Timing: Current
Location: A lake
Parties: Paris & Wyatt (@loftylockjaw)
Summary: Paris is basking on a nice rock in the middle of a lake. Turns out it's Wyatt's rock. The Lamias vibe.
“This can be our rock.”
The lake in the middle of the woods was as good a place as any to finally allow himself to relax, to be his true self without the fear of being caught. He hadn’t seen anyone out here, no houses or signs of human life. It was perfect. It was a nice, sunny day out, so Paris had taken himself out in his monitor form to bask on the large rock in the middle of the lake, where the sun beat down on his scales. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was at peace. In moments like this, he thought of his sister Sydney, of all the times she’d taken him out to her favorite basking rock in the mangrove he grew up in.
With his eyes closed, he could almost pretend he was there, back in his home country, back in his mangrove. But he wasn’t. He was in Maine, in the United States of all places. He didn’t belong here, he didn’t belong amongst humans and their strange customs. He wanted his mangrove that the sun hit just right, kept him well heated and – footsteps. The vibrations were felt from his rock, and the lamia cracked an eye open to see… another lamia. Paris shot up to a sitting position, watching the other with wide eyes.
There wasn’t just one other lamia in this town, but two at least. “I am not taking your basking spot, am I?” He called out, scooching over to give room to the other lamia who was approaching him. “I am Paris.” He introduced, tail swishing about as the other sized him up. “I am new here, so I did not know that this was your basking rock. Hopefully, we can share instead.”
—
The tiny island in the middle of the lake was perfect for uninterrupted sunning. It was small enough that humans hadn’t settled on it, and lacked any features that the lakeside didn’t already have that would have drawn them out here for an afternoon, the isolation aside. And in the middle of the island was a massive boulder, one that created a sizable gap in the trees to allow for shadeless basking, especially midday. It was Wyatt’s favorite place to fuck off to when he wanted to be alone, which was why he was extra surprised to see someone already on top of it. He stopped dead in his tracks, breath catching in his throat.
The other… some kind of lizard, if he had to guess, was quickly speaking. Introducing himself. Offering to… share. Wyatt remained still for a moment, then resumed his approach to the rock, a little shocked by the other’s politeness.
New in town. Yeah, that was obvious.
They gator hauled all eighteen feet of himself up onto the boulder, though his long tail dangled off the edge. He gave the other lamia a once-over, unsure how to proceed. He might’ve been more excited a couple of months ago, but right now, he was aching and just in need of a nice laze about in the sun. Still, he supposed there wasn’t a need to be dickish. “Paris, huh? I’m Wyatt. Live just over yonder…” He gestured vaguely in the direction from which he’d come. He could hear his mother scolding him in his head for the lackluster welcome, and he blinked and shook his head. “But… yeah. We can share.” Lowering himself onto the warm rock, Wyatt let out a low sigh. “... where’d you come from?”
—
Paris watched lazily as the other lamia climbed up onto the boulder that he’d been sunning on, having half a mind to fall back asleep, which is what he’d been doing before he’d heard the other’s approach. “Ah, I see.” He murmured as he peered in the direction that Wyatt pointed in. “I will find a new rock,” he spoke in their accented voice.
When Wyatt asked where he came from, Paris felt something in him hesitate. Wyatt was another lamia. He was like Anita. “I don’t know anymore,” he finally said, being honest about his situation for the first time in a while. “Originally, China. But then? Japan, France, England, several parts of America…” The lamia closed his eyes and let out a deep, frustrated sigh that he’d been holding in since he first found himself in this entire mess. Years of pent-up frustration rolled off of him in waves.
“But that’s not something you want to hear about, you seem to be in your own slump,” Paris noted, eyeing the other. It was in his shoulders, the way he slumped forward a bit. It was in his tone, the way he didn’t seem to be able to be all that polite or excited. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.” Paris decided, not wanting to make everything about him. After all, Wyatt seemed to have come out here for a reason.
