[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
[ 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?
[ Being nuked was a damn nasty way to go out. It took Flagg who knows how many years to pull himself together; all he knows is by the time he finally makes it back to the Vegas-that-was the dust and debris had all settled down. Buried deep within the part of him that was still human, there was an ache in his heart that came from standing on the bones of his old kingdom. If you weren't there you'd never know it was a city at all, it had been so thoroughly leveled.
It wasn't the former city that called out to him now, but rather a small fragment of something else he'd lost. He crouches down where the feeling hits him hardest, his fingers rifling through the sand and debris until he pulled out a small black stone with a red flaw.
Lloyd's. No doubt, all that was left of him.
Reviving someone without so much as a single bone to work with would be a difficult task, but it was worth a try. The stone contained something that bound them both together, so it could be done.
He stands still and squeezes the stone with both hands, whispering words he'd read in some forbidden tome centuries back. Words that'd drive most ordinary men to madness if they were around to hear them. A small pulse emanates from the stone. He squeezes harder, inhuman language rolling off his tongue smooth as silk. A strange liquid starts to drip from his clenched hands, mostly black but with some bright swirls of red as the rock melts away and begins to reform. It moves and shifts of its own free will, growing larger and larger until there's nothing left of the stone in Flagg's hands.
A great dark portal yawns out in front of him. He plunges a hand in, feeling around for any sign of life. It occurs to him, briefly, that trying to summon Lloyd in the same way he'd summon up some fellow creature from Todash space might have some strange effects on the boy, but it was that or nothing. Being revived as he'd revive a regular human required a partial body and Lloyd didn't have any remains.
His hand finds another in the darkness, limp and cold. He grasps it, his warmth spreading throughout the other body until it started to stir with life that wasn't quite right - a little too warm to be a completely human, just like him - but was life all the same.
He starts to pull away from the portal, Lloyd's hand clasped in his own. Then came the rest of him, naked and drenched in what could only be described as liquid shadow. Flagg'd conjure up some clothes for him. Maybe one of those tacky colorful shirts he liked so much.
(He'll be angry, Flagg thinks. Patience isn't his strong suit, compassion even less so, but he's trying to prepare himself for an adverse reaction.)
The portal closes up into nothingness, leaving Flagg and Lloyd alone in the desolated New Vegas. He cups Lloyd's face in one hand, looking him in the eyes as they go from glassy and vacant to bright and aware. Good, there's a soul in there after all. ]
Howdy, Lloyd.
[ If Lloyd was gonna freak out, he was gonna freak out whether or not Flagg started rambling off some long explanation, so may as well leave it at 'howdy' for now and give the real juicy details when he's calmed the fuck down. ]
[ Was he upset that Nadine wouldn't lay with him the night they met? Yes, but he took her home to rest and skulked off to have his little tantrum in the middle of nowhere while she slept.
She just needed some time to get used to his presence, that was all. He knew he could be somewhat overwhelming. He could stroll into any dive bar in America back before the plague and have his pick of willing partners, but they were all far down the path of the Red before they met him. Nadine was different. Of course it would take some time. He waits for her to give him a sign before he initiates again and this time his advances are welcomed.
He kicks off his boots and throws his jacket to the ground, climbing on top of Nadine in bed with his shirt half-unbuttoned. He's not hard yet; he learned his lesson from last time and is making sure she can actually stand to touch his cock before he gets himself all worked up. ]
You alright? [ He leans down and kisses her on the neck, his teeth tearing through one of the straps on her nightgown. Good thing there plenty more nightgowns where that came from. ]
[ He's almost impressed that someone - or rather, a group of someones - has actually been able to capture him after all this time. Usually they just kill him if they find him in a vulnerable position, but apparently he's forgotten to change up his appearance enough because someone figured it out that he keeps coming back if they just kill him.
Trapping him and keeping him in this dungeon like an animal, however, could last indefinitely. Still, he sits and grins whenever one of his captors enters the room to make sure he eats something and doesn't starve himself to death so he can regenerate elsewhere. He's muzzled so he can't bite, but his sharp, white teeth can be seen through the slots they've so generously given him so he can eat without removing it.
There's a heavy metal collar around his neck chained to the wall, and his arms and legs are shackled as well. He can't stand up straight nor lay down with the length of the chains, and there's no doubt in his mind that being forced to sit hunched over like this is an intentional sort of torture.
He's clearly still taller than almost any human. His red eyes reflect light like the eyes of an animal, and his shaggy black hair hangs down to his back. He growls under his breath when someone enters, staring at the person they've sent down to him this time. ]
It's Nadine, right? I heard you talking outside.
