bigapplesauce | fou nd you forever [open to multiple]

Current Location: Central Park
Current Music: Evening of September 17th/Morning of September 18th

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fou nd you forever [open to multiple]

[tw: weird formatting, dissociation]

When did they last - ?

They cannot remember. This body has not been theirs in so long.

w e w i ll wait for you no more

It is theirs again. They have slid the familiar pale disc of their face to shroud the one belonging to the skin they wear, wrapped in their old, familiar mantle. There was a window, and they climbed out of it. They are awake for the first time in -

control is being ta ke n away from y o u

No matter.

They do not exist in that limbo of chemical suppression, not any longer. They could not have been muzzled by that chemical impulse forever. He should have known that. Their skin. The liar. Scared little boy. He is quiet now, and they are awake in his head. They flex fingers. They move silently but for the scrape of their leg dragging behind them in dead weight. They pull in breath, crisp and cold. The mechanics of existence are difficult. Half-remembered. Familiar again.

f ro m the sta rt it's been a game for us

Quiet. Ahead, the woods. It is to them they creep. Tall things, slender trees, trunks stark and reaching to a sky fuzzy with stars. Wind stirs leaves, sending the curled husks of those dead things whispering over carpeted grass and sticks. They trace the skeleton claws of branches scratching the sky, and wonder if it is waiting for them. It always is.

Always watches. No eyes.

not anym o r e

I'm coming for you

Noise. Snap-twigs and rustled underbrush. They still, fall silent, scanning the place to which they've come. Something nearer? Something close? Something moving. Something here. Something they can find. Something they will find.

There's a trickle of code in their head.

and you will l e ad me

They remember. It is where they go. It is where everyone goes.

to t h e a r k

[ooc: so just after the fallout of the Rebel Base debacle, Tim ran out of medication and has masked out. The masked man is an alternate persona entirely - they don't have any of Tim's memories and are a very underdeveloped, generally aggressive consciousness. They don't talk, and basically look like this. Their instinct upon coming across anyone is mostly going to fall in the 'tackle and abduct' category, though reactions can and will vary. If you want to read more about their deal I've put info here and here. They'll be roaming Central Park all evening/night until the sun comes up again, at which point Tim will wake up and proceed to remember nothing of it.]

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It's wrong. They know it now more than ever. It's warped itself into something different. Something dissonant. Unreal. Distorting everything. It's not like the thing with the too-long limbs, arms that reached on forever and tangled into their head and stabbed them full of bright-pain pinpricks - but it's changing itself into something else, shaggy and four-legged.

They have never seen this before.

The noise it makes is hostile and they drop this body of theirs into a low, creeping position, circling it warily. It is wrong, and they must take care of it. This is what they are meant to do. This is what their friend would have wanted.

The yell that splits through their head rattles through a sleeping set of memories with an agonized reflex.

Jay.

The dark holes in their face turn to him, to that figure flung defiantly between them.

Jay. Jay. Jay.

His mind is still the twisted, horrible thing it is, the blank parts where too many limbs touched and the areas of its recollection that were scraped clean, all of it mangled with that terrible, familiar touch.

They do not need their friend to know what they must do. They throw their borrowed body forward in a dead charge, slamming into the flimsy body that folds beneath them like paper, arms snapped around his to pin them to his sides.

Daine lifts her head sharply when Jay comes charging between them, her ears flicking forward in surprise and an indignant growl escaping her. What did Jay honestly think she was going to do to him? Even if Tim - or the shape-changer who looks like him - went for her again, she'd sooner subdue him than cause unnecessary ruction. And she could subdue him easily enough, she thinks, if Jay wasn't standing in the gods-curst way.

Is that a camera he's holding?

And then Tim's on him, tackling him to the ground, to her somewhat uncharitable lack of surprise. They land with a heavy thud, and there's an unpleasant cracking sound that she hopes came from the camera. Daine leaps in turn, shifting as she goes, and lands beside the struggling pair in tiger shape. Snarling, she sinks her teeth into the bunched fabric of Tim's hood and tugs. At the same time, she tries to insinuate her paws between him and Jay, her claws carefully sheathed, and pry them apart.

Yeah so this was a dumb plan. The air bursts out of his lungs when Tim tackles him to the ground, he forgot how fucking heavy Tim is, and how much stronger he is when he's like this. He can't breathe with this weight on him, the unyielding grip wrapped around him, the fucking camera (why did he bring the fucking camera) digging into his gut, making him want to throw up. He grunts hard with the effort of inhalation, thrashing with violent desperation that would not serve him at all if Daine were not here to insinuate a giant cat paw (oh good, another one of those) between them.

"Fuck!" he gasps, writhing to get free. She's pulling Tim off but Tim hasn't let go, isn't going to let go so easily, Jay suspects.

He sinks to the ground, as he should. They pin him there until that thing comes behind them, clamps jaws around them and they twist and thrash and Tim's throat tears with muffled yelp the sound the no of outrage that prefaces the inevitable snaking of their fingers to the fragile flesh of the man's throat.

Tighten, press. Squeeze. Press. Drown out the thing. Fade it to the shallow-breathed quiet. They have to. They have to. They know that, they remember that. This is the purpose. Burn away the tainted smear against the wooded floor.

Maybe if they do it right this time, their friend will come back.

And then they are ripped away. They roll against the crunching leaves, the ghosting ache of their leg thrumming down to the root of their borrowed bones.

He's choking him! Mithros, what's going on, here? Daine jerks on the back of his jacket, sharp but brief, more to startle than to strangle. At the same time, she pushes harder against Jay's shoulder - hopefully not too hard, but she has to pry them apart, and just tugging on Tim clearly isn't enough. Finally, Tim breaks away and falls into the leaves, and she lets most of her weight drop on top of him, pressing him down. Even if he struggles, her own bulk ought to be enough to keep him from getting free and doing further injury to himself or anyone else. She plants her front paws over his arms, claws curling into the fabric of his sleeves, trying not to nick his skin.

She doesn't want to release her grip on Tim's collar lest he struggle overmuch, but she does roll her eyes towards Jay, trying to see how he's fairing.

Edited 2015-06-19 03:42 (UTC)

"Tim-!" he cries, a useless plea, just before the hands are around his throat, pressing hard and unforgiving, and he can't make a sound anymore; his hands find Tim's but there's nothing he can do, his fingers are already fumbling, weakening. His vision starts to black out, bright spots of light exploding against his eyes, his fingers buzzing, body twitching involuntarily, is he going to see it, is it going to be waiting for him again, oh god, no, no, oh god-

Then the connection breaks. Daine pulls him off, wrestles him away, presumably keeping him pinned - all Jay can do is curl over onto his side, hands at his throat, breath coming in audibly labored, faint and agonizing, he feels like he still might just pass the fuck out. His throat feels tight and closed and he can't fucking breathe.

They arch their back against the weight over their arms, straining, pulling. No. No. They were meant - they would want - they're supposed to get rid of him. This thing, is is keeping him safe.

Jay - threat. Liar. Send him to the ark. Send him there. It's where he belongs. It's where he won't hurt them. It's where he won't hurt anyone.

Their throat rasps out a noise, something twisting out pained and furious. Let them go. Let them go. Let them go so they can finish it. They have to finish it. Can't it see? They have to finish it. It's better, it's safer. It's dangerous not to.

They need -

They can't -

They pull against the weight wildly, frantically, powerfully, wrenching at the body pinned by the constricting mass mantled over them.

It's a surprising amount of strength that Tim puts into his struggling, and Daine snarls disapprovingly. Jay's still moving, but clearly in a bad way. Tim... she doesn't know what's wrong with him, but he's acting mad and she doubts he'll listen to reason. And she's more accustomed to stopping folk permanently than just putting them out of commission for a little while. How is she supposed to stop Tim without hurting him?

Maybe if she gets big enough, whatever sense he has left will kick in.

So she grows, her black-striped fur giving way to pure white as she repositions her limbs, straddling him so she can take some - but not all - of her weight off of him. Elsewise, he'll be crushed. He lands a few good blows to her gut, but she ignores them. The bigger she gets, the less his best efforts are worth. Now in bear shape, Daine moves quickly: shuffling her hindquarters off of him, swinging herself between him and Jay, and using one forepaw to swat Tim into the leaves. Then she plunks herself down between the two of them, her bulk all but hiding Jay from view, and bares her teeth.

If Tim really wants to take on a polar bear thrice his size, let him try.

For a moment, they fly.

Not truly.

They are sent in a staggered arc, tumbling over leaves and skidding across underbrush, thrown by something thick and hard and heavy. The shape-thing - they know it is a flawed thing, it changes and shifts though it does not do so in abstractions. And now it is large, large and pale and -

no no no no no

It is not like the thing that lurks around them always. It is black and it is white, but it is not without a face and it is not silent and it does not simply watch - but it is close enough. Its noises are ones of hostility, and the soreness thrumming through the skin they've stolen has begun to ache with a new fervor.

It will not let them near. It will not let them near.

They withdraw, slow and shuffling, prowling in a wary half-circle about the thing. It is slow and cumbersome, but they know what might happen should they stray too close to those great furred feet or wicked jaws. They live in this skin. Should it cease to be, they will as well.

They cannot suffer that. Not with so much left undone. Not without their friend.

It is with an odd, frustrated spasm that they retreat fully, plunging into the leaves in a pale and fading blur. They will have to wait, again. Bide their time, again. They do not want to be muzzled and sedated in their synthetic cage while Tim roams about in this skin they wear, but their friend - if they wish to see them again, they must. They must.

And so they will.

He's still struggling to breathe, still curled up useless in the dirt, barely aware that there's a bear guarding him now, but for the big splotch of white in the corner of his eye. He can't see Tim anymore, but he can't imagine he'll try to stand up to a bear, not even to get at him.

"Daine," he croaks, hoarse and barely audible, reaching one hand out toward her, the other still cupped around his throat.

Daine waits until Tim's gone, until she can barely pick up the sounds of his retreat, before turning to Jay and shrinking down into wolf shape. She shoves her head beneath his reaching hand and sniffs at him worriedly. He's still breathing, but only just, and it's clear it's not easy for him. Her magic doesn't work on two-leggers. Whining, she laps at the fingers he has curled around his throat. However gentle he's being with himself, she can't imagine any sort of pressure there would be helpful just now.

He blinks at her, letting his hand rest on her shaggy head, just enough wherewithal to be both vaguely comforted and vaguely weirded out when she licks his fingers. He pulls them away slowly, coughing and hacking into his sleeve, trying to pick himself up. He pulls himself onto his knees, arm still slung over her neck for a brace. "Help me," he whispers, weak and pathetic. He thinks he'll be okay but he needs to get somewhere safe, and he's not sure how well he can walk just now.

There are only so many shapes she has that are big enough to support him easily and tame enough that folk wouldn't panic overmuch to see her. With a mental sigh, she slowly eases herself into pony shape, shuffling back a pace to make sure there's no danger of her treading on him or bowling him over. She tries to keep her head more or less where it is, though, so as not to shake him off. Once she's fully pony, she wedges her head beneath his arm and tries to nudge him upright. Hopefully he's not so far gone that she'll have to carry him - though she could, if it came to that - but at least he can lean on her.

He staggers up to his feet as she supports much of his weight - it's weird, leaning on a pony, but it does the job and he supposes there are weirder animals it could be.

He manages a nod, still gasping a little, to indicate they can move forward. He's pretty sure he can fumble his way along, as long as she's there to keep him upright. Tim did more of a number on him than he'd anticipated. It's been a while.

"I'm sorry," he rasps out. He rubs his free hand over his face. He hopes Tim is, or rather will be, okay. He wishes there was something he could do but as usual he is useless.

Daine plods along at an easy pace, not wanting to rush Jay while he's recovering himself and not seeing any reason to rush things, besides. If Tim returns, she'll just have to bat him away again; she could outrun him in this shape if Jay had the wherewithal to jump on her back and hold on, but she's not sure he has that in him. Best to just get him inside as quickly as they can manage without rushing him overmuch.

She lets out a soft snort at the apology, more dry than dismissive. She rather doubts it's Jay's fault that Tim's run mad, and while she'll probably have a few bruises in the morning, she's fair certain she's the least physically damaged out of all three of them. She reshapes her mouth long enough to say, "Just worry about breathing right again. You can explain when we're inside."

