tw: violence, language, north being an ass without reason and uh, dubious consent?
There was a street. And on this street, there was a house.
It was a house like many, in the sense of being abandoned, and ways derelict; it was a house; it had a roof, and it had once looked beautiful-- you could tell; sometimes, you just could; it had a bush fence, too; while it had died, and looked untouched in the past many decades, in some places where the rot hadn’t taken over, and the neglect hadn’t lain waste to roots and the life of the leaves growing onto, hedges remained, overgrown and pressed flush to the walls of the house, like brothers.
You entered it by becoming a fool, first things first; you went into the almost center of the city, and wound past the infected, and the screaming, and the bodies-- looted; if they were half eaten or, god forbid, entirely eaten, you weren’t just a fool by coming in here: you were fucking dead.
You walked down the street down, assuming you had a map-- you chose paths, curious, and certain as one who had walked them a hundred times before, a million times enough to know where sometimes people gathered, where the infected stalked, where cars had been toppled over, resting on their sides or in a heap together, an unceremonious lump of dead metal gods.
You dodged those.
You-- he walked a certain path, and there was, indeed, that house; on a street that belonged to an area-- and it had, once, been a densely lived in area, with all the picture perfect homes, and all the sprawling backyards, and those abandoned slides; on a street that differed from no other, apparently, down and down it and after a while of walking, the house stood as seventh in a row, actually, by the right of it held snug by evergreen shrubbery, and vines which had crawled to the back and front of it, and even touched the roof; by the left, there was nothing; there was no gate to prevent entry, and in fact, it looked like there had never been one; the mail box was gone; but there had been one; along the stone, and crippled by time path to the house, and where said time had built cracks, and the cracks had built weeds to grow onto, he walked towards the door as if coming back home; and indeed, a home it was.
He also opened the door; with a key that slipped into the lock, and only some caution on his side as, indeed, the door proved locked, and once inside, the quiet proved still, and strong; there was no-one.
A two-story house in the middle of a dead town-- on the right from the entrance a kitchen, dead, and gone, on the left a living room, and in front of him a hallway with a stairwell leading up to the next floor, pressed flat to the wall, and the rooms it yielded in reward to any braver soul empty, too.
Just as Jessie remembered.
It took him a moment to slump in relief; to check all the usual entry and exit points, and confirm there was nobody--
Until on this day, late and approaching night, Jessie dropped all his belongings in the hallway, and finally let the stress on his shoulders go off.
"Fuck."
Tired, he was so tired; these past weeks had been horrible-- and yet he trudged forth, only tiredly remembering to collect which he had dropped-- so that he could pause at the door down to the basement, and there rest his head, and feel tired.
So, so very tired. So tired.
But he had the backyard to check still-- he had the basement to go into still, he had the things to unpack, and his precious, precious contraband to enjoy, artifacts of rebellion nobody would take.
Nobody--
It was this thought that re-energized Jessie; that smiled him, and leaning away from the door, he exhaled, then got the door unlocked; he didn't lock it behind himself, perhaps a mistake before he just descended; he turned the lights on, though; various scented bangs littered these premises, no drop of blood to be found in here, not even a drop of meal for the infected to enjoy: only, there was this basement, this safely guarded, precious basement that didn't yield his treasures immediately upon entrance, but rather as Jessie stopped in the middle of it, in the middle of this space cluttered by random, and certainly distracting things, only then did the purpose of his being enjoy its reveal, for he bent, pulled an old, and dusty carpet off the floor--
And there a hatch was, and there his belongings, his treasures; old vinyl records, cassettes, DVDs--
--drugs and alcohol--
Weapons.
Anything and everything he treasured, this being just one of the spots.
And as Jessie witnessed his treasures, he sat down quietly, his legs folded, and he reached deep, deep within this amazing hole of magic, and trickery and valuables-- and took out what he usually did:
In his palms, it looked innocent, or even boring; he yet carefully, and carefully unwrapped the cling film from it, then removed the wooden lid--
And then: inhaled deeply from his favorite mix of potpourri, purples and flowers and once-life.
It got him drunk-- and Jessie, his eyes closed, tilted his head back-- and exhaled like a drug addict, and soothed maniac.
He smiled larger at that.
