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Deleted member 94
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Arcane Eye
Member
Hazel came back to the Diamond, despite the last time. Of course she did. James Fielding hadn’t done anything to actually deter her. Vague threats and a new camera? Those didn’t have any substance. She hadn’t even been banned from the establishment. Not that that would’ve stopped her either, but at least it would’ve made her think harder.
So it was with absolutely no change – although without Isaiah, this time, much to his chagrin – she followed a tall man into the bar. The place was almost empty, except the two of them. Hematite [Raphael] was behind the bar, the other guy made a beeline to a barstool, and Hazel’s table was empty. And both Obsidian and Sulphur were in their usual spots.
She took a few seconds to set her bag down, and to take off her coat, hat, mittens, and sweater. That left a pretty green long-sleeve shirt that stopped at her midriff and her high-waisted blue jeans. The sleeves just covered her wrist tattoos until she moved her hands just so. Her hair fell around her ears just enough to do the same, even if most of it was contained today in a braid that curled around one shoulder. The green headphones were present as always. She turned the volume down on ‘Questions’ by World’s End Girlfriend and adjusted her mic sensitivity as she stepped from the booth toward the counter, ignoring the camera that was watching over her backpack.
Her credit card was already pressed to the palm of her hand as she adjusted to the sounds – mics, speakers, cameras. The man had a cell phone, but there was another microphone on him, too. She’d heard his order three times at once. Still, she didn’t stare. She stepped up to the counter and smiled, waiting for Hematite to finish with the man’s order before starting her own.
“Hey, Raphael! I’ve got a big paper coming up and I need a sugar rush. The usual, please.”
Of course, she’d probably be better off getting a coffee at VULTURE. But they didn’t even know she drank coffee – it was rude to come into an establishment with someone else’s drink, and she wanted the designated drink space on her table to be for her cream soda, anyway.
So it was with absolutely no change – although without Isaiah, this time, much to his chagrin – she followed a tall man into the bar. The place was almost empty, except the two of them. Hematite [Raphael] was behind the bar, the other guy made a beeline to a barstool, and Hazel’s table was empty. And both Obsidian and Sulphur were in their usual spots.
She took a few seconds to set her bag down, and to take off her coat, hat, mittens, and sweater. That left a pretty green long-sleeve shirt that stopped at her midriff and her high-waisted blue jeans. The sleeves just covered her wrist tattoos until she moved her hands just so. Her hair fell around her ears just enough to do the same, even if most of it was contained today in a braid that curled around one shoulder. The green headphones were present as always. She turned the volume down on ‘Questions’ by World’s End Girlfriend and adjusted her mic sensitivity as she stepped from the booth toward the counter, ignoring the camera that was watching over her backpack.
Her credit card was already pressed to the palm of her hand as she adjusted to the sounds – mics, speakers, cameras. The man had a cell phone, but there was another microphone on him, too. She’d heard his order three times at once. Still, she didn’t stare. She stepped up to the counter and smiled, waiting for Hematite to finish with the man’s order before starting her own.
“Hey, Raphael! I’ve got a big paper coming up and I need a sugar rush. The usual, please.”
Of course, she’d probably be better off getting a coffee at VULTURE. But they didn’t even know she drank coffee – it was rude to come into an establishment with someone else’s drink, and she wanted the designated drink space on her table to be for her cream soda, anyway.
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Slate
Member
Obsidian only briefly looked up at the man when he walked into the bar and made his way to the counter. He asked for a decently pricey whiskey. He paid up front, with a decent tip that Hematite nodded his head toward, tacking it and tucking it into the tip jar. He checked the man’s ID, and then the young black man set about pouring out a neat of whiskey for the man. A few seconds later, Hematite’s face brightened up a bit, his lips quirking into an involuntary smile.
Because Hazel had just walked into the Diamond.
Hematite’s eyes flicked over to Obsidian as Hazel addressed him with his birth name, a name he gave to patrons without much concern. This, this Obsidian paid attention to. His anger built silently as the young woman got her drink and retreated to her seat. He let out the air in his lungs in a hiss, then rose to his feet and approached the bar. He sat on the stool at the very edge, just two down from the man who had yet to identify himself.
“Hematite. Grab me something to drink, if you would.”
“Sure, boss. Just a moment.”
Hematite disappeared through the door behind the counter, hurrying down the steps and into the cellar. Obsidian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His eyes flickered over to the man with the whiskey and then away. He didn’t speak to the patrons unless they spoke to him, though many chose to. After all, Obsidian was young, had a pleasant expression on his face at any given time, and was relatively good-looking. Enough to be mistaken for being several years younger than he was, at least. Even now, he had a pleasant smile on his face, his eyes holding no sharpness behind his square glasses.
He could hear Hematite– Raphael– downstairs, rustling through the bottles as he tried to hunt down Obsidian’s personal bottle of Teeling Whiskey Co. Vintage Reserve, a bottle of single cask 24-year-old single malt Irish whiskey. He leaned his head forward into one of his hands while he waited.
Slate
Member
Obsidian didn’t bother to look up until money was placed on the table to cover his drink. That, that was amusing. Hematite whispered as much to him, whispered about how the guy was new and didn’t seem to know who he was. That brought a smile to his face. He turned his head slightly toward the man, just enough that he could eye him up.
He was… pretty. He had soft-looking dirty blonde hair and the strangest red-brown eyes that Obsidian had ever seen. The whites of his eyes were slightly tinged, just enough to make them look like cream as opposed to white. It made them soft, made them welcoming. His hair was styled in the kind of undercut you’d expect from a military member, and not like Ethan’s own cut that left his curls tumbling down from the top of his head. He raised an eyebrow at the man.
Aside from being pretty, a few other things came to his attention. His sleeves were rolled up and that presented him with a view of a set of tattoos on his left forearm. A bible passage and a symbol, one that looked familiar but that he couldn’t place. The top buttons on his shirt were undone, just enough to give Obsidian a small view of the man’s collarbones. He had good taste in fashion, even if he chose slightly drab browns to dress in. Everything about him matched or accented what he was wearing.
The man was definitely gay.
That wasn’t surprising. He’d had people from all walks of life come through the Diamond. Ethan himself was gay, so it wasn’t like this bothered him. It didn't bother him, but something else did. Unless Ethan was very mistaken, the man might have been checking him out. And was there just a hint of something in his voice? Ethan was accustomed to being hit on– mostly by women, and not by pretty men. Sometimes another gay man would clock him, but it wasn’t as often as he would have liked.
“... You could say that. Just a small annoyance that seems to keep rearing its head. Thanks for the drink, but it wasn’t necessary. I own the bar.”
Slate
Member
Ethan’s eyebrow quirked up as he turned in his stool to face the man. He was being forward. That was something Ethan was used to from women, but men tended to be more hesitant about flirting with him. Maybe it was something about his aura. Ethan knew he gave off vibes that put a lot of people off. He smiled and let his eyes move more languidly over the man, something starting to burn behind his eyes.
“There’s always a lot on my plate, friend. But if you’re offering… I could be distracted.”
It had been a while since Ethan had slept with someone. Almost a year, by his count. The last guy had been during his trip to Bismark when the place had been decimated by that hammer-wielding psychopath that had been– Oh god. Was that Samantha? Was Samantha the one who had been destroying his sects? That made a lot of sense given the map of places where the hammer-wielding psycho had been. He… would shelve that thought for now. That was going to lead him down a spiral he didn’t want to go down right now. He would think about that when there wasn’t an attractive man sitting there offering him a distraction, in a way that could only imply one thing.
He refocused his eyes on the man with a slightly sharp intake of breath, realizing his smile had started to fall. He brought it back in full force, the kind of smirk that signified his willingness to let this happen.
Slate
Member
Ethan smiled wide, letting some teeth in to give it a wolfish quality, and leaned toward the man. He let him rest his hand on his knee, a touch that surprised him but… felt nice. He didn’t let people touch him too much, and aside from hugs from the family when Mal had died and the recent touches he had exchanged with Todd– well, Ethan didn’t let people touch him. It was too dangerous.
He looked at the hand for a moment before letting his golden eyes flash back up to the red-brown mahogany eyes staring him down. And then, in a smooth and slightly lowered voice, he replied, “You can call me Ethan. What’s your name, friend?”
He drew out the word friend, as though he meant it as something other than what it meant. As though he was trying to draw more out of the man than simple flirting. He was surprised at the almost purring quality of his voice as he spoke.
Arcane Eye
Member
Hazel was just going to pull her laptop out and take notes later, but this was something that couldn’t wait. The voices at the bar, in full stereo, were so much more interesting than the homework she’d been planning to do on today’s stakehout. So she scattered her papers over the table, and did pull the laptop out, but didn’t open it. With her yellow notebook in one hand and her green gel pen in the other, she set her backpack in the seat across from her and slid into the booth. Her fingers turned the pages of the notebook as her mind clicked into the camera behind the counter, the one that looked at both men there.
She’d seen less deliberate flirting at gay bars – and she’d costumed for a lot of gigs at gay bars. She hid her smile from the camera with a strategic hair-tuck as he mentioned a small annoyance.
Her shorthand was unique, but the individual symbols were distinct enough that she could write it blind and still read it later. She’d gotten really good at writing blind. She took down every bit of dialogue as it happened, and if Panopticon had been a gossip column, she would’ve had a whole story right there. But Arcane Eye wasn’t a gossip. She was an investigator, and something in her gut said there was more going on here.
Especially when the cowboy mentioned he knew James ran the bar. And James’s response was accepting a distraction. Hazel really, really hoped that James’s bedroom was out of her range, given the cowboy’s wrist microphone. Even if he took it off, he might not turn it off. If that happened, she’d have to suspiciously leave.
She took a sip of her Italian cream soda, just so she didn’t have to leave it all behind if she needed to go.
Obsidian was getting so into the flirting that he gave his middle name, even though the cowboy just revealed he already knew who he was. It was honestly adorable, not that Hazel would tell him that. Kudos to the cowboy for getting the local metahuman crime boss inches away from crawling into bed with him, even if she’d rather sit that part out.
If it hadn’t been for her reporter’s gut telling her there was more going on here, she would’ve probably stopped paying attention at that point, invested as she was in how it’d turn out. But she trusted the instinct that said there was more, there was a story here. She glanced up, returning sight to her own eyes long enough to meet Raphael’s and arch one brow, a knowing smirk on her lips.
Then she tuned back into the show, pen already resting against her page to note how this would end.
She’d seen less deliberate flirting at gay bars – and she’d costumed for a lot of gigs at gay bars. She hid her smile from the camera with a strategic hair-tuck as he mentioned a small annoyance.
Her shorthand was unique, but the individual symbols were distinct enough that she could write it blind and still read it later. She’d gotten really good at writing blind. She took down every bit of dialogue as it happened, and if Panopticon had been a gossip column, she would’ve had a whole story right there. But Arcane Eye wasn’t a gossip. She was an investigator, and something in her gut said there was more going on here.
Especially when the cowboy mentioned he knew James ran the bar. And James’s response was accepting a distraction. Hazel really, really hoped that James’s bedroom was out of her range, given the cowboy’s wrist microphone. Even if he took it off, he might not turn it off. If that happened, she’d have to suspiciously leave.
She took a sip of her Italian cream soda, just so she didn’t have to leave it all behind if she needed to go.
Obsidian was getting so into the flirting that he gave his middle name, even though the cowboy just revealed he already knew who he was. It was honestly adorable, not that Hazel would tell him that. Kudos to the cowboy for getting the local metahuman crime boss inches away from crawling into bed with him, even if she’d rather sit that part out.
