lcfthaunted

[lcfthaunted]

There’s a particular air of fragility about her. She hasn’t broken yet, but it wouldn’t take much to shatter her in this state. It’s still hard to ask for help—when she feels like this, Des is the only one she can make herself turn to, and even that’s a battle.

She nods at Des’ question, gaze fixed on the candles. At least, it is so far. She hesitates, then offers a quiet explanation. “Nothing’s wrong, but I… I don’t trust it to stay that way if I’m alone right now.” Her gaze drops to the still-healing mouse now decorating her left wrist. “Feels like one of those nights, you know?” She hopes the feeling passes quickly so she doesn’t intrude on Des’ kindness too long.

@lcfthaunted || Shiny!

“Can I come in?”

  This late in the evening, the little unit is softly dark. Lit, only, by the strident flicker of one of the pale orange candles set on the dresser. Newly lit it seems - she's still in the process. Des turns as the question floats in from the hallway, surprise lifting her eyes. But—-

  “Of course,” she lilts, motioning Mazie in without hesitation. She gestures at her couch. “Make yourself at home.” She holds the dwindling match to a second candle, lighting it as well. A gentle puff into a cupped hand extinguishes the flame just before it reaches her fingers. Then, a little shade goes over each of the candles, containing the flame away from the fabric and dried flowers that decorate Des's unit and suffusing the lights from flame-bright spots to wide, gentle glow, steady and warm. Perfect for reading by, or working in a bit of late sewing. As Mazie settles in, Des arranges herself accordingly on the chair across the way, settling her skirts just so over her legs. “Everything alright?”

[lcfthaunted]

“Tech—” Mazie begs, too late.

Col is posted up in front of the front door, gun in hand. Rocket’s blocking the door to the stairs, and Mel and Fran are perched on barstools to border the short hall to the back door. Otherwise, things seem to be progressing as normal, at least until Tech pushes her way in. Dazz gets one look at her and faints dead away; Cos catches Dazz before she can hit the floor.

Yeah. This was what Mazie was trying to avoid. She sighs and lets the door close behind Tech for now. She needs to let Jack know what’s going on. She heads to the kitchen to grab her transmitter, but detours for a moment when she hears voices in the Canteen. Right. She pokes her head in and sees Rickie and Wraith waiting. “They’re gonna need you in the Tavern,” Maze says to Rickie.

Rickie raises an eyebrow. “That sounds promising,” she mutters to Wraith, before heading over.

Wraith tosses a concerned glance at Maze. “Princess okay?”

Maze doesn’t answer, turning back to her bag and fishing out her transmitter. “I need a message to the Haven,” she says, voice tired. “Tell them we need Jack at the Tavern soon as fuckin’ possible. Tech is physically unhurt.” As far as she can tell. Transmitter goes into her pocket, and she turns back to Wraith. “Can you stay here, case she decides to wash up after all?”

Wraith nods. “Are you okay?”

“Shiny,” Maze mutters, and turns away. She’s stalling, cleaning up the last of the food she didn’t manage to finish making. None of it is in danger of spoiling, but probably better not to leave it out anyway. She reluctantly heads back toward the Tavern, plucking at her shirt for a better look at the blood Tech left on it. A problem, she decides, for her future self.

She sees the blood Tech left behind—handprints, splatters on the floor—and digs out a rag. She very carefully wipes it up, doing her best not to simply smear the blood around. It takes a lot more focus than she’d like to admit to keep herself present through the task.

  It does stymie her for a second, body-in-the-way. Body-in-the-door, Vitruvian woman. Snow angel. But only a second. A pause for a perplexed blink that morphs, immediately, in a water-logged scowl. And then she presses forward exactly the same way, ducking under the right arm and pushing her way through, smear and trail and stains sure to bloom if Mazie doesn't move.

  Talking too much.Why does everyone always talk. Always tell her what to do do not go here don't go there don't touch do touch come here be good stand up sit down shut up give me tell me show me c'mon kid just do do not follow lead take burn. Orders orders orders. Not a doll not a toy not a puppet. Protecting you. She seizes the door frame for stability, a little of balance pushing by. Handprints. Everyone gets to give orders but her— her do something do something do something never matters. She'll do it herself, what she means to do. Squeeze through the door.

[lcfthaunted]

Tech is small and fast, but Mazie’s far more familiar with the space. Up and over the counter, knocks a barstool out of the way, but makes it to the back door before Tech, throwing herself in front of it. “You are covered in blood,” she says sharply. “If you go in there, they will know something’s happened and will be on the defensive. Let’s not give them that chance, yeah?”

