Katurian Katurian (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goryteller) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2011-12-07 12:12 am
goryteller) wrote in capeandcowllogs2011-12-07 12:12 am
deals in commodities of the abstract sort
WHO: Katurian Katurian and Edward Nygma
WHERE: Downtown. On a skyscraper...
WHEN: Sunday night.
WARNINGS: Aftermath of Edward's fight with Norman.
SUMMARY: Edward calls for Katurian's help. Boundaries are crossed.
FORMAT: Paragraph.
Katurian receives a notice that Edward is dying.
It arrives on his communicator with an innocuous beep. He lifts the device out of his pocket just enough to read the screen, and then he blanches, then he gasps, because oh no oh no.
"Hyperbole," he says to himself, hopping on one leg as he slips on his socks, then his shoes. He grabs his messenger bag. "H-He's obviously going for hyperbole."
The train ride to the provided coordinates is remarkably empty. Katurian is thankful that he doesn't need to swallow cigarette smoke or loud conversations or prying looks on his way to this unknown mission. He remembers all those times he willingly took these late-night train rides to the dead and the dying. Hospice. If he does well enough on his parole, he tells himself, maybe he can go back to the hos--
Not now. He shakes his head once, a furious motion. Not now.
The stop the train takes him to is only filled with skyscrapers. The coordinates Edward gave him sit in the middle of one of those skyscrapers.
He assumes there's been a mistake until he looks up.
He doesn't spend much time formulating a plan. He runs around the building, tugging on doorways and doorways and doorways until one just clicks open, magically, like in the movies and then-- and then an alarm goes off and Katurian is explaining himself to the guard on duty that he would really like to see the roof, that he is a writer, that the City is just so pretty at night that he couldn't bear to stay down here on the ground, he wants to be among the stars, the lights--
And just before he's arrested for trespassing, he folds himself into this man's past, this man who was once a bright eyed little boy, and he gives the man a stuffed lion he carries in his bag at all times, and he tells this man to remember this lion because one day these things will matter. In the past, Katurian wears a mask made from a pillowcase.
In the present, the guard sees the lion in this unfamiliar man's arms and lets him through.
Everything is stuffed back in his bag by the time he takes the elevator all the way up to the last floor, all the way up to the roof. He's panting. Energized.
WHERE: Downtown. On a skyscraper...
WHEN: Sunday night.
WARNINGS: Aftermath of Edward's fight with Norman.
SUMMARY: Edward calls for Katurian's help. Boundaries are crossed.
FORMAT: Paragraph.
Katurian receives a notice that Edward is dying.
It arrives on his communicator with an innocuous beep. He lifts the device out of his pocket just enough to read the screen, and then he blanches, then he gasps, because oh no oh no.
"Hyperbole," he says to himself, hopping on one leg as he slips on his socks, then his shoes. He grabs his messenger bag. "H-He's obviously going for hyperbole."
The train ride to the provided coordinates is remarkably empty. Katurian is thankful that he doesn't need to swallow cigarette smoke or loud conversations or prying looks on his way to this unknown mission. He remembers all those times he willingly took these late-night train rides to the dead and the dying. Hospice. If he does well enough on his parole, he tells himself, maybe he can go back to the hos--
Not now. He shakes his head once, a furious motion. Not now.
The stop the train takes him to is only filled with skyscrapers. The coordinates Edward gave him sit in the middle of one of those skyscrapers.
He assumes there's been a mistake until he looks up.
He doesn't spend much time formulating a plan. He runs around the building, tugging on doorways and doorways and doorways until one just clicks open, magically, like in the movies and then-- and then an alarm goes off and Katurian is explaining himself to the guard on duty that he would really like to see the roof, that he is a writer, that the City is just so pretty at night that he couldn't bear to stay down here on the ground, he wants to be among the stars, the lights--
And just before he's arrested for trespassing, he folds himself into this man's past, this man who was once a bright eyed little boy, and he gives the man a stuffed lion he carries in his bag at all times, and he tells this man to remember this lion because one day these things will matter. In the past, Katurian wears a mask made from a pillowcase.
In the present, the guard sees the lion in this unfamiliar man's arms and lets him through.
Everything is stuffed back in his bag by the time he takes the elevator all the way up to the last floor, all the way up to the roof. He's panting. Energized.
no subject
He was on his back, onto a skyscraper. Right where the Green Goblin had left him. Movement caught the corner of his eye.
Katurian came. Pale and yet vibrant. Eddie swallowed, hard, trying to ignore the agony of three broken ribs -- one perilously close to piercing a lung. Katurian came.
"Oh God, why?"
Broken ankle, broken ribs. Norman had left him here, but not to die. It was the humiliation that urged some release.
no subject
This memory tore and twisted his heart into an hourglass and then pounded it down into an egg. Katurian shuddered at how his chest lept and struggled, his hands redoubling their grip on his bag.
He didn't say a word.
