Closed - Everybody wants to get evil tonight

[tolduimapsycho]

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.

Comments

[pythianwoman]

She might have to give him something to think about for real, after this. Probably not the smartest idea she’s had, but she’s lost some blood now and it seems like a fun way to needle him. She just has to find somewhere that sells leashes.

Joy. Something to look forward to. Him trying to kill her when he has his powers back. Oh yeah, she is DEFINITELY strengthening the wards on her home after this. She wants to make sure she can keep him OUT. For as long as possible, anyway. She lets him lead her further on, towards wherever the hell it is he lives.

“Oh good. You remember where you live. I was beginning to wonder.” It’s spoken drily, a little sarcastic, a little deadpan, a little teasing. Cauldron Lake Street. Well that... sure is a street name. And she’s got a bad feeling that has nothing to do with the almost murder or the lack of powers. (Well maybe a little to do with the almost murder.) And everything to do with familiarity. She knows this area of Haven. All too well.

She lives near here.

FUCK.

Suddenly, her walking him home is a very good thing. She knows where he lives, now. Knows how close he is to her. Knows to be careful.

[tolduimapsycho]

"Yeah, well, having someone else's memories jammed into your head has a way of being sobering," he retorts without thinking. Then after a beat, the irony hits him and he heaves a heavy sigh, something more tired than anything. "Guess you know that, huh?"

Fortunately for her, he's oblivious to her realization, being without powers and having his back turned. They turn down a street with the name he had indicated - and there in the distance, a dark, imposing cabin is slowly coming into view.

Scratch is kind of...quiet.

[pythianwoman]

That’s maybe the most... surprising thing of all out of this whole evening, she thinks. He doesn’t know, of course. Doesn’t know that she has lived with experiencing that since she was almost seven years old. Not that it ever gets any easier. But it is a... familiar experience, at least. “Yeah,” she murmurs softly. Tiredly. “I do.”

When they finally turn onto Cauldron Lake Road and she sees a dark, imposing cabin sloooooowly coming into view... she’s not entirely surprised. She’s not sure where she pictured him living but a spooky cabin sure as hell was possible. But so was a streamlined flat with all the windows covered over with blackout curtains.

He’s quiet, though. That’s odd. Then again he’s not used to being human. Or drunk. So maybe it’s just that. Maybe.

It is... supremely eerie, the closer they get to it, and it reminds her of how he felt to her when they first met. But she doesn’t let go of his coat. She’s in this to the end. Once he’s safely ensconced in his home THEN she can leave.

And she’s probably going to regret it, going to regret even the slightest show of concern, but she does anyway. “You all right?” Not that she expects an answer.

[tolduimapsycho]

The closer they get, the nicer the Cabin actually looks from the outside. It would be cozy, if it weren't for the windows looming in solid black. There's seating on the porch, a cellar door, beautiful wood work. If it belonged to anyone else, it would maybe even be inviting.

When she asks after his well being, however, he stops walking. He doesn't look back, he just stands still a moment, thinking.

"...Why? Do you care?" It's not teasing. The words are flat.

[pythianwoman]

The architecture is nice. Still creepy, but it’s a nice building. But she’s still not planning on visiting regularly. Absolutely not. (That very well might end up being completely false, once she learns that Alan and his wife have moved in.)

She ought to know better. She really ought to know better. She has no doubt he’ll use it against her, later. A perceived ‘weakness’. But Zoey answers honestly all the same. Her hand loosens on his coat, instead resting pressed against his back. “Yeah. I do.” It’s the honest fucking truth. And she doubts that he’ll believe her. But the words are absolutely meant. As was her question.

[tolduimapsycho]

When she presses her hand to his back, she can feel his muscles tense under the suit - a far cry from the languid, leisurely stroll he had been cultivating. He still doesn't look back, his voice Alan's but not, but even more not than usual.

"...'m tired. Not used to that. Sucks."

He casts a sidelong glance over his shoulder.

"So no. Not okay. Maybe will be later."

