fourthwalled | Duplicity IC Inbox

Are you evading or is this lapse into being oblivious coincidental.

Coincidental.
Are you talking about giving people tattoos to make them bleed? Or something else?
I'm so confused right now.
And honestly, I was hoping I could stab someone. But that goes without saying.

I'm saying if someone crazy's putting an X on me, it might as well be you and you can just cut me.

Meanwhile let me get Logan out of this citation alive and we can plan to start some shit. You stab someone, I'll knock something down.

Okay. If that's what you want.

Ooooh, nice! Yes! I'll have to get my hands on some guns too. Maybe some plastic explosives. Those are always fun.

...great, see what you can find. Meanwhile meet me in the kitchen. We have knives.

[ ...Look, it'll keep Wilson occupied for a while and will only maybe blow up the building. On second thought- ]

Actually maybe we should start with finding a place to rent to store anything explosive.

on my way.

[he rolls off his bed. and yes, they've apparently just been texting each other in opposite rooms. once he sees scott in the kitchen he keeps up the conversation while sliding open the cutlery drawer.]

Afraid I'm going to blow up the apartment?

[pause.]

Good call. I did blew up mine back home.

[ Oh look, he's apparently going to play Chicken with Wilson now which means he's just getting cut by the guy. Because like hell he's not going to stay committed. ]

Small, sharp knife.

[ He peels his t-shirt off over his head, because he wants that in a boring location. ]

You'd better be good at straight lines. Yes, I'm worried about the apartment blowing up. How'd you manage that at 'home'?

[Wilson meanwhile has zero idea that Scott is playing a game of chicken, so he's gonna get cut! His fingers glide over the knives thoughtfully, faltering on the cream cheese spreader. Thoughts of Vanessa well up and he quickly clamps them down. Nope.] I was going to do with a cleaver, but paring knife it is. [He pulls said knife out of the drawer and shuts it with a clink and rattle of silverware.

The question leaves him quiet, pretending to be simply taking a look at his potential canvas, starting with Scott's back.]

I filled my apartment up with barrels of gasoline and light a cigarette... then laid on top of them-- so back shoulder? Chest? What are we thinking?

[ Yeah, yeah. he didn't expect Wade to be home, much less to jump but whatever. He points to the front of his shoulder, sort of above his pec on the left. ]

About 3" by 3".

[ And. Also. ]

Why were you trying to die?

[ That one's actually a bit softer and more sympathetic sounding. Definitely not 'cyclops'.]

Because I can't aim a cheese spreader.

[He answers evasively, coming around to his front, lifting the knife to the indicated spot. It stills just shy of skin. Shaking his head, voice quiet, he finally gives Scott a real answer.]

Vanessa. My fiancee. She got killed. Got caught in the crossfire of my stupid decisions...

[ Oh, ouch.

He wishes he empathized with that, but he empathizes strongly and he's way less of a jerk than he thought he was because he sympathizes, too.

He doesn't say anything, though the reason he's still standing there while Wilson points a knife at him changes.

He reaches up, moves the knife slightly and then nods. ]

Right there.

[It seems like Scott's not going to stop him, so he grasps Scott's shoulder tight with his free hand and presses in the knife, skin starting to split around the blade. He doesn't go too deep but needs to make sure it's enough depth to stick and scar properly once it heals. He starts to bring it down for the first strike of the X, concentrating and slow, not wanting to make a mistake.]

[ He doesn't flinch, though jaw does clench. Mostly he breathes and bleeds and stands steady. ]

What was she like?

She stuck with me. We met before all-- everything.

[Before he became what he became. He finishes the first slash, noting the blood and how it's flowing down Scott's chest. But he's not asked him to stop, so he'll keep going, moving on to the final slash.]

Tried everything to help save me when I got sick. And when I got all scarred. I thought she'd want nothing to do with me. She did though. She could match me in any stupid conversations... we were talking about having kids together. Kids.

[ Scott has had a lot worse than a couple of cuts with a sharp knife, and had a lot less say in what was being done to him. This won't leave the prettiest mark, but it'll be what he needs it to be. ]

How old were you when you got sick?

[It's a relatively simple little X, so it's not going to take long. Perhaps he should have sterilized the knife rather than simply snatching it out of the drawer. Ah, well. What's a little infection between Dom and Sub?]

Thirty-eight or so. Or at least that's how old Ryan Reynolds was when they filmed my first movie.

Sounds like a decent guess, then.

[ He just... rolls with this stuff, now. Also he has a first aid kit, somewhere, he's pretty sure he can throw some alcohol on it and not die. ]

How long were you with her?

About four years. [He pulls the knife back and leans back to have a look. It's an 'X' that's for sure. Not exactly the work of a master artist but it's an 'X'.]

[ Scott looks down and around - his angle's not great, but good enough, even with the blood. Definitely an X and good enough. ]

Put that in the sink. How long's she been gone?

[He takes the knife to the sink and drops it in, washing his hands before wiping them off on his pants. It's all to distract himself and to put some distance between the words coming out of his mouth and how he feels about them.]

Not long. Few months before I got here.

[ Scott heads to the sink behind Wilson - even touches the middle of his back. The purpose appears, at least, practical. He has blood all over his chest. He's still bleeding, actually. ]

I was already with Emma when we lost Jean. [ Near enough, anyway. ] I never stopped loving her and I certainly never got over it -- but it eventually gets easier to breathe.

[Her catches a growing hardness in his throat when the hand lands on his back, forcing it back down to steady himself.]

I've stopped trying to kill myself. So that's an improvement. [That's not to say he did a whole lot to try and keep from getting hurt, even still. He just stopped drinking drainer fluid and jumping into lion exhibits.] I'll get you a towel. And the first aid kit.

[He moves to go to the bathroom.]

[ He has more to say, but it can wait while Wade gets the first-aid kit. He just leans back and waits. Turns over words in his head, wonders if he's going to say anything else meaningful or let it go.

He wants to let it go.

That means he shouldn't, so when Wade comes back. ]

The last time I saw Logan before he came here, I tried really hard to get him to kill me. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm still suicidal.

Are you? [He asks while sopping up the blood on Scott's chest with a towel. The current situation as it is, it is a good question.]

[ He uses one hand to get the first aid box and to decide if he's going to answer that. Offering a point of connection and understanding to Wade was one thing. Answering that feels like more than that.

Also, to answer it he has to really think about it. That's... not a thing he really wants to do. ]

I'm not trying to die. I'm pretty ticked off that no one on happy family island stays dead. I'm sure you can relate.

[ He has got to figure out who the shit he is without the x-men though. Cyclops doesn't work here and it doesn't feel like Scott exists anymore and - ]

This really isn't supposed to be about me, Wade.

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CW: suicidal ideation.

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