[Should Reaper be concerned with how quickly Dodger gets there? Probably, because his room is nowhere near the 8th floor and he manages to flash into existence almost immediately after he sends his text. Wearing a smile that manages to be both lazy and excited.]
[Yeah, it's every fucking bit concerning, both in text and in action. He's not unused to people just appearing out of thin air--Nico does it around him often enough, and he does it himself. So instead of looking startled or any bit surprised, he just turns his head from where he's sitting, offering the other nothing more than a lazy turn of his head.]
Hasn't been that long.
[There's absolutely no buildup to his next action, either. No slow, careful removal of his mask, but rather, he simply reaches up to tug it off, with a nearly 'are you satisfied' air to his movements and expression.]
[An expression that's... hard to read, what with how his eyes seem to be sunken into his head. Hollow, dark black pits where bright whites with dark brown irises once sat. The core of his pupil little more than a glowing red ember that gives his pallid, dark skin an unearthly glow. Once healthy dark skin is marred, visible vains showing on his face--scars that might have once looked good look like jagged cracks in his skin that nearly glow at the core--as if he's still burning just under the surface of skin and scar tissue. It doesn't help the appearance of 'something burning' as black fog seems to slowly seep out from the patches of muscle and skin that are broken--even more so from a section of his cheek that's entirely missing flesh, showing teeth nearly up to his jawline in a smile that would be far too large were he to ever make the expression.
[Dodger would offer a quip, but... then the mask is off and he's absolutely blown away.
Dodger has always been a very sick, twisted person. His description of a perfect human being would be far from conventional, and he's never expected anyone to understand or approve of it. But here he sees a man who he already knew to be intelligent, untrusting and callous, wracked by the scars that are left from what he can only assume was a literal trip through hell. Proof that he's lived through things worth calling a life.
He looks unique, and broken, and perfect. And for a while Dodger's gaze just flits over each inch of his skin, taking in every detail. If he's not going to get the chance again, he wants this burned into his memory.]
Don't make a habit of weaving elaborate stories, kid.
[And it would be when he speaks that the other would be forced to realise that the hollow, grating sound that his voice makes isn't some effect from wearing the highly stylized mask. The sound of it echoing out from a burned out throat that sounds wholly supernatural.
When he speaks, black smoke escapes his mouth as if he's been smoking, curling up and around the exposed teeth on his cheek, and between his lips. Even the gums of his teeth are greying as he scowls a little.]
[His gaze follows the smoke into the sky for a moment, before looking back at Reaper. He looks almost giddy, like a kid who's gotten the go-ahead to open his Christmas presents.
Sure, Reaper said not to touch, but it's almost unconsciously that Dodger takes a step closer and reaches to run his fingers over the ragged skin around that missing cheek. He expects to be stopped, but he can't help hoping.]
[He had told him not to. And he wasn't about to stand there and let him. He watches that hand carefully with a sharp look in pitted, glow-red eyes--and the moment the others' fingers brush against the hollow part of his cheek, his entire form shifts.]
[One moment, he's standing in front of a seated man who looks like a living corpse, and in the next, Reaper's entire form is nothing but a cloud of black fog. It curls and shifts almost violently, flowing around the other in a rush--smelling every bit like burning carbon and ozone. The fog reforms behind the other, a hand on his back as the taller male gives him a shove--his hood having fallen down to his shoulders.]
[He flinches slightly as Reaper loses his form, and whips past him. It's very similar to his own teleportation, so it's not the power that bothers him; it's the forceful way he's rejected, not that he didn't expect it. And when he's shoved he puts minimal effort to stay on his feet, giving Reaper a sullen look.]
Just got curious.
[But if he's given an inch he'll take a mile, and they both know that. So he doesn't expect the line to be redrawn any time soon.]
You should make a habit of listening to other people's requests.
[He gives him one last look with those pitted eyes, before he's moving to replace the mask over his horrifying appearance. He hated the feeling of the air on the open wounds on his face--and even if Dodger's reaction isn't as bad as some peoples' had been...
