• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

The holding cell smelled like vomit.
That makes the interrogation room an improvement, sorta. It's obviously not built to house creature comforts. The seat's not super comfy and there's a draft coming from somewhere.
It's all by design.

Cade's reflection stares him down in the two way mirror. It's his only company.
He used to be on the other side of that mirror. He used to let perps stew.

The chain of the cuffs clink as he shifts.
Cade rubs at his red knuckles. The impact of his fist to Neil's face didn't feel good, not like it usually does. That drive to do fucked up shit wasn't there, at least not the way it's supposed to be.
It was like the same thing, but inside out.

They chained him to the floor.

What kind of person needs to be chained to the floor?
If it was under different circumstances, Cade might've been flattered.
No, instead he's thinking of Oliver and the way he looked up to Neil.

Speak of the devil.

Neil looks good as ever, save for his very obviously broken and reset nose. Bless him, he doesn't let it dampen his enthusiasm.
Cade's done that more than once and it takes everything not to tear up just breathing.
It's a small win, particularly given the situation.
The last time they were together they were trading spit, rather than blood.
Cade's brain keeps skipping over that, like an old record player that's played through a song and doesn't know what to do with itself anymore.
Every effort he makes to even them out drops him in a situation like this.

Now he's chained up again, as Neil so kindly reminds him.

"Yeah, but I'll bet you'll kill me before you have me put away," he says, and yeah partly he's talking out of his ass, but he knows if their places were reversed the justice system would be too impersonal for Cade.
"It wouldn't be as much fucking fun for you this way, right?"

The Dog spreads his hands apart to show off his new bling.
If Neil gets close enough, Cade could potentially strangle him. Though, that wouldn't do either of them very much good.

Cade follows the persistent tapping of the table with his eyes.
With a tongue he swipes across the top row of his teeth.
"Do you make friends with all kids his age or is Oliver special?"

The charming emotional breakdown crazy and hormonally unbalanced people typically enjoy has left Cade wrung out and frayed.
He's pissed, sure, but it's a real pissed. Not just someone who's being a sore loser, which pretty much sums up Cade's behavior.
This is real.

"Don't ever fucking talk to him or touch him again, Neil. He's just a kid."

Cade looks down at his bound hands, biting his lip.
"Did he, uhh, did he get home okay?"
 
Cade is right when he says Neil is more likely to kill him than send him into the clutches of the justice system, yet the police captain doesn't deign that with a reply beyond a slow blink. Currently, he is inclined to do neither. He just wants answers.

It feels weird, like he's playing at detective again.

Neil should want to hurt the guy instead - and he does, he will, the broken nose won't remain unpaid one way or another - but then something changes in Cade's eyes when he mentions Oliver and it gives MacDarragh pause. The man threatens him and it's more genuine than any of the fun barking he has done up until now, the one that makes the hitman eager to see what he intends to do. It's what keeps their dynamic going. However, presently this isn't a part of their understanding. Cade is being deadly serious. Vaguely Neil muses that it's a good look on him.

He straightens out in his seat - now's not the time.

"What, do you think I'm going to hurt him or something?" the cop scoffs in disbelief when he should probably simply shut up. Inexplicably, he finds himself going on the defensive as if he owes the gangster an explanation, "He is just a kid, Cade."

MacDarragh is a lot of things, but this isn't one of them. Causing harm to children is a line he won't cross, and it's not because this is some holier-than-thou moral standing he has for himself - the facts are there is no joy in hurting something defenseless, and to do it you have to be the weakest of the weak. Something in the captain tenses involuntarily and he throws his arms up to shake the sensation off as much as he does it in a sign of resignation. He's not arguing on this point, Neil has no interest in bugging Oliver. He never did, not before or after he realized Wolf and the boy were related.

"Yes, he's fine, his mother picked him up," both metaphorically and literally, what with the way the woman had come in like a tornado and dragged the kid away. Every single member of this family is something else, huh? Some in better ways than others.

Neil stays quiet for a bit, observing the big brother that had diligently come to pick his little sibling up from a school field trip, "Oliver seems like a really good kid. He asked a lot of good questions and kept talking about you, very highly."

He'd pleaded Cade's case, called him a good person, and while MacDarragh is aware of the hilarity of how objectively false that statement is, in the eyes of Ollie it had appeared to be a truth. Even if subjective, a truth is a truth.

"He sounded hopeful you could get your old job back," that he could go back to being "the best detective".

Cade keeps dancing around the point he was on the force in the past. MacDarragh holds the gangster's gaze, tapping on the table once again before shifting his hand to rest on the folder he'd come in with, "You used to be an undercover cop, for a year. How'd you get fired?"

"... Were you sent to infiltrate the Black Dogs? Heh, did the authorized criminality appeal to you so much you decided to switch sides?"
 
Ladies and gentlemen, the murderous psychopath has a moral code.
Cade snorts in mild disbelief, eyeing Neil critically.

It's so fucking unfair this weirdo knows everything about Cade, while he knows virtually nothing about Neil.
They've seen each other naked - something Cade can't forget as much as he wants to sweep under the rug. But all he knows about Neil is that the man's a cop, an assassin for the kicks and he apparently likes children. In a wholesome way.

He met Matilda. What a nightmare.
With the exception of his father and a few distant relatives, he's somehow met most of Cade's tree.
And the best and worst part of it. It's torture hearing about Oliver. He went to Neil for help... Fuck.

Cade glances down at the folder. He doesn't know what's in there, but he has a few guesses. He hopes it stays closed.

But Neil can find out easy enough. Cade didn't change his name or move cities or anything. A police captain wouldn't have to do much digging.
This is one thing Cade can control. It's going to come out one way or another, at least he can control the narrative.

"No, I wasn't with the Black Dogs. It was an apposing gang. And I didn't get fired."

It feels like a lifetime ago.
He still remembers his tiny apartment filled with mice, eating cheap takeout. No friends, no family.
Just the op, for months.

"I got something like fifty names. All the high ups and all their friends. A big net of the worst people you've ever seen."

Well, a group of people probably as morally disinclined as Neil is.
Cade chews on his cheek again.
He could curse Neil out, threaten him, but it would just be a cheap tactic to look tougher than he is. The police captain is peeling open the scab of Cade's life to satisfy his own passing curiosity. He's rifled through Cade for everything else, why not this too?

And it's... It's just not fucking fair.

"The raid was a success. We caught all of them... But the fucking fall out it caused." Cade shakes his head, as if it could knock the memories out.

"We stopped the passing and selling of Fentanyl for an impressive two-" Cade holds up some fingers, "hours."

The Dog stretches out a leg, the one that's not chained down.
"The Black Dogs knew about the raid and put themselves in position to benefit from it. A year of my fucking life for two hours..."

Now feels like a good time to cross his arms and sit back defensively. Cade can do one of those things.
He glares at Neil and his stupid face; he better be appreciating this.

"I don't want to talk about this," he says, petting the wolf at his throat.
"Tell me about you. When did you go bad? Sickos don't usually choose to be cops out the gate. Bullies, do I guess. But not people like you."
 
Cade gives Neil a glimpse into his past and far from satisfying whatever curiosity is growing in the captain, it opens up more questions. The policeman's eyes pierce into him. How did he end up with the Black Dogs? If he wasn't fired, then did he quit? Was it because he felt he had wasted his time? Well, isn't that relatable...

Two hours.

It would be funny if the Dog didn't sound so pressed about it. It still lowkey is funny, but it's not like MacDarragh is going to mention that now, not when it would probably shut the gangster up for good. Getting him to reveal what he has up to this point has already felt like pulling teeth.

Then Cade, as bound as he is in a fucking police interrogation room, asks Neil about himself and the captain has to laugh.

"Is this our second date, then?" the man remarks after the bout of snickering quiets down into a chuckle. Telling themselves about each other when one is in no position to request such information? Very romantic.

"I've always been bad," MacDarragh's voice is a low rumble as he leans forward to place his elbows on his knees, and the sentence comes out in the most dramatic way he can manage. He's grinning with his teeth at the Black Dog, very self-satisfied with the cliché.

It's also technically the truth, but there's no need for Cade to know that. "Not people like you"...

There's no need for Cade to know anything, really, not now and not when the two are outside this room either. Their regular relationship is fun, but that's all it is, all that it should be. The thought he could stand to scare away the gangster by acting obtuse crosses Neil's mind and he chastises himself for it. Talking about the past is amateur hours, just like falling asleep next to someone is. He chastises himself for that one too.

MacDarragh remains silent for a few long seconds, grimacing in such a way his nose is aching again. When he finally (and stupidly) relents it's with a very disgruntled groan, "I didn't really choose to be a cop, my... guardian chose it for me." Guardian is maybe not entirely the best word, but the captain has never known a better one or gone looking through a dictionary for a fitting alternative. He's never had to, precisely because he doesn't talk about it.

"The work was fun at first," at least the privileges of carrying a badge were. Neil looks down at his hands, cracking his knuckles one by one, "But the higher you climb the ranks the more bullshit they put on you, of the administrative variety. Suddenly you're wasting away filing paperwork and doing the most inane type of shit."

Currently, that kind of stands true for both of his jobs.

Suddenly, MacDarragh bristles, and his eyes shoot back up to Cade.

"You know what, I don't want to talk about this either," he scoffs, reaching for his police belt - for the taser on it, which he brandishes in the air in order to showcase it, "I don't have to talk about this. This is an interrogation, not a conversation."

Cade had big plans to incapacitate Neil in the hotel room, including some persuasion of the electroshock variety. The taser sparks once with electricity in the captain's hand as he points it at the gangster's chest, finger on the trigger.

