#🌵〈 threads. 〉─── leatherhead

[eyeknowmayhem]

@z0mburger ❤'d for a one liner

"lil' piece of advice, if yer gonna make burgers with perfectly good roadkill, actually cook it. The rat's still squeakin." quite literally, in this case; the tail twitches where it hangs out from the bone dry burger bun.

[eyeknowmayhem]

There's saying crocodile tears, but they have no tears to shed. They really don’t, only the heaviness that gnaws its way through their whole body, a dull pressure behind their chest. It subsides with his words— if only a little. They know he cares, that he’s doing all he can. Living proof in the way he’s holding onto them, nothing but gentle reassurance and unconditional love. It’s how it’s always been, easy as breathing. If only it was easy to accept it.

“It’s, not on you, pa.” It’s on me. No, it’s not. It’s not either of their fault’s it’s the man who attacked THEIR FAMILY in the first place. How could anyone see someone like wingnut and get so scared you want to drive a bat into her skull. There it goes again, anger white hot and crawling up their throat. They breathe in and hold it. Let it pass. They let go of him, stepping back. With their hat pulled over their face, it only hides so much. Not that Leatherhead wants to hide— when did it get so complicated?

They have his promise, the hope things will change- that they will make it change together. They fix their posture. “I know. It’s- uhm. Why I wanted t’help. Because I reckon- I got a better handle on this- and maybe the others don’t gotta risk stickin ‘er necks out.” They doubt every heist will go as well as today did- and it’s better for them to be in harms way than anyone else. Not that they deserve it- they just know what they can handle. Not everyone’s born with scales stronger than Kevlar. “…we should get back to em, shouldn’t we?”

      THE SILENCE THAT follows his words feels SUFFOCATING. He wonders if they buy into his words. Not that they were INSINCERE, but he’s also aware that, unfortunately, sincerity mattered little to a self-deprecating mind. Even if they weren’t to believe him, he’d be helpless to change their mind beyond continuing to reassure them of what he already knew in his heart.  ( They WEREN’T dangerous. The world could go and convince them otherwise, but HE knew they weren’t. They weren’t… )

     Eyes light up slightly when the gator finally approaches him — a hint of hope, a touch of curiosity — and before Baxter knew, Leatherhead was embracing him. He doesn’t hesitate to hug back, wrapping his arms around their shoulders and holding them close  ( it’s strange for him as well, actually being able to reach around, to not have to be on his tip-toes to properly hug them ). The rare occasion he remembers he has extra limbs to work with, it’s to clutch them with smaller arms as well. Their words squeeze his heart tightly, and he shuts his eyes tightly — not wincing at the act itself, but— god. The way they speak of it, the apparent HORROR in their own voice…

      He opens them again, glancing them out of the corner of his compound vision. “ On the contrary. I think it’s good that we’re having this conversation. “ Of course he’d say that. He asked them to be open with him, did he not ?  In any case, a pensive quiet follows that statement. He knows that there is— TRUTH in their statement. The fact is that the risks are much HIGHER for all of them — the consequences potentially more permanent. It’s never something that Baxter’s neglected  ( after all, he was one, small man dealing with creatures far stronger than him. Teaching them how to be gentle was a requirement ), but it’s easy to forget at times, admittedly…

     “ You know I’ve always taught you to exercise caution. “  For a reason goes unspoken.  “ But this wasn’t a failure to do that. It wasn’t a loss of control; it was self-defense. For gods’ sake, what choice was he—— “ He catches himself, stops himself. While he certainly has strong feelings as to where the true blame lies, he knows that’s not contributing anything. Leatherhead blames themself, regardless of whether he disagrees, so there’s not much point in expressing his opinion. Instead, he lets out a small sigh, shaking his head.

