mayfield_logs | true frans don't need permission to break into each other's places!! ...wait

Entry tags:

true frans don't need permission to break into each other's places!! ...wait

Who: Ciel and Charles
What: Charles~~' house looked weird from her stalking angle for a while now so Ciel just decided to go ahead and break in~~ gets a surprise housecall that he wasn't supposed to know about!! Shenanigans ensue, alas.
Where: 767 Bunker Street
When: Oct. 19th, ridiculous hour in the morning like at 2AM
Warnings: Possible spoilers for Tsukihime/Blood+, also casual talk of gore... will update this as needed!

[Not that Charles has been acting particularly suspicious of late, no. If anything, Ciel can honestly say that the babby bat's temperament has been improving. She'd know, with how much time she spends around the Chiropteran even if they're not remotely close in living together... How did this even happen.

BUT! What's essential is that for a while now, he seems to act... not quite as he used to, back at his place. NOT that Ciel actually keeps an active watch all the time to his house, but woman's intuition + her inherent passive perception ~~+ predisposed mama henbear instinct~~ + legit stalking has tipped her off to something unusual. ...Which coincides with around the time when Charles confirmed to her that he's traded Horace back at the post office, come to think of it!! He never DID tell her what he received in return, though there has been another few rounds of regains distributed since also, if she recalls correctly.

Either way, it's been something at the back of her mind for a while now, even if she's never given any serious thought to act upon the desire to investigate... Until now, apparently, when she just so happens to pass by during her usual patrol at ungodly hours. Ciel's no amateur at this, specializing in stealth and well deserving of her true profession and title of 'agent', so even if there are non-drone members within the household, she ought to be quiet and discreet enough to slip in by a window completely unnoticed. This theoretically shouldn't take long, she's just wondering if there's anything noteworthy in the house! That means checking the basement would be top priority, buuut she should be able to afford a side trip or two in the living room/study... Charles is out now, probably for his usual midnight stroll, so it should be fine, no worries!~

...Except when have things ever gone to plan, huh. Time is definitely going to end up passing faster than she'd expected, after coming across a certain discovery that she definitely couldn't have guessed. Now when is Charles coming home, she might just need to ask him about this in person, even if she has initially planned for him to NOT find out about her impromptu break-in...]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[--but he sure learns fast.

it's been a pretty long time since he's been manhandled like this, actually--! there's something ironic and dryly amusing in the fact that the last two people to inflict any sort of injury upon his person was... Ciel, and... now-- Charles. the two people he's come to consider closest to him out of all the relationships he's formed in Mayfield... ah, it's funny, isn't it? yes... it's very funny, in a twisted sort of way.

he's not laughing just yet. no, no-- but he IS making a rather impressive THWACK as he hits the wall. the damage his body creates is probably more of an irritant to Charles than anything; GREAT now you've gone and broken your own bedroom wall, bat. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE. the wheezed cough that suggests he's been winded by impact comes next, and the look on his face must be comical for the surprise it expresses -- complete and total, at that...

right before he hits hands and knees with chipped paint and plaster crumbling off the wall behind him. (now you'll have to dust, too.) MY... he really wasn't expecting that...! just, uh-- give him a moment. just a moment or two, to collect his... meager and unimpressive wits...]

[it's moments like this when he really hates living in Mayfield!! having walls made of wood and stone are much better for these sort of situations. he wouldn't have to worry about dusting or repairing plaster if they were in his home...!

but he won't be held back for long by the irritation stemming from that, since he's in such a good mood and all. nope, no time for priests to catch their meager and unimpressive wits here... he sets off across the room after clapping his hands together, and he's all bright smiles and springing steps and nothing like the grumpy, easily-irritated brat he usually is.]

That was a nice sound! A priceless look, too. [once he's right in front of Abel he comes to a stop, hands folded neatly behind his back.]

So, can you? Can you still do something for me? Would that be all right? [he rests a hand near the damaged plaster and it looks like a light enough touch, but more plaster splinters under his fingertips and flakes to the floor.]

