mitch-nom-blog
THE FOOL
Mitch Nom / 23 / Fool Teleportation / 1 month with the Council
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reesehedlund:
“No um,” It’d caught him off guard a bit, being asked to join. On one hand, more bonding, which was great and he’d like to get to know Mitch a bit more. On the other hand, his video game experience included solo player stuff in college or getting his ass handed to him as a kid by his brothers. That definitely wasn’t something ‘cool guy’ could admit to. Reese played it off by glancing at his watch and shifting his weight against the doorframe. “I’m kind of shit at them?”
But maybe it was too late and he was too tired to keep the charade up for right now. Besides it was only them, right? Even if this wasn’t a session, it wasn’t like a little vulnerability, a little company, would kill him. He was more than just their pseudo therapist, had needs for companionship outside of ‘how does that make you feel’.
That whole train of thought, of self care, wasn’t going to last that long so he figured he might as well make the best of it before he retreated back to his room. “More of a Zelda guy myself.” The smile he offered was shy, accompanied by the action of smoothing his fingers through his hair. “College friends used to do the whole Rockband and Guitar Hero thing outside of actual band practice but anything else and I’m not really a worthy opponent.”
the refusal kind of caught him by surprise, but he shrugged and put it back down, careful not to get cheeto dust on anything. “ in all fairness, i am incredibly bad at them as well, which is why i’d hoped for some equal competition. “ he grins over at reese, before pulling his feet up onto the seat as well and wrapping his arms around his knees.
he nodded as he listened, trying to figure out the ulterior motive (he’d already declined an offer of the more salacious nature, but that didn’t mean he’d been telling the truth before-). “ who knows, you might even beat me? “
mitch wasn’t sure if he wanted reese to play, a forced interaction that would be uncomfortable for both of them. “ or do you want to go do something else? “
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theninthcard:
She’s still looking at him, seeing him, her head tilting as he speaks. Maybe she stepped over a line there. Or rather, not over an uncrossable line but closer to a cliff edge he has vertigo just from imagining.
So there she is, tilting her head and pursing her lips before stepping back to him and carefully working his fingers out of his hair. She leads him by the hand to her old bed, all but pushes him onto it. Just before she can wrap him up again Carpet waddles into the room and hops into his lap.
“My magic is promise,” she tells him absently as she busies herself making him more comfortable. “Promises of the future. Advice for now. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. But I don’t really make those promises, I just explain them. I’m not promising… I’m just telling you what will always be true for me.” She pauses to scratch the cat behind his ears and look at Mitch again. He may not believe her, but she doesn’t mind. She knows she means what she says. As long as she sticks to her words, he might as well hear them. “Because I say it will.”
The sky could fall, ash and destruction could rain down; only the Ancients could have any clue what was coming for them, besides the glimpse she was given. None of that would matter where this was concerned. Her tent in the post-apocalyptic wasteland would have room for him.
Tiny footprints on the wooden floor warn her of several new cats trotting into the room. A tabby and a tortoiseshell wind around her ankles while their friend heads straight to join Carpet. Soon all of them coalesce around Mitch. That in itself is proof that he’s part of the family now.
The doorway creaks in greeting and Lailani turns to see her mother. Neither of them move. Candice eyes the furry pile on the bed wearily but doesn’t ask, because new people showing up at all hours is fairly normal at Blue Robin Ave.
“It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Mama.”
Candice dips her chin, scrutiny in her eyes. Whether or not she’s too skinny, whether there’s any evidence of hardship on her daughter’s face - she scans for those things discreetly. Lailani tries not to fidget as it happens. Then, Candice nods. “Come here.”
Lailani steps up to her mother, her hands coming up as if to hug her, only to fall back to her sides so her sleeves overtake them. Candice is the one who touches first, brushing hair out of her face and sighing. Lailani has never understood that sigh.
“Make dinner with me later, yes?” It’s not a request, and Lailani perks up just a little as she nods. Their bond is not easily understood even by them, but where there are few embraces, there is much time spent side by side, soaking in a gentle quiet. Satisfied, Candice pats her daughter’s cheek and departs. Lailani stays in the doorway, watching her walk away, and then turns back to Mitch.
Her fingers go straight to him with more purpose than ever. He’s trapped with a cat on his chest, making him perfect prey for her newfound desire to fluff his hair at all times. It reminds her of when she was little, splayed across her grandmother’s lap, half asleep listening to lullabies she can still hum now as she sits beside him. “There’s a word for you,” she murmurs, caught up in memory. “I’ll have to ask my aunt. Si… Shio… No.” Her nose scrunches. “I never remember well. But it’s what you are to me. I’ll find out what it is so I can tell you.”
She returns to her tuneless humming until a thought crosses her mind and her fingers still momentarily. “Where did you first meet your… not-you?” The idea of hers following them to Virginia chills her blood.
The thought of his, too, and perhaps that is worse because his wants to steal him and not let him come home.
