#chemiicalisms

@chemiicalisms | in which zacharie’s been dead to zaiden for months.

                           MONSTERS  DON’T  HAVE  A  FAMILY.  Beasts  like  him  weren’t  worthy  of  it;  they  don’t  deserve  the  kindness  or  solace  of  a  familiar  touch.  The  unholy  divinity  coursing  through  his  veins  were  a  curse  Zaiden  was  forced  to  bear  unquestioningly,  undoubtedly,  and  unabashedly  --  and  if  that  meant  forsaking  everything,  then  so  be  it.  A  king  like  him  couldn’t  be  held  back  by  anything  --  NOT  EVEN  FAMILY  --  and  his  own  brother,  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  had  reminded  him  of  that  very  fact  without  shame.  Zacharie  Hendricks  was  born  from  the  same  mother,  the  same  father  as  Zaiden  had  been  --  and  yet,  were  you  to  ask  Zaiden  about  his  twin,  his  only  response  was  that  HE  HAD  NO  BROTHER.  Not  anymore.  His  mirror  image,  his  other  half,  died  months  ago  when  he  turned  his  back  on  the  squadron  and  fled  back  into  the  fray  of  bullets  and  gunfire.  His  twin  brother  died  when  he  gave  up  Zaiden  in  favor  of  a  lover’s  life.  His  twin  brother  was  DEAD.  The  Zacharie  that  lived  and  breathed  today  was  no  brother  of  his.  He  was  an  embarrassment,  and  Zaiden  refused  to  recognize  the  fallen  Hendricks  as  anything  but  that  --  A  MISTAKE.

                          A  BLEMISH.

                                                     UNWORTHY,  UNWORTHY,  UNWORTHY.

                          Months  had  passed  since  THAT  night;  the  days  had  bled  into  weeks,  and  no  matter  how  many  times  the  moon  shifted  in  and  out  of  its  phases,  the  damage  remained.  The  explosive  argument  had  given  way  to  complete  radio  silence  --  and  before  long,  Zacharie’s  belongings  were  quietly  removed  from  their  family  home  as  Zaiden  worked  to  organize  an  interim  second-in-command  to  replace  the  former’s  position  until  a  more  PERMANENT  solution  was  reached.  His  twin’s  once-familiar  presence  became  a  distant,  fleeting  memory  and  their  once  comfortable  companionship  morphed  into  something  ugly,  vile,  and  unrecognizable.  Zaiden  couldn’t  stomach  the  sight  of  the  other  for  longer  than  a  handful  of  minutes,  and  as  time  wore  on,  it  became  common  knowledge  that  the  Syndicate’s  prince  had  fallen  out  of  the  king’s  favor.  Zacharie  was  BENCHED  for  all  Zaiden  cared  and  would  stay  as  such  until  further  notice.  As  little  contact  as  possible  was  preferred  --  but  not  even  Zaiden  could  get  his  way  all  the  time.

                          The  contract  drawn  up  for  his  next  mark  was  inconvenient  at  best;  a  heist  designed  for  a  full  squadron  rather  than  a  singular  killer  meant  that  the  blue-eyed  king  had  no  CHOICE  but  to  make  a  selection  that  went  against  his  preferences…  ESPECIALLY  since  the  key  to  success  for  this  particular  job  relied  heavily  on  a  member  with  knowledge  on  chemical  engineering  --  leaving  Zaiden  with  no  alternative  but  to  swallow  his  pride  and  request  the  services  of  the  man  he  all  but  REFUSED  to  acknowledge  for  months.  The  message  was  delivered  through  a  third  party  --  god  forbid  that  Zaiden  would  actually  grace  his  disavowed  brother  with  a  face  to  face  warning  --  and  a  meeting  was  organized  to  take  place  in  a  separate,  secluded  rendezvous  location.  

                          Zacharie  had  been  banished  from  their  family  home  &  Zaiden  had  absolutely  no  intention  of  allowing  that  MISTAKE  from  ever  stepping  foot  within  the  grounds  ever  again.  

                          The  night  of  the  meeting  rolled  around  faster  than  Zaiden  would  have  liked,  but  the  assassin  held  his  head  high.  Shoulders  squared,  jaw  set,  blue  eyes  narrowed  into  piercing  chips  of  ice.  Everything  about  him  --  from  the  stern,  unreadable  expression  gracing  his  angular  features  down  to  the  sleek  black  ensemble  hugging  his  body  tight  --  seemed  to  scream  CONTROL.  Leather  gloved  hands  gripped  his  favorite  pistol  in  clear  view  --  A  WARNING  to  watch  your  tongue  in  his  presence  --  and  with  each  step  he  took,  the  heavy  heel  of  his  steel-toed  boots  echoed  through  the  empty  warehouse.  He  could  make  out  the  tall  figure  seated  upright  at  the  small  table  arranged  in  the  center  of  the  empty  room,  but  Zaiden  didn’t  bother  to  ACKNOWLEDGE  HIM.  He  wasn’t  worth  his  time  or  extra  breaths.  Thumb  clicked  off  the  safety  of  the  pistol  in  his  grasp  before  setting  it  down  against  the  smooth  surface  of  the  table,  gaze  sweeping  over  the  other  with  thinly-veiled  disgust.  

         THERE IS A SKETCHBOOK in his hands, and while his fingers twitch on occasion the man is FOCUSED on the lines he creates. A smudge of charcoal here, and a thick line of DEFINITION somewhere else. He is calmest when creating, a swarm of PEACE settling in his chest and allowing him to FORGET, even if momentarily. 

She’s naturally drawn to violent people, those with war in their bones. They use to worship her and her brother. But they have long since been forgotten. Now she wonders through the streets, waiting for someone to say something stupid or make a wrong move so she can relieve the tension in her muscles, pent up from years without razing a town or something of the like. Today is one of her calmer days, having recently beaten the living daylights out of someone who thought it was a good idea to make a vulgar comment at her. She’s sitting at a bar, her tank top revealing just a hint of the sprawling tattoo on her back, glass of whiskey in front of her. That’s when he takes a seat beside her, and her crimson eyes flick towards him, a small smile curling on her lips. “Plenty of other empty seats in the bar, unless you wanted to sit next to little ol’ me?”

        “I HAVE A FAVOR to ask of you.” Zahirith got straight to the point, determined expression etched on her face as she took a few more steps into the room. He was almost as ODD as her. There’s just the hint of a dark smile playing at the corner of her lips, trailing down her thin form. “I need a poison.” Hand holds out a dagger about nine inches long, jagged along the edges with just the hint of a compartment at the hilt - pooling through the rest of the silver with small vents and HOLES. 

        “Do you always treat Zaiden’s partners like this or is it just because I’m a MAN ?” He’d been wondering it for a while now, and since they had a bit of time together, the reject figured it was the BEST TIME to ask. 

she gets desperate sometimes. an itch, spread out through her bones, her muscles, her nerves - sometimes she just needs something to put her body at ease, to calm her nerves. it’s quite pathetic, actually, if she wasn’t so terribly good at making herself nice & pretty for anyone who might help her out - just a bat of her lashes, a honeyed smile and a tilt of her head: “ hey — you got something for me ? ”

         He’s just out of the shower, hair still wet and a towel wrapped carelessly around his waist. The hunter’s clothes are still tossed haphazardly on Zaiden’s bed, forgotten in their entirety. Xander had been in there for ages, using up the hot water that steamed across the colder room, and STAINED his back a rosy pink as he let his brain fall to mush. It was only circumstance that he didn’t hear anyone come in, though he was sure Zaiden would be back eventually even though a time had not been set. He’d gotten used to not KNOWING. At this time of the day - or night, he hadn’t checked - the place was usually empty anyways. He had it completely to himself, which was as lonely as it was comforting. Here his mind didn’t go to the worst, at his brownstone - there were too many things to remind him of what he LOST.

        Stomach growling, the hunter heads out of the room - towards the kitchen - only to come face to face with someone else. It was eerie, and for a split second he feels weightless, heart jumping into his throat. The man was slightly turned from him but the resemblance to Zaiden was UNCANNY. It was only a moment, but he thought perhaps it WAS him before he realized who it actually happened to be. The brother... and this is how they would meet. The color drains from his skin, and a noise of surprise leaves his lips as he immediately checks to make sure he’s still RELATIVELY COVERED. He wonders how many other people Zacharie had seen nearly naked coming out from his brother’s room - when his brother wasn’t even home.