“ I’m… sorry. I neglected to warn you of how cruel the world could be, and now you’re paying for it. “ His words are little more than a quiet murmur. It’s…probably the closest that he’s gotten to expressing some of his regrets. And yet, it doesn’t even cover a FRACTION of the amount that he feels. “ But— I DO plan to make up for it. I know it might seem hard to conceive where we are now, but I promise…once I’m through, there’ll be less to fear. Trust me when I say that. “

[eyeknowmayhem]

plotted starter with @nightwatchr

What started as negotiation with 6 of a crew and one cocky negotiator, is now one commander shy and 5 grown men running for the hills with their tails between their legs- metaphorically speaking. The waterlogged bodega plus mechanic shop’s main doors were open, with splatters of blood and torn fabric leading a trail inside to what the wannabe gangsters were running from.

Leatherhead’s licking their chops, their tongue stuck on satin in gums- eugh! There’s one thing they hate more than this muggy weather, it’s fraying fabric. Or- to be more specific, the fabric fraying inside of their mouth. Taking a toothpick to it all just to mine for jacket threads was not worth the scare they gave ‘em. Their gaze flicks over to the ripped up insignia, the titular purple dragon slashed in two. Well, they think with a toothy grin, maybe it was worth it. If nothing else, they’ll convince superfly to let them go solo more often. Anyone with eyes would be absolutely convinced they’re capable enough for it.

They turn to leave, but not before feeling something shift in the air. They go still, listening for footsteps, or breathing, or-a shadow on the wall. Unlucky lighting from the moon- and they know it’s not their night vision goggles playing a trick on them. Was it the commander coming back for seconds? They knew purple dragons ain’t exactly geniuses, but going round 2 on an armed alligator? It’s only asking for trouble. Lucky, it’s what they deal in, holding back a laugh Stepping out of the shadow of the building, scanning the room.

No way they’ve got the element of surprise. Might as well scare em. “I know yer here, mongrel.” Their voice rumbles low, like a growl of an apex predator. “Why not make this easy on yourself, an’ just give up.” They grab their shotgun off their hip, and they know it’s loaded. As long as they keep their aim steady and never hesitate- it’ll be over before it knows what hit ‘em. Just the way they like it.

[eyeknowmayhem]

tag dump 1

[eyeknowmayhem]

“What kinda stupid question is that?” It’s Ceasar, him asking about potential murder attempts is like his way of asking about the weather; neither of them normal. So they scratch at their chin. “We went to grab a bite at some place in the big apple n’ almost got our brains bashed out by some looney with a baseball bat. Nasty stuff. Our brother had to knock real sense into him.” And by knocking sense, they mean knock his teeth out. It’s difficult to get the image out of their mind. Still, it’s difficult to tell much of a difference between the ground up meat of sausage and patties to a human’s brain matter— if both were sufficiently tenderized.

They huff, nostrils on their snout flare out then back again. Needs more time to cook, they’re sure. They put the spatula down. “Didn’t kill em, maybe he should have. I wouldn’t have done much better, I’d have chomped his noggin off like one of them tootsie rolls.” They laugh, and it’s hard to tell if they’re joking or not. Hell, even Leatherhead isn’t quite sure. “Guess yer still lucky- don’t got a bounty yet. Not with your legitimate business all up and running.” If a food truck can count as a business… it counts for a health and safety hazard, at least.

CONT'D. @eyeknowmayhem. —

💀 — “ Oh, nah. It's more like, for vandalism, sending freaks to an underground prison for all of time, bullying, cyber-bullying, whipping M&M's at kids' heads ... But my wits and charms do burn asses en-masse. ”

[ Cesare watches the grill intently, scowling at the tender care that's being given to ‘ cooking ’ the meat. he has half the mind to take the spatula and smash it down against the metal grating, but, to each their own technique. ] 

“ But in the olde days, you could get burnt at the stake for getting bangs, so. I'll take the price on my head for being a jackass rather than being a ghoul. It's a good cover. – You got anyone who wants to kill you? ”

[eyeknowmayhem]

“Mate, the whole bloody kitchen’s a mess. What did you even,” Leatherhead stops. Once they’re getting a full picture, it’s starting to add up in their mind. Flour everywhere, a paperback scattered to the floor. “You were- baking a cake?” The subdued surprise in their voice plenty evident. If Superfly sees this, he’ll be madder than a snake with its tail cut off. Well- that’s not entirely true. He’ll be annoyed about the mess but - well, that’s a future problem. Where’s the broom when they need one?

