I'M A CHANGED MAN ¤¤ open && visitor

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    —————— BREAKOUT ——————

    ONE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER ONE DAY I WILL GET REVENGE

    Guess who was still kicking and beating huh?. Yes, even he himself was fucking suprised having thought for sure he had seen his last day of sunlight. At that moment he hadn't thought anything about it. Just having sounded like a great fucking plan up in his head but the second he lay there down on the ground almost beaten to death had felt so fucking scared realising far to late his stupied mistake to throw away his life like that and for what exactly?. It had been a moment of weakness from his side, hitting absolute bottom some might even dare to tell him but the second he had realised how real it actually was, what exactly he was costing himself had regreted all of it. Every damn thing. To think how low he had sinked just for the sake of family. What a stupied little shit he had been. Breakout had have alot of time to think about that while laying in that bed for weeks under the mercy of his own damn father. Yes his father. Out of all people he hadn't expected him to be the one how would actually save his fucking life. Talk about a real shook which had taken him a damn long time to process before finally accepting that shit actually had happend. Under this weeks in absent had spent alot of time with him not like he had have much of a choice really but he had learned quite alot about his asshole of a father, and well with the given opportunity to think alot and when the day come to an end had finally realised something.


    Fuck family.


    Yup, he was so done with that crap to give himself to others just so they could use him. If they where all just going to abandon him in the end then he for a certain didn't needed them either. Time was far to short to hope for unrealistic dreams that never would become a reality. From the start had always been alone which never had been his thing but he could always pick up a whore on the street or found some company for the social sake whenever he felt lonely without any hope for attachments or letting anyone inside. It was time to build himself up some walls and not give a shit about the world other then having fun and to create himself his own life to create his own legancy, his own way to power and glory. They would all see. If he couldn't found his way into this world, a place to belong he would just create it for himself. His own kingdoom there he could rule however he fucking pleased, to do whatever the fuck he wanted. That was how he was going to build himself his own home.


    But that was not why he was here standing by The Sanctuary border having no interest to join this clan. No, it simple wasn't his own cup of tea, having a different clan in mind so was here for an entierly different reason. The battle scared hellhound would stand put, his whole body covered with scars from the torture he had got for bedraying Sanguine ruins, that almost had made him lost his life. But he doubted that he almost had died matter anything for anyone except from Deathstroke. It was possible she didn't even know he had almost died but he was fine with that. Chica didn't needed to know in fact he wanted to save her from that mostly because she had been the only one before how had showed she actually cared about his life enough to save him from that overdose. He would always be grateful towards her for that, not that much she had saved him but just the fact she had cared.That had truly been everything he had always wanted but he knew better now. Sooner or later Chica would as well take a knife and cut him through the back with it so it was better to cut the ties before that day could come.


    CHICAGOCRIMES

    trust is slow, danger fast. the beast has learned this long, long ago when she was but a little starshine child, life slipping past rose stained finger tips under the weight of snapping fangs and phantom's cruel trickery. chicagocrimes can't not think of how the world left her and shining innocence stained and dirtied, when desire for love and safety and protection was all she wanted, all she wanted for own home in snow capped mountains where hawks swooped low and mother not mother kept her emptied of such things.


    and she hates it.


    she hates how raven masked woman spat on own children. ( she hates how she thinks sometimes it's okay she had. ) she hates how stupid she was. ( she hates how she wanted love and found death instead. ) she hates how she stands passive aggressive. ( she hates how she's bent black and blue with lullaby smiles and wind chimes laughs. ) she hates how she is poison, poison, poison. ( she hates how she is selfish in own right. ) she hates how that hurts people. ( she hates how she still does it, anyway. )


    it's bleak. winter chill has taken vibrant meadowland and crumpled it's beauty under foot, yellowed grass frosted by blizzard breath and flowers faltering, dying. it's cold too but woman is a backcountry winter herself, fire lost to shift of worlds, to titan's battle, that she has been forged into ice queen, graveyard cold and reaper cackles. it doesn't bother her, chicagocrimes pushing alongside border like she does, like she always seems to do. travelers are nothing new, expected and thought on ahead of time. but still, when not stranger of the deep but rather ghost of past wanders onto outline of home it's always a surprise.


