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[color=cb6b06][b]#cb6b06[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=d13b00][b]#d13b00[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=808080][b]ghost rider[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/w58Ii65][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=808080][b]descendant tower[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]............[/color] [color=00674f][b]#00674f[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=808080][b]sentinel[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/xSZgTDC][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=808080][b]descendant tower[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]It was no secret that the Ghost Rider wasn't always the most revered hero nor was he kept in tight circles of other heroes. Maybe it was because his dad wasn't always the most amiable. But when James took on the mantle of Ghost Rider, he wasn't kept in close communication with other organizations. He often wandered around the country, going wherever his [url=https://imgur.com/RzjKzdN]bike[/url] carried him. It rarely steered him wrong, taking directly toward whomever the spirit craved most. It wasn't a particularly glamorous job like Superman or Iron Man who both had international fame. But he did his part... whatever that was worth.

He knew about the heroes that had been disappearing. He couldn't go anywhere without hearing it, but it hardly affected him. No one he knew was gone, and even if they were what could he do? James had no connections, no network. And most people saw him as a monster, the type of shit children had nightmares about. Not a hero. It didn’t matter what good he did. So, rather than meddle in business that wasn't his place, he kept to himself and did what he did best... smiting assholes and dragging demons back to hell.

James was somewhere on the Pacific Coast Highway between Santa Cruz and Los Angeles when he got a phone call. If it wasn’t for the vibration in his pocket he never would have heard the ringtone over the roar of his engine. He pulled over on the shoulder of the highway and turned off his bike. He pulled off his helmet and tore off his leather glove with his teeth. His hands  fumbled for his phone in his back pocket and just managed to answer before the call was sent to voicemail. 

He didn’t get a chance to look at the caller I.D. before pinning the phone between his cheek and shoulder. [color=cb6b06]"Hello?"[/color]


[color=d6d6d6]"James?"[/color]

Stunned at the sound of his dad’s voice, James nearly dropped his phone as it slipped from his shoulder and bounced between his hands. He was barely able to catch it a foot from the asphalt, nearly tipping over his motorcycle in the process. [color=cb6b06]"Dad? Dad, is that you? It's so good to hear your voice! I thought with all the disappearances that maybe—"[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"I got a message."[/color] He sounded pained to have to speak with James, like he was merely doing it out of formality and wished to end the call as soon as possible. [color=d6d6d6]"It's for [i]the Ghost Rider[/i]... Which is you, not me."[/color] He then began to read out coordinates, a date, and time. James furiously dug into a saddle bag off the side of his bike, searching for something to write with. He found a sharpie, pulled the cap off with his teeth, and quickly tried to scrawl it all down on his arm. He did his best to get it all down because he knew his dad would only relay the information once. He didn’t seem to care less if James got it down correctly or not.

[color=cb6b06]"Dad—"[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"If you go missing, don't think we'll come looking for you. You're already gone to us."[/color] [i]Click.[/i] The line went dead.

James sat on his bike on the shoulder of the highway, staring down at the black screen of his phone. He didn’t move for the better part of an hour, lost in bewilderment as he stared at the scratchy information on his forearm. Part of him wanted to wipe it away and forget he ever heard about it. He didn't want to give his dad the satisfaction of him going and disappearing. Or maybe he should go, get captured, disappear... [i]die.[/i] Then that'd be one less fuck up in the world. He could go straight to hell taking the vengeance spirit with him where they'd no longer be anyone's burden.

It was a tempting option. But a part of James, the little boy inside of him, still wanted his dad's approval… Wanted to prove that he was a better person than the man his family thought he was. He wanted nothing more than to make his dad proud, which only made him hate himself more. He sighed, running his hands back through his shaggy black hair before he put back on his helmet and gloves. He started up his bike with a strong kick and sped off down the highway.

He pulled over at the first gas station he found, went inside, and grabbed an atlas. For the next hour, James sat on his bike with the map spread across the gas tank. He flipped through it page by page, until he came to Connecticut, where the coordinates finally lined up. [i]Bridgeport.[/i] This city was nearly as far away as possible within the damn country, but he had to try... for himself. James had a little over fifty-two hours to make his way from the West coast all the way to the East coast. He made a shitty roadmap and then took off, making his way toward New England.

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Sometimes, when she was in places such as a truck stop bathroom staring at old, moldy tiles, Zaria really missed the comfort of home. She’d had a glorious bathroom, a bathtub big enough to fit four people and a shower that cascaded over her head like rain water. Her bed had been big, and soft, not unlike how she’d imagine a cloud might feel. It was easy to get lost in those memories, because they were better than the memories of being beaten black and blue until she could protect herself and had learned to fight back. 

She’d preferred Logan’s method of teaching as opposed to her father’s, he hadn’t been needlessly brutal to teach her a simple lesson. Logan had wanted her to succeed, hadn’t judged her for who her father was, and had always been there to pick her up when she fell down. Logan was crass, and he could be brutal, but he cared in a way that was gentle in its quietness. She missed him more than she ever would miss her bathtub, and if she were still with him perhaps she wouldn’t care about shitty gas station showers. 

The water was lukewarm, the tiles beneath her flip-flop clad feet were likely once white but had taken a greenish hue, and the fixtures inside the shower were rusting. There was an odor in the bathroom barely overshadowed by her personal hygiene products, and it made the fresh smell of rainwater and fig barely surpass the very clear mildew smell. There were speakers in the bathroom, out of place country music being played across the entire station, and she was being really brave about the water quality itself because there was a slight yellow tinge to it. 

Overall, Zaria would not be giving this place a five star review. It was the only truck stop for miles though, and she was unwilling to rent a motel room for a night so she could take a shower. She’d hitch hiked here, but already decided she’d need to do something else once she’d left because she was tired of sleazy drivers hoping to get a prize. 

She let her mind wander as she rinsed out her conditioner, thinking about the group of motorcyclists that had been loitering outside of the truck stop, the teenaged girl who looked close to sleep behind the counter, and the old man who was reading the labels on the Monster energy drinks when she passed by. She couldn’t responsibly steal a car from any of them, it would be needlessly cruel, maybe a local junkyard had a clunker she could pay for with one of her cards? Chris P. Bacon still had a pretty good amount of money left on that line, and Sircole Jerkin was untouched. 

A new song came on over the station as she flipped off the water, wincing when the pipes squealed in protest. [i][color=d6d6d6]"Stand on the bar, stomp your feet, start clappin’. Got a real good feeling somethin’ bad about to happen."[/color][/i] Honestly, who listened to country music like this? She grumbled to herself, rubbing the towel a little rougher than necessary over her hair before she wrapped it around herself.

Zaria heard the door open, but she didn’t rush, there were plenty of other stalls to choose from if someone wanted. That was weird though, it sounded like there were a lot of people coming in…

James lost track of how many hours he had been riding when he finally reached a shitty rundown truck stop outside of Allentown, Pennsylvania. Traveling cross country, especially on a motorcycle, was no easy task and was nothing short of exhausting. Somehow he managed to only get two speeding tickets, which was a feat in and of itself, and he only stopped to eat or use the restroom. James was a little ahead of schedule and decided to make a quick stop to take a shower before heading out on the last leg of his journey. If he was going to die when he reached his destination, he’d at least smell good and not like gasoline and sweat. 

As someone who traveled light, he rotated three outfits that were basically identical and used whatever soaps were available in the various truck stops and motels he stayed at. It wasn’t glamorous. Spending years on the back of the bike he quickly learned what was a necessity and what wasn’t. In typical male fashion, soap was soap. He did have deodorant and cologne, James wasn’t a savage. But liquids like shampoo and body wash added unnecessary bulk and weight to his bag. Sometimes he’d splurge on the little travel sized ones. But traveling across the country in two days flat was not a time for him to be picky. 

He had to wait over fifteen minutes for an available shower to open up and while he had an hour or two to spare, it still made him second guess his decision to stop. James waited patiently, although his bouncing leg and tapping index finger said otherwise. He watched as two heavy set truckers that looked overdue for a shower a month ago proceeded him, followed by a blonde that looked a little out of place when it came to truck stops. His head cocked slightly, but he quickly brushed it off, having no room to judge. 

Finally, a few minutes later, his number was called. After stepping into the private stall area, James was surprised to see it was one of the nicer rest stops he had been to recently. Careless of the gross or germs, he kicked off his boots, stripped and stepped into the shower barefoot. It wasn’t like he had room in his bag for shower shoes… He also hated the concept of sandals on men, so there was that too. Between the potential athlete's foot and shitty grade truck stop soaps, it was probably a woman’s worst nightmare. 

The sound of shuffling feet filled the bathroom, sneakers slipping and squeaking on wet tile, Zaria ignored them in favor of getting dressed, though she’d only gotten into her undergarments when a man's voice cut through what would have been a relatively, if questionably sanitary, evening. She paused, a hand on her folded shorts. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Why don’t you come out here, sweetheart."[/color] His voice was gravely, like he’d smoked one too many cigarettes, and there was something in his tone that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Zaria’s mind kicked into overdrive, questions and scenarios running over each other in her haste to make sense of the sudden situation. 

[color=00674F]"Uhhh,"[/color] she said, very eloquently. [color=00674F]"I think I’ll pass, actually. Thanks!"[/color]

There was a snort and a snicker, both at the same time, and she rearranged the odds from one on one to three on one, which was less than favorable but doable in a pinch. There was a pause, as if the man wasn’t actually sure what to do with her response, but when he spoke next he sounded angry. 

[color=d6d6d6]"We can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Either you get out and come with us, or I’ll drag you back to Latveria by your hair."[/color] Zaria let out a soft breath, shoulders relaxing even as the muscles in her stomach clenched in anticipation. This wasn’t the first time he’d found her, it wouldn't be the last either she was sure. But there was a reason she hadn’t been dragged back yet. 

