#WR morgue

[wickedsrest-rp]

NAME: Office of the Medical Examiner (Wicked’s Rest Morgue)

LOCATION: Deersprings

The Wicked’s Rest Morgue isn’t the town’s only morgue, but it’s certainly the nicest, and the one you probably want to end up in after your untimely death. Located in the forensic science center and equipped with some of Maine’s finest pathologists (kind of), state of the art technology, and a refrigerated holding room, you can really get an autopsy in style here. It would be a little hard to enjoy it, but still. Though the ME’s Office is an independent entity, it works closely with the town’s police as well as the hospital to gather the right information (and bodies). Not that most deaths in this town come with information that’s all that helpful. It’s always a toss up on whether the ME’s death investigators are aware of just how strange the truth can be. And as for the Medical Examiners… well, that depends on which one you get. 

People who died alone or under suspicious circumstances are stored in a high security hall here, and are autopsied by the Medical Examiner. Most often that’ll be Regan Kavanagh or Morty Rickers. A pass from either of them is required for entry into any secure areas. They don’t take bribes. Marcy, the receptionist, can at least check you in so you can make yourself comfortable in one of the waiting rooms.

While Dr. Rickers doesn’t seem to know anything at all about the supernatural, Dr. Kavanagh just might. That doesn’t mean the death certificate can state “assailed by leprechauns.” However, saying the right thing to Marcy might literally open some doors for you to ask the doctors about more cryptic details.

Try not to find yourself alone with Dr. Rickers. He will talk your ear off about his grandchildren, even during autopsies. How does he have so many?

They manage to keep the main areas nearly free of the smell of decay, covering it up with clouds of Febreze.

You need a pass from an educational institute or ME if you wish to observe anything behind the scenes, as they want to make sure people are serious about learning from the experience, rather than just snooping or even looting.

The holding room is highly secure with an alarm system and video feeds. Some of them cut out at seemingly random times – often in Dr. Kavanagh’s office. No one has found any indication of a technical problem.

There are fully functioning research labs in the hospital nearby that focus on specific pathologies. They frequently collect bodies to use for organ transplants, skin grafts, and research. It’s not unusual to see a number of trucks in front of the building – either picking up or delivering.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Beginning of September PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: When Regan finds out that Alex was shot and refuses to go to a hospital, the medical examiner finally, and after much exasperation, tells her to come by the morgue to get her wound checked out. CONTENT: Self harm

The whole way over to the morgue, Alex reasoned with herself that this was a better call than going to a hospital. She was pretty sure that hospitals had to report gunshot wounds and the new additions would likely raise more questions than she truly wanted to answer. She’d toyed around with the idea of not going to the morgue at all, but after the full moon hit, that wasn’t really an option unless she wanted to tell Kaden she’d all but beat herself up in the bunker and opened her own stitches. 

Of course, it wasn’t quite that simple. The restless energy that had coursed through the werewolf the previous night was There had been no sitting still after she’d gone through all of her prey and was left with a suffocating, empty bunker. Somehow that energy manifested in the form of an itch she couldn’t quite scratch and an inability to sit still. The scrapes, scratches, and bruises that painted her limbs had been evidence last night’s full moon had been anything but normal. She wasn’t sure what Dr. Kavanagh would make of it, but what was important was that Kaden was none the wiser. Alex knew her cousin would find a way to blame himself for it somehow. 

The morgue had that clean chemical smell to it as she made her way toward Regan’s office. Even the chill in the air felt pretty standard for what the facility was meant for. Alex didn’t think keeping dead bodies in a hot building would be fun for anyone involved. Something about the death made her a little uneasy considering the role it had been playing in her life lately, but this was a doctor’s visit… which somehow was not any better. She waved uncertainly toward the receptionist. “I’m here to see a Dr. Kavanagh?” 

The call from Marcy was expected though not entirely welcome. “There’s a young lady here to see you. She limped in. I’m pretty sure she’s not dead yet, so I don’t know why she’s asking for you. You ever going to explain that to me? While you’re at it, if you’re seeing live patients, can you check out a mole on my shoulder?” Regan shuffled through the list of possibilities in her head and landed on precisely who this must have been. Kaden’s child cousin. Alex. Possibly with a bullet in her body. The thought was a wave of ice and reminded her to steel herself. She had seen far worse in the living and especially in the dead, and her equanimity could not waver.

In the lobby, there was once again only one possibility of who was there to see her. Regan wished for not the first time that she could shed this cinniúint-thréigean coat. “Come.” She didn’t look at the child beyond the flash of red hair she’d caught in the corner of her eye, though she wanted to observe her. The chilly reception (or at least chillier than usual) was petty, she knew, but the morgue was not a hospital, and it was maddening that the Langley family seemed to treat it like one. Kaden was putain enough. Now there were two. 

“Cad tá mé ag dul a dhéanamh leat?” Regan found herself muttering a question Cliodhna had muttered herself on a near daily basis, regarding her granddaughter with worn resignation. Regan had understood the question to really mean, “what good are you?” when it had been directed at her. Outside her office, she finally turned to meet the child’s eyes. She was young, but the tight expression on her face – masking pain, Regan thought – and dotting of scrapes and contusions across her skin suggested she was older than her years. Regan’s eyes narrowed, though not unkindly. She carded the door open. “Sit down, explain everything to me, and give me a very good reason why I should not be sending you to the hospital.”

The medical examiner was not a particularly large woman, but the way she moved around and commanded respect made her seem larger than life. It made Alex feel smaller than she already was, which was pretty damn small considering she’d been the same height since she was like eleven years old. She supposed she also shouldn’t have been thrown off by the cold way the doctor addressed her either, but something about it still made her wince and hold on tighter to the edges of the flannel she had all but wrapped around herself at that point. Dr. Kavanagh wasn’t even overly harsh. Her eyes definitely weren’t cruel, the werewolf just already felt exposed. Ashamed. Because hadn’t she been taught to tend to her own wounds like Andy and Kaden had? 

“Hospitals are for humans,” Alex answered as if it was obvious. It was a show, but not a very good one. Her fingers fumbled over the hem of the green plaid and she knew she’d need to give a better answer than that. This had been a bad idea, but the full moon had only made things worse. “Kaden mentioned the mutated animal thing. When I was shot, I didn’t look like a person. I look like one now… but I’m still not.” 

The word monster was practically at the tip of her tongue, but Alex wasn’t sure that one wouldn’t get her carted right off to the hospital. She wasn’t entirely sure how much Regan knew, but some of her oddities seemed to indicate she should know something. Especially considering she probably saw some pretty strange deaths. She shifted nervously on her feet and only slightly cringed when the movement caused pain. “Uh,” she started, “Everything… well, I was… mutated. And someone shot me. Then the full moon happened and I lock myself in a bunker so mutated me doesn’t…” 

She looked down at her feet. Alex couldn’t even speak what she knew she was capable of. “Think I had a bit of a panic attack while mutated,” she mumbled, not quite meeting Dr. Kavanagh’s eyes as she rolled up her sleeves to show various bruises, scrapes, and scratches, “My cla– nails get really long. That’s the uh… scratches.” 

