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  He had expected to make contact, even a nick would have sufficed. But when all his blade caught was empty air, his eye widened slightly and a look like one who has been deceived occurred over his expression. His arm was still going following through the momentum of his swing when Scratch rammed into him, the taller's muscles contracting and tightening as he shifted a leg back during mid-shove and attempted to keep his balance. He had underestimated the other's force however, and found when his heels dug into the concrete and almost cracked the granite with such force, he was knocked off balance and sent stumbling back. However, he does not tumble and fall, using his wings to catch onto air and flap himself upright once more. Slick did not like the fact he had been thwarted in such a simple move, and let a displeased growl come from his chest, finding that it actually ached a bit from the green clothed shoulder ramming into him there.

  It seemed he couldn't simply walk pass Scratch to get to the Manor then, and the fact he looked so determined to stop him was a bit... Intimidating. He didn't necessarily find that pleasing either. He has been delighted in the fact the few who had tried to stop him have fallen uselessly dead, or severely injured, by his hands; but that doesn't seem to be the case here. No, here he would have to think a bit and use a bit of tact.

  2014-09-16 13:01:45
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  He had expected to make contact, even a nick would have sufficed. But when all his blade caught was empty air, his eye widened slightly and a look like one who has been deceived occurred over his expression. His arm was still going following through the momentum of his swing when Scratch rammed into him, the taller's muscles contracting and tightening as he shifted a leg back during mid-shove and attempted to keep his balance. He had underestimated the other's force however, and found when his heels dug into the concrete and almost cracked the granite with such force, he was knocked off balance and sent stumbling back. However, he does not tumble and fall, using his wings to catch onto air and flap himself upright once more. Slick did not like the fact he had been thwarted in such a simple move, and let a displeased growl come from his chest, finding that it actually ached a bit from the green clothed shoulder ramming into him there.

  It seemed he couldn't simply walk pass Scratch to get to the Manor then, and the fact he looked so determined to stop him was a bit... Intimidating. He didn't necessarily find that pleasing either. He has been delighted in the fact the few who had tried to stop him have fallen uselessly dead, or severely injured, by his hands; but that doesn't seem to be the case here. No, here he would have to think a bit and use a bit of tact. With a moments pause, he figures out there's one force not many things have an advantage against; gravity. He gives a smirk then, or as much to suggest one as his current canine features would allow, before dropping his sword in the same sync as snatching forward, to grab the front of Doc's shirt, and throw him upwards. It helped that his height and size made him quite light as well.

  Things seemed to move in slow motion for himself, teleporting then to the spot located mid-air, and maneuvered himself to do a summersault and end up with the result of his leg cracking downward against the other hard enough to have him colliding back down to the Manor's grounds... But that isn't what happens. Instead, as Slick is in mid-kick, he freezes, wings almost halting their movement as well, but he was coherent enough to keep himself from plummeting back to Earth. His vision blurred, tunneled, and then in sync with a heavy throb of his blood pumper, he shifts himself in a blinks of an eye to instead /catch/ Scratch. The impact knocks the air out of himself, and surely breaks a rib or two. With a wheeze, he practically clutches Scratch, muscles tight and an intense aching in his chest and cranium. For the longest moment, he doesn't know what to do, just flying in the same spot, attempting to catch his breath and not drop the other man in the process.

  2014-09-16 13:17:08
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  Doc Scratch did not make any moves to prevent Slick from grasping the front of his green dress shirt, nor did he communicate any sense of surprise or even dismay when his aggressor failed to hit the ground. He knew this was no ordinary foe he dealt with, but someone closer to his level. Was Slick on par with Scratch now? He certainly wasn't, the porcelain man thought, not without a hint of spite. Not only was Spades Slick unused to his present power level, whether or not it was the same as Scratch's, his mindset was deteriorated; he might have known he needed to use a bit more strategy and caution when fighting Scratch, but he wasn't as calculated. He still had animal instincts in control, and Scratch still knew the outcome of every move.

  Doc Scratch could not avoid the vague sense of resignation he experienced after being so easily grabbed and tossed into the air. It was true he hadn't resisted, but it was equally true that he was short and scrawny in physique and if he was not in possession of any superhuman prowess he would have been, in layman's terms, a complete wimp. The sort that got beaten bloody and left in lockers, knowing his attitude and behavior. Even so, he let Slick toss him upward and, almost appearing to flinch, braced himself for the rough contact about to happen. When he was grabbed and crushed against his opponent, the strong musk of fur, not wholly disagreeable on its own, mingled with the sharp tang of ozone and gritty copper of fresh blood. It was entirely different from Slick's usual scent and this proved to be one embrace from him Scratch disliked.

