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[ In the shadow of the football bleachers was not Farrah's first choice lunching location. He's still figuring out where is: it needs to be somewhere quiet, somewhere with good light but with shade, outdoors while the weather was still nice enough for it. He thought he'd found a perfect spot near the auditorium where there was a bench and overhang, but a group of locals had crowded around to smoke and talk too loud, so he'd wandered off to the bleachers instead.
They weren't bullying him, not really. There was more an air of impending harassment, as if they were testing out how easy it would be to push him around, what bothered him, and what they could get away with. Farrah had so far succeed in giving them little to go on by casually walking away or pretending he didn't understand what they were saying. Eventually they were going to realize that if he was fluent enough in english to be in advanced classes, then he's fluent enough to insult.
A crow joins him before long. Maybe the same crow he's seen during past lunches, or even the same one he's seen in his yard? The same flock at least, certainly been around enough to associate him with food, since Farrah tosses it a bit of whatever he has when he notices it.
He doesn't greet the bird aloud this time, seeing as he's in the middle of chewing a french fry when he notices it. Instead, he silently reaches into the paper bag with the rest of his food, withdraws a good sized fry, and flicks it in the crow's direction. A fry is probably as good for the bird as it is for him, but that's one solid upside of american schools- he gets to choose what he wants to eat. ]
They weren't bullying him, not really. There was more an air of impending harassment, as if they were testing out how easy it would be to push him around, what bothered him, and what they could get away with. Farrah had so far succeed in giving them little to go on by casually walking away or pretending he didn't understand what they were saying. Eventually they were going to realize that if he was fluent enough in english to be in advanced classes, then he's fluent enough to insult.
A crow joins him before long. Maybe the same crow he's seen during past lunches, or even the same one he's seen in his yard? The same flock at least, certainly been around enough to associate him with food, since Farrah tosses it a bit of whatever he has when he notices it.
He doesn't greet the bird aloud this time, seeing as he's in the middle of chewing a french fry when he notices it. Instead, he silently reaches into the paper bag with the rest of his food, withdraws a good sized fry, and flicks it in the crow's direction. A fry is probably as good for the bird as it is for him, but that's one solid upside of american schools- he gets to choose what he wants to eat. ]
[ For quite a bit of the journey, Abigail didn't really know where she was going - she just kept putting one foot in front of the other, knowing she couldn't stay in her little town in Minnesota now that it was nothing more than a mausoleum and she was probably the only living person within fifty miles.
Even walking seven or eight hours a day, it takes her nearly three months to reach Flagg's city. At first it had been relatively simple, heading straight west on the highway all the way through South Dakota, covering a couple of hundred miles on a bike she could barely ride, stopping off at some of the tourist traps dotted through the plains and finding their empty silence surreal to the point of absurdity. She'd originally planned to swing south through Nebraska, figuring she'd have an easier time continuing with a flat landscape, but the closer she got to the border the more she was filled with a sense of dread, that someone or something antithetical to her very being was there, and going too close would surely mean the end of her. On through Wyoming and the Rockies it was, then - a far tougher path, especially for someone so small and slight as Abigail, but one that felt reassuring. A road that wouldn't be easy, but promised
great reward at the end.
It was that first night in the mountains that she started having the dreams. She couldn't remember much when she woke, mostly a tall figure in the darkness, walking the path ahead of her in scuffed bootheels, compelling her to follow. The dreams came almost every night after that, and after yet another day on the road with her feet pounding and still feeling a million miles away from anywhere, she began to look forward to them.
One day, tripping over her own feet with how weary she is, she lets down her guard, not realising she's being followed. The three men had been travelling in the same direction anyway, perhaps pulled toward the same destination, but when they saw her trudging along, little more than a girl and all on her own, she quickly caught their attention. Cornered, she's certain there's no way out. Then, out of nowhere, a wolf leaps out of the shadows, snarling. Watching the beast tear out the men's throats is incredibly satisfying, though Abigail is sure she's next. But instead the wolf pads up to her, tugging at her sleeve and leading her to the safety of an abandoned National Parks hut, waiting nearby until she manages to fall asleep, feeling safe in its powerful presence. The dream she has that night is the most vivid one yet, and she wakes reinvigorated, knowing it's only a little longer now.
She's one of the last to arrive in Vegas, and at first she can't quite believe that there really are other people there, working together to build something new from the ruins of the old world. She's even more surprised by how friendly everyone seems, welcoming her in rather than moving her along, making it clear that there's a place for her here, if she's willing to pitch in and work. First things first, though - everyone new needs to be taken to meet the leader. And as soon as Abigail sets eyes on Flagg, she's certain he's the man she's dreamed of. ]
Even walking seven or eight hours a day, it takes her nearly three months to reach Flagg's city. At first it had been relatively simple, heading straight west on the highway all the way through South Dakota, covering a couple of hundred miles on a bike she could barely ride, stopping off at some of the tourist traps dotted through the plains and finding their empty silence surreal to the point of absurdity. She'd originally planned to swing south through Nebraska, figuring she'd have an easier time continuing with a flat landscape, but the closer she got to the border the more she was filled with a sense of dread, that someone or something antithetical to her very being was there, and going too close would surely mean the end of her. On through Wyoming and the Rockies it was, then - a far tougher path, especially for someone so small and slight as Abigail, but one that felt reassuring. A road that wouldn't be easy, but promised
great reward at the end.
It was that first night in the mountains that she started having the dreams. She couldn't remember much when she woke, mostly a tall figure in the darkness, walking the path ahead of her in scuffed bootheels, compelling her to follow. The dreams came almost every night after that, and after yet another day on the road with her feet pounding and still feeling a million miles away from anywhere, she began to look forward to them.
