EVENT #011

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone on Earth in Meadowlark's world.
WHERE: The Aerie, a different world.
WHEN: Late July 2512.
WHAT: The first log of our AU event, taking place in an AU world that puts on battle royale events to cull the massive overpopulation.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Overwritten minds, horrible dystopian conditions, and more!

> EVENT #011

On the morning of July 26th, every living person on Earth will be spirited away from where they were mere moments before. Just like that. Hover cars will descend slowly in transit, trains will come to a stop without a screech of their breaks, and the streets throughout every single of the 104 megacities will be left barren, empty, and lifeless. Even those lost and hidden, not seen for months, are swept gently away with the rest of their brethren. No stone will go unturned.

The world upon their return may pick up where it's left off, or it will be changed in some way. Will it be July 26th when everyone finds themselves back where they were standing before? Or will something else happen during this time? Now that the supposed lifeblood of this planet is gone, what will happen in their absence? The world may not be able to go on how it had been.

Perhaps the more terrifying question is this: if something is powerful enough to steal away every person, every single one capable of thought, ideas, conflict, war, and more, what else could happen?

Perhaps it's for the best that it may be awhile before anyone has to worry about that.

For now, they've entered a world that's one week away from its next Quarry event: a place where The Aerie's criminals fight to prove they deserve to keep their life.

> THE WORLD ENDS WITH YOU (THE AERIE)

The Aerie is a structure that should not exist.

Made of steel and concrete, it gives off the impression that its guts were arranged haphazardly, as if an amateur surgeon had pulled them out and tried to put them back in again. Steel beams stretch out between buildings, connecting them together. There may have been a wall of concrete around this beam once upon a time, but it splintered and fell away, exposing its insides and opening up a pathway that people have taken for granted in the past fifty to a hundred years. Power lines hang in loose tangles throughout this little world, ready to fall away at the slightest breeze, then splinter and spark.

Most of the insides of The Aerie are barely preserved. Trying to do that would be an impossible task: there are too many people, too many who live in concrete layered on one another like stacks of broken shelves, too many who pass through open maws of ruptured pathways, crawling up onto the roof of a business for what they think is a shortcut to a higher level. Brittle walls that splinter off into clouds of chalky white dust are everywhere and anywhere.

How The Aerie came together was once a majestic feat: a place for people to live, thrown together as extinction surged forward like a towering beast on the horizon. There was a mix of minds behind the action, as well as a hollow sense of desperation. Even those who brought The Aerie into being knew that their lives were on the line. It was a matter of "make this work" or die. So, they made it work.

What's truly impossible about The Aerie isn't the hulking structures merged together at all manner of impossible angles, but the outer layer of this little world, looming overhead in shimmering, constant glory. The people of The Aerie are protected, safe; the world outside is a nebulous, uncertain mess of greys and greens and reds and blues. Storms surge just outside of the wall of The Aerie with sharp, constant bolts of lightning that batter the surface overhead. Once upon a time, the people of this little world feared those bolts cutting through and destroying their home. But it's been long enough now. No one lives in fear of what's outside, and no one wonders, not anymore. After all, the people who made it outside were never seen again. For a time, some people could watch through the clear walls as these escapees' bodies turned to irradiated mush with only bones left behind. In time, those bones withered away to dust. And with them, their memories were forgotten.

Within The Aerie, life goes on, just as it must: riddled with fear, with survival often depending on the ability to escape notice.

Only two parts of The Aerie remain unscathed, untouched by the passage of time and haphazard construction of this refuge:

The Volary, which stands tall and pristine at the heart of The Aerie. Lights burn within The Volary all day and all night, showing signs of life that most of the people outside of its walls will never see for themselves.

And then the Quarry, a structure built in haste and out of necessity. The same people who brought The Aerie together also made the Quarry. At its base are a series of office buildings, setting up monthly arena events where the guilty fight to show that they deserve to survive.

These two things are the source of all the fear in The Aerie. It's what keeps everyone's mind off the crumbling walls, the storms outside, and the miserable, unending passage of time.

> SOAK UP THE GLORY (THE VOLARY)

When The Aerie came into being, so did The Volary. Far from fragmented like the rest of this tiny, tiny world, it stands pristine, with brown bricks lining its exterior, and strong steel beams holding it strong within. Either through its making or its care, The Volary hasn't suffered from the hands of time like the rest of the world. Anyone outside of The Volary doesn't know the truth, though they could likely guess.