[Abel is wheezing another breathless kind of cough-- damnit, getting winded is always a pain. but... he's lifting his head and finally seeming to get enough air in to recover.

well, his breath, anyway.

he still looks surprised... and for good reason; he has no idea what's gotten Charles into such a mood or the context he's apparently walked in on, either-- all he knows is that his jovial game of TROLL THE CHARLES has gone and horribly backfired. this isn't a harmless game any longer... it might have never been from the get-go. (maybe he should have taken Ciel's warning a little more seriously.)

but the priest is registering that he's been posed a question-- the same from before, and the sound of plaster further crumbling behind him where Charles has touched is... not particularly comforting. it isn't that he's worried for his personal well-being, but... instead, he's concerned for what this kind of mental state means for his friend. what's got into him...?]

'f...

[ughhhgk-- ahem. he coughs, once-- starts again.]

Of... Of course.

[he is carefully shifting his weight to sit up so he's no longer on hands and knees in front of his host, the worry in blue eyes sincere.]

...I'd do whatever I can. What's wrong, Charles...? [why are you...? ;(]

[surprise Troll The Charles is a game that can take MANY UNEXPECTED TURNS... he seems pretty amused by it either way, bringing a hand up to stifle a laugh when he hears that cough like it's some secret joke.]

That's a good look, but being on your hands and knees suits you much better. [there's a sing-song lilt to his voice and he leans a little closer since he clearly hasn't invaded Abel's personal space enough to last the rest of the holiday season already.]

I can't sleep, but I think I might find comfort in a little stress relief. Is that fine? [the hand that had been on the wall moves so he can rest it on Abel's shoulder, and his touch actually is as gentle as it looks this time.]

How many times could I break your bones before you get sick of me? -Ah, or I could gut you like a pig and leave you on the lawn. Does that sound fair? We've apples in the kitchen, you could be dressed up properly and everything.

[Abel matches the Chiropteran's look, eye-to-eye, but his is absent the thinly veiled malice. instead, all Charles would find is an immense concern and worry -- deep and sincere. no deception, no bells and whistles.

it's almost that simple, isn't it? a man worried for his friend's state of being. but things are never so simple with them. it just seems the way of things in Mayfield -- everything is inevitably more complex than one initially gives them credit for.

the gentle touch at his shoulder doesn't elicit any resistence; the priest doesn't flinch or seem concerned for any further injury. instead, that perplexity and yearning to understand remains, mingled with that question still hanging in the air between them.

what's wrong, Charles...?

the threat -- because that's exactly what it is, a threat -- isn't entertained with the sort of response his friend desired. there's no fear... no wariness -- not even a hint of additional caution. if anything, the only reply on the priest's part at all is... a deepening of that uneasy worry.]

...Do you think doing something like that would chase me off? That I would stop being your friend if you crushed me, treated me like some... annoying bug?

[his voice is quiet, almost apologetic -- as if expressing sorrow for what he's reading as some manner of pain he can't quite determine, and thus doesn't know how to ease.]

I thought you'd know me better than that by now, Charles. It's not so easy to be rid of me.

[he'll sidestep that question like it would be the death of him if he touched it, even if they both know it's there. that would be admitting something is wrong which would undoubtedly lead to Abel wanting to talk about it, and that's something he absolutely refuses to delve into a second time in less than twenty-four hours.

instead, his expression shifts to one of pity; it borderlines remorse in its intensity, but completely lacks anything that makes it more than the stage expression of a skilled actor.]

I don't think it would be enough to chase you off. Not that, at least. I could think of a few things that might. [it takes a little bit of effort to conceal his smile here, but he does a good job of it since he'd rather see how far he can rile this winner with actions instead of words. that's the whole point of stress relief!!

the force behind his hand increases gradually until it reaches the level that would certainly pain a normal human being, like he's testing the water for a reaction.] But you should know that while I've heard those words before, they've never come from the same person twice.

['a few things that might,' hm.

he doesn't believe Charles is truly capable of any of the things that would cause Abel to sincerely condemn him. it takes... quite a lot to breach into that territory with him -- and in reality, it might be impossible as long as he was able to delude himself there was still hope that Charles was person he saw the Chiropteran to be. he's very good at deluding himself, you know.

for the increase in pressure, Abel gives a quiet... grimace, and for one as perceptive as his friend, he might notice the slight tension in his muscles. not a resistence or a fear, but rather borne of his mounting concern...]

