[hider=Ultimatum] [center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=a2d9ce]『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]http://i67.tinypic.com/2qb8wgw.png[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / [@RedDusk][@Baklava][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 ℤ𝕖𝕣𝕠 / / ~𝟙𝟠𝟛𝟘[/color][/center][hr] [hider=Upheaval] Callan didn't know what time it was, but it [i]felt[/i] like Sander should be here by now. She idly thought back to her broken phone as she crossed her legs and turned, beginning another stretch as she waited. Hopefully Marcus or Siena wouldn't step on any of the sharp pieces. She'd have to request another phone. What was she supposed to do now? Ask Dom for everyone's phone number? Call them up and tell them she isn't dead? No. She should leave it alone. What's done is done. Lawrence was right. Calling up all her old friends wouldn't change anything anyway. She should focus on the future. On making friends here and now. On this fight. She sighed defeatedly. Pulling one leg into her chest, she rested her chin and hands on her knee. What sort of mess would that make for her parents, though? If she called everyone? And, more importantly, why did she care? She threw her head back and groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as she pulled her other leg in for a butterfly stretch. It was time to focus on the fight with Sander-- not that she should, but there would be plenty of time to mull over that problem later. Bouncing her legs as she held her feet, Callan opened her amethyst eyes and glanced around the plaza. Unlike the Flag and Seek game, it had been full of people. All of the people who had been shot dead the day before had returned-- just like she'd read they would. At least, she thought they were the same people. She'd easily allowed herself to ignore the nearby corpses during the game. With how much awkward tumbling around she'd managed to do with Sander the other day, it was fortunate they managed not to bump into any. The idea of accidentally crashing into a live one seemed just as unpleasant, so she used her extra prep time to go around telling people to clear the area. It was fun and weird at the same time. In the back of her mind, she knew they weren't real people, but they sure seemed like it. Just out of curiosity, she'd tapped one woman on the shoulder to get her attention, half expecting her hand to phase through as if she might be a hyper-realistic hologram. Finished with her ground stretches, Callan stood up and tightened her pony tail. Her fingers interlocked behind her head and she stifled another sigh. Where was he? Sander double-checked the shoelaces on his white sneakers, making sure they would hold. An old habit he hadn’t had the chance to do in a while. It felt nice to finally be able to it with a clear mind, but this situation he found himself in was high…unideal. Just as he strode through the broken streets of GZ with a cooler full of blood in hands, hesitation still griped at his thoughts, and occasionally, the Stigma would flare up, dripping fear and paranoia into his mind. He shrugged them off to the best of his ability. He had already made up his mind. Callan wanted a duel, so he would give it to her. But he never said he would go all out… It was better this way, really. Callan was strong, but so was he. He could take it. They wouldn’t let him die. All there left to do, was to go through with it. He could do it. He just had to be [i]here[/i]. Her scent reached him, and soon enough, Sander found himself navigating through the crooked grounds led by his nose. Disturbing, how this had become almost second nature for him. But he digressed. The jagged landscape fell away as he stepped into the open field that hosted their Flag and Seek game just a day earlier. Callan was already there. He made his way over, finally stopping when he was just a few feet in front of her. “[color=cyan]Good evening, Callan.[/color]” -Dropping the cooler at his feet, Sander offered her a faint smile, eyes briefly brushed over her outfit, before returning to her face. "[color=a2d9ce]Yo,[/color]" she responded with a casual wave. There was a clear difference in Callan's demeanor compared to her giddy excitement the night before. Crossing her arms, she observed Sander's attire in turn. "[color=a2d9ce]You're fighting in that?[/color]" she asked curiously with a slight frown. Jeans and a sweater hardly seemed like something she would want to fight in, but then... she'd never [i]truly[/i] been in a fight before. Not with another person anyway. Suddenly she felt overdressed. Something she found comical considering her current get up, which consisted of white and gray tennis shoes, black leggings with fuchsia galaxy print, and a matching sports bra beneath a long, swoop necked black T-shirt with loose sleeves. “[color=cyan]I don’t think there is anything wrong with this.[/color]” -Sander said, slowly rolling his sleeves up, stormy blue eyes watching Callan carefully –“[color=cyan]Is there?[/color]” Callan shrugged, "[color=a2d9ce]Whatever you're most comfortable in.[/color]" She looked away suddenly as he eyed her, remembering his lack of clothing during yesterday's game. [i][color=a2d9ce]Purge, purge, purge.[/color][/i] She took a breath before nodding at his cooler. "[color=a2d9ce]I'm ready whenever you are.[/color]" Whatever Sander was looking for, he didn’t find it in Callan’s eyes. There wasn’t that naïve eagerness from last night, but there was no hesitation either. No fear. She wouldn’t back down. He swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat and opened the cooler. Rows of canister once again greeted him. “[color=cyan]How long do you need? I can do 10 minutes.[/color]” -He picked up a canister, fiddling with its latch, a weak excuse to avoid eye contact. She narrowed her eyes at him with a half hearted smile. How long did she need? She exhaled sharply through her nose. Taking Sander's question as a sign of hubris, a tinge of yesterday night's avidity returned in the form of an adamant stare. "[color=a2d9ce]How long do [i]you[/i] think I'll need?[/color]" she laughed faintly. “[color=cyan]Uh.[/color]” -Sander furrowed his brows –“[color=cyan]I don’t know...That's why I am asking.[/color]” "[color=a2d9ce]You... wha?[/color]" she laughed again, this time nervously, a touch of her missing warmth restored. "[color=a2d9ce]I... I don't know. Fight ends when one of us taps out or blacks out. Whichever comes first. You think it'll take longer than 5 minutes for one of us to win?[/color]" Her smile turned into a half-grimace as her eyebrows knit together with sympathy. She thought he'd been talking smack, but remembering his reaction to her joke the other night, she should've known better. Note to self: teach Sander how to take and make a joke. It was that or she really needed to work on her delivery. As confident as she felt, she really wasn't sure exactly how long the fight might last. "[color=a2d9ce]Lets shoot for 10 then. Just in case...?[/color]" she decided, shrugging as she tucked a rogue strand of aquamarine hair behind her ear. Sander’s lips twitched into a smile out of reflex, though the pit of his stomach sank. Callan wanted 10 minutes. And she would get it. Still, he was uneasy. He knew what was going to come, and he had worked through it too many times before. But knowing didn’t make it even remotely easier. His heart began to pick up the pace, even without the blood high spurring it on. No. He was not backing out. Callan would get the fight she wanted. He had better control now. The only thing left to do was to hold on. He could do it. He could take it. “[color=cyan]Ten minutes.[/color]” -Sander nodded, his blue eyes solemn. The canister popped open quietly, and he tilted his head back, not bothering with straws this time. The liquid went down easy and quick. Like doused with gasoline, the fire burst to life with a horrible roar, just as his heart began to hammer against the wall of his ribcage. Aluminum colliding with concrete as he let the canister fall, hands coming to grip the fabric of his sweater. It was still there; the thirst, the rage, the primal urge to kill and main and drink remained as strong as ever. Yet, it was more…contained, somehow. Focused. Like he could just will the heat into his chest, leaving his limbs free and his mind clear. He put it back there, and he felt he could let it out anytime. But only if he wanted. So was this what control felt like? He exhaled slowly, hiding his smile in the dive forward for another canister. “[color=cyan]Callan.[/color]” -He spoke as he twisted open the container, the barest wisps of red smoke began to twist around his forearms –“[color=cyan]Please, do not hold back.