[color=00674F]"That changes things,"[/color] she allowed, undoing the hatch and letting the cheap blue stall door swing open. She’d been wrong, it wasn’t three. The group of motorcyclists she’d seen outside earlier weren’t as normal as she’d assumed, and there were at least eight of them. Zaria left her arms loose at her sides, ignoring the lecherous looks the men were giving her as she appraised them and the gravity of it all set in. [color=00674F]"Those boots have rubber in the soles?"[/color]

Her tone was a little too bright, and one of the bigger men in the back shifted as if it was a question that made him uncomfortable. Most of them were wearing cowboy boots, which along with the music made no fucking sense to her. Were they in Texas? Last time she’d checked a map, they weren’t. The water collected on the floor wasn’t much, but it was enough. 

[color=d6d6d6]"...What?"[/color] The man who had spoken was, well, he was fugly. His beard had missing patches, skin yellowing and sagging. The others looked like they were in better shape at least, they’d be more of an issue, but their supposed ringleader looked like one smoke break away from dropping dead. That was great. 

[color=00674F]"I guess we’ll find out."[/color] Zaria smiled, and they caught on a second later. The lights flickered, going dim and then frightfully bright, as the energy she’d stored up sparked between her fingers, arcing across the damp ground. Only two of the men fell, twitching and letting out deep, gurgling screams. She’d barely had time to focus on that, because one of them was [i]fast.[/i] The man was gangly, and he overtook the overs in just three strides, the glint of something sharp clenched in his hand. 

Zaria let her muscle memory take over, eyes narrowed in concentration as her all too familiar game of [i]barely there[/i] began. There was a sort of thrill that made her heart flutter each time she stood still for just a second longer than necessary, when she could see the whites of their eyes, and then she’d dart away. It lasted less than sixty seconds, bobbing and weaving around the man's calculated swings. He wasn’t trying to kill her, just hurt her enough to put her out of order. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Fucking, stand still!"[/color] He finally snarled, looking like he was ready to throw the knife at her. Zaria caught the glimpse of another of the men coming up behind her, her chest rising and falling quickly, and she made a decision. She stopped, stood still for even longer than she had before, and the knife soared through the air, glinting off the luminescent lights. She ducked at the last possible second, feeling a few strands of her hair cut free and trailing down her back. 

There was a startled yelp from behind her, and then a thump. Zaria twisted, hands and knees slipping against wet tile, and caught a glimpse of one of the men on the floor, the knife sticking out of his eyesocket. She had a second of dim realization that maybe they [i]were[/i] trying to kill her, and it was just enough of a distraction to not get away from the boot that slammed into her side with enough force to bruise. Her scream was cut off as her back hit the edge of the stall behind her, but she rolled out of the way of the next kick. 

Anger made the men sloppy, but it made her mind cool and calm. A quiet part of her brain registered that there were five of them left, and then more electricity was leaping from her palms, a lightbulb burst over the sink, and another man fell, his chest charred and smoking. One of the men leapt at her, his hand curling around her ankle, just as the bathroom door slammed open. 

James had just finished rinsing the shitty truck stop shampoo from his shaggy black hair. As he stood beneath the stream of lukewarm water he could have swore he heard some rustling or a bump against the side of his stall. At first he thought nothing of it. It wasn’t that uncommon to catch people getting in a quickie in the showers. He had heard his fair share and learned to just tune it out. But then he heard a shout that was indiscernible from the water. It wasn’t his place, but he felt the spirit inside of him stirring which only meant one thing…

He turned off the taps and stepped out onto the slick wet tiles. James quickly grabbed a towel, tied it around his waist and tucked in the outer corner to keep it from falling. He pulled open the stall door and poked his head out into the hallway. The moment his eyes fell on a group of greasy, smelly looking bikers, steam rose from James’s skin, evaporating the lingering water that dripped from his nose. A deep and sinister laugh emerged from the caged beast inside and rumbled his chest. The spirit’s voice rang out in his head, rattling the bars of its fleshy prison. [i][color=d13b00]I smell sin.[/color][/i]

James sighed, stepping out into the hall. [color=cb6b06]"Guys, this isn’t a peep show. If you aren’t showering then get out."[/color] Annoyance, but mostly exhaustion, painted his words as he took a step forward while motioning toward the exit. He shoved his way through the group of bikers, towering over most of them and twice as lean as all of them. He managed to get just within sight of the adjacent stall to see a blonde woman get kicked and thrown into a wall. 

A meaty hand covered in faded tattoos and far too many superbowl sized rings wrapped around James’s arm before he could take a step further. [color=d6d6d6]"Go back to your shower, [i]pretty boy[/i], and you can [i]keep[/i] that pretty face."[/color] The other three men out in the hall turned to face him with sickening golden and gap toothed grins. 

[color=d13b00]"He thinks you’re pretty, James,"[/color] a voice deeper than his own scratched at the back of James’s throat. 

The man’s grip tightened on his arm, vying for control and dominance, while his face looked confused and a little disgusted like a gay man had just hit on him and he couldn’t be more offended. [color=d6d6d6]"[i]James?[/i] I’m Larry."[/color]

James’s gaze fell to the man’s hand, grip tight enough to make the skin beneath it go white. [color=cb6b06]"He wasn’t talking to you,"[/color] James’s own voice rang out, higher than the last tone that left his lips but still deep and somber. 

There was a stillness in the air for a fraction of a second, before James’s arm broke free of the man’s hold. His hand shot up and grabbed a hold of [i]Larry’s[/i] throat before slamming him backwards into the tile wall. Fire engulfed James’s hand as his grip tightened, the ivory bones of his phalanges curled into the meaty flesh of the biker’s neck. The flames trailed up James’s arm and ran down his body like he was doused in gasoline and Larry’s existence lit the fuse. The [i]pretty boy face[/i] was gone, replaced with a hollow eyed skull set ablaze. 

Larry let out a scream that sounded more in line with a woman coming across a spider, rather than a man of his stature and ego. [color=d13b00]"That’s right, squeal little pig."[/color] The Ghost Rider laughed manically as he lifted the fat bastard off the ground and watched his feet flail around. The biker begged for mercy and clawed at the skeletal hand to try and get free, while his [i]friends[/i] watched in a terrified silence, stumbling a few feet backwards. 

The Ghost Rider pulled the man from the wall and brought him in close, hovering in the air, until his blotchy, sweaty face was mere inches from the sinister skull. [color=d13b00]"Look me in the [i]EYES![/i]"[/color] The fire crackled and grew like the man’s fear fed the flames. Larry fought and squirmed until his eyes finally squinted open and locked onto the black voids of the Ghost Rider’s stare. The man let out a blood curdling scream as every pain he had ever inflicted in his life was turned against him seven fold. Every punch, stab, lie, and murder came crashing down on Larry, chipping away at his mind and soul. The spirit held his gaze until the fight drained out of him. All that was left was a sobbing, pissed stained lump of shit that fell into a useless heap on the ground. 

The other three men looked between one another, terrified, before trying to run for the exit. The Ghost Rider grabbed a small silver chain around his wrist and whipped it back behind him. In a flick the bracelet grew into a twenty foot long chain covered in hellfire, launched forward and wrapped around the men’s ankles. [color=d13b00]"Not so fast!"[/color] the demonic voice rumbled with a malevolent enthusiasm as he gave the chain a swift tug and knocked the bikers to the ground.

Zaria didn’t notice what was happening at first, the man who had caught her ankle had dragged her back across the slick floor toward himself. He had the advantage of weight and height, his hold bruising as he manhandled her. There was a moment when his other hand, out of sight for her, had dropped to his belt and the color from her face had drained, assuming the worse, and then the sharp kiss of a blade was pressed to her side and she felt an absurd sense of relief. Then, a scream that wasn’t hers and that she hadn’t caused cut through the air. 

Both Zaria and the man froze from their scuffle, gazes reflexively moving toward the door. One of the men she’d electrocuted when it all first started seemed to be waking up, but that was barely registering for her. The thing that really caught her attention was the flaming, talking, skeleton. Her mind went blank, uncomprehending, and behind her the man stiffened. 

[color=d6d6d6]"What the fuck?"[/color] She mentally echoed her attacker’s confusion, uncertain if she should be glad for the help or terrified of the new variable. Zaria was no novice when it came to fighting men, she’d even fought other people with powers like she had, but this? It was like something out of a nightmare. Had her father sent him? No, she shook the thought as soon as it came. If he had, there was no reason for them to be fighting.

She needed to get away, if she could slip away now she could hopefully fall under the things radar, but the man was still holding the knife to her side. She just needed to move fast, as long as she did then— a sharp, biting pain followed the thought, and a choked sound dragged from Zaria’s throat as the knife sunk into the delicate skin of her waist. The fucker had actually stabbed her. She had a second to register how unbelievably pissed off that fact made her, and then the knife was being twisted and she was trying not to scream. 

[color=d6d6d6]"What kind of freak are you traveling with?"[/color] He snarled, grappling with her when she kicked out at him, hand slipping from where he’d been holding awkwardly to her ankle to jump at the more suitable spot around her throat. [color=d6d6d6]"What did he do to Larry, you bitch?"[/color] 

That was an excellent question, Zaria conceded. Not really any of her business, but the whole thing had spiraled pretty fast. Her vision was dimming around the edges, and desperation clawed up her throat like a monster begging to be set free. There was a split second where she knew what she had to do, but really, really didn’t want to do it, and then Zaria did it anyway. 

The shock of electricity that jolted through where the knife was connected inside her body to the man’s hand wasn’t nearly as strong as any of the others. She was in pain, and flagging, and it hurt her too. Their screams twisted into the air together in the mockery of a symphony, and he let go of the knife but not her throat. His eyes were wild now, and he kept Zaria between himself and the bag of fire bones, smart even as he got some electric therapy.

