Posts by Toby Curet.

James shook his head hopelessly, guilt welling up in his throat and making it difficult to speak. He knew, could sense in the way the boy trembled and cried, that there was no convincing him to calm down no matter how many smiles he forced. His grey eyes, pale with worry, searched over Ciccro's tear-stained cheeks as though the answer to all that threatened to tear their little world apart could be found there somewhere. “Respect.” He spat the word out as though it tasted vile on his tongue, grimacing. “Reputation. Status. None of that matters, Ciccro, not really. It's all completely worthless.” Not entirely true, the man thought with a wince. It had been worth something, or at least what he'd given to achieve it had given it worth. He'd dedicated his whole life to getting this far and now he'd fallen further than he ever had been. Now he wasn't just poor, he was a criminal. A dead man walking if Seneca were to have any say.

“Liar, we both know you're already all the way there. You lost your sanity long before I met you, don't place the blame on me.” He teased softly, his fingers curling around Ciccro's shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze. “Shit, Ciccro, I need you to calm down. You're making me feel like I'm at my own funeral.” The words were short, pained, an attempt at sounding optimistic that fell short and plumeted into the abyss below.
“I'll try. I swear.” He promised after a long silence, voice low and gentle, trying to hide the underlying pain that laced his tone. He could accept his own death, it was the fear of what would happen to Ciccro after he was gone that terrified him.

It was strange to think that the world kept spinning even after you die. One moment a person who had always lived on this planet simply... didn't. There one moment, gone the next. James wanted everyone else's world to keep spinning, even if something happened to him.

that was one steamy kiss scene right there *whistle*
Everything had changed in a matter of seconds. One thoughtless action changed the context of the entire situation, made James forget about dying, about what he'd done, about everything. He'd thought nothing could ruin this for him, yet she had waltzed through the door in a flurry of silk. Had Gabrielle not interrupted them James wouldn't have been able to bring himself to pull away. He wouldn't have minded staying there like that forever, Ciccro's fingers cradling his neck and curled around his shoulder. And he decided that this was the best impulsive decision he'd ever made in his entire life.

Gabrielle's words coaxed a furious twitch from the rogue Peacekeeper, grey eyes poisoned with distaste. Where before there was the tiniest hint of a smile, his lips were down-turned as though he had stumbled across the most disgusting creature he had ever laid eyes on. Blushing even more furiously at her reference to how red he was, James could do nothing but glower ever more fiercely, a dangerous fire igniting in his heart. “I wouldn't be surprised if you're the one who put him there, vindictive witch.” He barked, though the way his hands clenched in shock betrayed that though he had his own suspicions, Ciccro had never directly told James of the many times he had found himself perched at the edge of a particularly tall building.

“Don't.” His heart stuttered, startled by how quickly Gabrielle had torn apart their happiness and shattered what remained under a fierce stiletto heel. “Don't you dare talk to him like that.”

He took a few steps forward until he was almost eye to eye with her, irked by how daunted he felt by her confidence, by the contempt in her voice when she spoke to him. “Why don't you go fuck yoursel---” Suddenly he stopped, a sudden awareness flickering across his face. His mouth cracked into a smile, though one devoid of all the warmth his smiles usually held. “If I'm going to die today, I don't want you to be one of the last people I speak to. There are other people more worth my time. So I'm going to make this very quick and very, very clear.” He said disdainfully, glorified by the malice in every word he spoke. “Anyone who values the ability to read over being fucking human isn't worth anyone's time. God help whoever's unfortunate enough to have no choice in whether or not to include someone like you in their life.” He had never felt more angry with someone who wasn't Drake, had never found it so difficult to restrain himself from physically lashing out at anyone like this before. “So get off your high horse, bitch. At least Ciccro can say he's wanted here.”

Whatever did happen after those pointed words, James had stopped talking to Gabrielle and started refusing to acknowledge her presence in the room. He's retreated back to Ciccro's side and given his arm a gentle squeeze, wishing he could find a way to stop his crying. He didn't meet the boy's eyes, still reeling from their kiss, still trying to properly regain his feet. If he were honest with himself, he wasn't sure if what he'd done had been ok, the way he'd just thrown himself at Ciccro without a second thought. He wasn't sure if Ciccro was ok with it. But it was really hard to find away to say "hey, sorry for just grabbing you and making out with you, I'm just really shook up because I've had a rough couple of months, and I really needed that kiss," without sounding like a complete jerk, so he kept his mouth shut.

James suddenly wasn't sure what to say, if he should try to explain what happened or leave that for Ciccro to do once he was away from this place and somewhere safe. “No, no... it's ok. I'm actually kind of glad you're here.” He motioned towards Ciccro. “This nutcase won't leave without me. I need you to get him out of here, anywhere else. Please.”

