12 👶 AN AGE THAT CALLS DARKNESS LIGHT

[pillz]

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky and John Murphy
WHERE: De Chima
WHEN: Early November, pre-Swear In
WHAT: Baby serial killer checking how his boyfriend feels about serial killing, as discreetly as possible, considering: serial killing.
WARNINGS: Death/murder, possibly sexual content, mental illness, sexual themes (nothing graphic)



[kavinsky had set it up just so. he figured he only had fifteen minutes, at best, to abandon a corpse and then come back to it with his companion, but he actually had a good amount of time to plan out everything else. he'd picked the stranger at random, really— cruising at the park, not particularly mindful that his face is famous-- infamous-- enough that most gay natives would recognize him. he'd climbed into the man's car, but he hadn't touched him because cheating is wrong. they'd only talked about it, this mix of kinks that kavinsky claimed he wanted to do.

the man was a nice person. he'd waited, as kavinsky had asked, and by the time the dream thief awakened again, he was dead, his hands laying on his own lap, his eyes empty and blank, in the middle of the country road. kavinsky had climbed out. his own car was pretty nearby.

and it's the bumper of the dead man's car that they're coming up on now, the headlights of murphy's car flashing off its rear. the two of them are heading to dinner, or at least that's the pretext. kavinsky had made the reservations and everything, at this ethiopian restaurant he thought might inspire murphy's refined palate. in the passenger's seat, he keeps glancing at murphy, wondering if the boy will stop at all.] Some people don't know how to drive, [he says, casually.]

Comments

[rekt]

[ Murphy doesn't intend to stop, partly because Murphy doesn't care, but mostly because Murphy doesn't yet realize this car is occupied. Instead, he's having to slow to a stop behind the stranded vehicle in the middle of the country road, blaring the horn a couple times, in case there is someone there just blazed out of their mind, but he doubts it. ]

Right? Not a parking lot, genius. [ at least pull over to the shoulder, you dick bag. Leaning forward, Murphy glances around what he can see of the dark roadside, looking for movement or a person nearby that might be responsible for the obnoxiously parked car. ] You know I still don't have a real license, right?

[ idle chatter while he's peering around. This situation is creeping him out, and Murphy, ever the self reliant survivalist , decides this isn't something he needs to get himself any more involved with. ]

Yeah, screw this, we're gonna be late. [ putting his foot back to the gas, Murphy's swerving the evo out into the currently barren incoming traffic lane, making to go around this roadblock. ] I'm not letting my free dinner get away because some drunk decided to go out for a stroll in the middle of the drive home.

[ if Kavinsky wants this body seen tonight, he'll have to yank a little harder on Murphy's curiosity. ]

[pillz]

[oh my god murphy. if you were a character in hannibal, you'd either end up mega dead or

or.

actually, murphy is clearly hell bent on doing exactly zero of the things that get horror genre victims killed. incurious and concerned mostly with obtaining free dinner. kavinsky's forehead creases slightly, but he thinks fast because now he's a serial killer and they're good at that sort of thing. mentally slow killers don't tend to make it to an entire series, so.] Hey, shit. [it's not the most convincing expression of shock that murphy's ever seen, probably, but kavinsky doesn't shock too easily these days. maybe it works.

he touches the other boy on the arm anyway, to get his attention. sits up.] I think there's a guy in there.

[and now here's hoping that the horror genre instincts don't simply put murphy's foot to the accelerator. come on, murphluffle. be more of an nbc's hannibal character. what's survival if there's no story.]

[rekt]

[ there's a reason he has miraculously survived 4 seasons of the 100 without being a main character aight, his survival game is on point. murphy is about .2 seconds from doing exactly that - slamming the accelerator and getting the fuck out of there. it's the simple fact that kavinsky seems interested in it that murphy hesitates, and glances back over his shoulder. ]

What? Seriously?

[ the car slows somewhat, but it isn't fully stopping, not parking, doors aren't being unlocked. this is exactly how people get murdered, murphy thinks, but he also thinks he loves it when kavinsky gets intrigued and involved in something, loves to see him giddy. the warm hand on his arm doesn't hurt either. ]

Probably passed out or high. [ murphy murmurs, anxiety rising in him. it's dark, they're in the middle of nowhere, and the dark silhouette he can see through the windshield now isn't moving. this is a stupid idea, but these boys are all about stupid ideas. ]

You... wanna check or something? [ sounding like he doesn't really want to, but for kavinsky, he will. after a beats, he adds on - ] Did we bring a gun?

[ you know. in case some psycho needs murdering. ]

[pillz]

[there is definitely no one who currently needs murdering. job done. kavinsky manages to keep his poker-face, insofar as that his poker-face is a smile with a lethal edge, a sidelong glance, sly and sharp as a saw blade. this face, this boy, falls somewhere in between the baby hellion he used to be, the one who unleashed psychic havoc across three import cities, and the publicity-focused manipulator he plays these days, masked with philanthropy and psychotropic medication advertisement spots.

this boy is a little more honest, a little more true, than either of the other two would have been, these days.]

I put one in here for you, sweetheart, [kavinsky says. he pops the glove compartment open and pulls it out, shiny and silver. no engraving, just in case— just in case, you know. and then he hits the door lock, before pausing. offering murphy the pistol to wield instead. like a gentleman.] Probably ain't shit, [he says. jk. it's definitely some shit.]