The mystical chain tightened around the men’s ankles and dragged them along the floor toward the flaming horror. While the sin pouring off of the bikers was palpable enough that the Ghost Rider could feast for days, James, while in the backseat, tried to steer their attention toward the woman being attacked. But they couldn’t very well leave those men to run off like the cowards they were either. Opting for the quicker solution, he walked up to them, kicked one in the jaw and slapped the other two’s heads together, leaving them unconscious in a pile on the floor. 

Hearing the shouts of another angry man caught the Ghost Rider’s attention. The skull slowly pivoted beneath the flames to look in the direction of the stall. One man stirred in the corner while another was beneath the woman as sparks of electricity danced across the damp ground around them. With a flick of his hand, the chain relinquished its hold around the three cowardice men on the floor. A skeletal foot stepped through the door and into the puddle of standing water without a moment's hesitation. His free hand took the waking man’s head and slammed it back into the wall, knocking him unconscious before he could attempt to fully awake the first time. 

As he stepped closer to the woman and man beneath her, electricity climbed up the skeletal form and along his chain, yet the Ghost Rider seemed unphased. He willed the chain to loosen its grasp on the unconscious biker’s ankles and shorten, snaking its way into the stall until it dangled, a few feet in length, at his side. The skull spared a glance at the blonde before he whipped the chain at the man and it constricted around his throat. 

[color=#CB6B06]"[/color][color=#CB6805]D[/color][color=#CB6605]o[/color] [color=#CC6204]y[/color][color=#CC6004]o[/color][color=#CC5E04]u[/color] [color=#CD5A03]w[/color][color=#CD5803]a[/color][color=#CD5603]n[/color][color=#CD5403]t[/color] [color=#CE4F02]h[/color][color=#CE4D02]i[/color][color=#CE4B02]m[/color] [color=#CF4701]d[/color][color=#CF4501]e[/color][color=#CF4301]a[/color][color=#D04100]d[/color][color=#D03F00]?[/color][color=#D03D00]"[/color] Two deep voices mingled, speaking over top of one another. One was James’s, caring, protective, and seeking approval, while the other was gravelly and menacing, causing sparks to flicker in the hollows of its eyes.


Zaria was left stunned for a moment, chest rising and falling quickly as she stared up at the…man? Skeleton? She shoved her attacker's hand away from her throat when the chain locked around his own neck, eyes wide and startled. She wasn’t sure why, but she hadn’t expected help. The question sat heavy on her shoulders, and for a moment she wasn’t sure. 

But Zaria was in a lot of pain, and she was scared, and confused, and he had stabbed her. Say what you will about her father, but he would have never condoned her being killed. He would sooner lock her up and attempt to reform her in his perfect image than lose years of work shaping her. The moment the men had shifted from trying to kidnap her to trying to kill her, they stopped working for Doom. 

The thought of her father and all the conflicting emotions surrounding him and home, alongside the throbbing pain in her side, made Zaria’s bottom lip wobble traitorously. She didn’t look down at the man, her eyes set on the sparking holes of where the skeletons' own eyes ought to have been. [color=00674F]"Yes."[/color] The word was little more than a whisper, but she meant it reverently. 

Her left hand curled around the handle of the knife sticking out of her side, but she didn’t pull it free. Instead, Zaria sort of…rolled off the man, closer to the skeleton, until she was half sitting, half kneeling in front of the creature as she tried to catch her breath. She didn’t want to be on top of the man when he died. 

The words had barely left the woman’s lips when the skeletal hand jerked and snapped the man’s neck. With the attackers unconscious or dead, James could feel the spirit’s control waning as he slipped back into the driver’s seat. Before the flames dissipated, the Ghost Rider squatted down beside the woman and placed a bony hand on the hilt of the dagger. [color=cb6b06]"Brace yourself."[/color] The demonic voice was gone, leaving only James’s calm words to contrast the nightmarish visage of the flaming skull. In a steady but quick motion, he pulled out the knife and covered the wound with his hand. At first the flames were cool, but then he let the heat rise and sear her skin, cauterizing the gash. It was the best he could manage. 

As the vengeance spirit slipped back into its cage, the flames died. All that was left was James, no longer damp from the shower, pale and muscular, with dark circles under his eyes from two days without sleep… [i]and naked.[/i] At some point in the scuffle he must have lost his towel out in the hall. Every part of his body was left bare and in full view of the unknown blonde woman. James cleared his throat and dropped his hands between his legs as redness flooded to his cheeks. He quickly stood up and slipped into the hall to find his towel. After wrapping it around his waist, he poked his head back into the stall with an apologetic smile. [color=cb6b06]"Are… Are you ok?"[/color]

In none of the scenarios that Zaria had ever pictured in which she saw an attractive stranger naked did they also transform into a flaming skeleton. Honestly, that was her bad. She didn’t have an imagination that good because reality was, apparently, just better. 

She hadn’t been expecting to have the wound cauterized, she healed freakishly fast and hadn't been all that concerned about the actual stab wound, so the burning had startled a cry of pain from her. One of her hands automatically snapped out, fingers curling around a forearm that was suddenly more flesh than bone. Her eyes had automatically lowered, surprise taking over in the place of pain until Zaria realized just what she was ogling and ripped her eyes away from the sight. She let go of his arm like he’d burnt her again, her own face flushed and hot. 

She didn’t blame him for simply standing up and leaving, though her eyes bounced back once on his retreating form, catching sight of his ass and then bouncing away again. She fought down the urge to laugh, it was so ridiculous and apparently skeleton shifting men were [i]very[/i] fit. Zaria sat there for a second, rubbing her fingers delicately over the tender and raised skin on her side, before everything that had just happened caught up to her. 

She slapped a hand over her face, diligently not thinking about the naked man who had easily wiped out what had been left of the group of men, rushing to get dressed herself. None of it had been quiet, and it was more than likely someone had called the cops. It wouldn’t be long before someone was coming around to ask her questions that she had no desire to answer. 

Zaria had just started for the door, shorts on but her jacket and bag in both hands. The bra she’d been wearing was sewn in a lace pattern, black snakes placed perfectly over the sheer fabric to protect her modesty but still was revealing all the same. She stopped short at the reappearance of the man, eyes automatically dropping to the towel before back up toward his face. Her cheeks heated up again, a rosy flush crawling down her chest and dipping into her visible cleavage.

[color=00674F]"Yeah, I’ll heal. Um, thank you for..."[/color] Zaria waved a hand behind her, clearly meaning the situation as a whole. She shifted, the dog tags clinked together over her bra, and she juggled everything in her hands to absentmindedly shove the necklace down beneath the fabric and out of sight. [color=00674F]"Sorry that it interrupted your shower, I..."[/color]

Her nose scrunched up some, little more than a delicate crinkle that rippled across her face like water for a moment, and then Zaria was fishing a bottle out of her bag. It was all white, a blue label etched into the plastic, and she thrust it into his arms unceremoniously. [color=00674F]"Here, take my bodywash. I literally don’t have any money to pay you back, I’m really sorry. I’ve got to get going before… well, yeah. This will smell better than the crap they have here. I’m sorry."[/color] 

Zaria spoke quickly, feeling rushed and flustered. She didn’t like owing anyone anything, but she most certainly owed this man a debt now. All she had were fraudulent credit cards and nice hygiene products though, so she had to choose one. She squeezed past him in the doorway as she spoke, stepping over bodies carefully, chest brushing against his. She could feel the sheer warmth radiating off of him, and her side throbbed again making her feel lightheaded and dizzy. 

[color=00674F]"I’m..."[/color] Zaria paused in the doorway, head tilted back to look up into his eyes. She wanted to remember his face instead of the nightmare fuel from before, so her gaze swept slowly over the ridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, lingering on how his dark lashes framed his eyes. He smelled like cheap gas station shampoo, and a fire on a cold night. The smell of her own shampoo mixed in the air, her hair still damp and falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Well, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating when he was only wearing a towel. Her lips quirked into a half smile, cheeks dimpled, and before she could stop herself she reached out. The tip of her pointer finger pressed into his chest, and she nodded to herself as if pleased to find that he still had skin. [color=00674F]"Thanks again, bone man."[/color]

And without another word, Zaria twisted on her heel and fled the gas station.

The woman was a whirlwind. More than once he tried to interject but the words never quite made it past his lips. His dark hooded eyes followed her as she frantically grabbed her things and shoved a bottle of, what he could only assume was expensive women’s bodywash, into his hands. James wanted to mention that she didn’t owe him anything. Hell, that was half as bad as the shit he got into in Vegas a few years back. One death at his hands was minimal, whether or not he agreed with the spirit’s killing. But again, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. That time his attention was distracted by the embroidered black snakes that just barely covered her—nope. No. 

James looked anywhere else but there as she slipped past him in the doorway. His hand reflexively caught the towel around his waist before she accidentally took it with her as she brushed past him. His gaze fell to the finger that poked his chest before looking up into her eyes as she thanked him before she disappeared out into the convenience area of the gas station. He was left a bit dumfounded, bodywash in one hand, the other clutching the towel to cover his manhood while his bare ass was out in the open… again. [color=cb6b06]"You’re welcome?"[/color] he muttered to her retreating form as the door shut between them. 

Zaria had rushed out, not making eye contact with anyone as she hurried from the building. There were sirens very far off in the distance, little more than a haunting echo in the afternoon, and so she wasted no time in beelining for the motorcycles lined up outside the truck stop. They were all nice, but one that was parked a little further from the rest was nicest. Matte black, leather seat well cared for, highlights of red around the rims. She grinned as she slid onto the bike, running her hands across the handles with a soft hum of appreciation. 

She’d done this enough times with Logan to know exactly how much of a shock a bike needed to jumpstart it, and so it was with careful patience and precision that she ran her fingers across the side of the bike. Little sparks jumped from her fingers and the motorcycle roared to life, engine rumbling, and she wasted no time in peeling out of the gas station gravel kicking up behind her. 

The air was refreshingly cold after the warm shower, gooseflesh spreading across her body as Zaria’s hair whipped behind her hair in the breeze. Riding motorcycles always reminded her of Logan, of feeling the shock of freedom for the first time. It was addicting.

