#infinityandmadness

[goryglam13]

PARTIES: @infinityandmadness, @goryglam13 TIMING: Fall LOCATION: Big Bites SUMMARY: A new friendship is formed at Big Bites between Jessie & Bellamy. WARNINGS: Grief tw (mention)

Since the Peascake Factory and fresh worm topping, Jessie had been a bit weary to try any other food in Wicked’s Rest, but surely that had to be a fluke right? And considering she was needing a little bit of social activity for the day, there had to be another place that offered something without worms. So here she stood, in front of Big Bites. It looked normal from the outside, but as soon as she stepped through the front door, Jessie immediately found herself disoriented until realizing that everything in the restaurant was HUGE, and she was tiny!

“Um, I have a reservation for Jessie Gray.” The confusion on her face was more than apparent as the hostess looked up her name before leading her to the Living Room. As they ventured forward, the young woman found herself weaving in and out of huge pieces of shag carpet material soon being seated at a booth, “Your waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy! And if you see an ant come through. Don’t approach it. Quietly slip down under the table and wait until it passes.”

“Um, okay…Thank you.” Jessie’s eyes had already grown wide at the mention of ants, and if the size of everything else in this place was any indication, she was a little worried about what she was in for. “Maybe I should’ve just been happy with my fresh worm topping.” With a quivering sigh, she looked down at the menu and began scanning the options.

—

He didn't get out of his house enough to go to many places regularly. He had also heard plenty of the Big Bites, Little Eats, place. It was interesting, if just a little unbelievable. Bellamy liked to ignore the parts that seemed fictitious. It was, to him, amusing, but nothing more than fiction in the end. After the conversation with Jessie about Peacake and Worms, however, he was talked into getting out to the place that was more or less just a place with strange stories. Bellamy stared up at the front of the building, studying it for a moment. At least, plenty of effort seemed to be put into the little place. He could appreciate that. Moving into the building, his body momentarily felt strange.

His skin shifted, something feeling like it was wiggling underneath it briefly. It made him nauseous suddenly. Closing his eyes, he stumbled, his body pulling back toward the exit of the building. Before he got control over himself. Regaining his composure, he started to feel much better. Moving to the check-in, he offered a weak smile, “Hey... Just looking for a friend of mine, Jessie Gray? Has she come in yet?” He could, moving his left hand up, he brushed his fingers across his face, moving a lengthy strand of his hair from out of his face. As they pointed him to where Jessie had been, he nodded, “Alright. Living Room?” He questioned, following the person as they led him to the spot where Jessie was.

He didn't like it, honestly. The shag carpet was so tall and crowding. This was not what he had expected at all. Something again moved under his skin, making him feel sickly as it did. Then, finally they approached the table. Bellamy quickly moved to take his seat, holding his left hand on his stomach, he nodded as they warned about the ant, “Yeah, yeah. We'll keep an eye out for Antie, and do just that.” Bellamy joked and watched them leave, then looked at Jessie, “You feel like we are in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids?” He sat back, frowning at, well, the size of things, “I feel like I'm six years old.” Ignoring other things that were weird for the moment, he brought his attention back to Jessie, “You think they put ants on the food here?”

—

As she scanned the menu, Jessie slowly shook her head no at most of the food options. Nothing was striking her fancy. At least not yet anyways, so when Bellamy took a seat across from her, it was a relief and gave her time to focus her attention on something else, “I am so glad you’re here right now, because I think this menu might be worse than the Peascake Factory.” She gave him an uneasy smile as she slowly pushed it away for the time being, focusing on their conversation instead, “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids? I haven’t seen or even thought about that movie in so long. But, yeah, now that you mention it I do.”

Jessie watched as some kids and the parents walked by making the smaller humans feel microscopic in such a large outfitted room, “Would your six your old self love this place?” She turned her attention back to Bellamy. It truly had reminded her of a movie set where anything could be larger than life if you put your mind to it. She had just never expected to encounter it in the wild before, but this town was proving to be something way out of the ordinary.

“I think the ants put people on the food here.” She couldn’t think about eating another bug. The worms had been enough of a scare. Creepy and crawly were not the kind of delicacies she had been searching for. All she wanted was a cheeseburger or chicken tenders or salmon or a salad. Nothing fancy. She wasn’t even asking for a steak. Just no damn bugs, “If they do put ants on the food here, are you going to eat them?” She gave the man a forward look.

—

Getting comfortable in the booth seat, Bellamy pulled a menu over to himself, flipping it open carelessly, “Hm. You think so? That doesn't seem promising.” He bared his teeth, wincing a little. Then scanned over the menu, at least it wasn't the worst he had ever seen on a menu. Some things he really could not stomach, even though he ate bugs for fun sometimes. Smiling then, he lifted his gaze back to look at Jessie, “Oh? I just have a good ability to remember stuff.” Bellamy excused himself, which was the truth. But really, he did watch the movie often enough, too. Swallowing, he continued to look over the menu, humming a little.

Then looked up, following the other gaze to a family with kids before looking back to Jessie, hearing her question, “I think so. Yeah.” Though his Caretakers would have never taken him near anything like this, they weren't much fun and didn't like things like this. He had to sneak out to go to amusement parks, technically running away. This only happened when he was older. At least until emancipating himself, and then he could get out and go to those places all he wanted, “What about you?”

He laughed a bit at Jessie's next remark, “Yeah. I heard they are pretty big, huh?” He played into it, not believing all of that. Or, well, ignoring it for the most part. Not wanting to invite it in. One could say. Bellamy made a face, thinking about giant bugs, though, “Maybe this town has gone overboard on the bug-themed, well, everything. You know?” It was weird, he just wasn't acknowledging it. But he could definitely see things were...off,” Oh. No. Not today. I'm not in a bug mood. More of a grilled cheese mood.”

—

Jessie knew she would eventually have to make her mind up. The waitress would be back sooner or later, unless she got snatched up by a huge ant, “How many waitresses do you think they go through because of ants?” Picking her own menu back up, she began studying it again, “Have you ever thought about acting? Directors would love you if your memory is as good as you say it is.” She knew her dad would cast him immediately if he had the acting chops. Way too many times she had seen the actors, even the huge stars, forget their lines slowing production. It was always a surprise, when some massive cocky Hollywood actor would come in and yell “line” in almost every scene, but if that was the person that made the money, there wasn’t too much dispute; well, unless they were a complete ass.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. It’s like a huge playground. What kid wouldn’t enjoy something like this…well until a huge bug came chasing after you, I guess.” Jessie continued on through the menu, until she came across the grilled cheese. It had seemed normal enough. No “extras” listed, and it came with a choice of one side. Sweet potato fries here I come. “I think you’re right. I don’t know what the state animals and flowers and things are for Maine, but maybe that includes bugs here? Also, totally feeling that grilled cheese mood, so I think I’ll join you.” She closed the menu happy that Bellamy had suggested it.

“So have you been here long?” It would be a year for Jessie this month, but also a year on Halloween since losing Jenna.

—

He considered her question for a moment, then shrugged. “Probably way more than they should be able to afford.” That was if the ants were even that big. But he liked to believe it was just a way to get interest in the restaurant and no real giant ants were wandering the place, “Acting? Not really.” Bellamy didn't think he was all that attractive for it, for one. But the biggest reason was that he didn't want any attention it might bring to him. He was trying to lie as low as possible to keep his former caretakers from coming around. Fame would have absolutely gotten in the way of this attempt. “It would be a pretty useful talent in that industry. I mostly just like a modest amount of fame on my YouTube channel, though. Face hidden and that.” He assured.

“Yeah. Exactly. You are having a blast. Then. You're fighting for your life, trying to get away from the big bugs! Very exciting.” He grinned, “Though you get that experience in one of the new games I've been playing, too. Grounded. You play games?” Bellamy asked, tapping his fingers on the menu. Things were very strange here, at times. So when Jessie answered, he raised his eyebrows, inhaling deeply, “I think it absolutely does.” At least, it kept things interesting, all the weird, whether it was with what was going on, the people, or other beings, animals, and the like, “Grilled cheese is usually great for most times, I've learned.”

With the question of whether he had been there long, he nodded, flipping the menu to the back, looking at it, “Ah-yeah. Eleven years or so. Moved here when I was just sixteen, living on my own. Been pretty problem-free, considering all the weird around this place.” Which he could consider himself to be very lucky for. Until the recent thing that was happening to him, which seemed dormant at the moment.

—

“You’re probably right about that.” Jessie hadn’t seen an ant yet, thankfully, but she did hear screams and scurrying on the second floor when she had entered. It had to all be for show right? “Acting really isn’t for everyone. I’ve never had a desire for it. I’ve done a few things here or there, but you really have to be okay with people being up in your business all the time. It’s funny you should mention YouTube though, because I actually have my own channel. Except the only time my face is hidden is when I have makeup on.” She laughed softly. “What’s your channel about?” It was always nice coming across another content creator, especially when it was something other than makeup tutorials.

“Exactly! Oh? I’ve played a few games before, but it’s nothing I’m avid about. My girlfriend plays them all the time, so she’d be more…” Jessie paused. Realizing her mistake, she could feel her cheeks growing warm and the tears threatening to leave her eyes, “Um, never mind.” Chewing on her lip, she looked down for a moment, and reset herself, not wanting to talk about Jenna, “Eleven years? Wow. You’ve been here a long time.” She was hoping the waitress would come soon in fear that Bellamy would question her about Jenna, and just like that, as if the woman had read her thoughts, she returned.

“Have you guys decided on what you want?” Jessie looked up to the waitress with a relieved smile, “Uh, yeah, my friend here gave me the idea, but I’m gonna go with the grilled cheese with sweet potato fries and a Dr. Pepper to drink.” She handed her menu to the waitress, before turning her attention towards Bellamy.

—

Shaking his head at that, he exhaled. The notion of acting was certainly worrisome to him. He didn't want anyone in his business whatsoever. Not to that degree, anyway. Not when he had worked so hard to get out of any spotlight or being monitored by others in his life, “Hm? You do?” It wasn't that surprising to him, everyone seemed to have one. As he listened to her go on, he grinned, “Ah. I usually hide my face, since I enjoy my privacy. But also, it's a fun little side hobby that earns me a bit of cash.” Shrugging a shoulder at that, he thought for a moment before continuing to answer her question, “Oh. A lot of things. Sometimes I cook stuff on there. Sometimes I go out into the woods and show off more of my outdoor hobbies, like hiking around. Lots of weird stuff out there.”

“Sometimes I'm just doing stuff around my house, woodworking, gardening. People seem to really enjoy it. Playing the occasional video game.” Though work kept him busy at any other time, so he had to prioritize a lot. Bellamy listened to Jessie, nodding his head, then, looking confused when Jessie broke off as she was talking about her girlfriend, he frowned, curious, “Oh.” That was weird, but he figured it was best not to pry at the moment. Even though her eyes welling up did not make his curiosity less aggressive. As she moved to calm herself down, he sat quietly, waiting, his attention moving a bit elsewhere, focusing on the menu and other items on the table. Till she spoke again, “Yeah. Long enough to know this town is weird.” He laughed, uncertain, still thinking of the moment just before.

“Look, about-” Before he could continue to let his curiosity get the better of him, the waitress had come over, and he sat back, letting Jessie take care of her order first, offering a smile toward the waitress as he did. Once Jessie had given the waitress her order, and it was his turn, he closed the menu, “Yeah. I'll also have the grilled cheese and some seasoned curly fries for me. With a root beer.” He handed the menu off to the waitress with a smile, “Thank you.” He gave when they started to leave. Then, Bellamy looked back at Jessie, “What do you do for your youtube channel? Just make up?” He figured it was better to talk more about Jessie, rather than what seemed to start to upset her.

—

Jessie listened intently. She enjoyed hearing about his channel and was excited to check it out. There was something inviting in the idea of doing a faceless channel, especially now, when it seemed like the whole world was staring at her, “It sounds like a fun channel. I’ll subscribe when I get home. I’d love to check out some of your videos. Don’t hate me, but it sounds very relaxing. The idea of watching you do stuff around your house. No drama. Just…life.” Life was something that had become so complicated, so the idea of seeing someone else live something simple and worthwhile was so inviting.

After the waitress had come and gone, Jessie resumed the conversation with Bellamy, “I was here not even a year and found that out.” She laughed in spite of everything that happened. “Primarily, yeah. It’s makeup tutorials. Started out mostly as special fx makeup on myself and then the more popular it became I started collabing with other creators. And it’s evolved from there. Sometimes I do scary videos or Halloween themed videos, like going to haunted places and stuff like that. It’s really a hodge-podge as long as it’s got a similar theme of scary, I guess.” She made a living out of the macabre, but the joke had easily come back on her when the scarier got deathly terrifying. “I haven’t posted in a while for lack of muse, but I know I need to figure out my next video, because I’ve already noticed my subscriber count dropping, which is not good when that’s how you make your living.” She laughed softly. “What got you into Youtube and making your own videos?”

—

“Well you are more than welcome to. I like to keep my identity private, so I hope I can trust you with this sacred knowledge.” Bellamy smiles then. He nodded along with what Jessie continued to say, “I- Yeah. Some people post so much drama online. It's really- something. I like to just do my own thing. No drama.” Tossing his head a bit, “Not that drama isn't sometimes very entertaining.” He conceded. Tapping his fingers briefly on the table top, he glances toward the tall grass around them, “Definitely a lot of life stuff to watch, there. I cook. Renovate my house. Do some woodworking videos. Just, calm, stuff like that. When I'm not busy.”

Bellamy nodded at her words, listening closely to what Jessie had to say, not wanting to miss a thing. He continued to look to the grass, however, still curious of both the place they were eating, and the person in front of him. As Jessie laughed, he raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips, “That sounds really cool, actually! I don't think it's ever crossed my mind to do collabs. Given the whole secret identity thing.” Nodding with that, he glanced down toward his hands, before saying, “I think that's really neat, Jessie. So you are probably looking forward to the town events that will be popping up in town?”  Sucking on his teeth as she spoke of lacking muse, he could understand, “Yeah? That's awful. But I kind of feel a little in the same boat.” Given what was going on in his life currently. Bellamy laughed, “Yeah. I get that, too. Not that it's the same for me. But needing those numbers, the cash it can generate. It feels a little overwhelming sometimes.” 

He clears his throat a little then, thinking over her question, “Boredom, probably. I didn't have many friends when I first moved here. I was sixteen, alone for the first time in my life. Had this big yard, this big house, and a pretty decent job to afford all that, grants from places, going to university. If I wasn't busy, I was stuck at home, by myself. Soo, one thing led to another, and now I have a youtube channel.”

—

Jessie could totally respect Bellamy wanting to keep his privacy. She valued hers, and whole-heartedly respected when other people requested theirs be kept on the DL as well, “If we do collab, we do it in secrecy. Or maybe, you stay completely hidden, and I’ll do my usual thing.” She smiled softly. “Hey! Or maybe I do your makeup, and you do the video in disguise.” Her mind was generating all kinds of ideas, but deep down, when it came to actually doing something, Jessie just didn’t have the heart. It was still fun to talk about though, and maybe she could learn a thing or two from him when it came to creating less crazy content.

“Normally, I would say yes to all the fun fall events, but right now, I think I’m just still trying to find my place here in town. What I like. Where I’m comfortable going. What about you? Plan on participating?” She glanced around at all the people who seemed to be enjoying the atmosphere and risk of a giant ant taking them out at any moment. “Seems like people around here love the kitschy traditions of Wicked’s Rest.” Her eyes focused back on Bellamy. “Might be an easy way to generate some revenue for the both of us. Utilize our surroundings.” She laughed at the thought since Wicked’s Rest had enough weird to last a lifetime.

“You know? Boredom can generate a lot of great ideas. I think it’s just putting the willpower behind that boredom to make things happen is where it can get complicated. But it sounds like it all worked out for you.” Just about the time Jessie finished talking, she noticed the waitress return with their drinks and food. It had all looked and smelled delicious, and with a polite thank you, she turned back to her new friend, “Now, if we can get through our meal without being chased off by a huge ant, I think we’ll be doing pretty good.”

—

At Jessie's offer to help him keep his identity hidden when doing a youtube video together, he nodded, enjoying those ideas, “Oh, yeah, yeah! Those are great ideas.” With the job he had and the fact that he had problems with people already trying to watch him, he did enjoy doing his YouTube channel without risking more exposure to his personal privacy. Though as Jessie then brought up doing makeup, his eyebrows rose, interest piqued significantly, “Oh. Now that, I like!” He liked all of what she was proposing, but this he enjoyed more significantly, “Deal. That would be really fun!” He liked to make his cosplay stuff, of course, and wear that. But Jessie's work gave him that, and let her have a face to work on when they did videos together.

He couldn't blame her reasoning. There was certainly a lot going on without the seasonal change, he had witnessed it for years now. But was mostly ignoring the worst of it. It suited his lifestyle better. Being a hermit, minding his business, out in the woods. Tending to his garden had been going so well these years. Though his friends were still inviting him, insisting to events. As usual. “That's good. I hope you do. It can…be hard, in my experience.” He was always putting on some kind of face, even to hide what was really going on inside his mind. Grinning toward her before glancing around the room, Bellamy shifted a bit where he sat, thinking he had seen something creepy, “Nooo. Nooo. Not really. I might meander through the maze or something.” Waving his right hand, he tossed his head, “I do like mazes…” At the comment of the people's interests around Wicked's Rest, he nodded, huffing in amusement, “You aren't wrong, there. Then, considering the next bit of her comment, saying after a moment, “Now, that's a great idea.” Dropping his head into his right hand, then resting his elbow on the table.

Listening as Jessie continued, he continued to look, or try to look, through the very tall grass around them, “I love being bored, sometimes. People don't know how to just be bored anymore? They always want to be doing things. And never generate ideas. People forget how important being bored can be!” Though he supposed he had learned to be bored a lot while growing up. As well as come up with ways to not be bored, “Yeah. It worked out pretty well.” Smiling, he glances at Jessie, tilting his head childishly, before he turns his attention back to the grass. As the waitress had popped out of it, he sighed, realizing his paranoia might have just been getting the better of him, and he didn't see anything but the Waitress making their way through the grass, “Ah. Yes. The huge, fearsome ants that absolutely roam this very elaborately made set.” He reached out, pulling on a piece of grass before letting it go with a laugh.

