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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Jun 2, 2013 12:47:11 GMT -5
Phobia breathes in sharply as a sudden pain spears up his lungs when Rampage’s hold on him tightens. He doesn’t dare ask the redhead to let go at the moment though, even as he shifts uncomfortably.
“T-that’s kind of an awkward question to ask me right now,” he points out. Whatever Rampage does want to do, Phobia suspects it doesn’t involve letting him getting away.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Jun 11, 2013 22:55:24 GMT -5
The spike of pain dances across Rampage's senses and he experiences a curious mix of pleasure and guilt at it. He quickly loosens his grip and rests his head softly against Phobia's leg.
Softly, he says, "If I could change the... particulars of our earlier meetings, I would." Make them like... well, Xavier and Pierce's early meetings.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Nov 13, 2013 14:57:39 GMT -5
Phobia can’t deny the honesty in Rampage’s words. Not with Rampage bloody touching him. Couldn’t the universe be fair to him just this once? Why did the person he’d been willing to be killed for have to be the one that had enough left him with enough mental scars to last another few millennia now?
He takes a good long moment to just squeeze his eyes shut. The universe will never be fair. The universe will never make sense. It still astounds Phobia that he’s been allowed to sink into such a sense security as he’d had these past few months.
“Well you can’t,” he squeezes out, feeling like a vice had been clamped around his throat. He drags in a pained breath of air and adds, “I need to report this to Rook.” As always, when things took a turn for the chaotic, Phobia will grasp for duty.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Nov 21, 2013 19:56:24 GMT -5
Rampage bristles at the mention of Rook. He hadn't cared much about the smaller Predacon either way back on Ship, but Xavier actively disliked him. This is... jealousy? Possessiveness? He knows these feelings well. He knows just how badly things went when he let them get the best of him before.
Voice tense, he grits out, "If you must..."
For now, he's just going to refuse to move, because despite everything Pierce- Phobia- still feels like an anchor to him through all this madness.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Nov 22, 2013 21:58:46 GMT -5
Phobia sits quietly there rigidly for a few long moments, trying to sort out his emotions from Rampage’s, figuring out what he felt. It wasn’t the least bit pleasant, but it wasn’t like he had a choice.
“Are you going to keep me this way for the rest of the day?” he sighs. “At least let me move my legs.”
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Nov 30, 2013 22:24:11 GMT -5
"I-" No, no Rampage doesn't want to let go. He tenses up for a moment, turning his head to press his forehead against Phobia's thin thigh, then relaxes again.
"...Are you going to run away if I do?" he asks, ever aware that Phobia could lie to him an he might never know. This human body of his, he loathes it and its limitations.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Dec 1, 2013 12:21:21 GMT -5
“What’s the use?” Phobia asks tersely. No, really, he can barely start a brisk pace without potentially blacking out from pain as is- which was appalling really because Phobia had crawled, maimed body and all, away from danger just fine many times before. Then again, he had been machine.
“Regardless of our interpersonal problems,” he continues unhappily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are still under my supervision. Whether either of us likes it or not.” And Phobia does not shirk responsibility. Unless his responsibility immediately threatened the prolonging of his life which Rampage currently wasn’t.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Dec 7, 2013 13:28:32 GMT -5
Rampage stares at Phobia for a long moment, screaming on the inside about his lack of empathic powers. Finally he looks away grumpily. Perhaps it's not so important that he can't feel Phobia's uncertainty. He knows the man is dedicated to his duties. And apparently Phobia considers him one of his duties at the moment.
His chest feels tight as he slowly pulls away, until only one of his hands remains, resting on Phobia's knee.
Almost inaudibly, he mutters, "I like it..."
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Dec 22, 2013 20:09:23 GMT -5
“I’d thought you would,” Phobia says dryly with a crooked not-smile. He takes a careful breath of air as Rampage lets him go, feeling the nervous tension bleed out of him slightly- in contradiction to the feelings dripping through the hand on his knee.
He didn’t think he could hate his empathy more than right now. It even drowns out the loathing he has for himself at the moment, which was something.
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Dec 28, 2013 20:11:27 GMT -5
His staring continues in silence, his fingers drumming lightly against Phobia's thin knee, unsure of what to say. Finally he shoves himself to his feet with a short huff, and stomps across the room to snag the hotel's phone. Marching back to Phobia, he unceremoniously shoves the phone at him.
"Get it over with." Rampage may not like Rook, but maybe Phobia will feel better if he talks to hiss boss.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Dec 29, 2013 14:42:51 GMT -5
“NOT-” Phobia squeaks, leaning away from the presented phone and the rather intimidating redhead who was presenting it to him.
“... Not with that phone,” he finishes slightly calmer, pulling the one Rook had given him out his pocket. “I have his number on here anyways. But thank you.”
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Post by Rampage/Xavier Goodkind on Jan 5, 2014 17:13:02 GMT -5
Rampage gives another huff of frustration, dropping the phone unceremoniously back in its spot before flopping face down on the bed. He may still be holding on to a few habits he developed as a human.
After a moment he mutters into the bedding, "I'm hungry."
He should just kill and eat Phobia. That would totally solve all his problems. Only not at all.
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Post by Phobia/Pierce Fobster on Jan 12, 2014 11:17:28 GMT -5
Seeing Xavier’s typical body language squeezes something chest that hurt more than the broken bone. Phobia finds himself staring at the man flopped on the bed despite himself, phone hanging from his limp fingers.
“... You can go microwave the noodles,” Phobia gently replies after a long moment. He forces himself to look away, bringing Rook’s number up.
OOC: Wrap?
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