Alone in the dark

Jamie sat in the cold of the courtyard, completely alone in the darkness, staring out into the city’s skyline through the fence. His face was a collection of bruises, courtesy of Felix’s ministrations; it was a miracle his nose wasn’t broken–he didn’t mind them, though; they’d earned him this late-night outing. The physician who had been tending to his wounds had been kind enough to allow this, and the guards hadn’t protested. So here he was, alone in the dark. Until he caught the footfalls to his back. “Just another minute, please…” he whispered, bracing himself in the cold.

Home Fuckin’ Home




+ Open

Harvey had just bought the house and moved out of the hotel, it was high on his to do list and yet it had been pushed back thanks to one thing or another. Not any more, he’d just finished putting all his toys in his basement, hard work, and deserving of a cigarette. So he ended up on the lawn with a fag in his hand, leaning back on the grass until he heard those footsteps and his eyes rolled, closing.

“What the fuck d’ ya want? Can’t a guy get some fuckin’ peace on his own fuckin’ front lawn.”

Where’s my president ::: Closed
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“Where’s my fanclub’s President when I need her? Should I start charging for these ‘meeting with the fans’ things? I’d make a fortune if I did…”

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Sitting with her back to the bars of her cell, Gaia’s attention was focused on the wall in front of her. She had wiped clean part of it and was now using the dirt off the floor and the tip of her finger to draw designs, a dirty version of art. It was abstract more than anything, shapes and symbols more than anything real, but it mimicked the lines she drew on her own skin and it was a distraction from the discomfort of the cell.

Jamie had barely reached for a towel to dry the falling droplets on his face, when he was struck by the distinct feeling of being watched. He should have been more used to it after five years, but it always managed to catch him off-guard. It was slightly unsettling, but at least he’d been lucky enough to pull his pants up before it happened–or perhaps he just hadn’t noticed prior to that. Either way, to his observer he said, “Just give me a moment to finish dressing…” He hadn’t said please, but in his voice were all the makings of a plea; one that might be listened to, if he was lucky.

Red Head’s do it Best





Harvey could feel the eyes on him, and he found it quite amusing to be the centre of attention, if only he were a slave, he’d probably be thrilled, but as it was, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was being judged, the new boy in the city. Well, they’d get a shock, he was no boy. “Is it the red hair? Hard t’ miss, ain’t it?”

.::Under Prying Eyes::.

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Tristan hated going to the chateau, every time it made him think back to everything that he had managed to avoid, but he had friends there. He always told himself if he was ever in a position to help, then he would, so he went armed with cookies and sandwiches in his backpack and looked around the courtyard before he felt eyes on him, his own closing briefly in silent prayer that this wasn’t him gaining the attention of a guard. 

Slowly, he turned to see who was looking at him -”H.. hello?”


He had expected to wake up feeling better that morning—perhaps he’d expected too much. There were no visible bruises on his skin; all the damage was, thankfully, internal. He didn’t like it when his playthings looked less than untouched, the master had said to him, before… before…  Jamie could still feel the cool breath of his whispers on the back of his neck, the dead hands ghosting along his sides. They made him shiver with something like fear, except deeper, darker. The bite on his thigh still stung, too; the only mark he had left on his body.

Jamie’s body looked no different than he did last night—before… But his face… He had lost something; his eyes had lost something, and it would be plain to see, which was why he didn’t look up. He didn’t want people to see. He just wanted to sit where he was, in that corner of his cell, and ride it out. Wait to slowly earn back what he had been stolen. He had never been stolen this before, though. His body, yes; his innocence, absolutely; his heart, maybe—but not his courage, never his courage. How was he supposed to get it back now? How?

He buried his face in his hands and tried not to cry.

“You’re not being very clever,” the halfbreed harshly mutters as he pulls the fabric of the shirt over broad shoulders. Once stray eyes on bare scared skin would have provoke more than a bitting irritation, that was when he first arrived to the city however, now he was hiding more than the surface of his skin. There is a cold breeze that slips into the auto shop, he knows someone has arrived despite how quiet the place has fallen. “Next time shut the door properly.”