The man had jumped at the sound of the speaker crackling to life, but it was the words that roared from it that left him aghast. He knew he'd be arrested, but orders to shoot him if he resisted was a nasty surprise. He'd given years of his life to the Peacekeeping legion, had almost died in their name. He'd thought his fellow Peacekeepers would at least treat him with a little dignity. No, now his friends, his colleagues, more than half of everyone he knew would be after him with guns blazing.

James didn't respond, his mind racing, trying to figure out what he was going to do, where he was going to go. If he gave himself up, would they shoot him on the spot? His thoughts swam with unease. His attention switched to Loech, a stab of shame making him want to ask the boy if he were ok, but knowing he probably wouldn't get a response that made sense. He felt responsible for what had been done to Loech, how badly his mind had been torn. He had tried over and over to get him out, even attempting to break the machines they used to hurt him. But it had all been useless. No matter what he did, he couldn't get him out without the camera recording his every move. And now... There was no coming back from what Loech had been through. And not only had he failed to help the Occultist escape, but he had been one of the Peacekeepers responsible for his arrest.

When the actor turned to leave, James started to back away. His glasses crunched under his foot, and he cursed loudly when he glanced down to find that he had broken them. Discarding the broken pair on the floor, he tried to gather his thoughts together so he could decide which way to run. That was when Aeron called him back, told him that 'you' meant him, too. James stared for a moment, surprised, then shook his head. “I... I can't. If they're too busy chasing me, you have a chance to get away. If we're all together... our chances are slim.”

[fancypost=font-family: georgia; font-size: 9pt; color: black; width: 305px; text-align: justify;]Welcome back, Kajuko! And I agree, nothing better than coming back to a refreshing new change of style. I've been here awhile too, but only in the past four years or so have I actually been active here. And it's ok if you're not that active, man, I just float around a bit too. The posts I do make are in private threads and even then I'm not exactly your "post daily" kind of person. Pardon me if it seems an odd question, but what pronouns do you go by? c':
I'd love to roleplay sometime, though I'm not very active so you'll probably have to be the most patient person on the planet. x''D It's grand if you don't want to, I'm pretty busy anyway.
Even if you don't feel like roleplaying with me, though, I'm always here if you have any questions about anything or just need someone to talk to.

Hope I see you lurking around sometime! x'D

[fancypost=font-family: georgia; font-size: 9pt; color: black; width: 305px; text-align: justify;]What do you mean, you're not very good? X''D These are wonderful! I especially love the Melanie Martinez one.

But names will never harm me
[color=gray][font='baskerville old face']Adrian Geller | Nepeta Leijon | James Merwin

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"Drop him," Adrian instructed, vibrant orange eyes neutral as he watched the man crumple to the floor, gasping and heaving for breath. His hands were bound behind his back, his neck a roaring red owing to the rope burn that had scorched his skin. He moved and settled onto the ground with ease, sitting cross-legged before the former Peacekeeper. When he'd finally gathered himself together enough to speak, his grey-eyed charge glared murderously up at him. When he spoke, his voice was so hoarse and strangled that Adrian only barely made out the words. "Why are all executioners so short?" He wheezed, and Adrian was surprised that he still chose to be defiant, even now. The raven-haired man smiled with an eerie warmth, then leaned forward slightly as though to share a secret. "Why are all Peacekeepers so stubborn?" He retorted, satisfied with his own witty response. "You've done... You've done this to other Peacekeepers?" Merwin croaked, disbelief washing across his reddened face. "Many times. Don't think you're so special. Peacekeepers who want to take the high moral ground and think that they have a choice in what they do are common. None of us have a choice in what we do, but we still do it. Because this is what happens to people who think that they can make their own choices." Adrian frowned, struggling to his feet. "Lift him."

James let out a sharp cry of protest, flinching as pain shot through his throat at an attempt at making such a load noise. The rope went taught, his toes just barely brushed the ground. Adrian watched almost in fascination as the man's face once more flushed a dark red, then purple. He trashed. As he did, his leg flew out to kick Adrian, the executioner only barely darted out of his range in time. Ruffled, Adrian raised his hand and motioned for them to drop him again, watching nonchalantly while they repeated their routine of allowing him to try recover before they spoke again.

"Tick tock, Merwin." Adrian clucked, frowning in what seemed like genuine concern. "There's only so much half-hanging a person can take."

After a long silence had passed, Adrian paced impatiently around the man, who hadn't bothered to recover his feet and simply knelt on the ground. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, pain and desperation flickering in his smoke-grey eyes. "What connection do you have to the Occult?" That polite voice rang out once again, sounding more like a casual conversation than an interrogation. "None." James whispered stubbornly, hands shaking. Adrian sighed, taking a breath that sounded pitying. "Lift him."

