expiationlogs | ( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

Entry tags:

( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

Who: Spock, Jim, Gwen, Peter, and various.
Where: Various locations (see prompts for details).
What: Gnosia-related shenanigans.
Warnings: Uh. Probably more than a few? Most likely: references to genocide, references to starvation/famine, references/overt descriptions of being targeted by racially motivated crimes, general violence, and gore. Maybe some vaguely racy commentary here and there (linked).

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[yeah. she's carrying her gauntlets around. this place was acting even crazier than usual, and she had absolutely no time for it.

when she saw Jim come running around the corner, she puts her fists up as she takes in the scene.]

Get away from him! I'll take care of it.

[maybe.]

(he catches a glimpse of what gwen is doing on her tablet, he knows she's a fast typer much like him - a skill for those born in gen z, so it is strange enough that when she shows him, there's a smile on his face. man, she's so smart! he gives her a thumbs up with no second thoughts, that sounds perfect.)

So you knew and you let me scold them? Oof.

(gwen!!!! but it's fine, totally fine, forgotten. for now, after they are both contained, peter finds a spot to crouch - his fingers move, swipe, as if he was reviewing the webs he has available. he even mutters 'karen, find me-- oh, right, damn', before he does a full hand swipe to clear his visor.)

We'll take care of you guys. I'm not happy that we'll have to stun you and stuff, but that's not all we have. Maybe it's good that you never looked at my suits completely.

(over 500 combinations is excessive. his hand moves to gwen, a little squeeze to tell her they'll be fine, he wholeheartedly believes.)

Mister Spock, mis-- Jim.

(the mask retreats, to show his face. concern is painted all over it, no concealing.)

We're going to do our best.

Now now, gentlemen. You can hardly blame me for ensuring that I'm at least somewhat armed, considering the circumstances. You outnumber me, after all. It's hardly a fair fight. [ His voice remains pleasant, even-toned, his expression loose and easy, his limbs casual and limber as though they're truly having a sensible conversation and he's not just desperately searching for a way out. Ethlyn said that she has a way to cure people. He knows that. The problem is getting them into a position to be cured.

So trying to kill them is --

No. No, Claude's smarter than that. Trying to kill them is absolutely still on the table. At the end of the day, he treasures his own life over acts of dignity and selflessness, and cornered the way he is, he doesn't see an easy way out. Especially with threats of not just death, but of some tampering of his greatest asset: his mind. Some sort of alien ability to hurt him, perhaps, or a creative application of drugs, or just the ability to dash his head into the rocks below and to see where that gets him. ]

Let's say I come with you. Where will you be taking me? I deserve an informed decision, at the end of the day. It was my understanding that you lot were going around hunting poor innocent deer such as myself.

[ Imperceptibly, not even a rustle of clothing betraying his move, his thumb works at a hidden vial in one of his voluminous pockets: a poison, easily applied orally or through one's bloodstream, enough to fell a man, but not enough to kill one. If he could just take one of them out... ]

Well, yeah, no, totally didn't, but wouldn't it be super-- nice-- if you-- weren't super murderous right now?!

(the ringing in his ears sharpens with the twist of the whip, that innate feeling that should he take too long to act, he'll pay for it in blood. an idea comes, and the pincers retreat into his suit, restructuring and leaving the whip with nothing to grip around. he's free, and he acts fast - coming close with a hop and kicking towards the cheek for distraction, so he can plant the man's feet to the ground with webs before retreating.

the issue has come too suddenly, too unexpectedly, a 0% flashing before his eyes... - the nanites retreat, leaving him in the jeans and polo shirt he had before he was encapsulated by them.

oh.

OH.

fucking hell.)

Hey, so, from a scale of 0-10, how much do you not want to hug me?

(fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck)

(this couldn't suck more. he's sure he could break a wall, bend metal, there wouldn't be any problem with the environment - it's the vulcan that is too close to him that paints the situation as complex. there's an advantage at being here - jim and gwen will most likely come for them, and three against one seems to decrease the risk of injury for all involved. it plays better if he just stays here for a while, until the boredom and monotony plant ideas into his mind and he acts upon his crime. naive, reckless.

but as of now, he isn't in captivity. he is somewhere that feels familiar, somewhere that is partly inherently of his memory, and yet, so foreign.

he'll follow the shape, an attempt to understand and unknot the phrases in his throat.)

[ You stay silent. It is not by choice.

