loyalty, royalty

ducky: i dont remember i fucking blacked out

ducky: [...]

ducky: we were fighting over money i think idk

ducky: its

ducky: [...]

ducky: [...]

ducky: [...]

ducky: covered in it i think i hit him in the head

ducky: maybe hes alright? head bleeds a lot? maybe hes still alive?

ducky: [...]

ducky: hurry up i think the neighbors were home

ducky: i think we were loud.

mercy: [...]

mercy: i’ll clean up as much as i can

mercy: [...]

mercy: you fucking moron

mercy: why would you do this

mercy: [...]

mercy: we should tell lars

mercy: he can fix it

mercy: [...]

mercy: i don’t know what to do i can’t fix this if it’s that bad

ducky: i dont know he's not moving its been 20 minutes

ducky: i dont know fuck

ducky: hold on

ducky: [...]

ducky: its a lot of blood

ducky: fucking

ducky: [...]

ducky: i dont remember

ducky: [...]

ducky: living room mostly theres a lot of broken shit

mercy: what the fuck did you do

mercy: [...]

mercy: ducky what happened

mercy: how much blood is there

mercy: [...]

mercy: you need to fucking think this is serious

mercy: [...]

ducky: no i

ducky: [...]

ducky: i think i fucking killed him

ducky: i think hes fucking dead ezra

mercy: [...]

mercy: are you sure

mercy: [...]

mercy: did you touch anything

mercy: don’t touch him check with your phone screen if you need to

ducky: i fuvkeu p

ducky: i really fcuked up

ducky: [...]

ducky: i need u to come to rocky's asap

ducky: please

mercy: what the fuck

mercy: [...]

mercy: are you fucked up seriously

mercy: rocky said this batch is extra strong did you try some

ducky: PICK U PYOUR FUCKING PHONE

ducky: WHERE THE UFCK ARE YOU PICK UP

mercy: [...]

mercy: [...]

mercy: jesus christ i was doing this thing people call sleeping

mercy: what the fuck is going on

Maggie was unsteady at the sight of him, but she didn’t want to let it show. She wouldn’t let it show. It was easy to buckle at the knees in the presence of Mercy, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction right now. Maybe down the road, she would be kinder, more open, right now she just wanted to leave the party she had never wanted to come to in the first place in one piece, her friend in tow. 

“Eyes,” she replied, observing his because it was the only part of him she could take in. She’d been so focused on not looking away from his gaze, it was almost making her uncomfortable. “I don’t know, Ezra. Just kinda assumed you might recognize her from seeing me around with her. Sorry for fucking checking.” His words confused her, stomach twisting into a knot as she tried to figure out who might have confronted him. Teddy or Maks. It had to be. 

“What?” she asked, eyes wide. “I didn’t send anyone after you, Ezra. I can handle my own interactions, you know that. Did someone talk to you?” Maggie sighed, glancing over her shoulder than above his as she still idly searched for her friend. “I didn’t — I don’t want to not see you at all. I — I even have something to give you, it’s — My family is just protective. They don’t speak for me any more than yours speaks for you.”

Scoffing at Maggie’s response, chopped and paired with eye contact she was refusing to break, Mercy eventually quipped back with a simple, “Definitely have ‘em,” he followed it up with a deep drag of his cigarette, longing for the grounding inhale of smoke to practically suffocate him. If the ground cracked and revealed the seven layers of hell right below them, he’d jump in head first without hesitation, “Think it would’ve been obvious if I’d seen you earlier, Maggie,” They both seemed determined to be the one to hold their gaze longest. Mercy would be lying, though, if he didn’t admit that it left him deeply uncomfortable in a way he’d never properly experienced before. He’d never felt more seen in his life. It seemed believable enough, Maggie’s genuine shock obvious in the stunned look on her face and astonished way her eyes widened. Mercy suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything, worried he’d given himself away, how much he’d wanted to confront her about it. Like they were some old married couple.