Inside of The Volary lives the members of Parliament: the newly-joined Magpies, the comfortable Rooks, and the looming and most powerful, the Cardinals.

The Cardinals live at the very top. Even after over two hundred years, the Cardinals remain impenetrable. New members are accepted into their ranks from time to time, granted secrets of a bygone era, but the rest of the world remains ignorant to their knowledge. At the heart of this structure is a cult, a belief system; they are the ones who decide if The Aerie lives or dies. For now, it continues to live. Of course, any other path would lead to their devastation as well. They may be nearly immortal, but they aren't truly untouchable and eternal.

Beneath them are the rest of Parliament, cocky in their comfort. Many were born into it, but some were raised into the ranks, finding their own footholds. Sometimes these elevations seem random; sometimes these promotions happen with purpose, with someone driving to catch the eye of a Rook who's looking for someone like-minded to have around them.

Outside of the Magpies, the Rooks that were once Magpies, and the once-members of The Congregation outside, everyone seems blissfully ignorant of the dilapidated world outside. There are some workers from the outside world who know, and some Carrion lucky to have their place among the elite—but there is a sense that some things shouldn't be spoken about, or else they may need to be responsible for it all. While the outside begins to age without any sign of renewal, this compound lives on—untouched, unbothered.

The Volary is set up in levels. The very bottom is where all the businesses that serve the people up above are located. It's where animals are raised and butchered, and where food is prepared before it's brought up to the upper levels. There are numerous common areas, but these can be rented out for any whim of any members of Parliament. Even the businesses themselves can be shuttered for the day, with preferred chefs invited to the upper levels to prepare meals to deal with these circumstances. (Someone from the Congregation can train as a chef in the Cotillion, even if they've never handled food of this nature their entire lives. It's a good job to have, as a number of favored chefs have been elevated to Magpies.)

Beyond the shops is the first level of living quarters for the various members of Parliament. Many Magpie and Rook suites are side by side, though some Rooks prefer not to be housed next to a newcomer and have made their preference known throughout the years. These suites are designed and adapted to its inhabitant's every need, and if someone is born into the family, they inherit their family's suite once someone dies. How is it that there could be space for all the members of Parliament, and so little room outside of the walls of this compound? Consider that yet another question that members of Parliament don't need to concern themselves with.

At the uppermost levels are the suites belonging to the Cardinals. Unless explicitly invited, no one is allowed onto these floors. Numerous Carrion have died throughout the years because they wandered up the wrong set of stairs, knowing that risk was looming over them.

And at the very top is where The Conclave meets. Newly elected members of Parliament visit this room once to receive their powers, only they recall nothing. No one knows what happens within the inner walls of The Conclave. Some have attempted to spy throughout the years. Needless to say, that didn't go well.

The Volary is the home of the pampered, the rich: the people who can ignore the dying world beyond them. Even those inheriting a sense of importance feel as if they've done enough—when they clearly don't do enough. At least those stuck outside may find themselves walking through the heavy front doors of this compound one day. Too bad it's based upon the powers of Parliament, and whether they deign to let someone inside. The only good news is that someone can be buzzed in via their power. That gives a real personal touch, right?

> NO WAY TO LIVE (THE CONGREGATION)

Outside of The Volary, The Aerie is set up in sectors, these sectors acting like rings that move further and further from The Volary up and down throughout The Aerie. Almost by necessity, the rings closer to The Volary are populated by Parliament's favorites. The upkeep around here is better: not pristine, but far from as bad as it gets as someone travels to the outer sectors. Many who have made a name for themselves in the Quarry live in these inner sectors, close to the people of Parliament. Many believe that the inner sectors are still tended to because members of Parliament would hate to face up to the fact of their world dying, and it may not be far from the truth.

In addition to better upkeep, the inner sectors experience less Shrike patrols, with the people allowed to live a life that allows them to remain ignorant to the world around them. They may not be Parliament, but their life in these sectors affords them the feeling of comfort. They don't have to fear their ceiling caving in; they don't have to fear a pipe bursting at an unfortunate moment; they don't have to fear wrongful arrest because they looked at someone the wrong way. It takes a lot for those from the inner sectors to have their lives ruined—but it's not exactly impossible. Of course, this is also where The Cotillion is kept, with numerous buildings and dormitories maintained for its students.