  The Scratch could feel his chest constructing from the tightness of Slick's grip; it was likely he'd bruised ribs as well, and as soon as he was released and allowed to breathe freely once more, they'd begin to heal. But for now he was encased in the other's grip, so they would remain injured. Scratch didn't intend to stay that way long at all- though Slick had paused for whatever reason, he hadn't. Immediately Scratch began to struggle, squirming in the viselike hold. He wasn't trying to wrench his entire body free by any means, no, he was only moving to allow his arms room. This was a prime example of what would happen when he was touched and didn't want to be. As soon as he was able, Scratch pressed his palms to either shoulder of Slick's let loose a yellow-green discharge of energy. The effect was like that of a defibrillator's, on a much larger scale. His intent was to stun Slick into loosening his grip for even a moment so Scratch could gain the upper hand (literally) and force him back down to the ground.

  2014-09-16 20:47:22
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  The more beastie side of Slick was utterly baffled at the lack of a response from his own limbs. He couldn't understand as to why he stopped moving, nor why he had practically squeezed Scratch to his chest. It was as if a moment of weakness had struck him, like the flash of lightning stroking the sky, halting any movement that may cause much injury to the smaller man. He had only started to gather his wits, forcing away the feeling of despair weighing his stomach down, when the porcelain man had begun struggling in his grasp. As to what he was trying to accomplish by struggling wasn't obvious to Slick, and he honestly couldn't do much about it other then grasp him. By the time doc had finally slipped his arms out and was striking them to his shoulders, lime-green and neon yellow electric currents zapping into his skin and making his black fur bristle and stand on end. A sharp yelp that had been much like a cry came from him, teeth bared and muscles contracting to loosen as his wings halted, then contorted a bit out of an awkward cringe.

  That wasn't the worst part of it, as Spades Slick was soon to find out. Not only did his muscles entirely resist cooperation by this point, frozen in their current state from the shock of the other's actions, but slowly he started to slip down from his current perch in the air. The sky had been above him, but soon it was below him, wings curling up as wind whipped past him. His grip had loosened considerably on Doc Scratch, and he was now attempting to gather back the signals to force his limbs to move. They were first sent to his wings, and in his almost frantic state, eventually they started to flex and then expand with a loud clap of air against the feathers. It sounded condensed, pressured almost, but even as he'd gathered his ability to move, it was too late. Soon the ground was coming up to meet him, and before the Crew leader knew it, he'd crashed into the grassy area of the Felt's Manor.

  One time, when he was younger, he remembered he'd watched a cartoon an thought he personally tempt to fly like the superhero in said cartoon. He climbed his father's ladder, making it to the rooftop one fateful day, then jumped. That day, he learned the hard way that humans were indeed not meant to fly. Though, he had been much higher then a one story house when he currently crashed, and though the grass was soft, it didn't do much to cushion his fall.

  As to where Scratch went, he wasn't too sure, body mainly cringing and reacting to the heavy impact of hard ground slamming against his back and cranium. His vision almost blurred out then, growls and snarls ripping from him at of a lack of coherence. He wasn't snarling or growling in anything particular, more so just a reaction out of the severe pain racking his system. The basic concept of breathing was rendered difficult, his limbs not shifting an inch as the main goal in his head was to push away the pain and get back on his feet. It was such a simple task, but he found it as hard as turning coal into diamonds with his bare hands. His sword was lying somewhere around, but he didn't even think to grab it, nor did he look around, keeping his gaze staring up at the murky sky with an almost frightened expression. He needed to get up, and soon, or else he may just end up getting slaughtered or worse.

  2014-09-16 23:20:42
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  As poised a man as he was, Doc Scratch did not have the lost graceful landing. He'd administered that shock to Spades Slick in order to make him recoil, and it had worked. It had hurt, too, but there were worse things that could have been done. Scratch truly was trying to take a route that would lead to as little bodily harm for the other as he could, but it hardly happened to coincide with the purpose of defeating the other, which, one could argue, was more important than not harming him. Conflicting goals led to a noncommittal form of combat; yes, for Scratch, this had to be noncommittal. If it hadn't been, he'd have already defeated his foe. But this he was playing by ear and as Slick began to fall, Scratch cringing in the wake of almost-familiar cry he'd given, so did he. He waited until he could disentangle himself from Slick before vanishing in a small burst of static. He appeared on the ground, touching down unsteadily and falling to one knee, which served mainly to smear mud of the legs of his clean white dress pants. He was up again, quickly, gritting his teeth as Slick hit the ground and was horribly still afterward.

  Doc Scratch would not lose his temper over a ruined suit like Diamonds Droog would. He prioritized better; the dirtied white garment was of no matter in this instance. Right now was of higher value, and right now news crews were responding to the carnage Slick had wrought in the city, broadcasting on every television that happened to be on- including the one in the den of Felt Manor. They used whatever footage they had and already Scratch was not looking forward to playing damage control. Part of him wondered needlessly if there was a phone in the Midnight Crew's headquarters.

  In truth, Scratch was worried as to what Slick's state would be when the ring was removed and he came out of this state. Scratch knew he hadn't killed him and he could repair most, if not all physical damage done to the other man. The mental damage was another matter entirely, something Scratch would be reluctant to work on, even with permission from the other man. One thing was certain- Slick would not be going anywhere of his own volition after this encounter. Another thing was that, no matter who said what, he was going to take care of Slick after removing the ring, in every way necessary.

