ArchivedLogs:Murderface
| Murderface | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2014-03-08 Shortly after protest chaos, Peter chats with Sebastian. |
| Location
<NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side | |
When Sebastian gets to the lobby, he can already smell the traces of lingering chaos -- a few nurses and security personell lingering in the area -- along with Peter, seated near the back, hunched over, hood over his face, hands in his lap. The smell of expeneded gunpowder still clings to his black hoodie -- two bulletholes in the torso. There's a hint of sweat and exertion clinging to him, along with a trace of blood -- Jax's and Ghost's. He's also clutching something in his right hand, against his knee -- a tuft of feathers. Sebastian looks to have worked himself into a /state/ by the time he arrives at the Clinic. It's usually a quick process for him to get through security -- as a Clinic /employee/ and a child of one of the security staff he's /well/ known. In his usual form. Today, coming in as an All New Redesigned Sebastian there's some confusion when he /forgets/ the guard on duty no longer recognizes him, a long stint of explanation in the mantrap as he tries to explan No Really Who He Is and what he is doing there -- it'd have been so much simpler to have just said he was just looking for an appointment to begin with. /But/ after some long harried exchange he finally makes it through the security checkpoint. He's dressed in clothes of Jackson's, still, long floor-length skirt that fades from black down to a fiery red at its hem, a black corduroy jacket over somewhat sheeny red blouse, brand /new/ black ankle boots hastily purchased since nobody's shooes at home now fit him. Curly hair pinned back with little butterfly-decorated pins. He doesn't move as gracefully anymore as he does in his /own/ body; a few days does not compare to sixteen /years/ in terms of time spent adjusting to the use of Limbs. New proportions, different /strength/ and agility, different /everything/ means he's kind of ungainly as he hurries over towards Peter. "Ohmygosh. Ohmy/gosh/. Who shoots /arrows/." Peter looks up -- his eyes rimmed with pink, his face flushed indigo. For a moment, he doesn't seem to /comprehend/ what he's looking at -- staring at Sebastian in confusion. Still clutching at the feathers in his fist, he starts to straighten, rising to his feet. And then: "--oh." Soft, with a hint of disappointment to it. "Oh, I forgot -- Shane mentioned..." His voice trails off to nothing. He wavers for a moment, feet growing wobbly, sinking back into his chair -- head dropping back down. "--you don't have your sense of smell, anymore," Peter says, weakly, voice trembling. "O -- oh." Sebastian rocks back onto a heel heavily, flinching back away from Peter. He looks down at himself, shoulders curling inward, face crumpling into an abrupt expression of shame. "N -- no I." He lifts a hand, fingers scrunching into dark curls. "Sh-- Shane still. Does. Have th -- wait what. Why?" Peter doesn't look up to meet Sebastian's gaze; he just stays focused on his knees. As he does, though, he lifts the other hand up -- the one with the feathers in it. "--from the arrow they used," he mumbles, softly. When he speaks again, it's just above a whisper: "And I saw the license plate of the car they used to get away. Sebastian, I want to..." His voice trembles; his other fist clenches. "--they opened fire. Arrows, at Jax -- then bullets. Into a crowd of people. Trying to hit Jax -- but they could have hit anyone. They hit me. They hit Ghost. Sebastian, I want..." He chokes back what sounds like a strangled sob, still looking down. "I want to /kill/ them. I want to find them and I want to kill them." Sebastian's nostrils flare, but his subsequent disappointment shows how useless this effort is in his current form. He twines a curl around a finger, stretching it out with a frown deep on his face. "People really like to shoot my Pa." His shoulders have tensed at this, clenched harder beneath his jacket. His weight shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "You could. Ask Shane." There's a slow pause before he clarifies: "... about tracking. Not -- killing." "No..." Peter agrees, and the strangled sob seems to come under control, his breathing growing slowly calmer, smoother. A slight hic, here and there. "I wouldn't -- want him to..." The grip on the feather slackens; Peter looks up at Sebastian. "I just -- god. When it happened, I didn't even -- Jax went down. I tried to push him to the ground, but it wasn't fast enough, and -- and I just stopped thinking. I /left/ him there, with Micah, and with Ghost. In a crowd of angry people. To go after the people -- shooting him." Again, his voice drops to just above a whisper, so as not to be overhead: "I would have killed them, B. I would have just... I could /still/ kill them." His fists clench; he makes a tiny *hic* again, breath catching. "But I can't -- help." Sebastian's finger winds tighter around his curly hair, tugging it down hard enough that a few strands start to rip free. His teeth clench as Peter talks -- harder, at the mention of leaving Jax on the ground -- and he looks away to very /intently/ study a patch of wall. "Sometimes," he says slowly, "it might be better if some people were dead. I don't think a lot of us cried much over --" The word sticks in his throat; he