What were the odds the doctor would buy that one? It was the truth, but the truth was often harder to believe than a really good lie. 

“They are, yes, and I’m not about to do any procedures that couldn’t be done on a human.” Regan rolled her eyes. Why did everyone think they were some exception to going to the hospital? Why people thought they weren’t human was another question, but one Regan knew she wasn’t going to move the needle on. “Just as morgues are for humans, by the way. But for whatever reason you find this more palatable, and I just want you examined by someone.”

But with some recent context, Alex’s explanation made Regan’s thoughts immediately turn to Gael. This sounded like… what was it he’d called it? Wolfitis? No, lycanthropy. Did the two of them know each other? That question made her brow crease. Regan wasn’t sure she liked that, especially if this child was one of the people trying to spoon feed him all of this strange terminology, all of these lies. Gael had mentioned precisely this, though – someone who had locked themselves in a bunker and injured themselves in there.

Other questions cascaded from there. If Alex was shot because of this… mutation, and she had the same illness as Gael, could this have been the individual Gael was warned about, the one targeting people with this specific health condition? That was a sobering thought.

Regan realized she had been silent for some time. She gave the child a nod and stretched her gloves over her hands. The girl was nervous, almost trembling, and she had never been great at putting people at ease. Though Regan suspected some of it was that Alex was talking to a doctor about any of this at all. Perhaps she could help ameliorate that fear. “I might be familiar with your condition.” Regan looked down at her then took a seat across from the girl. She knew she’d need to be on her feet shortly, but she had learned in interacting with next of kin and patients that they felt more comfortable on the same level. “My condolences that you are afflicted. I am close to someone who–” With a jolt, she comprehended what had come out of her mouth, and she cleared her throat, wiggled uncomfortably in her coat. “I have an acquaintance who may have the same ailment. He handles it differently than you.” Regan waved a hand as if to dismiss any talk of Gael. Her stomach felt like a hot pit. Acquaintance was correct. Fearg an chinniúint, why had she not said that first?

As Alex rolled up her sleeves, it at least gave Regan something else to focus on. Something comfortable, something she knew. Something that wouldn’t dip into the unfamiliar territory of acquaintance-plus relationships. Regan surveyed the girl’s skin. Alex was pretty scraped up, pretty bruised, but Regan didn’t see anything demanding her attention. She spoke after a moment, not rudely, but also not dancing around the point. “We both know I’m not interested in seeing minor incised wounds on your extremities. Will you show me the gunshot wound?”

“Palatable,” Alex murmured, “Right…” She wasn’t exactly sure she considered this trip to the morgue palatable. If it hadn’t been for the way she chewed at her wound during the full moon, she wouldn’t be here at all despite the fact Dr. Kavanagh had practically demanded she come get checked out if she wasn’t going to a hospital. There was also no way in hell that Alex was willingly going to a hospital, so here she was at the morgue, letting Regan in all her tame exasperation check out the re-opened stitches that she refused to show Kaden. She wondered if doctor-patient confidentiality applied here because she’d really rather this not get back to Kaden, but Alex wasn’t so sure she should be pushing her luck here. 

Nerves made it hard for Alex to look up and meet the medical examiner’s eyes. Instead, her gaze wandered over the half packed boxes that were strewn across the office. She remembered Regan vaguely speaking of leaving when she had offered up those books, but that had felt like a whole lifetime ago. 

“You are familiar with it,” Alex perked up. It was hardly an admission that the doctor believed in the supernatural, but at least she thought it was plausible. Maybe that meant she didn’t think Alex was completely insane. “How does he handle it,” she asked, genuinely curious. Given her own debacle with the bunker this month, she knew she had to be open to ideas even if she wasn’t sure they’d actually be good ideas. 

It wasn’t surprising to Alex that the medical examiner wanted her to get right to showing her the worst of her injuries. The gunshot wound was why she was here and why Regan was frustrated with her for not seeing a doctor at a hospital. Still, she swallowed nervously as she pulled down the hem of the cargo pants she was wearing to reveal where the bullet had grazed her left hip. The stitches looked about as chewed through as they were and fresh blood had dried up around it. Even looking at it made her feel light-headed and she cursed herself. “Uh, this is it. Do I…” She trailed off, unsure of what she was supposed to do. She couldn’t recall ever having gone to an actual medical professional. 

“I’ll tell you about it shortly,” Regan said, knowing what lay ahead better than Alex, and knowing she’d be grateful for the distraction. “For now, just stay still.” She gave the site a careful look, as one might assess the virtues of a renowned painting in an art museum. To her, there was beauty in such an ugly thing. But the fact it was on a live human being tainted such a lovely show of anatomy. It was immediately clear that Alex should have gone to a hospital. But the wound could have been much worse, all things considered; the bullet had grazed her, not hitting bone or even really leaving a full entry wound. But any bullet at any distance could be lethal, or disfiguring at a minimum, and Regan was sure this one had caused great pain. 

And then there was the attempt to fix this. The sutures were chewed up, mangled, almost as bloodied a sight as the wound they were poorly tethering closed. They couldn’t have started off that way (even if they were poorly-applied then, too). It looked like an animal had done this. She was sure Alex wouldn’t give her the truth as to how this happened, even if perhaps she thought she was giving it. There was one other remarkable thing: the bubbling blisters surrounding the margins of the wound, as if the bullet that struck her had also burned her skin. It was true bullets were heated as they were fired, this appeared to be something more. Like her skin had rejected the material of the bullet. She thought of her own hands, scarred with iron discipline, and a connection was sparked only to be swiftly rejected. Alex was not fae.

Regan hissed a breath of air through her teeth and finally turned up and away from the wound, looking Alex in the face. “The good news is that there’s no sign of an infection. But… well, first of all, you need new stitches, which means removing the current ones, which will hurt considerably. I apologize in advance.” Alex wouldn’t want to be standing for that. And her wiggling would make things harder. Regan sighed, her eyes flicking over the table. At what point did it make sense for her to invest in a procedure chair for her office? That would be a fun one to explain to the higher ups. For now, she made due with pushing the table directly up against one of the chairs. It was a sturdy thing. It would hold. “Can you lie down on there? I’m going to apply new ones after I remove the old. Do you think you can keep still?”

“Appreciate it,” Alex responded kindly, “And I can manage that.” It might make her light-headed and nauseated, but she could sit still through the pain. Her parents had made certain of that even if she had never been graced with the accelerated healing to go along with the hunter training. It didn’t change the way her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears rather than her chest. She almost wished Dr. Kavanagh would explain now and put off the inevitable, but the wound the silver bullet left behind was the reason she was here. With how she chewed through the stitches, she wasn’t even sure it was in a state Kaden could deal with and she didn’t want him to. He’d only worry and that protective streak he had would only grow. 

Alex chewed at her bottom lip nervously as she watched Regan move one of the tables up to a chair. The office wasn’t set up for patients of the living variety which made sense considering it was a morgue. Somehow, that still seemed better than a hospital and the inevitable questions they would ask. Not that Regan didn’t have questions, but she seemed to consider the possibilities of mutants. Werewolves were kind of mutants, just not the superhero kind like Phoenix and Cyclops.

“Kind of figured,” she nodded, “Both on the new stitches and the pain. It’s fine.” It was not fine. As she sat down in the chair, she already felt the sweat begin to pool in her palms and across her brow. If her lip hadn’t gone right back to its place between her teeth she was fairly certain it would also be quivering. Even if she wore a brave face, Regan was a doctor. Physiological evidence would tell her everything she needed to know and it brought the werewolf a great deal of shame. If it wasn’t so damn sad, it’d almost be laughable that a monster was shaking in her boots over a medical examination. She laid down on the table and something about the fluorescents shining down made her want to crawl out of her skin again, but she was sure to stay still as a log. “Ok, I’m ready when you are,” she breathed out through gritted teeth. 

Regan worked swiftly and adeptly. And though Alex was shaking, she did eventually seem to calm herself down. It was easier once the worst was over – removing what remains of the old stitches. Putting the new ones in was easy by comparison, though Alex still wouldn’t appreciate the feel of the needle on what was still a rather raw wound. She wasn’t great at distracting patients during procedures – usually any distraction would fall on dead ears – but she would try. “That acquaintance I mentioned. He… camps.” That hardly sounded like a solution at all, saying it aloud. She wondered if it would sound just as foolish to Alex. “It might not be precisely the same ailment you’re dealing with. I don’t know if you sleepwalk. But he seems to think that things are better when he camps, rather than being confined to his bedroom.” Either way, though, Gael seemed to wake up with blood under his fingernails and a dead animal carcass or two nearby. 

As she finished up the last of the stitches, she seemed to grow heavier. Camping was helping. She wasn’t sure she could say the same anymore, given that Gael was attacked by some animal last time. Almost fatal. The maddening man thought he was lucky that the creature had just missed clamping down on his spine, but Regan didn’t believe in luck, and even if she did, what was lucky about almost dying? “I’m not suggesting you camp in the woods,” Regan clarified, “It didn’t go so well for him last time. There are too many dangerous animals lurking about. Bears. Coyotes. Screaming moose.”

While the explanation did little to clarify anything for Alex, listening to the medical examiner talk was a welcome distraction to the increasingly unbearable pain in her hip as the wound was tended to. Some of it sounded vaguely familiar. If asked, she would probably tell those who weren’t in the know about werewolves that she was going to be camping that night. It was close enough to the truth, hiking out deep into the woods to turn into wolf-monster and eat dinner/sleep was basically camping, was it not? The sleepwalking bit was curious and made her wonder if Gael was her acquaintance. “Camping,” she said through gritted teeth, “Wanted to give that a try myself.”

There were more questions, but none came to mind as Alex made a concentrated effort to remain still and keep her limbs from trembling. It worked well enough for her legs, but her hands were shaking under the sleeves of her jacket ever so slightly. So she let the thought of further questioning go until Regan finished up the last of the stitches. Even then, she needed a moment to recover and only barely caught the doctor saying that she didn’t recommend camping. 

“Not worried about coyotes and bears,” Alex explained, “Could live without the screaming moose, though I’ve never actually seen one scream.” It didn’t seem like the point. She knew Dr. Kavanagh was pointing out the dangers that lurked in the woods, but even with the context of her having some sort of mutation, she didn’t think the doctor realized that she was one of the dangers in the woods if she was out there. “Mutation kind of,” she trailed off, unsure of how to explain it, “Gives me some protection there. And me being deep out in the woods is a lot safer for everyone else. Mutation is… weird.” 

It’d be a lot easier to just say werewolf, but Alex wasn’t too sure how well that one would fly. “But you mentioned sleep-walking… the person you know doesn’t happen to be a chemistry professor, does he?” 

“Do you know who else thought they could deal with the coyotes and bears?” Alex probably saw where this was going but Regan continued anyway. “At least a hundred of my decedents, probably more. And I haven’t even worked here a full year yet.” Regan sometimes needed to remind herself that she had nothing to fear from anything, that no wild animal could harm her, but most people were the opposite; they held more confidence than they had the right. “Whatever capabilities you have were not enough to protect you from your assailant, nor whatever chewed you up after.” Nor Gael, from the animal that almost took his life last time he went camping. Speaking of… did Alex know?

Yes, she knew Gael. And now Regan couldn’t help but wonder if the mutated child in front of her was one of the scores of individuals who had been trying to convince Gael he was a werewolf. Something clenched in her chest, and she itched with discomfort. Caring was such a bothersome thing. She kept her voice stoic so as not to betray that Alex was correct. “Rather inappropriate to try and figure out which individual I’m referring to, don’t you think?” She raised a brow as sharply as the needle and finished up the last of the sutures. “Fortunately for you, I will not fault nosiness, as I exhibit plenty of my own. But you won’t get your answer from me.” If she wanted to ask Gael, that was her prerogative. For a second – a second too long – she entertained how Gael might refer to her as something other than an acquaintance, and the thought made bile bloom in her stomach. 

“There. You are done.” Regan rose to her feet and gave Alex a self-satisfied look. “Now, are you going to tell me why you allowed an animal to chew on your first set of stitches? Because I don’t want a repeat of that. You will not enjoy that, either.” Regan had a feeling Alex would either tell her nothing at all, or make up some outlandish story involving werewolves and vampires and ghosts. She had to wonder if a doctor in the ED would have been able to coax out the truth, or at least more of the truth than Regan could get. The dead were more honest, every time.

When it came to Wicked’s Rest, coyotes and bears were the least of her worries. Even though most bears had considerable size on Alex they still didn’t stand much of a chance against a werewolf. Maybe if grizzlies were in the area, she’d be slightly more concerned, but as it stood, the standard wildlife of Maine seemed safer than literally ripping herself apart in the bunker. It seemed like the extent of her ‘mutation’ wasn’t exactly clicking with the medical examiner though and she wasn’t even sure how to explain her choice to camp in a way that would make sense. “Well, still safer than the alternative,” she shrugged, “And that was different. Someone like him would have found me anywhere… and nothing chewed through my stitches.”

Not that she was sure that Regan would believe her. Alex was a bit more on the monstrous canine side when she had in fact chewed through her stitches. That wasn’t nothing, that was just herself having a little werewolf panic attack in a bunker. Even if she had the energy to explain following having her stitches removed and replaced, it wasn’t like there was an explanation that most would find reasonable… hence, why she hadn’t gone to a hospital. 

Though she was quickly reminded of the medical nature of her visit when Regan shut down her question about Gael. When most of the patients were dead, Alex thought it was easy enough to forget about the whole patient/doctor confidentiality thing… but she was alive. Gael was also alive. “Right,” she stammered, looking down in embarrassment, “Forgot the whole doctor patient confidentiality thing… Only heard of it in theory, never in practice.” 

Given, Alex hadn’t actually ever been to a normal doctor. At least Dr. Kavanagh wasn’t going to hold her question against her. The delivery was still cold, but there was something of understanding in it too. Even though cold sweat still clung to her skin, she smiled, “It’s scientific curiosity. We both like to understand things… and okay, maybe a little bit of it is nosiness.” 