[/color]” Callan watched with reserved intrigue as Sander rapidly downed the first canister of human blood. She only smiled roguishly at his question. Of course she wasn't going to hold back. That was the plan, right? Callan watched canister after canister fall to the ground. So many.... Donated by the good people of Crimen Culpae no doubt.... She unfolded her arms as she watched Sander retrieve the last canister from the cooler. As the metal left his lips, red eyes fell on her and she knew the fight was begun even before he dropped it on the ground and surged forward. Balling up her fists, Callan shifted one leg back to steady her stance as she swung her furthest arm across her body, aiming her knuckles towards Sander's jaw. [color=a2d9ce][i]No holding back![/i][/color] Sander knew what he was getting himself into the moment he set foot into GZ. And he was ready. The world died down to just steady rhythms as he rushed forward, the thirst for violence as fresh as the day he first tasted blood. No. This was wrong. This wasn’t control. Panic bubbled up somewhere at the back of his throat, but it drown amidst the stirring blood. This was restraint, at most. Not the control he wanted. But right now, he couldn’t really care. Callan’s fist closed on him, too fast to dodge, so he braced his feet. He felt its impact just moments later, then pain bloomed and copper filled his mouth. His vision swerved sideways, blurring, but he gritted his teeth, the fire propelled him through the pain. His left arm thrust forward, making a grab for Callan’s shirt while his right hand tried to catch her left wrist. He was just as strong as before. She'd expected her punch to more effectively halt his charge, but his grit teeth and the incoming hands served as a fresh reminder not to underestimate him again. Gritting her teeth in turn, she did her best to react. Callan didn't retract her arm in time, allowing him to easily grasp the wrist connected to her assailing right fist without any trouble. She managed to grab his left wrist before it came into contact with her shirt, arms now crossed. Callan gripped his left wrist tighter, twisting it sharply inward while trying to sharply twist and pull her own wrist out of Sander's grip. Her right hand remained balled up into a fist, prepared to deliver a powerful upward blow to his chin if she could only yank it free. Sander loomed over Callan all the while, fiery red fixed on her, hungry. But she was stronger still. Just like how he wanted. She would be alright. Callan’s fist broke free after moments of struggle, and he felt the impact again, this time on his lower jaw. Copper again. He stumbled backward, inhaling sharply while his feet worked to keep the balance. He recovered though, and he resumed his relentless assault, flinging his right fist toward Callan again. He was so damn resilient. Need to hit him harder, she mused, watching him stumble. Callan crouched and sprang forward as he recovered and came at her again, right fist flying towards her head. At the last moment, she ducked the punch, tucked her shoulder and pushed hard off the ground. Raising her right arm across her body, she drove her right shoulder into his gut. Another blow connected, and Sander grunted, the force shook his ribcage. He gasped for shallow breaths of air, a quick fix for his burning lungs. His right fist came loose and he clamped it down on Callan’s back, steadying himself and grabbing his opponent in one motion. He then brought his left knee up as hard as he could, while simultaneously dragging her down. Frustration bubbled up inside her. Sander's lanky frame was so deceivingly solid. She balled up her fists again, fully expecting him to stagger so she could go in for another punch before she suddenly felt his hand on her back. His knee connected sharply with her chin and she bit down hard on her tongue. Her mouth filled with a coppery taste and her fists unfurled, threatening to baby the sudden throbbing in her mouth, but she clenched her teeth and tried to swallow the pain. Straightening herself up quickly, she cocked her right arm back and swung it upwards towards Sander's face. Another sharp lance of pain shot through Sander’s frayed nerves. His head was knocked backward, teeth clattered together painfully. Something was loose. Fluid suddenly filled his mouth, causing him to cough and sputter as he struggled to regain from the second stumble. His right grip wavered, but he tried to hold on, clawing at Callan’s back. Her frustration reached its peak as Callan processed Sander's hand clawing at her shirt. The skin on her lower back met the open air. She couldn't [i]stand[/i] jersey grabbing. Kicking off the ground again, she moved with him as he stumbled backwards, preventing her shirt from tearing any further. Grabbing a fistful of Sander's sweater with her right hand, she took a lesson from Kusari and hooked her right foot behind Sander's left ankle. Instead of merely grabbing his throat and pushing, however, she cocked her left arm back and drove her fist into his nose. Doing her best to ignore the blood running down his chin from her last hit, she released his sweater to let him fall. Again, she'd hoped her attack would be more effective than it was. Before she could so much as take a step back and reassess, he was already starting to get up. Leaving another small crater in her wake, she burst forward. Swinging her leg forward, she forced her knee into his nose before he could continue getting to his feet. Callan’s latest blow sent him tumbling on the hard concrete, where he finally ended up on his stomach. The fire roared, still, and it compelled him to get up. But it hurt. It hurt so much. He forced himself on his hands and knees, mouth open to choke down uneven breaths, spots of red appearing rapidly on the grey beneath him. His head was a cacophony of pain, his chest tightened every time he so much as flinched, and he could taste nothing but cold copper that refused to burn. [i]God. It was his blood.[/i] But he could take this. He just had to…get up first. Get up. The fire groaned in his ears, begging for substance. He ignored it, focusing on getting back up instead. Callan took several steps back following her kick. She furrowed her brow as she watched him struggle back to his feet, red wisps still rising from his body. The smart thing to do would be to rush him now-- just like she had before. But something about that felt wrong, especially with how painful his movements looked. How many hits to the head had he taken now? Four? Five? She waited until he was back on his feet before rushing him again, prepping for yet another right hook to the face. Sander lowered himself at the last moment, then lunged forward, charging at Callan’s midsection. She'd grown too confident in the repeated success of her punches, coupled with Sander's sluggish movements just seconds ago. The air loudly fled from her lungs in the form of a grunt. His arms moved downward, gripping the back of her thighs and shoving his weight behind the tackle until Callan finally gave and landed on her back. As soon as she did, he drove a knee into her stomach and raised his right fist, ready to rain blows down on her. From apprehension and the uncomfortable pressure being applied by Sander's knee, her stomach twisted itself into a tight knot. "Shit," she grimaced and hissed, the second half of the word getting lost as she frantically tried to fix her mistake. Here she was-- same position, different day. Only now there was no Grant to blame her carelessness on. She didn't want to get punched in the face, but she didn't want to get bitten on the neck again either. Her arms flew up, catching his fist with her left hand while the right flew up punch Sander in the jaw, hoping that would deter him from getting any ideas. The blow hit Sander’s jaws with an audible crack. But he held fast. Her forearm was right in front of him, and the sweet scent was so close, like an offer, so Sander took it. His right arm kept pressing against her while he gripped her right upper to hold it in place. His jaws ached as he opened them, but the thirst prevailed and he sank his teeth into Callan’s forearm. Biting me. [i]BITING ME[/i]. Her breath caught in her throat as his teeth sank into the underside of her forearm, almost at her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his head followed, jaws clamped down tight. He wasn't strong enough to mess with her artery, was he? Uncertainty fueled the panic that was frying her brain and she jerked her arm away harder, twisting and pulling until it was free. Her left hand abandoned its task of deflecting Sander's punch in favor of grasping his hair. Fingers firmly interlocking with the sandy brown locks, she yanked his head sideways away from her forearm. Sander’s jaws loosened then, and he let go. However, his left arm still held firm, and his now-free right hand was reaching for exposed neck. The flesh was warm beneath his touch, thrumming with life. He dug his fingers in like claws. Callan winced at the pressure, her heart pounding in her ears as adrenaline compelled her to act. The knee driving itself into her stomach hadn't exactly made breathing a breeze and now... well, actually she could breath just about the same. Was he only threatening to choke her? Why could she still breath? Her brain didn't let her linger on such questions. A hand was closed around a vulnerable place and she needed to stop that. Her shadow would surely make an appearance-- or try to-- if this continued. It was more likely that Sander would instantly crush her throat in his hand if Misery stole her strength now. He might bite her again (a thought that still somehow terrified her), but she had to do it. Releasing his hair, she drove her fist into the side of his head with all her strength, twisting her hips to get out from under his body as it moved with his head into the ground. A wet thud, and Sander’s world titled sideways. He hit the ground awkwardly, the concrete cracked underneath him as he sprawled out, eyes glassy. His head throbbed, muddled thoughts scattered. It hurt to even [i]think[/i]. He couldn’t do this. But [i]she[/i] told him he could. [i]Drink up.[/i] But he didn’t. His grip on the flame remained firm, and he watched as it writhed and crackled, exhaling embers. He turned to his side, then on his stomach. Steadily, he pushed himself up. He was still getting up. No. He couldn’t have that –“[color=cyan]Scared?