—

Jessie was deep into the conversation with Bellamy. And when he agreed to the idea of her doing his makeup for a video, something warm filled her body. The thought of slowly transitioning back into what she had enjoyed doing with her time felt good; if it was only just that right now…an idea. But, as cliche as it was, she also knew that Jenna wouldn’t have wanted Jessie not to continue to pursue the thing she loved doing. Especially knowing how much excitement it had brought Jessie, along with the fond memories they had shared on multiple occasions, “I think that could be a possibility in the future then. You in the makeup chair, and me turning that Hollywood ready face into something grotesque.” She winked at him.

As the conversation continued, Jessie noticed something catch the corner of Bellamy’s eye. And while she didn’t want to be rude, she was tempted to look back. That was until he seemed relieved and yanked out a piece of the restaurant’s fake grass. An oddly calming thought after all the things she had heard about this place.

“So, have you experienced anything as weird as huge, fearsome ants since living here? Or is it all just talk? I’m trying not to be skeptical, but there is this tiny part of me that’s still on the fence.” Jessie squeezed ketchup onto her fries before popping one into her mouth. The question was legit, and while Jessie knew a little about the thing that was haunting her, the idea of anything else just seemed too wild to believe, but as she popped another fry in her mouth, something behind Bellamy caught her eye causing her to nearly choke, “Um..Uh…Bellamy. P-Please tell me that the extremely huge ant that is coming our way is fake…” Just about that time, screams erupted around them as Jessie watched the massive bug latch onto a man eating a chicken tender.

Maybe this wouldn’t be a place Jessie would visit again in the future, but if they survived this huge ant coming towards them, at least a new friend would come out of the ordeal.

[appalachiannightmare]

PARTIES: @infinityandmadness; @appalachiannightmare TIMING: Sometime in the Fall LOCATION: Gatlin Fields SUMMARY: Hazel throws an apple intended for someone else, but accidentally hits Bellamy instead. WARNINGS: None!

The apple that Hazel had so carefully carved a sweet note into had been intended for a regular customer that came into the Video Vault all the time. It had been a guy around her age that was always so friendly and talked about movies and music with her. Someone she had a slight crush on since things had been so up-in-the-air with Cairn. And she knew that, of all the people here, he’d probably get a kick out of having an apple chucked at him. But when the time had come to throw it, Hazel had almost backed out. Would he like her back? Was she wasting her time? All the normal questions that had plagued her mind in the past when it came to crushes, Oh come on, Hazel. Just throw the darn thing. What can it hurt?

Her eyes trained on him as he was laughing and cutting up with some of his friends, Hazel finally made the daring decision to throw the apple as hard as she could at him. Watching as it sailed through the air, she was already trying to figure out what to say to him after it had made an impact, but just as it was about to smack him on the chest, Hazel saw the browning fruit hit someone else in the arm. A complete stranger that she had never seen before.

“Son of a hair filled biscuit!” The words slipped out from under her breath with a growl of frustration, and she could immediately feel her cheeks turning red from embarrassment. The apple that was meant for the regular from Video Vault had made contact with a stranger that she knew nothing about, and she was just about to turn and run, when she was blocked by a group of people who had decided to stop and talk right behind her.

—

It was just meant to be a quick trip out to town, grab a few things, say hi to a few friends to let them know he was alive, then quickly back home. That was it. He could do that. A quick excuse to explain he was busy with yard work should do it. It was meant to be quick.

However, it turned out to be a three-hour venture, and when he was finally free of that, he was hurriedly meaning to make a quick escape back home. Unfortunately, the path to that quick escape led right through some current Halloween activities that he wasn't really planning to stop by. Unless his friends had wished to during their hangouts. Which the maze and walking around where strange leaves' were seemed to be on their list. No matter how quickly he was trying to make his way through the mess of people and events, it wasn't quick enough, it seemed. As just as he had just been passing by one booth, something hit him in the arm.

Stopping, it had stung a little bit, like someone was trying to throw the thing with all their might. His eyes scanned the ground quickly for what it might have been, finding some nasty-looking apple on the ground with some words carved into it. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before crouching down to pick the browned apple up and try and read what was written on it, before hearing someone cursing. Looking over, he frowned a bit before moving toward them. Holding the apple to one side casually as he came to stop by Hazel, he looked at her, “This your apple? Wow. Are you like, a secret admirer or something?” He had never had one of those before. Though this was all just teasing, he could not imagine that this apple was even intended for him. No one admired him in any way to warrant this kind of…affection?

—

Hazel so badly wanted to melt into the ground and fade away from existence. It would’ve been the better option than what was currently about to happen in 3…2…The words cut through her embarrassment like a butter knife through jam. With so much ease mixed with a little tease. All because Hazel had wanted to impress some boy with a stupid rotten apple that said “be mine” or something along those lines. When she had finished writing it, it looked far from what it was supposed to, so how this guy figured out her intention was beyond her, but he had.

She wanted to duck, dodge, and run, but he was already talking to her about it, “Yeah, it’s mine. And I really want to say yes, and not hurt your feelin’s, but I don’t know you from Adam. It was meant for someone else. My aim is just horrible.” Her cheeks were bright red. “Apparently it’s some weird town tradition. You take an apple. Carve a message into it and throw it at the person it’s meant for as hard as you can. I think you might have a bruise later.” She glanced down at his arm, before looking back up at him, “Can I buy you a cup of hot chocolate or apple cider to make it up to ya?”

—

Bellamy laughed a little at her needing to explain to him that he was a stranger. Nodding his head a bit, because the joke didn't fully land? Though, tilting his head slightly, he turned the apple over a little in his hand, “I did expect as much.” He wasn't much of a known entity, to be admired, even secretly. He understood that, absolutely! Bellamy frowns a little, thinking over what Hazel had said next. This was a tradition? What a weird one it seemed to be. He had never heard of it. But that didn't mean it was possible. He just was that much of a shut-in and isolated from a lot of things.

“Never heard of such a thing. But it seems like it's still going strong.” Though as she explained how the tradition worked, he exhaled, not really needing to know those details, but listened kindly regardless. Then he smiled and looked at his arm where the apple had struck him, “Yeah, it certainly will. You have a nice, strong throw!” He tossed his head a bit, tilting his right hand slightly from side to side, “Aim could use a little more work, though.” But that was his next question. She was there, she was aiming at someone. She hit the wrong one. But then, where was the right target?

Looking around, he made a face at the offer to get drinks before saying, “Sure, you don't want to try again with your intended target? Might get away?” Holding the apple back out to her, grinning still, he continued, “But a drink would help soothe the sting.”

—

Hazel had felt horrible. This guy seemed nice enough. He even seemed a little familiar, but she couldn’t quite place from where. Never had it crossed her mind that they had spoken on the internet before, “I haven’t been here all that long, but this town does carry some weird traditions.” She shrugged and looked around at all the people chucking apples at one another. Did the local hospital see an uptick in patients around this time of year? She couldn’t help but wonder as she watched someone get smacked in the nose with a rotten apple causing Hazel to flinch, “My aim might be bad, but at least it’s not that bad.” She motioned to the person who was now nursing a possibly broken and bloody nose.

Hazel turned her attention back to her unintended target seeing the apple being offered, “Uh, yeah, no. That’s okay. Not lookin’ to bruise anybody else with rotten fruit.” She laughed. “Besides, I think maybe you were the intended target, accordin’ to the universe. Might have put us together for a reason.” She took the carved apple and tossed it in a nearby trashcan, “I’m Hazel.” She wiped her hand on her jeans to try and get some of the sticky off, before offering a firm handshake to the man.

—

At her comment on the town having some weird traditions, he blinked and nodded his head, tossing it lightly, “Yeah. It's likely to become even more unusual, given this place. Always seems to be something, every other day around here.” He clicked his tongue then, shifting his body oddly and tossing out one arm a bit, “Ow.” He managed with a small wince, as it was the arm that had been hit with the apple earlier. It was certainly going to bruise later. Moving his other arm to his sore one, he scrunched his face a bit and nodded his head, “My arm would probably say different.” Grinning, cute, he looked to one side, staring over at the other people, “It had a lot of power behind it. You sure you weren’t trying to kill this other person?” He teased.

Bellamy smiled, laughing a little, “Yeah. These things don't need more reasons for people to get hurt.” Though at the next thing Hazel said, he made a face, not quite sure what the universe might be thinking about all that, “Oh. Well, the universe might be drunk.” He jokes, then. Sure that it would be amusing, “So, I guess we'll need to figure out what the inebriated universe has plotted for the two of us, hm?” Glancing to the trashcan, then back to Hazel, he bowed his head a bit in greeting, “Bellamy.” Moving his right hand from his arm to take her offered one, he shakes her hand, “Maybe I'm supposed to be your wing guy or something like that?”

—

Hazel noticed Bellamy wince in pain. Never, in her life, had she expected to injure somebody with an apple. But the joke about killing the other person had made her blush, and not for the reasons he probably thought. Hazel, even though it had taken time, had become aware that her devil was capable of killing people and had killed people, but whatever was going on with her body right now, had been a clear indicator that the killing had thankfully stopped. So if chucking an apple at someone and bruising them had been her worst crime, for the time being, she’d gladly take it, “Well I may have a mighty strong throw, but I think your arm is gonna be just fine.” She laughed.

Hazel had been grateful that the person the ‘drunk’ universe had decided to stick in her path had been so nice. There had truly been some real jerks in the world, especially around this time of the year. And though she did feel bad for wounding him…Bellamy, she was appreciative of just how good a sport he had been about the whole thing, “Bellamy. I like it. It’s different, and it’s officially nice to meet you.” The young woman pulled her hand back and began moving forward slowly through the crowd, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a wing guy before. Could be fun. I’m sure there’s a lot of trouble we could get into in this town, so it's always nice to have backup.” She shot a look at him, before laughing.

— 

Taking a small note of her blush to his joke, he tried not to give it too much attention. After all, they were talking about her intended target. Surely she had not planned to kill them. He hopped lightly, pushing himself up onto the tips of his feet briefly, lightly patting his hands to his sides, listening to Hazel as she spoke up a moment or so later. Bellamy nodded his head to this, “Oh. Yes. It should. But if it rots off in the night, I'm going to send you the bill.” He continued teasingly, “Though, having a cybernetic arm, that would be interesting!” Bellamy bites down on his lips then, narrowing his eyes in thought. Though to be honest, it was not at all that painful, it would bruise, and there was some soreness, of course. But it would heal very quickly.

At the comment on his name being different, he raised his eyebrows a little, “Ah. Yeah. I think it is kind of an older name. French. Though now I suppose it's more known, because of that show The One Hundred?” Then, he laughed lightly, “No. I don't think I've ever been a wing guy before. But, fate's tossed us in this mishap for some reason. We might as well figure that out.” Bellamy shifted a little, even if it didn't mean he would link the two together, he was in the story for now, even if probably briefly. A short-staying, inconsequential side-character. Bellamy looked back at Hazel again, “Oh. Yeah! There's definitely a lot to get up to. I look at the news every day, and you won't believe what some people do, or come up with!” At times, he thought he might be living in a storybook! Nodding in agreement to what Hazel said, “Absolutely, a little backup can go a long way.”

—

She snorted at his comment about his arm falling off, “I don’t think one measly rotten apple is gonna make your arm fall off, but I guess a cybernetic arm would be kinda cool.” Definitely be great for some of the things that go on in this town. “And might give main character energy, rather than the sidekick vibes.” Hazel nodded in his direction to confirm her idea, before setting her sights back in front of her. The last thing she had wanted to do was run into somebody or step on their foot. Hurting one stranger for the day far maxed out her quota.

“French. Mr. Fancy over here with his soon to be cybernetic arm. Maybe I should let you chuck a few apples at me.” Hazel laughed despite knowing that someone throwing apples at her would only anger the non-existent devil that lingered in her body. Thankfully, at this moment, there wouldn’t be anything it could do as it still lay dormant, which had still worried the young woman, but was something she was learning to live with, “In this place, I think I could believe it. But you know what? I propose we go get food, before we start our vigilante crime-fighting ring. My treat with the hopes that you won’t sue me over a rotten apple that may or may not have left a bruise and stained your clothes.” She sucked her lips in stifling a laugh as she started to walk a little faster, clearly guilty of her assault with rotten fruit.

—

He blinked, pulling his head in and making a partially silly face at that, “I don't knoooow. You see some of the weird stories around here. I can see the headlines now!” He grinned, pausing a moment before starting, waving a hand through the air, “Apple thrown, strange infection injected. This apple has teeth. A man today has lost his arm due to a poisoned apple with teeth biting him-” He stopped suddenly, looking at his arm, “Oh nooo. Loook! It I can see the teeth marks!” He laughed then, shaking his arm out a bit as he lowered it, making a few cybernetic noises, wiggling his fingers at the end of his hand.

“Hm? Nooo no. Definitely a sidekick. Though having a sidekick with an arm that is a multitool. That would be very cool.” He grinned at her, calling him fancy, “Yeah! I guess it's pretty fancy.” Though he had wished he could ask his parents why they chose a name like that for him, was his family even French? No. Clearly not. Right? No. Bellamy just had to live with the fact that, maybe they just liked the name, “I don't chuck apples at people. It's against my code. I will shut down if I throw an apple at anyone.” Nodding at this, joking, he smiled, looking away, keeping an eye on his surroundings.

“You know, I like that idea! Food would be nice right now.” Bellamy agreed, bringing his right hand up to caress his chin thoughtfully, half-exaggeratedly, “Deal! I will not sue you for some food.” Gesturing then with his right hand too, to let her lead the way to a place.

—

Hazel laughed as he spoke about exaggerated headlines and how his arm was already starting to change. Despite the horrible things that had happened since coming here, it had been the people that had made a difference, and that’s what had mattered the most, “Apples with teeth? Come on? Are you serious?” Though there were apples with teeth in Wicked’s Rest, Hazel had never seen one, and at this point, she had hoped she never did. There was enough weird stuff going on in this town and in her life to last more than a lifetime.

“You’d be like that Inspector Gadget character from way back in the day. I’d be callin’ you day and night to open jars for me or unscrew blown light bulbs.” Hazel had thought about her name. It definitely represented the south. That was for sure. “Bellamy and Hazel. Sounds like some kinda sitcom or reality show. They could film your bionic arm, and me starin’ straight into the camera makin’ commentary. But with that kind of strength, you do know that you’d be king of the apple throwin’ contest, so suck it up, Buttercup. We got work to do, to get you ready for next fall.”

Hazel could already feel her stomach growlin’ something kinda fierce as the thought of a nice juicy cheeseburger came to mind. Taking his invitation to lead the way, she walked ahead of him, quickening the pace a bit. While her intentions of the day hadn’t gone the way she had planned, the path she did end up on had been just as better. Bellamy may have met her through a bruise and a rotten apple, but he was probably the sweetest person she had come across in a while, and she wouldn’t trade that for a boy she thought was cute, much less the world.

[bazzledazzle]

TIMING: fall 2025. LOCATION: gatlin fields. PARTIES: @infinityandmadness & @bazzledazzle. SUMMARY: baz and bellamy get stuck in a corn maze together. things spiral from there. CONTENT WARNINGS: past domestic abuse, past parental death.

As with the summer carnival, Baz found there to be something undeniably quaint about the autumn apple festival. It was the sort of thing that seemed out of a television show, like something you’d see in a movie. The quirkiness of Wicked’s Rest seemed to be the gift that kept on giving, offering an endless amount of entertainment to the doppelganger, whose experience with normal human life was such a limited thing. They wanted to try every part of the festival — the apple bobbing, the cider, the maze. It was the last one that had drawn them in now, and they’d been practically bouncing on their heels at the beginning of it.

They weren’t bouncing now, though. They’d been wandering through the maze for some time now, and at a certain point, it had stopped being fun. Every turn they took saw them faced with yet another dead end, and excitement had given way to frustration a while ago. They’d have been tempted to shove through the hedges if they weren’t worried that doing so might hurt. This, of course, left them wandering aimlessly, groaning each time they hit a dead end.

Rounding another corner, Baz prepared themself for disappointment once more… only to run into something that wasn’t a hedge. It was a bit too warm and squishy for that. “Oh!” They exclaimed, reaching out to steady the person they’d run into. “Sorry about that, mate. This place is a real — You!” Their friendly expression soured immediately as they recognized the figure they’d bumped into. After their last encounter, they hadn’t been looking forward to seeing Bellamy again. In fact, they’d have liked to avoid him forever. But Wicked’s Rest was a small town, and it rarely rewarded people with things they’d like to happen. “What are you doing in a maze?” 

—

Another day, another invite out to get him out of the house. His friends were really pushing their desire to turn him into an extrovert, onto him. Though, he would admit, he was having fun here. They had all been doing the typical Autumn season events. Nothing was out of the norm. Which, given that this was Wicked's Rest, was a fairly average time. Given how strange the place could often be. Especially during these strange blackouts that were happening. Bellamy followed along with his friends, eating some treats, partaking in activities, and enjoying his time with them.

That was until they all broke off at the maze. One look away, and suddenly he had found himself on his own, and they had vanished into it themselves, without a trace. Figuring he would see them after finishing the maze, he did not feel at all concerned and continued to make his own way through it. Bellamy lifted up a pumpkin spice-flavored drink he had been sipping on as he meandered through the maze, carrying a bag full of other goodies he had gotten, and a few other sealed drinks. He decided he would give the meandering a few more minutes and then find the exit.

Though, he would be lying if he didn't enjoy this moment of alone time. He was really enjoying it. As much as he had been enjoying spending the day with his friends, he was absolutely needing this break of solitude! Bellamy walked for a bit before stopping, chewing at the tip of the straw on his drink again as he sips from it, “Hm.” He had been trying to leave, but couldn't find the way out. “Weird. I'm usually really good at these things.” Glancing down, he tried to see if any footprints might help, but there were only his own. As he was doing that, someone had bumped into him, causing him to stumble a little, but quickly recover, catching himself. Turning on the person, he frowned as they spoke, recognizing him. “Oh great.” At the question of what he was doing there. Which sounds pretty accusing. He rolled his eyes, pulling the straw from his mouth, “Enjoying It? Or. I was. But it's a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.” Bellamy says, then staring the other over, he huffs, amused, “And now you're here. Are you lost, too?”

