|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Jan 13, 2013 18:57:34 GMT -5
Xavier averts his gaze at Pierce's glare, sinking against him. He heaves a heavy sigh. "Whatever you think is best."
His attempt to take control of his life turned out terribly, so he's just going to trust Pierce this time. Especially since he's not exactly in a state to be making important decisions between the painkillers, the dull remains of the headache, and the exhaustion. If he were with any other person, he'd be going mad to be so vulnerable around someone...
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Jan 15, 2013 8:17:59 GMT -5
“You should rest now,” Pierce suggests softly, stroking Xavier’s hair. He would leave if he didn’t suspect Xavier would have a nervous breakdown about that. He had a few more days of break from work again due to, well, everything, so staying for a while was something he could afford. Still, while he was a secluded person and the neighbors didn’t know he existed for the most part, an empty house when the investigators showed up again was a tad on the suspicious side. And moving out immediately with Xavier was just asking for trouble.
Life had been so much more simple when he was just a librarian and not a librarian cleaning up after a cannibal serial killer. Pierce sighs and rests his back against the pillows, setting the comb on the night stand, idly lamenting how terrible of a Decepticon he was. There was a lot of planning to do.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Jan 16, 2013 22:13:03 GMT -5
Xavier grumbles and offers his remaining noodles to Pierce before rearranging himself to rest his head on the other man's lap, arms curling around him possessively. Pierce would have a hard time leaving even if he thought it was a good idea.
"My head still hurts," he complains, eyes sliding shut as he frowns. He's not particularly used to sustained pain. All his ills have generally healed up within an hour.
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Jan 17, 2013 18:58:49 GMT -5
“I will leave that for you in the morning,” Pierce says, gingerly placing the leftover noodles onto the nightstand as well. He was already full as is and he’d rather not wake up and find himself Xavier’s breakfast thank you very much. The hungry stare his boyfriend had been giving throughout the ride here was well and truly burnt into the back of the pale man’s neck.
At Xavier’s complaint, Pierce sighs again and goes back to gently stroking his hair. “I know,” he answers softly. “We’ll deal with that later.” He has a sinking feeling that this was related to the lack of exit wound although he’s not too sure about worrying yet.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Jan 22, 2013 10:35:32 GMT -5
"Hmph." Cold noodles. Just wanted he for breakfast.
Xavier's mood quickly softens again at Pierce's touch, and he heaves a heavy sigh as his eyes slide shut. He is grateful that Pierce is with him now. So much could have gone terribly wrong while he was dead.
He doesn't have much time to dwell on such things, however, as his exhausted body quickly succumbs to sleep, mind drifting off into troubled dreams of malevolent water and of other times and other places and other selves...
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Jan 24, 2013 13:28:26 GMT -5
Pierce makes a soft, amused sound at the grumble. Well the hotel does have a microwave. It doesn’t have to be cold noodles in the morning. Although Pierce suspects that the microwave is immensely unclean.
Sighing softly to himself for the umpteenth time, he settles in for a long, long night. He can already feel the dark dreams bubble up inside Xavier’s mind as he keeps stroking the younger man’s hair. It was going to be a very, very busy next few days. This was probably the most amount of sleep either of them will get for a while.
OOC: Timeskip?
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Jan 27, 2013 17:41:06 GMT -5
Timeskip!
Xavier had a bullet in his head.
Xavier no longer had a bullet in his head.
It's difficult to remember the events leading up to this point. He supposes that deadly brain damage tends to have that effect on people. Something about getting Pierce to to remove the bullet from his skull.
He slowly sits up in the bathtub, head throbbing, wondering how much time has past this time. He's not sure how much of his previous regeneration time was brain damage and how much was drowning. Death kind of ruins your time sense.
Rubbing his tender skull, he looks around, wondering just where his impromptu brain surgeon has gotten to.
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Jan 29, 2013 16:15:35 GMT -5
He needed. To get everything. Clean.
Clean.
Brain surgery sure resulted in a lot of blood. Also, bits of brain tissue and finely ground bits of skull getting everywhere. Brain surgery with garage tools was... Well, there was a reason why it took place in the bathtub. He was lucky he’d gone in with an empty stomach, although trying to heave with an empty stomach was something he never particularly ever wanted to try again.
Also Pierce is kind of losing his mind at the moment. Apparently doing surgery on your loved ones was kind of really unnerving. And everything was covered in blood. He could just... he could see it. He was covered in blood. The bathroom tiles were covered in blood. The raincoat, goggles, gloves and mask he’d gotten? Drenched in blood. He’d washed everything- everything- out with ice cold water and bleach five times by now. His hands were numb from the frigid water. But when he’d stepped out of the bathroom, the whole room was just... red.
So he was pretty sure losing his mind and he’d just gone to sit down and shake on the crappy, plastic TV chair after leaving painkillers on the bathroom counter for Xavier. At some point he’d fallen into an exhausted half-sleep, back of his head against the wall.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Feb 9, 2013 16:41:42 GMT -5
Pressing a hand against the wall for support, Xavier makes for the bathroom door. He has to find Pierce and make sure he's here and that he's okay and-
He catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eyes, and turns. There's a man staring at him with confused green eyes, his head covered in a fine red stubble from being shaved off to avoid hair getting into his brain matter... He's looking into a mirror. This is him.