[/color]” -He heard himself said, voice thick and nasal, the glee almost palpable. Callan quickly scrambled to her feet, running her hand over the phantom twinges of discomfort his feverishly warm fingers had left on her neck. She heard Sander's question just as she looked down at her arm. She didn't respond for a moment, her mind too busy flitting between memories of yesterday and the present. On her arm there was merely a mark-- an indentation where his teeth had been. He'd definitely broken the skin yesterday. And then there was the matter of his grip around her throat. Cutting off her air supply would have made for an easy win. At the very least, he should've activated his blood draining ability. Her expression darkened. She clenched her fists tightly, eyes focused on the splash of Sander's blood across her knuckles before falling on the sorry form of her opponent himself. "[color=a2d9ce]You're not holding back, are you?[/color]" she asked, her words slow and deliberate and dripping with bitterness. Sander made a sound between a wheeze and a breathy laugh at the question, though the throbs of pain cut it short. But his red grin was answer enough. Slowly, he straightened himself up on his knees, unfocused gaze turning her way. Her glare softened into a concerned wince at his feeble response-- he was hurt. Badly. She'd hit him so many times she'd lost count. But he just kept getting up... just kept fighting... [i]no.[/i] This wasn't a fight, was it? [i]Had he been letting her hit him this whole time?[/i] Her shoulders started to quake, feeling as though time was moving in slow motion as a droplet of blood fell from Sander's chin. She needed to train. She needed to get better. Stronger-- at least enough to shape her future, like Lawrence said. She needed to prove to everyone that she could do this, too. That she could be something other than the monster that destroyed her home... the monster that destroyed [i]herself[/i]. Everyone thought she was dead. How could she possibly dream of protecting everyone if she was dead? And if Sander wouldn't fight her seriously, she might never improve. More people would die. People would die because of [i]her[/i]. Despairing thoughts from earlier churned confusingly inside her mind. Mixed with uncertainties and regret about this rematch with Sander, she felt a dull ache in her head as she looked back at her bloody knuckles. Look at all that blood... had she done [i]that[/i] to [i]him?[/i] The only other person who was supposed to be strong enough to fight her? It was like she was staring through the hole in Kusari's abdomen all over again. [i]Scared?[/i] He wasn't trying his best and asking if she was [i]scared?[/i] For what? Just for show? To make her feel like this fight was real? A streak of anger drove itself into her feelings of despair. There it took root and sprouted into new thoughts. Embarrassingly irrational and sad. What was the point? Why bother with this rematch? Why bother trying to improve herself? ...why bother controlling her shadow at all? Her eyes glistened with tears that threatening to spill over her cheeks once more, but she held them in-- barely. She grit her teeth and the glare towards Sander returned, though it was full of excruciating torment and somber frustration. She rose her fists in a weak fighter's stance. Her breaths became uneven as she felt her emotions slipping out of place. Keep it together... finish the fight... it'll all be over soon enough.... Sander made it back on his feet. He wobbled, but eventually steeled himself, waiting for Callan to make her move. He didn’t think he could move first this time. [i]Let go.[/i] [color=a2d9ce]Oh no....[/color] Callan staggered back as a weakness overcame her. Her shadow extended sharply forward, reaching towards Sander and allowing one of Misery's massive black claws to come shooting out of Callan's now inky black shadow. It slashed across Sander's figure with unbridled strength. A heavy splash of blood coated the concrete before the claw flexed its wrist inward and backhanded him across the plaza. The rest of Misery's body was soon to follow, moving with swiftness and an insatiable rage as it rapidly began to close the newly made gap between itself and Sander. Its jaws opened wide as it charged, ready to tear him apart. There wasn't enough time. She couldn't reel it back quickly enough. It would kill him...! But she had to try. Just as her hands wrapped around the invisible reigns, her entire body suddenly convulsed and she fell forward onto her hands and knees. The painful sensation pulsed powerfully from the cuff around her ankle, accompanied by a short, loud beep. She couldn't unlock her jaw to so much as cry out as the edges of her vision darkened. There was a flash of heat while electricity scorched her skin beneath the cuff. She fell forward onto her face as unconsciousness claimed her. Misery dissipated into black, smoky wisps while her shadow snapped back into its original shape and size. The shadow shot toward him, and for a brief moment, Sander knew fear. He always had, really, but it was hard to recall when fire and power flooded his veins and nothing could hurt him. But he knew pain. He could never forget it, burning or not. He took a step back, a hair breadth too late. A slight pressure against the skin of his torso, and he knew well enough to recognize it for what it was: the feeling of parted flesh. It didn’t hurt at first, just an odd sensation. Then it burst into searing fire. He barely had enough mind left to lift an arm as the shadow moved, cushioning the blow that sent him flying. He cried out sharply, the pained sound drowned out by the groan of concrete as it split apart beneath him. He didn’t get up this time. The fire was burning still. But it hurt. God, it hurt, and he couldn’t stand the pain. [i]Stay with me, she had said.[/i] [i]One more, she had said. But not to him.[/i] [i]But back then, the fire within burned brighter than the fire without.[/i] Not now. He needed more. [i]Drink up[/i], the fire tempted with [i]her[/i] voice, and he wanted to comply so much it was disgusting. He could hate it all he wanted, but without the fire, he was nothing. He couldn't do anything. Another ghost waiting to fade, and that was all. Why couldn’t he be more? He promised he would try, didn’t he? He was trying. It hurt so much, but he was trying. Sander let out a quivering breath, waiting for the black dots in his vision to finally dissipate. Each breath brought pain and tasted like blood, but it didn’t burn, so that was a good thing? He couldn’t be sure. He would think more about that when his thoughts were more than [i]fire and cold blades and warm touches[/i]. Some other time. He focused on moving instead. The hungry flame hissed at him as he leaned on its power, the refusal to feed fresh in its primitive mind. His hands were slippery and his vision swam, but he got to his feet. He turned to look at Callan’ prone form. No more raging shadows. No more promise of pain. And the scent of carbonated sweetness was still strong. He relaxed his shoulders. A touch of dread set into his mind, but he was far too distracted to properly care. His eyes kept coming out of focus every so often, like something was broken, and he found himself watching a patch of slick red on the ground for the longest of time. He forced a new goal into his shattered thoughts. [i]Get her back[/i]. [/hider] [center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color] [color=a2d9ce]『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』[/color] [color=662d91]『𝕂𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕣𝕚』[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]http://i63.tinypic.com/2h84geb.jpg[/img][img]http://i67.tinypic.com/2qb8wgw.png[/img][img]http://i68.tinypic.com/33p7a8k.png[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / [@RedDusk][@January][@Baklava][@Piercing Light][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤 / / ~𝟚𝟙𝟘𝟘[/color][/center][hr] [hider=Undercurrent] Warmth soaked into his tattered sweater. Somewhere in his mind, between the throbbing pain and the steely resolve, Sander was mildly concerned. Too much blood, and it wouldn’t come off. He should stop and…take it off. But his arms were occupied with the weight of Callan’s body, and he had to [i]get her back[/i]. He just had to not think about [i]cold, sugary drinks on hot summer days, when mother would sneak in a splash of wine and it would go perfect with the carbonated sweetness [/i]. No. He would not think about that. Coffee,[i] rich and deep and nutty with a hint of chocolate[/i], now. [i]Focus.[/i] Christmas could help him fix this. He would just have to get to the blond boy first. Easy. Just follow the scent. It was a straight forward walk. Sander kept his steps light and brisk, because she might be hurt and he didn’t want to hurt her even more. Her body pressed against the open slashes on his torso, pulling on the wounds, but he didn't mind. They would heal. He couldn’t keep the blood from dripping onto her though. Should’ve carried her on his back. But he didn’t think then, and he didn’t really want to risk trying now. Not when the ground blurred every so often and he had to stop, drawing shallow breaths to blink away the black spots. He found himself in front of the elevator doors soon enough. The button was right there, and he only had to lift a hand…which was being weighed down by a body. He stared at the smooth metal for a few moments, laboured breaths slowed as he processed the information. So, stairs. Eyes dogged his steps as he ascended the steps, but no one got in his way. Small mercy? He supposed. Talking didn't seem comfortable right now, since he was quite sure there was something loose in his jaws. The way to his suite seemed longer, but maybe that was because he needed a break every few steps just to [i]focus[/i] and keep the wrong thoughts away. The borrowed strength helped. At least something good came out of it. Maybe he should borrow more; taking the stairs one step at a time was not very efficient. But he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. He arrived, eventually. Once again, he stood in front of the closed door, wading through a murky lake of thoughts to find the ones he needed. No hands. So...head? He slammed his forehead against hard surface in one swift motion before his more rational side could tell him that was a horrible idea. It did though, by a fresh wave of pain that crashed into his consciousness moments later. He almost stumbled, but the flame held him upright. Hearing a loud bang on the door to her dorm room, Kusari shot up from her bed. She wasn't quite tired yet, but she'd just wanted to lay down and not think about anything for a while. She moved her sprawled hair from her face and glanced towards Christmas. Right, as if he'd be the one to investigate the suspicious noise at the door. She let out an annoyed huff and hopped off her bed. Her right foot's claw snagged on her covers, causing her to trip and fall on her face. She shot back to her feet and glared at Christmas as if to say "Forget what you just saw or I'll make you." She walked to the door and swung it open. [color=662d91]"Who the heck is messing..."