lost years

( aneurin barnard, cis male, he/him) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that JULIAN BEAU DOUGLAS is a THIRTY TWO year old UNEMPLOYED that’s been in Chicago for TWELVE YEARS. According to the file, they’re a mutant on LEVEL 3 with the power of PHOSPHOROKINESIS. That must be why they’re CREATIVE and ERRATIC. If you ask me, they remind me of fingertips stained with a rainbow of ink, a cheeky grin brightening a bloodless face, and the scent of acrylic paints half dried. They are affiliated with THE KAPPA RUNAWAYS.

Jules, thankfully, rests his head onto Sam’s shoulder. For a moment he looks peaceful: eyes shut and Samson looking down at him. A brief moment where he can’t help but think Jules looks pretty, long dark lashes against sharp pale cheekbones. Those big eyes are open, looking up at him with a grin. The thought scatter, Samson looking up abruptly as though the sharp snap of his head will chase the feeling away, too. “Right and what if I’m enjoying myself? It’s nice out, you can nap on me,” Samson crosses his legs at the ankles, like he’s never been more relaxed than this. He’s not great at letting things rest thought it goes without saying (in his mind) he’d do all sorts of embarrassing things to help out anyone he cares about, “At the risk of furthering your belief I like a damsel in distress—if you needed to be carried, I wouldn’t complain.” @sexysamson69

“Of course you wouldn’t complain. Perve.” Jules says, only because he’s prickly and mean when he’s embarrassed – which is a lot of the time. Sam’s head snaps abruptly up, though, and it leaves Jules wondering if Sam is actually annoyed at him.

         “hmm…” with that little tidbit of information given to him, raul’s flustered mind completely shuts off. it’s work mode again. he has a problem he wants to understand! “i don’t suppose they’re giving you iron supplements, are they?” there’s no way he should be so exhausted he can faint on command… the human ( or mutant, in this case ) body isn’t built for that! “you might need a bit more than tlc, but i’ll do my best.” @wolfsonged

         raul can pick up on the bitterness, but doesn’t comment on it. it only makes sense that after being in kappa ( and hovered around ) he wouldn’t find it an ideal arrangement to be forced back into. “don’t worry, i went to medical school. you’d have to do a lot more than faint for me to consider getting any embarrassment involved.” that said, he doesn’t want julian to faint. not among the things he would consider attractive! not that it matters. “can you really faint on command? don’t show me.”

         raul snorts, narrowly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “i’ve heard that before.” but… not for a long time. he’s become far too accommodating for his own good, and most times, for the good of anyone else, too. if letting go and accepting reality wouldn’t have had such a bloody ending, he would have ended his inconvenience to others in a heartbeat. unfortunately, reality is rarely as black and white or good and evil. whatever he does, suffering will occur. inconvenience will occur. pain will occur. winning is something for board games.

         he shakes his head. “you haven’t fainted yet. you’ve got a needle in you and everything.” not that he blames anyone for fainting at the sight of blood. he’s been the same way in his life… if for different reasons. does it matter? “but don’t worry, if it ever happened, you’d have plenty of people swooping in to catch you.” as anyone would, in his presence. as if he was going to let someone get hurt on his watch!

Stop posing. The clear instruction makes him snort as he salutes with a hint of flirtation. “Sir yes, sir.” There’s a pause as he looks at Jules smiling large and warmly. Victor wonders if his light and Jules’ might mix—and well, that would be a perfectly good day of wasting time looking and wondering. “And to be fair, I wasn’t posing. I look this good every time someone looks at me.” Egotistical and self-assured. He feels warm, just a little, the alcohol pooling in his gut and giving him a lift to loosen up. The man is still in the back of his mind, but Jules is in the front of his, And what a lovely sight to see.

Seeing him dig his sketchbook out of his bag, Victor almost laughs. It’s so… adorable, to find someone just as excited as he is to do something as simple as sketch some guy he flirts with. Victor raises his eyebrow and grins. “You know, you should get my good side,” he jokes, looking at him intently, tracing every dip of bone and curve of cheek as he sketches his heart out. “Less likely to be offended. Though, if you do one of those boardwalk faces, I’m going to ask for a redo.” Victor shrugs, letting light dance between his fingers. “I never seem to look good in those.” 