This time Adrian allowed him to dangle for a minute longer. He'd increased the time by a minute each time the rogue Peacekeeper refused to properly answer his questions, and was privately impressed that he'd managed to stay conscious through the entire ordeal. If he were honest, this method of extracting information was mild compared to other assignments Adrian had carried out in a the past. James should consider himself lucky that all Adrian had to work with for the time being was a rope.

Suddenly James's trashing weakened, his eyes lost their terrified gleam and faded to a much duller shade of grey, his legs twitched rather than kicked out. Adrian had stopped paying attention to him, distracted. By the time Adrian remembered that he was supposed to interrogate the man, not kill him, James had already gone slack. Whoops. "Whoa, whoa, drop him, drop him!" The executioner yelped, then shook his head in irritation. "Idiots, couldn't you see that we were losing him? Do you really need me to spell everything out for you?" It was rare that Adrian lost his temper, though even when he did he seemed to embody a sense of calm, or at least far more calm than most.

He glanced down at the man who looked as good as dead, with mild disappointment. Eh, everyone had their breaking point. Turning away from James, who was slumped on the floor, he smiled apologetically at his audience behind the glass. "Sorry, everyone. I'm an executioner, not an interrogator. Think I screwed up a little." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "If he's dead, take it out of my wages." He grinned a wonky grin, then turned towards the door.

"Medics?" Adrian waited impatiently for the medics to do their job, then tapped one gently on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but do you mind getting me a coffee and... and a bagel?" He asked respectfully. "I'm starving!"

One person behind the glass stared in blank horror at the Peacekeeper, guilt and shame flickering across her face. Nepeta didn't need to be here, unlike the he jury who filled half the room, watching the interrogation with fear and disgust on their faces. James may have hurt a reverred hero, but torture, even something 'mild' such as half-hanging, was beneath even the most vulgar Capitol pest.

But she wanted to be. Because law requires at least one Gamemaker present, and like hell was she going to let that person be Blake.

JAMES PHILOTES MERWIN

It was hard not to be amused by the sight of the pair, tottering down the street as though they had forgotten to walk. Their arms were wrapped around the other's shoulders for balance, and while they were much steadier walking together there wasn't that much improvement. James coughed uneasily, he was still sober enough to be embarrassed by Ciccro seeing him like this, discomposed and sniggering even at things that weren't intended as a joke. “Exactly!” He agreed just a little too loudly, an unsteady smirk sliding across his face. “Anywhere else is better, right?” He cursed vulgarly when he almost tripped over Ciccro's badly placed feet, then apologized. “Shit, it's freezing.” The man gasped, water rolling down his back, sliding in through his collar and gushing against his skin.

The taste of alcohol still haunting his tastebuds, James glanced anxiously at Ciccro, his expression muted. He said nothing, just stared ahead into the rain-misted street and let the boy lead him, finding it ridiculous that he was trusting someone he'd known a week and who was as drunk as he was to guide him safely out of the rain.

“Hell yeah they are. I wanted to be a dog whisp-- whisper--” He gave up trying to say the word 'whisperer', his tongue felt about as flexible as a steel rod. It was clumsy and heavy in his mouth, words with more than one syllable were a challenge whereas before he would have navigated those waters with ease. It would be fun to hear him try say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. “Took me a while to figure out it wasn' a job. Now here I am.”

James probably wouldn't remember half of this when he woke up the following morning with a pounding headache. His shoes shuffled awkwardly against the ground, his grey eyes blurred without glasses but made worse by the state he'd managed to get himself into. He let out an exhausted breath, closing his eyes briefly before tightening his grip on Ciccro's shoulder and marching forward. He was grateful for the boy's help, whether it was logical to trust someone so easily or not.

“Hey, maybe he was too focused on her new legs to recognize her face.” James pointed out, a boisterous laugh bursting from his chest. “So hard to find a proper gentleman these days.” He clucked in a slurred tone, grinning. “Shit, man. I never thought I'd find anyone dorky enough to like... Dursley... Disney movies. Never had anyone to watch 'em with. I always just watched alone.”

A brow did arch up his face at the question, but he already knew about the odd affliction that kept Ciccro from feeling. Being able to climb into other people's skin with ease and walk around their world, he was quick to humour Ciccro's questions relating to how something felt, his brow creasing with the effort of gathering his scattered brain cells together long enough to form intelligent sentences. “... Depends where you are. Right now it's freezing. Like, fucking ice freezing.” As though to demonstrate, James's teeth conveniently chose that moment to begin to chatter, his shoulders shaking. “We're gonna freeze to death if alcohol poisoning doesn't hit first.”