"Why'd you stand me up?"
 
Cade grimaces, unimpressed with calling this a date. A second one at that, taking place in an interrogation room.
Okay, so he doesn't know what this is, but it's not that. They just keep... bumping into one another. And then one thing leads to another.
The Dog follows the way the cop leans in with his teeth and green eyes glittering.

I've always been bad.

His voice is a warm chill that works it's way down Cade's back and melts over his ears.
The gangster very nearly goes to cross his arms before looking away to pick at a loose thread in his jeans instead.

For the first time ever, Cade gets a scrap of Neil's background.
Guardian? Like, a legal guardian? Where are his biological parents?
Cade can't help but imagine a tiny Neil teasing chained up dogs and burning ant hills with a magnifying glass. Whoever raised him didn't try to dissuade the guy or get him help. Maybe they even encouraged it, or maybe they thought becoming a cop would straighten him out.
Either way, Neil doesn't seem particularly pleased about it and Cade can understand that. He used to be in a similar position. The gangster never felt more useless sitting behind a desk, that is until he went undercover...

That little bit of info is all Cade gets before Neil slams shut. It's the closest the gangster has ever gotten to actually hitting a nerve, to ruining that perfect super villain composure.
It comes with a price.

The taser comes out because of course it does.

Cade leans back in his chair, as if distance will do him any good against it.
Fuck, he hates him. He really does, pulling this shit against him.

"...I don't know." Cade glances at the metal prongs, and then up at Neil.
The guy actually went to the hotel to check if Cade had come calling.

Everyday or just the first one?

"You're insane!" He snaps, pulling on the cuffs.
"I'm crazy, but I'm not suicidal. You're a freaky, twisted little weasel and I can never get the upper hand on you and I hate that. It makes me so..."

Cade chews on his lip. His shoulders heave with a breath.

"I knew we'd fuck again if I saw you."
 
I knew we'd fuck again if I saw you.

A thrill goes up Neil's spine, making him improve his posture as he stands on alert. He swallows looking at Cade, before his eyes glance at the two-way mirror off to the side - no one should be watching, as per his instructions. He's earned more than enough loyalty points to guarantee that, plus his subordinates don't want to be culpable seeing him knock about the gangster. That's what they are expecting with the cameras shut off, after all - some light violent justice.

The captain's attention returns to the Black Dog and a sharp grin splits his face nearly from ear to ear.

When MacDarragh rises from his seat to slowly make his way over to the other side of the table, the taser remains squeezed in one hand. It doesn't take it long to find itself pressed into the Dog's arm, though no sparks fly yet. Neil's finger on the trigger is just a precaution. Or maybe a thrill. Probably both. His other hand finds Cade's shoulder, pressing into it almost like a massage.

"I thought you weren't into guys," his fingers work on the man's collarbone for a bit, before trailing up the side of his neck where the Wolf tattoo is, feeling at the marks he left there with his own bitten palm, "Am I an exception then, Cadence?"

Names don't hold much meaning aside from the one you assign them. Whereas Wolf is cool and mysterious, and Cade is something strong to hold onto, Cadence is... melodic, even pretty. Neil likes it. It's a name to use sparingly and with purpose. On this occasion, it comes out in a purr.

Smiling like always, MacDarragh leans down to whisper in Cade's ear, "I hope I am."

He feels giddy - the sentiment the gangster had expressed is mutual, and Neil is glad for it. Whether he is an exception or not doesn't really matter. What matters is that wanting seconds means the last experience they had together wasn't horrible, not all the way at least. It's a comforting thought, beyond the fact that it leaves his track record unmarred, but the hitman won't linger to ponder other warm and unfamiliar sensations he might be experiencing. Apart from barely contained excitement and lust. Those he knows well.

Neil rests his knee on the chair Cade is seating on, in between the gangster's legs, and his mouth leaves a path of light kisses along the man's face from his ear to the corner of his mouth. MacDarragh doesn't go for the lips, though, pulling away to stare into Cade's eyes - the shade of blue is electric.

Fuck, he wants this man right here, right now. But for all his authority, what the captain's doing is already potentially compromising, testing the waters, and the two would have to keep quiet while in the station. That sounds simultaneously fun and torturous. He searches Cade's face.

"... The hotel room is still reserved, if you want. I can unlock you," Neil tenses his jaw once before continuing, "But no regrets this time."
 
Maybe Cade's history of lovers haven't been up to bat. That's the reasonable answer.
They've never been men, either, and maybe that's how the hitman knows exactly how to touch him.
If Cade was a betting man, he'd say he definitely hurt Neil's ego by leaving him out to dry.
Him being a psychopath, that might as well be hurting his feelings.

That stinginess that had filled the room softens immediately and Neil wastes no time further warming up. Apparently Cade has been forgiven, though Neil walking over after giving the mirror a glance had him thinking otherwise.
Man, does the guy ever keep him on edge.

Like with the pen, he still has to keep the power in the interaction but with the taser this time.
It's cold, contrasting with Neil's hand in a way that makes Cade's skin pimple. The Dog doesn't exactly hate the thrill, but it does add to the confusing fantasy of one day having Neil be helpless so Cade can give him a dose of his own medicine.

"Fuck you." He hates that name, hates being forced to reflect on what he's falling into again. Yeah, Neil's a siren and he has some kind of hold on him. That's the answer.
And as depraved as Cade's search history is this is a whole new level.
Yeah, he's flustered.
He's handcuffed, chained to the floor and Neil's in uniform.
It's a little on the nose, even for them. It's also gotta be one of the bigger abuses of power Neil's committed.
Despite that, he peppers Cade's cheek with deceptively soft kisses, but pulls away before Cade can lay a few on him in return.
Bitch.

Cade pushes his hips flush with the knee put there as bad incentive. He's always been a leg guy, and Neil doesn't disappoint.
He feels up the inside of Neil's thigh, framing the leg with both hands and squeezing.

"Still?" Cade quirks a brow. His thumb follows the seam up Neil's leg.
The Dog's whole life has been one regret after another, but Neil's the first mistake he's had fun doing. It's like having a night out. One you'll never forget, for multiple reasons, but leaves you sore the morning after.
"... I can't promise that." Cade's eyes linger over Neil's chest before dropping lower. Much lower.
He wets his lips.

"But I won't leave like I did last time. I guess you like to cuddle after, right? Or- nap? I.. I can do that. As long as you're not expecting anything else."
 
The pleasantness from the grip on his thigh - this agreement Cade gives to the challenge - is contrasted by the quirked eyebrow the gangster aims Neil's way.

Cade questions the fact that the hotel room is still paid for and MacDarragh's mind hits him over the head with that fact. Oh yeah, so what? He said he'd keep it reserved and he's not the type to go back to his word. He never specified how long exactly that would last, just said "for the next few days" and that can be however long he fucking wants, there's nothing to be ashamed about. Rationalizing with himself doesn't make him feel any better.

Then Cade mentions the cop supposedly liking to nap after and this time his mind punches him straight on his broken nose. Neil inhales, leaning away from the man and frowning, though the expression looks more confused and petulant than anything else.

"No, I don't-" the grimace deepens when his voice doesn't come out as confident as usual. He hurries along clearing his throat, before making a definitive statement, "I don't like to nap."

He doesn't. And he never has, not until last time.

Pillow talk is one thing, that's one of the instances when people are most vulnerable, offering the most parts of themselves and it can be fun to see someone undress even further by peeling back the layers on things they otherwise wouldn't dare to share. Meanwhile, you can just pay them back by lying, that's simple enough. But sleeping together - the "se coucher" variety, not "coucher avec" - means falling into the pit trap of heightened emotions yourself, which isn't Neil's style. He is the type to have a chat and a cigarette, then make his exit. Not the lousy type like what Cade had tried to pull on him. No, he likes to leave an impression - something pleasant, something worth chasing after despite the fact it can never be caught, instead lingering as a memory long after.

He doesn't "nap".

MacDarragh tenses. He should end things here for now, leave the Black Dog to stew in a holding cell overnight after calling him out like that. But then the man's hand rises further up his leg, and Neil chances a glance at Cade - his eyes are somehow both flustered and eager.

Yeah, there's no way Neil is backing out now. He just has to make sure not to fall asleep, that's easy enough.

Putting away the taser, the cop disentangles himself from the Black Dog and the leg iron comes open a moment later, clanging to the floor. The captain extends one hand for Cade's underarm to hoist him up, "On your feet. We're taking my car."

The handcuffs stay on for now, not only because he likes teasing Cade like this. It's already going to be strange enough for his subordinates to witness their captain dragging out the perp that decked him completely unscathed.
 
----

It's with a cooling horror of self loathing and disgust Cade wakes up.
A warm body is cascaded over his, breathing into his chest and ruffling the hair there. Neil is curled up there, small and unassuming.
With the blanket over his shoulders and the hair in his face Cade can almost convince himself that's a girl. It's ridiculous, given the masculine nose and sharp jawline, even for sleepy Cade.

They went a few rounds. The actual fighting kind and the... Not fighting kind.
He's beat.
And apparently the homicidal slug pressed against him is too, with a leg hooked over Cade's hip.
Fuck, Cade did it again. And he's going to continue to do it again unless something happens.

The Dog pushes aside the bangs of dirty blonde hair to see the soft neutral expression of the assassin sleeping like a baby.
Neil, 'I don't nap' MacDarragh.
Without the crazy person smile and the intense leprechaun eyes put away, he almost looks like a normal guy.
His nose is still sore by the looks of it. Part of Cade wants to flick it.
Another part just wants to listen to the soft inhale and exhale.