Posted 06-05-2021, 12:46 PMThis post was last modified: 06-17-2021, 11:58 AM by Jessie Michels
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
While not something he normally partook in, North decided earlier in the day to follow Jessie as soon as the man left the Military Compound. Their interactions as of late had been brief, but volatile, and the Infected couldn't help but get curious where exactly the man kept running off to so desperately when things spiraled out of his control. North hadn't seen him in a fair amount of time, so he did the one thing that came easiest for a superior officer: ordered subordinates to keep tabs on the man and report back on his wanderings. When he'd gotten the comm that the specialist was on the move, North had been quick to be hot on the man's trail. After many hours worth of travel, the Major was surprised that their end destination was the Abandoned Town.
It was a favourite in particular for drifters and Eclipse members, considering the range of loot that could still be found in the mostly worn-down homes. Not a place that Military personnel went to often, but especially not to a residential part of the town that was often covered in roaming Infected. North watches Jessie enter a house from where he stands across the street, shadowed by another house and hidden in the darkness of the growing night. There is a considerable number of questions that spring to North's mind as he stays where he is — patient — eagerly awaiting to see if the man he was stalking would exit. No, not stalking. Following. Observing. Like a good officer would.
He waits for a fair amount of time, but when it's clear Jessie isn't going to be out any time soon, North decides that was a good time to make his presence known. He didn't plan on being subtle forever, and now that the end goal had finally been revealed, he knew now was as good a time as any.
The door isn't locked when he turns the knob — wouldn't have mattered anyway. A sharp twist of his wrist would break any door lock if he was really intent on entering. He's silent about his movements, taking care to ensure he wouldn't announce his arrival until he was ready to do so. The door closes behind him and North enters deeper into the house, stopping every so often to take in his surroundings. After regaining a sense of his humanity and moving into Stronghold, North didn't often find himself back in places like this again. He shakes the thoughts away and, like a bloodhound — pun intended — the Infected uses his senses to track down what room Jessie was in.
“Wow, nice digs,” the man's cool, apathetic tone drifts lazily into the air as he lets out a whistle — a taunt. He leans against the open door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes pinned to the man sitting in the middle of the room. His eyes take in the cache hidden in the floor, and eyelids narrow his eyes instinctively as he recognizes certain things that most definitely did not belong outside of the Military compound without permission. But that's not what he's here for, it's not what he cares about, and his gaze instead returned to the lazy, almost happy expression on Jessie's face.
Well, he'd have to take care of that, wouldn't he?
“But I must admit, I'm rather surprised. Your military-mandated quarters not good enough for you, so you had to go looking for a second home in Infected territory?” His words are a sneer and he knows it'll do the trick.
He didn’t start off his spot to conceal himself-- didn't at the shuffle of the door-- at the slight tinge in the air that flowed-- didn't: after all, neither did the intruder enter in deep, merely hovering at the door; like the asshole he was.
And Jessie sighed.
And just sighed; through his nose; his eyes cold. They tensed quickly.
He turned his head, then, glaring up at the man who dared to lord over him in every way, a controlling, abusive asshole who--
Who was.
And Jessie’s heart soared, for a while.
He stood up; he did so slowly, the belongings in his hands abandoned-- and yet still lowered with only caution; care; and privacy.
Before he was up right.
He chewed on his lip for a while; as if he’d like to tear it off; then he looked down at his stash again-- following the length of North’s mocking gaze--
And fuck, Jessie thought, and his next sigh was just mental.
What will he have to do---
His eyes narrowed in equal mocking.
And he sneered deliciously in turn, unable to help himself--
“Feeling lonely, sir?
--yet his smile was playful; it had it to; nervous, but playful.
But also nervous.
And behind his gaze, thoughts attacked. What do I do indeed. How do I get out of here.
Do I protect this place--try ‘n’ keep it.
Or do I sacrifice it.
What do I do here.
Nostalgia left Jessie uncertain.
He took a breath.
“So what do you want to pretend this doesn’t exist?”
Posted 06-10-2021, 02:53 AM
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
There was a glare — a playful grin — and yet even if he couldn't see the other man's facial expressions, North just knew he wasn't a welcome sight for the human. But that thought only made his own grin grow that much broader, his large frame taking up the entirety of the basement door frame and, subtly, making it known that Jessie was trapped between a rock and a, er, hard place. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as Jessie questions whether he was lonely or not, and even if it was obvious the question was rhetorical, that wouldn't stop the Major from answering the question — if only because he knew he could use it well to aggravate the other with his response.
“Why? Are you worried about me?” His head tilts as he speaks, grin grows broader, and then — “I'm touched.” He isn't really, of course, but it's still a mockery of the human in the way he addresses the other man. Then Jessie speaks again, asking him a proper question this time, and North allows his gaze to drop so that he can take in the hidden stash that the specialist was still trying to hide. In truth, North didn't care that much about it — not personally, at least. He had better things to do that chase down missing inventory from the Military arsenal. That simply wasn't his job.; it was beneath him.
