fluxscape | Closed - Everybody wants to get evil tonight

Entry tags:

alan wake - mister scratch

Closed - Everybody wants to get evil tonight

Who: Scratch and Zoey
Where: The Streets and Alleys of Haven
When: Late night, June 27th
What: Scratch is drunk and disconnected and looking for someone to blame.

CW: Aggression, stalking, drunkenness, violence, depersonalization. Will add as needed, Mister Scratch is a mess.

The last couple of days have sucked ASS.

Scratch is the envoy of the Darkness. He's the 'improved' Alan Wake, the harbinger, the urban legend. That's what he knows, what he has known for as long as he can recall. Generally speaking, that's all good with him. He enjoys what he is, enjoys what he does.

So getting cut off from the Darkness? It has him, against his will, wondering what that means for him exactly.

Everything feels a little brighter without that natural mantle of shadows, and it churns his stomach. Attempting to cut his losses, he opts to hole up in Pour Intentions for a while, knocking back enough that e won't remember what the problem is. He gets there, and as he walks in, he spots her. That little upstart. Sneering, he slips around a corner and into a secluded spot, out of her sight.

Wasn't she the one who asked him if he wanted to be his own person? His hands ball into fists on the table. Ordering a whole bottle of whiskey, he takes one shot, two, three. Brooding. Thinking it over. Forming...a plan.

He'd show her who he really is, all right.

At the end of the night, when Zoey leaves, he settles his check. Hours of shots in, he swaggers out the door and into the street, scanning the horizon until he sees where she's walking. If his powers are gone, so are hers. Good. He's careful as he follows her, biding his time, feeling the weight of his knife in his pocket.

Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The silence following that answer is long, painfully long. It's clear that he's trying to comprehend it, the idea of helping someone who has only caused you pain. Scratch is, by virtue of his own experience, pure hedonism. It's all about him, and taking Alan down with him while having a damn good time doing it.

He doesn't DO helping. He DOES murder and mayhem and blood and sex and booze. Trying to shake all this, he darts his hand out, growling, snatching up his knife and rearing back with it.

"FUCK this, FUCK you, I JUST WANT...I want...."

But the fire goes out again very quickly, the knife raised high wavers, then sinks with his arm to his side. He's confused, and it's plain on his face, the usual gusto and bravado missing alongside the shadows.

"...I never asked for any of this shit."

That Scratch doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend her reason for what she’d done doesn’t surprise Zoey. It can’t. She’s seen where he’s come from. How he’d begun. It wouldn’t make sense to him, her helping someone who’d brought her harm. It’s beyond his experiences. His scope. It’s a complex algebra equation to someone who’s unfamiliar with math.

He growls, grabbing for his lost blade, and she inhales beneath him at the fire of his anger, readying herself for another blow. And pinned as she is beneath him, she’s an easy target for him, if he decides to drive that knife home. But he doesn’t. Knife raised high, ready to stab her... wavers, and falls to the side.

“I know you didn’t.” It’s not spoken gently, or fiercely. It’s just… tired. And earnest.

There is a tense, long moment of heaving breath and frustrated staring. The knife is in the dirt. He could pick it up. He's on top of her. Choking her would be so easy. In every way, he has the upper hand, the advantage. Scratch could murder Zoey right here, right now in this alleyway and get away with it.

But that feeling, the feeling of reaching out to help someone who hurt you...it's like an open wound that he can't ignore. Every time he tries to lift his hand, to grab the knife, it aches.

Fuck. He HATES that she's seeing him like this. It would all be easier if he could just cut her throat and watch her bleed out.

Her hand is still on his face. It's warm. It feels nice and he hates that too.

A short, strangled scream of frustration rips from his lips, and he wrenches himself off of her, rolling in the dust a couple of times before coming to land on his hands and knees, head against the ground, hands tearing at his own hair. His shoulders shake. Is he...?

Zoey waits, gazing up at him with keen ice blue eyes as he stares down in her in frustration. She doesn’t need her gift to follow his thoughts. To know what he’s thinking, to figure out what’s going on his his head. She could dislodge him, probably, escape from where she lays in the now-bloody sand beneath him. She doesn’t, though. She waits, breath still coming hard.

Her hand still lingers on his cheek. She hasn’t thought to remove it and much to her surprise he hasn’t shoved it away yet, either.

Until he’s letting out a strangled scream of frustration and wrenching himself off of her. She should use the chance he’s given her, now that he’s no longer on top of her, to get up. Put distance between them. Escape.

But she doesn’t. Hand going again to her side with a soft sound of pain, she pushes herself up slowly… Shifting up onto her knees nearer to him and reaching out to put her hand on his shoulder. She’ll never be able to give Ashlin hell for complete and utter lack of self preservation again. (Not that she ever had in the first place, or would ~~she’d just done her best to protect the woman she thought of like a sister~~ but still.) She's always been reckless and kind of heedless of her own safety (she's the one with the gift of sight, the one who is the most well-informed, the most aware of any dangers that might come), but it's definitely being hammered home right now in this moment as she doesn't leave the side of the man who had had every intention of stabbing the shit out of her. And had, a little.

She stays.

Edited 2021-07-03 21:49 (UTC)

Scratch's head is full to bursting. This isn't how any of this was supposed to go. It was simple, it was always simple. Chase the victim down, knife her, leave her to bleed or drag her out into the desert for the animals. No problem. Easy and satisfying.

This wasn't either of those. He couldn't even manage to choke her, or snap her neck, or anything. And he even HATES her, usually it's just for kicks, just random people who crossed the wrong man at the wrong time. This time he actually despises the victim and, because of some inter-dimensional BULLSHIT, he can't even finish the job. Letting her go is all he can think to do, nauseating as it is, so he can pull his shit together, clean the fucking TEARS from his face (GROSS), and go back to have another bottle at the Cabin.

He waits. He waits for her to leave, staying down, face buried in his arms and the sand so she can't see him being a fucking WUSS.

Then he feels the hand on his shoulder, and he SEETHES.

"You should REALLY fucking GO," he growls, muffled. "Before I fucking shake your bullshit off and get my fucking KNIFE BACK." But he doesn't knock her hand away either.

Zoey can FEEL him seething. It radiates off him as much as the shadows usually do. Maybe a little more, honestly. It’s makes a twisted sort of sense. He’d come out here to terrorize her, hurt her… and here she is, seeing him at his worst. His weakest. And yet she still stays, hand on his shoulder. Right in easy stabbing range. If he had his knife immediately at hand. Which he doesn’t. Not yet.

Thank fuck.

He growls at her and she’s… mostly unfazed. He’s already hunted her, already tasted her blood, and she’s already seen him growling and volatile. Muffled growling isn’t all that threatening after he’s already knifed her. “Yeah, well, you’ve seen how well I do what I should,” she retorts.

The refusal to back off is met with an explosion of temper - snarling, he swats the hand away, glowering at her, face wet with both her blood and his tears at this point. Awful. Terrible.

He forces a grin, and it's as artificial as can be. Scratch knows it, he knows Zoey knows it, but he doesn't really care.

"Are you fucking STUPID?" On his knees, he crawls a pace or two to grab his knife from the dirt, wiping the sand from the blade across his sleeve. "Need me to spell it out, princess? If you stay I'm gonna fucking kill you."

Oh for fuck’s sake. She lets him swat her away, retreating just a little. But not leaving. He’s not fooling anyone and Zoey doesn’t think leaving would be the best idea… for the poor sod who might have the bad luck to cross his path after they part ways. She’s pretty sure if anyone did they would end up seriously dead. At least she knows what she’s in for, with him.

Princess. Well. It’s better than upstart, she guesses.

“You can certainly fucking try,” she retorts. And then she reaches out and grabs the hand holding the knife. “But I’m not going anywhere. Pretty sure if I left you now you’d get lost and die in the desert.” She’s not sure how much he’s had to drink, but it’s a LOT. (And if he was drinking most of her shift, it’s a HELL of a lot.) “You smell like a brewery.”

"Try. Fucking funny. You're bleeding and even drunk I could cut you a new hole to breathe out of."

But she's right about him having had a lot to drink. Normally, this wouldn't be that big a problem, bolstered by the darkness...but right now, he's effectively human. And humans probably shouldn't drink a whole fifth of whiskey by themselves.

She catches his hand before his reflexes can kick in, and he just. Sighs.

"What do you wanna do if you're not going, then, huh? Be my fucking nanny?"