When he wakes up some more, he'll do it. And then explain that while their sparring is good and fine, they can't keep doing this part of it.
Not until Cade can figure out what it all means.

But he doesn't go back to sleep. He just watches the shifting of Neil's eyelids as he dreams.
It's like having a sedate tiger laying in your lap. You kinda have to take the opportunity to count it's stripes and measure the length of it's fangs.
Press on it's enormous paws until the claws you only see when it's trying to kill you slide out. Only this time you're in control.

And his paws are beautiful.
The nails are all even and clean, and where Cade's palms are rough from weight lifting, Neil's are smooth.
He's caused a fuck ton of damage and death with these mittens and he sleeps like this.
Evil little thing...

He's got a plain canvas of skin except on his back.
Cade felt the change in texture when he gripped there for dear life, like a fucking bitch does.
At the very least its nice not to be the one who wakes up with red lines down his back.

Pulling the blanket back to look at them now...
Cade doesn't know what made them or how they got there.
He brushes a soft finger down one stripe of the tiger's back.

A phone rings.

Cade doesn't think. There's a call, so he slaps the bedside table until he finds the source of it.

"Yeah?" He groans into the phone.
 
Neil is drifting on a cloud again. His rational brain realizes the implications of that fact, but this self-awareness only makes the dream more lucid, more real. A part of MacDarragh refuses to wake up because he knows he'll feel awful as soon as he does. Here he doesn't have to face the reality of what he is doing, he can just enjoy feeling light, weightless. The cloud this time is more solid underneath him and Neil clings to that living thing. It sparks a memory somewhere inside of him, long forgotten.

The memory is just starting to take shape, dark and small, when a ringing makes this entire dreamscape crumble away around him. Neil groans, burying his face further into the firm warmth below him. He doesn't want to wake up yet, but what's done is done - the hitman's nerves won't let him rest, sending long-ingrained signals through his body.

It's annoying.

MacDarragh slowly blinks his eyes open, if only just to silence this urgent alertness. The first sight that greets him is skin, rising and falling with each breath. Cade's skin - rough and scarred and marked where Neil lovingly paid attention to it last night, after which he fells asleep on the gangster's chest, wrapped around him in a hold he didn't intend. Apparently, it's been very effective in keeping the man in place. There's even a wide hand on his back returning the hold, covering old scars and new shallow lines it itself made. It's all so comfortable and warm, and wholly mortifying.

In the middle of whatever rising horror grips him, Cade's voice reverberates deep in the captain's bones. Neil rapidly shifts his head to look up at the Black Dog - he's on the phone. Ah, that must have been what was ringing... Neil's horror gets further amplified once he notices that that's his fucking phone.

The hitman's hand shoots out to wrench the device from Cade, unfurling himself to prop up on the bed on his elbow.

"MacDarragh speaking," he presses the phone to his ear. As professional as he tries to make himself sound, his voice comes out raspy. Shit. At this point he's just hoping his tone doesn't sound too different from Cade's, or that the gangster didn't say too much. How long was he talking before MacDarragh came to his senses? The senses he never should have lost in the first place. This is bad, he fucked up big time. Neil fell asleep after sex (again) when he explicitly told himself he wasn't going to do it, and now he's suffering the consequences.

The person that answers on the other end of the line seems like a complete stranger at first before the cop realizes it's the new assistant he hired. She's calling to check up on him since he didn't turn up for work. You know, just wanting to make sure the captain is alright. Clenching his jaw, Neil briefly pulls the phone away to look at the time - 8:30 AM. He takes in a sharp inhale before returning to the call.

"I'm sorry, guess my alarm didn't ring and I ended up sleeping in," he speaks a casual apology into the receiver, "I'll be there in 20."

Neil ends the conversation before the woman can respond, exhaling the breath he'd been holding in. Thank God it wasn't his work-work phone, that's one small victory. Vivien would have blown a gasket. She still might, if she called his workplace to keep tabs on the hitman...

Movement in his periphery pulls MacDarragh back to the present and he half-turns to peer at Cade, lips pressed into a tight line. Tastefully covered in the nest of blankets, the gangster is particularly tempting and cozy all at once. Neil feels his skin crawl and in the blink of an eye, he stands up, reaching for the clothes on the floor.

"I need to get going," he supplies lamely, beginning to dress in a rush. Does he look as distressed as he feels?

MacDarragh has been having a bad time at work recently. For a while, actually, things have become mind-numbingly boring, the worst of it starting around the same time he met Wolf. So it stands to reason that whatever deviations the hitman is experiencing from his normal behavior are because of the irregular circumstances he finds himself in. It would be pathetic to think he can be this drastically affected by them, but it's leagues better than the alternative, which is that he is growing attached.

No, Cade is a bit of fun he enjoys spending time with, and in a bout of crisis he has latched onto this one piece of entertainment in his life. Neil's eyes find the Black Dog again and the captain flinches when the spot next to the man calls out to him, looking especially inviting.

Belt back on, the cop takes several long strides away. His haphazardly thrown-on uniform is a mess, but he'll fix it once he's out of this suffocating place. "I think we should stop meeting each other," damn, he can't even look at him for too long, "At least for a while."

It's inevitable that they'll meet, and that goes beyond bizarre coincidences, but Neil needs time. He has to get his head on straight, and he can't do that if he keeps getting lulled into a sense of safety around this guy, like a fucking child.

A shiver runs down MacDarragh's spine and he turns around to face the door, trying to make an escape with his tail between his legs. A part of him realizes the irony in the situation, but he's not in the right frame of mind to find it funny - after all, he'd be laughing at his own expense.

"... Be seeing you, Cade."
 
It takes Cade longer than it should to realize this isn't his phone.
Neil has to rip it from his hand for that to happen and even then there's a split second of confusion.

Oh.

That's kinda funny. The hitman doesn't seem to share the same amusement. His voice is straight and serious, something it rarely ever is even in a business sense.

The Dog sits up in bed, suddenly a bit chilled now the warm body's gone. Yeah, he watches Neil dress. It's right there in front of him, what's he supposed to do?
At one point the hitman bends over to show his perky ass and Cade finally finds the respect to look away.

This is weird.
There's something personal about this that Cade can't define. Getting a call you're late to work is nowhere near on the level of meeting your fuck-buddy's brother and stepmom.
And yet Neil's cold, like this has been some massive breach of his precious personal life.

Cade glares at him.

He gets fucked so hard it hurts to move in the morning and Neil's the one calling it quits, blowing Cade off?
Now the Dog knows how Neil felt the first time. It had all been too much too quickly and at the same time Cade just wanted more.
Now it's Neil making a run for it.
It's for the best. It's what he wants anyway. This messed up thing has gone far enough and a dramatic shift like this in a psycho killer is bad news.

Despite all the good, practical reasons to stay in bed, Cade's throwing the blankets off.
He snatches the hitman's wrist, pulling him in easy enough.
Once again Neil's put together and Cade isn't. It's laughable the differences between them when they're practically the same person.
But Cade always finds himself on the vulnerable open side- naked, in this case.
While Neil's guard is always up.

He hates himself. He really does. He hates himself more for what he's about to say.
"What's the matter? What the fuck did I do wrong?"

He snorts at this stupid, infuriating asshole. Cade's never sure if Neil will kill him or not, but he knows beyond a doubt the man will be the death of him.

"Was it the phone? Or- oh fucking hell, are you getting this worked up because you fell asleep on me again, sleeping beauty?"

Cade laughs, but it's a dry mean thing.
"You use me to get off in and you're the one who gets to be ashamed over something like that, you fucking whore?"

Cade grabs Neil's face with his other hand and the force behind it makes his head meet the wall with a soft thud.
With his thumb he feels at the soft flesh of Neil's cheek, right about where his lip begins.
"Where's your fucking smile, huh? You were having a hell of a time laughing it up last night. Smile, baby."
 
The captain is a couple of steps away from the door - from freedom - when Cade stops him in his tracks, literally. Having the man's hands hold him back is neither comfortable nor wanted at the moment, Neil has no desire for their usual antics. Yet, it doesn't seem like the Dog has any either. The way he's pinning MacDarragh to the wall isn't some fun roleplay leading to a fight or a fuck. No, he's physically restraining him.

Neil feels restless, even more so when Cade's questions reach him.

The gangster didn't do anything wrong, that's the issue. Everything with this fucker feels easy and right, and Neil loathes the fact - it's like rope tightening around his limbs and making his shooting arm go numb. That's not something he can or wants to afford. Against his better judgment, MacDarragh almost starts explaining himself in some bout of what can only be considered lunacy.

Then the Dog calls him sleeping beauty, and the fog in the hitman's mind clears.

Or maybe a fog falls over it, who knows. Doesn't matter one way or another, the result is the same - Neil reminds himself of the fact that the two are barely acquiescences, using one another to have a good time. And whatever is happening is definitively not fun. MacDarragh shouldn't have let it develop this far, so now he has to rectify his mistake.

"You sure you're not into men, Cade?" his lips curl up into a grin. If Wolf wants to see him smile that bad, he's more than happy to oblige. It's a sharp thing, like a knife, "Who do you think you're lying to - me or yourself? You should hear the way you moan from the sidelines."

His free hand reaches up to grasp the man's arm tightly, pulling it away to end the contact as much as to show off the full expression now adorning the captain's face. He snorts in amused derision.

"I use you to get off, you use me to scratch an itch deep in you women just can't satisfy. Equivalent exchange. I thought we had an understanding."

Neil's fingers make a path to the gangster's palm, feeling the man's own digits. It's not an affectionate gesture, it's a threat. He grabs onto his pinky - the hitman will break it if Cade doesn't let go and move aside.

