maskormenacelogs | you got me here right where i want you now.

Entry tags:

eliot cardale | eli ever

you got me here right where i want you now.

WHO: Eli Ever & Victor Vale
WHERE: Cape Canaveral
WHEN: About 5 minutes after their arrival
WHAT: Mortal enemies encounter each other for the first time in years... right outside the Porter.
WARNINGS: Intricate Rituals.

No one could blame the staff for their lack of foresight. The likelihood of two persons from the exact same universe arriving simultaneously is extremely low. It's even less probable that these individuals would happen to be bitter archnemeses who have been engaged in a decade-long feud. Nigh impossible to believe these individuals might disregard everything but each other, despite journeying to another world entirely.

No one, then, thinks to separate them. Normally, it would save time to give a group tour rather than ushering every single imPort around. When Eli stirs from the sleep of whatever sedative was used to keep him still for the tattooing process, he finds Victor lying on a slab mere inches from him.

The last thing Eli remembers is locking eyes with Victor amidst the ruins of a great hall, seconds before what would have been his escape. He doesn't know what came next, but obviously that escape was interrupted, because it looks like they're both back at EON now. Eli's still naked, wearing only dust and dried blood, and he can understand why someone might have assumed he'd be dead or otherwise harmless after such a battle.

But he's not.

Fully aware that he's being monitored and he has less than a minute to get the job done, Eli quickly surveys their surroundings (hardly moving, just a flick of his eyes) and concludes that the fastest way to kill Victor would be head trauma. There's nothing immediately within reach that can be used as a weapon, so the sharp metal corner of a nearby counter will have to do. If Victor's still unconscious, it should be easy.

In one swift move, Eli launches himself at Victor, aiming to drag him off his bed by the coat he's still wearing. How unfortunate for him, that he didn't arrive so strategically nude.

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For the second time, Victor had won. This time, with more permanency. Dr. Harverty had been a different brand of monster than either one of them through degrees of separation, but Victor will always take pragmatic opportunism over any kind of fuzzy morality. So he'd won. Again. Marcella was dead. Haverty was dead. Eli was dead. Stell was dead. And so was Dominic. Only two of those deaths had been Victor's doing. But many of the loose ends were tied up. For a certain value of winning, Victor Vale had won. Again.

Which is probably why it's fitting that his prize is to wake up in a violent flurry of hazy confusion, gravity all thrown asunder as he awakes from whatever dreamworld he had been in to something that starts to come into relief all too slowly. As Victor's eyes flicker open, the very first thing he sees is the face of Eli Cardale.

There's neither time or will for Victor's expressions to steel over and they manage only one of end of the spectrum (from reflexive relief, to shock, to confusion), and he is just about to hit somewhere between enraged and disgusted before he feels the weight of his body slide right off the medical bed.

With no time for finesse and barely any time for coherent thinking at all through the dizzy mania, Victor's feet scramble to find ground and his hands snatch up to make a grab for Eli's throat--choking, stablising, it doesn't matter which, if he doesn't do something the result will be the same. They both always know what the end goal is.

"You're supposed to be dead," he manages to hiss, even with his knees feeling as structurally sound as jello as his fingers tighten.

He doesn't even fully take in the surroundings, the staff, or his nifty new tattoo yet. That will all come later, if they don't kill each other first.

Halfway into his attack, Eli also realizes that - oddly - his limbs also feel heavy and weak. He hadn't put much thought into how he'd been subdued, but drugs never crossed his mind as a possibility. If he's still feeling the effects of sedation, it means his regeneration isn't functioning as usual.

And that means he should be more concerned about the hand at his throat than he normally would be. They're both tangled and sinking, dragging each other down while fighting for dominance. In such intimate brawls, size almost always wins out. It's no different here, as Eli seizes Victor's bony little wrist and pries it from his neck, though he currently lacks the strength to follow through with breaking it.