The further and further someone goes away from The Volary, the more life within The Aerie becomes difficult. The worst part is this: no one knows any better. They know the crumbling walls, the faded and peeling wallpaper, the revealed steel beams. They know the frequent Shrike patrols. They know that if they commit a crime, it's on them: they deserve whatever comes their way.

How does someone work in order to get by in these outer sectors? They can help man the bars, because drinking is as much a way of life here as it is back in the regular world. They can help upkeep of The Aerie. Someone can easily enter a trade alongside their compulsory schooling, especially if they aren't special enough for Cotillion training. Electricians are needed throughout. Maintenance of trains is needed throughout. Plumbers are needed throughout. And rations? They come by way of processing plants connected to hydroponic farms. More than a few times throughout the years, these plants have suffered breakdowns, and there have been ration shortages. But don't worry: Parliament continued on eating as if nothing changed outside.

Rations are given out three times a day through numerous rations checkpoints in each sector. These rations are like tasteless protein bars: enough to provide someone the meal they need, a bland mixture of carbohydrates, protein and fat sprinkled with essential nutrients, and little more. Attempts to make them more flavorful throughout the years have failed. Badly. It's probably better that they're bland little morsels. The good news is that they're filling. That may be the only good news.

Life isn't all misery and pain, even if job prospects are largely unfortunate if you're nothing special and the food is literally nothing to talk about. There is a thriving popular culture within The Congregation. There are numerous television shows and movies depicting the distant past, or even a brighter present: one in which the people of The Congregation managed to come together and make their lives better. Oddly enough, these don't tend to act as propaganda. They're just badly written, but done with an eye on hope and perhaps a better life. There are sports and games, though no official leagues have started up, almost certainly because they would compete with the Quarry for airtime.

Members of the Congregation are able to travel anywhere they like within The Aerie thanks to trains, with the only sector the train lines don't access being The Volary. They can peer down over the city, seeing a blurry line of grey all merging together, with people living their lives as best as they can. These trains go near the surface of The Aerie, too, granting someone a close up of the world outside, and reminding them that life could be much, much worse. It could be gone altogether.

> SO SHALL IT BE (QUARRY PREPARATIONS)

With one week remaining until the next Quarry event, preparations continue within The Company's headquarters. Located at the base of the arena out of necessity, The Company's offices are pristine and lifeless in nature. White walls, white ceiling tiles, and white chairs: nothing varies from anything else. How does it remain so surgical at all times? One can only wonder.

Numerous Quarries are being prepared at any given moment, with the televised sensations planned months in advance. Some plans are scrapped depending on competitors. Given the recurrence of Snipes, there are moments where plans need to be changed, where tension needs to be brought in. An arena designer may have to scrap his entire vision for a backup plan.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—The Company is a well-oiled machine. Need some crunch time to make sure a Quarry event is ready on time? The underlings at The Company are used to working long, long days to make it work.

The Quarry this time around is unknown, though there are suspicions of what it might be.

As for those waiting to enter the ring: they're free to live their lives, but many of them are undergoing talent training and preparation for the big event. They're going through interviews, getting sized for any costumes, and being asked to tell their stories. Some of the Snipes may be more than ready for this, while the Guineas will need to figure this out for themselves.

> A WILL TO FIGHT (THE KESTRELS)

Littered throughout the Congregation is a group that's been budding for a while. As much as this world is all they've known, there are some who believe that they deserve something better. The Quarry is unfair, and all throughout the many sectors, there are signs that The Aerie is breaking down and dying, barely keeping it together. These are people who may be afraid, but want to fight despite that fear.

Some of them have made themselves known: bearing a tattoo of a kestrel where others can see. Others hide who they are, but they're waiting. Planning. They strike when they can, but they know that time is running out. There are tiny safehouses throughout, typically through hatches underneath small local businesses that are sympathetic to the kestrels themselves. These people aren't members, but they put themselves at risk every day to protect this movement.

So, they have their sights set on this upcoming Quarry. It's time to bring change to The Aerie—or die trying.

> GOALS FOR THIS LOG

Either through talking ICly or OOCly, we'd like to have the following goals outlined and submitted to our comments below:

What is the Kestrels' plan in all of this? What do they intend to do?
This can include trying to find and meet with Prometheus, just as a note! Overall, we'd like an idea of what they'll be attempting with the upcoming Quarry so that we can work it into the next log.