@eyeknowmayhem

“if you're looking for a baking tutorial ... this is not it.” Slice of life bepop and/or rocksteady? From leatherhead :]

[🎸]  Bebop's mohawk and bristles are dyed white from all the flour that spilled out just moments ago. He snorts disapproving, swirling up more flour in the process.

"Hey, I dunno why this huge-ass bag of wannabe-cocaine was on top of the cupboard, 'kay?! I thought they put the darn recipe book up there!" A short awkward pause, the spilled flour still floating in the air like a fading snowstorm. "Uh-- I ain't needing any of this shit for a cake, right?"

[eyeknowmayhem]

"No worries. I'm leatherhead. Pleased to meet ya, daffy." They tip their hat in greeting. Some kind of reporter, huh? they don't see any news crew fluffing about, maybe she's gone indie, like that april kiddo. "I doubt I'm the strangest thing in these neck o'the woods, have you seen the locals lately? real hooligans out here."

"Yeah, that would be pretty rough." Daphne nods her head in agreement. This is actually kind of sad the more she thinks about it. Imaginations were wild sometimes, weren't they?

"Oh! Silly me. Forgot to give my name first. I'm Daphne. It's nice to meet you. I'm supposed to be reporting on the strange things going on here but I kind of got...distracted. Do you have any more what-if scenarios? They're fun to think about."

[eyeknowmayhem]

“Sorry mate, I’ll get it right next time.” They said with a tinge of bemusement, though difficult to tell. They know he’s got everything he needs in here; the extra pillows, pink lemonade and the soup they made just for him. It doesn’t change he’s still got a cold, and here he was stewing in his own malaise. They take off their hat, leaving it on the beside. Best to make themself comfortable.

It’s Superfly bringing up his lack of nose that sparks their interest. His chest things are still bothering him? There's gotta be something they can do. They lean forward and eye for the chinks in his exoskeleton; where the interlocking parts would have just enough space where the breathing holes should be. There, even up where his “lungs” are supposed to be, on the side of his body. A liquid slowly leaking tinged with a sickly looking yellow and green. “You gotta keep washing it out or it’s just gonna build up. You need me to hoover all that snot right outta ya? ‘Cause I will.”

They grab a towel and try and wipe at it. They can’t imagine how annoying it must be to try and leverage around and do it by himself when he can’t even reach. They make a bit of a dent, though clearly this rag’s only going make surface level progress; it’s probably all backed up. “It could be worse. Rock’s got boogers the size of golf balls, and he just leaves em under the table like a bloody hooligan.” And guess who had to clean up after him? Yeah, Leatherhead. It’s like they forgot germs also apply to them too, just because they’re mutants doesn’t mean they live in a barn. The chair squeaks as they scoot closer, to get more leverage. “Alright, you’re gonna have to tell me where the other ones are cuz I can’t see any of your- yknow." they gesture vaguely. "yer chest nostrils.”

@eyeknowmayhem | CONTINUED.

     SUPERFLY HATES THIS and it seems he can’t help but make it everyone else’s problem  ( not that this is unusual behaviour from him anyway ), openly expressing his disdain in whatever way he could. The fact that his illness decided to line up with Halloween certainly isn’t helping; the fly mutant gets antsy enough around the holiday without sickness stressing him out further. Thank god his siblings were doing the sensible thing and staying home as they should.

     He glances down as Leatherhead pulls up the blanket; he promptly reaches for it with his smaller hands and pulls it up a touch further. His eyes naturally wander back to the television, playing whatever retro horror film he happened to have lying around among the numerous DVDs he’s collected over the years. At least there’s no shortage of entertainment while he’s stuck lying in bed doing absolutely nothing all day.

     “ Creature features, “ he corrects, annoyed. “ And they’re not slop. “ Usually, he’d launch into a whole spiel about how good they are, what with their metaphors and allegories and such. However he decides to save his breath, given that he’s limited in oxygen at the moment.