—
“Quite the globetrotter,” Wyatt remarked, of course not understanding the truth of the situation. Still, it seemed to him that Paris wasn't exactly happy about those travels. That was a nugget of info that he stored for later, peeking at the other with one eye when he made a comment on Wyatt’s own… everything.
The gator sucked in a deep, rattling breath, wondering how honest he ought to be. It didn't really matter what this lamia thought in the grand scheme of things, though Wyatt found himself hoping that their kinship might soften the other’s opinion of him. It wasn't good to alienate yourself from those that stood to understand you best, and he'd already done plenty of that by running away from his family.
“I work at a…” How did you even describe the Pit? “... place that hosts supernatural fights. As a fighter.” That might’ve been obvious by the old wounds that marred his hide. “Got matched against a friend of mine recently.” There was a long pause, the gator’s gaze wandering. “... he didn't make it.” It was far from the only thing plaguing him at present, but it was certainly the most prominent source of guilt and disquiet. “Guess I'm a little… fucked up about it.”
—
“Not by my own choice,” Paris answered in earnest, huffing as he laid his head back down onto the rock, closing his eyes. “I was something of a scientific spectacle.” It was hard to talk about, even harder to put into words the horrors he’d seen. “Our kind speaks of hunters killing us being the worst they could do. It turns out there is worse, I’ve seen it.”
Cracking open an eye as Wyatt began to explain what had happened to him, Paris thought to his own violent tendencies, things he wasn’t sure he knew what to do with. “You have every right to feel that way.” He found himself saying after a moment of silence as he forced himself to sit up again. “But if you were in this place to fight, can you really be surprised that something of this magnitude could happen?” Paris found himself asking, looking over to the lamia who was much bulkier than he was.
The monitor stared out at the water for a long moment, then frowned. “I escaped my situation by tearing people apart,” Paris explained. “One moment I was in control of myself, then next? I was standing in a room full of corpses. I did that.” He pointed a clawed finger to his chest, frowning. “Sometimes I fear what we are capable of when we aren’t in charge of our faculties.” His gaze found the other with a look of deep understanding. “You are not alone in your feelings of guilt.”
—
So much for not sharing, Wyatt thought as he listened to Paris describe a small bit of his past. He didn’t have words for something like that, so he just blinked slowly and shook his large head. Humans really did have the capacity to be the fucking worst, didn’t they? You didn’t see lamias experimenting on them… just… eating them. Huh. Well, who was he to comment on moral responsibility? He was as immoral as they came.
“Sure, but I can usually reel it in,” Wyatt complained, feeling the frustration start to bubble up again. Paris was right about them not being in control—bad things happened, and apparently the source of the lack of control didn’t matter. Paris had done something similar in order to escape. Was that what Wyatt had been trying to do? He couldn’t even remember anymore. Maybe their kind was violently opposed to being controlled or held captive—it made sense in a lot of ways. But why did they have to black out for it? He cursed under his breath, lowering his head onto the rock.
“Well, if you just killed a bunch of people that were experimenting on you, you shouldn’t feel bad,” he countered. “I killed a handler. Don’t feel bad about that. Just about my friend. He was a shifter, too. Deserved better. He was a good person.” Wyatt’s jaw scraped on the rock as he slid his head slightly to the side, away from Paris. He was very good at ruining shit for good people, wasn’t he? Maybe he shouldn’t be out on this rock with this lamia, after all. Odds were that he’d only complicate things.
—
Struggling to grasp the concept of killing a friend, Paris truly felt bad for the other. “I am sorry it happened. Losing control is a terrifying feeling.” He spoke, not knowing what else to say other than to hone in on the only aspect he could relate to. “In moments of true terror, instinct seems to overcome us and keep us alive no matter the consequence.” Paris stared down at his hands, then reached out and placed a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “You are not alone in your struggles, never forget that. And you don’t have to leave just because you feel like a burden.” Paris stared at the other lamia before letting their hand slip from the other’s shoulder.
