There's a reckonin' a comin'.

[cyclopticsadist]

Who: Niles, L, Azura, Henry, Myr, Connor,
When: Backdated to the 7th, through the rest of the month.
Where: A seedy motel, then an abandoned warehouse in the refugee district.
What: Sometimes people cut off their rival's fingers as self care. Don't judge.
Warnings: Niles cuts off all of L's fingers, it's gonna get nasty.



Mello vanishing was both a boon and a tragedy for Niles' plans. Getting a live grenade out of the picture made things much simpler, but it meant he had no secondary player to keep Myr's attention. The longer that Mello was gone, the more attention would be focused on him, no matter how much he sweet talked L's lackeys. This full moon was his best chance at success, and L was ever so helpfully acting out his self destructive schedule early. The night of the full moon was the perfect time to pounce, and the moment he saw L going for the bottle he gathered his supplies.

Time to get to work.

Comments

Step One: Myr

[cyclopticsadist]

[hearthebell]

[No matter how diligently one tried to make himself unpredictable, months of outfoxing a determined hound wears on even the cleverest and most careful. Eventually, the lack of a reliable routine demands tokens of structure for the cohesion they provide an otherwise unraveling life, and as exhaustion has begun to take earnest root, L has begun to become almost defiantly predictable while knowing that Niles is stalking him. A conclusion, one way or the other, is going to come more swiftly that way, and bring with it some kind of peace after months of scattered distraction, transient living, and the unique torment of waiting for an axe to fall.

His work schedule has never been more consistent. Reliably, every Friday, he takes a break from spending nights awake in the library or imposing on the long-suffering Myr's generosity to rent a room at a cheap inn, the sort with hourly as well as nightly rates. Generally, his goal is simply to bathe, clean his spare set of clothes, and choke down his anxieties and his senses with substances until he's drowned in oblivious sleep. The hope is that it will be enough to last him through the next week, if he manages to outpace Niles that much longer.

Tonight, however, he's switched things up a bit. He's started the weekend a night early, holed up in the stuffy room that stinks of old smoke and mildew, rationing out pills to guide and regulate a private pursuit that only begs for respite. The path there is filled with staring into the void, of course, but L's no stranger to it. In fact, it almost feels like home, where his closed and stifled world was accessed through a glowing screen and an endless rotation of tea trays coming and going as he grew, but never really changed.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[It was a curious quirk of a Faun's resistance to intoxication--or of one particular Faun's resistance to intoxication--that Myr had been unable to sense L's evenings of cultivated oblivion. What would have, had, floored the detective's other Bonded barely registered to a Monster the world's magic had made nearly proof against drunkeness, and so Myr had missed it among the noise of his other Bond and a life lived in Aefenglom.

No longer: With Connor's warning in mind and a hunch as to which nights L might have penciled in to spend obliterating himself, Myr trained himself to feel for those signs--and had come, now and again, to sit a silent watch outside his Bonded's door.

It felt a shameful thing, in its way, because what Myr ought to have done (he felt) was confront L on the behavior direct. But L had deemed it so necessary he'd bargained with Connor over it--L had deemed it so necessary he'd hidden it from Myr--and the very thought of that cut the Faun so deeply he could not even begin to formulate a rational approach to the topic. Guarding L at least felt a reasonable halfway measure, and with his Bonded's indiscretion happening on so regular a schedule, Myr could plan for it.

Until tonight, when the moons are high and fat, and a Faun's shaggy-coated and at his most virile, and-- L's starting early.

The recognition had sliced through the pleasant haze of Myr's full-moon planning like a blade of glacial ice. He'd dropped--whatever it was he was doing in his garden, it didn't matter in the face of this, and hastened to the motel L favored with no thought of what he'd do when he got there.

Because while the knight-enchanter in him is furious at this deviation, this lapse, the Faun in him wants nothing more than to join his Bonded and make something merry out of L's piteous, ill-kept secret. Within the week Myr would go off to war on Everett's behalf; why not a celebration with his Witch? Why not drag this private drinking out into the open where it belonged and show L a better road to a lighter heart? Wasn't that Myr's job?

--Which is how, in short order, the Faun finds himself knocking insistently on the door of L's rented room.]

[hearthebell]

[L's preparing a spell for one of his fondest illusions, letting the shower run after he's used it and tracing runes into the fogged-up mirror with his fingertip, when the knock startles him out of his steady concentration. It sounds too urgent to be someone here in a professional capacity; he's expecting no one, pointedly. If it's Connor again, ever the good samaritan who does not understand the very human frailties in a man who would really rather be a machine, L will have words with him, while he's only one pill deep, still decently sober and coherent enough to make a very compelling argument in favor of why he needs this even if it is a day early.

He opens the door a mere distrustful crack, at first... then, slowly, swings it wider when he sees who stands on the other side. On any other night, it would be the person he is gladdest to see, but...]

Myr!

[In one syllable, L's voice runs the gamut from dismay to a sort of overbright cheer.]

You're... I really wasn't expecting you.

[Connor talked. He must have. Stupid bolts-for-brains boy scout.]

Why are you here...?

[Even through the calming effect of the evening's first opiate, downed with liquor, the pull of their Bond is a heady and hungry thing. L wants Myr to join him, or take him away from this, be a distraction for a little while from the ever-present threat of Niles finally making his move. L's inhibitions are lower, he could give of himself more freely, he could offer the kind of affection Myr must like with the moon full in the sky...

...except. If L deserved that, he would have gone to Myr's tonight, instead. Even if he was deserving, he would still be selfish, heedless of disaster, willfully ignorant of the danger it would be putting his Bonded in to adhere to his side when he's being hunted and his stalker is in the final stages of closing in for just short of the kill.]

[faithlikeaseed]

You shouldn't be drinking alone, amatus.

[Myr's tone, like L's, is chimerical--a Faun's hedonistic delight in the Now overlaid on something darker, tenser. You shouldn't be drinking alone, because it's an awful thing to drink alone when one has a loving Bondmate to drink with instead; you shouldn't be drinking alone, because you're a man under siege, they both are, and they cannot afford to be off their collective guard.

The sway of the moons, the dose L has already taken, and his own soft heart certainly incline Myr more toward the first. Did they not deserve as much together, given the pain of the previous month? Given the tearing strain of constant vigilance, of constant fear of what the next hours might bring?]

Come out with me?

[--Though it is exactly that soft-headed, soft-hearted kind of reasoning that will get them both killed. Even as Myr makes his appeal and holds out a hand to his Bonded, a smile lighting up his face, there is something fiercely roiling beneath his surface as his two natures struggle with each other.

It's the last thing a Monster should be doing the night of the full moons, and yet--can he do aught else, when the need's so dire?]

[hearthebell]

[Even with the door swung wider, L still uses it like a shield, keeping the edge of it between himself and Myr and half-hiding behind the wood that, truly, any earnest effort could probably crack in half. It's a shoddy, surface-level comfort, like all the rest he's surrounded himself with recently... but Myr, at least, is real, along with what he's offering.

Wouldn't it be kind of nice, for a change, to not treat the weekend like an execution date? In addition to wildly irresponsible and selfish, of course.]

I... want to.

[A good preface to the requisite but. Except it doesn't come, yet. Why isn't it coming?]

I really want to.

[It's fine, he's making sure Myr knows it's not personal. A gentle, easy letdown, that... also spits in the face of the promises made, the trust given, the recommitment to their Bond that seemed equal parts hopeful and futile.]

Is that OK? You'd feel safe with me, considering...?

Step Two: Transport

[cyclopticsadist]

Step Three: Connor

[cyclopticsadist]

Linked here for continuity.

Step Four: The Procedure

[cyclopticsadist]

[hearthebell]

[Waking is a slow and queasy process. The veil of chemical sleep is a heavy one, and were it not for the dull recent memory of what happened at the motel, and the keening wrongness of his current situation, he wouldn't try nearly as hard, might just melt back into that warm, oblivious cocoon. But L doesn't wear oblivious well, even when he wishes for it actively, and so he's trying to blink away the overbright blur that greets his vision when he opens his eyes, testing the range of his limbs, fingers and toes.

His toes move and respond, though the sensation feels distant, even disembodied. His fingers do not; when he tries, a sickening jolt at the base of his skull compels him to glance down at belt restraints holding his wrists securely to the armrests of a modified dentist's chair. A crooked and swollen collection of bruised shapes greet his bleary gaze; they don't make sense, there is something deeply wrong with this picture, along with the fact that even in the context of the drug-induced haze he is still partly nestled in, they don't hurt the way they really should after such apparent mangling.

His pulse is loud in his own ears, too slow but fairly hammering against the constriction of the collar that siphons and holds his blood (and therefore his magic) through needles. Getting rid of it would be ideal; a lot of things would be ideal, but in the meantime...

Glistening tarps surround the area in his peripheral vision, reflecting a bright artificial light source in the dark warehouse. Packing blankets block the windows. L knows what this is, and there's only one person with the motives to put so much thought and care into it... even if L never quite gave Niles the credit he deserves for this level of detail, this amount of planning and foresight. That was his mistake; it should never have gotten to this point, but now that it has, his fatalistic premonitions ring even more hollow and desolate. The best that he can hope for might be a quick death, bleeding out fast if he can provoke his captor into cutting too swift and deep... and that this won't demolish his Bonded irreversibly. Is Myr even safe? Will he ever know?

His heart beats louder and faster even as his body and senses remain sluggish. There's a white-furred shape just out of range of what the light source allows him to easily perceive, toweling itself off with brisk and agitated movements. Though L's magic is largely silenced and his hands broken and restrained, there's a glimmer of hope; the magical tattoo on his back is something he can access in tight moments like these. If the spells are weakened, they could still help him.

His mouth scarcely moves, he doesn't raise his voice a thread over a whisper though his syllables slur together under his breath. Small sparks of meager lightning are at his disposal; mere shreds of control, as well. They could lay Niles out, kill him, or infuriate him, and none of those will really gain him a net positive, in the end.

The moment he starts invoking his magic, however, the collar buzzes, the sound and vibration powerfully startling to the point where he believes for a terrifying second that he's been decapitated.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[Niles was positively sulky. Connor had neglected to dry him off which wasn't a huge deal but it was just one more inconvenience on top of an already stressful day. His tail he's spent the most time drying, it had gotten the most wet after all. He's not soaked anywhere, but he'd only managed a single round of toweling his chest. At the buzzing Niles tosses the towel away and approaches the chair, stepping into the light properly.]

Ah, ah-ah. I suggest you calm down. I want to give you a chance to cooperate. [He's speaking in an even, detached tone. His tail flicks back and forth along with the meter of his words.] You'll notice I've numbed your hands. I don't need to cause you any pain tonight.

[hearthebell]

[Intellectually, L knows that to panic in this moment would be counterproductive. It would cloud his reasoning and his judgment more than they already have been ; it would put him in an emotionally compromised and fragile place where he'd be all too susceptible to the demands of a torturer. Of course, panicking is also the most appealing option; his body knows it even if his mind fights it, and it responds with restlessness, a surge of adrenaline as Niles approaches. His limbs know they're prey, his heart knows it's prey; he should be running fast and far.

He has to remember that his best case outcome might be a pulverized and quick death. Torture can last for hours, days, or far longer; depending on Niles' motives, it could take awhile to break L to his satisfaction. And at that point... would his existence have a point? Even if Myr had been adamant that simply letting Niles kill him was out of the question and wholly unacceptable, what if it's his only choice?]

Might as well listen. Might as well properly understand what it means to cooperate, before testing the limits of the collar again.]

But you need to cause damage.

[Nothing in his line of sight leaves him doubting for even a moment.]

That's... the only thing you're good at, isn't it? Your special talent?

[He makes it sound intentionally belittling, condescending. Maybe even pitying, because this relies on pushing as many of Niles' buttons as quickly as he can, as long as he can. Come on; you can snap better than that. If he can escape, he has to try for Myr's sake, but if he can't, he won't have his Bonded saddled with something altered beyond recognition that might as well be dead, anyway. Isn't that what it would take, for Niles to cease considering him a threat?]

[cyclopticsadist]

I like to think I'm alright, but I'll let you be the judge of that.

[If L was trying to hit a nerve he'd missed, but that was no reason to let him keep taking shots. He grabs a belt off the table, and moves in without another word, pulling it tight around his right arm for use as a tourniquet. Static shocks meet his fingers and the fur along his arms is beginning to stand on end. Niles tenses for a moment, but relaxes as the collar's alarm crackles back to life, buzzing noise more intensely this time. Henry's device was working.]

Step Five: The Hand-off

[cyclopticsadist]

watch call

[cyclopticsadist]

[The moment he's sure he's managed to lose anyone following him, he finds somewhere secluded. His voice is low a low whisper and he's panting heavily.]

Henry, it's done. I'm on my way.

[morbide]

[Henry's awfully surprised to receive the call, not entirely abreast of the situation. Though it's not completely unsurprising, and he doesn't betray any manner of surprise.

If anything, he simply offers a hum of amusement over the device.]

Roooger. Hey, I'll be out front for you, 'kay? That way you don't have to come to the door. See ya in a flash!

[And Henry's quick to head outside, wearing a decent sweater provided by his Bondmate — she is a seamstress, after all, and knows he runs a bit cold regardless of the weather. He's alert, ready for Niles's approach.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[Unlike normally, Niles approaches from ground level rather than coming down from a rooftop. As he slinks between shadows on the street it's clear why. He's hurt and bloody, and when he reaches Henry the smell of singed fur and burnt flesh accompanies him. But he's wearing a triumphant smile, albeit one tempered by exhaustion.

He pulls a pouch off his belt, which he presents to Henry.]

Got 'em all. [His head dips down a little apologetically then.] Got interrupted, so I had to leave the collar there unfortunately. [And his smile fades into something more serious. They didn't have time to celebrate.]

I can't stay long, the guard will be after me.

[morbide]

[A change in M.O., eh? Henry's not actually sure what to make of Niles' shift in lurking behavior, but he takes to it about as readily as he might take to a decapitation. What he doesn't precisely take to is the sight of Niles in disarray, though it's not as if he falters much.

It's alarming, at worst.

But Henry's seasoned to this ilk of dealing, and he shakes his head with the same easygoing smile he always wears, hair longer than his usual dancing about his face with the emphasis of it.]

Aw, don't worry about that collar. I don't need it back. I could always fashion up a newer, bloodier model, anyhow. Not that I have any real use for it. [Here, he accepts the pouch. He peeks inside with a laugh.] Whoa, sticky fingers here swiped up some tactile treasure! I'm touched, nya ha!

[The severity or gravity of this situation might be a little lost on someone so gruesome as Henry, who focuses on the gory details. But he regards Niles more carefully — for all Henry kills with great ease, seeing people in pain isn't his favorite thing.]

Do you want some of my healing magic? I've only gotten better at it since Bonding, you know! I'd say I'm the best dark mage healer I know, and I'm not even bragging.

[He doesn't know a single dark mage healer. That's why.]

Step Six: Escape

[cyclopticsadist]

Finding Niles' "body"

[plasticasshole]

It took Connor a good while to track down the charred corpse before him. A long process of scanning his environment for relevant clues and making sure they added up to Niles before going onward. Singed fur, a hoof print... Niles is sneaky, but everyone leaves traces of themselves behind, and Connor was built specifically to find those traces. It all added up to this, though. And at first Connor feels a weight drop in his stomach, a dizzying sensation of horror overwhelming him. He's afraid to go near the body for a while, pacing nearby because he can't bear to have to look at Niles like this. But... he has to, doesn't he? He's the only one out here.

He crouches down by the corpse, finally. Reaches out to touch the closest horn, mourning silently, even if he's still angry about what happened during the full moons. He didn't want this, no matter how hurt he was. It's only upon closer inspection that he realises something feels... off. Connor is intimately familiar with Niles and his anatomy by now. The horn doesn't look right. It's in a strange location on his head, off by just a fraction. Maybe a regular human wouldn't have noticed, but Connor is hardly that. He scans the body more closely. The horns are too far spaced apart. He checks all over, and comes to a conclusion after the tail turns out to be too short and the teeth are all wrong- this isn't Niles. This is Niles' stuff for sure, and from a distance and even close up it can initially be confused for him, but it isn't. His theory is confirmed when he checks Niles' watch. It's still on.

Taking his own watch back, along with Myr's, Connor is faced with a dilemma. Niles obviously didn't intend to be found out. This is his stuff- his necklace, the remains of his stinger sheath, the watches he took- so it is therefore obvious that he wanted this corpse to be mistaken for him. Burning it beyond being recognisable was likely done after death, to make it near impossible to tell who it really was. But Connor knows the truth. He can go back and tell everyone that Niles is alive, and hiding... or he can say he found his corpse, and let Niles go. People would be inclined to believe him. He's an honest guy, and even when he's lying he's very good at it. But what does he do?

Linden is in the hospital because of Niles. He wasn't killed, but he was mutilated. Maybe that's a worse fate? He isn't sure, it would take time to study that thought, and it would be heavily swayed by his own beliefs and general fear of death. It's still an awful ordeal, though. Surely the perpetrator deserves to be brought to justice. That's what the cop in him thinks. If that's the case though, why does he feel like he can't do that? He thinks of all the times he spent with Niles, of when he saved him, when he came to visit him after, of how he'd felt during that kiss before everything was ruined. He's being influenced by his emotions again. He can see it happening, and he can't stop it. The facts are present in front of him and he's still hesitating. It makes him angry with himself.

