blood drums in the ears [OPEN]

[darkov]

WHO: Martin, any
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Early March, mostly in the dark/early, early mornings
WHAT: a Darkov returns to this universe, and...KIND OF STRUGGLES WITH IT.
WARNINGS: blood, self-harm, abuse overtones, potential violence????


o1. RUN BOY RUN - Heropa, any time
[rules for this world are coming in broken, confusing chunks. none of them line up with the rules from home and become. they're a blur, as much as everything else is: lights are painfully bright, the day even brighter. the heat? almost suffocating; even winter in Florida is still stuffy compared to the climes of Olvoski.

strangers press in and out of view, hands grab and pull him, things are thrust into his arms -- some promptly dropped, others hastily pocketed (goodbye, file folder and house key). the only thing constant is what he does in response:

run.

he has no idea where to go, but he goes anyway, as fast as he can, terror gripping him by the collarbone. dodging unsuspecting cars and passers-by, he bolts from street to street, desperate for some respite from all the light and heat and noise. but the more he runs, the brighter it gets. the hotter it gets. and the noise...

the noise breaks away into the behemoth that is the ocean. Martin's legs, already wobbling from exhaustion, give up as his eyes are filled with a horizon of nothing but churning water. his stomach drops with fresh, heavy dread as the rest of him drops, collapsing onto his knees into the sand. gasping for air, Martin's eyes squint and strain to understand just what this horrifying...thing is before him.

it's...horrible. it's bad enough that it's so huge, but it's left him with no means to keep going forward. and under this sun...nowhere to hide. a whimper escapes him between wheezes, his hands curling into fists in the sands as despair weighs him down into a hunch.]


o2. WATCH YOUR HEART WHEN YOUR BACK IS BLEEDING - any city; a construction site, an early evening [BLOOD/SELF-HARM WARNING]
[the acoustics of the large, heavy piping Martin's come to hide in carry little hisses and whimpers, all bitten back as he clamps down on his lip to muffle himself.

this...this would be easier if he were a better Darkov. a Darkov that can conjure blades of any size, not just those monstrous projectiles. but there's no use hoping for family to swoop in and help him, so he improvises.

Martin hesitates, but then forces himself to dig his fingernail back into his skin, trying again to get at this...strange marking on his arm. it needs to get off, whatever it is. it doesn't belong there. it...does strange things, at times, and it frightens him. get it out.]

Khh-hh...! [he squeaks, clapping his hand over his arm when clawing hurts too much. blood -- black, not red -- oozes between his fingers and onto his knees, dripping to the gravel he's sitting above.] Please... [just...get...off...]


o3. DON'T EXPLAIN - any city; late late night
[there are kindnesses here. generous people. but they don't know what he is, or that they shouldn't look his way. even when he insists this, he's been done good things. he knows he doesn't deserve them, and knows he shouldn't keep accepting them. it's...not right.

but he's still not good at this place. he doesn't understand the rules -- the ones he does understand...they don't fit what he knows to be right. he should be deferring his sensibilities and try to understand where he truly stands. but. but...

Darkovs aren't meant to rely on people like this; if he's going to survive, he has to do it himself. or just die.

ramble aside: Martin's scrounging through garbage for something to eat. a few generous handouts don't keep him full and properly on his feet for long, so he has to use what he's seen to try and take care of himself.

so: garbage.

don't mind him.

(or do)]



o4. ANYTHING GOES
[build-a-prompt! or plot @ me on plurk via whyellewhy what uuuup]

Comments

3 - biggest fuckin raccoon ive ever seen

[d33tached]

[One of the dumpsters that Martin just happens to be clawing through would be that of the :Re Café in Nonah. D33 stops short when he sees the little-- is that an animal? No, it's a--]

Child. [He sounds exasperated, irritated, etc., etc.. He snorts, dropping the trash bag he'd been about to toss into the dumpster aside and crossing both arms over his chest.] What in the world are you doing in there?

You do realize that that is filth you are covering yourself with.

and the first one that ever APOLOGIZED for being in the trash

[darkov]

-!!