James smiled once his slow thoughts caught up to what Ciccro had said, his arm sliding from the boy's shoulders and wrapping around himself. He immediately regretted this action, it was much more difficult to balance without him. “Don't worry about it.” He said simply, laughing despite the rain, despite them being kicked out, despite the chill that nipped at his bones. “I should be thanking you. Nobody's called me kind before. 'Least nobody has in a long time. You're right, though. This place has way too many assholes running around. I suppose that's what makes you stand out, someone so fucking considerate looped in with all these pricks.” He coughed, annoyed that he wasn't quite able to lump his own words together right. “Don't get any ideas.”

James frowned, bewilderment wafting across his face. Maybe the drink was making him foolish, maybe Ciccro really was still intimidated by the title under James's name, but he could have sworn he saw fear and anxiety in Ciccro's bright blue eyes when James had lost his sense to his own anger. Guilt warred through another blend of unclear emotions on the man's face, and he withdrew his hand, grey eyes still focused on the slightly shorter Occultist. “You don't seem fine.” James insisted, but shook his head and didn't probe further. “If you're sure...”

The Peacekeeper cracked up, stone eyes radiant with hilarity. “You haven't seen anything yet!” He poked Ciccro playfully. “But yeah, that's definitely a good sign.” Hooking his arm around Ciccro's, he let out a relieved chuckle and thanked him quietly. “Shit, I don't know why I'm so happy. We're stuck in the pouring rain in the middle of the damn night, I definitely shouldn't be this happy.” He grinned. “You put anything in my drink, Jenkins?” He went quiet after that, nausea kicking his optimism in the ass and making him feel like he was definitely going to be spending the remainder of the night keeled over a toilet. James was fairly disappointed in himself, too. He'd managed well for the past few weeks without getting drunk once, now here he was staggering down the street, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. “Don't have to throw yourself in front of a car to prove anything.” James warned, smiling. “You're like me; you're never satisified you're too stubborn to die, even if you got killed you'd probably still get up and find a way to talk about yourself for an hour.”

When they arrived at the hotel, James eyed it skeptically, craning his neck to look up at the top. He almost stumbled backwards onto the water-streaked ground. “A hotel?” He slurred, dazed. “You're paying for the room, I already bought more than half the reason you can't walk.” But Ciccro instead lead him towards a side door, much to James's incredulity. “Hey, hold on, where--” He only barely made it down the stairs, his fingers linked around the rail as though clinging to life with trembling fingers. James fell silent then, his head spinning. He leaned into Ciccro, glad for some sort of warmth after the chill of the rain, his glazed eyes searching over the odd letters in fascination. “If it turns out you dragged me out for a drink so you could lure me back to be sacrificed to a demon or whatever-the-fuck, I'm gonna be real disappointed.” James whispered, a teasing glint to his ash-grey eyes.

[center]

Even though the seat was made out one of the most expensive varieties of leather the Capitol could dish out, the brunet felt as though his spine were curling in his discomfort. He shifted slightly, even his clothes felt like sandpaper against his skin. Perhaps it was the sick feeling deep in his stomach that made everything vex him, the smell of sweat swamping the group seated in the back of the van with a humid mist. He knew nothing of Loech's experience with the dead, and probably would have been skeptical if told. He studied the faces of those long-dead people with something akin to remorse stirring within him. As usual, he was careful to keep his face blank of all but casual indifference, then sat back, allowing Seneca to use the device on his own.

James was certainly not enjoying any of this, and knew that unless he had anything to say about it, Loech would not be enjoying having the upper hand very long.

The Peacekeeper shot Loech a judging frown, allowing distaste to swamp his features, but it took an awful lot of self-control not to snort. What was it, part of the Occult culture to make great jokes when in peril? He shook his head slightly. “Once we're back at the centre, you'll be checked over. So you better damn hope you're clean. Anything illegal we find in your system will be added straight to your growing list of criminal offences. Damaging government prop--”

James paused mid-sentence, the buzz of his phone announcing a text. He reached for it, fear clawing at his chest for a moment before he saw that it was only Ciccro. He relaxed.
Will do. He texted back briefly, ashen eyes flickering from his phone to the imprisoned Loech. It was one of the cruelest things he had ever endured, texting Ciccro while someone the boy probably knew and cared about sat injured, restrained and anticipating torture just across from him. Never had James known someone quite as evil as Seneca. Not even his father could keep up with the shorter man's cruelty if he were still alive to compete.

For the remainder of their trip back to the centre, James simply leaned back into his seat and stared at the ceiling of the vehicle, his eyes closed as though he'd gone asleep. He held his automatic between his knees, the shiny black glinting starkly against the white material of his uniform.

When the jeep jolted to a halt, James started, raising his head slightly to squint out the window. His hands had stopped bleeding, the cuts not deep enough to cause him any real worry. While the Peacekeeper was an excellent actor when it came to indifference or appearing annoyed and aggressive, the man could do nothing to hide the unhappiness in the grey of his eyes when he unbuckled his seatbelt and waited for the rest of the search party to wriggle their way out their seats.