Words, you know, have always betrayed you. They are slippery and inconsistent — they have variable meanings. They are not anything that you, yourself find any sort of affection for. In fact, it causes you frustration. Frustration, that bubbles up in the chest even now and causes your lungs to heave about the ache and the inevitable worry that drives you to the landing.

You know these stairs well. Your eyes are sharp, though tired. You can see the banister at the right clearly. You lift your hand and know that you are small for your age. The only proof of your most current growth spurt is the fact that you can more comfortably settle your palm around the polished wood as you work your way down the steps and to the ground floor. Further, almost as if the image has slid sideways as though grains of sands through the mouth of a jar.

The sweet smell of night flowering trees and shrubs is sweeter down here.

The front door opens, then closes. And then? You are outside too.

The girl from before is trekking her way across the cobble of the courtyard. Her small back is straight, her shoulders held high and determined.

It is dangerous to be alone at night. Especially for you. Especially for her. You know this very well. Something rumbles in the depths of your memory (an explosion?). Your heart patters, rabbit quick against your side.

You open your mouth — and this time, your words seem to obey you.

What do you say? How else do you intend to get her attention? ]

Edited 2024-07-24 22:55 (UTC)

You poor creature, suffering from delusion. [ Jim's laugh is manic, a harsh sound that's nothing like the bright, earnest laugh he usually employs. Claude is doing his best to appear unflappable, but the itch under Jim's skin demands a hunt. There's no way Claude will go down without a fight, from everything Jim knows of the man - which is exactly what they're counting on. ] There's no fair fight here.

That's where all the fun is, Claude. The hunt! [ The glee is catching, Jim revving up - twitchy and raving in comparison to Spock on the opposite end of the spectrum, lethal and stalwart. ] Killing you is no fun at all. Too easy, pff. Boring.

[ Certain death, to leave his back unprotected to you. You think he'll be so foolish?

Jim taps his chin in mock thought, icy gaze fixed on Claude. ] We've got a place for you, where all the others go. It's not much now, but don't worry; we've got enrichment planned.

[ AKA, they're building a house of horrors and populating it with those they capture. What plans lie beyond that - well, what little of them remained was holding onto the idea of trying to divert the urges into not killing anyone, so that meant they...got creative. ]

[Gwen shrugs sheepishly at Peter. She feels bad. She wanted to tell him sooner, but even without Spock binding her with a promise to keep it under wraps, she still didn't feel right sharing it.]

... It wasn't my secret to share. [He of all people will understand that. They both do. While they share their biggest no-longer-a-secrete secret, that doesn't mean everyone else does.

She shifts on her feet, trying to calm her nerves. She knows Peter can hear the way her heart beats. Talking about having to fight them, to stun them, or whatever else is necessary-- she doesn't like it. It's too close to what happened to her Peter, too damn close to how awful that situation ended. She couldn't let that happen again. She had to figure this Doctor thing out.]

No, it didn't. But I'll figure it out. I promise, I'll fix you guys. No matter what. [She's grateful for Peter's hand, and she squeezes back, trying to feel confident. It's the unknown that's bothering her. They don't know what this infection will do to their friends. But if anyone can figure this out, her and Peter can. Together.

But any amount of confidence she might have been gaining quickly was thrown out the window. Jim and Spock escaped, far more easily than she expected. Her and Peter put up a fight, but waiting until the middle of the night when they were tired, sleep deprived, and the webs were at it's weakest was definitely a bold and successful move on their part.

So they swerved tactics. Since containing them didn't work the first time, they had to reevaluate their webbing, make something new and stronger to handle Spock, and then move to trying to contain them again.

Which. Unfortunately, once again, does not go as planned. Gwen managed to save Jim! Which was part of the plan, at least. She finally figured out to heal him! Only!! The Spock distraction plan didn't work right. Peter was only supposed to lure Spock away, maybe try to use the new webbing on him to detain him so she could heal him later. He wasn't supposed to go and get himself captured!

Needless to say, she's been a worried mess since she realized he was gone. Taken. By a Gnosia with the power to end him without a moments notice. The only thing keeping her sane was knowing that Jim and Spock hadn't been really killing anyone they captured, just toying with them. Peter might be hurt, but he should at least be alive, and she had to hold on to that hope.

Jim was confident he could find Spock, too. Confident that he convince him to meet them, that they could get Peter back, and while she was still trying to process all the shit he said to her the day before, she agreed to trust him. He knew Spock best, after all.