finishes only, "That HAMMER guy." Peter's hand snaps forward, to snatch at Sebastian's wrist -- and drag him close, to wrap him in a half-sitting hug -- his head shoving toward his shoulder. The tuft of feathers, for now, are left on the seat besides Peter; his hands busy himself with squeezing Sebastian, instead. "--m'sorry," Peter mumbles, into his skin. "About -- everthing. I... you look very pretty," he sighs, squeezing a little tighter -- adding, rather nervously: "I mean I think you're -- beautiful, blue. But this is very pretty too. I..." Whatver else he was about to say, he muffles it by burying his face deeper against Sebastian's shoulder. Sebastian's eyes widen, and he stumbles a step forward when he's pulled in close. Slowly his other hand lifts, curling around Peter. Tentatively, at first, then more securely. There's a darkening flush to his cheeks, his breath hitching. "-- Oh. Oh, you really think. Oh." He drops his head down, cheek pressing to the top of Peter's head. "... if you have a license plate we could probably find the car. Even without my nose." This is -- much quieter. "Yeah," Peter says, his own voice light, his breath coming through in a tiny shudder -- gathering Sebastian up. Giving a -- small, /tiny/ bite at his shoulder, at his neck. Careful, because his skin isn't as hard or rough, anymore. "I do." At the mention of the license plate, Peter goes quiet -- still. Several seconds pass, and then he squeezes harder, before biting again, a little more sharply -- but not harsh enough to bruise. "Nnngh. I... wanted to kill somebody and the first person I thought of was you. Is that--" Peter cuts himself off with another ragged sigh. "--yeah, we can... find out who they are, at least. And maybe figure out -- what to do from there." "Wait you wanted to kill me first?" Sebastian -- elects to parse the sentence this way, with some heavy dose of confusion. He pulls back, one hand on Peter's shoulder -- as though keeping him at /arm's length/ now. "Why what'd /I/ do? I mean. Besides --" He frowns, shifting uncomfortably again. He glances down at himself, and back up at Peter. "-- Someone shot Dusk with an arrow a little bit ago." "No, I--" Peter actually /grins/, a little, despite the wetness in his eyes, as Sebastian pulls back. "I do /not/ want to kill you. I meant, you were the first person I thought of, to..." His mouth twitches again. "...help." The mention of Dusk getting shot with an arrow causes Peter's expression to darken; he frowns, shaking his head slowly. "Yeah, I... could it have been the same person? It /must/ have been, how many people -- shoot mutants with /arrows/? Did -- either of you get the scent? Of the shooter?" "Oh. /Oh/." Sebastian lets out a heavy relieved breath -- but then immediately looks guilty again afterwards. "... I don't think I'm much good for killing anything anymore." He sounds /really/ apologetic about this. His arm winds around his chest, fingers squeezing in against his opposite bicep. "They're -- they're trying to -- trying to." He sounds a little choked up, suddenly, eyes fixing down on his shoes. "Trying to fix -- me. Back to -- back to." His breath comes out heavy-shuddery. "How I'm supposed to." He shakes his head abruptly, blinking away this thought. "Maybe? I don't know how many -- archers are. Out there. Probably more now than there were before -- zombies. Desi's brother is /really/ good, he took down a lot of zombies with -- arrows. But I /don't/ think he's going around shooting mutants. I wasn't -- /there/ either time." He sounds guilty about this too. "So I didn't get a scent. Dusk might have. But his nose isn't as great as mine --" He frowns. "... was." "Sebastian..." Peter watches, frowning, as Sebastian stares down at his shoes. He reaches, then, to touch Sebastian's cheek -- and cup. And try to pull his head up! Gently. "You're supposed to be however you /want/ to be. You're..." Peter's eyes sling around the room, scanning for anyone watching; his cheeks go indigo, before -- he leans forward to deliver a quick-but-firm kiss on Sebastian's lips. "...beautiful," he whispers. "...we should ask Dusk to sniff the feathers," Peter admits, reluctantly. "Just to see if... but I'll store them, for now. Seal them up to keep the scent on them. We'll trace -- the license plate number. Find out who it belongs to. Okay?" Sebastian's eyes widen at the kiss; his cheeks darken abruptly further, and for a few seconds he doesn't say anything. Just rocks backwards a half-step, scrunching his fingers through his hair again. "O -- okay," he finally answers. "That's -- yeah. Put them in a paper bag and. Okay. I need to find my brothers." He looks towards the elevator doors with no /small/ amount of worry in his expression. "Make sure Spence is -- looked after okay till my dads are out." "Okay," Peter says, nodding slowly -- pulling himself up from the chair. He grimaces, briefly, fingers tentatively straying to his own chest -- before glancing at the exit. "Make sure everyone's okay. I'm going to... I've probably got to talk to my folks. And..." He wets his lips. "...tell Jax I'm -- really sorry. About... not -- staying with him. Like he asked me to," Peter says. Sebastian looks Peter over at this, a crooked smile on his lips. "I'm sure he'll forgive you. He forgives /everyone/." He -- doesn't actually say this like it's a /good/ thing, though, a little /wearily/ as he turns for the door. | |