One day, tripping over her own feet with how weary she is, she lets down her guard, not realising she's being followed. The three men had been travelling in the same direction anyway, perhaps pulled toward the same destination, but when they saw her trudging along, little more than a girl and all on her own, she quickly caught their attention. Cornered, she's certain there's no way out. Then, out of nowhere, a wolf leaps out of the shadows, snarling. Watching the beast tear out the men's throats is incredibly satisfying, though Abigail is sure she's next. But instead the wolf pads up to her, tugging at her sleeve and leading her to the safety of an abandoned National Parks hut, waiting nearby until she manages to fall asleep, feeling safe in its powerful presence. The dream she has that night is the most vivid one yet, and she wakes reinvigorated, knowing it's only a little longer now.
She's one of the last to arrive in Vegas, and at first she can't quite believe that there really are other people there, working together to build something new from the ruins of the old world. She's even more surprised by how friendly everyone seems, welcoming her in rather than moving her along, making it clear that there's a place for her here, if she's willing to pitch in and work. First things first, though - everyone new needs to be taken to meet the leader. And as soon as Abigail sets eyes on Flagg, she's certain he's the man she's dreamed of. ]
[ When the Countess rolled into Vegas, it was in a Rolls Royce, packed with a stack of luggage bags and trunks. Natural immunity to disease and living on a Hellmouth make one especially apt to survive an apocalypse in style. And, in fact, she would have been happy enough to stay in LA, but the issue was rapidly becoming a severe shortage of food.
Vegas seemed promising, when she caught wind of the fact that people were congregating there. Sure, it sounded like it was in an effort to follow a new messiah or whatever, but gullible blood went down as smooth as any other.
It meant, of course, scouting the ~messiah~, deciding that he could be... well, if not trusted, then certainly frank with. She'd spent a day or two skulking around Vegas, as much as she was capable of, listening to people talk with both fear and admiration about the guy. Granted, it was hard to catch more than a few whispers before someone would inevitably spot the new woman and try to help her find her way around or ask her questions about herself (which was the last thing she wanted to talk about with strangers).
But information came just the same. They called him "The Big Man" and "The Walkin' Dude", and while Countess can appreciate a sobriquet more than most, it takes a few patient conversations before she can weasel the name Randall Flagg out of someone.
He's not here, she's told. Don't know where he is, ain't like we can call him and ask. He'll be back soon, though.
So she waits the few days until the whole settlement seems to fill with crackling, nervous energy. A terribly familiar feeling. It fills her and comfortably envelopes her brain, and she grins when someone finally tracks her down and tells her Flagg would like to meet with you upstairs.
Their voice is quiet, strained, and they won't directly meet her eyes. The Countess smiles benevolently anyway, thanks them as the elevator doors silently close in front of her so that she can be ferried up to the top floor. Another familiar feeling.
She exits the elevator with a grace that shouldn't belong to a newcomer, to someone facing the Almighty of this new neon world. There is no shake in her hand when she offers it to him, no sharp swallow before she speaks. Her eyes lock on his without hesitation. ]
Mr. Flagg, I'm honored to make your acquaintance. I am The Countess.
Vegas seemed promising, when she caught wind of the fact that people were congregating there. Sure, it sounded like it was in an effort to follow a new messiah or whatever, but gullible blood went down as smooth as any other.
It meant, of course, scouting the ~messiah~, deciding that he could be... well, if not trusted, then certainly frank with. She'd spent a day or two skulking around Vegas, as much as she was capable of, listening to people talk with both fear and admiration about the guy. Granted, it was hard to catch more than a few whispers before someone would inevitably spot the new woman and try to help her find her way around or ask her questions about herself (which was the last thing she wanted to talk about with strangers).
But information came just the same. They called him "The Big Man" and "The Walkin' Dude", and while Countess can appreciate a sobriquet more than most, it takes a few patient conversations before she can weasel the name Randall Flagg out of someone.
He's not here, she's told. Don't know where he is, ain't like we can call him and ask. He'll be back soon, though.
So she waits the few days until the whole settlement seems to fill with crackling, nervous energy. A terribly familiar feeling. It fills her and comfortably envelopes her brain, and she grins when someone finally tracks her down and tells her Flagg would like to meet with you upstairs.
Their voice is quiet, strained, and they won't directly meet her eyes. The Countess smiles benevolently anyway, thanks them as the elevator doors silently close in front of her so that she can be ferried up to the top floor. Another familiar feeling.
She exits the elevator with a grace that shouldn't belong to a newcomer, to someone facing the Almighty of this new neon world. There is no shake in her hand when she offers it to him, no sharp swallow before she speaks. Her eyes lock on his without hesitation. ]
Mr. Flagg, I'm honored to make your acquaintance. I am The Countess.
[ His room had nearly nothing in it. There's a bar with all the trimmings, and some unused kitchen appliances, but other than that it's a vast empty penthouse suite overlooking the city. Some would say he has no possessions. The clever ones would gather that he has possessions on a grander scale than chairs and tables; he has buildings and bodies and souls.
He regards her quietly, and smiles. ]
Oh, I know you. You're a hard one to miss. [ He does, sincerely, mean that as a compliment. And he knows her real name, too, but he'll call her The Countess if that's what she wants. You can be anyone in Vegas, baby, as long as it's not a traitor.
He takes her hand in his own and, instead of shaking it, kisses her right above the knuckles. She seems like the type to appreciate that type of old-fashioned formality that it was getting harder and harder to find nowadays. He's a little too warm, both his hands and his lips, but he's not sweaty or flushed with fever. Just the opposite: he's kind of pale. ] Just Flagg's fine. Or Randall, if you'd prefer.