“Sir? I don’t think I’ve ever been ‘sir’ before; I like that,” Jules grins. Actually he does get ‘sir’ quite often, in this teasing way, because he tends to be quite bossy, but people rarely feel too concerned about actually following his instructions. Somehow Jules has always lacked authority.

He looks more at Victor than at his paper as his pencil skitters across the page, which is practical because it ensures he’s drawing what he sees rather than what he thinks he sees or what he’d like to see, but secondarily, it is also a nice excuse to stare openly at Victor. Maybe the lighting in this bar is especially flattering, but Jules doesn’t think so. He’s just naturally that pretty, and it’s just even a mere physical thing. He’s got a sort of charisma that draws you in, with a bright smile you can’t help but want more of, and eyes that sparkle with a sort of confidence Jules has always faked but never truly held.

“Surely every side is your good side,” he comments drily, one corner of his mouth lifting up in a smirk. “Don’t worry, I don’t do caricature. Though I guess what I do is sort of adjacent. But there’s a kind of art in caricature, you know, figuring out what makes a person unique, or distinct. Reality isn’t always flattering, although I find it hard to believe that’s something you have any experience with.”

         “and you don’t have fun being an attention seeking little asshole?” he asks, unconvinced. raul has nothing against him, of course, but he certainly seems like the type that would do it for the entertainment value. what other reason was there to be self aware and still act out in that way? “unfortunately, that doesn’t surprise me. doctors offices are busier than people realize.” the lines and queues that plague the phlebotomy sphere are almost worse than in general doctors’ offices, even. it doesn’t take raul to take a sample, but the supply of people pooling in the building for one reason or other is just endless. and there are only so many hours in a day that a person can work.

         still, he offers a smile. this is nothing compared to his usual workload, anyway. “i try to be personable when i can.” irresistible charm really has nothing to do with it, but raul isn’t going to blow the wind from jules’ sails. what kind of person would he be if he did? “but you are one of the more charming of my patients. most people who want extra attention are the kind that will faint. not that there’s anything wrong with that.” just not charming, either.

“Baby, you can check me out any time you want.” Is Victor laying it on thick? Sure, but he likes flirting, and he likes attention—and both coming from a nice mutant man drinking at the bar next to him after a shitty night? It’s not a question of he wants to flirt, to harangue or to even try to get laid right now, but it’s the question of affection. Victor likes it, but he really doesn’t get people—scratch that, he doesn’t get humans anymore. Not after being outed as a mutant. No, he got mutantfuckers, mutant haters and the regular old mutant now. The sensation of his hair being tucked back is something of a start, and as a call and response, he brings his knee in towards him, scooting over and being a little more suggestive that he looks.

The question—can I draw you—takes him off-guard still. He blinks once, twice, before touching his bicep and grinning. “Jules, baby. You can do whatever you want. You need anything up close, or do you want me to step away?” He pulls his hand away from his arm, but he moves his knee to stroke Jules’—something to say that he might do something else still if time let on. “I’m all yours, pretty boy. Just tell me what to do.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Jules says, and means it. Open invitation to check out Victor Acosta? It’d be his absolute pleasure. The self deprecating part of him is wondering what exactly Victor might see in him or be getting out of this, but the louder and bossier part (the part that usually wins his internal arguments) insists it doesn’t matter. One thing Jules is very good at is living in the moment and taking it as face value. He always felt he doesn’t have time to examine people’s motivations too closely. Like, if someone flirts, then that’s fun and great. What’s the worst that happens? They were joking and they laugh at Jules? Whatever! He’s been laughed at plenty of times. No skin off his nose, not any more.

And with the expected ego of a pop star, Victor seems absolutely delighted at the idea of being drawn. It’s cute, actually, how taken aback he looks: for a moment it’s almost as if the celebrity facade drops and there’s a youthful, earnest look in his eyes. Or maybe Jules imagines that, because almost immediately Victor is all grins and flirtatious touches, and yeah, it’s been a while since Jules was so openly flirted with so it does send a pulse of warmth through him. His skin glows with a soft light, a knee-jerk response to feeling good that Jules can’t easily control.

         raul does snort at julian’s dramatic reactions. for someone who has to go through the long and arduous process of having all of his blood replaced he’s got quite a spirit to him! most people he’s known who go through this procedure just sit quietly with a book, or have the television on in the background. then again, how many nurses actually sit and talk with them? raul tries, but there are only so many hours in the day he can afford to sit and chat. “i think your friends would love for you to be able to get out. they’re just not convinced you won’t run away.” which, truthfully, raul can understand… but he doesn’t know how far jules would get, either. especially with people like samson on his tail. “as for sensible warnings, you’re an adult. you should know your limits by now. besides, i find the more i advise against something, the more people want to actually go out and do it. would you listen if i did?”