Agony.

That was the first thing he felt when his dusky grey eyes flitted open, his throat arid, his brain pelted with sharp stabs of pain. The second thing was, to his surprise, disappointment. This wasn't the first time he'd woken, and each time his father had been perched by his bedside with a book in his lap, or a drink in his hand, or his chin rested on his chest for he had fallen asleep.

This time, when he glanced towards the chair at his side, it was as barren as his throat felt. And though each time Drake had woken to find him there and had complained and cursed and spat filth at the man, the boy really felt his absence. Moving to sit up, Drake instead let out a sharp shriek and collapsed back in the bed, the pain so monstrous that his vision blurred with tears and it took all his self-control not to burst into tears of fear and frustration. He could have died. He could have died. Those words played on repeat in his mind, his face flushing bright red with dread and rage when he thought of the man who had put him in this state.

Blake Xerxes.

If Drake could walk without collapsing on the ground and bawling into the floor, he would be on his way to whip the fucker half-dead already. But he was stuck in this stupid medical ward, only a short walk from the morgue where he would have lain had James not pulled Break off him. Where Tate had lain.

“Dad?” He said the word cautiously, a frown crossing his bruised face. He called James by his first name when he was pissed off with him, which was typically the majority of the time they breathed the same air. But Drake hadn't the energy to start an argument, so for the time being was humouring James's want for Drake to avoid calling him "James". There was no reply. The man definitely wasn't here. The arm that appeared much more serpentine than human slid from beneath the white hospital sheets and coiled on the smooth floor. He felt safe that it wasn't tucked near his body. Drake may have learned to control the thing, but sometimes when he was in pain or agitated the limb would turn on its host like a constrictor squashing an animal beneath its coils.

He cursed under his breath and closed his eyes. He was so fucking thirsty. He couldn't remember if James had told him he wouldn't be able to visit today, whatever drug they were pumping through his blood to keep him from going mad from the pain made his thoughts groggy and disconnected. “Thirsty.” He croaked, half-asleep. He forced himself to say it louder, his skull feeling as though it had been scraped clean and scorched from the inside out. “Someone better fucking get me a drink or...”

He didn't finish the threat, for he had slipped back into the comforting, terrifying dark of unconsciousness.

It was the smell that bothered her the most, the stink of bleach and disinfectant, everything they had used to scrub away blood and other bodily fluid and gave this place the impression of a hospital.

The Department of Justice. Nepeta had only been here once before, and the main reason she was alive to sit in this chair today was the man who fidgeted in discomfort beside her. Without him as her lawyer, and without Cuvier on the stand, Nepeta would have ended up much like James. Like him, she'd attacked the man who'd killed someone she loved. Unlike him, she had succeeded in butchering him. She sneaked a risky glance at Seneca. It was ridiculous, the fear such a small and unimposing man could strike in her heart. She couldn't forget his voice, knew now that he had been her assigned executioner, understood finally why he hated Cuvier and Cecil so much.

She watched what was happening beyond the glass, but not willingly as Seneca was. She watched because she felt it was a disgrace to look away. If they weren't going to do anything to help the Peacekeeper the least she could do was not pretend what was happening to him wasn't happening. Or at least, that was the reason she gave herself. In truth, the blood flowing through her veins had frozen to a solid concrete and she felt she couldn't move her neck enough to look away.

Nepeta herself hadn't put much thought into her outfit, she'd been far too focused on pacing back and forth her room, consumed with dread. A slightly perked blue beanie perched upon her short blonde hair. She wore a pale tan t-shirt that could hardly be seen beneath the shawl draped around her shoulders, giving the impression of a safety blanket. The pair of tight jeans she had slipped into at the last moment hadn't been ironed, and boasted their fair share of creases and lines. Instead of her preferred running shoes, she wore pale brown boots with a lot more heel than she was used to, but still not enough to bring her to Cecil's eye-level.

She sensed rather than saw Cecil's smile, daring to meet his eyes for a moment before her gaze darted back towards what was happening. She did, however, reach out to squeeze his forearm gratefully. While a smile did nothing to quell the panic that fluttered in her chest, she was glad that if anyone had to be there with her, it was Cecil.

She was the first to notice what was happening in the room, that Adrian had become distracted and the Peacekeeper had been left hanging too long. She looked away, finally, when his face went from red to purple, her palm shivering against Cecil's arm. She didn't know James asides from the occasional happening-upons that only came about because they worked in the same building. But that didn't mean she wanted to see him hung. She'd thought long and hard about why they needed at least one Gamemaker to be there, and it was only when she'd stepped through those terrifying doors flanked by Peacekeepers that she realized... Perhaps they needed the Gamemakers to be reminded. Reminded of what was done to Lestat, of what could be done to any one of them if they so much as looked at Seneca the wrong way. This is what would be done.