Definitely worse.
he can’t protest, can’t move away as her fingers wrap into his own, tangle with his hair before letting it go, her hands always gentle where his can only bruise, scar, force forgetting. her hands in his and he can’t move away, can’t break her, break her grip, can’t take her with him when he would want to get away.
he follows, hand like a leash and he ignores the fact that he could break the collar without a second thought. he doesn’t protest, still speechless, incapable of forming thoughts as every cell in his body tries to divide, to flee and to take root
his hands are trembling
he notices that fact vaguely, looks down at them when suddenly there’s a cat in his lap so he buries his hands in their fur and he can pretend he’s not shaking.
he listens to her words, lets the pattern of them turn to memory turn to scars to promises to sunlight sunburn sunshine
he believes her
that’s the problem. cause he believes himself as well.
then there are two more cats surrounding him and he would daresay that he starts to relax, thoughts returning to coherence, before theres someone else in the doorway and he turns to ice again.
he watches, pretends to puzzle out human interaction, gives up quickly and lets his eyes flutter shut as she stalks towards him. there’s no way that he could open them when her hand then starts to thread through his hair.
a word for him? what would be his word for her?
“ 누나 “
he doesn’t remember saying it, cause if he did he would have to flee, a submission a surrender instead of truce and resignation.
then her fingers tense in his hair and his eyes blink open, hazily fixed on her. “ my not me? “ she could be referring to any number of things, his first stranger, first name, first person.
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july 17th afternoon / rooms / @chvriot
everything was collapsing in the same way that it always was, what felt like a castle of cards collapsing but it was a tower and it was infinitely tall and would never hit the ground. also, he could fly, because this was a vaguely lucid dream and the ground wasn’t real.
still, the sensation of plummeting was highly uncomfortable, and the atmosphere in the kitchen felt identical to it. so, as usual, he fled, heading upstairs to ... find someone? chill in his room? he didn’t have a direction, so let his feet take him.
his headphones were on and he was watching a cat video as he stopped for a moment in the middle of the corridor, engrossed, before he was suddenly no longer on his feet.
wham
that was the sound of him colliding none-too-gently with the wall. boneless, he slid to the ground, his head ringing too much to let himself shift out of the hallway.
“ the fuck?! “
#int.starter#&& the chariot#nadine002#int.nadine#event five#asdkfjhsdf i dont know what this is im sorry
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reesehedlund:
Don’t freak out. The teleporting thing, other people’s powers in general, it’d been six years and he still just…Life was already so goddamn weird but it still took some getting used to. Reese recovered quickly from being startled by the use of Mitch’s powers by relaxing more against the doorway and relinquishing the Cheetos. Shifting, he glanced down at his watch only to give a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I think you were still here when I left and that was around eight.”
It was a little tidbit, the reaction. Mitch had been open to the offer, whether it was out of actual necessity for food or politeness, he wasn’t sure. But he’d take any progression, even a small one, as a win. Crossing his arms over his chest he gave a small nod towards the computer. “Is it that good or are you that bored?” Back to ‘cool guy’, back to a semblance of playfulness. Mitch gave him that vibe, that he was receptive to that kind of thing. And the question sounded better than asking if he’d actually eaten anything during that time. Or maybe Mitch was more open to that? He had no clue, getting to know somebody was such a weird territory.
around eight. cool. what time was it now?
he glanced around his room before remembering that he still hadn’t bought himself a clock, and that time was an illusion anyway, so he shifted back to his seat and curled up on it, snacks in his lap.
he shrugs at the question, a handful of cheetos already in his mouth (yep, his stomach is now hungry again), wonders why reese offered, why he’s standing in the doorway and not gone away or walked in already.
“ kinda boring but kinda addictive. “ a beat of silence. “ you need something? “
sure, reese had been nice and encouraging and sort of acted like a therapist to everyone, even as he’d managed to shrug off most inquiries into his personal self, and he wasn’t interested if that was what this was but the dude was nice so-
“ do you wanna play? “ he picks up the other controller and offers it out, perhaps a human will be easier to beat than this unbeatable computer.
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theninthcard:
Poor Mitch, floundering to keep his head above water. Lailani bumps his knee with hers, hopes the gesture is grounding when it’s probably just disruptive. He looks like he’s hesitating at the cliff’s edge so she takes her fork too, spearing a dumpling and using it to hide her smile. It keeps her from speaking, too, which gives too many other voices a chance to jump in.
“Yes,” Carmen says at precisely the same moment that Eliza tells him, “Not quite,” so Carmen waves a hand near her head with a very youthful eye roll. “We in this room are, yes. Eliza here is my youngest daughter and Lailani is her niece. The rest are family of assorted kinds. Is Maria related to us?”
“No, her family is from Colombia,” Eliza chimes in. “But Njeri married into the family, I think. Somehow. Or was that Nikki?”
“Nikki isn’t married, dear.”
“Thank God,” they say as they pass by the kitchen door, adding in their wake, “Most of us just come and go like hungry dogs.”
Lailani took their moment of back-and-forth to push another plate closer to Mitch. “Eat,” she insists, too quiet for this loud, colorful house. “We can roam around in the woods later.” There are too many people for him to get to know, and he’s already part of her family anyway. There’s plenty of time for that in the future, between his trips elsewhere to work off the frenetic magic sparking under his skin.
