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capeandcowllogs2009-05-02 11:08 pm
returntoeven.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2009-05-02 11:08 pm
All pain disappears its the nature of my circuitry [complete]
WHO: Millions Knives (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
returntoeven) and Robin III (123youreit)
WHERE: Some safehouse somewhere.
WHEN: May 2nd, right after this.
WARNINGS: Uh...Knives being crazy?
SUMMARY: Thanks to Delirium busting open the door of her realm, Knives is on the verge of going completely insane so he asks Tim to contain him before he loses control. Naturally, Tim obliges.
FORMAT: AIM log
Knives: *He navigates the streets of the City quickly, purposely avoiding the areas he knows will be the most cluttered. There's so much human filth in this place that he can smell it. The stench is heavy in the air, so much so that he can almost feel it, the sensation making his fingers twitch, itch, and burn. He curls them as he walks, flexing the digits of his left hand unconsciously, unaware of just how close he is. Everything seems brighter somehow, clearer, as though there's been a veil over his eyes that is only now being lifted. He can feel it even now, the intangibility of enlightenment crawling over his skin, caressing, beckoning, and he wants to answer so much so things will finally make sense-
Knives stops himself, drawing a sharp breath as he takes a moment to lean against a wall and cover his eyes, his fingers pressing so hard against them it hurts. He can't - this isn't what he needs. His control is slipping, he can feel it, and it won't be long now until he can't contain it at all. The desire to kill, to rip them apart with his blades and watch as the pieces fall in bloody heaps - it's like a drug, an addiction, and now he's going through withdrawal.
Swallowing hard, Knives pushes himself away from the wall and continues on, faster this time, knowing that unless he is contained soon, the carcasses will mount, enough to blot out the very sun.
Tim: *He's waiting outside the safehouse, in civilian clothing so that he doesn't attract undue attention, to all appearances just another teenager loitering on the streets. But underneath the skillfully feigned ennui, he's bubbling with concern, the short but almost desperate messages from Knives leaving him intensely worried for his friend. He knows that it must have taken a lot for Knives to ask for containment, let alone to be drugged, and so he's preparing himself for the worst when it comes to seeing him in the flesh.*
Knives: *He managed to avoid human contact for the most part during his trek across town, knowing that direct exposure to them will only make his bloodlust even worse, but by the time he reaches the safehouse, it's just about consumed him, the madness that drove him to slaughter millions hovering over him like a shroud. He's a predator, smooth and deadly, and he carries himself like one. That's why, when he actually sees Tim, he almost doesn't, his brain refusing to connect the teenager with any identity beyond his status as a human. He even wants to kill him - at least until he blinks, a glimmer of the sanity he's only just barely clinging to returning to his face, the fingers of his right hand clenched around his left. He doesn't remember when it happened, only that it's been there - a reminder.* Robin, *he says finally, his voice tight, clipped, and very much oozing the feelings he's trying so very hard to suppress.*
Tim: *He can feel his skin crawling as Knives gets closer, that intensity that the Plant usually kept so well in check pouring out of him now and making every one of Tim's instincts scream to run away, get to safety, out of danger. But he stamps down on them - he has a job to do here. He nods tightly.* Knives. Let's get inside. *He turns and opens the door, leading the way inside - he's not keen to turn his back on Knives, not keen at all, but neither does he want to let the Plant as close as he'd have to in order to let him pass and go in first. The safe house is minimalist in its furnishings, the bare necessities present, and the door to the basement is open, a light shining up from below to make it obvious that that's where Tim wants them to go.*
Knives: *He doesn't answer, merely tightens in his jaw as Tim leads the way inside, icy blue eyes boring in the back of his skull. The urge to strike is strong, tempting...easy. He could snuff out his life in a moment and knows it - but that's not why he's here, he reminds himself. And he keeps telling himself that, trying to focus on what little sanity he has instead of the Siren's song ringing in his ears, the allure of technicolor brightness. They reach the bottom floor in silence, and it's only then that he remembers, withdrawing a blood sample from beneath his cloak.* Use it, *he says in the same tone as before, unable, unwilling, and not trusting himself to say more than that. The fact that he's offering it should be explanation enough.*
Tim: *He is surprised by the sight of the blood - but it makes sense. He needs to make sure that whatever drugs he uses to keep Knives calm won't have any adverse effects. He nods again and takes the vial of blood, carefully.* Thank you. I made up a room for you. *It's not... quite a cell, thanks to the very nice bed and chair and small stereo, but the door is thick and locks from the outside - or by remote.* ... Will... ordinary tranquilizers do until I can analyze this?
