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001 ☾ tick tick boom
[SPAM]
[He wakes up in bed with a mouth full of ash, or at least that's how it tastes and a splitting headache like the vodka he'd been mixing his punch with finally caught up to him. But Scott said that didn't work for them, that they couldn't get drunk, let alone hungover, and anyway it wouldn't explain the taste in his mouth.
Slowly, it comes to him. The pulsating sound in the back of his head, the feeling of being drunk even when he shouldn't have been. Getting dragged somewhere, blurry, dizzying shapes passing by, looming. Hard, cold metal at his back, and then getting doused in kerosene, the shadowy figure with the booming voice asking him questions, and once everything caught up, he bolted out of bed. Lunged for the door, jerked at the handle a few times before finally just pushing. It gave way easily as panic rose, as the rest of sense memory returned; the buzzing in his head, the harsh smell coating his skin, the inside of his nose, the blurry image of cops standing over them, and he could feel himself losing it, claws pushing out of his fingertips, the growl building in his chest, but he didn't care.
They tried to kill him. It wasn't new but he was sick of it, sick of getting hurt, sick of being afraid, but he wasn't the only one who'd gotten hurt because of him this time. Scott, Malia, he needed to find them, needed to make sure they were okay, like the shadow-man had said they would be, and the howl that clawed its way from his throat as he stepped into the hallway, as he scampered down the hallway in search of familiar scents, desperate and plaintive like it had been when he was stuck in the well, was all instinct.
Help. Pack. Where are you.]
[PUBLIC -- Video]
[Later, after he's had a chance to calm down, after everything's broadened out, dulled into something he can process, something less intense, he retreats to his room. He remembers now, more clearly. He washes the gasoline off, scrubs and scrubs until he can't smell it anymore, trashes the clothes and finds the phone that isn't his, sorts through the functions before getting it set up.
Not that he has any clue what to say.
He looks more than a little lost. Looks entirely too young to be on the ship at all, but he can't do anything about that now, and judging by the determined set of his jaw he doesn't seem to think it should matter too much. He chews his lip absently, takes a breath.
Okay. He can do this. No sweat. Never mind that he's already made an impression in exactly the way he didn't want to.]
Hey. So you got stars here. That's...cool, I guess?
[Yeah nobody mind the kid who was running around as the wolf boy earlier. He's fine. You didn't see that, right?]
[He wakes up in bed with a mouth full of ash, or at least that's how it tastes and a splitting headache like the vodka he'd been mixing his punch with finally caught up to him. But Scott said that didn't work for them, that they couldn't get drunk, let alone hungover, and anyway it wouldn't explain the taste in his mouth.
Slowly, it comes to him. The pulsating sound in the back of his head, the feeling of being drunk even when he shouldn't have been. Getting dragged somewhere, blurry, dizzying shapes passing by, looming. Hard, cold metal at his back, and then getting doused in kerosene, the shadowy figure with the booming voice asking him questions, and once everything caught up, he bolted out of bed. Lunged for the door, jerked at the handle a few times before finally just pushing. It gave way easily as panic rose, as the rest of sense memory returned; the buzzing in his head, the harsh smell coating his skin, the inside of his nose, the blurry image of cops standing over them, and he could feel himself losing it, claws pushing out of his fingertips, the growl building in his chest, but he didn't care.
They tried to kill him. It wasn't new but he was sick of it, sick of getting hurt, sick of being afraid, but he wasn't the only one who'd gotten hurt because of him this time. Scott, Malia, he needed to find them, needed to make sure they were okay, like the shadow-man had said they would be, and the howl that clawed its way from his throat as he stepped into the hallway, as he scampered down the hallway in search of familiar scents, desperate and plaintive like it had been when he was stuck in the well, was all instinct.
Help. Pack. Where are you.]
[PUBLIC -- Video]
[Later, after he's had a chance to calm down, after everything's broadened out, dulled into something he can process, something less intense, he retreats to his room. He remembers now, more clearly. He washes the gasoline off, scrubs and scrubs until he can't smell it anymore, trashes the clothes and finds the phone that isn't his, sorts through the functions before getting it set up.
Not that he has any clue what to say.