Her reassuring murmurs don’t go unnoticed. Eliza finally gives up on being the host and sits beside them, smiling so her round cheeks are rounder still. She almost brushes Lailani’s hair off her face, her hand stopping just inches away before retreating. “What brings you home, dear? Your friend looks perfectly shell-shocked, which means you did not warn him at all about us, did you?” She clucks her tongue but it’s playful, like she always is. Carmen laughs in that way of hers that says how could anyone be adequately warned about us?
“I missed being home,” is all Lailani says at first, stirring her tea with her finger so she can avoid looking directly at either of them. They can only know so much, and that has never been a problem - when Feiyan found her, they understood her life would always be a little beyond them. It was a good excuse not to explain the fear she’s starting to feel all the time, at The Lair or not. The vision she’d just had… Something was very wrong with the world for The World’s absence, and none of it was getting better.
Absently her free hand drifted up to Mitch’s hair despite not having his permission in the moment, despite the look on his face that was quite clearly a plea for her protection from the whirlwind of new, despite the fact that her family was right there watching her touch without asking.
Though, at least for the last point she has some sort of defense. “And Mitch is my brother, so I wanted to show him around.”
Carmen and Eliza share a look at that news, but they’ve always been all about taking things in stride. “We get so few brothers around here! Well good, I was thinking of doing stir fry for dinner so we’ll have the perfect amount of food to add you two in, and one of the rooms upstairs is actually empty for once so you’ll both have plenty of space for as long as you’re staying-”
They really would go on like that for ages if allowed, so as soon as Lailani sees Mitch eat more than two bites she slides her hand into his carefully and pulls him out of the kitchen, up a winding staircase, stopping twice to step over a cat and to pick up another cleverly disguising himself as carpet. “This is Carpet,” she says by way of introduction.
At last they’re in her old room and it’s quieter - not quiet, because once inside 3 Blue Robin Ave there’s no real escape from everyone - but quieter, which is the best she can offer. She does so with a sheepish shrug. “They’re a lot.” Yet she feels a little better already. It’s hard to feel magic crashing down around their ears when everyone int he house is so matter-of-fact about their strangeness. The Lair only has that quality some of the time.
He looks pale, or maybe just cold, or - more likely - completely overwhelmed, so she tugs her old comforter off the bed and wraps it around him like a downy cloak. “You should stay for dinner though, if you want. And as long as I’m here, if you want that too. I do.” She’s still not sure if saying it so openly makes him feel better or worse, but ever since the night they’d made their nest in the library window, she just knows honesty works for him. She ought to say exactly how she feels. It’s something very few others in her life have ever asked.
“You’re family now. Everyone here comes here when they want, and leaves when they want.” It’s an echo of what she said to him on nest night. She’s looking at him now, rare clarity in her gaze. “You’ll always have a place wherever I am.”
laila grabs a dumpling, so he does as well, hesitating for a moment before taking a bite.
it’s .. not exactly like the dumplings that he’s had before but they are amazing in a way that he doesn’t remember (kimbap rolled messily, seaweed soup on a birthday, flashes of the past in a bite despite being completely different) and he’s eaten three before he stops for a breath.
then the answers start flooding in, chiming from the doorway, around the room, and he drowns it out by eating quickly. he’s tempted to shove some of the bread into his pocket, instinct to save food for later, but knows he could find it elsewhere if he really needs to.
still -
he looks longingly at the piece while his mouth is full, but laila is still pushing food towards him so he relaxes. perhaps, if he’s good and they like him, he’ll get more.
then there’s an undercurrent in the room, some tension he can see in her shoulders that feels wrong but normal, but he shrugs it off for spearing another dumpling. he completely forgets about it when her hand brushes through his hair, and he feels the contact ground him, and the panic that still churned in his stomach at the newness and the family and the fear, it eases slightly.
he finally looks up from the plates, over to her, ignores the way that everyone is looking at him as he’s ...
claimed is the wrong word, but is the best one for him, a collar with a tag unusual but warm and safe and that’s what her hand in his hair feels like, like claiming and homes and the word brother echoes in his head and his stomach starts to protest the food he’s just inhaled and any blush has dropped away to paleness.
he just about sets his fork down, doesn’t drop it, tries to say something but the conflict is choking and one hand reaches up to rub at his neck but the room is full of noise again, arguments not quite over him but like its background noise and needed and he can’t speak can’t breathe
her hand slips into his and he thinks that he’s been half-tangible, half way into disappearing since she’d said it and his hand tightens in hers as they step out of the kitchen and he feels numb and too full at the same time.
he nods in half-awareness at Carpet, stands where she leaves him in her room, lets the blanket get draped across his shoulders but doesn’t take a move to accept or reject it.
continued acceptance and claiming and wanting and hoping and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be giving to her for all of this, this unequal trade of affection and stability and support.
there’s an unconscious moment where his knees almost buckle and he would offer himself if he didn’t know that that wasn’t what she wanted. where she could tear open his skin and grip his heart and scar him endlessly if it meant she would continue to offer these gilded promises.
he flickers out of existence, appears half a foot closer to the door, the comforter dropping to the ground where he stood. “ i- “
he can’t leave.
one hand snakes up to grip the hair at the base of his skull, tugs hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
“ don’t make promises you can’t keep “
his other arm wraps around his own chest and his heart breaks at the knowledge that she’ll be hurt as well when she’ll have to break it.