So here they were, Jim meditating and reaching out?? Somehow?? Gwen has so many questions, but she's too uneasy and eager to get Peter back to push it right now. So she keeps watch as they sit in the park. She knows she should rest, but she can't, not until Peter's home and safe, so she waits. And waits.

It feels like forever, but suddenly Jim speaks up and she's on her feet instantly.]

What? Where? How-- [She literally has a million questions running through her head right now, but him saying "they" gives her so much relief.]

Tell me everything.

[Thank god she's quick to recover. Even if the electricity hurt like hell, her muscles work, and she's able to dodge the swings that come her way. She might not be a trained fighter, but she's a trained dancer. She's graceful, even in pain, bouncing away from his fists, trying not to focus on his words.

Deep down, she knows it's all lies and distractions. Jim has never once made her feel guilty for the things she's experienced. He was quick to tell her her hands were clean, to support her as she dealt with her sentencing and the ghosts that came with that. But it's still Jim's body, no matter how feral it was acting, still Jim's voice, no matter how harsh and terrible his words were. It was still his thoughts and memories that fueled everything that came out of him, making her wonder what his real thoughts were. She never thought he was lying before-- her senses are sharp, usually her spider-senses would creep up if something was wrong, or she'd notice a flux in someone's heart rate or breathing, but Jim always felt genuine and trustworthy. Surely she wasn't wrong about him, but it wouldn't be the first time she misjudged someone she thought she could trust.]

You're making it really hard to want to help you right now! [She could pull her punches, sure, but she's trying really hard to not hurt him. That might end up being impossible, the way he was going. As erratic and aggressive as he was being, she's not sure she can stop him without force. Especially since her webslingers were completely busted. But she does the next best thing. When he launched another punch her way, she ducked, throwing her leg out to swipe at his. The intention was to knock him off balance, maybe even knock him down completely. It was still risky, on a catwalk, and without webbing to help in case of a slip and fall, but she had to do something.]

[ Here's the thing:

There's no immediate footfalls that follow the cry for assistance. As Jim takes up his position, there's an echoing thrum that he'll receive - a score plucked up from the thousand tongued voices, a suggestion and a mark. What the presumed hunter might perceive is piecemeal for the moment, but it doesn't matter much. It'll get clearer in a moment.

There's a shadow that drops toward the mouth of another alley, the shaking out of heavy fabrics. There dusk wind is lit with the scent of copper and sun-warmed sands. It crackles as it spreads.

And then, it stops.

For a long beat, there's nothing else that shifts. There's nothing else that moves. But, Spock is certainly there. He's just waiting for the other "shoe" as it were to drop.

Does she move toward where the shadow was? Or does she scan elsewhere? ]

[ There's certainly something to a wolf wearing a friend's face and how it affects perception, the natural doubt that begins to creep in when something like that happens. Jim - when he's in his right mind again - will be suitably horrified by everything that's happened tonight; but especially with Gwen. Both Peter and Gwen had quickly become important friends, but Gwen...they'd connected. She'd opened up to him, at least marginally, and he'd done the same in return, an equivalent exchange. The idea that something beyond his control could destroy that...well, he wouldn't blame her, but he'd feel like shit about it regardless. That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute... ]

You? Help me? [ The laugh that rips its way out of his throat sounds painful, and his movements jerk - someone's not doing too great. Maybe there's an advantage here, solely in the fact that Jim is run-down and tired; as ruthless as his strategy to take her down has been, the human body does have limits, and it's clear he's been busy with Spock; maybe he's reaching that limit. ] Why would I ever want your help, you whiny, do-gooder little -

[ Whatever he's about to snarl at her is lost to the flurry of activity as Gwen manages to sweep his legs out from under him, landing him hard on his back on the metal grate of the catwalk. Jim hisses, cringing in pain - all those jokes about him being an old man aren't necessarily that far off, when his muscle spasms come into play. They're worse when he's tired and off his meds, and maybe there's a second stroke of luck here - he should have gotten his injection two days ago.

But he's not going down without a fight, dirty or not. Jim scrambles backwards, freeing a small knife from his boot, swiping it through the air in front of him to stop Gwen from fully pressing her advantage, buying himself a little breathing room. Propped up on his elbows isn't the best, but he doubts she's going to let him get his feet under him again.

Time for plan B.

