Loki (hamrammr) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2012-10-25 09:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, !plot, ~john mitchell (oe) |
Who: Mitchell and Cutler and open to wizards and Annie/Nina/George
Where: In an alleyway not far from the apartment buildings
What: Finding themselves in a rather unsatisfying arrangement
When: Early evening
Rating: Middle/high (due to language and the urge to kill each other)
Open: Yes
Status: Gdoced
Jesus Christ! Could whoever did this stop knocking him out with energy? Shit! His head hurt like hell and he felt dizzy enough to be immensely annoyed. Mitchell opened his eyes. Light. Bleary vision and a hurt that stroked his headache. He shut them again and blissful darkness surrounded him. What the fuck had happened? He dived into his memories… pub – he had been on his way to it. There – Cutler – he had run into him. The bastard had been playing with his phone – as usual – idiot! Couldn’t he fucking look where he was going? Maybe he had bumped into him. All Mitchell remembered was the pain. Jesus, he had enough of that for a lifetime by now. The vampire forced his eyes open again. Losing his conscience next to Cutler was not something he wanted to do. He didn’t trust the other man. He wouldn’t put it past him to stake him and let the various critters around here take the blame. Jesus, he had thought about doing it to Cutler a few times himself. Who would miss him anyway? Grey? Maryanne? They were just confused. Delusional. They weren’t able to see Cutler for who he really was. This place was better off without him. But he wouldn’t kill. Not anymore. A murder was still a murder. And sadly, Cutler hasn’t killed anyone yet. There wasn’t enough to justify his death. Couldn’t he just get himself killed? It wouldn’t be so bad if they could avoid each other. But here they were forced to live together. He was forced to hear him talk and read his annoying blogs. Seriously? Didn’t he have anything better to do? He came to loath his voice and that horrible picture on the internet. The man simply tried to annoy everyone as much as he can. And fuck Christ, he had succeeded. His presence made Mitchell itchy. He felt like a danger to him. He threatened the life he had started to build for himself here. First with his talk about donors and blood, then by luring Maryanne. And Jesus, the next time Cutler decided to blurt out Mitchell’s escapades the people might not be so supportive. He was a manipulative bastard! He didn’t want him near himself but more importantly, he did not want him near his friends. With a groan he slowly lifted his head. The sun was still painfully bright and the buildings still blurry. But he could make out that he lay on a sidewalk. A stone bore into his thigh, creating a dull pain. He tried to bend his leg to get more comfortable but he couldn’t. Something tugged at his foot. He sat up completely and his mouth fell open. Someone had to be shitting him. A luminous cord was bound around his boots, tightly clinging to it. It was a vibrant blue with streaks of white. It didn’t look like something you wanted to touch. But that wasn’t the worst. There - barely ten feet away from him - lay Cutler, the other end of the cord tugged around his foot. This was the worst joke ever. Mitchell got up, not caring if he woke Cutler with his movements. He tugged at the cord but the only result he got that Cutler’s foot jerked. Perfect! Someone really hated him. --- Being struck by lightning certainly hadn't factored into Cutler's plans for the day. The idea that he might be when he went outside hadn't even occurred to him, given that it was yet another bright and sunny day in Neverland. They had more of those than he generally liked, but it was better than being hailed on by Mitchell's moods. Cutler had been on his way to continue cataloguing the out of place objects in or on the city's buildings when he'd been struck. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself when that little project ran out. Maybe he'd start posting them all on the network. He'd been checking that on his phone at the time, too. Had he seen Mitchell? He hadn't really been paying attention. Even here, after everything that had happened over the previous months, technology still seemed to be a better way for him to connect and Cutler did not go anywhere without his phone. He couldn't say how much time had passed since being struck. It was still light outside though. Painfully so. Cutler's attempt at opening his eyes to find out what was going on was met with a blinding level of brightness. Not only did he close his eyes immediately, but he also moved his arm over his eyes. Too bright. He'd let them adjust slowly. In the meantime, the rest of him could realise how sore it was. Moving his arm had alerted him to it. Every muscle ached, and his head! Not only was it throbbing, but despite lying flat on his back on the pavement, it seemed to think he was doing a waltz. Cutler was brought out of his reflection on how shitty he felt buy a tugging on his leg. A tugging of something attached to his leg. He sat up with a groan, trying to ignore the sickening way his head