  Their surroundings seemed to run together into a blur of black and dark green as Scratch crossed the front yard slowly, posture for once minutely slouched; his gait was one that beloved to a predator closing in, dark green mist rolling off his shoulder before dissipating into the night. His eyes were brighter than ever, evidently inhuman. Once he'd reached the downed man (beast, whatever he should have been categorized as now), he'd plant his right foot firmly on the joint that linked arm and shoulder, then stoop down to reach the index finger that the ring was placed on. He would be careful while doing this- not rough or using too much strength. The sooner he was done with that, the better- Scratch would be sure to apologize profusely to the other after this, when Slick was in his right mind once more.

  2014-09-17 01:22:59
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  The desire to get up was soon an utter need, however his body refused to listen. It may have still been under shock and attempting to register why and where the pain was present, or maybe he was letting the fact he may have slipped up a bit settle in. Either way, when his acute hearing picks up the footfalls coming closer to him, a defensive rumble in his chest can be heard. It increases in audibility when Slick can feel the flat of the sole of a shoe pressing against his shoulder joint, locking his upper arm flat to the floor, but that's all that is really earned from him. It doesn't even strike him that Doc was prying off his ring, until he feels the warm metal start sliding off of his index. Panic practically swells in his chest, but before he can really react and fight him off, the item is off and everything seems to be be sparking, but it's only himself being riddled with variating colored static. His fangs grit harshly then, the painful transformation of human to beast, and then back being a bit difficult to deal with considering the state he was currently in, but found an immense amount of worry replacing such pain and more then normal hostility. The switching of emotions almost felt perturbing, eyesight and hearing numbing down to their original degree of sensory, and the wings along with other features retracting back into him.

  It seemed to take forever, but all of it happened within no longer then a few seconds, a bright flash of like green light overcoming him before dying down to show the end result of an exhausted and distraught Spades Slick. His button up was in tatters and splattered with various people's blood, and his slacks were ripped in certain places, but nothing a few stitches wouldn't be able to fix. He certainly had a massive headache though, blurry vision narrowing and fuzzing up once more again and again until he could finally focus upon what it was he was staring at. It took a moment to register that the pale features and soaked familiar green shirt was Doc Scratch, and once he does, he feels guilt yank at his gut hard. The force would have made one sit up abruptly and lean over the side to empty the contents of their stomach, but Slick didn't sit up, nor do as his stomach wished. Instead, he tilted his head back, letting his eyes dilate enough so that he may get a full image of the effects of his own corruption. It was absolutely horrifying. Never had he been so disgusted with the fact that the dead bodies littering the floor had been from his own hands. Such a fact wouldn't have bothered him, let alone disturbed him. But, he usually had a reason for causing such violence, this instance not being a prime example even in the slightest.

  Slick wasn't in shock anymore, nor did he feel the same pain and broken ribs he had earned from his and the Felt leader's scuffle. It seemed that as soon as the ring came off, such wounds were taken away as well. That did nothing to ease him however, teeth gritting and a snarl present on his features as he raised an arm up and pressed it over his upper portion of his face. A part of him wished the Earth could just swallow him up, break him in half and be done with it, but reasonably that would be impossible. At that moment he realized the hand being pressed to his eyes was his bionic one, and felt a slight bit relieved it was there and not missing forever. He's not jumping with joy or flat out enthusiastic about it though, an finally, once he's allowed to move and Doc removes his foot, sits up with his knees bent up and his other hand coming up to curl tightly in his own raven locks. Not only had he practically destroyed about half of his city, but he had attempted to legitimately murder Doc Scratch, someone he had resolved in the whole department of killing. It was almost like he went back on his word, though none had been spoken and it wasn't necessarily by coherent choice, it felt like such and the feeling twisted his emotions in a way that seemed to resist to subside. It was then he realized the Crew must have been a bit antsy, if not utterly baffled at the occurance in the city. His missing presence must have also been another worry for them, and he simply couldn't look at them, not now at least, after what he had done. If there ever was a time where Slick was resentful for his actions, there has not been a more intense moment of such an occurance other then now, sitting on the Felt's muddied grounds and battling some inner demons.

  "... Ya were s'pose t'a kill me." He mumbled, recalling when he had caught Scratch in mid-air for that briefest of moments.

  2014-09-17 07:02:35
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  It was hard for Doc Scratch /not/ to let out an immense sigh of relief and begin to relax himself, but he prevented himself from doing as much. As soon as the ring was removed, he could feel the energy coming off of and out of Spades Slick, manifesting in various familiar ways: flashes of light and bursts of static, as Slick returned to his original shape. Without the fur and wings, and with the mechanical arm returned, Slick seemed back to his regular self- but his clothing was ragged and he was covered in blood. Scratch's heart paused for a dangerously long moment before he recalled this blood did not belong to the other man. Though that should not have come as a sense of relief to him, as it belonged to innocent civilians, he still found himself reassured by it. Slick didn't seem to have suffered any major damage from their brawl, which also helped to relax Scratch a bit.