#I MADE MYSELF CRY#also wtf at this length jesus#tw. blood#tw body horror#though p non explicit#laila005
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he had no idea what a combo was or why it kept flashing at the top of the screen, the number just growing higher as he hit every button his thumb could press, slagging off his computer generated enemy with growing vitriol as he continued to loose and continued to press ‘try again’.
he’d bought the console because he could, realising that he could own things and put them in a place and keep them. sure, he wouldn’t be able to take it with him, but while he was here he was going to spend every living second glued to the screen. (he’d gotten it earlier that day, doesn’t know how long this fixation will last)
he didn’t notice his door creak open, before the movement of the cheeto bag in the corner of his sight led his adrenaline filled muscles to twitch and he teleported out of the room for an instant. (where did he go? he never notices)
“ k oh “ his screen announces, his character getting uppercut in the chest and turned into a star in the sky.
he lets out a breath and slumps in his chair, sliding down until he’s on his knees on the floor, before dragging himself to his feet and moving forwards to grab the offering. “ how long have i been playing? “ his stomach is the worst guide for timings, completely unused to any form of structure, but there had definitely been a few hours gone by.
Reese carried a handful of snacks he’d grabbed from one of the kitchens, still dressed in his ‘cool guy’ bar attire. It’s not like it was uncommon for people to be up when he came home after working til last call. They were all (troubled) adults, it’s not like they had a bedtime. That didn’t mean he didn’t take a mental note of the noises coming from everyone’s room as he passed them. Movies, TV, soft music, could all mean people were asleep with some kind of background noise on. The unmistakable sound of button mashing came from a door on the right and he turned to look at it and almost stepped toward it out of sheer curiosity.
Mitch’s room, “the fool”, the new guy. He was kind of a priority because of all that, to talk to. To establish some kind of trust. Everyone took time to adjust to all of this. The powers, the past lives, the ‘potentially saving the world’ kind of thing. Hell, it’d been six years and he still hadn’t really wrapped his head around all of it. He didn’t want to push Mitch, or anyone for that matter. His policy so far had been to kind of just let them know he was around to talk and knew they’d come around eventually. But this, this was an opportunity for a bonding experience outside of ‘hey I’m the group therapist, stop by if you need to talk or whatever’. So taking a risk, he stepped closer to the door, enough to be able to lean against the door frame a bit. Cool guy pose, all nonchalant as he shook the bag of Cheetos in his hand and raised his brows, a lilt of a smirk playing across his lips. “Gamer fuel?” @mitch-nom
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lailani had approached him about going back home and he shrugged and accepted, wondered if this would release him from the only promise that he’d managed to make here, wondered if he’d miss the excuse. decided it didn’t change anything, not yet, but he certainly hadn’t expected her to ask him to linger after they arrived.
he was always prepared to stay somewhere, doubly so since the glitch, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the tension, doesn’t know what to say, when to go, especially since she gives him a warning as they approach the front door.
his mouth is dry and he can’t respond, then there’s a person in the doorway, then two, and it feels like when fei first brought him to the lair but more because they know laila and she knows him and he goes for a weak smile, tries to pull his joking shell out but there’s a hand on him and he’s being pulled into the kitchen.
he doesn’t mind it, per se, but is incredibly aware of the point of contact, of the house swallowing him up and he looks back to check that laila is still with him, the touch burning with its direction and casual nature.
then he’s sat opposite another one and she’s looking at him like laila sometimes looks at him but even more present and their gazes feel so real and he feels so fucking seen that he doesn’t know what to do but drags his eyes away from the contact to wait laila relax and bustle and he sees the similarities sees the way that she fits right in the colour palette right and he wonders why she’d ever leave to go to the lair.
then the elderly lady is making a joke with his name and he doesn’t know if he likes that name in their mouths, would prefer another name, a new name, an old name, goes to ask them to change it, to not call him crazy or unreal when they feel like rocks sitting at the bottom of the river directing the current around them and he’s always been able to swim and now he’s drowning -
then her hand comes down on his and the contact sparks and her words reassure even as panic spikes in him that she knew what he was thinking, worrying about, then a hand pinching his cheek and he flinches away from the touch, hand drawing back to rest on his lap and he doesn’t know what to say.
he looks at laila, sends a look to her filled with panic and pleading and confusion and desire but he couldn’t begin to unpick it.
he swears that there’s a smile on her face even as he suffocates on pure oxygen.
then there’s food infront of him and whilst the lair has supplies he never bothers to cook and he never buys good food and that was definitely his stomach growling.
a blush creeps hot up the back of his neck, his ears, even as he fights to keep it from his face. he ducks his head down, mutters a “ thanks “ as he picks up a fork, twirls it in his fingers as he waits to see if anyone else will start.