Now that he's not choking, he answers Victor, "You must be confused." Dying isn't something Eli has been capable of doing for a long time, and there's no need to let on that it might just be possible at the moment.

It's likely, however, that it's already obvious. Because while he would normally have no difficulty hauling Victor up and bashing his head in, Eli's struggling with the task now. He only manages to tug Victor a few inches closer toward the sharp corner that he means to use as a murder weapon, and then he loses his grip and tumbles back to the ground.

Groggy and sluggish though he might be, Eli's response draws an irritated half-snarl, half-groan from Victor, largely sourced from impatience and frustration. It's one thing for Eli to be sanctimonious ass, it's another for him to be stupid.

There are several things not adding up in Victor's mind, despite the realisation that something is generally off. It's like deja-vu, something switched off and not right. It isn't until he's groping around trying to catch hold of Eli's nerves that he notices there's nothing to grab. Or, more accurately, there's nothing to send out. Just like with Haverty.

At least a few things are starting to slot into place as Eli forces Victor backwards, a few members of staff darting nervously aside--clearly, breaking brawls is beyond the scope of their job descriptions. Victor moves one hand back toward the countertop that he's sure Eli is trying to introduce the back of his head to, though the angle he's reaching is awkward and less than ideal. It's like trying to fight on ice.

A sense of cool relief washes over Victor as Eli drops like a stone, allowing Victor to brace himself fully against the edge of the workbench to try and keep himself from following to floor in turn. This would otherwise be an opening, a chance to crack his heel down into Eli's temple or windpipe and grind down, but Victor doesn't trust his own legs to independently hold his weight right now and instead takes a few seconds to grasp his forehead with one hand.

"Maybe your age is finally catching up with you," he spits out, the best attack he can manage at that moment as his head spins. It's only then he takes better stock of things--the space they're in, the wide-eyed members of staff, the tingling on his skin from the tattoo, the state of Eli's body form on the floor

"... Why are you naked?"

That was supposed to be an internal processing question, not a verbal one. Whatever drug is in Victor's system can fuck right off.

The more important question, to Eli, is: Why is he on the floor? He hasn't fumbled a murder attempt this badly since the earliest days of his vigilante career. It's really quite embarrassing, especially after such a spectacular victory over Marcella and EON.

"For heaven's sake, Vic..."

He was just there. He knows perfectly well.

Eli doesn't make another attempt. He has enough awareness to see that Victor would have the upper hand if he puts himself within arm's reach, and then it would be Eli's brains spilling from his skull, instead.

Besides, the gawkers have gathered. Any second now, someone's going to come at him with a taser.

That's what would have happened at EON, anyway. As Eli sits up, though, he realizes that the staff gathered around them aren't EON soldiers. Some of them are in medical scrubs and some are in suits. None of them are wielding guns. He's beginning to suspect they're civilians. And maybe, just maybe, not a single one of them have heard of Eliot Cardale or Victor Vale.

And just like that, Eli becomes a different person. A sheepish smile appears on his face and he addresses the nearest employee, "Excuse me. My friend and I need some help."

For a second or two, Victor is uncharacteristically dumbstruck, staring at Eli as though his regenerative powers have gone overboard and given him an extra head.

Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose and squeeze his eyes closed, Victor desperately tries to shake off the fog around his mind, it's like a protracted version of the feeling he gets immediately after waking up from dying and it's not a sensation he especially cares for.

And then Eli is putting on his friendly mask and talking to the staff like they're pals and--

"Are you fucking serious right now, Cardale?!" he snaps, his hand dropping to instead gesture in Eli's general direction.

He takes a moment to glance around then in the moment of calm, eyeing the workers with none of the friendliness Eli is displaying and all of the outward assessment.

This isn't EON. At least none of them look like EON staff and it's not a space Victor recognises. Neither, apparently, does Eli.

His eyes flick from side to side a few more times without moving his head. He considers making a grab for a weapon, replaying their final fight, the one that Sydney finished for him and ending this now... But what would that do? What would happen to Victor if he did manage to stab Eli through the eye or tear open his throat.