Voices reached James through a haze of pain and blackness when he came to. They'd revived him with a shot of adrenaline in his neck and

oxygen pumped through a mask they'd fixed over his face. He was confused for a full minute before his memory returned to him, and when it did the first thing he did was try to scramble away from the medics. Realizing pretty quickly that he wasn't going to get very far with his hands behind his back and a rope around his throat, James didn't try to struggle when someone held him down and murmured in a gentle tone that they were there to help, not hurt.

“If you wanted to fucking help.” James uttered throatily, his eyes closing. “You'd kill me.”

Adrian, who James hadn't intended to hear those words, took a thoughtful sip of coffee and leaned against the far wall. “Anyone touches him, they'll take his place. Trust me, being hung is a lot less fun than he makes it look.” He glanced at the cup, looking disappointed. “Needs a bit more sugar.” He commented, then shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel. He ate while the medics tended to James, though he didn't allow them to give the Peacekeeper a drink of water. The more exhausted and disorientated James was the better. He needed the man alive, not comfortable.

If it were Adrian's say, he'd have given the Peacekeeper more restraints. Tied his legs, given him a muzzle so he could talk but not bite. For whatever reason, whoever had given this sentence had decided that James's legs not be bound. Probably to make a spectacle of the man trashing his feet about instinctively, a dying body's last attempt at fighting off the foe that drained life from it's veins. This interrogation was to satisfy Seneca's bloodlust as much as it was to figure out exactly why James had made sure to free all the Occultists in custody before shooting Seneca.

Adrian put his food aside for a moment and waited for the medics to retreat from his charge. “Let's try this again.” He said calmly, sliding to the ground and sitting comfortably before the torturee. “What connection do you have to the Occult and it's members?” James heaved, his shoulders begin to shake. For a moment Adrian was bemused, thinking the man was crying. Then James lifted his eyes to Adrian, and to the boy's frustration and surprise he saw that he was laughing. A bitter, choked and frightened laugh, but a laugh all the same. “We go out for fish and chips every Sunday, right after the weekly demonic ritual. You really should visit Gehenna sometime, they get great weather.” Each word was so strangled, said in a voice so different from his own that even James was surprised by the sounds ripping from his throat. Adrian had barely understood what James had said, but he picked up enough to be somewhat ticked off that the man was essentially mocking him.

Maybe he should mentally pick at him a bit.

“I would expect you to take this a little more seriously, Merwin.” Adrian tilted his head slightly. “Didn't your mother hang?”

He paused to let the words sink in. Then wished he hadn't. A new energy seemed to roar through James's body, he was no longer crumpled and shaking on his knees but lunging forward as quickly as his fatigued muscles would allow, headbutting Adrian with as much force as he could muster. Before he could do any more damage, James felt hands dragging him backward, though the strain of the rope on his neck had already prevented him from jumping on the executioner and kicking him. Adrian's hand darted up to his nose, which gushed blood. He stood with far more grace than most would if someone else stood in his place, looking down at James in distaste.

“Now that,” Adrian mused, wiping blood from his face. “That was a very, very bad decision.” James cried out when Adrian's foot found his stomach, the boy packed a lot more kick than he looked. He doubled over, and while he was still struggling to regain his breath Adrian signaled for them to hoist him up once again.

With no tissues to keep his own blood from going everywhere, Adrian excused himself for two minutes, his lips quirking slightly when he glanced at James. He opened the back door and slipped into the back room, still holding his fingers to his bloody nose. “Miss?” Adrian stared, surprised to see someone stood in the room beyond the interrogation room. “Are you lost--” He began, then noticed how out of it she seemed. “Ah, hold on.” He still held his empty coffee cup in his hands, and went to wash it out in the sink. Filling it with water from the tap, he approached her and offered it to her with his clean hand, amber-brown eyes concerned. “Are you... feeling alright?”

[fancypost=font-family: georgia; font-size: 20pt; color: black; margin-top: -15px; height: auto;]SOME SORT OF CREATURE

Not knowing quite what else to do, James nodded a quick hello, though found it difficult to bring a smile to his own face. He managed one, and though it was strained and somewhat distant it was still a smile. Feeling a little more comfortable now that the mentor hadn't moved away or given any signal that she disliked him being there, he pointed casually to the book and mouthed 'amazing writing', having allowed his eyes to scour over some of the words scribbled in the notebook. He smiled then. James had never had much talent as a writer, but that had never once hindered his love of books, movies, stories in any shape or form. All art was beautiful, and you didn't have to be able to make it to appreciate its importance.