Of course, the question of what happened to her stitches came and the truth was Alex didn’t have a good explanation. Even if she hadn’t done it to herself, the state of her injury did in fact imply she let something do this to her. But Regan talked about mutations… maybe she could hint at the truth. She ran a sweaty palm through her tangled hair and looked down at her lap. “I didn’t let anything chew through them,” she answered nervously, “I was locked in a bunker alone. I did this to me… while I was sleepwalking.” 

“And I’ll grant you the same privacy… mostly.” Regan had already decided she’d make an exception and tell Kaden about this. They were cousins. And from where she was standing, Kaden was the responsible adult, the one who should have insisted that Alex be placed in front of an emergency room physician. But the man was too stuck in his own phobia to help her. Oh, yes, she certainly had some words for him. Náireach bórd.

Sleepwalking. There it was. Her thoughts turned to Gael once more, and an exhausted sigh swelled in her lungs. At this point, both Alex and Gael were viewing reality through such distorted lenses she wasn’t sure which of them was correct about any aspect of this illness. “Lycanthropy,” she could rule out. But short of that, anything else was on the table. And unfortunately, it wasn’t an autopsy table. That would be too easy. Regan rolled her gloves off and discarded them, keeping her eyes on Alex. “That isn’t physically possible. You can’t chew through something on your hip. I have never known anyone to be that flexible. If you’re going to argue otherwise, then I ask that you show me right now.” But that would not happen, she was sure of it. “And if you were asleep, how do you know what happened?” Regan raised a brow, a moment of triumph settling over her face before she realized the unknown still loomed.

She also realized that, sometimes, there was no winning. Regan sighed, her shoulders tensing. Briefly, she considered extending a hand to Alex to help her off the chair, but she had already removed her gloves. “How does it feel? Is your movement alright?” She gave Alex a sharp look. The commanding eye of a doctor who knows patients will almost always act against medical advice. “Be good to your hip. No vigorous exercise for at least eight weeks. Light exercise is acceptable after four. Keep the site clean. Tell me if it begins to smell like an infection or leak fluids.” Her gaze softened, only slightly. “I do not have lollipops. They would have given you one at the hospital. Go there, next time.”

Mostly. Alex wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what that meant, but she hoped it meant that Kaden wasn’t going to find out about her stitches being chewed through. He knew something was up and realistically she knew she could only avoid it for so long. Kaden was a stubborn pain in the ass like that. No matter how hard she tried to push, he kept being there. Almost annoyingly so, but that was more her frustration than anything else. So instead of getting clarification, she simply shrugged. She couldn’t get an answer she didn’t like if she didn’t ask the question. It was a sound philosophy as far as she was concerned. 

“Some people call it that, yeah,” Alex mumbled. It wasn’t like she could exactly prove her point. Even if she had mastered shifting outside the moon, it wasn’t like she was going to turn into a large wolf monster in the middle of the damn morgue. With how seriously Regan took her job, she was pretty sure the doctor would not be even remotely chill about an animal in her otherwise pristine office. Part of her wished Regan could understand, she wanted the doctor to believe her, but she wasn’t going to push. Instead, she shrugged. “Like this jacket too much to ruin it.” 

Alex stood up from the chair and grimaced slightly. Even if she wanted to, vigorous activity was definitely not on the table. She let out a pained laugh. “Think I can manage skipping the heavy physical activity. But noted on all of the above,” she paused, “I appreciate you taking the time to fix the stitches back up.” Then, there was something a little less cold in Dr. Kavanagh’s gaze, but she was fairly certain that was wishful thinking. Still, the ‘not joke’ was humorous. “Yeah, yeah,” she shook her head as she headed toward the door, “Think I’m a little old to bribe with lollipops… but sentiment is noted and appreciated.”

Was she ever going to willingly go to a hospital? Not a chance. Alex figured if she had more than one conversation ever with Kaden, the doctor probably already knew as much. She figured she could at least try to keep herself out of trouble so that word of an injury didn’t get back to Regan again. 

[elgascreamslikehell]

Well i managed to find my audacity to proceed writing. Now i just need to find a reason for that.

So I'm chewing glass again. It's more like a snippet for one of the fic i started before but TW ahead, it is still glass. I warned you

He can't remember it clearly. Just scenes flashing in the dark. Flat line, this awful beeping noise and somebody calls the time of death And then he is somehow sitting on Eddie's couch, holding Chris so tight he could break No tears whatsoever. Chris is sleeping on his hands Someone in the kitchen, he hears quiet voice. Someone is turning on coffee pot. Someone who is not Eddie. No tears still.

'Buck...'

Someone appears to be Maddie.

'Buck, i bring you a coffee. Do you need help putting Chris in his bed?'

'No. I'm on it. Just...'

She is still crying. And he is not

'Just need a minute. Or two'

Or more. He can't recall how he end up here. They were in hospital and then... Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death But it can't be true.

'Maddie. Why are you crying?'

And she starts crying more, holding his shoulders

'Evan... My poor Evan. I'm so sorry...'

'Me too... Maybe. Just... It's not... It's not right'

Instead of answer she's passing him something small. It's a medal. St.Christopher medal. It should not be here. It should be with Eddie. It's his lucky charm. Something bad can happen with him without this thing. Something like Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death

'We need to give it back to Eddie, why do you have it?'

'Oh Evan...'

Chris starts to move and they both just shut up immediately. But Chris is still sleeping, just nesting more comfortably on Buck's lap. Maddie inhales

'Evan. I know the stages of grief, I've been there. You're obviously in denial. But, and I'm really sorry to bring it up, you need to keep it up a little bit cause there's a lot to do. Bobby promised me he can call his family but we need to prepare everything for the funeral and you can't just ignore the reality. At least for Chris. Maybe it gets easier if you cry.'

'I don't need it. And you too' *** Still no tears. Everything is strange and unreal around and somehow he gets days off with the reason of 'passed away spouse' and he probably needs to ask Bobby how did he manage that. But last time he tried Bobby just hugged him That was nice but it doesn't answer the question. He chose the coffin, he got the documents for the grave, he talked with Frank, he even found a therapist for Chris cause he was asked for... in the couple of days he has done so much in this strange limbo but somehow he still isn't ready for the funeral. What funeral? And where the hell is Eddie when Evan obviously needs him? Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death Still no tears *** This day is special. It's so sunny and pleasant Buck would rather spend it doing anything else. With Chris and Eddie for example. He can't remember when he has at least an hour of sleep but that's only because it's all not real. Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death Where are the tears? He puts on his uniform, the ceremonial one. And then he opens the drawer to get Eddie's uniform too, but there's nothing. He took it... Where did he take it? Morgue. He took it to the morgue for... For... Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death Buck blinks and there's Maddie

'Evan!'

'What?'

'I'm calling you for the ten minutes already, you scared Chris and me, are you ok? You just look to the void'

'I can't find Eddie's uniform, he would be mad'

Maddie sights

'Evan... Did you talk to Frank lately?'

'Of course! Bobby made me. We discussed...'

Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death

'Some stuff'

'When is your next session? Do you understand you need to hold on... At least for Chris. Or we can take him for a while'

'Athena also suggested that, but we're fine. Ask Chris!'

'I asked. He is worried about you.'

'We're fine. Why are you crying again?'

She sobs.

'I'm just sad that you're not'

She's right. No tears *** It's all wrong. Everything. This coffin... Who's inside? And why is he holding Eddie's medal? Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death And everyone is crying right now but him That's odd Bobby looks awful. Okay, everybody look awful. And every word being said is somehow about Eddie. Where is he by the way, he would hate it. People talking about him just like he's not around Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death That's Buck turn to speak. And... Ring the bell Ring The Bell The bell for deceased firefighter But who is this deceased firefighter Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death It's just wrong reality, is it? Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death Flat line beeping noise calling the time of death

Three hours seventeen minutes in the morning november the third Edmundo Diaz pronounced dead in the cedar sinai hospital

Buck pulls the bell rope and finally feels the tears on his face It's not the reality It can't be It's He pulls the bell rope again Bell sound mixes up in his head with this beeping noise and just doesn't stop And tears are still running And he hears Chris calling him but it's all blurry and smudged and this noise is just too much and...

[letsbenditlikebennett]

[pm] I think Ted Lasso is really going to have to be our next watch, huh? Me too. 💚You're so valid. The only lawyer I trust is Elle Woods, so, same vibe. Harvard's in Boston... we could take a train if we really needed to.

Yeah, I think as far as new experiences go, listening to music is a pretty good one. Huh, yeah, I forget that like dorky dads are a thing. He's really kind and supportive though. Good because I do love my rock a lot. It always looks really pretty when the sunlight from my window catches it first thing in the morning. Well, hopefully that's not misplaced, but hey, being made of literal rocks helps if it's totally inedible at least.

I think it is a little bit, too, but there might be a reason for it. I don't know, just a vibe I get that I don't have an actual explanation for. We will. I'm hoping she's here until after the full moon so I can give her the bones of whatever I snack on before she goes. [...] Huh, in that context it does make sense. [user is looking through Regan's page for hints] It seems like she really likes dinosaur bones, but that's a little hard to arrange because well dinosaurs. Maybe something else cool and rare though? Unless we're about to rob a natural history museum. [...] Wait, are we about to rob a natural history museum? Can't be the WR one because the bug guy knows me.

Am I going to have to make out with you in the middle of the Disney store? Because I will. Yeah! They'll love it. I know some good local organizations we can bring them to that I've volunteered with some. Considering some more volunteer work this semester soon once I'm all cleared to be active again... well, not cleared. I'm not going back to the morgue for a follow-up. But yeah, it's perfect time to do some Robin Hooding. [...] Wait, this there a Robin Hood couple's costume idea we can make work for both of us? The problem is we BOTH need to be Robin Hood.

[pm] You could never. Well, that just makes it feel even more special to me then, that I get to know you with and without and appreciate both. Oh yeah, that's true. I didn't even think about that with Nora being a bugbear. Good, because I want to know both too. Anything that makes you you is important to me. [...] Yeah, I'm his family, but like, my aunt wanted to kill me so. Don't know how much family really plays into it, but he cares about other supernatural people who aren't blood-related. He really wants to protect people, supernatural and human alike. He doesn't care about what you are, just who... and who you are is amazing. I'm very confident that he'll both like you and you for me.

[pm] No, you're totally right. Soccer is cooler than football. Soccer has Ted Lasso. What does football have? Friday Night Lights? Boring! I kind of love our brand. [...] Sure, that sounds right. But, like, the only lawyers I trust are She Hulk and Daredevil, and they only operate in LA or NYC depending on which comic you're reading sooo, like, failed step one.

Yeah! I don't think she has a lot of experience with stuff like that, but it's always good to give it a go, right? Gael is pretty cool. Kind of a dorky dad type, but I like that. Your rock was definitely cooler, though. One of the best rocks ever for one of the best people ever. I've got total faith in you, babe. And my stomach is literally made out of rocks so, like, I can eat whatever.

Oh, yeah, I totally get those vibes. She's all about work and all about bones and all about literally nothing else. It's a little sad, I think? I'd be sad if I only had two things going on. But [...] I don't know. Maybe it works for her. We'll definitely take good care of the bones, though. [...] Hey, that's huge coming from her. She calls me a child, too. Which, like, if she is fae, she could be a hundred years old, so maybe that puts things into perspective a little bit? We can find some bones for sure. What kind do you think she likes the most?

If you think hearing it is hot, just wait until you see it ;) Halloween costumes would be cool, though. We can pick out the coolest ones for them and everything! I bet less people donate around this time of year, too. They all wait until December.

[pm] I won't let you down. You think so? Honestly, I think you're the first person who's really [...] known me with and without it. You know? Nora's seen me without it plenty, but I guess bugbears don't actually see glamours, so she doesn't know what I look like with it. And most people don't see me without it. But [...] I'm glad you know both. I want you to know both. [...] I don't know about that. You're his family. I'm no one important just some kid. [...] But I am glad he feels that way either way. Even if he doesn't like me. For you, you know?

[mosylufanfic]

Ups and Downs and Then More Downs

You know, that whole episode was about Iris, but she still had to comfort Barry and listen to Ralph be an idiot. Our girl had a really rough first day as the Flash and needed someone to support her for a change. Title from I’m About to Come Alive by Train.

(Read more here because Tumblr is still being weird about quotation marks)

Ups and Downs and Then More Downs

When Barry stepped on Caitlin's foot for the third time in two minutes, Iris said, “Babe, I need new clothes. Can you please go get me some?”

“Sure,” he said. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” He shifted his weight in a way that Iris had seen several times today, the gesture that said he was about to bolt at the speed of sound and be back before her heart had finished its beat.

Of course, all he did was take a regular old human step. The familiar mix of bewilderment, disappointment, and dismay flickered across his face.

She gave him a little smile. “No rush,” she said softly.

He mustered up a return smile and walked out of the med lab, headed for the lockers downstairs with the spare sweats.

“Thanks,” Caitlin said, with deep feeling.

Iris shot her a smile. “I thought this might go faster without him hovering and clutching my hand. Not that I mind a little pampering, but - “

“Yeah, I know,” Caitlin said. “He doesn’t know how to stay out of the way like you do.”

“That shouldn't sound like a compliment,” Iris mused. “But somehow it does.”

Caitlin smiled a little and focused on her x-ray. “Well, your tibia is broken,” she said. “I was pretty sure, but this confirms it.”

“Bad?”

“Not great. It’ll take several hours to heal.”

She shouldn't be shocked by that, not after the past few years of watching Barry bounce back from injuries that would have landed a non-speedster in the hospital for weeks. But it was different when it was her body, and she could watch the bruise bloom and then shrink away on her wrist, and she could feel the itch of broken skin knitting together.

“I’ve got to set it fast,” Caitlin said, “or it’ll - “

“Heal wrong, I know.” Iris set her teeth and briefly wished she hadn’t sent Barry away quite so fast. “Do it.”

With the bone set and a splint strapped on to stabilize it, Iris wiped her sweaty face and took a few breaths.

"How are you doing?" Caitlin asked. She’d moved on to her less serious injuries, and now was cleaning blood away from what had been a deep, painful cut on Iris's arm.

Exhausted? Humiliated? In pain? But most of all - "Starving," Iris said. "I don't suppose you've got an entire roasted chicken stashed away in one of those cabinets?" She wouldn't be surprised. Caitlin seemed to produce all sorts of unexpected objects from her lab.

"I can offer you a nutrient bar." Caitlin rummaged for a moment, and held out a bar wrapped in aluminum foil.

Iris studied it doubtfully. "Barry always complains about the way they taste, but they can't be that bad, can't they?" She bit off a corner, coughed, and almost spit it out. "Oh. Noooo. Oh my god."

"Cisco's trying," Caitlin apologized, throwing the blood-stained gauze square into the trash and stripping off her gloves. "But every time he improves the taste, the nutritional quality goes down."

"Maybe the reason they work is because they kill your appetite."

Caitlin laughed, but said, "I've tested them. Ten thousand calories a bar."

Iris froze in the act of taking another bite. Her stomach growled again. She remembered that she'd been training all day, even before the fire, and although she'd eaten a huge lunch, now her stomach felt like it was devouring her from the inside out.

"So weird to think of calories as good things," she said, taking the bite and forcing herself to chew before swallowing.

"They are good things," Caitlin said. "When you get the amount you need."

"I know that in my head, but the diet industry is powerful." Iris took another bite, defiantly - take that, lo-cal everything - and almost choked. "God, it's so bad, though."

Caitlin handed her a bottle of water. "Small bites and wash them down," she said. "And when you're done - " She opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a bright pink tampon box.

"Uh, that's not my brand, and that's not a problem at the moment." What if speed affected her cycle too? Oh, great.

Caitlin smirked and opened the box to show it full of Hershey's miniatures.

Iris felt her eyes widen. "You're diabolical," she said, and choked. "I - that wasn't - I meant the guys would probably all chop off their fingers before they even touched that box."

"I know," Caitlin said, but the smirk had dissolved. She set the box next to Iris on the bed and started cleaning up.

Iris took the prescribed small bites and watched her.  “Sorry about your clothes,” she said eventually.

The pants were in a cut-up heap in the corner of the room. The sweater was torn, blood-stained, and stank of smoke.

Caitlin just shrugged. “They were old, anyway.”

And soft and cuddly and - "I can replace them."

“No, no, of course not. I don’t need you to do that. You obviously couldn’t have gone out there in this.” She plucked at the Star Labs sweatshirt that Iris had swapped with her. “It’s fine, really.”

Iris finally finished the noisome nutrition bar and picked out three Mr. Goodbars. She wanted to eat the whole box, wrappers and all, but she forced herself to remember that this was Caitlin’s stash. “Thanks for being so supportive."

“You've had a big day.”

“Yeah, and I capped it off by totally biffing my first save.”

Caitlin straightened up and turned around. “You didn’t biff anything.”

Iris pointed at her splinted leg and raised her eyebrows.

“Please,” Caitlin said. “Barry broke his wrist on his first day as a speedster. And he ran into a laundry truck. Different occasions.”

“After he’d stopped a bad guy and saved me from being pancaked,” Iris said gloomily, biting her first chocolate bar in half. “Me? I completely blanked. If it weren't for Cisco, I would have been toast. Literally."

“That’s happened to Barry, too,” Caitlin said. “A lot. Ease up on yourself.”

“I can’t,” Iris sighed, and ate the rest of the Mr. Goodbar. "I couldn't kill the fire, I couldn't phase through that piece of ceiling - I knew what to do, I just couldn't."

Caitlin sat down next to her. “Listen, okay? There are five people going home tonight because of you. Home, and not to the morgue. Do you think that’s nothing?”

Iris shook her head. "I know that's the most important thing."

"Damn straight it is," and Iris knew it was serious because Caitlin rarely swore. "Barry didn't kill a fire like that until he'd been a speedster for weeks. He didn't phase through objects until he'd been doing this for over a year. Again, this is your first day, Iris. Are you really measuring yourself against the Flash as he is now?"

"Of course I am," Iris said brightly. "And I have to do it backwards and in heels, too."

Caitlin scowled.

She sighed and ate her last candy bar. "I know what you’re saying here. But you know how it is."

Caitlin’s scowl softened. She’d spent much of her adult life as the only woman in the room and constantly having to prove her right to be there. "I do know how it is."

Iris fiddled with the yellow-and-silver wrapper. "Well. This has been good for me, I guess. Before, I just holed up here all nice and safe while told you all what to do and where to go, and I had no idea what it was really like. Now I do."

But instead of agreeing, Caitlin frowned. "That doesn't sound like my friend Iris. Whose words are those?"

"It's true."

"Who said that to you? Was it Barry?"

"No, of course not." She wondered for a split second if Barry thought that, and pushed it out of her head. "Ralph might've been venting a little bit."

"Ralph?" Caitlin let out a laugh that sounded like ice breaking. "Ralph goes out in the field, sure. When we drag him. Otherwise, he's hiding in the basement. He's not up here in the cortex, seeing all the work we do, and he's certainly not lifting a finger to help. He can shut his big fat mouth."

The words settled into her stomach, dissolving the rock that Ralph's contempt had left there. Caitlin was right. What was she even doing, listening to him? "Thanks," she said.

"Anytime. I mean that. Don't ever think that you haven't been important. We haven't had a leader in a long time and now that we do, it's so different."

"What about Barry?"

"Barry's good at many things," Caitlin said. "But he's a hero, and that's different than being a leader. He has a terrible tendency to pick one thing to focus on and forget about everything else. It's not bad, necessarily, but it does mean that whatever's not important to him gets ignored."

Iris opened her mouth, feeling as if she should defend her husband, but - actually. Yes. Caitlin had a point about that. How many times in her life had she had to call Barry's attention to something that had whiffed right past his head because he'd decided it wasn't important?

"I mean, I do that too!" Caitlin exclaimed. "And so does Cisco. It's a blind spot for all of us. But you see the big picture. You see all our pieces and how they fit together. Maybe it's the journalism, I don't know."

Iris felt a pang at the thought of her old job. She'd left it behind for a good reason, she told herself. Her priorities had changed, she hadn’t had enough in her to do both. Good reasons.

But her fingers still itched for a keyboard sometimes.

"We need that,” Caitlin was saying. “We need a big-picture person."

"Harry," Iris suggested.

"Has all the compassion, patience, and empathy of a seagull who wants your French fries. He's very, very smart, I know, and it's saved us several times. But intelligence doesn't make a leader, just the same as heroism doesn't."

Iris looked down to find that she'd rolled the candy wrappers into a ball. She tossed them at the trash can and leaned forward. "I hear what you're saying and I appreciate it, I do. But being out there today, in the middle of everything, before I messed it up - "

Caitlin made a warning noise in her throat.

"Before it went wrong," Iris corrected herself. "I felt . . . I don't know. I felt like I'd found something I've been missing."

The doctor studied her. "Does that mean you want to stay the Flash?"