He approached the other man in too-long strides, not quite able to run but afraid to hesitate. He didn't know if it looked like dying, but it didn't look very good either. He took in his body without saying anything, seeking out injuries. His lips trembling.
no subject
"Damn," he said. A glance at his communicator, waiting on word from Eridan or Felicia. Katurian had arrived quickly, admittedly, perhaps they hadn't seen it. No word, only silence.
"So you're here," he said with a cough. A gurgle of blood. His shirt was ripped, his tie askew.
no subject
He couldn't pretend not to hear the disappointment. He eased the bag from his shoulders and kneeled down next to him. Save for the slight tremor in his hands, he was the picture of calm, his movements smooth and careful and quiet. Katurian, with all his fear and distress and panic, took relish in saving other people now and again.
From his bag, he removed a first aid kit.
"Don't get up," he said helpfully. The antiseptic wipes came out first. "Do you have any reason to suspect you've hurt your neck?"
no subject
Eddie watched Katurian pull the first air kit, his eyes curious and equally cautious. He grimaced at the wipes, anticipating unpleasant stinging.
"Start with the face," he rasped. It wasn't easy, maintaining one's approximation of speech with a broken nose. "My ankle is shot, as well."
no subject
He undid the wrapper and began to clean Edward's face. His nose. Any other stray cuts. He didn't give him a warning for the stinging, the pain, but his movement stayed gentle and precise and confident. Under any other circumstance, his eyes would be averted, but there were certain things that required his attention. The first aid, for one.
Edward's body language for another.
"How were you flying?" he asked.
no subject
"I have broken -- or fractured -- ribs. At least two, I can't really -- there might be a third," he said. "I don't know. I need you to open the shirt and check for bruising. The fourth and fifth on my left, definitely." He swallowed. "I'm worried for my lungs."
Eddie watched Katurian, watching him. He managed a half smile, broken in the center of his mouth.
no subject
He brought his hand to Edward's shirt, then stopped.
Distrust and curiosity. Hatred and admiration. Ent--
Dis--
"You can't keep doing this." He drew his hand back. The words sounded distant to his ears. "You can't keep playing games with Osborn."
no subject
"Oh, can't I?" Flecks of blood speckled his chin. "Can't I? It's not really up for negotiation, Katurian, I -- " Eddie coughed, turning over. Careful to ease any pressure on his side. "I daresay this isn't the time to quibble over my personal affairs."
He reached out a hand, expecting Katurian to take it. So undeniably sure in his decision.
"Get me off this roof."
no subject
"No."
It surprised him to say it. It was violent even to him, that single syllable, that exhale of air. But he knew that he needed to do this because he knew that it was right, that in his silence, Katurian had been compliant in keeping a madman from facing the consequences of his actions. He had been compliant in putting other people in danger.
All because of this man. Because of Edward.
"Not until you agree that we're going to turn him in, Edward." His voice rose in pitch. "Not until you make that agreement."
no subject
"Norman is my nemesis, I'm not turning him in to those incompetents!" Eddie screamed, his voice going hoarse between strain and stress. "You will not leave me here, to suffer! You will not abandon me!"
no subject
He grabbed the bag and stood up abruptly. He didn't bother to close it all the way, and so the inner contents shifted and clattered and threatened to spill out. The lion. The mask. He fumbled for the zipper, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline.
"I'll call an ambulance when I get down to the first floor. You're going to have fucking tell them what's going on."
no subject
Eddie sought his eyes, in the darkness, sought to captivate and hold him there. He looked over the mask, the lion in tow. Past anything material between them. He made visual contact and knew, in that moment, that he had no other choice. He really had no other choice, his thoughts echoed.
He delved into the Threshold, eyes closed, intent sharp. He found Katurian, that wavering figure, and pushed. Eddie grasped whatever feeling Katurian felt about him and resurfaced with it. He had wanted Katurian to desire to obey him. He had wanted Katurian to need to help him. He wanted something more subtly defined.
"Stay here, with me," gasped Eddie. "Stay with me."
no subject
Katurian's fingers froze. He dropped the bag.
And then he was leaning over Edward in seconds, his fingers gripping at his lapels, his hands trembling. His breath was hard and uneven.
"Stop," he said, and his voice caught in the back of his throat. A whisper. A rasp. "Goddamn you, stop."
And without even thinking, he released a hand and ran it through Edward's hair.
no subject
Katurian had run his hand through Eddie's hair. The panic that inspired was unmatched to any prior pain.
"What are you doing?"
no subject
His other hand left Edward's hair to settle on his cheek. It was a familiar motion. It was--
(Then he turned to Eddie, lazily, and rested a hand on the other man's cheek. A mimicry. A mockery. Almost.)
--something from the past and the future all at once.
no subject
He had pulled at the wrong thing, he realized. He had invoked the wrong feeling.
"Katurian, no." Eddie hissed out, pausing for a pained swallow. "Don't hurt me. Don't -- do this. Just do as I say, just help me."