[/color] Her body froze as she saw the scene before her. [color=662d91]"W-what?"[/color] She stammered as she saw what looked to be Sander holding Callan's bloodied body. She forced herself to move, running back into the room and yanking Christmas up from his bed. She was shaking, and had broken out into a cold sweat. She knew this would happen, she should have tried harder to stop them. She should have, but she just cared too much about appeasing Callan, making her like her. Having dragged Christmas forcefully to the door she examined Callan. She blinked in confusion for a moment, as the girl appeared to not have many injuries on her body. However, seeing the burnt skin around her ankle made it clear why she was unconscious right now. [color=662d91]"Christmas, I need some of your blood, now!"[/color] She demanded from the boy, but he didn't respond to her, in fact he looked as if he wanted to jump out the dorm window. If he refused, which she doubted he would, she would take it by force. The idea wasn't pleasent to her, but she needed to do something. She turned back to Sander. [color=662d91]"What the hell happened? You look like you were thrown into a blender. Why did she get shocked?"[/color] She berated him with questions, her voice shaking and panicked. Christmas had jumped at the sound of the singular impact against the door, the heavy thud whipping his attention from mindless daydreams about fields and swings to the tiny bubble of panic beginning to build in his stomach. Were they going to be taken somewhere again? But the schedule had said there were no classes today and-- [i]So much blood.[/i] Kusari had opened the door to a sight that made him blanch. Sander and an unconscious (Dead...? The thought tightened his throat.) girl with a head of startling aquamarine, streaked in thick swatches of dark red and an off-white powder like a giant brush had painted and dusted them over. And he wished that was the case. But there were rivulets of blood running down Sander's front from injuries he couldn't clearly make out in the mutilation that was Sander's torso, seeping into the gray of the ruined sweater and darkening the fabric as it spread further. Downward. Seeping into a wet shine on the girl's black top where more of the light gray dust clung. Christmas was hardly aware of his breaths quickening to a ragged pace. [i]What happened?[/i] Red liquid and scatters of particles masked Sander's face in gritty splotches and sprays, and the healer hoped it was just his imagination that more blood seemed to be dripping from Sander's nose. [color 8493ca][i]Oh god, his nose.[/i][/color] [i]So much blood.[/i] And someone he could claim to know. His head was blurring again, because he couldn't take this, not this close to him, not on someone he had become acquainted with. And the blood seemed to rise from Sander's arms and shoulders in thin wisps--rising up while more splashed down. Everything was so wrong. Topsy-turvy and he wanted to just blink and make it all go away because [i]he didn't want this.[/i] Sander merely stared forward as the door opened before him. He didn’t move a muscle, far too occupied with keeping himself upright. Kusari’s words barely cut through the haze that was wrapping itself around his thoughts. Even then, he took his time putting the words together, mulling over strings of letters while his mind was drawing blank. A head of blond hair appeared in his line of sight moments later as the scent of coffee intensified. He remembered. He was trying to [i]get her back[/i]. Now to...heal. He watched Kusari’s hand on the blond boy absentmindedly, his thoughts wandered back to that night before. Something about promises and being [i]here[/i]. He squinted at the words, before they escaped him. “[color=cyan]…c-choices…[/color]” -But he forced them out, regardless. His jaws creaked in protest, but he leaned on the fire and he made them move. The words were garbled at best, interrupted by short breaths and dripping blood –“[color=cyan]…yours…[/color]” Kusari narrowed her eyes at Sander. He was speaking nonsense, and now that she got a better look at him she realized his eyes were red, and there was an unfamilar red aura around him. Looking at his body she could see where all the blood came from. There were slashes on his body, which she thought was a little odd. Callan didn't bring a weapon to their fight, did she? And she doubted he'd gotten the injuries from something like debris, after all even Shane had trouble piercing his skin. His power still being active was likely the only thing keeping him on his feet. He probably needed help just as much as Callan, but she didn't have the knowledge to tell with just a glance. [color=662d91]"Just put her down on my bed..."[/color] She said, her head felt as if it was going to implode, she wasn't quite sure what to do. She turned back to Christmas, and saw that he was still just standing in place. [color=662d91]"What the hell are you doing?"[/color] She grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt with her left hand. [color=662d91]"Wake up! What happened to you wanting to help people so badly? You see a little blood and you suddenly can't move. I'm not going to tell you again. Help. Them."[/color] She let go of his shirt. Christmas had never wanted to help people [i]this[/i] badly. It all looked so wrong like this and he couldn't stop staring at the steady trickling of blood down Sander's front and side, the vertical lines of red shuddering with every haggard breath Sander took. Sander stood still, unmoving save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. But words seemed to have reach him now, where he slowly turned his head to Kusari as she spoke. However, he stood his ground, eyes lowered momentarily to look at Kusari’s hand on Christmas, before moving right back up. He stared into firey orbs that mirrored his own, expression suddenly intense –“[color=cyan]…his choice…[/color]” -The words themselves so strained it almost sounded as if he were growling –“[color=cyan]…I…fine…take this…[/color]” Christmas was scared. It was always the same. Wanting to be nice but never actually a nice person and for all he [i]tried[/i] it was easier to simply [i]not[/i]. It was the blurry gaze of lambent crimson again, the static on the edges, and the soft, pained insistence that it was his choice. But with all things, it wasn't a simple one-way street. He knew that in every blue-gray gaze leveled his way, the eyes daunting in their superiority and mocking expectations. His heart beat to the clamor of panic and adrenaline, and it hurt to breathe. Kusari was loud. Her words screeching against his ears, but it was clumsy knots and stained blue fabric that his mind finally fell back on. [i]So much blood. So much.[/i] [color 8493ca]"...Sh-shou--d-do--"[/color] He couldn't get the words out through the trembling and short breaths, but he had to ask Sander. Had to ask. Had to try. Loud voices and even louder fear and [i]the painful thunder of bullets and blood he had stammered over and failed to--so much blood[/i]. He barely caught the tail end of Sander's words. [color 8493ca]"I--San--"[/color] [i]So much blood.[/i] Neither of them were listening to her. Sander was still saying nonsense, whatever he was trying to convey she wasn't understanding. Who's choice? What choice? Was he talking about Christmas? As if, the boy was terrible at making decisions for himself. The only time she'd seen him put his foot down he was begging for Lily to give him a wound back. And Sander, what was he doing? Was he actually out of his mind? He bothered to bring her all the way here, she figured it was so Christmas could help. They were wasting time. [color=662d91]"I said do something!"[/color] She screamed. She raised her right hand, intent on slapping him. But she stopped. She was about to break the promise she'd made to Marcus, to all of them. If she forced Christmas to bleed then she was no better than the people that worked in this school. She slowly lowered her hand. [color=662d91]"I can't... I can't help them Christmas. Only you can do that. Please."[/color] Sander saw the raised hand, and for a brief moment, his entire body tensed and his shoulders shifted, despite the immediate protest from his leaking wounds. Violence called out to the fire in him, and he remembered the night after the arboretum and the flag football game. More than anything, he remembered the feel of sharp claws against his neck. His feet moved, just a half step forward before he could steady himself. She lowered her hand. There was nothing he could do. Or should do. So he watched, and he waited. But it wasn't a one-way street. At least, not here, not now. [color 8493ca][i]They're not yours to take,[/i][/color] he had whispered to Lily. It was like standing on live coals to be on the other side of that now. [i]Again.