Jim tilts his head at her, holding the knife in front of him as a warning. He flips it in his hand, reaching up slowly to push the goggles to the top of his head - finally revealing his eyes. They're manic, wild - a desperate kind of craze behind them, bags sunken beneath them. He's so incredibly sick, it's almost painful to look at. Jim raises the knife to his own throat, tutting again, should Gwen try to take a step closer. ] Maybe I should just end it all here. I promised you a ghost, didn't I?

Let me guess: you came after me, and sent Peter to Spock. [ Jim laughs again, a bead of blood trailing down the edge of the knife, where it digs into his flesh. ] That's too good. I keep forgetting you're kids! Bet you ten credits poor Petey's drooling on himself by now. Spock will crack his mind in half without breaking a sweat and you, missy -

You get to watch me choke on my own blood. Try explaining that to the angry Vulcan. [ Jim winks at her, jerking the knife as if to actually go through with it - but his other hand punches a button on the control box he landed next to, and the lights Gwen webbed go completely dark, dousing the room in shadow. He rolls himself off the edge of the catwalk, relinquishing the knife so he can catch himself on the support - swinging underneath it, and dropping onto the top of one of the cages with a clang.

Seems someone's making a break for it. ]

I know you will, Gwen. [ Jim's smile is soft but earnest, full of faith. It's all they have at this point, but there's a reason they came here - sure, fates in the hands of teenagers didn't exactly sound great on paper, but Jim and Spock do trust them. More than their abilities, more than the web fluid - Jim trusts that they'll do their best to minimize harm.

And then everything goes to shit. Best laid plans, as it were.

In retrospect, it had been optimistic of them to believe that a half-baked plan the four of them had cooked up in less than two hours could reasonably hold Jim and Spock for very long. Each of them individually, perhaps, but together? As soon as the sickness had enough of a hold on the pair of them for them to actually plan the escape together, well - they were fucked, plain and simple.

Then Gwen cured his ass, and now they've got a whole new set of problems.

Jim's exhausted; every bone in his body hurts, aches, pains, and scrapes littering his person. He hasn't slept adequately in far too long, can't remember the last thing he ate - the laundry list goes on. Caked in blood, head rattling with horrible memories both new and old - and what's more, he can still feel Spock.

Like he said, whole new set of problems.

There's no time for him to apologize to Gwen in depth - the way it fucking requires, Jesus Christ, he had said some truly heinous shit to her - no time to process anything, really. They'd cleared out the warehouse, shuffling all of those poor people to one of the makeshift hospitals before setting out in search of Spock and Peter. Peter hadn't made contact as he should have, which could only mean Spock had won the fight ~~as Jim had predicted, oh God.~~ The longer they leave them out there, the more at-risk Peter was of an impatient, unbalanced Vulcan doing something none of them could take back.

He hadn't stopped to explain it to Gwen, why he was so sure he could find Spock - hell, Jim barely understood it himself - but whatever Spock had done to them (Jim remembers, in the bathtub, as his mind succumbed to the Gnosia - their ankles, brushing beneath the webbing. That must have been it, skin on skin contact, allowing them to plan without speaking...) still remained, connecting their minds. The Gnosia is raging on the other side of the bond, enveloping Spock's mind, but he still hasn't turned on Jim.

Jim's pretty sure Spock could crush him to dust, even from a distance, but he also knows, intrinsically, that he wouldn't. To do so would be destroying a piece of himself, too.

Yeah, like he said: not really the time for explanations.

Jim heaves himself out of his seated position, having mimicked Spock's usual meditative pose. His joints crack, muscles protesting, but still, Jim stands. He jerks his head towards a side street, making for it, sure that Gwen will follow. ] I saw Peter, with Spock. He's hurt - I don't know how badly - but he's alive and able to walk.

Spock did this - thing. [ Jim makes an aborted motion to his head, hand trembling slightly as he does so; his gait is not as steady as it usually is, listing to the side as he leads them down the street. ] I know you mentioned you got a good zap from him that one time but - telepathy isn't all bad. Isn't bad most of the time, actually it can be - nice.

[ Jim swallows around the lump in his throat, remembering their hands clasped together at the bar, his fingertips dancing over the back of Spock's hand. How happy his Vulcan companion had been, the way it echoed. He tries to take that memory and send some of it along to Spock via the tether he's built, though how much of it makes it there before the worry overshadows it, he's not sure. ] Anyway, Vulcans can do something called a mind meld. They can literally go inside your mind, your thoughts, your memories. You can do a lot of damage with something like that, but you can also - link two minds together.

