[ i am sorry to report that the purring noise happens again when therion pets his ears and unbraids his hair, he's the happiest foxian in the world. it's surprising for him, actually. normally the softer stuff doesn't do anything for him, but. for whatever reason, when it's therion, he takes what he can get and savors it. it makes him sleepy, too, and eventually those half-purrs and his absent chatter get slower and dreamier until he actually does pass out in therion's lap, curled close.
it's not like either of them are particularly warm people, but he presses against therion's stomach, snug, stealing whatever body heat is happening under this blanket. he'll be like that until morning or until therion pushes him off his lap, either one.
and then it's the next day. jiaoqiu is annoying, the entire time. he stays close, and never wanders too far out of therion's line of vision. he's calm and easy-going, not bothered by the fact that they're spending time at this hotel. the goal is to counteract therion's nervous energy.
it's sort of nice to not have to go to work? and really, he likes hanging out all day with therion, doing stupid hotel shit, chilling at the bar, being very bad at video games in the arcade, making faces at the pool. he convinces therion to curl up on their frankly massive bed in their room and watch stupid movies. and when he gets tired of that, he does his best to annoy therion into railing him into the mattress, because what else do you do when you have a five star mattress and a fancy bathtub for after?
it's two days, maybe three, and they're in the room. jiaoqiu is sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, watching therion do whatever he's doing. he's probably admiring the bite marks he left on him. ]
I'm thinking of going downstairs to find us something to eat.
[ initially, the idea of spending a few days in one place knowing what was outside made therion - internally, at least - twitchy. it's not really anyone's fault but his own, for a variety of reasons. there's the fact that he generally doesn't like to be tied down, sure. there's the fact that he chose to be with another person during this time. he tells himself that's deranged of him to do, and yet.
... and yet, it's not, really. the last night in the safehouse was quiet, and he'd be stupid to not realize that having company then was more of a boon than a curse. sure, he'll never admit to himself that he felt better being in that room with jiaoqiu's company. he'll never, ever admit to himself that it made him less anxious, less strung out as a whole, because he was distracted. because he had company, because he opened up his trust a tiny, tiny bit to let someone in, and he slipped through the door like a fox might do.
and he'd be equally stupid not to admit to himself that it makes him feel better to know that jiaoqiu's not getting into trouble. it's not that he doesn't think he's capable, necessarily, he just recognizes he deeply lacks a survival instinct. he might be willing to place parts of his own survival into jiaoqiu's hands - lets him tend his wounds, slinks in when he's injured instead of curling around himself in an alley - but he is not nearly so ready to trust jiaoqiu with. well. jiaoqiu. so.
...so, it's not been that bad. he's twitchy, yes, but he's not unhappy. the hotel is a weird, novel experience - he steals an incredibly nice suit and brushes his hair and checks them in in style, gets the room upgrade just for being so charming (a truly laughable thing to anyone who has ever spent five minutes in his actual company) and then off they go. the counteract to the nervous energy... works. it doesn't work perfectly: he is paranoid, and he will always be paranoid, especially right now, but jiaoqiu lessons it drastically. he finds that he enjoys it more than he thought he was going to, which is scary. he likes the way that quiet seems to melt between them, sometimes. he likes that jiaoqiu is present, too.
and in the end, fooling around at the fancy arcade, the pool, the hot tub in the room, ordering room service... it all feels like playing pretend, right down to having jiaoqiu there with him, but for a couple days, it's not too bad. by the time they're nearing the end of the stay, there's a little less tension on therion's shoulders - at the moment, he's seated on the floor with no shirt on, painting his nails black just for the sake of doing it. the room smells vaguely of acetone and nice soap, after a morning romp through the sheets he was absolutely goaded into. after a few days of this, he feels all... soft... and weird... and... not relaxed, but definitely better, and... clean? wild.
when jiaoqiu speaks up, therion glances over his shoulder at him, raising his eyebrows. ]
Hot pot again? [ he is going to explode from all this spicy food but then again, spending this much time around jiaoqiu means he's getting used to it. ]
[ there's something about watching therion ease up over the days they're here.
the initial bit is rough - jiaoqiu absolutely made a nyeh face when therion showed up in a suit and checked them in with all that glitz and glamor. he cleans up nicely, but jiaoqiu vastly prefers the grit. he likes the therion that creeps in through his windows and stuffs wads of cash into the drywall and wears his clothes to threadbare. once he's got therion out of the suit and back to normal, he starts to ease too - and it's far better than he thought it'd be. he watches therion grin at him, he watches therion joke and tease him and never relax, not really, but something close.
it does feel a little like playing pretend. dreamy and sort of unreal, the kind of thing he'd never indulge in while drifting. but it's not unwelcome. it's about the best thing he's had in years. he's spoiled, he thinks. he's so present. there's not a single time in these three days that he's turned off, and it's a little overwhelming to be so open to the world around him. he can remember everything - he hasn't lost hours to the void. therion probably has noticed the difference.
this much time with him makes it really difficult for jiaoqiu to keep lying to himself about how he's starting to feel, but he's doing his best. which is not very, as he watches therion paint his nails. his chest is burning with it, expression softer than he means for it to be. ]
It cures all ails. [ he says, cheerfully, tail wagging absently. ] I can go pick some up while your nails dry.
[ it's a marked thing, jiaoqiu's presence. he's come to visit him over short spans of days where he saw jiaoqiu only return to reality two days in, because therion got frustrated and dragged him out of it by his feet, forced the lights on through brute force. but here - never once, in the past few days, has he watched jiaoqiu wade into the muck, not even for a second. he is lively, and bright enough to hurt therion's eyes, but for once, he hasn't squinted to look away.
this is the best way he could have possibly handled this, though he doesn't really realize it. his own paranoia combined with the most tentatively formed trust in the world has solidified into icy ground, slippery and spiderwebbed with cracks, but thickening by the day. eating meals together, spending time together, curling up to watch movies together - therion likes horror movies and complains at romantic subplots, makes shitty commentary throughout every film like the worst person - has slowly eased apart some of the barbed wire in his ribcage, and bit by bit, maybe he's starting to heal. that's the thing. wounds of betrayal run deep: but when you learn how to have faith in others again is when you slowly begin to heal.
of course, none of this is in his mind at the moment. the only thing on his mind at the moment is not fucking up his ring finger with the black paint before he inevitably ruins it by biting his nails, and the siren call of hot pot.
he glances up at jiaoqiu, eyes moving to his wagging tail and then back to his face, a little judgy but clearly amused. ]
Didn't realize you were ailing. [ but okay. ] Don't use a card.
[ the paranoia never goes away, actually, but, you know. they've been down to the hot pot place a couple of times now, so - it should be fine, but still. ]
After this morning, it's amazing that I can walk...
[ he says, in a joking tone - exaggerated, always making fun of himself for being old or not athletic. the judgy look does not bother him in the least. it's clear he's as amused as therion is. ]
I'll use cash. Pick another movie to watch for when I'm back, hm?
[ he slides off the bed, and presses a kiss to therion's cheek, because he can. because there's trust there, because he can't get enough of being able to kiss therion, because there's some measure of healing happening for both of them. and then he straightens up, running his fingers through therion's hair absently. on goes his jacket, and a scarf that he's been in a months-long battle with therion over - it's his today, therion can have it tomorrow - and he's off. he'll be right back.
he should be right back. but... an hour passes, and he isn't. it shouldn't take this long, right? ]
I'll start apologizing when you stop asking for it.
[ this could be a terrible thing to say only it is so true. in fact, if they didn't go at each other with this intensity, it probably never would've gotten here in the first place. needless to say, it was not hard to convince therion to rail him into the bed at all.
the kiss to his cheek, like it has lately, makes his stupid little heart squeeze up in his chest like a wrung out dishtowel - he looks up from what he's doing when he runs his hand through his hair, even, and there's a blink and you'll miss it hint of a tiny, tiny smile as he ducks his head back down, a 'hah' noise escaping his mouth at the thought of a movie. ]
Yeah, yeah. [ a pause, as he's at the door, stealing his scarf (rude?) and then - ]
... Be careful. [ therion says, and watches him leave the room.
and then he's gone. time passes. he finishes his shitty paint job that he'll inevitably pick off with his teeth in two days, and he scrolls through the room service offerings, and he waits. and he waits. and he waits.
at forty minutes, he starts to feel a twist in his gut. it's not so much the time passing - sometimes places like that take time. he has stood in line with jiaoqiu at any number of hole in the wall places in this city where he's been told that the wait is because of the culinary techniques or something that he kind of tuned out when he bitched about it taking forever. so it's not the time. it's his gut.
therion trusts his gut. it is in fact, the only thing in the entire world (maybe?) that he trusts. he knows when things are going south, and when a heist isn't worth it, and when he needs to book it. it's rare that he's completely surprised. and there is something in his gut that is telling him something is wrong. he looks over at the nightstand, looks at the empty room.
and then he gets up, feeling dread starting to build in his chest, and shoves his feet into his boots, zips up his coat and puts on his hoodie, and descends the emergency exit staircase of the fancy, fancy hotel, back out into the shadows like he's supposed to be. the entire time, his heart thuds, as he makes his way down the street. maybe he tripped off into the void he always seems to stand at the edge of and walked in front of traffic. no, that's stupid. maybe he's just exchanging cooking secrets with the granny who owns this tiny hot pot place. that seems more likely. no matter what it is, he cannot stop that awful, gnawing feeling of dread growing the further down the street he makes it, when he doesn't see any pink.
and when he gets to the restaurant, he slips in silently past the crowd, and combs the entire place, top to bottom, looking - looking. ]
[ the restaurant is pretty full, but - jiaoqiu is the kind of person that stands out in a crowd. there's no sign of pink hair, tail or ears. he's not outside, and he's not on the streets around, he's not talking to the cashier or the owner. there's no trace of him at all - did he even ever get here?
most of the crowd is human, save for the borisin at the corner of the room. everybody gives them a huge berth, sliding away from tables close to them as they tear into their food. there's a couple of whispers, even, that therion might catch. whispers like are they even allowed to be here? and who is going to tell them to leave?
they're chatting, the borisin, between ravenous bites. laughing about something, a job. easiest job they've ever done, even. the boss is going to be entertained for weeks with this one - there's nothing like a deal born of mutual convenience. what a sucker that one guy is, right? ]
[ that's - worrying. all of this is worrying, actually. the sight of the borisin more or less confirms his bad juju feeling, and he watches them tear at their barely cooked dinner for an uneasy moment. it brings to mind the look on jiaoqiu's face when he came back with that bite, the way he'd had to force himself not to have a panic attack, the story he'd told him, the parts he'd insinuated by reading between the lines.
don't tell me you did something stupid. therion thinks to himself, probably unfairly. maybe jiaoqiu saw the borisin and got spooked- therion's not an optimist, so he doubts it. and, even if he had, wouldn't he have just come back to the hotel? but a little, nasty, all too familiar voice in his head reminds him, why run to another predator if you're afraid?
that aside, it's unusual to see them out and about in this ritzy, fancy quarter of the city, and the thought immediately has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, every iota of slight relaxation forgotten. thankfully, this part is something he's very good at. with a large crowd, therion is able to seamlessly slip into the takeout line and towards the restrooms, blending into the vibrant atmosphere and stopping close enough to eavesdrop.
[ it is weird that they're here - it's a ritzy part of town and most borisin in this city aren't known to be really rolling in cash. fortunately, they're blabbermouths, grunting at each other as they eat the rare meat in front of them.
okay - but we don't tell the boss we took the foxian's money, right? that can just be between the two of us. he practically gave it away. and it's not like the boss needs it, that's not what he's interested in. but like, just in case. because he did have to pay that ginger guy a lot of money for the info, so maybe he would've liked to have whatever cash was on him. ah well, it's too late, we spent it already. this place is so fancy. haha, but maybe we should head back faster to get seconds. think the boss will keep any leftovers?
okay. well. the entire world crashes around his ears into shattering glass, and the ringing of their words echoes long after the initial break. this is exactly what he was trying to avoid. and it's not. jiaoqiu betraying him, it's therion's shitty fucking life throwing a wrench into it, instead. go figure, right? go fucking figure. he hears ginger guy and he hears them talking about eating and it is years, and years, and years of being himself that he doesn't react physically or verbally, doesn't move or even breathe harshly, just holds perfectly, silently still as the world comes rapidly back into focus again. bright colors. survival instinct. determination takes over for fear.
do something. it's already happened. there's no sense in drowning in it, there's only stopping it, and that's just what he has to do. if therion's heart is in his gut, it's always been there. it's time to get moving.
thank god jiaoqiu took his fucking scarf - therion smells like therion and nothing else at the moment, which will help him avoid detection, and he is good at that. he's trailed borisin a few times before, plucked their profits from under their stupid furry noses just to show that he could, and this is no different, as he slides out into the night behind them and begins to follow. silent stepped, a shadow of nothingness, alert in every way possible and his hand on his trusty switchblade in his pocket, he starts to put together a plan.
won't tread on your manor, darius had said. fucking liar. what else is new. ]
[ the borisin are clueless - they're not particularly good at thievery, they're good at brute force, brute strength. they don't have any idea therion is tailing them, and are stupidly confident enough that as they make it out of this part of town and off to the darker, sketchier part of it, they end up leading therion somewhere that seems like a bar.
there are borisin everywhere, here. they're all snapping at each other and drinking, loitering outside around the chainlink fence. and they're wary. this is their turf. they won't be letting anybody onto it. he can hear their chatter fine enough.
so what do you think they're talking about? it's gotta be something big. that foxian hasn't been around in ages, do you think he's done collecting info or whatever? one of the borisin says to another, knocking back ale. the other shrugs. better have been a pretty good haul.
the two that he's been following go right in. when they open the door, therion can hear the sounds of cheering, taunting - like a crowd following a fight. he can't follow as is, but there are plenty of hidey holes around this place. ]
[ cool. great! hate that. therion moves quickly and silently, tailing the two sort of men with relative ease. Can always count on a bunch of brawny goons to lead the way. figures it'd be to the nearest tavern. therion's been in his fair share of borisin infested places in the underground, though maybe not here, and he knows how these kinds of things go, so he easily makes his way through the guys snapping at each other. when one of them seems like they might catch on, he shifts just enough to knock a drink over from one borisin onto another, and disappears deeper into the outdoor area of the bar itself.
therion reaches the front doors with relative ease, and pauses for - barely a moment, just long enough, because he thinks every single second wasted here is going to be a lost cause, every second is a second that fucking darius ruins his poorly constructed life for the second fucking time and he's not letting it happen, he's not letting it ruin jiaoqiu's life, not letting him die, because he might not have a death wish but therion wants to keep him alive.
so. instead of immediately slipping through the front entrance, he goes to the side. he finds a jacket, tossed off to the side by a borisin. he puts it on. lets it soak into his skin, long enough that he's got wolf hair on his clothes, the smell on his body, and then sets it right back where he found it. it's as he's doing this that he overhears the bit about the foxian - he stills, for a second, and steps to the shadows, melding in around him as he listens.
[ there's the sound of fighting where therion slips past - fur flies, honestly, he managed to cause a fair bit of chaos when the drink got knocked over. but he stops to listen, and there's another conversation, half grunts and growls.
wasn't he with the boss for a while? yeah. he was his right hand, right? right hand, if you know what i mean - but more seriously, yeah, aside from the stress relief the boss kept him around for the finicky shit that nobody wants to do with paperwork and stuff, and like, medical work. boss said he sent him out to canvas, that's why he's been scarce around here. guess he found a good target? don't know why he didn't come back immediately, but you know, i heard that ginger guy sniffing around talking about therion, you know, the little rat thief? d'you think that was the target? hah, what a fucking chump in that case, that pink fucker is good at getting under people's skin. you heard about --
and that's the gist of it, as they fade into another conversation about one of the fighters in the ring in the tavern. ]
he's almost preparing himself for it. hasn't he prepared himself for this this entire time? it's been - almost a year now. a year of careful, tentative interactions, a year that has culminated in letting him into his safehouse. into letting jiaoqiu in, letting him into his life, into the barbed wire, gnarled scar tissue he's protected his fragile heart with. into three days spent in a high class hotel to protect him, into eat your food, you're too skinny and i like it when you stay. he'd stayed. for jiaoqiu, with him, he'd stayed.
for a moment, therion's rooted to the spot. the fucking maelstrom of his own emotions are kept buried because his survival instinct is stronger than any other instinct or emotion he's ever had, but he feels the world tunnel vision briefly, and everything coalesces into a bitter, angry sludge. so easy to manipulate. touchy feely fool.
he should just fucking leave. he's putting his own skin on the line, and for what? for who? does he actually know who jiaoqiu is? what has he fucking done?
it's a long, long moment that he stands there, feeling sick, feeling angry, feeling heartbroken, though he'd never admit it, feeling - falling. he's falling again. crashing to the ground in a heap of broken limbs and shattered dreams of partners. that's what he fucking gets. you never fucking learn, do you, therion? didn't you figure this out, already, that you can't trust anyone but yourself? whatever was tentatively built is, for the moment, shattered to the ground, crushed like a bug under his heel, and left there to die.
...but the thing is. you can't trust word of mouth, either. no. it's not that he disbelieves it, necessarily. but it's not that he believes it, either. he'll have to see it for his own eyes. draw the answers out of him himself, if he has to. might as well get the proof.
so he rolls his shoulders. therion takes a breath, and he pulls his hood up. fixes his bangs, so they're styled a little different, still covering the majority of his eye but showing that nasty battle scar right down his cheek. and then he strides right out into the main area of the bar, straight up to the bar itself - confident, like he owns the fucking place, and he leans on it. no one here knows what he looks like. even if they know who he is. ]
Oi. [ therion says, banging one fist on the bar to get the attention of the barkeeper, his voice affixed entirely differently - gravelly, lower pitched, and a cockney accent, pitch perfect. ] Lord Darius [ ew ] sent me 'round t'have a rabbit with the boss.
[ he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper folded around a hefty chunk of cash - a three second quick with the hands production in his corner before he strode out here, and waves it slightly. his heart is pounding, and it's not because he's afraid of a single bad breathed furry moron in this place. ] 's the crust for ya.
[ the bartender ignores him at first, not inclined to serve a human first. nobody knows what therion looks like, they just know his name - but therion is smart. his name wouldn't have a lot of weight around here anyway. this is the right way to do this, to sneak right in.
the cash gets him noticed. the bartender's lip curls, and he takes the cash. shoves it away. waves a hand, and turns to go peek through a door behind the bar proper, vanishing for a moment. when he comes back, he gestures for therion to follow him. apparently, the name darius is enough. the borisin around here don't know the details enough to have a name for this ginger guy.
the bartender leads him back behind the bar, and then gestures. go through this door, up the stairs. hoolay is waiting. knock first, he might be eating. whatever lord darius has to communicate can wait until he's finished, but go on ahead.
and sure enough, there's... well. it's hard to tell what the noise is. it certainly sounds like a wild animal tearing into something, behind that door. if therion listens close enough, he might hear the very faint whimper of something between the snarls. ]
[ the perfect picture of annoyed nonchalance, he passes a handful of the cash to the bartender wordlessly - the gesture of someone who has been in these spaces a thousand times, the kind of thing if he didn't know would get him caught, immediately. and just like that, he's in. once the door to the bar shuts behind him, he immediately looks around, and then creeps down the hallway, then presses his ear to the door.
the noises inside are horrifying, and among all that snarling, he hears that - that tiny, faint whimper, and his heart jumps, and for a second, he forgets all about what he just heard. he should run away, should get the hell out of here and just leave jiaoqiu alone, it's what he'd deserve, but that's not the whimper of someone having a good time.
and so, touchy feely fool, stupid fucking tea leaf who can't learn, is going to do something. he can't just bust in, because he is not that kind of guy. therion is no knight in shining armor - a knight in a scarf that doesn't belong to him, jiaoqiu had said with a smile on his face, making fun of him for sneaking in with his coffee that he'd bought him - and he is no hero. but what he is is smart.
he looks around, up the stairs. he looks for something noisy. for a window. for anything in this that might serve him that's not just therion and a dark hallway and a now muffled bar. ]
[ he's in a hallway, of sorts - there are several other doors on this floor, and a window that looks like it's never been opened in the entire time this building has existed. it's covered by a big curtain. along the hallway are a couple of side tables with all sorts of spoils displayed on them, as well as a couple of lit candles merrily flickering in the dark. there's electricity in this building, but for whatever reason, none of the lights are on. there's a rug that spans all the way to the end of the hallway.
he can check out the other rooms if he wants, they don't seem to be unlocked. but he probably doesn't have a lot of time - hoolay knows he's coming. and if he's not prompt, there's a good chance the boss of the borisin will think that the guy that got in is trying to rob him. how funny, that the thief is here not for baubles but for something else entirely. ]
[ therion immediately looks through the spoils. if there's any liquor in here - the good, expensive kind, that's the first thing he goes for. he gets his switchblade under the lid and pops it off, sticks his thumb in the neck so the liquor pulls out quietly onto the rug.
he waits. waits, waits too fucking long it feels like, for every agonizing passing second until there's a particularly loud snarl, and then he kicks the wall, so the table full of spoils rattles and crashes, and loudly. and more importantly, it brings down a bunch of the treasures and baubles, and more importantly than that, it brings down the candle onto the liquor soaked rug.
he's not even waiting to see if his plan works - the second he kicks the side table he scatters, skittering past the main door and into one of the unlocked rooms, and puts the shut door back exactly how it was, heart pounding, leaning on it as he waits. waits again, swearing to himself, eyes closed tight and holding his breath. ]
[ yeah there's probably some liquor in there, honestly. there's probably a whole cabinet full of it even, so he's got his pick.
and then he waits. there are no more whimpers, but the snarls do get pretty loud - until therion kicks the wall. the candle falls, and immediately the rug goes up in flame, and it's that violent sort of flame, quick and unstable. he skitters into a room - it's a bathroom, small and cramped - and listens. what he hears is the snarling coming to a stop, a heavy thudthudthud of someone crossing the room, opening a door, and then cursing. immediately there's shouting, and chaos out in the hallway. several doors slam against the wall as they're flung open, and there's a call for water, and a what the fuck happened? and alarmed noises as the fire starts to spread.
there's a gruff, bass voice shouting orders as the owner descends the stairs.
the second floor is on fire! but it seems like whatever was eating has left. did it leave its meal behind? maybe. who knows. ]
[ small and cramped is fine. he's up, off the floor, standing on whatever furniture is there and plastered to a wall in silence, holding his breath, heart pounding, listening. therion pulls his collar up over his nose as the sound gets further away, and he the second he deems it safe enough, he pushes the door open and runs for the other door in all of the chaos, using the cover of smoke and noise and shouting to dash inside of the door formerly occupied by hoolay.
he'll pick the lock in fucking record time if he has to, but otherwise, he's in and out and locks the door behind him, and then whirls around, what are we looking at. ]
[ it's not locked! he can just get in. he locks the door behind him and leaves the second floor on fire.
what he gets is an office that smells very strongly of iron. it's a pretty nice office, actually. spacious. there are bookshelves across the back wall, meticulously in order and very likely never read. a nice rug, a couple of portraits that seem very, very expensive across the walls. there's a desk with documents littered over the top, as well as a small desk lamp. there's a chair. someone is sitting in it, but - there's something more pressing. the source of the iron smell.
there's a tarp on the ground in front of the desk, which seems kind of hysterically fastidious for the amount of carnage on top of the tarp.
there are bodies! four of them. they're various heights, ages, gender - there's no rhyme or reason. it's also a little difficult to tell what they may have looked like, because they're ripped to shreds. two of the four are missing their arms. the other two are missing a leg, a hand. they seem dead. if they aren't, it's not going to be long before they are, blood leaking from gory, ripped apart torsos, crunched bones, clawed faces. looks like therion interrupted hoolay's meal after all.
but, back to the desk. because the person sitting in the chair has pink and red hair, and is unmistakably who therion is looking for. jiaoqiu sits in that chair, but his eyes aren't on therion. his eyes are on the bodies, gold eyes open and flat. ]
unfortunately, therion is not going to be saving any of those people, and he is not so kindhearted as to help them. he's not, after all, jiaoqiu. he's seen some pretty horrible things on the streets, but this is the first time he's been up this close and personal with this much gore all at once, and it even stops him in his tracks. the entire tableau he's looking at - from the dead or near dead corpses, the body parts and the gore to the person sitting in the chair, forced to stare at it.
he's forgotten all about the talk of betrayal, at that sight, at least right now. instead, he bounds across the room, nearly fucking vaults over the sight of the bodies or soon to be bodies, avoids the blood and skids across the desk, sending shit scattering everywhere. with the smell of smoke in the air and fire burning in the hallway, he takes one second to look for the closest window, so there's an exit - god he hopes there's an exit or they're both dead - but otherwise, he puts himself between jiaoqiu and the bodies when he gets across the desk, and looks him over, looks at the red, looks for injuries, at those flat eyes, is he alive looks to see if he's tied to this chair or held there by his own horror, and then he just - ]
Jiaoqiu. Jiaoqiu!
[ it's hissed, and then a little louder, and therion grabs his stupid face, and shakes it, tries to force him at least for a second back to life long enough that he can get him moving, he doesn't have to be present but he has to see if he's conscious. what if he's dead? he can't panic about it, he can't waste a single second, they have to get going and they have to go now.
selfishly, selfishly, he's so fucking glad it's not jiaoqiu on the ground, despite those brief thoughts of spite and fury in the hallway downstairs, he is so fucking glad. ]
he's tied to the chair, arms wrenched behind him, around the back of the chair, bound at the wrists. he's also not in the best shape. his clothes are torn, and he has... chunks, bitten out of him. his shoulder is in pretty bad shape, as is his leg - crunched, a bit, or at the very least pulled out of the socket. his face is starting to bruise, half his hair is soaked with blood. but the crazy thing is it seems like whatever did this was holding back. like playing with your food.
jiaoqiu doesn't really wake up when therion hisses his name. he barely even looks, or reacts, to having his face shaken. he just stares blankly at therion, like he's trying to comprehend. at least behind him there is a window.
behind them, something rattles at the door. and then, furious, that voice from earlier roars open the door, jiaoqiu!
and then the ramming starts, as hoolay throws his body against the door. someone realized he left his pet fox in a room that could catch fire. ]
[ nope. NOPE!! thank fucking god there's a window. ]
Shit. [ therion says, the swear a hiss under his breath when he realizes - he looks briefly just. horrified, stunned, but the sound of someone thundering up the stairs is enough to jar him back into action. don't bleed out. he thinks, desperately, sliding off the desk and getting behind him with his switchblade. one quick motion - he cuts the ropes or the zipties or whatever the fuck it is, and then - god, there's so much blood, there is so much blood, he can't just move him cleanly in a way that's not going to hurt, but it doesn't matter. i'd rather you be hurt than dead, he thinks, half desperate, half hysteric at himself and his own thought process. he should be bolting, leaving jiaoqiu behind, because he is uninjured and safe, but he doesn't hesitate for a fucking second as he bounds to the window and throws it open.
eyes on the door, he rips off the stupid - his stupid fucking scarf, he rips it off and he ties it around his leg, god, his leg, enough to try and stabilize it so it doesn't get jarred any worse than its already going to, and then he grabs jiaoqiu's good arm and throws it over his own shoulder and lifts him up on his back. thank god he's light.
(complaining, god you're heavy when jiaoqiu draped on him in that stupid hotel room. that feels like years ago.)
the window's wide enough that he can get through it with his package. there's a fire escape. in a funnier day he'd think god borisin are so fucking stupid, but he doesn't, because his heart is slamming so hard against his ribcage he's going to get sick. with jiaoqiu, he's not nearly as limber as usual, but he looks - are there other buildings nearby, or is it just a random ass bar.
if there are bars or other buildings, instead of going down, he starts going sideways - across to the next building, up, up, going for the roof, and under his breath, snarls: ] Don't you dare fucking die. Don't you dare fucking die. Jiaoqiu, fucking making a noise, tell me you're conscious.
[ there's anger but there's a thread of panic too. he keeps saying his name, and therion never, ever says his name. ]
[ it's okay, jiaoqiu doesn't even seem to react all that much - there's a harsh breath when therion wraps his leg, but other than that he's pretty limp. at least he doesn't argue therion picking him up. he just rests his head on therion's shoulder. it's a simple movement, but there's so much trust there that it aches. he's out of it, but it doesn't matter. instinctively, he knows therion, and knows that wherever therion is taking him, it's safe. it'll be safe.
just as therion gets them out the window, he can hear the door splinter and break.
but he's off - off he goes, across the fire escape, and to the other buildings. it's a pretty crammed city block, so it'll be easy to get up to the rooftops from the escapes. he'll hear snarling and yelling down below and behind, as the borisin start to assemble themselves. they're going to follow. it'll be hard to catch the scent, but they're both covered in blood now, and jiaoqiu is dripping it with alarming frequency, so there's not an insignificant chance that they can catch up.
on the jiaoqiu front, there's no answer at first. for a long moment, he's disconcertingly silent, hanging loosely. there's just white noise, behind his eyes, in his ears, all around him. the sludge is up to his nose, and he can't breathe. it's just - there's a voice. a familiar voice, one that is angry but not growling. it's not from a mouth with sharp fangs. it's his name. he hears his name, and tries so very hard not to pass out. and after a long moment, his functioning hand twitches. he curls his fingers into the fabric of therion's hoodie. it seems like that's all there's going to be, but then jiaoqiu's grip tightens, and he drags in a wet, staggered breath, and yanks. ]
Watch. Watch rooftops. Darius. [ he manages, with an exhale that sounds more like a rattle. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
it's not like either of them are particularly warm people, but he presses against therion's stomach, snug, stealing whatever body heat is happening under this blanket. he'll be like that until morning or until therion pushes him off his lap, either one.
and then it's the next day. jiaoqiu is annoying, the entire time. he stays close, and never wanders too far out of therion's line of vision. he's calm and easy-going, not bothered by the fact that they're spending time at this hotel. the goal is to counteract therion's nervous energy.
it's sort of nice to not have to go to work? and really, he likes hanging out all day with therion, doing stupid hotel shit, chilling at the bar, being very bad at video games in the arcade, making faces at the pool. he convinces therion to curl up on their frankly massive bed in their room and watch stupid movies. and when he gets tired of that, he does his best to annoy therion into railing him into the mattress, because what else do you do when you have a five star mattress and a fancy bathtub for after?
it's two days, maybe three, and they're in the room. jiaoqiu is sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, watching therion do whatever he's doing. he's probably admiring the bite marks he left on him. ]
I'm thinking of going downstairs to find us something to eat.
[ he says, with a little yawn. ]
no subject
... and yet, it's not, really. the last night in the safehouse was quiet, and he'd be stupid to not realize that having company then was more of a boon than a curse. sure, he'll never admit to himself that he felt better being in that room with jiaoqiu's company. he'll never, ever admit to himself that it made him less anxious, less strung out as a whole, because he was distracted. because he had company, because he opened up his trust a tiny, tiny bit to let someone in, and he slipped through the door like a fox might do.
and he'd be equally stupid not to admit to himself that it makes him feel better to know that jiaoqiu's not getting into trouble. it's not that he doesn't think he's capable, necessarily, he just recognizes he deeply lacks a survival instinct. he might be willing to place parts of his own survival into jiaoqiu's hands - lets him tend his wounds, slinks in when he's injured instead of curling around himself in an alley - but he is not nearly so ready to trust jiaoqiu with. well. jiaoqiu. so.
...so, it's not been that bad. he's twitchy, yes, but he's not unhappy. the hotel is a weird, novel experience - he steals an incredibly nice suit and brushes his hair and checks them in in style, gets the room upgrade just for being so charming (a truly laughable thing to anyone who has ever spent five minutes in his actual company) and then off they go. the counteract to the nervous energy... works. it doesn't work perfectly: he is paranoid, and he will always be paranoid, especially right now, but jiaoqiu lessons it drastically. he finds that he enjoys it more than he thought he was going to, which is scary. he likes the way that quiet seems to melt between them, sometimes. he likes that jiaoqiu is present, too.
and in the end, fooling around at the fancy arcade, the pool, the hot tub in the room, ordering room service... it all feels like playing pretend, right down to having jiaoqiu there with him, but for a couple days, it's not too bad. by the time they're nearing the end of the stay, there's a little less tension on therion's shoulders - at the moment, he's seated on the floor with no shirt on, painting his nails black just for the sake of doing it. the room smells vaguely of acetone and nice soap, after a morning romp through the sheets he was absolutely goaded into. after a few days of this, he feels all... soft... and weird... and... not relaxed, but definitely better, and... clean? wild.
when jiaoqiu speaks up, therion glances over his shoulder at him, raising his eyebrows. ]
Hot pot again? [ he is going to explode from all this spicy food but then again, spending this much time around jiaoqiu means he's getting used to it. ]
no subject
the initial bit is rough - jiaoqiu absolutely made a nyeh face when therion showed up in a suit and checked them in with all that glitz and glamor. he cleans up nicely, but jiaoqiu vastly prefers the grit. he likes the therion that creeps in through his windows and stuffs wads of cash into the drywall and wears his clothes to threadbare. once he's got therion out of the suit and back to normal, he starts to ease too - and it's far better than he thought it'd be. he watches therion grin at him, he watches therion joke and tease him and never relax, not really, but something close.
it does feel a little like playing pretend. dreamy and sort of unreal, the kind of thing he'd never indulge in while drifting. but it's not unwelcome. it's about the best thing he's had in years. he's spoiled, he thinks. he's so present. there's not a single time in these three days that he's turned off, and it's a little overwhelming to be so open to the world around him. he can remember everything - he hasn't lost hours to the void. therion probably has noticed the difference.
this much time with him makes it really difficult for jiaoqiu to keep lying to himself about how he's starting to feel, but he's doing his best. which is not very, as he watches therion paint his nails. his chest is burning with it, expression softer than he means for it to be. ]
It cures all ails. [ he says, cheerfully, tail wagging absently. ] I can go pick some up while your nails dry.
no subject
this is the best way he could have possibly handled this, though he doesn't really realize it. his own paranoia combined with the most tentatively formed trust in the world has solidified into icy ground, slippery and spiderwebbed with cracks, but thickening by the day. eating meals together, spending time together, curling up to watch movies together - therion likes horror movies and complains at romantic subplots, makes shitty commentary throughout every film like the worst person - has slowly eased apart some of the barbed wire in his ribcage, and bit by bit, maybe he's starting to heal. that's the thing. wounds of betrayal run deep: but when you learn how to have faith in others again is when you slowly begin to heal.
of course, none of this is in his mind at the moment. the only thing on his mind at the moment is not fucking up his ring finger with the black paint before he inevitably ruins it by biting his nails, and the siren call of hot pot.
he glances up at jiaoqiu, eyes moving to his wagging tail and then back to his face, a little judgy but clearly amused. ]
Didn't realize you were ailing. [ but okay. ] Don't use a card.
[ the paranoia never goes away, actually, but, you know. they've been down to the hot pot place a couple of times now, so - it should be fine, but still. ]
no subject
[ he says, in a joking tone - exaggerated, always making fun of himself for being old or not athletic. the judgy look does not bother him in the least. it's clear he's as amused as therion is. ]
I'll use cash. Pick another movie to watch for when I'm back, hm?
[ he slides off the bed, and presses a kiss to therion's cheek, because he can. because there's trust there, because he can't get enough of being able to kiss therion, because there's some measure of healing happening for both of them. and then he straightens up, running his fingers through therion's hair absently. on goes his jacket, and a scarf that he's been in a months-long battle with therion over - it's his today, therion can have it tomorrow - and he's off. he'll be right back.
he should be right back. but... an hour passes, and he isn't. it shouldn't take this long, right? ]
no subject
[ this could be a terrible thing to say only it is so true. in fact, if they didn't go at each other with this intensity, it probably never would've gotten here in the first place. needless to say, it was not hard to convince therion to rail him into the bed at all.
the kiss to his cheek, like it has lately, makes his stupid little heart squeeze up in his chest like a wrung out dishtowel - he looks up from what he's doing when he runs his hand through his hair, even, and there's a blink and you'll miss it hint of a tiny, tiny smile as he ducks his head back down, a 'hah' noise escaping his mouth at the thought of a movie. ]
Yeah, yeah. [ a pause, as he's at the door, stealing his scarf (rude?) and then - ]
... Be careful. [ therion says, and watches him leave the room.
and then he's gone. time passes. he finishes his shitty paint job that he'll inevitably pick off with his teeth in two days, and he scrolls through the room service offerings, and he waits. and he waits. and he waits.
at forty minutes, he starts to feel a twist in his gut. it's not so much the time passing - sometimes places like that take time. he has stood in line with jiaoqiu at any number of hole in the wall places in this city where he's been told that the wait is because of the culinary techniques or something that he kind of tuned out when he bitched about it taking forever. so it's not the time. it's his gut.
therion trusts his gut. it is in fact, the only thing in the entire world (maybe?) that he trusts. he knows when things are going south, and when a heist isn't worth it, and when he needs to book it. it's rare that he's completely surprised. and there is something in his gut that is telling him something is wrong. he looks over at the nightstand, looks at the empty room.
and then he gets up, feeling dread starting to build in his chest, and shoves his feet into his boots, zips up his coat and puts on his hoodie, and descends the emergency exit staircase of the fancy, fancy hotel, back out into the shadows like he's supposed to be. the entire time, his heart thuds, as he makes his way down the street. maybe he tripped off into the void he always seems to stand at the edge of and walked in front of traffic. no, that's stupid. maybe he's just exchanging cooking secrets with the granny who owns this tiny hot pot place. that seems more likely. no matter what it is, he cannot stop that awful, gnawing feeling of dread growing the further down the street he makes it, when he doesn't see any pink.
and when he gets to the restaurant, he slips in silently past the crowd, and combs the entire place, top to bottom, looking - looking. ]
no subject
most of the crowd is human, save for the borisin at the corner of the room. everybody gives them a huge berth, sliding away from tables close to them as they tear into their food. there's a couple of whispers, even, that therion might catch. whispers like are they even allowed to be here? and who is going to tell them to leave?
they're chatting, the borisin, between ravenous bites. laughing about something, a job. easiest job they've ever done, even. the boss is going to be entertained for weeks with this one - there's nothing like a deal born of mutual convenience. what a sucker that one guy is, right? ]
no subject
don't tell me you did something stupid. therion thinks to himself, probably unfairly. maybe jiaoqiu saw the borisin and got spooked- therion's not an optimist, so he doubts it. and, even if he had, wouldn't he have just come back to the hotel? but a little, nasty, all too familiar voice in his head reminds him, why run to another predator if you're afraid?
that aside, it's unusual to see them out and about in this ritzy, fancy quarter of the city, and the thought immediately has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, every iota of slight relaxation forgotten. thankfully, this part is something he's very good at. with a large crowd, therion is able to seamlessly slip into the takeout line and towards the restrooms, blending into the vibrant atmosphere and stopping close enough to eavesdrop.
Alright, big mouth. Keep talking. ]
no subject
okay - but we don't tell the boss we took the foxian's money, right? that can just be between the two of us. he practically gave it away. and it's not like the boss needs it, that's not what he's interested in. but like, just in case. because he did have to pay that ginger guy a lot of money for the info, so maybe he would've liked to have whatever cash was on him. ah well, it's too late, we spent it already. this place is so fancy. haha, but maybe we should head back faster to get seconds. think the boss will keep any leftovers?
they're already starting to get up to leave. ]
no subject
haha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
okay. well. the entire world crashes around his ears into shattering glass, and the ringing of their words echoes long after the initial break. this is exactly what he was trying to avoid. and it's not. jiaoqiu betraying him, it's therion's shitty fucking life throwing a wrench into it, instead. go figure, right? go fucking figure. he hears ginger guy and he hears them talking about eating and it is years, and years, and years of being himself that he doesn't react physically or verbally, doesn't move or even breathe harshly, just holds perfectly, silently still as the world comes rapidly back into focus again. bright colors. survival instinct. determination takes over for fear.
do something. it's already happened. there's no sense in drowning in it, there's only stopping it, and that's just what he has to do. if therion's heart is in his gut, it's always been there. it's time to get moving.
thank god jiaoqiu took his fucking scarf - therion smells like therion and nothing else at the moment, which will help him avoid detection, and he is good at that. he's trailed borisin a few times before, plucked their profits from under their stupid furry noses just to show that he could, and this is no different, as he slides out into the night behind them and begins to follow. silent stepped, a shadow of nothingness, alert in every way possible and his hand on his trusty switchblade in his pocket, he starts to put together a plan.
won't tread on your manor, darius had said. fucking liar. what else is new. ]
no subject
there are borisin everywhere, here. they're all snapping at each other and drinking, loitering outside around the chainlink fence. and they're wary. this is their turf. they won't be letting anybody onto it. he can hear their chatter fine enough.
so what do you think they're talking about? it's gotta be something big. that foxian hasn't been around in ages, do you think he's done collecting info or whatever? one of the borisin says to another, knocking back ale. the other shrugs. better have been a pretty good haul.
the two that he's been following go right in. when they open the door, therion can hear the sounds of cheering, taunting - like a crowd following a fight. he can't follow as is, but there are plenty of hidey holes around this place. ]
no subject
therion reaches the front doors with relative ease, and pauses for - barely a moment, just long enough, because he thinks every single second wasted here is going to be a lost cause, every second is a second that fucking darius ruins his poorly constructed life for the second fucking time and he's not letting it happen, he's not letting it ruin jiaoqiu's life, not letting him die, because he might not have a death wish but therion wants to keep him alive.
so. instead of immediately slipping through the front entrance, he goes to the side. he finds a jacket, tossed off to the side by a borisin. he puts it on. lets it soak into his skin, long enough that he's got wolf hair on his clothes, the smell on his body, and then sets it right back where he found it. it's as he's doing this that he overhears the bit about the foxian - he stills, for a second, and steps to the shadows, melding in around him as he listens.
the foxian collecting info? ]
no subject
wasn't he with the boss for a while? yeah. he was his right hand, right? right hand, if you know what i mean - but more seriously, yeah, aside from the stress relief the boss kept him around for the finicky shit that nobody wants to do with paperwork and stuff, and like, medical work. boss said he sent him out to canvas, that's why he's been scarce around here. guess he found a good target? don't know why he didn't come back immediately, but you know, i heard that ginger guy sniffing around talking about therion, you know, the little rat thief? d'you think that was the target? hah, what a fucking chump in that case, that pink fucker is good at getting under people's skin. you heard about --
and that's the gist of it, as they fade into another conversation about one of the fighters in the ring in the tavern. ]
no subject
he's almost preparing himself for it. hasn't he prepared himself for this this entire time? it's been - almost a year now. a year of careful, tentative interactions, a year that has culminated in letting him into his safehouse. into letting jiaoqiu in, letting him into his life, into the barbed wire, gnarled scar tissue he's protected his fragile heart with. into three days spent in a high class hotel to protect him, into eat your food, you're too skinny and i like it when you stay. he'd stayed. for jiaoqiu, with him, he'd stayed.
for a moment, therion's rooted to the spot. the fucking maelstrom of his own emotions are kept buried because his survival instinct is stronger than any other instinct or emotion he's ever had, but he feels the world tunnel vision briefly, and everything coalesces into a bitter, angry sludge. so easy to manipulate. touchy feely fool.
he should just fucking leave. he's putting his own skin on the line, and for what? for who? does he actually know who jiaoqiu is? what has he fucking done?
it's a long, long moment that he stands there, feeling sick, feeling angry, feeling heartbroken, though he'd never admit it, feeling - falling. he's falling again. crashing to the ground in a heap of broken limbs and shattered dreams of partners. that's what he fucking gets. you never fucking learn, do you, therion? didn't you figure this out, already, that you can't trust anyone but yourself? whatever was tentatively built is, for the moment, shattered to the ground, crushed like a bug under his heel, and left there to die.
...but the thing is. you can't trust word of mouth, either. no. it's not that he disbelieves it, necessarily. but it's not that he believes it, either. he'll have to see it for his own eyes. draw the answers out of him himself, if he has to. might as well get the proof.
so he rolls his shoulders. therion takes a breath, and he pulls his hood up. fixes his bangs, so they're styled a little different, still covering the majority of his eye but showing that nasty battle scar right down his cheek. and then he strides right out into the main area of the bar, straight up to the bar itself - confident, like he owns the fucking place, and he leans on it. no one here knows what he looks like. even if they know who he is. ]
Oi. [ therion says, banging one fist on the bar to get the attention of the barkeeper, his voice affixed entirely differently - gravelly, lower pitched, and a cockney accent, pitch perfect. ] Lord Darius [ ew ] sent me 'round t'have a rabbit with the boss.
[ he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper folded around a hefty chunk of cash - a three second quick with the hands production in his corner before he strode out here, and waves it slightly. his heart is pounding, and it's not because he's afraid of a single bad breathed furry moron in this place. ] 's the crust for ya.
no subject
the cash gets him noticed. the bartender's lip curls, and he takes the cash. shoves it away. waves a hand, and turns to go peek through a door behind the bar proper, vanishing for a moment. when he comes back, he gestures for therion to follow him. apparently, the name darius is enough. the borisin around here don't know the details enough to have a name for this ginger guy.
the bartender leads him back behind the bar, and then gestures. go through this door, up the stairs. hoolay is waiting. knock first, he might be eating. whatever lord darius has to communicate can wait until he's finished, but go on ahead.
and sure enough, there's... well. it's hard to tell what the noise is. it certainly sounds like a wild animal tearing into something, behind that door. if therion listens close enough, he might hear the very faint whimper of something between the snarls. ]
no subject
the noises inside are horrifying, and among all that snarling, he hears that - that tiny, faint whimper, and his heart jumps, and for a second, he forgets all about what he just heard. he should run away, should get the hell out of here and just leave jiaoqiu alone, it's what he'd deserve, but that's not the whimper of someone having a good time.
and so, touchy feely fool, stupid fucking tea leaf who can't learn, is going to do something. he can't just bust in, because he is not that kind of guy. therion is no knight in shining armor - a knight in a scarf that doesn't belong to him, jiaoqiu had said with a smile on his face, making fun of him for sneaking in with his coffee that he'd bought him - and he is no hero. but what he is is smart.
he looks around, up the stairs. he looks for something noisy. for a window. for anything in this that might serve him that's not just therion and a dark hallway and a now muffled bar. ]
no subject
he can check out the other rooms if he wants, they don't seem to be unlocked. but he probably doesn't have a lot of time - hoolay knows he's coming. and if he's not prompt, there's a good chance the boss of the borisin will think that the guy that got in is trying to rob him. how funny, that the thief is here not for baubles but for something else entirely. ]
no subject
he waits. waits, waits too fucking long it feels like, for every agonizing passing second until there's a particularly loud snarl, and then he kicks the wall, so the table full of spoils rattles and crashes, and loudly. and more importantly, it brings down a bunch of the treasures and baubles, and more importantly than that, it brings down the candle onto the liquor soaked rug.
he's not even waiting to see if his plan works - the second he kicks the side table he scatters, skittering past the main door and into one of the unlocked rooms, and puts the shut door back exactly how it was, heart pounding, leaning on it as he waits. waits again, swearing to himself, eyes closed tight and holding his breath. ]
no subject
and then he waits. there are no more whimpers, but the snarls do get pretty loud - until therion kicks the wall. the candle falls, and immediately the rug goes up in flame, and it's that violent sort of flame, quick and unstable. he skitters into a room - it's a bathroom, small and cramped - and listens. what he hears is the snarling coming to a stop, a heavy thudthudthud of someone crossing the room, opening a door, and then cursing. immediately there's shouting, and chaos out in the hallway. several doors slam against the wall as they're flung open, and there's a call for water, and a what the fuck happened? and alarmed noises as the fire starts to spread.
there's a gruff, bass voice shouting orders as the owner descends the stairs.
the second floor is on fire! but it seems like whatever was eating has left. did it leave its meal behind? maybe. who knows. ]
no subject
he'll pick the lock in fucking record time if he has to, but otherwise, he's in and out and locks the door behind him, and then whirls around, what are we looking at. ]
no subject
what he gets is an office that smells very strongly of iron. it's a pretty nice office, actually. spacious. there are bookshelves across the back wall, meticulously in order and very likely never read. a nice rug, a couple of portraits that seem very, very expensive across the walls. there's a desk with documents littered over the top, as well as a small desk lamp. there's a chair. someone is sitting in it, but - there's something more pressing. the source of the iron smell.
there's a tarp on the ground in front of the desk, which seems kind of hysterically fastidious for the amount of carnage on top of the tarp.
there are bodies! four of them. they're various heights, ages, gender - there's no rhyme or reason. it's also a little difficult to tell what they may have looked like, because they're ripped to shreds. two of the four are missing their arms. the other two are missing a leg, a hand. they seem dead. if they aren't, it's not going to be long before they are, blood leaking from gory, ripped apart torsos, crunched bones, clawed faces. looks like therion interrupted hoolay's meal after all.
but, back to the desk. because the person sitting in the chair has pink and red hair, and is unmistakably who therion is looking for. jiaoqiu sits in that chair, but his eyes aren't on therion. his eyes are on the bodies, gold eyes open and flat. ]
no subject
unfortunately, therion is not going to be saving any of those people, and he is not so kindhearted as to help them. he's not, after all, jiaoqiu. he's seen some pretty horrible things on the streets, but this is the first time he's been up this close and personal with this much gore all at once, and it even stops him in his tracks. the entire tableau he's looking at - from the dead or near dead corpses, the body parts and the gore to the person sitting in the chair, forced to stare at it.
he's forgotten all about the talk of betrayal, at that sight, at least right now. instead, he bounds across the room, nearly fucking vaults over the sight of the bodies or soon to be bodies, avoids the blood and skids across the desk, sending shit scattering everywhere. with the smell of smoke in the air and fire burning in the hallway, he takes one second to look for the closest window, so there's an exit - god he hopes there's an exit or they're both dead - but otherwise, he puts himself between jiaoqiu and the bodies when he gets across the desk, and looks him over, looks at the red, looks for injuries, at those flat eyes, is he alive looks to see if he's tied to this chair or held there by his own horror, and then he just - ]
Jiaoqiu. Jiaoqiu!
[ it's hissed, and then a little louder, and therion grabs his stupid face, and shakes it, tries to force him at least for a second back to life long enough that he can get him moving, he doesn't have to be present but he has to see if he's conscious. what if he's dead? he can't panic about it, he can't waste a single second, they have to get going and they have to go now.
selfishly, selfishly, he's so fucking glad it's not jiaoqiu on the ground, despite those brief thoughts of spite and fury in the hallway downstairs, he is so fucking glad. ]
no subject
he's tied to the chair, arms wrenched behind him, around the back of the chair, bound at the wrists. he's also not in the best shape. his clothes are torn, and he has... chunks, bitten out of him. his shoulder is in pretty bad shape, as is his leg - crunched, a bit, or at the very least pulled out of the socket. his face is starting to bruise, half his hair is soaked with blood. but the crazy thing is it seems like whatever did this was holding back. like playing with your food.
jiaoqiu doesn't really wake up when therion hisses his name. he barely even looks, or reacts, to having his face shaken. he just stares blankly at therion, like he's trying to comprehend. at least behind him there is a window.
behind them, something rattles at the door. and then, furious, that voice from earlier roars open the door, jiaoqiu!
and then the ramming starts, as hoolay throws his body against the door. someone realized he left his pet fox in a room that could catch fire. ]
no subject
Shit. [ therion says, the swear a hiss under his breath when he realizes - he looks briefly just. horrified, stunned, but the sound of someone thundering up the stairs is enough to jar him back into action. don't bleed out. he thinks, desperately, sliding off the desk and getting behind him with his switchblade. one quick motion - he cuts the ropes or the zipties or whatever the fuck it is, and then - god, there's so much blood, there is so much blood, he can't just move him cleanly in a way that's not going to hurt, but it doesn't matter. i'd rather you be hurt than dead, he thinks, half desperate, half hysteric at himself and his own thought process. he should be bolting, leaving jiaoqiu behind, because he is uninjured and safe, but he doesn't hesitate for a fucking second as he bounds to the window and throws it open.
eyes on the door, he rips off the stupid - his stupid fucking scarf, he rips it off and he ties it around his leg, god, his leg, enough to try and stabilize it so it doesn't get jarred any worse than its already going to, and then he grabs jiaoqiu's good arm and throws it over his own shoulder and lifts him up on his back. thank god he's light.
(complaining, god you're heavy when jiaoqiu draped on him in that stupid hotel room. that feels like years ago.)
the window's wide enough that he can get through it with his package. there's a fire escape. in a funnier day he'd think god borisin are so fucking stupid, but he doesn't, because his heart is slamming so hard against his ribcage he's going to get sick. with jiaoqiu, he's not nearly as limber as usual, but he looks - are there other buildings nearby, or is it just a random ass bar.
if there are bars or other buildings, instead of going down, he starts going sideways - across to the next building, up, up, going for the roof, and under his breath, snarls: ] Don't you dare fucking die. Don't you dare fucking die. Jiaoqiu, fucking making a noise, tell me you're conscious.
[ there's anger but there's a thread of panic too. he keeps saying his name, and therion never, ever says his name. ]
no subject
just as therion gets them out the window, he can hear the door splinter and break.
but he's off - off he goes, across the fire escape, and to the other buildings. it's a pretty crammed city block, so it'll be easy to get up to the rooftops from the escapes. he'll hear snarling and yelling down below and behind, as the borisin start to assemble themselves. they're going to follow. it'll be hard to catch the scent, but they're both covered in blood now, and jiaoqiu is dripping it with alarming frequency, so there's not an insignificant chance that they can catch up.
on the jiaoqiu front, there's no answer at first. for a long moment, he's disconcertingly silent, hanging loosely. there's just white noise, behind his eyes, in his ears, all around him. the sludge is up to his nose, and he can't breathe. it's just - there's a voice. a familiar voice, one that is angry but not growling. it's not from a mouth with sharp fangs. it's his name. he hears his name, and tries so very hard not to pass out. and after a long moment, his functioning hand twitches. he curls his fingers into the fabric of therion's hoodie. it seems like that's all there's going to be, but then jiaoqiu's grip tightens, and he drags in a wet, staggered breath, and yanks. ]
Watch. Watch rooftops. Darius. [ he manages, with an exhale that sounds more like a rattle. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)