[/i] He just wanted to run. Make this someone else's problem, because this was too much for him. And [i]god[/i] it was so hard to try. From a scream and a taloned hand that terrified him beyond words and the pain it promised that he didn't want but [i]knew[/i] ([i]Alvin was never so loud[/i]) to a request that was still [i]the same thing[/i] in a different guise, he thought something like hornets were buzzing. The claws promised death like predatory red eyes gleaming in the hospital, but there was nothing behind them to hold on to. Just fear. Just pain. Just the reminder of choices he didn't have and expectations that didn't even pretend to humor him. [i]Please[/i], she had voiced like the request in the woods, but the claws remained clear as day, poised to strike. [i]Had been[/i] poised to strike. Not just his fears projected beyond himself. Clear as day. Please...or...? And he couldn't after all when the choice was solely his. Didn't want to take responsibility for this--[i]and an entire future of that responsibility flashed in his mind[/i]--when it was this close. This visceral. Not a room full of mostly unknown faces and orders from authority to heal [i]people[/i]. This was [i]a face and a name[/i]--Sander and one other person who he could hardly tell was alive in all the blood and terror. And the screaming talons and pleading words of someone who had never offered the choice at all ([i]even Alvin pretended to offer[/i]). This was closer to home. This was all him. This was the weight of people asking for help--but the ones who needed it [i]hadn't[/i], and he was afraid of exposing his own choices, because he didn't know if he was strong enough to carry that weight. Just selfish and weak because he didn't want to bear it alone. [color 8493ca][i]Help me.[/i][/color] A shaking hand reached out to the faint trails of red vapor peeling off Sander's bloody hand. He hesitated as the scarlet smoke wrapped around his fingers, then touched his fingertips to Sander's hand clutching the girl's upper arm. The touch was barely present and he withdrew his fingers slightly after contact. A shadow of a tap. It took several swallows to get his mouth working properly. [color 8493ca]"Y-yours--yours, too."[/color] [i]Right?[/i] He didn't know. He never did. But this was all he could try here, because he remembered Lily and how [i]loud[/i] he had to be for her to hear him. Didn't want that again. Never wanted it again. His choice and her choice colliding, but he hadn't wanted the fight in the first place. In this, he could still grasp at [i]trying[/i] to be better than he was. Sander glanced at the blond boy now, raising his eyebrows slightly. Didn’t he make it clear? The fire spat out sparks of rage, but he crushed them. He was still [i]here[/i]–“[color=cyan]…fine…[/color]” -He repeated the word, tone softer now –“[color=cyan]…her first…[/color]” Callan wanted to groan, but it was too much effort. Everything hurt. Her head was swimming and through it swam the unfamiliar voice of-- she opened her eyes a sliver-- Christmas. The boy flinched and stepped back at the sudden movement from the girl he thought was basically dead. Bits and pieces of consciousness tried to properly arrange themselves as she came to. Christmas stood before her... and Kusari. She was at their suite. She was here, but... no, she was here, but she wasn't. She was.... Her head tilted upward to see the battered jaw of Sander looming over head. He was carrying her. He was alive. Her eyes fell to the gashes in his chest and everything came rushing back. She reacted with little more than a weak gulp. Her shirt clung uncomfortably to her body, having soaked up a copious amount of the boy's blood. Oh, [i]God[/i].... "[color=a2d9ce]Sander,[/color]" she croaked, lifting her head up and gripping his arm to try and signal she was awake and could be let down now. Sander blinked at the slight pressure on his arm, which then prompted him to look down. Callan was awake. That caught him off guard. He blinked again and looked at her, waiting. She blinked up at him, brow furrowing in frustration when he didn't move. Her mouth was dry and it hurt to speak. Why did this need clarifying? she thought irritably. "[color=a2d9ce]Put me down,[/color]" she mumbled. The request was simple, so Sander complied. He lowered his shoulders then bent his knees, moving Callan toward the ground, feet first, ignoring his hitched breaths when the movements pulled at his wounds. Christmas stepped back even further in response. Her head reeled as her feet hit the ground and she braced herself on the doorframe, pressing her free hand to her forehead to stop the world from spinning. Exhaustion hit her and it hit her hard. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to ask Sander to set her down... but.... She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was in bad shape. Real bad shape.... Her cheeks flushed with guilt and embarrassment. Sander hadn't even been trying to win and she'd beat him up like he was. He saw Misery and it almost killed him. And then, apparently, he'd just [i]carried[/i] her all the way back to the dorms. [i]Why'd he do that?[/i] He could've called for help. Called Christmas on the phone, maybe? Why was he so... weird. She pressed her lips together firmly and looked down at the floor as her face grew warmer still. Kusari didn't know what to say. She was angry that this had happened when she believed it could have been avoided easily. Yet she was glad beyond measure that neither of them had died. [color=662d91]"Callan..."[/color] She started, not yet knowing what to say. [color=662d91]"Were you two attacked by a creature?"[/color] She asked, wanting to avoid expressing one of the many feelings going through her at the moment. Sander merely stared at a spot on the ground now, floundering in the depth of his tangled thoughts now that his current objective was finally achieved. With his arms free from their burden, he let them fall awkwardly to his sides. Callan's eyes flitted up to Kusari and back down again. "[color=a2d9ce]No,[/color]" she replied, firmly as she could. Her shoulders stiffened, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that Sander might tell everyone. A moment passed without him saying anything, so perhaps she was safe... for now. Eager to leave Kusari's question behind, Callan lifted her head with a shallow sigh. Looking between Sander and Christmas, her eyes ultimately fell on the short blonde boy she knew to be their healer. Christmas recoiled slightly at her gaze and looked down at her feet instead. "[color=a2d9ce]He's.. uhm,[/color]" she gripped the bottom of her shirt and looked away as well, "[color=a2d9ce]He's pretty hurt....[/color]" Sander shook his head, a tiny movement to avoid aggravating his wounds further –“[color=cyan]…fine…[/color]” -He mumbled the word one more time, though with far less conviction. Christmas breathed heavily, keeping his eyes fixed on the girl's dirty tennis shoes. Sander had said to heal her first. Even with those injuries. But she wasn't asking to be healed. His eyes flicked to Sander's white sneakers, stained red and powdery white, and he sucked in a breath when more drops of blood splattered to the ground inches away. He didn't know what to do. He never did when it really mattered. He had asked and still, still, [i]still[/i] he didn't know. Someone demanding he heal, but the others not, and what was he supposed to do? Still wished he could run, but at the same time a bit of him held his ground. Callan's expression hardened and she whipped her head towards Sander, her look somewhat scathing. "[color=a2d9ce]You can't--[/color]" she sighed with confused frustration, "[color=a2d9ce]You can't even talk.[/color]" Her expression softened upon seeing the damage again, "[color=a2d9ce]You're not fine.[/color]" Callan's swift answer to her question nearly made her flinch. Apparently even a neutral question wasn't safe. If it wasn't a creature, then what was it? She wanted to know, but the fact that Callan hadn't given her an answer made her think that it was best to leave it alone for the moment. There were more important matters at hand, like the boy that looked like a leaking tomato insisting he was fine. [color=662d91]"I don't know why you're trying to act so tough, but it's not working Sander. You look like you're literally about to die. No, seriously. I'd rather not see you kick the bucket over some misguided bravado."[/color] Sander just let out a breathy laugh in response, leaning slightly against the doorframe. His gaze turned to Christmas then, red eyes falling on the blue ribbon. He remembered. The promise. Whose promise though? He frowned, struggling to rearrange his thoughts. “[color=cyan]…have it back…[/color]” -He reached toward Christmas, extending his left hand, before noticing the smears of blood on the limb. His frown deepened as he half-heartedly wiped the congealing blood on his tattered top. Christmas looked up at the soft-spoken words and followed the hand's motion with his eyes, but he didn't understand them at first between too many thoughts of too many things beyond his control (or were they?). Easy to get lost in his mind; it would be just that easy all over again. He just had to hide in the static and let it pull him into particles. But what was Sander saying-- It clicked. A lifeline in the blur of panic: faint and blue and damaged, but it was there. He remembered the clumsy knots and sincere attempts--putting hopes in strangers. Trying, trying, and he couldn't foist this decision on others. Not [i]his[/i] part of it, at least. He had tried already, but Sander wasn't okay. Half on him, half on Sander. He didn't know if rationing it out like that was right, but it felt better than wavering in indecision and waiting for heaven, hell, and Dreamcatcher to make the choice for him because he wasn't strong enough to. He wanted to be [i]here[/i]. But just wanting wasn't enough. He, of all people, knew this like the back of his hand. [quote][color cyan][i]"You are not okay."