    "dar . . . breakout?" corrected, catching self, chicagocrimes slinks closer with were lilac eyes pulled wide, a dashing of shock upon pretty face as she takes one step, two, toward little boy, toward young man with war seeped into skin and spilling with tell tale scars and beatings. it's a slap to the face, ice cold water dumped over head, "jesus fuck, what happened? are you okay? who did this shit?"

    ❝ LOUI VUITTON BODY BAG ❞ CHICA FAZBEAR

    THE SANCTUARY & INFORMATION

    —————— BREAKOUT ——————

    ONE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER ONE DAY I WILL GET REVENGE

    Of course momma bear was quick to catch up on what was going on even quicker then to correct herself from calling him by his given name. Darius. It had been a long time since last time someone had called him that, or well be closed to since she quickly had corrected herself. That name had offended him in the past, wanting to forget it since that had been his way to throw away what his parents had given to him. That name had been the last thing he had have from them which was why he had disowned his own name so they had nothing about him that belonged to them. But time had changed now. Deathstroke knew who he was, and that mask he had carried for months over his face had got ript apart to pieces when he had got beaten up to a pulp. No more hidden secrets, no more hiding behind stupied masks in fear of not getting accepted otherwise. For the first time in his entier life had his eyes wide open to see the world fully.


    " Nice seeing ya again momma bear." His voice was carefree, cheekly even as he was quick to grin at her like nothing in this world concerned him. It was true to a certain point but even a changed man couldn't forget that easily but hell he could pretend until he no longer needed to. Until he had a such thick wall around him that no one could ever break down. Closing people out where the trick, to act like he not cared so they couldn't hurt him. No more was he going to be anyone's tool for thier own wars. Nonchalantly he would give a shrug, her question being taken lightly on knowing better then to warmly accept it. Chica would only care for him until she found someone else to replace him with, heck perhaps she already had. So he grinned still, poker face on to not let anything else leak out. " Oh i just decided i needed a bit of a make-over ya have to admit scars suits my handsome face so much better." He played in with his humour not giving much of details at first but he know better then to think Chica would brush this of that easily. Demanding more answers, pushing through was one of her specialty because she was to stubborn to give up. He suppose they had something in commen in that.


    " The Sanguine ruins did this but not like that matter does it now?. Alot can happend with months passing y'know? but don't sweat it i have taken care of myself like i always do." Words that once would have been bitter on his tounge was not treated like a joke. It was to late to care for his well being now after months of having no contact at all. Or perhaps they had expected him to be the one to keep in touch because that was how it always had been him visiting them but never once a visit in return. He doubted they even had cared if he had been alive or dead during this whole time. Them forgetting him, moving on with thier lives while he had been kidnapped and put into a slaughter arena there he had done everything to get himself back to them.


    " How about ya Chica?. You look a little pale." he decided to move on by asking some questions of his own, not escaping his attention that the caracal had a haunted look upon her features. Had life roughed her up a bit?. Breakout did felt that nagging feeling of concern cloud over his head since it was never easy for a dog to wipe of thier spots not entierly. never entierly but he wouldn't let it get into his head. He was here to cut ties after all.

    I AM THE PRINCE OF NIGHTMARES

    The voices rouse his attention and he recognises that one belongs to Chica of course, the other... sounds vaguely familiar but yet not quite. But then again Breakout had been but a child when they had crossed their paths, and he had been Scaramouche at the time. The malamute trotted over as he decided to make his presence known, a friendly enough smile on his face as he draws up behind Chica. "Hello there, I'm Krieger Hartmann." He greets whilst introducing himself, tail idly wagging behind himself as he tried to be a pleasant individual. But yet... alarm bells were ringing in the back of his head.


