sharp-set

                          But something’s changed. He wasn’t sure what, nor why, but his hunger’s drowned, senses dulled, and body warmed. Of course Desmond couldn’t resist the urge to enjoy this in it’s fullest, quickly finding the most optimum space to sunbath on his street- Some poor sap’s roof, it seemed.

Attention had never been something he was a fan of. Adrik left the attention and limelight to his brother and he kept to the background. The shadows. Cliche as it may have been, but he preferred it that was. As if to answer the other’s question, there was the slightest touch of a smirk as the cigarette was pulled from his lips. And he shook his head.

But he watched, his attention focused on the other as he slid into the chair across from him. Adrik always offered, it was polite to do so, and despite what people thought of him - he still had manners. It was when they took him up on those offers that he questioned why he did so in the first place. He wasn’t exactly one for small talk. The box was pulled from his jacket pocket and set on the table, lighter carefully placed atop it before the tips of his fingers moved to push it closer to the other.

“By chance.”

                             The quiet sort have never bothered him. Desmond could very well fill enough silence for a whole room of people if given the chance, sometimes even when not. He found it odd, however- Why bother leaving the house if one didn’t like dealing with the masses?

                            Not skipping a beat, thin fingers mimicked the other’s movements by carefully reaching across the table to pull the items closer to himself. Freeing a cigarette with a practiced ease, he took great care in lighting it, handling the flame as though it were a weapon before sliding both lighter and box back to his companion.

“Yeah, I-I don’t know what to tell you… I found it like that?” he offered weakly. Maybe he had touched it, and then dropped it, and then frantically tried to hide its broken pieces, but they didn’t, like, Know That. He didn’t do well with waiting around, and it’d just been sitting there on the shelf, calling his name. How was he supposed to know that it was sharp? An edge had neatly sliced his thumb, and he’d dropped it in surprise, mostly. The door had swung open before he could finish hiding his crime, nudging it under the side table with his foot.

“But you probably have to take care of… that, now, so I’m just gonna…” he edges towards the other door, hoping to escape before they realized it was broken, and not just on the ground.

                  Surprising nobody, this is not the first time Desmond had found himself in a situation such as this. In fact, the most shocking part of it all was that he wasn’t the culprit this time around. Blinking slowly, his gaze drags from the man, down to the shards of glass littering the floor, then up to the shelf and the now vacant space on it’s very end.

                  “Oh, come on man, you’ve gotta do better than that.” Voice tinged with amusement, he carefully stepped around the small pile of evidence, carelessly brushing past the stranger in favor of gripping the wooden base mounted to the wall. It took some finessing, but with a tight hold and the brunt of his weight, the Wendigo managed to pull screws from drywall, the left half of the shelf falling free and dumping the rest of it’s contents on the floor. 

@faminemade

There were a wide range of things he did around the town that Jaxon had somehow volunteered himself for in a moment of judgment lapse. Often these were accompanied by alcohol, yes, but occasionally they did actually involve his attempts to be a better person, or just a person, and not one transfixed by his own needs. Anyone knowing Jaxon, however, was aware of how it was always a fifty-fifty shot what his motives were. That morning they were entirely with good intentions, mutual agreement and just a hint of babysitting monsters. 

The broom held in one hand, lifted for the third time in as many minutes, the end of it prodding at the lump of what he was marginally sure was still among the living flesh and bones in a lanky jumble of sleep. Reasoning for it was simple logic; if he used a shovel it would have hurt worse if he had to swing it and Jaxon was a better friend than that, usually. 

“Time to rise and shine sleeping beauty.” The lack of response tempted Jaxon to roll his eyes and prompted another nudge with the wide end of aforementioned broom. “Get up you creepy bastard, you’re not dead yet…I think." 

Difficult to tell as he only really had the view of blankets and partial hints of a razor-sharp shoulder here, messy dark hair there; somehow it all fit together into one bed-sprawled Wendigo but Jaxon wasn’t there to play connect the dots. He was there to wake the bloodthirsty idiot up so he didn’t go all Donner party on the town and have to be murdered off; when he had agreed to check in on the matter he hadn’t known it was going to be a weekly ordeal if Desmond disappeared from public view and decided to to crawl back into the tempting confines of slumber. But, whatever, he didn’t mind as much as he liked to insist he did just for the sake of being dramatic.

”Dammit, if I have to dump ice water on your unconscious ass I will.“ A final warning, a very grave one indeed. But justified as Jaxon had spent the past hour navigating Desmond’s home, turning off wailing alarm clocks before getting to the task at hand and finding it, predictably, as difficult as ever.

Of course.

                     It was somewhat akin to trying to rouse a bear in the dead of winter. The deeper one ventured into his humble abode, the darker it got, thick, curtains drawn tight to block out the sun’s harsh rays from the depths of his homemade den. Sparsely furnished save for the bare essentials, the entire place felt almost clinical, right down to the permanent chill settled into the air, AC on high year round.

                    But by then, his guest should have been more than used to traversing this frozen wasteland. Though something he loathed, their arrangement was something Desmond found necessary given his near narcoleptic tendencies. Still, it didn’t mean he had to like it. 

                    The consistent prodding didn’t garner a single reaction, the Wendigo’s body still as a corpse where it lay tangled in his sheets. It’s wasn’t until about the forth time that handle neared him that instinct deigned the movement important enough to move for, one skeletal hand shooting from it’s place beneath his pillow to latch onto the wooden rod with a white-knuckle grip.

                      It’s was a half victory at best. A deep, throaty growl emanated from somewhere under the comforter, a firm yank given to the broom before he’s pushing it aside. Wordless as it was, anyone familiar with this task would know the warning for what it truly meant:

Folie A Deux had been both a blessing and a curse for the god. There was a certain freedom here for him, an escape from the world that seemed to bog him down so much. But violence and chaos didn’t seem to play favorites when it came to species - they all felt it. Which meant he felt it to.

He lost no power here.

Still, it was quiet compared to the other places he’d been. Contact was slim to none, and they allowed him to come and go as he pleased - without the expectation of taking sacrifices in tow. So as he sat, cigarette against his lips, empty glass in front of him, he eyed his company. Or, well, the person that seemed as if they were debating his company. 

“Sit. Speak.” He paused, the pull of the cigarette drawing smoke, which then proceeded to roll from his lips as he continued. “Or don’t, but make your decision now and quit staring.”

                               “Not one for attention, then?” Came his amused remark, lightly surprised to finally have been caught in the act. People watching wasn’t exactly the word he’d use for it; But there was something distinctly interesting about watching the many strange individuals mulling about this little town they’re in.

                              Yet still he found himself sliding into the offered seat, half turned to hike one arm up on the back of his chair. The same hand lifted then, two fingers coming to rest just in front of his lips. A halfhearted pantomime as though he had his own cigarette.

DESMOND KANE shares our delusions. They are UNKNOWN, they are a WENDIGO who looks just like ANDY BIERSACK. They are a RESIDENT. While they might be CHARMING, sometimes they get MANIPULATIVE.