He still hates showing it. He's far more comfortable with his mask on.]
[There's a bitter note in his tone, but he's doing his best to brush it off. He hates to make it clear that he has any shame, or emotions besides mischief and aggression. But he does realize he makes things harder for Reaper whenever he's involved, and... just has too much pride to fix that without being forced to.]
Did I gain your confidence, then? That why you're showing me your face?
[Adjusting his mask with a hand, he finally drops his hand away from it, facing his palm upwards as he gestures to the other.]
I'm showing you my face because I know you well enough, now, to have realised you wouldn't have let me alone about it until I showed you.
So now you'll stop bothering me about it.
Maybe I had a few ulterior motives about chasing off your supposed infatuation with me, but I could tell by the look in your eyes that it did shit all.
[That gets a moody shrug out of him... but his brow twitches a bit when Reaper brings up his crush. He almost considers claiming it was a joke, but he's not that good a liar. God, why can't ignoring boundaries be a one-way street?]
I'm not infatuated. [He huffs quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at the floor.] I just want to sleep with you. That's it. I'm attracted to power and I like being near it - someone like you who could rip me to shreds just turns me on.
[Even that's a lie, it's a huge lie and they both know it. Okay, so everything he said is true, strictly speaking, but it's not even close to covering the stalkerish attachment he's gotten to Reaper. Or the deep-laid issues that led to him going after someone like Reaper in the first place.]
If that sort of argument helps you sleep better at night.
[You can almost see the sneer on his face just underneath the material of his carbon-fiber mask--an expression he'd used enough on Kingsley--disbelief and honestly, a complete loss on how to even approach the idea that someone's actually interested in him.]
Having a power kink is weird enough, but wanting to sleep with a man who's shown you by now that he's a walking corpse is even weirder.
Either you really are set on this disillusion of yours, or you need to sit the fuck down and have a long, hard talk with yourself.
What disillusion, that I can make you fall in love with me and have a fairytale ending?
[He huffs quietly, reaching to light a cigarette as he shakes his head.]
You're not gonna do it, so why worry about what I'm into? I'm a sick fuck and I'm at peace with that, only problem comes up when the people I go after don't fuckin' drop it when I already got that they're not into me.
[Not that that means he'll stop bothering Reaper. Far from it.]
[He raises a hand, silver-tipped claws of the odd gauntlets he wears flicker in the light a little. A sick smile spreading on his face that Dodger won't be privy too, but will almost be able to hear behind that skull-like mask of his.]
And maybe I'm not dropping it because I want to see you squirm. You've been difficult ever since we first met, so...
What's the matter? Can't take it when it's turned around on you?
[His eyes narrow a bit, and his gaze is drawn to the glint of those claws. He's plenty used to being teased... but he'd started to work under the assumption that Reaper was above the sort of shit his boss usually pulled on him.]
Fuck do you get out of that?
[He's bristled, but he moves closer to Reaper, until he can see the glow of his eyes behind the mask.]
You can't make me squirm any worse than my old boss has. Not without dropping the whole 'hero' thing. And we both know whatever you do is just gonna make me want you more.
[And now it's Reaper's turn to go rigid. That almost amorphous, red shape that's supposed to be his eyes going nearly solid for a second--the pupil a pitch black as it focuses on the other.]
I'm not a Hero.
You're mistaking what I am with what I used to be, brat.
[Because he doesn't have an answer for Dodger's first question of 'what do you get out of that'--because there isn't an answer. He doesn't get anything out of it.]
Sure. Gabriel Reyes was a hero. [His eyes are sharp, as he pointedly meets Reaper's gaze.] And Reaper just keeps a job protecting civilians, plays chaperone at parties out of kindness and comes to people's rescue when he sees them in danger. That's not heroic at all, is it.
[His next move relies entirely on surprise; he's honestly just seeing how far he can push his luck before Reaper decides he has to hurt him to get him to stop. His hand grasps Reaper's shoulder, and he leans up a bit to press a peck of a kiss against the cheekbone of that mask. His expression as he leans back is almost teasing.]