“In truth, I feel like nothing but a burden to those around me,” Paris admitted with a sigh, head hanging low. “I am a lamia who has always been a lamia, not a human.” He pulled a face, thinking of the fleshy pink form he had to wear just to fit in around town. “It’s easy to put on a facade that shows that we have everything together when the reality is that we’re falling to pieces.” Paris shook his head, then rolled his eyes. “You’re allowed to be upset. You deserve to be able to talk about it.” Paris had a faraway look in his eyes as he stared out at the water, then finally looked back to Wyatt. “Even if we are strangers, we share a kinship. I will help shoulder your burden if you help shoulder mine.”
It was a risk, of course. Allowing himself to be vulnerable with someone just because they were both lamia. But Paris spent so much of his time being truly terrified of the world around him, of the people that could do him harm. To have both Anita and Wyatt, it would feel as if he wasn’t so alone. “I can never go back home,” he found himself saying. “I don’t know where home is. It wasn’t as if I could point it out on a map.” A sigh escaped him, and he looked over to Wyatt. “I need companionship, and it seems that so do you. Even if we only ever meet on this rock, let yourself be allowed to have an escape.”
—
Wyatt wasn’t really sure what Paris was asking for, other than… a friend? He must have been lonely to assume that Wyatt, just because he was a lamia, could ever be a good friend. Hadn’t he listened to the story about how Wyatt killed his friend? Everyone seemed so happy to just glance right over that when they didn’t want to face the reality of who Wyatt was. Which he probably should’ve been happy for, but at the moment, he just felt like shit. He was alone. There wasn't anyone he'd been fully honest with that had ever stayed. The sentiment Paris was expressing was nice, but Wyatt had never found it to be true.
“If you were never a human to begin with, then why not just always be lamia?” Wyatt asked. It was something he had considered himself now and then, but there were too many things about being human that he enjoyed to leave them behind. Loneliness, he supposed, could drive Paris to try and assimilate. But some part of him was starting to wonder if that wasn't the right thing to do. Maybe they were better off lonely, since they seemed to present such a danger to those around him. Ah… that was all too philosophical for Wyatt. He just liked human music, human food, and human fucking. “But yeah, we can…” He lifted his head, looking at the water monitor. “This can be our rock.” It was half metaphor, half literal. He'd be glad to have someone in his life that understood him better, he thought.
—
As Wyatt asked that question, Paris’s expression darkened. “Because I was taken, as I explained.” The water monitor responded, tapping a taloned finger against the rock as he stared out into space, his gaze a million miles away. “A hunter is trailing me, making sure I don’t slip up, told me I had to play human.” A hand drifted up to his neck, rubbing over the scar that lay there for all to see. “I value my life, so I play the part.” He shrugged his shoulders, then let out a frustrated sigh.
Paris smirked at the idea of it being their rock. It was a strange thing, having not one but two other lamia in his life that could help him learn the reigns. This was important to him, having people that he could rely on, even when it seemed impossible to do so. “So when you killed this friend, what… happened? Do you remember?” Paris watched the other curiously, knowing that he didn’t remember when he’d killed all those people. “It wasn’t… just the scientists that I killed. It was also those who were locked up with me. I…” Paris blinked, voice suddenly lost for a brief moment. “I killed everyone.”
Paris looked away for a moment, shame bubbling to the surface as he remembered how hard he had fought to keep control, the memories of the scientists egging him on to stop being such a coward. Was he a coward? Paris scratched his talons at the surface of the rock underneath him, then let out a low snarl. “I know what it feels like to feel out of control, to hurt people you did not mean.” Paris’s gaze flickered over to Wyatt, a flash of anger in his eyes disappearing as soon as he looked at the other. “You are not alone in your shame.”
—
“A hunter?” Wyatt gave a scoff, letting out a low, angry rumble. “What the hell it doin’ worryin’ ‘bout one lil’ lamia, anyway? Don't it got other shit to kill? Really got you on surveillance twenty-four-seven?” He glanced around them, knowing there was no way a human was here with them now without them knowing, but still. “Sounds like a load of crap to me, cher. Or a shit hunter, either way… someone deserves to be lunch.”