What is the theme for the next Quarry arena?
We'd like to have some idea of a theme, as well as some submitted puzzles! We know that we're the kings of Vague Ass Puzzles, so feel free to be vague. We just want to give our Quarry participants something to look forward to.

Are there any other factors we need to consider?
Parliament upheaval? Plans to find out what Parliament is doing? Anything else that might come to mind? This is more loose!

We're giving a loose deadline of DECEMBER 7 with the next log going up on DECEMBER 12.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to part one of our year-end AU event! We meant for this to be primarily be a description log to start play, especially since we feel that most of our critical information is in our Planning Post. We suggest that you do any necessary planning there for your select crews there, as well as use the "DM" system on Warbler for private stuff.

Of course, our questions thread is still open.

Since it's come up in the past: since all characters are in the AU, please feel free to do a catch-all post of anything you might want! Flashbacks! Anything open prompt-wise! Go wild with this stuff. This is always available during events, but we wanted to be explicitly clear here given the nature of this event.

As for mod-run social media, we have a post here on the network where we'll be steadily adding things throughout the event!

Our November Activity Check goes live on DECEMBER 1. AC for the month of December will be check-in only. It's a weird holiday season, but it will undoubtedly still be stressful for all of us.

Our next reserves will open on NOVEMBER 23 and our next application period will open on DECEMBER 1. We intend for all new or returning applicants to be kept outside of the AU. We have a special plotting opportunity and NPC ready for this scenario to help people integrate. However, if you have a friend who's apping to tap into the AU, let us know—we're not 100% married to our plans, but we worried about any new players apping into such a convoluted scenario after so much plotting has already taken place.

That's all for now. Have fun and for those of you who celebrate, have a Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[laserbeams]

[ Amos never uttered a single word of judgment towards him. Never even called attention to the fact that crying was very unbecoming of a Cardinal. Still, he tried to choke his tears back even as a whimper escaped his lips. ]

I think so. [ He sniffles, and next time he blinks a few tears fall to the ground. God dammit. ] Give me a moment.

[ He inhales, tilting his head back as he gives in and lets the tears flow down his cheeks. Then he draws an arm back and slams his fist into the wall hard enough to hurt but not to break any bones in his hand. ]

What the fuck do they know? [ He mutters to himself, his fist still pressed against the wall. Amos won't have the answer to that question. He doesn't expect him to. He just wants to test and see if tonight is one of those nights where it feels good to let loose.

The pain shoots up his arm and hums, dull and throbbing. Yes, it's one of those nights. ]

Do you think you can find me something nice? [ And that's polite speak for 'I want a someone, not a something'. ]

[baltimores]

[ He tenses at the whimper, the sniffles, if only just for a second.

Ah, fuck. It's one of those times. He's just grateful the nervous habit of shuffling uncomfortably in place got beaten out of him years and years and years ago, long before he ever could have dreamed of this life.

He waits for it to be over, expression as impassive as ever. As many moments as John needs. Lifts his head up a little higher as John punches the wall, attentive, eager. It's maybe going to be a fun night after all. ]

I'll be back in an hour.

[ He takes his leave at that; no need for formalities, just straight to the point.

He makes a beeline for just outside the inner sectors, right where you can start to see the decay really show, almost like a layer. The inner sectors aren't worth the trouble tonight; the middle will serve his purposes just fine. He's still partially in uniform, but his mask is strapped to his back, resting comfortably between his shoulder blades; this is who he is and he appreciates the full field of vision for what's essentially a quick hunt.

He catches someone's shadow: a gangly youth who looks like he's nearing the end of his compulsory schooling or is already in the throes of attempting to make a life for himself. Longer limbs makes for more real estate. Amos approves of his own choice, sneaks up behind him, has him in a sleeper choke hold before either of them can even blink. He applies pressure, waiting for the flailing limbs to go limp.

He's probably doing the kid a favour, he figures as he makes his way back to the Volary, body slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. World was gonna eat him up sooner or later. Now it's just sooner.

Amos quietly makes his way back to John's rooms. He re-enters without knocking; there's no need. Deposits the still-unconscious body at his feet, like a cat with a prize, before backing away. He looks down at the thin chest still moving up and down in shallow breath, back up at John, and tilts his head, curious as to what direction this is going to take. ]

[laserbeams]

[ He smiles when Amos returns, running his tongue over his teeth. He doesn't do this often; he doesn't even consider himself a sadist although he undoubtedly is one. Once in a while he just needs to blow off some steam on someone who would've gotten tossed in the quarry sooner or later anyway, and a lanky kid like this wouldn't have lasted an hour there. ]

Very good. [ A quick nod of approval in Amos's direction, and then he's searching through the unconscious man's pockets until he pulls out a phone.

It's cracked, and probably not due to any sort of struggle with Amos. Some people just walked around with broken screens, for economic reasons John never had to ponder himself. Sure enough, it still works, and he grabs the guy by the hair and holds his face up to the phone to bypass the facial recognition.

That makes him start to stir and gain awareness, which John ignores as he swipes through the contents of the phone. ] Hm. [ He frowns, face twitching every now and then as he scrolls. An eye roll here, a flick of his tongue there, until he's seen what he needs to see and tosses the phone on the floor. ] He doesn't follow me. [ And he looks back up to Amos. ] Do you think I should go easy on him?

[ Regardless of what the answer is, he's not going to go easy. He'd have spared a fan. Roughing them up a little and then talking them into loving him again was a fun test of his abilities. No follow? No mercy. ]

[baltimores]

Depends. [ Amos crosses his arms, looking down at the kid who's just lifting his head up properly, opening his eyes. He makes direct eye contact with him before looking back up at John. ] How badly do you need to get it out of your system?

[ That the sap doesn't follow John is an unexpected bonus. It's almost funny. And he hasn't seen a lot of blood lately, and between this and John's previously over-emotional state, things look like they could get messy.

If he lets the uncomfortable moments pass, there's always a chance of a reward. It's in the air, now. Almost like ozone. Amos bares his teeth, giving John a full-on grin. ] I say do what you need to do.

just gonna stick a cw: violence on the rest of this thread

[laserbeams]

Pretty bad, I'd say. [ He grins back. Amos really had no choice but to validate John's impulses right now if he knew what was good for him (and from everything John knew about him, he did), but it satisfies his need for approval anyway.

He grabs the kid by the arm and starts helping him get back on his feet. ] Come on, get up, you had quite a fall. You're alright. [ His voice is soft and his smile holds no malice; he's using his powers now and they're already working. His hapless victim doesn't seem to realize anything is wrong, he just gets up and even mutters a muffled thank you to John for his efforts.

Is it cruel to help him to his feet just so he can knock him right back down? Sure, but the cruelty's the fun part. He draws his arm back, and then with all of his strength he delivers a swift punch to the jaw. John's athletic, and although he's no skilled fighter this guy was already barely conscious so it's enough to send him back down to the floor in a heap. ]

Shit. [ He examines his knuckles, red with fresh blood: his own, grazed against some teeth by mistake. He sucks at the cut before the blood starts to pool and the sharp, metallic taste fills his mouth as he presses his tongue against it. ] Get me my gloves. They're in the top drawer.

[ Some leather gloves, nearly impossible to come by outside of the Volary but only somewhat expensive inside of it. ]

ooooohh yeah good call

[baltimores]

[ It's fascinating, watching John's power at work. It's the one thing about him that makes Amos' skin crawl, kicks his lizard brain into gear, a horror descending over him over the concept of losing autonomy again, for the first time in decades.

Watching it being used on someone else - on someone decidedly not him - is intoxicating. He could never do that; cruelty on that intimate a level is a foreign concept for him. He's more familiar with brute force, which brings its own joys, but there's something about being witness to forbidden fruit.

He follows the body with his eyes as it crumples, thuds. Looks back up to see John examining his knuckles. ]

Sure thing.

[ He retrieves the gloves, turning them over in his hands once before handing them off. The texture of leather is different. Though that's maybe one of the things that sets him most apart from his patron: getting his hands dirty is part of the fun. He'd never deprive himself of that.

He looks back down at the freshly unconscious body, nudges it with the toe of his boot. No response, just a light flopping over, courtesy of gravity. ] Think you're gonna have to wake him back up.

[laserbeams]

[ He hasn't used his powers on Amos - and he wouldn't, unless the situation was truly dire. Not out of consideration, but because he wants something real from the people he respects. He'll coax whatever he wants out of the masses but when it comes to the people closest to him he wouldn't be satisfied with something he knew was fake.

John puts the leather gloves on and squeezes his fist so tight that they squeak. Sometimes he wants to let himself lay into someone with his bare hands, scraping his own knuckles raw and bloody and covering himself with purple bruises, but the fact that he'd have to explain his injuries later was more trouble than it was worth.

He looks down at the kid and nudges him with his foot. ] Ah, shit. I didn't mean to hit that hard. [ He didn't really try to hold back, either, but certain applications of his power were more draining than others and rousing someone from unconscious slumber was one of them. ]

Wake up. [ The body beneath him stirs slightly, but nothing else. He crouches down low. ] Wake up. Wake up, dammit.

[ There's no visible evidence that he's using his power, but when he's exerting himself like that there is something like a mental chill that passes through the room. At last the unconscious man awakens, wordless, eyes dull and glassy. The best efforts of a mind that should be out cold right now.

John grabs him by the collar of his shirt and lifts him into a seated position, looking back up at Amos. ] Hold him up while I take a few swings. He's not going to stand on his own right now.

[baltimores]

[ The mental chill hits him, imposing on just the edges of his consciousness. It isn't the first time he's felt it; being this close to John for years on years has always made it a possibility. There's a certain temptation to lean into it, embrace the cold lapping up at the shores, though he's always known better. It's interesting, though, to have some comprehension as to how John's powers could actually work.

Chilling, but there's a basic level of trust there that he can feel it and keep his head clear and feet grounded. It's good to keep anything that dangerous that close. Not just for the sake of survival, but because of the sheer life it brings.

He moves in on the body at John's order, looking forward to the proximity he's going to get out of it this time. He can practically smell it. He brings himself down, brings the kid back up with him, hands hooked under the arms, viscerally aware of just how unsteady the feet are. It'd be such a precarious dance for him if Amos wasn't present to keep him upright through it all.

It's fun; this isn't a role he's taken on all that often. The kid is maybe half a head shorter than him. Maybe a little more. Keeps his own sightline clear, giving him the best possible view, not to mention the little aftershocks he'll get to experience just from being the one providing support.

Anything to get that little rush of adrenaline going. He's been itching for it more these days. That John had called him in this mood had ultimately been a blessing.

He locks eyes with John, a sign for whenever he's ready, so is he. And he'll keep his eyes on him; whatever John is going to take from this, he'll take the edges of that, too. ]

[laserbeams]

[ He grins, taking swings at the kid like he's some champion boxer and not a pathetic old man getting his thrills from an unfair fight with a half-starved civilian.

John's soft leather gloves grazing against his collarbone where his neckline ended were probably the finest thing he'd ever felt, worth more than his entire wardrobe put together. He should thank me, John thinks, for the privilege of being ended by the refined hand of a Cardinal instead of being torn apart by the beasts in the slums.

Somewhere at the back of his mind was the memory of wandering those streets, lost and alone. Of being really, truly hungry and holding out his hands for half-eaten nutrient bars.

That child is nearly a century gone and yet John still sees him in the eyes of every pathetic commoner Amos brings him. He sees what he could have been, and he hates it, and he hits harder. Every time he gets some small joy in ending what he could have become as if this one will finally be the one to end that nagging insecurity of his, but it always comes back.

The kid squeaks out something that sounds like 'why', but John cuts him off. ] Shh. It's alright. You can trust me. Don't worry about a thing.

[ It's not easy to make those words have any impact on someone who's clearly in pain. Fifty years ago he wouldn't have managed it. Now it's tiring, but it works. The kid even smiles a little, relaxing against Amos's grip as John takes a few more swings. ]

God, I'm out of shape. [ He pants, already on the threshold of being winded as he backs up a few steps to rest on the edge of a chair. He's still got enough muscle to look intimidating, but the party-every-night lifestyle he's let himself slip into these last few years hasn't done wonders for his stamina. ] I need a moment. You can take a few swings, if you want to. Just don't - you know.

[ Don't kill. He wants to be the one to land the last blow. But he won't say 'kill' out loud. That tended to scare 'em out of their stupor. ]

[baltimores]

[ Amos feels the body slump, the way even the little bit of remaining resistance just completely gives out - and not because of the direct violence being inflicted on him, but because John willed it. It's a level of intimacy - however manufactured, still intimacy - he could never even begin to process.

He can still appreciate the style, though. It's not the sort of thing that he gets a kick out of but seeing the way it works for John is maybe, he thinks, the closest he'll ever really get to empathy.

He shoots John a look when he steps back, says he can have his own turn. The don't kill is disappointing, but yeah. Makes sense. This isn't about him.

Amos looks at the kid, turning his body around in his grip so that they're face to face. He ignores the cry of surprise, the pained moans coming to the surface now that he's not dealing with John anymore, and studies the kid's face, trying to gauge what he can really get away with. He's very, very easily the strongest one in this room; anything with the head is probably automatically out.

But yeah, the way John lulled him into almost... accepting? Appreciating? the blows... that's not going to happen with him.

Amos takes another moment to consider his options and then, teeth bared, low growl emanating from his throat, drops and then picks the kid up by the throat before he so much as has a chance to fall and slams his back into the wall. Not the head - he's careful to avoid doing any damage there - but he holds him up by the neck, pinning him to the wall, noses almost touching from how closely he's invaded his personal space, soaking in the scent of sudden and overwhelming fear and panic.

He lets his fingers dig in, just enough to break skin, get his nails only a little bloody. The kid's pulse is fluttering wildly now and he feels every little bit of it, relishes in it, actually genuinely smiles at it, all teeth.

His entire life has been dominated by violence; it would be fucked up if he didn't enjoy the hell out of it.

He's got the entire torso available to him. Amos goes for a couple of quick jabs there - the solar plexus to knock the wind out, the spleen - and upon hearing the rasping gasps for breath, the pained whine that should be at an inhuman pitch, unceremoniously lets go and lets the body fall back to the floor.

He abandons all interest in the aftermath - there's no challenge here for him - and looks back at John, eyes bright. ] You good to go again?

[laserbeams]

[ He stretches his arms above his head, arching his back like a cat to limber up again. He's caught his breath, and the show that Amos put on was more than enough to get the gears turning in his head. His shrike was so good at this, John almost envies the skill except for the fact that he didn't want the circumstances that made him develop that skill in the first place.

Wordless, he rises from his seat and crouches over the body, examining it. Blood, fresh bruises, pained breathing. It'd be cruel not to put him out of his misery now. He swipes one gloved hand against his victim's bloody, split lips and raises the bloody glove to his face, tongue darting out to get a quick taste of blood and leather. There's a bloody handprint left behind when he pulls away.

Like a fucking animal, he thinks. A hundred years old and he's every bit as giddy about this as he was when he was a young man. Base nature doesn't fade so easily.

The worst that could be said about John on a normal day was that his resting expression was impressively petulant, and his smiles were often fake. Just the face of a spoiled brat who spent too much time considering his image. Now, when it was time to finish one of his twisted little games, he bares his teeth like Amos had (two wolves against a rabbit, he thinks). Though he himself would admit that his privileged lifestyle has softened some of his rougher edges, his toothy scowl was still that of a man who could tear you apart if he wanted to.

He squeezes his fists tight and lets loose, not bothering to avoid the head anymore. There's a crack against the hard tile floor and it's so loud that he can only guess he was finished there and then, but that doesn't stop John from swinging his fists until he's winded again.

Die, you disgusting fucking thing.

His tantrum could have lasted anywhere between thirty seconds and ten minutes, he blacks out with violence like he does when he's drunk and loses track. ]

...Is he gone? [ He lolls his head to one side, staring lazily at Amos as he pants for air. Of course he's dead, anyone with eyes could see that, but his ears are ringing and his whole body seems to buzz with excitement. He just needs to say something to snap him back to reality. ]

[baltimores]

[ Amos barks out a laugh. It's a harsh sound, one that rarely ever comes from him, but it's vicious and joyous all at once. ]

Yeah, he's gone.

[ His body hums pleasantly from the energy in the room, whether it's any lingering residual effects from John or just the general enthusiasm from watching his patron lose himself in a moment of lethal violence.

Amos works quick most of the time; the change of pace John provides, drawing it out - whether he means to or not - is like being lulled to intoxication. He looks back at John, the efforts he's clearly exerted, and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, taking in the last few moments and committing the feeling to memory.

Who knows when they're gonna do something like this again.

He exhales as he opens his eyes again, all merriment gone from his system. Right. Playtime's over.

He jerks his head in the direction of the body. ] What do you want me to do with it?

[laserbeams]

Just wrap it in a sheet and throw it in to be burnt with the animal husks. [ Not like anyone will investigate a Cardinal, but better safe than sorry. ]

If there's anything you want on the way out, help yourself.

[ Some good food or high quality boots or something else that's tough to get on the outside. It's John's way of saying that he's pleased with the work Amos has done today. He's got no reason to be stingy when he has everything he could ever want. ]