     “ And you think I ain’t tryin’ ? “ He’s referring to them saying he ought to get some proper sleep. “ It ain’t the same for me as it is for all of y’all with actual noses, y’know. “ Spiracles…ugh. They certainly presented interesting problems whenever they arose. He might as well have had socks shoved in ‘em; that’s how it felt trying to breathe through them right now.

[eyeknowmayhem]

They watch him fall back into the bed like a long suffering prince complaining about his deadly cough disease; their crocodilian features do a damn good job of covering up the huff and the eyeroll behind their goggles. It’s not that Leatherhead doesn’t sympathize with their older brother’s plight; being sick is the worse part of living on this ship. It’s worse than the rats, the flooding, and the occasional edgy teenager trying to make a new art piece by bumming up their walls. No, any time it gets colder is when things really take a turn. Everyone gets the sniffles at some point, and they know to stockpile enough cough medicine and tissues to last all winter — but that doesn’t change that they still get sick.

Like today, what were the chances of Superfly not only catching something, but getting sick as a dog on Halloween? It felt like a joke. Not like their little ragtag team were doing much of anything for tonight. Mondo wanted to set up a bunch of bowls of candy around the ship to make it feel like they were trick or treating — the only one actually trying was scumbug. Wingnut’s cooped up watching whatever odd cartoons in her room. Leaves it all to Leatherhead; no way they’re letting those two buffoons try and play nurse right now. Instead Leatherhead goes to sit in the chair propped next to his bed, pulling the scattered blanket back over the bedside and his stretched legs. Maybe Wingnut left it? She did talk to him last. She’s the only one who’s allowed in his room these days.

“Yeah, I’m thrilled. Don’t need you wasting away cuz you caught a crook, alright?” Their tail thumps to the floor, and they glance over to the entryway. Nobody there. Instead glancing to the wall side of his admittedly sparse room; the light from the small box tv giving the whole room an eerie pale glow. They can push up their goggles and rub their eyes, nodding back over to him. “You’ll feel better after you catch some shuteye, and for real this time. Not sit there watchin the Telly all night. Those critter flicks are just slop to your brain, mate.” Not that they’re immune to some brain popcorn from time to time… but they swear, it’s all he seems to watch.

“I did not bust my ass in the kitchen for you to let this soup get cold” -Leatherhead for the sick fic prompt? Pre movie MM-verse or 07; up to you

     “ I’M EATIN’ IT, dammit, “ the fly snaps back, wings buzzing in agitation — though, the action is weaker than usual, no thanks to him lacking in strength because of this sudden cold that came on. Must’ve been something he caught while running errands, he figures. In any case, Superfly’s far from happy about it; the guy always acts as if the sky’s falling any time he so much as suspects a cold coming on and usually does everything he can to stave it off. Unfortunately, his usual strategy of getting as much vitamin C in his system as possible wasn’t good enough. He certainly tried pushing through it so he could get things done around the ship, but his body ultimately had other plans. So now he’s in bed with stuffy spiracles, a scratchy throat and a bad mood.

     Anyway, he’s not lying when he says he’s been eating the soup that Leatherhead gave him…buuut he’s only eaten a few spoonfuls so far  ( not out of spite; his illness is just suppressing his appetite despite the fact that he’s barely eaten so far today ), and, well, his sibling is now rightfully chiding him for it. He proceeds to pick up the bowl with a scowl, and decides to spitefully veto the spoon as he brings the bowl to his lips, drinking down the warm liquid. An antenna twitches when he does because, hey, to Leatherhead’s credit, it is some damn good soup. They’re easily the best person to have made it; Superfly would certainly be hesitant at best to eat it if it were anyone else.

     When he does put it back down again, a more reasonable amount of soup has been drained from the bowl. He wipes his mouth before saying, “ There. Happy ?“ He winds up leaning back with crossed arms and a huff, his back hitting the numerous pillows that were donated to keep him comfortable. “ …This is bullshit,“ he mutters — not towards Leatherhead whatsoever, but just towards the very fact that he’s ill.