[/i][/color][/quote] Christmas breathed in, scared of every passing second but he had to be more than this. A [i]him[/i] that was more than the sum of his parts had believed in something ridiculous, but the small victory of the morning had vindicated that absurd faith. Clumsy knots and threads of twilight through the thunderclouds. Strong and bright. He remembered that. But most of all warm hands, and his breath caught in his throat again but this time he found the words around it. Borrowed words, but they helped more than the buzzing in his ears. Borrowed strength as well. [color 8493ca]"...You are not okay,"[/color] he whispered the words back to Sander, finally looking up again at his roommate's battered face. Callan flinched at Sander's laugh, the memory of his response when she'd asked if he'd been holding back still fresh in her mind. "[color=a2d9ce][i]Sander...[/i][/color]" Callan protested. She was concerned for him and trying to be nice, but... she was also tired. So tired... and, by default, irritable. She watched him reach for Christmas, look at the blood on his hand and wipe it off. [i]What was he doing??[/i] In his own words, Christmas seemed to agree that Sander was in need of some assistance. She looked to him expectantly. Sander looked down at his hands, eyes glazing over the drying blood, brows furrowed. That was a lot of blood. It didn’t smell like blood though. Just…metallic. Wrong. Maybe because it was his blood? Quite a lot of it too. Christmas’ words reached him then, and he began to seriously consider his wounds. He couldn’t think properly, with the fire gnawing at the back of his mind, demanding its due. Borrowed strength, with a very steep interest rate. But he didn’t have to take this. He didn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply. He could do this now. He was getting better. The flame weakened under his hold, and not the other way around. His lips cracked into a lopsided smile. He swallowed it as soon as the waves of pain rushed in. He grimaced, one arm came up to wrap gingerly around himself as he coughed, hacking splatters of blood onto his sneakers. No saving those now. But at least he had enough clarity of mind now to admit to himself that he didn’t really have to take the long way around this time. He had a solution. “[color=cyan]…yeah…[/color]” -He admitted, leaning more heavily into the doorframe now. His gaze lifted, and once again he was staring into Christmas’ blue eyes. Extending the hand once more, he beckoned. Relief warred with the residual panic and fear, and Christmas's eyes skittered between the room's (and door threshold's) occupants briefly like he was afraid the aquamarine hair would move to block him or Kusari would raise her claws again. Nonsensical fears (were they?), but he felt them all the same in the space between the terrible depths and relatively safe harbor. Sander's coughing fit had nearly driven him out of his skin with fear, panicked at the thought that Sander would die right there. But the beckoning hand was safe. Had become safe. He saw that motion again on the battlefield. Remembered the burning grip and looking death in the eyes for a brief moment. And even so the small weight of tiny gestures and steady company built up in his hands until they overflowed, washing over the primal fear he had felt that day until it became a memory of dread too weak to drive away his gratitude for someone he could...[i]three loops around Sander's wrist and a hope wound into the damaged blue[/i]. He was scared of Sander, but there was more than just that. Three loops for three words: [color 8493ca][i]I trust you.[/i][/color] Sander always seemed to find him. And in this dark place that companionship was the evening sun, all soft light and muted colors tinged golden orange. Gentle. Not the garish midday blaze. Ridiculous, to put hopes in a stranger. [i]But that was okay for now.[/i] He thought he meant it this time. Sander's unspoken request aligned here. Just right, between the beckoning hand and how much he had wanted to help but was too afraid to step past himself. Half and half, and he could stand it. Just a little, and just for now, but maybe it was enough of a foothold. Nothing was sure for him. He moved towards Sander, realizing quite belatedly that he had left the pocket knife on his desk when he was once again in front of the taller boy and trying not to stare too carefully at the grisly sight of severed flesh on Sander's torso. His head turned towards the table, catching sight of the folded blade. [color 8493ca]"U-um,"[/color] he looked back at Sander, like stepping away now for that small thing would be a crime. Sander took Christmas’ hand in his then, realizing too late that his was still sticky with blood. His attempt at cleaning it hadn’t been successful. But there was a bit too late for that now. “[color=cyan]…not…hurt…[/color]” -He breathed out the mangled words, his grip tightened. He could do this. He had done bigger things. Warmth seeped into him, and only then did he realize how cold he was. The red glow engulfed him now, along with Christmas’ more translucent one. The current of pain ebbed, if just a hair breadth. Warm. That body temperature again that wasn't normal but still so warm and the blood-slicked hand that didn't let go--just held fast, quelling the trembling in his own hand. Christmas breathed in shudders and shallow breaths, finding his bearings in that reassuring warmth. Not a screaming hand. Not a threatening hand. A warm one. The tingling of his power activating confirmed that Sander had somehow taken his blood without making a cut. He watched the transparent, glassy mist surround the two of them with eyes wide and mouth ajar. It didn't have to hurt. He could barely believe it. It didn't have to hurt and it didn't have to be someone else holding the hurt that was supposed to be inflicted only on him. Christmas turned slightly, his eyes darting to Kusari's feet again in fear at the reminder of near pain, tracking along the carpet and stopping at the red talon. [i]Poised to strike[/i], but he tried blinking the thought away and looked instead to the unknown girl with her bright hair stained red and chalky white. Could she do that, too? He was hoping, but didn't know how to ask. Callan recognized the luminescence enveloping each boy; Sander's red glow from when he'd been taking her blood during the flag football game and Christmas's healing light. This was the fourth time she'd seen his healing in action. Their abilites made for an interesting coalition, but what mattered to her was Sander. He finally agreed to let Christmas heal him. [color=a2d9ce][i]Good.[/i][/color] She leaned her head against the doorframe, tightly gripping her upper arms. Sighing in relief, she rested her eyes and tried not to think about how badly she just wanted to sit down. Now that the most pressing issue was out of the way, a wave of other concerns assaulted her attention. Sander had [i]let her win[/i], hadn't he? She wanted to bring this up with him, but... not in front of Kusari. Their conversation from earlier was still fresh in her head. She squeezed herself tighter, digging her nails into her arm and wiling her eyes to remain shut. She didn't want to open them to see if Kusari was staring at her. She didn't want to broach the creature topic, let alone her hasty retreat at breakfast that morning. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to keep her focus on staying lucid. Christmas watched the bloodstained girl hug herself and lean away and he chewed briefly on the inside of his lower lip. Sander [i]had[/i] said to heal her first, but he wasn't sure if that still applied now that Sander was currently convalescing. He knew it'd be easier to just ignore it until maybe Sander or the girl herself brought it up, but his hand was warm and steady in that heated grip and he had already borrowed that strength. It came a bit easier now when panic and screams and claws weren't accompanying the din in his head. He just focused on the warmth anchoring him in place and the static bits arranged themselves a bit closer to that better part of him. [color 8493ca]"Uh..."[/color] He didn't know her name. [color 8493ca]"Ex-excuse..."[/color] the last words floated off into a mumble as he looked down at the girl's shoes again, [color 8493ca]"...me...? Um. Sor--sorry."[/color] When silence followed the statement, Callan opened her eyes. Christmas was staring down at her shoes. Was he talking to her? "[color=a2d9ce]Hm?[/color]" she said, not moving. [color 8493ca]"S-Sander said to he-heal you first."[/color] "[color=a2d9ce]I'm not hurt,[/color]" she replied, turning her head to stare accusingly at Sander. It wasn't entirely true, but it might as well have been. More than the discomfort in her ankle and dull ache of her tongue, she was tired. Tired and frustrated. [color 8493ca]"O-oh. Sorry."