ArchivedLogs:Blood Feathers

Blood Feathers
Dramatis Personae Killian and Anette	2016-09-22 "Do you still feel something?"
Location <WES> Harry's Hideaway - Salem Center
A cozy nook of a bar, Harry's has been run by the same grizzled proprietor for decades. The fare they serve is plain and typical bar food, but solid and well-prepared, and what the alcohol lacks in variety it makes up for in quality. Close proximity and long-developed relationships with the staff at Xavier's means they turn a blind eye to the mutants who frequent the bar. It's late evening, the time when it's damn near traditional to go out, begin drinking, almost like life might be normal. Maybe that's what he's aiming for this particular night that's been given no title. He'd shown up at her door on the Island, dressed in his typical attire. That black jacket, black jeans, and hair slightly askew fallen over part of his forehead, only to meet her once more at the barfront. Fading light of day had brought about the need for traits similar to what Anette already has, the shapeshifter swathed in the soft-edged feathers of an owl. His own, tawny and speckled in the deeper browns of a great horned owl. Killian lands with the flourish normal of him, smug in demeanr as much as in the way his shifts are always fluid. Feathers melt from him like water as soon as he hits the ground, and boots have replaced scaled feet. The browns deepen into the blacks of his outfit, until much of what stands out is the chilled seablue of his eyes. Without fail, as most were accostumed to doing, he arrived just a little distance away to remain beyond immediate observation. But once in human form, he stands at the corner of the Hideaway bar, awaiting Anette. Anette had taken some coaxing. But the idea of coming out, seeing something other than her cabin or the island, and falling under the influence of something other than cocaine convinced her to dress up and head out. Granted, it's a very casual dress-up. An actual blouse instead of a band t-shirt (though still black). Gray jeans and mid-calf high boots. More or less a nicer version of her usual attire. She follows close behind Killian, coasting behind him most of the way to keep up with his slower flight. She finds a nearby alley to land in, to avoid as many eyes as possible and instead walking up to the front of the bar and joining a now human Killian. "Owl suits you" she says. A soft smiles breaks through, genuine, though faint. "Not as much as it does you, love. You're stunning." Anette may not have dressed up all that much, but it hardly detracts from Killian's usual tones. Except, this may be a little more soft than suggestive in the roughened voice of him. He rolls his balance to straighten from his lean, stepping forwards to take away the space between them created by their chosen landing locations. "I thought you'd like something a little more scenic than our kitchens, and maybe something besides rum." A chuckle comes intermingled with the last, his smirk touching the edges of his eyes with the small lines that are drawn there, "I can't imagine that, so much. But-" And he holds out his elbow for her to take, a tradition that in most cases has died long ago, when he turns to walk by her side. "Anything is better than being trapped much longer in one place, yeah?" The jingle the door is quiet against the buzz of activity that jives inside as he opens it for them, rowdy with the night's crowd already. "I could use a change of scenery," Anette agrees, stepping a bit closer to Killian though she makes sure to keep at least a few feet from them. "Ah yes, fruity little cocktails. A Cosmo, Sex on the Beach, maybe an Appletini?" she teases at the suggestion of something other than rum. At the offered elbow, she pauses and stares at it like a snake ready to jump out at her. All her talk about wanting distance, she's not quite sure which side of the line this fits. But she eventually takes it, looking her taloned hand through and resting it gently on his arm, turning to walk beside him. "There's only so many times I can circle the island and spy on everyone else. "Appletini." Killian echoes, his face faintly skewed in mocking disapproval, playing into her tease easily. "I suppose, if that's what you wish." Barring her deciding a different direction, he would lead them to a table across the room. "Very true. Although, if there's any secrets to be had that I haven't ferreted out, I imagine you might have them by now. I'm admittedly a little curious to know what you know." The shapeshifter himself has done little, at times flying off into the city, but returning to his room without fanfare as if he broods- or has his own secrets to bury. With his free hand, he indicates the table. "Good enough, or would you prefer the bar? I don't believe we've flown to anywhere.. eh.." Amusement drags out his sentence, and there's a wink at her with the last of his phrase, "so civilized as an outing." Anette has no problem with him choosing the location, following along at his side. "There's surprisingly few secrets out there. I suppose it's a benefit of living with people you literally trust with your life. Though I'm sure everyone has their secrets. Not sure what else I can