Fortunately, they're not all that far from Aziraphale's apartment building when all is said and done. She pauses in the gloom a little distance from the sidewalk. If she ambles out there in pony shape, they'll get more attention than either of them want. "Can you stand on your own? I ought to take dog shape or something."

"Yeah." He is starting to feel better now, his voice sounding a little more normal. He straightens up and stands on his own, a little shaky, but upright. "Thanks."

Explain, can he. Obviously she expects him to, why wouldn't she - she kind of deserves an explanation at this point. But he feels his chest tighten all over again at the idea of going into it. Tim wants so much to keep this all secret, keep everyone safe, and now, what are the chances of that? They can't be the only ones who deciphered that message and came looking. But there's nothing they can do, just have to wait until it wears off, until he's Tim again.

It would be the Alex Kralie method, to keep Daine at arm's length now, leave her in the dark; but Daine isn't like him, wouldn't just complain under her breath and go along with it, wouldn't just accept it begrudgingly. And he's not like Alex. He's not.

He wraps his arms around himself, uneasy and unsteady as he walks them up to their building.

Edited 2015-06-25 18:52 (UTC)

Daine takes wolfhound shape, tall enough that Jay could still lean on her if it was needful. But he seems to be walking well enough on his own. It still doesn't amount to all that well - his steps are uneven and his balance doesn't look quite right - but the flat glare of the street lights hides any growing bruises. He might just be drunk as far as any passersby would know, and with such a large dog by his side, folk give them a wide enough berth.

As they reach the front door, Daine circles round to sit between him and the door. She's big, but slim, and he hides most of her from the street. "I need to change," she says quietly, looking up at him. "I'll meet you at yours in a minute." Getting into her own apartment will be far easier from the outside. Her door's locked, but the window's open.

She takes pigeon shape to fly herself back inside, noting an ache in her ribs as she drags herself aloft. Jay's not the only one who'll have bruises, but hers don't feel so bad. Once in her room, she changes quickly, reassuring the dogs and cat as she pulls on her clothes. Then, she heads to Jay's apartment, her expression grim. It's clear enough to her that he knows something of what's ailing Tim. Does that mean it's happened before? Did they know it might happen again? Odd's bobs, what a mess.

The temptation to start right in with a demand for an explanation is strong, but instead, she opens with, "How's your neck?"

He nods dully when she promises to meet him, not even watching as she transforms and flies up - he focuses on getting in the building, getting himself up to the apartment he's still sharing with Tim.

It feels both stifling and hollow inside. He wanders around opening a few windows, changes shirts, kicks off his shoes, and sits on the edge of the bed staring at his hands, waiting for them to stop shaking.

He left he door unlocked for Daine; he doesn't look up when she comes in.

"Hurts," he murmurs. "I'll be okay."

He's had worse.

Edited 2015-06-26 03:20 (UTC)

She nods once, not that he sees it. He's too busy staring down at the floor like an ill-treated dog, too wounded to snap and too ashamed to lift his gaze. For a few moments, she leaves him be, letting her focus drift out to the park, where she can ask her friends to keep an eye out for the masked Tim. They won't tangle with him, but at least she can ask them to track where he goes and try to discourage other two-leggers from wandering into his path.

That done, she transfers her focus back to Jay with a quiet sigh. "He's done this before," she guesses. She knows how shirty they can both be, so she's not going to bother with questions as broad as 'what's going on.' She'll just say what she thinks is happening, and if she's wrong, she expects he'll kick up a fuss. "Did the rebels know? Is that why they took him?"

Well, that's too many accuracies right off the bat for him to deny any of it, and there's little point to denial anyway. He rakes his fingers through his hair with a quiet, rueful laugh.

"Yeah," he says. "They shouldn't have found out, but I..." He cuts himself off, looks away. He hates this memory, and it might bleed through in the morose hollowness of his voice. "The day we were all cursed, when I asked you about those cats? The... rift cats? They forced it out of him, and I happened to be filming it, and... the camera got left behind in the base. So."

So that's what he meant when he said it was his fault.