Would you listen if I did? Raul’s got him there. “Well, no. Obviously not. But I don’t act out because it’s fun, I do it because I’m attention seeking little asshole.“ Jules responds bluntly. He is nothing if not self aware, and years of invasive medical intervention has left him with an extremely self deprecating sense of humour. “And hey, it works! You’ve stuck around way longer than most phlebotomists. Although I have a vague feeling that’s more your own personal sense of professional integrity than my irriesistible charms.”

The playful comments continue, he knows JD well enough to laugh along with it. They only mean harm to those who deserves it, and Samson has no intention of ever fitting that description — at least not when it comes to Jules.

“Never known you to give anything but your all. Fuckin’ insane man that you are.” It’s all said in a low voice, a faint smile. “Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Sam shifts around so he can sit shoulder to shoulder with Jules. The small contact hopefully helping to soothe or ground him. (And he can still keep an eye on anyone around them to keep Jules safe). “We can sit as long as you need to, I’m in no rush.”

Ugh. Despite his protestations, Jules actually kind of prefers it when Sammy’s mean to him. The gentle bedside manner people take with him when he’s feeling rough is always embarrassing. He’s so sick of feeling like a frangible piece of porcelain, something that needs to be cooed over and bundled in bubble wrap.

         “take pity on you?” raul snorts, shaking his head. not because pitiable doesn’t fit jules’ appearance, but… he tends not to dole into it much. sympathy? certainly. empathy? whenever possible! pity? not so much—too often, it’s used to infantilize others. “i think i’d be in a more pitiable position than you, there. especially if we pretended like we were younger than we were.” and it’s true that raul looks more his age than julian does, but still! less judgement on someone around their thirties than someone partying near fifty! “or if i had more than a few drinks. i just can’t do that, anymore.” to say nothing of the dancing. the only thing more embarrassing than being hungover after one drink is blowing out his back on the dance floor… no, none of it sounds particularly appealing to him, now!

         raul nods. “i’ve had my fair share of squirmy kids. and adults.” being afraid of needles is almost universal, as far as age is concerned. “but i appreciate you being well-behaved. i try and make it as easy an experience as possible.” and while he wouldn’t want to get anyone else in here to hold him down… jules does need this treatment. he would at the very least ask that sam try and talk him into it!

         “bar crawling?” raul barks out a laugh—almost more of a guffaw. he can’t imagine himself bar crawling. “i haven’t done that since college!” and for good reason. he can only imagine the hangover he would get nowadays. sometimes he feels like shit the next day after only a few drinks! “definitely meant it as a compliment. if there’s every a good place to be obedient, it’s when someone’s sticking you with needles.” he’s starting not to take as such an ice-cold shock, now that it just sort of seems like his personality. there are people like that.

“Just means you’re overdue!” Jules insists. “Also, my social circle is severely limited right now, and I actually missed out on most of my college years, so I think you could definitely take pity on me, you know, the two of us go bar crawling and pretend we’re younger than we are.” Which is possibly easier for Jules because people do consistently think he’s barely past his mid twenties. Raul’s grey hair and general paternal energy make it probably a bit harder for him to pretend, but whatever. Dilfs deserve fun too.

If I start getting lonely. Samson shakes his head, makes no comment because they’re joking, and he knows he’ll get stuck in his head if they start talking about anything like that. 

“Yeah, but not at you,” he continues, mainly because he enjoys seeing him smile, wants to make it brighter. Samson scoffs as he berates himself: yeah, he’s sickly but Samson doesn’t think it’s something he’ll ever be used too He’d thought back at the AMMO facility it was the scientists (torturers) making him so weak, that his ill health wasn’t so… prevalent. 

“Doesn’t mean JD won’t kill me if I send you back even mildly injured.” Looking over Jules who seems at no risk of actually passing out, Samson relaxes a fraction. He sits so he’s essentially guarding Jules from one side, and looking over anyone in front of him. Jules simply inspires his protective nature. “Thirty five is still over-shadowed by the fifty percent little bitch part of your personality.” Samson flashes a grin, he could never be so mean if unless it could get a laugh or even a joking rise from someone. “Or snarky bastard. Might need to work on those percentages to fit it all in.”