The question about Samir left a bad taste in his mouth, one of warm pennies and regret. “Got freaked out by somethin’. Sent me into a panic, I guess, and I just… blacked out. Wasn't there when it happened, couldn't stop it. Woke up in a cage.” It wasn't the first time he'd lost control of himself during a fight, though that reaction was usually brought on by the sensation that he was about to fall asleep in the ring. This had been different, he'd seen those crows and just… he didn't even know if they were real… Sucking in a sharp breath, Wyatt squeezed his eyes shut. “Startin’ to think I just ain't safe to be around, you know?”
—
Over the years, Ryan had tried so many different tactics to keep Paris in check. And in every scenario, it was clear that Paris would do whatever it took to keep his family safe. So that was Ryan’s biggest threat. “He has his ways,” was all the smaller lamia could say, eyes going far away before coming back to the present and looking over at Wyatt, expression distant. “It’s not as easy as having someone eat him, he has fail-safes, things that keep me in check. Like threatening my family.” Paris shrugged a shoulder as if trying to not let the idea of such bother him. Though, of course, it bothered him. It drove him mad.
As Wyatt told him what happened, Paris’s distant expression refocused, finding something that he could put his attention to instead of his disastrous existence. “Perhaps you’re not,” Paris replied in earnest, turning his attention to Wyatt with another simple shrug. “Perhaps you should surround yourself with people that are equally as dangerous, spare the ones that are at risk.” Paris rolled his eyes, the very idea was preposterous, but it seemed like that’s what the bigger lamia wanted to hear. “You can either learn to control yourself, or you can let the fear win.” Paris patted Wyatt’s shoulder. “I don’t think you want the fear to win.”
—
Ah. Well, that was the cost of family, he supposed. Maybe it was better that he’d cut off contact with them… he hated the idea of them being used as leverage against him. It wasn’t a good spot to be in, and Wyatt did not envy Paris’ problems, not even against his own. “Oh. That’s… I’m sorry,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say. He lowered his head again, just listening as Paris responded to his story about Samir, telling him what he damn well knew, but couldn’t find the strength to adhere to. He shouldn’t be around people he could kill, which… really, who did that leave? This was what he was bred for. Not literally, his mother had wanted him to pursue his love of music, but his cousin had seen to it that his life’s trajectory took a sharp turn for the violent. So perhaps it was what he was raised for. “Maybe not. Guess I’ll find out.” The fear might not be winning this battle, but he had a feeling it would win the war.
A moment of silence passed between them, and Wyatt sighed. “Tell me about your family, Paris. Somethin’ nice. This is far too good a day for sunnin’ to be lettin’ ourselves get so down.”
[pm] Oh, so the rides are unsafe, then? There goes my excuse to go. Though I would bet money that therein lies the exact reason why people choose to go.
Oh, fantastic. Real flames for real burns.
One would have to find the operation behind it first, no?
Well it's not for everyone but I definitely think going at least once is a good idea, it's a great experience. Even if it's just for the food and drinks. I take it that you're not from around here?
A sandwich by definition is something between two pieces of bread, whereas the hotdog just has one piece of bread. Therefore, it does not fit the definition of a sandwich. Sorry.
[user types a whole paragraph about how it's important to wear a full furry suit at the renaissance fair, but finds it doesn't cheer her up like she thought it would. her heart just isn't in it. she erases the paragraph and stares at the screen for a moment before sighing.]
Well if for whatever reason I decide to willingly go into a cave, I will clean my gear. But if I go into a cave, please assume that it is unwillingly. I do not wish to go into the cave.
[pm] There's a lobster eating contest down in Harborside on Friday, if you're looking for more mundane attractions. I think most towns have odd things if you know where to look. Ours are just easier to find.
I'm no artist, and didn't bother to track down this one down for the details. They are talented, I'll give them that. Maybe their day job is in special effects.
[pm] Lobster eating contest? [.....] Pass. Interesting, but pass. I have also heard of an amusement park known as Bigfeet's Adventureland. Would this be considered in the realm of the mundane?
So special that the flames feel real, huh?
No, I wouldn't imagine they do if it took everyone by surprise.
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