“ you’re all - related then? “
got a secret side in plain sight
when & where: july 20th, midafternoon, henrietta, virginia
closed to: @mitch-nom
There really was no explaining what exactly Mitch was about to walk into. Lailani had shifted from foot to foot, her fingers fluttering to her only-recently-healed temple, searching for some way to warn him as they approached 3 Blue Robin Ave’s rickety old porch that clearly had not been fixed up despite Marv’s insistence she’d get to it eventually. Lailani remembered being around eight the first time she’d heard that promise made.
One step before the deep green door (freshly re-painted, interestingly enough), Lailani turns to Mitch, her mouth open like she’d found something to say. She hadn’t really, but now she has to try. “My family is… a lot,” she offers quietly, lamely, with a little twist of her hand that adds nothing to her words. She could look for more to say, but there simply may not be anything, and in any case it’s been years since she’s had the chance to visit. Nothing looks as if it has changed, but what does she know? The door opens right then in a gust of incense smoke before anyone has a chance to knock.
Nikki is in the doorway then, their permanent bedhead a surprisingly nostalgic sight for her. From their exhausted glare, the sentiment doesn’t appear shared. “I told you,” they call over their shoulder into the house’s depths. “She brought someone with her.” They’re muscled out of the way by an older, smilier, far more confident version of Lailani who immediately crushes her niece into a hug, not a care in the world about privacy or powers. “What a lovely surprise! Although we did see it comin’, but you know. We’ve missed you so much!” Eliza’s eyes flash when she catches sight of poor Mitch standing alone just behind them. “And who is this? A little young for you, no?” She’s neither quiet nor subtle, and Lailani’s blush is fierce.
“This is Mitch, and he is a friend,” she mutters, but it hardly matters. Eliza has already yanked the boy into her arms and then into the house. They’re headed straight for the kitchen. A gaggle of mismatched shoes is lined up in the crooked hallway, directly in their path. Lailani follows, waving at familiar faces and ducking under curtains, around stray tables, dodging the clutter like she never left. Or like it hadn’t moved over the past near-decade, who’s to say.
She finds Mitch being coerced into a chair at their cramped kitchen table across from her grandmother, who smiles at him with a gleam in her eye and accepts Lailani’s kiss on her cheek with a contented sigh. “Your mother is with a client, but she’ll be done soon enough. I like your friend.”
Lailani heads for the stovetop, pouring herself some tea without further ado and then taking the seat beside Mitch. “His name is Mitch at the moment.”
“Welcome to the house, Mitch at the moment.” Carmen reaches across the purple tablecloth, pats his hand. Every line around her eyes and lips serves to accentuate her sharp, knowing expressions, like age has given her the ability to look directly into a person’s being. For all Lailani knows, it did, and she mostly uses the power for good. “Think of it as yours now. We won’t have it any other way.”
Eliza has already hopped back and forth between eight different cabinets and the table, seizing the moment to lean in over Mitch and pinch his cheek like she hadn’t just met him. “What can I get you, skinny thing? I’ve got tea at the ready, and food will do you good.” Lailani sips from her cup, watching Mitch from the corner of her eye. A smile threatens to tear across her face but she suppresses it as best she can.
“He’s not picky,” she says with a sudden small mischief. Her next words are hardly formed before Eliza is setting five separate plates in front of Mitch. “Bring him anything, he needs to eat anyway.” Perhaps at some point she would get to introducing him to each of them, or explaining the point of the visit, or giving him a second to breathe, but… Well, she never has the upper hand quite like this.
#int.laila#laila005#event five#int.starter#&& the hermit#somehow this was long but i gave you nothing to go off of on the end im so sorry#he's in shock honestly
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lapcpesse:
She’s learned to be less surprised with the way he appears in the library, the things he says, and this time she doesn’t shriek and drop something. She looks up from the journal she has been paging through, shuts it and walks closer to examine his plate.
“ Been watching a lot of Animal Planet lately? ” The smile is followed by a perplexed look as she actually sees what’s on the plate. “ Are those … marshmallows? ” Shouldn’t be surprising, though. Mitch has never been too conventional, but approaching him gives her more than a closer look at his interesting fare choices.
“ Want some tea to go with it? ” Perhaps an even weirder combination, but she could feel the residual nervousness rolling off him, something she was pretty sure was not attributed to her. And yet she wouldn’t push, not now, at most would only ask of her own volition later on when he had settled. But for now … “ How are the lessons with Daniel going? ”
“ yea, there was a documentary on felines, and it makes sense, because why would humans be the only things with allergies? honestly, why do allergies even exist? “
he rambles on as she moves closer, taking a crunchy soft bite in the face of her incredulity. “ of course. i watched a show and one character made these so i tried it and its actually really good. do you want some? “
he offers her the other side of the sandwich, feeling his mood shift to better things, the familiar tone of teasing and energy burning away the hesitation.
“ only if the tea is actually chocolate milk. “ his tongue sticks out at her, before lounging back in his chair to look up at her. “ going well, we’re still doing stuff i find interesting, and we’ve moved on from the tudors. but i don’t want to talk about learning --- “ he drags the last word out into a plantive whine, before sitting back up and jumping to sit up on the table.
