Closed RP Ill Intentions

[Slate]

Obsidian was drowning. He was drowning in paperwork, most of it for contracts for Stonewall. There was a hand buried deep in his red curls, keeping them pushed off his forehead. It was all paperwork that needed to be done by the weekend, which meant it really needed to be done by Friday to be submitted properly on time. He took a deep breath as he looked down at what were likely fifty more sheets of paper that needed his reading and signature. Business with the security company had started to boom.

He had become so focused, that the lights had begun to dim in the office, as he pulled shadows from the corners, as his skin had begun to darken with them. He didn’t notice at all as he quickly browsed the papers. He didn’t stop, not for a long time, until a knock came at the door. He waited for it to open, now that they had knocked, but after a moment, it remained unopened. He looked up. On the other side, he could just barely make out the energy signature of Rowe.

It was calm, like a forest before a storm. He could almost visualize the green trees and the storm clouds overhead, but without the wind that they usually brought with them. “Rowe. You can come in.”

His voice carried, he knew, to the other side of the door, without him having to raise it at all. It was never the voice that people expected, not for Obsidian. Something deep and intimidating was usually what people expected. But Obsidian’s voice, when he wasn’t angry, was even and almost melodic, higher than most people expected. It wasn’t until he was angry, when the edge crept into his voice, that people felt they were really dealing with “Obsidian”.

He took a breath as he waited for the door to open, trying to release the shadows that clung to his skin. It would still be too dark when Rowe opened the door, and he’d see the gradual wisping dispel of the shades.​

 

[Jackal]

Jerry Rowe’s boss was a monster. He’d known that from the first time they met, and it was a truth that lingered in the corners of his mind at all times the way the shadows lurked in the corners of the room when he opened the door. It tinged everything he did, these days. The knowledge that Obsidian wasn’t just a meta – he was a predator, a maneater. A merciless killer.

However, as they’d recently learned, Obsidian was also fragile. Jerry had let the boss go to the bank unsupervised, and he’d come back with an arm that had shattered as unnaturally as his movements, leaving him in a sling he was still wearing when the door swung open. Luckily for business, Obsidian was apparently just as good with his right hand as his left, and was able to keep up the more licit side of Slate's assets just fine. Since then, however, Jerry hadn’t let him go very far without supervision. Even going to see Mary had been a little too long and a little too far for comfort. Jerry Rowe was a professional, after all. If Obsidian got hurt again while he was gone – well. That’d be a blow to his pride as a bodyguard.

He stepped quietly into the office, quietly closing the door behind him. He then stepped up to the boss’s desk, unbothered by the gathered shadows. While Obsidian was a monster, he didn’t scare Rowe. He was a monster who cared for his own, and Jerry Rowe – Quartz – was as close to one of his own as an ordinary human could get.

He folded his arms behind his back in parade rest, his face neutral. “Afternoon, sir. I have a report on the Redblood situation.”
​

 

[Slate]

The shadows dispersed throughout the room, and the light returned in full. Obsidian sighed softly as he felt himself fully untense. His broken arm, shattered in four separate places, still hung in its sling. It was healing remarkably well according to Pearl, but he was still not supposed to push it. Not supposed to use it unless he had no other option. So right handed for the time being he was. For once, he was glad for the ambidextrous training that he and Malachite had received from Brightheart.

A pang went through his chest at the thought of his lost brother, and he instead turned his whole focus onto Rowe. He lifted an eyebrow. It had barely been three days since the incident. That was a quick turn around. “Right. Give me your report, then, Quartz.”

The crystal name slipped from his lips with ease, as if it were always what he was supposed to be. There was something about the man that was comfortably reliable and strong. A quiet strength, the kind that you didn’t see until it was needed. He felt… no. No. Ethan would not be thinking about that. He wouldn’t think about him, no matter how many of Rowe’s mannerisms matched his. It was military training, he knew, and nothing more.​