[ Jim blows out a breath, cutting a glance over at Gwen. ] That's what he did. Linked the two of us together. They're at the park, by the library, and Spock - wants to trade.

[ They're not far from the park now, and Jim slows, coming to a stop just around the corner. He turns to Gwen, gaze serious, holding out a hand - he doesn't dare touch her, after their fight earlier, but it's clear that his normal impulse would have been a friendly shoulder squeeze. ] Listen to me very carefully, Gwen. You get Peter away from Spock, and if you can't get a clear shot on healing him, you run like hell. Do not try to fight him, and do not try to renege on the deal and take me with you. He won't hurt me, but he will hurt you two, if you get in his way.

[ Once Spock had Jim, with no leverage over him? Well, Jim's banking on Spock being too preoccupied to care much about the teenagers. If not, they're all fucked. ] I'll distract him for as long as I can.

[ They're in sync, like this, and it's a dangerous combination. Jim puts on his best frazzled look - he doesn't have to try very hard, playing up shaky panic by utilizing the very real tremors of a body wracked with Gnosia illness, whirling to Vi as she enters the mouth of the alley. ]

Oh thank God! Please, you have to help me - he's not himself!

[ Play dumb, damsel in distress? Easy as pie. If Vi buys it, it will allow Jim to get behind her - and then she'll be boxed in, with no way out but through. And good luck getting through Spock. ]

Spock, please, I know you're in there. [ Boy does he, the way the bond sings between them, craving blood.

At this point, they're just having demented fun. ]

[ Curious, isn't?

Sometimes it is the absence of sound that makes itself most prominent. For all that Peter banks upon his suit doing much of the job for him, the worst of it is accomplished through sudden removal of resistance. A Vulcan's strength is more than most might calculate, but Peter is able to withstand it. That? That he had already known. But, the sudden release of tension leaves him staggering. It takes almost more than he has to correct, punched through with injury enough as it is. The catching of himself upon one hand in the dirt beneath them is enough to lance ache up his already compromised arm, but it doesn't matter.

He doesn't think it does.

It is this, that allows the kick to miss. Nothing else and nothing more. Nothing more, as Spock shoves himself back up with a sort of liquidity and ferocity that speaks of nothing of his typical, marmoreal presentation. He yanks the whip back, the heft of its end coming up to hit the flat of his opened palm. The suit giving is what his Human compatriots would label fortunate and Spock stalks in closer, movements flickering and indefinite. Crackling, sand and ozone.

His dark eyes are somehow darker, closer than he has been. The thirst for blood thrums like a drumbeat against his ribs, but there is something quelled about it. Quelled enough, that the response to Peter's suggestion is merely to lash out again, whip aiming to tangle about the denim that covers his ankles.

Humans would call it "literally pulling a rug out from under them." Spock supposes it fits here, though Peter is likely not yet aware that the reason for this "gentler" treatment is the intimate knowledge that he is worth much more whole. ]

I believe you will find it more comfortable than the alternative, [ Spock appends, voice smooth and unmodulated. His dark eyes flit briefly to Jim, return to Claude without much hesitation. For all that his stance still suggests he is at the ready, he looks quite... Relaxed. Almost as though a le-matya surveying a stray sehlat cub, but not particularly compelled to sup, it is a sort of lack of immediate bloodthirst that differentiates the pair of them.

A possibility, Captain. His knowledge is limited.

That much is true. He knows that Claude knows some part of Vulcan heritage, but has not yet been made privy to the full extent of it. To others, it may appear a bluff. He does not know how much others may have turned over to him, what he may be now working with. Either way, he will follow along. He will work with his Captain. The bond between thrums, carries with it the same assurance.

Where Jim goes, Spock goes. ]

[A lot had really happened quickly. Gwen hadn't really pushed Jim for many answers until now, but it was partially because of how uncomfortable she felt around him. A part of her felt silly, since she knew whatever infected him had been in control, it was the infection saying and doing those things, but it was hard to erase that feral image of him out of her head, hard to forget the awful things he had said to her, trying to rattle her. It did rattle her, and she was still rattled, even if she didn't want to admit it.

And right now, she had to trust him. She had to get his help to lure out Spock so they could save Peter, even if she wanted to get as far away as possible from him-- at least until she could actually sleep and isolate until she was ready to get past all this.

