fluxscape | [CLOSED] I can feel your eyes in the back of my head

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[CLOSED] I can feel your eyes in the back of my head

Who: Zoey Westen (

pythianwoman), and Mr. Scratch (

tolduimapsycho)
What: A second encounter. And this time they're at full-power. No more surprises.
When: Late July, evening.
Where: Pour Judgement
Warning(s): Mr. Scratch iiiiiiis Mr. Scratch.
Notes:

Zoey's in better shape, now that it's been almost a month. She's no longer favouring her side, although it still pains her. It's healed enough that she doesn't have to worry so much. Until the NEXT time, of course. But she's healing, and settled in fully to Haven. Until it changes, anyway, since that's what it does, from what she hears. She's curious to see what the next iteration will look like. What it will be called. What perils that will meet them.

It reminds her a little of her time with the Nysgods. How they'd ended up going from one spot in their realm to the next. Without the actual travel part. New world comes to them.

There's less fake pretext of multiversal Bachelorette, though, which she appreciates.

The heat in Haven is sweltering, but at least there's a moment's reprieve from the oppressiveness at night. Her usual work 'uniform' now consists of a tank top, jeans and boots, and her hair's usually up in some sort of fancy braided 'do to keep it out of her face and off her neck. She could just CHANGE it to something shorter, temporarily, because she can do that now thanks to the Fae, but she doesn't usually think about it. She's only ever had the ONE power, and now that she's got… more, well, she still doesn't automatically go to some of them. Even if they all come as easy as breathing for her, anymore.

It's another shift at Pour Judgement, and she's at home behind the bar, moving with liquid grace in a dark green tank top and jeans that fit her like a glove. She's quite fond of her job, and her co-workers. Pour Judgement is comfortable, in a way she likes.

And with the return of her powers earlier in the month she's no longer caught unawares when a certain knife-happy avatar of darkness-slash-evil doppelganger decides to come around for a drink. The familiar creeping sensation of darkness and shadows rolls over her, and she searches the bar for him without faltering in her graceful movements behind the bar.

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Sometimes (or most of the time) Mister Scratch just chooses to cause problems on purpose. It's in his nature, when it comes down to it - he's meant to complicate, to make things worse, to bring out the worst in people by being the worst of Alan Wake.

When his powers returned, it helped him feel more like himself again. Being able to party hard again, not having to sleep or eat right, and just...feeling CONNECTED to the Dark Presence once more was a balm for the gashes that awful period of Independence had left. But he couldn't forget or let go what had happened during that period. It wounded his pride, the whole thing. (And nothing else. Seriously.)

Now that he's Back, Baby, he's feeling gutsy and kicky. He let Zoey recover somewhat, but that time is over.

So now, when she turns to look for him, she finds him sitting brazenly where he is visible from the bar, smirking at her as he waits to order a drink.

Zoey just stares at him, deadpan. Unsurprised and unfazed at his presence. At the fact that he’s there. Because of course he is. He has his powers back and is no doubt feeling back to his old self. She’s honestly surprised he hasn’t shown up sooner. She’d been pretty sure he’d be gunning for her, hard, after their last... encounter.

Then again he likes to toy with people. So she has no doubt that this isn’t the end of it.

The desire to punch him in his smug smirky face is INTENSE, and she’s pretty sure that Jess wouldn’t even hold it against her if she did, either, but she resists. She can wait until she’s off the clock for that.

She leans on the bar, giving him a smirk that’s sharp at the edges, ice blue eyes challenging and unafraid. “Hey there, Sunshine.”

Ooh, feisty. Of course she is, after the weirdness of their last encounter. There was so much baggage wound up with that whole mess, all those stupid, gross emotions...by the end of the night, it made him seem pretty toothless, and he knew it.

So now he's gotta reclaim that ground. Remind her he's a threat again.

And for now, he's doing that just by making it clear he's not going to hide away. He leans on the bar as well, getting a little closer and leering with his crooked grin. "Hey, Princess. Fancy meeting you here."

Oh Scratch. If he only knew that Zoey would react exactly the same way even if he’d been at full-power during their little... alleyway encounter. Maybe moreso. She’s never had problems trying to hit outside her weight class, as far as powers go. And strength. And even less problems mouthing off.

(She tries not to think about how fucking complicated that encounter in the alleyway was. Or, you know. Other stuff.)

She doesn’t back away as he leans on the bar, getting a little closer and leering with a crooked grin. She doesn’t give an inch. If anything she leans a little closer herself, that sharp smirk still on her lips. “Yeah. Fancy that.” It’s not like he knows she works here or anything. It was just a crazy random happenstance.

Edited 2021-08-03 13:19 (UTC)

Deep down, maybe he does know that. Maybe he likes the challenge.

Still wants to redeem himself though.

"Yeah. Weird." His grin broadens even further, shark-like. Waiting for blood in the water. "So...can I order a drink? Something gooooood and strong, huh?" Some Shadows crawl around his fingers and across a shaded bit of counter, flicking a couple of bar-room peanuts onto the floor.

Starting with annoyance.

And Zoey Irulan Westen is nothing if not a challenge.

She watches as the peanuts get flicked onto the floor by his Shadows before looking at him and arching an eyebrow. Neat parlour trick. Wait until you see hers. “Did you have something in mind?” she asks, that razor sharp smirk still lingering on her lips. “Or did you want me to surprise you.”

Scratch is counting on that, Princess.

“Well, nah,” he chuckles, not breaking their stare-down. “Something that’ll keep me up for writing tonight, you know. Something gooood and strong. Any ideas?”

He takes another peanut, this time with his fingers, and shells it by crushing it in his hand. Dumping the shells back into the bowl (the most annoying thing to do with a communal peanut bowl), he pops the nut into his mouth, crunching loudly.

Trying to be irritating.

Careful there, Sunshine, you might have your hands full.

“Oh, I have a few ideas.” And that’s the truth. The moment he said he wanted something good and strong she was already going over a list of drinks and cocktails in her head. She might not LIKE the man but she’s damn good at her job. And she’ll do it. Despite him. (Or perhaps to spite him.)

He doesn’t have to TRY to be irritating. It comes naturally. And she’s not going to give him the satisfaction of reacting. (For as long as she can, anyway.) Instead all she does is refill the peanut bowl. Burying the shells he dumped back into the bowl under fresh peanuts. With the most benign, unbothered expression on her face.

>=)

"Well, good. Whatever strong shit you're making, make it a double, huh? I can take it." That Cheshire grin doesn't budge as he watches her refill the bowl, patiently waiting for her to start making his drink.

Sure, the irritation is only natural...but right now he's trying to up the ante, and it's evident that he plans to do it in quiet ways that aren't going to get him immediately thrown out.

But there's also probably a knife on his person. Or two. Or three.

And even if there isn't, the ice pick behind the counter is right there.

Zoey meets that Cheshire cat grin with still another smirk, stealing a peanut from the bowl she’d just filled and shelling it the same grace she does most things. Popping the nut in her mouth she tosses the shell in the trash. Because she’s not a HEATHEN. Or not a heathen about that, anyway. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” she retorts. At least she won’t have to escort his drunken ass home again.

At least he’s upping the ante in quiet ways. Keeping it between them. Although getting to throw him out (or better yet watch JESS throw him out) would be a delightful thing.

Oh, she has taken to assuming that he has a minimum of three knives on his person at all times. And given their alleyway encounter she expects him to use them at some point. So really it’s just a matter of time, probably.

Brushing the peanut dust off her hands, she turns to start mixing his drink. She’s thinking an Aunt Roberta. It should be strong enough for him. There are a variety of ways she could make it for him, but she leans more on the absinthe and blackberry liqueur than the gin, vodka and brandy. He wanted it strong, after all. And a double. So he’s getting it.

Rimming the edge of the glass with sugar and garnishing it with a few blackberries, she plops an umbrella in it too just because she can. Then she’s sliding it across the counter to him.

While she's making the drink, Scratch watches, continuing to eat peanuts. Making absolutely sure to stir the spent shells back up on top of the fresh nuts every time he selects one. Because he IS a heathen, thank you very much.

Some of the shells even go on the floor.

He takes the drink with a shit-eating grin, eyebrow lifted. "Pretty. Healthy measures, too. Not bad, Princess."

They can agree on that, certainly. The temptation to flick those peanuts he tossed on the floor at the back of his head with telekinesis is IMMENSELY TEMPTING. After all, she’s turned away it couldn’t possibly be her. But she doesn’t. For now.

It’s a near thing, though.

She watches him try the drink, with that shit-eating grin of his. “Glad you like it, Sunshine. Let me know if you want a second when you’re done with that one. Or if you want something else.” Because she doubts he’s going to leave after the one drink. Oh no. He’s liable to stay. For her entiiiiire fucking shift. Because he’s an asshole. And he’s trying to make up for the night in the alley. The night he stabbed her and she walked his drunk ass home.

Just as she is tempted to fling peanut shells at him, he can't help but think how easy it would be to overturn the bottles on the bar-back with a rush of shadow, or grab that ice pick in the bin and....

But no. Slow and steady. This is a cold war for now.

"Sooooo. How are ya doing? All healed up?" Keeping it light, but there is menace there. Lots of it.

Another sip of his drink.

Almost as though she’s read his mind, or saw where his thoughts were going, she tips her gaze to the ice pick in the bin, and back to him again. As if to say she’s well aware it’s there, and she’s well aware what he might feel like doing with it. He doesn’t quite know what her powers are, at least the ones that are HERS and not the gifts from the Fae (although he doesn’t know about those yet either) and she has every intention of keeping him guessing.

She leans on the bar again, leaning into him. Unafraid. Shameless. Cheeky. Heedless of the menace in his question, although she is… keenly aware of it. No, she’s never been one to shy away from danger. “Good as new.” There’s a tilt to her head, to her lips, a spark in her ice blue eyes. Bring it, Sunshine.

Dark eyes follow her gaze - ah, so she knows, does she? Perceptive. Or...hm. Maybe he should feel her out a little more.

When she leans forward, he briefly smiles - then puts on his best Alan impression, voice suddenly flat, lips drawn into a twitching frown as he glances around the room as if paranoid. "Good, good. You know who is...dangerous, you know. Crazy."

He fixes Zoey with a haunted look...which melts into a chuckle and a grin.

He can certainly try. She’ll enjoy leading him on a merry chase. Metaphorically speaking. Until the next time he decides to try and hunt her, anyway. Then it’ll be a little less metaphorical.

Oh look, he’s trying to be Alan again. He’s really bad at it, too. (Other people would probably be fooled by it, but she’s not.) She just arches an eyebrow at him. “You really should stick with being yourself. Your Alan impression could use some work.”

A lot less metaphorical.

He raises a brow in a mock-indignant gesture, taking another big swig from his drink. "Hey now. I am being myself. Not my fault if that self is a real fucking drag."

As long as he's in public, as long as other people are around, he's gonna keep it up. An act. Usually a better one at that, but he knows Zoey knows, anyway.

“Alan’s not a drag.” She reaches out and taps him with a fingertip, right in the forehead. “And you’re not Alan.” It’s not going to stop Scratch from pretending but she’s not going to play that game. “Maybe you should figure out who YOU are and start being that instead of pretending to be someone you’re not.”

Is she treating him like a people? Yeah. Because he IS a people. An annoying, feral, knife-happy people, but a people all the same.

Now that his powers are back, his skin is cold to the touch. It's unsettling.

"Listen, I know myself well enough to admit it."

He won't drop the act - even as much as she insists, INSISTS that he's his own person, he's just gonna keep railing against it and privately seething about it. He's got one job, and dammit, he's gonna do that job.

He can rail and seethe all he likes. She’ll be treating him the same. She leans on the bar, resting her chin on her hand and looking at him with piercing ice blue eyes. “Except you don’t know yourself at all. You don’t even know Alan. Sure, you know what that asshole in the divesuit shoved into your head, but that’s different than the lived experience of being him. Which isn’t your fault.”

Particularly when he was forced into being human in the first place. A state of being so far outside what he was used to she wonders how he’d managed to deal with it in the beginning. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t WANTED it, and Zoey has… a lot of feelings about that. (She hadn’t asked to know what she’d experienced in Scratch’s memory, but she knows it now. And she can’t UN-know it. Or un-see it.)

She’s… well aware that she might be earning a stabbing with her words but she’s not shying away from it. Or him. She’s not afraid of him. For all that he maybe wishes she was.

"Kid. Give it a rest. You're delusional."

She's being infuriating and encouraging in equal measure, and that's probably pissing him off more than anything else. He rolls his eyes in a show of exasperation, drinking a good half his drink in one go.

She's got insight on him. That, he is realizing, sucks. It changes the dynamics.

Zoey is still, however, stabbable. That's something.

She grins at him, all cheek and sass and impertinence. “Never. And you know I’m not, Sunshine.” And that’s what matters.

The eye-roll just makes her grin a little wider, and hey look. Dimples. Watching him drink half his drink in one go, and yeah, no wonder she had to pour his ass back onto his porch. If this is how he drinks normally, with his buffer of darkness. He’s lucky his liver didn’t give up the fucking ghost.

Thems the perils of crossing a Seer, Scratch. Not that he knows what she is just yet. And she plans on keeping that up for as long as possible. That, and making sure he doesn’t know where she lives. Bet it pisses him OFF that Alice and Alan come over to her place for dinner on the reg.

"You are. Not to mention fucking annoying."

She's right to think he was lucky that night - he was more than likely going to die if he had continued on the way he was. It had been a really rough night and a rougher morning, but he was never going to tell her about that. Nope. He's mostly pretending it never happened.

Zoey is irritating him...and so he decides to lay the darkness on a little, trying a little harder to sense her, figure out what he can do in a crowded bar.

"Anyone ever tell you that?"

He says that’s like it’s an insult. Not when it’s coming from him. Her grin just turns cheekier. More impertinent “Nope. I’m not wrong at all.”

He doesn’t have to tell her, because she already knows. She’d known he was going to be in for a rough time. Which is why she’d left the basket of hangover goodies on his porch. He might be a feral pain in her ass but it was his first hangover. The poor bastard didn’t know what he was in for. So she’d tried to help.

Oh. That’s dirty fucking pool. She can feel the swell of darkness from him as he lays it on a little, tasting shadows on her tongue. She moves then, goes and pours herself a glass of something strong and fruity. A pointless attempt to wash the taste of his darkness from her tongue. She’ll be harder for him to sense than he might expect. Another mystery, a question he doesn’t have the answer to.

Glass in hand, she settles back against the bar where she was, in front of him. “You just don’t like it that I’ve got you pegged.” And seen him human and drunk and vulnerable. That too. (Not to mention the memory she’d been privy to.)

Okay. She's really getting on his nerves now. He only sneers in response to the assertion, a flippant, childish expression. The Darkness flows a bit thicker now, and in spite of her moving to drink, he can tell why. She's feeling it, in whatever way is hitting her first.

But the actual reading is a little more difficult. Shit is buried deep in her, even if he can start to feel it. It'll take work.

"I dunno, Princess, maybe I like getting pegged." A lewd joke, a deflection. He finishes the drink, sliding her the glass.

So CHILDISH, Scratch. Zoey takes a deep swallow of her drink, and as she suspected, it does almost nothing for the taste of darkness on her tongue and in her throat. She withstands it easily, though. She won’t be cowed by his attempt to get a read on her. She does, however, try her best to keep him out. He might get a read, but he’s going to have to work for it.

(She doesn’t quite realise that her powers are already doing that for her.)

Oh look at him, trying to deflect. She might even let him. It just tells her she’s right. Confirms it, anyway. She’d already known she was right about that. She leans in close again, that impish smirk back on her lips. It’s an echo of that night, on his porch. When she’d leaned so close they could almost kiss. “Leashes AND pegging. I’m learning so many interesting things about you, Sunshine.” Does this mean he’s going to end up with a sex toy waiting for him on his cellar door, now? She doesn’t know. If it amuses her, maybe.

"Oh really?"

The smile she gets back is wry, so wry. There is booze on his breath, and the heady scent of his cologne, and the mantle of darkness that clings to him, writhing and reaching out as she pulls close to him.

But those eyes? They're dark, and full of malice, not playfulness.

Well, maybe a little playfulness.

"I'm learning plenty of interesting things about you, too. As we speak."

Zoey’s not afraid of him. The malice in his dark eyes doesn’t faze her. Doesn’t scare her. It should, probably. But it doesn’t. She just… stays there, so close, and breathes in the scent of him; the booze on his breath and his cologne, and the darkness that clings to him. Unflinching. “Oh yes, really.” For as little as is going on here (apart from the occasional… bit of chaos), her life is certainly eventful.

“Sure you are.” It’s spoken easily, a little bit cheekily. Still there, so close to him. “Usually people use conversation to learn about someone else, Sunshine. Not delving into their psyche with the power of Darkness,” she retorts, unworried. “I know you’re still getting used to the whole being a people thing but you might give it a try sometime.”

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[CLOSED] I can feel your eyes in the back of my head

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