—

In all honesty, Baz was a bit wary of Bellamy following their last encounter. They could still remember the strange way he’d changed his tune in an instant, the unpredictability of it all. Normally, Baz loved not knowing what was going to happen next. It kept things exciting, kept them on their toes in a way that always seemed to send a thrum of adrenaline through their veins. They liked being kept in the dark… most of the time. But it hadn’t been fun with Bellamy, hadn’t been the enjoyable sort of blindness. There’d been something strangely sinister about it all, perhaps tied entirely to the fact that the other had kept them from leaving the moment they’d wanted to go. (Baz never did well with someone denying them the thing they wanted in the moment, after all, especially not when the thing they wanted was to be someplace else.)

And so, running into him in the maze was far from ideal. It was bad enough that Baz was lost, but now they were lost with someone they didn’t even want to be around! It felt as though they were being punished for something, though they couldn’t fathom what they might have done to deserve such a fate. The universe was cruel and unjust, really! It had it out for Baz, who’d never done a thing wrong! It certainly wasn’t fair!

“No luck breaking your way out, then?” They still weren’t certain what had happened at the aquarium, but they were sure it was Bellamy’s fault, somehow. He must have done something to break the glass, if only because Baz knew that nothing they had done had caused it. The glass couldn’t have broken on its own, could it? “I’m just taking a leisurely stroll.” They wanted to insist that they weren’t lost, but they didn’t want to give themself a stomachache on top of everything else. “I might’ve gotten a bit turned around, I suppose. That’s the point of a maze, innit? Nothing out of the ordinary.” Except for the fact that they were pretty sure the maze was changing in real time, because they were sure there’d been a left turn behind them and glancing back now saw them looking at another dead end.

—

He could see the way Baz was looking at him now. As if there was something wrong with him. There wasn't, and there was, Bellamy couldn't explain it. He didn't even know himself. Regardless, he didn't like the way the other looked at him. Turning his attention away a bit, he tried to brush the feeling that it brought up away. Nearing too close to the way his caretakers growing up had often treated him. Though he would suppose that the reasons were different, the looks weren't the same. Whereas his caretakers looked at him with a hunger, Baz looked at him, in what he could only see as disgust, a displeasure. It hurt to be looked at that way, it hurt to be looked at. That was what was the same.

Shifting in his stance, he chewed a bit at the end of his straw, trying not to feed the monster its attention, its desired reaction from him. Whatever Baz's problem was, he could not feed it. Bellamy stares away from Baz in the silence that wedged itself between the two of them, sipping absently at his drink, putting on a relatively casual, amused look on his face. He was having fun, the maze was fun, and the drink was fun. Everything was just so fucking fun! Yes. He was having the time of his life. Aside from those eyes boring into him in cruel judgment. Bellamy chewed some more before raising his eyebrows when Baz responded.

“Nope. Seems to be quite the intricate maze.” Bellamy commented, a bit of a compliment toward whoever might have designed the maze. Though he was sure it was Baz digging because of the breaking of the tank at the aquarium, “What about you? I'd figure you would, being the expert on breaking things, and all.” Bellamy commented lightly, a grin forming on his lips. Though, nodded slowly when Baz had passed off their situation as if it was the truth. Bellamy huffed, knowing Baz was fibbing. It helped that Baz had already cemented himself as one long before now, “Ah. Turned around. You suppose.” Pausing, Bellamy nodded his head, looking to one side, “Looks like it.”

Bringing his drink back to his lips, Bellamy watched as Baz twisted, looking back from where they came. He inhaled deeply, sipping loudly at his drink. Before pulling the straw away again to say, “Seems the game master has decided to seal your fate with mine, huh?” He teased lightly before turning and walking away, toward the only open path away from that space. He had to find away from Baz, and that judgmental gaze, more than a way out of this place.

—

They kept a careful eye on Bellamy, trying to determine which version of him they’d be on the receiving end of this time. The pompous, self-righteous version that got off on correcting everything they said and did was annoying, but still preferable to the version that had held them in place with a firm hand on their shoulder in the aquarium. Annoying was something Baz could handle just fine, albeit with a little complaining. Scary, though? That was another matter entirely.

They’d never done well with fear. Their father had always found it a useful method for keeping them in line, used it as a steadying force to keep them on whatever path he’d like to see them go down. It was certainly effective; there were few things Baz hated more than being afraid. But as they studied Bellamy now, eyes carefully looking him up and down, they saw none of the strange qualities that made him so intimidating in the aquarium. This was the Bellamy they were more familiar with — the one who irritated, but didn’t intimidate. 

“Maybe a bit too intricate. Aren’t people meant to be able to find their way out of these things? I saw children at the entrance!” They squinted at Bellamy as he, once again, seemed to try to shift the blame of the broken aquarium glass onto Baz. For someone who claimed the truth to be an all-important, valuable thing, he certainly seemed to be avoiding it now. “Breaking’s never quite been my style, actually,” they replied, shaking their head. “I’m a creator.” And it was true. Baz wasn’t someone who liked to break things. That was why they’d hated it so much when Bellamy broke the aquarium glass. 

Of course, none of this meant they wanted to be alone in the maze. They’d been fine enough on their own at first, but now that they knew the maze was shifting around them, they had little desire to be alone in it. Even if the only other option was to hang around Bellamy. They scrambled to catch up as he walked away, falling into step beside him. “I suppose I can help you out,” they said. “Since you’re lost. Wouldn’t want you to get trapped in here, would I?” 

— 

It continued to not make him feel great. Like Baz might be watching for him to commit some sadistic crime. Which Bellamy, sure as anything, knew he would never do. He had never broken any law, that he was aware of. At least, until the cafe. But he didn't exactly feel in control, then. If he were being honest. He exhaled a little, not wanting to think about it. He hadn't caught any trouble from it, perhaps the guy had even decided he did deserve it, and looked the other way. Clearing his throat then, Bellamy could feel a headache coming on suddenly while he was thinking about it, and the anger that triggered along with it. 

Still, the way Baz looked at him only added to that annoyance that he felt drawn in with, then. He had to learn to control whatever this was that was going on with him, whatever was wrong, it was dangerous. He didn't want to hurt Baz, or anyone. But he had, at least once. To his knowledge, and he figured, if he could do it once, he could do it again. He had probably done so more times than he could currently remember. There were far too many gaps in his memory to feel like he could trust himself, as much as he couldn't trust others these days. Closing his eyes, he felt the throbbing in his head growing.

Though, at Baz's words, he lifted his head, looking toward the other, sipping from his drinks, "Yeah. But given what town we are currently in, I guess weird things happen all the time. Maze might be magic!" He suggested, clearly not believing even what he was saying, given his sarcastic tone. Though, again, a squint, a look of judgment had him turning his attention away once more, exhaling, "Doesn't mean you can't do it." Bellamy retorted, giving a small shrug of one shoulder. He knows he didn't do it, as far as he can remember. The excuse the other gave of 'being a creator' didn't fly with Bellamy, "Sometimes, to create something, you must break it first. Sooo, what you're saying there is, eh, not selling me on your innocence."

As he was walking to the path, he heard the other beginning to follow him. His eyes were partially rolling in his head as he listened to Baz excuse their own reason for following him. Which, where else was Baz going to go? Bellamy turned his head a little to look slightly in Baz's direction, "Oh. Thanks, I'm looking forward to the guy who wants to blame the aquarium tank breaking on me, also helping me out of a maze. But, since I'm lost, I suppose I can't be a choosey beggar, right?" 

—

“You’re not still fighting that flu, are you?” Baz asked, still eyeing Bellamy warily. The other was looking a bit uncomfortable, eyes squeezed shut in a way that reminded the doppelganger a bit too much of the moment in the aquarium before his whole demeanor had changed into something else entirely. They weren’t sure they believed a flu was to blame for any of it — that seemed a convenient excuse to Baz, and as they were the master of convenient excuses, they were sure they knew one when they saw one — but if it was what Bellamy chose to go with, that was how they’d refer to it. They didn’t want to bicker with Bellamy over what caused him to become so different in the aquarium; they were more interested in ensuring it didn’t happen again. Especially not in a maze where the paths were changing every time they looked away. 

They hummed as Bellamy touted that magic could be the cause of their predicament. It was, of course; Baz was certain of that. What they were less certain of was whether or not Bellamy genuinely believed in such things. “Are you a believer of magic?” They questioned, wondering how much the other really knew. He lived in Wicked’s Rest, which did seem to have a larger population of nonhuman individuals than most places. But he was also the sort who demanded truth at all turns, and that didn’t quite go with the magical world, did it? Humans who were aware of the world of magic tended to believe in its secrecy for one reason or another. That was why none of them were running about telling everyone they met what fueled Netherville and the like.

“Well, everyone’s capable of destruction, aren’t they? But I don’t tend to partake in it. Though I suppose creation and destruction go hand-in-hand, if you think of it that way. Is painting a canvas destroying the white beneath? Is sculpting a statue destroying the clay’s natural shapeless form? Is writing a poem destroying the notebook you’ve scribbled the words into? I’d say no, but perhaps you have a more nihilistic view of things.”

They didn’t have time for this. Not for the bickering or the waxing poetic or even for shooting Bellamy looks of suspicion and unease. They wanted out of the maze, and there was no one around but Bellamy to help them achieve that. Time to swallow all the fun bits of their personality to be more agreeable, then. “Let’s not talk about the aquarium!” They said, clapping their hands together. “Let’s focus on the here and now! We should go right at this next turn.” Based on absolutely nothing, but it seemed as good a direction as any.

—

Bellamy stares at Baz for a couple of seconds when they ask that question, his eyes narrowing on them for a moment. Before nodding, “Yeah.” He answered, moving his drink once again to take a sip from, “What, they don't get flu's from wherever you're from? Some of them can last a while.” He looks away, not imagining the other cared at all what he was feeling, sick, especially. Since Baz left him at the aquarium while he was pretty ill. Though Bellamy didn't expect anything at all from Baz, it only served to prove, well, a couple of things about Baz. Mostly, he was disappointed, though still not expecting any help. He knew for sure not to ever try and get Baz's. As the other would probably ditch him to die. That's what Bellamy saw Baz as, a coward. Made sense, he supposed.

“No.” He answered the others' questions coolly. Of course, he wouldn't believe something like that. It was all science to him, anyway. But, did he want magic to exist, of course. It wasn't that he was without fantastical and whimsical desires. But that he lived in a reality that he had to accept, but could fantasize about others, of course. Bellamy blinked and looked away, “Unfortunately, I live in reality, where magic is impossible. You'll have better luck finding miracles.” Which science could certainly make? Exhaling, he chews at the end of his straw a little bit, “Do you think magic exists then?” Bellamy questioned, with a faint sneer.

As the other again started to excuse themselves with something silly, Bellamy's eyebrows raised. He lifted his head slightly before giving a slow nod at what he was hearing, “Right.” Of course, he wasn't questioning whether anyone was, or was not, capable of destruction. He was talking more about the fact that the many artists and creative outlets, or rebuilding of anything, tended to come with a form of destruction. That wasn't including the fact that a lot of people, who would probably find it cruel to keep the aquarium as it was, would probably opt to destroy the tanks to break the 'cage' and set the 'birds free'. Baz seemed, in a way, to him, that sort of 'artist', too. Looking Baz over, Bellamy smiled a little, “I didn't ask for your life story as a complicated artist, Baz. So you can save the poetic waxing for the time being.”

“I can assure you, my view of things is not nihilistic, as much as you might wish to paint me in such dark colors. Try using colors sometimes, to paint me instead, maybe instead of looking for everything you want to hate about me. Be an artist, and find the beauty in me, you neglect to observe.” He leaned in a bit as he said this, pointing an index finger from the hand currently holding his drink. Slyly, he looked Baz over before turning his head away.

Now, walking, Bellamy narrowed his eyes when the other was following and tried to take the attention off the conversation at hand. Bellamy half rolls his eyes again, taking another sip of his drink from the straw, “Sure. Whatever gets you out of feeling like the horrible person you are, right?” Glancing at the next turn, he nodded and walked in that direction, “You know. You'd be pretty alright if you didn't spend so much energy getting twisted in your panties about me being right. But, let me guess, 'i don't wear panties'.”

—

“Not the sort you’ve got,” they replied, which was true enough. They’d never seen any sort of flu that could make someone act as Bellamy had in the aquarium; they still weren’t convinced flu was the right word for it at all, but if using Bellamy’s own terms was the best way to keep him from acting as he had before, they’d do just that. “You really ought to see a doctor about that, mate.” Or an exorcist. They wouldn’t be suggesting that again, either, of course. They wouldn’t suggest anything at all that might make Bellamy snap. Bad enough that they were trapped in a maze with him.

They hummed as Bellamy replied, quite decisively, that he didn’t find magic to be a plausible thing. It was hard to know if it was the truth or not, but Baz’s gut told them it likely was. Bellamy seemed to know very little about the supernatural world, if he knew anything at all. “Oh, I think all sorts of magic exists,” Baz replied, not finding the stomachache a lie would bring worth it in this particular situation. “Life’s a lot more fun when you let yourself have things like that, you know.” That was also true, though it wasn’t the reason why Baz believed in magic. Baz believed in magic for the same reason they believed in oxygen; because they drew it into their lungs with every breath they took. Magic was as real to them as their heart pumping blood, because it was just as much a part of them. Not believing in it would be silly.

But that wasn’t the sort of thing they could explain to Bellamy, especially not when he already seemed to be in a foul mood. They let their mouth close and shrugged a shoulder, deciding it wasn’t worth the argument. If they wanted Bellamy to lead them out of the maze, they’d have to at least make an attempt at playing nice long enough for him to do so. “Suit yourself, then,” they replied, “but I imagine wandering around here’s going to get a bit boring without it.” 

They were a bit surprised by Bellamy’s notions of how they perceived him, their head tilting to the side a bit as the other spoke. “I don’t hate you,” they told him. “But I can only paint with the colors you’ve shown me, can’t I?” Everyone had something hiding beneath the surface and sometimes, Baz could pull it out with ease. But it was a bit more complicated with Bellamy, especially since the aquarium. The parts of him he’d shown them there didn’t quite match with the rest of him, and Baz wasn’t sure which was more honest. One must have been a mask, but they couldn’t puzzle out which it was. And that was confusing, for Baz. Usually, they’d be able to figure it out. They couldn’t figure out what was so different about Bellamy, couldn’t figure out why he was set apart from everyone else. It was frustrating; it made them anxious.

They trailed along behind Bellamy, fiddling absently with the hem of their shirt. “I’m not a horrible person,” they replied defensively. “I don’t think you are, either, by the way.” They glanced around the maze as they moved, looking for any sign that they might be heading in either the right or the wrong direction. There was nothing to indicate either, which was frustrating. “I wear panties sometimes,” they replied absently. “Though we call them knickers, on my side of the pond. Anyway, that’s not why I argue with you. It’s not that you think you’re right — everybody thinks they’re right, don’t they? — it’s that you don’t want anyone else to be right. You argue with everything I say. Not just the silly things in the museum, but all of it. You think the worst of me, no matter what I do. You can see how that might be a bit frustrating, can’t you?”

—

“Yeah, I'd hope not. Seeing as to catch one, you practically have to have not had it before.” Bellamy explained. Though he was sure his exact 'sickness' was miles beyond comprehending, like that. When the other started to suggest what he should be doing with himself, he narrowed his eyes, “Yeah. Or maybe you should assume I already tried.” He partially rolls his eyes, “I'm not contagious anyway, so maybe stop telling me to get help.” It was so irritating. Especially since he knew something was wrong with him. But he couldn't figure out what, and if he had just shown up to the hospital like he was now, they might have thought he was losing his mind, or some hypochondriac.

Narrowing his gaze on Baz, Bellamy gave an annoyed huff when the other spoke, “I'm sure you think a lot of things that aren't true.” Or more, he thought the other thought about things they wished to be true. Why not magic, too? Bellamy believed in science, though, not magic. Not whatever else Baz liked to talk about those days in the museum, “Is it? What's your proof?” Bellamy asked with a slight smile, his head tilting slightly, “Are you happier for letting yourself have those things?” It didn't sound like it, going by their conversations online, the other was hard to read, of course. But he could tell a mask when he has seen one. Bellamy tilted his drink slightly from one side to another, as Baz spoke some more, “Mhm. Well, then it will have to get boring.” Bellamy shrugged at that. Boring was good, it was safe.

“It sure doesn't sound like that's true.” Bellamy mumbled in response, lifting the straw to his drink up to his lips and taking a sip as he let Baz continue. He shook his head, “That depends, right? Because you only see me as a nihilist, or something. I'm not.” He glanced at his cup, thinking quietly to himself for a moment, “Which means even if I show you my colors, you are choosing only to see me in black and white.” He grinned then, “That makes the absence of color in me, your fault.” Then again, he didn't imagine he would need to tell an artist how to see the seemingly unseen. That's something they were good at. That Baz was basically asking permission to see that in Bellamy, and told Bellamy that, maybe, Baz was a shitty artist.

Continuing to walk the path they had been guided to, Bellamy looked forward, “Maybe.” Bellamy replied to Baz's defensive response, “You just don't think you've done anything horrible, yet.” He then added. But Bellamy could certainly count some awful things Baz had done, maybe not awful, but it didn't help to make Bellamy feel Baz wasn't kind of horrible, either. “Baz, what's a nihilist?” Bellamy then asked, lifting his head a little. He knew the answer, he just wanted to hear what Baz had to say on the word. Bellamy looks away again, frowning as Baz speaks of wearing his panties sometimes. Bellamy could only nod at that, having nothing to add.

“That's not true. It's that everyone else is usually wrong. I don't care if I'm right. That's not the point of why I try to set things right, with you.” He looked over, “I care if you're wrong. That's what I don't want. I don't want wrong. That's a difference between me wanting to be right.” He pauses, thinking, then nodding. It was just that, he just didn't want other people to be wrong. If he were wrong, he would himself want to be corrected. But he was rarely ever wrong, he had just yet to be proven right, sometimes, when others thought he was wrong. Bellamy sighs, “Do you think it's worse to be wrong and make others think you're right. Or to be right, and let others be wrong? I try not to be either.” Bellamy narrowed his eyes on Baz then, “Yes, well-” He paused, looking around for a moment, before slowly continuing again, “You enjoy wrongness. You forgive it, because if it brings you happiness, who cares about the truth? You aren't frustrated with me. You're frustrated by the truth, which makes you unhappy. I'm just its mouthpiece that you can project your frustrations onto.”

—

“Is that true?” There was a genuine sort of curiosity to the doppelganger’s tone because, in all honesty, they didn’t know a lot about human illness. They were fairly certain they were immune to it, even when the face they wore was human; after all, they could always swap their anatomy out for that of someone undead, which brought with it immunity to most, if not all, illnesses. They were curious, though; they liked learning, even when it might not seem like it. They liked knowing more about humans. They’d always found them to be a neat species. “It’s got nothing to do with your being contagious. You look ready to keel over. I’m telling you to get some help because I don’t want that to happen.” Bellamy was a bit annoying, sure, but Baz didn’t wish harm on him even after the aquarium incident. Generally, Baz didn’t wish harm on anyone unless they were an active threat to themself or someone they cared about. Violence and pain of any sort always made their skin crawl uncomfortably. They’d never had the stomach for it.

There it was again, that bitter tone in Bellamy’s voice. Baz had to wonder if the other always saw the worst in everyone, or if Baz was special. Perhaps they’d earned some of the disdain, though they themself were incapable of comprehending how. Baz thought everything they did harmless, even when they had express proof to the contrary. “I believe in the possibility of truths unknown to me,” they replied with a shrug. “Surely you’re not arrogant enough to think you know exactly how the world works in every aspect, with no slight risk of being wrong? I think proof of certain kinds of magic are all around us, if we look closely enough.” Of course, they could offer Bellamy concrete proof right here and now. They could swap their face out for another and leave little room for doubt. But though they were certain he was no warden, Bellamy wasn’t anyone Baz thought they could trust. They couldn’t run the risk of him taking some sort of action against them, be it out of fear or out of intolerance. (They liked to think fear a more likely motivator; Bellamy didn’t seem the intolerant sort.)

“Oh, trust me, mate, you’d know if it wasn’t true.” Speaking a direct lie would tie Baz’s stomach into knots, though Bellamy couldn’t know that. They were sure it was far easier for him to assume Baz was a liar in everything they said and did; he seemed to prefer that thought to a more honest one. “Because that’s what you’ve shown me. In every situation, I’ve watched you find the worst parts and magnify them. I’ve watched you do the same to me — assuming I only care if you see a doctor because I worry you’ll give me your cold rather than entertaining the possibility that I care whether someone is ill or not, for example. If that’s not how you want to be seen, why not show me something different? Why not attempt to see things from my perspective rather than assuming I’ve some nefarious, selfish reason for every word I speak? I’ve been trying, Bellamy, to be kind to you. You could at least recognize that.”

The whole thing felt impossible, really. Not the maze — though that was beginning to frustrate, too — but the conversation. No matter how Baz tried to push forward, no matter what peace offerings they tried to lay between the pair of them, Bellamy wasn’t interested. And perhaps that should have been enough for Baz to stop trying, because it wasn’t as if Bellamy was the first person who’d ever disliked them, was it? It was hardly a rare thing for someone to decide who Baz was and accept no argument to the contrary. It was just frustrating. The idea that someone who hardly knew the first thing about them had some vision of who Baz was in their mind and thought they knew better than Baz themself wasn’t one they enjoyed. They sighed at Bellamy’s question, shaking their head. “Don’t see much a point in offering a response to that,” they admitted. “I don’t imagine it matters much what I say. You’ve decided what I mean before I’ve opened my mouth at all.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? Bellamy swore it wasn’t about him being right, but insisted that everyone else was wrong all the same. “But you are wrong, Bellamy,” Baz groaned. “About many things. And you refuse to so much as listen when someone — or me, I suppose, I can’t know if you do the same with everyone — tries to tell you as much. You can’t say you want people to correct you if you’re wrong if you go about denying every correction you’re given without so much as entertaining it, can you? I am frustrated with you. I don’t want to be, but I am. And you can tell me I’m wrong about that — I imagine you will, since you seem to enjoy telling me I’m wrong about everything — but I think I know a bit better than you do about the contents of my own head, wouldn’t you agree?”

—

“Generally, yeah. Strains are different, each time you get them.” He said, “That's why you get them. You're not entirely immune to them for the rest of your life. But there's a lot of strains, that's why you get them, and a lot of them are similar.” Bellamy explained politely. He didn't mind telling the other things when they were being petulant about it and actually wanted to know something. Bellamy had never been rude, in that way, not even toward Baz, what he said was usually factually accurate, as far as Bellamy knew and had understood. Not just things he was saying because he had some desire to be in the right at all times. He let out a breath when Baz had then accused him of even looking sick. Bellamy scrunched his face a little, “I don't look that bad. You're exaggerating. And nothing is happening to me that you need to concern yourself with.” He really didn't look that sick. The body needs to at least be somewhat healthy. Even if the mind wasn't. It needed the body.

It wasn't easy when Bellamy couldn't comprehend that world of the supernatural or the magical. He was human, still. Even if his uninvited guest in his mind was far from being so. He had had no direct interaction himself with the supernatural and magical. So it was certainly far harder to bring him over to that side of everything. The arrogance was only due to that, the confidence that he had already known most of the world as it had been to him, rather than how it had been to Baz, who lived in a completely different world as far as Bellamy's own. Bellamy made a face, “Arrogant?” He then said as Baz was talking, glancing away, unsure what the hell was even being spoken about, not, and if Baz was even mentally well, themself, “What?” He looked the other over quickly, concerned, “I'm not- no. I didn't even say… I don't know exactly how the world works, to its ultimate end, no. The world, and with that, the universe, is strange and hard to comprehend, yeah. But I know things that are real, to me. Like, that each day the sun rises. Why does it rains? Why weather patterns are important. The science of things that are based in reality.” Bellamy paused, moving his head a bit as he continued to observe Baz, “Magic, like, miracles, right? Or things that have yet to be explained by research and science, right?” He questioned, unsure at that moment who Baz even was. He was sure, up until then, a fibber, someone trying to be important to others. Someone who preferred fun over facts. Though in a brief moment, he had seen something a little more unsettling with the other.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows when Baz spoke, then, slowly, nodded his head at the other. Not sure if he believed anything Baz would ever say, that was decided long before this conversation. But now, with what had just been spoken from the other, Bellamy had a bit more discomfort from Baz. As if he had just realized he was trapped in a room with a poisonous snake. Bellamy looked at the other, but continued to grin, and try to be as pleasant as he had been attempting this entire interaction, for the most part, “Oh? So it's only my fault you see me in a shade of nihilism.” Bellamy prodded slightly, not sure whether he should change how he should continue to talk to this person he felt so unfamiliar with at the moment, when he once felt so familiar with, at the beginning. Someone who may have been schizophrenic. Believing in magic wasn't the ultimate qualifier in Bellamy's books to be armchair diagnosed with that. But everything else about Baz that Bellamy knew did help him think that something of the sort was wrong with Baz, “Ah. Yeah. Well, there's a difference between your assumptions of me and my supposed assumptions of you.” He offered, then.

Swallowing, Bellamy blinks, looking away again, “I'm not doing my assumption from a place of malice, and your assumptions often are, awfully, presumptuous. Like, me calling you a fibber, and that making me think you're a bad person, only in that it might not be good for your or others, to fib. But you call me a nihilist, which is wrong, I'm not. Unlike you, who is a fibber. Who doesn't care if those fibs lead to bad things? That's selfish of you. Because it has only shown me you don't care about other people. So circling back, you don't care if I'm sick. You care if it affects you, if I'm sick.” That was the crux of some of the issues between them, Bellamy didn't see the Baz that Baz thought Bellamy was seeing. He saw someone who was selfish, who was often embellishing on things he took joy in, so ruining the experience in some way for him. Even if it was amusing. It was still ruinous, to Bellamy's experience, “I do recognize you trying. It just means nothing when everything you are seems made up and inauthentic. Even your attempts at kindness to me are for you. Not for me, it's to make you feel better.”

Walking, Bellamy turned his head as they made their way down the path, reaching a hand out, he delicately cupped a leaf of one of the many on the maze wall, before yanking it off the stem and holding it close to his face as he observed it. When Baz gave a response of non-response, he nodded his head, “Of course.” He responded in a similar tone. Then he rolled his eyes, again, the other was making everything about them! Bellamy sighed, tucking the leaf into his pocket and adjusting the bags on his arm again, “You don't see the point in offering a response, yet you feel as if you must. And by doing so, you show that you still only want to talk about you. How you feel, how you see things. How it affects you. You. You. You. You. How I've decided what you mean, because of seeing who you are. Or the side of you that you have only let me see. Which I see as selfish, inconsiderate, and frankly, attention-starved and demanding that everyone pretty much agree with you, wrong, or right, or wanting to have fun irregardless of which. If they don't, oh, well, they are nihilistic, or don't have whimsy!” He waved his hands a bit, the bags on his left arm crinkling and the cup with ice in it in his right hand, swishing against the plastic, “You've decided who I am- this isn't a soap opera, Baz. I'm not ruining your life by telling you the truth. I'm trying to help you! Which is clearly something everyone else in your life failed to do.” Bellamy did want to try to help Baz, even if it was through a blunt misunderstanding of reality to supernatural and magical elements. Bellamy didn't know that. So he could not know he was wrong, he just thought Baz was mentally unwell.

Bellamy exhaled when Baz said he was wrong, lifting his head and rolling his eyes into his head as this continued on, “Ugh!” He growled lowly in disdain, “Maybe because every correction I've heard is wrong? And no, I don't correct you, or anyone, when I'm wrong. Just to be right. I agree and accept when I'm wrong.” He moved his right hand out, gesturing a bit, “Just because you don't want to talk about those moments, in favor of thinking I'm always correcting you. Doesn't mean those moments didn't happen. You just can't use them at this moment, because it doesn't benefit you and makes you think you're right.” Bellamy grins as he said that, “Isn't right? That might work on other people, Baz. But it doesn't work on me. I have a very good memory.” Now, he knew Baz was someone he was talking to online, and had agreed many times there, with plenty of what Baz had to say, but he couldn't bring that up, to add to any other situation as proof that that was what Baz was doing, “Of course I'm always going to sound like I'm trying to be right, when you don't include a whole conversation and only want to talk about the times I'm right, and you didn't agree.” Bellamy narrowed his eyes, “That's unfair. And besides, what could I be wrong about in this conversation we are having? Reality? Not believing magic actually exists? Baz. What do you want from me here?” He questioned, so confused.

“I don't enjoy telling anyone they are wrong. I like to inform people about information they didn't know. It's not pleasant to have to tell someone they are wrong. Because-” He paused, frowning, and paused in his walk. A brief flash of memories he had been working to forget came to mind. He shook his head, “I'm not trying to tell you what's going on in your head? But, at the same time, it's not the inside of your head I'm talking about. It's what's leaked out of it, that I can see. That I know you by. I don't want to entertain your reality, since, as you said. You know the contents of your own mind. And so, I do know mine.” He started walking again, walking passed Baz, “I don't know what you see of me, but I don't see you as dark as you make it seem you see me. Just confused, and in need of help. Like most people are. Do you really think that's so nihilistic of me?”

—

It was interesting, the illness discussion. Baz didn’t know much about it, and had never really had a reason to learn. Sebastian had never gotten sick in the time Baz had lived with him — something they now thought might have been a sign at his not-quite-human status — and it wasn’t as if Joel got the sniffles, either. Perhaps that was why Bellamy’s illness seemed so obvious — and so concerning — to Baz. They had nothing to compare it to. “Well, I am. Concerned.” They couldn’t quite keep up with what Bellamy wanted from them; one moment, they were being called selfish, the next they were being told not to concern themself with his health. It felt like a game they weren’t sure how to win, and they’d never liked those. They weren’t a fan of losing.

“I’m not saying you’re arrogant,” Baz sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. How did things always end up so circular with Bellamy? They tried to extend a hand, and it was misinterpreted as a slap. They tried to offer an olive branch, and it was viewed as an attempted stabbing. It was frustrating, to say the least. “I’m saying it would be arrogant to assume everything works exactly the way you’ve experienced it, all the time. I don’t think everything can be explained by science and logic. Maybe that’s a sign that science isn’t quite advanced enough yet, and maybe it’s not. But not everything can be narrowed down to numbers, yeah?” 

They couldn’t suppress a groan now, throwing their head back in a clear expression of frustration. “What do you expect me to do here, Bellamy? Would you like me to gain some power to read your mind, to know exactly what you intend, when you intend it? You’re certainly not doing the same for me. I’d say it’s a bit hypocritical for you to accuse me of jumping to conclusions about you when you seem to take every word I say as some slight against you, but I’m sure you’d only use that to further your narrative against me.” On some level, they knew that it wasn’t entirely Bellamy’s fault they were snapping. They were frustrated with the situation more than they were with the other person involved in it — they disliked the maze, disliked the feeling of being trapped, disliked all of it — but they couldn’t very well snap at the hedge walls around them, and so Bellamy became the only sensible target. The frustration towards him was real, in any case, but Baz would have normally done a better job swallowing it. “That, right there! My making assumptions about you is a given, in your eyes, but you making them against me is ‘supposed.’ You don’t think that’s a bit of a double standard?” 

It didn’t feel as if they were getting anywhere. Not in the maze, and not in the conversation, either. Both physically and metaphorically, Baz felt as though they were walking around in circles. “It’s not on you to decide where I’m coming from without bothering to ask, Bellamy,” they sighed, the frustration growing larger in their chest. “You hardly know me, but you act as though you know exactly what I’m feeling, exactly what my intentions are. You say I feel one thing, even when I’m telling you I feel another. You tell me I’m making unfair assumptions about you, then state that any assumptions you’ve made about me are valid ones because… what? You’ve had a handful of conversations with me in all of two different settings? You’ve got to see how this sort of thing comes across. You can’t know why I do and say what I do and say because you don’t know me.” Even Baz couldn’t always pinpoint their own motivations; the idea of someone else thinking they could was a bit laughable. Bellamy couldn’t know Baz, no matter how well he claimed to, because Baz wasn’t a solid thing. They were made of clay, of possibility. The Baz who walked beside Bellamy in the maze wasn’t the same Baz who lounged on Joel’s sofa. The Baz who walked beside Bellamy in the maze wasn’t even the same Baz Bellamy met in the museum, who wasn’t even the same Baz he’d run into in the aquarium. They were a different person with every breath they took. No one could ever know them completely, and certainly not without asking.

The frustration wasn’t going away, and the maze wasn’t opening up into an obvious path that would lead them home. If there had been some other direction to head in, Baz would have taken it to get away from the conversation, even if doing so meant being alone. They thought they might prefer that to Bellamy’s company now, and there was something strange about that. They’d never wanted to be alone once, not in their entire goddamn life, but Bellamy made it seem a far more tempting alternative to continuing this conversation. “Okay. Let’s put everything else to the side and say you’re right — which you’re not, but for the sake of this argument, we can pretend. Who are you to ‘help’ me to begin with? I haven’t asked for your help. I don’t want your help. So why take it upon yourself to help someone who isn’t interested if not to give yourself a boost of feeling superior? I hardly think you’d call systematically listing a person’s flaws altruistic, unless you don’t understand people at all. But if you don’t understand people at all, aren’t any assumptions you make about me obsolete?” 

But it was like talking to a brick wall. There wasn’t anything Baz could say that made Bellamy listen, and it was frustrating. They didn’t want to argue endlessly, because they didn’t even like arguing. But how could they sit and listen to someone else misunderstand them so blatantly? How could they stand idly by while someone told them who they were and got every inch of it wrong? They’d lived that bit. They’d spent decades with their father telling them who they were to be at any given moment knowing they weren’t allowed to argue. If arguing was an option now, wasn’t it one they had to take to make up for all the moments where they couldn’t before? Wasn’t it something they needed to embrace, even when it felt pointless? But Baz was tired. They were getting nowhere, trapped in two different mazes with no exit to be found.

“You have a very good memory,” Baz repeated, “so you must remember telling me that any attempts I make at kindness are for myself. Isn’t that a clear assumption of what’s going on inside my head? Just because you’ve decided something is a fact doesn’t mean it is one. I know more about any kindness I partake in than you do, because I am the one partaking in it. I am the one thinking the thoughts that lead to it. I am the one who knows the motivation. To assume otherwise is to assign your perspective to my thoughts, Bellamy, and it’s not fair to me. I’m not confused. I don’t need help. And I don’t see any point in continuing this conversation if you’ve already decided you’re the one in charge of both talking roles.”

—

He could tell, even for a moment, the smallest of them, that Baz actually had been paying attention to him. Not to just respond and be combative. But to actually listen to him. Which was, probably, all he had wanted all along. More than just about anything. Not in general, of course, people listened to him usually, often. Others, even, pretended to listen to him. He could certainly live with that, too. No. Baz instead liked to counter him at every turn. Bellamy was happy to help until the other had opened their mouth. It just didn't come off as genuine, with all that he had already observed from Baz. All that way Baz had treated him already, more so at the aquarium recently. Blaming him for that glass breaking. Bellamy turned his head a bit, feeling annoyed again, because he knew it would be best to believe Baz wanted to be concerned. Bellamy just didn't honestly think Baz was capable of actually being concerned, “Right.”

“I heard you. But you are talking to me. So I answered as me.” Bellamy stated with a sharpened exhalation and glanced away, looking for a way out of here. He brings the straw to his drink back to his mouth, having another casual sip. The more the other spoke, the more it just seemed like they were trying to annoy him. Or, as things were unfolding, starting to make Bellamy feel like there was something disturbed with Baz. He then gave a shrug, “Great. Because I don't think that things work as I experience. I think a lot of things work, however, based on most statistical data that I've observed.” Bellamy wouldn't want anyone to experience life the same way he had, he didn't want that sort of experience himself. As Baz continues, he narrowed his eyes, observing the other still, thinking briefly on the rest of what Baz had said to him just then, “Yeah. It's not. That's the problem and the point. We are doing well, right now. But it needs to be better. For everyone.” Bellamy replies, then laughs. He wanted to say more about the very last bit. But Baz didn't seem the sort to entertain, especially at the moment, how many numbers and vibrations were essentially part of everything.

The chemical engineer continued to listen to the other, frustrated in part with Baz, but trying so very hard not to lose his cool entirely with the other. He knew, like with many others. That if he got too rude, even though it could be hard, they wouldn't entertain him any longer. It was difficult, however. He didn't want to treat everyone like they had the intelligence of children, but so many basically did, compared to him. For a lot of his friends, he was like a Wikipedia page, or something of the sort. He always knew the answers to the questions they had. Baz didn't have questions so much as it seemed Baz demanded that he not be right. People like this exhausted Bellamy, because there was no real way to talk to them about anything else, “I don't need you to read my mind.” Bellamy stated then, tilting his cup a little, it was almost empty. Which would mean he wouldn't have anything to help ease his growing anxiety with this situation. As well as cut into the time he would need to take some pain relief at home. “ I would like for you to stop confusing a lot of what I'm saying, to suit you. You're adding to all this a lot more than need be.” Though Baz was hardly listening to what Bellamy had said, “I observe you, you don't observe me. You haven't. Because you're too busy thinking about how wrong I am.” Taking another sip from his drink, he raised his eyebrows.