But Peter took priority to everything. She wasn't going to rest until he was okay.

So she followed Jim, trying to keep her unease under wraps. At least her spider-sense wasn't going off too badly, but with a city wide plague, it wasn't going to stop entirely. She nodded as he explained more about Spock's telepathy, and this...bond, they supposedly had between them. How long had they had this? That was...intimate. And completely unsurprising, given what she'd witnessed of the two of them interacting. If Peter was here, he'd be giving them so much shit about how they're such a married couple, and she smiles to herself at the thought, but that only makes her feel worse. She can't even bring herself to joke about it either. Not to mention the tension she feels when she sees his hand more towards her. He doesn't actually try to touch her, thank god, and it just brings her to avoid his gaze again.]

We upgraded our webbing, by the way. After you two escaped. It doesn't last as long as the other kind, but it should be enough to hold him if I can get a good shot. Then I can heal him too. [He wouldn't have noticed, because she didn't exactly get a chance to use the webbing on him. It's a good thing they had thought ahead and made a few extra webshooters, so she was able to replace what Jim destroyed during their fight.]

I shouldn't have let Peter try to distract him. I thought, with the Iron Spider suit, he would stand a better chance-- it's my fault Spock got him in the first place. [Even with how strong Spock was, they were stronger. They just had the disadvantage of not wanting to hurt their friends going against them. It's the same reason she struggled to subdue Jim. They both knew too much about Peter and Gwen and their powers, even if they didn't know everything, and were too crafty. Strength and webbing didn't matter.

Still, she shouldn't have let Peter go off alone. They should've taken them as a team, they should have stayed together. Infected Jim might've been onto something with the Collateral Damage Hall of Fame.]

[It's honestly a relief that her leg sweep works. It knocks him down, and best of all, it shuts him up. Gwen honestly doesn't know how much more of his monologues she can take. It's one thing when she's sassing right back with one of her usual villains of the week, but everything about this is so wrong. Jim is her friend. She's not supposed to be fighting him. She's not supposed to be scrambling to save him from whatever monstrous infection has consumed him and turned him into something he's not.

Once he's down, Jim was right to swipe the knife out-- because she was doing just that, moving towards him. But she freezes, holding her hands out in front of her as he points the knife at himself.]

Whoa, hey, let's not get any ideas here-- [Dammit, she really wished she had her webbing right now! It would be so easy to get that knife out of his grasp, but all she can do is stand helplessly back, hoping he'll move it so she can move in. But he doesn't, and for a second, she really thinks the worst is happening.]

No! [The lights are out, there's the sounds of movement, and she rushes forward, finding the spot where she last saw him empty. She grabs the railing, focusing on the sounds she can hear through the darkness, and she pinpoints the direction he's going.

She might not have her webbing, but she has speed on her side. She's hurt, but she's not nearly in as bad of shape as Jim is now. Even without being able to see perfectly in the dark, her eyesight is still better than a normal human's, and her spider-sense is honing in on what she needs to know.

She jumps. It's a graceful leap off the side of the catwalk, and she somersaults down, landing perfectly, but she didn't stop there. She took off after him, using the crates and cages that were obstacles in his way to her advantage, practically dancing across them, cartwheeling and launching ahead of Jim in the darkness.

Once she's finally sure she's passed him, she somersaults from her height advantage and lands in front of him, throwing her arms open. If she timed it right-- and she's pretty sure she did-- he'll run straight into her arms, which is exactly what she wants.]

[ Claude would have been willing to broker a deal, is the thing. He would have done it to his own advantage, of course, and would have compromised less than what he was letting on, but he would have done it. That's what he's good at -- words, twisting them to his favour, making the best of a bad situation. But the more Jim talks, the more it becomes clear that whatever the Gnosia has twisted them into has overcome their greater sensibilities and that not only would they not be agreeable to negotiation, but that they took their greater glee in seeing him squirm, like one of those dreadful butterfly displays some lords take to displaying in their office, pins neatly skewering them through the middle.

He runs his tongue over his front teeth, sucking in a breath. If he were back home, fighting in some battle, taking down two combatants, even ones that were professionally trained, wouldn't be a problem. But he's already worn down, injured from previous skirmishes, rusty in true battle, and fighting against friends -- friends that are trained not only better than some of his old combatants, but in ways that he knows nothing about. He can't predict them.