“Blake had a few things to get off his chest, I guess. Like to think I was pretty civil about it - didn’t lay a hand on him, before you get any ideas. Didn’t want his brain leaking out of his ears,” It probably shouldn’t have, but the idea made him chuckle, something short and quick under his breath. No actual smile showed across his features though, “You have something to give me?” Brows drawing in, confused, nose even wrinkling with it. He was automatically giving away his surprise, he was so taken aback, before training his face back to something neutral when he realized how obvious he was being, purposely shutting himself up for a few more seconds with another drag of his cigarette, “Not a restraining order, is it?” he asked, smoke pluming out of his mouth in wispy tendrils as he did so, “That’s a joke, by the way. Gained a sense of humour while I was gone,” For a second, he wondered if it was the note he’d given to her before he left - or, the note he’d given to Lana to give to Maggie. If she did, Mercy would probably have to drop dead on the spot with the paralyzing fear of knowing whatever vulnerability he’d shown her in the note went unappreciated. Maybe she’d even laughed at it -, “I’m, uh, not really interested in any returns,” he eventually coughed out, acting like he’d choked around an improper inhale, “and you have a friend to find, don’t you?”

Blake was pretty much over the conversation too, but he never knew how to exit a scenario where he had been the aggressor. It felt awkward, especially in a scenario where he had been far from winning. “I don’t think any of that,” he muttered, sniffing as he finally stuffed the bagging into his pocket. As Mercy ranted, he barely moved a muscle, mostly out of fear over anything else. Heaving an exhale, Blake stood to his feet and shook his head. “You know, I don’t get it. I’ll never get why human trash is a magnet to the kindest ones but — Glad we had this talk,” he finished, turning on his heel to head back upstairs.

The observation made Mercy scoff - it was hard to take offence to anything anymore when he thought so little about everyone around him. There was an edge in Blake’s voice, though, that made Mercy believe that’s how Blake really viewed him, “You tell me,” he quipped back, narrowed eyes glaring daggers at Blake’s retreating form paired with a smirk that reflected no genuine joy behind it. Not that his features ever really contained any semblance of joy or anything all that positive, “Never really cared enough to go around asking about you, even though my fucking mural of you in my room might say different, but you’re a bit of a cunt yourself, aren’t you? A cunt, but a total pussy,” Another scoff, like it pained him to even talk to Blake anymore, “The worst kind of person you could be. If you’re gonna insult me, then insult me, but don’t go running with your tale between your legs if you do it. Being in the same room as you makes me taste bile. Sure I’ll see you around still, though,” he said, punctuating the moment with a lazy salute, only tapping his index and middle fingers off his forehead.

Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the fact that her grandmother ran out of her maintenance medicine and her oversight on the budget plan for the week, Helena wouldn’t be caught dead in the stinking hole of a frat party. Not that anyone cared, really. But if she was to be some sort of eerie witch-type possible-murderer on the loose, she has to pay attention to branding. Or whatever. Money is money, no matter where it came from. Besides, the manchildren present are too busy sinking shots, timing chugs, and missing at beer pong to even take notice of her presence. She thanked the graces for small favors, and then made her way to the the back of the kitchen, near the back door. Quickest escape.

Her eyes scanned the room for her client—whose identity she also didn’t really care for. This wasn’t her usual contact, so she looked for the telltale sign: anyone with eyes hopeful for a quick fix. A corner of her mouth turns down, a halfway frown, impatient at having been made to wait. Then she sees him—or at least, it could be him? No, definitely him, since he was approaching her. But Helena kept still. They needed to pay up, first. It was only business. *// @ezramercvr

This wasn’t anything new for Mercy. For the most part, he hated these parties - they weren’t half bad, if he actually allowed himself to let loose and partake in usual activities that took place at a frat party, but letting loose meant leaving business to the side. As it was, he was waiting to meet up with a few more people, glancing at his phone once more to make sure he’d make it to the right spot - already running a few minutes short. Careless as always, people didn’t care about customer service when the product made up for it. Stomping out his smoke after tossing it onto the back porch, he eventually made his way inside after ignoring the whine of someone insisting he pick up the crushed filter and place it into the ashtray.