tell you you don't already know." As the table is offered, Anette takes her seat and scoots in, waiting for Killian to do the same. "No, this is fine. I like the privacy." She leans back, waiting for Killian to take a seat before quitly adding. "I've missed you." "As I said, only a little curious. That's not the reason we're here." Killian reminds in a quieter voice almost too-close next to her as he waits for her to sit, and then moves away to the other side to take his own place across from her. Amidst the movement does he gesture over his shoulder to the waitress tending a table not far away. He's quiet for a moment or two when he settles, leaning on one of his elbows on the tabletop, scruffy chin held between his fingers. The grin hasn't left him, though it's faded by degrees. "So you've thought of me?" Cocky is his tone, but there's hints there beneath it that he actually does wonder at such a thing. It's too soon that they'd be interrupted by the waitress he'd summoned, the woman of brilliant red ovoid eyes and almost elven-like pointed ears pausing before them in that note-less way that indicates one of experience at bartending, "What can I getcha both?" "Rum, lass." Is the expected answer from him, though he's yet to look away from Anette despite their company. "Is there a reason we're here? Other than change of scenery?" Anette asks, an eyebrow going up curiously. She crosses her arms across her chest, watching Killian as closely as he watches her. "Despite my best efforts," she says in response to thinking of him, the corner of her lips curling up faintly. Though it quickly falls again as the waitress approaches, her arms fall and she sits up straight. "Same," she says. So much for those fruity cocktails. She does look towards the waitress as she speaks, taking in the girl's less than human features quickly, offering the girl a polite smile before turning back to Killian. "Hm." Killian breathes an amused sound as the waitress nods and leaves them to their privacy. He fails to answer the first question, though perhaps that comes to little surprise given she's already answered it with her next response. He sits upright rather than continuing to lean as the conversation starts to progress in this particular direction. "Your best efforts? I can't imagine this is a face you'd want to forget, beautiful. Has there been more than me on your mind?" The latter part of this statement is a little heavier, a little more flat in tone as he treds closer to something he's less keen to bring up. Their drinks haven't even been brought to the table before off in one bar corner there's talking that's becoming more public than private. Tones have grown louder, more aggressive. The sound of a glass smashing into the floor and shattering into a thousand pieces halts the background buzz of the bar, crafting an eerie silence as attention is drawn towards the back of the room. But it ebbs, whatever the activity was. It's not so strange for a bar scene, afterall, given those men surely have just had one too many and someone probably insulted someone else's mom. But the ice-touched seafoam of Killian's eyes flick over Anette's shoulder at the eruption briefly, assessing for himself before his gaze is back on hers. "More like you won't let me. Funny how the more I ask for space, the more dog fur I find in my place," Anette says, leaning back against her chair again. "The space has done good. A chance to clear my head. I've been clean for...almost two months now." She offers Killian a brief, reassuring smile. See? Time apart was for the best. Though as noise picks up, Anette can't help but sit up straighter. Though yellow eyes remain focused on Killian, those senses take on a mind of their own, perhaps out of habit, picking any clues regarding the situation and potential threats. And though she does try to keep her focus on Killian, a faint smile as they continue their discussion, her feathers do noticably flatten against her back. "He has very particular likes, you know. Ball, kong. You. It can be hard to dissuade him as I'm sure you've noticed." There's a complexity of response that comes behind that gaze of his at her answer, a warring of perhaps approval alongside something else entirely. Killian's smile falters, and it seems difficult to revive no matter the arrogance that sits naturally in him. "Do you want more time-" He starts, but this time when they're interrupted, it's far more dramatic. A large man with the lookings of a gym rat, with an Adidas jacket, and stained wife beater that would otherwise show off the chiseled over-muscular arms to prove it, arrives just in time to knock the tray of their drinks from the waitresses hand. Rum rains down on them, the glasses- fortunately not shattering- tumble across the table top and skid to a stop against the wall on the other side of it. There's a snarl of him as he turns and plants his palms on the drink-covered tabletop, his cheeks flushed with inebriation, and his breath foul with it and something worse. His teeth flash in an ugly, unhumored smile- at Anette. He ignores Killian entirely for the time being. Well, of course he does, the shapeshifter looks like nothing more than an absolutely striking roguish