He doesn't bother to speak. Instead, he twists, hand flicking out from underneath his jacket quick as can be, a sharp dagger sailing towards Spock with deadly precision -- deadly precision that he doesn't expect to necessarily land, depending on the other man's reflexes. If it does, it's a bonus. But if it doesn't, he's counting on it giving him enough time to get a head start as he bolts with deceptive speed for a man they have only ever seen amble leisurely along the paths like any other spoiled noble brat, every inch his house's namesake: a deer, darting through the dark woods, its predators in hot pursuit. ]

[she's so wary. she watches him dart behind her, and she keeps an eye on where he came from, but--]

Nuh uh. Get back from behind me.

[she's not dumb, from living on the streets. so she presses her back against the wall so that it's not facing Jim, and hefts her gauntlets again.]

Tell me where that son of a bitch is... and you stay beside me.

[ Jim hovers obediently to the side, eyeing her gauntlets with a glint of speculation in his eyes - easily covered, as Vi scans the surroundings. Or so Jim thinks, perhaps, couching his reactions in faux-devastation. The next best thing is to align himself at her elbow, pressing his own back against the wall too, as if following her lead. ]

I don't know, he just disappeared - he's been, I don't even know, stalking me?

[ Her gauntlets won't cause you lasting damage, will they? Jim's mind hums in thought; perhaps Spock will have a better assessment. ]

There, I think - [ Jim points towards a shadowed angle of the alleyway, taking what would presumably be an inadvisable step forward. Coax her out more? ] Spock, please -

[ Where Jim is animated, barely-leashed energy buzzing under his skin, a giddy lunatic waving the metaphorical knife - Spock is silent, deadly; serrated and sharp, sure to cut anything that crosses his path. The Gnosia hums, a shark in the water sensing blood - and maybe that's something of an advantage, for Claude, how the cacophony can distract them, even if it does ultimately make them more dogged in their pursuit.

Claude takes less time with his decision than Jim might have anticipated, striking out with no sign of hesitation, turning on his heel to take his chance in the narrow opening between the buildings. Jim whoops in delight, following him just a beat out of step - he charges after Claude, boots stomping an even rhythm as they run.

The problem with fighting the pair of them, however, is not the physical altercation. Jim's no slouch, but Claude has enough of his own skills to at least evenly match, if not outright best Jim's combat training - Spock, it's less certain, especially with how gravity affects Spock's physiology, enhancing his already-formidable strength. No, the problem with fighting them - especially here, on the turf they've claimed as their own - is that they're smart.

The dead end they'd boxed Claude into had one way out by design, through the narrow crevice between the buildings. What lies at the end of it? Another alleyway, doused in water; if Claude's quick enough to catch the exposed wiring on the ground, hopefully he'll pivot to avoid getting electrocuted.

Lightly electrocuted - they're playing with their food, not barbecuing it. ]

[ Hitting the lights probably made it look worse than it appeared, but that's what the Gnosia is doing, isn't it? Preying on their worst fears, making them a reality. It's figured out that the people around it have more regard for Jim's life than it does - so why not use that to its advantage? The collective infection will rage - consuming Spock, Jim, and all others in its grasp - and torment everyone around them, to do as much damage as possible.

They could only hang on, and hope they lasted long enough to clean up the destruction later.

Jim doesn't have the benefits of superpowers, or any kind of nightvision technology - in this instance, he's purely human. The best he's got is his knowledge of the floorplan, even in the dark; Jim cuts across the cages, making for the back of the warehouse. There's movement next to him, but he can't quite make out Gwen, nothing more than a shade in the darkness, briefly illuminated by the moonlight of a passing window - Jim vaults over a crate, boots thudding on the metal of the other side. Spock, she's going to catch me. Spock - !

Jim catches sight of Gwen, flitting directly into his path, too late to stop his momentum - though that doesn't stop him from trying, skidding on his heels. He'd probably fall off the side of the cage and break something if not for her catching him, arms looping right around his middle like she planned it. With anyone else, the force of impact would have bowled them over - but Gwen is sturdy, stickiness keeping her planted and them both upright.

Well, for about two seconds, they're upright.

As Jim's hands move to the back of Gwen's suit, presumably to pull her away and keep fighting - there's a warmth that touches him, a hot popcorn kernel in the center of his chest. Pink, soft light floods his vision - emanating from Gwen, encapsulating Jim with it. His hands still, and the howling, gnawing void that's had a grip on his mind since he first went under yowls in pain. For the first time, the Gnosia is in pain - not him.