“JD is always looking for an excuse to kill someone, if that helps.” Jules exhales. They are very protective over him, though. He knows that. And mostly he values it, it just bothers him sometimes because he’s the older twin; he should be the one protecting them. But most days it’s a miracle if he gets through without getting dizzy from standing up too fast, never mind standing up for anyone else.

         “is that another example of your subtlety?” he teases, brow arched. it’s nice to see him smile, if nothing else—especially after the realization that raul isn’t going to be the one to bring him back to the facility. “i have been flirted with before. and teased. but most people i meet these days are people i’m about to stick with needles. that tends to put a damper on the moment, i think.” some people are tolerant of it, but many… less so. he’s had more than his fair share of fainters! no blame to them, of course. he doesn’t envy them at all. “and as far as bloodwork goes, you’re one of the easier ones. some people need sedatives.”

“Oh, Twinkie Pie. I have much better lines, and most of them involve my mouth.” The second shot goes down smoother, though he vibrates with light and shivers in response—his body grimacing at the amount of alcohol that he’ll put himself through again. He sees the light come off him, and a shark-like grin comes through, looking at him up and down as he does. A shower of light sparks—less smooth, more flashy. He thinks there’s something there, but he can’t just place whatever it is. “But if you got the same power as me, I’m sensing a bit more camaraderie with you than the average mutant.”

What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this? It’s a bad line, and Victor has the urge to reply with something like “You, hopefully!” but decorum seems to be the name of the game here, and he shrugs. “It’s a mutant bar. I’m a mutant. I like drinking. Mostly, I chat people up, since I do smaller gigs now if I can help it,” he says, leaning forward into Jules’ space. “How ‘bout you, huh? You talk to random guys in bars like this, or is it because I’m formerly famous?”

Twinkie Pie? That’s a new one to Jules, but he doesn’t mind it. Sometimes the infantilisation he feels he receives now he is out of Kappa is annoying, but sometimes, in moments like this, he quite likes it. Makes him feel like he didn’t have to miss out quite so thoroughly on his twinkie twenties. And like, he’s not stupid. If a celebrity flirts with you, you absolutely take the damn compliment. “I’ve never met someone that can do the same things as me before. Be interested to see what you can do with it.” Conjuring a hand-shaped block of solid light by Victor’s face, Jules uses the construct to tuck a few stray hairs behind Vic’s ear – which has the advantage of allowing him to get a proper look at the guy in better light. He does have that celebrity it-factor. Such perfectly carved features he’s like a muse of Ancient Greece or something.

“Shut up,” Samson replies fondly to the sharp mumbling, “I only get off on damsel’s who thank me. Politely.” A small part of him, though, if he could be removed from the fact Jules’ ill health means he can take a turn at any moment, he might even get a kick out of it. 

Jules words are lucid enough (for him) but his gaze still looks unfocused. Hard to get off on this shtick when Jules looks so lost. Samson wants to reach out, stop his arms rubbing at his scarred arms, spit some vitriol about the people who took such poor care of him that left his skin a state. He can’t do that, though. Jules is still lost to the lies.

“Fuck anyone who thinks that, besides no-one will look long enough to notice. I’ll growl at people.” Sam jokes. Half-jokes. Now’s hardly the time for comforting him about the fact even if he were a junkie going through it, people should have compassion. He’s wallowing, he’s allowed too. Pulling out Jules’ hoodie, Sam holds it in a way that means Jules can start slipping it on with a help from Samson. “Will you get too warm in that?”

“I will bear that in mind if I start getting lonely,” Jules mumbles, though any levity is lost as he winces. The bright, sharp June sunlight is giving him a headache. It’d be so fucking nice to go through a whole day without some minor or major medical mishap. He wonders, bitterly and frequently, if healthy people know how good they’ve got it. Probably they don’t.

“If you start growling, people are gonna stare more.” And Jules says this with the barest ghost of a smile. He doesn’t actually doubt that Sam would growl at people, even if he’d only said it as a joke. Shrugging the hoodie on with Sam’s help, Jules rests back immediately against the tree, shaking his head obstinately. “Nope. I’ll be fine. You’re very dramatic, you know. Running all over the place. As if my personality isn’t a solid thirty five per cent me losing consciousness at any given moment.”