There isn't enough information. The risk at this moment isn't worth it, no matter how good an opportunity it is.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Victor shrugs his coat off and tosses it gracelessly in Eli's, a very temporary olive branch for sure as his eyes move to one of the suits with an expectant glare.

Though Eli's making a move, he hadn't counted on Victor playing along. His attention snaps back to Victor when he catches movement in his periphery, just in time to get smacked in the face by Victor's coat.

His flash of annoyance passes when he realizes this is Victor's coat. For a few seconds, a complicated series of emotions cause his mask to slip. Eliot Cardale examines the fabric in his hands much the same way he'd looked at Victor in the hospital all those years ago, after the overdose.

Then the mask goes back on, along with the coat - which is way too tight in the arms but thankfully so dramatic and sweeping that it covers the rest of him rather easily. "Thanks, Vic," he says, the mildest appreciation of an almost-miracle.

Now that there's apparent peace between the two of them, the staff move forward to help the two to their feet. Still, as a precaution, they're separated for the rest of their tour. By the time they reunite, the drugs have worn off and Eli's dressed in a cozy sweater and flattering jeans, with Victor's coat folded neatly over one arm. He could have left with a copy of his file, too, if he'd wanted to, but once he absorbed its contents, it seemed safest to leave it inside a heavily guarded building.

The fools really are going to let the two of them walk right out into the world. It's incredible.

For the rest of process, from the moment he hands over the coat, to splitting up for the orientation, to emerging into the open air once more, Victor effectively keeps his mouth shut in a tight, disapproving line.

There's so much going on and so much to take it, but it all feels like a TV show. A superhero TV show. It's virtually unbelievable and there is nothing that the staff can do to convince Victor of the validity of the situation. The only thing that Victor believes is himself and his own version of pinching himself to ensure everything is real, except for him that involves taking a moment to tune up the pain in his own nerves until he can hardly stand and then flip the switch again. The buzzing is low and in the back of his mind, so he has time. That hasn't changed. It really is like they've been plucked from their world and dropped into this one.

So in that regard, Eli's state of arrival makes sense, even if some uncertainties remain.

By the time Eli emerges, Victor is as alert and in control of his faculties as ever, maybe even more so as agitation meets endless prospect in his mind. Though the moment he sees his dear enemy, Victor's expression darkens and his body draws in even more tense and taut than usual, ready for the war between them to resume on this new terrain.

"I was starting to think you were some drug-induced hallucination."

At one time, Victor could make that sound like a humourous greeting. Here, it sounds like sharpening a knife.

If the battle is going to resume, it certainly won't be here. These people currently have no reason to suspect him of anything. He isn't going to deliver a fresh reason for his incarceration right to their doorstep just when he's finally been set free.

He hopes Victor is of like mind.

"Do you always imagine me naked when you're high?" Eli teases. He's still wearing a face meant for other people to observe, which means he looks awfully good-natured as he offers Victor's coat back to him.

If Victor was of the same mind, that quip has him reconsidering.

"If I do, you're typically on an autopsy table."

He doesn't take his eyes off Eli for a second as he snatches his coat back, deeply unimpressed and steadily feeling his anger ticking up at everything. Eli, back to life again. Or possibly never having died at all. Whichever it is doesn't really matter in the grander scheme when the practical reality is he's right fucking there, walking, talking, breathing, and ever picture-perfect. Victor wants to crush Eli's face beneath his hands, feel bone and muscle come apart under his fingers just to break that public smile down even for a second.

Folding the coat across his arm, Victor works a frustrated growl through his teeth.

"And instead of being in the ground where you belong, here we are: a land of heroes. It's like they built this world entirely with you in mind. I bet you're just thrilled."

"Really, Vic," Eli sighs. "It's like you don't know me at all."

Why would he be thrilled about a world where hundreds of EOs exist in various positions of power? It's nightmarish, honestly, and it's going to take a great deal of planning before he can even begin to address the problem.