You and I both know if you wanted to, you could have thrown me through that wall. You could... break my shoulder right now, if you wanted. Crush my bones as you said, and I wouldn't stop you.

What point would it prove...? [yes, that mounting concern is only growing... an anxious sort of inquiry in Abel's eyes set on those of Charles with single-minded focus.]

Did something happen--? Why are you so... [distressed? this is more a cry out for help then he's seen in a long time...]

It wouldn't prove anything, of course. I just need a little exercise, something to do. [he would have settled with just about any distraction a little earlier but, being a creature of habit, turned to more familiar methods first. nothing puts him at ease quite like the sound of snapping bones and the knowledge that he's made someone else just as miserable as he is! so it's not the most healthy coping mechanism...

but naturally the minute tenseness is noticed and misconstrued (since mentally allowing for the possibility of actual care from Abel would just not be good for his concentration). now the increase in pressure is less like testing the waters and more like the intentional cruelty of a child pinning ants beneath a magnifying glass.]

You said you would do what you could, correct?

You know the answer already, Charles, but--

[damnit. he doesn't want this to go down the path that might lead his friend-- in any mindset-- to do something he may later regret when faced with a mindset of an entirely different sort. he can see how calm he is, can see the confidence in his demeanor... the malice that Abel believes Charles wants him to read from this. but with each moment and each individual signal the priest perceives, all he manages to observe is... troubling screams of distress.

Charles doesn't truly want to hurt him. he doesn't want to be doing this at all. the increase in pressure isn't acknowledged with the appropriate response-- Abel's expression only deepens into further worry as he watches his would-be assailant. he's a boy lashing out and smiling while he does it like if he can convince everyone else that's truly who he is inside, maybe Charles could convince himself too. make the wounds disappear.

...like a child, lost and afraid and unsure what to do. a child who was never given guidance-- one who's lost his way.]

...I don't want to watch you hurt yourself. Hurting me isn't going to make whatever went wrong any better. If anything, all this will do is make you even more miserable in the long run. Charles-- you know that, don't you? You're trying to mask pain, but you might as well be screaming right now.

[there are a lot of things he wants to say to that, and a very large and childish desire to throw a tantrum on the spot in lieu of it, even if that's essentially what he's already doing.

easily read, that's what he is. if nothing else, no matter how fine a playwright he can be, he seems incapable of completely masking the actor beneath the role. it irritates him; not only the fact that Abel is, of course, correct (which he is far more often than Charles would ever give him credit for), but the fact that there isn't much he can do to prevent him from being correct.]

Do you think so? We'll have to rectify that then, since I'd rather you be the one screaming. [he has to keep his replies curt for his own sake, recently receiving a first-hand reminder of how easy it is to twist words around. no, no, he isn't giving anyone any more ammunition. the tightening of his grip doesn't stop, and if Abel makes no move to pry that hand away, he'll find himself at risk for a pressure fracture.]

[it isn't self-preservation that has his arm lifting. it isn't about pain, either-- the priest's tolerance is rather high, despite his often complaints to the contrary. none-the-less, his hand is lifting and coming to grasp Charles' wrist, but he doesn't make any further moves beyond that. his fingers are tightening, but... the gesture is just as plaintive and imploring as the look in his eyes still on those of the Chiropteran.

he won't hurt him... not even in self defense. if Charles wanted to break every bone in his body, there was a sincere chance that Abel would simply sit there and let him. it was because he understood that there is a lesson here to be learned that only experience could teach, even if it broke his heart for that to be the case. if he could impart that lesson in words -- he absolutely would.

but sometimes it took hurting those around you and feeling the emptiness of the pain it caused to realize it wasn't what you wanted, needed, at all. to fall down low, fester in pain and loneliness, to be picked up by someone else, to realize that relying on another might not be so bad. that some people -can- be trusted. that the world is not such a terrible place, after all... if you don't make it your enemy.]

...The only enemy you're making is yourself.

[he can try fighting it all, but in the end, all this boy is doing is destroying pieces of himself. it might even be some masochism that drives him-- Lord knows that is a familiar prospect. but...

