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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Oct 22, 2012 18:09:47 GMT -5
Month 8, Week 2, Day 5. Detroit River. Private.
A bullet that fails to exit the skull can do more damage than one that does. It transfers all its energy into the surrounding tissues, pulverizing the brain, ricocheting around inside the skull, leaving ruin in its wake, tearing apart delicate neurons.
It takes a long time to put that much damage back in order, cells dividing under the guidance of mysterious forces, reaching out to form synapses, replicating the pattern they'd fallen into before hot metal ripped through them. They sit there, suspended in a state between dead and alive, waiting for reconstruction to complete. The power moves out from the brain when its down, out through the neurons and on into muscle, vein, skin, repairing the damage time quickly begins to reap on dead tissue.
Whole again, Xavier's body waits in stasis at the bottom of the Detroit River, washed far downstream from the point of his death. Finally, a spark of life runs through him, sending limbs jerking and twitching in a seizure of reanimation. Compulsively, he breathes in, searching for oxygen but only managing to flood his lungs with water and silt. He struggles against the grip of the mud that's settled around him, fighting free, disoriented, searching desperately for the air that his human body so needs.
He doesn't find it. Sparks dance in front of his eyes. His brief, frantic thoughts fade. And once again, the light of life in his eyes snuffs out. He settles to the bottom. The process begins again. There's less damage this time, reanimation is quicker. Xavier heals, re-animates, struggles to understand, to find the surface, dies.
And then it begins again. And again. And again. An eternity of the pain and horror of drowning, hardly remembered, blurred together into one long nightmare of cold murky water and burning lungs. Repeated over and over, until suddenly, there is air. Xavier's struggles have brought him to shore, and he flops about like a beached fish. His time in the water seemed so endless, has he really ever been a creature of land?
Spasming and coughing, he empties the water from his lungs and stomach and lies gasping and shivering on the isolated riverbank, surrounded by trees. There's little heat left in his body after so many deaths, and he thinks he might die of hypothermia. But even if he does, it'll be okay.
He knows he'll be back.
-
Later, Xavier stumbles through the streets of Detroit in search of a pay phone. Unlike himself, his cellphone didn't revive from its dip in the river. His legs are trembling with a bone-deep exhaustion and his stomach churns with ravenous hunger, but he has to keep going. He needs to call P- Ph... Po...
He shakes his head, damp, muddy curls flopping limply across his forehead. Pierce. He needs to call Pierce. Pierce is hurt. Or in danger. He hurt Pierce.
His head aches.
Xavier can't quite remember how he ended up in the river. He remembers chasing that sla- that goddamned redhead, and Pierce was chasing him, and that other woman-
Wincing at his throbbing head, he leans heavily against a phone booth, then squeezes in, fumbling for his soaking wallet. With shaking fingers, he gingerly pulls out change and gingerly feeds it into the phone, his stomach growling with jealousy.
He dials. The phone rings. He waits.
"Pierce..."
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Oct 23, 2012 14:31:32 GMT -5
The house was too quiet. The smell of cooked food still lingered in some of the corners and there was ripples in the seating of the couch that Pierce had not straightened out. Knick knacks that didn’t belong to him were scattered throughout the house- a sock here, a cooking utensil there. The fridge had leftovers stored away neatly in boxes and there was a half-empty can of soda perched on one of the ledges, awaiting the return of its owner.
There wasn’t much that could be done for a broken rib, and a hospital stay cost money he wasn’t entirely happy to part with; so they’d sent him home with some painkillers and a doctor’s order to rest. Pierce sits alone on his bed, feeling vaguely like a warmed over slab of brick from sleep and the drugs.
He doesn’t particularly want to move. He probably needs to call Rook and tell him about what happened. He really does need to do that. If there were to be any punishments for his failure to stop Rampage from being killed, it was better to sort it all out early on.
Feeling slightly resentful, Pierce stares at the cellphone resting innocuously on the nightstand.
The man nearly jumps out of his own skin when it starts ringing.
“What-?” Unknown number? He snatches it up, a heavy feeling of deja vu overcoming him. Except Xavier is dead, drifting out somewhere in the Detroit River. Xavier’s meta power as far as Pierce knew, was just a very weak version of his machine form's empathy. The dive team still hadn’t found his body. It was probably a telemarketer or someone calling a wrong number.
Pierce laughs despite himself, a mirthless and slightly desperate sound, just staring at the phone in his hand. Broken rib aching, he presses the answer button and brings it up to his ear. The voice of a ghost on the other side of the phone makes his mind stall for a good, long moment.
