your facts, instead of someone else’s speculations.”

A terrible idea occurs, and she half-turns away, considering. “I could always start asking questions. Tox. …Maybe Phantom.” She expects exactly zero answers from Phantom, but the way he’d tell her to fuck off could give her plenty of insight, maybe even point her in a fruitful direction.

[lcfthaunted]

@havenofseven • jack

Aiden doesn't release Mazie's wrist until he's dragged her back to Jack’s side. “Take her back,” he demands.

“Aiden.” She turns to Jack, hands up. “You don't have to. Aiden just thinks he knows what's best for me, even though he never has, and we haven't even spoken in like. Twelve years.”

“Yeah, well, it's hard to have a conversation with you when you're high as a fuckin’ kite.”

“Are you really gonna pick that fight right now?”

“You started it!”

She exhales hard, furious. “I swear to fuck, I'm gonna kill you one’a these days.” She holds her hand up between them as a shield, taking a measured breath in an attempt to calm down. To Jack, softer, “If you would have me back, I'd… like to stay.”

Next to her, Aiden crosses his arms and glowers at Jack. There's a right answer, and an answer that'll get him punched, and Aiden will be pleased either way.

[lcfthaunted]

@havenofseven • Jack sent : a kiss placed over their freshly bandaged wound.

She waves off concern when it comes her way; there’s nothing she can’t handle on her own, and there are others who need attention far more. The gash on her upper arm gives her the most trouble, her left hand clumsy with the tape. (She’d been ambidextrous, once, but that was half a lifetime ago. The skill has atrophied. Mazie makes a mental note to work on that again.)

When Jack offers help, she runs a critical eye over him, making sure he’s been seen to before allowing his aid with a nod. She’s carefully still as he works, watching his hands against her skin and trying not to shiver at his touch. She’s on the verge of thanking him once the bandage is secured, but then he leans down to press a kiss to the bandage, and her breath catches.

Don’t, she almost begs. It hurts too much. Longing from a distance, she can manage, but this? She’s not sure if he’s toying with her or mocking her, though neither of those sound like him. The idea that his affection could be genuine is too terrifying to entertain. She doesn’t pull away from him, but she’s gone pale, bloodless cheeks making the faint freckles she’s been collecting in the sun more apparent. If she’s lucky, he’ll write off the pain in her expression as a response to the gash itself, and not his handling of her.

[lcfthaunted]

@havenofseven • Fox sent : “Stop squirming, I’m trying to help.”

“Then you are going to need to be less gentle.” Discomfort, she can stand. Pain, she can stand. It’s the light, glancing touches to her side that have her twitching. She could probably handle the injury on her own, if she had to, but twisting enough to see what she was doing would have stressed it more and probably made things worse in the long run. Still a minor injury, as desert injuries go, nothing to bother Tox about. She does appreciate Fox’s help, if only he could stop tickling her in the process.

[lcfthaunted]

@havenofseven • Jack sent : [ rescue ] sender carries receiver to safety

She goes very, very still. She can’t panic; panic would up her heart rate, which would move the drug through her system even faster. As it is, the clock is ticking down. A quick review of the night’s events finds the culprit, and she scans the crowd for them. She catches Jack’s eye on her pass, and something in her expression is enough to draw him to her side. She reaches out to him when he’s close enough and grips his arm tightly. She can’t panic. She can’t panic.

After a steadying breath, she informs him, “Southeast corner, green hair, denim jacket. Spiked my drink. I’m… familiar with the effects.” A polite way of mentioning her addiction from years back. Her hand tightens slightly on his arm; let me finish. We don’t have time for questions. “I think he recognized me from my celebrity days. Probably targeted me for my connection to the company.” Never mind how long she’s been out. Never mind how unwilling she may have been about it. That’s the problem with faces; they’re easy to target. “Might think I’m… a spy, or…” Hm. Bad sign; she loses the thread of her thought.