She catches the cupcake upside-down, and before she has time to notice the frosting that seeps between her manicured fingers, she’s ripping the paper off, picking it apart, and shoving a particularly large chunk into her mouth. Jesus, maybe her brain is melting. It’s from a rare triple-whammy combo of the heat, being forced to interact with Mercy, and the intense crossfaded-ness of it all that is begging for her not to waste what valuable brain cells she has left for this impending bitch-off… But she’s never really been one to listen. Besides, this is the most fun she’s had all evening. “Takes one to know one,” she retorts, mouth full as she leans back against one of the few cupcake-less spots on the wall. “Definitely not okay. There are several people here requesting the cha cha fucking slide,” she sighs, taking another bite. “Thought I found the safe house, but now I’m being hate crimed by Señor Ugly. That’s you.”

“Do you even need to breathe. I’ve never seen someone devour a cupcake so barbarically before - how long can you hold your breath for?” It inspires him to eat another of his own anyway - if anyone found out how many he’d had by now, they’d probably be startled by the amount. He’d been bored and there was more than enough to go around. Besides, crowds just didn’t appeal to him the same way as they did before - which was saying something. Crowds never particularly appealed to him in general, but at least he could stand them if need be. At Mel’s retort, Mercy only took a moment to stick his tongue out at her, chewed up cupcake looking more like dog food now, “What, you don’t wanna dance with them? Scared everyone’ll figure out you’re nothing but a sloth in human’s clothing? Can’t even bring yourself to hop once left alone five times in a row - too lazy, a real tragedy. I think you’re very brave, even showing up here. Your eyes are getting further and further apart, though, really giving you away,” Glancing over his shoulder, like he was expecting someone else here, “That’s me? Wouldn’t have guessed. Considering it’s only us down here. But I don’t know how many imaginary friends you got crawling around in that vast expanse of a brain you got up there. Hey, can you juggle?” he asked, chucking another cupcake at her without further warning.

“Okay. Good. That’s all I fucking — that’s all we ask,” he stated, speaking on behalf of everyone that was close to Maggie and not just himself, even though it wasn’t necessarily his place. As Mercy dug in his pocket for what he’d asked for, Blake was astounded he didn’t tell him to fuck off immediately after their interaction, cautiously grasping for the bag and not quite realizing at first when Mercy had caught his hand in his clutch. As he was hauled forward, he didn’t put up any struggle, knowing it was for the best not to as his eyes roamed back and forth between both of his. Swallowing as the other released him and hiding his now sore hand under his arm, Blake began to speak again. “You don’t have to prove to me you’re a shitty fucking person, Mercy. I’ve never questioned it, so your ego’s safe with me,” he murmured, burrowing into his pocket for his wallet to retrieve a hundred dollar bill, he flung it over into the other’s lap. “But eventually you have to evolve, right? This what you’re going to do forever?”

“That’s a bummer,” he mumbled, already over the exchange like it’d never happened in the first place. That’s what it’d been like growing up, at least, what he’d become accustomed to - a back and forth, walking on eggshells lifestyle where he wasn’t sure about what’d make someone explode and when they’d be brought back down to earth again. It was only natural, that he’d inherit such a trait, already lighting a cigarette with careless ease, “I was kinda hoping you’d think I threw up rainbows or something. Or something equally as lovey dovey as that - all that bullshit,” Grasping at the bill Blake tossed onto his lap, Mercy used it as a faux lip of a cap, tipping it extravagantly, like they’d just conducted a professional deal instead of one that was drug related, “Hey, Blake? Who literally gives a rat’s fucking ass? You wanna sit here holding hands, braiding each other’s hair, talking about what we’re gonna do in the future? About our stupid fucking crushes and the white picket fence houses that look the best to us? Because I think I’d rather rip my tongue out of my skull then do that. How about we just promise to never ask about each other’s futures ever again and part as unlikely foes, before I puke all over your lap.”

“If it isn’t my favourite houseguest. Mags, right? You look cute! Like the bangs,” Everett greeted Maggie at the door and she forced out a scoff.  “I’m just here with a friend.”

