#001.

After all, Khonshu was gone, and Steven was far from qualified as far as getting them out and safely went.

And Harrow had upheld his word- don't instigate and he'd be kind.

Was that why Marc was missing? Because he knew he wouldn't keep his cool around these people?

"Um, Harrow, I'm sorry to bother you, but I just- My mum. I call her every day, and it's been a bit. I was wondering if you'd let me reach out just to touch base. I've, um, I've also got a little fish in my flat. Do you think I could get him? Or, at least, see if someone can look after him? No one really knows he's there. His name's Gus-"

If it seemed like he was beginning to ramble, it was only because he was. He was nervous and alone in enemy territory, but Harrow seemed to be kind enough.

Maybe he wouldn't be so cruel as to deny him these simple things.

The water in the sink ran red, and Harrow shut his eyes against it. In his head Ammit was hissing, scolding him for going too far in his last deployment, and in his heart he knew she was right. There was always a less violent way to accomplish anything, and he'd only been uninspired.

But it had been a rush, and that he couldn't deny. Since becoming Ammit's Avatar, Harrow no longer felt tired, hungry, pained, and so penance was hard to come by. And without that constant reminder, it became near impossible to resist the urge to give in to baser instinct.

Ammit healed every wound Harrow inflicted on himself before he could feel the sting of punishment, blessed be.

I'm sorry, he thought. I'm sorry, I can't help it, I don't deserve to serve you, I can't stop, I'm so sorry...

By the time Steven's voice reached his ears, the water going down the sink drain had already turned clear.

"...what?" Eyes shutting, Harrow steeled himself, then turned the faucet off. Without meeting Steven's gaze, he kept his head bowed, recalling with some frustration that Steven was part of his duties, too (even if his stomach twisted in jealousy at the memory of Ammit calling him good, and pure, and worth preserving).

"I'm sorry, Steven." Sorry. All you have to say is sorry. "I was a bit distracted... what was that, about your mother?"

She's fucking dead, is what she is.

Lucille trabalhava como atendente no pub, fora o único lugar que lhe oferecera um emprego minimamente descente quando ela se mudou para Los Angeles, apesar da bolsa que tinha para a faculdade, ainda precisava dar um jeito de conseguir se manter e pagar o aluguel, e ela não se importava, mesmo que vez ou outra ouvisse no fundo de sua mente a voz dos pais dizendo que a vida dela deveria ser diferente. Não importava, agora mais do que nunca ela se sentia livre de verdade, como se estivesse finalmente encontrando a si mesma, e graças ao seu charme, tinha conseguido convencer o dono a deixar que sua banda tocasse nas noites de quinta feira, que era quando os universitários enchiam o bar. E bem, qualquer oportunidade de se apresentar era ótimo, terminava de ajeitar as coisas no bar enquanto a banda organizava as coisas no pequeno palco improvisado, ela tinha o setlist todo pensado para aquela noite, estava se sentindo levemente ansiosa, mas sabia que era só começar a cantar que tudo desapareceria. Joe os apresentou, e ela subiu no palco sorridente como sempre, e foram necessários apenas os primeiros acordes para que tudo entrasse nos eixos e ela só começasse a cantar.

Leave a man starving for long enough and the fight was bound to drain out of him. Gavin didn't need much beyond physical exhaustion, and as he leaned against the doorway to his basement, he admired the sight of the man laid out on the mattress.

He was spoiled, really. Gavin left pillows and blankets and a pitcher of water he made sure to refill (and if there was a bit of crushed pills and other medication in there to make him sick and weak, that was for his own damn good). There was heating down here, which was perfect considering the winter weather, and the chain was long enough for him to piss on his own in the working toilet. If Gavin were meaner he would be holding the man's dick for him to control even that-- but as earlier stated, his new housemate was spoiled, and autonomy was a privilege.

Gavin was quiet as he came up, walking towards the mattress with a plate in hand. The sandwich on it was made with as much care as everything else: meat, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce. He'd even removed the crusts in an act of goodwill (spoiling, always spoiling his poor baby). It was a week since he first encountered the man, and a week since the guy so kindly let him sit beside him on a bus. That meant it'd been six days since he first took him to live here.

"Sweetheart," Gavin murmured, reaching a hand out and curving it gently on his shoulder, "I brought you breakfast.

"It's been a couple days, huh? You must be starving."