Jim cries out as the light glows brighter, bigger - a hazy bubblegum color that chases away the shadows. Quite literally, actually - black-as-night, oil-slick shadows whose shapes outline themselves grotesquely against Gwen's light - they disintegrate, banished from Jim's person. He slumps against her like a marionette whose strings have been cut, knees buckling beneath him, as he's freed. He can't hear the voices anymore, and it seems so - so quiet without them, dizzying and disorientingly so.

Jim finally hugs her back, trying to get his feet under him, but he feels wobbly and off-kilter - especially now that the preternatural force isn't driving him to extremes, he can feel everything his body has been through in the past...Jesus, he doesn't even know how long. ] ...Gwen...?

Edited (wrote in actionspam so long i forgot it wasnt prose DONT LOOK AT ME) 2024-07-30 21:41 (UTC)

(as falling dominos, everything seems to land as designed, and yet, he can't figure out why they are falling in the first place. he's too small for this room, it makes him feel claustrophobic, with how imposing the feeling of it is. familiar, and yet, strange - the door that opens is unexpected, and the girl is finally in sight, the sense of loss dissipating, and yet, danger stains the air.

a feeling neither should be here, and perhaps the fire and thundering noise that invades his brain allows for a glimpse as the reason why.)

... We should go back. It is not safe here.

(he's unsure of the reasoning behind the sentences he's producing. it's just what his gut tells him.)

(a gush of blood sprinkles from the open wound on his ankles, and for a moment, peter has to wonder if he can die twice - he's already dead, does it make a difference in the world if he dies one more time? would he just not come back, like he has, a chance in a million, a spark of a miracle.

all he can do is stick to the ground under his feet, pray that spock has no such strength features that can yank him out - or that an attempt only does so much damage. that should he survive, the broken bones and open wounds heal faster than they do, so he can try to escape on a later date.

even if all these depressing thoughts hit him one after the other, peter is nowhere near giving up. palms curl around the whip, attempting to break it so he can make a run.)

[ Stronger? Yes, he would have no such quibble with that.

Spock had opted for the way of his father, encouraged by the words of his mother. He had opted to pursue what was logical and reasonable, what was controlled and focused. To be reduced to such a base thing, to feel with the whole of the self in measures both full and in part - his mind and his body might only take so much. It might only take so much, before it starts to give.

For all that the brain alights with the fires of infection, for all that his blood rages hotter than any plak tow - Spock is only a sum of his parts. Halved across species, limped and poisoned and pressed to the corners of his skull by the dark, he is only so capable as he is for the depths of his stubbornness. His stubbornness and the prospect of Jim, both lost and found to him. That he drags along Peter is more an afterthought, one hand clamped tight at the shoulder. It is not enough to bruise, the Gnosia knows that such value is diminished if he injures him too much, but his bared hand rests close to the cusp of fabric and skin. They do not need to know that this will not hurt Peter, not really. They do not need to know that this touch will be more suggestion, the ability to meld and mangle hampered by the distal proximity to his qui'lari - by his own reservations.

For as much as the Gnosia thrives and breeds and weaves through the synaptic firings, he is still Spock. And Spock? Well, Spock has no real wish to cause excess harm to anyone. Not like this. Not like that. And he knows, too, that Jim knows as much. He knows as much, because he knows himself. He knows them.

But, it is the sound of their footsteps that draws his attention. Long before they appear at the entrance to the park, he hears them. Jim, stiff in the way of his gait and Gwen lighter still. His end of the bond throbs, sympathetic and suddenly snapped to the full of some awareness. The want to see and steady and solidify laps end over end, inchoate and inconsolable. A tide, that pulls and locks before it ebbs.

He doesn't call out to them. He needn't have to. He dare not steer Peter out into the open, but he moves position. Within the dotted architecture that breaks against the greenery of the park, Spock extends out from behind the curved base of some faceless monument a pale, stained hand.

The robes he's worn throughout the excursion are tattered at the cuff, stained with the copper color of his oxidized blood.

Where?

It less a word than it is a feeling, a need. He would have Gwen show Jim first. To confirm, though he might feel how close Jim must be. Like one spooling thread about a bobbin, he works the impression of closer against the bond.

He coaxes, tired and starved as he is. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 3 of 6

( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: hostage situation (night mode).

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject