#starter post

tailored to you ᛝ diamsonia & yuu muses; anyone is welcome tho ᛝ a hare wanders away from his burrow after midnight terrors

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Knave knew he probably shouldn’t be roaming the campus at this hour, it was most likely terribly unsafe especially when considering everything that had happened in recent events. But it felt like an invisible string was pulling him away from Heartslabyul. Like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Obviously this was not true, the place provided comfort & familiarity more often times than not and no one is actually controlling him. But still he wanted away.

Did the place remind him of home, perhaps?

@perfectmetaphore liked for a starter; James Flint -> John Silver

The hold came down to instinct.

Flint’s arm locked across John’s chest, the weight of his forearm digging in just enough to keep the man from thrashing free. The deck was chaos around them, men shouting for restraints, someone fetching the blade, the scent of blood turning the air thick and metallic. 

Flint didn’t flinch. Not once. 

He couldn’t afford to.

Silver’s leg was a ruin. Mangled, blackened with infection, something to be considered as literal fish food rather than a limb at this point. The crew had all seen enough battle wounds to know the look of something that wouldn’t heal. No one wanted to say it out loud. But when they finally met Flint’s gaze, the truth was there: ugly, merciless, necessary.

He gave one curt nod. That was all it took.

John was half-conscious, somewhere between delirium and panic. He bucked hard when they tried to restrain him, his good leg kicking against the planks, hands clawing at the air until Flint caught them: fingers wrapping tight around his wrists and forcing him still.

“John,” he said, voice low but firm. “Look at me.”

Silver tried to twist away, wild-eyed, desperate, but Flint held his ground. Their faces were inches apart. Flint’s calm against Silver’s terror. Around them, boots shuffled. Metal clinked. The sound of a blade being heated filled the silence.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Just kept his grip steady, his eyes fixed on John’s. The ship rocked beneath them, a cruel rhythm to match the storm gathering in the man’s chest.

Then Flint exhaled… slow, steady, like a man resigning himself to violence he didn’t want to commit.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice breaking just enough to betray what he felt. “You’re going to make it worse.”

Silver’s breath hitched, the whites of his eyes showing. Flint’s jaw tightened.

“I’m sorry, John,” he said quietly, so only he could hear it. “So fuckin’ sorry. But you know how it has to be.”

He gave the order with a small jerk of his chin. The others moved.

And Flint held him down. Through the scream. Through the sound of the blade. Through the shudder that wracked them both.

What Remy didn’t clock, the numbskull that he was- distracted and heart-eyed over a pair of perfectly siren-like eyes and a voice as smooth and grounding as the smoke that his brother favored, pipes over cigarettes- What he didn’t see was the fact that there apparently seemed to be a pin, a brooch- hell maybe even jewelry that was detected too late by Tristan’s survalialce theme on Asteria’s body somewhere. 

It seemed to be a broadcasting device of some sort, broadcasting Remy and Asteria, The Sterlings’ second in command, their entire conversation loud, proud, and feckin’ obvious to anyone within a certain mile’s radius broadcast for all to see. 

And it wasn’t as though it was a miscalculation on Sterling’s part. He had a feeling that the head of the Stearling’s knew exactly what they were doing. Show anyone interested in either the Vipers or Stearling’s any, minuscule as it may be, information, and while the Stearling’s were prepared for it, the Vipers were not. 

They were hit by a barrage of lower ranked groups, thinking they had one up on the men who would never let that happen- any corrupt news journalist now thinking they knew every damn thing there was to know about Orion and his clan, despite the fact that Remy didn’t actually reveal much of anything and other than being himself, the massive flirt that he was, didn’t leak any imporntant information- Thank God for that. 

Even though a part of him, deep, deep, not that deep, inside huffed at the thought that he would have to wait to give his younger twin an arse whoopin’ for the time bein’. 

So while Tristan was now aware, a full eighteen hours later, due to the fact that Remy’s nanny had been on a list of Tristan’s for a while, one entitled: “To be observed”, and blimey, was he right to go with his instinct?

He had caught her trying to lure the girls into a black van that no one recognized, the name of a third organization murmured from her lips just as she was taken down. He wished he had been the one to do it, woman or not, that bitch had the audacity to try to hurt his family? HIS FAMILY?

His only saving grace at that moment was that Remy had yet to learn of Michelle, the nanny's, deception. Had that happened, Christ Almighty knew what kind ‘o hell he was subject to bring down on their heads for involving Tristan’s nieces, Remy’s two twin daughters. 

Back to the point at hand- his information was relayed back to him with a considerable delay since just after Remy went into the casino and positioned, did everything occur with Michelle. And there was not a chance in bleedin’ hell Tristan was going to worry Remy OR let a single soul keep his beloved girls within arms reach but himself. 

Unfortunately, he had to recuse himself from the OP he was assigned to, for which he was responsible. Fortunately, Orion Hastings, the head of the Vipers, understood that family came first, no matter what. So arrangements were made, and half-assed plans were put into place, but that didn’t mean they were lacking in any way. 

Things went according to plan, the right words were exchanged with just enough information to keep plausible deniability by both parties, yet Tristan knew, he fuckin’ knew, had he been the one watching the live feed?

He would’ve been able to spot the micro-sized pin-like camera on Asteria’s body, despite the fact that, judging by their conversation, Remy wouldn’t have wanted Tristan’s gaze anywhere near her body. 

So, the next morning, when he had just finished rolling a babbling Remy, half-drunk on liquor and something pheromonal, it seemed, into bed, assuring his bruv that he had the girls for the day, Tristan couldn’t help himself when Remy finally fell asleep. 

He kicked his leg. Hard. Hard enough for Remy to scowl and scrunch up in his sleep, leaving Tristan feeling strangely satisfied. 

He’d spent days upon days with Ari and Esme and always would, but it seemed that that particular morning, the twins woke up in a mood. The only way to rectify it seemed to be the promise of ice lollies from a cart at the park, and even then, it was half enthused. 

Women. He’d never get them. 

Precisely why he’d gone so long between being with one in any manner other than briefly, no names included. He had enough on his plate to end up like his brother, heart eyes already facing the direction that Asteria had turned from and left him at the table, having presumably gotten what she needed to know, yet leaving Remy in such a state that she seemed to be all that he could and would talk about. 

Woman. 

More trouble than they’re worth. Except for his darlings, that is, Ariana and Esmerlda, could do no wrong. 

Until it came to mornings and their grumpiness and their unwillingness to do a damn thing unless their demands were met.

That’s when things started to annoy him. Not that he’d ever let it show, not to them, never to them. 

That’s how he found himself at the pier in the middle of the park, despite all instincts telling him otherwise, getting the two darlings, brats, their ice lollies at an unforsaken time in the morning, one where he hadn’t even had his usual third cuppa. Or his second. Or his bleedin’ first. 

But it was all worth it when he saw their smiles and with sticky, miscolored hands reaching up for their “Unca Twistan, uppies!” time. There wasn’t a damn thing in the world he’d deny from them. There wasn’t a damn thing in the world he wouldn’t protect them from. There wasn’t a damn thing in the world that wouldn’t bring down the house of Payne on the poor soul who even dared to mess with one of the Payne girls. 

So with a twin on each shoulder, their sticky, red and purple glazed hands playing with his now sticky hair, he didn’t see the woman that seemed to watch him like a hawk, a look of confusion on her features as she looked down at the profile for Remy Agustus Payne and back to Tristan Laughten Payne, knowing there was a huge difference in their demeanors, not to mention looks but nothing in her intel brought up any red flags. 

Unbeknowest to the eyes focused on him, Tristan crossed the street and mindlessly babbled along with the girl’s chatter about their favorite TV show- until Ari’s hands covered his eyes momentarily- leaving an opening for the woman to step in, innocently, and Tristan to huff and scold his niece right as he bumped into the woman, pure muscle, instinct and training keeping himself, the girls and the woman upright, teetering as they may have been, they were okay. 

“Sorry, luv. Didn’ see ya there. Ya alright?” His propriety and manners came first as he took in the woman before him with a sharp inhale. He had no idea who she was.

That needed to change.  Now. 

…And of course, he looked like the damn melted snowman with color, stickiness, and filth on his features, causing him to flush unexpectedly, only for him to mentally pause. 

Wait.  What? When did he get embarrassed like this?

He could only come back to the fact that he needed to know who this beautiful woman was, small and meek but authoritative and commanding, god knows he’d follow her command to the letter at this poin-

‘Calm down, Tris, you’ve got your girls with you, and you don’t even know her name.’ He scolded himself before effortlessly shifting the girls into a more steady position on his shoulders so they were secure and reached out with a, now wiped clean, hand for her to take. 

“Didn’t mean to be the bloke who ‘lmost knocked ya off yer feet. Didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

Stupid enough to leave sire.

He looks around at the cage he's been locked in, the silver burning his skin. Hes weak, hasn't fed in a week, but he has a plan to escape.

A large part of him worried of sires reaction but he had to do this. Even if sire kills him, at least he's not here.

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At the next experiment time, he laid down in front of the door as if he'd simply passed on. Thankfully, one benefit of being a vampire is that he already passes pretty well for dead.

As expected, when the doctor entered, he was careless with the door. Upon seeing pyros 'corpse' he rushed into the room. Be that out of guilt or annoyance at a lost subject, pyro will never know. He jumps up and rushes out of the room, locking the door behind him.

That action used a lot of his limited energy but he forced himself not to slow down until he was in the woods. By then, his vision swam and he felt deader than ever. Despite this he somehow, by some act of God, makes it to the castle.

If there is a god, he's probably happy to see me like this. Punished for my sins.

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The sun is bright and burning. His limbs felt weak and shook with exhaustion. He taps his hand against the door, he knows himself unable to enter without permission. This wasn't pyros home anymore. He'd need his sire to allow him in. If he's feeling merciful that is.

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Emrys had been minding his own business, simply wandering around the campus. He was in the courtyard when it happened. Two… delinquents approached him and started mocking and taunting him. Using his appearance and demeanor against him, like the simple-minded fools they were!

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