He looks more than a little lost. Looks entirely too young to be on the ship at all, but he can't do anything about that now, and judging by the determined set of his jaw he doesn't seem to think it should matter too much. He chews his lip absently, takes a breath.
Okay. He can do this. No sweat. Never mind that he's already made an impression in exactly the way he didn't want to.]
Hey. So you got stars here. That's...cool, I guess?
[Yeah nobody mind the kid who was running around as the wolf boy earlier. He's fine. You didn't see that, right?]
[Spam, a couple of days later]
And as long as they're not the guy he's sleeping with, anyway. For Ian, he cleans up. He does when there's a reason to, anyway.
Which is to say that normally, he'd brush the insult aside like so much dirt off his shoulder. He wouldn't normally care less. But right now, it's an irritating reminder of the sex he's not getting, the bed he's not sleeping in, the boy who won't even talk to him to talk to him, much less to tell him to clean up. It's a reminder of the fact that even if he really wanted to, he hasn't felt like he's had five minutes to spare for it since Ian stopped getting out of bed.
So he stops, too, glancing back over his shoulder incredulously.]
At least you fuck off, assclown.
Re: [Spam, a couple of days later]
He's a warden, and if he had a little room to think, Liam might have considered what that meant. That there are probably rules somewhere about these kinds of things. Except Liam can't be bothered to care right now, because there's some kid being a jerk in front of him.
Getting pissed off caused problems his first day, but it doesn't matter right now. He's got it under control. Mostly. Everything has been slipping out of it for months, if he can just have some say this ONCE...
He takes a step closer, up the stairs towards the other, jaw tensing, fists clenching at his sides.]
Make me. It's everybody's staircase.
[Spam, a couple of days later]
He shakes his head, turning to face Liam. He's trying, but not for much longer. The truth is, he's just about desperate for an excuse to hit something.]
That's right -- it is. Why don't you go on and use it?
[He makes a little 'shoo'ing motion, fluttering his hand in the direction of the lower decks.]
Re: [Spam, a couple of days later]
[Sure, he's been called much worse things, but it's just one more thing. One more reason. He takes another step closer, gaze narrowing. Daring the other to do something about it.
He can feel the aggression coming off Mickey, the need to hit something, and it makes it harder to stand down, to walk away. He balls hands into fists, as tight as he can, tries to clamp down on the thing under his skin before it's too late.]
How about you keep moving and I'll go when I want to.
[Spam, a couple of days later]
...when he realizes he left his lighter in his room.
Which means that Liam is now officially actually in his way.]
Jesus Christ.
[He sighs to himself, rubbing a hand over his face, exasperation bubbling up inside of him. He could keep going and bum a light up on the deck, but there's no guarantee that there's anyone up there with one, and he doesn't want to wait around in the cold like an asshole. He could ask the kid to move -- or tell him, really -- but he's pretty sure he knows how that's going to go, especially in light of their current conversation. He's pretty sure it would be a giant waste of time, and he doesn't have any right now--
So, you know what?]
Fuck it.
[He cuts to the chase and throws that right hook he's been aching so badly for.]
Re: [Spam, a couple of days later]
He can't resist the call to action, not after the first shot. He only needed the little push anyway, the way everything's been building.]
cw: implications of child abuse
You better learn, New Meat. Better learn who not to fuck with.
[If he gets another shot in, he'll aim it low and sneaky, a harsh jab to the gut.]
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Maybe. But you're not so big.
[He only takes a moment to find his breath again and then returns the attack, going for his waist to take him down before going after whatever's soft or close with fists.]
cw: references to suicide
When it does, it's Isaac's voice that he hears in his head. Mickey's gone toe-to-toe with all kinds of shit at this point, and even knowing he's way more likely to lose against it, it hasn't stopped him yet. Right now, it just makes him fight all the harder, because he'll be fucked if he's going to deal with a death toll when Ian's this close to nonfunctional.
It definitely wasn't Isaac's claws that had kept Mickey from socking him, and it wasn't any lack of feeling. He hears Isaac's voice -- At least he'd come back, he'd said, like so what if Ian fucking offed himself up here, so what if Mickey dies and leaves him alone to starve to death, and he's suddenly grateful he has a werewolf to hit that isn't also his best friend. He uncurls like a spring, elbow-first, using all his bulk to hit the very first thing he can and knock Liam down.]
Fuck you!
[It's no longer about Liam, but that doesn't matter.]
no subject
He needs to pull back. He knows this, rationally, somewhere, even as it slides back further and further in his awareness. The switch isn't ever that far, and even now it's not that much different, the warning signs are just easier to identify, for as little difference as it really makes. Glowing eyes and claws and an itch in his jaw instead of only the pounding in his ears. He needs to finish it, he can't let Mickey win, even if there's nothing to win but a pointless brawl in the stairwell.]
What did I do, you're the one being an asshole.
no subject
Except then Liam kicks him in the junk and he really can't talk for a second. Pain blossoms through his gut and he rolls off of him with a pained grunt, then manages to scramble up and back from Liam. He holds his arms up for protection as he tries to catch his breath.]
no subject
He rushes him, shoves him into the wall and glares up at him, practically shaking in his efforts to keep it from getting any worse.]
You done?
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But Liam's got him so he can't use his arms, so instead, he headbutts him.]
I am now.
no subject
Good. So go.
no subject
Do you not get how the fuck this works or something?
[Because really, he might actually have been about to leave until Liam said that. Now he couldn't even if he wanted to. That's the way it works. He shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.]
You want to move the fuck along, then move the fuck along.
no subject
[Liam steps forward to shove him again, like he can be pushed into movement if he forces him into it. Like he can't see that Mickey's dragging his heels intentionally.]
Just go, okay? Before you make things worse.
no subject
[He shoves back hard, then seems to change his mind: he steps forward and tries to grab the back of Liam's neck, latches onto his collar if he can't, and hauls him in the direction of downstairs. He pulls him closer so he can mutter into his ear:]
I don't give a fuck what kind of horror movie shit you can do. You think you can go all alpha wolf on me? Better keep thinking. I don't take orders. And if you keep trying it, I'll break those Miracle-Gro claws off.
no subject
Shut. Up.
[He throws out an arm to push him back, more force behind it than before as more rational thought retreats in the face of pure, thoughtless rage. He lunges forward to swipe with claws, pressing the attack because he just doesn't care anymore. He told him. He TOLD him.]
no subject
And fortunately, she's heading to the deck when she feels the spikes of rage and pain and desperation. They flare in her mind like open wounds, and she races faster; she knows where they are, who's involved, before she gets to the steps.
She doesn't need to get any closer. She just needs to focus, as she hovers, not to yank them apart too roughly.]
Really? [The word will ring in their heads as much as their ears, ferocious annoyance mingled with raw concern.]
no subject
It's almost a relief when he feels the invisible pressure getting between them, although he's not about to show it.]
Hey! What the fuck?
no subject
Let me go.
no subject
This fight isn't about either of you. Neither of you deserves it. Let it go.
no subject
Little bitch deserves my fist down his throat, that's what he deserves.
[But he's not going to fight her, and he settles a little as she approaches, panting and furious but still. He leans back against the wall and wipes his mouth again, turning his glare on her.]
no subject
Of course, the tableau she comes upon is hardly condusive to enjoying the view. Her mouth falls open in shock, and while keeping her eyes on Liam, it's Mickey she starts moving toward.]
Oh my god, what happened?
no subject
[He doesn't finish, opts to push against the invisible force instead, lips skinned back from teeth as he seems intent on trying to continue the fight. Mickey might be able to stand down with the obstacle in his way, but Liam's self-control isn't that good. Not when he's been pushed from already on edge because of everything to full-on pissed, and maybe he's at least half to blame for that to begin with but it's too late for finger pointing. Every inch of him is bristling with violent impulse, with the need to lash out, deserving or not, a litany of "it's all your fault" slowly starting to play on endless loop in his head the more the invisible force limits.
When the redhead approaches properly, Liam doesn't even notice right away, not past the words themselves. He's never met her before, has no reason to register, but then she draws closer and just stares. It makes him uneasy, makes him uncomfortable, but doesn't dull his feelings any.
And then Kira shows up and he's all kinds of confused. Mostly because this is the worst timing and the worst impression ever. Well. Third worst?]
You know him?!
[Of course she does, it's a small ship, but still.]
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