[ Some people here called him 'Mr. Flagg' but they were too low on the totem pole to get any personal attention so he let it be. This one was special, somehow, in a way that was only half-clear to him, but he intended to tease the rest out. ]
Los Angeles to Las Vegas, huh? Not a long journey, but a hot and dry one. You must be parched.
He regards her quietly, and smiles. ]
Oh, I know you. You're a hard one to miss. [ He does, sincerely, mean that as a compliment. And he knows her real name, too, but he'll call her The Countess if that's what she wants. You can be anyone in Vegas, baby, as long as it's not a traitor.
He takes her hand in his own and, instead of shaking it, kisses her right above the knuckles. She seems like the type to appreciate that type of old-fashioned formality that it was getting harder and harder to find nowadays. He's a little too warm, both his hands and his lips, but he's not sweaty or flushed with fever. Just the opposite: he's kind of pale. ] Just Flagg's fine. Or Randall, if you'd prefer.
[ Some people here called him 'Mr. Flagg' but they were too low on the totem pole to get any personal attention so he let it be. This one was special, somehow, in a way that was only half-clear to him, but he intended to tease the rest out. ]
Los Angeles to Las Vegas, huh? Not a long journey, but a hot and dry one. You must be parched.
[ He could use some neon wall art, something extra cheeky and ironic. She can envision a "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS" sign within eyeline of the front door. But even without fun novelty decor, she can feel a sense of ownership within the room -- ownership of the city rather than the hotel. Ownership of everything within the settlement.
He touches her and she feels her nerves light up, tingle at his warmth. She's the opposite, cold like marble, and she lets her fingers linger before she takes her hand back. There's a savoriness in her voice when she echoes his name. ]
Randall. You can't possibly imagine how thirsty I am. That's why I've come to Vegas. Well, that and to search for better company.
[ Her need to be away from those fucking ghosts cannot be overstated. It figures she wouldn't seriously need an exorcist until they're all dead.
Despite the fact that she came here with a clear agenda, her nature takes over and she reaches up to touch his face; he towers over her by more than a foot, and she does have to truly stretch her arm. ] You could cut diamonds with that jawline.
He touches her and she feels her nerves light up, tingle at his warmth. She's the opposite, cold like marble, and she lets her fingers linger before she takes her hand back. There's a savoriness in her voice when she echoes his name. ]
Randall. You can't possibly imagine how thirsty I am. That's why I've come to Vegas. Well, that and to search for better company.
[ Her need to be away from those fucking ghosts cannot be overstated. It figures she wouldn't seriously need an exorcist until they're all dead.
Despite the fact that she came here with a clear agenda, her nature takes over and she reaches up to touch his face; he towers over her by more than a foot, and she does have to truly stretch her arm. ] You could cut diamonds with that jawline.
I know. [ He could cut anything with any part of himself, really, and if she thought his jawline was sharp, his toothy grin is even more so. ] You're in the right place, darlin'. All the good company in the world'll be here eventually.
[ Because anyone who went to Boulder is, as far as he's concerned, dull as dirt, and he's going to wipe them off the face of the Earth anyway. If people want to stay in their hometown or in little roving bands or decide they'd rather have a beach view - sure, whatever. They can miss the party if they want. But joining that old woman's peace-love-and-understanding commune was unforgivable. ]
Plenty to drink around here, too, in moderation. [ It's not that Flagg disapproves of random murder. If they'd met before now he would've gotten a kick out of it, really. But the population's too small now and if the people thought there was an unchecked killer running around it'd make him look weak. There are always traitors and rule-breakers with plenty of blood to spill, though, and he'll find a way to get 'donations' when those are in short supply. ]
You a fan of wine? [ He strolls over to the bar area and grabs an empty glass, facing away from the Countess. ] I've got a rare vintage here. Red. Over a thousand years old, they say, but that might just be a marketing scheme. [ The stench of blood fills the room - and whatever scent it may take to her, it's strong. If someone were bleeding out on the floor right now, a few drops of Flagg's blood would overpower it completely.
He turns around and the glass is nearly full of blood, a little darker than a regular person's. Wherever it came from, he doesn't have any visible cuts. ] Fancy a taste?
[ Because anyone who went to Boulder is, as far as he's concerned, dull as dirt, and he's going to wipe them off the face of the Earth anyway. If people want to stay in their hometown or in little roving bands or decide they'd rather have a beach view - sure, whatever. They can miss the party if they want. But joining that old woman's peace-love-and-understanding commune was unforgivable. ]
Plenty to drink around here, too, in moderation. [ It's not that Flagg disapproves of random murder. If they'd met before now he would've gotten a kick out of it, really. But the population's too small now and if the people thought there was an unchecked killer running around it'd make him look weak. There are always traitors and rule-breakers with plenty of blood to spill, though, and he'll find a way to get 'donations' when those are in short supply. ]
You a fan of wine? [ He strolls over to the bar area and grabs an empty glass, facing away from the Countess. ] I've got a rare vintage here. Red. Over a thousand years old, they say, but that might just be a marketing scheme. [ The stench of blood fills the room - and whatever scent it may take to her, it's strong. If someone were bleeding out on the floor right now, a few drops of Flagg's blood would overpower it completely.
He turns around and the glass is nearly full of blood, a little darker than a regular person's. Wherever it came from, he doesn't have any visible cuts. ] Fancy a taste?
Sounds like a ball. The people, anyway. The other thing... well, needs must. [ Moderation is not her friend, but she's a survivor.
He heads to the bar and she guides herself to a seat, barely in time to save herself from swooning right to the floor as the scent of vetiver floods the room. No, not pure vetiver -- there's something foul on the tail end, terrible but alluring all the same, like gasoline or insect poison. The scent seems to whirl around her head and she is stricken with the realization that she has not fed in several weeks.