“Right… right… What’s her — Stacy? She’s a lot. Needed air? You don’t smoke, right? You don’t seem the type to smoke, Mags.” 

Maggie shoved past the man that blocked the door and back into the house, searching the place for Stacy in order to get the both of them out of there. The last time she had been in this particular place she’d gotten to know Ezra Mercer and something told her that the house was built on the mouth of Hell. Every time she was here, there’d been an incident.  Making her way down toward the basement two steps at a time, she glanced the herd of bodies, taking a deep breath before arming her way through the crowd. One particular harsh body collided with hers and on impulse, she grabbed the person by the arm, as if to save them from falling only to discover the man was far bigger than her and that man was Mercy.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered, barely audible over the bass. “I’m just looking for my friend, have you seen her? Blonde? Short? Kinda looks like an Olsen?” @ezramercvr​ 

Even though he’d been told about twenty times he had to go outside if he wanted to smoke, Mercy still lit a cigarette from where he stood in the corner of the basement of a party. He watched the expression of the person across from him shift wearily, but they were unwilling to tell him off, the last three smokes punctuated with a, “Not my basement! You gotta answer to Colin!” when he obviously felt guilty about Mercy getting away with it when his friends instructions had been clear.

“Don’t get your fucking panties in a twist,” he scoffed, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against to find greener pastures, alternatively known as a customer he knew to be upstairs. He was supposed to meet up with them ten minutes ago, didn’t particularly like keeping people waiting, but they were a regular, and annoying at that, knew they’d wait hours if it came down to it. He was starting to wish he’d just gone when he was supposed to, though, when he ran right into Maggie, who looked less than impressed with his presence.

“Bangs,” he noted, not even bothering with a proper greeting. Mercy was purposely training his face into something neutral, but the corner of his mouth still quirked at the edge, grin bitter at her nonchalance - it was what he wanted, but apparently, he wasn’t as prepared for it coming from her end as he thought, “Every fucking person here looks like that, you think I can spot a specific one out of the crowd?” he scoffed, thumb flicking at his cigarette, watching with more attention than necessary as ash drifted to the hardwood beneath them, “You must be happy. Can tell me to my face you don’t wanna see me instead of sending family to do it for you. Doesn’t really seem like your style, but I got the message loud and clear, so guess it worked, huh?”

“she highlighted the fucking popsicle line?” marla inhales greedily and holds the smoke in until she’s sure she won’t cough, passing the joint to mercy before she’s even exhaled. she’s high before the change in perception really registers, and then she realizes that she feels uncomfortable, keyed up, trapped in her own skin. she tries to swim up through the feeling, to communicate. “i’m practising. i’m gonna audition to be fake zooey deschanel. like, once they’ve had her reanimated, post-assassination.” mercy’s attention is on her; she focuses all of hers on him in turn, a welcome distraction. the grip of the high is starting to lessen now, anyway – probably because of said distraction. she laughs. “i won it in a game of beer pong last night. or i’m blackmailing my dealer. or i live a double life. college student by day, stripper on by night. and on weekends. take your pick.”

“Guess so - you make it sound like you’ve already read this. Favourite of yours?” Slipping the joint easily between his lips, Mercy hung his body over the edge of the bed in search of where his shirt could’ve been after Marla yanked her jeans seemingly out of nowhere. It was a slow process, the way they’d languidly and carelessly made themselves at home in a room that wasn’t even theirs, unwilling to part, but Marla seemed to be in some sudden rush. Mercy could take a hint when it was handed to him, “Post-assassination? You tryna tell me you’ve got some big plans of murder? That’s pretty hot - can’t imagine she’d be missed anyway. Pretty fucking annoying, isn’t she?” Reaching underneath the bed to finally tug forward his shirt, Mercy held Marla’s joint back out towards her to free his hands enough to properly tug it on, “I’m your dealer - if you secretly have dirt on me you’re legally required to spill,” he said, faux rule punctuated with a raise of his brow as he finally rolled off the bed, “Beer pong story’s most likely but I’m going with the stripper thing. Keeps things more interesting. You know how it is - alright,” Tugging on his jacket that’d been left by the door lazily, “let’s go, then. Unless you wanna stand around some more - maybe even hold hands? Get all nice and cutesy.”

