markedformore | (no subject)

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The marks on his wrists are still proving to be a distraction. Erik pulls the turtleneck’s sleeve lower in order to cover it; sight unseen, he will still feel it, but perhaps it will not remind him of what he awoke to days back. He goes about what business he has on the island now that the club is closed and puts his mind devotedly towards his tasks. It proves to be more difficult than he might have imagined. Everyone is louder than he recalls, the tasks more demeaning than ever, and he finds that the thrum of traffic around him makes him grit his jaw tightly until he is sure that it is going to break. He does not belong here. He should be back where he’s meant to be forging a new world for mutants so they can be proud of their gifts.

This is an insult to him. After everything he’s been through, his presence here is a waste. He finishes his drink and decides to head back home, taking a moment in the darkest corner of the Winchester in order to compose his thoughts. He wants to believe that there can be more for him, but each time he comes perilously close to believing that, he is the undeserving recipient of further reminders that there are reasons why he is the way he is. Erik takes a steady breath and steps to his feet, surveying the area before him as he debates whether he will be able to face The Room tonight to dismantle it further.

He is not sure tonight will be the night.

Erik allows his mind to drift as he walks back to the house, catching sight of the window (broken from the inside) and the way the moon captures the glass in an ethereal way. It is not the only thing that it illuminates. From here, he can only barely make out the figure, but he thinks that there is someone lurking near the house. His pace picks up, now, mind focusing on this and only this.

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He's pissed. Beyond pissed, actually. It's at the point now where Nathan's certain his ancestors would be proud at the sheer amount of liquor he's managed to consume without being sick all over the place.

But it's been a shit week, and he's in a worse mood than he can remember being in since arriving, really. He's not a fan of the shit this place pulled with the car and the fire and Jamie, and he's definitely not a fan of the building he's just run into.

Though fuck knows why that's the case. Mostly, Nathan's convinced everything's shit. He takes a long swig out of a bottle he's nicked-- he doesn't remember where he's stolen it from-- and squints into the distance, catching sight of a figure approaching.

"If you're lookin' for a late night cuddle, then I suggest you just walk on, friend," Nathan calls, "My legs are closed for business. Especially to weird-- whatever you ares."

Erik doesn't deign give a reaction to any of the words, but what he does care about is the fact that this is the one home he has upon the island and it's been taken from him once already this week. He will not stand idly by and let some bug wreck it further. "I live here," Erik informs him curtly. "And I'm giving you fair warning that it would be an excellent idea if you left."

"Oh, you live here?" Nathan replies, and rolls his eyes. Don't they all live on the island? Jesus, like this guy's special, just because he's got his teeth and...

"What the fuck's wrong with your mouth?" he asks, squinting in his general direction. Nathan thinks he might have enough teeth for two people's mouths. Though, to be fair, he's not exactly sure there aren't two of him in the first place.

Erik is not in the mood for this. "There's nothing wrong with my mouth," he says, though there are marks against his neck from the binds. They are fading, slowly, but not nearly slow enough. He takes in the bottles, letting out a dismayed sigh. "Pack up your things and go. Now."

Nathan looks at the bottle in his hand, then at the guy threatening him. It's a free island, isn't it? There aren't signs or a fence or some ferocious looking guard dog. As far as Nathan's concerned, it's all just open space. And he'll go home when he's good and ready.

"Nah," Nathan replies, "I think I'll hang about a bit. Maybe I'll put up a tent. It's a good spot. Or... it will be as soon as you've fucked off."

"That won't be happening," Erik notes darkly. Any other day or any other time when his hands dont have the memory of being bound in the digits. Now, though, he thinks of his home being betrayed and won't let it happen again. He stalks forward and grabs the man by the collar, hauling him away from the house. "I warned you," he says as Erik slams him forward against the wall.

Nathan hits the wall hard, pain shooting through his skull as his vision doubles and blurs all at once. It's a fucking cheap shot, but he's too drunk to have seen it coming.