  The ring remained in his hand, and it felt as hot as molten iron in his white palm. Hot enough to make Scratch want to cry out and drop it or throw it, but he didn't. Instead, his fist clenched tighter around the metal band, and it became apparent that it was almost struggling against him. Scratch could only infer they somehow possessed similar energies (not exactly the same) and that was what caused the friction. The ring didn't seem to call to him, exactly; instead it seemed to exude this feeling of foreboding, as if simply looking at it would cause anxiety and unease in the First Guardian. That was a feat in and of itself, and it seemed the ring was none too fond of him, either. Scratch had no desire to slip it onto one of his slender fingers- he was completely aware of what wearers were capable of, having just witnessed it himself.

  And that, likely, was the reason Scratch was completely opposed to putting on the ring.

  He hadn't let himself relax, even as he removed his foot from Spades Slick's shoulder and returned to a wide stance in front of the man, bearing still martial even as the mist trailing off him began to stop entirely. He did not speak— in fact his mouth was set rather grimly, and it drew into an even tighter line, nearly a scowl, as Slick sat up. The final straw came as Slick mumbled that Scratch was to supposed to have killed him. At that, Scratch made no hesitation to stoop down, grab Slick by the front of his tattered and torn shirt, and hoist him up to his feet. Immediately after, his arms slipped under Slick's and Scratch held him against his chest much tighter than someone would assume such a skinny man could. With a shuddering breath, he let his muscles finally relax, though his eyes were pressed tightly shut. His heart ached in response to the other's words, as it had in short bursts time and time again before, but this was suspended. To suggest he'd harm Slick, even in such a state as he had been, was unthinkable. Especially when he wasn't in control like that, it just... It didn't feel right, or even fair.

  "Never." Was the only word he let slip from his lips.

  2014-09-17 11:50:04
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  Why did he think putting the ring on was ever such a bright idea? He wasn't too sure as to why, but he was aware of the practical beckoning and calling the ring had been directing towards him. It was undeniable and he was too intoxicated by its power to resist. So, he had slipped it on an left it on, the city and his current state being his reward. It was disheartening, and if not for the fact he was exhausted, he may have been cursing and raging much like a toddler who broke his toys. His head ached terribly, probably from the quiet panicking and angst currently eating away at him, and his muscles kept sending shocks of sore pain up and down his nerves. It doesn't even occur to him that he should get off of Felt grounds before anyone of it's members come out and start acting before questioning, but he was more so engrossed in his own thoughts to do so. Even now, the accursed ring begged for his attention, but at least Slick knew now that it would be a disaster if he listened.

  When a pale hand was seen through the gaps between his fingers and was curling firmly into the front of his shirt, he automatically assumed he'd be socked in the face. Either for the trouble he had caused, or the words he had said; both could be a valid reason as well. Maybe he shouldn't have said his thoughts aloud, but either way scratch would have known of them. But, the punch doesn't come, and in fact he is finding himself yanked surprisingly upon his own two feet and is now standing. His hands had slipped off of his face and hair, maneuvering to give himself some balance before he'd collapse to the ground again. The look on Doc's face wasn't one he was quite fond of, and a subtle frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. He hadn't meant for that to be his reaction, and soon found himself in a very tight embrace that almost had him wheezing for air. He certainly hand expected that, inhaling sharply and giving a perplexed but soft expression down at the other. When his grip finally relaxed, Slick exhaled lightly, arms hesitantly shifting in an almost cautious manner before entangling around the other man. The one word that slips from him has Slick desiring to take back his words and fix everything he had fucked up. That was impossible for him to accomplish, yet still dearly wanted. He settles for the next best thing, however.

  "'M sorry." Came the whispered apology, wanting nothing more then to just hold Doc Scratch and not let go. However, such a thing isn't possible either, and his apology, though absolutely rare for him to do, would not fix the damage he had caused. At the very least, it would be able to explain his remorse for his actions and words, and without much thought, he places a small kiss to the top of his head. Only now the scent of iron hits him, hard, and only now he realizes the other is soaking wet. Slick himself hadn't had a trace of water on himself, but he was well aware it had rained quite hard during his time wearing the ring. Speaking of, he slightly wondered as to where it was, but almost immediately hived away the thought, wishing to have nothing to do with it anymore.

  2014-09-17 13:46:23
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  The ring was still tightly enveloped in Scratch's palm, and remained searingly hot, as if angered as a result of its removal from Slick's finger. He knew Spades Slick would be turned off of it now, and Scratch was already feeling the same way. He detested the object in his hand without even having worn it. It felt like this was due to a more natural aversion, something written into the fiber of his body rather than learned the hard way. As yet Scratch wasn't sure what to do with it- he'd have to explain to Slick that he had no intents whatsoever to put it on- in fact, Scratch shuddered to think what would occur if he did. He did not just shudder, in truth; it put his mind in a dark place he did well to avoid, knowing full well it didn't belong entirely to him. Scratch was almost certain Spades Slick wouldn't want the ring back and would be reluctant to give it to him in any case, lest some other Crew member get their hands on it.

  If Slick disliked the frustrated expression Scratch had been wearing when approaching him, he would have utterly loathed the one he had on now. Thankfully, Scratch had his face pressed into Slick's shoulder, so the other man wasn't able to see his usually elegant features contorted, a deep frown on his face and his eyebrows knit together, as if he were about to start crying. There was that all-too-familiar stinging sensation in the bridge of his nose again, and he knew he threatened to, after keeping them bottled up so long. Scratch wouldn't let himself, however; the man was guilty of wishing from time to time he was void of all emotion, but every now and then he was reminded why he wouldn't want that. But there were moments when he thought his heart, human in its entirety, would tear from it. Though he couldn't identify the exact feeling he was experiencing right now, he knew it was a mixture of good and bad. When Slick kissed the top of his head, it was bad enough, but the apology afterward was near too much.

  "No," He started, and his voice was husky, his throat constricted, which menially revealed a portion of his expression. "You didn't know what you were doing, you had no clue any of that would transpire. You weren't in control." Scratch swallowed, then exhaled shakily. "You did, however, neglect the warning given to you upon receiving the ring itself. I am not angry with you and I am not going to punish you, that is not my place. You did cause a fair deal of damage, I will not neglect that, but..."

  There was another pause, as the pale man composed himself drastically. He usually disliked having such an emotional front, thinking he would be held in disrepute because of it. And there was always the possibility that such emotions would impact his decision-making process. Scratch liked to compartmentalize his business and social lives, the latter of which had only recently began to actually develop, in order to better conduct them both. As a result, he could be too inexpressive at times, and always felt as if he were overreacting to something when he, in reality, was not.

  "But you are safe, as are the Felt, which are the only things that really matter to me right now." Scratch finished. By then he'd raised his head a bit, eyes half open and glancing out across the yard, as he was still angled toward Slick's shoulder, voice a quiet, almost hypnotic murmur.

  2014-09-17 16:10:47
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  Slick should be worried about the damages he's caused, not to mention whether or not the rest of the Crew was safe and sound, which undoubtedly they were if they had even a hint of common sense to stay in the hideout whilst havoc broke out. Droog would undoubtedly pester him as to where the ring was and what was done with it, and Slick would undoubtedly have to concoct some sort of lie to explain himself, but until that point he would spend more attention upon the other in his arms. He didn't particularly know what to expect for an answer after apologizing for his actions, nor was he aware of the emotional battle Scratch was having, until he uttered the curt 'No' that snapped the Crew leader out of his thoughts and tune into what he had to say. In a way, he supposed he could see where the other was coming from and why he refused to allow the taller to apologies, but at the same time, guilt weighed down on his shoulders and reminded him that it still was indeed his fault.

  His hands curl a bit tighter into the fabric of the other's shirt, staying quiet for a moment or so as he lets his words sink in, not at all overlooking the tone in his voice or the somber actions about Scratch. It made his jaw tense closed and his chest ache slightly, but he doesn't express such feelings, not outwardly at least. It was almost a bit worrying, what the other had said was important to him, but at the same time relieving. The contrasting emotions came from differing perspectives. One, Doc Scratch should be cautious. It wasn't as if Slick would purposely hurt him or deceive him, but instances like their current one did exist. What if Scratch hadn't have pulled off the ring? What if he hadn't stopped Slick and he had been unleashed upon the Manor, then what? He would have had to undoubtedly stop him, forever, and as harsh and disheartening the thought was, it was true. But at the same time, a part of himself wished to be needed on a certain level. He wasn't sure if his current stance in Scratch's priorities is one he wanted, but he couldn't be a hypocrite. Well, he certainly could, seeing that he did have the pale man at the top of his list, right above his Crew, but for the other to do the same, the thought was almost unbearable.

  Spades Slick didn't trust himself, and today had been a perfect example. Being on Doc Scratch's priority list was something he did indeed want, maybe even need by this point, but being at the top wasn't one of the things he wanted. There were numerous things that could have gone wrong... But, now wasn't the time for worrying about that. The moment was calling for a clean up and patching up of empty holes, literally and figuratively.

  "... I gotta go back." He mumbled, trying his best at being comforting as he nuzzled briefly against the other, but has yet to see his expression. He knew it couldn't have been a pleased expression, but the nagging need to see his face was one he couldn't resist. So, before he even thought of pulling away, he shifted so he may lightly touch the other's cheek with the clean metal of his palm, just barely since the metal was cold. The arm itself was intact and practically pristine, as if it hadn't been present during the entire killing spree of the city, which was indeed the case. Once he's made eye contact, expression soft, he speaks.

  "We'll talk tonight?"

  2014-09-17 18:00:06
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  Doc Scratch gave an affected pause when he picked up that Spades Slick intended to lie about what had happened to the ring. He legitimately considered speaking up then, and decided he would, though he'd need to be careful when choosing his words. Even now, when they had progressed this far in their relationship, Scratch was somewhat wary of the other man's temper and what would happen when it was evoked. And he certainly didn't wish to upset Slick in any way, so he was trepidatious when speaking.

  "You may tell your cohorts whatever you see fit." Scratch said. "But bear in mind I am going to tell mine what has happened- that it was you who caused the destruction in the city and I was the one to apprehend you when you arrived here. There is no other way for me to explain how all of this-" By that he meant how he'd gotten wet and muddy, and how the lawn had been torn up, "-to them properly."

  What went unsaid was that "properly", to Scratch, meant as much of the truth as was necessary. The part about their current embrace would be omitted, of course. He was also prepared to deal with questions regarding why he didn't kill Spades Slick, and let him walk away. 

  "... It might also be advised you tell that same version of events to your Crew." Scratch said delicately. "It will not only account properly for the ring's absence, but will also dissuade... Those who bear intents to confront me at some point, shall we say." Scratch hadn't forgotten what Diamonds Droog had said that night in the cellar, when he'd threatened to do "anything he wanted" to him, which was what had spurred Slick into violent action.

  "Still, the choice is yours alone. I trust you will make the correct decision on your own terms."

  Scratch did not trust one thing, however, and it was brought back to his attention when Slick said he had to go. He did, yes, that was painfully clear to them both, but judging by the current physical shape Slick was in... Scratch couldn't help but have his own misgivings.

  "If you think you are able to get back to your hideout, on foot, through the city, then yes." Scratch said. "It is imperative you go at once. But bear in mind there will be some collateral you may have to avoid, and if you are sighted by law enforcement or even emergency aid teams, you may very well be caught." Some cynical notion struck Doc Scratch then, and he smirked distractedly.

  "Unless, of course, I am vastly underestimating the stealth abilities of Spades Slick, leader of the Midnight Crew, and you are fully capable of returning to your headquarters without passing out or getting lost."

  Scratch didn't doubt he was capable of it, he only worried a bit. Scratch did like to compartmentalize, and while Slick was not the largest concern in Scratch's professional life by far, he was one of the very few in his personal life, so by default he was a concern. Scratch did not rank overall- he kept things separate to prevent them from colliding with one another.

  The cold metal of Slick's mechanical arm sent a chill through Scratch's body- by now he was beginning to cool down, having been innocuously warm beforehand, and the rain was helping quite a bit. The added cold metal made him shiver, however, and he knew he'd be absolutely freezing once he got into the air-conditioned mansion. When Slick proposed that they'd talk later, Scratch didn't have the heart to deny that outright.

  "Though I firmly believe that you need to take some time off and allow your poor body some rest," The First Guardian started pointedly, then softened his tone to a much more familial one, "That certainly is feasible."

  Scratch had a strong urge to take care of Slick himself, so the obviously-weary man did not have to drag himself all the way through the city only to be received by a team of befuddled and undoubtedly angry (one in particular) men, but refrained from speaking up in regards to that topic, even if it was more conductive overall to the pair. He'd let Slick make his own decisions, completely aware the night had been extensively draining for him already.

  2014-09-17 20:00:43
• ●

  When the other had confessed on planning to tell his subordinates what had occurred and how the city ha become what it was now, Slick grimace slightly. He already knew what was to be expected of him before Doc even suggested it, his gaze flickering off to the side as doubt rubbed up against him. He didn't particularly know how the rest of the Crew would react to such information, and would admit to being a bit reluctant to fill them in. There wasn't really much they would be able to do in protest, seeing that the inevitable had already occurred, and if they had a problem with it, what was it they could really do? Punish Spades Slick? If anything, that was his job rather then his subordinates, and what would he personally do to one of his Crew members if they had done what he himself had? Ground them? There wasn't much /to/ do, other then butch and moan about the city and the stray chunks of rubble littering the street, both aflame and scorched black. The lifeless bodies would be a problem, seeing that Slick didn't personally know any of them (as far as he could tell), and even if he did, he couldn't raise one back from the dead. All and all, there wasn't anything else to do other then confess and hope the other three wouldn't bite his head off. He had the uneasy feeling, however, that Droog may have a personal word with him. On what precisely, that was debatable. Either way, it wouldn't be fun.

  "I... Guess I should. It'd make thin's a bit easier." He replied in an almost skeptical manner, but he meant what he said at least. At the other's point that one may indeed attempt in taking the ring, Slick nodded once slightly, a bit perplexed, but soon grasping onto the thought that the ring was hazardous all on its own, ill intent or not, if it was close to someone, it would wrap its invisible claws into them and coax them into wearing it. The Crew leader did not need such a thing sitting about in his hideout, knowing the Midnight Crew in itself well enough that they may actually feel tempted to touch the forbidden item. That was one of the last things Slick needed, and wouldn't object to Scratch keeping it, feeling a bit assured if he did.

  When the topic of him making it back to said subordinates was brought up, he first frowned, then felt his expression change to a half hearted scowl at the other.

  "I can do that simple shit, I ain't incapable." He grumbled, not at all taking the hint that it could very well be reverse physiology the other may be spinning upon him.

  Once Doc Scratch agreed to conversing at a later time, he retracts his hand and drops it to his side, prying himself away from the other and noticing not only was he soaked in blood, but water from the other's clothing as well.