“ what are you up to? “
#liese001#alkdjfh big mood#tho mitch will refuse to talk about heavy things as much as possible constantly
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library / random date / @lapcpesse
he’d been trying to make a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in the kitchen for dinner, watching as the mallows melted from the heat of the toast. he had been humming while he worked, before nadine walked in. there was a beat, anxiety flaring in his chest before he grabbed the plate, gave her a half-hearted smile and shifted.
he landed lightly on his feet in the library, his heart still beating too fast, but he let out a long breath and started to look around for liese.
“ did you know that some cats are actually allergic to human hair, but mostly our perfumes? “ he announced to the room, head peeking around the bookshelves before settling on one of the tables in the center.
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theninthcard:
A dizzying wave of self-loathing arcs from Mitch into Lailani’s fingers. It feels real to her, though she’s sure arguing won’t help. He’s always quite certain of himself despite his constant refrain about nothing being real, everything an illusion. She lives her life in multiple realities at once - she’s quite certain the boy she clings to now is real.
The one across the room, not so much, though he speaks as if he is. “Maybe is sometimes all that can be expected of you,” he says softly to Mitch. “I knew that from the start. Just like I know Ghost would never have given me even a maybe to hang on. Eli would have laughed me off. But Mitch is a little different from those that came before. Aren’t you? The names that come after will belong to someone on his own, even if you turn me down. You’re always on your own, Mitch. At least with me, with what I’m offering, you don’t have to worry about people like her clinging for their own purposes.”
She understands very little until his eyes slide to her with an unmistakable darkness in their depths. It’s difficult to counter, though, the easy suspicion being cast on her. Mitch is so quick to believe everyone will leave him even if they are literally holding him close and begging him to stay.
So that’s not the part she has to discredit, then. “What if I make him stay with me?” she asks, swallowing the tremor threatening to undermine her tentative show of courage. He turns his gaze on her.
“That’s not your choice to make.”
“I told my visitor no, because I don’t want to hurt people like she has,” she said, a steelier edge to her voice than ever before in her life. “She hasn’t taken it well. You’ll do the same, won’t you? You don’t care if you hurt Mitch.”
“You mean like you inevitably will?”
She for only a moment. The truth is better than nothing. “I might, but I don’t want to.” Mitch’s hand is still wrapped tightly in her slender fingers. “I never intend to. Who have you hurt? Does anyone matter to you?”
He tilts his head, exposing the too-sharp line of his jaw. “They were just going to hurt me. Mitch won’t, though, will you?” He holds out a bird-boned hand, affecting a gentle, knowing smile. Lailani pulls Mitch back an inch, angling herself in front of him, wondering only after if that was appropriate. If Mitch would hate her for standing in his way.
The thought evaporates when the other’s expression darkens, if only momentarily.
somehow, the answer given is what he was seeking and yet it hurt, sting of the knowledge that he has betrayed, has disappointing someone once again. maybe is all that can be expected and yet that is all anyone can expect from everyone else, the meaning of truth and promises held more sacred when the only sight of land is driftwood.
it’s all that can be expected and yet he has already made one promise here, to take laila home if she asks for it, which means he’s got to be around, which means he’s got to do it. a promise that still binds, unlike the half fettered one his duplicate made, fulfilled in letter and not in intent and cryptic half-hidden language is just as bad as lying.
indignation, reminder of connection, then fear? vulnerability flash through him at the mention of his names, his past selves, demons and hauntings and deaths.
“ you know, “ he answers, languid and sarcastic, “ mitch is the one who hasn’t been alone, not yet. odd, crazy man, insert last name here, mitchin nom, insanity and insult, has people who hang on. “
he lets that stew in the air for a second, before scoffing, defenses firming, unable to let hope colour his voice. “ the others, the ones in the future, they’ll have their own lives, i know how this ends, but that applies to your offer as well “
people cling only if they are fulfilling their own purpose.
he doesn’t mind.
then they’re arguing, still over who gets him and he’d be offended if he didn’t know that possession was the only way to keep love, but that idea scares him more. his eyes flicker between them, that itch to escape still present but he can’t tear himself away.
“ you’re forgetting, i hurt everyone. “ it’s why they leave goes unsaid, eye contact sharp as if his reflection forgot.
then his hand extends, inviting, but laila is pulling him behind her like a defender, hackles rising like a lioness, mother bear protecting. she’s going to be so hurt when she’s forced to leave him behind.
he lets out a laugh, gratitude and confusion mixed, “ are you two going to fight over me? “
#laila004#he appreciates a fisticuffs but would like laila to not let go#and is also very bemused and confused at the end that he's worth prtecting
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incinerxtes:
some peace and quiet was truly all he asked for. it’s been all too loud in the lair as of late, with all of them returning to - questionable matters at best. it’s hard to forget the message seared into his closet, smoke still clinging to the singed wood when he found it.
god, he’s starting to see why everyone hated him if he was half as difficult as his - counterpart.
peace and quiet are elusive at best, even outside of the lair, apparently - loud voices of help ring through the street, and it’s unsurprising that the few stragglers left at this hour are hardly jumping to the rescue.
he’ll speedwalk. maybe.
perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised, really, at the familiar figure pressed up to the wall with a stranger leering over him with the glint of a gun -
it’s instinct - the grab of collars, harsh tugs and fist meet nose, heel meet wrist, gun clattering into the corner of the alleyway - routine of younger days, less perhaps a few less small fires.
