A Land of Make Believe

Even still, he's in no shape to start another war, let alone drag himself out of one alive, so he relents, albeit reluctantly, as he stumbles backward, still snarling like a rabid dog until he can't anymore. He can't allow himself to look weak, to feel any smaller than he already does...but there is nothing brave about the gaping hole in his chest, nothing brave about the spit currently drooling down his chin, a spoiled mixture of blood and venom that tastes as bad as it smells. He is painfully aware of the fact that he can barely stand on his own two feet, and who does he have to thank for it? Nobody but himself her.

For once, David says nothing. His mouth is full of split gums and bloodied teeth and it hurts to breathe after being shoved—not because he needs to, but because it still exists within his body's natural habit to do so while in recovery. He finds whatever bed is closest to him and takes a seat, hissing as the skin pulls taut around the wound.

—he needs to eat.

David spits the excess blood at her feet and grins, bloody and wide. He pictures her with the same, gaping wound in her chest, twisting the stake into her chest with enough force to mount her to the wall of the ironworks. I won't miss, he whispers in the back of her mind, enough to make him wheeze that same death rattle wheeze in his lungs from earlier.

Star half expects Marko to finish what David had started, to become sharp teeth and golden eyes, the monster she had never seen until these last few moments. He doesn't, though, instead acting as mediator between the two, giving her then a way out, a chance to leave the ironworks, to leave Santa Carla behind- or to cross that line she had spent a year avoiding. The line that Star knows she can never come back from, never escape; finally give in to that voice in her that had been clawing out, that had made itself known mere moments ago. But, oh, the price now that comes with it is vastly different; there's no loving family awaiting her, there's no partner at her side who once saw her as an equal.

Now that man is so full of hate, Star can feel flashes of it in her own system like lightning, her chest rising and falling with breaths she tries to control while she can. Is it her vampire instincts that try and charge again, or is she feeling David's murderous rage at her? "I..." Star's voice cracks as she keeps her eyes solely on David, flickering now and then to Marko; she could and should take the chance and bolt, since isn't that what she does best? She runs? For a second, as she watches David sit himself back down, the pain of it, the way she notices his body instinctually take a breath, she considers not running for once, until there's a small collection of blood at her feet.

Until there's a bloodied grin thrown at her, the smell of rot and decay becoming nearly too much. Run, run, r u n-

Until there's a flash of an image vividly in her head, David's voice so clearly joining it, he may as well have been whispering in her ear, an icy chill descending down her spine. Star's hands don't fly fast enough to her mouth to cover the small scream; I won't miss. It's enough to cause her half-human heart to skip a beat, the next sluggish one finally coming, as she looks at the two vampires. She tells herself Marko can't do this on his own, that she can't let the two of them heal the way they are without rest; there's not the reason of the promise threat lingering in her head.

"I'll do it," she says, fighting for every ounce of strength in her voice, "You both need to eat, so I'll... I'll do it."

Marko’s got one with him too.

It has him gritting his teeth and sending his own message to David: knock it off. The image of him smacking the back of his sire’s head is pushed along with the words, since he’s restraining himself from doing so physically. Both because of his injuries, and because Star needs to see that, no matter what sort of out he’s given her, no matter how done with his shit Marko is, he’s still on David’s side. That’s not going to change, and he’s not going to give her a reason to think it might.

“Then fucking do it. Go. Before I change my mind.” He waits until he’s sure she’s gone before letting a bit of the weariness he feels seep into his expression. Wipes a hand down his face and sighs, before going to grab the bandages. “Do you actually want to die?” he can’t help but ask, walking back over to David. “Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you keep pushing yourself. And what the fuck were you thinking, attacking her like that? She could’ve done a lot more than just push you away and you know it.”

Despite her focus on the mechanized war machine, Carol spared him a confused glance. He could fly? The Justice Gang? Green Lantern? What the hell had been happening on Earth while she was away. Were the Avengers gone, then? Had they rebranded? Was he a new member?