If it hadn’t been for her reporter’s gut telling her there was more going on here, she would’ve probably stopped paying attention at that point, invested as she was in how it’d turn out. But she trusted the instinct that said there was more, there was a story here. She glanced up, returning sight to her own eyes long enough to meet Raphael’s and arch one brow, a knowing smirk on her lips.
Then she tuned back into the show, pen already resting against her page to note how this would end.
Slate
Member
Ethan was about to chuckle until he fully registered what Cain just said to him. Obsidian sat up straight again, his expression turning from flirty to neutral in one smooth move. He took Cain’s hand on his knee and moved it to the table, his eyes closing off. He gave the man a neutral smile and despite his best attempt to control it, his eyes hardened around the edges.
“I see. And which of those names were you looking for, Cain?” There was a harshness to his voice where there had been a purr, and his posture, while still relaxed, was back to being professional. Of course, he couldn’t have anything nice. Of course, this man would be looking for Obsidian. Of course, because why would Obsidian ever get to have a break? He looked at Hematite and drew his hand across his neck, telling him to cut the cameras.
From behind the counter, Hematite stopped drying the glasses. He set the one in his hand down as he looked at Cain and Obsidian, his hand moving under the counter to slide across the camera controls and turn them all off. Earlier, Hazel had caught his eye with a suspiciously knowing smile for someone sitting almost fifteen feet away from a hushed conversation. Now, as he looked at her again, she was frozen, unmoving, a completely blank look on her face. There was something about her that was… too still. Hematite couldn’t quite place it, but– it was her breathing. Her breathing had all but stopped.
She could hear them. And she had just heard the name Obsidian.
At the table next to them, Sulphur tapped the earpiece in his ear. The sound on it shorted out, fuzzing and then snapping off entirely. He tapped it twice with his finger to bring it back to life, and it made a sharp noise. He winced and waited for it to clear, which it did almost immediately. That was… strange.
“I see. And which of those names were you looking for, Cain?” There was a harshness to his voice where there had been a purr, and his posture, while still relaxed, was back to being professional. Of course, he couldn’t have anything nice. Of course, this man would be looking for Obsidian. Of course, because why would Obsidian ever get to have a break? He looked at Hematite and drew his hand across his neck, telling him to cut the cameras.
From behind the counter, Hematite stopped drying the glasses. He set the one in his hand down as he looked at Cain and Obsidian, his hand moving under the counter to slide across the camera controls and turn them all off. Earlier, Hazel had caught his eye with a suspiciously knowing smile for someone sitting almost fifteen feet away from a hushed conversation. Now, as he looked at her again, she was frozen, unmoving, a completely blank look on her face. There was something about her that was… too still. Hematite couldn’t quite place it, but– it was her breathing. Her breathing had all but stopped.
She could hear them. And she had just heard the name Obsidian.
At the table next to them, Sulphur tapped the earpiece in his ear. The sound on it shorted out, fuzzing and then snapping off entirely. He tapped it twice with his finger to bring it back to life, and it made a sharp noise. He winced and waited for it to clear, which it did almost immediately. That was… strange.
Arcane Eye
Member
The pen on the page was dutifully scratching out her translation of the words she’d heard. Then it slowed. Then it stopped.
Obsidian.
The word hung in the air, in her mind, and sat there like its namesake stone. Cain – Cain was its own problem – but Cain was here to see Obsidian. Cain was here to talk to Obsidian, and all the cameras were on. Cain had just surprised Obsidian. Her mind flashed across the cameras, one at a time. Nobody else was here. It was just Cain, Hematite, Sulphur, Obsidian, and – Hazel. Just Hazel. Just Hazel, sitting alone at a booth. She could see herself sitting there, sitting still, her eyes fixed on nothing, but her face blank as she focused on something, anything else except for Obsidian. Her breath was tight and close, her hand lax with her pen resting on the page. She could even see the last word she’d written on the page.
Obsidian.
And then the cameras all died. And then she heard the speaker behind her die, too, although that hummed back to life.
She took a sudden, but soft and deep breath. It caught. She focused on the breath. Four – breath in. Seven – breath held. Eight – breath out. Two more times, eyes closed. Eyes reopened.
Hazel. That was her. Arcane Eye. The emotion bled back into her face, and she looked down at her hands, turning one hand over so she could see the tattoo on her wrist.
She could leave. She could leave, and she could choose not to come back. This was the test. She had panicked over a single word. Maybe she wasn’t made for this, maybe she wasn’t ready to be Arcane Eye, maybe she should go home, maybe she should stop –
But there was a story here. Her face finished settling, reset into a calm that would be eerie from anyone who’d seen the dead stillness and then the moments of doubt. But she’d gotten over it. She couldn’t watch anymore, and she really didn’t want to. But she wasn’t going to run. She still had a way to listen, after all. She tapped her pen twice, and gently wrote the word Obsidian several more times in the same shorthand before moving on, finishing the note.
Cain [cowboy] surprise visit to Obsidian [gay]. Cameras out. Voice only. Wrist bracelet – mic. Phones – mic, speaker, camera. Bluetooth [shorted, operational again].
She tapped the pen again, glanced at the door, then focused back down at the page. No. She’d stay. It was a horrible idea, but she’d stay.
She was probably going to die. But she’d stay.
Obsidian.
The word hung in the air, in her mind, and sat there like its namesake stone. Cain – Cain was its own problem – but Cain was here to see Obsidian. Cain was here to talk to Obsidian, and all the cameras were on. Cain had just surprised Obsidian. Her mind flashed across the cameras, one at a time. Nobody else was here. It was just Cain, Hematite, Sulphur, Obsidian, and – Hazel. Just Hazel. Just Hazel, sitting alone at a booth. She could see herself sitting there, sitting still, her eyes fixed on nothing, but her face blank as she focused on something, anything else except for Obsidian. Her breath was tight and close, her hand lax with her pen resting on the page. She could even see the last word she’d written on the page.
Obsidian.
And then the cameras all died. And then she heard the speaker behind her die, too, although that hummed back to life.
She took a sudden, but soft and deep breath. It caught. She focused on the breath. Four – breath in. Seven – breath held. Eight – breath out. Two more times, eyes closed. Eyes reopened.
Hazel. That was her. Arcane Eye. The emotion bled back into her face, and she looked down at her hands, turning one hand over so she could see the tattoo on her wrist.
She could leave. She could leave, and she could choose not to come back. This was the test. She had panicked over a single word. Maybe she wasn’t made for this, maybe she wasn’t ready to be Arcane Eye, maybe she should go home, maybe she should stop –
But there was a story here. Her face finished settling, reset into a calm that would be eerie from anyone who’d seen the dead stillness and then the moments of doubt. But she’d gotten over it. She couldn’t watch anymore, and she really didn’t want to. But she wasn’t going to run. She still had a way to listen, after all. She tapped her pen twice, and gently wrote the word Obsidian several more times in the same shorthand before moving on, finishing the note.
Cain [cowboy] surprise visit to Obsidian [gay]. Cameras out. Voice only. Wrist bracelet – mic. Phones – mic, speaker, camera. Bluetooth [shorted, operational again].
She tapped the pen again, glanced at the door, then focused back down at the page. No. She’d stay. It was a horrible idea, but she’d stay.
She was probably going to die. But she’d stay.
Slate
Member
Obsidian didn’t shake his hand. Instead, he crossed his legs and sighed. The name “Mr. Walsh” sent a shock through Obsidian’s system. Fuck. Fuck. Brightheart was looking for them. Brightheart knew they weren’t dead. But they had killed every single person in that building– His eyes widened slightly. Dr. Emily Russo hadn’t been there that day. Of course, of course she was looking for them. He closed his eyes as he listened to the rest of Cain’s speech.
Then, his eyes fluttered open and he gave the man a slow smile. The smile was anything but pleasant. He slowly let his eyes travel from the countertop up to Cain’s eyes, which he held, his own eyes now unnervingly steady. Then, in a sudden and fast movement, he rose to his feet and grabbed the front of Cain’s shirt, just above where the vest began, and pulled him in close.
“Did you really think you could waltz in here, threaten my family, threaten my associates and my friends and even those I don’t care for, and then expect me to just, what? Roll over? No. No, you don’t get to just sit there and try to play me. Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to stand up and walk out of my establishment, and then you are going to never come back. You’re going to go fuck off somewhere far away from Pittsburgh, and you can tell Brightheart to kiss my ass.”
Behind the counter, Hematite made his way to the opening at the side of the bar. He kept his eyes on the pair, moving slowly until he was coming around the counter. He stopped, at the far side of the bar, leaning up against the stool furthest away from them, Hazel long forgotten. Behind Ethan, Sulphur was slowly removing his earpiece, tucking it into a box sitting on the table. He looked up, side-eyeing the pair sitting at the bar. He wasn’t moving as readily as Hematite, but his body was tense.
Arcane Eye
Member
Arcane scribbled furiously in the notebook as she listened to the conversation at the bar. Right now, it didn’t matter if anyone saw her – first, they definitely weren’t on camera, and second, it seemed like the cowboy [Cain] was keeping everyone’s attention. He even had a villain monologue prepared. A villain monologue in another villain base was bold, Arcane decided, especially since it gave prying ears a lot more information than the local villains really wanted. The green pen glided across her page now without any hesitation or faltering, her eyes focused on the paper as her ears picked up every word in threefold stereo.
*Mr. Walsh. Ethan Walsh? Gunrunning, theft, extortion, blackmail… rebel group – Slate metahuman rebel group, not organized crime. Or both. All metas? Cain knows other metas – Cryptid, Phoenix, both local. Wolfhound [Connor]? Research.*
The pause in between gave worry the space to crawl back in. Did Slate know she was a meta? Would they give her away? Obsidian didn’t much care for her. She felt her chest starting to tighten again. They couldn’t know. He couldn’t know. Obsidian couldn’t –
Obsidian didn’t. Either he didn’t know, or he was being honest. She breathed again. Slowly. Inhale, hold, exhale, repeat. She could listen again, her eyes closed, and her pen scratched another name onto the page in her unique, illegible scribbles.
Brightheart.
That’s all she managed before a crash behind her snapped her back into the real world. She looked over her shoulder to see Obsidian’s shoes sticking out of his corner booth. There was a shimmering red mass between Cain and Obsidian, and Cain turned similar red blades on Hematite and Sulphur. Arcane was about to be in the middle of an all-out brawl.
But she’d decided to stay. And so instead of letting the panic claim her, she thought as fast as she could. She took the notebook and pen in one hand, and her Italian cream soda in the other – the sweet, fizzy drink would help ground her – and slid under the table. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but even if someone else landed on top of her, the only casualty would be the poor laptop that, like her, kept finding itself in the middle of situations it couldn’t control.
There was no way to get a good angle to see from here, but that was fine. The attacks mattered less than the words, and she could see general movement. She made a quick note of Cain’s apparent blood crystals, and then settled in as best she could to watch without completely breaking down.
*Mr. Walsh. Ethan Walsh? Gunrunning, theft, extortion, blackmail… rebel group – Slate metahuman rebel group, not organized crime. Or both. All metas? Cain knows other metas – Cryptid, Phoenix, both local. Wolfhound [Connor]? Research.*
The pause in between gave worry the space to crawl back in. Did Slate know she was a meta? Would they give her away? Obsidian didn’t much care for her. She felt her chest starting to tighten again. They couldn’t know. He couldn’t know. Obsidian couldn’t –
Obsidian didn’t. Either he didn’t know, or he was being honest. She breathed again. Slowly. Inhale, hold, exhale, repeat. She could listen again, her eyes closed, and her pen scratched another name onto the page in her unique, illegible scribbles.