“I am not going to be conscious much longer.” She used to be able to tell exactly how long, but her tolerance has dropped significantly since she last used, and she’s entirely uncertain about how much she’d been dosed with, how much she’d ingested. Mazie can already feel the drug weighing her down, pulling at her limbs, clouding her mind. Her memory of the night is going to stop around now; she wonders if she should warn him. “I think… I need to get to the truck.” She slides off her stool and her knees immediately buckle—if not for her hold on him and her other hand pressed to the bartop, she’s sure she would have hit the ground.

A startled squeak escapes when, without warning, he scoops her up and heads for the doors. It takes her a beat, but she relaxes against him, the tension that had kept her rigid and upright spilling away. She’s scared and uncomfortable, but she knows, unequivocally, she’s safe with him. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs once they’re outside, though doesn’t elaborate what, exactly, she’s apologizing for.

She’s unconscious by the time they reach the truck.

[glasshcldhigh]

@havenofseven * Jack 3 : Toy Soldiers - 200 listens

“Fuck,” Tinz swears, terrified. The one time she goes to market on her own. Six is too far to call and have him here soon enough, Bri with him. No one else came out, and Crescendo was far too far away. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She tries to keep her breathing even, fights the urge to constantly glance over her shoulder. It would only make her more obvious.

She scans the market for someone, anyone she might be able to trust, as Mav’s voice chases itself around in her head. It’ll hurt less if you just submit. Like fuck she’s going back to that. She spots someone she hopes will help and beelines to him.

“Jack? It’s Jack, right? I’m Tinz—Tinsel, from Crescendo? A friend’a Tech’s.” She can’t resist glancing over her shoulder, cringes when she catches sight of Mav again. He’s at least not looking her way—yet. “I need your help,” she begs, turning wide and terrified eyes back to him.

[deadasadisco]

@havenofseven Fox sent : ❝I think… they’re gone.❞

Gun still firmly in hand, eyes still glued to the exit, Strike extends her other hand back toward Synth. They take it and let Strike haul them back to their feet. She squeezes their hand; they squeeze back before releasing her.

Strike flicks the visor of her helmet up. “You okay?” she asks their new friend, gaze sweeping over him quickly in search of burns or blood.

“Thanks for the assist,” Synth chimes, still a little shaky as they pull their helmet off.

Strike finally shifts her gaze to Synth. Her free hand ghosts up their arm and across their shoulder before alighting briefly on their cheek.

Synth offers her a quick smile and nods. They’re fine. A little banged up from Strike pushing them behind cover, but she’s done worse to them in the name of keeping them safe.

[deadasadisco]

@havenofseven Phantom sent : ❝I’m not who you think I am.❞

Ooh, a challenge. She wiggles a little on the stool as she tosses back the last of her drink before turning to face him again. Vel was right; she’d needed this break from everything. It was supposed to be a girls’ night, just the three of them, but tensions between Haze and Vel kept ratcheting up and Aqua just wanted to dance. She knows where her friends are—Vel tucked into a shadow on the far side of the dance floor, Haze miserably nursing something nonalcoholic at the other end of the bar. Aqua had found what she needed for the night in this admittedly visually pleasing stranger.

She doesn’t drink often, but that doesn’t mean she has a low tolerance; three drinks in, and her gaze is as sharp and shrewd as ever. She sweeps clear blue eyes over him, taking in every detail, every scrap of information, and piling it with everything she’d noticed while they were dancing. Uncommonly stationary motorbaby, and the implications thereof, settle out of the pile of information. The alcohol didn’t dampen her observational skills, but it does make her bolder than she would be otherwise; she hooks her fingers in his belt loops and tugs him closer so she doesn’t have to shout too much to be heard over the music.

“’Fore I tell you who you are, you should tell me who I think you are.” She grins. “It’ll be fun. I haven’t got you all figured out yet, but I don’t think it’ll take much once I get goin’.” She shrugs. “Or we can go back t’dancin’, and I can realize who you are tomorrow when I wake up. But I think that’d be less fun.”