  "If I need rest, then ya certainly do too, ya damned bastard." He pointed out, now looking down at himself and his clothing before looking back up. "I'll get cleaned up, rest a bit,-" he looked over his shoulder at the city. "-prolly do a lot'ta explainin', but ya gotta do it too, yea?" Some part of him kept worrying a bit about the other, though it was probably needless, he couldn't help but do so.

  A part of him was aware of the hazards he'd face on his way back to the hideout, however he didn't want to worry his subordinates into thinking he had died, or had worse happen to him. Spades Slick had more of an advantage at night in the city he grew up then he would in the daylight. Though his sight was a bit thrown off by the darkness, it helped him in maneuvering about quietly as well. Especially with the havoc still hot about Midnight City, he'd barely be seen, unless someone had paid close attention as to where he trailed off and onto the Manor's grounds, but he doubted it.

  2014-09-18 01:01:53
• 🌀

  Doc Scratch nodded sagely once the other man had said his piece. If their separate groups had the same story to tell, things would play out more easily. If ever a Crew member found out Spades Slick had lied to them about tonight's events, Scratch was sure they'd want to have a few words. The Felt would have no issue buying Scratch's claims whatsoever- of all the disparaging things they'd call him, liar was not one.

  "Do be careful on your way back." Scratch said softly, looking up to Slick. "And, though I cannot say I require recuperation as direly as you do..." Scratch's mouth drew upward in a quick grin. "I suppose that, for you, I can make an exception." He hoped Spades Slick would do the same, and take his advice when he suggested the other man get some rest. He'd also advise cleaning up, but at least he didn't have to tell Slick twice about that one. Some of the blood on the other man had transferred to Scratch during their embrace, and that would be a grand old time to get out of his white pants, along with the mud.

  Doc Scratch examined Slick placidly after they stepped apart, as if double checking to make sure he was indeed in the right state to walk all the way to his hideout. The porcelain man himself looked relatively worn out, thought it wasn't from any physical exertion. The fight hadn't taxed him too much, if that were even possible; what had drained him a bit more was the quick spectrum of emotion he'd gone through, and tried to curtail as quickly as possible. Slick didn't want to go through that, he thought, so he'd keep it to himself. After the other man had turned to go off, Scratch did the same, heading up to the green mansion behind him. As he did, he slipped the ring into his pocket, surprised to see it hadn't left actual burn marks on his palm. When he got in, he was right about the air conditioning chilling him to the bone. Scratch looked down, surveying the mess he was in (which wasn't the biggest by anybody but his own's standards) and frowning, vaguely upset with it. He reached for his suit coat on the rack, lifted it, then immediately placed it back down after hearing voices from the stairwell. Simultaneously, he hung his head and sighed.

  This was going to be a long night.

  Scratch went ahead and had everyone called up to the foyer (save Clover, still out and more than likely oblivious to the occurrences). It felt better to conduct the explanations upstairs, more proper in a way, and in all honesty, Scratch didn't want to go down the stairs where it was even colder. He leaned against the front door, arms crossed, as everyone filed in, falling silent as they saw him. They hardly saw Doc Scratch out of his suit jacket, let alone out of the jacket and smeared with mud and traces of blood. Scratch opened by advising them to take a picture, as it would last longer. Then he went on to say no, he was not the one who had been causing the chaos in the city (he could barely believe any of them would think that), no, no one was allowed to go down there to "check it out", and yes, he knew what had actually transpired. When Scratch explained things, the room was always still, and whether they were listening intently to his silver voice or entirely lost as to what he was saying was up to interpretation. They understood the part about Spades Slick, at the very least, and that surely caught their attention.

  "And to put your minds at ease, no, he will not be doing that any longer. This was an isolated incident and it will not occur ever again." Scratch said.

  "So is that your blood?" Itchy asked out of nowhere.

  "I- no, it is not mine." Scratch said. He'd neglected the fact his blood color wasn't really common knowledge within the Felt.

  "So is it his?"

  "No, it is not his either." Scratch answered patiently.

  "Well whose is it?"

  "It was on Slick, it belonged to civilians." Scratch answered and then, after a pause, caught himself. "We /fought/."

  That relaxed the room quite a bit, and though nobody had assumed anything outright, Scratch was still careful about his words.

  "Did you kill him?" Snowman asked bluntly. She was seemingly unfazed.

  "No, he is still alive."

  After that, the room was still again for a single moment.

  "And you just let him walk away?" Crowbar was the one to ask, and his tone was skeptical, due to the fact he didn't want to believe Scratch had done that.

  "It was more of a stalk, but yes, I did." Scratch was deadpan when answering. "And I am well aware you are all wondering why." The uncomfortable silence was drawn out a bit longer.

  "After removing the ring, Spades Slick was in a disoriented state. He was aware of what he had done, but hadn't had control over any of it; the ring was what had caused this, not his wishes. When he came here, it was with the intent to do to the Manor what he had done to the city. This I would not allow, naturally. I saw absolutely no cause to take his life then, save the single fact our factions are enemies. His death then would have been unwarranted and an outright display of barbarism. I refuse to stoop so low as he would." Scratch had to stop himself from saying "as low as some of you would". He knew not all of them saw it this way- they all possessed different morals. He also knew some were very discontent with this news.

