#brutalage

{ @brutalage ;;

" -and drink their blood, i see, i see. " as always, daddy savage has some of the best advice on the mortal plane.

Thad had gone through the plan a few times now, the goal was dead simple, retrieve Bart's body, any cost necessary. They were not going to one of Vandal's bases, it's official name was rather bland, easy to miss when looking over companies and buildings listed of being in gotham, but it's unofficial name, a nick name was Necropolis, after the city of the dead, either way they did not head there with intent on revenge, there would be plently of other people who handle that.

Thad was covering the blueprints again, showing where he was planning on cutting off.

In a corpse's fresh stage three distinct changes occur. First is Algor Mortis. Latin for 'cold death'. After death the human body will gradually lose heat until it reaches equilibrium with the environment. This begins immediately. Next is Livor Mortis, beginning between 30 minutes to four hours after death. The blood will begin to pool due to gravity and lack of circulation.

He hasn't looked at a clock, but it couldn't have been that long. Edward would wait that long if that's what it took. He'd wait even longer. Through bloat and rot if it took that long. Vandal would come back.

Then a noise pulls him from his thoughts, though it sends a shiver down his spine. He presses his hands over his ears. Wrenches his eyes shut. Tries to suppress the instinct to gag. This is good. Vandal is putting himself back together, as disgusting a process as it is. He tries to distract himself again.

As light as a feather, but the strongest man can not hold me for more than-

As if answering his thoughts he finally hears Vandal breathe and lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding himself. He chances a look and is relieved to find the immortal was fully stitched back together again. He scrambles across the floor, hands desperately curling into his lover's tattered clothes to pull him close. He wasn't sure when the tears started, but he can feel them rolling down his cheeks as he holds Vandal so tightly, as if the man would simply disappear through his fingers if he wasn't careful

"You're okay! You scared me!" He'd never seen Vandal die. He was under the impression it simply did not happen. He continues, babbling desperate pleas between sobs "I love you so much I just don't know what I'd do if you left me alone here. I need you here. Please don't ever do that to me again. Please don't leave me."

He's talking faster than he's thinking, still shaking from the stress of it all. He's not even fully aware of what he said, but it was the truth nonetheless

He loved Vandal Savage. When the simple attraction had shifted to genuine feelings of connection he couldn't say, but this moment solidified it. The way the world turned cold and grey when the body hit the floor. The panic and dread that clawed its way into his chest. The desperate need to hear Vandal's voice again assuring him that everything was okay.

@brutalage | 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Whooshing and groaning fill the alleyways of an empty street. A wooden police public call box soon begins to appear, fitting within the space and soon landing with a thud. It remains there, its lantern having faded once the landing cycle is complete. Eventually, the doors open and a figure steps out. She wears ‎a black, denim waistcoat that was tightly buttoned over a tan turtleneck, with a large coat that dropped to the thighs hanging on her shoulders. The boots she wore were cut a few inches below the knee, heeled with laces and locks. This woman wasn't abnormally tall or short, her height was rather average. Something she'd stolen during a different escapade. Her wild, unkempt white hair was her most distinguishing feature, aside from her all-black outfit and icy blue eyes, of course.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎"Good, good, yes." She chuckled mischievously, "I've led them off." She referred to a secondary party as if she was being pursued. "That should keep the so-called heat off my friends, whilst they maintain their side of the operation." She chuckled quietly. "If I were a guessing girl, however... I'd say... I don't have much time..." She hums quietly before chewing lightly on her knuckle. "No! No time indeed. I must flee... Into the city!" She points down the alleyway, "So when my pursuers arrive, they have more difficulty finding me." She begins to storm off. She knows she's a high-priority target, so whoever is chasing her will spend time looking for her... giving her friends more time to sabotage her pursuers whilst they aren't looking.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Eventually, she slides a black Fedora with a white ribbon across her snow-white locks to hide her face, adjusting the jacket that rests over her shoulders as she begins to walk through the foggy city of Victorian London. Her quiet jaunt through the city streets eventually slows to a small cautious halt as she observes something across the street. Scotland Yard? No, perhaps that is too early for this time period? Whoever it is, they're police officers. Her hands grip her lapels quietly and her thumbs brush over her coat's cotton texture quietly before she moves to walk across the street. As soon as she does, she is immediately stopped.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ "Excuse me, miss—" ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ "Hm? What, young man? Oh please don't tell me."

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ She interrupts the officer, speaking quickly, not letting him get a word in, "You're going to stop me from entering this crime scene. What? Because I'm a member of the public, hm?" She cocks an eyebrow, but before the officer can even continue, she gasps in offense. "I bet you didn't even realize that I was a member of your very own police force, hm!? Or at least, I am a consultant! Did they not inform you of my appearance?" She turns her nose to him and huffs in disappointment, and now the officer is awestruck. The Doctor continues, "No. I suppose it isn't your fault. Why would you expect me of all people to be the Marvelous and Fantastic Sherlock Holmes!?" She made an exaggerated wrist spin before her hand returned to her lapel and her posture corrected upward.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ "No, I mean— Well—" ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ "Oh, alright. I suppose I can forgive this little upset."

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ She moved to give him a pat on his shoulder before she just exploded past him and into the crime scene, hands on her lapels as she left the officer in confusion, in passing, she simply shouted outward. "If you simply step aside and allow me to do my job, perhaps I shall not inform your superiors of this utter insult you've administered by preventing me from doing my work for Queen and Country, hm!? Yes, yes, I thought you would. Good lad." She spoke before heading deeper inside and eventually entering the vandalized antique store that had been cordoned off into a crime scene.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏Inside, The Doctor found something truly horrific.