[eyeknowmayhem]

“Mate we don’t need a singer, we got one already,” as if on cue they hear ray down the hall- the sewers really echo, just outside. Leatherhead’s not lookin up from what they’re doing, that is- trying to actually sharpen these kitchen knives. Part of them is relieved they even have real utensils. It’ll be a cold day in hell before they stoop as low as to use a machete to cut their veggies. They may be an alligator but they weren’t raised in a barn,

— raised in a ship, actually. A ship that admittedly had a lot more room than these sewers. Even two stools, one for their tail and the other for the rest of them, they’re still taking up half of the sewer kitchen. Plus the knives on the counter… Ah, well. They won’t mention the logistics of finding room for the equipment; Scumbug can be the reasonable one, for once. (Fuck, that’s a terrifyin thought,) “you’d be a natural drummer. You’re aces at hittin stuff, sure it’s the same thing really.”

The knife edge scrapes against the grinding stone, and they keep it steady. When’s the last time they’ve even been maintained- they don’t want to know. They glance up at Bepop before switching the side of the knife they're sharpening. “Mondo’ll teach ya then? He already knows guitar,” mondo teachin Bepop anything- now that’s a riot. “If ya asked him, I mean. I dunno what that lil bugger’s been up to,”

@eyeknowmayhem [ Leatherhead ]

[🎸🔨] Stockman's Mutants have adjusted quite well to their new life in New York's sewers. It is not like the smells of previous hideouts have been much better, so growing used to that pungent odor was not much of a challenge in the long run.

"Hey, you guys know what we still needin' here?" Bebop's question is just thrown in the room rather than directed at anyone specifically. "Some awesome guitars! An' drums! We gotta do our own music man! You know how cool that would be?"

Rocksteady, sitting next to Bebop on the couch that is still the subject of many bickerings between the two, frowns as he looks at his hands.

"Uh yeah. Can I play the drums? Oh, or maybe I can do the singing?! What do you think?"

[eyeknowmayhem]

"Aw mate, having a real blue with the other bloke AND the alien parasite rooting around in his noggin? wouldn't that be a bloody rough day, innit."

"Hmmmm." Lips purse as she ponders the question presented to her.

"I don't know. There's a lot of context being left out! Is one of them evil? Was the one using the rock a bad person? Or was the one being hit a bad person? Or where they both good people just driven completely moon crazy by being stuck on the moon for so long? Or is one of the guys being inhabited by an alien parasite and being forced to kill the other guy even though he doesn't want too? There's a lot of ways to interpret the question."

[eyeknowmayhem]

“Mate we’ve been eating outta dumpsters our whole life. One time me and my siblings went to a regular ol cafe and my brother had nearly zapped some slugger with a bat and summit to prove.” zapped is one way of putting it, nearly killed the man. Well, a zombie would know all about death and dyin. and frankly hearing his money making... well, maybe their hackles raised.

“Cookin with trash is an art. Bloody hell, I could make 3 course supper depending on what rubbish you got in the back.” They huff. “I will say, it’s wicked good business. You hirin? A real sewer gator’s brilliant for publicity.”

💀 — " Naaah, that's the theme! It is trash! "

[ he leaves a beat of silence to wave a kindly goodbye to the rat as it scurries off. there's an under-worldly respect between the undead and vermin! ]

" 'Cause, y'know, who else is doing it? People in the two-thousands were so jazzed about recycling, and NOW they're risking their life eating repurposed trash to go viral online. It's -- Hah -- You really can't blame me, we say it right on the tin. "

[eyeknowmayhem]

You’re not dangerous. What BULLSHIT. Dad, I bit down and felt his bones SNAP in two. Mighty difficult to swing a baseball bat when your arm’s broken! They were gonna do it again, too. Maybe match the bite mark on his leg, or rip his arm off altogether, they could’ve not let go. They could have. It took rocksteady and bepoo both physically pulling them off and carrying them back home. It was rock, who … was their rock. He was the one who sat with them in the bathroom with toothpicks and bottle cleaners just to get the skin from between their teeth. They can still taste it.