“I’m good. I’m good, no temper tantrum from me. I’m chill, you’re the one getting heated, man. Spit flying. Jesus Christ. Gonna stick your goons on me? Shit.” Blake laughed, but there was little sincerity in the sound. It was dry like it hurt him to emit the noise from his lungs. “Look, I don’t give a fuck what you — I don’t care about your lifestyle or whatever. Do whatever you want, man. Do what you want, but leave people I care about out of it. Leave her alone. She’s doing good lately and it was bad for a while. I just don’t want to see that again.” Pushing past the other with a pointed shove against his shoulder, he collapsed onto the couch Mercy had occupied seconds before, sniffing a little before speaking again. “You have any blow?”

“My - my goons?” There was laughter in Mercy’s tone, though no actual joy was in it. The only people he could think of that Blake was talking about were Ducky and Rocky - imagining Ducky as intimidating was a bit laughable, but maybe he was to everyone else. Mercy, obviously, didn’t spend much time watching his brother interact with the outside world, “You don’t give a fuck? Colour me totally fucking heartbroken and disappointed, dude, seriously. I really care about your opinion, y’know?” It was obvious, who Blake was taking about. It left Mercy on edge, the same, sinister grin formed but grinding teeth behind it now, “I’m not getting close to her ever again,” Mercy wanted to say more - there was a lot he wanted to say, but priority had his brain switching to business mode. Momentarily, only - with a scoff, he reached into the interior pockets of his leather jacket, pulling out a baggy and leaning forward to place it into Blake’s hand. Before Blake could tug their hand away, Mercy’s own wrapped around his, effectively trapping him - with a simple, rough tug, Mercy yanked Blake forward until their noses were practically touching, “You are the least intimidating fuck I’ve ever met in my life. I know about your cotton candy brain - are you a fucking moron? There’s no goons, there’s just me. One wrong hit and you’ll be out for the count for good. Right? Watch your fucking mouth before you tell me what to do,” Before dropping Blake’s hold, letting him fall back onto the couch, already moving on to slip a cigarette between his lips, “You can tattle about this to Maggie too - don’t really give a fuck about her anymore or your little island of pathetic toys. You owe me a hundred - price is jacked up, just for you. Know you can afford it.”

Mel was not having a good time. It was rare she disliked a party, but holy shit– it was like she had been randomly placed in a video game with the dumbest premise ever. Everyone was grating on her nerves, the alcohol tasted like ass, and she quickly realized she was in way too elaborate of an outfit to pee comfortably, and her heels were not helping when it came to finding a bathroom that someone wasn’t snorting lines in, and they wouldn’t share. Plus, it was hot as hell and she was starving. And now, after finally escaping the mass of people, she was faced with some cupcake-launching rando. The final boss.

“Oh my god! Fucking– die,” she would be angrier if she wasn’t so blasted, but the cupcake had just narrowly missed her beloved jacket that she refused to take off, plus it had just straight-up startled her, which she wasn’t a fan of. Goddamn it. If she had seen it coming she’d have caught it in her mouth perfectly. She was hangry. “Give me one of those and I won’t shave your eyebrows off.”

The venom with which Mel uses to spit back at Mercy is familiar, but still leaves him a sort of raised-brow entertained that made it obvious he almost always forgot just how fiery she could be. It’s easy to, when you forget there’s people out there who’d bother to bite the hand that feeds them in the same way he’d started to, to the point where it’d become a sort of brand, “Ladies first,” he mumbles, simple and monotonous. He’s scoffing at her threat, growing more and more entertained, which Mercy can only assume will piss her off more and more in turn. He enjoys this bit they have, the equivalent of people explaining to Mel he tugs at her pigtails on the playground because of a kindergarten crush, “Bold of you to assume I’d even let you within 50 feet of me,” Mercy’s lobbing a cupcake at her anyway, making sure she notices so that there’s time to react to the underhand he serves her, “You’re being extra cunty today, what’s your damage? Play one too many upbeat songs for ya, upstairs? Brain melting? Didn’t have much of ‘em to start with, you feeling okay?”