And yet... This was too good an opportunity to waste.
“To pretend that what exactly doesn't exist?” North questions, his gaze lifting to once more train itself to Jessie's face. Arms unfold themselves as the infected pushes himself off the door frame, righting himself before he takes a step forward — a step down — and begins to infiltrate the human's secret room.
“From where I'm standing —” another step closer — “it doesn't look good for you, little Jessie. But maybe if you care to explain yourself, you could convince me it's something other than what it looks like,” he continues to speak, a wolfish grin taking over the entirety of his mouth now. He hasn't forgotten how their interactions had concluded over the past couple weeks, and it amuses him more than anything now to have yet another piece of blackmail he could use against the specialist should he choose. His side still itched from where the mutt had dared to poke him with a knife, and North wasn't exactly known for his forgiveness.
Jessie’s lips tensed at the mocking; he fought against himself in what to say-- eventually, he agreed on nothing; instead, the question that did pop came to haunt him, leaving North’s gaze to almost mockingly look where Jessie had been crouched, reverent, and inspecting not even a minute ago.
It grated on him.
And when North played his game-- Jessie took a single long inhale, and then held the air clutched in his chest.
He breathed only softly, only inaudibly; the other’s descent was another sign of mocking, a power move that allowed North every bit of the glory that kings had once used to feel; as he came onto the territory of the basement, descending as if royalty off their carriage to inspect the affairs of their underlings, Jessie felt every overwhelming urge to kill him; eventually, it struck him as fairly attractive.
He could kill him, he was thinking, seizing North with a cold look--
After all, that would be one sure way of defending this and any other stash of his-- most importantly, he wasn’t even too loyal to the military, but knowing what had kept him siding with it temporarily locked him in the moment; it temporarily froze him; temporarily rewired his brain; at that exact moment, as North stepped closer and closer, Jessie felt overwhelmed by loathing, and wrath.
Eventually, he stepped out too.
As his hands clenched, as his eyes narrowed, and he boldly met the other right at the bottom of the stairs, his stash at his back, again he considered the killing plan; again, and it briefly showed in his eyes, he appeared a hundred, or a thousand percent to strike against this man, and drag him down.
It didn’t show in any overt tension--
He didn’t clench his jaw, neither did he ball his hands (in fact, they relaxed).
And yet, it was readable in his eyes; in his blue, narrowed eyes; a bold, and stark threat to claim North’s life.
But then, Jessie smirked.
It was more of a grimace than a smirk.
“Sure,” he coolly crooned, “though that would hinge on treating you like you’re stupid. You’re not stupid.”
As if to punctuate that, Jessie narrowed his eyes, then tenderly looked over his shoulder and right behind himself, perceiving the stash there, doing a mental count of everything held within, and all the everything he’d be losing; it returned his gaze onto Sigurd.
“Just tell me what you want, Sigurd,” he said, sounding tired, even exhausted-- a minute into dealing with this, and he'd've preferred a personal dance with a feral instead.
Alas--
"Just tell me," he beckoned, eyes locked with the other, his jaw tensing at last-- the smirk falling off.
"What," he stressed, "do you want from to pretend you didn't see this?"
Posted 06-17-2021, 03:31 AM
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
He's almost surprised — in a hilarious twist of fate — that Jessie verbally announces he knows North isn't stupid. Hell, it would have been the biggest mistake of the human's life if he hadn't denied it, but still, it's surprising nonetheless. The Major doesn't miss the sharpness of the other man's eyes as their gazes connect with one another, but it doesn't bother him any. In fact, if anything, he almost seems to goad his underling with the way in which his lips quirk upwards at the edges, broadening his grin as though he were some sick overlord that had just found a good way to make a subordinate lick his boot. This little song and dance of theirs was getting more interesting.
Now that Jessie didn't have a desk to hide behind. Or an office to run from.
Standing there just a step above Jessie, their eyes interlocked — two prisoners of the room, one with a predatory instinct that craved nothing more than to hunt and feed — a dark thought intertwines itself in North's mind. For a moment, just a moment, he envisions himself finally ordering the other man to do the very thing he had refused from him for so long. To give Jessie what he wants — give North what he wants — all in exchange for keeping his mouth shut.
How easy would it be to simply order the man to k n e e l in front of him like some whore he picked up in the city slums? To have Jessie pleasure his superior, all so that he could keep this little ruse of his secret?
