#;closed

There was something seriously wrong ... Of course, Shaw had known that moments ago, but the longer he stood there; staring down ... whatever this was, the sinking in his stomach became more and more apparent. More ominous. The darkness surrounding them on all sides, trying to seep in from the corners of the street light felt like a trap -- like it was preventing him from seeking escape.

And he couldn't move. Shaw prided on being slippery, from finding ways to get out of any situation in which he felt threatened; an important skill to nurture when you were wanted by shady ass organizations. But ... he couldn't fucking move. It was Gavin, but it such as fuck wasn't Gavin, and seeing the shadows of other faces twist and shift just barely ...

He took a small step back, breath catching in his throat as he schooled his expression slowly to hide his discomfort; to hide the way scraps of fear that itched at him.

" -- You're not my fucking brother." It's been awhile since Shaw had willingly referred to Gavin as such, but he still knew him. Knew how he presented, how he came off and how he talked, and whoever -- whatever - this thing, person, monster was, it was not his older brother.

A place filled with lost things, now found. No wonder he felt at home here.

@skellingtonisms

James was quite enamored with times and places that didn't belong to him. He had been a voracious reader as a child, before taking the leap to leave home for something better. In Neverland, he found art in unexpected places--paintings in caves and drawings in dirt. He had music, too, crafting a flute for Peter and a lyre for himself. But he'd always missed books. Then Neverland gave him a ship, a proper piano, and a bookcase full of lost things, books included. Neverland's magic was mysterious and unpredictable, he would not pretend to understand it even as he accepted its gifts and cursed its trials.

In this place, magic ran deep as well. He had never been able to master magic, not in the way Peter could. He was only ever a recipient and not a wielder, though the use of pixie dust felt the closest he'd ever get. As he grew into the man he is now, James had to acknowledge that while he was far from ordinary, he certainly wasn't magical.

Truthfully, magic still made him wary. And it was inescapable no matter where in Elias one turned: the new city, the old, or the under. Still, just like the milleniums before his time or like places he'd never visited, magic was something he could only dream of--it wasn't his, could never be his. But it fascinated him, a pirate so used to seeing what he wants and just taking it.

James often visited the museum, though he gave a fake name for his ticket. With his thick-rimmed glasses, hands--one flesh and one wooden--in gloves, and an unassuming jacket he felt invisible enough to find sanctuary in this place. He liked to stay in one gallery at a time, taking in each exhibit and every artifact. He spent time pondering everything as if the item he was gazing upon at the moment was the only thing he came to see at all.

He had been standing in front of a particular magical piece for a while. It looked like a mirror--or a broken shard from one. He stood at every angle, attempting to catch a glimpse of something out of the ordinary in its glass. Instead, he was only met with his own, ordinary reflection. Another man approached him, he could see the stranger's reflection now, too. He stood away, not encroaching on James's space. He seemed curious about the mirror, perhaps waiting for James to move along so he could take a long look. But James was frustrated that he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to see. It'd linger in his mind even moving to the next artifact. He couldn't walk away until he learned something.

"Are you familiar with this one?" He ventured to ask the man, the only other person in the gallery with them. "I haven't got it figured out quite yet."

In our world, this world, and the next. There you were and here I am.

|| @bloodandpixiedust

James wasn't supposed to be here. It was dangerous for him to be here. Yet, the call of the sea sang out to him more hauntingly than that of the sirens who live beneath its surface. Even as a child, he'd spent hours at his window to watch the water. He always came back to the water when he could. That didn't mean that he should.

Even though most of the city had gone to sleep, James knew there were wanderers like him who found the moon too bright and their thoughts too loud. Anyone who'd come upon him here may have more in common with him than they may care to know. The folks here in New Elias considered him a villain, a scoundrel, a leader of thieves. They've never been told anything to lead them into thinking otherwise. And Hook's been called worse things, as it were.

Still, he sought solitude tonight. That was why he sat himself in the sand and began to count the stars' reflections on the water. The push and pull of the tide caused endless ripples across the inky black surface, turning a sky of a million stars into a sea of a infinite, changing galaxies.

The last thing he'd hoped for this evening was the sounds of shifting sand behind him, footsteps of someone approaching. Likely, it was someone to tell him to move along, that the beach was closed and he'd have to leave. If they recognized him, maybe they'd spit on his name before ousting him back to the Underland.

Cautiously, James sent a glance over his shoulder. What he saw was enough to make his blood run cold. His coat had been protecting him from the biting chill of the beach breeze, but nothing could have prepared him for the shiver that ran down his spine when he knows the figure standing there. James was on his feet swiftly to stand face to face with the being he'd nearly given up waiting for. Peter Pan.

Even under the glowing, forgiving light of the moon, James could clearly see that this was not the boy he once knew. The impish glint in his eye was the same, but the tell-tale signs of aging have gripped him. It's enough for a small, wry laugh to bubble from James's lips.

"Fuck, Pan, look at you," James broke the silence. No doubt, Peter was just as stunned to find him in the labyrinth of this new world as he was to be found here by him tonight. Yet, if this truly was the same boy--the same monster--he'd once known in Neverland, then he will be the same Captain Hook. He knew exactly which words to make this first blow hurt. "You've grown so old."

Jack didn't like to sink far into the villain underbelly more than he had to -- difficult, when he was in close proximity to Pitch, but he only did the bare minimum of what he had to do. Just enough to follow instructions. The whole thing concerning the League and the Army and whatever -- he didn't want to tangle himself in the mist of all of it. He never wanted to hurt anyone anyway.

But it was something to find someone who looked so much like him --

"Hey ... You okay, little guy?"

Jack kneels down towards the kitten, focusing the weight on the balls of his feet as his arms rested on his knees. Snow was softly falling around them, sticking to the ground and slowly piling up ... while it was winter and no one could truly blame him for releasing the dusting of snow and the cold, he always felt guilty in times like these. When he's face to face with someone - human or animal - who struggled because of the things he conjured.

-

By the time he begun to stir, Sasuke couldn't get a grasp on how long he'd been out. The fact he was waking up at all was a minor surprise, although it was quick to discern the why and how by the searing pain throbbing in his temples and the way his eyes ached even before trying to open them. He'd overdone it with his quirk. There's a tiny pang of self consciousness -- if he passed out, that meant, to some capacity, he must of been a burden. A silent sigh escapes him, hand raising to brush over his aching temple, trailing through black hair.

The more awake he became, the more in-tuned to his surroundings he became -- and more aware to the noises punctuating the silence that would of otherwise filled the space. Cheerful and almost obnoxious -- the hell?

He squirms, turning his body over towards the sound more fully, squinting through aching eyes at the other body in the room; trailing from Shigaraki to the gaming system in their hands. Oh ... Brows furrow, as though not truly believing that the vision was real before he forces himself up into a partial sitting position. ( Or rather, something a little more upright, with the small wave of dizziness to fall over him from the movement. )

A beat of silence, Sasuke letting his eyes close again for an extended moment before looking back up towards his 'Leader' - and the more time went on, the more surprised he was at how the word in his thoughts lost it's sarcastic and near defiant edge when connecting it to his fellow League member - before he finally finds words; voice slightly cracked and heavy. " .... How long have you been there?"

"I already know what you are --- the lot of you."

And he hated that he knew; that it was so easy for him to know because of that tainted blood running through his own veins, of the way it was slowly corrupting him. Even without seeing their patterns, he knew.

I'm not one of you. I'm not, dammit --