Standing against a wall, she felt like a fixed point as the party moved around her. Siobhan had been by her side for a while, evaporated a little later— April knew better than to rely on her roommate being her only friend in a crowded room, but somehow, it always seemed to come down to that. Now, she stood alone and sipped from her designated Solo cup of coke and Bacardi, not quite enjoying the masked taste of rum beneath the syrupy-sweetness of cola, not resenting it either; mostly, it kept her from looking like a lost kid waiting to be retrieved from the mall security desk. She had tried, a few times, to do the brave thing. Insert herself. Both hands gripping the cup, she’d walked up to one group where she recognized some people— here was Eddie from her freshman Linguistics class, and Tabitha from Photography Club— and smiled prettily, a flush already stealing into her cheeks, and glanced around as they debated some episode of TV which had no relevance to her, though she’d still managed to blurt something embarrassing into the conversation, some inane bit of trivia about one of the actors— which had earned her a questioning, sideways look from Tabitha, and nothing at all from anybody else. The conversation moved on to other topics, easy-flowing and indifferent. Shortly afterwards— finding it difficult to keeping looking so fascinated by the inside of her drink— April had drifted away again. Now she was orbiting the edges of the party like a stray satellite, knowing that if this room were the universe, it’d let her go largely unnoticed. By eleven, she was beginning to cast glances towards to the door, ready to drift on somewhere else less crowded, perhaps less lonely, when she remembered the plate she’d brought. It was one of her good ones; a big fancy dish with a scalloped edge. The cupcakes, she thought, eyeing the stairs to the basement, then letting her feet take her in that direction. Maybe seeing how much the plate had emptied would lift her spirits. 

But instead, she was met with heartbreak. Massacred buttercream. So many innocent victims, smashed against the wall, fallen to the floor. Whatever spirits she still had left were taken and broken, quickly, like a stick. “Oh…” Her eyes had grown huge, looking around at the floor, and when she lifted them, saw the arm reared back in an overhand pitch, there was very little separating April from a deer staring helplessly into oncoming traffic. “Oh, please don’t— “ With a small yip, she ducked, just in time for the cupcake to sail past her head and smack straight into the wall, sliding down to a similar fate as all the ones around her feet. “Oh my god!” She stood frozen in place for a second, hardly moving a muscle. A startled prey response. Then, when it seemed like no other cupcakes were about to become airborne, she braved a look upwards. “They were… they were for Courtney’s birthday!” she managed, eyes a little wild, perhaps with too much rum in her voice. The rum was quickly becoming a sting she felt when she blinked: the inevitable precursor to tears. “Why would you…” She heard her own pleading despair. “I’m sorry, if you didn’t— like them, just, please stop throwing them, and let me… clean this up.” 

parties could be stressful for mili when people got too wild, if there were too many fights on or people were yelling too much she started to get nervous and wanted out — but tonight she’d come with a friend and she couldn’t find her anywhere, and it felt irresponsible to leave without her. it happened often, she’d be the one left in charge of someone who was reliant enough on her to get absolutely wasted, and then she’d have to carry them home with a frown on her face and a bit of a heavy heart. it was no fun. looking for a moment of peace, she’d started heading downstairs, hoping maybe her friend would be there, but she encountered an unexpected sight. “is this a birthday party?” mili asked, frowning at mercy, her instinct kicking in just in time to save her from getting a cupcake smashed on her face. “you could’ve hit me right on the face, that was awful of you,” she said, still standing on the stairs, unsure if she should just go back upstairs. “have you seen a blonde girl, about this tall, all dressed in green? i can’t find her anywhere,” she asked at last, figuring she might as well find out if her friend was there before she run off.