Ok, so James was confused. Who was she? Who were those men? Why were they after her? What was with the electricity? And at least twenty more rattled around in his head as he stood there frozen like a statue. He didn’t manage to get a single one out before she was gone. His gaze drifted across the various unconscious men before landing on the one killed by his own hand—er, chain? [color=cb6b06]"Fuck,"[/color] he cursed under his breath. He dipped back into his own stall and locked the door behind him. 

While the bodywash was a nice gesture… he guessed? James definitely didn’t have the time to attempt a second shower. So, shitty gas station soap and all, it had to suffice. He could only hope he didn’t smell too bad. One positive to the whole flaming skeleton thing was not needing to dry off. He was able to slip into his clean clothes quickly, bundle up all his shit into his arms, including the bodywash, grab his boots, and hurry out of the shower area. Wandering and judgemental gazes from various customers and the clerk behind the counter were trained on him as he darted for the door, bare feet slapping against the floor in the heavy silence. 

He burst out the exit and headed to the side of the building where several weathered Harleys were lined up without their riders. James’s pace slowed as his gaze frantically sifted through the different bikes until he found his black helmet discarded on the ground and his motorcycle nowhere in sight. [color=cb6b06]"Son of a bitch!"[/color] he shouted and threw his boots on the ground in frustration. 

The hum of sirens rang out ominously in the distance as he paced back and forth, running his hand back through his hair. James sat on the edge of the curb, quickly and aggressively shoving on his boots, not having the time to waste on lacing them up or socks for that matter. He scooped up his belongings and hastily started walking down the shoulder of the state route in the opposite direction of the closing in sirens. [i]What the hell was he going to do!?[/i]

Gravel and shards of glass from long forgotten car accidents crunched beneath his combat boots as he trudged forward as fast as his feet could carry him without running. James’s mind ran through the various possibilities and solutions, but whoever took his bike was easily miles away by then and the distance was only growing.

[i][color=d13b00]Summon it,[/color][/i] the spirit demanded inside his mind. 

James’s pace slowed. [color=cb6b06]"I can’t,"[/color] he replied outloud. [color=cb6b06]"If I light up now the cops will only find us faster."[/color]

[i][color=d13b00]...Summon it,[/color][/i] the voice demanded again, fueled by urgency and rage.

He sighed, glancing back over his shoulder toward the truck stop that was around the bend behind him, obstructed by a small patch of woods and a parked semi. James’s feet carried him a bit further until he could no longer see the gas station at all and then he stopped. He waited until the road was empty and quickly released control. His body went up in a roar of flames and smoke as his right hand shot out in front of him. [color=d13b00]"[i]Come![/i]"[/color] the spirit commanded with a low growl that rumbled in the Rider’s throat. 

Once the summon was sent, the fire fizzled out as quickly as it ignited, leaving behind James, flustered and pissed as he continued down the road. He could only hope the bike showed up… before the cops did.

One second she was enjoying the literal joyride of her life, and then everything…got really weird, really fast. Zaria yelped as the bike reversed, scrambling for a better hold on the handles as her hair whipped into her eyes and mouth. She tried to put on the brakes, to turn the steering, and was just starting to contemplate how long it would take to heal if she jumped off when the bike screeched to a halt. She knocked into the handles, winded from the impact, trying not to grow panicked as the sirens grew louder in the distance, and then she spotted him. 

There was a very awkward moment where Zaria stared at him, and he stared at her, and she tried to not look as confused and flustered as she felt. [color=00674F]"I’m guessing this isn’t one of their bikes?"[/color] Her whole face was scrunched up in a wince, noting how angry the stranger looked and hurrying to try and scramble off the bike. She fumbled with the kickstand, planning fully to jump off and create some space between them in case he decided to go all Skeletor on her. [i]Did his clothes vanish each time he did that?[/i] Zaria’s cheeks were already flushed from the cold and the rush of riding, but they darkened further at that thought. [color=00674F]"I didn’t think it was [i]yours[/i] or I wouldn’t have taken it, here, I’ll just uhh…"[/color] 

James exhaled, rolling his eyes as his Harley-Davidson Night Rod came speeding around the corner with none other than the blonde from before sitting on it. He took a step in the way as the motorcycle slowed as it approached him, coming to a stop with the front tire between his legs and his hands on the handlebars. [color=cb6b06]"This was the nicest bike in that place and you thought it was their’s?"[/color] If James wasn’t already pissed and worried about being arrested he might have been insulted at the insinuation. 

The sound of sirens was closing in and couldn’t be far around the bend. He needed to go, but he wasn’t letting her out of his sight without answers either. When the girl went to stand, James shoved his helmet at her. [color=cb6b06]"Scoot,"[/color] he demanded. He shoved his belongings haphazardly into his saddlebag before climbing onto the bike in front of her, making sure not to hit her with his leg as he swung it over the chassis. He flipped up the kickstand and revved the engine in one swift move. Then, just as the flashing blue and red lights peeked around the edge of the trees, he peeled out of there and sped up the street going nearly one hundred miles an hour.

Zaria was dumbfounded as she moved the helmet onto her head, not having bothered with it before or ever in the past. She’d had only a few moments to feel a wave of panic at the new arrangement, and then he was going twice the speed she’d been driving only minutes earlier. Her hands reflexively found a hold on his shoulders, catching the fabric of his shirt between her clenched fists. It was clear that she was trying to keep some space between them, flustered by the turn of events and by the fact that she’d seen him naked not very long ago, they probably looked like an ad for a church’s motorcycle group with how she was leaving room for the Lord or whatever. 

They rode faster than what anyone would consider safe for several miles before James felt comfortable enough pulling off the side of the road down a dirt path. He finally came to a stop once they were fully out of view of the state route, deep within the woods. He shut off the engine and flipped down the kickstand before getting up. Turning around to face the girl still on the back of his bike, James leaned down slightly and flipped up her visor to meet her gaze. His eyes squinted. [color=cb6b06]"You owe me answers,"[/color] he said, making demands of her a second time. 

Her breath hitched for a moment as the visor was flipped up, and she blinked in a way that was both dazed and astonished. He wanted answers, but hadn’t asked any questions? Zaria waited until he retreated some before tugging the helmet off and quickly sliding off the bike, setting it on the seat so her arms were free.

James walked around to the side of his bike and squatted down. His hands sifted around the dirty clothes to pull out a pair of socks and her bodywash. He held out the white bottle to her with a little nudge. [color=cb6b06]"Keep it,"[/color] he said gently. After she took it back he sat down on the ground a few feet away and pulled off his boots. Since they weren’t going anywhere until he got an explanation, James figured he could take the time to finish getting dressed… properly. 

She took the bottle with an offended sort of frown, it was way better than gas station shit. Honestly, men and their lack of appreciation for good hygiene. Well, he wanted answers? Fine.

[color=00674F]"One point seven seven two. Are you going to ask me an actual question? Or do you want me to list the entire square root of pi?"[/color] Her tone was tight and defensive, arms crossed across her chest and bag discarded at her feet. Zaria realized then that she was still wearing her shower flip-flops and she felt a rush of embarrassment, the adrenaline was only just starting to fade. 

She could feel the ache of her muscles more clearly now, the slight stiffness in her fingers from having used so much electricity so quickly, the throbbing pain in her side where she’d been stabbed and cauterized. She was trying not to look as exhausted as she suddenly felt, and a fresh wave of grief made her eyes water some. She missed Logan.

James rolled his eyes in a slightly mocking gesture as she skirted around the question. She knew damn well what he was asking, but fine, if she wanted it spelled out, then he’d spell it out. [color=cb6b06]"Alright fine."[/color] He sighed as she started putting on his socks. [color=cb6b06]"Who are you? Who were those men? Why were they trying to kill you?"[/color] Those three questions felt like an easy place to start and summarized the bigger gaps in his knowledge, for the time being anyway. 

He had his right foot half way in the boot when he looked up and noticed the water building in her eyes. [color=cb6b06]"Woah, hey,"[/color] his voice was more gentle than the questions he rattled off a moment earlier. James wasn’t trying to be a [i]complete[/i] dick. She did, after all, try to steal his bike and got him into a little more trouble than he cared to be. But he wasn’t trying to make her cry either. It wasn’t like he was going to go all Ghost Rider and smite her or something… Or, at least not without a reason. She hadn’t set off the vengeance spirit so there was no reason to jump to that conclusion. He didn’t like the idea of getting aggressive with a woman. He usually kept his dealings to shitty men, if he could help it. 

[color=cb6b06]"Look,"[/color] he said, holding his hands up innocently. [color=cb6b06]"I’m not gonna go all flame-skull and I’m not going to turn you into the cops. Ok?"[/color] James studied her face. [color=cb6b06]"I don’t think either one of us is a fan of a night in jail,"[/color] he added with an exhausted laugh. He wasn’t the best when it came to cheering up people, and even if he was pissed she stole his bike, James wasn’t trying to scare her or make her cry. The last thing he wanted to do was make a woman cry. Fat assholes like Larry? Well, that’s a different story.

Zaria waved the man off, she could appreciate the kindness but he hadn’t caused her distress, not really. He was right, she could think of at least fifty other things she’d rather be doing than spending a night in jail, and it was reassuring to know he wasn’t planning to kill her. She ran a hand through her hair, wincing when her fingers got caught in a few knots. 