In the same breath he bends the finger slightly off to the side, he leans forward right into Cade's face, leering, "C'mon, don't be pathetic. Move on."

Neil's words are aimed more at himself than at the gangster. He feels the rope around his limbs get cut through and the coldness that comes with it makes him shiver. The sensation is not all the way pleasant.
 
Cade feels the mean grimace in his face weaken when Neil sneers into his face.
It gets him right where it hurts, and the rush of anger that pours from the tender place feels small and inadequate.
Like the anger a dog has when it's caught in a bear trap.

He's helpless. He's changed and built himself up for years and after everything he's still helpless.
This fucker sees him as small and easy to push around.

Neil grips his little finger in his warm grasp.
It's not his index or even his ring finger, but Neil's still going to break it. Compromise part of what makes him, him.
The same thing the guy's been doing in bed all this time. Taking Cade apart piece by piece and making him like it while he does it.

Close as they are, Cade's eyes wander to Neil's lips.
They float up to his nose instead.
The Dog grits his teeth.
Muscles tensed, he slams his head into Neil's face. It's going to hurt both of them, but Neil considerably more.
To hell with his pinky, in the moment if it gets broken this feels like fair trade.
At the very least, a mandatory one. Like when he punched Neil in the station; this just has to happen.
It's reflex.
 
Cade is a relentless wall before him. Fuck, why doesn't he just step aside? Why does this have to be so difficult? The door is right there.

Something changes in the Black Dog's expression and the next thing MacDarragh knows, the gangster slams his head into the middle of his face - into the still-hurting bone the man already broke once yesterday in a fit of heightened emotion. Maybe from seeing his baby brother in the clutches of a killer. Maybe from being tricked into coming to a police station. Probably a combination of both. What is this a fit of now?

It doesn't matter. Neil bites down a loud exclamation of pain as he grimaces. Blood is dripping down his face again - the pain might be dull compared to the one yesterday, but the flow is heavier. When he snarls at Cade it gets into his mouth, teeth turning red.

The delicate pinky is still gripped in his hand - he jerks it back at an angle the finger should not be able to bend in, and it doesn't. It snaps. The sensation is familiar, the hitman's done it plenty of times before. He's never done it because he's been backed into a corner, however. He's never done it to someone he doesn't want to hurt either. It's a joyless action, but he goes through with it anyway. What else can he do?

This isn't fun, this isn't play-fighting, but it isn't killing each other either. MacDarragh's not sure what it is, he just knows he needs to get out.

Letting go of Cade's useless digit, his hand instead shoots out for the Dog's jugular, much like the first time the two met. He needs to get him off of himself.
 
Cade didn't really come to terms with having an appendage broken, so much as decided he wanted to see Neil bleed.
The gush stains his uniform and makes his eyes glassy and wet. It'll be difficult to explain and worse to clean.
Cade gets a moment to enjoy it before the shock of pain and wrongness shatters through his hand.
When it happens in the heat of the moment, it's almost something you don't notice. But Cade knew it was coming.

Like the night they met, Cade let's himself be taken by the throat. There's no smug playfulness in Neil's eyes. The Dog's finally dug past his outter layer.
Or at the very least actually pissed him off. That's a nice change of pace.

Cade seethes through a breath, holding his damaged hand to his chest. He can feel where it's pointing at the wrong angle.
His stomach twists on itself, nausea bubbling up.

"I fucking hate you," he growls, swallowing around the grip squeezing his throat.
It's almost grounding the other times Neil has grabbed him and held him like this. But there's no softness here.

Breaking his nose should be enough.
But deep down Cade knows nothing will ever be enough.
So he says some really stupid shit, even by his standards.

"I know your name and I know where you work. The Butcher will like having that information."
 
Neil grips at Cade's throat not like he's fighting the man, but like he's holding back a rabid animal as far away as he can from his person. A rabid, wounded animal - the spite in the Black Dog's voice when he growls that he hates the hitman seeps in somewhere he thought was impenetrable, digging into surprisingly tender flesh. But he can't exactly blame the sentiment.

Neil looks at the injured hand squeezed in front of Cade's chest, the one he had been stupidly sleeping on minutes ago, basking in its warmth and listening to a steady heartbeat. The jumping of the arteries beneath his fingers tells him the gangster's pulse is elevated, and the ringing in MacDarragh's own ears tells him he's in the same position. This isn't the good type of adrenalin, however, it's the kind that makes you dizzy. Neil broke his pinky and it felt all types of wrong, despite his nose being well and truly bashed in. Tit for tat, right? That's how it's supposed to be, they've hurt each other physically plenty of times before and been fucking excited over it. Yet presently it doesn't feel fair.

Cade is still naked. Neil's eyes linger on the body he held, on the stab wound he himself nursed. How the hell did the two end up here? Why did the captain say any of the things he did? He didn't push buttons, he dug into them. And for what?

The gangster pays him back with equal venom, invoking the name of the big scary boogeyman he works for, the one that'll come save him. Neil's face blanks. They've known each other for all of three weeks and Cade already knows what to say to get under his skin. He's a dangerous man in multiple ways, yet he still calls on others. Maybe it's just to spite the hitman, or maybe he's being serious.

"Fine," MacDarragh's tone comes out monotone. It's an inevitability really, considering everything, "Let's see who gets to who first - me or your precious Butcher."

He squeezes Cade's throat one last time before releasing, shoving the gangster away and further into the room. In a rush, the door closes behind the police captain.
 
The words dig back at Neil, or at the very least he's caught off guard enough to let his face go blank.
The gangster's half gearing up for a fight, a real one where Neil genuinely tries to kill him in order to keep him quiet. Cade's fucking ready. He'll toss the little fucker out the window while he's buck ass if that's how he wants it to go.

But that doesn't happen.

Neil retreats, only after a ridiculous declaration against Finch.
He slams the door; a completely unnecessary and hoity gesture. What's Cade going to do, run after him dick out?
Yeah, right.
"Good fucking riddance!" Cade barks at the door that's already closed.

With Neil gone, Cade can be as big a pussy as he likes, numb hand trembling against his chest. He heard a crack. It'd been so painful he couldn't get the air to scream.
Cade makes up for it by wheezing a grunt passed clenched teeth at the faintest movement of the little finger.
Fuck, what an asshole.

Taking a load off on the bed of their broken fairytale romance, the Dog can take some reassurance that at least it's over now.
And he didn't even have to have a weird conversation about it over coffee where he'd spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for a spurned lover. Neil did most of the groundwork, as usual.
If he'd just been straight with Cade about the whole sleeping nonsense the Dog would've been fine about shoving his little princess body to the edge of the bed no problem.
The body heat was stifling anyway.

But no, it's over. Just like that.
And there's only one Neil in the world so as long as he's gone Cade's... Well, he's okay.

The gangster rubs at a bite on his chest, a gentle one that didn't break the skin. He's got half a dozen of those, and a dozen more Neil made without teeth.

He can close this chapter of his life and rip it out.
 
The police sirens aren't even on, yet Neil is speeding down the streets in his cruiser, hands painfully gripping the steering wheel like he's wringing out someone's neck. Maybe that's what he should have done to Cade - the little shit broke his nose and dared to speak to him like that, it's the least he deserves. But when it came down to it, the hitman couldn't choke him out and that feeling is crippling.

Part of him wants to turn back around, storm into the hotel room and finish the job as a matter of pride to prove to himself he is capable. Just put Wolf down like a dangerous dog that has bitten its owner one too many times.

The way he'd broken the gangster's finger echoes in the captain's hand and it makes his stomach churn.

What the fuck is wrong with him? This is worse than falling asleep on the guy's chest.

A brave driver finds it in themself to honk their horn at the speeding cop car, and Neil snaps out of his state to return the gesture. Driving by, his eyes linger on the offending vehicle, trailing it until MacDarragh catches his reflection in the rearview mirror - the lower half of his face is soaked, red dripping down onto his uniform, yet the heavy blood flow is not nearly as distracting as the bizarre expression in his eyes.

The policeman looks... belligerent, actually insane. He's gotten comments to that effect in the past, including from Cade, but he's pretty sure he's never shown people this visage. It's a new one. The grin that comes over him a moment later isn't.

The hitman laughs, and it's a loud, full-bodied thing. This might just be the most hilarious situation he's ever found himself in, exacerbated by the fact that Cade's clothes - the ones the man left when he was scurrying away like a bug from the jaws of some reptile - are in a bag in Neil's fucking trunk, washed and ironed and everything. He was planning to give them back at one point. No matter, he'll get the chance to do so next time they meet in some absurd coincidence. Or maybe it won't be so coincidental. Will Wolf be at the raid? Will his mythical boss be?

Neil hums to himself. When was the last time he got this worked up over something? It's... kind of exhilarating.

MacDarragh manages to calm down a bit, slowing the car to a more appropriate speed for morning in the city. He's still smiling when he takes out his phone, dialing the station to tell them he won't be in for a bit. He licks at his blood - the captain needs to go to the hospital.
 
---

"So you finally showed yourself," Simons' voice is loud and confident like usual, though she has to be putting on airs. What else would explain the nervous tremble in it? "I already told you, my lips are sealed. What more can I do? What the hell do you people want from me?"

Damien takes a peek at the older woman from beneath the brim of the cap hiding him from the security cameras. Masked and gloved, it's the first time he's done anything like this - ambushing a woman on her way to her car. It feels gross, but he doesn't have many options to meet the lawyer otherwise. Eli told him Simons had been acting strange since Moore died, going from home to work and back, nowhere else. Paranoid, scared. This behavior probably has to do with the fact she thinks she's being watched. Jasmine seems to have been expecting someone to come accosting her one of these days, grimacing furiously as she is now, though for all her bravado her hand is shaking. She's terrified of whoever may or may not be keeping an eye on her, and Damien can make an educated guess as to who she believes that is - the High-Rise.