Knives: *The word 'tranquilizers' quite literally makes him twitch, and a shadow passes over his face at the very thought of it. He knows he chose this and why, but that doesn't mean he has to like it, the dark memories crowding him, pressing at the back of his thoughts and clamoring for attention, making this even more difficult than it is. He ignores them, though - or tries to - when he answers, short and curt.* Yes.
Tim: *Oh, he noticed that. But now is clearly a bad time to ask, with Knives apparently on a knife-edge of sanity. He takes a spray-hypo out of his pocket and holds out his hand, carefully calm and neutral.* Alright. Give me your arm, please. *Better than just jabbing him with it without warning, he reasons.*
Knives: *He eyes the drugs in Tim's hand for a moment, his mouth curling unpleasantly as though the very sight of them repulses him - and it does. The fact that he would need something like this is disgusting. He should be able to control this - no, himself. But he can't. There are external forces at work here, powers that he can't resist, and there's no other way. That's why he pushes up his sleeve and holds out his arm, his jaw tightening several notches as he tries to force down the nausea he can feel churning his stomach, the rare glimmer of fear in his eyes.*
Tim: *He really doesn't want to have to do this, and the way Knives is reacting only makes him more reluctant - but very little of that reluctance shows as he carefully administers the dose. It's enough to keep a full grown man calm and slightly drowsy, but not enough to knock anyone out. He puts the hypo away as soon as he's done, hoping that removing it from sight will make Knives feel a little better.* You'd better sit down.
Knives: *The moment the spray-hypo touches his skin, he has to suppress a shudder, his stomach clenching when the drugs enter his system. There really isn't any turning back now, and the thought makes him feel slightly sick. So no, seeing the hypo put away doesn't make him feel better in the least, not when he knows this same procedure is going to be repeated indefinitely until the situation with Delirium is resolved. He can't speak, mouth dry and throat tight, so he doesn't say a word, merely walks over to the chair and sinks into it, his head tilted back and eyes closed, not wanting Tim to see the reaction he knows will come when the drugs actually kick in. It doesn't take that long, his metabolism processing it faster than a human's would have, and sure enough, he can feel the lethargy settling in, binding his limbs with warm, seductive chains. He's still aware of the madness flowing around him, against him, stroking and beckoning, but there's a dichotomy now - a balance. His muscles are relaxing against his will, and though that honestly terrifies him, he is more afraid of losing control than this. So he lets it happen, resisting the urge to purge the drugs from his system as he forces himself to breathe, low, deep, and even.*
Tim: *He feels awkward already, like he should leave rather than seeing Knives like this. But at the same time, he doesn't want to leave him alone. God. Stupid city, stupid... whatever's happened to Delirium. And he can't investigate that, not when his friend needs him here to make sure he doesn't go out of control again. He'd like to think it was about saving the lives that would be lost if that happened, but he's not that idealistic. He knows it's about the control.* I'm going to have to go get the bloodwork started, but I'll be back. As often as I can. You won't have to deal with this alone.
Knives: *His eyes flicker open at that comment, and he lowers his head, staring at Tim for a moment with dulled awareness. He wishes he could be alone. For Tim - or anyone, really - to see him reduced to this is beyond embarassing. It's humiliating, and he wishes it wasn't necessary at all. It is, though, and sadly - pathetically, even - Tim is the only one he can trust to make sure he doesn't go out of control. Shatterstar can't help him, not when he's being affected by this madness as well, and Vash, the only other person he might trust to contain him, would have a conniption of he knew. So no, he isn't comforted by that statement, or at least not on any recognizable level. He still doesn't trust himself to answer either so once again he doesn't say a word, merely waves a hand dismissively before tilting his head back for a second time. He isn't going to doze - if anything, he plans on not sleeping at all - but he will try to let the drugs do what they're supposed to. It's all he can do.*
returntoeven) and Robin III (123youreit)WHERE: Some safehouse somewhere.
