[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: sorry about the wait and how mahoosive this is even after I cut it down >.< it's ridiculous R.I.P.


Unfortunately (and to be honest, understandably) Dane was not going to indulge him. His mock sympathy gave way to an incredulous scoff and he stood to shepherd Noah from the room, with a choice of insults that made Noah breath a laugh as the door was closed behind him. Damn. Without someone to perform for, his expression emptied, smoothing into something more thoughtful as he leant back against the opposite wall. He should leave. Leslie's secret had been uncovered and sirens weren’t echoing from the streets anymore. The path was presumably clear and even if the police were loitering around in ‘stealth mode’, he imagined he wouldn’t attract their attention more than any other pedestrian passing by.

He stayed. Head cocked as he listened to Dane’s voice, an unintelligible mumble through the door, followed by shuffling and a running faucet not long after. Despite his general distrust and dislike of murderous fellows Noah wasn’t ready to let go of Dane just yet, not when the alternative was going home to his empty house without anything to occupy him. 

Dane made a reappearance with a familiarly-hued splatter across his chest. This, along with his cloyingly sweet smile and exaggerated apology, made Noah snort, unable to decide whether Dane was purposefully being messy or if it were accidental. Either way, it was funny.

Eyes bright, Dane then offered to show him something better than the rat, and one flash of light later there was a huge dog in the hallway with them, visibly strong even under all the fluff. Snowcone. Noah met her gaze as she appraised him, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air, and for a moment he wondered if he’d fucked up – if he should have left while Dane was busy. Gift-made or not, a beast like that could deal some hefty damage before Noah had a chance to defend himself.

But Dane crouched beside her and pulled her into a sideways hug, changing her demeanour entirely. She was suddenly a normal, dopy household pet as she furiously wagged her tail and licked at his face, while Dane himself was almost glowing with pride, smugness oozing through his grin as he declared Snowcone to be his best work. Though he was also grinning, pleased that gift-borrowing was back on the table, Noah quirked a brow. Really? A dog was the best he could do? Snowcone was a formidable creature, sure, but couldn’t Dane make something larger and a bit more exotic? A big cat, perhaps? Even the snake, Noah thought, was more interesting in form, function, and colouration.

Before he could voice these opinions Dane announced his intention to change clothing and disappeared into Leslie’s bedroom. Snowcone looked bereaved to be abandoned by her owner, like a child being forced to invite the weird kid to their birthday party, but she sat down and tipped her head expectantly in a way that made Noah decide that, actually, she wasn’t like a child; she was the babysitter that wasn’t being paid enough to look after the aforementioned weird kid.

Noah huffed a laugh and removed his gloves, leaving them inside-out as he stuffed them into his pocket. He dropped to the floor to sit cross-legged, and reached out to sink his fingers into her thick fur. Floofy. “Hey there, girlie,” he cooed. “Snowcone, huh?” He gave her a good pat, fussing over her as Dane had. Snowcone didn’t appear to hate it, not shying away from him like other animals might, and for that she was immediately the best dog Noah had ever interacted with. Maybe it was because she was a little different from the average dog. Or because she was not really a dog at all. Regardless, Dane had said Snowcone was his best, apparently having summoned her enough to give her a name, and Noah wondered if she was the same animal (if she had memories of the previous times she’d been summoned) or if Dane summoned a blank slate version of Snowcone each time, perhaps without even realising it.

A rueful smile tugged at Noah’s lips. He could wonder as much as he wanted. He didn’t think Dane would tell him anything about how Snowcone worked. He'd have to steal the gift, figure it out for himself.

Noah scratched Snowcone’s chin, eyeing her muzzle. “Can I see your teethies?” Carefully, as gently as possible, he pried her jaws open just enough to press his thumb under a sharp tooth. But the same instinct that stopped most people from biting off their little finger, stopped him from applying enough pressure to puncture himself. He didn’t think he’d want Snowcone to chomp into his arm or any other body part either. There had to be a better way.

He released her and she pulled her head away with another shake, swiping her tongue over her teeth. He went back to petting her, throwing in a few apologies with his praise. 

“Hey, Dane?” he called out. “Since we’re friends and all, I was wondering if maybe I could get your number. I’d love to know how the stitches turn out.” That was true. He was invested! He wanted to see how the wound healed and compare his handiwork to any future ‘surgeries’ he performed. But it wasn’t the only reason he wanted a way to keep in touch. If he couldn't borrow Dane's gift today he'd want another opportunity, and maybe it would come in handy to have a hunter in his contacts, someone who wouldn't flinch from bloody work. “C’mon, I could probably give you names of some fun people to kill?” he made the offer in a sing-song voice. Fun seemed to be a solid motivator of Dane’s, and murder apparently fit into his definition of the word. Noah snorted. “Or we could just go bowling!”