Easy. It would be too easy.
The silence lingers on and perhaps Jessie would have been able to spot the way North's eyes darken slightly and hood themselves with his eyelids as the man imagines the sordid affair in his head. It wasn't like it was an uncommon thought for the Infected; after all, he was the one with a reputation for fucking his way to the top of the dog pile. But it's then North realizes the hunger churning in his gut isn't entirely sexual. Being enclosed in such a small room, North can smell Jessie in the very essence of the room. Smell his blood, that the Major had the pleasure of tasting before. He knows there's danger in staying put.
“Nothing,” he finally decides, the gloating grin making it very clear this wasn't entirely over. “I don't need anything from you, Jessie. At least not now,” he continues, throwing in the last sentence at the last second to make it clear he intended to follow up with this in the future. “Besides, haven't we established your only worth in the Military is your body? Which, as you know, I have no desire for,” he decides to purr out, goading the man once more.
It's cruel. He could have simply told the man he needed nothing to keep this a secret and left, but instead he stays just long enough to drive the metaphorical knife that much deeper.
He’d seen it; before and repeatedly; on men, on women… on North.
This was different.
This was seclusion; this was two men in a place that Jessie would have called before:
Where nobody can hear you scream.
It was why he overreacted; why his world tilted wrong.
Why his emotions reared, why his vision went white, but also murky; why he back-pedaled--
Literally:
Why, at that moment, what he needed the most was to be gone; to dismiss the world which saw North looking at him as so--
And which had Jessie conscious-- all too conscious: of where he currently was.
Every mortal detail of his person happened to be replayed in his thoughts; and the fear, that goddamn fear-- it seized his stomach, it made his blood pump hard.
It made him indeed step back and back and back again--
Until he almost could have fallen down the hatch.
But the presence had been made known: he looked frightful-- an animal, indeed, wide-eyed and distrustful.
The grin didn’t help it all.
The vagueness of the threat-- the promises behind that-- and Jessie’s jaw clenched, the last time’s stupid offense rubbed rudely into his face; he didn’t know what he wanted more at that moment; to flee from here, leaving this, all this behind in fire and ash-- or kick North right in the cock; and then beat him.
And beat him.
And beat him repeatedly--
Crying things that suddenly choked out a weird sob from him--
He’d blame the noise; that weird noise that came at that same exact moment-- something like footfalls, like a door maybe being opened, such subtle ways of announcing they weren’t alone.
Jessie had not been gladder for company than he was now.
"We have company," he decidedly informed North-- it didn't matter they'd both have heard it--
Jessie just faced him-- but in reality, he wasn't looking at North directly; where his gaze could be said to have fallen on the man, imperceptibly it was directed on the other's chin--
For Jessie spoke, shivering--
"Yeah, might as well take care of them."
With that, he reached for his weapon, starting out in madness.
Posted 06-17-2021, 12:07 PMThis post was last modified: 06-17-2021, 12:07 PM by Jessie Michels
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
He hears the pitter patter of a heartbeat picking up its tempo — watches the man take back the bold steps he had taken forward, eyes wide and full of fear — and there's some sick, twisted sort of arousal that grows in the beast's chest at the sight. North truly wasn't a creature of such sick fascination, his motto in life filled more with pleasure than it was with sadism. At least, it used to be. But a predator could not help its instinctual desire to hunt, to strike fear in others, and to feed. It was unfortunate Jessie acted like such great prey for such a monster.
He licks his lips. He's hungry for the hunt.
Which is why it's such a blessing when he hears a rude interruption to their little conversation. He hears it long before Jessie does, even if he doesn't react to it until the other Military officer does. North simply stands where he is, observing, watching Jessie as the man mentions that they have company — then makes the play for his weapon, to unholster it as if he's about to go out and shoot everything living that had just entered the property. North frowns, and immediately moves so that he's blocking the human's eye line up the stairs, a disapproving look in his eyes. Was it meant for Jessie, or their unwelcome guests?
“Leave your weapon be, specialist. It's just some drifters, not infected,” he barks out the order, the unholy grin finally slipping from his lips. “It seems like it's about time I head out anyway, so I'll get rid of them for you—” he stops, tilts his head, then finishes: “I'll be in touch.” It's a promise. He would have to be anyway at some point, considering he was the other man's superior officer, but they both knew what it would be about. Maybe eventually he'd come up with something he could use Jessie for, and then he'd gladly collect on this little blackmail of theirs. But for now... His mind had other thoughts.
Other desires.
There's no farewell grin before North is rounding on his heels and heading up the stairs, leaving the officer behind.
“This is Military territory. Leave now,” the demand is barked out harshly as he turns to face the intruders, the insignia on his Military gear making it clear he wasn't just talking out of his ass. The drifters — two of them, one woman, one man, most likely a couple, how cute — immediately sputter out apologies as they quickly retreat from the building, not stupid enough to tangle with an officer, even if he was, at face value, outnumbered. North watches them go, a parting glance at the door he had come from, before he's suddenly gone from the house and on his way to follow the drifters.
The lick of his lips; the eyes of a monster that bade; time and such spent; time to strike out and fear had put features onto Jessie’s face; he felt other; he felt different; his thousand miles per second ideas-- his need to be away.
But North moved. North blocked his path, and unabashedly like a wildebeest, Jessie glowered.
Perhaps he wasn’t even aware of it.
Neither of the pain in his chest.
--or if the way he was ready to fight.
So, he frowned.
He backed down, though his heart did not; pitter-patter; thump thump; and he gazed past the man, no doubt hoping to catch a facsimile of sight of them-- as if in their shadows he discovered his haven--
But North.
North.
And Jessie glowered at him, fully so-- his brows back to furl over his eyes, the tension in him not gone-- the relief that had flooded him at the thought of being alone--
Gone.
And Jessie lowered his weapon--
But he did not let it go; once drawn, the gun was such a comfortable weight in his palm, and he sighed at the man, finding him a monster; then, the frown deepened.
And deepened-- and Jessie realized twas one wrought in confusion, for the man did head up, back suddenly turned and up he went, once more.
And that left Jessie weirded out, and uncertain.
He listened.
Listened to the words shared unto the drifters, barks and orders, compelled back by the hatch he trudged towards, some of the artifacts pocketed and to be hidden forever--
And his form, then, slowly rising up from the floor.
A strange, confused look twisting his brows--
Decisions. There were so many to make; he thought about absconding, disappearing; he thought about personally burning this place here just to avoid North doing it-- he thought of coming after him, and killing him--
He thought so many, and many thoughts, and eventually, the weapon really was firm in his hold, and eventually if North was heading back to the base, if it would just the two of them, no infected--
Jessie trailed back up the stairs in the most silent way; he walked to the door out of here, seeing it’d been left unlocked--
And yet when he did part it to peer into the world, to notice the darkening street of the once suburban homes, and picked up on the silhouettes of said drifters gradually disappearing to be gone, he didn’t see North gone the other way, he didn’t see him making a return to the base--
But going after them.
Jessie frowned--
And frowned.
And his world, oddly, paused; something in his head clicked, and yet the images it produced faced disbelief, and the discomfort of questions.
Jessie felt something in the pit of him-- a warning, a sure and sound warning of turn around, look the other way--
--drop your plan of killing the man--
--be smart, and leave.
But Jessie did not.
With his own facsimile of madness, he started out instead, the door behind him closed.
Locked.
And his form creeping and pressed close-- snug against the vines which crawled monstrous along the cracked floor.
For he followed after the man, maybe still hoping to shoot him dead after the drifters were, what, something something--
And maybe, Jessie just needed a few nagging questions answered.
TAGJessie Michels NOTES Definitely OTT but #yolo
There's a carnal hunger in the steps he takes, following the two drifters as they set off deeper into town — stalking his prey like the true apex predator that he is. Humanity drains from his conscious mind with every step he takes, light and barely a whisper upon the gravel road. He takes to the shadows as he follows them, eerily blending in with the dark, even if his eyes glow gold in the shadows. The two humans travel fast, spooked by their brief encounter with the Military — he matches their every step with one of his own, tracking them by the mere sound of their heartbeats. North can hear Infected growling in the distance, but they keep their distance, almost as if they know not to mess with his kill.
It's a laughable thought really; creatures that were once human are not capable of such thought, and yet still they do not descend upon the humans with him in such close vicinity. A soft rustle of the wind spook the humans and they turn back in the direction of where they had come from, but North's not there. He moves, fast, with a feline grace certainly not human — like a true predator of the night he almost melts into the shadows, taking with him his presence that might have otherwise given him away. He watches them, studies them.
Waits, patiently, for them to be on the move once more.
There is a certain distance they must put between them and the house. North would be truly amiss if he attacked them too close, alerting the officer he had left behind of what was happening. But then again — at that moment, did he truly care? The singular thought that fills his mind is to feed, feed, F E E D, and he can practically smell the blood coming off the humans as they scurry down the road, dead center in the middle as if hoping to give themselves an advantage over any Infected that might be lurking between the houses. It was a smart idea — too bad the foe they were now up against was much stronger and faster than any monster they were used to dealing with.
“My apologies for being such a rude host earlier. I chased you back into the streets like a couple of stray mongrels, didn't I?” the man speaks aloud as he suddenly appears in front of the couple, a slow few steps bringing him to the very center of the road. He can practically smell the fear drifting off them now as they gaze at him with wide eyes, guns hastily lifted to point in his direction. A subconscious maneuver, but one that still angers the monster.
“Allow me to grace you with true Military hospitality,” he laughs — cold, calculating, inhuman — as he makes an absurd display of bowing in front of the two humans. But when he lifts his head once more, all semblance of humanity is wiped from his face. Golden eyes glower at them from the darkness, and when he smiles — when he gloats at their fear — his grin is filled with nothing but fangs.
There's a wretched scream that comes from one of the drifters when North's suddenly upon them with no warning, gunfire breaking the silence of the night and lighting up the road. He's not human — he's an animal, fangs sinking into the man's throat as hands violently yank the gun from the man's hands, throwing it aside to earn him easier access to his prey. Warm blood fills his mouth and he salivates at the taste, fangs burning with a need to dig deeper and deeper. Much as he indulges himself in his meal, he's not oblivious to his surroundings, and hears the click of a gun being reloaded as the woman rounds on him in fear for her own life. North moves at the last second, dragging the man along with him and causing the drifter's first shot to go through the man's head.
She screams as she realizes what she's done, but adrenaline urges her to continue to fire on the monster — too bad North is already at her backside, arms wrapping around her almost in a loving embrace, one hand snaking its way along her extended arm to grab her wrist from behind.
“Well that wasn't very nice of you, was it?” he whispers into her ear, words hot and heavy before a violent pull and a push wrenches her arm free of her body. She screams as she collapses to the ground, her arm dangling loosely in North's grasp. The Major merely grins and laughs, a bloodied hand forcefully pushing hair from his face as his golden eyes look down at the fallen drifters. He casually throws the human's arm to the side before he descends upon the still-living drifter, cutting off her scream as he tears into her throat. The man indulges himself on their blood, allowing himself to get high on the crimson substance.
If only the Military could see him now — see his true self.
The way it unsettled Jessie to the pit of him caused his progress to pause; he eyed the road ahead, desperately convincing himself that with all his years of expertise, and knowing what sort of shadows people took to to feel safe, he should have been able to discover North; he should have been able to see him.
He had not.
He still saw the drifters, though; he started off; stalking the prey rather than the predator after them left Jessie immediately uncertain; and yet he powered through the discomfort in his frame, and that itch to whip out a weapon as long as this day, to fire away at the man whom he pursued-- even if everything logical inside said he should stay.
That he was in danger; a grave danger; because North Sigurd had disappeared like the shadows did if the sun reached its ideal zenith; because like the light gone with the night, he had vanished into the thin, literal air and Jessie’s chest scratches thrummed with an unknown, and discomforting ache; it was as if his body could tell what happened next.
He didn’t.
He stopped only down the line; North’s re-appearance came with obnoxious theatrics, prompting Jessie not only to crouch where he was hiding, and hold his weapon tighter, the silencer screwed on inconspicuously, but also frown in an almost desperate desire to poke out of his hiding spot, and march on towards North to give him a good talking-to for this theater.
But he didn’t.
Staring on, and building his own frown, he silenced that ache in his throat, he ignored that beat of his heart-- he pretended he had not blushed, suddenly and between blinks, with concern for the two humans.
He pretended.
He pretended not for long; a second, perhaps a second was all it took, a second, and no more as the very human visage upon his superior vanished even better than the man himself had; what he became then caused an utmost, mortal gasp to erupt out of Jessie--
He sat back, you could say; he collapsed in his crouch, feeling the hardness of the road underneath his palms; in his hands, the gun he had drawn felt impossibly useless, and only as good as a drop of ice on a sunny dawn; he sat back though, with fear, with an almost confusion observing the spectacle he should have been running away from, and yet which he could not help but almost admire, fear, and confusion indeed marrying in his head for the purposes of sitting him in one spot.
So, he watched.
He observed.
He felt then-- felt, as if somehow every point in his life had led to this now; as if he had been born to witness the ugliness of type V, not like that pathetic, shoddy fool from the mall, looking too befuddled and closer to a junkie denied their hit than a threat worthwhile a loaded gun--
No.
