#demonisxd

It was almost the proverbial bad end to a bad beginning.

Perhaps that was, in part, Arcade’s own fault. While he couldn’t claim to necessarily wholly trust the detective with the time they had spent together surviving within this waking nightmare he was starting to slowly reach such a point, vaguely. With the use of their combined intelligence and what skills they each possessed they had managed to survive thus far - helping one another out, keeping one another alive.

It was easier to survive a nightmare when you were not facing it alone.

This had initially seemed just another escape. From one hellzone into another - this one of darkness, illuminated only by a solitary flashlight. Unpleasant but definitely doable... with the limiting of one’s sight it only meant his other senses sharpened, meant that he could pause, could listen, and he could only hear himself and the breathing of Joseph.

Anything he’d been about to comment on their timely survival died on his lips at the clatter of their feeble light suddenly falling to the ground. He’d been walking just ahead, trying to move some of the things they were unable to navigate around, and upon hearing that noise had half-turned back. A skitter of light across their faces as the flashlight rolled, tunking lightly against one of the warped metal frames.

“Are you-” -okay? died just as neatly as the other words when suddenly the detective was on him, hands sealed around his throat with all too obviously murderous intention. Arcade panicked as his air supply suddenly vanished, body seeking to retrieve what was lost, as he shoved against the berserked man. When that didn’t work he sought to use his greater height as leverage, sought to all but try to wriggle and shoulder the smaller man off that latch to his throat and away from him.

When that too failed only did he decide to genuinely strike him, lungs screaming alongside his head. That... now that seemed to have, somehow, actually had an affect. The moment that Joseph let go the researcher gasped, bruised throat sucking in what was probably the cleanest, sweetest air he’d ever had... barring they were in what looked to be a medical ward, one that was decidedly not remotely clean.

Pain. Confusion. Betrayal. Almost immediately he backed up away from him until the backs of his legs met a barring force, the immobile weight of the twisted ruins of what had once been another bed frame. “Explain yourself.” His own voice sounded shake to his own ears - shaky and hoarse, unsteady, the rasp lingering where hands did not. Fingers pressed across what was left behind - Joseph had been trying to kill him, there was going to be an ugly band of swelling and surely bruises left from the effort.

And the detective spoke. He spoke and Arcade listened... but those words, they were... sinking. “This has happened before.” Even he had to cringe at the way his voice sounded, at the pain left from the mere effort. He didn’t know, genuinely know, but the assumption felt right by the knowledge within the other man’s words. “This has happened before and you didn’t warn me.” Trust - that hadn’t been there, perhaps, on both sides. Perhaps the good detective had simply feared that he would’ve been abandoned by one of the very few sane people, genuine people, still running around this place for it. Perhaps perhaps perhaps!... he didn’t know. Couldn’t know what thoughts had driven him towards such a foolhardy decision.

“Instead you allowed for me to remain completely unaware and ill prepared to defend myself should it have happen. What were you thinking?” No mention of hurting him for it, in doing what might very well be necessary to stop him. While he was realistic enough to know it was necessary to take a life at times he... would’ve rathered to simply avoid until the man had come back to his senses.

A pause. A second. Silence to follow the detective’s question before.. “I think the damage’s minimal. Bruising. Probably some mild swelling - it’s probably a bit much to expect for us to find an ice machine around these parts for that.” Us, he wasn’t immediately abandoning the other man despite the attack. Now he knew. Now he could be that better prepared if it occurred again.

Send me Ⓐ and my muse will rate yours:        

@demonisxd

Attractiveness:

repulsive || hideous || ugly || not attractive || unappealing || not unattractive || meh || no preference || ok || mildly attractive || nice looking || cute || adorable || attractive || pleasant on the eyes || good looking || hot || sexy || beautiful || gorgeous || hot damn || perfect || godlike || holy fuck there are no words

Personality:

grating || irritating || frustrating || boring || confusing at best || awkward || unreasonable || psychotic || disturbing || interesting || engaging || affectionate || aggressive || ambitious || anxious || artistic || bad tempered || bossy || charismatic || appealing || unappealing || creative || courageous || dependable || unreliable || unpredictable || predictable || devious || dim || extroverted || introverted || egotistical || gregarious || fabulous || impulsive || intelligent || sympathetic || talkative || up beat || peaceful || calming || badass || flexible

How likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending || fuck no! || never || no way || not likely || not sure || indifferent || I’m asexual || maybe || probably || it depends || fairly likely || likely || yeah sure || yes || hell yes || fuck yes! || wishing that could happen right now || as many times as possible || we are already having sex

Level of Friendship:

never in a million years || worst of enemies || enemies || rivals || indifferent || neutral || acquaintance || friendly toward each other || casual friends || friends || good friends || best friends || bosom buddies || practically the same person || would die for them || true friends || my only friend ||

