tampered | Log; Complete

Log; Complete

When; Jan. 26 (evening)
Rating; PG13 for now
Characters; Flycatcher

thegoodprince, the Corinthian

bitingnightmare
Summary; A little observation goes a long way in laying a trap for a nightmare.
Log;

Days later, after the shoe fetishist's attack on Elle's apartment, the Corinthian finally made to leave the apartment. It wasn't that he was hungry, because he didn't eat, and it wasn't that he planned to turn himself in, because that was a laugh and a half, it was just time for him to find a new location. He wouldn't depend on the one-eyed woman forever. Plus, she was a hell of an insufferable room mate. It was only a matter of time before they got sick of each other, and that'd ruin a beautiful relationship.

So the fugitive nightmare slipped down the fire escape to the alley below, a white haired thing draped in dark clothes that did nothing to hide his paleness from the dark anyway.

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Fly did feel guilty, keeping watch over an innocent person's apartment. (Well, Elle was relatively innocent, anyway. She did apparently hurt Miss Cindy.) Charming's list had assured, however, that keeping track of such things was meant to have a pay-off. As someone left the residence through the wrong exit, the concept was proven right.

His way to intercepting the nightmare was not to enter the alley. That was probably a little too confrontational, asking for it. The tall man appeared a ways down the street and, walking as if on his way to the grocery, he did a double-take as he passed the alley.

"Oh." The small call of recognition was punctuated by a vague smile. "Good evening."

The Corinthian paused at the sound of his voice, but the sound of his voice was only the second thing he noticed. Out the corner of his toothy eye he caught the sight of orange. Very not subtle, this. But this was also Flycatcher, that mild mannered redhead who never struck the nightmare as much of a thread, not without the word of his fable friends. Cori raises a hand to point at the other man.

"Leave it. Whoever came with you, tell them to fuck off."

"You don't need to say it like that," Flycatcher said, face perturbed. "There's no need, anyway. I've come alone. Nobody is even watching; I've made sure of it."

He moved to stand a little straighter, expression falling into seriousness. He wasn't all that great at confrontation, at fighting, but this was something that had to be done, and he was sure the other man wouldn't choose the easiest route. Still, Ambrose asked, "Come along then, won't you?"

"Yeah, I do," replied the Corinthian, not at all perturbed. What he did know of this man at least told him Flycatcher wasn't the type to lie. So he took him for his word, and that meant being easier to put down. That was the nightmare's plan anyway.

"No," he folded his arms across his chest, noting the shift in expression. Interesting, and maybe entertaining.

"Well, alright then." It sounded enough like a dismissal, but Fly didn't move from where he stood. Then, just to make sure, just to ask one more time, he took a slow breath out and said, "I'm not to leave without you, you realize?"

Oh he had to arch brow at this. It's almost too good to be true... the King of Haven was a persistent one. The nightmare shrugged, hands open with his palms facing up. For some people that was a gesture of letting another know he was unarmed, but this wasn't the case with the Corinthian. It never was. But maybe Ambrose knew better.

"So tag along, like one of those puppies people tie to the back of their pick up trucks," said Cori, a semblance of a threat. He turned to continue on his way.

That just sounded like very unpleasant imagery. Flycatcher puzzled over the statement without reply until the Corinthian moved again. If it had reached him as a threat, he still didn't back down. "No, thank you. I'd rather get it done with."

He turned sharply at that, sunglasses lowered to show gritting teeth eyes.

"Get what done with," hisses the nightmare.

The eyes might be right up there with Mr. Web in terms of creepy things. "I thought I'd made it clear. I'm sorry." Fly drew up his height again, jaw set. He wasn't all that good at being stern, but this was the proper occasion for it. He thought on Kay, on the crime, and it was easier for his face to harden.

"It'd be best if you answered to this. I'm only here to fetch you."

Being taller didn't mean being any better, and the Corinthian wasn't fazed by it. Not yet anyway. The shift in attitude however does raise his guard. He'd heard of what this man did during that invasion though he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. A pity, that.

"Then come and get me," beckoned the nightmare, fingers gesturing for Fly to dare to come closer as his other hand fetched his knife. Incidentally, it was the same knife he used on Kay and it was only half clean.

Hm. Now this was where things got a little hairy for Ambrose. Outside of his established territory in Haven, he was far from the end all of abilities, and anyone would point out that physical fighting wasn't his strong suit. So, how to do this?

"Well, alright. If you're going to be that way about it." The abilities borrowed from the witching cloak might serve him best, for now. He probably should've come up with a more structured plan before getting to this point. How foolish to have thought the nightmare would reasonably submit.

He appeared just behind Cori, then, and set a firm grip on his shoulder. "You're really sure about this?"

What?

No.

Not this magic shit again.

The nightmare turned around, knife first to get this man to release his shoulder. The edge came slashing where Fly's nose would be and he cared not for marring those characteristic freckles.

"Off."

When Fly moved again, it was only far enough backwards to allow Cori's arm to come full swing and plenty quick enough. Yes, his advantage was definitely the ability to move around. "I'm not sure this is going to work out very well for you. Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

"Shut up," he hissed before slashing upward. This man was faster than he looked. Teeth eyes rasped, making a characteristic hrrsssch sound.

Edited 2009-01-27 04:45 (UTC)

"That's not going to work, you know." He was behind the Corinthian again, absently tugging his cap down lower. Given that, though, it was still most likely that it would come to blows, and his assured victories must've left with his armor. Bummer. Fly's mouth pressed into a concerned line, and he waited again.

"The hat does nothing for you," said the Corinthian, missing his mark again which only served to strike his temper once more. "Fuck this," he growled, whipping around to try and catch Flycatcher by the orange jumpsuit. His teeth eyes sneered, eager to see into this one's fear, this one's guilt.

Fly allowed this much, and was grabbed and brought forward, without struggle save for the movement needed to remain on his feet. He made it a point to look at his opponent very directly, bright green eyes to tiny sets of teeth. "Are you quite done?"

That wasn't how this was supposed to work. He clutched at the orange collar tighter, forcing those green eyes that gave him nothing. The Corinthian hissed again and moved to throw Flycatcher aside. Obviously that meant: no.

Fly caught his balance after stumbling for a moment, turning to look at the nightmare. What was the next move to be? What was there to say? That has presumably been something of a mess-up, the last gesture, be it luck or some outside force.

"You are going to be coming with me, one way or another. It'd be lovely if you'd just accept that. You can't have done that to Kay and not expected the repercussions."

Now there was a ticket maybe. He figured if the calm one lost his temper then surely this fight would be in the bag. They always trip harder when they're angry. The Corinthian licked his lips, eyetongues flicking at his lashes included.

"Well it was fucking worth it," laughed the nightmare. However, the fact of the matter was he was lying. Kay's eyes had made him ill after the initially sweet taste. "The next time he grows them back, call me."

How unsavory. Flycatcher's chin raised, jaw clenching at the words and his fist tightening and loosening again. "You've hurt Blue, too." And that? What would that do?

During this time, he was experimenting as quickly as he could manage. If the City would allow him to establish even a temporary boundary for his abilities to operate in, it would give him a greater degree of control in this fight, providing that the Corinthian didn't leave in a great hurry.

"Don't even say his name," the Corinthian snapped his teeth. Ironic, that, since Blue was Flycatcher's friend before anything else, but nevermind that issue. He lunged forward to slash that knife into the other man's temple, except this time he couldn't move. Ethereal hands were upon him, people he didn't know, people whose dreams he might have seen once upon time, people who had little care for who he was because they served King Ambrose. Outside of the borders, no one was any wiser to this confrontation, to this display, but inside everything was that damned army wielded by a single hand.

"Fancy trick, you son of a bitch. Maybe if you were around to play the damned cavalry your friend wouldn't be laid up."

It was a relief to know he could reach far enough. Holding the Corinthian still seemed to be the best option. Ambrose was quickly beginning to doubt that the other would have any remorse to dig up. And what would fears be to a nightmare?

"Don't do that now," he chided, frowning. "Now's not the time. Besides, it's your crime. No need to share the credit." Stepping forward, Fly even began to develop a concerned expression. "I do hope that this won't end badly. I do." With that, his face hardened again and he drew back a fist and hit the Corinthian squarely in the face.

Edited 2009-01-27 06:59 (UTC)

"Call them off," he snarled, fighting against his bonds to no avail. Fears were more like a cacophony in his head. It wasn't the subtext that bothered him, but the noise all at once weaving in and out till he couldn't tell what was his own doing and what was theirs, that hurt. What happened to his mirror? What happened to his ability to reflect?

At those words the Corinthian only narrowed his teeth eyes again.

"Fuck y--"

How that would have ended was self-explanatory. Except a fist came sailing for his face, clocking him sound and fiercely. He crashed to the ground, released by the spirits.

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