[rekt]

[ a smirk pulls murphy's lips as the car slows, pulling over to the shoulder before parking. looking over at the gun, the smile widens, and he leans over to peck a cute little smooch to kavinsky's sharp cheekbones, adoring smack and everything. ]

What a charmer. [ taking the gun, he check the clip, loads one in the chamber, and flips the safety off, letting out a snort as the locks pop open for k's guess about the shadow in the car. ] Yeah, famous last words.

[ 'it'll be fine' 'it's probably just the wind', yeah and then you get a grounder spear through the face. at least he's armed, and before leaving the car, murphy reaches into a back stashed behind the passenger seat to pull out one of those big steel mag-light flashlights. that's his emergency get the fuck out of this bitch ass country bag. thankfully it'll now include a gun.

stepping out, he keeps the keys in his hands, locks the doors behind them (don't need to get back to the car to find someone stashed away, and leaves the headlights on. the beam of the flashlight sweeps out to the sides of the road first, scanning the area for any sign of life or murderer or something, before settling on the other car's windshield. the glare makes it hard to see past and inside, but there's definitely a person there. a still person. ] He's not moving. You sure about this?

[pillz]

[hmmmmm. kavinsky stares at the motionless shadow in the stopped car, the vague limning of light across the corpse's nose and jaw. hmmmmm. he weighs murphy's question in his head and turns it over a few times. how would a normal person respond to this, and how would a kavinsky respond to this if he were not personally responsible for the murder of the person inside? elaborate fucking ruses.

he sneaks a peek at murphy. who definitely doesn't look concerned for the man at all. that's a good sign, right? right?

right?] I dunno, [he says, before his calculating pause stretches into anything too ridiculous. he can still feel murphy's kiss cooling on his cheek. he remembers to smile a little at that terrifying flashlight in the other boy's hand. proud of you!! maybe we can both be murderers!] We could call the cops. Anonymous tip. Fuck off before they get here. [that's what people do, right? he's careful not to actually ask out loud.]

[rekt]

You actually think anything like that’s really anonymous in a world like this? [ they have little machines in their blood, for christ's sake. murphy seriously doubts the network is as secure as people like to think it is, and is positive everyone in the government would know an import placed the anonymous call while standing in a crime scene. it won't take long to guess who's with him by then, or start trying to decide what went down that had the two of them ending up there.

the gravel crunches under murphy's boots as he passes forward, breathing stuttering, a chill shot through his bones, light not leaving the figure in the car. he gets all the way up to the driver's side door, and taps the edge of the light at the glass. no response, no movement, none at all. ]

He’s not blinking... [ which means-- oh fuck. ] K, this guy’s freaking dead. We need to get out of here, you need to get out of here.

[ he's not losing kavinsky to that horror show fun house psych ward again, or prison. startling back, he grabs for kavinsky's bicep, and near on drags him back to the car. time to fucking go. they were never here. ]

[pillz]

[kavinsky is trying not to stare. no aspect of murphy's behavior fails to be interesting. fucking fascinating, actually. he sees it, recognizes it— the chain reaction of realization, adrenaline, fear, motion. it doesn't surprise him at all, that murphy had survived the fucked up radioactive hellscape of his world despite the way that people preyed upon each other in their desperation. he doesn't freeze, doesn't doubt. doesn't founder in his priorities.

maybe kavinsky feels a jolt, realizing he's murphy's priorities. we first, you second. he wonders what the emphasis means. he doesn't think that murphy would get himself hurt for him. he has to try really hard not to stare.]

He probably just had a stroke or something, man, [he says, letting himself be hurried along, looking at the mitsubishi instead of giving into the urge to take murphy by each ear, to pull his face into the light, stare into his eyes until the truth resolves itself in smarting, high definition. he lets murphy fold him into the car seat like a tent abandoning camping ambitions, if murphy ssso chooses.] Evolution didn't do such a good job down here as with your homeworld, sweetpea.

[rekt]

And while he was dying he had the time to peacefully pull over and park?

[ murphy snorts, as he absolutely does manhandle kavinsky back to the passenger's side of the mitsu and fold him into the chair, near on doing his buckle for him like a kid being strapped into a car seat.

walking back, the flashlight sweeps again over the surrounding area, then to the road, murphy looking it over for loose gravel or dirt where their shoes might've left prints that could give them away later. his shoes sweep whatever he finds away, like a broom, walking backwards to the mitsu while he explains the logic here. ]

It doesn't matter how he died - it's a dead body and no one can know you were around it or you'll get blamed for it. [ just being who he is in the wrong place at the wrong time garners suspicion, and for most people, that's all that's needed to assign guilt. life lessons murphy's been taught on the ground. ] That's how it works once everyone knows you're a criminal.

[ starting up the car again, he's slow to pull away, doesn't want the car leaving tracks either. ]

[pillz]

[kavinsky moves his little hands and his little feets inside the vehicle, assuring that he won't lose any tips or edges when murphy shuts the door. he does clip his own seatbelt. cranes his head briefly to look at the corpse in the car again, and he's mildly surprised at how quickly murphy rejoins him in the car.]

You're supposed to pull over if you feel weird, [he says, realizing that the story he'd made up to himself, the narrative meant to explain how the man ended up here, the version that omitted homicidal dream thieves, the corpse's alibi, isn't. actually. something he probably should share out loud in its most coherent form as privately rehearsed. right. he settles his tattooed hand on the door when the car starts to slither back onto the road. then he changes his mind, puts that one back on his lap.

and reaches over to touch murphy's hand instead, the one on the clutch. just briefly, not getting in the way. he transfers it over to clasp the other boy's knee, after. it seems like the thing to do.]

Hey, [he says.] Ain't nobody around. Nobody's gonna know we were here.