[color=00674F]"You can call me Aria,"[/color] she spoke after a long pause, having weighed her options. She really did owe him some answers, he’d helped her get out of a tight spot and not expected anything in return up until now. And she’d stolen his bike. [color=00674F]"Those men weren’t [i]supposed[/i] to try and kill me, I don’t know what that was, I think I just pissed them off too much…my dad sent them to bring me home."[/color]

She took an unsteady breath and looked toward the man, his name still unknown to her. It added a level of discomfort to the whole thing, and she found herself absentmindedly pulling the dog tags free from and holding onto them, a gesture that brought her a soft sense of comfort. [color=00674F]"I don’t go by my full first name, so Aria is all you’ll get from me but…my last name is von Doom."[/color]

Victor von Doom was, unfortunately, the closest thing to a household name a villain could be. Unless this guy lived under a rock, well…actually, maybe it would be nice if he didn’t know. She was watching his face closely, knowing she should be tense and ready for the judgment that usually followed, but was too tired to find the energy to care. 

He finished slipping on the boot and worked on lacing it up as she gave him her answers. James was thankful he didn’t have to argue or pry to get something from her. He didn’t expect an essay, but considering he was letting her off pretty easily, it was the least she could do. [color=cb6b06]"Your dad sounds like a dick,"[/color] he replied as he slipped on his other boot. Of course he knew the name von Doom, he wasn’t a simpleton. But he was also living proof that no matter how good or bad a man was, he could be entirely different towards his children. Case and point, his own father. A decent man by all intents and purposes, yet now he wanted nothing to do with James. He wasn’t going to draw conclusions based on who her father was or wasn’t.

[color=cb6b06]"Jameson Blaze—James,"[/color] he added as he finished lacing up the second shoe. James figured the least he could do was give her his own name. Although his name carried little to no weight. He pushed off the ground and got back to his feet, dusting off the back of his pants as he made his way back over to his bike. He grabbed his deodorant and cologne from his bag and put both on before shoving them back away somewhere between the lump of dirty clothes. 

He looked down at his watch, noticing he was now a half an hour behind. [color=cb6b06]"Fuck,"[/color] he muttered under his breath. James looked back up and met her gaze. [color=cb6b06]"I’m running late. Is there somewhere I can drop you or…?"[/color] It definitely was not the smartest thing he had ever done, offering a ride to someone who seemed to attract problems and stole his bike. But he also couldn’t leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere either. 

That startled a laugh out of her. Her dad was a huge dick, it was nice to have that validated by someone other than Logan. A smile tugged her lips up some. [color=00674F]"Wait, your last name is Blaze and you can turn into a blazing Skeletor? Are you fucking with me?"[/color] 

Then again, her dads last name was Doom and he was a notorious villain. Maybe Zaria ought not to judge, and she could appreciate the fact that he didn’t seem to be judging her on her past. Maybe she could…

James actually let out a mix between a laugh and sigh as he zipped up his leather jacket, preparing to set off. [color=cb6b06]"Trust me, the irony isn’t lost on me either. And [i]technically[/i] it’s Ghost Rider… Although Skeletor sounds cooler,"[/color] he added while reaching around her to grab his helmet from the motorcycle’s seat.

[color=00674F]"That’s nice of you, but I’ve already inconvenienced you enough."[/color] His question broke her train of thought, and she squatted down to pull out her own socks and boots from her bag, trading out one flip flop at a time but doing a sort of balancing shimmy act instead of sitting in the dirt. The movement unconsciously pressed her cleavage tighter, the little sewn snakes doing minimal to hide everything with the change of angle. [color=00674F]"Unless you’re going to Connecticut, you can’t really help me. I can just walk until I find someone to hitch hike with, or a bus stop. Wouldn’t be the first time."[/color]

He froze after spinning around the helmet in his hands. James’s gaze drifted over to her, being sure to avoid anywhere below her face… Even if the black snacks fought to steal his attention. [color=cb6b06]"I am… actually,"[/color] he replied, apprehension apparent in the questioning way he dragged out the last word. [color=cb6b06]"Bridgeport specifically,"[/color] he added, fishing to see if it was more than a simple coincidence. 

[color=00674F]"You’re fucking me."[/color] She said, voice perfectly deadpan. She wobbled some, almost losing her balance with her foot sliding into her last boot. Zaria stood up straight, stomping her foot into the ground until a small dirt cloud puffed into the air and her foot slid in all the way. [color=00674F]"Why are [i]you[/i] going to Bridgeport?"[/color]

There was caution heavy in her tone, and her eyes darted to her bag where Logan’s pager was and back to James. Genuinely, what were the odds? The realization that there were too many things that made this entire meeting unlikely was raising alarm bells in her head. 

James… didn’t know what to say. He lightly smacked his helmet into the palm of his right hand as he sucked in his lips in thought. After a long moment of contemplation, he sighed, figuring what the hell at that point. If Aria really wanted to kill him, being secluded in the woods was a damn good time to do it. [color=cb6b06]"I—Well, my dad, got a message for the Ghost Rider. Just coordinates, a date, and time. I don’t really know why."[/color] He shrugged his shoulders. The way things were lining up was definitely freaky to say the least. Who the fuck would have thought? 

Zaria stared at him for a moment, a strange look taking over her face. She looked almost pained, her left hand clutching at the dog tags again. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence, Logan had said before that weird shit usually happened for a reason. It was still deeply unsettling though. 

[color=00674F]"My…mentor had a pager in his bag, he went missing a while ago and I don’t know what happened to him. I’ve been looking for him, but the coordinates..."[/color] Her voice trailed off, and she looked away from James down the dirt road. She shrugged one shoulder, bending down to lift her bag up. [color=00674F]"I-I was hoping it was from him, but I guess if other people got the message too…it’s not."[/color]


The heartbreak was almost palpable, and her voice trailed off at the end, shoulders slumping. Zaria almost didn’t even want to go anymore, if Logan wasn’t going to be there what was the point? He’d been all she had left, and without him she just felt lost and aimless. The thought that maybe she was missing something rose up inside of her again, but she resisted the urge to dump the bag she had out and sort through their combined belongings for the hundredth time this week. 

He was halfway through pulling his leather glove onto his left hand when he stopped noticing the shift in her demeanor. James had been lucky. Everyone in his family was safe, or so he thought. He at least heard his dad on the phone anyway. It wasn’t the easiest thing for him to check in with them when they wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn’t relate to the pain behind all the disappearances but he could understand the grief behind it. He could only imagine how crazy it’d drive him if someone he cared about went missing. And whoever this mentor was seemed to be pretty important to her. 

[color=cb6b06]"I… I’m sorry."[/color] James was definitely not the best person when it came to comforting others. It probably stemmed from him living in an emotional void since he sold his soul to Mephisto. It didn’t actually change anything about him, beyond the whole being possessed thing. But being cut out by his family for doing something to save his father and living alone on the road for over a decade had a weird way of warping the softness and optimism that once lived in his heart. Still… There was a part of him that wanted to give her a hug. But that was wildly inappropriate. He barely knew her. 

[color=cb6b06]"You never know,"[/color] he continued, trying to find the old optimism he had as a boy. It felt strange coming from his lips when he rarely took things at anything beyond face value. [color=cb6b06]"Could be people who need help… Like a distress signal? I think if I was sending out a message asking for help I wouldn’t be picky about who it went to."[/color] James shrugged his shoulders, finally finishing pulling up his glove. [color=cb6b06]"Could also [i]totally[/i] be a trap. Haven’t really given much thought to how I’d die, but in a blaze of glory could be fun. Less keen on getting dragged to hell but… I don’t get a choice in that."[/color] And there was his usual dark pragmatism turning its ugly head. It wouldn’t do either of them any benefit if they didn’t [i]also[/i] accept the possibility of death upon arrival. 

James pulled on his other glove before grabbing hold of the handlebars and swinging his right leg over the body of the motorcycle. He sat back in the seat and rested his hands on his thighs. [color=cb6b06]"You can come if you want,"[/color] he added, looking over toward the blonde lost in mental turmoil. He held out the helmet toward her with a sympathetic smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. [color=cb6b06]"Or I can call you a cab or something. Whatever you want."[/color] His shoulders shrugged. There wasn’t much else James could really offer, but he was trying.

Suddenly, Zaria felt like a complete and utter idiot. The idea that it could be a trap had barely crossed her mind, she’d gotten so stuck in the idea that it was Logan that she hadn’t considered any other scenarios very seriously. The weight of it all was crushing now, because now she knew the chances of it actually being Logan were at an all time low. He would have never trusted other people enough to send out a signal like this, only her. 

There was still a small chance, so tiny and inconsequential, that it was barely there to begin with. So, this was a trap or a genuine call for help. Neither were very appealing to Zaria, she didn’t care if someone else needed help if it didn’t help Logan, and she especially didn’t care to end up back under her father’s thumb. If it weren’t for James standing there, looking uncertain and sad for [i]her[/i] she would have just…well, there wasn’t much else for her to do other than to keep retracing their steps. 

[color=00674F]"Are you sure?"[/color] Because she wasn’t actually sure, she didn’t want to go anymore. She wanted to find a bed and lay down and maybe cry and then eat some ice cream. Instead, Zaria adjusted the straps on her bag and cautiously approached the motorcycle. [color=00674F]"If it’s not a bother, I mean, I’d like that."[/color]

James held out his helmet toward her. [color=cb6b06]"I don’t know how big of a bother it can be if we’re going to the same place,"[/color] he reassured her with a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. [color=cb6b06]"Make sure you fasten the strap under your chin. We’re thirty minutes behind schedule so… There’ll be no stops and we’ll be going [i]fast.[/i]"[/color]

At the very least, she knew with James she’d be safer than she was alone. There was another thing he’d said though, voice resigned and tired, and it made something in her chest twist uncomfortably. She reached out, and accepted the helmet tentatively. [color=00674F]"You sound like you need someone to keep you from being dragged to hell, anyways. I’m not useless in a fight, so if we run into trouble…we won’t be alone, at least."[/color] 

A genuine, deep chuckle resonated from deep within James’s chest as he turned on the motorcycle and revved the engine. The thought of someone keeping him from his inevitable descent to hell was humorous, in a sadistic and fatalistic sort of way. The only way someone could save him was by signing a bullshit contract like he did. He might be impulsive and rash, but that was never going to happen if he had a say in it. But Aria was welcome to think she might be able to help him if it made her feel less indebted to him. 