His hand retreated to his throat, fingers brushing the healed skin which was once torn and inflamed by that roughly tied noose. It had healed quickly thanks to the Capitol's advanced medicines, but James could still feel the parts of his neck where the rope had bit into most fiercely. He took a breath and tried desperately to shove the memory from his thoughts. He was breathing, he was here, he was alive. Unable to speak, but not dead. This was a place where people came to forget whatever haunted them outside, no matter how haunting that was.

People had begun to sit on the ground, some leaning into eachother and others inching forward to be closer to the Gamemaker. Most had gone quiet. James himself wasn't sure what to do for a moment, then sunk to the ground and sat cross-legged, leaning forward on his knees. His grey eyes focused on the Gamemaker, appreciating what he had done here, regardless of his own personal quarrel with the man. Every hint of fatigue had left his face, and instead it brightened up at the prospect of a new story.

By the very first page, James was pulled irresistibly into the world of the Mile, and though the book held a few topics that made him squirm a little, he couldn't help but enjoy the narrative. He wasn't sure how authors managed to fit words together quite so beautifully, and the way Break read was certainly compelling. They'd burned through several chapters by the time James realized that it had started to grow somewhat lighter outside, the first tendrils of sunlight poking up above the distant horizon. He felt relaxed, and if he could have, would have asked when the next reading would be.

James struggled to his feet and stretched, watching the Gamemaker and his daughter leave the room, the door flipping shut behind them. Monaca was sweet in James's eyes, he hadn't yet been subject to some of the queer things that slid from the girl's mouth. He twitched. Regardless of how dysfunctional it was, he wished he had been allowed to see his family even once since his sentence. Being confined to the Capitol meant that he was cut off from everyone he knew from District Two and Three, and there being a restriction on people leaving their Districts meant it was unlikely he'd ever speak to any of them again in his life.

The thought was isolating. Even with Ciccro here, with Seiko here, with everyone who had shown him a smidgen of kindness here... It still... It didn't fill that hole in your heart. Nothing ever could.

“You heard me.” James answered vehemently, alarmingly furious grey eyes scorching over her face. “You're not stupid, Gabrielle, don't insult yourself by acting it.” He treated her much in the way he treated a disrespectful subordinate in his unit, keeping firm eye contact and straightening up, daring her to say one more word. One more. In reality, it scared the hell out of him when people spoke up against him, but making sure that nobody saw how shaken you were was the key to appearing capable and worth listening to. “If I pushed someone on the ground and then helped them up again, does that mean I didn't push them? Or that they owe me something for helping them?” He sounded revolted, her words to Ciccro had shredded what respect he once had for her. Respect, admiration, salacity. All of it gone in a matter of minutes.

It wasn't that she didn't scare him. Oh, he was terrified. A mixture of dread and animosity warred in his heart, he was finding it hard to keep the underlying panic from his voice. He hated conflict, but he wasn't going to put up with anyone speaking to Ciccro like that, especially not when the boy had every right to be upset.

“That's how you stay afloat.” James corrected, almost recoiling away from her as if afraid her toxic personality would poison him. “But there'll be a day when you have nobody left to walk on, and on that day you'll realize that there's no-one there who cares enough to help keep you up and you'll sink like a rock.” His voice was insolent, defiant, he genuinely believed every word he said. “Though from what I just witnessed, you don't sound like you're doing too great a job of keeping your head above the water. You sound like you're drowning.”

The Peacekeeper, not having his badge officially taken from him quite yet, allowed a condescending sneer to cross his face. “And half the reason he almost doesn't. You cause more damage than you undo, egotistical vixen.” He hissed. And that was around the time he'd started to ignore her, expressing to her exactly how strongly he felt she was a waste of what little time he had left. Satisfied when she turned her back on him, he tried to thrust that passionate ire from his chest and busied himself with trying to rouse Ciccro from whatever stupor had taken ahold of him. He had to get out of here, he had to run.

Despite the danger perched menacingly above their heads, James let Ciccro lean back into him. The way Ciccro had flinched had made James freeze, thinking for a moment that the boy was angry with him, or frightened of the way he'd reacted to Gabrielle. He couldn't take it, not after everything that had happened that day, he couldn't take it if Ciccro thought of him as a threat. He wouldn't blame him, not at all, but it wouldn't hurt any less because of it. But no, only moments later the trainer sighed and relaxed, even moving closer and leaning into him. James went stiff for a moment, uncertain, then relaxed. He draped his arm gently across Ciccro's shoulder, a heavy breath soughing up from his lungs. “Everything will be ok.” He mumbled. “I... It'll be sorted. I promise.”

Relieved that Gabrielle had fallen silent, James just stayed still, taking as much comfort in the boy's weight against his chest as Ciccro did.

