Rorie O'Bannon (roriemccool) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2010-08-19 01:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | malakai, rorie |
Sunday July 20th, 2008
Who: Rorie and Malakai
What: Introductions and getting sick
Where: The hotel room
When: Morning
Rating: PG-13
Rorie had slept through the night, his aches and pain gone by morning. A healer called in the middle of the night by Garret while he was sleeping. Rolling over and finding no Garret Rorie sat up and rubbed his face a bit as he looked around for a blob that resembled his boyfriend. Slipping on his glasses, he looked down and found himself in just Garret’s shirt and his own underwear, a pair of black boxer-briefs. Getting up he padded to the bathroom noticing that he didn’t have any pain. He slipped the shirt off and looked in the mirror. The cuts and bruises were gone, his lip healed, no wonder he felt so much better.
Smiling softly he thought of Garret mentioning that they were going to need to get an apartment soon. Letting it be for now, not wanting to push it, he just enjoyed the fact that Garret wanted to be with him so much. Continuing his search for the man, he buttoned up his shirt a bit and rolled up the arms, the whole article of clothing big on him still, he stepped outside to the main area. “Hello?” He called a bit apprehensively, remembering the others that were still there. Floppy rust colored hair hung in his face as he tucked a few strands behind his ear stepping out further into the main area.
Malakai had woken up fairly early in the morning and decided he wanted to make himself breakfast. Of course, that was his habit every morning. He was grateful for the opposable thumbs and more refined palate granted to humans than he would have expected as a hound. Omelets sounded good to him, so he grabbed a skillet, setting it on the stove to heat while he grabbed eggs, cheese, onions and peppers.
He heard the bedroom door open and someone walk out. The body smelled faintly of Garret, but with a younger, smoother scent underneath. "Come on into the kitchen," he called out, his voice friendlier than normal. No sense scaring the poor kid senseless before he even had something to eat. "You hungry?"
Biting his lip nervously, Rorie walked to the kitchen to find and slender man with sharp features cooking. He was thankful for the shirt at least, the last thing he wanted was to really meet someone for the first time in his underwear. Staring curiously, he inched forward, obviously cautious. After all his brother had abused him and he thought he knew the man, it wouldn’t pay to suddenly trust this stranger even if Garret knew him. “Hi,” he said softly watching him fix the food.
“I am a bit,” he nodded when asked if he was hungry. Nervous fingers played with the hem of Garret’s shirt while he watched curiously as the other cooked. “Where’s Garret?” He asked wondering where the older man was. He’d probably feel a bit more relaxed and less anxious that he was right then. After the week he was having, he was probably prepared to throw the man across the room if he had to. . . Maybe. . .
Malakai chopped the onion and peppers with quick efficiency before setting them aside to focus on grating the chunk of sharp cheddar cheese, all with his back to Rorie. He didn't need to turn around, since he could smell the guy's location easily enough. And what he smelled were nerves. This guy was anxious and scared. Probably right to be so, given the way he'd shown up to the place. Mal couldn't smell blood anymore, but that didn't mean the kid was over it.
"Garret stepped out for a while. I didn't ask where he was going. Cherry's still back in the room sleeping." It wasn't like they were alone in the room, but Mal would understand if Rorie wanted to high-tail it out as soon as possible. Scrambling eggs briskly, he poured the eggs into the pan, grabbing a spatula to work the mess. “So what do you want on your omelet?"
“Okay,” he said as he felt a bit calmer since the man was just working with the food. He didn’t seem to be a threat to Rorie, nothing was poised to suddenly pounce or attack at least. “Um. . . Everything you have,” he said thinking about it. The waking up part was still taking its time as he leaned against the counter, watching curiously now. Anxious nerves were settling as he moved closer still. “Smells good,” he said craning his long neck around to see how the man was coming along.
“I’m Rorie,” he said softly, blinking as the yellow of the eggs got splashed with color from the other ingredients. “So. . . Are you special? Like Garret and I?” He asked curiosity getting the better of him. Of course he’d been told a million times over again that curiosity killed the cat, but he figured he’d rather die knowing than ignorant.
Mal turned back to the fridge, pulling out some cold ham and dicing it up. "Glad you think so. You didn't wake up last night, so I figured you'd be hungry this morning." Expertly, he dropped the diced veggies, meat and cheese on the cooked egg and waited for it to warm up slightly. To help it along, he held a hand over the top, heating his palm to melt the cheese.
"I'm Malakai, but you're welcome to call me Mal." Turning to look over his shoulder for a moment, he smiled. "You could say I'm special." He looked back at the pan, folding over the eggs and sliding it to a plate. "I saw you come in last night." Mal wondered if Rorie could figure out he was the hound on the sofa.
“Yeah, I was really tired,” Rorie said, not expanding on it. He didn’t feel like talking about his situation with a complete stranger. “Long drive from Boston and I was having a bad day yesterday,” he said as he watched the man cook the food. “Yeah, I didn’t eat last night and I’m kind of starving,” he chuckled putting a hand to his flat belly as he smelt the good food that was being cooked.
“Cool,” Rorie said nodding, giving him a small smile in return. He watched the food finished cooking as he listened to the other. “Oh?” He said thinking for a moment. He hadn’t really looked around when he first got there, after having everything happen so fast he hadn’t really noticed anything in his peripheral vision besides something big and dark with a naked woman. “Oh. . . You were on the couch. . . With the woman,” he said with sudden realization. “Are you a were?”
Mal smiled, his back to Rorie. The kid was observant for someone who'd come in scared witless. "I know. I'm not a were." Turning around, he set the plate in front of Rorie, along with a fork, knife and napkin. Moving back to the stove, he started fixing his own breakfast. Same thing, but double the size. Shifting burned so many calories that he didn't need to worry about.
“What are you then? If you don’t mind me asking,” Rorie said as he set the food in front of him. “Thank you,” he said before going to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice and poured himself a glass before setting the jug aside for Mal. Taking a bite of his food he nodded in appreciation. “It’s really good,” he said before taking a sip of juice to cool it down for him.
Mal nodded his head in response to the thanks. He'd been around long enough cooking was easy for him to do. Especially something as simple as omelets. "I'm a hellhound." He said it casually, not even worried that it might cause Rorie to freak out. Mal was pretty sure it would. He'd had similar reactions over the past several months from people, so it wouldn't be anything new. His stomach growling, Mal sped up the cooking process, heating the eggs, meat and cheese before folding it onto his plate. Slices of bread went into the nearby toaster just before he moved to the table.
“A. . . Hellhound?” Rorie asked blinking, not sure if he heard right. All he knew of hellhounds were from church. They were described as insatiable beasts that came after those who sold their souls to the devil and then had to pay their dues. Hellhounds were the devil’s bounty hunters and came after everyone without discrimination. Did Garret know this? Shifting a bit uneasily, he didn’t feel too threatened. The other was obviously not a hound right then and didn’t seem to be after him. Of course Rorie didn’t make any deals with the devil so he wasn’t too worried. Had Garret though? The thought made him a bit panicky, that as soon as he found someone like the older man he was going to be ripped away.
Mal nodded. "Yup. A hellhound." He ate a forkful of egg, watching the play of expressions across Rorie's face from the corner of his eyes. His nose gave away a lot of what the guy was feeling too. Shock, confusion, fear, panic. Mal didn't generally go out of his way to reassure anyone, but he smiled gently. "I'm not taking anyone to hell today so you can relax."
“Oh. . . Okay,” Rorie said blinking. Usually he was a mask of indefinable emotions, but somehow this guy seemed to know what he was feeling. Maybe he was part empath, maybe he could smell it. They always said that animals could smell fear, well maybe Mal could smell all emotions. He didn’t really know a whole lot about every specie or power or what there was, so he felt it was better and safer not to assume anyone’s limits. “Sorry. . . I don’t really know a lot about hellhounds aside what I was taught in church,” he said feeling awkward now. Here he was the some how ever faithful Catholic having breakfast with a hellhound. God help him if his parents found out.
Mal nodded, getting up to move to the toaster. Casually, he pulled out the slices of hot bread and set them in front of Rorie along with the butter, moving back to start his own. "Well, chances are what they told you in church is probably wrong." It seemed like he was always correcting people about hellhounds. Not surprising though. "So tell me what you know and I'll fill in the blanks."
“Thank you,” Rorie said as he received the toast. Despite what Mal was, there really wasn’t a need to be rude since he was receiving good food and hospitality. “Well,” he said thinking as he buttered his toast. “What I was taught in church, I’m Catholic by the way, was that hellhounds are the devil’s bounty hunters. If someone made a deal with him then when the deal was done the devil would send his hellhound after the person for their soul.” That was about it. He was a big horror movie buff, even owned all three Omen movies, but something about the hellhounds had made him keep from finding out more about them.
Mal nodded. "Catholics seem to have it closer to the truth than anyone else. What you've said is about right. For one layer." The toast popped again so he stood and grabbed his, coming back to the table. "You a fan of Greek mythology?"
"Um. . . Not really. I wasn't allowed to really study it growing up and I never got into it after I moved out," Rorie said honestly. He took a bite of his toast, chewing before sipping his juice. "It's different that what the priest said?" He asked curiously now that seemed like Mal wasn't a threat like he was supposed to believe.
Mal avoided rolling his eyes. Someone that hadn't ever heard of the gods? Hades, the god of the Underworld and his lair named for him. The great guardian Cerebrus unfairly tamed by the "hero" Hercules. This was gonna be some work.
"You need to go do some research, but I'll give you the basic rundown. There's a lot of different hounds, and each of us have our own job. Some have multiples. There are entrances to Hades, you'd call it Hell, from earth. Some hounds guard those gates. Some collect souls. Some keep the souls inside. Others do various errands for the Lord of the Underworld and the demons they serve."
“Um. . . Okay.” Rorie listened to each type of hound there was. It seemed that it was close to how many types of angels there were. That was pounded into his head, of course he didn’t really there were patron saints and angels to serve every purpose and what not, but he wasn’t about to go into depth about that. He was listening to Mal. “So what kind of hellhound are you? Do they come up to earth often or were you kicked out? Are you considered a ‘nice’ hellhound because you don’t do that anymore or do you still and you just have a lot of free time?” Rorie asked, questions a million miles a minute like usual.
Mal chuckled. It was refreshing to be around someone willing to ask questions. The last person who'd hounded him like that was Cassie, and she was already a demon, knowing a fair bit about him. "I can't tell you all my jobs, because I'm not allowed, but I am a soul collector." Spreading his toast with butter, he took the rest of the questions in order. "I'm stationed earthside. Hellhounds aren't kicked out, they're killed. I'm far from nice. I have a lot of free time because I'm supposed to collect souls that believe in the Gods." Pouring a glass of orange juice, he drank then bit into the toast, crumbs dropping on his eggs.
“Believe in Gods? Like the Greek mythology Gods?” Rorie asked. “So. . . I wouldn’t have to worry about you or any hellhound coming to collect my soul then?” He asked curious now if not really relieved. “So what do you do in your free time since you have so much of it, aside from. . . The obvious,” he said. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the man was doing there, he just felt it would be better to just avoid the elephant in the room for now. No he didn’t mind that Garret was sleeping with the other man, but he didn’t really feel the need to discuss it. What he and Garret did wasn’t Rorie’s business and what Garret and Rorie did wasn’t Mal’s business. Simple as that.
Shaking his head, Mal clarified. "You wouldn't have to worry about me collecting your soul. There's hounds for various religions." Polishing off his toast, he answered. "I'm a professor at TJS. Currently I'm teaching languages and demonic lore. If need be, I'll pick up another class." Mal wasn't interested in the details of Garret's relationship. He could smell enough as it was.
“Oh. . .” Rorie said, eyes darting around a bit. “Is it just when someone’s been sinful or does EVERYONE get taken by a hellhound?” He asked curiously if not a bit paranoid. Flashes of nuns and rulers and his parents talking about gays going to hell popping into his head. Nearly shaking his head physically, he pushed those thoughts away before he finished his food, taking a drink of his juice before looking back at Mal, kind of curious as he looked him over wondering what he looked like as a hound.
"Nope," he answered, finishing up the remainder of his omelet. Maybe he'd make himself another one. He was still hungry. "There's a heaven and a hell. We hounds just follow orders and take who we're told. We don't choose." It probably didn't make Rorie feel any better, but that wasn't Mal's concern. He was a demon of the worst kind, and only recently decided to stop being an ass for this decade. Personalities took a bit of time to change.
Nodding Rorie decided to leave it alone, rather than dig further. “So how long have you been teaching at TJS?” He asked sipping his drink, finding it rather comfortable to be around the other despite what he was. It was like an oxymoron or a bad joke. So a Catholic and a hellhound share a hotel room and lover. . . Though what the end of the joke was, he didn’t know and wasn’t sure he did want to know either.
"I joined up during the middle of the spring semester." Mal had only been working there a couple months before the school let out for the holiday. He was looking forward, oddly enough, to being able to teach a class from beginning to end. "If I remember right, you're a recent addition to the students. Along with your brother?"
“Oh so not too long then,” he said with a nod. Hearing his brother mentioned, Rorie froze. This was not something he wanted to talk about. Keeping his eyes down and trying to keep calm, he stared at the glass on table to just focus on something. “Uh. . . Yeah,” he said softly. “I got here about a month ago, Finn about two weeks,” he said, that glass the only thing he was looking at. He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t, but as usual when things got too stressful for Rorie his powers went and did they’re own thing. As if lifted by some unseen force, the glass shot to the ceiling and shattered, Rorie covering himself from the spray of small glass shards that came back down, well the ones that did. Most of the glass was still stuck in the ceiling. “I’m sorry!” He cried jumping up and ignoring the glass on the floor as he stepped on a few pieces wincing. There were small shards in his hair, shining like dew drops in the grass only sharp and pointy.
Well. That was an interesting reaction. "Telekenetic." It wasn't a question, just a statement of the obvious. "You should sit, rather than walk on the glass." Mal walked to the corner, not concerned about his bare feet, to grab the broom and dust pan. It gave him a moment to think. Rorie smelled panicky, scared almost, the moment his brother was mentioned, and then the glass shot to the ceiling. Obviously, his brother was a touchy subject. Normal people would handle the situation with more care, but Mal wasn't a normal person. Sweeping up the glass into a pile, he asked, "You're scared of your brother. Why?"
Sitting back down, Rorie tried not to move saving himself from more shards coming down on him as well as his poor feet. He shook his head much like a dog trying to carefully get the glass out. Thankfully they weren’t too tiny not to pick out. There were a few pieces in his feet that he was able to pull out with his bare fingers, though one or two were a bit deep for him to get without help. Watching the hellhounds sweep the glass up, he hoped the subject would be dropped, but it wasn’t. Already his nerves were short and tender from the week, but now they were worse and nearly shot as he sat there gripping the edge of the stool with slightly bloody fingers. It started small again as usual instead of like with the glass shooting up, pots and pans that were pulled out started to float, knives, forks, spoons from drawers that had opened on their own. “Please,” Rorie said softly, almost painfully. “Please don’t make me talk about him,” he said, the chairs and table that he wasn’t at started as well.
Mal swept up the glass that Rorie shook out and made a mental note to help the kid deal with the glass in his hands and feet later. Dumping the glass into a bag, he set it aside and rocked back on his heels looking up at Rorie. "How do you expect to be able to learn to control your abilities if you avoid confrontation?" It was a reasonable assumption that Rorie had come to the school because his powers went crazy when he was emotional, as evidenced. Mal thought that Rorie could learn to control it in theory, sure, but practice was needed as well.
“I don’t know, I just don’t want to talk about my brother,” Rorie said frowning, trying to calm down and bring everything back down gently. He’d been doing good, now all he could do was try and stop the flashes of last week. The bag that Mal had set aside started to float as well as the broom and dust pan, then it leaked over into the living room, the couch, the TV, the coffee table. “I. . . I don’t want to, just stop,” he said gripping the stool hard and squeezing his eyes shut trying to get back the control. It was working, but to an extent. Nothing was getting too high, sort of.
Mal wasn't fazed at all by the floating objects. It was actually a cool change. "He's your brother, and while I'm sure you care about him, there's something that frightens you. It's easy enough to smell and see. It makes me wonder." He stretched his legs out in front of him, pondering the situation. "Now what would make a human scared of a relative? The first thing that comes to mind is getting hit." That was a reasonable assumption considering the state Rorie had showed up to the hotel in. "What else? Abuse. Could be emotional, physical, sexual, mental. Drugs. Threats." He was talking as if this was nothing new, completely normal conversation.
His feet and hands hurt, now his head was getting a dull ache from it all. “Stop it!” He cried, interrupting Mal right after he mentioned sexual abuse. “Just stop it!” Holding his head he kept trying to get things to come down, to stop floating and make it all better. Garret, think of Garret! Sweet, concerned, always there to rescue him. Except right then. He was gone for errands probably. Things kept floating though, the glasses were coming out of the cabinets that were opened, leaking out like crystal water to the ceiling. “I-I gotta stop,” he whimpered feeling the all too familiar throbbing start to turn to worse sharp pains.
Mal had figured out exactly what he wanted to know. Rorie freaked out at the mention of sexual abuse, meaning that's why he was scared. It made sense. "Alright." It was against his nature, but he sat still, his voice calm. "I'll stop. Do you want more juice?" He figured that if he started talking about normal things, Rorie could calm down gradually. A story would be an easy way to calm down. "Oh, did you know my grandfather is the most famous hellhound in history?"
What the hell was he talking about!? Rorie sat there wrestling to keep from pulling another Hilton incident while Mal seemed to be on a different planet. “I-I can’t. . . Stop,” he whimpered trying to pull his powers back in and make it just lay everything down softly and neatly like a feather. Though the sharp ice pick stabbing into his brain was keeping him from doing so. “You’re. . . What?” He said in disbelief. The more he listened to Mal though, the more wild his power got make things shift. He had to concentrate on keeping it down. He just kept thing of everything down. Feeling something run down his lips and over his chin in what seemed to be a steady stream he gave up and just let go. It hurt too bad. Though thankfully when he did, there were only a few things, nothing big, that dropped down. A few eating utensils, a pot, a few glasses, a few chairs that were cracked, but not a lot of damage considering. Going to stand, Rorie fell back down against the counter holding his head, whimpering feeling pathetic in front of the other as his nose bled.
Interesting. Garret would probably have his hide for this, but at least it gave him someone else to talk to when he wanted. Heading out of the kitchen for a moment, Mal strode to the bathroom, grabbing a towel. Coming back, he brought it over to Rorie, pressing it to his nose. "Put your head down, but not between your knees. No sense in swallowing the blood." While Rorie put himself back together, Mal grabbed a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water, setting it at the kid's elbow before moving around to set the rooms to rights. The broken dishes went into the trash, eating utensils got put away, the chairs moved to the wall so they wouldn't be used. Mal would happily pay for the damage, since he could be blamed for it. After everything was fixed as best as could be, the hellhound moved back to the counter, sitting on an unbroken stool to wait.
Rorie sat there for a moment, his head pounding, though thankfully not as badly as in Baltimore. Cracking open his eyes, he took the towel in shaking hands, pressing it to his nose. It would stop in a bit, it always did. He’d get a fever again, possibly be out for the day and the next. Looking down he winced. He’d gotten blood on Garret’s shirt. Now he felt awful because the thing probably cost his tuition to TJS. Closing them again he took a deep breath and pulled the towel away. The bleeding had stopped thankfully, but he was starting to get hot. God he hated this. His body equalizing the massive exertion that just took place. Flushed and panting softly like he was a chow in the middle of summer. Taking the pills and the water he got them down as he sat on the floor, pressing his hot face against the cool cabinet.
Mal watched the guy crumple with no change in expression. "When you want to grab a shower, I'll take care of the shirt. When you want to talk, I'll listen." It wasn't an offer that he'd made many times in his life. Malakai could never be accused of compassion, but he took his job as a staff member and sponsor of students seriously. Rorie may not have been his, but he was the closest to one here.
Sitting there, Rorie closed his eyes, hating feeling like this. The worst flu symptoms sans nausea and vomiting, aches that make you feel like you’ve been beaten with a baseball bat, fever of usually 102 or so, his body basically shutting down to restart it’s self. He could already feel the sweat starting to break out. Feeling gross and nasty with blood on his feet, hands, face, and shirt, glass in his hands and feet, then having sweat break out over his body. He was really cursing the hellhound right then, in his head anyways.
Mal remembered the glass in the guy's hands and feet and strode to the bathroom. He took a minute to rummage around and came back with a manicure set that had a pair of tweezers in it. "We need to take care of your hands and feet so you can move." He squatted to the right of Rorie and pulled out the tweezers. "Alright, give me a hand."
Looking at the other as he put himself next to him, he didn’t argue or fight, didn’t say anything at all. He just handed over a hand to have the glass picked out. His whole body hurt so it didn’t really phase him when he saw the smaller shards being dug out. All he wanted to do was go pass out. His body was telling him to do that, but he forced himself to stay awake, at least until the glass was out of all of his limbs.
Mal took care pulling out the glass. There was no sense in making the wounds worse. He figured he'd probably wait until Rorie passed out before pouring a disinfectant on the open slits and bandaging them. The kid didn't deserve any more pain after all this. It took a few minutes, but finally all the glass was out. Mal collected the bloodied shards and moved them to the trash can. The tweezers he'd soak in alcohol to clean and sterilize. Moving back to Rorie, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "C'mon. You look beat. Sleep will do you some good."
It was still only morning, but Rorie was ready to just let it slide so he could rest his eyes. His head was throbbing dully, doing better every few minutes. “Kay,” was all he said as he moved to stand with Mal’s help. Last time Garret had to carry him because he was so weak. This time it wasn’t as bad, but he was still having trouble and stumbling. He leaned onto Mal for balance and to keep from injuring himself further. Getting to the bed room the door was already open. Getting back into bed, he laid there looking a little sad. Sweat was already coating his body and giving the shirt big sweat spots. He’s just have to sleep it off. There really wasn’t any other way unfortunately.
Mal settled Rorie into bed and stepped back, looking. That shirt really needed to soak. "One more thing, Rorie. Let's finish getting you cleaned up." Blood still covered part of the man's face, and had soaked through the shirt to slick his chest. Carefully sitting Rorie up, supporting him with pillows, Mal went to get a small tub that he'd found earlier under the sink and filled it with cold water, grabbing a couple washclothes on the way. Bringing the items back to the bed, he helped Rorie strip off the shirt and started to clean off the blood. "Fall asleep when you want. I'm just gonna clean you up, then leave, alright?" Rorie had been abused enough by his brother. Mal wanted to tell him what the plan was so he wouldn't be scared.
Groaning slightly as he was stripped, Rorie had a fleeting moment of wondering what he was doing. The explanation quelled it though and he was as calm as he could be again. Nodding slightly he helped as much as he could with getting the shirt off, his nipple ring exposed, glinting in the faint light slightly. Something that Garret seemed to love about him, that stupid ring and the tattoo on his butt. He always thought it was odd, but like it because the other was accepting him for who he was and all he could do was return the favor. Laying back, the cool water actually felt good. Rorie closed his eyes and sighed softly as he felt the washrags cleaning up his body. It wasn’t rough either, just gentle scrubbing. Opening his eyes, for just a split second he thought he saw his boyfriend. “Garret,” he groaned before closing his eyes again, his glasses askew on his face.
Mal looked over his shoulder. Seeing no one, he turned back to Rorie, but he was already asleep. Quickly and competently, he finished cleaning up Rorie, binding his wounds with bandages found in the medicine chest. Moving to the bathroom, he emptied the bloody water and set the shirt in cold water to soak. Malakai came back and made sure Rorie would be comfortable before quitting the room. Garret wasn't going to be happy with him when he came back.