When he turns back around, she has the veneer of someone composed, but the details quickly give her away; her knuckles are white around the edge of her seat, she's bit her lip, and her pupils are blown out almost enough to eclipse her irises. Is this how Rudy and Natacha had felt? She can't imagine three months of this pain, let alone eighty years. The Countess is no longer even looking at Flagg's face, not while he holds that glass. ]
What do you want in exchange?
He heads to the bar and she guides herself to a seat, barely in time to save herself from swooning right to the floor as the scent of vetiver floods the room. No, not pure vetiver -- there's something foul on the tail end, terrible but alluring all the same, like gasoline or insect poison. The scent seems to whirl around her head and she is stricken with the realization that she has not fed in several weeks.
When he turns back around, she has the veneer of someone composed, but the details quickly give her away; her knuckles are white around the edge of her seat, she's bit her lip, and her pupils are blown out almost enough to eclipse her irises. Is this how Rudy and Natacha had felt? She can't imagine three months of this pain, let alone eighty years. The Countess is no longer even looking at Flagg's face, not while he holds that glass. ]
What do you want in exchange?
[ How long has it been since he's taken Michael under his wing? A couple months, maybe. Time's a little difficult for a man of his age to keep track of.
Most of his days were spent walking by the road. Sometimes he'd play with an unfortunate motorist. When they arrived at a city or town he might stop at the diner and leave a big, fat tip - or he might lean in and whisper something to the waiter that made their face go pale as they dropped their clipboard to the ground. He was unpredictable, acting on whatever mood he happened to be in.
If they slept it'd be in a motel or just outside. No one'd bother them any more than they'd poke a sleeping wolf.
He wasn't a teacher in the traditional sense; he never pulled out a magical book or gave him any spells to memorize. He preferred a more organic approach: let Michael decide what he wants to do and help him accomplish it. How much help he gave was dependent on his whims, too, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't tease the boy every now and then, but it was affectionate. His non-affectionate teasing, the kind he did with unsuspecting regular folks, ended in bloodbaths.
Tonight he's been staring up at the sky, still as a statue, for over an hour now. He's done this before, but never for this long. ]
Something's coming. Something real big.
[ His voice cuts the silence like a knife. There's a soft-spoken, almost reverent tone in his voice. Clairvoyance was never his strongest ability, it came when it wanted and was never perfectly clear, but this time the message was strong enough that he could feel it in his bones. ]
Most of his days were spent walking by the road. Sometimes he'd play with an unfortunate motorist. When they arrived at a city or town he might stop at the diner and leave a big, fat tip - or he might lean in and whisper something to the waiter that made their face go pale as they dropped their clipboard to the ground. He was unpredictable, acting on whatever mood he happened to be in.
If they slept it'd be in a motel or just outside. No one'd bother them any more than they'd poke a sleeping wolf.
He wasn't a teacher in the traditional sense; he never pulled out a magical book or gave him any spells to memorize. He preferred a more organic approach: let Michael decide what he wants to do and help him accomplish it. How much help he gave was dependent on his whims, too, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't tease the boy every now and then, but it was affectionate. His non-affectionate teasing, the kind he did with unsuspecting regular folks, ended in bloodbaths.
Tonight he's been staring up at the sky, still as a statue, for over an hour now. He's done this before, but never for this long. ]
Something's coming. Something real big.
[ His voice cuts the silence like a knife. There's a soft-spoken, almost reverent tone in his voice. Clairvoyance was never his strongest ability, it came when it wanted and was never perfectly clear, but this time the message was strong enough that he could feel it in his bones. ]
[ The crow catches the fry in its beak, wolfing it down. Crows didn't have much in the way of tastebuds but hey, a french fry was a french fry.
He wasn't a crow for much longer. Next time Farrah looked away the crow would be gone and Flagg would be sitting in the bleachers a few feet away, crow feathers in his hair. No one else seemed to see him; if anyone passed too close they'd get a chill up their spine but they wouldn't look at him. He didn't want to be seen by anybody else, so he wouldn't be. ]
Now, I know that ignoring 'em is taking the high road, and all, but when one of those pricks finally comes in for the kill I'd suggest a quick punch in the jaw.
[ Like one of those cartoons with a tiny shoulder devil, he was always there to give some bad advice. Unfortunately, there was no shoulder angel to counter any of his points. ]
He wasn't a crow for much longer. Next time Farrah looked away the crow would be gone and Flagg would be sitting in the bleachers a few feet away, crow feathers in his hair. No one else seemed to see him; if anyone passed too close they'd get a chill up their spine but they wouldn't look at him. He didn't want to be seen by anybody else, so he wouldn't be. ]
Now, I know that ignoring 'em is taking the high road, and all, but when one of those pricks finally comes in for the kill I'd suggest a quick punch in the jaw.
[ Like one of those cartoons with a tiny shoulder devil, he was always there to give some bad advice. Unfortunately, there was no shoulder angel to counter any of his points. ]
[ Farrah decides fairly quickly that the stranger is a hallucination. The boy jogging past didn't notice an adult man in full jeanswear sitting on the bleachers, so even if the feathers hadn't been enough of a clue, that could've done it.
Ah well. The most likely explanation is that whatever wires are crossed in his brain that makes him the way he is, has decided to replace the crow with a man. He's probably lucky that it took this long to start messing with his perception. It could be showing him things much worse.]
Wouldn't that- [ He abruptly shifts his volume down to near a whisper, self-conscious and uncertain if he is actually speaking aloud at all.] -risk breaking my hand?
[ Or is that something that happens only in fiction? Farrah takes the container of french fries out of the bag with the rest of his fast-food garbage, and puts it down on the seat nearest to him. He gives a quick nod towards it paired with a glance at the stranger/crow; he's welcome to help himself to them, whatever he is. ]
Ah well. The most likely explanation is that whatever wires are crossed in his brain that makes him the way he is, has decided to replace the crow with a man. He's probably lucky that it took this long to start messing with his perception. It could be showing him things much worse.]