[pythianwoman]

Somewhere Dorian is wanting to beat his head against a wall and doesn’t know why she thinks to herself. He would be BEYOND frustrated with her and her apparent inability to understand the meaning of the words self-preservation. Here she is, her hand pressed to the back of the man who had tried very hard to kill her, asking after his well-being. And who would be trying very hard to kill her in the future, no doubt.

He is tense under her hand, proving just how much his languid, leisurely stroll had been an act. Much like a lot of him, she thinks. Her hand stays there, on his back.

But he’s not used to being human. There, she has the advantage on him. There... she can help. If he’ll let her. “You’re going to want to eat something. And drink something. That’s not alcoholic. Water would be best, or Gatorade. Trust me. You’ll be in a world of pain tomorrow if you don’t.” A pause “And I know it sucks... but let yourself sleep. That will help, too. Won’t make anything more okay. But it’ll help.”

[tolduimapsycho]

Huh. He was expecting more mushy shit, honestly. The advice on literally being a human is a surprise, and he turns on his heel, expression confused, but...listening. Calm, for the moment.

"...Huh. Okay." A long moment of quiet. A nod, maybe the closest to a thank-you he can muster.

Then he turns back around, continuing to approach the swiftly-nearing Cabin.

[pythianwoman]

He turns on his heel and she half expects another stabbing attempt. But he doesn’t. He just… looks at her, expression confused. But listening. And calm. (whether or not that will last… well, she’ll take it for however long it does.) The quiet lingers after his words, and she just… nods back.

And then she falls into step with him, keeping pace as they approach his cabin.

[tolduimapsycho]

For a couple more minutes, he's silent - now that she's keeping his pace, she can see that his expression is...unsettlingly hollow. Maybe he's trying not to feel anything right now. Maybe he's failing at that.

Turning into the path up to the cabin, he draws a breath in, forcing the grin back on and twirling around, throwing up his arms.

"Here we are! Home away from Alan's home. It ain't much, but it's dark."

[pythianwoman]

She watches him thoughtfully, unable to miss how unsettlingly hollow his expression is. Given… everything, though, she thinks she can see how hard he’s trying to not feel anything. She’s not sure how much success he’s having, though. It’s… yeah.

It’s easy to see, now, the act and façade that he wears, especially as she watches him literally put it back on in front of her, forcing the grin back and twirling around and throwing up his arms. “It’s cozy,” she replies. Because it is. It’s also just creepy as HELL. “Let me guess. You nailed the curtains shut?” She doesn’t even need her gift to figure that out. He likes it dark. No way in hell is he going to risk sunlight peeking in. Not even a little.

[tolduimapsycho]

"Well, yeah. Of course I fucking did. We're in the desert with two fucking suns."

He snorts, trotting backwards towards the door. It's a good thing he's sobered a little bit, huh? But he doesn't fully disengage from Zoey, still keeping just close enough to be able to reverse course and be a threat.

"You got your attempted murderer home safe. You happy, Princess?"

[pythianwoman]

Two suns too many for a creature made of shadows and darkness the way he is. Still, it amuses the fuck out of her. And sort of makes her want to sneak in with a hammer and loosen a few nails. Keep him on his toes a little.

He trots backwards towards the door. Still close enough to be able to be a threat if the fancy strikes him. Of course. She doesn’t disengage either, though, following him up towards the door. Call it... making certain. And maybe she won’t turn down the chance to needle him a little more before she leaves.

“Oh, I’m thrilled,” she retorts with a smirk. Which, she’d done what she set out to do, get his ass home safely without dying for it and keeping anyone ELSE dying for it. So yeah, she actually is.

[tolduimapsycho]

"Well, great."

He stops on the porch, leaning on the front door in a languid fashion. Grin still wicked, he drums his fingers against the wood, watching his current companion with his usual predator-level intent.

"So. Guess this is it, huh? Unless you, uh...wanna come in."

He waggles his eyebrows, which is awful with blood still smeared all over his face and hands.

[pythianwoman]

He’s still watching her predatorily, and she’s watching him in return, the picture of insouciance. It’d be hard to miss the intent of his words, his... invitation, between the waggle of his eyebrow and the wickedness of his grin. She’d have to be thoroughly oblivious to miss it.