Brightheart.
That’s all she managed before a crash behind her snapped her back into the real world. She looked over her shoulder to see Obsidian’s shoes sticking out of his corner booth. There was a shimmering red mass between Cain and Obsidian, and Cain turned similar red blades on Hematite and Sulphur. Arcane was about to be in the middle of an all-out brawl.
But she’d decided to stay. And so instead of letting the panic claim her, she thought as fast as she could. She took the notebook and pen in one hand, and her Italian cream soda in the other – the sweet, fizzy drink would help ground her – and slid under the table. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but even if someone else landed on top of her, the only casualty would be the poor laptop that, like her, kept finding itself in the middle of situations it couldn’t control.
There was no way to get a good angle to see from here, but that was fine. The attacks mattered less than the words, and she could see general movement. She made a quick note of Cain’s apparent blood crystals, and then settled in as best she could to watch without completely breaking down.
Slate
Member
Obsidian hit the wall in the booth, hard. Hard enough that his vision doubled and spun for a moment before clearing up. He caught sight again of Cain as he threw two daggers– daggers? Crystals?– at Hematite. Hematite immediately turned into steel, the crystals striking him uselessly. In the next booth over, he heard a grunt of pain as Sulphur raised his arm and took the crystal knives straight to his arm. He couldn’t move fast enough to get out of their way.
With a snarl of rage, Obsidian was back on his feet and moving quickly. He used his inhuman speed to reach Cain, grabbing him by the back of his neck and slamming him down hard onto the counter of the bar. He held the blonde man there for a moment, a snarl still in his voice as he ground out his words. “I told you to get the fuck out of my bar.”
He began to pull, to draw on Cain’s energy. It was thick and syrupy and seemed to be clotted everywhere. It was the strangest feeling, like trying to suck ice through a straw. He pulled harder, trying to draw the energy out that he knew was there. But it stuck, like it was full of glue, and no matter how hard Obsidian pulled, only a little came out at a time. The trickle would have to be enough as he held the man’s head down on the counter.
No one hurt his pack.
Behind him, Hematite ran over to Sulphur. He pulled the tall man from the booth, looking at his arm, where the crystalline knives stuck out from his arm. Sulphur gasped in soft breaths, his eyes narrowed. Hematite shook his head and took off his overshirt, tossing the colorful green and purple shirt to the side, then removed his undershirt. He got it ready, then as quick as he could, yanked the knives out of Sulphur’s arm. The man gasped as Hematite pressed the shirt to his bleeding forearm.
Sulphur placed a shaky hand over Hematite's and took the shirt, gesturing with his head for Hematite to go and help Obsidian. The young black man complied and began to move away. Neither of them paid attention to the now missing girl.
Jackal
New member
Rowe got to his feet at the first sound of commotion from downstairs. He spent most business hours in the building’s upstairs apartments, within earshot of the bar just in case of a problem the boss needed him to resolve. Most of the time, that kind of noise was the sound of something being dropped, or an over-inebriated customer crashing through a table. He still checked, because it was his job to check. And this didn’t sound like an accident.
The door at the back of the bar opened. Not all the way; enough for Rowe to look out and examine the damage. The bar was empty, except for the boss, two of the boss’s associates, and a blonde man covered in bloody spines.
Most people would hesitate when they saw that kind of thing. Jerry Rowe had gotten over surprises like this before he even met Obsidian. Seeing a meta-human in action wasn’t any more surprising to him than seeing a new kind of gun. Especially when the meta-human was getting in the way of his current job – keeping Obsidian alive.
He flipped the safety off on the employer-provided Sig Sauer P365 X-Macro Comp. The boss didn’t really like metas getting hurt, but he had a hunch Obsidian would make an exception for this one. He had some liberty to make hard choices when the boss’s life was in danger, and while he knew the boss and his associates were dangerous people themselves, they couldn’t handle everything. If they could, Obsidian wouldn’t need Rowe on his payroll.
Four shots rang out in the bar. Two headshots, one center mass – where the assassin would probably be wearing Kevlar or similar armor – and one to the back of the neck. A hard target to hit, the last one, but Rowe had good aim. And the man wasn’t doing anything to make himself less of a target.
Thirteen shots remained in the Sig, and he had another cartridge in his pocket. He didn’t waste time seeing what hit and what didn’t. In two crouching steps, he was behind the bar, using it as cover. He just had to hope he could hurt the bastard enough to distract him, to let the meta-humans in the room get their hits in while he waited for another opening.
The door at the back of the bar opened. Not all the way; enough for Rowe to look out and examine the damage. The bar was empty, except for the boss, two of the boss’s associates, and a blonde man covered in bloody spines.
Most people would hesitate when they saw that kind of thing. Jerry Rowe had gotten over surprises like this before he even met Obsidian. Seeing a meta-human in action wasn’t any more surprising to him than seeing a new kind of gun. Especially when the meta-human was getting in the way of his current job – keeping Obsidian alive.
He flipped the safety off on the employer-provided Sig Sauer P365 X-Macro Comp. The boss didn’t really like metas getting hurt, but he had a hunch Obsidian would make an exception for this one. He had some liberty to make hard choices when the boss’s life was in danger, and while he knew the boss and his associates were dangerous people themselves, they couldn’t handle everything. If they could, Obsidian wouldn’t need Rowe on his payroll.
Four shots rang out in the bar. Two headshots, one center mass – where the assassin would probably be wearing Kevlar or similar armor – and one to the back of the neck. A hard target to hit, the last one, but Rowe had good aim. And the man wasn’t doing anything to make himself less of a target.