He really shouldn’t be surprised by people coming back from the dead.
“Xavier, where are you?” he demands, immediately standing up. He grabs the edge of a desk for a moment, waiting for the sharp pain in his chest to recede before going to find his keys.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Oct 23, 2012 21:21:12 GMT -5
Xavier mumbles Pierce's name again, sagging with relief against the payphone. It's cool against his aching head.
"I don't know," he replies. He peers out of the phone booth, looking for a street name, and a sudden surge of nausea and vertigo combats his painful hunger. "Where is..." He squints at the sign and lists off a street.
Hopefully Pierce can find him. He needs Pierce to find him. He needs Pierce. Needs to see that he's alive and whole. Needs to clutch him tightly and never let go, not even if Pierce wants to leave...
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Oct 26, 2012 17:58:52 GMT -5
“Okay, I’ll be there in... thirty minutes,†Pierce answers after typing the address into his laptop to find it. That... was rather far from where he’d fallen into the river. “Can you hold on until then?†he adds worriedly. Xavier didn’t sound like he was doing too well.
Keeping the phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, Pierce quickly sets about gathering some supplies and tossing them into a backpack. Blanket, towel, first aid kit, some of the leftover soup in the freezer which he quickly heats and puts into a canteen and a bottle of water. After a moment, he also goes to grab some freshly washed clothes, stuffing it all in as well.
“You did not tell me you had healing powers,†he says sternly over the phone, zipping up the bag.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Oct 29, 2012 18:38:38 GMT -5
"It doesn't really matter if I can't," Xavier mumbles tiredly, eyes drooping shut. He'll be right back anyway.
He slides down to sit on the floor of the phone booth, tugging the receiver with him. It's an odd enough time of day that hopefully nobody should bother him for use of the public phone. He's not sure he could resist taking a chunk out of them. Sweet hot fluids, gushing down his throat, wires and ligaments snapping between his jaws- wires?
His head throbs.
"It never came up."
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Oct 31, 2012 18:40:48 GMT -5
“Xavier Goodkind, you and I are going to have a very serious talk about how to safely omit information once I get you somewhere safe,” Pierce grumbles, slinging his bag across his shoulders and striding up to his door to peer out the peephole, listening for any sounds of footsteps nearby or any presence in his senses.
“I have to go now,” he says softly, fingers tightening around the door handle. “I’ll call you again once I’m nearby, okay?” He doesn’t particularly want to be eavesdropped on or caught doing anything suspicious at the moment.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Nov 4, 2012 21:26:45 GMT -5
Xavier gives a non-committal grunt, then clenches his hand around the receiver when Pierce says he has to go. He almost hisses at him to stay and keep talking to him until he arrives. Inside he's screaming at Pierce not to leave him, he belongs to Xavier! It's a ridiculous overreaction. His boyfriend is coming to get him right now. He'll be with him soon.
Instead, Xavier sighs, and gives a quiet, "Okay."
Then he simply sits in the silence and waits, gathering up the energy to hang up the receiver.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Nov 9, 2012 9:59:18 GMT -5
“Stay right where you are,” Pierce adds before ending the call. He keeps the payphone’s number on the shortcut for the time being as he slips out the door and into the hallway. It was a relatively peaceful night in the apartment block although he can hear distant music drifting through the building as he descends down the stairs towards the parking lot.
Hopping onto his scooter and checking the GPS on his phone, the man idly wonders just what to do about the situation. He probably can’t bring Xavier back to his home after all, not when there is the off chance that the police might still show up considering just how often his boyfriend had come over. There’s probably a very specific follow up investigation just in case their supposedly dead serial was indeed a meta. He’ll have to scout out some place safe and out of the way- a possibly urgent matter depending on Xavier’s condition.
Driving off into the well-lit Detroit night, Pierce makes his way towards the address Xavier had listed. In about half an hour, he finds himself in a rather dark part on the outskirts of the city where the main sources of lights were seedy looking convenience stores and the light poles. He glances down at his phone once more to check the location before bringing up the payphone number and calling listening for any ringing nearby.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Nov 12, 2012 23:10:17 GMT -5
Xavier jolts awake from an impromptu nap, dreamy images of charred smoking husks filling his head, that he's not quite sure are man or machine...
The phone is ringing, and his stomach growls loudly in reply to it as he fumbles for the receiver. It takes him awhile to co-ordinate himself well enough to knock it out of the cradle, and then grab the dangling phone and bring it to his ear.