Rocket’s voice crackles over the radio in Mazie’s hand. “No one upstairs,” he repeats. “Checking the floor.”

“Bar the front door, make sure no one leaves,” she says back.

“That serious?”

“That serious. And when that’s done, there’s a body in the garage I need you to get rid of. I’ll be by to clean the rest once this is settled.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Mazie raises her eyebrows at Tech. Better? She points. “Two doors, then into the Canteen. There is water and a towel and a change of clothes waiting for you. Once you’re no longer more blood than skin, you can come in and make sure we haven’t missed anyone.”

It’s hard. She wants nothing more than to pull Tech into her arms and comfort her, calm her, damn the blood. But she’s not Jack; she doesn’t think it would be well recieved from her. Even if it would be, she knows getting that much blood on her skin would not end well for her, and might make things worse for Tech along the way. She’s doing the best she can within those limitations; it doesn’t feel like enough. It probably isn’t.

  No. Not okay. That's too calm. Too blasé. Too conditional. If he came with anyone? He's never alone. At least one other. Must have brought someone, or was the one brought along. Six, his favorite little copy-paste, or the one who smells like sticky sweet synthetic flowers and wanted her to smile. The big one she thinks maybe taught him to begin with, that he deferred to, that likes to hit when you least expect it. Hmmmmm. Tech tries to break her feet free of the rigid cast they've been in since she stood up. As soon as she cracks one foot loose, inching it forward... the rest is gone. like nothing was ever stopping her, or something. She aims herself at the door, at the floor, gathering momentum. No real plan other than sniffing whoever it is out, pointing the finger, warning... warning everyone.

  Her tears, untouched and unaddressed, have begun to cut through the gore, pure tracks down her face.

  There's a crackle of static behind her again. A voice, or voices, unclear and distorted. She dismisses it entirely despite the way the tinny transmitter sound bounces off the garage walls, thinking it's better not to give it attention.

[lcfthaunted]

Tech’s distress aches. Mazie nods and pushes the door open, but doesn’t go so far that she could lose sight of Tech. She holds the door open, calls, “Zach!”

“Yeah, babe?” Her brother leaves the kitchen finally, heading toward her.

She stops him from coming too close. “Check the floor and upstairs for Company men.”

“No one’s upstairs,” he says, confident.

She gives him a pointed look. “Double-check for me, please.”

He sighs, but nods. He tosses her his radio, the short-range ones they use to keep track of everything. She catches it easily, and he disappears into the Tavern proper.

Mazie turns the volume up on the radio, then shifts her attention back to Tech. “Rocket’s gone to find them,” she assures. “I’ll double-check his work in a minute, okay? If he came with anyone, I promise we’ll get rid of them.” Whether she means drive them out or kill them, she’s not entirely sure herself—though, she’s fairly certain this one showed up alone. They usually do. Gentler, “Why don’t you come in and clean up while we check? That’s going to feel bad if it dries.” This, she knows from experience.

The back of her mind races, piecing together everything that needs to be done. She doesn’t want to leave Tech alone, but she also wants to be sure whatever’s distressing her is properly handled. And she needs to get a hold of Jack, as soon as possible. Her stomach twists at the idea, but it would be far worse not to. She could probably leave Tech with Rickie and Wraith for a few minutes, long enough to do what needs doing.

  How to explain? Her brow cinches at the company she's gained, clearly seeing but. It seems so far away. She feels taller than normal, like her head has gone floating off from the rest of her body like a balloon. Wavering as it rises. It's a strange feeling. Distant nausea but a sort of freedom.

  Her name touches the air. Tech flinches as the balloon pops, and she falls. Slams straight down into a flood of frazzled nerves all jumping and snapping like broken power lines still running hot enough to arc. She begins to shake all over, but her eyes find a focus. Meeting Mazie's pale- flinch. Staring at the corner of her cheekbone.

  “Wh- hmmm,” the first attempt is overridden by a disquieted sound she cannot control except to pinch her lips to muffle. Her eyes skate the wall, blurry again. Breath. Blink blink. Breath. Blink. Her head rolls. Fighting for control, staving off the gone trying to crawl up over her. She cringes. And presses. “Wh- o's... with. Him?” There. “Who's with him?” More put together. There's better ways to ask what she's asking, to share what she knows, but.

  Catching the words. That's the hard part.