[ His powers may be muted here, but there's still a certain sort of chill that fills the room when he speaks someone's name. Frightening, but in a way that - against your better judgement - makes you want more. A name on his lips is cold as ice and sweet as sugar all at once.
They're not supposed to talk to him. Everyone has been briefed about the dangers of conversing with the Dark Man. But that doesn't mean he can't try. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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.
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for michael;
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. ]
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nsfw;
[ 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?
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It wasn't the former city that called out to him now, but rather a small fragment of something else he'd lost. He crouches down where the feeling hits him hardest, his fingers rifling through the sand and debris until he pulled out a small black stone with a red flaw.
Lloyd's. No doubt, all that was left of him.
Reviving someone without so much as a single bone to work with would be a difficult task, but it was worth a try. The stone contained something that bound them both together, so it could be done.
He stands still and squeezes the stone with both hands, whispering words he'd read in some forbidden tome centuries back. Words that'd drive most ordinary men to madness if they were around to hear them. A small pulse emanates from the stone. He squeezes harder, inhuman language rolling off his tongue smooth as silk. A strange liquid starts to drip from his clenched hands, mostly black but with some bright swirls of red as the rock melts away and begins to reform. It moves and shifts of its own free will, growing larger and larger until there's nothing left of the stone in Flagg's hands.
A great dark portal yawns out in front of him. He plunges a hand in, feeling around for any sign of life. It occurs to him, briefly, that trying to summon Lloyd in the same way he'd summon up some fellow creature from Todash space might have some strange effects on the boy, but it was that or nothing. Being revived as he'd revive a regular human required a partial body and Lloyd didn't have any remains.
His hand finds another in the darkness, limp and cold. He grasps it, his warmth spreading throughout the other body until it started to stir with life that wasn't quite right - a little too warm to be a completely human, just like him - but was life all the same.
He starts to pull away from the portal, Lloyd's hand clasped in his own. Then came the rest of him, naked and drenched in what could only be described as liquid shadow. Flagg'd conjure up some clothes for him. Maybe one of those tacky colorful shirts he liked so much.
(He'll be angry, Flagg thinks. Patience isn't his strong suit, compassion even less so, but he's trying to prepare himself for an adverse reaction.)
The portal closes up into nothingness, leaving Flagg and Lloyd alone in the desolated New Vegas. He cups Lloyd's face in one hand, looking him in the eyes as they go from glassy and vacant to bright and aware. Good, there's a soul in there after all. ]
Howdy, Lloyd.
[ If Lloyd was gonna freak out, he was gonna freak out whether or not Flagg started rambling off some long explanation, so may as well leave it at 'howdy' for now and give the real juicy details when he's calmed the fuck down. ]
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for nadine, nsfw
She just needed some time to get used to his presence, that was all. He knew he could be somewhat overwhelming. He could stroll into any dive bar in America back before the plague and have his pick of willing partners, but they were all far down the path of the Red before they met him. Nadine was different. Of course it would take some time. He waits for her to give him a sign before he initiates again and this time his advances are welcomed.
He kicks off his boots and throws his jacket to the ground, climbing on top of Nadine in bed with his shirt half-unbuttoned. He's not hard yet; he learned his lesson from last time and is making sure she can actually stand to touch his cock before he gets himself all worked up. ]
You alright? [ He leans down and kisses her on the neck, his teeth tearing through one of the straps on her nightgown. Good thing there plenty more nightgowns where that came from. ]
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monsterfucking ahoy;
Trapping him and keeping him in this dungeon like an animal, however, could last indefinitely. Still, he sits and grins whenever one of his captors enters the room to make sure he eats something and doesn't starve himself to death so he can regenerate elsewhere. He's muzzled so he can't bite, but his sharp, white teeth can be seen through the slots they've so generously given him so he can eat without removing it.
There's a heavy metal collar around his neck chained to the wall, and his arms and legs are shackled as well. He can't stand up straight nor lay down with the length of the chains, and there's no doubt in his mind that being forced to sit hunched over like this is an intentional sort of torture.
He's clearly still taller than almost any human. His red eyes reflect light like the eyes of an animal, and his shaggy black hair hangs down to his back. He growls under his breath when someone enters, staring at the person they've sent down to him this time. ]
It's Nadine, right? I heard you talking outside.
[ His powers may be muted here, but there's still a certain sort of chill that fills the room when he speaks someone's name. Frightening, but in a way that - against your better judgement - makes you want more. A name on his lips is cold as ice and sweet as sugar all at once.
They're not supposed to talk to him. Everyone has been briefed about the dangers of conversing with the Dark Man. But that doesn't mean he can't try. ]
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