[all this trash makes too much noise, and he should've known that he'd cause a disturbance. but he didn't expect one so soon.

he whirls around, dropping whatever was in his hands, his breath caught in his throat, eyes wide. he already looks a mess -- dirty clothes and face, dark circles under the eyes, mussed-up hair...

but if he's aware of it, it's nowhere on his mind; instead his head ducks quickly.]

I'm--! I'm sorry! Sorry, sir, I--I didn't know...I thought it was--I mean-- [his eyes dart to the dumpster at his side.] People discard...things, forget things? Here? So I thought--it was alright...

[d33tached]

People dispose of their rotten food and garbage here. [He narrows his eyes. Children, he thinks. But then something dawns on him about what he's just said and his expression takes on a more curious tone.] Is that what you were searching for?

Discarded food?

[darkov]

Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I didn't know. [i'm sorry. i didn't know. more and more, these phrases rattle out without half a thought, so much that he barely knows he's saying them before they're already said. he may as well say sorry every time he breathes.

adrenaline is up, his heart thumping loudly in his ears, as his hands clutch at his vest for lack of anything else to do. he forces his eyes to stay down, despite the want to look about, expecting some kind of retaliation or unseen threat.]

I don't know the rules. I'm sorry. I'll-! [he crouches down, grabbing at wrappers and old bread.] I'll put everything back. Back how I found it. I'm sorry.

01 the beach episode

[wahey]

[Emerging from the horrible embrace of the ocean is Akira, who had gone for a dip in the water once he'd scrounged enough money to buy a bathing suit. Perhaps one of his first ideas upon becoming situated on an alternate Earth shouldn't be to enjoy the local beach, but the crisp air and chilly water was perfect. How could he not?]

[Akira shakes his head to flop his hair out of his eyes, sending drops of water everywhere. It's only once he's grabbed a towel to dry himself off that he notices Martin was hunched over out of despair and not because he found a neat looking seashell on the ground.]

You need some help over there?

[darkov]

[it's a marvel he hears the stranger's voice at all between rasps for air and the dreadful sounds of the sea. Martin freezes, immediately fearful he's strayed somewhere he wasn't supposed to be (well, moreso), his latest breath caught in his throat.

looking over, Martin has to squint. it's too bright. and maybe it doesn't matter who it is anyway, so rather than strain to see, he dips his head again, trying to muster some energy to speak.]

M'sorry-- [he's raspy, and not all that loud.] I don't know...where to go. I can't. [can't get up, he thinks, his legs feeling more and more like dead, lead weights than legs.]

[wahey]

[Akira doesn’t know what this kid’s deal is or how he got there, but he recognizes the confused desperation. He knows what it’s like to be terrified out of your mind like that.]

Hey.

[He offers a hand to Martin to help him to his feet.]

The water isn’t so bad, once you get used to the temperature. You should give it a try.

[darkov]

[he's too tired and dumbfounded to flinch away. he stares at the offered hand blankly, barely giving regard that he even heard what the man said at all before he squints back up.

he's still just a tall shape. he could be anyone, really...maybe even someone familiar, if Martin pretends. it'd be nice to pretend he's safe for a while.

the daylight glare behind the man's head hurts, so he looks away again, mumbling.]

I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm-- [tired. and very, very lost.]

1 ha ha did you think something nice would happen

[h2no]

[maybe sharpedo (currently mega evolved, so almost twice it's usual size and twice as terrifying) sees the pure despair that martin is feeling, and that's what attracts it. archie raised it well; it's an empathetic monster, as all pokémon are. maybe the dark type in sharpedo is just drawn to the fucked up eldrich stuff running through martin's veins. it's not really clear.

what is clear, however, is a couple of minutes - five, maybe - after martin ends up on the sand near the surf, an absolutely gigantic shark swims as close to the sand as it can, nose pointed at him, sniffing curiously. its fins flap as it accidentally gets a little too close, and... there's no sign of archie, just yet.]