Sometimes Leatherhead if their siblings were afraid of them. They know that’s not true. But- they can’t help but think it. They can make wingnut flinch if they snap their jaws too fast. They stay clear of their tail the same way they all do with Ray’s. It’s part of the way they live, all of them do. Nobody was afraid of Leatherhead. Nobody, but, them. They’ve been clenching their hands in their pockets and nails dig into palms. They let go. They look him in the face and see the concern, the melancholy coming off him like radio waves. Did they say the wrong thing? They don’t want pity. What good does pity do?

They open their mouth to say something and no sound comes out. Instead they take one step, two, and baxter’s getting hugged. Their arms have to adjust because they can’t reach- where they usually would. Another thing to get used to. Their tail shifts with it, curling around both sets of feet and even holding onto him they feel unsteady. Is that the word? “I know but I’m,” different? “I get so angry. If i mess up I can’t- undo it, I broke his arm, I didn’t even bite that hard and I broke his goddamn arm,” breathe out. Breathe. They shake their head a bit- can’t get themself to let go. “Sorry. Not like talkin about’s gonna do us any good,”

    SO FOCUSED WAS he on Leatherhead that Mondo’s shouts from the other room startle him, flinching and prompting a flutter of wings. “ Just a minute ! “ he calls back, just so the gecko knows that he was heard.  ( Such was the difficulty of trying to keep up with such a BUSY house — there’s always some activity carrying on, which makes trying to stop and address individual problems hard sometimes. But Baxter certainly tries. Dinner can wait anyhow; this was certainly a conversation that needed to have now. )

    He turns his gaze back to them, and he knows that they’re trying to look anywhere but at him. It really does pain him, seeing them look so— ASHAMED  ( that’s the first word that comes to mind ). When the silence lingers long enough, he begins having his own doubts.  ( Maybe he’s being too insistent ?  Maybe his begging tone has put them off. )  He’s about ready to reassure them that he’s not pressuring them, he just wants to make sure they’re okay when they do finally speak.

     Their first words do not fail to strike him right in his heart; it takes everything in him not to wince, fearful that it’d be mistaken as a reaction to the action itself and not one out of SYMPATHY and GUILT for what happened. He still remembers all too aware as to where he was that night that the incident that they’re referring to occurred: AT HOME. NOT THERE, WITH THEM.  ( Not that he’d have done much GOOD if he had been there. He wouldn’t have been able to stop those monsters from harming his kids, and that knowledge hurts him deeply. )  He found out only after, after noticing the strange hush that had fallen upon them, after much gentle PRYING before eventually receiving the brutal truth. Anger. DISGUST. Sorrow. These were all of the things he felt towards the incident.  ( It was this very incident that drove him to do what he’s doing now. )

     Their second words make him lower his gaze briefly. Because he knows. He knows that they were put in a— PRECARIOUS position. And he understands that that was his fault. He should’ve known better. “ I wouldn’t have let it come to that. “ No, he’d have sooner told them to GET BACK, let HIM handle the problem. That was why he TOOK ON this form in the first place; to protect THEM. Yet, he’s opening his mouth to utter his apology nonetheless, to express his regret for having allowed them to wind up in such a position in the first place—

     ‘What if I do it again ?’

     The words take him off-guard; his words die in his throat and he’s briefly caught looking like a ( figurative )  deer in headlights. When the shock subsides, his expression is…simply saddened. Saddened that his child sounds so— AFRAID of themself. Yet, there’s spite, too, beneath that despondent exterior. HOW DARE THEY MAKE HIS CHILD FEEL LIKE A MONSTER.