[/color] Christmas stared at the singe on the girl's ankle, but didn't protest. Kusari watched confounded as Christmas's healing light enveloped his body, somehow working in tandem with Sander's own aura. Since when was this a thing? As far as she knew Christmas needed to bleed for his healing to work. Was Sander taking it in some other way? The blood mage didn't seem to be losing control either. Whatever the case Sander wasn't about to bleed out in their dorm anymore. Good. She looked over towards Callan, she needed to be healed as well. Christmas turned to her and brought just that subject up. Callan refused. Kusari literally facepalmed. Did they really need to go over this again? [color=662d91]"What are you talking about? You may not be bleeding all over the place like Sander, but you're still hurt."[/color] She glanced down at Callan's ankle. She still wanted to know what happened that caused her to get a shock. [color=662d91]"That's going to scar you know? Are you alright with that?"[/color] The image of Christmas driving the knife into his arm at the security outpost flashed through her mind and Callan shrugged, not meeting Kusari's eyes. Of all the injuries she'd gotten over the last week, she felt the most responsible for this one. Sander hadn't made her lose control. That was on her. Stupid. It didn't feel right to make Christmas pay for it. "[color=a2d9ce]He'll scar just as easily... Not worth trading a burn for a cut,[/color]" Callan muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably under the girl's gaze. Christmas blinked at that, disappointed that her power couldn't bypass the bit of pain. Glad--immeasurably so--that she remembered him despite the ring of angry red skin around her ankle. Of course it hurt. Of course it wasn't pleasant. Not for him, not for her. But besides the small breaks that it seemed Sander could offer, he still remembered very clearly his role. They had said to make good choices, the nice lady and the tall man. They hadn't told him [i]how[/i], and he floundered his way through enough fear and indecision for twenty people just wondering where his choices began and ended. But the warmth around his right hand held firm and it reminded him of small things he could look back on. Memories to rely on in the storm. Someone holding him steady. [i]So it was okay for now.[/i] [color 8493ca]"If--"[/color] he hesitated, knowing what came next if she accepted, so he just breathed in deep and squeezed Sander's hand, the action almost reflex with the balancing breath, [color 8493ca]"--if you want. I'll..."[/color] he relaxed his grip, [color 8493ca]"...be okay."[/color] Hearing it from Christmas himself instead of Kusari definitely made the offer more tempting, but Callan shook her head. "[color=a2d9ce]Thanks, but--[/color]" she attempted a reassuring smile, but her mood wouldn't abide it for longer than a second, "[color=a2d9ce]I'd like to keep this one. I earned it.[/color]" A morbid reminder of what a monster she was, perhaps. Or the monster she wasn't. Didn't want to be? Christmas coughed quietly into the crook of his elbow, nodding his acknowledgment of the girl's decision. In a skewed way, like looking through a kaleidoscope, he kind of understood. It was similar to keeping his injuries, but he didn't think it was exactly the same for her. He turned back to Sander and waited, eyes flicking between the various wounds as they slowly knit back together. Kusari hoped Christmas insisting would convince Callan to let him heal her, but she still refused. She decided it wasn't worth arguing over, it was a minor injury anyway. However, she raised a brow at the last thing she said. [color=662d91]"What do you mean you earned it?"[/color] She asked. But before Callan would have the chance to answer Kusari shook her head. [color=662d91]"Nevermind, you obviously don't want to tell me."[/color] She pointed her thumb behind her head. [color=662d91]"Do you want to use our bathroom to clean yourself? you should at least clean those cuts."[/color] Callan tensed at Kusari's first question. Over the panicked static in her head, she almost didn't catch what she said after that. Kusari seemed to have a habit of asking questions that made her heart drop into her stomach. "[color=a2d9ce]N-no,[/color]" Callan raked her hand through the strands of her hair that had broken free of her ponytail, "[color=a2d9ce]That's alright.[/color]" The invitation was eerily familiar. Had Kusari felt just as strongly back then? Remembering Kusari without her top on, the image took on a whole new meaning. More than ever, Callan wanted to leave. But she still needed to talk to Sander. Entirely out of patience, she decided there had been enough standing around. "[color=a2d9ce]I'm gonna walk over to the hospital,[/color]" she said, regaining her composure. She straightened herself up and turned to leave, stopping before she passed Sander. She pinched the hem of his sweater and gave a light tug to grab his attention. "[color=a2d9ce]I need to talk to you,[/color]" she told him, her voice slightly lower. Her amethyst gaze locked with his, an aggrieved look in her eye. "[color=a2d9ce]Now.[/color]" This wasn't up for discussion. Sander closed his eyes, his mind keeping its restless vigil over the raging flame in him. But it was different now. The fire didn’t flare. It didn’t crackle and burst out of control at the slightest touch of red. It didn’t burn him when he reached for it. The high remained the same, raw and visceral and uncontrollable, but at least he had this. He had something. As the glow wrapped around him, he doused the fire slowly, watching as it grew weaker and weaker still. But he couldn’t snuff it out completely. It threatened to expose him to the full brunt of his wounds, and he didn’t think he could face the full consequences of his recklessness without the protective haze of the blood high. [i]She[/i] would laugh. But [i]she[/i] wasn’t here. He let the conversation went on around him, his grip on Christmas’ hand eventually grew slack, but he didn’t let go. The slight touch was comforting, and he wanted it. Maybe when this was all over, he would go lie down somewhere. Somewhere soft and warm and smelled faintly of coffee. A slight movement yanked him back into reality, and he blinked, staring down at dirty tennis shoes. Then words finally filtered through his tired thoughts enough to have meanings. He looked up at her face then, holding the steady amethyst gaze. The force of her tone alone told him what she wanted, and he knew she wouldn’t take no for answer. Not that he would give her that answer anyway. He was meaning to go back there. He didn’t want blood on his sheet, and there were still parts of his addled brain brazen enough to miss the [i]soft warmth beneath him[/i], despite the fears and uncertainties that gnawed at his every waking moments. “[color=cyan]Okay.[/color]” -He mumbled softly, then nodded, just in case Callan didn’t catch his breathy words. He looked at Christmas, then at Kusari. A slight frown creased his brows as he tugged on the blond boy’s hand –“[color=cyan]…come with?[/color]” -The question was clipped, but the voice behind it seemed far less strained now. Kusari frowned when Callan didn't take her up on her offer. She was kinda hoping to see the girl borrowing one of her shirts, as Kusari had done. Her size was clearly too small, but that was clearly the point. She shrugged. [color=662d91]"Alright then."[/color] She was about to walk back to her bed when she heard Callan ask to speak to Sander. She hoped whatever they talked about this time didn't lead to them coming back bloodied again. Sander looked her way, and seemed to ask if she wanted to come. [color=662d91]"Yeah... gonna pass on that one."[/color] She wasn't going to try and nudge her way into their conversation for the second time. She looked at Christmas, then to his hand which was joined with Sander's. [color=662d91]"After he's done healing you Christmas should stay too."[/color] Christmas's grip on Sander's hand tightened visibly, his knuckles white. His eyes jumped meaninglessly over the walls and floor and even through the gentle warmth of Sander's hand--the unnatural temperature lessened suddenly but the human heat remained and his breaths stuttered--he heard the rising tide boiling again and the distant hornet's nest. His bandaged hand rose to grip Sander's as well, clasping around the larger hand like a prayer--flimsy and thin and it would take a miracle for any god that mattered to hear it, but it was there. He was shaking again, and he looked at anywhere but Kusari's claws until his mind couldn't help itself and his fearful eyes fixed on the hand that had promised only pain and nothing more. Even now, not even pretending to offer. [color 8493ca]"Sander--I-I'll go--"[/color] Christmas whispered to the ground, then to the mark on his roommate's neck. He opened his mouth to say more but the words hooked barbs on his tongue and wouldn't come out. He shook his head instead, both hands tight enough to shiver around Sander's. [color 8493ca]"I'll go,"[/color] he just repeated the agreement, the sharp sting of yesterday's light cut agitated by the trembling pressure of his hold still drowned in the panic that threatened to catch him by the ankles. Sander looked down the blond boy’s shaky grip on his hand. This, he knew. Cold grips reminded him of fear, and he knew how to fix this. He might not know about the demons that haunted Christmas still, but [i]this[/i], he knew. He would fix it, at least he would try, when the fire held and he was still bold enough to be sure of his limbs. “[color=cyan]…not safe here…[/color]” -He leveled a gaze at Kusari, rage stiffened his features –“[color=cyan]H-He’s…with me.