(no subject)

[besainted]

WHO: Damian St Lorrant & others
WHERE: Various
WHEN: All through their nice vacation month
WHAT: A collection o threads!
WARNINGS: n/a

Comments

hentzau!

[besainted]

[ As predicted, this new golden look of his has been making things very difficult for Damian. The healing is nice, very reassuring, he feels invincible (thanks, Josh) — but the cost is high. Fortunately, most things these days can be delivered, and the ability to portal to anywhere he'd like to be really cuts down on time spent on the subway.

When he shows up in the middle of Hentzau's residence with a loaded fruit basket over one arm and a fine tequila held by the neck in the other arm, he's silent. (He's had a bit of time to refine and improve the messy tearing sound that he never really liked about those portals.) He's also bright, gleaming gold. ]

Rupert! [ It's a bright and cheerful tone, and he smiles as he steps into the room from some dark place. ] I hope you're home, I would hate to have to drink this alone.

slams in here

[leatherboots]

[ Hentzau's sprawling apartment is a little bit of prison, a little bit of party penthouse. The guards that patrol the ground foyer forty floors down are as much to keep those awful terrorist types out as much to keep an eye on their precious government-sanctioned meta celebrities. Not that that bothers the portalling types - like Damian - but their presence does sometimes put a dampener on things.

Not that Hentzau appears to care! Especially not today! The brightly lit penthouse is in a state of elegant chaos, littered as it is with the detritus from last night's party: discarded magnums of champagne decorate the floor around the sprawling leather couch in the living room, which in itself is decorated with a sprawling Hentzau in his ostentatious silk dressing gown.

It's difficult to jump when lying down but Hentzau certainly manages it as Damian steps silently in the room, bearing his gifts. ]

Good God -- [ Hentzau recovers quickly, sitting up on his elbows as he stares, then laughs sharply at the sight in front of him. Because jesus fucking christ. ] What the hell happened to you?

[besainted]

[ Yes, thank you, Damian could not have done without the comment on how he knows he looks today. Gleaming skin, whited out eyes, pale hair. A stabbing reminder of the man he's stolen it from every time he looks in a mirror. Damian smothers his sigh with a smile, only slightly forced. ]

You remember Josh Foley, don't you? Best friend of my ex. [ He steps forward, picking his way around the debris of a good time towards the couch, and his forced smile goes a little more proudly cocked grin. ] Well, he doesn't look like this anymore.

[ He trusts Hentzau to remember the details of Damian's thefts — a permanent copy, or a temporary steal. The between the lines here is that Damian has made a bad decision, and everyone who loves Josh Foley will be pretty upset about it. And he's just made himself a shiny gold target.

He's had better days. ]

On the other hand, are you hungover? I can fix that.

[leatherboots]

[ Hentzau blows out his cheeks woth a comical grimace of exhaustion at the question. ]

Fourth day hungover, in fact. You know what these Ratification parties are like...

[ Not that either of them are believers; Ratification Day is an excuse to pass as politically acceptable and to drink enough to forget the mostly terrible things you're drinking to. Hentzau gestures towards where he imagines two clean glasses might be hidden away, back towards the kitchen. ]

Glasses that way, I expect. And yes, I remember him, [ He continues conversationally, calling through to wherever Damian might end up in his pursuit of glassware. ] Rather hard to forget someone who looks, well, like you do now. Covered in gilt.

[ Hentzau laughs again, indulgently and obnoxiously, as he realises the joke potential of that little word. ]

Hah! I wonder - does this mean you officially possess a gilt-y conscience, my dear Damian?

[besainted]

[ He hasn't actually needed to ask about the hangover — he can sense it. He can sense everything about the health and general wellbeing of the man in front of him, and that's probably the strangest part of this power. It sure would be nice if he could turn that off once in a while. ]

Not a day of my life, my dear Rupert.

[ He steps away to fetch the glasses, and quickly enough he's back with two freshly filled. The fruit basket has been left somewhere, but two fresh-sliced limes adorn the lips of the glasses. He settles himself down in a chair adjacent to the couch, the drinks settled down on a clean-enough end table between them, and he fixes his attention on Hentzau. ]

Alright, come here, be my guinea pig.

[ He's experimented with healing himself and it went just fine, how hard can it really be to heal someone else? And of something as simple as a hangover, even? ]

[leatherboots]

[ Hm. Hentzau is pretty sure that that joke deserved a far more appreciative reaction. But he obligingly peels himself away from the leather couch cushions and stretches his arms high above his head with a slow, negligent yawn. He's stiff all over, covered in scratches and bruises he can only remember creating in the vaguest of terms, and he's fairly sure he cracked a tooth opening a beer bottle for someone at some point. It's been a WEEK. ]

Please laugh more at my jokes in the future. I'll develop some kind of a condition if you don't...

[ He plucks one of the two drinks from the table as he stalks around it before settling delicately on the table edge closest to Damian. His expression is one of serene suffering as the smell of tequila does nothing for his unhappy, hungover stomach. ]

Come on, then. Do your worst.

[besainted]

[ He studies Hentzau closely, extending this strange and unsettling sense he's stolen to examine everything it gives him the power to examine. Which is quite a lot. Each mild scratch or bruise stands out to him, that chipped tooth sits at the corner of his awareness, and the unhappy time the liver is having along with general dehydration — it reads like a book to him, though it's taken some doing to understand just what the script is telling him.

Distracted, with a crick in his brow: ] Put better jokes together, and I'll take it into consideration.

[ He leans in to set a golden hand on the man's forehead, like a concerned mother checking for a temperature. His eyes flutter shut as he concentrates, directs, rebuilds — and Hentzau's body sorts itself out. It happens quickly and without fanfare, all these being pretty minor ailments. The chipped tooth takes slightly longer, maybe. In under ten seconds, everything up to and including the hangover has simply vanished. ]

[leatherboots]

It was a damn fine joke and you know it, [ Hentzau begins to protest indignantly before he's abruptly silenced by the press of that golden hand against his forehead. He doesn't know what he'd expected - that Damian's touch would be cold, almost robotic? maybe - but the creeping wholesome feeling that follows is definitely a surprise. Hentzau stares, lips parted in a D: of surprise, and marvels at how much more human he feels. ]

Oh. [ He bows his head and probes his newly healed tooth with his tongue thoughtfully. No pain, no sharp edges. And his liver is practically crying with happiness. ] Well. That's certainly a neat trick.

[besainted]

Mmmhm.

[ He's been on that side of Josh's power before, he knows just how it feels. Startlingly good, hurts gone you didn't even realize you had. He glances down at his golden hands as they fold themselves in his lap. ]

So, I'm back onto the government's shitlist.

[ His attention flits back up again with a charming smile. ]

This thing with Foley was an attempted olive branch, but they weren't having it. Had to burn my last few bridges to try it, too. [ He laughs lightly, but a little too lightly. It doesn't quite fit. ] Don't you go trying anything, I'd hate to have to kill you, too.

[ Though maybe he should anyway. Hentzau has done him a few priceless favors, but who knows how things will shift over the years? He was never exactly trustworthy to begin with. ]

david!

[besainted]

[ The most surprising thing about the last few days is how Josh hasn't died. He'd really expected that the man would have bled out on the street. Did he get taken into custody? Damian is going to have to work that out, to know if he should expect to lose these useful new powers to the sudden death of their owner, or if his time with them will run out naturally in a month.

The one thing he is sure of, is that David will be on his way.

He doesn't want to kill David, not when he'd lose the powers he copied from him so long ago. It might take some real doing to discourage him from wanting to kill Damian, though. He knows exactly how close David and Josh are — or were, at least. But regardless of where they stand now, a friendship that tight doesn't let a betrayal of this level go unavenged.

Damian has made his preparations. On the surface that looks like a few careful appearances in public, a few traceable phone calls placed to a very particular, very hidden restaurant, catering mostly to those not on the government's good side. A table for two is what he'd reserved, and he trusts his guest will pick up on the invitation on his own.

He sits at a candle lit table, sipping idly at a glass of wine. The chair across from him is empty, and he waits. He doesn't think he's going to be stood up tonight, David is too clever to miss any of this. ]

[helpdesk_hero]

[He's been looking. Has been looking since he learned of what had happened. But he didn't like how easily he was being led around by his nose. More than that, he didn't really appreciate the insult Damian was lying down on top of all the injury.

Still, he shows up, and no one questions who he is there for. If Prodigy was showing up at this place again, after all these years, then people knew who he was there for. And for the first time he found himself appreciating the lack of pat down. He was just about bristling with weapons about his person under his suit. A nice suit. Crisp. Right in the same vein he used to use when he was Damian's and Damian was his and they were a power couple to be feared in the underground, no matter what ends they were after.

David shows up and strides past people for the table, and glares darkly at the candles. This isn't romantic, and David leans forward to blow them out before taking the empty seat.]

I expect that if I were to shoot you in the head right now, there isn't a single person in this establishment who would not stand by and accept it. Perhaps I'd even get applause.

[besainted]

[ And there's the man himself. Damian watches him approach evenly, and smiles when the candles go dark. How petty of him. But Damian supposes he's earned a little bit of petty. ]

Maybe.

[ Probably. Damian, government man, was never very warmly received here. He sips calmly at his wine. ]

But I think I'd survive that. Hasn't Josh come back from just about everything by this point?

[helpdesk_hero]

We both know that his powers have limits.

[He sits, no hands on the table. Nothing to immediately touch. Skin to skin, he knows the limits.]

I know how powers in that same deep, intimate way he does. And constantly retain it because I knew them before I came here. I am one of very few people who could kill you.

[He wants to slap that glass from the other man’s hand.]

Betraying me I can’t understand, but I can take in stride. Faking your own death I can respect, and I didn’t bother looking at it too closely because I was better off thinking you were dead. But we had one rule. Not Josh. But you went there, and you went further. And for nothing. Because even after you nearly got me killed and nearly got him captured, he STILL would have healed you. He still would have HELPED if I had asked.

[besainted]

[ This feels like a crossroads. On the one hand, a bid for forgiveness. He could give the power back, he could apologize, he could spend the rest of his life scraping and begging to make things right. After all, listen to that — nearly got Josh captured. Maybe things turned out well for their mutual friend after all. Maybe, further along down the road to clemency, he could even have David back again, the only man he ever really trusted. The man he'd never really meant to betray in the first place.

On the other hand, life is short. His, he expects, will probably be shorter than most, in the end. He's burned every friendship along the way, proving time and time again that he's clearly not a man cut out for keeping them. David would really have no reason to ask David to help, and Damian has never been one to rely on slim chances. And so, after a pause, he makes his choice. ]

He was already healing me when I took his power.

[ He sips again. ]

You're better off leaving this alone, David. Your friend is alive, and you know how my deal with him works. He'll have his power back in a little under a month. And as for me — [ He smiles faintly. ] It's been a long time. You have no idea what else I've picked up.

[helpdesk_hero]

And to think I ever thought a beast like you was capable of loving me.

[The words are a sneer as David pulls a gun from his waist band and lays it on the table. His hand stays on it, finger on the trigger.]

No, I don’t know what else you might have. But here’s the thing. I don’t care.

[His voice is icy, and his eyes are narrowed as he speaks. Carefully enunciates each and every word.]

I have plenty of funds. I will spend every last cent hunting you down, for the rest of my life. You see, mon coeur, I seem to have found a new purpose in life. A new thing to live for. And one that might kill me, but it isn’t like you didn’t try that before. But tell me, when you shattered the life of my best friend, when you made Laurie sit through thinking Josh was going to die, when you betrayed us twice, what else do I have?

[besainted]

[ I didn't try to kill you, I was trying to save you. But no, that doesn't matter. It's results, not intention. Which, for once, are kind of working in his favor with Josh. The man would be locked up and tied down to some operating table by now if Damian's plan had gone off without a hitch.

He leans in over the table, and a thin sheen tweaks at the air very faintly between them, a blink-and-you-miss-it that suggests Damian isn't relying entirely on David not wanting to blow his brains out in a nice restaurant. He cants his head, looking earnest. ]

That's a stupid question, isn't it? You have Josh and Laurie, you just said so yourself. [ A thoughtful pause, and he adds: ] Well, for now.

[helpdesk_hero]

[David would MEVER buy such a line. Because Damian has tried to give him to the government. Which was a fate worse than death. There was no salvation there. But the sheen doesn’t bother him at all. In fact, he smirks. Prodigy was ALL about challenge.]

I do. And there are things I would do to protect them. Just like I would once have done for you. When I knew nothing. When I thought there really was a divide between you and the raptor. Sure you’re smarter than it, but it at least has survival instincts.

[He leans back in his seat, but doesn’t take his hand off his gun.]

In this case, to protect them, I will make sure neither of them has to get hurt when they want their revenge. Sure, it denies them that, but it’s for their own good.

andy!

[besainted]

[ By now, Damian has found a way to make himself a little less blatantly conspicuous -- which is to say, he's turned off the shiny metallic golden skin. He's back to looking like a normal man again -- a normal, perfectly average man, with enemies everywhere he turns and a lot of crafty and powerful people out for his throat. And all anyone would have to do to have it, is kill the man he'd stolen these amazing healing powers from.

He needs more protection. The first thought that comes to mind isn't ideal, as she seems to have some kind of a limited lease on immortality, but ... he's running low on options, there just aren't many immortals around to pick from.

It took a little research to find her location, but he has it eventually. And then Damian takes the liberty of opening a portal straight into her main room. He won't be the most welcome unexpected visitor, this former ghost of an old enemy, so he's got a little shimmer held preemptively in the air before him, a just in case shield. He glances around warily as he steps in. ]

Andy?

[killtime]

[ Andy doesn't keep much company these days. The people she cares about — most of them are gone now, taken away by the government. Twisted into their wretched tools. And the rest of the resistance? Not her biggest fans. Must have something to do with how she's always going off on her own, doing her own shit, invested in her own priorities. So when Damian comes to find her, she's alone. Holed up in a shabby safehouse, smoking a cigarette over an overflowing ashtray.

She isn't expecting company. But somehow, she doesn't look especially surprised to see him either. She doesn't even move from her seat as he comes into view, only slightly lifting her eyebrows in his direction as she exhales another mouthful of wisping smoke.

There's a handgun on the coffee table in front of her. She doesn't reach for it. Instead, dryly: ]

Damian. Business or pleasure?

[besainted]

[ She's alone. That's good, this might be a bit of a sensitive conversation. He straightens his tie (already perfect, just like the pale suit) and strides toward her, for a conversational distance. ]

You don't still have that death wish, do you?

[ His tone sounds pleasant, distant, like this is just any other greeting. He's not worried about it, she's probably heard worse. ]

[killtime]

[ But death stopped being a sensitive subject for Andy centuries ago. At least superficially. She isn't afraid of death, that's for sure. She doesn't flinch at the idea of it. But the woman has a complicated relationship with death, and having a family in this universe hasn't helped much with that issue.

(They're still her family. Still hers. Even if they were taken from her.) ]

...Get to the point, Damian.

[ She takes another drag off her cigarette. Her voice isn't harsh, despite her bluntness. If anything, it's distant. Even a little tired. ]

What the fuck do you want.

[besainted]

[ He hooks a toe under the chair nearest to her, drags it a few feet for a more comfortable vantage point. He takes his time settling into it, and only when his gaze has settled back onto Andy again does he answer. ]

Your durability. [ He quirks a small smile. ] I'm going to need it pretty soon. More than usual.

[killtime]

[ She gives him a little look, her gaze lingering for a moment or two before she finally glances away with a light scoff. ]

Invest in a helmet and a bulletproof vest. [ Still, not to be inhospitable, she leans towards him to offer him a drag off her cigarette. ] You know I'm not invulnerable right? You know it still hurts? And that I can still fucking die?

[besainted]

[ Please, as if he hasn't got some sleek under-suit bulletproof vest already. A helmet, though, would definitely interfere with looking classy. Can't have that. ]

I know, yes, and yes. [ He shrugs faintly. ] But I'm in a mood to increase my odds.

[ This isn't really a matter of asking permission, but he figures he'll give it another few rounds before he makes that clear. Maybe she'll play nice. ]

[killtime]

[ Playing nice has never been one of Andy's strong points. Even worse, she stopped thinking of her power — the curse — as a good thing a long fucking time ago. She wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy. And her worst enemy, Damian is not. It might take some convincing — one way or another. ]

You're in a mood? [ She settles back into her seat, putting her boots up on the coffee table as she lifts her cigarette back to her lips. Dryly: ] You could at least tell me the real fucking reason.