    AND YOU SHALL BOW TO ME

    Survivalinstinct comes sauntering over soon enough, the voices of his friend and Krieger as well as someone else who he didn't quite know yet having brought forth the curiosity in the young European doberman. Pierced ears sliding forth upon his head, the Newt settles himself near Chicagocrimes, gazing up at the much taller fellow with a friendly smile playing upon still faintly bruised features. The guy seemed friendly despite being such an hulking figure - maybe the guy was just a big ol' teddy bear that liked hugs. "You a friend of Chi-sama?" Val inquires, that being the question that had bounced about in his mind after watching the two interact for a few moments. He wasn't very surprised, of course. Chica knew just about everyone she came across but he wonders where she knew this lad from. "Oh, I'm Survivalinstinct by the way - everyone 'round 'ere calls me Val though." He introduces after Krieger, docked tail waggling steadily behind his lean frame.

    TAGS. it's true; mother dearest hardly steps past borders to visit family or allies alike but wait- how is she to know he lived in first place? since the shifting of world she has been forced to accept that some things, many things have been lost to changing of tides. that includes people. that included him.


    he's joking first, first, and pure frustration threatens to whip from tongue but then he spits out the answer, the ones responsible. the ruins. the sanguine ruins. and he's trying to brush it off but she doesn't think she can let such a thing fly past her, let the snakes lye. for anger rallies and riots in pit of stomach, hard and cold and lumpy as woman listens for now a second time that a loved one has been hurt by those stinking crooks. what are the odds it's by the same hand, too? "who- who did it? what fuckin' for?" but there's steel in his voice, and she can't help but notice it as he moves on, on, and chicagocrimes cringes a little.


    she can't help it, can't place it but she's starting to realise now that something is wrong, wrong. bitter, unsaved, he stands unwavering pillar but she's crumbling a little, finding self tearing through thoughts wondering, wondering what has happened, what the problem is. "how about ya chica? you look a little pale." no surprise there, she has been shaky in recent months hasn't she, emotion raw and pouring, pouring from her like running faucet. what happened there, what happened there? friends take each of her sides and their chatter is abrasive and bleeding to ears, noise, noise as they push forth cheer and hellos. and what comes from words is thinning, "'m fine, jus'- jus' shocked by it all." she so grossly glosses over thoughts and feelings, it tastes more like a lie in her mouth.

    That was the thing wasn't it?. How could they have known he was alive?. The same old excuse. How could they have known he not was alive?. Instead of trying to figure it out had just assumed the worst and abandoned him because that was so much easier. His life mattered that little in thier eyes while he had done everything to get back to them. What he had done hadn't been pretty but in compare to any of them hadn't been satisfied with the unkown fighting himself back so he could see with his own eyes who was alive or not. Some had he lost, Sugartongue being one of them but he had never assumed and be satisfied with that. He would have fought for all of them to the world's very end, searching through every damn rock and straw if it was a small chance they would have been alive because he knew how it felt like to be forgotten and left behind, to be all alone while the world believed he was dead. They had let him rot. So no, he wasn't buying thier fucking lame excuse of not knowing they should have tried harder. Not just giving up that easily. If they truly had cared wouldn't have given up. To move on that easily - because he wouldn't have.


    Asking who had done this turned his grin into a grim smirk, silent for a short moment before deciding to humour her with a answer." The lot of them, but it was under thier Queen order. 'Torture him to death' i think her words was." he started saying and gave a simple shrug. " I kidnapped and tortured the Queen and her son so i guess she wanted to punish me." he admitted his crime as easily like that but this time no humour lay behind his eye but instead he almost looked pained when he admitted what he had done, and his smirk grow more grim. She did had asked for thier reason and not why he had ended up in a situation like that to begin with. Breakout had never wanted to paint himself as a villian, never having wanted to be one but that was just running in his blood. Born from one and raised by another. Since childhood had been trained to become nothing more then a killer both from Crimson and Ghoulian had been having the same idea in mind, and now this colors was no starting to show. With his lost faith in humanity altogether the only thing he could found comfort in was to kill.