Wouldn't that- [ He abruptly shifts his volume down to near a whisper, self-conscious and uncertain if he is actually speaking aloud at all.] -risk breaking my hand?
[ Or is that something that happens only in fiction? Farrah takes the container of french fries out of the bag with the rest of his fast-food garbage, and puts it down on the seat nearest to him. He gives a quick nod towards it paired with a glance at the stranger/crow; he's welcome to help himself to them, whatever he is. ]
You've come a long way.
[ He's very tall, his smile is sharp, and there's something odd about the way the light almost seems to recoil from him, but his voice is soft and warm. He offers her a hand in greeting. ]
It must have been hard, all by yourself. [ He knows she wasn't truly alone, but his nebulous presence was only good for protection, not emotional support or companionship. Going from Minnesota to Vegas without a single friendly face alongside you was rough on anyone, let alone someone so young. ] Can I get you something to drink?
[ He's very tall, his smile is sharp, and there's something odd about the way the light almost seems to recoil from him, but his voice is soft and warm. He offers her a hand in greeting. ]
It must have been hard, all by yourself. [ He knows she wasn't truly alone, but his nebulous presence was only good for protection, not emotional support or companionship. Going from Minnesota to Vegas without a single friendly face alongside you was rough on anyone, let alone someone so young. ] Can I get you something to drink?
You've already done your part by coming here. Let me look after you.
[ That's not the same as wanting nothing in exchange; every extra person in Vegas is something he has to his name. Something he won't let go of.
He puts the glass on the counter and slides it over. ]
But I could use some good company, I have to admit. Most of the people here are...young. [ Even the older ones are young compared to him. The Countess is young in comparison, too, but immortals tended to look at time with a different mindset anyway. ]
[ That's not the same as wanting nothing in exchange; every extra person in Vegas is something he has to his name. Something he won't let go of.
He puts the glass on the counter and slides it over. ]
But I could use some good company, I have to admit. Most of the people here are...young. [ Even the older ones are young compared to him. The Countess is young in comparison, too, but immortals tended to look at time with a different mindset anyway. ]
[ The Countess has been the proverbial devil in enough deals to read the meaning. She too demands loyalty when she decides to share her particular gifts, and she understands the risk.
But she also understands that he's the one with all the cards. Unless she wants to go back home and doom herself to a truly eternal existence, complete with all the people who've given her the most grief in life.
This would have been easier, she thinks as she takes hold of the glass, that this would have been easier if he had taken up residence in LA. Fucking neon wasteland, Vegas.
The drink she takes is long and slow, and as much as she wants to literally bathe in this blood, she refuses to drop her aplomb. The most reaction she gives is her eyes closing while she takes a deep breath through her nose.
It's like drinking the most delicious acid she can think of. Something that she knows is deadly, can sense it in a base human way, but it's so sweet and she always does what she shouldn't. So she smiles when she lowers the glass again. ]
I suppose there's a reason they always list the elderly as most susceptible to the flu. You should know that I always stay in the penthouse when I travel, Randall.
But she also understands that he's the one with all the cards. Unless she wants to go back home and doom herself to a truly eternal existence, complete with all the people who've given her the most grief in life.
This would have been easier, she thinks as she takes hold of the glass, that this would have been easier if he had taken up residence in LA. Fucking neon wasteland, Vegas.
The drink she takes is long and slow, and as much as she wants to literally bathe in this blood, she refuses to drop her aplomb. The most reaction she gives is her eyes closing while she takes a deep breath through her nose.
It's like drinking the most delicious acid she can think of. Something that she knows is deadly, can sense it in a base human way, but it's so sweet and she always does what she shouldn't. So she smiles when she lowers the glass again. ]
I suppose there's a reason they always list the elderly as most susceptible to the flu. You should know that I always stay in the penthouse when I travel, Randall.
[ Abigail returns his smile, her own soft and shy and so, so grateful to him just for allowing her to be here, and takes his hand, still finding surreal to be in the company of other people after so long. ]
It was hard. [ That was an understatement. But even so, it had never felt impossible, and that probably was far more down to him than it was to her own efforts. ] But it was definitely worth it.
Thanks, but I'm not tw-- [ Not twenty-one yet, she's about to say, then realises how absurd it is to default to the arbitrary rules of a dead society. ] Actually, sure. That'd be nice, thank you.
It was hard. [ That was an understatement. But even so, it had never felt impossible, and that probably was far more down to him than it was to her own efforts. ] But it was definitely worth it.
Thanks, but I'm not tw-- [ Not twenty-one yet, she's about to say, then realises how absurd it is to default to the arbitrary rules of a dead society. ] Actually, sure. That'd be nice, thank you.
[ Things are far more different around Flagg than he'd anticipated. With the dramatic entrance he'd given, there had been so many possibilities that he hadn't been able to fathom. A creature dark enough to set his own demonic heart racing with dread. Someone untouchable.
His teaching style isn't with books or lessons, rather letting Michael call the shots and helping him along the way. He's learned more than he thought he might at the beginning. He's learned to see things differently, certainly, and his confidence has been bolstered from the support. Not without its barbs, Flagg does love to tease him mercilessly, but now that he's used to it, it doesn't ruffle his feathers quite so much. It's never been malicious.
Michael has his nose in a book when Flagg's voice breaks the silence. His attention immediately turns to his mentor, tipping his chin skyward to see what he sees. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the ability to see what will become, only visions of grandeur. As he pays closer attention to the heavens, he thinks he can feel it, too. Not a loud and booming presence of knowing what it is, but like an itch at the back of his head. How animals might feel just before a storm. ]
Big for us, or big for them?