One step at a time. He turns for the exit, intending to get off the grounds before someone in this place changes their mind about him. Victor can follow or not.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Whatever Eli wants to claim, there's so much more to what he does than suffering with the burden of his God-given task. Victor knows that full well and if he'd even remotely accept that then it would make Victor want to punch Eli in the teeth marginally less. Or at least with potentially less force.

Initially, Victor just watches Eli move with his eyes, though the desire not to lose him has the blond cursing under his breath as he tugs his coat back on to step out with Eli.

Really, if they were ever going to be in a closed-down facility, Victor never expected to see them just walk out, especially given how EON was painted red on Victor's departure. Not his best or proudest piece, in truth.

He should put Eli on his knees and fill his every pain receptor to breaking point, wait for them to mend, then hit them again. To what end, though? There's more information than when they woke, sure, just nothing that he can use to improvise a way to end Eli this soon. That window passed while Victor's head had been spinning. That missed opportunity will haunt him.

Though, he can try and clarify something.

"At least Marcella is no longer an issue. Or Haverty, for that matter."

Eli will keep saying it, as long as Victor insists on being foolish. The both of them have a code of their own. Eli, for his part, recognizes Victor's perfectly well. It involves a persistent suppression of anything that might make him look as fragile as he really is, and he obviously resents that Eli might have loftier moral aspirations.

Confident in his rightness and bolstered by his breezy escape from government hands, he continues forth without pausing to wait for Victor to catch up. He doesn't stop until Victor speaks again.

Then he freezes mid-step.

"What?" He schools his features before he turns his face to Victor, but even then, he's so shaken by the sound of that name that he can't quite cover up his shock. "What do you mean by that? What do you know about Haverty?"

When Eli stops, Victor doesn’t, at least not until the other EO turns toward him again.

There’s that thrill of getting Eli’s full and undivided attention. Somehow, after all these years and all the hate, Victor still craves that focus more than anything.

When Eli does turn, Victor’s feet still, bringing him within an arms reach of Eli to see his expression in vivid detail. And the details are excellent. There’s some definite panic. Maybe some fear. And it’s all wonderful.

Practically speaking though, this tells Victor plenty as he slowly cocks his head with a patronising slow arch of his eyebrow that doesn’t do terribly much to mask his pleasure at Eli’s distress.

“Why? Should I not know? Given what happened, I thought it was obvious.”

"What are you talking about?"

Given what happened. What happened? What happened was that less than six hours ago, he'd caught a glimpse of Victor in the flesh for the first time in five years. For a brief moment, they shared a common enemy. But Haverty played no part in that encounter. How could Victor have even learned that name?

...Unless they didn't port in together. Unless they arrived at the same moment, but were pulled from different points. The phenomenon was mentioned in the welcome material. It had just seemed so obvious that they were swept up simultaneously.

Eli takes a step closer. "Victor," he utters, maintaining a carefully measured tone. "Why did you think I was dead?"

As Eli comes closer, Victor straightens his back and tightens his expression, fingers flexing at his sides in a kind of visual warning for Eli not to come any closer.

He forces a wicked little smile through, the sort that's entirely unkind and makes all Victor's sharp angles even more razor-edged.

"For heaven's sake, Eli," he echoes the earlier exasperation the other EO had thrown at him, complete with an unnecessary flourish of a shrug that's more hands than shoulders, "Why would you not think you were dead?"

Whatever threat Victor may be flexing in his direction goes ignored. Eli's hand whips out to snatch Victor by the collar and drag him close. It's a violent move, although it isn't anger that's written on Eli's face. It's difficult to tell, actually, what his expression is meant to be conveying. So rare is this look on him.

"Tell me," he says in a voice that's still too calm to match the turmoil in his eyes, "what it is you mean by that."

