#midnitemission

@midnitemission​ cont. from x. 

   Erik could have sworn he’d decided his fighting days were over. It’s a passing thought that ricochets across his mind as he ducks to avoid a swing from his opponent, yanking the man’s knife out of his hand with his powers and pulling it towards his own. A swift slash of the blade and the mercenary drops to the floor clutching his bloody thigh, drops of red already beginning to splatter the dust at their boots. Two gunshots behind him, then another two in quick succession, but the mutant halts each one with a mere thought, sending them spinning back the way they came, every one embedding itself in warm flesh. The distraction only lasts a couple of seconds, but that’s all Erik’s first opponent needs to get a head start on him, pushing off the ground and thudding off in the direction of a side-street. Rejecting the idea of going after the man’s blood or bones with his mutation — because even Erik can acknowledge that’s a method of execution that borders on torture — the older man takes off in pursuit, choosing a different street that should enable him to catch up, or maybe even overtake, his quarry.

   He’s not nearly quick enough to overtake the other man, both of them exiting their respective streets at the same moment to arrive in a small square that appears to be already occupied with an ongoing fight: two men, probably mercenaries, and another figure, cloaked and covered in… bandages? The ex-terrorist and his opponent pause for a moment, feet skidding to a confused stop, gazes catching each other across the square. But then the other man appears to recognise one or some of the men in the other fight and, pulling a wooden club from his belt advances on the cloaked figure (who apparently hasn’t noticed them) from behind. A sigh of frustration, a quick expelling of air that doubles as an exhale before a fortifying inhale, and Erik throws himself across the empty space towards the figure, powers propelling him faster than he would have moved otherwise, knocking into the ridiculously outfitted individual and sending them both stumbling to the ground.

send "dibs" if you're ridiculously attached to me as a roleplay partner !

@midnitemission​ asked; ❝ i’m not the man you remember. ❞  

Well, this caught her off guard. Gemma knew her memory was not always reliable, but in this, she was sure. Marc was someone she was extremely close with, someone she had come to trust and had gone through practically hell with. Why would all of that not be who he was, who THEY were? The panic began to set in. Was all of that a dream? Was none of the memories that she clung to even hers? Or even r e a l? Her heart dipped in her chest. Things were beginning to all fall apart. If this was some joke, it was not funny. Not in the slightest. Mouth opens and closes several times as the mercenary stands silent. Something that was not a common occurrence for her. Gemma balled her fist and slowly brought it up to her head, ‘remember Gemma… Come on, remember.’

-

Taking her hand in his, Steven ran his thumb over her knuckles. What could have possibly happened? “Nothing wrong with a a good cry,” he reassured while they sat together. It had to be a tough day if she was considering a cry or warning him about one that could come. “I'll be here though. Don't worry...” a smile found its way onto his face and he didn't pull away from her just yet.

“Would you like to order in tonight?”

Steven was determined to make the night better for her no matter the cost. She deserved to have a good evening just like anyone else. Steven also knew that if the roles were reversed, Thera would be there helping him out. Cheering him up and embracing him to make sure that it improved.

Part of her wanted to disagree with that, the part was tied to old habits that said crying was a weakness and should never be shown. It even got as far as opening her mouth to say so before she stopped, closing it again. Steven, she’d found out early on, was very good at kicking her old habits out the door.

The warning was mostly so that if she did cry he would know it wasn’t his fault, or from something he’d said or done - she didn’t want him thinking that for a second.

marc was overwhelmed. he was scared for their safety. this was something obvious to jake. it left them sloppy and more susceptible to being hurt. well, more hurt than they already were. all that jake knew and really cared about was getting marc out of there and taking care of the situation himself.

“i’m sure, hermano. you can rest now. it’ll be alright.” jake assured him with much more conviction. if only to comfort him long enough to gain control of the body. and once he felt himself become more aware of their surroundings, of the state their body was in, he knew that marc had finally relinquished control.