“You're making assumptions about me is a random excuse you are using to deflect my more than likely accurate assumptions you think I'm making about you. But, again, I've observed my target. I see you at the museum regularly, Baz.” Then the aquarium most recently. He wasn't sure why Baz was going ahead and just discrediting him from that. Of course, he also didn't know about the entirety of what happened at the aquarium, which was his own fault, and how strange he was acting. Baz is telling him anything that happened during that blackout. It would be difficult to convince Bellamy. He realized how awful that was, how anyone could just say he did things during blackouts, how people did say that he did things during blackouts. That he wouldn't have done, or couldn't remember. Bellamy sips more anxiously at the drink in his hand, as these thoughts started to flood his mind about how people could use those sorts of things against him! Narrowing his eyes on Baz, he hissed, “It's because you think I'm a nihilist, and I'm not, it discredits all else you have to say about me. Because if you're wrong about that, you're probably wrong about everything else. I'm not wrong about you exaggerating at the museum. I'm not wrong about how you cling to people paying you positive attention. You want affirmation from me? Earn it.”

Walking still, he sips more on his drink, till it's gone, and then continues to make that drinking noise on the emptiness within the plastic container while listening to Baz as the other spoke. He eyed over toward Baz, frowning when the other pointed out that he didn't know them, “Yes. I know I do. But I don't have more to go off of. Your behavior has told me these things. It's not like I'm admonishing you for all of it.” Half rolling his eyes at that, he thought that to do something so festering was a waste of his time. Though when it came to Baz at one moment, treating him like a plague victim, and then another moment acting concerned for him. As well as fabricating stories in history at the museum, he certainly had plenty to have formed one version of Baz that stuck out. Even in their online conversations, Baz always had to seem to get his say, or make the alternatives seem impossible, when it wasn't true. It wasn't like Bellamy knew that Baz was ever changing and wasn't consistent. Bellamy had to make Baz consistent, and that consistency led him to believe that the person standing in front of him was probably, if made angry enough, skin him alive. This caused some more apprehension with the conversation. But also, everything else that Baz had displayed in front of him was placed in a mental folder on how Bellamy formed Baz's character. Which was a selfish, inconsiderate, disconcerting, egomaniac. At least, most of the time. There were times when Bellamy enjoyed talking to, or even debating Baz, and he actually liked Baz quite a lot, despite these visual insights he had on the other.

Though it often seemed to be stuck in the online space, when these moments of enjoying Baz's company were had, most. Perhaps, Bellamy imagined, because Baz wasn't in presentation mode. Though, really, Bellamy was honestly confused more than anything about a lot of these things they spoke about. Well, not confused, ignorant of. Being entirely human and ignoring or associating things that were happening that weren't normal, even those things that were happening to him, there was a perfectly realistic and rational reason and explanation that he could understand. Bellamy exhaled when Baz was talking. If Bellamy knew that Baz was not human, not in a normal world as he had seen it, he would have called this unfair. Because a lot of Baz's frustration with him, was do to him not knowing things Baz had known. But, it was a town-wide secret, and further, worldwide. Most humans would not typically know these things that Baz was frustrated with Bellamy for, and Bellamy had to choose the frustrating option, because of that ignorance of what Baz knew, “Because it's the right thing to do? It-” 

He pauses, thinking, “There's this scene in the movie, The Incredibles. The first scene is a man jumping from a building. But he is saved by a hero. He gets mad when the hero saves him.” Bellamy stares at Baz, “Even if you don't want it, Baz. Doesn't mean you don't need it. Even if you can't see it, it doesn't mean it's not there.” He shrugged, “It's not for superiority of any kind. I like you, even when you wrongly call me nihilistic. Or you say I'm assuming and make me a villain in this narration of yours, or at the very least, a frustration, I'm used to it. But you're different from most others who think I'm annoying, I think. I'm pretty sure most would agree with you, that I'm annoying. Sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. That you're right, because you're just having fun and it's not hurting anyone. Why should I stop you? Because. If I waited for you to ask for help, it might be too late to. I actually don't want something bad to happen to you, even if you're only faking your concern for me.”

“You can hate me for it, think I'm annoying. That's fine. I don't care. Because it's stupid, I know that. Why shouldn't I just let you embellish your stories at work? It's not hurting anyone. But… I think it's more than that.” He paused, not really sure how to add to that, “I'm not sure why. But you're so…you seem, so positive, and lovely, and it seems to me like a silent cry for help.” Maybe his wires were crossed, maybe he didn't understand the signals, he supposed. Bellamy just had a feeling when he first saw Baz that something was wrong there. Potentially, this was him trying to find what it was, but it was currently leading to misunderstandings and disagreements, “I'm not just listening to your flaws, though. But, whoo, you have quite a lot for someone your size.” He teased before turning his head and looking away, sipping at the empty cup again. The last question lingered in his mind quietly for a moment. “I can notice things, and not understand them, you know. So can you, so can anyone. I guess I'm just weird like that, pointing out flaws to others, unasked.”

Staring over at this relative stranger, Bellamy was sure that Baz was the same person he had known at the museum, as well as the aquarium. But after the earlier and now the latest conversation, he was feeling less secure. Not that any of those characteristics he had saved in that mental folder were now to be changed. But that he was certain there was more Baz was hiding, and that he wasn't doing a very good job at finding those hidden features. That honestly didn't seem like appealing features. Walking quietly for a time, Bellamy glanced around at the bare walls, feeling more pain up his side, and his head starting to get a bit confused, “Yes. I do.” Bellamy answered when the other spoke, “They…are, Baz… You don't care about me. You're not kind …to-t- to me. “ Walking a little more unsteady, a thin sheen of sweat had formed over his body, beating around his neck, “Mmm. If it's not going on in your head. It's certainly something I'm seeing you doing. So.” He started walking away from the other absently. Though his eyes scanned the area, with reality loosening, he was starting to feel like something outside of the two of them was around. Looking back toward Baz.

Bellamy nodded his head. Bellamy supposed that Baz just wasn't honestly getting that it wasn't that he was trying to get into Baz's head, or truly know what was going on in it. But based on the others' actions, he was certain of what might be going on in Baz's head through that, “I can't …actually read your mind. I can only take from your actions. Just like you can only assume my thoughts. I can only assume yours. But have I done some action to lead you to believe I'm a nihilist? You think I basically believe that nothing has meaning, even though find meaning in you. Why would I try and help you, who doesn't want it, if I'm a nihilist? Why would I care like that?” He looked toward the other, making a face, “That's what's really not fair, Baz. You say I'm this, and then get upset when I do it back.” He grinned, “It's not so funny, now, huh? To have someone say you are something you think you are not.” That did not, however, mean that Bellamy did not believe that Baz was much of the things Bellamy observed him to be. They were true. As far as Bellamy could perceive, and he knew Baz would be upset being called those things out loud.

Falling behind the other a bit. Bellamy sways slightly, “I've not decided…anything…I'm just…explaining what I've seen, from you…” Bellamy explained then, “I'm not interested in being …in charge…Stop assuming everything, just because you're mad at…basically your own game.” Laughing a little, Bellamy shook his head, “And you're losing. You know how it feels now. You think the worst of me. But the second…I do-” Taking in a breath, he tilted his cup, “It to you…you don't like that! Typical.” Only stopped suddenly when he saw an unconscious woman on the ground in front of him. Only for him to see, “So...weird... I knew...her.” Dropping the empty cup, he knelt down, reaching a hand out toward the illusion.

—

When they were a kid in London, their mum bought a treadmill. It had seemed so silly, like a funny human thing. Baz remembered her putting it in one of the many rooms that sprawled throughout their house, remembered the way she encouraged human guests and employees to have a go at it. Most had thought it odd — Baz didn’t think humans did that to one another, invited each other over to run on a treadmill — but they usually did it all the same, just to be polite. They remembered the hungry look in their mother’s eyes as she’d watched her guests run, remembered how long it took for them to realize that she was making a meal of the display, feeding on the energy and the euphoria that came with running in place. For the longest time, they’d missed that. For the longest time, they’d thought there was something special about the treadmill itself that caused that look in their mother’s eyes, something that made her unable to look away from the people running atop it.

For a child who had always been so desperate to be looked at, it had been a tempting thing. Baz wasn’t allowed to touch the treadmill — Baz wasn’t allowed to touch most things in that house, had always been made well aware that they were a thing to be neither seen nor heard until someone had something to ask of them — but late one night, when everyone else was sleeping, they’d snuck into that big room anyway. They couldn’t remember the face they’d been wearing at the time. Their childhood was like that, a blur of different children whose faces they’d borrowed for different reasons mingled in with the occasional adult body that their childish mind had piloted like a mech suit. The face in the memory was a blurry thing, a blob of paint haphazardly smudged across a canvas, but they remembered how it felt to climb up onto that treadmill. They remembered their small fingers smashing the buttons, remembered the whirring as it came to life.

And then, after, they remembered the fear. They hadn’t quite understood how the treadmill worked. They hadn’t quite realized what it did. One moment, they’d been standing and the next, the ground was moving beneath them. They’d run without going anywhere, their feet slapping against the treadmill with a confused desperation. They’d felt like a small fish swimming against a harsh current, hyperaware that, sooner or later, they would be unable to overcome it. 

Eventually, they’d stumbled. They’d tripped, and they’d been thrown back by the force of the treadmill. Their body had tumbled across the floor, they’d been slammed back into the wall, and it hurt. And through it all, the treadmill still whirred, continuing on as if nothing had happened at all.

Talking to Bellamy felt a bit like running on that treadmill. It didn’t matter how hard they tried, didn’t matter how fast they ran, they weren’t going anywhere. Sooner or later, they’d be thrown back into something hard, and the conversation, like the treadmill, would probably continue moving as if nothing had happened at all. Baz could slam their feet against the ground, could explain to Bellamy over and over and over again their point of view, but he was never going to listen, was he? His mind had been made up a long time ago. He’d decided on the ending before ever really opening the book. It didn’t matter if his assumptions were wrong; he’d think them right, anyway. The treadmill would continue to whir long after Baz got off of it. The only real choice they had was whether they stepped off or were thrown.

They weren’t quite stubborn enough to dig their heels in. Baz liked to think of themself as the sort of person who fought back when it mattered, even if it had taken them twenty-something years to fight back against their father, but they weren’t the sort who could stand to say the same thing over and over again knowing that they would never truly be heard. It wasn’t as if they weren’t used to being misunderstood; their entire life, they weren’t sure they’d ever really known anything else. No one knew them, and no one ever really would. Bellamy’s incorrect assumptions, and the way he stood by them even after being told directly that they were incorrect straight from the source, was proof enough of that.

And so, Baz sighed. They shook their head, too tired to keep up the fight much longer. “You just think what you want to think, yeah?” They said, rolling their eyes a little. “You’ve made up your mind. Doesn’t much matter what I say, does it? You’ve got an idea in your head of who and what I am, and you won’t be convinced otherwise. You’ve seen me at work a handful of times, so you’re an expert. Know everything there is to no, with no room for anything else. I’m not going to stand here and tell you how I feel just so you can tell me I’m wrong, Bellamy. I know what I feel. I won’t pretend to know everything, but I know what’s in my head. You can take that, or you can leave it. I don’t really care anymore.” They wanted to defend themself further, of course, wanted to insist that they did care, because they thought it was true, but they weren’t sure what the point of it was. Eventually, you stepped off the treadmill or you were thrown off, and Baz didn’t want to be thrown.

“Can we just focus on finding our way out of here? I’d just as soon avoid spending the rest of my life arguing with you in a bloody maze.” And Bellamy seemed to be flagging a bit, anyway. Baz couldn’t imagine what drove him out into a maze, or to the festival to begin with, if he’d been feeling this poorly. If he was as smart as he claimed to be, he ought to have known well enough to stay home when he was feeling ill. But he hadn’t, and he was here now, stammering his way through his assumptions and refusing to hear any argument against them and drinking from an empty cup and… kneeling next to nothing and reaching out a hand.

The last one was a bit weirder than the rest of it, actually. Weird enough to be noteworthy, in any case. Baz faltered a little, eyes darting between Bellamy and the ground where he knelt. “Knew who?” They questioned, tilting their head to the side a bit. “There’s nobody there, Bellamy. It’s just… grass and dirt, like all the rest of the maze. Get off the ground, mate, c’mon.” They leaned forward, trying to get their hands under Bellamy’s arms to pull him up. They were half tempted to just leave him here, but they would feel badly about it. (Because they cared. See how that worked? Had they not already committed to stepping off the proverbial treadmill, they’d have said as much aloud!)

—

It was never about what he was thinking about Baz, and that was the truth of the matter. It was entirely about what he was seeing from Baz. Bellamy thought Baz was nice, and delightful. Though also someone who embellished historical facts to their own satisfaction, and was, in some way, a cowardly person. Which were parts of Baz that Bellamy was not a fan of? That was not the end all be-all to Bellamy. He knew there was far more to Baz than what he was seeing, but he couldn't know more until Baz showed him more, and actually listened to what he had to say, without making it about themself in some way. The frustration from this entire conversation wasn't helping much with how he was feeling, either. “Whatever. I suppose I have to help you get out, since you wouldn't do it for me.” Bellamy snapped, his head throbbing. They would never get out of here if they had to rely on Baz. Baz would more than likely abandon him there, as far as Bellamy knew.

Though he didn't have much longer to focus on that, as his mind was fogging and his thoughts were feeling a bit more disjointed. Bellamy sways a bit, glancing from one side to another, wanting to find some way out of this place, more than just to get away from Baz for the moment.

Reaching out still, he could see the woman, as clear as anyone else, as clearly as he could see Baz with him now, “But, she's right there…clear as day…I see her.” He mumbled weakly. Moving his hand down to touch the woman, as he did, patterns of blood formed across her. Her head turned jerkily to look at him, pale-eyed and pale, gray-skinned. Bellamy jumped, jerking his hand away a bit as she spoke to him in a hissed breath before her head dropped limply back down, “No, no, no! Stay awake! I can fix it!” Bellamy quickly moved to press his hand on a splotch of red on the woman, “Please. I can…don't leave …I'm scared.” He cried, sounding much more like a child than the adult he was.

Then he looked up, his eyes moving from the woman to Baz who became a dark doorway leading into the pitch black outside of his childhood bedroom, the world suddenly transforming around him. Suddenly, he was four again, crouched beside his mother, blood pooling around her, his hands pressed to one wound on her, pleading with her, tears staining the sides of his face. Staring in front of him, Bellamy felt like the world had shrunk for a moment, a shadowed figure appearing in the doorway of his room. Before reaching out toward him with the words 'found him'. As the hand grasps around his face.

Bellamy's head hung for a moment before he looked up, a pitch black gaze locking onto Baz's own. Rising from his crouch, Bellamy's lips pulled up into a grin then, swaying slightly, not in injury or sickness at the moment. But in a much more whimsical fashion. It stares at Baz, adoringly. Before moving in close to the other, almost too close, it leaned in, sniffing at Baz uncomfortably close, “Hiii!” It greeted, suddenly grabbing Baz's face tight in Bellamy's hands and moving into press a kiss to Baz's forehead before shoving the other off and skipping away, “Are you lost?! I love being lost! I love being lost with youuuu!” It chirped out before coming to a stop at a turn in the maze, then, twirling, it made it's way down that bend, “This way, Biscuit!! I smell food!” Tossing Bellamy's bags of stuff at the wall, it shook out it's wrist, “More crap.”

—

They bit back the urge to point out that they’d been trying to help Bellamy find his way out of the maze, too, that they’d thought the pair of them were working together in all this. It wouldn’t do much more than sour the doppelganger’s mood, because Bellamy would never agree with them. Baz longed for someone else to be stuck in this maze with them instead. Had they been with Jenny or Joel or Rosemary, they’d have already found a way out. They were sure of that. Even someone they were less familiar with, like Madison or Molly, would have been more fun. Hell, they’d have taken their mysterious pen pal from their online interactions over Bellamy! At least then, they could have discussed their opinions on books and chatted as they walked without things devolving as quickly as they always seemed to where Bellamy was involved! The only person they thought wouldn’t be preferable to Bellamy — with the exception of those who had been outwardly violent towards them, of course — was Luc, with his sad eyes. Baz would like to avoid him for as long as possible after their last conversation.

Though… at least they thought they understood Luc a bit better than they did Bellamy, because they certainly had no idea what Bellamy was up to now. He was still crouching next to nothing, seeming to grow increasingly upset with each passing moment. Baz felt a lump in their throat that they had no real name for, discomfort spreading through them like something dark and uncomfortable.

“Bellamy, mate, there’s nobody there,” they tried again. Was this supernatural? Maybe some sort of creature in the hedges causing hallucinations? But Baz wasn’t seeing anything… were fae immune? Or was Bellamy the only target? Maybe the answer didn’t matter as much as getting Bellamy away from it, because he did seem distraught. He was almost like a child, the way he sounded. Fear had a way of infantilizing people, in a way; it made you feel younger than you were, and often made you look it, too.

Bellamy’s head dropped and when it lifted again, his eyes were black. Baz couldn’t help but remember the aquarium, and they took a careful step back. They hadn’t liked whatever that was, and they didn’t like the way Bellamy rose now, either. It was familiar in the worst way. Baz had to bite back a groan. This again. 

They didn’t appreciate the kiss on their forehead as much as they might have under other circumstances, though they didn’t dislike it, either. Baz still liked being touched, after all, still craved it. “I’m not as much a fan of it,” they replied. “Are you done with your… moment, then?” He certainly seemed to be, the way he was prancing about. He seemed more certain of where he was going, too, which was odd, but Baz wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth and so they followed along behind. “Don’t you need all that? You’ve been carrying it.”