Refocusing on the dog, he held out his hand and Snowcone dutifully placed her paw atop it. Her claws were blunter than a cats but would be much easier to break his skin with than the tooth. He took her 'wrist' and pressed one of her claws to the back of his other hand, dragging it across it to leave a shallow scratch and – there . There it was. A warmth in his palms, as if he were holding a cup of coffee. His eyes fluttered closed. A satisfied hum vibrated in his throat. He would never get sick of that feeling; something new and untested swimming in his veins.

But he blinked his eyes open as he realised Snowcone remained where she was, her own dark eyes watching him inquisitively. “Huh.” He’d half expected her to poof out of existence. “Interesting…”

It didn't matter. It was time for the fun part!

He rubbed his hands together. Flexed his fingers. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to intuit how to use a gift and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last, but he would find a way. He always did eventually. Dane had sort of twirled his hands around when he’d created the snake, and lifted them from the ground when he'd made Snowcone. It seemed to be part of the routine.

He decided to make another Snowcone. A twin to confuse the hell out of Dane when he came back. He stared at her, tried to imagine her double forming under his palms, and something sparked between his hands. Snowcone grumbled, her tail stiff behind her. “Relax,” he murmured. “Just making you a friend…”

The light grew, and Noah wondered if he should make a German Shepherd instead. Something his own, rather than just a copy of Dane's work. But just as he started to picture it, the light exploded into a dog, landing unsteadily on shaky legs. It had Snowcone’s black and tan fur pattern, but a straight, too-long tail, a sloping back, and pointy ears. Sure, it was fluffy but… the more Noah looked at it, the more strange it looked. Something about the body itself was almost sludge-like – like its bones were wrong and the flesh wasn’t supported how it should be.

The dog-creature-thing shook itself. Yawned – oh shit. Way too many teeth. A lot more canines than molars, overlapping each other, blurred and moulded together in a way that couldn’t be comfortable in any living animal’s mouth. And did it not have eyelids? It wasn't blinking. The eyes themselves sort of lazy and unfocused, muddy brown rather than sharp mahogany. Snowcone sniffed at it (him?) and looked about as confused as Noah felt. The thing itself stood like a statue, apparently having decided the shake and yawn was more than enough motion to show it was alive. Maybe it couldn't move another further – its disjointed skeleton only holding it upright, not permitting movement.

“Uh, Dane?” Noah called out again, his frown audible in his voice. While it was tempting to not say anything, to just let Dane walk out and stumble across their new companion without warning, Noah was hoping the original gift-holder would have some valuable insight. He was beginning to understand why Dane might have called Snowcone his best work; his gift wasn’t as easy to use as it looked. “I don’t know how else to tell you this – your dog’s got a fucked-up cousin.” He paused, tilting his head with a considering pout as he reached out to scratch his creation between the ears. “I think I’m gonna call it Frederick.”


Dane Wayland

[Dane Wayland]

dog's got a loud bark, i want to see it bite
i want it upset, ready to strike

Dane slipped into the bedroom without a backward glance at his dog and their new acquaintance. Snowcone was a big girl and Nick had been eager to play around with a summon only minutes prior. He imagined they'd get on swimmingly. Stepping through the doorway, he paused to cast an inquisitive gaze about, wondering briefly if there was any evidence to be found to say whether Leslie was Gifted or a Hunter herself. He didn't truly care for the why she had her husband, boyfriend, brother, or whatever hog-tied in her bathtub, but some information could prove valuable if she decided to seek out Ray's murderer.

But the room looked dreary. The walls unadorned by photographs and decorations. The bed unmade, blankets crumpled in a heap and looking in desperate need of a wash. Even the air itself felt stale. It all made Dane swiftly confident that he had no interest in this Leslie woman or snooping through her things. He shucked his shoulders and moved to her closet.

As bland as the rest of the room. Grace would be appalled. As Nick had already surmised, the bulk of Leslie's clothes were plain t-shirts. The lack of both variety and color was almost disappointing. He was in a positively splendid mood now — though Jacek had slipped through his fingers, Ray had made for an excellent stand-in. His demise had soothed the sting of the failed chase and perked his spirits. Even made the stitches worth it. With his mood soaring now, he almost wanted nothing more than to don something ridiculous and make a scene. Ham it up. But there were no silly crop-tops and no sweatpants with something stupid like 'JUICY' across the ass. It was a shame. This woman was positively boring. And there was also no evidence of men's clothing, either. Poor Ray. If the tub wasn't enough to go off of, it was clear now that Leslie had moved on. He'd have to take a look around for whatever pair of shoes Ray might have been brought in wearing. That or go barefoot.

From the hall, Nick's voice called out — talking about exchanging numbers, giving Dane some targets, and going bowling — and he grinned to himself with a soft snort as he pulled his phone from his jeans, slipped them off, and then toed them carelessly into Leslie's own dirty laundry pile. The prospect didn't sound terrible. Though he hadn't figured Nick out quite yet, he imagined his company was as good as it could possibly get. Entertaining and comfortable with murder? In his line of work and in his family, the type wasn't uncommon, but the fact remained that... Dane didn't like most everyone he knew. And he didn't often run into people who checked those two boxes outside of the Guild. It could be interesting.

"Aw, you wanna see me again?" He called back, humor evident in his voice. "That's so sweet. We can have a proper date next time."

He pulled a random shirt off the hangar, wiped the blood from his chest with it, and shucked it to the floor. Then pulled off another and gave it a testing sniff, crinkling his nose with disdain. Almost predictably, it smelled stale. Like closet. But as he pulled it over his head, he was pleased to find that the fit wasn't terrible. A bit tight in the pits and perhaps just a tad too short — lifting his arms would certainly reveal a bit of stomach — but it would do. He shifted his attention to a stack of folded pants and thumbed through them, pulling out a pair of joggers. He slipped them on, immediately satisfied as he tugged the drawstring tight on his waist. The cinched ankle was set a bit high, but the legs themselves were loose enough to allow his stitches room to breathe.

When Nick called out again, this time sounding a bit perplexed, Dane tipped his head curiously. He made his way back to Leslie's doorway and his step faltered as he saw the other dog-thing beside his own. Confusion filtered across his features for a moment, almost prompting him to lift a hand to scratch at his head, but then the missing puzzle piece fell into place. Nick's questions, his incautious fascination, and his whole Steve Irwin schtick came together. Dane's eyes lit and he huffed a wild, incredulous laugh, stepping down the hall toward the bizarre trio. "Oh hoh! You're a mimic?" He tsked, as if disappointed by the lack of transparency. "Why didn't you just say so?"

He suspected Dane's admitted — not to mention demonstrated — profession was the answer there. Many hunters would have immediately leaped to Kill Mode at the first scent of abnormality about a person. Dane didn't care enough to even pretend to be wounded. He stepped beside the new creature — Frederick — and doubled over to wave a hand in front of its face, frowning at the lack of something behind its eyes.

With an appraising hum, Dane settled into a crouch — wincing a bit at the weight on his raw, aching leg — and prodded at the beast. Poked at its lip to gaze at the horrifying clusterfuck that was its mouth. Tugged at the skin that seemed to almost drip from its lacking structure. It was almost like someone drawing a dog from memory, not giving careful thought to its bone structure, layers of muscle, connective tissue, and other internal intricacies. But still, the summon was rather sound. It was admittedly impressive and his brow lifted while he gave a quick nod of approval. It'd taken quite a bit of practice for Dane to even get this far. But then again, he'd been a dumb child.

"Holy shit." He gave a soft, appreciative whistle. "Not bad, not bad. He's a bit wonky but miles better than I could do at first. Bold to start with something big, complex, and dangerous. Cheeky fuck. Enthusiasm in spades, pah." The words were lilted at the end with amusement, a wry smile tugging across his lips as he recalled his first summons. They'd been chaotic. Uncontrollable. And could cause quite a bit of damage before they eventually broke their haphazardly-made bodies to pieces. He'd been cautioned by his father — who had actually had an interest in him and his skills once upon a time — to start with perfecting small, harmless creatures to minimize potential damages while he was still working out the kinks.

"When you mimic abilities, does it kind of come... naturally?" He lifted the dog's paw, snorting at the difficulty — as if the joints were a bit misplaced or not formed properly. "Bypass the learning curve a bit?" He blinked and wrenched the dog's paw back to the ground, then scooched over to start his own demonstrative summon — intending to make it slow, to show Nick how the bones formed, the muscles knit together, how all the little details came together and made a creature seamless and useful.

"Okay, lookie here —" With a sly grin, he lifted a brow imploringly at Nick and offered a palm between them. Nothing happened. He blinked again, a crease forming between his brow before quickly smoothing with understanding. The upturn to his lips fell into a severe line, his eyes hardening while a sweep of something icy and disdainful swept through him. His gaze darted to Snowcone, then to Nick, all playful gaiety completely stilled on his face. "Not a mimic... but a thief?" His outstretched fingers curled back into his palm while his chest tightened. Was his gift stolen permanently? Would it be returned if he killed him? The thoughts darkened visibly across his features. "That's not very nice, Nick. I thought we were friends."