    While he was honest though didn't got the same from her. Breakout could tell something was up, once his words had spilled out from his lips and watched the respond of it could no longer force himself to smirk any longer. Something was up, something had happend. She wasn't fine. It made a clumb knot itself up inside of his stomach. He realised this was alost more difficult then he had image it to be and he knew from the start this wouldn't have been easy for him. To simple stop caring didn't lay in his nature. So pushing back his feelings right now was like a fucking nightmare for him. For that one second his gaze soften staring at her almost with a pleading look, like he wanted to reach her but there was some sort of wall between them that didn't allow him. " Chica... i - "


    His words died down in his throat, gaze slowly turning over towards a new figure, a stranger face how stept forward to interfere. Breakout stared at the man through a strangers eye. Krieger Hartmann.Name come rolling into his head, staying there but no recognization came. But he did found the name very familliar, but no bells. All his senses told him there was something with this male name he should remember. But he couldn't put the finger around it so brushed it of. " Oh, sup ma-" But his words got suffocated inside of his throat because the bells had started to ring. Childhood memories replaying inside of his head. He froze at first. The realization of who this one was made his eyes widen up at first in disbelife but then they turned dark, oh so dark like the pitches of black. Fire of hatred and rage burning inside of this azure blue orbs.


    " You" The word where spiteful, such hatred had never left any man's lips like it did from Breakout. That single word was enough to warn the alarm clocks that something was awfully wrong. Fire spread out from the hellhound's paws, smoke coming out from his mouth and nose. All he could see was him burning and destroying his home, slaughtering his family. He was the reason Howard was dead!!. It was because of this man he had lost everything. This man deserved nothing else then to get his throat ript open by his own fangs.


    Breakout had completely lost any sort of sense, mind clouded with a mind of killer how wanted revenge. So without any hesitation the Wilson lugned himself towards the malamute with blind rage as teeths where opend and he would attempt to tackle the other down towards the ground with his horns straight into the others chest so he could pin him down underneath him and his fire started to spread around them wildly burning anyone how dared to come to close. He would surrend the both of them in it, his own paws in fire burning this one's fleshas they lay against his body. " I'll kill you - you son of a bitch!." his snarl dript out with posion, spite as all he could see was Howard and Ghoulian's dead bodies laying in front of him, dead, breathless while this motherfucker was still breathing , living. It wasn't fair.


    Krieger deserved to burn in hell.


    // wow, this post is all over the place, ugh

    TAGS. again, the truth rings without needing of words, the questions so heavy neither can seem to bring forward on tongue; why didn't she look? why did she assume of all things, that he was dead when very well the opposite stood just as possible? she claims her love to him from the moon and back, an affection and worry that stands erect in the yawning drum of rain and the days she dabbed blood off face with own bruised fingers. yet here they are, seeing each other for the first time in months and reunions holds dreary kinship, severing ties because her care for him isn't strong enough, her absence is louder, louder, and neither one are thinking to sift deeper into the nastier facets of themselves, unveil the reasons for no matter the answer they know satisfaction will never come.


    there is no excuse. and she has to accept that.


    but not now. no, now she just listens with a bleeding heart, shock and anger twisting as he spills his deeds to her, confesses to crimes she didn't ask to hear. torture. the ruins leader. michael's sister, his blood and therefore, hers. eyes flush a harsh ruby, "why? why would . . ." she starts, accusing, exhausted but then, but then they're moving on again and there's no stopping for anyone.


    "you."


    a bomb goes off. breakout goes off. fire licks at wintry meadow, own skin and fans face with its intensity, hot, hot when it is supposed to be cold. a beast of a man rocks on heels, lunges at krieger and deja vu has woman reeling midst confusion. a memory, played many times over, a ritual she knows down to very bones. he bleeds fury, screams threats and slashes claws and chica doesn't see breakout anymore. she sees dead girl walking, death standing still, spiraling fire girl, she sees herself and that . . . that is something she never wants to see again. nobody should ever, ever be so spiteful, so hateful, embittered with an unfettered rage that not even an angel purer than snowmelt can heal. nobody. when did such an awfulness touch him, corrupt her boy?


    chicagocrimes does not think, does not hesitate, not in face of danger, no- she just acts. the beast lurches forward to cut off the attack, ice and snow billowing from own pelt to match his fire and she aims to slam into breakout with brutal force, to send him rolling across the grasses as a swear sputters across lips. should contact be made, there is no doubt that the clash of ice and fire has sparked up a flurry of steam, a hissing sound so loud to rattle teeth. "darius! th' fuck has gotten into you?" comes demand, shocked, grim, as the dead girl takes one step, two, in front of krieger, val, her people and narrows dark eyes upon the child, a little fire boy.

    I AM THE PRINCE OF NIGHTMARES

    It was a blur as it suddenly exploded, his eyes widening as he struggled to budge or to even respond. Fight or Flight, or the third option of sitting there like a twat with a dumb look on his face. He would have been hurt, maybe even killed if it were not for Chica's swift actions as she protects him from the beast of fury and fire. He stumbled backwards with an air of deepening confusion, his own memories a messy muddle when it came to that of Scaramouche's life. They were separate and one of the same, two sides of a coin, a victim and a curse. Though as he stared at the scene the first flickering of memories played on his mind and he realised just how stupid he had been. He should have stayed away! He should have just kept walking!

    "A Wilson..."

    The surname passed across his tongue like a bitter medicine, sobering him and leaving him feeling physically sick. Fucking hellhounds! It's then confirmed as the name Darius is mentioned in his presence. Cyborg Ghoulian, stuck up Darius, and fat little Howard.

    "Impossible... HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!"

    The bellow slips from him before he could stop to think, his voice even sounding different and more reminiscent of Scaramouche's accent. But he had thought that all the Wilson scum had been killed, except Deathstroke who had been dead but had crawled out the grave like the unwanted mutt that he was.


    AND YOU SHALL BOW TO ME

    Rage was all he saw. It had poison his mind. All this time had thought Krieger had been dead, injustice towards his home and brothers which he never could bring justice to. But that all changed with this man turning out to have survived and living. In that very moment his mind had gone blank, just having one goal in mind and that was to tear this bastard down into as tiny pieces as possible, breaking him apart bit by bit, slowly was he going to kill him in the most painful of ways. Parting his jaws so smoke would leave out from his mouth the beast was ready to strike down to show no mercy at all but just as he was about to act out on his own hatred and rage got something collided straight into his side, something hard and cold - enough cold and with that perfect strenght that would kick even the tiger sized hellhound out from his own balance, pushed towards the side to fall of the malamute which might just have saved Krieger's life.


    It was enough to make him lose his footing though, or to get pushed to far away thanks for the difference in sezie between himself and Chica. Breakout would be shift to swing his head around, snapping at the air before his wild eyes settled on Chica briefly looking at her like a little piece of meat that he needed to tear his fangs into to shred her into tiny pieces. But as the steam passed and his eyes found her own dark confused glare reality hit him hard. Azure eyes would widen then, disbelife staring as she stept in front to protect Krieger. Why?. Because she never cared about you. All this time she has been protecting and shelting this man behind your own back. She used you, she is no better then Hayliel and Ryuusaki. The voices returned back to him, loud and clear turning everything up inside his head into delusionals of lies that for him become the truth. Dimitri's voice guiding him straight into the deepest of darkness. " Not...you too." Hurt broken words escaped out from the lips, and he looked devastated, deeply hurt over that Chica already had bedrayed him right from the start. The Brotherhood, the family he had tried so build -all of it had been built up with lies from the start.


    The storm inside then returned back to him once more. Hurtful eyes turning to hatred. He couldn't fucking believe this. Breakout had not wanted this, not come for this. It was true he had come to cut ties but he had been talking about the brotherhood to let her know he was leaving that group, disbanning it from existence. He had not come her to hurt her, just letting her now this was how it was going to be now and then they could part peacefully in two opposite direction so she never needed to bother herself with him ever again. But after found out she had been shelting this man all this time inside of her own clan everything of that changed. Now he wanted her to pay. " All this fucking time you have been shelting this man. How could you?." he spat, anger no longer a well describe word of the emotion that possessed inside of his voice. He was feeling so bedrayed that he gave a deaf ear to what Chica even said.


    But then the biggest scumbag of this earth found air in his lugns to start speaking. With the flash of a eye the hellhound was back glaring at him again, fire spreading higher above him like any word that slipt out from his mouth triggered him. " Yes i survived fucker but only barely, but do you know who didn't survive?!." he snarled loudly the last part, paws taking some steps closer as the fire started to surrend the two of them, Chica and Krieger as well as himself so they all would stand in a circle of fire. " My brother Howard. Do you remember him huh?. YOU FUCKING TRAITOR TOOK MY BROTHER AWAY FROM ME!!.YOU TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME!! " The faces, the death, his brother image face dead on the ground it was to much for him to take in all at once. Seeing Krieger's face again brought his days in hell and that made him lose himself entierly. His right eye turned crimson red and the fire flames was wildly spreading around, and himself turned into a ball of fire. It was dangeorus to be inside of that circle of fire. The smoke for sure would be difficult to breath, and the temperature had rose high. Breakout looked to be ready to attack again at any living second as words contunie to spin around his head over and over again.


    Give my brother back to me, give my life back to me!!.

    I AM THE PRINCE OF NIGHTMARES

    Krieger was silent and a growled rippled from him as he bristled, tail lifting high as he locked his sights on Breakout. Fighting here and now would not end well for him, he knew that much. His return to life had stripped him of all his powers and he commanded no elements, not like Breakout or Chica. But he still had his fangs and his brute strength, so he wasn't entirely helpless.


    However as the past was brought up the vicious rage was broken when the distorted laugh escaped him, alarm in his eyes as a sadistic grin filled his face. "Oooh, did little Howey-babe not survive? Ah, too zippityy-da-dippity bad boyo! Just wish ya hadn't made it either. But ah well, no refunds fer a botched-diddly-job-job." He cackled, his sides rippling as he laughed and mocked the hellhound in that old familiar voice. Perhaps Scaramouche wasn't as gone as many would have hoped.

    "How about you do-dah-diddly-do what you do best... and run away like the coward that you are."


    AND YOU SHALL BOW TO ME

    There was only one feeling to describe how Val was feeling right now: useless. He is useless as he stands there and the monster of a creature becomes nothing but an literal ball of fire as he targets Krieger. Uncharacteristically, the Newt freezes up. Shoulders seize as shock reverberates throughout his entire being, paralyzing him, keeping him firmly planted in his spot as red hot flames lick close to face and body. He doesn't quite lean out of the way, staring at the sudden display of unhinged ire in such a way that he almost seemed completely enraptured and time slows down.


    He cannot do anything to help.


    He sees Chica taking a step forward from the corner of his eye and everything picks back up again. Heat and steam blasts past him, whipping fur and making his sensitive skin grow hot in seconds. He yelps out in surprise and this somehow gets him moving as he leaps out of the way of danger, verdant eyes remaining on the situation that had completely spiraled out of his control. Could Chicagocrimes keep this under control? Could she extinguish the flames that exuded outward from Breakout? What was even happening anymore?


    It is hard to wrap his head around, but he barely manages to lay out an outline in his head. Krieger did something. He wasn't sure what the malamute did - but it was something and something bad, otherwise Breakout would not be acting the way he was. It seemed unlikely that this could be an situation of false identification - Kreiger's own reaction to Breakout was more than enough evidence that whatever has happened was the real deal. How is he still able to think while all of this shit was happening? Truth was, it was all just stringed together as he frantically tries to figure out how he could disarm the situation. However, he came to realize quickly that he simply can't.