“are you fucking serious.” kian’s half snarling at the boy, eyeing his frame for a quick second to deduce that he was shaken at most, heat still coursing through veins. “could you perhaps not get us killed in the middle of several ongoing crises that are already pending in line? and if you must, could it be for something worth more than a couple bucks?”
steady breaths. he tries to even out the flames that are begging to be set alight - perhaps onto an unfortunate stranger left lying in the dirt - and focuses on mitch instead, teeth grinding.
“what are you doing out here anyways? if you needed money, you should’ve just told me.”
he didn’t dare move as the pressure on his arm was lifted, as it reaches towards his pocket, breath halting in his throat as his ear still rings from the gunshot.
then the pressure is lifted and he sags against the wall, falling to his knees, one hand on the brickwork to keep him upright. he watches, mouth slightly agape at the efficient way that kian appears, deals with his assailant who is, all of a sudden, unconscious on the ground.
a half laugh slips from parted lips and he flips off the stranger, before pushing himself up to crouch, arms wrapped around his shins.
“ my saviour “ he smirks, sarcasm and appreciate rolled together. he reaches up to touch the side of his face, he thinks he might be bleeding from his right ear, and that side of his face is scratched up to hell. nothing dana can’t fix in a while.
he tilts his head back and lets out a sigh, tries to release the adrenaline coursing through his system. it’s strange, how unfamiliar life and death has become in a place where that’s what they think they are fighting for, two months (he thinks) and his survival skills have plummeted.
“ you have to have realised by now that i am never serious, and i am only half tryng to not get myself killed, and none of you were in any danger. “ he can feel his breathing settle, so his pushes off the wall up to his feet, taking a moment to let his balance settle again.
kian’s glare is fiery, burning into his face like a shoe grinds a cigarette, but he knows enough to know that it isn’t at him. “ i was just going for a walk, and i honestly didn’t mean to take it, i just did? and i gave the money to the kid that was here so yeah if you’ve got cash i’ll recompense - is that how you use that word? - my loses cause i don’t know how deep feiyan’s pockets go when she’s not here and that’s what i’m going off of. “
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suvaris:
He looked like Mitch and he acted like Mitch, down to his posture with his hands in his pockets and that sliver of self-deprecation whenever he spoke. From his position down the corridor, he continued to speak, telling her of his own bizarre interaction without any pressure for her to agree or believe or whatever. When he finally took a step closer, her gaze dropped to the crunch of ice below his shoes and her shoulders tensed. As if on cue, more needles of ice grew, though not necessarily in his direction. They expanded now outside her control, acting on the strong and uncontrolled emotional impulse. Azra whimpered slightly.
“Just… don’t touch me,” she answered without looking at him. “D-don’t fall, I’ll try to… um…” To focus herself, she unwound her arms from around her torso and raised them as she channeled the unknown magic again, this time to melt off some of the ice in order to make Mitch’s approach a bit less precarious. To her credit, she did so without any more wild explosions of magic and energy, though she did manage to raise the temperature in the hallway to a stifling, uncomfortable place. A few of the larger ice spikes lingered, but the rest had liquefied and gathered in pools on the uneven, partially-sand-covered floor. The bottom third of all the walls had warped in her spellcasting, leaving them akin in appearance to something out of a Dalí.
“So you saw everything… heard everything?” she asked as he neared. Subconsciously she leaned slightly away from him, as though still afraid this was a lie and she’d be forced to run again at a moment’s notice. “And… and you saw… you saw yourself too?”
his hair was standing on end, though that may have been due to the unearthly chill, or due to the sound of fresh ice cracking and growing, scattered through the hall. not aimed at him, though, so he refused to let himself tense, to let himself worry.
he took the space into account, waited for the air to grow hot, then unbearable hot, where he could feel the sweat prick at his temples, but he didn’t move until she relaxed.
it was now a unique form of interior decoration, but infinitely more attractive than the elegant sameness that was felt through the rest of the building, and he told her as much as he walked towards her, before moving to have his back to the same wall as her, within reaching distance but still distant.
“ i did, though honestly i didn’t process that much. too much attempting to solve a mystery that has no answer. “ he noted the way that she leant away, so he moved back just a touch, trying to remember that this rejection wasn’t a normal circumstance.
“ and i did. very interesting fellow, wants me to leave you all and seek the power for myself as well. very good in bed. “ he smirked as he finished the statement, winking at her before looking down at his hands in his lap.
i nearly said yes refused to slip from his lips and he wondered why something like shame was bubbling in his stomach, why his words refused to articulate the inevitability of him leaving and how this was merely an option and he had no intention of seeking power.
he didn’t want to be the one who betrayed the others
“ though our interaction, though energetic, didn’t have quite the same cataclysmic power that yours seemed to have ended with. “
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“Nameless, I haunt for god and love / in extinct places, curve myself inside desire’s eye and drink.”