Looking godly, looking like a monster--
Attacking the man, going for his throat; resolving the threat of the firearm quicker, having the bullet end the former; North. And then the arm-- the arm of the woman, no doubt punished for its crime, was ripped, and tossed off; but for a moment-- before that tossing happened-- North just stood there; stood, and Jessie cursed he had no real ability to draw: for in the sun of the night’s gaze, and the blood of his victims on the ground and his face, glory and panache described this unholy man.
And again, mortally-- Jessie gasped.
Blood; he smelled so much blood; in his palm, the gun he’d once confidently held felt meek, and powerless; it had to have been covered in his sweat; he didn’t sweat in fear, though, even if fear he felt; he didn’t sweat much, though what his body was doing, what compelled his limbs and however the blood directed him were all the facts he wasn’t heeding, for if he were surely he would realize what was going on:
That he had stood up.
That he was on his feet, and the world refused to wobble.
That he had walked out of his hiding, standing in the dead center of the road--
The arm, bleeding, and clumsily torn a few feet beside him.
That he had raised his arm up-- leveled his gun at the other and somehow would think to do the foolish, the stupid:
When the safety came off, it was a click; it echoed, really; even to Jessie, any kind of a sound seemed so stellar, and eerie; as if the boom of a glaring star coming nigh.
--that he stood there.
Staring.
Eyes wide.
A look of discomfort-- and fascination-- and fear: fucking fear had either frozen him to the spot or had turned him daft; what being, after all, what being what just fucking stand there, and look at North like that, a beast so genuine, and the sight so immortal already that a small part of Jessie wanted to cry--
Tears, in fact, did rush to his eyes; to know his helplessness so well, to know it so wide.
And so hard.
But the tears would not spill; Jessie just observed-- and his stomach twisted. And he observed-- and his blood was roiling-- and he observed, and his body flushed with urging.
FUCKING RUN.
"I was right."
He talked in whispers.
That's not running.
"I was so right."
Too right.
THAT'S NOT RUNNING.
RUN--
And then--
Clarity hit Jessie S. Michels--
As with tears of fear and shock indeed on his face, he turned on his heel:
The lone, singular sound is enough to draw the predator's attention, and golden eyes swivel upwards to take in the silhouette of the man standing in front of him. The barrel of a gun is turned towards him and every instinct in his body screamed to attack and defend himself, but he chooses instead to simply raise himself back into a standing position, eyes trained to the face of the man — a man he quickly recognized. Somehow, it wasn't a surprise to see him there.
Of course, out of anyone that could run across him in that moment, it was Jessie. North was sure he was a sight to behold, his Military gear soaked and dripping with the blood of the two humans he had just ruthlessly slaughtered. He felt it sticking to his face, dripping from his mouth and coating his throat, his eyes glowing like an animal in what little light still existed. He looks into the wide eyed stare of Jessie — the human looking at him like a deer in headlights — and he grins. He knows his mouth is full of nothing but bloody fangs.
He can hear the rapid heartbeat of a frightened human — hear the whispers that Jessie says under his breath — but before he can even say anything, Jessie is off and running back the way he came. Typical. There's anger and irritation that swells in his chest, but it's completely overridden by the sight of seeing Jessie flee in front of him. His gut reaction is to chase down his new prey, and for a moment he takes a couple of hurried steps in the man's direction, lurching to a stop only when he manages to regain his sense of self. Letting out a huff, North drags bloodied fingers back through his hair once more before he decides to call out in the direction of hurried footsteps.
“Jeeeeessieeeeee! Don't run! This is what you wanted to see, isn't it!?” he calls into the darkness, words full of laughter and mockery. “My true self? You tried to expose me before when you cut yourself so prettily for me, didn't you? So why are you running now?” As North calls out his taunts at Jessie, he begins to walk down the road in the direction the officer took off in. One step at a time, ever so casual in the way he swaggered down the road. There was no sense of urgency in his movements, no desire to chase.
Not yet. He would catch Jessie eventually. He just wants to play first.
“Or maybe you want me to chase you? Is that why you've always run from me, little Jessie? Were you acting like a scared little rabbit in hopes that the big bad wolf would hunt you down and devour you?” He continues to walk down the road, golden eyes moving back and forth rapidly to see if he could spot the human — spot where he might try to hide himself. He doesn't even know if Jessie can still hear him or not, but it doesn't even matter to him. All the great villains like to monologue a bit, isn't that right?