His teaching style isn't with books or lessons, rather letting Michael call the shots and helping him along the way. He's learned more than he thought he might at the beginning. He's learned to see things differently, certainly, and his confidence has been bolstered from the support. Not without its barbs, Flagg does love to tease him mercilessly, but now that he's used to it, it doesn't ruffle his feathers quite so much. It's never been malicious.
Michael has his nose in a book when Flagg's voice breaks the silence. His attention immediately turns to his mentor, tipping his chin skyward to see what he sees. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the ability to see what will become, only visions of grandeur. As he pays closer attention to the heavens, he thinks he can feel it, too. Not a loud and booming presence of knowing what it is, but like an itch at the back of his head. How animals might feel just before a storm. ]
Big for us, or big for them?
Both.
[ He laughs, high pitched and giddy. He's had moments like this before but they're few and far between, a rare treat to indulge in. The world he plucked Michael from had a similar feel to it right before the end, but he was always a guest there. Other sorts of darkness had already established themselves and taken hold of it.
This world? Was ripe for the taking, and he was beginning to understand why he'd settled down here. ]
We're going back to California. [ It wouldn't be too long of a walk. They were in Idaho, last he checked, and they may have slipped into Oregon by now. ] Ninety-nine point four percent fatal. Ninety-nine point four.
[ He hums those words like a nursery rhyme as he starts to walk, not entirely sure of what they refer to but he sure likes the sound of it. What were these mortal morons toying with that could be that dangerous? Time would tell, he supposed. Time would tell. ]
[ He laughs, high pitched and giddy. He's had moments like this before but they're few and far between, a rare treat to indulge in. The world he plucked Michael from had a similar feel to it right before the end, but he was always a guest there. Other sorts of darkness had already established themselves and taken hold of it.
This world? Was ripe for the taking, and he was beginning to understand why he'd settled down here. ]
We're going back to California. [ It wouldn't be too long of a walk. They were in Idaho, last he checked, and they may have slipped into Oregon by now. ] Ninety-nine point four percent fatal. Ninety-nine point four.
[ He hums those words like a nursery rhyme as he starts to walk, not entirely sure of what they refer to but he sure likes the sound of it. What were these mortal morons toying with that could be that dangerous? Time would tell, he supposed. Time would tell. ]
[ Michael's curiosity is sparked, and he stands and joins Flagg properly. As loathe as he is to do all of the constant walking, he understands it. The lesson is that nature by its very essence needs to fear his power. He's still a baby compared to Flagg, but he feels like his ambition makes up for his lack of experience. ]
Well, I can't argue with that, can I? [ He could, but he won't. ]
It's an ambitious number, mortals are stubbornly resilient when they put their minds to it. [ It could be anything. Hell, it may not even be about the mortal population, though Flagg wouldn't be nearly as giddy if it weren't. ]
What do you think it is?
Well, I can't argue with that, can I? [ He could, but he won't. ]
It's an ambitious number, mortals are stubbornly resilient when they put their minds to it. [ It could be anything. Hell, it may not even be about the mortal population, though Flagg wouldn't be nearly as giddy if it weren't. ]
What do you think it is?
[ continued from here ]
[ Flagg growls when Lloyd moans, low and inhuman. He absolutely sees something he likes, and having Lloyd underneath him like this - all dazed and relaxed and vulnerable - is filling him with that monstrous hunger he's never been good at holding back.
He strokes his cheek, eyes dark and unblinking as he grins. A single string of blood drips from his lips onto Lloyd's exposed collarbone. ] I could tear you apart.
[ He leans down and takes Lloyd's short between his teeth, ripping it off with discomforting ease. A man's teeth couldn't shred like that, but Flagg was no man.
All the better to eat you with, my dead, he thinks, and laughs under his breath at his own unsaid joke.
But he's had his fill of blood and flesh for the night. The sustenance he craves is of a different sort, the kind that Lloyd is just so good at providing. Even the Big Bad Wolf needs some lovin' every now and then. Monsters ain't free of carnal desire, ya dig? ]
But I'll be gentle, don't worry your pretty little head. [ As gentle as he was capable of being, which wasn't too much. ] How much do you want me, Lloyd Henreid?
[ Flagg growls when Lloyd moans, low and inhuman. He absolutely sees something he likes, and having Lloyd underneath him like this - all dazed and relaxed and vulnerable - is filling him with that monstrous hunger he's never been good at holding back.
He strokes his cheek, eyes dark and unblinking as he grins. A single string of blood drips from his lips onto Lloyd's exposed collarbone. ] I could tear you apart.
[ He leans down and takes Lloyd's short between his teeth, ripping it off with discomforting ease. A man's teeth couldn't shred like that, but Flagg was no man.
All the better to eat you with, my dead, he thinks, and laughs under his breath at his own unsaid joke.
But he's had his fill of blood and flesh for the night. The sustenance he craves is of a different sort, the kind that Lloyd is just so good at providing. Even the Big Bad Wolf needs some lovin' every now and then. Monsters ain't free of carnal desire, ya dig? ]
But I'll be gentle, don't worry your pretty little head. [ As gentle as he was capable of being, which wasn't too much. ] How much do you want me, Lloyd Henreid?
Edited 2021-02-03 03:47 (UTC)
[ That growl sends a shiver up his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. A smarter and possibly soberer man would recognize the danger for what it is- it's not that he doesn't know what kind of man Flagg is. He's witnessed firsthand what he's capable of, knows he's shaken the devil's hand. Among other things.. ]
Please. [ It wouldn't take much of anything to tear him to ribbons. Lloyd whines in protest as his shirt is ripped, though he knows it's replaceable, he liked that one. His hands slide reverently up Flagg's arms and over his shoulders. He would worship him however he asked if only to keep the intensity of this man's attention.
He cranes his head upward so he can lick at the blood smeared on his face. ]
Want you so much, feels like I'm on fire. [ Sure, he's drunk off his ass and Flagg is a furnace, but there's always the burning need to prove he's worthy and show him how good he can be. ]
Please. [ It wouldn't take much of anything to tear him to ribbons. Lloyd whines in protest as his shirt is ripped, though he knows it's replaceable, he liked that one. His hands slide reverently up Flagg's arms and over his shoulders. He would worship him however he asked if only to keep the intensity of this man's attention.
He cranes his head upward so he can lick at the blood smeared on his face. ]
Want you so much, feels like I'm on fire. [ Sure, he's drunk off his ass and Flagg is a furnace, but there's always the burning need to prove he's worthy and show him how good he can be. ]
[ That's about the level of adoration he wants (expects) from Lloyd, and he can feel the adulation pool in his chest. One person's devotion wouldn't usually be able to empower him so much, but they are quite close, and Lloyd is very devoted.
He strokes his hair, like a little pet. ]
Aw, sweetheart, I'll show you fire. [ He unzips his jeans with one hand, pulling out his cock with the other as he adjusts his position so his knees are on either side of Lloyd's hips, and he lets his cock rest on his right hand man's now-bare navel. Crimson-tipped and sinister and hotter than the rest of him, even soft the sight of it - the feel of it - would make a normal man hesitate some.
But worship does funny things, makes you crave what you shouldn't. For every person who's repulsed by him there's another that's drawn in like a moth to a flame. Better to embrace what burns ya than subject yourself to the cold emptiness of its loss. ]
D'you really want me?
[ He thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock further up Lloyd's chest. Bless his simple heart, the boy needs a hint sometimes, so he takes him by the wrist and sets his hand over his shaft, right below the tip. ]
He strokes his hair, like a little pet. ]
Aw, sweetheart, I'll show you fire. [ He unzips his jeans with one hand, pulling out his cock with the other as he adjusts his position so his knees are on either side of Lloyd's hips, and he lets his cock rest on his right hand man's now-bare navel. Crimson-tipped and sinister and hotter than the rest of him, even soft the sight of it - the feel of it - would make a normal man hesitate some.
But worship does funny things, makes you crave what you shouldn't. For every person who's repulsed by him there's another that's drawn in like a moth to a flame. Better to embrace what burns ya than subject yourself to the cold emptiness of its loss. ]
D'you really want me?
[ He thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock further up Lloyd's chest. Bless his simple heart, the boy needs a hint sometimes, so he takes him by the wrist and sets his hand over his shaft, right below the tip. ]
[ There isn't anything that Lloyd wouldn't do for Flagg. If it made him happy, he'd throw himself off the building. He knows that's not constructive to what he wants, jumping off a building only proves loyalty once, not continuously. He leans into the hand in his hair like a man starved, soaking up the attention.
He watches those hands with rapt, eager attention, as much as his current mental state can provide. Flagg's dick hits his stomach and the muscles jolt in response to the heated flesh. It's a thing to behold, definitely erring on the side of intimidating. Just another reminder of how this man isn't a man at all. That darkness that creeps at the edge of your vision and makes you check under the bed. Flagg is that and more. ]
Yes sir.
[ Flagg's touch is hot and he doesn't fight the pull at his wrist. His fingers close around his cock, stroking from base to tip. His technique is a little uncoordinated, but he thinks he starts to fall into a rhythm. ]
He watches those hands with rapt, eager attention, as much as his current mental state can provide. Flagg's dick hits his stomach and the muscles jolt in response to the heated flesh. It's a thing to behold, definitely erring on the side of intimidating. Just another reminder of how this man isn't a man at all. That darkness that creeps at the edge of your vision and makes you check under the bed. Flagg is that and more. ]
Yes sir.
[ Flagg's touch is hot and he doesn't fight the pull at his wrist. His fingers close around his cock, stroking from base to tip. His technique is a little uncoordinated, but he thinks he starts to fall into a rhythm. ]
[ You don't have to check under your bed if the monster's right on top of you, showering you with affection. No one in their right might would describe Flagg's presence as a comfort but if you could look beyond him and what he was - no other monster in the universe would mess with you, not if you were his.
Maybe someday when he grew tired of Vegas and was overcome with that familiar wanderlust, that itch in his soul that got him to walk and walk and walk until he arrived at a destination just as unknown as this one was before the plague, he'd take Lloyd through his old haunts. Discordia. Thunderclap. Dixie Pig. Words that weren't relevant to his current state of being and thus only conjured up vague memories, half-formed and fleeting, like a dream. But it was enough for him to see himself, arm around Lloyd's shoulders as he shook like a human maraca, paraded through a veritable smorgasbord of mankind's worst fears.
Not one of 'em would lay a finger on Lloyd's pretty little head. They wouldn't even snap or snarl. They'd know who he belongs to, and eventually he'd learn that he could walk this most terrible of worlds (and by extension, all worlds) without fear.
As long as he stayed loyal. Flagg was cruel but let it be known that he was generous when he wanted to be.
Perhaps it was Lloyd's clumsy handjob (and he didn't mean that as a pejorative, no siree, he liked his lovin' a little rough around the edges) that sparked his generosity, perhaps it was his use of sir. Either way, he's in a good mood. ]
Attaboy. [ You take care of me an' I'll take care of you. His cock grows stiff in Lloyd's hand, a suitable scepter for a hellish king. The noise that escapes his lips is somewhere between a moan and a growl, and it echoes through the room. ] That's it. Keep goin'.
[ He presses his palms into the bed, back arched as he starts to buck his hips a little, gentle enough that he won't throw off Lloyd's rhythm. ]
Maybe someday when he grew tired of Vegas and was overcome with that familiar wanderlust, that itch in his soul that got him to walk and walk and walk until he arrived at a destination just as unknown as this one was before the plague, he'd take Lloyd through his old haunts. Discordia. Thunderclap. Dixie Pig. Words that weren't relevant to his current state of being and thus only conjured up vague memories, half-formed and fleeting, like a dream. But it was enough for him to see himself, arm around Lloyd's shoulders as he shook like a human maraca, paraded through a veritable smorgasbord of mankind's worst fears.
Not one of 'em would lay a finger on Lloyd's pretty little head. They wouldn't even snap or snarl. They'd know who he belongs to, and eventually he'd learn that he could walk this most terrible of worlds (and by extension, all worlds) without fear.
As long as he stayed loyal. Flagg was cruel but let it be known that he was generous when he wanted to be.
Perhaps it was Lloyd's clumsy handjob (and he didn't mean that as a pejorative, no siree, he liked his lovin' a little rough around the edges) that sparked his generosity, perhaps it was his use of sir. Either way, he's in a good mood. ]
Attaboy. [ You take care of me an' I'll take care of you. His cock grows stiff in Lloyd's hand, a suitable scepter for a hellish king. The noise that escapes his lips is somewhere between a moan and a growl, and it echoes through the room. ] That's it. Keep goin'.
[ He presses his palms into the bed, back arched as he starts to buck his hips a little, gentle enough that he won't throw off Lloyd's rhythm. ]
[ When the day comes and he tires of the ruins of this world, Lloyd doesn't have any misconceptions that he may not measure up to what Flagg wants. He's human and disposable once he's done serving his purpose.. But if he wanted him? Even to follow like a faithful dog, Lloyd would do it without much thought to what's left of his own morality. Throw your lot in with the devil and all you're sure to get is burned.
He can't find it in him to mind very much at all.
Not when the devil talks so pretty and makes him feel so damn important. Not like he's the only one on his radar, but sitting on a high pedestal. A favorite, like one might consider a fond toy.
A reverent smile creeps onto his face at the praise, making the warmth in his chest expand. He could get drunk offa all the praise if he set his mind to it. His fingers wrap a little more firmly around the cock in his hand, working that same jerking rhythm except for his thumb, which he uses to rub at the dark and angry-looking head. ]
Like that?
[ A more aware man would consider it Pavlovian, the way his mouth starts to feel dry as a desert as his hand does all the work and those sweet words fill his head. ]
He can't find it in him to mind very much at all.
Not when the devil talks so pretty and makes him feel so damn important. Not like he's the only one on his radar, but sitting on a high pedestal. A favorite, like one might consider a fond toy.
A reverent smile creeps onto his face at the praise, making the warmth in his chest expand. He could get drunk offa all the praise if he set his mind to it. His fingers wrap a little more firmly around the cock in his hand, working that same jerking rhythm except for his thumb, which he uses to rub at the dark and angry-looking head. ]
Like that?
[ A more aware man would consider it Pavlovian, the way his mouth starts to feel dry as a desert as his hand does all the work and those sweet words fill his head. ]
Just like that.
[ He lets out a long, slow breath like hot steam escaping from a valve, and then he senses something in Lloyd. Something like the day he was rescued, when he was so hungry he stuck out his tongue to lick the bars of his cell.
This was a different sort of hunger. Flagg grins, his teeth stained red. A few beads of precum leak from the tip of his cock. ] You want a taste?
[ He rears back up on his knees, so tall it's like he's peering down at Lloyd from atop a high wall. Now that he's not pinned down, he could sit up as he pleased and use his mouth instead of his hands. ]
[ He lets out a long, slow breath like hot steam escaping from a valve, and then he senses something in Lloyd. Something like the day he was rescued, when he was so hungry he stuck out his tongue to lick the bars of his cell.
This was a different sort of hunger. Flagg grins, his teeth stained red. A few beads of precum leak from the tip of his cock. ] You want a taste?
[ He rears back up on his knees, so tall it's like he's peering down at Lloyd from atop a high wall. Now that he's not pinned down, he could sit up as he pleased and use his mouth instead of his hands. ]
[ He looks up at the dark man and has a brief moment of pause, staring up at the picture Flagg presented. Like something out of a Rennaissance painting, all bloody teeth and looming mass. His cock stands erect and looks insidious enough on its own, but he can't seem to help that his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
Lloyd nods his head, eager, and sits up to give proper worship. He sticks his tongue out, lapping at the tip of his cock, the taste salty and heated on his palate. The noise he makes is like a moan in the back of his throat, loud and unabashed. There was a time he may have been embarrassed, but they're both long past that. He's not ashamed of his worship no more than Flagg is ashamed of the devotion.
He licks a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip before taking it into his mouth. Minding his teeth, he hollows his cheeks and works on taking as much as he can before he starts choking. Breathing through his nose, he bobs his head, slowly at first. One hand rests on the back of Flagg's thigh to keep himself steady while the other grasps whatever doesn't fit in his mouth. ]
Lloyd nods his head, eager, and sits up to give proper worship. He sticks his tongue out, lapping at the tip of his cock, the taste salty and heated on his palate. The noise he makes is like a moan in the back of his throat, loud and unabashed. There was a time he may have been embarrassed, but they're both long past that. He's not ashamed of his worship no more than Flagg is ashamed of the devotion.
He licks a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip before taking it into his mouth. Minding his teeth, he hollows his cheeks and works on taking as much as he can before he starts choking. Breathing through his nose, he bobs his head, slowly at first. One hand rests on the back of Flagg's thigh to keep himself steady while the other grasps whatever doesn't fit in his mouth. ]
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