graveyardsmash | TEST DRIVE MEME: JULY / AUGUST

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TEST DRIVE MEME: JULY / AUGUST

TDM: JULY / AUGUST

Welcome to the Ryslig Test Drive Meme! Below are a few prompts to get you started, but you may make up any prompt you desire! Please take a look at the navigation page for rules, setting information, and links to reserves and apps. Have fun!

SCENARIO ONE

You wake up on the beach thoroughly drenched, with your mouth full of sand. The salt water is making all the cuts and scrapes on your skin sting and the sand isn't helping. The air is slightly humid, ruining any feeling of refreshment you might have gotten from your dip in the ocean.

There are lights in the distance, but the unfriendly scent of gunpowder fills the air. If you're lucky, you're alone. If not - you might find yourself staring up into a pair of monstrous eyes or down the barrel of a local's shotgun.

SCENARIO TWO

So you've just arrived, and already some of the natives are trying to get on your good side with offers of food, shelter and other luxuries in return for hoping you don't eat them. They even have some helpful pamphlets to share with you. "How To Deal With Changes", "Alternatives to Human Flesh", "What to Expect When You're Expecting (to turn into a monster)" are all on the more informative end of the scale. There's even some detailing certain monsters, and the changes they go through. Some of these seem to have been passed down from one monster to the next.

Among these however, are some... not so helpful ones. "Bunnyipyips And You", "Axe Thief Axehounds," and "So you're becoming a Fur Bearing Trout" among others. Sometimes they have marks on them from previous readers saying they're lies, or pointing out good "jokes."

Then there are the people who aren't happy to see you at all. Glares and silent, judging stares if you're lucky, torches and pitchforks attempting to drive you out of the town if you're not. You may need a friend to help you.

SCENARIO THREE

"Seek us out," the voice whispers in your head, and before you have time to question it you've found yourself in someplace entirely alien.

Maybe it's the Fog God's ghostly town of Dyster, where exultant followers dance around bonfires and sing their praises to the skies above. Maybe it's the Fourth God's arcade, with small robots wheeling about amidst the lights and colors of old pinball machines.

Only one thing is certain: you are not alone, in this sacred place.

SCENARIO FOUR

The time has come and you've found yourself becoming a monster. Is the change instant, or gradual? Are you familiar enough with monsters to know what's happening, or is it a complete shock? Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.

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( Joey's reaction isn't too far off from his own reaction to these changes just a few days prior so, you know, it's fair. What started as a smear on a mirror or glare in a window gradually grew less spectral and more persistent until, yes, this goddamn halo seemed insistent on becoming a permanent fixture in his new life. Worst than it's arrival, the damn thing seems hellbent [haha] on calling him out. What's the point of suppressing all emotions if this floating crown is going to flicker each time he feels [which is more often than he'll ever bring himself to admit]?

The tale of his wings is less cute, days of scratching at feathers until the wings burst through in probably one of the top five most painful experiences in his life. He couldn't even rely on rapid healing to soothing the damage to his torn tissue.

To be fair, Slade isn't used to anything taking longer than a day to heal. They're approaching a week and the ache between his shoulder blades has yet to subside.

Wide eyes and painful silence have Slade's halo glistening bright as his mind goes back to the first time he saw such a blind panic in his son's eyes. It's fine. It's temporary. His frown sets deeper, but he's holding Joey's hand and that feels real enough for this to either be reality or a very, very elaborate illusion.

So this place got him, too.

Slade washed up without his suit, without his guns, and without his Deathstroke, his beloved sword. Thinking of that loss has the halo humming with lament. )

...Funny.

( Even funnier because he's not wrong. He doesn't laugh but he brings a hand to his forehead and raises his bangs to show where two nubs of what he assumes will become horns rest beside his temples. Those are taking their sweet time, not that he's in a rush to have the horn-halo-wing trifecta. His hand falls away once his point is made. He could use a haircut - his hair is growing long, longer than usual - but he doesn't trust anyone but his guy back home with the task. Might not be getting that haircut for a while. )

You know where you are? You got any idea how you got here? ( A pause, a conflicted look, and then: ) Addy, Rose, are they with you?

[Slade's lucky Joey has no idea that the halo's glow has any significance whatsoever - for all he knows, that's just how they work. Or at least that's how they work on people who really shouldn't have them.]

[Of course, the halo and all questions he might have had regarding it quickly disappear from his mind when his dad smooths his hair back to show what look suspiciously like the beginnings of actual honest-to-God horns. His shoulders jolt slightly as he huffs out a sudden breath, a ghost of a laugh. He hadn't expected his joke to actually be so spot on.]

[His levity is brief, the moment passing as soon as Pop starts plying him with questions. He shakes his head, then holds his index up in the neutral fingerspelling position, palm facing forward, then rotates his hand in a small circle so that his palm faces inward, before pointing to himself.]

/No, it's just me/

[He pauses, uncertainty creasing his brow as he tries to recall anything about how he got here that might indicate that his mom and sister came along for the ride. The fact that he can't remember anything about how he wound up wherever the hell he is is...concerning, to say the least. Joey catches his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it for a moment as he taps the side of his forehead with his fingertips.]

/...As far as I know/

[If he doesn't seem confident about that, it's because he's not. He takes a moment to glance around, as though the answers to all his questions will magically appear if he just looks in the right place, before turning back to face his old man. The tight, worried expression on his face is the only warning Slade receives before he raises both hands to launch into set of rapid-fire signing.]

/Pop, what the hell is going on? What is this place? What's in God's name is happening to your head--?/

( Processing things at a normal speed still doesn't feel comfortable to him. The loss of his abilities when he arrived means that all enhancements to his speed, strength, and perception were zapped away the day he washed up on the beach. It was barely a month ago that he was standing in Joey's place. This is one of the times where like father, like son simply shouldn't apply.

Normal processing means he actually has to pay attention to things. There's a chance that he'll miss something if he's not looking hard enough. The added energy, the intentional shift in effort, he's not a fan. He almost has to ask Joey to repeat a gesture - something he's never had to do - because even thinking about thinking distracts him for a moment. Thanks, Ryslig. He hates this. )

Don't strain yourself if you can't remember. If they're here, we'll find them.

( It's a odd sort of reassurance for them both.

Seeing Joey is more bitter than sweet, mainly because it means his son gets to look forward to the same monsters and mayhem that Slade does. It's different from back home. Bad guys dressed in black have nothing on 60-foot-tall Godzilla monsters, and without their powers to boot. Powers. He hadn't thought of that. Joey's abilities are likely just as drained, but he'll ask to test that when they're not here. Nothing washed up with him. From what Slade's seen, nothing ever does. )

...Walk with me. ( The questions are fair, and it's not that he has trouble interpreting them. But there's a lot to explain, and Slade isn't always the best at explaining things when those explanations aren't inexplicably meant to make someone look like an idiot. He steps further along the beach instead of back towards town, just in case Joseph wasn't the only one from their family to end up here. ) We're in the Phantom Zone... Something like it. ( He's not sure if that reference works, not sure how much knowledge Joey has about the Justice League's not-so-secret inter-dimensional prison. ) Different world where women wear petticoats and everyone who lands on this beach ends up eating people. It's religion. ( The head business is too new. Don't make him talk about it. ) Still out to lunch on whether it's all a dream or not.

Edited 2020-07-11 05:14 (UTC)

[Joey's hands lose a bit of their speed near the end, his gestures slowing as he notices that his Pop seems...really off his game, for some reason. His eyes aren't tracking with their usual flawless precision, which is just another thing Joey supposes he's going to have to ask about later. He doubts he'll get a straight answer, but at least his Pop will know he noticed that something's up.]

[He frowns slightly, his hands falling back to his sides as Pop decides his answers can wait a minute. Apparently they're going to have this conversation while taking a stroll down the shoreline, which might have actually been kind of nice under other circumstances - but things being how they are, Joey's gotta say, he's not loving it.]

[While Pop talks, Joey takes hold of the hem of his soaked shirt and makes quick work of peeling it off. He wishes he hadn't the moment the cold night air hits his bare skin, but he knows the chill will only get worse if he spends the rest of the night in wet clothes.]

[Despite being seemingly preoccupied with wringing out his shirt, Joey pays close attention to every word his Pop says. He's always been a good listener, even before listening became the only thing he could really do - a pity that what he's hearing doesn't make a goddamn lick of sense.]

[He makes his skepticism known by giving his old man a flat look, his brows furrowed as his mouth flattens into a thin line. He takes a moment to struggle back into his damp (but no longer dripping)shirt, and as soon as his head is through the collar he lifts his hand to his temple, his fingers splaying out as he shakes his hand away from the side of his head.]

/You realize that sounds like complete nonsense, right?/

( He's looking for clues but turning up nothing, no leads. Coming back to the beach searching for something isn't rational, but it worked. He'd returned to look for his sword, his gear, anything from his life before, like it could wash in with the tide and be untouched. He found Joey instead. He doesn't know how this works. Did Joey show up because Slade had wanted him to? Miraculously dumb luck is more likely. It's selfish, then, to be glad he's here. His son's condemnation to this Hell of a place shouldn't have Slade's halo glowing with hope.

He'll redouble his efforts, check the beach twice a day, no, three times. A plan as futile as finding his family shouldn't be one he gets fixated on. It's already in the works. He's already planning which meals to skip in order to make it happen. Thinking of the ones he's missing almost has Slade ignoring the family right beside him. What else is new? It takes his son's raised hand to recapture his attention. )

Which part? The God who apparently brought you here, or the Fog that's gonna be responsible for turning you into this? ( The wings that they don't need to talk about unfold for emphasis. ) Or did you mean the part where everyone dresses like a character from Wuthering Heights? ...Yes, Joseph. I'm aware it sounds like nonsense. ( Painfully aware. Slade was far quicker to call someone crazy for trying to explain how things work here. Still something he questions every day. He's gone off the deep-end before, got himself a padded cell in Arkham for however many days it was [it all grew fuzzy towards the end, there]. This could easily be more of that. He doesn't doubt himself often, but steadily becoming some half-angel, half-demon thing isn't something he'll be able to fully accept, likely ever.

Joe looks damp. Damp is still wet, and damp and cold is how you get sick. Slade doesn't have anything to give him; he wasn't expecting to find a whole person. He'll wrap this up soon and find something dry. )

...Your power won't work, either. You can try it now if you want proof. ( Slade will do a lot to prove a point, even stopping in his stride to offer his body as a human ragdoll. Isherwood's suit was responsible for a lot of what Joey could do, but it's more of the psychic ability that he's referring to. )

[Joey really shouldn't be as surprised by the wings as he is - he noticed them, yes, and he knew they were probably as real as the halo over his father's head and the bumps on his brow, but somehow their existence just didn't sink in until now - until he sees them move, unfolding just long enough to make a point. A small, irrational part of Joey wants to reach out and touch one of them, because this is just the weirdest goddamn thing, but he refrains. The Wilson family is not at all touchy feely, with himself being the sole exception. He very much doubts his Pop would appreciate him literally ruffling his feathers.]

[--Almost as little as he'd appreciate being turned into a living puppet. Joey considers the offer for a moment, because the idea that his abilities have somehow been taken from him is more than a little alarming and he'd at least have some form of closure if he was able to confirm for himself that this was, in fact, the case, but -]

[He hesitates for only a brief moment before shaking his head, his hands moving as though to take hold of an invisible rope.]

/Nah, I trust you/

[He probably shouldn't but he can't see why his old man would lie about something like that. Besides it would explain a lot, this place nullifying powers somehow - like why his Pop couldn't track his signs as effortlessly as he usually does, why the way he moves looks off somehow, like his super-human reflexes are taking a sick day.]

[The longer he thinks about it, the less he likes what he sees. Sure, Pop doesn't seem overly bothered about being the subject of some weird cult magic, but that doesn't mean anything. This is the guy who managed to keep a mostly-straight face when he was giving CPR to his mutilated child - if he was bothered by anything, he made sure he was the only person who knew about it.]

[Hence why Joey decides to err on the side of caution and assume his old man probably isn't as chill with what's happening as he lets on.]

[Joey frowns again - he can sense that he's going to be doing a lot of that today - before laying one hand flat, palm up. He swipes the side of his other hand across his palm with a quick upward motion, then repeats the gesture a second time for emphasis.]

/...Hey, are you alright?/

[He points his index fingers towards one another and twists his wrists, his brows furrowing in concern as he tilts his head in silent question.]

/Does this hurt you?/

[His pop's no stranger to pain, sure, but if his accelerated healing is gone...well, he's probably not used to experiencing pain for as long as everybody else has to. To be brought back down to normal after all these years - it can't possibly be a fun experience.]

( Two hands gripped closed, one behind the other, shouldn't give Slade as much pause as it does. It's a simple motion, and he doubts Joey put much thought behind any deeper meaning, but trust is a lot to give the man responsible for the loss of your voice. He's more than that, but it's about all Slade is capable of seeing himself as on most days. It can be hard to look at Joey knowing he's been moved to signs and gestures because of Slade's action. He's more than that, but it's about all Slade is capable of seeing him as on most days.

The question is one of the cons of having a son who's bordering empathic even without his abilities, or maybe a son who just knows him very well even with all the walls he puts up. Slade didn't spend the better half of five decades hiding behind a poker-face for Joey to pry away its edges, though he's always been good at seeing Slade for what he is. For what it's worth, he's taking inventory. Two arms, two legs. He's all right. That's the immediate answer. He's all right. Sure, he's got odds and ends poking out from all different directions - four new holes in his back where these wings sprouted from, two lumps on his head, and an ever-present glowing circle above - but he's been through worse. Pain-wise, that is. Joey was there for one of those worsts, not that he needs to bring that up - now or ever.

The concern for him is grating and the expression he gives Joey doesn't say much. A scowl or a frown would be too telling, and a smile... he doesn't remember the last time he's been able to successfully manage one of those. He expresses his approval in other ways. )

Doesn't hurt. I'm fine. ( It's the answer, noncommittal, that he decides on before that checklist can reach his mental inventory. He meets Joey's eye when he says it but doesn't hold his gaze for long. It does hurt, but - come on - he survived two tours. What are splintered shoulder blades and comminuted skull fractures to a guy who lives for war? They're nothing. Flesh wounds. )

You?

( It's meant as a deflection away from himself but it's also a genuine question. Joseph had been coughing up seaweed not twenty minutes prior. It's worth checking in.

Slade's relationship with the truth has always been nebulous at best, but lying here would only set his son up for failure, which is the last thing he would do. He's never been one to sugarcoat, even when he isn't actively manipulating the people around him. There's nothing for either of them to gain by Slade lying about the current world state. Joey needs to know what he's getting into.

Lying about his health and well-being? ...That doesn't count as an actual lie. )

[It probably says a lot about his complicated relationship with Pop that, even though he said he trusted him just seconds before, he knows better than to assume he's being told the whole truth. Lies of omission are still lies, no matter what his old man might believe, but Joey's not about to split hairs over this. If his dad wants to pretend he's perfectly fine, that's his prerogative - it's only a problem if he's actually far removed from fine instead of just a few steps to the left of it.]

[Joey levels his old man with a flat, knowing look before rolling his eyes and flashing a brief, placating smile. Sure, ~~Jan~~ Dad.]

[He gestures towards himself, sweeping his hand down the length of his torso before bringing both hands up to his chest to give his clenched fists a quick shake. Next, he brings the fingers fingers and thumbs of both hands together while pulling down, and a small smile cracks his serious facade as he makes another fist and places his thumb under his chin, flicking his hand forward. He decides to take mercy on his old man at the end, finger-spelling the final word instead of making him try to recognize a somewhat obscure sign.]

/I'm cold and I'm wet, but I'm not hysterical./

[Yes, he just made a cheesy reference to The Producers instead of honestly answering the question. It's almost like deflecting concerns for one's personal well-being runs in the family or something.]

[His amusement at is own terrible humor lasts for a moment, his wicked smile giving way to a more somber expression as he clears his throat and glances to the side, pretending to take interest in something off in the distance so he doesn't have to see his father's face when he picks up his hands again, this time to sign something closer to the truth.]

/I'm pretty sure I didn't aspirate anything, but we'll find out for sure in a few days./

[Because that's about how long it will take for pneumonia to set in, provided he wasn't quick enough to keep all the water from sliding down his unprotected windpipe. If he was a braver man he'd be able to look his dad in the eye while he says it, but he's not. He doesn't want to see Pop's expression, doesn't want to be reminded that sometimes he gets this look on his face like he can't even stand to look at him.]

[Yeah, Joey lost his voice. It's easier for people to come to terms with that because it's ever-present, impossible to ignore. It's the other things, the more private side-effects of having severed vocal cords that always seems to hit his folks like a truck whenever they're reminded of it. Like how he had to re-learn how to swallow, how to breathe, how he has to be careful with what and how he eats because tracheobronchial injuries are no fucking joke and anything he takes in could just as easily go down his windpipe as his esophagus if he's not careful.]

[So yeah, no, he's not gonna meet his dad's eyes on this one. He's just gonna keep pretending like the tide is super interesting to him right now, and try to ignore how goddamn pathetic it is that he might have just been laid out by a few tablespoons of water.]

Edited 2020-07-12 09:16 (UTC)

( It's sweet that Joey spared him with that last sign.

Three decades with an eidetic memory meant every catalog, book, and website of signs and gestured he'd spent countless hours pouring through stayed locked in his mind. Like most information, it was always there on call when he needed it. Ryslig took that photographic memory from him. What was once easy to access now takes a great deal more effort to recall. Arkham was only a month without his enhanced cognitive abilities, and there wasn't much of a need for them. Here, where he has to both fight and rescue monsters? The lapse in his former ability and his current is far more noticeable. To him, at least. And from the looks of Joey's concern, to his son as well.

He's not kind enough to spare Joey the flat look he gets once the reference lands. Someone else here has a penchant for movies far before their time. A more dad-ish dad might introduce them, but Slade is more concerned with getting Joseph out of this place than he is making this place feel more like a home for either of them.

Maybe if this was ten years ago, Slade would feel more about his son almost being bested by water. Real men get taken out by bullets, not tide pools. As it stands, talk of aspiration has him looking away not in disappointment or embarrassment - but it could be easy to confuse his stony-faced look for either of those. The weakness falls on him. It's guilt that has his halo glistening and the corners of his lips weighted down. Guilt can be other things, like action, or vengeance, but it doesn't have much use when seeing your son struggle with water of all things, the way he did when he was first relearning how to function as a human sans a few parts. )

I have a doctor.

( Slade had a doctor. He hasn't lucked up to find an on-call right-hand-man for all of his check-ups and procedures just yet. He's met plenty of other characters - a Diana Prince type, a kid claiming to be some spirit lord, and Roman Sionis, of all people, but no medics. That's fine. He'd search until he found one.

Silence stretches on. Real consequences come from being cold and wet, even without the hysteria. Slade can continue this search on his own when his son isn't at risk for catching sick. )

...Got a place not far from here. I'm borrowing it. Come on.

[It's a good thing Joey decided to look anywhere but at his old man, because there's a million ways to interpret his minute shift in expression, and Joey would've run through the entire list before he ever interpreted it as guilt. His pop's a remorseless killer - the most ruthlessly efficient killer alive. It's a hard sell, the idea that Slade's ever felt guilty for anything in his life. Responsible for things, sure, but guilt requires requires a degree of empathy and accountability that Joey - quite frankly - has no reason to believe his father has.]

[Still, Joey supposes a sense of responsibility is better than nothing. He'll take it, if only because he's not gonna hold his breath in hope for anything else. That said, it's a little jarring how quick Pop is to offer up his doctor - he had expected a more indifferent response, a 'shit happens' or tough-love comment about how what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. What he gets instead is...a weirdly normal response, the kind you'd expect a regular dad who's not Slade Goddamn Wilson to make.]

[Joey steals a glance at his old man out of the corner of his eye, just to test the waters to make sure he's not about to catch a look that will make him feel two inches tall, then immediately does a double-take and turns to look his pop full in the face. For the first time since waking up, Joey finds himself wondering if this is all actually some sort of weird fever-dream. He could accept the alternate dimension thing, the playthings of cosmic entities claiming godhood thing, and the monster-transformation cult-magic thing, but his dad inviting him back to his place? That's a little difficult for him to believe.]

[He tilts his head slightly to the side, brow raised as he gestures towards himself with a flat hand.]

/...You're inviting me over?/

[He makes a manual question mark with his index, then makes a quick rolling gesture with both hands, one slightly overlapping the other as one index points horizontally while the other points vertically. He has to fingerspell the last word, because ASL was not designed to cater to the unique vocabulary needs of the children of mercenaries.]

/Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a safe-house?/

[Sure, Joey is the last person Slade needs to worry about killing him in his sleep, but still. Joey knows his Pop, knows he's got hangups about people knowing where to find him or how to contact him. He figured at most Pop would put him up at a motel or something, but hey, he's not complaining. If anything, he's actually a little...God, it's pathetic to say, but he's feeling something a few steps removed from the warm fuzzies. It probably says a lot about him - more than he has time to unpack right now, or ever - that something as little as as his dad doing more than the bare minimum makes him as happy as it does.]

( That was before spending a month alone in monster world with no idea if he'd ever see his family again. Self-isolation is different. He's been known to disappear for weeks, months, at a time while out living the life of the villain known as Deathstroke. But that was his choice, the ball was always in his court. He always could, and did, return to his family in the end and he always knew where to find them. Powerlessness is foreign, in more ways than one. [Even in Arkham he knew how to escape.] It's not just the lack of physical ability, but Ryslig is a place where Slade has no control over the things that happen in his life, a far reach for a man who's lived in a space where he exerted absolute control over everything.

It still isn't enough for a complete change of heart. He's still, distant, cold, but not he's not a psychopath [he won't let himself be compared to any of the real lunatics in the world]. Tough love is for when your kid needs an ass-kicking for writing on the walls, not when they tell you there's a chance for permanent injury. He's taking it seriously because he can't afford not to. Not when Joey is the only one he has.

So he's being nice. Or at least his version of it, which means not levying Joey with insults at the first opportunity and trying just a little harder to meet his eye when he talks.

He shouldn't expect this to be a regular thing. Soon the novelty of having his kid returned to him will wear off and Slade will go back to regarding him from afar, only reaching out when he needs him or, worse, not reaching out to him at all. )

What are you gonna do, torch the place? Throw a party? ... Not a safe-house, anyhow. Just a place the locals gave me in exchange for not grinding their bones to dust, or whatever it is the monsters do around here. ( No, Joey knowing where he lives is probably one of his last concerns right now. He hasn't made enough enemies in Ryslig just yet to be sleeping with one eye open, and he's been good about keeping his aliases in line. He'll see how long that lasts.

He's already walking, not planning on saying much else until they arrive. Any questions Joey might ask get flat answers or no answers at all. It helps that from the beach to town isn't terribly far. Makes this mostly silent stroll a little more bearable. )

Do what you have to do. ( It's an invitation to anything he needs. Shower, bed, food. It shouldn't come as a surprise that the space is plain and sparse. No decorations, only the essentials. A calendar with dates on the wall - the date of his arrival, the date of his transformations, and his kids' birthdays, all three, because calendars feel empty without those added. The most basic of oatmeal and bran cereal is in the cabinets. ) ...Gonna head back out.

( Giving him a place to rest is one thing. Sharing that space is above Slade's paygrade, not mention his emotional bandwidth. )

[Joey raises his brows at the whole "grind their bones to dust" comment, but decides to put a tab on that for later. He can grill his old man about all his monster-related questions when he's not freezing his ass off in a paper-thin v-neck and a pair of form-fitting jeans that are gonna be an absolute bitch to get out of now that they're soaking wet and plastered to his skin.]

[Seriously, it's not a great time. Moving around helps a little - it gets his blood pumping, warms him up enough that he's able to make it to Pop's place without shivering like a leaf. Make no mistake, he's still freezing his pretty blond head off, just not to the point where he can't pretend otherwise. He wouldn't have bothered with the pretense if he was in the company of anyone else, but this is Pop - he's already worried the poor bastard enough for one lifetime, he doesn't need to be adding more fuel to the fire, even if it's just a few drops.]

[Hence why he doesn't make an immediate b-line for the shower as soon as he sets foot in the door - he doesn't wanna seem desperate, like he's so bad off that he can't handle being cold for a little while longer. Just enough to take a quick look around, at least, which Joey does if only because being invited to his dad's place is a novelty he feels he should savor while he can, even if there's really not much to take in.]

[He makes a circuit around the front room, taking stock of this that and the other until Pop suddenly announces that he's leaving, which - yeah, he should have seen that coming. Joey waves his first two fingers away from his forehead, snapping a short goodbye salute before raising both hands to give his old man a quick warning.]

/Gonna use all your hot water and steal some of your clothes, sorry/not-sorry/

( He repeats that last sign, a fist at his chest in a circular motion followed by a thumb plucked forward from beneath his chin and another rounded motion of his closed fist. Sorry, not sorry is lost on him. )

Are you sorry or aren't you?

( Old Man Wilson does not have time to figure out you and your young people slang. Not that it matters. Water is water. Hot water is nothing, especially if it means his son's teeth will stop chattering. The clothes matter even less. They might not fit right, but now isn't the time to take Joey on a shopping spree - he'd be more likely to tell his son to earn his own money and shop on his own, even here. Never say he's never done anything for his kids. He'd do a lot, but most of it is better left unspoken. At least for Slade's sake. )

...Gonna keep looking for your sister. Maybe Wintergreen or Adeline showed up this time around, too.

( It's not like him to announce his plans, but of course there are a few underlying motives. Creating distance between himself in Joey is a main one. It might seem counter-intuitive to some, but keeping away from one of the few people in the world that he cares about makes perfect sense to a man who's been doing it for decades. At least this way, he's not completely disappearing the way he normally does. He's giving a trace, in case Joseph really needs him, or if he wants to ask more questions for Slade to give meaningful half-answers to.

Nephilim don't need to sleep, something he's coming to terms with more and more with each that passes. Once he leaves Joe to his own devices, he doesn't return, even when morning breaks.

If there's one thing that Slade is, it's dedicated. Dedicated to what is where the issues come in.

Combing the beach for clues [and turning up none] gives his night more purpose than just about anything else since arriving here. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TEST DRIVE MEME: JULY / AUGUST

only accepting bitcoin at this time

can he do an exchange instead?

only if he's got the receipt

Aw man he's sol then

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