"It's not him," he adds hastily. "Tim doesn't... have any control over it. That thing takes over his body and... I guess it's never tried to kill me before, at least not like that, but it's... done plenty. It's definitely dangerous." He shivers a little, thinking back to the first time he saw them, sitting quietly in Brian's old house.

"It'll wear off," he says softly. "Tim'll come back. I think it's best if we just leave him alone. There's nothing we can do until Tim is in control again. Once he's back we can... we can figure out what to do."

He's afraid to look at her, but he finally does, peering up from his seat on the bed, filled with sourceless anxiety, that she'll leave him, that she'll try to go back. He has to keep her from going back out there. Has to, even if he can't pinpoint why.

Well, this is a fine mess. She's not sorry Tim's out of that cell, but it would have been nice to know this might happen. They could have come up with a plan better than 'keep him locked up all the time' or 'let him run around willy-nilly and strangle folk until he comes back to himself.' She shoves a hand through her curls and shifts irritably.

"It's all very well for us to leave him alone," she says. "But what about the folk he runs into? Is he just going to attack anyone on sight? And how long before it wears off?" He could do an awful lot of damage in not much time, if the way he went after Jay is any indication.

"I don't know," says Jay, automatically on the defensive. "It varies. This wasn't supposed to happen, he - he has medication that helps, keeps it under control, and he was going to the clinic to get more, if they can just figure out what it is then he'll get more. This wasn't his fault. The Rebels took whatever he had left."

He drops his head back into his hands, unable to look at her as she gets her hackles up. "I don't see why he'd hurt anyone," he says. It's only half a lie. There's no guarantee it wouldn't, unless it were provoked. It's only ever gone after him and Alex. "I mean, he's dangerous, but anyone who saw that message, they wouldn't go after something like that, would they? Nobody knows who he is, so it's not like they'd have a reason to. That's not the kind of thing you just go after."

Says Jay, who went after every stupid thing he ever saw, pursued every bad idea until it literally was the last thing he did.

"If people leave him alone, it'll be okay. He'll be back soon, probably in the morning, it's usually just... one night." All this guesswork. So many embellishments of the truth. When he saw what Brian had written on that wall, HE IS A LIAR, part of him always wondered, which one of them was it for? Was it supposed to be Tim lured down into that tunnel to find his own records? Would have worked pretty fuckin well either way.

"It's just me he's after," he mutters. That, at least, he thinks is true. Could be true. Why would he want to get at anyone else? No one else was part of the machine that made him. It. Them. "It's always me."

Daine presses her lips together. Manhattan isn't exactly short on two-leggers - plenty of folk could run into him on accident, even with the People trying to keep it from happening. True, he probably would have ignored her if she'd left him be, but she'd been in owl shape. Who knows how he'd respond to other humans?

And that's all assuming no one goes looking for him after that text. It was so garbled and strange that she'd just assumed something bad had happened to him. What if others have the same thought, or are just plain curious? If all he wanted was Jay, why was it so easy for her to scare him off?

"So we just sit here and hope nothing bad happens?" she asks. Her tone isn't as sharp as it was before, but she still doesn't understand Jay's reasoning. "He might hurt someone. Someone might hurt him." And she knows Jay cares about him - too much, she would have assumed, to just let him roam around a busy city in the state he's in.

"It's worked for us before," he says darkly, hunching over. "Either he escapes or someone gets hurt. It'll go away, if there's nothing for it to chase, it'll just go away."

He thinks. He hopes.

And yeah, he might get hurt, he's been hurt before, that's why he limps like that.

But if Daine gets too close - if she follows him through the night, if he has reason to attack her, maybe get the upper hand, or even if he doesn't, it's what Tim's been afraid of from the beginning. They aren't safe. Especially not Tim, not when he's like that.

Who knows where he might lead her.

Tim lied to Jay to keep himself. Jay lied to Jessica. Now he has to lie to Daine.

On and on and on.

"Please, just..." He wraps his fingers around his head, sinking down further. "Just don't go, okay? You can't fix him, he wouldn't want you to try. He'll be okay, and I... I don't want you to go."

Pathetic. But at least it's true.

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fou nd you forever [open to multiple]

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tw serious strangulation/asphyxiation

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