As Eli yanks Victor forward, his feet scuff against the ground a few steps as he readjusts his balance against Eli's forceful grip. There's as much of a thrill about being unexpectedly pulled around like that as there is in the consistent threat of unannounced violence between them. Grievous injury with intent to kill is generally an inevitable state of their interactions over the last decade and a half, so there's something novel about physicality that includes a brand of conversation.

Victor's own hands jerk up reflexively though, grasping at Eli's wrists despite them both knowing there's no contest as far as raw strength is concerned here.

The look on Eli's face is so unique and interesting that Victor wants to burn it into his memory.

His lips curl into an unpleasant, smug smirk as he tilts his head back to look down his cheekbones at Eli.

"It's not like you to be this slow. Do you really need me to spell it out to you? You lost, Eli. You died, and I walked away."

He likes this look on Eli's face, like he wants to be afraid but doesn't know how, and because of that Victor wants to dangle and intrigue of Haverty without addressing him or how Victor knows him for as long as possible. Eli can endure the physical pain Victor can pump into him, but this? This is different.

"No."

It isn't disbelief. It's outright denial. Victor might as well be speaking in tongues for all the sense that statement makes.

No, he can't be dead. He'd spent hours and hours carving away at himself, testing God's intentions for him, challenging his immortality with a ruthlessness he has never once exercised on anyone else - not his victims nor Victor. He can't be dead because Haverty and his team had tried their damnedest, over and over, and he'd watched his own heart pulled from his chest and held before his eyes. He can't be dead because if anyone was capable of it, it would have been that witch Marcella and her power of absolute ruin.

"You couldn't have possibly killed me."

Eli drags him closer, and that look Victor was savoring takes on a darker shade. "Did you end up at EON?" he asks, airy and unbothered. "Did Haverty get his chance at you? Delusions are a common side effect."

Even with the shadows growing thicker on Eli's face, Victor's smile only grows, clearly not giving a damn about the danger this brand of teasing might put him in--if Eli wants to maintain the image of a good, upstanding young man, then he's not going to want to try and murder Victor in broad daylight outside a military facility. It's just fucking glorious.

"You're right. I didn't kill you, but you did die. And I did walk out breathing where you didn't."

He digs his fingers into Eli's wrists, leaning in himself so there really is barely any space between them.

"I did go to EON. Interesting set-up they have there. Love the decor. Not sure how much of it you would have seen, to tell the truth."

Moving his head to the side slightly, Victor brings his lips close to Eli's ear in a soft, icy whisper.

"But EON isn't where we saw Haverty, Cardale."

Victor is trying to provoke him. Eli recognizes it and he won't rise to it. It would be absolutely stupid to attack him here and now, where he'd be interrupted before he could finish the job. His only reward would be blowing his cover.

Instead, he allows Victor to lock him in this intimate little game of whispered jabs and wishful thinking. Eli still doesn't believe a word out of his treacherous mouth.

"Where, then?" he asks, sounding bored now. "Am I supposed to believe you let him kill me? I thought we had something special."

There's no way. There simply isn't any way Victor would stand back and let someone else finish the job. If he somehow got the opportunity but lacked the means, he'd sooner keep Eli chained to him forever than let anyone else have a shot. Such is Victor's stubborn nature.

If Victor is disappointed by Eli's lack of explosive response he doesn't show it, though he is quiet for a few seconds before he clicks his teeth and straightens once more, like he's ready to be done with this as opposed to Eli being the one who has a hold on him.

"No, of course I didn't let him kill you."

To anyone walking past at that moment it might have almost sounded protective, like two comrades in arms having a protective, passionate discussion and two psychopaths twisted up together.

"But what reason would I have to tell you now? If you can't remember then it's not my job to remind you of what he managed to do after you ran from the remains of Marcella. And from me."

He shakes his head mockingly.

"See, if you'd just stayed a little longer we could've had a nice chat and maybe things wouldn't have gone the way they did."

If that had been true, Victor would never have gotten the serum and he'd probably be dead too right now.

...That's it? That's all Victor's going to give him?

"You know damn well I wasn't running from you," Eli snaps, finally irritable. "Were we supposed to wait around for Stell's men to surround us?" Hell, that's what he'd assumed had happened anyway, but here's Victor with a different tale. Eli has half a mind to throw him to the ground and leave him there, sputtering on his own smugness.

Then he has a better idea.

One hand loosens its hold on Victor's collar and slides up to take him by the throat. The gesture has all the makings of a threat, but there's something fond and comradely about it. He doesn't mean to choke Victor, only to draw him close once more.

As he presses tranquility into Victor's skin, he says, "I see no reason why we can't have our nice chat now."

The very slightest indication of Eli showing vaguely akin to real, involuntary emotion always gives Victor a deep thrill. Even more when it's because of something he's doing. He'll take irritation, it's a step down from angry, which is a step down from murderous.

Perhaps they're skipping to the other end of the scale quite quickly though as he feels Eli's hand snaking up and around his neck. Immediately something is off--it's not a strike and snatch, not meant to be so fast that Victor has no time to react, and it pulls him in and not away for better choking vantage.

The confusion that plays out across Victor's face quickly gives way to a moment of tense shock, his eyes going wide and a breath catching beneath Eli's fingers as he realises something is happening.

"What are you--?!"

It's like some kind of energy is draining out of Victor that he can't pinpoint and for a crystallised moment it sends his mind into a blind panic as he scrambles to make sense of what's happening. Just like in his dossier, Eli must have new abilities too. But what? What is he doing?

And then, the panic is gone. So is the rage. So is the want to see Eli laid flat and bloody and still upon the floor. And so is the background fear of the low-level constant buzzing in the back of Victor's skull. And the coiled, tensed muscles in his body that force him upright all the time, and its lack Victor's form sags deeply.

All of the high-strung energy he carries around constantly... It's all gone.

"What did you do?" He asks again. Even his voice sounds different all of a sudden--quieter, softer, genuinely curious without all the bitterness and ire.

It's really quite lucky for Victor that Eli decided to perform this experiment here. If he'd attempted it somewhere quiet and remote, with a good distance between them and any witnesses or government agents, he might have been tempted to use this moment of sudden calm to take Victor's face into his hands and snap his neck with a single, swift wrench.

The temptation is still there, but Eli remains in control of his urges.

"Do you feel better now?" he asks, as if he did Victor a favor in curing him of his defenses. There's no need to keep holding on, as he's fairly sure the effects will remain active for at least a little while, but Eli opts to maintain contact just in case. His thumb strokes Victor's cheek, soothing, as he stares into Victor's eyes and assesses the state of him.

Calmer though he might be, Victor recognises this is strange. Strange for him, strange for them. Even when they were friend, when they were living together, their physical contact was never like this, never soft or tender. Nothing between Eli and Victor existed like it did between Eli and Angie, and that's the closest comparison he can make.

The calmness also doesn't erase the past, every detail still clear and bright in Victor's mind's eye. It just feels more like a movie than like it happened to them, like it's been depersonalised and it's just something that could be analysed with academic detachment.

"'Better' is a odd word for it," his hand at Eli's wrist flexes, like he's not sure if he should let go or hold on. It confirms to Victor that whatever he's feeling is definitely Eli's doing. He tilts his head slightly, like he's trying to look at Eli's hand where it's making contact, though he can't really see and it just sort of pushes Victor's face more into the touch.

"Huh."

Standing with it a few moment in silence, Victor conducts his own brand of assessment on himself. In principle, he can't tell if he adores this or if he despises Eli for it even more. If it's the latter, he can't feel the fire associated with it. But overall, and most strikingly, it's a good feeling. Like Eli's turned off all the interference in Victor's head, like a counter-point to his own nerve-quieting abilities.

"It's... different."

Even before Lockland, Victor has never felt this still and at ease. Maybe he's never really felt this before at all.

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