      Who in their right mind renamed the Avengers, the Justice Gang?

      “I’m not new,” she replied, though Carol sounded a little unsure. “Is the Justice Gang the new name for the Avengers?”

      She blasted forward into the robot, punching through the hull with ease. Though there was certainly human influence, the supersized warbot was not from Earth. Rather, someone must have put it together on planetside, managing to get it operating and then just…let it loose. She drifted upwards, searching for anything which resembled a control room, or even just an operations core – but all it was wires, and metal. She recognized some of it as Kree technology, mostly relays and power converters. Those could be finicky, which made Carol hesitate. The last thing she wanted to do was put this thing into overdrive.

      She caught sight of the stranger floating up into view from her peripheral.

“The Avengers?” He sounded just as unsure as she did. “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t know who that is.”

Once he was sure that there were no living beings inside the thing—apart from the superpowered woman—and after making sure there were no stray civilians lingering below it, he blew freezing air at the giant robot’s feet, encasing them in a large, solid block of ice, halting it in its tracks.

Easily avoiding one of the still swinging arms that swatted at him, he flew through the hole the woman had created and made his way up to her. Taking a look at the controls, he paused for a moment, considering them. “Do you know how to turn it off? I’d use my heat vision and just blast the controls, but some of this looks alien. I don’t want to risk an explosion with so many people nearby.”

He took another drink before setting it down. “But no lectures. No sales pitches. And I’m not emotionally invested enough in your life to tell you that whatever happened today was part of some grand plan.” His gaze moved over her face again, sharper than his casual tone suggested. “You look like you’ve already had enough people, or possibly the universe, telling you what you’re supposed to do.”

The bartender approached, but before she could even open her mouth, the man beside her spoke again. Her brows lifted, Max blinking in surprise.

“That’s a dangerous thing to offer,” she pointed out. “Whatever I want. What happens if I want a whole bottle of top-shelf…forty-year-old whiskey,” she knew jackshit about whatever was considered ‘the good stuff’, but she was pretty sure older was better, “and…I dunno, fifty orders of nachos?”

She didn’t, obviously. But she was curious how he’d respond. Would he back out, tell her she was on her own, if that was the case, or would he double down?

What she actually ordered was a vodka-cranberry with a splash of orange juice. Sweet and tangy, the juice mostly hiding the taste of the vodka. Something she could get absolutely plastered off of, if she didn’t watch herself, but a couple of them wouldn’t hurt.

And it wasn’t like she was expecting him to pay for any additional drinks she had. Even one was unexpected.

“Thanks,” she says to the man as the bartender walks away to prepare her drink. “I appreciate it. But it does make me wonder: is this you being generous, or do I just look that rough?”

Max turned towards him a bit more, resting her own elbow on the bar. “Well, at least you’re honest about it. I’m pretty sure self-awareness is usually a plus.” As for ruining evenings, that remained to be seen. So far, he was managing to make hers a bit better—she would have to see if it lasted.

Grimacing, she looked away. “…Yeah. Something like that.” More like the universe showing her a whole bunch of shit she never wanted to see, but he was close enough.

She couldn’t help but smile slightly at his outstretched hand, snorting softly in amusement as she shook it, shaking her head. “Nice to meet you. I’m Max. It must be your lucky night—my day was impressively awful and I tend to have a habit of making terrible choices.”

"Of course I do!" Delirium feels the joy of Oriya like a tidal wave. She squeaks, wrapping her arms securely around Oriya as she brightens, holding the angel tightly. Her angel. Her heart thuds in her chest, and she's flushed. But happy. Very happy. She doesn't remember when she has been so happy. She's so ... all over the place these days. Up, down, all around, it's very rare that she finds delight alone. But Oriya grants her that. And even if Delirium wonders what the catch could possibly be, she does not let it get in the way as she returns Oriya's affections, grinning into her hair, letting it drape over her face.

She can't wait to tell Lucifer!