#* 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 . atticus bradley.

[peacespun]

you should hit me, he’d said, it’ll look suspicious if i walk away with no harm done. it was beneficial to them both that way. logic reasoned that it would look less suspicious, less of voughts people would think to ask him too many questions in the aftermath, and thereby giving them far less reason to worry about atticus making it to the next day alive. the more convinced they were that he escaped on his own, got the best of him,  the better. atticus had even gone as far as to jokingly say,  make it convincing. and by god he did. it was a heavy hook and still atticus knew he didn’t put his full power behind it, hesitation in the conscious act of holding back. if he hadn’t, he’d be dead, but beyond that …  its not something he wanted to do.

there’s an ache in his jaw, a dark bruise now that colors his skin. he both dreads and cannot wait to take something in some effort to find relief. a shot, painkillers, maybe both and covering it with ice until that ache finally dulled or he no longer cared to acknowledge it.  it served its purpose. it did what it was supposed to do. it kept them from being too suspicious, kept him alive another day, if only because they felt pity for the weakest amongst them: the scientist they found half conscious, recovering from the requested injury in the dirt on the floor, one of the lenses to his glasses cracked underneath him. to anyone else he was just another victim of a desperate escape.

he fiddles with his apartment keys until he finds the one for the door, pushing it open and stepping into an inviting warmth, locking brutal winter winds out. gloves are peeled from his hands, snow boots kicked off, and glasses are carefully set aside for only a moment when he shuffles through a poor excuse of a kitchen, flips on the lights, dragging down a cheap bottle of vodka.  he won’t bother with a glass.   then he reaches into the freezer, grabs a handful of ice to wrap in a towel and gently rest against his face. “ ow. ”

atticus is about to move forward, rest himself at the table, but in the blur of everything in front of him, he can make out something distinctly different that shouldn’t be there.  someone. he doesn’t move too quickly, panic doesn’t even seem to set in as he attempts to make out any kind of features from this distance, feeling around for his glasses. and when he slides them on, a familiar face greets him.

when you get out, go east. there’s a city when you first get outside of the woods, it’ll be a ghost town by the time you get there. find kрасная звезда,  red star, and find my apartment. stay there for a few hours, they’ll have people looking for you all over the country within a matter of hours, but i know a way to get you home. block a, third floor, 24c. you’ll be safe there. he remembers telling him, offering sanctuary after most of the drugs had worn off, but part of him didn’t think he would. he almost expected @sieverts to run and never stop, put this as far behind him as possible and find his own way.

“ i didn’t think you’d come. ”

[peacespun]

in character pt. 2