...Charles. is this what it will take to open your eyes? trying to break everything, and having people still there for you even if you succeed? having people there, unconditionally, despite tantrums and arrogance and outrage?

Abel isn't going anywhere, regardless.]

I'm still-- your friend. Please don't do this to yourself.

[his lip curls into an immediate expression of disgust and, while it is reactionary to some degree, there's also genuine displeasure there. rather than soothing his unease and aggravation, the lack of reaction - rather, the lack of a reaction he's looking for - only fuels it.]

With all of the flowery, delicate sermons in you, it's no wonder you wound up a priest. [but his expression clearly says he's not interested in hearing anything of the sort right now (if ever). it successfully manages to clear the malevolent smile from his face for the time being, for what good that does. what might be more surprising is the fact that he lets his harsh grip loosen, bringing up his free hand to delicately remove Abel's from his wrist.]

Can't you do anything right? If you can't give me what I'm looking for, I'll need to go elsewhere, and I don't wish to go outside again today.

[...he feels the loosening of that tension at his shoulder with a surge of hopeful relief -- perhaps he's reached him? at least in some part...

Abel watches him, letting his hand fall as it's removed from Charles' wrist. but those words are... less encouraging. the priest gently shakes his head.]

There's no need for that... I already agreed to help you, didn't I?

[and he certainly isn't allowing Charles to potentially hurt anyone else if that's his intent...]

[POOR ABEL he's doomed to be disappointed. as soon as his wrist is freed, he neatly tucks both hands behind his back again and steps away; just enough to give back a little of the breathing room he encroached on, not quite enough to be out of arm's reach.]

Your agreement isn't good for very much. There's no point if there's no reaction, yes? If I wanted that, I could just find myself a drone. [which he looks like he's seriously considering, for a brief second.]

[he takes this breadth of space to exhale something of a silent sigh; whether it's relieved or something more like exhausted (YOU'RE EXHAUSTING CHARLES... EXHAUSTING) is left up to interpretation. regardless... in the next few beats, the priest is gathering himself upright with only mild effort, rubbing at his chest sullenly. (ow.)

he doesn't turn eyes away from the Chiropteran, however... giving Charles his full attention.]

You've gotten a reaction. It simply... wasn't the one you were hoping after, right?

[there's a small smile, but it's apologetic if anything. he is sorry his friend is suffering... and wishes he knew why to try to help. what mess had Ciel gotten him into? she would be much better at this than he was...]

But that reaction isn't what you really wanted, and you know that. And if that's the case, then...

[...then he needs something else entirely. something no matter of violence can give him.]

[HE IS EXHAUSTING and he doesn't plan on getting any less exhausting just because Abel thinks he's being talked down from the precipice of crazy mountain!!]

I've already told you what kind of reaction I want. [which is clearly not the reaction he's going to get! granted, he's not entirely through giving it a try anyway. testing limits is kind of a thing he does, more so when he's in a frame of mind like this. he stretches his arms over his head before swinging them in front of himself again. fingers laced, arms held out; he looks disinterested on a whole in both Abel and what Abel has to say. it's definitely a stark contrast compared to the expression he had been wearing just moments ago.]

I won't repeat myself. If you can't lend a proper hand, I'll find someone who can.

You know I can't let you do that...

[he isn't any more unnerved by his disinterest than he was his interest, in all honesty -- but he is unnerved by the threat of taking this matter to innocent people beyond the house... or perhaps within it. Charles already knows Abel doesn't condone the harm of so much as drones, nevermind the general Mayfieldian cognizant citizen.]

It isn't too late for bedtime stories and getting tucked in, you know...! I would much rather that sort of thing to this, Charles. Wouldn't you?

[as much as Charles IS exhausting

one can only imagine how exhausting BEING Charles can be. surely he's tired and cranky and just needs a nap amirite...]

[well he's starting to see one way he could get a definite reaction out of Abel.....]

Not particularly. As I said, I can't sleep, so there isn't any point in playing pretend. [his nose scrunches momentarily, and he glances toward his door. being Charles is totally exhausting okay, but he hasn't exhausted himself enough yet and is still running on tightly wound tension and the strong remnants of adrenaline.]