Realising he's been staring dully at the necklace this entire time, Connor reaches out to pry it from the body and hold it in his palm. This could be proof that Niles is dead. All he has to do is show his friends and lie. Maybe they'd even be happy to think he died. This could all be over. He'd never see Niles again, but he'd be free to make a life somewhere else. Linden could hopefully heal over time and consider the case closed.

He gets up again and stows the items in his pockets. He'll do this one last thing for Niles, but now they're even. He won't see him anymore, and that's fine. He doesn't want to see him right now anyway. He'll ignore that part of him insisting it isn't fine, and head back home.

Step Seven: Fallout

[cyclopticsadist]

About a Week Later- L and Connor

[hearthebell]

[L has been in the hospital. At first, he'd required sedation to even calm down, but even after the initial shock of the incident had worn off, for once in his life he still favored sleeping. It was better than staring at the way his arms ended now, or trying to speak or swallow past the mutilated and stitched mass of muscle in his mouth. He'd been told that his tongue would be slowest to heal, compared to the sliced-off wounds in his hands, or the places where the silencing collar's needles had left gouging red holes in his neck. He had been soothingly assured that patience and diligence would help him, but...

...patience and diligence are really out of the question. L can't abide what he's being asked to live with, can't visualize a world where he could find peace with his new situation where his ability to communicate with Myr has been reduced to what's raw and ravaged through their stricken and staggering Bond. Though the faun has been often- present, gentle, and patient, he has suffered as a result of this, too, and it comes through in the moments the detective's perfectly undamaged vision observes every one of Myr's subtle, strained expressions. L's thoughts have turned toward an obsessive brand of spite, because while adaptation is possible, it requires a hell of a lot of motivation. And now? There's really only one thing he wants, overcoming his waking moments with steady and seething preoccupation.

Niles didn't kill him. When L's on his feet again, has found a way to bend magic to his will and control its finer points without use of his fingers? Niles will wish, dearly, that he had.

This evening, a healer has stopped by to speak softly to him about there being no immediate rush, but to please begin making plans for discharge. Returning home, arrangements for work, continued plans for adjusting. He backs off quickly, because the steel in L's eyes isn't particularly receptive to the prospect of an optimistic outlook, and when word reaches the floor of a visitor, well... whoever's here to see Linden Tailor had better be quite a good friend.]

[plasticasshole]

[Connor enters the door without hesitating, despite knowing he won't like what he sees when he comes in. He gives L a strained smile, and sits by the bed. He's quick to notice he doesn't seem to be in a particularly good mood, but who would be after an ordeal like that?]

Hi Linden. How are you feeling?

[He pauses, and then looks apologetic. Of course, his tongue is shredded and his fingers are gone. How will he communicate?]

...We need to find a way to communicate before we go any further here, I think.

[He studies L for a moment.]

Something that doesn't require a tongue or fingers... writing is out of the question... do you know morse code, by any chance?

[hearthebell]

[Of everyone L could have seen today, Connor might be one of the better options. He doesn't want Myr to begin resenting his silent, miserable bedside, and he desperately wishes the faun to take the time and space he himself needs, and... well. If it were anyone else, it'd be too soon, or too difficult to interact with them in this particular state, whether or not they could find a way to communicate. It really is best, that it's Connor.

He's sitting up in bed when Connor enters, cross-legged atop the covers, his useless hands in his lap. His clothes are loose, fastening in simple ways requiring minimal dexterity, for obvious reasons. He swallows thickly when Connor approaches, eyes narrowing very slightly at that question concerning his well-being.

As well as I can be, so... terrible. Thanks.

Morse code is promising for the present, however. Up until this point, L's communicated with the help of witches who can read a willing mind, but not everyone has such a talent, and it's a heavy prospect to think of needing something like that long-term. He nods, confirming that he's familiar with Morse Code, blinking Y-E-S for good measure.

It'll take awhile. Fortunately, he knows Connor to be patient.]

[plasticasshole]

Okay, good.

[Slow, but if it works then it works.]

I realise Niles is likely the last person you want to think about right now, but... I thought you should know. He's dead.

[He tips his head slightly as he watches L for a reaction. He knows the man isn't stupid, in fact he's dangerously keen. But Connor is confident in his ability to lie.]