Mister S̶c̸r̸a̷t̶c̸h̷ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tolduimapsycho) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fluxscape2021-06-27 09:16 pm
tolduimapsycho) wrote in fluxscape2021-06-27 09:16 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
“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.