“I'm sure.” James said firmly, still holding Ciccro as though having an internal conflict as to whether or not he should let him go. His fingers retreated from Ciccro's shoulder when Kyros approached them, stepping back with an agonized slowness. “Thank you, for everything,” He muttered as Kyros drew near and scooped the boy up as though he weighed no more than a feather. “I know it might not have seemed like it, but you all gave me a home here. A home, and the closest thing to a family I could get.” He straightened up. “I'll always appreciate that. No matter what happens.”

James flinched at Ciccro's scream, his grey eyes ashamedly flitting towards Ciccro's blues. He couldn't fight back the stubborn tears that pricked at his eyes, Ciccro's shrieking was upsetting him as well as deafening him. He didn't reply, just stared in shocked silence at the boy who, only moments before, had been quiet and distant. Now he was wild and trashing, and even James didn't know what to do or say in response.

“Only if you can without putting yourself at risk.” The fugitive Peacekeeper spoke in a quiet tone, perhaps in his care to avoid disturbing Loech with his normally loud way of speaking in a crisis. He was trying his best to keep his voice level and his mind clear, but panics danced beneath his tongue and he was fairly sure his heart had switched places with his stomach..

“Please keep him safe.” James whispered, voice quavering. It was barely heard over Ciccro's screaming. James closed his eyes.

“I will.” James extended his hand for Aeron to shake, eyes somber. He had initially disliked the actor, their distrust and hostility towards James had always made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. But he would rather they both left eachother on mutual grounds of respect, which was why he didn't insult the actor by thanking them for their hospitality, their kindness, everything Aeron had never given him. And perhaps it was better that way. Respect had to be earned as far as they were concerned, Aeron would never be impressed by how far James had come until he proved he deserved to be where he was. It was something James had never appreciated until now.

He watched them go, a coldness settling over his features. It took an awful lot of willpower not to follow them into the cool air outside.

Ciccro's shouting faded into the distance. James couldn't tell if he was shouting his name or Kyros's.

It didn't matter.

( No problem, you're forgiven! c': )

Totally ignorant to the fact that he was being toyed with, James enjoyed her bubbly, affable demeanor and felt the tension in his shoulders easing. He saw her charm but not the peril behind it, drawn in like a fish on a line by her flirtatious teasing.

Sometime in the future he would recall the way he used to grin when Gabrielle spoke to him that way and loathe himself for being so pitiful, so gullible. Was he really so needy that he fell for anyone who flashed him a smile? He almost suffocated in her perfume, a costly kind by the smell of it. James recognized it, he'd stumbled into Ciccro, Rena and Sibyl's apartment the night before reeking of something with a similar twang. He'd recognize that aroma anywhere, Capitol women were very particular with their brand choice and certain brands of perfume had similar smells in all their varieties. Some sort of marketing technique.

All James knew was that it worked, even he could list off the most popular brand-names and he didn't make a habit out of wearing perfume.

This being James, Gabrielle would be able to get away with anything. Her smile quieted him once again, he found his eyes flickering over her and then away, finding anything else to look at. He still wasn't sure if she were serious or taunting him. His cheeks were still tinted a brilliant pink, and though he was grinning, he couldn't keep the disarray from his dark, ash-grey eyes. She knew he was married, right? Gabrielle hadn't struck him as the kind of woman to flirt with a married man. Then again, James didn't strike many as the kind of man to spend his nights indiscriminately and cheat on his wife. Looks could be very deceiving, and even Ciccro, who had seen more of James than most others did, hadn't a clue about what James considered a moral flaw in his own code.

“Don't need to thank me,” The Peacekeeper replied graciously. “I'd be an ass if I didn't.” He felt that familiar stab of jealousy when she spoke about Ciccro, then wondered vaguely who he was jealous of. Shrugging it away, he smirked. “Shit, that's very kind of you, actually. Kind of them, too. Sounds like it took a lot of effort to get it.”

Not quite realizing that Gabrielle's kiss had left a mark, James had simply proceeded to knock on Ciccro's door, struggling to keep ahold of all the bags he'd brought as well as the newly added parcel. Unknowing to how ridiculous his lipstick-stained cheek seemed, he stood there in tired silence until a voice mumbled from inside. He listened to Ciccro's battle with the door's latches with quiet concern, then shook his curls from his eyes.

“Damn, is Ciccro here?” James grinned sarcastically, adjusting his grip on the bags. “The Ciccro I came to see looked like he was run over by a train. There's no way you're the same person.”

James shrugged. Much in contrast to his emotional outburst at his dogs the previous night, he smiled brightly, not a trace of the despair and desperation that had brought him to tears only a few hours ago. “That's fine, I only brought enough food for two anyway. Thought you must be bored sitting up here barely able to walk around, so I got off work early and brought half the movies I own.” He glanced behind him, as though worried Gabrielle would come waltzing back up the steps. “I.. uh. If you want to be alone, I get it. I can just leave the movies here so you can binge on your own, if you want.”