human. "Lookit what we got here." He drawls to the companions that flank him and eclipse out the waitress who has already scurried away, his disgusting tone dripping with something equally violent as lewd. "Mutant bitc-" It doesn't take long for Killian to respond. In fact, given all of this took about 0.5 seconds, the shapeshifter was already up on his feet, the chair clattered back onto the floor behind him. His fingers curl into the man's jacket lapels at his throat, his irises already a shocking golden feline hue with furious, constricted pupils. "You'll apologize to the lady." Is growled in a questionably human voice. "You're welcome to bring the dog over when I'm actually around. Or awake," Anette says, as if it were some shared pet between them. So far, she's kept a light, casual tone to her words, keeping her emotions far and distance. His next question, her own smile falters. "I..." she begins to say, her voice quickly fading as the raucus comes near them. She gasps loudly, more surprise than anything, as the rum comes crashing down on them. Most it drenches Anette's top, though some splashes up into her face. By the time she regains her senses and wipes the rum from her face, Killian has already jumped to his feet and is threatening the other man. "Killian, please!" Anette says, quickly rising to her own feet. Across the room, the bartender is already on the phone with police. With so much of their business dependent on their proximity to Xavier's and other mutant communities, they try to keep the place friendly fo their mutant customers. Though that doesn't help Anette and Killian at the moment. "Let him go," she says sternly, though she does ball her fists, digging talons into her palms. Maybe she actually is trying to keep on top of emotions. "You-" The man coughs out in a stranged sound, pegging the shifter as one and the same. Killian's face is but an inch from the other's, his grip tight enough that the flush on the human's face is more from asphyxiation than alcohol. He must hear Anette, because he hesitates here with knuckles white and features, darkened, are etched in lines of anger that he can't often hold in this form. "He can't talk to you that way, love." Voice is particularly, eerily calm. He might have listened, might have, until one of the man's croonies arrives beside him and grabs his arm that's choking the man in attempts to free him. "You'll let me go." Killian's head cants slightly to one side, a malicious humor almost bringing his smirk back. "Or what?" "Well-" Killian swings his free hand, striking the man's temple hard enough to make him collapse in a heavy, dead-weight heap on the floor right where he stood. There's a faint wince as he brings his hand back to himself, shaking the impact out of those knuckles. It's not often he goes into a fight quite like this. "He asked for it." This, to Anette, right before the third man pulls a knife from his belt at his lower back to angle at Anette now, upping the significance of this simple bar brawl. The police won't be good for either side, now. "I think we've worn out our welcome, love." He says lowly, a glance spared at the bar owner still on the phone. "He's far from the first and won't be the last," Anette says, in response to the what the man had said to her. "Killian, /please/." Her voice almost sounds...scared this time. As Killian's free arm swings around to deck the other man, she gives a slight wince but says nothing. Apparently she agrees with his reasoning. Though when she catches sight of the man with a knife, her eyes widen. A loud, panicked screech escapes, and she quickly grabs her chair, thrusting it towards the man with the knife and roughly knocking him back out of the way. "Let's move," she says, taking Killian's free-hand in hers, clearly trying to drag him out the door. The man with a knife gets a chair into his gut despite trying to side step it; he was too close, and apparently too slow. He buckles over, though never loses hold of that knife. The gym rat, that first guy who had come to verbally assault them before the physical aspects came into play, reaches for Anette just as she grabs Killian's hand to take him with her towards a general exit point. He would take blouse, feathers, skin- whatever he might grab to drag her back if he can reach her as he stumbles after her with other obscenities falling from him now that he's recovered the air that was stolen from his lungs. Killian takes a second to realize what she wants, but then seems easily prompted to follow. His fingers curl around her hand as he steps over the lump of human on the floor and sidesteps the crippled knife-man. Anette's feels the man's fingers trail across her shirt and, despite how quickly she snaps them away, her wings. But her eyes are locked on the door, her hand interlocked with Killian's, she ignores him and the sharp pain when his fingers catch one of her feathers. All she cares about is getting herself and Killian out. Once out the door, she quickly turns for that alley she arrived by, likely not trusting their attackers to not follow them out. Once she deems them safe, she looks towards Killian, panting softly as she leans up against the wall. "What the hell...?" she begins, her