She smirks at him, closing the distance between them with a graceful saunter, taking each step up to the porch slowly and deliberately. And then just as deliberately stepping right into Scratch. Close enough for him to catch the now-familiar scent of her; something dark, and sultry, with a touch of petrichor, as well as something else that’s harder to put a finger on. A spark.

She rises up on tiptoe once more, until they’re almost close enough to kiss... “You wish,” she murmurs, breath warm against his lips. And then she’s turning to leave.

[tolduimapsycho]

He doesn't flinch when she pulls close, doesn't back up, barely reacts - but she does smell nice, he's gotta admit. Especially with a lil' blood on her.

But then she's backing up and pulling away, and Scratch just laughs, drunkenly leering after her as he reaches back to unlock his door.

"You were thinking about a good night kiss, weren't ya, Princess?"

But then, maybe so was he.

[pythianwoman]

He can’t see her roll her eyes but maybe he can feel it. “Goodnight, Sunshine,” Zoey calls over her shoulder. “Be seeing you.” And she gives him a jaunty little wave as she walks off into the night.

It's not like she hasn't realised that Alan (and by extension Scratch for obvious reasons) are handsome motherfuckers. They are. Incredibly so. But she hasn't really thought about... kissing him. (Not much, anyway. There might have been something when both Alan and she were teenagers again for a brief second back in Arkham. But, you know. Teenagers. They were basically MADE of hormones. It couldn’t be helped) Them. GOD this whole doppelganger thing is fucking complicated.

But here's Scratch, making the drunken, joking, leering comment... putting the thought into her head and making her THINK ABOUT IT. So if she hadn’t been thinking about a goodnight kiss BEFORE she miiiiight maybe be thinking about it NOW.

Goddamn it, Scratch.

She supposes it’s something better to think about than how... unnecessarily close his super creepy fucking cabin is to her own place of residence. Because that is... WAY closer than she really would like the evil doppelganger who wants to STAB her to be.

No. No it really isn’t. Not better at all. Just a different brand of... worrying.

Goddamn it.

She’s SO not drunk enough for this.

[tolduimapsycho]

Scratch watches Zoey depart, only chuckling at the wave and staring until she goes out of sight. No doubt to go home and deal with that blood loss.

Once she's gone, his smile falls, and he just...stares out the door for a little while longer. This hasn't gone to plan at all. He wanted to make a point, and he didn't get to. But what DID he do?

Seems like he got into her head somehow, at least.

He shuts the door, leaning on it for a moment before stalking off to go find some beer in his fridge. He uncaps it, thinking for a moment about her advice, then shrugs and chugs it all down in one go.

Maybe she got into his head a little bit too.

[pythianwoman]

Zoey makes a point to depart in a very different direction than she actually needs to go; she can take the long way ‘round if it means Scratch doesn’t figure out she lives nearby. And it’s only once she’s long out of sight of him that she allows herself to let the façade down even a little, letting out a choked cry of pain and curling an arm around her midsection, hand pressed hard to her bleeding side.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. Yeah, she’s a little woozy right now. Time to get home.

It feels like the longest walk, to do so, though, and she fumbles with her keys for a too-long moment before she gets the door unlocked and gets inside. Locking it up behind her is easier, and she shoves a chair in front of it for good measure. Then she’s wearily making her way to the nearest bathroom.

Stripping off her waistcoat hurts like a sonofabitch, and she’s pale and shaking by the time she’s gotten it off and gets a good look at where Scratch cut her. It’s... not great, and honestly she could probably use stitches to really make sure it stays closed until it heals, but she has butterfly bandages and regular bandages and gauze so that’s just going to have to do. First though... comes the really painful part. Disinfecting it; she lets out a choked scream and folds in on herself, panting at the agony. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

It takes her a long moment before she’s able to finish up.

Once that’s done, she pads barefoot into the kitchen, pulling open her fridge and grabbing a bottle of wine. Then she’s uncorking it with her teeth and drinking right from the fucking bottle. A bad idea, probably, with the blood loss. But after the stabbing and the game of cat and mouse and the fucking... THOUGHTS, yeah, she’s having some wine.