WHEN: May 2nd, right after this.
WARNINGS: Uh...Knives being crazy?
SUMMARY: Thanks to Delirium busting open the door of her realm, Knives is on the verge of going completely insane so he asks Tim to contain him before he loses control. Naturally, Tim obliges.
FORMAT: AIM log
Knives: *He navigates the streets of the City quickly, purposely avoiding the areas he knows will be the most cluttered. There's so much human filth in this place that he can smell it. The stench is heavy in the air, so much so that he can almost feel it, the sensation making his fingers twitch, itch, and burn. He curls them as he walks, flexing the digits of his left hand unconsciously, unaware of just how close he is. Everything seems brighter somehow, clearer, as though there's been a veil over his eyes that is only now being lifted. He can feel it even now, the intangibility of enlightenment crawling over his skin, caressing, beckoning, and he wants to answer so much so things will finally make sense-
Knives stops himself, drawing a sharp breath as he takes a moment to lean against a wall and cover his eyes, his fingers pressing so hard against them it hurts. He can't - this isn't what he needs. His control is slipping, he can feel it, and it won't be long now until he can't contain it at all. The desire to kill, to rip them apart with his blades and watch as the pieces fall in bloody heaps - it's like a drug, an addiction, and now he's going through withdrawal.
Swallowing hard, Knives pushes himself away from the wall and continues on, faster this time, knowing that unless he is contained soon, the carcasses will mount, enough to blot out the very sun.
Tim: *He's waiting outside the safehouse, in civilian clothing so that he doesn't attract undue attention, to all appearances just another teenager loitering on the streets. But underneath the skillfully feigned ennui, he's bubbling with concern, the short but almost desperate messages from Knives leaving him intensely worried for his friend. He knows that it must have taken a lot for Knives to ask for containment, let alone to be drugged, and so he's preparing himself for the worst when it comes to seeing him in the flesh.*
Knives: *He managed to avoid human contact for the most part during his trek across town, knowing that direct exposure to them will only make his bloodlust even worse, but by the time he reaches the safehouse, it's just about consumed him, the madness that drove him to slaughter millions hovering over him like a shroud. He's a predator, smooth and deadly, and he carries himself like one. That's why, when he actually sees Tim, he almost doesn't, his brain refusing to connect the teenager with any identity beyond his status as a human. He even wants to kill him - at least until he blinks, a glimmer of the sanity he's only just barely clinging to returning to his face, the fingers of his right hand clenched around his left. He doesn't remember when it happened, only that it's been there - a reminder.* Robin, *he says finally, his voice tight, clipped, and very much oozing the feelings he's trying so very hard to suppress.*
Tim: *He can feel his skin crawling as Knives gets closer, that intensity that the Plant usually kept so well in check pouring out of him now and making every one of Tim's instincts scream to run away, get to safety, out of danger. But he stamps down on them - he has a job to do here. He nods tightly.* Knives. Let's get inside. *He turns and opens the door, leading the way inside - he's not keen to turn his back on Knives, not keen at all, but neither does he want to let the Plant as close as he'd have to in order to let him pass and go in first. The safe house is minimalist in its furnishings, the bare necessities present, and the door to the basement is open, a light shining up from below to make it obvious that that's where Tim wants them to go.*
Knives: *He doesn't answer, merely tightens in his jaw as Tim leads the way inside, icy blue eyes boring in the back of his skull. The urge to strike is strong, tempting...easy. He could snuff out his life in a moment and knows it - but that's not why he's here, he reminds himself. And he keeps telling himself that, trying to focus on what little sanity he has instead of the Siren's song ringing in his ears, the allure of technicolor brightness. They reach the bottom floor in silence, and it's only then that he remembers, withdrawing a blood sample from beneath his cloak.* Use it, *he says in the same tone as before, unable, unwilling, and not trusting himself to say more than that. The fact that he's offering it should be explanation enough.*
Tim: *He is surprised by the sight of the blood - but it makes sense. He needs to make sure that whatever drugs he uses to keep Knives calm won't have any adverse effects. He nods again and takes the vial of blood, carefully.* Thank you. I made up a room for you. *It's not... quite a cell, thanks to the very nice bed and chair and small stereo, but the door is thick and locks from the outside - or by remote.* ... Will... ordinary tranquilizers do until I can analyze this?
Knives: *The word 'tranquilizers' quite literally makes him twitch, and a shadow passes over his face at the very thought of it. He knows he chose this and why, but that doesn't mean he has to like it, the dark memories crowding him, pressing at the back of his thoughts and clamoring for attention, making this even more difficult than it is. He ignores them, though - or tries to - when he answers, short and curt.* Yes.
Tim: *Oh, he noticed that. But now is clearly a bad time to ask, with Knives apparently on a knife-edge of sanity. He takes a spray-hypo out of his pocket and holds out his hand, carefully calm and neutral.* Alright. Give me your arm, please. *Better than just jabbing him with it without warning, he reasons.*
Knives: *He eyes the drugs in Tim's hand for a moment, his mouth curling unpleasantly as though the very sight of them repulses him - and it does. The fact that he would need something like this is disgusting. He should be able to control this - no, himself. But he can't. There are external forces at work here, powers that he can't resist, and there's no other way. That's why he pushes up his sleeve and holds out his arm, his jaw tightening several notches as he tries to force down the nausea he can feel churning his stomach, the rare glimmer of fear in his eyes.*
Tim: *He really doesn't want to have to do this, and the way Knives is reacting only makes him more reluctant - but very little of that reluctance shows as he carefully administers the dose. It's enough to keep a full grown man calm and slightly drowsy, but not enough to knock anyone out. He puts the hypo away as soon as he's done, hoping that removing it from sight will make Knives feel a little better.* You'd better sit down.
Knives: *The moment the spray-hypo touches his skin, he has to suppress a shudder, his stomach clenching when the drugs enter his system. There really isn't any turning back now, and the thought makes him feel slightly sick. So no, seeing the hypo put away doesn't make him feel better in the least, not when he knows this same procedure is going to be repeated indefinitely until the situation with Delirium is resolved. He can't speak, mouth dry and throat tight, so he doesn't say a word, merely walks over to the chair and sinks into it, his head tilted back and eyes closed, not wanting Tim to see the reaction he knows will come when the drugs actually kick in. It doesn't take that long, his metabolism processing it faster than a human's would have, and sure enough, he can feel the lethargy settling in, binding his limbs with warm, seductive chains. He's still aware of the madness flowing around him, against him, stroking and beckoning, but there's a dichotomy now - a balance. His muscles are relaxing against his will, and though that honestly terrifies him, he is more afraid of losing control than this. So he lets it happen, resisting the urge to purge the drugs from his system as he forces himself to breathe, low, deep, and even.*
Tim: *He feels awkward already, like he should leave rather than seeing Knives like this. But at the same time, he doesn't want to leave him alone. God. Stupid city, stupid... whatever's happened to Delirium. And he can't investigate that, not when his friend needs him here to make sure he doesn't go out of control again. He'd like to think it was about saving the lives that would be lost if that happened, but he's not that idealistic. He knows it's about the control.* I'm going to have to go get the bloodwork started, but I'll be back. As often as I can. You won't have to deal with this alone.
Knives: *His eyes flicker open at that comment, and he lowers his head, staring at Tim for a moment with dulled awareness. He wishes he could be alone. For Tim - or anyone, really - to see him reduced to this is beyond embarassing. It's humiliating, and he wishes it wasn't necessary at all. It is, though, and sadly - pathetically, even - Tim is the only one he can trust to make sure he doesn't go out of control. Shatterstar can't help him, not when he's being affected by this madness as well, and Vash, the only other person he might trust to contain him, would have a conniption of he knew. So no, he isn't comforted by that statement, or at least not on any recognizable level. He still doesn't trust himself to answer either so once again he doesn't say a word, merely waves a hand dismissively before tilting his head back for a second time. He isn't going to doze - if anything, he plans on not sleeping at all - but he will try to let the drugs do what they're supposed to. It's all he can do.*