If Mili weren’t related to Viktor, Mercy would have easily forgotten about her by then. She was the kind of girl he usually rolled his eyes at, went out of his way to pester if they unfortunately happened to run into each other more often than not, but the one and only time they’d ever really had a conversation had ended about how Mercy expected it to. Now, he looked from Mili to the cupcake in his hand, brows furrowed as if he couldn’t piece together why on earth she’d assume it was a birthday party, “Do I look like I know if it’s a fucking birthday party?” he finally scoffed, half sarcasm half genuine with humour. He couldn’t help it, her tone made him chuckle with amusement, “That was awful of me?” Mercy repeated, sitting up straighter and acting as if he was clutching onto a teacup, pinky still in tact on his right hand held upright in the air, “That was awful of me. Are you the queen? That’s the most proper way I’ve ever heard someone tell me to piss off,” As Mili described her friend, Mercy realized she’d been downstairs just moments before, drunk to the point of stumbling but giggling through it nonetheless, “Yeah, real annoying bitch you brought with you,” he said bluntly, attention elsewhere now - he couldn’t even bother giving Mili the time of day in that moment, patting at his pockets in an attempt to find where he’d put his lighter, “Think she was trippin’ on something, told me she was heading back outside to talk to a frog she’d left out there. You her keeper or some shit?”

It’d been simple word of mouth, traveling from one side of the house to the next - Mercer’s back - something overheard as he’d been making a deal in the kitchen, an attempt to console a crying birthday girl that really worked for no one’s benefit except his own. It’d been a shock, simple, his head snapping up, questions written over his features for only a second before he’d been grabbing his backpack and pushing through the crowd. Whispers like breadcrumbs, leading him down - down into the basement, and standing at the base of them, for a moment - his words empty, almost, “You’re back,” it hadn’t been surprise - maybe something tired, steps coming to stop besides Mercy. His hand grabbing for a cupcake - forcing down the bitter sweetness, “That’s nice.” Ducky glanced at the wall only once, “Shitty target practice. Got no target. Need a target, you know - for target practice.” He’d been fond of desserts - but not then, not now. It’d been a slow movement, the collision of cupcake with temple - icing smearing across Mercy’s hair, stuck in the crevice of his ear; Ducky’s hand smushing the cake, there, until his palm made contact with skin. “Cunt.”

There was a relief that usually went swallowed down and ignored whenever Mercy was reunited with Ducky after being away. More specifically, whenever he was away because of their father, seeing Ducky again afterwards the equivalent of holding your hand under cold water to soothe a burn. This time, however, his mouth actually managed to upturn just at the corner, something that could’ve been described as a smile, at least by Mercy’s standards, “Yeah. Pretty fuckin’ rude that you didn’t get me a welcome back gift. Guess I’ll let it slide, though,” Still characteristically monotonous, if it weren’t for the second of vulnerability, it’d be easy to guess that maybe the two were nothing more than strangers recently turned acquaintances. Gaze turning towards where Ducky was glancing at the wall, Mercy lifted his shoulder in a careless and lazy shrug, like it physically pained him to even move just the tiniest bit, “Whatever. More funny this -,” Mercy hadn’t been expecting it, when Ducky smashed a cupcake against his temple. Which was maybe a bit naive of him - he never knew whether he needed to be more on edge with Ducky or whether being around him was the only time he could relax. Mercy had assumed it’d be the latter for once, weakness softening his usually bitter interior enough that it actually startled something frightened out of him, more jumpy than he’d maybe been in his entire life, a permanent internal mark left from his time away. With a surprised gasp - barely audible, the only thing really giving him away was how wide his eyes got, just for a moment - he reached up to snatch Ducky’s wrist into his grip, yank it away from him, “What the fuck?!” he blurted, rubbing his temple against his shoulder, scoffing obnoxiously with annoyance when icing only smeared further at the action, “Seriously? Because you were so sad I was gone, right?” Then, in a petulant moment anyone with a ‘close’ sibling would understand, Mercy reached without tearing his gaze away from Ducky to grab at another cupcake, repeating the other’s actions and smashing one with more aggression than necessary to the side of Ducky’s head, “You’re such a fucking baby. At least have the balls to hit me properly if you’re so fucking upset.”