Jasmine is involved. The fuckers have (or had) the chief of police and a high-standing defense attorney in their pocket.

And now the lawyer is mistaking Damien for one of their agents come to... he doesn't know, get rid of her like Tom. The ex-cop wasn't certain how this interaction was going to shape up, but sensing the fear wafting off the woman, he relaxes a bit. It's deeply unpleasant to be causing her this much distress, but he'll exploit it for the sake of keeping things peaceful. The gun will remain holstered at his hip.

"I asked you!" she shouts, and it reverberates in the empty parking lot, "What do you want?!"

Eli had procured a copy of Moore's last will and testament easily enough. Pouring through it, Damien had found what he expected - all of Tom's assets divvied up between his surviving family members, with the addition of some substantial bequests to charitable organizations. The guy had truly been on his philanthropist shit in his twilight years, huh? Well, he'd had a rich enough life to afford to give back. Rich in a multitude of ways - a good number of children and grandchildren now get to enjoy the spoils their father left them through lying in bed with a criminal organization.

Everything is theirs - the land, the valuables - but one thing. A small line in the document.

"Thomas Moore entrusted something to you," Damien says self-assuredly despite not exactly knowing what the object in question is. He has to speak as if he does to keep up the illusion, "You are going to hand it over to us."

Simons snarls, half in anger, half in what looks like... relief? "Is that what this is about?" In a rush, the lawyer starts rifling through her bag - it's large, designer, just like the fur coat keeping her warm in the winter. She's had a rich life too.

Apparently whatever it is that Moore left her is important (and small) enough to carry around on her person at all times. Not that Damien is complaining, this makes matters considerably easier for him. Several seconds later, Jasmine extends a plain white envelope in his direction.

"Here, take it and leave me alone," she spits at him, simultaneously furious and hopeful - wishing for this to end. That the ex-convict can relate to. In a quick breath, the lawyer washes her hands clean of whatever the contents of the envelope might be, "I haven't opened it, I know nothing of what's inside."

Damien grasps the paper, eyes piercing into Simons long enough to make the woman sweat in uncertainty. The nod he eventually gives her is a blessing, and she wastes no time power-walking to her car to escape. The ex-cop doesn't linger for long either. The envelope feels heavy in his hands, not only because of its significance - something inside is weighing it down, a solid shape he can feel with his fingers. It feels important. That importance only gets reaffirmed when on his way to get picked up by Montesano Damien notices a figure trailing a little ways behind him. So Simons was being watched? No matter, this wouldn't be the first tail the ex-convict has had to lose...

---

The living room is dim, curtains pulled down to block any view both from and to the outside. It's so silent in here you could hear a pin drop to the soft rug under the coffee table, currently laden with paperwork and cups of cooling coffee placed on folders rather than coasters. And in the middle of all this organized mess is a single stark white envelope, torn open to display its meager insides. Three sets of eyes study the small key it had been carrying - old, made of brass, with a peculiar sequence of teeth and notches that give it a unique appearance. The name engraved on it is unfortunately just the manufacturer, though there is a number on the reverse side - 174. This tiny vintage piece of metal is what Moore had entrusted to his lawyer. If only anything on it identified what lock the key was meant for...

Damien bites at his thumb in equal measures of thought and restlessness. How long has it been since he had a proper cigarette? Eli won't let him smoke - not at an open window, and not anywhere near the vicinity of her home. Growing up, both siblings had it ingrained in them that smoking was a bad habit, which is a lesson that has stuck with Eleonora much to her brother's dismay.

"Great, a mystery key," the woman in question breaks the silence with a sigh, crossing her arms and leaning back into the armchair, "Thanks for the amazing Christmas present, big brother."

Her 'big brother' slowly looks up at her, "You're very welcome, Curls."

What he gets back for that is a frown at the childhood nickname Mike used to call Eli, "I'm starting to think it was better when you were just sulking around all day. You were at least kind of bearable then."

Ah, when Damien had been wallowing in self-pity, as she kept pointing out. The present circumstances are partially her fault for bugging him to get his act back together, and now she wants to push the man back into whatever state of decay he'd been in the clutches of? Yet, Eli's voice is not as harsh, not filled with the spite she'd shown seeing Damien for the first time. What it is is tense, an underlying note of stress behind her words, and the ex-convict can't blame her. This - the key and what happened with Simons - has grave implications for Eleonora too. Her boss is involved with the High-Rise, and by extension the entire firm Blumenthal works for. Worse yet, she hasn't been able to reach Jasmine since the night the envelope was retrieved, and while that can mean several different things, none of them are particularly comforting.

Just like 15 years ago, everything is turning into a tangled web of connections, trapping people inside of it like flies without them even realizing it. And once they do, they struggle to fight for freedom, only getting more and more hopelessly stuck. Doing the spider's job for it...

A cold shiver runs down Damien's spine - he got his little sister involved. Despite everything between them, she took him in and this is what he repairs her with. He bites at his thumb again. This can't keep going on, he needs to end it. He needs to find the documents Moore left behind and bring this whole shitshow to a close, no matter what it costs him. The ex-cop will scour this hellhole of a city from one end to the other, trying every fucking lock-

"A locksmith could have an idea where the key goes to," Natalia speaks up from the other armchair, taking a long sip of lukewarm coffee before getting back on topic, "Or at least we could find out what type of lock it's for. That'll still be something."

All at once Damien stops messing with his nail, focusing on the sergeant, "That's... a great idea." He glances at the tiny, easily-losable key, "We could also make a duplicate of it, just to be safe."

"Sounds like a plan," Montesano smiles faintly, glad to have her idea appreciated as much as she is to preemptively stop the siblings from being passive-aggressive. The expression doesn't last long, unfortunately, her lips twisting a moment later like she's sucking on a lemon, "... But that all is going to have to wait."

Nat's eyes stay on Damien, searching the ex-cop's face for... something. He can't be sure, but being as bad at controlling her emotions as she is, he can easily infer what the woman is feeling - she's hesitant, uncertain. Natalia wants to say something, but she doesn't know if it's the right move. It takes her several prolonged moments of quiet scowling before she relents, the sentence shooting out in a rush lest she changes her mind last second, "The police are organizing a raid on the Black Dogs."

The words reach Damien with some delay, but once they do, his eyes widen, mouth hanging slightly agape. Yet Natalia doesn't see that.

The sergeant is looking down, brows furrowed and fingers squeezing around her cup. The woman's voice is a hiss between clenched teeth, "We've been sitting around twiddling our thumbs for weeks while the Dogs and Nakurra have at each other, and now all of a sudden this is happening. It's all rotten... MacDarragh's precinct is taking lead on it."

Things always get worse, don't they? Something tightens around the ex-convict's ribcage and he can't breathe. He should be fine now, he's not lying in bed like some sickly Victorian child left spent from crying. He's dived back head-first into his investigation because that's all that matters, leaving what happened with Kaden in the past where it belongs.

Damien bites down on his lip. Eli shifts her eyes from her brother to Montesano, unsure of what is even happening.

"I... thought you should know, considering..." considering he was involved. Yeah, this is all one tangled web of connections and Damien is a stupid fly that escaped it once only to willingly get himself stuck again.

Natalia's shoulders sag with relief at not having to keep that to herself anymore, and she chances a tentative peek at her friend. Whatever she sees in the man's face must trigger some deep instinct in her, because the woman already starts desperately shaking her head 'no' before the ex-cop can make yet another absurd request of her. Not that that's going to stop him.
 
----

Finch's eyes rove over the injury. With the splint, it was going to be too obvious to keep to Cade's self.
His boss is holding him by his wrist, hands on either side.

"What happened?" He asks, a touch too softly.

Cade grunts, easing his hand out of the too soft grip.
"I picked a bouquet of whoopsie daisies, that's all."

They're at a park, located next to the river. It's dead quiet in the dark, frozen over.
There isn't so much as a tiny foot print of a bird in the canvas of white snow. Everything is still, silent. Even the city din is muffled by the snow fall.

Finch comes here sometimes. Damn if Cade knows why.
Maybe it's to stare at the river and think of all the people he's dumped there. Either way, it's convenient enough for Cade to scoop up some snow and press to his aching finger.

Kaden blinks, eyes shifting over Cade. He looks as solid as ever, as refined as ever.
Almost like when Delilah was around, but there's something still wrong Cade can't put his thumb on. It's that weirdness that's been making his skin crawl.

"Why won't you tell me the truth, Cade?" It's not said with any intimidation or hardness. No frustration or disappointment.
Cade's jaw tenses. He crosses his arms to dig the fingers of his uninjured hand into his bicep again.

"Why are you just fucking asking?" He starts out quiet, then by the end of the sentence he's demanding.
Kaden doesn't respond to the bristling beyond a tilt of his head.

"...I don't understand-"

"Bullshit," Cade hisses. "You're the Butcher."
He stomps forward, stabbing a finger to the guy's chest. They meet eyes, ice cold to black obsidian. The perfect pair.
"Make me tell you."

The Butcher's eyes glance from Cade's feet to his face. Dissecting, looking for weaknesses. Considering where to poke to get results.

"I could be going behind your back. I'm never around, I come back with a broken hand. Isn't that a little suspicious?" Cade asks, chuckling.

He has to know Cade's gone back to that hotel. There's no way he doesn't know. He has to know he's gone back to his family.
All he has to do is load up his Find My Pet app and take a look, the fucking asshole.
Kaden blinks and stares through Cade. He glances down at the finger to his chest, but doesn't make an effort to move it.

"You would be honest with me if I caused you pain?" Kaden murmurs, standing there.

Cade lets his hand drop in favor of crossing his arms again. Just so he can dig at himself again.
"I mean, probably? That's what torture does, right?"

All at once, Finch takes Cade's damaged hand again, pulls it where it's protectively held to his chest. Critically, he eyes the splint and the swollen finger squeezed and held straight there.
It wouldn't take much to get Cade howling. Just a gentle push. That's all that he'd need. He'd tell him everything, and then Finch could decide what to do with him.
Instead, Finch covers Cade's hand with his own. Its soft and warm, shielding him from the winter air.

"Why do you want me to hurt you?"
"Why don't you want to hurt me? What the fuck's the matter with you?"
"I never wanted to hurt anyone," Kaden snaps.

Cade wants to call another bullshit on that one, but Kaden chooses then to start cutting.
Not the cutting Cade would expect.

"And I don't need to hurt you, Cadence," he says smoothly. "None of it matters now."

A cold gust of air brushes over Cade's skin. He stands there, in utter disbelief for what feels like forever.
Everything comes rushing to the surface to scream, but he only has one mouth so he settles on this.
"Whaddya mean none of it matters? You took my fucking life!" He rips his hand out of Kaden's too soft grip, growling.

Finch isn't phased. No one ever is.

"No, you gave it to me when I never asked for it." Kaden is staring out at the frozen river, the blanket of still whiteness.
When he finally looks at Cade he feels pinned by the stare.

"You were born with a collar and leash," Kaden says, just above the whistle of the wind.
"You like having it pulled, but only as long as the person on the other end has the resolve and brutality to do it."

Just like that the bastard lays Cade out. In one sentence he thinks he's summed up his fucked psyche.
Being this exposed isn't what Cade wanted. None of it is.
None of it's true either. He's not... He's not a fucking bitch. He isn't.

Cade feels numb and helpless, just like back at the hotel with Neil.

"Likewise, I know you'll bite the moment you feel the leash slacken. Not because you crave freedom, but because you want the rope around your neck tighter," Finch says, matter of fact.

Cade shoves Kaden back with an arm across his chest. Anything to make him shut up.
It happens in a snap, he pushes the Butcher up against the safety failing.
The fucker glances down at the arm, then up at Cade.
As if this proves any point he's trying to make.

"If you've found someone new who can give you the restraint that you think you need, then I understand -"
"I don't want your fucking understanding!"

Damien ruined him. Delilah ruined him.
They've turned a razor edged badass into whatever the fuck this is.
The years he's put into this man who was supposed to be unstoppable, supposed to be infallible...

"I know," Kaden concedes with a nod, like he hasn't tortured and killed and maimed. Like he's some kind of fucking saint and therapist.

"Regardless of what you think of me, you're the closest thing I have to a friend," Kaden says, and he won't meet Cade's eyes. Maybe because it's a whole new level of pathetic he's reached and he can't stand to see the disgust in Cade's face.
Cuz it's there. It's there in full force.

Kaden looks down at the icy river behind him. "I can't hurt you anymore."

The Dog pushes, shoving Kaden that much further off balance. He grips the railing, icy death laying like a soft blanket beneath them.
"So that's it? You lose your mommy and you go limp dicked?"

Because that's the truth.

That's what this whole fucking drug empire has been built on.
Cade sold his life on it. He gave it up not to a powerful man worthy of all the fucking shit he has, but a lost little kid who doesn't know what he has.

Kaden doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. He grips the ice cold railing, finding his footing.
The Dog could push him. He could dump him over the edge.
If Kaden doesn't break the ice and drown, he'll snap his neck with this much distance.

He'd be a better leader.

Cade's arm leaves Kaden's chest, slowly.
The man doesn't even breath a sigh of relief. He just steps aside, straightens out his coat.

"We're not friends," Cade says. If Kaden was wrong about any of his psychological breakdown, he's wrong about that.
The Dog rubs at the wolf tattooed into his skin.

"You're a fucking embarrassment. No wonder she left your pathetic ass. Damien, too."

Finch looks away, head bowed. A few locks of his perfect hair fall loose to wave in the wind.

"And I can't believe I'm the only idiot who stayed. Fuck you, Kaden."
 
---

The inside of the armored vehicle is crowded and buzzing with conversation. Everyone is talking, not too loudly, but the chatter is still a constant noise. Maybe the cops are working through their nerves by pretending this is just another day on the job. Maybe they are equally as excited at what's to happen as MacDarragh is. These are the SWAT agents of his precinct, after all. For most of them, this is not their first rodeo. The patrol uniforms they have to wear during regular duties (cause big calls to action like these are irregular treats over the course of the year) have been switched out for tactical gear.

It's all ballistic vests and military helmets and balaclavas to hide their identity. Even with faces concealed, MacDarragh can name each and every one of his men. The captain derives a lot of satisfaction from knowing bits and pieces of their lives - it's a useful weapon to have, but it's also what's earned him respect in the first place. What lets him get away with a lot.

Neil is whistling.

If the rest of the officers find it inappropriate for the situation, they don't say shit, though Kate visibly tenses up and holds onto Daryl for support when her captain casually juggles a stun grenade in his hand.

The man has been acting weird since he came back from the hospital with his nose all bandaged up. The bridge of it is still lightly bruised, as is the underside of his left eye. The color is like patchy dark eyeshadow contrasted against his green eyes, and with the mask on his face that's more or less all that's visible of Neil. He hopes it'll be enough for Cade to recognize him, if Wolf is indeed here.

That possibility is what has him most eager.

When the vehicle starts slowing down, MacDarragh turns to his team, voice sing-songy as he tosses the grenade up in the air once more, "Remember, the element of surprise is your best friend."

When he catches the non-lethal explosive successfully, Kate audibly sighs in relief, "Disorient them, get them on the ground and start making clean arrests. We don't want anyone running off and flushing evidence down the toilet. But stay on guard. This isn't a random crack house, it's the Dogs' crack den."

It's all 'yes sir' and 'copy that' from his subordinates as they clutch their AR-15s. The plan is for a blitzkrieg, fast and as bloodless as possible. That's what the High-Rise is anticipating, anyway. Neil has his doubts. Or hopes.

MacDarragh chuckles, feeling alive, "Let's give 'em hell."

The pace of the armored vehicle finally comes to a complete stop, and with one swift movement, the metal doors at its back are kicked open. Outside the crisp morning air is painfully fresh when Neil breathes it in as he runs. The sun is barely coming out. Dawn's the preferred time for police raids - everyone is just in the process of waking up, many are even still asleep in bed. What a shitty way to wake up, accosted by the fuzz. And the Dogs will be accosted, make no mistake.

Several vehicles are at the front of the gang's building, letting a stream of officers out. On the other side, the back-entry team led by Montesano's boss should be doing the same while regular duty cops are to cordon off a parameter around the conflict.

The NYPD can work like a well-oiled machine when it wants to. Or rather when it's paid enough as an incentive, despite not managing to get full details on the layout of the place they are about to break into. What matters most is that they have entry points.

The court gave MacDarragh a no-knock warrant. His men still knock, in a way, polite as they are. Part of the glass doors out front explode into shards as a battering ram slams into it (some call it 'The Enforcer', it's very cute). Like well-trained service animals, the captain's subordinates use this breach to rush inside and at the gangsters posted closest to the entrance. Neil follows behind.

"Police!" he calls that out in the same way he'd say 'honey, I'm home', if that was accompanied by him throwing a flashbang further into the building. The safety pin hangs off his finger.
 
---
Pawl hears it before Kaden does.

Her head springs up from where it was resting on his chest. She twists, ears swivelling, eyes wide.
A moment later she's leaping off Kaden's lap.

A resounding bang follows her fretful meow.
And then dull firefighting.
Trapped in his body, of which is slowly shutting down, it should all feel largely inconsequential.
Kaden knew it was coming, but now is very coincidental and unfortunate timing.

Getting his body to move is like forcing a limb that's gone to sleep to shift.
But there's no tingling, no pins and needles. Just dead weight.
His body's dead, but he's still inside of it.

He lands on the floor. The feeling of free fall sparks adrenaline and an increase in his BPM, but nothing else.
Kaden draws in a small breath, smaller by the minute.
It comes out in a wheeze, squeaky and quiet.

The next breath is a small pant. He can't open his mouth, can't get more air.

He's going to suffocate.
The human body doesn't accept surrender; it will keep going under extreme pain and duress and it will take Kaden with it.
Before his heart stops beating, his lungs will cry out for air they won't take in.

----

They come at daybreak for the element of surprise. The Dog believes it's a dream, or a movie he left running.
But even if he had surround sound it wouldn't be this overwhelming.

It's like the earth is coming apart.

Cade is behind his bedroom door, pressed to the wall shirtless with some sweatpants on. He's just about literally been caught with his pants down.
Standing there, wiping sleeping sand out of his eyes he makes a promise to himself that he's not dying barefoot.
He's not being dragged out of this building half dressed. It's just not going down that way.

The door slams open with a kick.
As predicted, the men have to check their corners. That's what they're trained to do.
Cade fires a bullet into the crotch of the poor unfortunate bastard who checks behind the door. Pursuing, he grabs the guy to his chest and presses the pistol to his head.

"Put it down!" The meat shield's friends yell.

Cade assumes 'it' is the gun and not Dickless.
The Dog's the one with the hostage. So he makes that clear.
"I'll blow his brains out!"

The men glance at their buddy, delirious with shock. He's slack in Cade's arm and if he's not careful the worm will slide to the floor in a black and red puddle.

The only difference between the squad is their eyes, it's the only sign of individuality. They're meat the government is throwing to the dogs. They're not people. They're pawns.

"Don't fucking test me. Drop your weapons!" Cade snarls.

The black uniforms make them look big and imposing, but they're still only human.
They slowly lowering their machine guns, one after the other.
The Dog let's the barrel of his gun shift from the head it's pressed against to the men now standing there armless.

They hold up their open palms in surrender.

With a firm squeeze, the weapon comes to life in Cade's hand. He riddles both men with bullets. The one in his grip struggles and he gets a bullet next.

The scream of the gun puts a ringing in Cade's ears.

The outside world is a haze of bullets and shouting. Already a noxious, throat tearing smoke is beginning to seep in.

"Hell," he breathes, wiping at his forehead where a headache is going to blossom.
Cade glances at the body beneath him and the thick mask covering most of its face.

They're about the right size.

Wasting as little time as he can, Cade strips the body, one piece at a time.
With every layer lost, more human surfaces. Soft ginger hair, piercings, freckles, tattoos. All signs covering up what made this man an individual.
And what did he die for?

"Was it worth it?" Cade grunts, stuffing the body into his closet.

The vest and armor is still warm. It's wet where the blood soaked in.
And the boots are a bit tight, it's tight around his shoulders and chest too.
Cade straps a gauntlet over his forearm, adjusts the gloves.
He groans at the sharp wrongness in his finger. Fuck.
Now is not the morning for this. Of all the nights to spend here he chooses this one...

Cade looks over the apartment room, in all it's inoffensive nothingness.
This place was never his. Not really.

"C'mon, buddy." Cade picks one of the still dressed SWAT soldiers up by the armpits, shifts him over his back.
They feed him well, but Cade still gets him up.
He leaves his room, just in time for a squad to run down the hallway.
Cade keeps his head down, marches forward, heart in his throat.

The cops rush past him, even leaving him a wide berth.

Cade's hot exhale gets trapped in the mask, his muggy breath sticking to skin.
He can smell the old spice the guy was wearing.

You would think nothing would surprise Cade. This is a fucking police raid. He passes by a row of guys he knows, blinking in confusion from percussion grenades, being arrested. They're being chopped down.
Sure, the tower isn't the only Dog stronghold but it's the most prominent one. This is the head of the snake and after taking the Nakurra their inventory is full of all the worst shit you could be caught red handed with. Not just drugs of all variety, but weapons. Serious ones.
The ones taken alive are going away for a long time.
So this is as bad as it could get. This is what Cade achieved years ago when he was on the force. If he'd actually been there for the raid, maybe this would be more painfully nostalgic then just plain traumatizing.

Cade sees Delilah.

At first he thinks he's a sexist sonuvabitch.
The woman's wearing a bulletproof vest over a tank top and greaves. Her black curls are all bunched up in a ponytail. If you didn't see the size of her arms or the gun they're holding, you might think it was cute.
But there's nothing even vaguely adorable about her. She's got tits, but you don't think girl when you see her.
You don't think guy either.

She's not androgynous she's just... She's Delilah. And here she is, in the flesh.

The queen bitch, walking into the building like she owns the place.
And she does, or did.

Their eyes meet over the battlefield.

Cade swears some recognition floats over her eyes, the barest change in her permanent scowl.

She turns away, marches further into the building, flanked by agents that aren't like the others.
They breeze by where every other member of the raid stops at every door to slam it in, drag people out. Shoot who needs shooting.
Cade recognizes Tweets, on his knees with his hands on his head. He can't answer any of the questions being poised at him. How many people are here, how many weapons.
He just shakes his head, looking fed up like there isn't a big ass gun in his face.
The look he gives Delilah as she passes is half desperation, half confusion.

"MacDarragh." Delilah checks the safety on her weapon, the watch on her wrist.
"Keep your monkeys away from the top floor. We'll be out of your hair in a minute."

Tweets face twists again and he cranes his neck to watch her leave. She doesn't so much as look over her shoulder.
Cade grinds his teeth, gripping hard at the body on his shoulder. What the fuck is she doing here? Now?
The Dog scans the bodies of black, but in the swirling of sound and movement he can't find a pair of eyes he recognizes.
Neil's here, or a captain who has the same last name.

Cade doubles back, as inconspicuously as he can carrying a dead body. Finding a corner, he dumps the body off his shoulder.
He turns away from the exit, pushing further into the tower.
"Fucking bitch," he mutters.
 
---

Damien's been in police raids before, back when he was on the force. They were on residential homes, the kind of operations where you announce yourself first and wait for a response before breaking in if no one answers. The only time he took part in such a large-scale endeavor was, coincidentally, also on the Black Dogs. Difference is then he was just an eager rookie on the parameter of the real action chasing down gangsters trying to slip away.

Now he's an ex-con wearing someone else's tactical gear.

He managed to sneak in with Montesano's precinct - they've been tasked with pinching in the Black Dogs from the back of the building, while the other half of the officers cut them off out front. That's where MacDarragh is supposed to be. The ex-cop hasn't seen the bastard and he's praying he doesn't. There is a cold dread in his gut over the possibility, but Damien rushes into the fray regardless.

And fray is the only right word for it. Inside, it's chaos - smoke and bullets and barked commands to surrender. Everything is so loud and overwhelming that the shouts mix with each other until the words are indistinguishable. The cops aren't aiming to be understood - this is another intimidation and disorientation tactic, just like the flashbang had been. A slew of faces familiar in passing are being apprehended or shot down when they won't submit willingly.

And in the middle of this pandemonium, Damien is a sole figure desperately searching for something that isn't there. Shit.

He moves with the tide of identically clad officers, shouting and brandishing his firearm to blend in, until an opportunity presents itself - when the unit he's moving at the back of breaks down a door to drag yet another shock-eyed gangster out of bed, Damien lingers in the hallway, then splits off to run for the stairs.

---

MacDarragh watches in satisfaction as his hard work comes to fruition before his eyes. It's not as bloodlessly efficient as Viv would have liked, but that only makes Neil feel better about it. The Dogs give some pushback, as he expected, and soon enough bodies start piling up. Most are gangsters, some are cops. Nevertheless, the task force keeps moving forward in a relentless surge, dragging criminals out of their beds in the same breath they pull wounded companions behind the lines. Difference is, the latter they treat much more gently. A couple of Dogs get whipped in the mouth with the back of guns - some deservedly so, some not so much.

A lineup of criminals held at gunpoint down on their knees is rapidly forming near the front entrance, expressions a mixture of confusion and anger. Their scary boss doesn't seem to have arrived to give them instructions on how to try and defend against the raid. So much for the legend of the Butcher. Neil can't spot the man anywhere in the coordinated mess.

Neither can he spot Cade. The captain should go find him-

A voice calls out to MacDarragh and his shoulders tense up at the authoritative tone. The policeman clicks his tongue underneath the balaclava, slowly turning around to face this new speaker telling him what to do with his own men. His eyebrows quirk up in surprise when he spots the woman.

It's the Black Bitch. He doesn't know her personally, but the look tells him it really is her, in the flesh, coming to spectate the raid on the gang she herself built. That's kind of funny, but... What the hell is she doing here? And who is she to give instructions? The captain eyes the two agents flanking her, all three together appearing nonchalant as they waltz right in.

Neil stays quiet for a second, then reaches for his radio, making it come alive with a burst of static, "Stay clear of the top floor."

There. The instruction should spread among his men. Not that the Black Bitch waits for confirmation. MacDarragh's eyes trail behind the top Dog and her entourage as they walk further in undisturbed.

... Fine, he'll keep his "monkeys" away from the top floor. Doesn't mean he'll keep himself away, though. Wonder what he'll find there, or along the way.

---

"Kaden!" Damien's fist slams against the entrance to the penthouse over and over again, yet no answer comes no matter how loud he's being. Shit.

He can barely call out, short of breath as he is, so the ex-cop leans his head against the doorframe struggling to soothe his burning lungs. Something is wrong, terribly so. He hasn't seen the capo. Without their boss or second-in-command anywhere in sight downstairs, the Black Dogs had been left to fend for themselves. While he hopes against hope that maybe Finch has escaped, his gut tells him he wouldn't leave his men disorganized like that. Unless he physically couldn't aid them.

Damien's grip on the borrowed machine gun tightens and he takes one final deep breath in. The barrel of the rifle presses up against one of the hinges of the sturdy door and, without a second thought, he fires. The recoil traveling up his bones is nearly as painful as the explosion of shrapnel that comes with the close-range shot. He has to close his eyes to guard them. When they open blearily a second later, Damien expels a sharp exhale, then repositions the firearm at a different hinge and shoots again. Same recoil, same explosion. Something tiny and sharp grazes his eyebrow, leaving a cut.

That's fine. What matters is that the ex-cop's efforts pay off when the door becomes slightly skewed.

"Stand back," it's useless to call out, but he does it anyway. Retreating several paces, Damien lets the AR-15 drop and shakes his arms out, numbed by the echo of the firearm's recoil. Gathering all his force, the ex-cop kicks at the door with his heel.

In the back of his mind, a ridiculous voice notes that Finch will probably complain a lot about that one, but it's okay. Let him be mad. As long as he's safe.

The door gives way under Damien's foot, coming down on the other side in a crash as the latch gives out, unveiling the apartment the ex-cop honestly believed he'd never visit again.