reeled, and opened his eyes. He muttered an expletive under his breath. It was still incredibly bright out there. Cutler's eyes eventually adjusted though and he took in the luminous brightness of the shackle around his ankle. The clearly magical shackle. He followed the cord to see where it led, laughed and lay back back down on the pavement. Clearly this was someone's idea of a joke. He checked his pockets for his phone before realising he'd had it in his hands when he'd been hit. At least that meant that it had to be around here somewhere, though he sincerely hoped it wasn't fried. Cutler sat up again and examined the ground around him. It wasn't there. Standing up, despite the protest in his legs, he took in a larger radius around him. “Did you see my phone?” he asked with a frown. He needed to contact one of the wizards or mages or whatever it was they had here. --- When Cutler began to move, Mitchell wasn’t happy. When he talked, his mood went spiralling downwards. “Phone? We are bound together by - fuck! I don’t know even know what it is! And all you do is worry about your fucking phone?” he said accusingly. Anyone else and he wouldn’t have sounded so harsh. But Mitchell was pissed off. Immensely pissed off. He tugged at the cord once again. Nothing happened, it was strong. Nothing he could tear apart. Nonetheless, Mitchell tried, encouraged by his growing anger. This was shit. What the fuck had happened? --- Mitchell's words pounded through Cutler's skull, causing him to cradle his forehead with his fingers for a moment. This really did suck. "That phone," he sneered, "might help us with this." Cutler kicked out his shackled leg with the intent to tug on the cord between them so that Mitchell could feel it. It seemed to him a successful action, but one he regretted a little when his leg was back on the ground. Everything still hurt from being struck by apparently magical lightning. Mitchell seemed to think that further tugging on the cord might somehow help. Cutler frowned, did one last scan for his phone, then approached Mitchell. "Give me your phone," he requested, holding his hand out for it. By the time Mitchell got around to it they'd probably be in need of medical attention, having pulled each other over and no doubt tried to kill each other. He’d rather see if anything else could be done before getting to that. --- Mitchell glared at Cutler. Fuck, the other man was right. They could need help with this. The whole cord screamed ‘magic’. Grumbling, he chucked his phone over to Cutler. Throwing the thing was probably not the best idea but currently he did not care and no one would make him go close to the other vampire. That done, he crouched down and reached out to touch the cord. It felt smooth and slick. Nothing any cord should feel like. He ran his fingertips over it. It slid through his hands and fingers like a wet soap. He couldn’t feel a knot around his ankle or anything that suggested that the cord had an actual end. It was tight. No finger could be pushed underneath it. Suddenly, he gripped two parts of the cord and pulled at them in a manner to pull them apart. But the cord was too smooth and his fingers just couldn’t get a grip. Next, he wrapped it around his hands and tried again. Nothing. He pulled and tore and the result was a frustrating nothing. He didn’t even hear something. So much for the strength of a vampire. Shit! --- He hadn't expected Mitchell to just chuck the phone at him, so Cutler did fumble about trying to catch it. But catch it he did. "Careful," he grumbled as he straightened up. Cutler felt he shouldn't be surprised by Mitchell's lack of care for his own possessions. Git. While Mitchell inspected the cord some more and tested its limits, Cutler typed. First, a brief forum post on the net asking for the assistance of the island's magical types. Second, a mass text requesting much the same thing. Both stating their current location. He didn't really want an audience, but it was either that or divulge the nature of their predicament, which would probably still garner them the audience, plus an additional wait time while the arseholes got over their amusement. If it wasn't him, he'd be one of those arseholes. "Here," he extended his arm with the phone straight out to Mitchell, taking a single step. Surely he could take that. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be attached to him either. --- Mitchell practically yanked the phone out of Cutler’s hand. The first thing he did was to check what the other had posted. The vampire huffed. Not about the text. The text was okay. Too okay. He would have loved to complain but he couldn’t. “Great,” he said finally, summoning up the situation. He slumped down on the ground. Could the day get any worse? --- Cutler rolled his eyes as Mitchell snatched the phone away. Although if their roles had been reversed, he would probably have done much the same thing. Great did about sum it up though. Cutler let out a frustrated huff of a sigh before following suit and sitting as far away from the other vampire as the cord between them would allow. He sincerely hoped someone could do something about this. And soon. |