voice rising as though she were angry with everything that occured. Before she can elaborate, she suddenly stops. Even her completely human sense of smell can pick up iron. A quick look down and a dark trail of blood follows where they just came from. The red trails up her clothes in splatters and her face suddeny pales as she pieces it together. "Blood feather," she murmurs, forgetting Killian for the moment as she suddenly stretches her right wing out, desperately searching for the source of the bleeding. He must have already noticed, because as soon as they stop, Killian's gaze is riveted on the trail of red that trickles from her wing. Her voice must bring him back though, from whatever place in his mind he'd gotten lost. If he'd heard her prior question, it doesn't seem like it registered- or else he doesn't have the correct words to give her for it. Instead, concern is evident. Easily evident, painted on him as if he's never bothered to hide emotions from her before. His eyes are back to his cobalt sea hues, lost of their feline traces. "This way." He doesn't let her go, his grip faintly tightening as he begins to move again. Knowing him, he probably came out here a previous night and found exactly where he's taking them next. He leads her down the alleyway, across the street that he glances across once before picking up the pace to stay out the lamp light that sickly, faintly floods their path. The ground-level apartment is vacant, its windows barred as most places so low are in the inner city. But when he lets her go, it's to move the previously loosened bars and push the window in on its hinges. It creeks softly, but gives underneath his pressure. "Inside. It's vacant, and it'll buy us some time." Anette snaps out of her panic at Killian's voice, looking at him like she just noticed him for the first time. For someone who was once prepared to handle a broken, bullet wounded leg on her own, a broken feather seems to throw her off much more than it really should. She swallows and nods, gripping his hand tighter and following behind him as he leads her off to he apartment. She watches, twisting her head around nervously as she scans for others but as she's ushered inside, she carefully climbs through the window, stepping just to the side to allow Killian in. "What is this place? Are you sure its safe?" she asks, unable to resist spreading her wing open again. It seems like she won't relax until the bleeding's stopped. Climbing in after her, he doesn't even bother to sweep the place again as a year, perhaps even a couple of months ago he would have insisted upon. Instead steps closer to her, so-slowly, pausing within inches. He's still heated, likely from that interaction, but it seems like more with the way he's staring at her. "Let me?" Killian's voice is soft, but gravel-touched in the way he's lowered into an almost-whisper. He's partially reaching for her, but doesn't bridge that gap, for it's always been a case of meeting half-way. "I've had one or two myself over the years, darling. Let me help." Anette looks up towards Killian, eyes darting from his face, toward the outstretched hand, before she releases the air she'd been holding, dropping her hand from her wing in surrender. "Fine," she says, holding her wing out and waiting for him to come to her. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, breathing in through her nose. As he begins to search for the feather, she speaks. "I was...thirteen the first time this happened. I had my wings for less than a year. I was already bullied and hated by most kids my age before I was a mutant. When the wings grew in, people loved pulling on them. I was in history class and Alyssa Miller, who sat behind me, pulled on a feather. I tried to pull away and it broke and...well, I was thirteen. I wasn't so cozy with blood at the time and fainted. I woke up in an examining room. At the vet." She exhales again, looking up at the ceiling as she recites her story. "Most humiliating day of my life. Never let anyone near my wings again." She glances down towards Killian, offering a thin, strained smile. "Almost." Killian takes her wing to draw his fingers through the feathers there, where many have been stained and soaken red. He's quiet as she talks, using a rather experience feel to find the edge of the feather's shaft. Even with a touch that knows wings, it's not a comfortable thing that he's doing. "Humans are cruel." He murmurs, although it is hard to understand the way he says it, muffled and accent-heavy. "We'll not let another time ever be like that. I'm no doctor, but I think we can make do." When he finds it, he bows his head slightly, his face almost a'brush the feathers on the top of her wing, "This is going to hurt, love." He warns, in case she hasn't been awake or undrugged for it since that unfortunate event. "There's no way to make it not. But it will only last a second." And, unless she stops him, unless she begs him otherwise, he'd yank it free with the simple, clean force that would constrict the vessels leading into the open, new feather vein. Anette is rather patient as he feels around for the broken feather, even keeping her winces to a controlled minimum. "Human, mutants. Everyone," she