“Yeah. TRY. You aren’t the first asshole to land a lucky hit.” And he probably wouldn’t be the last. Quite frankly she suspects he’ll probably be the next asshole to land a lucky hit, too. Maybe even the next few. Given how much she’s pissed him the fuck off. She thinks of the blades hidden in her boots. Nah. Let them be a surprise for next time. Like her powers will be. “And you ARE drunk and all you did was manage a little cut.”

Not quite so little, but she’s not going to tell HIM that, and it’s certainly not life-threatening. Although she might be woozy from blood loss before too much longer.

“Oh PLEASE. I think getting you on your fucking feet is probably a good place to start. See just how much balance is left after how much you’ve had to drink.” He hadn’t been in the greatest of shape to begin with.

"Felt pretty palpable to me," he grumbles...but the situation is mostly diffused for now. Scratch huffs a little, pulling his hand out of her grip to shove his knife back into his pocket.

"I can stand just fucking FINE." The words come in a hiss, and he shoves himself upward, and - whoa.

Okay, maybe the tolerance is a bit different when he's less paranatural and not running on pure adrenaline anymore, huh? He sways, but remarkably enough stays standing.

Well that’s unexpected, honestly. Zoey had been half sure he would make good on his threat and go for her throat. Colour her surprised. Pleasantly so. She gives him space, ignoring his completely right observation (a hit, a very palpable hit) and basks in the momentary reprieve from violence.

Rising gracefully to her feet (and managing to hide just how badly her side is hurting, even if it’s a fucking knot of agony), she watches him hiss at her and try to prove her wrong... And well, he managed to stay standing, so that’s something. Even if he’s swaying. “Hey, look at that. You can.”

"Like there was any fucking doubt."

Ugh, those awful lights in the night sky. They're bad enough without spinning around like that. How dare they.

"...So what? Gonna walk me home, is that it? No way you're thaaaat dumb." He starts to head out of the alley and promptly knocks over a garbage bin when he staggers sharply to the right.

"Was in my fucking way."

There’s was kind of a lot of doubt on that one, Scratch. Sorry. (Except not sorry at all.) Oh yeah, he is DEFINITELY feeling however much he’s had to drink now. HARD. Probably a very good thing she’s decided to guide his drunk ass home. Or at least homeward.

And then he takes out a garbage bin, and she reaches out and grabs a fistful of his suitcoat to keep him from veering any more than he already was and kind of yank him gently back on course before letting go. (With the option to grab back on for more drunken asshole wrangling.) “Yeah, it was. You showed that trashbin.”

Edited 2021-07-05 08:51 (UTC)

Oh, GROSS. She's grabbing his coat and she's leading him along and it's....

Okay actually it's not that gross.

In a different circumstance it would be kinda hot. Eh.

He rubs his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood and sand all over his face. "Listen, you're lucky my powers are gone or I would be showing YOU, princess." He plows ahead, staggering, occasionally glancing back to her like a wolf looking at a rabbit.

Zoey follows along behind him, using that fistful of his coat to guide him on. Leading him along as best she can. Oh gods it’s a kiddie leach for a drunken de-powered avatar of darkness. But if she doesn’t wrangle him he’s going to destroy every innocent trashbin on the way to wherever the fuck he lives. And maybe hurt himself, too.

The way he keeps looking at her isn’t reassuring, although it’s pretty much the way he’s looked at her since he started hunting her so it’s not anything new. A wolf looking at a rabbit. Why does she think that she’s not going to stop being his fucking prey any time soon?

She laughs, low in her throat at his boast. Oh he has no idea. “I might surprise you, Sunshine,” she murmurs in response, giving a tug at his jacket.

"Oh really?" He's slurring his words now, eyes bleary as he looks back at her. Lucky the Cabin isn't THAT far away. He's not even sort of walking straight.

"Why? What've ya got, huh? You don't even KNOW the HALFof what've go- fuck-"

He tries to pull his knife back out and drops it in the sand. In his attempt to bend down and get it, he falls over - and if Zoey doesn't let go quick enough, she's falling over with him.

Zoey is about to tell him that it’s a surprise, and he’ll find out in due time... except he fumbles his knife and then fumbles HIMSELF. Which would almost be hilarious except:

She doesn’t, in fact, let go quick enough, because APPARENTLY in her genius she decided to try and stop him from falling. But it’s sudden and she’s not at full capacity thanks to the knife happy drunk who tried to murder her. So over she goes. Tumbling right on top of him.

Oh FUCK that hurts. Her side protests the motion and impact against another person by exploding in pain, and she can’t help but bury her face in his jacket for a moment as she tries to remember how to breathe again.