[/color]” The vise grip on Sander's hand relaxed marginally, but Christmas remained staring downward now that his eyes had finally drifted back to the ground and feet in front of him. Kusari raised a brow in confusion as Christmas stated that he would go with Sander. She didn't understand why he wanted to stick to Sander so much. It was getting late, soon enough curfew would kick in. Was she missing something? Callan simply wanted to speak with Sander alone, at least it seemed that way. There was no reason he had to tag along. She received some semblance of an explanation from Sander. What he said didn't quite register for a moment, because it was completely absurd to her. [color=662d91]"Excuse me?"[/color] She said, her expression was like a geyser ready to burst. [color=662d91]"What the fuck do you mean it's not safe here? There must be a ghost in this room I'm unaware of because I know you sure as hell aren't talking to me."[/color] Her right eye twitched, she was holding back from screaming at the top of her lungs. Christmas inhaled sharply and his hands grew white again on Sander's. He stared almost singularly at a small splash of blood on the ground now. The flame tugged once, firmly, and this time, Sander gave. Its heat bled into his thoughts again, searching for bits and pieces of memories that validated the sudden surge of rage. And it didn’t come up empty handed. The corners of Sander’s mouth curled up into a snarl as he gave Christmas’ hand a slight tug, to which the blond boy responded by moving toward him. “[color=cyan]You…[/color]” -Sander loosened the line of his jaws, waiting a beat for the throbbing to pass before he continued –“[color=cyan]…are dangerous. Unstable. You would hurt him.[/color]” -He motioned at Christmas with his free hand. “[color=cyan]You said you would hurt me, didn’t you?[/color]” Kusari let out a derisive scoff. [color=662d91]"I sure did. But it looks like someone did a number on you already."[/color] She noticed him pull Christmas closer to his body. Whatever their relationship was, she couldn't help but believe Christmas was being used. [color=662d91]"You of all people calling someone unstable... I've lost count of how many times you've lost it. And let's not forget who in this room has ever actually hurt Christmas. What would have happened if Shane didn't stop you, Sander?"[/color] She glanced at Christmas, she wasn't sure if he was even awake back then. Christmas didn't recognize the new name nor the accusation, and he didn't know what Kusari was referring to, but it had happened without his knowledge. So either in his sleep or when he was otherwise unaware. Trickles of doubt, [i]but he had already looked at the death in those red eyes and decided he was more than fear and Sander was more than slaughter[/i]. Three loops and he held on to that damaged, blue lifeline. Little things overflowing and small words catching. A warm hand holding him in place. [i][color 8493ca]I trust you.[/color][/i] He flinched at her words, their implications stirring the heat and hornets again, but didn't move away from Sander. Callan's restlessness was temporarily put on hold as the argument broke out. She carefully looked between the three roommates, but remained silent while trying to piece together the bits of information. She wasn't entirely sure what this was all about just yet, but... it didn't seem like it was anything good. Sander grinned at that. A full grin, all teeth and solid confidence, almost a tinge of madness at the edges. The blood went right to his head, and he snapped off the siphon, letting the red glow around him and Christmas fade. Just because he could. And he actually could. But agitation and rage washed over his small moment of victory. “[color=cyan]I got better.[/color]” -He said then, the crooked smile remained, but his voice was thick and low, traces of anger hidden within the words.“[color=cyan]Did you?[/color]” “[color=cyan]I am more than [i]this[/i][/color]” -He tapped a finger on the X on his throat –“[color=cyan]Are you?[/color]” Kusari was silent for a moment. She looked at her open right hand. It was a hand that could never do anything but hurt others. That's what she'd kept thinking to herself, but she wanted it to mean more than that. She thought back to one of the waking dreams she'd had. Her leg had sunk into the depths of that ocean, but when she pulled it out her leg wasn't filthy, it had become beautiful. It made her believe that perhaps the dream that turned her into a mage wasn't just a fantasy. Just as beauty was in the eyes of the beholder, her power used right could be a blessing. She lowered her hand and looked to Sander. [color=662d91]"Better? Yes, I have. And as far as I know you have been improving as well. But it's never going to stop, is it? I've heard about it, the ever present devil hanging over your shoulder. Can you resist your stigma forever?"[/color] Kusari shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. [color=662d91]"I'm not rooting against you, in fact I'd much prefer it if you stopped going berserk."[/color] Everything had been simmering and droning for a while in the background ever since the fight had started and Christmas's hands were cold, still clutching Sander's hand and still trying to shuffle thoughts into words that could fit his feeble voice and failing fortitude. He always failed when it mattered, because he just stood on the precipice of decisions he could clearly see, but couldn't follow through with. Burdening people with hopes he barely understood because he was too weak to carry them alone--he had asked Lily to let him do something right, but he had never explained what, just like not knowing [i]how[/i] to make good choices. For now--for now and he didn't know how long he could keep telling himself that--he didn't want the humming panic. [i]He had believed Sander yesterday. Doubts and fears and things he didn't know pulled at that faith, but it was Sander's strength he was borrowing. He decided to still believe.[/i] “[color=cyan]Better? Don’t give me that.[/color]” -Sander almost spat, but his tone was steady. Or strained, though that remained to be interpreted –“[color=cyan]Your actions clashed with your words, Kusari. And you don’t even need a Stigma for that.[/color]” He stopped for a quick huff of breath, red eyes still gleaming and fixed on the white-haired girl. The fire crackled loudly in the back of his mind, and his heart hammered, as if spurring him on. It was getting dangerously [i]hot, searing like white fire[/i], so he shifted his shoulders, pulling on the healing gashes. It only ached, the pain too dull for comfort. He gasped in another quick breath. A Christmas that wasn't wholly pathetic sighed somewhere inside that white noise haze and the words were out of his mouth and falling to the ground, so quiet he could hardly hear himself. [color 8493ca]"I trust you."[/color] Then Christmas’ voice cut through his thoughts. He blinked then, turning down to look at the blond boy. Something tightened in his chest, and he suddenly grew very still before his thoughts caught up with him. He was [i]here[/i]. He had to be [i]here[/i]. “[color=cyan]Oh.[/color]” -He raised his eyebrows, before mumbled a quick ‘thank you’. With eyes still slightly widened in shock, he turned to Callan, motioning with a thumb –“[color=cyan]Do you still want to…?[/color]” -He trailed off, letting her fill the blank. [color=662d91]"That's real rich, Sander."[/color] Kusari said, letting out an annoyed sigh. [color=662d91]"For someone with such tough skin it sure is thin. As if I'd attack Christmas, no matter how much of a shaky dog he acts. Who the hell do you think I am?"[/color] She'd almost slapped him, but she knew better. They needed to be better than those that kept them in captivity. [color=662d91]"I'm going outside."[/color] She walked past them, her eyes catching the burnt skin on Callan's leg. She couldn't possibly have been the one to hurt Sander, it didn't make sense. The girl didn't seem the type to lose her cool and try to tear someone apart. She needed to take a walk to calm down. Christmas didn't believe her between the screaming and the threatening claws (Had Sander said she wanted to hurt [i]him[/i], too? And had she confirmed it?), but he just focused on Sander's hand instead, caught between his own--one bandaged and one pale, but whole. Sander was trying. He had seen it in the forest and had seen it at the hospital. But he didn't know Kusari, who only had accusations, insults, and threats to direct at others as if she was above them. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't [i]want[/i] to be sure. So Christmas looked to other thoughts. She had helped him once in that blurry beginning where everything went so wrong all at once, but was that her? Was that how she tried? He didn't know and it was selfish of him because he could have thought on it more, but he'd rather not remember screeching demands and claws poised to strike. In desperation, he knew who he was. A coward. In desperation, he had seen Sander press a knife into his own chest. And in desperation he had seen Kusari raise her hand to strike. Not even pretending to offer. No. He didn't believe her. He held Sander's hand and trusted that strength behind the glowing eyes of a monster. Because he trusted Sander. Christmas's breaths only slowed down at last when Kusari's footsteps faded away. Nosy was something Callan had never considered herself to be, but with so much being laid raw before her, she couldn't help but hang on every word. Callan stepped out of the way to let Kusari pass, feeling the girl's gaze on her burn. She averted her eyes until she was far down the hall, lost in thoughts that couldn't seem to solidify themselves. Too many missing pieces-- for now. But she had enough for a few inklings. Blinking them away, she glanced briefly at Sander before moving forward. "[color=a2d9ce]Yeah. Come on.[/color]" [/hider] [/hider]