SHARRRRPEDO!! [it roars, trying to get his attention. don't be sad!! the giant shark yells!!!]

of course not, nothing is nice. not even nice things

[darkov]

[for as sheltered as Martin is, he's still seen...pretty horrible things. some of them he knows are bad -- things that will haunt him for the rest of his life and weigh him down and suffocate him. and...some he doesn't truly know are bad at all. the structure of home. the lessons. the affirmations. the weapons. the way even vermin recoil from a passing Darkov. there's actually a lot to say about it all, though he himself doesn't realize it.

but this?

this is a brand, new nightmare. something that comes up before he even realizes, something that fills him with such an instinctive, all-encompassing dread as to leave him absolutely paralyzed by fear. there's neither fight nor flight in him for something like this -- just terror.

he gapes, unblinking, at that horrible set of teeth, deafened by a roar unlike anything he's heard before, that turns his bones to jelly, completely cementing him to that patch of sand. he can't even rasp out a cry about it, pathetic thing he is.

I'm-- going to die, he realizes, his chest painfully tight. It's finally going to happen.]

its all a lie

[h2no]

[sharpedo stops for a moment, regarding martin carefully. maybe this wasn't a good idea? it flops its fins a few times, idly splashing the tide over itself.]

Shar?

[it says again, quieter.]

[darkov]

...

[Martin can only hold his breath so long until it starts to hurt, his heart thumping loudly. he gulps, which forces his breath out in a raspy puff.

why isn't...anything else happening? he should be ripped to shreds a dozen times over. or, or swallowed whole, or...dragged about and drowned. something terrible and painful. something so bad he wouldn't be just sitting here staring death down in mutual confusion.]

...Why...

[why, why? his thoughts repeat, his throat getting tighter, staggering his voice.]

Why won't. You...kill me-?

3!

[wronganswer]

[ To tell the truth, this is more the sort of thing Anderson expects to find around cities. She grew up in a slum, which is Mega-City speak for the section of the megalopolis on the edge of the Cursed Earth. No one who had a choice would live there. Her parents died of cancer and she gained a mutation due to exposure to the nearby radioactive fallout. Anderson's lucky she has all her limbs, looks normal. To her, the people who scrounge around in garbage for food are her people, why she became a Judge, her whole driving force in making a difference, to give them a better life.

Her mind automatically snaps to sentencing, like she's been trained (loitering, stealing, public nuisance) but she's not a Judge here and so she's free to react like a normal, compassionate human being. What a concept.

She's a petite, trim woman stopping some feet away to give him his space, gun concealed under a too-large sweatshirt, plain jeans tucked into functional-rather-than-decorative combat boots, the one piece of clothing she hasn't replaced from home. ]

Hey, [ she says quietly, trying not to startle him, ] You know you don't have to do that, right? [ Registered imPorts and new arrivals get stipends, she knows that much-- it's how she'd afforded her change of clothes-- so he shouldn't be this hard up unless he chooses to be. Clearly, there's more to the story. ]

[darkov]

[well-meaning though she may be, she still catches him unawares, as his hunger's starting to dull his sense of awareness. at the sound of the voice, he gasps, recoiling from the trash like it's suddenly burning hot, his hands drawing to himself quickly as he turns, eyes agape.

he's frozen in place, wordless for a couple beats before his mouth starts to move voicelessly, eventually croaking and stuttering out this waterfall:]

I-I, I'm, I'm sorry! I thought--I mean, I'm--I'm sorry, I don't know. Is this bad? I didn't--I don't know that, I didn't know that. I'm sorry! I-!

[wronganswer]

Whoa-- hey. No need to apologize.

[ She holds her hands up, palm out, in the universal I'm unarmed signal. Her voice is calm and level, unfazed. ]

Not your fault if you're hungry. [ Maybe someone else would have to guess at his motives, but to Anderson, an intrinsic, urgent need like hunger is a steady pulse against her mind. Outright distress and pain are essentially shouting to her telepathy; something like this is more like a low, grating tone. ]

[darkov]

[he's barely calmed by her assurances. in fact, somehow, that seems to drive him to double down and try to justify this, to explain.]