On his way down, Scratch twists - he lands on his back, and Zoey tumbles down atop him, burying her face against him. He lays there for a moment, wrapping his hand around the handle of his knife, quietly bringing it up behind her to hover it over the back of her neck.

Then, before she catches her breath, he lowers it back down, saying nothing, chest heaving.

Damn it.

She doesn’t expect him to twist on his way down, doesn’t expect much of anything given how abrupt the whole fall was, and she’s too winded and in too much pain to be more than half aware that oh, she’s burying her face into his chest rather than his back or shoulder. Half aware of how she can feel him shift, how he reaches for his knife (it has to be, what else could he be reaching for), how he raises it, and if she hurt less, was less winded, she’d be more alarmed, she’d DO something to extricate herself.

Only to lower it again, without a word, chest heaving as she lay on top of him. Breathless, the pain starting to ease, she doesn’t do anything for a long moment. Even though she should probably get off of him. She’s confused. And not NEARLY drunk enough for this. Still breathing hard, she uses her good arm (the one not attached to the side that’s bleeding) to push herself up off of him a little. They’re still close, way too close. But it’s all she can do right now.

He could have just killed her. Why didn't he just kill her?

He doesn't know.

When she pulls herself up, he looks her in the eye, brows furrowed. "...What, want something?" His grin turns sleazy, and he doesn't push her off of him...but the expression still doesn't reach his eyes.

Maybe the sleaziness is an act after all.

Or maybe he's just drunk.

She’s not sure if the sleaziness is an act; she doesn’t think so. Not entirely. She's pretty sure he's just sleazy. But he is sure as shit drunk, though. So maybe it is a little bit of an act. You know what though? She thinks she’s not going to care right now. He hasn’t murdered her for some reason and she’s managed to keep him relatively in one piece on his way home. (And keep him from murdering some poor Haven resident. Or four.)

She's calling that a win. No matter how confused she is.

So Zoey just smirks at him, sharp and amused. “And what would you do if I did?” Turns it back around on him before rolling gracefully off of him and back onto her feet. (Ignoring the pain. She can patch herself up once she’s home.) And then she’s holding out her hand, offering him help up if he wants it. But she’s not going to be fucking bothered if he doesn’t.

There's a long moment of struggling where he tries to get his legs under him while getting the knife back in his pocket - it's messy, and he hits the dirt again more than once in the process. Begrudingly, he looks up at her hand...and then, sighing, he takes it, letting her help him up.

Without the darkness, his touch is warm. That's a bit striking. At least, it's striking until he yanks her hand, aiming to pull her forward and against him. His grin is lopsided and twitching.

"...What do you THINK I'd do?"

Watching him, Zoey thinks it was a really good idea that she accompanied him home. For reasons beyond the murder thing. He never would have made it. She waits, patiently, unhurriedly, for him to decide to take her hand. Accept her help.

Oh. That’s striking. His touch feels different. Warm. It makes sense, given that he doesn’t have the darkness shrouding him. But still. It’s odd.

There’s a brief second when she realises that oh she might have miscalculated JUST A LITTLE as, instead of letting go he yanks her hand and pulls her forward. Pulls her against him. As close as they’d been before? This is so much moreso. It feels more... she doesn’t know. Intimate, maybe. Purposeful. Because the last times were accidental. This time, well. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Oh yeah, definitely might have miscalculated just as little. But that has never stopped her. Never let it be said that she’s not the sort to recklessly, willfully keep going. Even when she probably shouldn’t. (Like now.)

Head tilted and another sharp, teasing smirk on her lips, she rises up on tiptoe. Probably a mistake, given how close they are and how it brings their faces closer. “Oh, I think you’d get yourself into trouble.”

If you can describe Mister Scratch as anything with consistency, it's that he is erratic. One moment he's laughing, smiling, the next he's got a knife. This isn't new, no...but being stuck human with a lot of alcohol put away isn't helping his impulse any.

She gets on her tiptoes and tries to get cute. Quirking a brow, he chuckles a little. "Oh, would I?" He lets go of her wrist. His hands slip to her shoulders, running fingertips oh-so-lightly down her upper arms. "Maybe I like trouble."

The would-be spectre is close, so close to Zoey, breath hot and smelling of whiskey.

And then his hand slides further down, to press his fingernails into the cut he made.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject