let me bleed for you.

He holds himself together pretty well, considering the threat he sees in Nate's eyes: some dogs are all bark, but Nate has something dangerous swimming in those inky-blacks, and Seth has to navigate the very real possibility that his blood will decorate the wall. Its tip dances perilously close to his eyes but Seth keeps them trained on Nate, watching for that spark, thinking he recognizes it before - THUD! - the blade ends up buried in the wall. He breathes an imperceptible sigh of relief.

Seth chuckles, chasing more of Marton's little ticklish giggles before the mutant adjusts and brings the flat of his tail smacking into Seth's face; he brings up an arm in mock defense, flinching away like he'd just been accosted by a bug. "Jesus, I've gotta tape that fuckin' thing down," he growls, though his annoyance is mostly a farce: Marton knows how fond Seth is of that tail, no matter how lawless the thing is. He ducks forward to lean on his knees, giving Marton a knowing grin. "Ooh, look who's interested in their file, huh? Baby, I've got so much dirt in that file I've gotta bring a goddamn shovel to get through it all." His arched back twitches with a grumbling laugh.

they shouldn't have done that. they should've known that any sort of pardon would only encourage the knight to do something foolish. but sol be damned if sunny didn't like seeing him on his knees, drunk and messy and pathetic for their attention. the knight crawls closer to him. that's the first strike. their hand is taken without permission. second strike. sunny's eyebrow raises, as if they're daring ser deacon to continue. they could pull away. they should pull away. he doesn't deserve them in this state. he doesn't deserve them when he's being this impertinent.

His blood is a foamy, disorienting rush in his ears as he just keeps going, inviting himself further and further into the space between Sunny's legs with each kiss. He wants more, he aches for more, but if his advances turn up rejected once more Ser Deacon knows he can settle for this: to feel his impossible warmth, to touch him with fingertips and lips and tongue again floods strength back into a reservoir of hope long since emptied.

you'd think with all the robotic alterations on his body, seth would be able to defend himself against these beasts. not one gun installed into that arm of his? what a waste of metal. he rolls his eyes at seth's words, but his disapproving expression is betrayed by an amused smile tugging at his lips. "no one smokes that old shit anymore. there's better stuff on the market." he's still holding his hand out for one, though. "I think you got it confused. the younger, prettier ones are supposed to be the arm candy."

well... someone hearing or seeing the same shadows he does is not usual, to say the least. but lately, it seems to be happening more and more often. the concern in dodge's voice doesn't necessarily raise alarms in javi's head. he turns around, only to see the same shadows he has before. "huh,"

He doesn't delay in his response: even before he's given the official order, Dodge is moving, stepping in between Javi and the beast immediately and readying his weapon in the same breath. The air splits with a freakish, enraged shriek as the animal charges for them, but even staring down such a monstrosity doesn't weaken his resolve, and his unyielding stance suggests that, if he can't bring the mutant down, his body will be a fitting shield... at least long enough for Javi to come up with plan B.

It's a good thing that Deacon has grown so familiar with Victor's light: even in this thick, dusty darkness with light filtering in weakly from the cracks, a small flare catches his eye, and it's all the direction he needs. He staggers through the wreckage to a hulking mass he hardly recognizes as the mutant's corpse, adrenaline spiking through him like panic once he realizes Victor's predicament.

Leon hauls himself to his feet, his staff clacking against the library's polished floors. "Easy, that one...it survived the old world," he said, with a huff. "A transcript of a, a journal that began before the world ended and was finished after the cure." Historical records surrounding Armageddon had been his area of study, and the dissertations and term papers of his youth blossomed into a stable career.

Seth rolls his eyes. "Oh fuck, old world transcripts? Why didn't you say so?" He wasn't overly rough with the book while he examined it, but now that he's gotten confirmation of its importance, he almost wishes he had been... Leon moved pretty quick with that cane, but it'd be worth it to see how he'd fall over himself trying to pry the book from Seth's destructive hands. In all honesty, it does impress him that such a valuable relic can be so well-maintained, but he'd lose his tongue before admitting that to anyone, least of all his brother.

Seth's grin subtly broadens, his silvery chin jerking upwards with it. There was a time when Victor was a mystery to him, some young god hovering just out of reach, but now that they've had plenty of time to get down and dirty, Seth has learned how to recognize some of his signs. He can't read Victor's thoughts, but he can watch his shoulders settle, catch as his expression shifts from annoyance and anger into something softer, and know for certain that Seth still has an effect on him after all.

Blood was more than the hot, metallic ichor slicked inside his mouth. The distinct tastes of life ribboned throughout Briggs' blood. There was the immediate -- the hormones that dictated his emotions, his penchant for sweet treats in the sugars and vitamins traveling through his bloodstream. Then, there was the more difficult to quantify aspects. The impressions life itself made on him, flickers of human memory that quelled his inner demon.

Alvie may relinquish his own grasp on the chain, but Seth doesn't dare, not for one second. He keeps pressure on each link, holding fast that arrow-straight line of metal connecting Alvie's neck to his fist as if the slightest amount of slack would break the tension. And for all Seth knows, it may... nothing good comes from a leash gripped loose, especially when something hungry and clever dwells on the other end.

Rook's calloused hands held the sides of the beast's face. Their foreheads pressed together, the creature's coarse fur biting like steel wool against his skin.

It is an instinctive familiarity that guides her forward as the tempo changes. The hand at her waist is heatedly familiar too, but in light of everything it doesn't feel like anything she knows. It's heavy, a weight dragging her down so that this time she is the clumsy one. She trips over his feet, ankle threatening to roll before she corrects herself. It is concentration that gets her through the rest of the dance, determined not to make another mistake so that he won't know the effect he is having on her. "We used to do a lot of things." It is a cold an empty response, like one might give a stranger when they ask for the time. The song ends, and she is pushing herself away from him. "You even used to have two arms." Even without the other he is still handsome in that slutty way he has. All lean muscle and sex appeal. The fact that he has tried to look nice for her is the only thing keeping her from walking away and not looking back.

He doesn't mind the slight about his arm... in fact, he welcomes it. Acknowledgement of change is always better than pretending your way around it, and even though Seth misses the weight and wholeness of his flesh arm, he has to admit that the alloy prosthetic is the perfect conversation starter. At least it looks nice as they dance, its contours gleaming under the ambient lights as if its purpose is merely decorative. "You only count one?" Seth playfully challenges with a bite to his lip, and as the next song begins, he illustrates his point by switching his hands: the flesh one clasping into hers and the prosthetic sneaking onto her waist. Heavy, gripping, warmed only by friction. "Maybe it was an improvement."

protocol. who the fuck voted for that? oh, yeah... probably he did. well... it's for the best, he assumes. and honestly, it could be worse. he could've gotten that big brute seth got. at least this one, dodge, knows his place.

he steps to the side, holding a hand out for seth to take. he looks at his hand, almost surprised that it's not trembling. on the contrary, it's completely still. his breathing, perfectly normal. heart's not racing either. even if he did just kill a beast, ready to lunge at his friend and shred him into tiny pieces. it's almost like he's in his element here. being paranoid of a disaster like this happening to the city for decades does help, apparently.

"I thought I could run down to the corner store without incident, but... guess I was wrong, huh?" Seth takes Javi's outstretched hand, hauling himself to his feet with a grunt. He's a little shaky on his feet from all of the meet-your-maker adrenaline coursing throughout his body, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before: this is the fine line he likes walking, and the day it doesn't suit him is the day he welcomes death like a long-lost friend. He grins at Javi, patting the breast pocket of his jacket. "Only place in town that sells my cancer sticks. C'mon, you can be my big, strong escort back to the council building... I'm top-notch arm candy."