  “Who.... Who's with him?” All she can capture. “Who's with him?” He never comes alone, did someone see his party? One, two, ten?? “Who's with him??” Nobody he brought is safe- considering the clothes, they're plants. And worse. “Wh- wh. Who??” Where are they, on the floor- or did someone already take them upstairs? Her arms lift slightly, fists knotting tightly not as weapons but from the sheer tension of it as she shudders and hmmmmms again, a whine or a wail kept tightly muffled, distressed at the idea. “G. Get.” Frustrated exhale through her nose. “Get,” through her teeth. Protect. Tears begin to roll, red-tainted, down her cheeks.

[lcfthaunted]

When he arrives, she can’t meet his eyes. There’s something about the way she’s holding her hands that pings in his brain; he doesn’t place it until, in place of a greeting, she offers a guilty little, “I’m okay.”

He sighs. One hand on her shoulder, he steers her out of the Haven’s doors and into the cab of his truck, closing the door behind her and circling to climb in the other side. “Let me see.”

“I’m okay,” she repeats, but shows him the puncture on her thumb anyway. He checks over the rest of her fingers… and then checks again, realizing all the scars she’d racked up as a kid were gone.

“The Company erased them,” she explains quietly. “Didn’t fit the image of the doll they wanted me to be. And… well. Life in Center City isn’t what I’d call stimulating.”

He snorts, testing the puncture. It’s mostly healed at this point, shallow enough that, if it was going to be infected, it would have shown already. He releases her hands. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she says, and at his disbelieving look, she deflates. “I got-… stuck. In my head again. I needed to remember something from an… unpleasant experience, and I couldn’t get out of it. Once I got free, I couldn’t… I was struggling to stay out, to find something to ground me. So I…” She shrugs helplessly.

“You don’t have anyone to turn to here?” It’s almost dangerous, and she knows if she gave any sign that was true, she would be swept off to live at the Tavern, instead.

“No, of course I do,” she assures immediately. “If I’d been here, if it’d happened here, I could’ve gone to Des, or Di, o-or… or Jack, if I needed. Tox, maybe even Arachnid. No, I’ve got plenty of people here, I promise.” And that’s still so very novel to her that she takes a moment to digest it.

He notices the phrasing. “It… didn’t happen around any of them.”

She shakes her head. “I was with someone I don’t really… trust, in that capacity. He wouldn’t kill me… probably. Most likely. But he’s not someone I can… I can ask for help from.”

He sighs. “Maze…”

“I love it out here,” she confesses, desperate to make him understand. He’d been the only one of her siblings who’d gotten close; even Mallaidh didn’t quite grasp what it was like in her head. “I feel like I can breathe for the first time. But there’s just— so much of it. I’ve been having headaches more days than not, and….” She winces, just a bit, but enough to catch his attention.

“Neon.” It’s not a question.

She drops her gaze to her hands. “I thought I didn’t have any memory of that,” she whispers. “But it’s been… I’ve had things shake loose that I didn’t know were in there. I don’t— they scare me, and they’re so strong, I…”

“You think this is going to happen more often.”

“I don’t know what else to do. It’s not like they’re predictable, so unless someone’s already with me, or they find me, I… and I can’t ask that of them, there’s so much that needs doing, all the time, I’m not going to ask for a babysitter, just in case things get messy in my head.”

“So, how’re you going to lie about these ones? I don’t imagine the excuses you gave Mom are gonna fly here.”

She flinches, almost as if he’d hit her. Her cheeks burn with shame. She doesn’t have an answer for him.

He sighs, reaches out to pull her close. She resists at first, but melts into his embrace, hiding her face in his shoulder. He comforts her for a few beats. He hates feeling helpless like this, but she’s right; these episodes have very little predictability, and it sounds like they’re happening more often. To be honest, it’s surprising it’s taken her this long to crack. “Do you have any ideas? Other options?”

She hesitates. “… I do know how to give myself tattoos, with the right tools. I think… I think that might help.”

“Still hurting yourself.”

“Yes,” she admits. “And I don’t know where to get the right tools. But it’d be grounding, and less… difficult to explain. Probably longer lasting, too.”

He doesn’t want to encourage this, but has to admit it’s certainly a better option than simply slicing open her fingers every time something happens. “…. I can get you the right tools,” he admits grudgingly. “De Vlinder has some connections to a group of artists, they usually smuggle ink to them. I can ask Tack for some, next time she comes through.”

“I— you don’t- have to.”

“Zee.”

She cringes again.

“Just… promise me you’ll be careful. You started playing a little too fast and loose there, for a minute.”

“I promise,” she whispers. She remembers the time she’d cut her finger and it bled too hard, too long. It had almost been enough to scare her out of the habit. Almost.

“Thank you.” He kisses her head. “Wanna stay out here, or head inside? I can stay the night, if you want.”