Noah St Cloud
♩ ♪ ♫ ♬

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]

[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: hi welcome to brain rot season, today we have a post


It was risky, Noah knew, but not so casually careless that he thought he might regret it. Dane had claimed he wasn’t motivated to kill by any radical beliefs, so the chances that he would flip out and attack him the moment he saw his creation was a little lower than if Noah had been hanging out with any other hunters he'd met in the past. Nevertheless, though his stare remained on Frederick when Dane came out to the hallway, he kept the other man in his periphery and his ears perked for any sudden movements. Clearly the hunter had some sort of blade on him. An item that had allowed him to dispose of Ray and get that pretty red splatter on his chest. But all he did was laugh as he approached, asking why Noah had kept his ‘mimicry’ to himself.

Noah gave him an amused, pointed look, certain they were both aware of the answer. Besides, he hadn’t been entirely dishonest; without other gifted people around, Noah was basically human. It’s why he’d ultimately moved on from Seattle. Bored of the normalcy…

“Nice outfit,” Noah chirped, checking out the ill-fitting ensemble with open amusement. Meanwhile, Dane assessed the beast, checking Frederick’s form and ultimately deeming it a good effort. Noah beamed at the praise and nudged him with his elbow, pleased as well that there seemed to be no hard feelings about Noah using his gift in the first place; some people could get tetchy about that. The idea that Noah had made something ‘dangerous’, though, left him a little perplexed. It was just a dog. A very strange, wonky dog. “I don’t think he’s dangerous,” he mused, reaching out to scratch the animal’s chin. It was a strange sensation. Like stroking a plush rug that had been stapled to a cushion – or perhaps a steak. “He’s not going to win any awards on Crufts, in any case.”

A crease formed between his brows as he realised just how true that statement was. Frederick’s eyes… were dull. Soulless. Were they even functioning? Could he see? Snowcone’s, in stark contrast, were intelligent and clearly alive.

Before he could ask about it, Dane interjected with a few questions of his own. He inquired after Noah’s gift and, hoping Dane would return the favour, he nodded and gave an answer. “Yeah, sort of. It’s like being given a new gaming console, y'know? You can guess which button does what based on the other consoles you’ve played, but it’s a lot easier to use if you’ve seen someone else play for a while first.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “It helps that a lot of gifts are just… willing something to happen, and then it does.”

Dane shuffled over, apparently ready to give a demonstration. Noah only watched him. Watched his grin falter. A frown begin to form. Then his jaw set and his expression hardened completely as he connected the dots and turned dark eyes on Noah to call him a thief.

It was a completely understandable reaction. Could've been much worse, honestly. Had been worse; gifted had lashed out at him before and he knew the last time wouldn't be the last time. Noah knew he wouldn’t much like having his power cut off either, so he held up his hands, keeping his posture relaxed and friendly as he did his best to soothe his companion. “Hey now, I promise it’s not permanent. I always give it back, there's no need to frown.” Divulging his time limit might have helped assuage any concerns, but he wasn’t willing to give that information away to someone who might want to use it against him someday. If he’d borrowed from anyone else, he might have pretended it was an uncontrollable thing – something they both had to be patient about and wait for the gift to transfer back. But Dane could get violent. Had a knife. And didn’t seem to care all that much about making a mess in the apartment; there was a chance he’d attack and then Noah’s DNA would be left at the scene, too. Although he’d claimed Leslie would clean up after them, he couldn’t be absolutely certain. What if she did get upset about Ray’s demise? What if she called the police in and pretended someone else had tied him in the bathtub, opening an investigation that could eventually have him slapped in handcuffs?

He sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll give it back right this instant.” If need be he could always get another scratch from Snowcone, though he’d rather not reveal the specifics of how his gift was triggered just yet. He mentally pushed the warmth out from his hands, feeling the magic coursing through his veins fizzle out as the gift returned to its rightful owner. He clapped Dane on the shoulder, grin swinging back into its usual place. “See? You’re okay! No need to uninvite me from your next birthday party. Sharing is caring.”

He turned his attention back to Frederick. “Now, care to tell me why’s mine so… like that?” As much as he tried, he really couldn’t find the words to describe it. ‘Wrong’ fit best, but even that felt a little inadequate. “Do you create Snowcone’s personality as well? Or is she kinda – I don’t know – like... you?” The possibility did not settle easily in his head. If true – was Frederick in some way a reflection of him? A mirror of what was left when his façade was stripped away?

Frowning again, he gave it a soft shove to its side, hoping to make it move around again – show something, even if it were anger.

It collapsed, slumping over like a sack of bones, and stayed there.

“Get up, Ricky.” Frederick stayed. Noah’s frown deepened until it was closer to a glare. Useless. He stepped around it, scooping his hands under its misshapen stomach to lift it back onto its feet.

It crumpled as soon as he let go.

He winced. “Ah shit. Broke it.” He settled on his knees and stood it up again, this time holding it to his side in the hopes it could at least lean on him for support. But as soon as he tried to let go, he felt it starting to slip sideways – like trying to stand a lone slice of bread upright. Or like teaching a baby to take its first steps, except this particular baby had no curiosity and no will to try. It was kind of depressing.

Frederick, Noah decided, was a failure. One he didn’t want to look at anymore. He sucked air through his teeth. “Yikes. I think it wants death – how d’you get rid of it?”


Dane Wayland

[Dane Wayland]

Nick assured him that the theft wasn't permanent, his posture friendly and relaxed, but Dane just stared at him pointedly. Not willing to take his word for it and feeling each second that passed make something heavier and colder in his gut. Only when Nick sighed and Dane felt a familiar warmth seep back into his palms, did he finally look away, fingers flexing. Nick clapped a hand to his shoulder and grinned through a quip — a light-heartedness Dane wasn't yet prepared to reciprocate. Instead, he lifted his palms before him, gaze hardening as a small, chittering mouse weaved into existence between them.

Only then did the knot in his stomach begin to dissipate. He caught the mouse between his palms and poofed it away a moment later, decidedly a little too bristled to immediately play "Anatomy 101" now. But still, Dane let the clench to his jaw smooth and stood, rubbing his fingers into his palm experimentally. He hadn't liked that. Had felt disarmed in a way that was much more alarming, much more stripping, than if he'd lost a blade or a gun. He considered whether or not Nick was being truthful — whether or not he always returned the gifts he stole. Or if he possessed the ability to take them for keeps if he desired it. He wondered, too, whether the other man got his ass kicked a lot. He imagined most Gifted reacted with similar, dangerous disdain. Then again, most of them were probably a lot less threatening when their trump cards — the abilities they'd relied on most when backed into a corner or threatened — were taken away. Perhaps they were willing to play nice once disarmed; too reliant on their Gifts to put up much of a fight without them.

Nick steered their attention back to Frederick and, a beat belatedly — a moment in which Dane had to forcibly will his grudging resentment away — he let his gaze drop to the dog. He compartmentalized his doubts; not quite shelving them, but simply setting them aside. Just out of sight. Ready to be pulled back and acted upon if things got shifty. He mulled over Nick's question and watched, with returning amusement, as he knocked the useless beast over and tried (unsuccessfully) to right it again.

He then barked a laugh, quick and genuine — amusement swinging fully back into place — when Nick inquired whether Snowcone was "like" him. He glanced at his darling mastiff and the dog's ears perked as soon as his gaze fell on her. Her tail gave a testing swish and her eyes danced brightly with sudden excitement. As if she'd been waiting eagerly for him to look at her. Where would the fun be, if she was some sort of strange, inexplicable extension of him? "No, Snowcone's not like me. Not even like," he waved a hand through the air flippantly as if to indicate how impossible it was and how foolish it sounded, "the best parts of me or some dumb shit like that." When not set upon someone with murderous intent, Snowcone was bright, good, and affectionate. Loyal. Obedient. Nothing like him. So far different from him that he couldn't even pretend to take credit for creating those bits of her. "I only create her physical form. Where the rest comes from is... who knows... beyond me. Other summons do act differently. Behave and think in their own way." His lips curled into a fleeting grin. "Maybe you'll meet them sometime." He winked, wondering if the words sounded like a threat. If Nick took it as one, Dane figured it was likely warranted.

"As for Ricky..." Dane looked at the beast again, lying where Nick had left him, and smirked, recalling how Nick didn't think the beast seemed all that dangerous. And it was true. Frederick did look a little... useless. "He's just missing some bits of him is all. They all start out as dumb little babies. Mindless and bumbling. Your baby just has... at least a half-dozen handicaps on top of that." He grinned cheekily, reaching out to return a clap to the shoulder. "Practice makes perfect." And with a little practice... perhaps a couple of summonings down the line... with improved composition and mobility allowing room for thinking and instinct, the dog could be formidable. Could become all snapping jaws and tearing teeth. Especially if the summon wasn't fully... right. The more deviation in a beast, the more chaotic it was as it grew. The more uncontrollable. As if the wrongness in their body created some sort of block. Triggered some sort of rage to fill the holes in them. "Really, it's good he's kinda fucked up. Something about missing — or outright wrong — pieces makes them a bit unhinged. Mean. Gotta make them right before you give them the means to rip you to pieces. Because they will."

When Nick asked about getting rid of his creation, Dane's smirk pulled into something more thoughtful. Getting rid of his summonings was easy now. It hadn't been as a child. He'd had needed to actually be touching the beast back then (which wasn't exactly ideal when most of his creations then had been particularly inspired to maul him or bolt into the unknown). Nowadays, with over twenty years of experience, he was always... somewhat aware of his summons on some level. Could feel them out in the world, wherever they were. And could choose to unravel them at his own discretion. Contact made it easier but it wasn't necessary. It was an aspect of his ability he sometimes considered, in some weird way, to be inherited from his father.

"Usually I can just sort of... how did you put it... will them away? But..." He crouched again to place his palm on Frederick's side, mindlessly spreading his fingers to curiously gauge the construction of his ribs. He tried to blink the haphazard creature away, much like he'd done with the mouse and the snake earlier, but nothing happened. He nodded, suspicions confirmed, and gave the dog a sympathetic pat. "I didn't make him so, I suppose it only makes sense that I can't unmake him." He withdrew his hand and pursed his lips. "He's yours, not mine." It was strange. For his Gift to create something he had no control over. For his own power to be turned on him. Plenty of his own beasts had torn at him, once or twice nearly killed him, but they'd still been his. Even if they refused to heel.

Sucking in a breath, Dane pushed back to his feet and balled a fist on his hip; smoothing the other lazily beneath the hem of Leslie's too-short shirt and across his stomach. He shrugged, dragging his gaze from the slumped dog and back to Nick. "You'll just have to 'kill' him." He supposed Nick could steal his power again. Try to will the dog away with Dane's ability in his hands. But Dane wasn't willing to offer. Not when there were still so many unknowns. And he was, admittedly, curious if Nick would request it. Or if he'd steal it back whether Dane was willing or not. "They just kinda... poof... when they take too much damage. He's kinda shitty, so it shouldn't take much." His gaze pulled momentarily to Snowcone, fondness sneaking across his face. His dog could take a proper beating now. Could keep going after being kicked, knifed, and even shot a couple of times (assuming her strength wasn't split between multiple summons and the enemy was a poor shot). But there'd been a time, long ago, when she'd been fragile. Would vanish at even a clumsy tumble down a flight of stairs. It'd been very annoying. Very inconvenient. Nowadays she was nearly as hardy as him; the both of them just too stubborn and reluctant to die. And that was a bit of her he would take credit for. He hadn't given her much of a choice.

He focused again on Nick, letting the fondness slip into dark amusement. "I'll let you do the honors. He won't really... die. You'd be able to summon him again. But they do remember things. And I don't want Frederick to hold a grudge if I end up seeing him sometime down the line." His lips pursed slightly at the thought. "How does the stealing thing work, anyway?" He hadn't felt anything. They'd been in different rooms. He'd left him alone with Snowcone and, before that, Nick had asked for a rat to keep him company. The answer was there to be puzzled out, he knew, but he wondered if Nick would tell him himself. "Or... is that a secret?" He winked and chuckled knowingly. He knew the importance of keeping such things close to one's chest. Knew there was a point in Nick waiting until he was alone to attempt the stealing at all. "You don't have to tell me — y'know, I'll get it if you don't. Really. You can keep your secrets, but then... hey, so will I."

Noah St Cloud
don't @ me, but like.................. it just dawned on me that these fked up summons could be parallels to how these ma'fahckers grew up, amirite or am i tired and tripping??? i mean, the rage is probably more dane, but like........ was noah not a summon missing pieces that turned on his summoner (i.e his family), and who ripped them to pieces because they didn't make him right before they made him dangerous??? or am i just like............... high on sleep depravity

[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: bruh, ur so so right and I love ur brain for that *_* meanwhile hi this is a speed run post awoo good luck reading this


CW: mentions of animal injury/death

After a quick, tense check to see if his powers had truly returned, Dane seemed somewhat mollified and even barked a laugh at Noah’s question. He explained that his summons had differing personalities which did not, in fact, directly reflect his own. There was even a chance that Noah could meet the other summons in the future – a comment that sounded vaguely threatening despite the amicable way it was spoken.

Noah flexed his hands, missing the weird warmth of Dane’s gift in them and trying not to pout too obviously at its loss. Hearing that practice could lead to a better, less fucked Frederick only made him want it back more. He eyed Snowcone, happily standing around with her glossy coat and anatomically-correct form. He debated grabbing her paw and triggering his mimicry again. Yet Dane reiterated that summons could be extremely aggressive if made incorrectly, and Noah grudgingly supposed Leslie’s apartment probably wasn't the best playground to experiment in.

Though – it would be pretty hilarious if Leslie returned home to find a rabid, unnameable beast wreaking havoc in her living room, with blood and vodka stains on the couch and clothes missing from her wardrobe while her boy-toy laid dead in the tub.

Regardless, Dane could not get rid of Frederick the same way he’d vanished his other critters, and without Dane’s power coursing through him, whatever connection Noah had with Frederick seemed to be severed along with the ability to will him out of existence. The only other option, Dane told him, was to kill Frederick the old-fashioned way.

Noah’s head fell back with an exaggerated groan, sounding far more like a tired kid being given chores than a man being told to take a life. Killing animals kind of just… sucked.

When he was much, much younger he'd become interested in criminology. In true crime. In killers. A lot of killers, he’d learned, started with animals. And he’d thought that had to be the path he was on, so it seemed like the kind of thing he should do. Animals always seemed to dislike him anyway (as if they knew what was coming) so he’d taken that as a sign. Looked around. Decided on a neighbour’s cat…

She was very hard to catch. He’d spent weeks chasing after her. Made a mess of himself scraping his knees and bruising his body, diving after her to pin her down. And when he finally caught her she’d shredded his arms, slashed his cheek, and ripped his shirt irreparably while he tried to clutch her writhing form to his chest. But when she eventually stopped fighting him, exhausted and perhaps realising he wasn’t actually doing anything else to hurt her, he realised how soft her fur was. How delicate each limb felt in his hand and how easy it would be to break her bones in comparison to a human’s. And it hadn’t felt right at all. He couldn’t do it.

(The first animal he’d killed had been a coyote, and that had been an accident. Trying to set it free, he hadn’t understood the mechanics of the trap it was caught in and… made it worse.)

Rolling his head to the side to squint up at him, Noah elected to ignore Dane’s questions for the time being. “You’re seriously gonna stand there and tell me that he’s basically a baby – my baby – then tell me to kill him?” He tutted, dropping his head to look down at Frederick who stared back impassively. He ran a hand over the dog’s lumpy, soft-but-wrong pelt. “That’s cold, Sassy. Even for a hunter.” He pouted, voice softening to a coo as he tipped Frederick's face up towards him and ruffled the fur of his cheeks. “What if he holds a grudge against me, hm? I don’t wanna be an asshole dad. Killing your kid is probably the most asshole thing a dad could do.” 

Funny. If Dane had asked for help with killing Ray, Noah would have shrugged and lent a hand with far less delay. He’d always said he’d much rather murder a man than his dog. Though, if he were being honest, he wasn’t a huge lover of killing people, either. It far more fun to exchange blows or chase them down; all the fun was sapped once they were no longer alive and struggling.

He sighed, reaching into his back pocket to whip out his phone. Once unlocked and opened up to the contacts, he held it out to Dane. “Mind putting your number in while I deal with this?”

It wasn't a permanent death, he reminded himself. Maybe he could re-summon Frederick one day and make it up to him somehow. Did summons eat? Maybe a big juicy steak would do the trick...

He stepped around the canine to crouch beside him, at an angle where his arm would sling comfortably around the dog’s neck. Would breaking his neck even work? Were his bones 'right' enough for that? Or would it be easier – cleaner – to stab his switchblade into the dog’s skull? He used his free hand to stroke Frederick’s head as he debated between options. “Do you think he’ll understand why?”


Dane Wayland

[Dane Wayland]

Dane only offered a small shrug, lip jutted into a too-sympathetic pout, as Nick called him cold and looked over his janky summon with some sort of newfound affection. "You said he wanted death," he pointed out, brow lifting expectantly. He watched the other man pet the wonky beast, cooing soft little comforts as he did so. Far different from the frown he'd sported before, when he'd let the dog slump to the ground and couldn't right it again. When he'd asked nonchalantly — unbothered at that point — how to "get rid of it". Perhaps he'd expected the answer to be something kinder. Or something he wouldn't have to deal with himself. A smirk flirted at one corner of his mouth as Nick added that killing their child was the most asshole thing a father could do. "You think so?" he asked curiously, lips tucking with amusement as he tipped his head to the side.

His own father would be relieved — possibly overjoyed even — to hear of his only remaining son's death. He'd orchestrated plenty of dangerous occasions and sent Dane into them, handicapped or alone, in the hopes that something or someone would manage to finish him off. Even sent people after him to do the job, Dane suspected. But he'd never tried to do it himself. Antonio enjoyed kicking him around like a disappointing dog, punishing him like a disappointing dog, but putting the dog down was someone else's job apparently. He wondered if it was plain and simple cowardice, fear of Mona's wrath, or if he was afraid he wouldn't be able to in the end. Like Nick and Frederick, maybe he'd be unexpectedly reluctant to swing that axe when it came down to it.

More likely, Dane imagined he just wasn't worth the personal effort.

"If it makes you feel better, think of it more like... putting the dog to sleep than killing your firstborn. It's a mercy at this point. I mean, look at him. Anyway," Dane shrugged again, reaching out to take the phone Nick offered up to him. "You're the one who made him, and made him the way he is, the least you can do is put him out of his misery."

He studied the open contact list, brow raising. Nick had mentioned he could give him the names of some fun people to kill and, judging by some of the curious monikers on offer before him, he figured that was true. Giving no singular name too much thought, he opened a new contact and put in his number (titling himself appropriately as Ash Ketchum). Then he closed everything, locked the phone, and handed it back, offering another noncommittal shrug as Nick asked if Frederick would understand "why". "He doesn't look in any sort of shape for higher thinking. Who knows. It's not like he'll be sitting in some void somewhere brooding on it until he's summoned again."

Dane turned away, pulling his own phone from Leslie's jogger pockets. "I'll give you two some privacy." He pushed open the bathroom door and stepped to the tub, glancing down at the body lying still at the bottom of the basin, eyes open and staring sightlessly. He hummed appreciatively and snapped a pic. "Some people are gonna be real happy to see this." He typed up some quick details and sent them to the appropriate parties, letting them know what they needed to know. "Maybe not Leslie," he mused with a quiet chuckle, then tipped his head. "Or maybe she will be? Still unclear on that." Immediately, there was a response. Text upon text landed on his screen, asking for more details. He rolled his eyes and pocketed the phone, giving Ray one last, disinterested glance before he stepped back into the hall, closing the door behind him and resting a hand on Snowcone's head to scritch between her ears.

"Well, Nicky, 'bout time I hit the pavement. This has been fun, we should do it again sometime, thanks for the stitches, yadda yadda..."

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: this is horrendous but here you go, just to end the thread lmao~


A mercy. He supposed that made sense. And Dane was right: Noah did say that Frederick wanted death and, looking at him, he’d be lying if he said he’d changed his mind about that observation.

He took his phone back from Dane, briefly turning it on again to check he’d actually put his number in, and promptly snorted at the fitting moniker he’d given himself. How nice. A perfect fit with the rest of his contacts list.

As Noah tucked the phone back into his pocket, Dane turned away and headed back to the bathroom, leaving Noah to deal with his failed summon.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighed. He ran his fingers through Frederick’s fur, scratched under his chin and between his ears in a way that he imagined a normal dog would love. There was no real change to Frederick’s expression, eyes blank as they locked on his, and Noah had to wonder if he could feel his touch at all. “Next time… I’ll make you better. So much better that you’ll forget about all this and we can start again. Deal?”

There was no response.

He gave his weird-ass dog a final peck on the forehead, shifted into position, then neatly snapped his neck. Frederick was gone in an instant, simply disappearing into thin air. It was a shame; when he’d taken Dane’s gift, he’d been half-hoping to get a new pet out of the experience.

Before Noah could starting waxing poetic in an attempt to be as obnoxious as possible, Dane trailed back into the hall and made it clear that their playdate was coming to a close. Although part of him wanted to pout, wanting to keep Dane around if only to be a distraction, Noah recognised that it was probably for the best. Dane’s creepy hunter pals were likely on their way. Leslie would come back eventually. And it was possible there were still cops prowling nearby, who might come across some drops of blood and decide to follow the trail.

Noah stood up and stretched, humming blissfully as he clicked a few joints. “You’re welcome, Daney-boy. I’d say ‘any time’ but, I reckon that’s enough drama for one day. Personally, I’m gonna go take a nap.” Although, when he said 'nap' he supposed he actually meant he was going to lay on his sofa and stare at the ceiling, completely consumed by imaginings of reaching out to the girl he’d traumatised. Fuck.

He moved to the front door and used his sleeve to open it, his gloves having already been stuffed in his back pocket. He paused there, glancing over his shoulder to give Dane one last eyebrow wiggle. “Hey, let’s party sometime. Maybe you can treat me with whatever scraps of that murder-money you get.” He gave him a mock salute with a wink. “See ya around. Good luck dodging the cops.” And then he was gone.


Dane Wayland