“Come out, come out, wherever you aaaaaare! I don't bite—” he stops just long enough to laugh at his own joke, tongue roaming over his fangs to clean them. “Oh, right.” He mumbles the last few words to complete his joke before he continues to stalk forward. Hunting Jessie down.
He had to escape, he had to escape, a thought slowly overruling everything else, an idea that replaced the blood in his veins, a driving, and compelling desire that made him afraid; the fact that Jessie also felt alive-- disgustingly alive was neither here, nor there.
For now.
He ran.
He ran even as North’s silly taunting reached him-- somehow, the man’s voice had a way of echoing; it carried disgustingly, and stubbornly, as if the words would find Jessie wherever he was going; as if they would sniff him out, and smoke him out, crawling through the tightest gaps in the walls, or in the flooring.
It was detestable.
But he continued running.
His blood was pumping; though it’d be natural to say that his heartbeat had begun a race, and this marathon had no apparent end, Jessie felt as if another thing shared responsibility for that; heat-- it overwhelmed his body, his senses; soon, he had the incandescence of it devouring him, making his feet feel naked, for they chafed hard and strong against the inside of his shoes as the rhythm he had picked up somewhat explained, after all, how he had survived this long.
Boy he could run--
Even now, even here tackling the haunting length of these streets, he felt as if he could carry on much longer; for miles, even; a cheeky, and impossible idea.
He’d make it possible, he was sure.
He wanted to bet--
And yet:
He had hidden himself at some point, but hiding here and now was dangerous; the world crawled with monsters; though one such traipsed behind him like a lord, Jessie knew these premises to know another kind of infestation; dumb, and growling out loud were those lot that he knew inhabited these homes; infected, fangs out and eyes yellowed, and wrong.
Dumb--
But even in their unintelligence they could pick up on the sound of footfalls-- hard; hurried; such a mad pace.
They could see him as well--
Even if he had hidden.
The only reason he had ducked right where he had, houses away from North and behind one that had no vines to climb on, and no doors to which keys hung on his person--
Was because he knew there would be infected further down the street; he knew this house to be so-so safe due to the few hints thereof he’d picked up on a subconscious level--
But here the words echoed.
Here the words reached him.
And here, they roiled his blood.
Anger. Such anger he’d not known himself to hold before-- that erupted out of him, tensing his body against the north wall of the house where he was-- north, such a mockery of whom chased him at the moment.
And he tensed-- holding his breathing for a silly moment, until he forcefully relaxed his frame to keep the oxygen coming, flowing and rejuvenating; until he made a mistake; yet another-- bold, mad mistake.
His gun now equipped with a silencer, and loaded, firm in his hand, Jessie walked out of his hiding spot.
Walked out from the cover, the shadow of the house.
Walked out on the street.
In the dead center thereof--
So that he could face North; the asshole, the monster who continued to stalk towards him, the mocking, vapid speech he had delivered leaving Jessie caught in severe loathing.
He glowered at him--
He abhorred him; it was evident on him; if hate could have a sound to it, a taste to it-- surely, it was the rhythm of his breathing; the paean of his thoughts, the madness of his heartbeat--
And the fear he was holding.
He was a fool-- such a fool for he’d stepped out. Evident. Obvious. So apparent that he was a prey dangled.
Breaths heavy-- eyes locked with North; the monster.
They took him in all; the fangs, the eyes; the features; as he existed, North was taken in almost like a painting, like a statue nobody had asked for, and nobody had commissioned, an unholy and frightening homage to some kind of demon that the witnesses knelt to, and in fear honored.
Then, Jessie met their eyes.
… And began to back off.
He didn’t run. He didn’t speed off.
Didn't turn away-- as he backed off, and off, and off, his arm half raised as if he'd point the weapon at North, and though the possibility of at least trying to shoot him existed--
He didn't do it.
Maybe, stubbornness forced his hand up after all, to level the gun at North, yet it seemed disingenuous, as if he'd never fire at North.
As if he couldn't.
His lips tensed; the desire to talk; to speak.
It didn't come to him.
When it did, it was odd what he said; in jaded defeat; in well-controlled wrath; in a weird, soft whisper loaded with hate.
His lips twitched as well; the smirk was dead.
And he'd stopped backing away.
"Are you going to kill me now?"
Posted 06-29-2021, 04:09 PM
Oh my love, my darling
Posted 06-05-2021, 12:46 PM
This post was last modified: 06-17-2021, 11:58 AM by Jessie Michels