“  . . . You’re not DANGEROUS, Leatherhead. “ The words are spoken so— SO softly. As though saying them with even the slightest amount of force would serve to SHATTER them like glass. He hesitates for a moment, afraid of coming off so bluntly, but— after a moment, he figures that it may be something they NEED to hear:  “ You’re not some— POWDER KEG, waiting to go off. You’re not. “ Another couple steps forward; still giving them their space, but he just— has to draw closer. He tries to keep his composure even as he continues, “ That man ATTACKED you. It wasn’t your fault . . . “

[eyeknowmayhem]

"what, can ya not afford to buy actual ground beef? you yanks have one good thing with yer burgers and this is what you make." as leatherhead's ranting, they grab the rat's tail between clawed fingers. they throw it like a wet paper towel- watching it scurry away in the grass. "I dunno. I’ve had worse. You don’t get to be picky when you eat trash,”

💀 — [ normally, ' advice ' in Cesare's culinary expertise fell on deaf ears. however, upon further inspection ... yeah, that rat is alive. ]

" So it is ... "

" Living rat's not on the menu. I guess I should let it go, huh? On to greener pastures. "

[eyeknowmayhem]

“I dunno what,” they don’t get a chance to finish their sentence. Mondo’s yelling about how the grub’s almost done and they’re gonna miss meat lover’s pizza night. They’re grateful they don’t show emotion the way the others do, because if they go completely still in dread, that’s their business. But who were they kidding? Their hands shove in their pockets, and they still can’t bring himself to look him in the face.

Dad, I hurt somebody. He knows that. What he doesn’t know is they spent hours late at night trying to wash the taste out of their mouth. With water then with sugar, that all it did was make their head swim and mixed all together to something they wish they could just barf out and get rid of for good. What he doesn’t know is that leatherhead maybe eats once every few days because sometimes it’s like wires being crossed and makes sparks, burning up and up and up.

Nothing wrong with being a carnivore. Of course not. Nothing’s wrong with it, but a man eater, is a different story. Man eater, monster. It’s not easy being green, especially when they’re feeling green in the gills themself. They breathe in and their nostrils flare, and they relax their body. Let it pass, was always his advice. Let it pass. “I bit that man. At the takeaway,” their words are a little louder, make sure they’re heard. “And coulda bit somebody when we were- gettin outta there.” But does he know? They can’t explain,

But they can, and they have to. They look up at their dad and into his compound eyes and immediately look away. His eyes hold no judgement; Leatherhead just keeps expecting brown and is met with reflective red. Their tail slides across the floor, bumping into the machine parts, and rests there. Better to not keep him waiting, say what you mean. If only they knew what that meant. “…what if I do it again?”

     AN ANTENNA INVOLUNTARILY twitches at their response, brows knitting together in a concerned look. When they look up, he can’t tell that they’re not really looking AT him, in a sense. He lifts his head a little higher, compound eyes looking encouragingly for them to say something more. When they look away, when they seem to curl in on themself like some withering plant, it makes his heart ache. Baxter had sensed it the moment he’d asked that something was amiss. Not like he needs to be particularly PERCEPTIVE to detect it.  ( He should’ve thought against letting them go. He erred in allowing them to wind up in such a sensitive position. )

     “ Sweetie, wait, “ he says, speaking just loud enough to be heard and, hopefully, prompt the gator to stop. He takes a few steps away from his workbench and towards them — not closing the distance but simply drawing a few steps nearer  ( it’s so unlike the sound of his usual footsteps; his taloned feel lightly clack against the floor when he does so ). 

     “ You know you can talk to me, “ is his first statement. Then, after a thought, he realizes that doesn’t fully express what he’s looking for.  ( They already know they can speak to him; he knows this, because he’s made that point CLEAR since the very beginning. )  So he tries again: “ If there’s something on your mind, then—  please…talk to me. “

    The lull between the statements comes from the recognition of just how pleading he sounds, far more than he intended to. He supposes, though, that it’s him being candid.  ( He doesn’t want them to suffer in silence. He knows too well what it’s like; he doesn’t want that for them. )

[eyeknowmayhem]

See, this routine they could settle back into. Going out for a heist and they weren’t even out for that long. Able to get back before mondo even finished making supper. Still, even with the distant complaints of his creaky back and the ambient sounds of the lab around them, it felt- distinctly quiet in their head. Quiet isn’t quite the word to use. A dull buzz like static on a tv screen, softening the surroundings and staying as such. Though how much of it is just them being… weird. They get weird sometimes, it happens. Today, the weird resurfaces on their way back home. Recalling their escape. Snapping at the ankles of guards and nearly catching one with their teeth. Did that scare them? No. The alternative was someone putting their hands on dad, and leatherhead’s not letting that happen. Ever.

Their jaw clenches and a coppery taste is left, just the hint of it. They’re being weird again, best to ignore it. They set the box down, some of the wires and bent pipe stick out. They don’t touch it any further. Just- staring. Only for a moment before hearing the last part of his question. “Mm? I’m alright, dad.” Their words sound far away from where they say em. They look up and see the blue glow and his silhouette, then they look back down. Tail drags on the floor as they step away, in fact- all of leatherhead seems to be wilting. Hunched over posture and their hat crooked down, hiding their face- even more than usual. “I- should go help mondy out. So he dunt burn the ship down,”

@eyeknowmayhem LIKED THIS FOR A STARTER ( from stockfly, for leatherhead ) !!

     “ JUST OVER THERE should do, thank you, “ the father says to his child. Though he has two smaller arms with which to point with  ( his primary pair preoccupied with lugging a fairly hefty piece of machinery over his shoulder ), he nods his head towards the empty space on the floor of his labs to indicate to them where they could place whatever apparatus they’d taken from that warehouse.  ( It still takes some getting used to, remembering that he has these extra parts now to assist him; he’s spent over 50 years with two arms instead of four, so who could blame him. )  It still seems so SURREAL, performing these numerous heists. He’d shocked even himself whenever he robbed TCRI of their property and fled for the hills to start a new life, nearly 15 years ago; he certainly never expected that it would become a semi-regular routine.

     ( But, if nothing else, he’s a man of PURPOSE. All of this — what he was doing — was for a GREATER GOOD. In the grand scheme of life, this chapter will eventually close, and by the end of it, everything will have been worth it. So he keeps telling himself anyway. )

     Baxter carefully removes the machinery from atop his shoulder and places it on the floor with a small clunk. As soon as he does, he stands upright, arching his back with one hand placed on the small of it, wings twitching as he stretches it out. “ Really need to start warming up before these things, “ he mumbles, mostly to himself. Once he’s done that, he unsheaths an empty canister from his coat  ( oversized for him normally; perfect for him while he’s like this ).  “ It can do a number of things, but it can’t hammer out my creaky back for me, “ he jests.

     ‘It,’ of course, being the OOZE — the substance that created his children and also the same substance that transforms him into the fly mutant that he currently is. Often, he would enter their target areas as an unsuspecting human — then, when they’d least expect it, he’d change, catching them off-guard. This recent warehouse trip was no different.

     At his workbench, he stands the empty canister up beside several others  ( evidently, he’d have to make more at some point. Ah well, wouldn’t be the first time. Running out of mutagen is comparatively less concerning than the alternative ). Beside it, there’s a rack of other canisters with layered liquid. Pressing a button on it, the rack started spinning them; the liquid swiftly began adopting an azure hue.

     He exhales a small sigh while he waits, though green eyes find themselves wandering towards Leatherhead. He usually didn’t involve his kids for little more than an extra pair of hands, though there certainly have been times where they served as worthwhile BACK-UP. He usually makes an effort to avoid the latter, but it can’t always be avoided. And those moments were never NOT concerning for him, being a father and all, but it was fair to say that, given the WIDE ARRAY of creatures he was dealing with, some of them were more concerning than others.

     Leatherhead was one of them. Just…not for the same reason as others. Nothing had escalated when they were out — actually, it was incredibly TAME, all things considered. Probably because they’d been there. Turns out, the threat of JAWS is far more intimidating than that of an insect. But— aw, hell. He can’t help the feeling of GUILT. This simply wasn’t what Baxter WANTED for them. Which was why he was going to such GREAT LENGTHS in the first place.

“ . . . And how was that for you ? “ he inquires gently at first. Then he simply asks what is on his mind: “Are you okay ? “