The first thing Damien sees running inside is Pawl, on edge with her ears back, probably from all the racket the man caused rudely infiltrating her abode. He nearly starts apologizing to the cat when his voice catches in his throat.

The second thing Damien sees is the body Pawl is standing next to.

"Kaden?" when he feels like shouting, all the ex-cop can do is whisper the name.

It's him, lying motionless on the ground.

Without fully realizing what he's doing, the helmet and balaclava get discarded as Damien rushes forward, sliding to kneel next to Kaden. Ripping one of his gloves off, the ex-cop desperately searches for a pulse at the side of Finch's neck. With how fast his own heart is beating it takes him a moment to find the rhythmic sensation. It's slow, barely there, and diminishing by the second. Fuck.

When he hovers his bare hand over Kaden's lips the situation gets even worse - barely any breath tickles his skin. Fuck.

"What hap-" when his eyes land on the open case of poisons nearby, the question changes midway through, "What the hell did you do?"

Why the hell did you do it? Shit, maybe he injected some ludicrous Romeo and Juliette serum or whatever and is just playing dead until things blow over.... A needle is missing from the second layer of his meticulously organized set. "Paralyzed within the hour, then soon enough the heart stops beating..." No, he couldn't have-

"Tell me which one is the antivenom!" when Finch returns no answer - because he fucking can't - the edges of Damien's eyes tingle with frustration, "Please..."

The plead he rasps out is a useless one - he's begged Kaden before and the consigliere has never relented. He won't now either, slipping away as he is. All Damien can do is stare helplessly. It's unfair how Kaden still looks dignified, even with his hair mussed up and complexion turning blue. Even when he's dying. Damien memorized his face and now that recollection is going to be replaced by this cold death mask...

"No, you're not dying."

Just like the door, Damien is going to brute force this. After all, the ex-convict is nothing if not stubborn.

All police personnel are required to know basic first aid and CPR - it's part of the academy requirements. It's also the type of algorithmic knowledge that sticks with a person. Moving the capo onto his back and clasping his hands together, Damien places them in the center of Finch's chest, then pushes down fast with his elbows straight. The ribcage below him dips and he keeps compressing it over and over. Some rapid cycles of that, and his hands instantly shift to Kaden's face, tilting his chin up and opening his mouth.

Damien pinches the man's nostrils shut, then leans down, engulfing his mouth with his own.

That same ridiculous voice reminds him that Kaden dislikes being touched, and here he is, touching him in such a selfish way. He's going to be even more pissed off over this than the door. The ex-cop would like that. Mad is better than dead.

Damien breathes into his lungs, twice. He's going to repeat this as many times as it takes. As many times as are necessary for Kaden to tell him where the antivenom is.
 
He really is dying. Damien is here, dressed in an officer's tactical gear. Maybe he's here to arrest Finch. Maybe he reconsidered his decision to let him go at the bar and he's here to sentence him to a life behind bars.

Too late.

But lying there, Kaden has to think he looks just about as upset as Pawl does.
Somewhere past the terror and regret, it's nice not to die alone.

It's strange.

He's scraping by on the sensation of breathing air through a stir stick. It's pitifully not enough.
He wants to grip and scrap at Damien like something that wants to live. Many animals will gnaw off a limb to have survival.
But he just lies here while Damien looks at him, while the Black Dogs suffer downstairs.

How could he be so stupid? Maybe this is exactly what Delilah wanted, timed perfectly. He never considered the potential she saw him as a threat.

Animalistic panic grips him. He can't tell Damien how to help him. He can't do anything.
The pressure in his chest, the need is unbearable.
Regular drowning is a few seconds of this terror, but this has come on slowly and stayed longer.
Colors blur and go sharp. He rips at Damien, at his own mouth, but he doesn't move. Nothing moves.

Please please please please

It's a mindless mantra, one that devolves into incoherent baying in his head. When his body must lay inert, his brain writhes and screams. The howling is deafening, but he doesn't make a sound.

There's a steady, rhythmic force compressing his chest.
The blur of Damien pitches back his head, and locks his mouth around Kaden's.

His breath fills Kaden's chest with life. Everything comes into stark, overwhelming focus.
The half used oxygen is the best breath Kaden's had in his life.
If he could move there is definite chance he would scramble to hold the man in place, as if he was the only source of this sweet air in the world.

He came back.

Damien came back.

He shouldn't have, didn't have to, but he did. Here he is.

No, you're not dying...

It's said with quiet certainty. He cares. Someone still cares.
A tear further blurs Kaden's eyesight before it slowly slips down his temple to dampen hair.
Kaden doesn't hear anyone come in. He doesn't hear anything besides Damien's voice, muffled and far away.

Delilah takes Kaden's apposing side, across from Damien. The woman attempts to squeeze in before shoving the couch aside with her shoulder.
She's got color in her cheeks, light in her eyes. Her greying hair is turning the black curls into a river of white.
She's always had a face like stone, and it was always a challenge to make it crack with a smile or a moment of tenderness.

"Hang on, son- hang on." Delilah's brushing his hair back, holding his face. It's alien. Finch imagines he's dead.
People always love you most when you're dead.
Delilah grips his shirt and tears it open in one pull. Her hands are cold when she feels at his skin, the catch of Velcro from a glove overstimulating.

"Where's his thing?" The queen Dog asks, shaking an open hand. Damien knows exactly what she's talking about, handing Kaden's case over to her so she can flick through the layers to find the one she needs.

Delilah bites the cap of the needle off, spits it out.
She jabs it in his chest with the same care and tenderness of punching a wall.
Without a doubt, Kaden knows this is another oxygen deprived hallucination. Damien and Delilah are together in the same room.
They're both kneeling beside him, filling his vision with faces of worry.

It's another dream of what he wishes could be.

Delilah snaps her fingers at someone who must be there that he can't see.
"Other thing, please."

An oxygen mask is fitted over his face, strapped into place.
Kaden half blinks, slow and not without some difficulty.
Delilah watches him take a breath that's forced out in two or three agonizing coughs he can't open his mouth to release.

The woman pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes clenched shut.
 
When Kaden coughs painfully back to life, it's the most wonderful sound. Damien's shoulders visibly sag in relief as he leans over the man, feeling himself trembling with the emotion he'd been holding since he saw him lying cold on the floor, on the precipice of death. He stares into Finch's face, at the wet trail going down one of his temples. At the breath that fogs up his oxygen mask with each exhale.

He's alive.

Damien didn't let him die.

In a pathetic lifetime of failing to protect the people he cares about one after the other, Kaden wasn't added to that tally of misfortunes. Damien got to him in time, he saved him. Or at least, partially he did.

When his shaking steadies enough, the ex-cop's head rises up to look at the woman that'd know what to do with the case of poisons when he shamefully didn't. He's never seen her before except for in an overexposed cellphone photo against a filthy green carpet, face sweaty and caked in vomit, but the features are unmistakable, even pinched into a grimace as they are now. They're imposing, vaguely reminiscent of how Finch can look sometimes - not in a blood-relation kind of way, but in the subtle mannerism. Everyone picks up eccentricities and habits from their parents.

"You're Delilah," the ex-convict notes evenly, more so reaffirming the fact to himself than asking her for confirmation. This is her, Finch's boss, his mother figure, the one he has been desperately trying to find since the beginning. His Achilles' heel that causes him to become unbalanced.

When Damien speaks next, it's through clenched teeth, "What are you doing here?"

After all the searching and the pain, she makes an appearance conveniently in the nick of time, plunging a life-saving syringe directly into Kaden's heart. Damien battles with himself over the gratitude he feels for the woman - without her the capo would be dead, he's well aware of the fact. But then she calls him 'son' and the ex-cop snarls. Damien is sick and tired of shitty parents. You don't leave your son when he needs you most, you don't sabotage him and force his hand into doing what you want. You don't allow a child to get beaten into a pulp as some stupid fucking test.

Dalilah just saved his life, yes, but that doesn't suddenly erase all the suffering she has caused the man.

She's not here alone. Damien briefly glances at the two men standing behind the woman, one of whom had handed her the oxygen mask - they're both armed with high-power guns as well as armored, but not in the SWAT tactical gear the ex-cop is wearing. Are they Black Dogs or something else?

The inspection doesn't last long before his eyes zero back in on Delilah.

Sound is still streaming in from the broken-down door, gunfire and shouting as the police raid continues to sweep through the Black Dogs' tower. It's not quite here yet, but it has climbed further up the building. How did Delilah and her entourage make their way here through all that? Were they simply allowed to pass?

Damien tenses, and suddenly the weight of the S&W at his side doubles.

"Thank you for saving Kaden," he nods his head slightly, and for all intends and purposes he is genuinely thankful for that part, "But we need to go now. And I'm taking him with me."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 3 (members: 0, guests: 3)

Similar threads

Lumpkinz11
Realistic or Modern Socks and the City 1x1 RP w/ deadly king
Replies
9
Views
139
Lumpkinz11
Lumpkinz11
hellomydear
Realistic or Modern Lavender Caught In Thorns w/ sappho_ 1x1
Replies
4
Views
68
hellomydear
hellomydear
muchmorethanmuses
Fandom Inquisitionis || 1x1 Star Wars RP || Muchmorethanmuses && Lucyfer
Replies
5
Views
104
Lucyfer
Lucyfer
Lumpkinz11
Fandom Rocky Horror 1x1 w/ ClownSauce
Replies
1
Views
32
Lumpkinz11
Lumpkinz11
Lumpkinz11
Fandom Hogwarts 1x1 RP w/ EmilySmith
Replies
8
Views
74
EmilySmith
EmilySmith
Back
Top