#* emerson

"Quit fucking looking at me like that, Blackwell," as always, the edge of her tone is clipped – unwelcoming in a way that Fallen knows is absolute bullshit. She knows how to keep people at arms length, and little else. And drinking – drinking she knows. Especially in an effort to queel the itch to step into the ring. The wrath floor calling like the only old friend she could trust. A new place to unleash the anger she kept hold of, but – she didn't trust that any of the sick fucks from the cult wouldn't be around to see; to find her among a crowd of many. "I'm not sharing, you'll have to pinch your own or some shit."

Noah's head swims with panic, an overwhelming feeling of being underwater and for a moment, he can't quite hear what the woman is telling him. He should have known by now, that any instance that would require him to remain at the compound to provide care during absolute disaster, is the exact instance he should have been elsewhere; searching for his siblings. Your efforts are going to get them killed... He hears it, over and over again, day in and day out. How could he ever manage to do enough to keep them safe? Emerson. He takes off, pushing past hands that seek to hold him still but there's nothing - not a god damn thing in this world or the next, that could keep him from any of his brothers, or Cole. "Get the fuck out of my way," he shouts through grit teeth, picking apart the crowd of people seeking medical help in some way; seeking out aid for loved ones, nursing broken bones and scratches so deep they'll wear the scars forever. It's something he knows too well - but the scar that might remain, should he not make it through the halls to his younger brother in time would drag him under.

Insanity, the supposed art of doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome. That was what this conversation felt like.The look of disdain that had passed to Noah upon hearing his brother had been seen just beyond the edge of the forest. Too close for comfort, looking to kiss the hand of the reaper himself. Sat opposite Emerson now, the eldest sipped bitter coffee and thought over all the ways in which he’d approached the situation before. Undoubtedly, Emerson was no different to the rest of them, in that he wasn’t about to give up on something he felt a gnawing interest in. In a world like theirs, however, that burning desire to pursue so often led to disaster. Hands curled around the chipped mug as he settled it upon the ring of condensation it’d left behind before. Right where it belonged. “So,” it feels like glass shards resting upon his tongue, ready to sink into flesh should he choose his words wrong. Emerson, for all intents and purposes, looks perfectly fine - but Noah has seen first hand the devastation that being in the wrong place at the wrong time can deal out; deathknell attacks, limbs torn by a dread pig and the irreparable damage of the infected and experience along makes it impossible to skirt over another lingering reminder that he didn’t think his brother was truly holding a candle to self preservation. “Feel like telling me why you were sleeping out by the forest again two days ago?”