I, I-I-I just wanted to, to figure this out! On my own! See, instead of...of making people do things for me again and again, that's. I'm not supposed to...it's bad if I keep doing that, so I just...I'm sorry. I just-- [he shuffles a few steps away from the trash, at a loss.] I don't...I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll go. I'm sorry.

[he hesitates, ducking his head, waiting a beat before mustering the gumption to move, as much as he doesn't want to, past her, mumbling another I'm sorry as he does.]

three i mean he's not a demogorgon at least

[curiosityvoyage]

[The garbage can of De Chima #3 is full to the brim of, unsurprisingly, half-empty somewhat-expired Eggo waffles, the remnants of fried chicken dinners, and a surprisingly high amount of actual healthy food from neighbors more than a little bit concerned over a bunch of minors living in a house unsupervised. Tonight it's Dustin's turn to haul out the trash, and so that's what he's doing, dragging out a full trash bag when he sees—a guy.

...a guy?

There's a guy rooting through their trash?!]

What the hell, man? [Who's rooting through their trash? Why would anyone root through their trash? Dustin steps forward, bristling.] Hey! What are you doing looking through our trash?!

nah he'll just vom black gunk all over ur cool stuff

[darkov]

[the shout is so loud and so sudden that Martin startles badly, his hands recoiling and sending empty boxes and a garbage can lid crashing loudly to the ground, scaring him more.

he shuffles back, gasping at the feel of his back hitting the chain-link fencing behind him, ultimately frozen in place.

Not again, he laments, instantly nauseous. I don't want to be in trouble again!

his eyes glint like a cat's in the dark, reflecting the street light's glow from afar as he gapes at the shape of the offended.]

but does he eat people (btw i meant de chima #6 WELP)

[curiosityvoyage]

[Dustin blinks at the guy, then crosses his arms. He's not a very intimidating figure, and he's dressed in a shirt advertising a museum in De Chima and pajama pants with imPorts' faces on them, but he tries his hardest to look like someone who should be Respected, at least.

It's a bit ruined by the attire and the trash bag he's still holding, but yeah.]

You're not from the government, are you? 'Cause if you are, you're really shitty at surveillance. [He huffs out a breath.] Nancy hasn't done anything since you arrested her, so I don't know why you'd be looking through our trash. There's nothing there but expired Eggos.

03

[hellrisen02]

[When Duo skulks about the cities in the dark of night, it's for information, it's for a kick, it's for the sneaky secrets that good folks shouldn't have to see. People like him, they did their best work under cover of dark.]

[His movement at night is a bit of ingrained wisdom, gained through the kind of childhood an impoverished, war-torn colony gets you. Under cover of dark, you could steal anything. In the night the shops closed up, the streets were empty; you could eat, and no one would be there to stop or judge you.]

[Even after all these years, when he hears the tell-tale scratching and clink-clanking of something moving about in the dumpsters in the alleyway up ahead of him, he doesn't think of anything else but 'dinnertime'. Or, more specifically, 'competition'. He stops there, leaning against the bricks as he observes the kid for a few minutes. It doesn't take too long to figure that he's not exactly old hat at this. Better stop him before he makes himself sick.]

You can't eat that. [He comments idly, a sudden presence at the mouth of the alleyway, gesturing at the half-full package of deli meat Martin's grabbed out of the dumpster.] It's probably tossed 'cuz it's spoiled. Go for the mostly-eaten stuff, instead. Old meals. Sandwiches, chicken wings. Stuff like that.

[darkov]

[even though this has happened before, it doesn't get any easier. or less scary. one would think he's learned a bit, but...look, it's only been a small handful of days, and a boy running on fumes and very little skill for solo survival needs more than just a handful of run-ins to learn better.

perhaps more run-ins with more dire consequences. so perhaps this is the one. he'll fear it's the one, as he's feared the others.

until then, though, the immediate response: it's to recoil, dropping what's in his hands and kicking away from the sound until his back gently thumps the back of the dumpster behind him.

breathless and afraid, freezes up, blind to the source of the voice, and hoping, hoping it was just his guilty imagination coming to toy with him.]