"Pierce?" he says, hopefully. Maybe a little desperately.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Nov 15, 2012 16:49:48 GMT -5
“It’s alright,” Pierce answers gently. “I’m almost there. I heard the phone ringing.” The shrill little noise had come from his left and he directs the scooter towards it, heart pounding in his chest. He distantly reprimands himself for driving with one hand, but he thinks he can survive a few minutes of it in favor of keeping Xavier on the line.
Now where... ah, there. He sees a lone, weathered phone booth tucked under the sickly white light of a streetlamp. The shadow of a man moves inside, silhouetted against dirty glass. The faint traces of a familiar presence at the edge of his sense and Pierce feels his guts unknot with relief.
He was tempted to call out the other’s name and run up to him, but old paranoid habits stopped the sound on his tongue and Pierce swallows it. Instead, he quietly drives the scooter up to the booth and parks it a meter or so away. He then tugs the supply bag onto his shoulder and carefully opens the door.
“Xavier?”
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Nov 18, 2012 21:09:14 GMT -5
Xavier doesn't say a word as Pierce enters the booth, simply dropping the payphone receiver and shoving himself heavily to his feet. Taking a step forward, he practically collapses against Pierce, arms reaching around to try and grasp the man tightly, muddy fingers crooking to dig in deeply.
He feels a wash of relief, but there's also a desperate fear there. Some hard-to-place terror that he's going to lose this man if he doesn't hold on to his property tight enough. Running below that is the deep hunger and exhaustion, like he hasn't eaten or slept in weeks. An below that an echo of the endless pain and horror of drowning and drowning again...
And laced in between everything, the confused roiling of memories and thoughts that haven't quite surfaced.
Xavier tries to cling tighter, and moans.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Nov 20, 2012 13:30:20 GMT -5
“I brought food,” Pierce manages weakly after a moment of being overtaken by the intensity of Xavier’s emotions. He’d managed to back up against the side of the booth before the other man’s weight could have dragged him down. Too many emotions to sort out in one go, even if they were dampened somewhat by the layer of clothes and mud between them. His current priority was Xavier’s physical condition.
“Come on, Xavier,” Pierce says gently, gingerly wrapping one arm around his boyfriend’s filthy shoulders as he digs the towel out of the bag. Good lord the redhead was a mess. Where in the world was he supposed to get the other man washed off if he couldn’t bring him back to the apartment? “Towel off and get some food in you.”
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Nov 25, 2012 18:34:13 GMT -5
"Food..." Xavier mumbles, idly wiping the towel over his face and hair while his other hand remains twisted tightly in Pierce's jacket. His stomach growls loudly at Pierce for mentioning food before actually presenting it to him.
Clear of mud, Xavier's face looks a bit pale and strained, with dark circles under his eyes, but is otherwise unmarred like one might expect a shooting victim's head to be. If Pierce looks closely, he might notice a little semi-circular chunk in one of Xavier's eyebrows, where the hair has been reduced to fresh stubble.
Another throb of pain shoots through Xavier's head, and he gives Pierce's jacket an insistent tug. "Food."
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Nov 27, 2012 10:14:34 GMT -5
“Try to eat it slowly, you don’t want to regurgitate it,” Pierce says as he unpacks the canteen he’d put the soup in, handing it to the red head. Probably not an advice Xavier would follow, but he suspects it’s not enough food to satisfy Xavier at this point and he didn’t have much of anything else to feed the man.
He takes the towel back from his boyfriend and tries to dry out the muddy hair in the meantime, scowling at the missing bit of brow. Phobia wasn’t from the same universe as Spinister and while he was privy to the Mayhem’s reputation, it was the first time he’d seen it first hand. Note to self, Spinister only does killing shots. Despite the situation however, Pierce finds he can’t really blame the other Decepticon. It was Pierce who couldn’t control Xavier after all; he’d lulled into thinking that his presence would be enough to stop trouble but he’d overestimated his influence on the younger man, especially where Rampage showed up.
After doing a quick check on his empathy senses, he adds, “Get undressed and towel off after you’re done. I brought fresh clothes.” He’d still be filthy but at least Xavier would be closer to getting dry.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Dec 2, 2012 21:43:15 GMT -5
Xavier does, indeed, not take Pierce's advice, and the soup disappears into the yawning pit of his stomach before his boyfriend can finish toweling off his hair. He wants more, and growls in disappointment at the empty thermos.
Pierce may not notice yet, between the mud and the stress of the current situation, but there's no matching patch of missing hair on Xavier's scalp opposite the notch in his eyebrow.
Xavier squints at Pierce's command. "But we're in public." He doesn't sound particularly concerned however - the idea of modesty seems a bit odd to him at the moment - and he sluggishly obeys.
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