[color=cb6b06]"I don’t know if anyone has that power,"[/color] he said as he looked over his shoulder at her with a smile of morbid acceptance but slight appreciation that she’d try nonetheless. [color=cb6b06]"But having someone watching my back doesn’t sound terrible,"[/color] he admitted. James flipped up the kick stand with the heel of his right foot and rocked the chassis so the bike was upright and balanced for Aria to get on. 

There was something in James’s tone that made her pause for a second as she adjusted the helmet over her head, not sure if she should tell him it was a little unnecessary. Unless he was planning to drive them head first into a truck, her healing factor would protect her from any minor crashes. It would suck, but she would live. He sounded so sure that there was only one destination for him after death though, it made her frown. They hardly knew each other, but for some reason that thought irked her. Zaria slipped onto the bike, trying to distract herself from the sudden wave of discontent at that thought, hands fluttering on his shoulders for a moment, before she frowned deeper beneath the helmet. 

There was no way they could ride with the same distance she’d kept before, it wouldn’t be comfortable in the slightest and they had a long drive ahead of them. She hesitated for only a second, and then Zaria let her body slide closer to James’s on the bike until her chest was pressed to his back, arms wrapping uncertainly around his waist, thighs pressed to the sides of his legs. She could feel the warmth radiating through his shirt, the flat of her palm pressing over his stomach for a moment, the fine contour of muscle making her stomach flip. She shifted her hands, trying not to accidentally feel the poor man up. 

[color=00674F]"Is this okay?"[/color] Her voice was muffled by the helmet, the subtle edge of embarrassment hopefully lost to him as she wiggled a little on the bike behind him. She’d left her jacket in her bag, and the chill in the air was affecting her in a way that was clearly noticeable with them so close together. Zaria was hoping he was just hopelessly clueless to it, because otherwise she’d have to consider actually jumping off the bike once they’d reached a high enough speed. At least his body heat would make the ride more comfortable. 

James couldn’t recall the last time he had a girl on the back of his motorcycle, well… before like five minutes earlier anyway. He was going to be driving faster than what most people were comfortable with so she needed to hold on, which meant using him for support. While he tried to focus his mind on making sure he was ready, he was also [i]very[/i] aware of the way her body molded to his like a little spoon. His gaze fell briefly to her hands as they wrapped around his waist, but he quickly looked away checking some switch or other bullshit near the handlebars. 

He didn’t really know how to answer her question. It [i]had[/i] to be ok if he was giving her a ride. It had been far too long since a woman’s arms were around him, but he did his best not to let his mind wander. [i]She did steal your bike[/i], he reminded himself. James gave her a small nod of acknowledgement that he heard her question and that it was, indeed, [i]okay.[/i] His feet slowly guided the motorcycle backwards and turned it around to face in the direction they came from down the dirt path. He gave the engine one last rev as he looked over his shoulder at her. [color=cb6b06]"Hold on."[/color] He warned her before speeding off toward the state route at an ungodly speed. 

He drove like a maniac. Zaira squeezed her eyes shut when they first really started to gain speed, her breath catching in her throat for a moment and holding there. It took some time before she was used to it, eyes peaking open to catch sight of how the scenery around them whipped by before she squeezed them shut again. Her hands had reflexively caught onto the fabric of James’s jacket, what little grip she could manage, and she held tight until the feeling in her fingers faded. 

There was no talking on a motorcycle that was going that fast, they could shout back and forth maybe but there would be no point. She was left with only the roar of the engine and the cool sting of fast wind kissing along her arms and legs, the rest of her body sheltered by his own. It took close to an hour for Zaria to relax against James, slowly but surely lulled into a sense of safety with his driving skills. She’d always preferred to be the one driving when it came to bikes, knowing her own judgment was sound, but he was steady and calm as he navigated. 

Eventually her mind wandered into a place that wasn’t quite sleep but not quite consciousness either, nestled against his back but still holding on with a certain degree of firmness. Zaria hadn’t been sleeping much lately, and her body was recuperating and recharging from the earlier fight, so she didn’t fight the exhaustion as it rose up to wrap around her like a familiar and comforting blanket. 

He drove at an alarming rate that made the drivers they sped past crane their heads in shock and the cars they slipped between blare their horns in protest. Ok, so it was reckless to others, but to James his motorcycle was an extension of his body. He couldn’t help but laugh a little as Aria’s grip on him tightened, not fully prepared for the trip ahead of them. If they had more time he would have followed the street laws like a good boy, but unfortunately she got a trial by fire. 

When he felt her grow more relaxed he wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t asleep. James grew a little more cautious becoming hyperaware of every movement and shift she made. Whenever he made a turn his hand reached back to gently hold her leg or side and keep her from slipping off. During the rest of the ride he kept his left hand firmly on top of hers ready to grab her if her hold waned. He couldn’t deny that he was jealous of her ability to get some rest. He had been awake for so long he was past the point of exhaustion to some mix of being wired or in a zombie-like state. It fluctuated from moment to moment. But he could sleep when he was dead… or something like that. 

[center]* * *[/center]
James slowed the motorcycle to a respectable speed as he turned down Descendant Drive. His left hand lightly tapped Aria’s arm that was wrapped around his waist, trying to rouse her. When the solitary glass skyscraper came into view, illuminated in the warm glow of the setting sun, he turned his head slightly to look back at her through the blackened visor of the helmet. [color=cb6b06]"That’s it,"[/color] he spoke up loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine. 

As they approached he saw a sign that directed them to go to the right and under the tower for the parking garage but something in his gut told him to keep going straight. The place looked abandoned like it was some futuristic ghost town. The last thing he wanted was to get both of them and their way out trapped in the parking garage. He’d deal with the parking ticket if it left him a quick escape… just in case. 

They slowly rolled into a roundabout drop off area in front of the tower. James led them around the circle until they faced back down the road they entered on and decided that was a good place to park. Closer to the exit was always the safest bet. He killed the engine and flipped down the kickstand before slowly letting his Harley tip to the side until it was supported by the stand and not James’s legs. He rolled his neck and a loud crackling of pops ran down his spine. [color=cb6b06]"God I’m fucking tired,"[/color] he muttered under his breath to no one in particular.

[color=00674F]"I could have driven some."[/color] Zaria’s voice was alert and warm, she’d been more awake for the last leg of their journey but remained relaxed against James basking in the warmth that he exuded, not unlike a cat who was enjoying a patch of sunlight. She wasn’t exactly well rested, her body felt like one big cramp, but she didn’t feel quite as exhausted as she had been before. 

She slid off the bike, using James’s shoulder for support for a second as feeling rushed back into her legs in the form of pins and needles, and she grimaced at the sensation. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the tower wasn’t quite it. Despite the revelations she’d come to about the message, Zaria couldn’t help but hold onto the hope that Logan would be waiting for her inside. She pulled off the helmet instead, running a hand through the waves of her hair. It hadn’t dried correctly in some spots because of the helmet, the hair at the base of her skull still damp and smelling strongly of her shampoo.

She took a moment to stretch, working warmth back into her arms and legs, before tugging her bag off to retrieve her jacket. The desire for a higher level of modesty for whatever situation they were walking into was prevalent, and it was nice to have something more on than just the bra after such a long drive. [color=00674F]"You’re pretty comfortable,"[/color] she said absentmindedly, looking up at the tower with one hand over her eyes. Was that a helipad? [color=00674F]"Though my ass is numb, that takes away from how nice of a pillow you make just a little."[/color]

Zaria turned toward James, a playful smile tugging her lips upwards. She was trying to distract herself from the waves of anxiety she felt, to not think about what would be— or wouldn’t be —waiting for them inside. It only half worked. 

[color=cb6b06]"If I had a dollar for everytime a woman told me that,"[/color] he started, looking over at her with a tired but lightly teasing smile. [color=cb6b06]"I’d have a dollar,"[/color] he added with a soft chuckle.

Once she was off, James swung his leg over the back of the bike and stood up with a groan that made him sound a decade older than he was. Similarly he stretched and nearly every joint popped at the new found movement. He couldn’t fight the yawn that escaped his lips as he took his helmet from her and hung it off one of the handlebars. [color=cb6b06]"I wish it was [i]just[/i] my ass,"[/color] he sympathized with an exhausted laugh. He unzipped his leather coat, thankful to get a cool breeze beneath the fabric as he removed his gloves and shoved them in his pockets. 

He was stalling. The building was right there. Everything was silent. There were no other cars. James didn’t know what to make of it or how to feel. The only comfort he had was that the spirit was dormant. There was no whisper of sin at the back of his head or steam rising from his collar, so that had to be good… Or at least better than the asshole at the truck stop anyway. Still needing a little more security before he took that first step onto the curb, James ran his hand back through his hair and asked, [color=cb6b06]"Do you sense anything?"[/color]

The vengeance spirit stirred in the back recesses of his mind like he too was stretching within his cage. [i][color=d13b00]Let me out and I can tell you.[/color][/i]

[color=cb6b06]"Yeah right,"[/color] James mused before stepping up onto the curb. He met Aria’s gaze and realized how crazy he must have looked, having a conversation with himself. His cheeks redded slightly as he cleared his throat. [color=cb6b06]"The uh… [i]other guy[/i] has a bit of an attitude. But I’m not steaming so that’s a good sign."[/color] That wasn’t much of an answer but they needed more time if she really wanted to open that can of worms. 

He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a sigh. [color=cb6b06]"Ready when you are… I guess."[/color] [i]Ah, yes, very convincing.[/i]

She’d opened her mouth, confused if James had mistaken her for a fortune teller at some point, and then he started talking to himself. She paused, face going sort of slack with concern and a hint of wariness, but then he explained and she was left with more questions than answers. She was just as eager to put off what was going to be inside, though they could play delay for so long. 