"No," he says out loud, a ripple of wrongness going through him. He's not flesh and blood and bone. This is not his face. This is not his body. This is not him. Xavier's hands rise up to grip the sides of his head, fingers digging into tender skin.
"No!" he screams, railing against a dawning revelation. "He hates you!"
You? Who is you? Who is he? Who-?
Rampage lets go of his head and stares in horror out the bathroom door. "Pierce. Phobia hates me." No, no, no, Phobia can't hate him, Pierce loves him, Phobia is Xavier's boyfriend, Pierce is his- He hisses as his head throbs with pain. He won't lose what's his again, he won't, he won't, he won't lose what he's found, he won't have it taken from him!
He stalks out into the main room, steps slightly unsteady, and lunges for his... his! His fist grasps for Pierce's shirt, and he growls - pleadingly? Threateningly? Demandingly? - "Phobia."
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Feb 25, 2013 19:36:58 GMT -5
Phobia snaps awake, hands instinctively grabbing at Rampage’s wrists. He doesn’t immediately realize just why it was so disorienting to hear his real name. The fear and horror that seeps through the touch doesn’t help.
“What-” he begins, voice reedy with panic. “Xavier-” And then his higher functions catch up with instinct and he freezes up, caught between denial and the need to get away. His grip tightens, the rest of the color draining out of his already pale skin.
“R-Ram-pa-age!” the man stutters, trying to disappear into his chair. “I- I- ohsigma-” Phobia was going to die now, wasn’t he? Oh no, oh god, please, please no-
… Except he didn’t feel any intent to murder. That peculiar realization doesn’t do much to curb his panic, but it stuns him enough that he kind of just stares at the other man in panicked bewilderment.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Mar 4, 2013 18:18:04 GMT -5
Rampage's hands twitch at Phobia's touch, fisting his hands tighter in the other man's shirt. He remembers the last time they touched - only they've touched many a time now haven't they, as human and human? - throwing them into a recursive swirl of shared emotion. But Rampage's senses are almost dead now, reduced to feeling nothing but the buzz of Phobia's panic across the back of his mind.
It's like being blinded or deafened. The loss of a sense he's had longer than any other. There is a deeply important question that he needs to ask, but how can he even tell if the answer is true, crippled as he is?
Staring wildly, intently into Phobia's strange, human eyes, Rampage echoes a question he asked what feels like millenia ago, his voice surprisingly soft given the storm of emotions raging inside him. "Do you hate me?"
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Mar 21, 2013 15:52:25 GMT -5
“I-” Of all the questions Phobia expected the Predacon to ask, this wasn’t quite it. He was kind of expecting something more ‘you slept with me when I was amnesic and now I will kill you’. He kind of thought he was prepared to die too. Not happy to die, but prepared. Sort of.
Instead Rampage is asking him this and feeling far too much like Xavier for Phobia to be very comfortable with. Far, far too much like Xavier. It was the lost confusion and desperate possessiveness Phobia had felt so many weeks ago, when he’d tried to distance himself from the young human in the parking lot.
“... I don’t know,” he says shakily. He hates the part of him that wants it to be comforting instead.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Apr 7, 2013 8:53:58 GMT -5
Rampage stares at Phobia intensely for a long moment, trying to puzzle out the truth of the statement by expression alone. Maybe Phobia does know. Maybe he really does hate Rampage, he's just afraid to tell him the truth. He can't tell!
His grip tightens for a moment, then loosens as he slides to his knees in front of Phobia, arms curling around his- his- the other's thin waist. No, mine forever, no matter what. He can't let go. Never let go.
"You're afraid of me," he states softly, head resting against Phobia's knee. That at least he can feel for certain.
|
|
|
Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on May 7, 2013 16:56:43 GMT -5
“Yes, you were kind of good at scaring the living daylights out of me, in case you don’t remember that,” Phobia mutters, voice quaking despite the sarcasm. That’s a lot of possessiveness he’s feeling from the younger man at the moment. Not unusual for Xavier, but therein lies the problem; this wasn’t really Xavier anymore.
“What are you going to do?” he asks quietly instead, attempting to distract himself.
|
|
|
Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on May 31, 2013 14:49:52 GMT -5
Rampage grumbles darkly, arms tightening slightly around Phobia. That's what he'd wanted. For Phobia to fear him, loathe him... He'd reveled in the taste and feel of it! He wants everyone to fear him. Only now, he thinks, perhaps... everyone but Phobia. It doesn't feel right anymore.
What is he going to do? He's really not sure anymore. What does one do when they remember they're actually a murderous robot disguised in the flesh of a murderous human? Of course, he didn't exactly have the best track record for making decisions even before he came back to himself, a fact which galls him greatly.
Huffing out a breath of hot air, he steels himself and asks, "What should I do?"
|
|