"Barry's the Flash," Iris said sharply, almost defensively.

She held up her hands in a peacemaking gesture. "Of course he is. I meant, would you want to keep the speed if Barry could also get his back?"

Iris frowned over it. "I don't know," she said. "I mean, out there today, I felt like I was wearing a costume that didn't belong to me."

"Well," Caitlin said. "My clothes, Jesse's mask - you kind of were."

"Besides that," Iris said. "The speed was fun, but it didn't feel like me." She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I just have to get used to it."

Caitlin reached out and picked up a pad of graph paper. "Should I be trying to figure out a way for you to keep your speed?"

Iris held up her hand. "Right now, I want you to focus on finding out if there's a way to reverse what Melting Point did. If all he has to do is touch two people, Barry and I definitely aren't the first and we won't be the last."

"On it," Caitlin said.

Iris wondered if it could even be done. But Caitlin had the set to her mouth that meant she was going to work all night if she had to.

Barry came back, with a new Star Labs sweatshirt and a pair of loose shorts that would go over the splint. Caitlin shooed him away and helped her into them, working carefully around her leg. Even so, her leg ached and throbbed by the time they were done.

“Don’t suppose you ever found a painkiller that would work on speedsters?” Iris asked.

“It’s my personal white whale,” Caitlin said, opening the curtains of the med lab again.

“Right.”

She looked through the window. Barry was standing in front of his Flash suit, his arms wrapped around himself and his head drooping. He'd lost his speed before, and gotten it back, but she knew he always worried that this would be the last time.

Cisco stepped up next to him and said something quiet. Barry’s shoulders softened, and he glanced over to smile at his friend. Cisco grinned brightly back, asked something, and made a small breaching motion with his hand. Probably offering to breach them home. Barry nodded.

She glanced over at Caitlin, who was scribbling something onto her paper with a frown line between her brows. The other woman glanced up, gave her a brief smile, and dove back into her calculations again.

Big picture, Caitlin had said. Iris looked at the big picture.

Well, yes. Of course she did. How could you see what was coming in the distance if you didn’t?

She narrowed her eyes at nothing, wondering how big the picture would have to be before they figured out what DeVoe was planning.

She made herself let that go. Right now the big picture that she could see included the speed humming in her bones. Even if it didn’t feel like it belonged to her, it was there, for who knew how long. She had to go home, rest up her healing leg, and come back here in the morning, ready to be the speedster that the city needed while Barry was out of commission.

Barry came in. “Hey,” he said to Iris. “Ready to go?”

"The Cisco Express is about to leave the station," Cisco added, coming in after.

“Caitlin?” Iris asked. “Am I clear to leave?”

“Oh!” She looked up. “Yes, go on. When you get home, elevate that leg. And call me if something doesn't feel right, okay?”

“Of course,” Barry said.

"And don’t forget to eat. Want more nutrient bars?” She got up and opened a cabinet.

“No!” Iris yelped.

Cisco said, “Hey.”

“No, that’s fine, we’ll order my usual,” Barry said, referring to a family feast from the Chinese place around the corner. He helped her off the bed.

“You’re going home too, right, Caitlin?” Iris asked.

“Hmm? Sure. I just want to test some things out first." She shut the cabinet and went back to her computer, frowning. "Night, you guys."

Iris eyed her, doubtful. But the familiar whoosh of Cisco's breach distracted her. When Barry helped her through into their own living room, she headed right for the couch and carefully dropped into its fluffy cushions.

Something bumped her hip. She said, "Ow," but not too loudly because Barry would panic instead of calling out for delivery and she really wanted about fifty potstickers, immediately if not sooner. She shifted cushions until she found her laptop, left there after a Netflix binge.

When was the last time she'd used it for anything else?

She eyed it, then moved it onto the table next to the lamp and dropped her head back against the back of the couch and let out a gusty sigh.

It really had been a hell of a day.

FINIS

[awellboiledicicle]

I kinda want to have Morgue just like. be working at Drew studios and just like worm her way into the Ink ritual area and just. 

“ooh i knew i smelled magic”

joey tries Some Bullshit and well, she’s an Addams. Running her through the machine would probably be like.. going to the chiropractor. 

She keeps being an employee because Joey kinda doesn’t wanna piss off someone who went through the machine and just rung out her clothes. 

Or, she probably worms her way in when Bendy’s being made and it’s too late to argue with her because shit’s HAPPENINg. I imagine she’d watch Joey’s freak out and then just.

[long minific draft under the cut, i rambled]