[color=00674F]"Wait,"[/color] Zaria held up a hand, as if she could physically stop this moment in its tracks. She looked James up and down, [i]not[/i] thinking about his naked ass, and tried to readjust her thoughts. [color=00674F]"Does he have a name?"[/color]

There was genuine curiosity there, the idea that there was someone else inside of him who he could hear and talk to with a concept that she’d never considered. How exactly did his powers work? Had he eaten a possessed chili pepper, or did he just have really bad luck? Or good luck? There had been a lot of lonely nights for Zaria, times where she’d have given anything to have someone else to talk to. Especially after Logan vanished, the idea of knowing she wouldn’t have been alone, even just in her thoughts, would have gone a long way. Though, if the [i]other guy[/i] was a dick, it probably wasn’t much of a blessing. 

[i][color=d13b00]Yes, James. Do I have a name?[/color][/i] the voice rumbled at the base of his skull.

James sighed, turning to face Aria. He didn’t mind the questions, he’s answered them before. It was pretty common if someone happened to be around to see him go all Ghost Rider and then come back down from it. But that question was a first. Most people were usually freaked out about it or wanted to know the mechanics, not if there was a name or personality to it. [color=cb6b06]"He’s never told me his name,"[/color] he confessed with a slight shrug. 

[i][color=d13b00]You’ve never asked.[/color][/i]

His hand raised to pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhaled deeply. [color=cb6b06]"Fine. [i]What is your name?[/i]"[/color] James asked the void, aggravation and annoyance evident in his tone and mannerisms. 

[color=d13b00]"Hand over control and I can tell you,"[/color] the deep, almost demonic-like voice slipped from James’s lips for Aria to hear, followed by a sinister laugh that rattled against his ribcage.

[color=cb6b06]"Well there you have it,"[/color] he conceded with a lazy wave of his hand. [color=cb6b06]"You’re welcome to ask him the next time I go all [i]Skeletor.[/i] He might be more amiable to you."[/color]

[i][color=d13b00]Well, she is prettier than you,[/color][/i] the spirit mocked within his mind once again. 

James sighed. [color=cb6b06]"Yup,"[/color] he groaned. There wasn’t much else to say. Somedays the spirit hardly existed, living silently like the ghost of a migraine at the back of his skull. Then other days he was like an intrusive thought bringing all his baser and more vile thoughts to the forefront of his mind. It was like the old cartoons with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. But the vengeance spirit was the devil and James’s own conscience was the angel. It used to be more of a battle but as each year ticks onward the angel grows more timid and compliant. 

A strange expression flickered across Zaria’s face as she heard the more demonic voice emerge from James, but instead of taking a step back as any sane person would, she took a step toward him. Her brows furrowed some, a winkle in her forehead, it looked like she was trying to work out a puzzle but hadn’t been given all the pieces. She wasn't scared, there was something familiar about being close to someone who was perceived as a monster. 

[color=00674F]"Can he hear everything I say?"[/color] Her eyes were on James’s, trying to see a flicker of anything that may hint at the fact that he had a deity of sorts riding shotgun in his head. She was almost overtaken by the urge to reach out like she had in the truck stop, to feel that there was more than bone to his body, but she managed to resist. 

[color=d13b00]"[i]Yes…[/i]"[/color] the spirit spoke up once again from beneath his meat-suit. 

[color=cb6b06]"He’s always there,"[/color] James added while tapping his index finger against the side of his forehead. [color=cb6b06]"Sometimes he’s more dormant… Sometimes he’s not."[/color] The corner of his mouth twisted in an unsure expression like he didn’t fully understand but he had long since accepted it. 

[color=00674F]"Well,"[/color] Zaria spoke slowly, as if she were still working out the puzzle, getting closer but not quite there yet. She took another step closer, tilting her head back so she could still look up into James’s eyes. [color=00674F]"I have a thing about names. It’s sort of a respect thing, so if you don’t care about that, whatever. But, I would like to refer to you as something other than [i]the other guy[/i] or…Skeletor, so a compromise? Give me a nickname for you, and I’ll owe you one."[/color]

Zaria paused, considered she was working with a demon, and then added hastily— [color=00674F]"As long as it doesn’t have any sort of negative affect on James. "[/color] That seemed fair enough, a nickname for a favor. She wasn’t expecting much, maybe it would laugh at her again, but it was the effort that mattered. 

She could remember how her father hadn’t cared for names, not for people that were beneath him. There had been a time, before their mother had left without a trace, that her brother and she found a nest with unattended eggs. The mother bird had flown away, leaving them for dead, but despite Doom’s best efforts his children were [i]kind.[/i] They’d taken the eggs inside and spent weeks trying to get them to hatch, all under his nose. When they did hatch, it turned out they were blue jays. Zaria had been enthralled by the little birds, she spent all of her free time with them, and had been so proud of having given something the means of survival. 

She’d named one [i]Hope[/i] and her brother had named the other [i]Chance.[/i] Silly little names that wouldn’t have even mattered once they were released back into the wild, but their mother had insisted. She’d told them that names gave them the potential to be free, even in death. It likely wouldn’t be an advisable idea to give a demon freedom but it had to be suffocating being stuck within a body that was not your own, only able to have control sporadically. 

Zaria knew how that felt. The day they’d planned to release the birds, their father had them served as lunch to the twins. He’d considered the birds a distraction, it had been a cruel power play to show them even when they thought they had control they didn’t. [color=00674F]"Everyone deserves to have a name,"[/color] she said softly, the hint of some sort of foreign accent slipping into her voice for the first time since they’d met. [color=00674F]"Or I could make up a nickname, I suppose."[/color]

James remained quiet as he let the spirit decide how he wanted to reply. He didn’t understand the necessity of a nickname. It wasn’t like he imagined it would make the spirit heed his commands more or something. There was power in a name, but he knew that was the exact reason it’s never been shared. He didn’t know how it all worked with spirits or demons, but one thing he did know was having the being’s name meant you could control it… or banish it. He doubted that would ever be knowledge willingly given. 

[color=d13b00]"You may call me… [i]Judge[/i],"[/color] the spirit finally answered Aria. No laughing or snide comments.

If James had to guess it was almost like he… appreciated someone cared enough to ask. Although a small pang in his skull told him whether or not that was the truth, it was a thought he needed to keep to himself. His face scrunched at the small twinge of pain at the base of his skull. [color=cb6b06]"I get it,"[/color] he muttered under his breath as he rubbed the back of his head. 

Zaria’s smile was practically blinding as she bounced on her heels, she was a little short in the friends department and while neither James nor his demonic partner could be considered her friends there was an unmistakable [i]yet[/i] in her mind. It likely wouldn’t last, either they were walking into some weird and elaborate trap, or it would end up being nothing and they’d go their own ways. Either way, she knew this entire encounter would be one that she held close to her heart. 

She’d only met one other person whom she wasn’t related to that had been willing without question to help her, and so the fact that James had without so much as expecting anything in return…it was a kindness she could never repay. Zaria wasn’t meant to be around other people, though. She knew that now that Logan was gone, other people were at risk if they stayed around her. Just like the little birds, no one would be safe from Doom and she could only run so much before the inevitable happened. [i]I could just kill myself,[/i] it was a quiet, private thought that made the brightness in her eyes dim a little. [i]If there’s no other way out…[/i] 

[color=00674F]"Thank you, Judge."[/color] Zaria took a step back, still smiling up at James even if her own internal monologue had killed her mood. [color=00674F]"[i]You[/i] can call me Ari, if you’d like. Just you though, bub."[/color] 

She patted James’s chest, winking at him as she did so. [color=00674F]"You both saved me, back at the truck stop. So, thanks too, Judge. I’m not sure if I would have…"[/color] her voice faltered some, and she turned toward the building. [color=00674F]"Wouldn’t have been the worst outcome, but I’m here instead of dead. So thanks."[/color] 

James couldn’t keep from smiling slightly at Aria’s excitement. Never would he have thought someone would attempt to befriend the spirit… [i]Judge?[/i]—

[i][color=d13b00]She can call me that, not you,[/color][/i] the spirit corrected James’s own thoughts.

That time James actually belted out an annoyed, yet hearty laugh. Now the fucker was interrupting his thoughts. There was no peace. And, of course, only a pretty girl would get the luxury of calling him by a name. The spirit and him didn’t get along, never have. Why would he be allowed the same courtesy? He scoffed and kicked the toe of his boot against the ground. 

[color=cb6b06]"He won’t say you’re welcome, but—"[/color]

[color=d13b00]"You’re welcome."[/color]

[color=cb6b06]"Jesus fucking christ, of course."[/color] At that point, Judge—[i]Shut the fuck up. Don’t you dare interrupt me[/i]—was just trying to find any additional way to piss off James. It was one of his favorite pastimes. [color=cb6b06]"He’s just making fun of me at this point."[/color]

The way the two of them argued like that startled a laugh out of her. It reminded Zaria a little of her younger brother, or how she and Logan used to banter back and forth. There was a sort of reluctance in the relationship between James and Judge, but it also seemed natural. She wondered if James would remember how to live without Judge there in the back of his mind, a constant presence even when the silence stretched. 

[color=00674F]"At least Judge has a sense of humor,"[/color] she said lightly, taking a few tentative steps toward the building before pausing to look back toward her unlikely friend. [color=00674F]"What if you’d gotten stuck with a spirit that liked Bingo, going to bed by seven’o’clock, and only driving the speed limit? "[/color]

James snorted. [color=cb6b06]"I wouldn’t be so tired,"[/color] he contradicted with an exhausted but slightly amused smile.

Her grin was as light as the sunshine, lopsided and careless in a way Zaria hadn’t been since Logan disappeared. James reminded her of him, in his own ways. It was easier to fall into old mannerisms and habits around him, but he wasn’t Logan. She took a steadying breath, and nodded toward the building. [color=00674F]"Shall we?"[/color]

[color=cb6b06]"Yeah,"[/color] he sighed softly in acknowledgement as he took the first step toward the tower. 