Safiya Sinclair, from “Gospel of the Misunderstood,” published in The New Yorker
#they were originally all gifs but that was just too much#inspo#face#a#wc#originally done for a connections page but i never got round to finalising it so#i wanted to post it anyway#it's just so self indulgent
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Kian: Why do I have to be the bad guy?
Mitch: I don’t know. Why am I the pretty one? We all have our thing.
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the house was too empty and too loud, walls that threatened to trap stretching on for miles, the juxtaposition aching in his molars and itching under his skin. too many reflections for someone who wants to shatter mirrors, opposite and the same and he thinks he’s been looking at through the universe through refracted glass.
maybe that’s what he thinks, if he lets himself think, but he doesn’t, just knows that the power, that constant electric hum that sometimes drives him even more mad, is restless in his bones, calls out for an open field and the stars.
he doesn’t know any, unfortunately, so there’s no direction for the static to go, and he flees the echoes of the floorboards to the roof, to the few stars that can be seen through the light pollution.
still, too crowded, too hollow, and aeron is already sat there, turned to face him.
he’s human shaped, this time, thankfully. mitch has seen in the corridors, in the brief meetings, refuses to linger for another chat after the world trip fiasco. neither of them had been on their best form, but the memories that had surfaced were refusing to sink back down, every other conversation like a ripping bandaid.
he goes to disappear again, leave the man to brood, but he’s already engaged in conversation, so he stills, leans forward to balance on his toes.
“ what do you mean? “ he sees too much, refuses to see anything, warped reflections glinting in the corner of his eyes. “ what did you see?”
Location: Lair - The roof
With: OPEN STARTER - @ anyone
tw: firearms/gun
he’s made his way up to the roof of the lair… a vantage point from which to keep watch ( for that damned evasive crow ). though the message from the shade had been clear - it wasn’t necessarily ‘outward’ that he should be looking. whatever was coming their way wouldn’t corrupt from beyond, but from within…
…in which they were suddenly their own worst enemy.
not all. not each individual… but some… the potential to succumb to temptation. to whispered promises - or lies… to glean a glimpse of things that could be - corrupt power - if they just took that step over an invisible, intangible line.
he’s still looking for the crow. wondering if it was still there - trapped in a hellish limbo of a torn and blooded future, but thrown into the past to watch as mistakes were repeated. perhaps he’d been angry, frustrated, perhaps throwing the lamp at the damn thing ( at the haunted version of himself ) might have been the best option. but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to violence toward those hollow eyes… the eyes of death who had – once again – held the bodies of the dying and the dead… who was so familiar with that violence that he’d used it… in ways he can barely fathom right now.
however. there is something in his possession currently that he hasn’t picked up for… some time. something he’d sorely hoped never to pick up again. a solution to a problem that hadn’t presented yet. a scythe in the hand of the reaper that walked among them. – a gun. and while the soldier in him is both careful and competent… the human in him knows the complexity of physical ease and moral difficulty that pulling a trigger presents. does he - once again - steep his hands in blood so they don’t have to…?
after all. magic was one thing.
but those who wielded it were still distinctly human and very, very mortal.
it’s… just in case. right?
it’s a precaution.
it’s entirely possible that he’s playing into the self same purported ‘future’ that his crow had foretold… by picking this up, events are set into motion - he’s already making choices that… he doesn’t want to have to make.
the problem is – he doesn’t quite know who he’s trying to protect… from who… or… what.
so for now - the gun idles in his hand ( with no actual intent, it’s simply… there ) as he tries to think his way through an impossible fog of unknowns. safety on. but loaded, oiled, ready…
just. in. case.
it’s not until he hears a scuff behind him that he’s half turning, a question already in his eyes, no hesitation on his lips… always to the point.
❝ what did you see? ❞
because, after lani’s vision… and then his own ‘encounter’, with everyone jumping at shadows… he’s damn sure he’s not the only one…
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askbalfour:
Now Balfour looked at him, his face as bored as a cat’s face could possibly be. If this was another attempt to pet him, it was doomed before he’d ever laid down. “I’d argue with you over your actions if I thought it’d make a difference.”
His tail swept back and forth, but this time it thumped into Mitch where he curled on the floor, marking him far too close. “I have more important things to do.” But did he really? The sunbeam looked so enticing… Mitch certainly seemed to agree. How much would it hurt to roll over and doze off?
No. Not with Mitch there, certainly. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care,” he said, jaws opening in a yawn halfway through. “It’s none of my business how you waste your day.”
“ you’ve only been here for, how long? or is the indifference and inability to follow orders something my past selves had as well? “ if there was anyone to ask about reincarnation, why not the mass hallucinated cat? not that ... he’d told ballyo in as many words that that was what he was.
the sunlight was so warm and he’d been doing a lot of jumping around lately, the longer distances putting a larger strain on him than normal, and he felt himself unwind slightly, unable to open his eyes to address allfor.
“ go, do your important prowling business, or whatever. sure you don’t just wanna take - “ the yawn starts a reaction and he finds himself copying it, before pillowing his head in his hands. “ hmm?”
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