You're still a hero, boss, you're not fooling anyone.
[There's a dozen different responses that bounce around in his head to Dodger's sharp quip--verbal replies that he could use to shut the other down with simple brevity and dry wit.
'He's not a hero, he's just playing a part', something along those lines.
However, the moment the other touches his shoulder--(the material of his jacket ice cold, where leather should be slightly warm when it's worn)--all possible verbal replies pour out of his mind in plumes of smoke that escape through his wounds.
His response is razor-sharp, and without remorse or any second thinking:]
[An arm flies forward, clawed fingers of those horrid gauntlets he wears curling into a sharp fist that finds the side of Jaime's face. Dodger has likely experienced a good clock to the jaw before, he's sure of that--but receiving one from a man who claims to be Death itself, and someone who is classified as a Super Soldier?
The leg that comes up to follow up the motion--aiming to drive into the others' stomach to put space between them comes without hesitation, as well; though whether or not the other dodges the second hit is all on him. Either way, once the Reaper draws back, a low hiss escaping his teeth, he's sharp with his words:]
Get out of here. Before I decide to drag every bit of life you have out of your body, here and now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I'll be the judge of that.
And absolutely not.
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you free now?
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Free enough.
Balcony of the housing complex.
I'm sure you already know which one I'm staying in.
[Stalker.]
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[Should Reaper be concerned with how quickly Dodger gets there? Probably, because his room is nowhere near the 8th floor and he manages to flash into existence almost immediately after he sends his text. Wearing a smile that manages to be both lazy and excited.]
Long time no see.
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Hasn't been that long.
[There's absolutely no buildup to his next action, either. No slow, careful removal of his mask, but rather, he simply reaches up to tug it off, with a nearly 'are you satisfied' air to his movements and expression.]
2/2
Once healthy dark skin is marred, visible vains showing on his face--scars that might have once looked good look like jagged cracks in his skin that nearly glow at the core--as if he's still burning just under the surface of skin and scar tissue.
It doesn't help the appearance of 'something burning' as black fog seems to slowly seep out from the patches of muscle and skin that are broken--even more so from a section of his cheek that's entirely missing flesh, showing teeth nearly up to his jawline in a smile that would be far too large were he to ever make the expression.
He doesn't offer a single word.]
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Dodger has always been a very sick, twisted person. His description of a perfect human being would be far from conventional, and he's never expected anyone to understand or approve of it. But here he sees a man who he already knew to be intelligent, untrusting and callous, wracked by the scars that are left from what he can only assume was a literal trip through hell. Proof that he's lived through things worth calling a life.
He looks unique, and broken, and perfect. And for a while Dodger's gaze just flits over each inch of his skin, taking in every detail. If he's not going to get the chance again, he wants this burned into his memory.]
Shit... you weren't kidding.
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[And it would be when he speaks that the other would be forced to realise that the hollow, grating sound that his voice makes isn't some effect from wearing the highly stylized mask. The sound of it echoing out from a burned out throat that sounds wholly supernatural.
When he speaks, black smoke escapes his mouth as if he's been smoking, curling up and around the exposed teeth on his cheek, and between his lips. Even the gums of his teeth are greying as he scowls a little.]
Satisfied?
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[His gaze follows the smoke into the sky for a moment, before looking back at Reaper. He looks almost giddy, like a kid who's gotten the go-ahead to open his Christmas presents.
Sure, Reaper said not to touch, but it's almost unconsciously that Dodger takes a step closer and reaches to run his fingers over the ragged skin around that missing cheek. He expects to be stopped, but he can't help hoping.]
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Just got curious.
[But if he's given an inch he'll take a mile, and they both know that. So he doesn't expect the line to be redrawn any time soon.]
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[He gives him one last look with those pitted eyes, before he's moving to replace the mask over his horrifying appearance. He hated the feeling of the air on the open wounds on his face--and even if Dodger's reaction isn't as bad as some peoples' had been...