Thirteen shots remained in the Sig, and he had another cartridge in his pocket. He didn’t waste time seeing what hit and what didn’t. In two crouching steps, he was behind the bar, using it as cover. He just had to hope he could hurt the bastard enough to distract him, to let the meta-humans in the room get their hits in while he waited for another opening.
Slate
Member
Obsidian jerked away, a short yelp of pain as he shook his hand out and looked at the wound. The spike had been narrow enough not to permanently damage anything in his hand, but it had pierced right through it, just like Cryptid’s bagh nakh had his forearm. He stared at the bloody hole as it started to drip blood down his arm and onto the ground. He growled in pain and frustration. This was going to take so much energy to repair over the next few weeks. And it was going to scar his already ruined palm.
For some reason, the idea of the scar made him far more angry.
Then, before Obsidian could react or say anything, four shots rang out from near the stairs. He yanked his attention of Cain and his witty fucking mouth and turned his eyes to Rowe, who had just come out firing. He smiled in the man’s direction, a feral and angry smile, in approval of his actions. Then, he turned back on Cain, moving in.
Hematite, whose legs had been pinned by crystals into the floor, nearly fell over. He managed to wave his arms and catch himself. He straightened out and assessed the strength of the crystals, then balled his fists together and slammed them down and into the branches. They shattered under his steel fists, the crystals scattering across the floor. He kept charging, reaching to grab the man who had been knocked off his balance. He didn’t take the time to process if the shots he had heard had actually pierced the man’s body. He reached out for him, intending to grab his arm and spin around him, pinning it to his back. Then, if Hematite managed to do that, he would grab the man's other arm and pin it to his side.
Sulphur backed off even further. He moved over to where Rowe was and ducked down behind the bar with him. His arm was bleeding profusely into the shirt that Hematite had given him. He wanted to help, but both of his gases would affect all three of them men currently fighting, and with his fucked metabolism, Ethan was particularly susceptible. He had no idea if Cain would be as susceptible, so it was better for him to stay out of range until something happened that required immediate action.
Slate
Member
The shots didn’t pierce Cain’s skin, but it was enough to let Hematite catch him and pin his body tight to his own. It was enough, because he couldn’t hurt Hematite. The spikes of crystalline blood cracked harmlessly against his chest and arms, steel as they now were. He chuckled a bit at the request for his workout routine and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. Blood was trailing up his arms, turning to crystals as it went. He realized almost immediately what was happening and closed his lips tight, eyes flashing up to Obsidian’s.
And Obsidian– Ethan saw his brother in trouble. His pack member, his brother, his. All at once, the rage that he had been suppressing over Malachite’s death came roaring to the forefront, echoing through his bones and his blood and his skin. It rippled like a wave, and his vision went red as he rushed in. He was there in the blink of an eye, his right hand wrapping tightly around Cain’s throat, and with a feral grin, he pulled.
This wasn’t like before. He didn’t pull slowly and smoothly, expecting the fear and paralysis to set in. He ripped what Cain had inside him to the surface, breaking the nozzle off the hose until it flowed freely the way it was meant to. Then, he pulled it all into himself, his eyes holding Cain’s, his sharp yellow eyes so full of fire and cold and pure rage. He drew what was there, breaking through the blocks, ripping off the faucets, and forcing everything to flow properly.
“tell me, Cain. Do I still seem like a bottom to you while I’m eating you alive?”
There was no trace of humor or flirtiness in his voice. All there was was sharpness and vitriol, drawn from deep inside him. Ethan hadn’t felt this level of rage since Samantha, and he had no idea why it was flooding through him now. All he knew was he was a slave to it, as much its victim as its master. The feeling of energy flooding through him so quickly left him dizzy, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop even when it felt sickly sweet and made his teeth hurt. He didn’t stop until he felt the flickers, the sparks, the core fire inside every person.
And then, with a smile, he took them.
Slate
Member
As soon as the crystals began to crumble away, Hematite let go of Cain’s body. It tumbled to the ground and lay in the puddles of blood that now spread from it. Ethan looked down at his shoes and sighed to see the blood spreading to them. He was standing in a pool of red, which might as well have happened. He looked from his shoes to Cain’s body, bent and contorted like a marionette doll that had all of its strings cut.
He looked away and around to the rest of the people in the bar, doing a tally. Hematite before him, standing and dusting crystals off himself as he made his way back around the bar. Sulphur, looking out over the top of the bar. Rowe, right next to him. He looked back up to Hematite as the man threw a rag in his direction. Ethan wrapped his hand as he tried to search the itch in the back of his head saying that wasn’t everyone. With a deep groan, he turned and looked to the third booth.
Curled up underneath it, he could just see colorful clothing and purple pastel hair. He licked his lips and sighed, walking over to the booth. He stood right next to it for a long moment before rapping his knuckles on the top of it. He didn’t have it in him to bend over or raise his voice as he said, in a tired voice, “Hazel. Come out. We need to talk.”
Arcane Eye
Member
Fights happened a lot slower in real life than they did in movies, or even blog articles. Movies had the added bonus of camera angle, of trained actors and body-doubles. Nobody really got hurt in a movie. And a news article added description, padding, almost as much as fantasy. But a real fight was over quickly, and no amount of skewing her perceptions could change that Hazel had only been under the table for a minute since the first strike landed, and now –
She tried to breathe. Her chest was tight, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the body, off the man who’d been a man a second ago and who’d just been shot four times and been fine, but Obsidian touched him and – and –
There was no camera to watch herself from. She wished there was. It would’ve encouraged her to stay in view of it, to watch herself recover. It would’ve been better to watch Cain die with that added layer of distance, that separation, where she wouldn’t see a living, breathing man go still and quiet soaked horribly in his own blood. A man who a minute ago had been alive and flirting and drinking and laughing. Who’d laughed until he died, a sound that Hazel really wished she hadn’t had to hear in stereo.