—

The hand had gripped onto Bellamy's face, jerking him back from the woman lying on the ground a bit as it had. This thing felt inhumanly large and inhuman feeling as the hand had pressed into and wrapped around him. Bellamy wiggled against it, feeling something begin to coat him, from this being that stood in the doorways, hand. He writhed in its clutches, screaming to be let go as the room started to fade into darkness around him. The hand and the part of the arm that attached to it melted down into a goo-like, ropey substance as it stretched out over him. Trying to pull himself free of the strange dark goo was futile, however, “Somebody!” Bellamy shouted out. Bright slits appeared in the darkness above him, more goo dripping down from the top of his dark prison. Bellamy panted as he noticed those purple slits, staring at them as pure distress started to wash over him. Those slits began to open wide, slowly for some seconds before finally popping open like spotlights, glowing bright purple. The eyes moved individually in the darkness from one another, surrounding Bellamy before coming together again on the opposite side of the darkness overtaking Bellamy, “No. No-don't!” He cried out, struggling more earnestly against the dark good pulling him into it.

Taking dramatic, expressive steps and swinging his arms, IT bobbed it's head and swayed a bit before turning, clicking IT's heels together as Baz spoke of Bellamy's discarded stuff, “Leave it. That's my stuff. I'll come back for it.” IT dropped Bellamy's head down a bit, “Once we finish playing with this maze, okaaaay? It's so heavy.” Perking up then, he turned away abruptly and continued on with how he was walking prior, hastily, it almost felt like some kind of mimic walk, the little Totoro's walk, from My Neighbor Totoro. Even though IT had yet to discover My Neighbor Totoro. Holding out Bellamy's arms just so slightly, to bring them back in in a 'pat pat' motion as he continued marching forward, “This way.” It turned Bellamy's head then, look back at Baz, smiling excitedly, “I'm hungry.” It then declares, stopping suddenly.

It stood, quiet and still as a statue for some time. A small roll of twitching and small convulsions gently rocked Bellamy's body before stopping still again. He smiled, “Do you like a burgers? And the fries? With…mmm fluff. Mmm.” Starting to walk again, it bumped into a green wall, pressing hard into it before finally stopping. “A wall!” It shouted, patting on it before turning quickly to look at Baz and him, in alone in the middle of a big square in the maze. “You think could have a garden or something around here, right?” Slouching a little bit, Bellamy's left shoulder jerked a bit, Bellamy's eyes half rolling into his head, “-on't…take more.” Shaking It's head then, it continued, walking around, “So, Biscuit. How long have you been a human for?” It asked, meaning how old Baz was, since Bellamy didn't know. But it could be interpreted in other ways. It smirks a bit, thinking of more questions to ask this pathetic human that was a little more funky than some humans. But there were certainly other funky humans, too. It had only ever dealt with the humans, because they were fun to ride around in.

—

“Do you think you’ll be able to find it?” Bellamy’s sudden confidence seemed to imply one of two things: either he had known where he was going all this time and had been dragging Baz along for the fun of it… or something had happened. But what? Was it the same thing that had happened in the aquarium, when Bellamy had gone from wanting nothing to do with Baz at all to refusing to let them leave when they were ready to go? And if so, what was it? What could there be about Bellamy that made him so randomly prone to such massive shifts in personality and behavior? Baz wondered again about possession, but they didn’t know enough about the subject to really know if it was a feasible concern or not. They thought ghosts and demons were real — they were relatively certain of it, in fact — but they didn’t know a lot about them. Those were human worries, and Baz had never been overly concerned with human things.

They were concerned now, though. And perhaps Bellamy would claim it came from a place of self-preservation, but that didn’t do much to lessen the strange tightness in their chest. They didn’t particularly want Bellamy to be possessed, even if he didn’t seem to pose much of a danger to them. They didn’t like the idea of him behaving this way if he wasn’t possessed, either, though, because they didn’t understand it. There wasn’t much fun in things you couldn’t make sense of, especially not things that seemed to have a very distinct, very daunting possibility of becoming dangerous before you could stop them. 

In front of them, Bellamy stopped so abruptly that Baz nearly plowed into him. “Well, I haven’t got any on me,” they said, shrugging a shoulder. “If you want burgers, you’ll have to find a way out of this.” Bellamy was acting increasingly odd; Baz didn’t like it. “What are you on about? A garden? We’re meant to be finding our way out. Would you —” They cut themself off as Bellamy jerked, behavior odd and unexplainable. “Bellamy? Are you…” But before they could ask if he was okay, he was back to his strange behavior. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bellamy couldn’t know that Baz wasn’t human, but they couldn’t interpret any other meaning of the question.

—

It stares at Baz, then blinks, before looking away. Baz may have been cute, it supposed. Smelled delicious, absolutely. But It could tell there wasn't a lot of work going on in the brain area. Turning Bellamy's head slightly, it stares away, realizing that Bellamy was far and beyond a better candidate than most, simply for that. A brain that was on fire, with overthinking, and an abundance of knowledge was a difficult mind to break. But there was a lot going on in that kind of brain, an engine that never stopped. It could live like this, for quite a long time. Maybe it was just being a little, mean, however? Not that it concerned it. Exhaling, It swallowed, clicking Bellamy's tongue off the top of Bellamy's mouth, “Blah blah blah blah blah. If you wanted to be helpful, you would. Instead of standing there, with a dumb look on your face, asking stupid questions.” It lifted Bellamy's right hand and glanced away, “Your inconsiderations are noted. We get it-you're messed up. But somehow, it’s going to be my fault for you standing there doing nothing.”

It moved in closer for a moment to Baz, “You're too cool and artsy, with your cute little quirky overly excited excrement to care about anyone outside that pea-sized little brain in your head. If they weren't what you wish them to be, to help you, in some way. But oh so want people to believe you do. But deep down, you're a deeply damaged nobody who will never be anything near a great artist, or a person of true compassion, for it, or anyone else who doesn't fit in your narrow-minded box. I'm not built for boxes, though. I'm built, wild, chaotic, and of matter you are too scared to explore. So keep looking at me, like that. Like I'm the fault, in your misguided arrangement of stars you have appointed to everyone in your life. When my only fault is, we are not one. Isn't something people want to rejoice in? Yet, all you can find yourself able to do is stand there, looking at me like that, as if you wish me dead. Or gone. Or made smaller for you. Because I'm something you can't see yourself in. You can't call me to heel to your stubborn desires.”

“Good. I'm unique, which makes me special. I bet that irks you in a way. Since it's almost the antithesis of what you are. And you, with all your similar stars you keep close to you, all of you, the same, it seems. You keep yes men in your direct circle. I refuse to bend to anyone who wants to clip my wings. You're no artist, Bitter. You're just another fool who wants praise and will leech it from anyone foolish enough to fall for your acts. So keep staring at me, like that. I'll be looking for a way out, while you do that.” Puckering Bellamy's lips a bit, it looked Baz over in with a pitiful look, “That's why you're being ...” Rolling Bellamy's right hand as it searched for the word to use, “Demoted...for the time being, to do nothing. Which is what you were doing anyway, so nothing will change. You can keep staring all you like now, Precious. No pressure. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, thinking about anything too difficult.” A cunty little grin briefly formed over Bellamy's lips. It reached out to caress, softly, Baz's face, “Mm. So sad, what wonders you could be, with more capable  function up here.” It laments, brushin a few fingers on Bellamy’s right hand gently across Baz’s temple’s. Then it turned away.

It turned it's head, not really sensing any danger amongst them. Of course not, it was the biggest danger around there! A light giggle left drifted out from between Bellamy's lips, “Want me to hold your hand? You can resume pretending you are helping or whatever this is you’re doing right now?” Rolling Bellamy's jaw a little as it looked over toward Baz, “I should have expected that, Basic.” It commented then. Looking around as it did. Though with it's question, and how Baz reacted, It paused. Turning slowly to look at the other, interest rekindled in the otherwise, about to soon become a meal in a few moments. Bringing Bellamy's hands together, it tapped the tips of Bellamy's fingers to each other, “What…do, you, mean?” It questioned, a cunning little grin forming over Bellamy's lips. A knowing, expressed over Bellamy's face. That did explain, things. Squinting, Bellamy's eyes ran over Baz's body, judging, studying. Oh, this had gotten so much more interesting, to it. Though it shook it's head, “Like, your age? I've been human for twenty-seven years, well, just barely.”

Bellamy's nose curled a little bit. “It's been…difficult, but not the worst, these past twenty-seven years.” It shrugged and turned it's head, “But that's what life is, you know? Difficult. Trials to get over? My trials seem much harder than others, sometimes.” Bellamy said, glancing away. It turned away then, “Anyway, we should go this way!” Pointing to the right, where the new path had just opened up as it moved along.

—

If the treadmill of having the same argument over and over again without gaining any ground was frustrating, the minefield of trying to avoid sending Bellamy into a self-important rant was exhausting. Baz had no idea what they’d said to elicit the barrage of insults, and they didn’t like that. They were no stranger to making people upset with them, but they typically had some idea what they’d said to do so. This — this endless rant that seemed so disproportionate to anything they’d actually said — felt a little too much like how their father might have reacted to Baz breaking some unspoken rule they hadn’t known existed. It was enough to make the doppelganger shrink back, just a little.

The thing was, though, it didn’t seem like Bellamy, either. Sure, Bellamy often came off as condescending, often spoke like he truly believed he was the smartest person in the bloody universe, but Baz rarely got the feeling that he was intentionally talking down to anyone. This was different. The constant use of whatever wrong name was on the tip of his tongue, the oddly personal insults, the tone. None of it seemed quite right. If not for the similar behavior at the aquarium, Baz might have wondered if the maze was doing something to Bellamy. Instead, they were left to wonder if they’d had the wrong impression of the man all along, and if this was something closer to who he really was. 

“Sure, sure,” they said with a dismissive wave of their hand, trying to pretend they were less hurt than they were. No one liked being insulted, and Baz hated it more than most. It was a side effect, they knew, of having to wait twenty-odd years or so before ever getting a compliment that was aimed towards them rather than whoever they were currently pretending to be. “I get it. You’re special, you’re not like other girls. You’d have done numbers on certain websites in the early 2000s, mate, really.” They jerked their head back as the other moved to touch them, a rare moment of Baz not wanting to be touched. They loved any kind of physical contact most of the time. But this version of Bellamy — the one that was cruel for no reason, the one whose trigger was invisible in a way Baz hadn’t quite been able to detect — reminded them a bit too much of the angry man they’d grown up with. Passionate rants were often prelude to violent displays, where Franklin was concerned. Baz had little interest in finding out if Bellamy was the same. “Let’s keep our hands to ourselves here,” they said, just in case the motion wouldn’t be enough to clue Bellamy in there.

That was what the question had been about? Their age? Baz was hardly an expert in humanity, but they were almost certain that this wasn’t a typical way of asking a person about their age. Usually, people just asked how old are you? But maybe this was part of what made Bellamy ‘unique’ and ‘special’ and all the other things he’d touted during his big, dramatic rant about how terrible Baz was. The doppelganger rolled their eyes. “I’m twenty-eight,” they replied, though they were only marginally certain it was true. It was difficult to really know your age when how old you looked — and felt — changed regularly depending on what body you were using for the day. 

They might have asked about Bellamy’s trials, under different circumstances. It didn’t often come off as it, but Baz did care quite a bit about other people. Not typically more than themself, sure — if it came down between getting themself out of this maze or getting Bellamy out, they wouldn’t have hesitated, and if it were more convenient to leave Bellamy behind, they’d have done it already. But they still cared, in their own way. They didn’t actively want anyone hurt, not even Bellamy, who was treating them poorly. Baz liked knowing people’s stories, too, liked being able to understand them better. People were like poetry; when you put all the words in the right order, it helped you better ascertain the meaning. And Baz liked knowing the meaning behind people… most of the time. They wanted it less now, though, after Bellamy’s cruel words and uncaring expressions. “I’m sure most people think they’ve got the hardest trials,” they replied, even knowing that it was probably an unkind thing to say. They weren’t feeling particularly generous. They weren’t feeling particularly trusting, either, but they didn’t think they had much choice beyond following Bellamy here. So Baz only nodded, looking less than enthused. “Sure,” they agreed, “we’ll go that way.”

—

It tilted it's head when Baz dismissed what it said. Of course, it was only picking at Baz with Bellamy's inner thoughts. But, it was starting to see why Bellamy might have had such disparaging thoughts, too. Baz was quite a headcase. Nodding Bellamy's head, it glanced away. The other was mostly keen on thinking they were talking in circles with it,…them? And could tell, honestly, quite easily that all the other did just then, was a defense mechanism against digging deeper with discussion, or otherwise, that might spark more than a blasé response. Baz might have had to think about their childhood, heaven forbid. It giggled a little at this realization, wanting to peek more into that melon head of Baz, more because of it. It raised a hand, index finger pointing, “No. I'm not. I have a specialty, about me.” Or, well, Bellamy, he had it. It was just as fascinated by that, too. What made Bellamy. Who was, gratingly so, honest and humble, authentically. Almost at times to an annoying degree. It loved when people confused this for something worse, too.

Staring at Baz, it twists it's nose up slightly, “Do you like to do that? Make others feel foolish, because they have a genuine uniqueness, and you're just you?” Glancing over Baz, It grins, “An artist.” It bites a little on Bellamy's bottom lip, “Oh. But. You're soo nice, you're just a harmless artist.” Raising Bellamy's eyebrows, it knocked it's head from side to side, “But lets say you are being your authentic self, right now. Or even back at the fish prison. -Say I'm just exaggerating who you actually are. At least, to me, it seems to be discordant rhymes to what you actually are, whatever that truly is.” It was picking up on something more, of course. But could not really distinguish it. Bellamy had no skill for this. And It would need to connect directly with Baz's brain to get anywhere further than cursory gleaning of what It, or Bellamy, had seen or heard.

Especially after the way they had answered the age question. It stares, before suddenly feeling weak, it's tendril digging painfully into Bellamy's brain. Suddenly, Bellamy's eyes had fluttered, the iris rolling around unfocused. As Baz was talking once more. Twenty-eight. Hardest trials that Baz imagined people liked to think they went through, they thought. So presuming. Though not entirely wrong, Bellamy mumbled in agreement to that, barely audibly. Sweat had formed thinly over his body. Swaying in his steps after a moment, he moved to stabilize himself against one of the hedge walls. Growing pale, he reached a hand up to the side of his head, gripping his fingers on his right hand along the chilled flesh, “I'm…I don't mean…it…I'm not-” He started, looking over toward Baz. Bellamy frowned weakly, looking considerably ill at the moment. “What I said… I don't know…what came over me.” Taking in a few heavy breaths, he turned his head away, knowing Baz was upset just by looking at the other. He couldn't explain more properly what came over him. That anger had been there even before It came along. But now It seemed to like to play with it, and many other things about him. He would forget this, later.

Bellamy stumbled a bit, before finally falling, landing on his knees. Hand still on his head, the space around them seeming to zoom in and out, shifting like he was on the ocean. Then blurred. Closing his eyes to it. Bellamy grew frustrated by this, a wound he could not see, and could not explain, of course. The world faded to black for a time before suddenly lighting up again.

Sitting in his childhood bedroom, he had a few Transformers set up ready to fight each other. The door to his room then cracked open. Revealing nothing but darkness beyond. Bright lights sparked up in the darkness after a moment, before his mother appeared, moving toward him, announcing that supper would be ready and for him to clean up. Then she stepped back, awkward, like a toy herself, into the darkness once again. Bellamy could only sit and stare, holding a Starkiller from Star Wars toy in hand, about to start the battle. He grumbled disappointedly before setting the smaller figure down in the middle of the battlefield. Then rose and ran out into the darkness outside the room.

A flash of memories caused him to wince as he sat down by the hedge wall, “I didn't mean it. I'm not. You know.” Looking up at Baz, he frowned, “I'm not special. I don't …like to be. You know? I hated it. That attention, that title.” Not that the other knew, or honestly, even cared. Clearly. Bellamy sighed, “I-…mmm…not…not…better than anyone… I think that's good… But- You are…you don't deserve…it…being told the things I said…I don't know…why…I said the-mmm.” Bellamy hung his head, “My head hurts. I'm. Just going to…stay here. You don't have to, though. I know you want to get out of here…away from me. I understand. You should get away from me.” He closed is eyes again, twitching, his body jerking a little bit, “I've been horrible…company.”

It was dark, he was a small child again. Running by trees, under a pitch-dark sky. A moon that seemed to be the only light, casting down at him. Dark smears had appeared over his face, his arms, his clothing. Blood from somewhere, maybe even himself. Tears streaked down his face as he turned, looking back. Seeing dark figures scattering and running after him. They were hunting him. Tripping, he hit the ground harshly. Earning a few more scraps on rocks or tree roots. Crawling quickly, he made his way to a bush. A moment later, a dark figure shouted as they ran quickly past him. Holding his legs close to his chest, he muttered about this all being some nightmare. That his parents weren't gone, and he was having some kind of nightmare. Dropping his head into his knees, he repeated this musing.

It rose to it's feet. Hanging Bellamy's head to one side at Baz. Then looked away, looking itself over, examining Bellamy's hands, something dark in them that did not go with the rest of his body, “Wouldn't it be funny if a monster was out there somewhere? I would really like to fight something.” It announced, smirking a little before bouncing Bellamy's body on his feet in a childish way. Dropping Bellamy's arms down for a moment before beginning to twist, swaying Bellamy's arms gently, almost elegantly, around him, then continued, “This maze is so boring. All we do is walk around it! AAAaaaahhh!” It groaned, staring at Baz, who clearly wouldn't fight it, and was clearly wanting to find the nearest way out of here, away from them. Begrudgingly, it knew it would need to leave the maze, to find something to fight and play with. Skipping down the path, it moved it's arms back and forth as it did this, “Hopefully this leads to the exit.” It twirled Bellamy's left hand, making a dissatisfied face. It points its arms up, walking backward, facing Baz once more. The sleeves of Bellamy's long-sleeve shirt hung over his fingers. It grinned, “We should play a game! Do you know -” It searched Bellamy's mind, for games to play, “I spy?” It paused, then said, “I'll start. I spy, with my little eye............. Something green!”

—

All Baz had ever really wanted from the world was to be known. All they’d ever really desired was to be understood. They wanted people to see them as something worth seeing, wanted people to think of them as a person, at the very least. That was why, they figured, they had such a bad reaction to being misunderstood. They disliked the way Bellamy seemed to want to assign them a persona that they didn’t fit into, disliked being known so poorly that it became something worse than not being known at all. 

They opened their mouth, ready to tell Bellamy to sod off and find his own way out of the bloody maze even if Baz had no real desire to trek on alone. They’d never really known someone so unpleasant to be around that their company was worse than being alone, but Bellamy seemed to be intent on earning such a title. Except… something was wrong. Bellamy was stumbling, his eyelids were fluttering, he was murmuring like someone in the midst of a spiking fever. Perhaps it was unkind to judge him based on things said when he was in a sorry state. Perhaps this was not who Bellamy was at all, even if this behavior — assuming he knew Baz better than Baz knew themself, despite having had so few real conversations with them —- was not a new phenomenon. 

“Hey, mate, are you…” Baz hesitated. They were probably making a fool of themself here. They were trying to check in on someone who did not like them, someone they didn’t like, either. They weren’t even entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the loneliness of it all, the fact that if they left Bellamy here, they would be on their own, too. It was easy enough to think that being alone was better than being in Bellamy’s company, but more difficult to actually set off on their own. If not for the emptiness of the maze, or the way they’d already gotten turned around so many times, they probably would have walked away. It would not have mattered that leaving Bellamy might put him in danger, would not have mattered that he was having some sort of medical episode. If Baz could have walked away and simply gone home, they liked to think they would have done it. But that wasn’t an option here, and so they approached Bellamy with a careful concern instead.

He wasn’t making much sense, talking in mad murmurs that seemed to add water to the fever theory. “You’re not well,” Baz told him, not getting close enough to touch him but not moving away, either. He still made them uncomfortable, the way he twisted and turned with such unpredictability, going from one extreme to the next without blinking. It made them feel uncomfortable, the weighty ‘not knowing’ that came along with it. There might have been something exciting about not knowing which version of Bellamy they’d get if one of the two versions didn’t make them so profoundly uncomfortable. “Look, let’s get you out of here, yeah? Then we can both sod off in different directions, and you can go find a doctor.” Because he clearly needed one, even if he didn’t seem to think he did.

But before they could help Bellamy to his feet, the other version of him was back and with it, the discomfort. At least he seemed keen to find an exit, something Baz figured they could agree on. “We’re in a hedge maze,” they pointed out. “Everything’s green.” Everything, that was, except a flash of something bright and yellow ahead of them. Curiously, Baz moved towards it. Was that… the exit? Finally? Relief surged. “Think we ought to go this way.”

—

Bellamy stares at Baz, not sure if he could take them seriously. He already knew the other didn't care about anything, let alone-no, least of all him. He had seen that at the aquarium. This fake nonsense show that the other was putting on now only made it more prevalent. Now they cared? Give him a break. He sighed, wincing a bit as he struggled with the fit of rageful emotions that were overtaking him. Twitching slightly, rabidly, for a moment, his mind spacing as he tried to remain present. Shaking his head, Bellamy hissed, “Don't fucking come near me! Don't come near me!” He hissed. The goo prickled beneath his skin, poking into his flesh, feeding that thought.

It turned, staring at Baz when they spoke of his not being well, “And you are?” It laughed, pointing Bellamy's sleeve-covered right hand toward them, his left sleeve-covered right hand moving to cover Bellamy's mouth as it giggled into it. This was quite pathetic, how Baz deflected so often, especially onto Bellamy, it supposed, “You sure do enjoy throwing accusations around for someone who gets fucking pissy about it being done to you.” It was true, in a sense. But, It still figured Baz was quite way off, personally. Bright purple glows in Bellamy's eyes for a moment as It stares Baz down. No. It had grown bored with this creature, whatever it was, sniffing at the air toward Baz, it shook it's head. Still stinky, sure. Amusing, sure. But quite boring, it seemed to like to defend itself, but then do exactly what it said it didn't do, often. Another giggle, it looked away, “You're quite the mystery and perplexities. But I'm growing very booored with this whole thing.” Waving it's right hand in a circular motion, it flapped the sleeve toward Baz, “You- acting sweet, to ..me…but you're not.”

Twirling away then, it skipped along the path some more, “You're not. You're not. You're not! You're a monster! Cruel. Evil. Wicked. Just like anyone of them.” Stopping it from hopping in place, childish, turning, “Just like any of us. You abandoned me at the tank, when I was sick, then, too.” Pretending to still be Bellamy, in part, it smirked, “Yet, now you stay. Only because it is obligatory? No. Hm. Still. If you had an out, you would take it, and leave me here. Just. Like. Then. But here you protest, oh. You're nothing like I've claimed.” Turning it hopped again, moving forward into another skip, waving Bellamy's arms lightly, “You'll lie though. 'Oh. I want to help you.'. No. You'll leave the moment we're out. Perpetrating the same cruelty. Yet, you stare at me, like it's me that would be the problem, I [As in Bellamy, it spoke of] would never leave anyone behind. [It thought this was pathetic, too]. So disdainfully. You broke it. It's not me to fix it. So go! I don't need you!” Twirling away, again, It stopped, holding out a hand toward the bright light. “Go. It's what you wanted. Right? I'll let you free.” Then It took off back into the maze again, skipping into the darkness once more, giggling louder, more maniacal, just for Baz to hear.

—

They drew back as Bellamy hissed at them, uncertainty clinging to them like a second skin. Concern curdled into something less kind in their chest as Bellamy went on and on, rejecting their well-meaning statements and twisting them into insults. What was the point, they wondered, in trying to help someone who spat insults at you the entire time? What was the point in worrying over someone who had clearly already made up their mind as to who and what you were? Baz had plenty of people in town who knew what sort of person they were, had Jenny and Joel and Rosemary and Molly and others, too. It shouldn’t have mattered an ounce what Bellamy thought.

(It did anyway, of course. It mattered what everyone thought. Baz didn’t know how to stop it.)

“It’s not cruel to not stand around and allow someone to insult you,” the doppelganger replied, carefully erasing the concern from their tone. If Bellamy didn’t want their worry, they would not provide it. They weren’t the sort to stand around and allow themself to be insulted by someone who had clearly already decided what they thought of them, either. Loneliness wasn’t the sort of thing Baz enjoyed, but with the exit of the maze in sight, it was no longer something they needed to contend with. They would exit the maze, they would go home, and they would forget what Bellamy said about them because it was not worth remembering. 

They moved towards the exit, pausing momentarily. “If you keep treating people like shite, you’re going to end up on your own,” they said. But Bellamy was already running back into the maze, and Baz had no desire to follow him. They left instead, figuring Bellamy could find his own way out a second time. And if he couldn’t… well, it had certainly stopped being Baz’s problem, hadn’t it?

[vengeancedemon]

TIMING: current. LOCATION: downtown. PARTIES: @infinityandmadness & @vengeancedemon. SUMMARY: emilio finds bellamy angry and vengeful, and inspires him to do something about it. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

He was still getting used to the feeling of someone else’s anger coloring the air around him. Emilio hadn’t even known what it was the first time he’d felt it, had followed the phantom hollow in his gut and the feeling of another person’s rage until he’d found a meal without meaning to, fed in a way that left him only half full. It seemed half meals were all he was really capable of, though he knew it was partially (or perhaps even mostly) due to lack of trying. He disliked the thing he was now, and feeding only served to remind him of it. It was natural, then, to avoid the act of it, to pretend he was still himself.

But he could only ever pretend. The reality was always something different. The reality had him following the feeling of a person’s vengeful rage, even without meaning to. It was as if his feet had a mind of their own, as if they were leading him somewhere without his permission. He made no conscious decision to move in a certain direction; it just happened. He thought he was walking without purpose until the very moment he understood what that purpose was, until it showed itself to him in a blinding flash. 

A stranger stood fuming on the sidewalk, looking furious. Tendrils of that rage seemed to curl through the air, pulling Emilio in closer before he really understood what was happening. He approached the stranger without meaning to, tripping over his feet a little as he tried in vain to stop himself the moment he understood what was happening. But he was led by his hunger; nothing else really seemed to get a say. “What are you so pissed off about?” He blurted without really meaning to, making a face at the gracelessness of the greeting.

—

He didn't like to get out, but it was an errand day, so he was forced to leave his home and get out. Much more uncomfortable for him than pretending to be friendly and sociable online most of the time. Now, he had to pretend to like being around strangers enough to complete his errands. That didn't help when every so often he would have to wade through crowds of people at some destinations. The one in particular that would ruin the rest of his day ended with a larger man crashing into him hard, blaming him for the contact and giving Bellamy a harder shove, knocking the smaller of the two to the ground as a result. He felt a shock of pain run up his right arm from his palm, directing his attention away from the man talking down to him. Glaring, then, his gaze hardened, but the man was gone before he could offer a response.

Standing from the ground, his anger growing as he seen the bit of scraped flesh on the bottom of his palm. The throb of pain definitely added to the rage that was building. Red lined around his eyes, pulsing in and out of his vision as he tried to redirect his attention. His fingers curling into the center of his hands, nails began to dig into the flesh, cutting into his palms before threatening to puncture his skin, a squirming noise sound in his ears for a moment, the world slightly dimming around him as the red threatened to grow over his vision. Swallowing hard, he couldn't find the will to move. He just watched as the man disappeared down the street, leaving him fuming more, wanting to go after him and push him back, maybe into the nearby traffic.

Catching himself thinking that, the thought was almost so unlike him. He twitched, his body staying tense, holding back on his desire to retaliate that was growing with each moment. Suddenly, a voice sounded in his ears. Turning his head sharply, Bellamy glared at the stranger, “Some asshole-” he paused when he realized he was talking to someone he didn't even know. Making a face, his nose curled a bit. Bellamy took in a few sharp breaths, glancing away again, shaking a little bit. A stranger didn't care- he was probably only asking to make fun of him for getting easily upset over the incident. Thinking that only made him angrier, though, “What do you care?” Bellamy hissed.

—

Even without the relatively newfound ability to sense other people in need of vengeful retribution, Emilio probably would have been able to tell that the stranger in front of him was angry. He was practically trembling with it, stormy expression doing very little to hide whatever hurricane must have been rolling somewhere deep in his chest. Emilio’s stomach seemed to ache at the sight of it, the memory of what hunger felt like as a human attempting to recreate the sensation despite the fact that nothing he ‘ate’ would be digested the same way now. He hated the feeling, hated the reminder of his own inhumanity, hated the way he followed it through instinct alone. None of this had ever been anything he wanted. But, of course, that wasn’t something that had ever really mattered. 

The stranger’s glare turned on him when he spoke, anger still burning hot and bright. For a moment, it seemed like he might open up, tell Emilio what the issue was. And the fury’s stomach churned in response, like that of a starving man offered a table full of food. But the stranger cut himself off, looked a little more pissed off at the question. The table full of food was snatched away before Emilio could take a bite. Something in his gut twisted, some odd mixture of disappointment and relief. He wanted a meal almost as much as he so desperately didn’t. As always, it made for a confusing swirl of emotions within him.

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” he replied with a shrug, rolling his eyes. “Just seems like you want to punch somebody, is all.” And I’d like it if you did punch somebody. It’d be good for me if you let me punch somebody for you, actually. Christ, it fucking sucked being… this. He’d rather be just about anything else.

—

Bellamy glanced back to where the guy had disappeared, still focused on the thought of hurting him, maiming him. Closing his eyes to these errant thoughts, however, he knew it was wrong. He wasn't any stranger to violence, of course, he had maimed a teenager when he was just barely one himself in a fit of uncharacteristic rage, before. But this was something…different, he was noticing more often. Like something was pulling his emotions out more. His anger was justifiable! He had every right to be angry at the rudeness of the man's aggressive reaction.

But what he was feeling now was beyond what he was comfortable with these days. He wanted to just tend to his garden and not make many ripples in society, so he couldn't be hurt anymore by it. Well, the people in it. But then there was the realization, or an invasive string of thoughts, that most he came in contact with weren't great. Glaring at this man in front of him, he turned his head slightly, not feeling the faintest stretching of skin moving across his body unnaturally, the pulsing red around his eyes forming cracks in his vision.

He needed to get out of here before something happened. But he also wanted to do something to the guy, “Riiight. So you're just genuinely concerned about what pissed me off?” It seemed fake. He eyes the other, trying to find any other reason to not believe it. Though at the following comment, he nods, “Yeah… I do.” His gaze moved back to the streets where the man had disappeared around the corner, “I do want to, actually.” He revealed in a sharp tone of thick anger. Taking in a few deep breaths, his fists still held tight at his sides, shaking in his conviction to show the man he wasn't someone to push around. Next time- Bellamy stills suddenly, his gaze going from a hard glare to a trancelike glaze.

He dropped his head, tilting it awkwardly, “It would be. Very nice. To punch him. Now. Yes.” Came a slightly robotic, almost disjointed string of words, Bellamy's voice sounding slightly like someone had brushed their fingers across his vocal cords, like one would a guitar, vibrating these words ever so slightly. So much so that no one would notice this slightest change unless they knew Bellamy intimately. Feeling lightheaded, Bellamy stumbled, taking an unconscious step forward, feeling like he was losing control over himself. His desire for reclamation grew. A thin layer of sweat started to form over his body, and his mouth became sticky with thickening saliva.

—

Tendrils of rage swayed in the air between them, a tangible force that drew Emilio in. He hated the urge to lean towards it, hated how much he wanted to encourage it. He shouldn’t. He’d seen anger ruin lives — he’d seen it ruin his. He ought to be trying to convince this guy to calm down, ought to be trying to draw his attention away from whatever it was he was so angry about. A better man might have invited the stranger to grab a beer as a distraction, or given him an outlet to complain without violence. A better man would have offered something decent, something healthy. A better man would have had better solutions, but Emilio wasn’t a man at all. He was a corpse masquerading as something still breathing. 

And a hungry one at that.

He told himself that this would probably be a harmless thing. The anger he felt rolling off this stranger was strong, but not quite on the same level as what Eve felt towards the bugganes they’d killed together. Whatever violence he might be able to coax from the person in front of him now, it didn’t have to be the deadly sort. Couldn’t he make a meal just as easily from a punch as he could a fatal blow? (He didn’t quite know the answer to that question. Feeding was something he was still figuring out. He did it so rarely, despite the churning in his stomach. He should have done it more, but he hated any reminder that he was no longer human.)

“More curious than concerned,” he replied, which was the truth. Any concern he felt wasn’t really towards the angry stranger, and Emilio wouldn’t pretend it was. If he’d thought the guy was angry over something bigger, or if he’d known him well enough to have a pre-existing opinion on him, maybe things would be different. As it was, this guy was more a means to an end than he was anything else. The confirmation that the stranger wanted to punch someone wasn’t much of a surprise to Emilio, of course, but he nodded all the same. In his gut, the stomach churned a little more. He was caught between the desire to ignore it and the desire to feed it instead.

Emilio glanced in the direction where the other man had disappeared, the one that this stranger seemed to want to punch. And he seemed to really want to punch him, going by the look on his face — like the mere thought of it was intoxicating. Emilio felt as if his mouth was watering a little, like he was standing in front of a buffet table. He hated the feeling more than anything. “You should punch him, then,” he urged, not entirely meaning to. “Or at least give him a piece of your mind. I could help.” Let me help. 

—

He winced, not entirely in any pain, though perhaps slightly sore from the push before. But more out of the building anger, already immense on its own. Bellamy turned his head slightly, feeling almost dizzy from how much his anger over this was getting. He could say, perhaps, it was nearly unlike him. But he had been prone to fits of anger before. It was no stranger to him. Even if it was not primary in him. He sways a little, taking in a sharpened breath. Then, as Emilio speaks, he is looking over to the other, “Right.” He never knew someone anyone to be, such, authentically. Or, to put it more correctly, he had spent a long part of his life having any concern for him, have to do with what he could give to someone else.

His caretakers liked the money that having someone like him in their care would bring. The attention, the moderate sense of fame for being so brave as to take care of an 'orphaned child genius'. Even thinking about that now further drew out his feeling of anger. Bellamy closed his eyes, his heart racing, each beat feeling as if it was pulsing through his entire body, thrumming hard in his ears, a hum.

A need to purge that suffocating rage swelled larger and larger with each passing moment. He didn't need permission. He wanted to retaliate, a little too much for his liking, but he could not find a way to justify not rectifying these feelings alone by doing nothing. He had no other outlets, either. Bellamy had spent a lot of time by himself, avoiding many of his friends these days. It felt right to him to punch that man, instead of holding it all in. He sucked in a breath, his mouth opening slightly to make it audible, when Emilio encouraged this, “Really… I think-”

His brows furrowed, “That would be the right thing to do.” The man probably wasn't someone who listened to people trying to tell them they were rude or behaved wrong. No. It did not seem at all to Bellamy that this man understood how to respect others by any means other than with violence done to him. Fear. Forced into him. And his body moved, nearly without his consent, if not entirely so. Moments passed as he made way, in flashes of darkness and passing nonentities along the street. Suddenly, he was in a coffee shop, marching toward the man, ordering a coffee, as if what he had done before had never come to pass.

Reaching out, Bellamy grabbed the drink before the man, before smashing the burning hot drink into the man's face. Then, grabbing the man's head, he smashed it into the counter. Before tossing the man back harshly onto the ground. Suddenly, he didn't have anything he wanted to say, however, he felt that that action had spoken enough for him. Still, in a trance, he watched the man cry and moan on the floor, holding his hands to his face, shouting a litany of awful things at Bellamy, who just shuddered.

His lips twisted into an almost sadistic, though weak, smirk, head tilting awkwardly as he just stood, coldly looking down on the man, observing. Something enjoying what came to pass. It wanted to hurt the man more. Moving his arm out, Bellamy very nearly did continue the assault-but stopped suddenly, his body jerking. Resisting going further.

—

It was a little intoxicating, the rage rolling off the stranger. He’d felt the same thing with Eve, when he’d convinced her to go after the buggane in the tunnels who’d killed a group of kids in a way so similar to how Eve’s friends were murdered when she was a teenager. It wasn’t quite as sweet as the feeling he’d gotten stabbing his blade into Siobhan in his apartment or shoving a knife into the vampire who’d stabbed him when he’d done recon on the clan moving into the area, but it was still a decent feeling. 

It surged a little when the other seemed to steel himself to the task at hand. Emilio nodded, eyes hungry. “Sounds like he deserves it,” he said, even though he had no idea what the man in question had done. In that moment, it didn’t matter much. (Later, Emilio would probably wish it mattered more. Later, when he was alone and not driven by the feeling of hunger in his gut, he’d probably think about the kind of person he wanted to be, about the way this wasn’t it. He didn’t want to seek revenge for every stranger with a scowl; he wanted it to mean something. He wished he could make it mean something.)