...Another game, then. How does playing something else sound to you?

[Abel was sincerely hoping Charles wouldn't come to that conclusion.

as in hoping reeeeeaaally, really hard.

alas... luck has never been one of his strong suits. his miserable karma seems to be catching up with him again... and the Chiropteran might finally be getting something closer to the reaction he had been hoping for, because the priest... like a fool, falls right for the bait.

mostly because he believes the threat isn't truly an idle one. he believes Charles is unstable enough to hurt an innocent bystander in an effort to see his goal achieved.

he raises his hands, slowly... in a gesture of something placating.]

Ah, I-- I don't feel much in the mood for games, anymore... But-- how about some tea--? I regained some from home, actually-- Sister Kate makes the most delicious mixed brews you're ever likely to taste, so--

[so don't even let that thought go much further, okay, Charles? Abel is taking a small step toward him, as if anticipating the boy's move toward the door he's just cast a glance at.]

[that much is good for Abel to assume, since he doesn't have many qualms with injury innocent bystanders even on his good days. but it does give him the idea that he's heading in the right direction. he's dealt with people like Abel before, after all. one in particular, who sat around crying and moping until he, you know... threatened to murder her family and then kidnapped her adopted brother. but hey, that got a reaction! and a reaction is what he's after. if he has to tear up a few drones to get that here, so be it.

the placating gesture is met with a deceptively genuine look of curiosity, and he takes a few lazy steps toward the door, like he's in no actual rush to leave.]

Why not? I thought you said you would lend aid where you could. Is this something that you can't help, then? Ah, but now that you mention it, I am parched. [feeling the conversation out again, testing the waters a second time...]

[...damnit Charles DAMNIT CHARLES DAMNIT CHARLES

he'll find that wrist of his captured again as he takes that first step toward the door. where Abel's grip had been light and plaintive before, it's strong and forceful now. he is holding him in place with no intention of letting him go-- seeing the gears turning in his head.]

--And that's something I've helped you with before, isn't it?

[which isn't a lie. using the excuse of 'thirst' won't work as an excuse, even if Abel believed he was sincere.]

That isn't the point. I know what you're trying to do-- and you know I won't let you. [he absolutely wouldn't let him. harming Abel's person was one thing-- but hurting innocent people? is entirely another.

even so, even if he's firmer, now... his eyes are still relatively soft and imploring. please... stop this. stop before it goes any further than it already has.]

[oh boy, that imploring look sails completely over his head, considering he's too busy throwing a mental victory party over finding a bit of an Achilles heel here. this is definitely much closer to the reaction he had been aiming for, and the smile returns, albeit less manic than it had been before.]

You won't let me what, pray tell? I was talking about the tea, but if it upsets you so, you needn't go through the effort of brewing it. [he raises the hand that's being held to punctuate his point, looking a little too amused by it.]

[Abel's grip on his hand tightens further. perhaps he is imploring, but the priest is absolutely resolute as well-- no one will be hurt. he doesn't care if he has to stop him by force... if Charles forces his hand, then-- he'll do what he has to.

pacifist though he may be, he is also aware this boy is no wilting flower... and to prevent senseless violence, he's willing to indulge in some to protect the innocents.]

I said I wasn't much for games anymore. Please don't play with me, Charles... you need to stop this. It's gone far enough.

[the fingers of his captured hand wiggle playfully in a mockery of a greeting. he then waves it side to side, as if testing the exact movement limitations his wrist currently has.]

I'm not certain what you're trying to say here, to be perfectly honest. We haven't even started any games yet. ["yet" being key there... he takes a step back and, counting on that grip to remain tight, pulls his arm (and hopefully Abel along with it) in the direction he wants to go.]

[Abel takes a step forward when he feels himself being pulled -- trying to pull his weight back and against him to keep himself as stationary as possible. he isn't above using the full of his strength to do so, either -- he doesn't plan to get dragged from the room and toward the more occupied areas of the home, or town.

but Abel's gone quiet with a grimace; any further banter is only feeding Charles' twisted enjoyment of all this, and he won't be a part of it.]

Edited 2012-11-13 04:03 (UTC)

2/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject