magicalpadawan | (no subject)

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Dammit.

[The voice on the PCD sounds a little tinny and staticy, as if it's music playing from a radio station that you can't quite get reception from. There is no picture, though the video function should be working, only a haze of static. The speaker smacks the PCD a time or two, and the picture flickers on to reveal what would be a stunningly gorgeous girl with long, dark purple hair, if she weren't so skinny and dressed in what appears to be rags. She looks half-starved, and her eyes are shadowed and a little annoyed as she scowls at the screen. When she speaks, her words are broken up by bursts of static. What? Tech doesn't work well with wizards.]

This better --kshhh-- one of your tricks -- kshhh-- don't have time for your stupid games.

[She smacks the PCD again with an irritated sigh, and the picture blacks out.] Can --kshhh-- me what happened to Chicago?

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[The last time he'd seen Molly she'd been on her way off the aircraft carrier, and seeing her now gives Thomas pause. But more than just her physical appearance there's a difference to her that isn't humanly detectable, a brittle, frayed quality to her emotions, the way they run like quicksilver. Wild. Barely contained.

Mad.

His eyes gleam silver for the barest instant as the Hunger recognizes the difference, and Thomas' steps slow. She was frail. Too frail, maybe, her injuries and the promise of madness-laced life a lure to the predator demon. He hesitates, stopping out of arm's reach, because he remembers the last time he'd lost control around Molly.

The demon remembers it too, can still taste the memory of her life, her lips.]

Can you walk? Cars don't exactly work around here.

[She gives him a rueful grin and thunks her cane against the ground meaningfully.]

I've got this, I should be okay enough. [She is a bit stabler now that there's someone she recognizes around, but she still can't help but glance around nervously, her free hand hovering over the pocket with her wand.]

This is real, right? Not some creepy Mab or maybe Lea thing?

[He smirks, briefly, at the thud and nods in response. He comes a little closer, but is still careful not to come too close to Molly.]

It's real. There are some things the Fae can't fake. [Like being able to feed. The need for it, the warm brilliant life of it. He pushes the thought away and gestures back towards the way he'd come.]

Apparently we ended up in somebody's science fair project gone wrong.

[She rolls her eyes a little.]

Oh, that sounds like buckets of fun.

[Thomas keeps his hand on the kukri and begins walking, keeping his pace slow enough that even with the cane Molly would be able to keep up.]

That and some god spirit things that don't like Hendricks.

[She follows along, then, keeping a furtive eye on their surroundings.]

Seriously? Can we get home at all?

[He shrugs, the motion graceful and serpentine]

Everyone acts like we can't. I haven't tried.

[There isn't very much for him to go home to. Justine, yes, and he misses her, but there's memories back home. Everything that reminds him of what he had done. How he had failed his little brother.]

Murph and Billy can't handle Chicago all by themselves. [There's a slight pause, and she shudders a little.] And I don't want to think about what Lea could do.

[The thing is, it's pretty easy to miss all the turmoil that's been seething around Chicago when your only concerns are to drink and to go get more liquor. Thomas shrugs, but there's a growing tension in the set of his shoulders and lurking at the corners of his eyes and mouth.]

They'll learn and everything'll move on like it always does.

[She takes a long, shaky breath, and pauses.] N-no. No, they won't, they need someone and I should -- he should be there, I can't do it, I'm not -- [There's another shuddering breath, but she reins herself in firmly, determined.]

They'll come, if no one's there. Everyone and everything that wants a piece of Chicago.

[A sharp laugh, and Thomas turns a corner, waiting to make sure Molly caught up with him.]

You say that like Marcone and my sister aren't possessive about what they have.

[She does, but it takes a moment or two.]

Yeah, but I don't see your sister and Marcone's goons fighting the Formor.

[He waits, and when Molly is nearly within arm's reach again, Thomas sets off. It's almost like he's doing it on purpose, isn't it?]

The who now?

[Oh, please, Thomas, she won't pounce you unless she looks you in the eyes, and she's even warier of that than she was before, now.]

...Seriously?

[Given that he can still recall every detail of every soulgaze burned into his psyche? He's not risking a stray memory triggering that, not when Mouse isn't around to sit on him. Thomas shrugs with a practiced, careless roll of his shoulder.]

I've been busy.

[She glares at the back of his head, and suddenly she's just as righteously snappish as her mother tends to get.]

Busy? Don't give me that shit, Thomas, you were off feeling sorry for yourself while we're fighting for the goddamn soul of Chicago.

[He doesn't stop at her words, just keeps walking. The clinic is not too far ahead and the sooner he can get Molly shoved into a shower and with a meal, the better. It meant the sooner he could slip away and find something to drink.]

We can't all deal by fighting futile wars.

[She's still walking, too, but stops at his words, and takes a deep breath. And another, and then, through gritted teeth:]

It is not fucking futile. It's what your brother fought for, what my teacher fought for, and it's what I'm gonna fight for or die trying.

[At Molly's words, Thomas stops and turns to face her. And when he is face-to-face with her again, Thomas goes eerily, supernaturally still. The very sense of him being simply vanishes, as if he were nothing more than an expressionless marble statue. And the moment drags on, cold and empty, before he speaks. Before that supernaturally empty stillness fades and he seems to exist again.]

He's dead, and no amount of fighting and killing yourself is going to bring him back, or make things magically better. He's not coming back no matter how hard you try to follow in his footsteps.

[That in itself is a sign she's treading in dangerous waters, but Molly doesn't exactly care at the moment, though her better judgement says she really should. At Thomas' words, however, all that righteous outrage drains from her face and posture, and she grips her cane tightly enough that her knuckles whiten. Her voice wavers a little, but otherwise she is forcing herself to remain calm.]

I know that. I do. But it doesn't mean we can't fight for what he believed in.

[He turns away from Molly to hide the flash of empty, haunted guilt that flickers across his face, and continues moving again, the strides fractionally quicker. His tone is flat, almost emotionless, but the words come too smoothly, too quickly, betraying just how often they'd been said, how often they'd been repeated.]

What he believed in got him killed. I'm not about to do the same.

[She quickens her own pace to catch up with Thomas, staring firmly at her feet to hide the own guilt in her eyes. She doesn't look up, intent on not slipping on the snow, if anyone asks, but Molly does speak again, quiet and shaky.]

Not exactly.

[Her words are spoken so quietly that Thomas nearly misses them. But when he hears her, he abruptly stops and turns to Molly. His voice is cold. Flat.]

What do you mean.

[She draws back in spite of herself. Molly's seen too many people that are victims of vampires, lately, and she knows the power Thomas is capable of. But she looks up again, staring intently at a point just in between Thomas' eyes. Her voice is clear and as emotionless as Thomas' is, she doesn't trust herself to be anything other than painfully, completely sane right now.]

He planned it. He and I both did, he asked me to help.

[The words sink in slowly, more slowly than they should have because there are so few of them, but the weight of their implication is palpable. Thomas blinks, once. Twice. Three times. And as the words sink in, he moves, faster than a human being, faster than anything human-shaped had a right to move.

In the moment between heartbeats, he goes from standing out of arm's reach of Molly to pinning her against the wall of one of the derelict buildings. The air around him is cold, and there is a pale, luminous sheen to his skin. His hand is at Molly's throat in an iron grip, and silver gleams in his eyes, cold and angry.]

You. Did. What.