She hesitates a beat, two, before forcing a nod. She wants him to stay, but it’s still so hard for her to accept it when offered. He’s proud that she’s working on it, though; he would have pressed the issue if she hadn’t.

“Come on, then.”

She releases him, sliding back to the passenger door. He swings his bag out of the back seat and climbs out. She’d already slid out of the truck by the time he got around to her; he closes the door behind her and tosses his arm over her shoulders. She tucks into his side, and he knows she’s still a little fragile. He hopes these people who seem to love her almost as much as he does know how to handle her when she’s like this. —It might be time for a friendly chat with Jack of all Trades.

[lcfthaunted]

@ru5t • continued from

Wraith was headed to the garage anyway to tinker on Alé when she heard the tumble of tools. She hesitates, cursing herself for leaving her gun upstairs. Well, it’s not too late to go grab it; she heads back to their room, picks up her holster, gives Kali a scratch under her chin and Bash a quick kiss, before heading downstairs again.

Maze and Rocket are in the kitchen chatting, Rocket perched on a stool as Maze makes food. Rocket’s dog lies, patient, just outside the doorway to the Canteen. Wraith backtracks when she sees them. “Hey, is anyone supposed to be in the garage right now?”

Maze nods, attention shifting to Wraith. “Tech’s doing some maintenance for the Web,” she explains. “Why?”

Wraith gestures, thumb over her shoulder. “Heard a crash or somethin’, like… tools fallin’ over?”

Maze goes pale. “Tech,” she breathes, abandoning the food and dashing from the kitchen. Wraith follows after a confused glance at Rocket. Maze reaches the door first, pulls it open and steps out. Wrath follows, but nearly runs into the door again when she sees what’s waiting. “Jesus,” she swears, one hand going to her mouth.

Maze studies the scene, quickly putting together a likely series of events. The eyes alone are enough to tell her this was deeply, deeply personal. Her gaze is gentle as it finally settles on Tech, and she gives a nod of agreement. “Now he knows.” She doesn’t care who he was, trusts Tech that he deserved it. All she hopes is that Tech is physically unhurt, and found some catharsis in the action.

Wraith’s eyes are fixed high. “It’s a lotta fuckin’ blood,” she says faintly.

“Five quarts in all,” Maze responds. “Give or take. You only need to lose half of it.” She takes a careful step closer to Tech, hands open at her sides. Not hiding, not reaching. Her eyes stay on Tech, but she aims over her shoulder at Wraith, “Go tell Rickie we need to use her shower. And…” Maze considers for a beat. “Ask Cos for a change of clothes.”

“Are you—?”

“It’s fine,” she assures. “Go.”

Wraith doesn’t need to be told twice, disappearing back into the building.

Mazie waits for the door to close before speaking again. “Tech,” she says, nothing but gentle concern. “Are you hurt?” It’s difficult to tell under all of the blood.

[lcfthaunted]

She peeks up at him, uncertain how to take his words. Without solid direction either way, Mazie decides to leave off asking any more questions. There’s still tension in her shoulders and arms, subconsciously prepared to protect herself from getting her ribs kicked in. Again. Consciously, she knows she doesn’t truly have to worry about that, but she’s never been good at convincing herself of the truth.

Another long silence stretches between them before she speaks again. “He reminds me of—Myth,” she backtracks, realizing she hasn’t offered any direction on her thoughts. “He reminds me of someone I…” she falters; the usual words here fail. Met. Knew. Crossed paths with. Dealt with. None of them seem right.

She struggles with it for a few heartbeats before abandoning the approach with a slight shake of her heard and a sigh, starts again. “I know first-hand that there doesn’t need to be any sort of relationship for someone to feel entitled to another. The lengths some people will go to get what they think belongs to them, regardless of what anyone else wants.”

Her gaze is distant through the windshield, the corners of her lips tipped up in a sour little smile. “I was held hostage in my own apartment for ten hours by a man who thought he had the right to own me. Myth reminds me of him.” A beat as her expression drops, and then, “If security had taken another fifteen seconds to get to me, he would have killed me.” There’s something… apologetic in her voice.

  There's space for a breath. Then a faint, perplexing smile just touches the edges of his eyes. (Footprints at the corners of your eyes. He'll be thinking on that one awhile.)

  “You're the only person who ever has.” Point of fact he hasn't talked about what happened out loud in... long enough, anyway, that he can't be sure if he ever has. There had been discussions. Conversations to clarify, and resolve what to do next. The things that a crew needed to push forward with. Other than that, a vast majority of his contacts and encounters had been either people who had no need to ask, or trading connections. Who had no reason.

  Whether that affirmed her apology and its reasoning or contradicted it, even he would be hard pressed to define. But it's something worth acknowledging regardless.

[lcfthaunted]

She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. Neither, actually. “Jus’ gettin’ some quality time with my brother. Rock and I… fell outta contact for a while. ‘S been nice, reconnecting.” It’s amusing, she supposes, the amount of time she spends at the Tavern now—she’s uninterested in sex and doesn’t like drinking enough to alter her self-control.

“My crew’s out in the southeast, so it’s a drive t’get out here. I try t’spend a few days with Rocket every few months’r so.” It keeps him from dropping in on the Haven too often, and she has a vested interest in keeping her brother away from Jack. Not that she’s terribly successful, but at least Zach’s on his best behavior when they’re in public. She grins, and adds in true younger-sibling fashion, “An’ I like Rickie, she gives him a good amount’a shit.”

She watches Annie and her ‘joy disappear toward the stairs, and takes a disappointed sip of her drink. She likes that her brother’s keeping the girls safe upstairs, but it does cut into the time she gets to spend with him. Between Annie and Mel alone, it’s probably going to be another two hours minimum before she sees Zach again. She shifts her attention back to Party Poison. “I’m sure Col appreciates the back up. Not that the girls can’t hold their own, but it’s nice they don’t have to.”

They could have any girl in this place, and yet, it's not the reason why they're here. Their supposed reputation of getting lucky every night has never been so untrue. Party isn't looking for a steamy good time with the workers. The Rat King's gaze briefly shifts over their surroundings before taking the first sip of their beverage.

A chuckle sounds from them at Maze's mention of alcohol. She certainly isn't going to give up anytime soon, and Party has nothing to hide right now. "Guess ya could say that the booze is my regular," amusement laces their tone. They give a gentle shoulder shrug. "But I'll settle for being called extra security." As long as they don't drink too much, they can still throw down and win a fight. "Wasn't originally gonna come but Cos can be very convincin'." Party adjusts their seating position to face her.

"You're askin' all these questions about me. What 'bout ya, sunshine? Here for one of the girls? Or stoppin' by to grab a drink?"

[lcfthaunted]

She is only ever tangentially interested in the wheres and whens and hows—it’s the whats and whys that constantly chase themselves around in her head. And chase they do, wearing grooves into her mind that make it terribly easy to fall into them, get stuck wondering and puzzling and picking until she’s given or she settles on an answer. Until then—or until she manages to package away whatever the questions are about without their answers, which is a much rarer occasion—she simply tries to keep her thoughts to herself. This is a pointed reminder of why.

She has a handful of responses and a lot more questions, but she bites them all back. A tightness spreads across her chest and crawls up her throat as she watches him. This is worse, she thinks, than the rejection she’d been anticipating. She can see how it hurts him, hear it in is voice, and she almost wants to interrupt, to assure him he doesn’t need to give her answers. That it’s none of her business anyway. She can’t find her voice, though, tied up in the ache of self-loathing that’s settled in her throat.

Jack clears his throat, and Mazie drops her gaze away from him. She’s silent for several moments before quietly, barely audible above the engine and everything else, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” She should know better by now, after how many times she’s been beaten and chided and shunned for her picking and puzzling. Her arms tighten around her torso, fingertips digging into her sides, and she bites down on the inside corner of her lip.

  Jack pauses. First, because even with no real expectations, the fact that all of the questions are about Dusty and Myth surprises him. He'd moved on so thoroughly to crossing the distance and his concerns for when they get there. Then he pauses again as he has to think on it. Something catching as he hunts for the words. Miscommunication. And it clicks hard enough that he blinks. His glance is brief. (Eyes off the path is a bad idea, the way they're going. Even on the safer bits of it.) It feeds into a light shake of his head.

  “He never had her. They were never together.” A drunken, stolen kiss or two did not a relationship make. Just a delusion. Bump, bounce! over a hunk of debris big enough to jostle them even atop the truck's suspension. It was simple, to him. It was so complicated to Dusty. Feelings and honor ties and horrors she outlived — things she told him about, confessed to as they curled around each other in the dark. “I'm not sure he ever knew her well enough to understand how to keep her. They weren't even crew, not really. He owned a bar that her band played at for a few years. He'd hook them up with gigs, goods, drugs, but he was never one of them. Just a source. When the rest of the band were killed, he was the only person she knew in the zones after that. She lost everyone else she ever had.” He'd never been able to pin anything down —too much going on, Dusty begged him off of looking too hard at it, not enough reason or sense to defying her over it— but he'd always found that... questionable. The convenience of everyone except Dusty and Myth going out in the same night. “That meant something to her, but she didn't stay there with him. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other in at least a year when she-” Fell into my home. My bed. My head. “-first showed up around where we were. Tech reeled her in.” He suspects, in fact, the closest anyone ever got to having something like an actual line tied to whatever was real and honest of Dusty wasn't even him, but Tech. “Nothing kept her.” Not even their son.

  There, his answer for her first question: he had to let her go, right? No. Nothing ever held Dusty to begin with, least of all Myth Wave. Who, now that it had been mentioned-

  “He had no idea what he was getting himself into.” Jack confirms. One, twice, a third time, he loops the wheel, until the wheels are surely facing entirely sideways and the truck seems to take a literal side-step. “He was trying to convince her, to the end.” The wheel goes back again and they're back on the previous path. “He called her constantly. Guilted her about leaving him alone. Brought on this new band, promised her things would be like they were. He started fights. Tried to paint me in a bad light, pit her against me. Her against us. But he always from the sides, never head on. Not until that night, and even then... nothing was direct. He pretended to be drunk, tried to make her feel sorry for him. When that didn't work he stopped playing pathetic, tried to win by surprise.”

  Something has gone a shade automatic. He's giving a breakdown of the situation, briefing and profile, while his active attention goes to scouring the seemingly empty valley road around them. On the lookout for something in a way that makes him adjust their path regularly, like weaving through a minefield.

  “I don't think he ever aimed to kill her. And I don't believe he meant to die, not until it sank in that she'd never pick him — at least not in the way he wanted.” Because Dusty did pick Myth. There were plenty of times the whole thing could have ended much sooner than it did. Times she could have broken away, or that Jack could have settled it the way it was always going to. She stood her ground, though, when Jack voiced concern, when others spoke of problems, even when Tech expressed a growing fear of the bar tender. Despite the fact they weren't together, or even really crew, Dusty had defended him time and time again. Refused to cut ties. “And he didn't realize that until that night.” Then it was just a matter of seeing to it that she wouldn't pick Jack, either. “After he figured it out he just... I think he meant to make her follow him down. One way or another.”

  There's Jack. In those last two sentences only. Sitting there, dark eyes on the terrain, something of him more bitter than burnt coffee but.. quieter than whoever gave briefings. Softer. And still hurt. “I think, uh,” he clears his throat. “I think he got his way.” That's what he expects Tech to tell him, when they get where they're going.

[lcfthaunted]

“Uh huh.” As if she didn’t know they were Party Poison near immediately. This may be her first time seeing any of the Four, but she’s gleaned enough from her time Zoneside to figure out who they all are. Several options flit through her mind, the most amusing of which is swiftly discarded as also the one most likely to get her shot. She didn’t need to turn her brother into the desert’s biggest enemy for breaking the killjoy king’s neck.

She watches Cos flirt shamelessly with a ‘joy twice her age, guesses he’ll wave her off as soon as Mel comes back down. Annie’s dancing with a ‘joy who’s gotten handsy enough she gives them to the end of the song before Annie’s leading him upstairs. “You can tell a lot about a person by which of the girls they prefer,” she muses, before her ice eyes slice across the King. “You got a regular? Or’re you just here t’drink their booze?”

They enjoyed being decorated and dressed up. It's rare for them to allow anyone to do their makeup, but Cosmic's insistence finally won over. Their complexion made it easy for colors to show up without the application of several tedious layers of product. They were hardly ever still in a chair unless it was for makeup application. There's an art to such a process, something that made all the work absolutely worth it in the end. The memory of Cosmic's overjoyed grin floats in the forefront of their mind.

Wordlessly, a bartender drops off their usual beverage before returning to the bar. Party can understand that being pampered isn't for everyone, but they can't help but wonder if maybe one day, they could test their luck with Maze's makeup. Maybe.

"Good to meet'cha," the redhead accepts the handshake with a friendly smile. It's not often that they have to introduce themself. Everyone in the Zones to the City knew who they were. But this is almost refreshing.

"Oh y'know," they motion casually with a hand. "I'm just another 'joy, who happens to frequent this joint." There's more to them - a name, a title, a reputation, a legend - but revealing themself would lack all the fun. It isn't everyday they meet someone who doesn't know their identity off the bat.

[lcfthaunted]

hm. face down about my girl hours, it seems. the way being a housewife and stay-at-home mom would be her at literally her most fulfilled. maybe a little catering gig out of the kitchen, or selling art pieces at local festivals, at most. the way after writing her for ten years i still haven't given her that.

[lcfthaunted]

do you ever like someone’s ocs so much it makes you sick

[lcfthaunted]

Reunion after (physical) trauma prompts

tws apply: grief/fear for someone’s life, mention of injuries, unconsciousness, hospitals, comas, mention of involuntary drugging. that’s the general vibe.

WORDS

“Theeeere you are. Hi. Welcome back.”

“Breathe. Hi, we found you, just breathe for me, okay?”

“This is going to hurt, but it will help you.”

“You’re safe. [Name], can you hear me? They’re here to help you, you need to let them help you.”

“I found them, they’re over here!”

“Does anyone have medical training?”

“N.. no, no, no, no, hey. [Name]? Hi, I’ve got you.”

“You can sleep, [name]. It’s over.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“You were in an induced coma. Your body went through a lot.”

“I wasn’t –… Your doctors weren’t sure you’d wake up.”

“[Name]? Was that - did you squeeze my hand?”

“It’s okay. It’s meant to be there, it’s helping you breathe.”

“Can you hear me?”

“You.. you were so close to dying. I was scared.”

ACTIONS

[ GATHER ] for sender to gather receiver’s (unconscious) body into their arms, in the style of no no no not them.

[ STARING ] for sender to find receiver sitting alone staring at a wall, covered in blood, and to touch their arm.

[ WAITING ] for sender to be waiting at receiver’s hospital bedside when receiver finally comes out of a coma, or wakes from surgery.

[ STEADY ] for sender to catch or steady receiver when receiver tries to stand up too early or to push their body past what it’s ready for

[ TEARS ]  for receiver to find tears on sender’s face, when they’re finally reunited (either immediately after the trauma, or waking up in a hospital), because sender thought receiver was dead or dying

[ GRIEF ]  for receiver to wake up just as sender is saying goodbye, because the doctors told them to. feel free to specify what they might be saying. do not judge me, this is going in the meme

[ LETTER ] for sender to find a last letter, video, text, etc that receiver made for them, thinking they wouldn’t make it out of the situation alive. Obviously receiver does make it out alive, but the letter/video still exists (and receiver will detail what’s in it).

[ FIGHT ] for receiving muse to not recognize sender or medical staff trying to help them, due to being drugged or otherwise disoriented – so they fight.

[lcfthaunted]

and if i said this is exactly how mazie feels in center city. stripped down, dazzled up, on display. dance, pretty birdy. pose, perfect doll. diamonds and feathers and maybe, if you're lucky, a scrap of silk. the marionette of it all.

eta THE CUFFS

[lcfthaunted]

“That’d do it,” she agrees, and tries not to think too hard about the makeup artists who used to praise her for the same. A perfect little doll. She’d hated it then, too, but wouldn’t dare show it. Now, anyone calling her ‘doll’ had a nonzero chance of getting stabbed. She’s sure that’ll only get worse once she gets her hands on her own gun. That is the best and worst part of being in the Zones; she is encouraged to be as violent as she desires, and she has quite a bit of violence stored up.

She takes a sip of her drink, returns to the conversation at hand. “Also ‘cause y’let her. She begs me ‘bout every time I come by, but I can’t go home with that. Give the littles any ideas? Uh-uh. I’d never be free of it.” She’s almost afraid of what would happen if Dawn realized she could bat her big brown eyes at Mazie and get anything she wanted.

She stretches out a hand. “Maze. I’m Rocket’s little sister.” Not to be confused with his baby sister, but that’s not really a concern until Mallaidh hits the sand. “Haven’t seen you ‘round b’fore. I only come by every few months, though. Ya musta done somethin’ mad t’get the Shop girls t’like ya so much.”

Life was intended to be linear; a simple cycle of birth, experience, and the unavoidable end (that often came too early). But when was anything ever straightforward in their life? Being a Killjoy automatically complicates things. However, also being the City's Number 1 Public Enemy AND the Desert King, adds more several elaborate layers.

In hindsight, Party is supposed to be dead. Ghosted, dusted, gone from this plane of existence. But they aren't. Instead, they're slipping out from the Tavern's back door and turning heads. God, they almost long for the days in which their name held no weight to it. The Rat King maneuvers through the space with ease, well-aware of the countless eyes staring at them. Their demeanor is still , the usual swagger in their hips adding attitude to their strides.

Party had just situated themself in a seat when a voice reaches them. Their lips turn upwards in a broad cheshire smile. "Yea," their shoulders shrug nonchalantly. "She said that I'm her favorite 'joy in the whole world to doll up." The scar beneath their chin is effectively hidden with the perfect amount of product. A gradient of turquoise and orange decorate their eyelids. A dusting of pink glitter clings to their cheeks. "I think it's 'coz I don't flinch when stuff gets too close to my eyes, y'know?"

[lcfthaunted]

THE SOUNDS OF NIGHTMARES SENTENCE STARTERS .

a collection of roleplay / writing prompts , lifting quotes from " the sounds of nightmares " podcast based in the little nightmares universe .

" the look on your face says there's more on your mind . "

" would you like to talk about it ? "

" how are you feeling today ? "

" do you remember your nightmares ? "

" i remember ... everything . "

" i'm not sure that's true . "

" i woke up somewhere i didn't belong . "

" i don't quite follow . "

" can you try to explain ? "

" you can't understand . not unless you were there . "

" hey ! where are we ?! "

" they aren't children . not at all . "

" my mind was divided , and that's not fair to you . "

" everything is going to get worse from here . "

" help me ! please help me ! "

" who brought me here ? "

" i'll do everything i can to help you . "

" there's nothing bad inside you . nothing . "

" we're in this together . "

" take your pick . "

" sweets for my sweet . "

" do you know a way out of here ? "

" what are you working on ? "

" we're friends . friends tell each other things . "

" i'll play with you . "

" don't overdo it . "

" you were right there ! don't tell me you did nothing ! "

" you're upset with me , aren't you ? "

" are you going to leave ? like all the others ? "

" whatever you desire , it's yours . "

" everyone needs someone . "

" don't leave me alone ! "

" are you still angry with me ? "

" i'll protect you . "

" i hate being alone . "

" i understand more than you think . "

" you mean to escape , don't you ? "

" you're being unfair . "

" i can't help you if you hide things from me . "

" why did you bring me here ? "

" what do you want ? "

" why didn't you tell me ? "

" you promised me . "

" i don't feel like talking . "

" you never listen . "

" we can face these monsters together . "

" i need you . "

" i have nothing more to give . "

" take my hand again . "

" you abandoned me . "

" the more time you spend with someone , the harder it becomes to hide who you really are . "

[lcfthaunted]

She is quiet and distant for many long moments. It’s horrendous, what she’s learned, of course, but she can’t deny the relief of the quiet it brings. It’s not a nice and neat, all questions answered finish, but enough holes are filled that she can tuck this information away and not constantly catch on what she doesn’t know, on what she’s missing. Other things fall into place as she does, conversations she’d misinterpreted at the time, errant comments becoming clear. Twice. Twice the Company had Tech in their grip; twice she managed to wriggle free. Little luck, indeed.

She turns over Jack’s part in it, considering if she could be so patient with Mallaidh on the line, and quickly decides yes, if it meant keeping Mallaidh alive. Without hesitation, she could con and manipulate and kill her way to the top in order to save her sister, and sleep just fine at night afterwards. She figures she won’t get direct answers from him, but it doesn’t stop the questions piling up. How far did he go? How much did he plan? Does he sleep fine after it?

As she’s surfacing again, a memory strikes like an icepick through her temple, sharp enough to make her gasp. She digs the heel of her hand into her eye socket, pressing back against the sudden headache threatening to drop her to her knees. Her memories from that period of her life are blurred, distorted from the pain of withdrawal and the sudden return to constant noise in her head. It had made the people around her careless with their conversations; spacey Chevalier, regularly zoning out, pretty but brainless.

The headache fades as quickly as it came, memory settling into a few more empty spaces. She tries very hard not to look directly at some of the information it had scared up. She blinks a few times as she returns to herself, before turning her gaze back on him, the look in her eyes a little too reminiscent of when she learned what he’d done to Myth. “They couldn’t find security for me,” she says, and then, break over, turns to return down the stairs and to her work.

  They've forgotten. All, collectively, fallen out of practice with what it means to have a new addition to their number. Forgotten how much they'd learned each other. That's the only explanation for the bloom of horrified understanding growing over Mazie's face. This would not have been the moment, the way he chose to reveal that part of Tech's past, even if it was his to reveal.

  And it most certainly is not.

  She's going to kill him. But then that's always been true.

  Jack leans back, grip still tight on the banister, and lets his weight pull. Stretching his arms, his back, and that spot between his shoulder blades that plagues him. It would have come out eventually. Honestly the fact that Dawn or K had yet to give it away before now has to be some kind of miracle. Or a bet they're both in on. Or maybe Tech went after their little DJ with her knife again. At least there's no threat of that where he's concerned.

  He sighs lightly, settling into the Haven's hush contentedly. As an afterthought, he scans the far distant wall for new or expanded work. They're always up there painting and repainting whatever they can reach. He likes to make a game with himself trying to guess whose work is whose.