log | closed (ongoing)

[fatespoken]

When; Thursday
Rating; PG-13 (Language, blood, and assholes.)
Characters; Frankie Dalton (never_very_good) and Amory Felix (fatespoken)
Summary; Investigation, infiltration, capture, and extermination. Funny how bedroom play comes in handy when you least expect it.
Log;


Amory Felix was never much of an actor, but he did like to act. Molding countenance and modulating speech to character (or caricature) were common moments in his younger years--- those times when Amory had enjoyed playing different faces, manipulating expectations (of foolish girls, mostly) then crushing them and his act when he got bored. They were the games of a boy, childish pastimes that had been chased away by several cold, hard kicks in the teeth by reality.

But the experience is still there, and that experience he will use this afternoon in going after Frankie. Now, let's not get him wrong. This is not an act of heroism. His incentive is Eden, to do her a favor given the instances when she had assisted him. And maybe, there is something like concern for Frankie Dalton. It didn't seem as if anyone else would have gone up there after him, not when even his girlfriend has thrown the white towel. No doubt, Amory has also weighed the possibilities and consequences, reasoned confidently that he could get himself out of the battleground in a flash if the meeting called for it. There was no surprising him in a store room, this time, and the human flavor of Frankie wouldn't pose so much of a threat. (If he he did have a gun, Amory Felix was ready to make a dash for it.) There was a plan of action solidified in his mind, nerves compressed to a confident damper. He would go to Frankie's interesting spot and play the part, act curious and unsuspecting. Then with a few words and heavy concentration, he would put the asshole to bed.

He initially accesses the mountain by transporting himself onto a familiar pathway crossed on their camping trip; it takes another hour figuring exactly where Frankie Dalton had told him to meet. Teleportation points need visual recognition to work, and for a task like this, legwork is the last thing to complain about. When he finally does reach their specified meeting point, catching Frankie's frame against a blazing line of the horizon, instinct has Amory brushing a hand over his pocket to recheck that pistol stuck in there.

Just in case.

Comments

[never_very_good]

Frankie's never been very good at keeping his thoughts off his face-- which makes the blankness of his expression now rather curious. He's been on the mountain almost exclusively since the call to dig came, the alien intelligence that had been biding its time in the back of his mind taking the reigns and deciding that Dalton best served its agenda as a worker. His hands are still grimed with dirt, packed deep beneath short and ragged nails, etched into the lines of the skin. He's moved past blisters to callouses, and though his body should rightfully ache, it's far from broken; something that can't be said of other conscripts accustomed to less strenuous lifestyles.

And staying to the mountain, aside from the occasional foray to procure food, has more or less kept people from asking after him. The human Eden-- someone important, the slug guesses, from the host's suppressed anxiety during their conversation-- was the only one who'd made an effort to contact him, and the creature had decided she'd be more likely to be a hindrance than a help. So he'd made no further attempts to enlist her, either as a host or as a conscripted worker.

This Amory, though, has at least been more violent; and so the being wearing Frankie's face is taking the time to meet with him. He turns and considers the other man; scrawnier than he'd like for a digger, but better something than nothing. Frankie is unarmed, unless you count the shovel leaning nearby.

"Amory." It sounds passably like a greeting, but it's in some measure a confirmation, though the host's reaction suggests recognition.

[fatespoken]

When he's within arms length with Frankie, Amory's ploy snaps in with a silent click and a left arm suddenly draped unceremoniously over Frankie's shoulder. He grins cheekily, every bit a jocund fool, as he allows his body to lean against the taller man's, tipping his head sideways, close enough that Amory's cheek is nearly against the man's neck.

"Hey, Frankie. What are you gonna show me," he laughs sharply, "I've been up here before, you know. Camping. And it better not be a fucking slug-infested turkey because I've had enough of that."

No, this isn't Frankie Dalton. Never this serious, hardly this severe, he's not even uttered a single jab at him as per tradition. If Frankie doesn't realize the incongruity in Amory's demeanor currently, then well, there's nothing to doubt.

[never_very_good]

Something is decidedly off; the host seems puzzled, but for once the depths to which the man's mind has been repressed works against his controller. It doesn't recall from its observations-- the time the creature spent as a silent passenger, watching Frankie's world, perfecting its understanding of his body's circuitry, preparing for its inevitable call to duty-- whether this is appropriate; it knows to an extent that Frankie had in some way endangered the younger man's life prior to his infestation, that they'd been a bit uneasy then because of it, but that Frankie more or less considered him a friend.

"Don't be an idiot, the turkey is dead," it answers, mimicking the cadence of Frankie's voice imperfectly but fairly well. He shoves the other man away, not roughly, but rather insistently. The hesitation is there, though. "But there's lots up here to see."

[fatespoken]

Too late, slug. Too many glaring inconsistencies in both Frankie and Chase's characters, the evidence too strong to believe anything else but some sort of mind control, or suggestion, or something Magically, there's not a single trace on Frankie, which cancels that possibility out. Amory's own abilities may be temperamental, but sensing other magic users is never hit and miss. He even feels it every time his neighbors below him have sex, magic fluctuation in accordance emotion.

Amory will save that for a bar joke, assuming he could fix the poor bastard.

Raising his hands in joking defense, he shrugs off the shove and keeps that jerky smile perched on his lips. Honestly, he'd expect Frankie to shove harder, but this isn't Frankie. But Amory is keeping that doubt locked up tight with ignorance and humor as his shield.

"Like what? Come on, Frank. You know how much walking I've done today? Give me a clue, at least."

He's getting ready for it.

[never_very_good]

"And ruin my surprise?"

He grins. It's not Frankie's grin, which even at its brightest is still lopsided, habitually a little snide, baring what once was a fang. On its own that might mean nothing, but it's one more detail that doesn't fit. He leans over to grab the shovel, holding it too high on the handle for practicality, the side effect of being something not accustomed to having hands. It's not here as a potential weapon. It's here because he doesn't want one of the others in their frenzy of digging to take it; the host's hands have had enough punishment, this is more efficient.

"C'mon, everything's really going on a little lower down."

[fatespoken]

"All right. I'm coming, just don't go too fast, okay?"

Regardless of what behavior might suggest, Amory is a man of details. An
intent observer of character, despite his apathy toward the common fold; strangers were nothing, but their traits could be interesting. That crooked grin that would perfectly frame a fang is something he has noticed before, and something that's missing.

"I didn't want you to offense, really." he dampens his tone with a strong veneer of care and consideration. There's even a tight little frown offered at the blond, a suggestion of worry. "I'll be honest, you kinda look like shit. You should sit down and rest. Sleep."

His mother could have had Frankie knocked out in a second's passing, but Amory's technique is relatively sloppy and inexperienced. Though he has sunken in his claws, it will probably take a bit more encouragement. Half of the time it doesn't work because he resists applying to much magic, but this time around, there's more strength than the usual dose. Too much magic could wreck his mind, too little could falter and fail. In an occasion like this, it's all right to take chances-- and test that better control he has been trying to master.

Any worry of doing harm to the blond is stuffed down and silenced. For now, and for later.

[never_very_good]

Frankie's half-turned to say something in response-- that he's fine, maybe, or that it's worth running himself ragged-- but the command hits him like a blow; and he crumples on the spot, the long handle of the shovel falling away from his hand as he passes out in the dirt.

[fatespoken]

Well, that was effective. Amory is proud of himself for one smug second, even while knowing that his improved control has come at a cost. He wastes no time in gingerly grabbing the sleeping male, taking a firm hold of him by the wais as he crosses point A to point B in a second's beat. The light scattering of cockroaches greets their arrival to this dingy, abandoned apartment; the chair, chains, and rope hidden off to the side Amory's welcome present to the slug.

The landing was intentionally a soft one, Amory taking the brunt of the landing by acting as cushion. What follows isn't soft or tender at all, and even with the worry of Frankie waking up, he makes quick work off his prisoner. Thick rope goes first, wrapped tightly against his wrists and legs and knotted twice for reassurance. Before he applies the chains, Amory has to get the taller man up onto the chair-- admittedly, a struggle and heave that will probably leave his back aching tomorrow. If Frankie manages to wake up thanks to this ruckus, it won't matter; he's tied and bound to the chair with chain.

[never_very_good]

Almost as soon as he's unconscious, Frankie's body reacts; not freed of the slug's control, but acting on unmonitored reflex. Without waking he claws at his ear, already red and a little swollen. He doesn't stop until the binding of his hands forces him to; and that thwarted impulse is no small part of what finally rouses him.

The slug glares up through Frankie's eyes, malevolent and inhuman.

[fatespoken]

Amory's response is to offer a smile; a calm, beaming smile incongruous to the situation, contradictory to everything Frankie should know about Amory Felix. He backs away from the bound man, boot steps crunching cockroach shells, turning aside to face a wall. Hanging there in silence for a moment, he then withdraws something from his pocket--- his pistol.

With a cracking bang, Amory fires a shot into the wall. Then another, and another. All the while he continues to smile, turning his head after the successive shots to face the impostor.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

[never_very_good]

He ought to flinch at that, but he doesn't. There doesn't seem to be much point to pretending, after all; the younger man obviously knows something is wrong. So he doesn't so much as blink, just looks at Amory calmly.

"I've been better. Untie me."

[fatespoken]

He might have twirled his gun in a playful fashion if Amory had enough confidence to not accidentally blow a hole in his own foot. Eden taught him how to fire, funny how that comes into play.

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?" he taps a foot against the floor, a slight tilt to his head as he subjects Frankie to a meticulous examination. Dusty, dirt-caked, and an infection starting up in his ear? Could be the cause of too much dirt and lack of sanitation? Stepping closer, Amory leans to the side for further observation of his ear.

That didn't look right at all.

"You should tell me your name," he smirks, "Don't be rude."

[never_very_good]

"Frankie Dalton," he says simply, the kind of fact one picks up for the sake of survival. Always best if you turn your head when someone calls. Its own proper name isn't so easily given, nor so easily won; its language doesn't translate easily, and if there is one thing the parasites excel at (in general,) it is secrecy.

He does his best to lean away (and unfortunately right now that's not very good,) both because he'd rather not have Amory figure this out and because he doesn't really want the human near him.

"I don't think my manners can be faulted in this situation."

[fatespoken]

"You're stealing another person's body; I think you've got nothing to say about propriety, parasite."

He starts pacing in a semi-circle around the chair-- slow, smooth steps, too at ease to be predatory (yet.) That smile maintains its position, gun still cocked in his right hand.

"Not a speck of magic on you. So, the only question is whether you're an external or internal nuisance," he questions, "If you're civil, we can act as gentleman, otherwise--"

He'll let the slug fill that in.