He still hates showing it. He's far more comfortable with his mask on.]
You might gain their confidence easier.
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[There's a bitter note in his tone, but he's doing his best to brush it off. He hates to make it clear that he has any shame, or emotions besides mischief and aggression. But he does realize he makes things harder for Reaper whenever he's involved, and... just has too much pride to fix that without being forced to.]
Did I gain your confidence, then? That why you're showing me your face?
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[Adjusting his mask with a hand, he finally drops his hand away from it, facing his palm upwards as he gestures to the other.]
I'm showing you my face because I know you well enough, now, to have realised you wouldn't have let me alone about it until I showed you.
So now you'll stop bothering me about it.
Maybe I had a few ulterior motives about chasing off your supposed infatuation with me, but I could tell by the look in your eyes that it did shit all.
[So, about dropping the subject.]
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I'm not infatuated. [He huffs quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at the floor.] I just want to sleep with you. That's it. I'm attracted to power and I like being near it - someone like you who could rip me to shreds just turns me on.
[Even that's a lie, it's a huge lie and they both know it. Okay, so everything he said is true, strictly speaking, but it's not even close to covering the stalkerish attachment he's gotten to Reaper. Or the deep-laid issues that led to him going after someone like Reaper in the first place.]
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[You can almost see the sneer on his face just underneath the material of his carbon-fiber mask--an expression he'd used enough on Kingsley--disbelief and honestly, a complete loss on how to even approach the idea that someone's actually interested in him.]
Having a power kink is weird enough, but wanting to sleep with a man who's shown you by now that he's a walking corpse is even weirder.
Either you really are set on this disillusion of yours, or you need to sit the fuck down and have a long, hard talk with yourself.
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[He huffs quietly, reaching to light a cigarette as he shakes his head.]
You're not gonna do it, so why worry about what I'm into? I'm a sick fuck and I'm at peace with that, only problem comes up when the people I go after don't fuckin' drop it when I already got that they're not into me.
[Not that that means he'll stop bothering Reaper. Far from it.]
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[He raises a hand, silver-tipped claws of the odd gauntlets he wears flicker in the light a little. A sick smile spreading on his face that Dodger won't be privy too, but will almost be able to hear behind that skull-like mask of his.]
And maybe I'm not dropping it because I want to see you squirm. You've been difficult ever since we first met, so...
What's the matter? Can't take it when it's turned around on you?
Pathetic.
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Fuck do you get out of that?
[He's bristled, but he moves closer to Reaper, until he can see the glow of his eyes behind the mask.]
You can't make me squirm any worse than my old boss has. Not without dropping the whole 'hero' thing. And we both know whatever you do is just gonna make me want you more.
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I'm not a Hero.
You're mistaking what I am with what I used to be, brat.
[Because he doesn't have an answer for Dodger's first question of 'what do you get out of that'--because there isn't an answer. He doesn't get anything out of it.]
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[His next move relies entirely on surprise; he's honestly just seeing how far he can push his luck before Reaper decides he has to hurt him to get him to stop. His hand grasps Reaper's shoulder, and he leans up a bit to press a peck of a kiss against the cheekbone of that mask. His expression as he leans back is almost teasing.]
You're still a hero, boss, you're not fooling anyone.
1/2
'He's not a hero, he's just playing a part', something along those lines.
However, the moment the other touches his shoulder--(the material of his jacket ice cold, where leather should be slightly warm when it's worn)--all possible verbal replies pour out of his mind in plumes of smoke that escape through his wounds.
His response is razor-sharp, and without remorse or any second thinking:]
2/2
The leg that comes up to follow up the motion--aiming to drive into the others' stomach to put space between them comes without hesitation, as well; though whether or not the other dodges the second hit is all on him. Either way, once the Reaper draws back, a low hiss escaping his teeth, he's sharp with his words:]
Get out of here. Before I decide to drag every bit of life you have out of your body, here and now.
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