“What the hell is that? This is wr-- It’s wrong! This was supposed to be Bendy! What the hell went wrong--” Deep gurgling from where Bendy was still trying to pull himself together, inky bones cracking up through the fluid before jerking into place. The sounds coming from the summoning circle picked up in pitch as a face floated up to the surface and was pulled up to the general area you could generously call shoulders. The rest of the head melted into being front to back, a thick trunk of ink swelling the area a skull should be before flowing back down into the mass on the floor. Drew was displeasure personified as he rifled hurridly through a dark tome on a desk across the way, muttering about how someone must have made a mistake. Not him, of course, no-- he’d checked everything perfectly. This must be an issue with the machine. Or the ink, or or Morgue, much more concerned with the being in the process of being born, crouched on the cold floor of the ritual room. The grin on her face was almost as wide as the one staring back at her. The creature, Bendy she supposed it was, had eyes in much the way a clam or scallop did: a few eyes ringed the edge of where his eyes SHOULD be, though they seemed to be rapidly forming and melting back into him. His grin seemed... watery, if she had to pick a word. It was like someone had inked him onto a sheet of paper and then dropped it in a puddle. One side dripped dramatically as he tried to form arms from the mess around him. This seemed to distress the poor thing, his throat bubbling and bulgingin here and there as he looked around.  “Shh, it’s alright Bendy. Being born is a terrible experience, but you’re doing so well! Come on now, you’ve almost gotten the shape. Just a bit more.”  The gurgling slowed a touch as he seemed to focus back in on forming himself. “Stop talking to it.” Drew seemed like he had grown even more frustrated in the few moments she’d been watching him pull himself together. “You should be here just as much as that thing should be!” “That’s no way to talk about something you summoned from the demonic ether! Look at him he’s--” “Hideous!” There was more flipping of pages and the slamming around of things on the desk. Also the total and complete lack of focus on the now slumping dancing devil. “Off model! Wrong! Hell, i don’t think it’s even alive properly! I better be able to fix this or Tom’s going to have hell to pay before i make him re-calibrate this damned thing--” Bendy’s body--a good chunk of which was beginning to look vaguely like a skeleton made of ink-- started to shake slightly as he slumped further down. Morgue, trying desperately not to direct the glare meant for Drew at Bendy, took a steadying breath and turned to stare into Drew’s back.  “I don’t know how smoothly you’ve summoned things in the past, but a being that’s never had a physical form before taking one in this amount of time is not something i’ve ever heard of! I don’t see how much more of a success you could expect out of him.” “I expect,” He finally turned to glower down at her, ink thinner in one hand and his spell book in the other. “It to be on model, or not at all.” “I don’t know if you’re aware, but living things aren’t known for being on model.” “It’s not alive, Addams. It’s not alive, it will never be alive-- even after i fix this mess. Just like you shouldn’t be down here in the first place.” He cut off her protests by shattering the bottle of thinner at the foot of where the devil was still trying to form a lower body. It hissed, and then--once Joey started reading from his book--screamed. “I’m going to fix this little project, if i have to tear it apart and remake it over and over.” Morgue bared her teeth at the man before returning her focus on Bendy, who was now trying desperately to form away from the substance coating its ink. His limbs jerked and the semi-stable ink on his head began to run unchecked. The white flesh that had formed one of his gloved hands melted down to the ink, leaving only smoking talons that thrashed around, digging into the floor. The ink-flesh that had begun to cling to his bones ran off in a disturbing way, globs bubbling and bursting from where his lungs should have been. With little else being an obvious solution, she launched herself toward the on switch of the pump Bendy had come from.  Did she know what would happen if she gave him more ink? Not really. Did she care that Drew was hot on her heels? No. Did she feel a need, as all Addams do, to defend the unwanted and maligned? Indeed. So, she threw the switch, staring ice and challenge into Joey Drew’s face as the ink flowed and the screaming stopped. After a few moments the machine, driven by whatever malicious machinations ran it, kicked over and shut itself off. There were no more sounds coming from the circle by the outlet. Drew seemed to be wrestling with wanting to fire her, toss her down a garbage chute to the basement, or asking what in the name of fuck she thought she was doing here. While he didn’t deflate, so much as lean back, the look on his face was that of a man who knew he had to find an angle that was not ‘what the fuck’.  “Addams.” “Mister Drew.” “What, exactly, made you come to this room while i was in the middle of this?” “I smelled magic.” She quirked an eyebrow at his sudden change in tone. “What made you dabble in summoning?” She very much didn’t like the spark of what she assumed he took for cunning in his eye at that sentence. Or how he straightened up and slipped into the tone of voice he’d use when giving speeches at the production monthly meetings.  “I want to bring my creations to life, Addams. Let people meet them, spend the day with them--know them how only Henry and I do. You’re a creator yourself, Addams, wouldn’t you like to do the same?” His tone was right back to one of his more annoying mannerisms, speaking in the same way as when he was rambling on about dreams. He noticed the look on her face and changed tact, hoping she could be convinced to keep quiet for the time being. “Listen, Addams, I’m doing-- We’re doing great things here with our cartoons. They make people happy, they bring a smile to the faces of people who have so little to smile about right now. If we could bring them to life-- exactly how they’re seen on the screen before the pictures-- imagine how happy people would be! Imagine, a whole amusement park, dedicated to these creatures!” “Ah,” A look of realization crossed her face and he hoped she’d bought it. “So it’s for the money. I can respect that, but if you’re going to use black magic, at least know what you’re doing.” “You’d know better, i suppose?”  “I’d have to look.” She shrugged, gesturing to the book still gripped in his hand. “I can’t know how you’ve rushed through the spells in there without reading it.” This seemed to rile him up a touch before he calmed, reminding himself he was trying to avoid a murder today. “Right. I’ll handle the magic, thank you.” A beat of silence as she started looking more toward the circle again, her attention coming back as he cleared his throat. “Can I trust that you’ll keep this quiet? This isn’t the best time for a young woman like yourself to find herself jobless.” “Hm, sure, sure, just don’t hurt him anymore.” “Him?” Morgue pursed her lips and stepped around him, a few steps before she was back at the circle. She had hoped that the quiet had meant he’d had time to recover, and she wasn’t terribly sure if that was the case or not.  “Bendy.” It was both an answer to Drew, and to get the attention of the writhing mass the little devil had become. His bones had tried to rearrange, but had only managed to crush tighter together. He looked emaciated and frail, regardless of the growing claws of one hand. Thankfully, his head seemed largely intact, though the ink weeping off the sides was forming strands to his shoulders in a way that didn’t look like it would stop soon. He didn’t seem to notice his name being spoken, too busy trying to clear his vision and being rewarded by tearing off a few eyes before they melted against the ink. She knelt about even to where his head was whipping back and forth. “Bendy, you need to focus on taking form now. The pain will fade, it always does, it always does. Remember the form you were summoned to? You do what you can with that, just get yourself together and try.” A pitiful keening started up from the spine width column of ink serving as his neck. Morgue continued to make soft cooing noises, as if she was overseeing a baby farm animal instead of an abomination. Drew tried not to focus on how close some bits were to the Bendy he envisioned coming from this. “I don’t think any amount of effort will get him on model now.” He lamented, watching her hold out a hand for Bendy to reference from. She ignored him, watching the devils eye count settle back to two before the wide yellow was swallowed up by the ink rolling from his forehead. Drew tried to look on the bright side. “Maybe he’ll settle back to model after a while.” “Possibly.” Morgue shifted positions, pulling off her flats to let Bendy examine her feet and legs for reference. The pain he had been seemed to have subsided a little, if only enough to ignore through intense focus on forming into something solid. His hips seemed much too skeletal to support weight, but she wasn’t exactly versed in ink creatures, and for all she knew he could very well exist that way. He let out a small groan as the ink started to compress underneath him into something like legs. She grinned at him. “Even if he doesn’t look like what you want, you could always adapt. Draw him how he is now.” “That’s not Bendy until it looks like Bendy.” She shot him a puzzled look, raising an eyebrow. “Were you Joey Drew when you were a child?” “I don’t see how that’s--” “Well, were you? When you were a teenager? A baby? A young man? Will you still be yourself when you’re old and gray?” Seeing where she was going with this, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course i was, but that’s not how this is supposed to work. Bendy was never, and is never supposed to have been anything but the dancing devil! He looks one way, acts a certain way, and does certain things.” “Suit yourself. Maybe he starts looking like you want, maybe he starts looking like his soul wants.” “I don’t think that thing has a soul.” If Drew noticed the slump to Bendy’s shoulders at his harsh tone, he didn’t show it. “Nothing with a soul could look like that.”

i didn’t ramble no holy shit

[caramelminx]

*the crime scene*

Sherlock: *examining the corpse*

Greg: *approaching* You got anything?

Sherlock: *tucks away his magnifying glass* Several ideas. I'll know more at Bart's.

Greg: *nods* Right *gestures at his partner* Detective Sergeant Masters, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, Stuart Masters. He'll be joining me on this case.

Masters: *wide-eyed* Sherlock Holmes? *excited* The detective?

Sherlock: *sighs* I'm busy-

Masters: Are you really married to Molly Hooper?

Sherlock: ...

Sherlock: *smiles* Yes.

Masters: *ecstatic* Oh my God, I'm such a huge fan. I've read all her research papers, been to all her lectures. She's fascinating. What's she like?

Greg: *uncomfortable* Um, Stu, maybe we should-

Sherlock: *texting* We'll take a cab. I'll introduce you *heading to the cab*

Masters: *following; thrilled* Really? This is the best day of my life. I'm like her biggest fan ever.

Sherlock: *chuckles* I'm afraid that's not possible.