Focus. She had to focus, to pull herself out of this spiral. There wasn’t a camera, but she had other senses. She forced her eyes to close, to stop staring at the still body and instead look at their own lids even if all she could still see was Cain’s mangled form. She asked herself what she felt, not with her heart but with her skin. Her drink, clutched in one hand, wet and cold. She could still taste it, smell it even over the – blood, all the blood Cain had used to tear through Slate. Her face was warm, her cheeks were cool – tears. She’d started crying, at some point, maybe because she couldn’t breathe, or maybe because she had just watched a man die, or maybe because –
God, Hazel was a witness. She’d just seen what Obsidian could do first hand. Her breaths started to come in sharp and shallow again, and she felt her body curl in on itself without her direction. She was going to die. She was going to die, there was no way Obsidian was going to let her go after this. She’d never been in this situation before.
She wished Isaiah was here. He’d know what to do. Or at least he’d be here with her. She wouldn’t be dying by herself. But she didn’t want him to die, either. So maybe it was better that she was alone. Maybe it was better that she didn’t drag him into this mess. He’d miss her. But he wouldn’t die of her stupidity.
She shivered as each knock on top of the table pierced her brain. She wasn’t even sure how she could her it; maybe she just imagined it as she heard Obsidian’s voice without hearing his voice. It rattled around between her ears without a direction. He sounded so tired, and he said we need to talk in such a normal tone. She wanted to believe he just wanted to talk, if only so she didn’t feel so scared. Maybe he did just want to talk. Maybe he was going to let her go, as long as she promised to keep quiet about this.
That gave her something to ground herself, as much as she doubted it. She relaxed, even as two more tears rolled down her face. Four beats, breathing in. Seven beats, holding still. Eight beats, breathing out.
There was no dignified way for her to get out from under the table, but she pushed herself back into the booth seat relatively smoothly. She was careful to put the half-finished drink down somewhere that wasn’t covered in papers, then wiped her cheek on the back of her hand. She must look pathetic. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be seen as pathetic here. Especially if she was going to die. But she’d always been a little pathetic, hadn’t she? Might as well die the way she’d lived.
She finally took another deep breath, and then looked up at Obsidian. She hoped he didn’t see the fear in her eyes as for the first time, she slid the headphones off. She wouldn’t spend the last minutes of her life alone with his voice.
In a small voice that made her furious with herself, she finally managed a very quiet, “Hi.”
She tried to breathe. Her chest was tight, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the body, off the man who’d been a man a second ago and who’d just been shot four times and been fine, but Obsidian touched him and – and –
There was no camera to watch herself from. She wished there was. It would’ve encouraged her to stay in view of it, to watch herself recover. It would’ve been better to watch Cain die with that added layer of distance, that separation, where she wouldn’t see a living, breathing man go still and quiet soaked horribly in his own blood. A man who a minute ago had been alive and flirting and drinking and laughing. Who’d laughed until he died, a sound that Hazel really wished she hadn’t had to hear in stereo.
Focus. She had to focus, to pull herself out of this spiral. There wasn’t a camera, but she had other senses. She forced her eyes to close, to stop staring at the still body and instead look at their own lids even if all she could still see was Cain’s mangled form. She asked herself what she felt, not with her heart but with her skin. Her drink, clutched in one hand, wet and cold. She could still taste it, smell it even over the – blood, all the blood Cain had used to tear through Slate. Her face was warm, her cheeks were cool – tears. She’d started crying, at some point, maybe because she couldn’t breathe, or maybe because she had just watched a man die, or maybe because –
God, Hazel was a witness. She’d just seen what Obsidian could do first hand. Her breaths started to come in sharp and shallow again, and she felt her body curl in on itself without her direction. She was going to die. She was going to die, there was no way Obsidian was going to let her go after this. She’d never been in this situation before.
She wished Isaiah was here. He’d know what to do. Or at least he’d be here with her. She wouldn’t be dying by herself. But she didn’t want him to die, either. So maybe it was better that she was alone. Maybe it was better that she didn’t drag him into this mess. He’d miss her. But he wouldn’t die of her stupidity.
She shivered as each knock on top of the table pierced her brain. She wasn’t even sure how she could her it; maybe she just imagined it as she heard Obsidian’s voice without hearing his voice. It rattled around between her ears without a direction. He sounded so tired, and he said we need to talk in such a normal tone. She wanted to believe he just wanted to talk, if only so she didn’t feel so scared. Maybe he did just want to talk. Maybe he was going to let her go, as long as she promised to keep quiet about this.
That gave her something to ground herself, as much as she doubted it. She relaxed, even as two more tears rolled down her face. Four beats, breathing in. Seven beats, holding still. Eight beats, breathing out.
There was no dignified way for her to get out from under the table, but she pushed herself back into the booth seat relatively smoothly. She was careful to put the half-finished drink down somewhere that wasn’t covered in papers, then wiped her cheek on the back of her hand. She must look pathetic. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be seen as pathetic here. Especially if she was going to die. But she’d always been a little pathetic, hadn’t she? Might as well die the way she’d lived.
She finally took another deep breath, and then looked up at Obsidian. She hoped he didn’t see the fear in her eyes as for the first time, she slid the headphones off. She wouldn’t spend the last minutes of her life alone with his voice.
In a small voice that made her furious with herself, she finally managed a very quiet, “Hi.”
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Slate
Member
While the others started to tend to Sulphur, Ethan slipped into the booth across from Hazel. His eyes were tired, and he ran his right hand down his face with a sigh. There weren’t many options here. The easiest option would be to eliminate her. Taking her out and dropping her body somewhere would be the best course of action. He could easily drain her, he still had enough capacity for it. He could feel how much energy he had.