agrees. As she feels his face brush against her feathers, they fluff a bit, relaxing though she quickly turns her head and closes her eyes. She bites her lip and quickly nods at the warning. A sharp pain, she gasps quickly but it's as soon as she feels it, it's gone. She feels the vessel close and she blinks her eyes open. "We have to stop meeting up like this. My leg. Your bullets. My...everything," she says, her faint grin returning, shaking any stray drops of blood free from her wing. When it's done, he's left holding the feather, hanging awkwardly in the way it's fractured. He lets it fall to the floor unceremoniously, the breadth of the already-reddened barbs falling to soak in a small puddle of blood that he stands beside. "Anette. I-" Killian's words aren't so much awkward as they are difficult, for the shifter always has some amount of pompous grace to him. "Years ago I would have just run away. I've been in a cage far too much of my life to ever end up back in one. I've only ever cared about myself. I'd like to say I didn't know what came over me back there, but I know bloody well what did. And I didn't even shift because I didn't want to take the chance-" His thought goes incomplete, and he starts again, "You once told me how you felt about me." There's a hesitation as he searches between her eyes, close enough to touch her but he doesn't quite yet. "Do you still feel something? If you tell me no, I will let you go." Safe and alone and still recovering from sudden blood loss, Anette can't do much besides listen quietly to Killian's explanation. She presses her lips together, shaking her head as the words and his pained, doubting words sink in. "Is that what you think?" she asks quietly, brows furrowed together in almost confusion. She takes a deep breath before suddenly leaning forward, pressing her lips against Killian's and kissing him with an energy that's built up and been denied for a long time. Despite the passion and heat of the kiss, she suddenly pulls away within seconds, taking a step back from him as yellow eyes scan him. "I told you how I felt once. But you...I get it. It's not something that comes easily to you. But I gave up...someone else who loved me, for you. And if this isn't real...I need to know now." The shapeshifter observes her carefully, silently as she asks that question. His silence is his answer. Uncertainty burdens him, despite his typical overwhelming self-confidence. It changes, in her presence. And then she's kissing him. It takes just a moment for his mind to catch up with exactly what's happening, but once that second is over, it becomes quickly obvious that's exactly what he's been waiting for this whole time. The kiss is heated, fire in that passion that brings his lips against hers, hungry, needy in a way that he hasn't ever shown her before. His hands hold her at her waist, his pressure increasing gently to draw her closer to him. And yet, then she breaks from him. "You wanted me to stay away from you." Confusion stays his thoughts, not helping the breathlessness that kiss left him as. His eyes are dark, dilated, an echo of the intensity she brought to life in an instant. The hands that had held her remain out just a little, just enough to portray the fact he wishes she hadn't stepped away. "Anette, I love you. I have always loved you." Anette waits, her eyes cold and distant, for Killian's response. And when he does...it's everything she wanted to hear. "I did ask you to stay away and I regretted every moment," she says, rushing back into his outstretched hands again. Before she can stop herself, tears are falling down her face as she kisses him again. She holds nothing back, hungry and eager as if she had never kissed him before. "I'm so, so sorry," she finally whispers, pulling her lips away from his just enough to speak, resting her forehead against his, her arms draped about his shoulders. "I was so scared I pushed you away for good." She leans against him, holding him as much as he holds her, slowly breathing in his scent. "Please forgive me. I love you so much." He takes her as she falls into him again, wrapping his arms around her more fully this time; a sense that is as protective as it is possessive. He holds her until she could be no closer in the way they are now. For as long as he can keep her in that kiss this time, he does, exploring her mouth, needing of more and only just shy of demanding it. He's panting slowly, warm breaths between them when she rests her forehead on his, and he leans into her slightly to increase the pressure, the intimacy of that affection. "There is nothing to forgive, love. It was my own-" Problems. But they all have problems. His jaw clenches subtley, the small muscles of his neck tensing for a moment as he becomes frustrated in that. But then it's stifled, shuffled away as he smiles at the present- the way her arms are draped around him, the way she feels against him, the way his mouth still burns with the sensation she'd left there. He lets his eyes close, taking in touch, smell, taste, sound. All those things dulled by the human senses that burden him now, yet feel as though they're buzzing, sensitive. Wanting. "You have no idea how much I want you."