The closer the pair of them got to the building the more imposing and ominous it got. The skyscraper was so tall it nearly touched the sky with glass windows like mirrors that reflected the world back at them. It almost existed in that uncanny valley where at some angles in the right lighting it practically disappeared until James caught a glimpse of his and Aria’s reflections as they approached. Seeing his lazy stride, messy hair, and the dark circles under his eyes staring back at him made him groan and avert his gaze. He looked like shit and felt worse. 

As they approached the entrance an older gentleman with silvered hair in a black suit stood beneath a mangled doorframe and swept up shattered glass like that was a normal day for him. James hesitated for a minute trying to understand what the hell happened or who could have fucked the door to shit like that. But he didn’t have the answers and he wasn’t a fan of awkwardly creeping around the man as he cleaned. 

James cleared his throat and took a step forward with a small awkward wave. [color=cb6b06]"Uh, hello?"[/color]

The man stood upright, appearing to be a little startled at their arrival. [color=d6d6d6]"Oh, good evening. Apologies."[/color] He shifted the broom to his left hand before approaching and holding out his right hand in greeting to them both. [color=d6d6d6]"I am Alfred Pennyworth."[/color]

James took the man’s hand with his own and gave it a firm yet gentle shake. [color=cb6b06]"Jameson Blaze."[/color]

A surprised and slightly curious expression crossed the man’s face. [color=d6d6d6]"I hadn’t realized Johnny retired,"[/color] Alfred replied after hearing James’s name. 

[color=cb6b06]"Unwillingly,"[/color] was the only answer James was comfortable giving as his posture tensed and an uncomfortable, almost pained expression crossed his face. 

Zaria hesitated a little behind James, chewing on her bottom lip and trying hard not to fidget with her hands. There was a brief burst of internal debate, sharing her full name offered a level of vulnerability that she wasn’t comfortable with. James had helped her get away from those men, she knew undoubtedly that he wasn’t someone her father had hired. There was a heady sense of paranoia when it came to other people though, and they didn’t know what was going on here yet. 

Zaria had followed Logan’s advice diligently, she kept her head down, didn’t make a name for herself. She travelled under false names and never stayed in one place longer than four days. People knew that Doom had children, but had her father made it public knowledge that she’d run away? If so, how had he framed it? Knowing him, he’d have simply said she was missing and offered a generous reward to anyone who could provide information while hiring scumbags to track her down on the sly. 

[color=00674F]"I go by Aria,"[/color] she offered impulsively after a moment, noting how James had gone tense and still, she inserted herself in an instinctive effort to distract from his sudden unease. [color=00674F]"Do you need help, Mister Pennyworth? What…happened to your door?"[/color]


Zaria stepped forward so she was beside James instead of awkwardly lingering behind him, her hands rising as if to take the broom but pausing in uncertainty. She’d…never used a broom before, actually. 


[color=d6d6d6]"That’s very kind of you, miss,"[/color] Alfred said, acknowledging her offer of assistance but he was content handling it himself. [color=d6d6d6]"It’s quite alright. Not the first time I’ve cleaned up broken glass here and I doubt it’ll be the last. Mr. Thorson is just an easily excitable fellow."[/color] He flashed them both a smile as he stepped aside and motioned toward the entrance. [color=d6d6d6]"Go right ahead. They’re already waiting."[/color]

James spared Aria a brief glance. [i]Who[/i] was waiting? He tried to catch a glimpse through the glass walls but the brightness of the reflecting sun made it too difficult to make anything out. He stepped forward, boots crunching on the shattered glass as he took hold of the handle, and pulled open the left door for Aria to enter. If she insisted on him going first he would, but his mother did instill him with some manners and taught him to always hold the door for a lady. At that point it had become second nature. He was right behind her. There was no way he’d come that far and turn back now. In for a penny, in for a pound.

[color=00674F]"Did he just say [i]Thorson[/i] as in [i]Thor[/i] the God of like, thunder and oak trees and shit?"[/color] Zaria hissed at James, eyes wide with equal parts alarm and confusion. She was also, very privately, relieved that she wouldn’t be subjected to admitting she’d never touched a broom in her life. What was the proper way to hold it? Maybe she’d ask James later. 

She stepped past him, through the shattered remains of the door, glad she’d swapped her sandals for boots long before they’d arrived here. Trying to get glass out of her feet was not on her idea of fun evening activities. 

James shook his head slightly at Aria’s less than subtle excitement at the prospect of an Asgardian lingering behind the door. Sure enough, as he followed her through the doors a giant, lumbering man with long golden hair and an imposing figure lingered in the lobby with a handful of others. [color=cb6b06]"No shit,"[/color] he muttered under his breath, a bit in disbelief. Otherwise the lobby was filled with a nervous older man, glowering with his arms crossed over his chest, a wiry looking guy protected by a slightly intimidating black haired woman, another attractive blonde, and presumably a couple quietly tucked away on a far off couch. 

Not really being a big fan of the whole introduction and hand shake situation, James decided to nip that interaction in the bud before he had to repeat himself seven more times around the room. [color=cb6b06]"Jameson Blaze, James. Got the message, so I assume this is the right place?"[/color] While the question was somewhat rhetorical, his eyes still scanned the people in the room waiting for any objections or acknowledgements. 

The blonde woman dressed in a classy, yet provocative white outfit answered with a charming smile. [color=a8f9ff]"That is correct. We’re just waiting to see if anyone else arrives."[/color]

[color=cb6b06]"Cool,"[/color] he replied with a nod of his head. With or without an invitation, James wandered further into the lobby toward the nearest unoccupied sofa, desperate for a seat that wasn’t an uncomfortable bike wedged between his legs. He groaned with exhausted content as he sunk into the leather and slouched back into the cushions. Give him five minutes of silence and he could have been out cold. Feeling his eyes grow heavy the moment he reclined, he sighed and shifted to shit up straight. It wouldn’t do him any good to fall into a coma for the next twelve hours.

Whatever excitement she’d felt at being near a literal fucking God, which was absolutely valid her in opinion thanks, stalled in the face of the crowd. She hesitated where James spoke up before he moved further into the room, her eyes flicking across all the new faces with a swelling sense of panic rising in her chest when the one she wanted to see wasn’t there. She actually wasn’t supposed to be here, the message hadn’t been for [i]her,[/i] it had been for Logan and [i]he wasn’t here.[/i]

The hope she’d been clinging to felt so fragile now, brittle like a crystal clutched between clumsy fingers. Zaria could feel the exact second that hope began to fracture and break, and her hand rose to clutch at the dog tags hanging from around her neck. Everything felt fuzzy around the edges suddenly, and she found herself focusing on the blonde woman that seemed to be the official greeter, her face riddled with uncertainty. 

[color=00674F]"I was hoping…"[/color] the words seemed to lodge themselves in her throat, squeezing until she felt like she was choking for a moment. [color=00674F]"Is this everyone that’s arrived?"[/color] 

There was a sort of raw desperation in her tone, and Zaria didn’t want the answer. She already knew what it was, if Logan was here he’d have been waiting for her right here in this lobby. 

The blonde shifted her weight from one foot to the other with a sympathetic smile. [color=a8f9ff]"This is everyone,"[/color] she confirmed tenderly like she knew the meaning behind the question.

[color=00674F]"Oh,"[/color] her voice was soft, and her eyes slid away from the woman’s to settle on the floor instead. If Logan wasn’t here, then he…Zaria let her hand drop, her right hand wrapping around her left wrist, and she gave herself a sharp zap. The skin beneath her fingers bloomed red with agitation, but the pain grounded her. [color=00674F]"I prefer to go by Aria, I guess I’ll just…wait too."[/color]

Zaria trailed after James, dropping down beside him on the couch before a quiet groan slipped past her lips. [color=00674F]"Leather, why is everything leather."[/color] She muttered, scowling at the exposed and chaffing skin of her thighs. She glanced at James, and muttered from the corner of her lips. [color=00674F]"Next time, we’re trading pants."[/color]

James’s head rested in his hand, elbow on the armrest of the couch as Aria sat down beside him. He snorted at her whispered comment, the vague image of her half swallowed in his jeans painting a funny image in his mind. [color=cb6b06]"You’ll have to try harder than that to get in my pants."[/color]

[color=00674F]"Oh,"[/color] she snorted, nudging him before she let her head fall back, eyes slipping shut. If he was going to be diligent, she could get away with being lazy. [color=00674F]"Judge isn’t the only one with a sense of humor after all, I knew it."[/color]

[center]* * *[/center]
Nearly two hundred miles away, in a dimly lit morgue in some backwoods town a woman leaned over an autopsy table, humming to herself as she filled out a clipboard with her left hand. She had on old headphones, the wire connected to a walkman that lay haphazardly on the table beside the corpse of a very naked, very dead man. 

The coroner seemed in her element as she worked, writing out the man’s proposed cause of death before she tossed the clipboard onto the table, scooped up the walkman, and turned toward the other body in the room. The knife had been removed from this man’s eye, his cause of death less confusing than the strange marks around the other man’s throat and the angle that his neck had been snapped. 

So engrossed in her work, oblivious to what was going on around her, the woman missed the moment when the man’s neck seemed to realign itself, when color slowly flooded his pale frame once more, and when the man sat up on the table behind her. She’d turned around, not at the rustle of noise that was coming from where a corpse ought to be, but to grab her pen.

Standing behind her was that naked, dead man, come to life again. He was adjusting the cowboy hat that had been discarded on one of the nearby tables atop his head, blue eyes shining with malice as he took in her surprised expression. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Finally,"[/color] he rasped, reaching for the discarded knife that had killed his colleague. The woman turned to run, her walkman snapping the connection to her headphones as the sound of classical music filled the morgue. [color=d6d6d6]"A real challenge."[/color][/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

[center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] imogen [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] everyone in the lobby [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@Sleepy Tani][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]