First impression of them:

I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them

Current impression of them:

I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them

How good of a kisser:

@demonisxd

peer into my muse’s memories

❤️- A happy memory that makes them smile

It was one of those peaceful days; they had gone out of their villa to shop at the market, grabbing fresh ingredients for lunch and dinner, as well as a little sweet treat for later in the evening. They laughed and sang on the way home, the tiny girl loving every little part of the ride. Her mother cooked lunch, Lillian helping pour the milk and stir the cheese while her father cooked the vegetables in a little wine. Then they all talked and told stories, old and new, in between silent moments of enjoying delicious food. It would turn into a laid back day where she would soak herself in sunlight, sitting on the window seat with her father listening to him continuing little stories from the table or singing, while her mother played on the piano in the other room. The music floated and swirled through the air, and she loved watching through the open doorway adjacent to them, her mother’s graceful fingers tickling the ivories and her father’s voice almost sing-song like. Both elements, combined with the warmth on her back and in her heart, painted the most tranquil scene. If only it didn’t also lull her to sleep; she wanted to finally listen to the end of the song.

💛- A memory that makes them feel angry

She should’ve never entered their lives. She was the only person Lillian could actually say she hated, tears in her eyes as the little girl said such a strong and hurtful word. She said it to her, in an act of bravery, wanting to just let out her emotions and not just keep them inside for her father’s sake; she knew now that this woman was poison to their family and the girl wanted to be cured. But she didn’t expect violence from her. The woman grabbed her face, hand completely covering her mouth and slamming her head against the wall, nails digging into her cheeks as she gasped and froze up. “Shut up!” It was a screech, emitted from the banshee in front of her with such ferocity that tears instantly welled up in her eyes. Then a chesire grin appeared on her face, “God, I wish you weren’t here. When I met your precious daddy I didn’t expect to be dealing with such an annoying little bitch like you; I just wanted what I wanted and then get out of here.” Words spat in her face, the little girl cries, but her face contorts, multiple feelings rising up and wanting to explode out of her, and she lets it spill a bit into her growing sobs. “Then get what you want and leave us alone. We would be happier if you just got out of our lives.” She sees the woman become enraged; she wasn’t going to let her influence be tested and let something she worked so hard for to be ruined by this little nuisance; so she braces herself, squeezing her eyes shut as the woman raised her hand in the air, ready to strike in order to assert her dominance and the girl’s silence.

💓- A memory about their friends

Lillian Marchand had friends in France. She interacted with them in school, she played with them on the playground, and generally just had a fun time with them. They were of course as supportive as little kids could be when her mother passed, most of them not really understanding it while one or two understood her lose to some degree. But then they didn’t know what to do when her father remarried and Lillian just dimmed; she wasn’t her same happy and warm self. She was distant and often looked melancholic or sad, but when her friends questioned it she brushed it off as nothing. Then they were all surprised by her suddenly moving away to the states, not completely knowing how to cure her problems and now faced with a reality in which they would never be able to. A few cried and hugged her, while others put on brave smiles and promised to try and write or email from time to time. Then she was gone, out of their lives.

And she never knew she felt so guilty about that until the moment Stella asked, sitting on her bed with tears in her eyes, suddenly remembering so many people she left behind. Yet there was also the feeling of betrayal; never once did she receive a letter or email, no calls or texts, nothing to indicate that she still existed in their minds. And all of the things she went through, good and bad, resurfaced in her heart and made her choke out disgusting sobs. The other girl didn’t think a simple question about her past in France would upset her to the point of tears, instantly holding her close and tightening her grip as the younger gasped in surprise. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, her own voice breaking, mentally chiding herself for making her new friend shed such tears. “I should have never brought it up. I-I didn’t mean anything rude by it; I just thought you would have a bunch of cool stories to tell. I didn’t think it would hurt you so much; I-I’m so sorry.” By now she was crying too, but she didn’t want to show it, burying her head into the crook of Lillian’s neck, trying her best to sound strong and tough but ultimately failing. 

They both held each other, sobbing messes in the other’s arms. But Lillian’s mind was racing, gripping the back of her new friend’s shirt as she translated and thought over her words and actions and reactions. And then little Lillian realized she needed this, all of these unwanted feelings of hatred and sadness off of her chest. She could never do this with her father; he was already in so much pain, and with his new job he was rarely home to talk to her. She barely knew her relatives here, basically meeting them for the first time, and the trust just wasn’t there yet. Here, it was. Here, with Stella Conway, a girl she met just barely a year ago and instantly connected to. A girl that had been a better friend than people she knew for years and barely remembered what they looked like. Their bond was so strong that it had surprised her on more than one occasion how much they cared about and trusted each other, especially here and now.