#disturxed

   Vivien stood on a latter hanging some Halloween decorations. She reached a bit too far out of reach and nearly lost her balance. A set of hands caught her. One on her back the other on her hip. 

   She looked down and her stomach turned. The strawberry blonde stepped down and recoiled. “Don’t.” Vivien said putting her hands up and shaking her head.

((CONTD. From: http://disturxed.tumblr.com/post/178024332548/youve-never-hurt-me-ever-angela ))

She’d had her suspicions about Tate from the day she’d walked into this house--simply glad her roommates and her had found it comfortable. Although Miranda did claim it gave her some sort of “buzz”. Then again, she was always interested in the paranormal and since the day Tate had told her of ghosts and ghouls...well, Angela began looking into them as well during her free time at work. She was almost sure Tate was...something inhuman, but she wasn’t sure what to place him as. A benevolent type, for sure. He enjoyed toying with her the most out of the three; oddly enough. Likely because Miranda became violent with men quickly and Melody--well, she hardly occupied her room over those of the men she’d sleep with. 

Angela beamed at him from her spot sprawled across the bed. A long day of homework and work had worn her out enough, she could’ve fallen asleep just like that. ‘And she’d trusted Tate by now. If he were planning anything, he could have done it by now. She just found it strange how he’d prefer the mute’s reactions over screams and yelps. Typing away at the screen lifted over her head to type away her response to his questions. Worried, it seemed. The expression was new on him. She found it adorable. 

“No, nothing hurt me. No one did. I was just zoning out. I’m really tired, you know how I just bring up anything when I’m like that and probably forget in the morning.”

She began, the phone slipping from her grasp and landing on her lips and nose suddenly as if to prove her wrong. Wiping the lipstick from the machine with the bandages covering her palms, she rolled onto her stomach with a hiss and glanced over Tate--fingers tapping away without even a glance to her screen before she hit ‘send’. 

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of course , he was right . she was excruciatingly angry with him -- scars still bloodied from what had happened when her mother's babies were born -- still, violet missed tate . that particular wound had not yet congealed . ❛ what's your point , tate? ❜ her words explode from her throat in sharp fragments , like a grenade . her mouth stings . looking at him hurt her , very much . ❛ do you want me to say it ? ❜ her voice was weaker -- anger now expelled . she hates him , doesn't she ? no , she wants to -- she wants to be strong for her mom . she recalls a story that she read at school , in boston ; a wolf , who was beautiful -- fashioned with sharp talons and a human face . at the time , she didn't understand why the wolf deceived the young girl in the story -- now she was wise to the deceptive ways of such wolves . she was face to face with one -- but he was still beautiful . even now .

     Peter watched as Tate fiddled with the damned thing, eyes scouring the device. Really, most video games weren't made for geniuses, but even with that in mind it was no wonder Peter couldn't turn it on. Impatient, distracted, it was a miracle that the redhead managed to put his shoes on the right feet sometimes. When the system finally whirred to life and the tv went from static to loading, Peter gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

     "Finally! Is this some sort of minimalism? Why can’t we have big, red, obvious power buttons? I probably would have broke it if you'd left it to me,” The redhead admitted as he took the controller. Peter leaned back into the couch and crossed his legs, shoes kicked off haphazardly onto the floor. Music tuned in from the tv and he waited for Tate to officially launch the game.

     For a long minute Peter was fairly sure Tate was fucking with him as he watched the same characters drift across the screen for the third time. That or he really just liked the menu's sugar-pop tune, which hey, to each their own. However, one quick glance at Tate proved Peter wrong on both accounts.