[hellrisen02]

[Oop. Scared another one. Duo frowns to himself, then slowly approaches the dumpster- this time invisible again, just so he can get a look at the kid's face without eliciting some kind of fight or flight reaction in him. And what he sees in those eyes- it's not the crazed, coiled hunger, the fierce light of someone ready to attack a rival for food, ready to kill to survive. It's not a street rat. Just some scared boy, out of his element.]

[Jeez. He's gonna have to pick this one up, isn't he? Duo sighs- not because it's trouble, but because these shouldn't be so plentiful- and backs away again to uncloak himself again.] ...Hey, you can come out. I'm not gonna hurt you or anything. I been in your shoes, y'know? Even though I look like some high and mighty geezer now.

[ct_7567]

[ shoving the tdm thread over here, continued from HERE. ]

"It means something that'll make you sick," Rex says bluntly, but otherwise just watches Martin eat for a moment before ripping his own open and taking a bite. It's fine, he supposes. Too sweet for his liking, like so much of the food he's already sampled here, but it should be fine enough for a youngling's palate. He accepts Martin's wrapper without a word and tosses it in the trash before gesturing for Martin to follow him again.

"You're welcome. Come on, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping tonight." Technically speaking, the place has got four spare rooms. Functionally speaking, Rex has a feeling that if offered the choice, Martin may very well completely shut down. Best to just give the lad marching orders.

The room that he brings Martin to is identical to every other bedroom in the house. It's devoid of all personality, but it's got a bed and blankets, a bedside table, a dresser and a closet. In Rex's humble opinion, it's too large to be occupied by a single person, but he's not one to question what he's been given.

"Here. First thing tomorrow, we go and get your paperwork sorted out. Is there anything else you need?" Then, after a moment's pause, he strides over to the bed and yanks at its crisp military corners to free the blankets so that the kid knows that he can use them. Considering his fright at being given a glorified sugary ration bar, Rex suspects that he would find Martin sleeping atop the covers instead, like some sort of stray beast instead of a person.

[darkov]

Can something be scary and a relief at the same time? Because this is...scary, but also a relief. Juggling so many unknowns is stressful that Martin may have just encountered this man by a dangerous chance, but he's almost eager to obey, scrambling off the seat and hastening to fall into step behind. Being told what to eat, where to sleep, where to go...all of those have been dictated to him all his life. It's just a matter of who it is giving the orders.

Once he's caught up and given a chance to see the room about him, though, his sensibilities catch up with him. This room is...big. Strange. The bed is tall and fluffy, and there's furniture in here he can't really figure out as to why. He gapes in a mix of wonder and concern as Rex tends to the bedding; he winds up gaping at him mutely for a beat before the question actually takes meaning and spurs him to reply.

"Um--I, no? No. No, I don't. Sorry. Thank you, sir. This is..." His gaze drifts again. "Is this...really alright?"

[ct_7567]

"If I don't think that something's the right thing to do, I don't do it," Rex says, shortly. "Which means that this is exactly where I think you should be. For tonight, at least. I give you my word."

He is not telling the whole truth. As a general rule, Rex only does what he feels is right, and scarcely bothers doing anything else, whether it's out of sake of ease or in order to spare another's feeling. But that's Rex in his off-hours - when he's on-duty, he follows orders, trusting that the one who issued them knows better than he does. Sometimes he's right, and his superiors' daring plans work far better than anything Rex could ever come up with and he's glad that he went against his gut. Sometimes he's wrong, and he returns from the battlefield alone.

But here? He has no superiors, no orders, which means he's flying blind. Martin doesn't need to know that, however, and he can say with certainty that helping some lost kid isn't the wrong thing to do in any world.

(Scooping him off the street when he may have people looking for him may be, he acknowledges to himself, but in that case they should have done a better job of it, and Rex is clearly a better temporary caretaker than them.)