    Do something dammit.


    "HEY!" The doberman caterwauls into the flames, the expression of tearful frustration bringing itself into existence as he yells raw and loud. "You STOP that!" Survivalinstinct is picking something up with his maw, hard and solid and jagged. In the next moment he's thrown it, an sizable and hefty rock, right into the circle of fire hoping to hit BREAKOUT in the head with the hefty jaggedly shaped rock. The first thing that he would usually do in conflicts is talk. He would have loved to just sit everyone down and talk it out but with the way that things were going, it did not seem like talking would even be an option. Val was not pleased about this situation. Everyone was angry and he just found himself becoming more and more frustrated as the seconds ticked by.

    TAGS. "not . . . you too."

    he's screaming his pain, words thrown and tossed her way as the fire licks, rears up and holds the three of them all in hellish circle. chicagocrimes is confused, wary, lost, and it shows in the way sugar plum eyes spread wide as she comes face to face with conflict on both sides. breakout is hurting, he's so obviously hurting, and he's carrying such a pain to him that all she's wanting to do is to step forward, smooth all of his whimpers and tantrums and wane his temper until he's that little boy again. bratty maybe, spoiled maybe, but sweet in own adoring way. she misses that little boy but this? this is not that. this is some beast of a man, some demon rising from pits of hell to demand blood as payment, and she is unwilling to let that happen. "what th'— what th' fuck are you goin' on about? i don't . . . i'm not—" words, words, that's what they are, but do they mean anything, does any of what she says in defense, whether honest to goodness truth, mean something to him, to her? she's seeking reason, trying to level the fires already swarming but then, but then there's krieger.


    there's krieger and he's talking, he's spitting such an awfulness, talking in too terrifying of a voice, one that makes heart hammer loud, wild, against chest. no. no, that isn't krieger, that isn't the twilight lipped man with gentlemanly honor and devil's touch, that isn't who she's trailed through fluffy, fluffy, snow, that isn't who she's shared laughter with. that's scaramouche, and what a damned little bastard he is. she knows only bits and pieces of her enemy's tale, but that . . . fragment of his life reigns oh so familiar within own thoughts. for she has came to hate scaramouche, she hates him. the man is cruel in his jests, mocking, horrible, terrible, and she's quick to try to dig a sharp elbow into the other's side because right now, right now he needs to shut his fucking mouth, or else she'll pull a one eighty and gladly throw his ass into the claws of now riled visitor.


    breakout. he's pissed, hell's inferno to match her hell's freezing over, with her ice cracking past and along the grounds that roar with his flames and steam, steam is everywhere but smoke is too, dead lungs inhaling, inhaling acrid air. chica can hardly breathe. and then another voice enters throng, figure fleetingly forgotten coming forth with strong reminder that he is here, too. a rock spirals through, making stomach lurch. they're going to kill him. they're going to kill him and as she steps forward it is with a sharp hiss on breath, but voice is utterly lost in the chaos, utterly forgotten. "stop, stop—" this isn't like her. she isn't against combat, isn't against fighting, fighting an enemy no less but the difference here is that this enemy stands as her son, son whom she has fought for and with to hell and back, and he's screaming to be heard through the madness. that's her weakness, he's her weakness.


    but again, the sanctuary, its people whom life and death has been given to, come first. so chicagocrimes, while that little diversion goes down, aims to once again send the man of fire and wrath tumbling through the grasses and snow, to slam herself into him with blinding force, ice queen carrying own rage surprisingly steady, steady. he attacked her people, her people, and as far as she ought to be concerned they are her family, too. "get out. come back when ya got a level head an' then we can sit down and talk about whatever fuckin' shitshow this was but right now, you need ta go, before yer anger issues get ya killed." the air is bitter, frosty, terrible as chicago pushes forward with snarl on lips and she is bitter, frosty, terrible, for she dares to throw him off of doorstep or either face the wolves already rallying behind her. for his own safety, maybe, maybe, but none can ever be so sure.