"Fuck!" Nathan shouts, though it comes out half warbled and not quite a word. At least there's one thing he's sure of, having your head bashed against a wall hurts just as much as having it bashed against bathroom fixtures.

Erik digs his fingers into the boy's hair, getting close enough to really get a good look at his face. "Have you thought better of assaulting someone's private property?" he gets out through half-gritted teeth, hauling him back. His arms are laced with bandages up and down and so he's somewhat weaker, but no less focused as he aims for the gut, just below the ribs, enough to take the wind out of him.

Nathan's been punched loads of times, but that doesn't mean this doesn't hurt, or that he's at all recovered from having his face bashed into a wall. Maybe being pissed helps with a bit of it, sort of numbs the pain, and while Nathan's of the opinion that enough alcohol will solve almost any problem, this isn't one of them.

He doubles over, winded, and staggers back, and it's a moment before he answers.

"Yeah, next time I'll stick to graffiti," he says, his voice already hoarse, "A nice big cock, right along the wall there."

Erik feels the tension in his fingers. He clenches them tightly, advancing on the man once more. "This is a refuge," he spits out, kicking his boot swiftly in the direction of his shin and not waiting for him to drop before he delivers a blow to his gut. "A place for people to feel safe," is continued in German, slanted with the dialect of his childhood.

"You," he says, gripping him by the hair to haul him up to his feet, "should not be touching it with such disrespect."

He nearly falls, until suddenly the guy's clinging to Nathan's hair, and instead he cries out as he tries in vain to unclench the man's fucking death grip on his head.

"Jesus, fine!" Nathan shouts, his voice hoarse and his head ringing, face already starting to swell from where his face was smashed into the wall, "Just let me go!"

Edited 2012-05-27 15:28 (UTC)

Erik feels that they've come this far and the lesson must be truly learned. "Apologise," he says, wishing that he could somehow summon Charles, but this will have to do. He lets him fall to the ground, easing the heel of his foot to the likely-bruised ribs, staring down at him as his fingers twitch, a desperate wish to control lingering traces of metal on the boy's body.

Nathan groans as he falls, nearly curling up into a ball on the ground, trying his best to turn away from the psycho. He's not sober at all, but if there's anything that'll come close to sobering someone up straight away, it's this shit.

"Sorry I was gonna draw a cock on your house," he finally manages.

Most days, patrolling for the IPD wasn't much to write home about, regardless of what wild scenario Jamie would try to cook up in his imagination to get through the shift, often prompting Sean for ideas when he'd painted himself into a narrative corner. Today had been no different, in fact, up until a few moments ago, when the sound of a fight breaking out sent the pair of them running towards Xavier's mansion.

Somehow, Jamie wasn't surprised by the perpetrator, though the tail-end of the apology was definitely a new one.

"Hey," he said loudly, taking in the scene. They needed to get him away from that kid before he did more damage, and Jamie was hoping a verbal distraction would be enough for Sean to get in there unhindered. "I thought you weren't supposed to be evil."

On the one hand, it's somewhat depressing that this is the biggest thing to break up a patrol in months, but it also does wonders in awakening that strange, niggling recognition that he felt the first time he met the Lehnsherr fellow. He can't say that he's particular surprised by the turn of events, however out of the island norm they are.

Sean moves in without any further prompting, edging around the one-sided melee to grab Erik by the upper arm and wrench it back behind him and pull him off the other man.

"A'right, boyo, I'd say he's had about enae, no matter what the hell ye happen t'be, aye?"

Erik lets the fight bleed out of him the moment he's grabbed, cursing under his breath for good measure as he tries to shake off the arm, angry glare focused on the vandal in question. "Fine," he spits out, the anger boiling over, threatening to consume him and out of habit, his finger curl as if he can pull every source of metal to him.

But nothing moves. Nothing moves and the world stays quiet and he is powerless and he is weak and he cannot protect his home -- not for the first time and he fears, not for the last.

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