The stranger took off, and Emilio followed behind him. He didn’t think the other even noticed his presence. He moved as if driven by something Emilio couldn’t see, as if being guided by some invisible force. Emilio trailed along at his back, watching him stomp into the coffee shop and approach the man who he assumed was the source of all this rage. Emilio was about to offer to take action himself when the stranger beat him to it.

The assault was… more brutal than the fury had been expecting. The man screamed as the hot liquid burned the skin of his face, but the sound was cut short when his head smashed into the counter. The man curled up as he was tossed onto the ground, shouting and moaning. Emilio felt a little fuller than he had before; the feeling made him feel sick.

The stranger he’d followed into the coffee shop reached out as if to continue, and Emilio made a stilted effort to reach out and stop him but stalled at the last moment when the stranger stopped himself instead. It was as if something in his body was fighting against the desire to keep going; it was strange to see. Emilio hesitated for a moment before reaching out to grab the stranger’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Police will come,” he said. “We should go.” We, because he guessed he was a part of this, to some extent. Would this stranger have come here if Emilio hadn’t urged him into it? Probably not. 

—

It had all felt like it was a blur in his mind. Was he a violent person himself, no. Not really. He could be angry, he could defend himself, and would. But this was just some light bullying from a stranger who had spurred his anger. He was feeling like he could brush it off, just walk away. Until the other came along. Something made that anger spike. This desire to get the man back becomes more of a need than a want. With each moment that passed, the words slipping from the other stranger's lips, something inside pulled at his mind.

Before he knew it, he was standing over the man, some memories of how he got there flashing across his mind. But everything else was out of his control. Holding his hand out, Bellamy made a face, pulling back, he stumbled from the man, watching the stranger on the ground struggle, pained. Dropping his arm, he gripped his hands into tightened fists at his sides. His head feeling light, Bellamy swayed, feeling a sudden rush of sickness flow over him. A thin layer of sweat formed over him, his focus still not entirely at the moment. When he heard the other's voice again, he turned his head a bit, “R-right...yeah...” Bellamy manages.

He moved back toward the door, his reason muddled and uneasy as he rushed out from the door and down the street again, moving into an alleyway. He paused, pacing a moment, in a panic, “No...no.” He mumbled, staring down at his hands, breathing heavy, “-that...wasn't- I didn't...” He swallowed hard, not sure what he was even trying to say then. He should have just stayed home! Of course, with what was going on lately, he risked something like his happening. Bringing his hands to his head, he pulled into himself.

It wasn't right. The feeling that thrummed over his entire being. A lack of presence in his own thought, but something different penetrating those, itself. Bellamy dropped down into a crouch, the edges of his vision pulsing in red. The throb of his blood rushing through him, causing his head to feel tight, invaded, losing again some grasp on the reality of the moment before willing himself to stay. He could control it, long enough, for now. Moving his hands from his head, he dropped his arms over his knees, his head tilting. He was going to be in trouble for this, “Shit-...” Lifting his right hand to his face, he then rubbed his face into the palm of his hand.

Then, looking over to the other, noticing they were still there, he sighed, “You should get out of here. You'll probably catch some trouble for what I just did, too.” Bellamy mumbled, still staring at his left hand. It had to have been him, and he was just losing his mind, trying to blame it on anything else. That was definitely the case, he was paranoid and wanted something else to blame. But it was his hand that grabbed the drink, blinded by whatever fury took hold. His hands that hurt that man, in his juvenile fit of rage. Just as he had done years earlier to one of his classmates. The fingers of his left hand curl into his palm, tightening into a ball.

—

Emilio wasn’t particularly well versed in understanding the complex emotions of other people. He couldn’t even unpack his own feelings most of the time, couldn’t begin to comprehend what was going on in his own head. He knew he was angry, most of the time, but he rarely understood why. He didn’t know why small things often felt apocalyptic, didn’t know why the world sometimes faded away into static or why he sometimes felt as if he existed separate from his body. It was impossible for him to understand himself, and harder still for him to understand other people.

And so, he felt like he was at a loss with the stranger’s reaction to the violence that he himself had committed. Emilio couldn’t pretend he’d never been shaken by things his hands had done; he’d looked at blood beneath his nails and felt the way his hands shook under the weight of it, had been left hating himself for things he’d done of his own free will. He understood the guilt that could come along with the violence better than most people, but it still felt confusing here. Maybe it was due to the fact that Emilio was much more accustomed to a higher level of brutality in violent acts. The man on the floor of the coffee shop was hurt, but he wasn’t dead. He would recover well enough. This violence was more extreme than what Emilio had expected, but still less extreme than what he was used to. 

Still, he knew that it was best to get some physical distance between them and the event, especially when the stranger he’d goaded into the act seemed… dissatisfied with the results. He was panicking in a way Emilio knew was familiar, but couldn’t quite understand. Emilio had been in this particular pair of shoes, had felt horrified by things his hands had done, but he comprehended it no more in himself than he did in this stranger. It didn’t make sense; emotional responses never really did, to the fury. Right now, it was better to push it to the side. Someone was going to call the cops soon; Emilio didn’t want to be here when they showed up.

Luckily, the stranger from the street was capable of moving on his own. Emilio wouldn’t have been able to carry him out; his bad leg throbbed at the mere thought of it. Emilio followed him to an alleyway, glancing behind them to ensure they weren’t followed. Most of the onlookers seemed too shocked by the violent display to even consider trailing behind the perpetrator, so it seemed they were safe for the moment. 

The stranger crouched, and Emilio stood uncertainly off to the side. He couldn’t offer comfort; he wasn’t capable of it. He could only watch as the stranger curled in on himself, looking vaguely sick at what he’d done. “Nobody saw where we went,” he replied with a shrug. “Good to sit here for a while.” Absently, he pulled his flask from his inner pocket, taking a swig of the cheap whiskey inside and, as an afterthought, offering it to the stranger. “You, uh… got a name?” Maybe distracting him would help pull him out of whatever spiral had taken hold.

—

Bellamy continued to stay silent, his mind shifting between several lines of thoughts, reasonings, and any way he could come up with how to deal with the situation appropriately. But that anger still lingered, as if not exactly at that man he had just attacked. Not even any from the past he had grown up in, though he could be sure that it did contribute to his overall anger, anyway. Bellamy sighed. No, this anger was sparked by something else he could not begin to name, to identify with anything with any sort of familiarity. It just seemed as if it just 'was' and that was all it was.

But it had still been sparked in him. His body had been driven to hurt that man. For all Bellamy could understand at the moment, it was him alone. No matter the mental condition currently harvesting itself inside his head. The scattered moments of memories he could not account for were no excuse. At least, not in his own mind, or his own justifications. Exhaling heavily, Bellamy continued to try to collect himself, even though his mind still felt light, drifting from the now, into something...somewhere else entirely. Swallowing thickly, he turned his head toward the stranger, eying Emilio up and down.

This stranger, he knew, obviously, didn't need to burden themselves with understanding or some sense of partnership, because of the words they encouraged him with before. Bellamy wouldn't put that on them. Wrapping his arms loosely around his legs, he had, as he always did since this thing started happening to him, decided to bear it entirely on his own. No one could be trusted to carry it, but him. Even he felt underqualified. Glaring then, the anger momentarily increased toward his current condition. But he had been snapped from those thoughts when the strange man spoke up, “But they saw me.” He mumbled, feeling angrier at himself.

He glanced up, nodding though, “For a while...but eventually they'll come around.” He remarked, he didn't like to think of his time in juvie, but he figured time in jail would be a lot less problem for him. Bellamy watched as Emilio pulled out a flask, drank from it, then offered it to him. Reaching up, he took the flask, taking a short drink from it before sucking on his teeth at the burn and handed it back, “Doesn't everyone? Bellamy.” Came his reply then. Moving to stand, he figured it would be known anyway if he was wanted for evading assault charges soon. The man he attacked didn't strike him as the sort to just take it on the chin.

—

He looked younger like this, curled in on himself with horror etched into his features. He probably wasn’t much older than thirty, if he was that at all. And though Emilio himself was only thirty-six, he’d always felt so much older. There were a lot of reasons for it, he figured; the way most hunters died before they hit forty, the way his own heart had stopped beating months ago, the fact that he’d lived and lost so much more in those three decades than most people did in their whole lives. The stranger in front of him felt almost like a kid in comparison, though the leftover tendrils of rage wrapping around them both prevented the term from sticking too much. He was on the ground, he was all curled up, he looked like he felt terrible, but he was angry, still. There was something left there; the fury could feel it. It was hard to put the two together, hard to marry the rage to this demeanor. Emilio wasn’t entirely sure he understood it.

“Sure,” he agreed, “they saw you. Probably have it on camera, too. But I wouldn’t worry so much about it.” The police in this town were busy. Emilio knew that from experience, had worked plenty of cases because frustrated people came to him when the police left their mysteries unsolved. There were so many things the authorities wouldn’t touch at all, and this would probably be one of them. What did they care about a guy punching someone in a coffee shop when the list of missing persons in Wicked’s Rest was as long as all their arms put together? The bigger concern would be that the man who’d taken the punch find some other form of retaliation, though it seemed like the stranger — Bellamy — could take care of himself.

Emilio took his flask back, swallowing another swig of whiskey before replacing the cap and slipping it back into his pocket. He huffed a quiet laugh at the response — doesn’t everyone? — shrugging a shoulder. “Never know.” Names weren’t exactly a requirement in some nonhuman cultures, and he had no real way of knowing whether or not Bellamy was human. (His anger felt human, but Emilio didn’t have much to compare it to. This was all so new to him, still.) “I’m Emilio,” he replied. “Do you feel… better, at least?”

—

He exhaled at the other man's continued comments on what had happened. A camera, of course, swallowing hard, Bellamy didn't want to consider that before. But not it was there, sticking, tick-like in his brain. Rubbing the right side of his head with his right hand, he curled his nose a little, distressed by the thoughts flooding his mind. The trouble he would possibly get into now. The waves he had just made were to direct unwanted attention toward him. It was heavy, it was horrible, dreadful, and turned his stomach in knots even in the small number of seconds he was thinking of it just now.

Not for having done it so much, as the attention it might bring. The punishment that could come. Thoughts and plans on how he could even begin to get out of it, without bringing more attention, more tension. All on top of his head swayed from dizziness, an almost disproportionate anger, and nothing. Feeling, so strangely, like he might be drifting from his own body, while also inhabiting it, simultaneously. Closing his eyes, Bellamy let out a huff, trying to be affable, “Yeah.” He murmured, keeping his eyes closed for the time being, “Maybe you're right.” He knew the police weren't going to focus on something like this, but that did not stop the paranoid thought of what if they did? What if they didn't like him, in particular, and were just waiting for him to do something like this?

Which was silly, but he could not really help himself, more so lately. These thoughts continued, and Bellamy felt like he was held entirely hostage to them. With his cutting people out of his life, almost so suddenly, it must have been quite shocking to his companions in the last eleven years. He imagined that, too, must have made them hate him, just as much as he was imagining the police hated him enough to waste time on petty assault in a café. Dragging the tips of his fingers down the edge of his jaw, down the right of his neck, stress scratches his skin absently. He suddenly rose from his crouch then. All smiles, well, half smile, dropping his hand from his face as he did, “Oh yeah. Just lovely.” He pointed then.

“Emilio? Hm. What a first impression. But, you don't seem too put off by it.” Eyeing the other, Bellamy quirked an eyebrow, then nodded, turning his head and attention away, “Yeah. I guess- Well, maybe not better, but less annoyed that- Maybe he'll hesitate from now on, after this.” Bellamy rambled a strange pulse pulling inside of him, making him feel a little queasy, “I-uh-” He stepped back before turning, “Need to go home. And...kinda lie low-” He managed, gesturing his right hand, a slight spasm in it causing it to move strangely, before he balled it into a fist, turned away, and moved to leave.

—

He wasn’t particularly good at comforting people. He never really had been. He’d been raised to believe that expecting comfort was a childish thing, a weakness that he couldn’t afford to carry. Maybe there had been a few years, back in the early moments of childhood, where human nature saw him turning to his mother in hopes of being held or coddled, but the inclination was quickly snuffed out. As a result, he’d never quite been certain what you were meant to say to someone in the throes of grief or panic. The look on Bellamy’s face told him it probably wasn’t helpful to bring up the likelihood of cameras capturing the ordeal, but he hadn’t realized it might cause distress when saying it. This sort of thing was painfully new to Emilio; moments like this only served to prove it.

Maybe he’d done something to mitigate the damage by pointing out that the police weren’t likely to be an issue, though. In times like this, it was probably a good thing that the cops in this town were useless. (It was actually almost always a good thing for Emilio that the cops in this town were useless; between his business benefitting from their laziness and his occasional criminal activities going unnoticed, he was a lot better off.) “I’m usually right,” he replied dryly, though it felt less true now than it had in a long time. 

He’d thought vengeance might help. It wasn’t his first time making the mistake, of course; there’d been the moment with Eve, when he’d convinced her into a situation very similar to the one he’d just goaded Bellamy into, and she’d been angry with him afterwards. It was frustrating, to say the least, because what was left for him? He couldn’t feed without hurting someone, even when he tried to help. Bellamy didn’t look like he was better off now than he had been before.

“Not the worst first impression I’ve made on someone,” he replied dryly. Then, with a huff, he added, “Not the worst first impression someone’s made on me.” Violence in first impressions was hardly a rarity for Emilio, who often met people fists first. And maybe it hadn’t been all bad, because Bellamy did say he felt less annoyed, at least. “He probably will,” the fury offered with a shrug. “Look, do you want me to… I don’t know. Walk you home, or whatever?” 

—

He had to relax, which was often easy for him. Of course, at this moment, and many moments now since that strange hum that he heard that one night, he had been feeling that part of himself, less and less. Which, he supposed, he could blame his current intense bout of anger on its absence at the moment. But, realizing he was just looking for someone, or anything to blame for what he thought to be his own actions, alone, and that something was severely wrong with him, he inhaled sharply. Maybe he was losing his head a little, became too reclusive, and continued to excuse. That had to be it, of course! Without contact from others, he was becoming bitter, seeing things that weren't possible, slights, in this case, that weren't even that bad! Who gets mad because some jerk pushes them? Well... anyone actually! Dammit. This wasn't helping him, he realized.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his mind, maybe, hoping that would get rid of the idea that he was becoming too separated from others, and that the anger he was feeling was unreasonable. He was usually calm and intelligent, maybe at times a little intense. He was not that same kid trapped in a life of control, every moment of his life laid out before him. All his free time, planned for him for the day. He thought that in the years since escaping, the anger had gone away. But here it was, so suddenly, over something he could have, should have, just walked away from. At Emilio's response of 'always being right'. Bellamy narrowed his eyes a bit. The ego on this guy at the moment was, he thought sarcastically, astonishing. Nodding his head slowly, his eyebrows rise slightly, “Riiight.”

Bellamy continued to listen to the other. A moment later, his thoughts continued to clutter with this or that, reasons, excuses, thoughts, and memories from his past, the present predicament he was currently in. He couldn't tell anyone. Imagining that something worse would just end up happening, in the end. They would probably, no, definitely lock him up, for sure. He was certain, “Huh?” Bellamy gave a confused look toward Emilio's first comment, then, as the other went on, he gave a hollowed laugh, “No? Well, damn.” He mumbled, half shaking his head, half knocking it to one side. Bringing his left hand up to his forehead, he closed his eyes tightly for a moment, another wave of lightheadedness washing over him, “Hopefully I won't see him again.” He could restrain himself from doing anything worse, for now. But he wasn't sure about a second time.

At the offer to walk him home, he pulled his left hand away from his head, holding it out to keep the other away from him. Not for his own protection, but to protect the other from him. Unsure of what he was capable of, he had to keep others away from him. So he didn't hurt them. “No! No... I-” He stepped back, “I don't have a house. I live outside.” With that, he suddenly turned and darted out of the alleyway onto the sidewalk. He was sure that most people would think that was worse! But he wasn't exactly trying to lie, he just didn't want strangers, especially at his house, in this state. At least, that was his justification. Trying to control the sudden desire to turn around and completely flip the script. No! He had to go home. Now! He could try grocery shopping tomorrow, he convinced himself. Forcing his body to move against the slight restraint to do so.

—

For Emilio, this part of the interaction made less sense than the pushing towards violence or the violence itself. He understood the inclination to gently nudge Bellamy towards obtaining vengeance on the person who’d pissed him off, even if he might not like the things that drove him to do it. (Before he’d died and come back as this, he might not have goaded Bellamy into the attack… but he wasn’t entirely certain. Maybe he’d always been this way, and just didn’t remember now. He hated the fact that he didn’t know for sure.) He understood the violence itself, too, understood that better than all of the rest of it combined. That part made sense to him; that part felt like home, in a fucked up kind of way. When English didn’t fit quite right on his tongue and Spanish felt too personal to speak aloud, violence was the language Emilio often defaulted to. It was something most people were fluent in, even when they pretended they weren’t. Bellamy knew it, too. 

That part had been easy. It had been simple. It had made sense. The same couldn’t be said for whatever was happening in this alley now. The way Bellamy was carrying himself, half horrified by what he’d done. The way Emilio felt both fuller than he had before and sick with knowing what had fed him. The way that man in the cafe had fallen to the ground screaming, the way he was probably only just now getting to his feet… These were all things that Emilio understood less than he’d understood the prelude. The emotional aftermath of violent acts was the sort of thing he tended to avoid, even if not always intentionally. He’d always been better at running away.

And maybe he wasn’t the only one. Bellamy, too, seemed uneasy at the idea of sticking around. Emilio couldn’t pretend he blamed him; had their roles been reversed, he’d have been looking for any excuse to get the hell out, too. They didn’t know each other, and they certainly weren’t friends. Pretty much all Emilio knew about the guy was his name and the fact that he seemed to have some deep seated anger issues. Whatever aftermath he’d find for his vengeance, Emilio wouldn’t be a part of it. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be; maybe it was the only way a fury could survive.

He took a step back as Bellamy raised his hands, something like shame swirling in his chest. Was Bellamy afraid of him? It probably wasn’t entirely unfair, considering Emilio had just driven him to attack a stranger by goading him into it. He was about to amend his offer, reassure Bellamy that he didn’t have to walk him home, but his brow furrowed as Bellamy stammered. “You live… outside?” Before he could question the statement further, though, Bellamy was gone, practically running past Emilio and back out of the alley. Emilio watched him go, feeling a little confused as he did so. In no time at all, Bellamy was out of his line of sight and Emilio stood, uncertain and uneasy, replaying the interaction in his mind.