But Ethan found that he didn’t want to do that. She was young, and a girl, and he didn’t like the idea of ending the life of someone so innocent. Hazel had nothing to do with this fight, and while she was suspicious, she wasn’t out to get them. She was just a girl who spent her time in his bar.
“Are you alright? Are you injured at all?”
He looked her over, looking for any injury she might have sustained. He didn’t like this situation they were in. He wasn’t happy that he had to make some kind of choice about this. She was so young, so clearly upset and afraid. It was in her eyes. Ethan sighed again and shook his head.
“Listen. You saw some shit today that you shouldn’t have. I don’t want to hurt you. Can we come to an agreement about your silence?”
Arcane Eye
Member
Hazel watched Obsidian slide into the seat across from her and tried to keep her breathing under control. She didn’t want to shudder as he mentioned her silence. She didn’t want any of this. Underneath the fear, the first few notes of anger started to run across her mind. Not anger with Obsidian. Anger with herself.
But she kept her voice quiet, and wiped her face again with the back of her hand.
“I’m – not injured.” She took a shaky breath. Closed her eyes, then reopened them, letting some of the light come through. She even laughed, weakly. “I can’t really lie and say I’m fine, can I? I’m really not. But I will be.”
The persona started to form around her again, hiding the more delicate feelings, especially the fear. This was a different fear from her usual anxieties. Her life had been kinda-sorta in danger before, but never without Isaiah to sweep her out of harm’s way, and never like it was now. This wasn’t a random force of nature, this was a metahuman who would kill her exactly the same way he’d just killed Cain if he thought she was a threat.
He was giving her a choice about it, at least. Her silence for her life.
She didn’t want to make that choice. She felt like a coward. She shouldn’t agree to keep this to herself just because – just to protect herself. She shouldn’t be scared to die doing this. It made everything she’d done so far, everything she’d put into Arcane Eye, feel worthless, hypocritical. But she couldn’t agree and just write up a post about this anyway, even if Panopticon was detached from her real face. That’d just be proof of who she was, and she couldn’t risk her anonymity there, not if she wanted to keep working. And she couldn’t just leave and never come back here, because that would mean a dead end to her investigation.
She needed– terms, she decided. Real terms. He mentioned an agreement – she couldn’t agree until she was sure what he had in mind. Maybe there’d be conditions, but complete and total surrender might not be necessary. He didn’t know she’d be willing to give that much.
“We could,” she said, slowly. Still too shaky. She could lean into it, but she really didn’t want to. She didn’t need to, anyway. She felt like a breeze could tear her apart right now. “Come to an agreement, that is. We could. What do you want?”
But she kept her voice quiet, and wiped her face again with the back of her hand.
“I’m – not injured.” She took a shaky breath. Closed her eyes, then reopened them, letting some of the light come through. She even laughed, weakly. “I can’t really lie and say I’m fine, can I? I’m really not. But I will be.”
The persona started to form around her again, hiding the more delicate feelings, especially the fear. This was a different fear from her usual anxieties. Her life had been kinda-sorta in danger before, but never without Isaiah to sweep her out of harm’s way, and never like it was now. This wasn’t a random force of nature, this was a metahuman who would kill her exactly the same way he’d just killed Cain if he thought she was a threat.
He was giving her a choice about it, at least. Her silence for her life.
She didn’t want to make that choice. She felt like a coward. She shouldn’t agree to keep this to herself just because – just to protect herself. She shouldn’t be scared to die doing this. It made everything she’d done so far, everything she’d put into Arcane Eye, feel worthless, hypocritical. But she couldn’t agree and just write up a post about this anyway, even if Panopticon was detached from her real face. That’d just be proof of who she was, and she couldn’t risk her anonymity there, not if she wanted to keep working. And she couldn’t just leave and never come back here, because that would mean a dead end to her investigation.
She needed– terms, she decided. Real terms. He mentioned an agreement – she couldn’t agree until she was sure what he had in mind. Maybe there’d be conditions, but complete and total surrender might not be necessary. He didn’t know she’d be willing to give that much.
“We could,” she said, slowly. Still too shaky. She could lean into it, but she really didn’t want to. She didn’t need to, anyway. She felt like a breeze could tear her apart right now. “Come to an agreement, that is. We could. What do you want?”
Slate
Member
For a moment, Ethan just looked at the girl. He could feel that she was getting angry. Whether that was at him or at one of the others, he had no idea. All he knew was that she was getting emotional. And emotional, while not a bad trait, was not what she needed to be right then. If she wanted to discuss terms, and it seemed she did, then she needed to calm down.
“Hazel, relax. Take a deep breath and relax.” He leaned forward on the table, letting his hair fall forward. It flopped in loose curls over his face and he pushed his hand up to contain them at the top of his head. He was so tired now, despite having just fed. His body was buzzing, but he felt weighed down by the energy that he had taken from Cain. Like he had just taken in a sludge or a slime rather than a fizzing drink.
Maybe it was getting to him that he was lonely, and not in the normal sense he usually thought of with that word. No, he had another predator now, one much worse than him in ways and so much better than him in others. His pack had never been closer, had never been more loving to one another. Instead of falling apart at Mal’s death, they decided to band together even more so than before.
Ethan had to admit that he was lonely in the way he had been left since Zeheb’s death. He didn’t necessarily just want someone to sleep with, he wanted someone to look at him that way again, like he meant something to them. And for half a second, Cain had let him think he was at least going to have that for the night. Now, now he was forced to recognize that that was what he was staving off– that feeling of loneliness.
“I want your silence about everything you just saw. My ability, Cain’s death, Hematit– Raphael’s ability. We’ll be in danger if people find out who we are. We can’t have that. More men like Cain will come after us, come after my family, and I can’t have that happening. So what will it take for us to come to this agreement?”