  "And if you do not see it that way, consider this: what sort of message does it send if, after Spades Slick has destroyed near half the city in a rampage, I send him back to the rest of the Midnight Crew, defeated? A very strong one."

  This was considered. Scratch had a very valid point there, and no one was able to contest it.

  "I understand some of you are not exactly happy with my decisions, but I did not make them to please you. I made them to protect you." Scratch said, intending to wrap things up. "That being said, there's nothing to see anymore. Dismissed."

  That dissolved the ranks into a cluster of muttering Felt members, some still very perplexed and others disgruntled. Still, a few were fine with what had transpired. As Itchy would put it later, "I think it was cool anyway."

  As for Scratch, he was concerned with two things only: Spades Slick and the poor state of his white pants.

  2014-09-18 12:58:18
• ●

  Time was not wasted as Slick slinked through the gate entrance and carefully prowled about the streets. As originally assumed, there were still flames lapping up the sides of buildings and people moaning and groaning about the state of the city. The fire department had busied itself with putting out the most severe of fires, questions and perturb comments about the purple flames being the hottest news at the moment. Of course, people had started dragging the corpses in the street off to the side, the paramedics hauling them out two-by-two in their EMT vans. For the first time in awhile, the city was bustling with people left and right compared to the usual scarcity of life. It was a bit pitiful that such a catastrophe is what brought the people to come out of hiding in their security blankets known as their homes. Then again, maybe this is the reason the folks in Midnight City stayed indoors rather then outdoors.

  It doesn't take much to get back to the hideout, and by a chance of luck, a piece of rubble that had come crashing to Earth had landed a yard or so away from the hatch, leaving the manhole unscathed. It made the Crew leader's efforts that much easier, and he hadn't even been stopped on the streets for the questionable amount of blood on his tattered button up. It helped that it was quite dark as well, so carefully he opened the hatch, almost cringing as it creaked, and climbed down the later a bit before shutting the entrance and locking it shut. By this point, as soon as the cool and damp air of the hideout hit him and the heavy, thick air of smoke was out of his lungs, he realized how tired and weared down he was. He had to place his hand against the wall of the hall he traveled down just so he didn't pass out on the floor. What kept him from finally caving into knocking out, however, was the vague sound of arguing going on in the kitchen the hall led to.

  "Weren't you watching him?" Came a stern voice, tone almost instantly recognized to belong to Droog.

  "I jus' had some booze! Why would I watch the boss? Ask Boxcars!"

  "Ah, ah, ahh, don't'cha put this shit on me."

  "You're both /useless/. I don't understand why you two stayed drinking instead of coming back; you should be lucky you both weren't caught by that beast." Droog hissed, seemly, by his tone at least, quite pissed. The arguing continued like that for another moment or so, however it was quieted down and quickly went silent as Slick stepped into the kitchen, leaning on a wall and grinning widely like he had just spun the most amusing joke in the world on the other three.

  "Well, I didn't think y'all would be so kind as to miss me." He mocked, though it was a bit half assed since he was utterly exhausted and plopping on the couch sounded like a terrific idea at the moment.

  He was expecting a bit of a anger, frustration, anything related to aggression, but the first thing that happened was Deuce came forward and wrapped his small arms around Slick's leg, hugging him.

  "Boss! We thought you were dead!"

  Slick sort of flinched slightly at the touch, then scowled down at him.

  "Get the fuck off'a me, I ain't here to hug your ass." He grumbled, Droog giving the Crew leader a skeptical look.

  2014-09-18 14:48:11
• 🌀

  Doc Scratch examined the damage that had been done to his clothing. His shirt was sodden from the rain he'd been out in, reduced to a darker green instead of lime as a result. It was speckled with dark crimson blood on the trunk area, belonging to a disturbingly high amount of differing sources. There was more near the collar, in a more intentional pattern, where Slick had grabbed him during their fight. The shirt looked as if he'd been standing nearby while someone was being brutally and messily murdered, and as a result was spattered with the victim's blood. If that were the case, then maybe Scratch had gone to help bury the body as well, judging by the smear of mud down the white pant leg of his trousers. The sight of the stained clothes spread out on his bed was absolutely miserable. The depravity of it all was almost too much to bear. What would have been worse, however, were tears in the clothes, or jade green bloodstains. Not only because his own blood stained differently, or the clothes would have to be mended or else thrown out, but because Scratch knew if Slick had actually struck him a significant blow during their battle, he would have been beside himself. Scratch could have easily found it in him to forgive- strangely quick after something that was usually as dire as bodily harm. Then again, injuries didn't quite stick to Doc Scratch. He certainly would've consoled the other man after it had happened, however.

  The First Guardian attributed his slow loss of energy to the cold seeping into his muscle and bone, a result of staying out in the rain longer than he should have in conjuncture with the Manor's air conditioning. It seemed as long as he was even vaguely damp he wouldn't be able to get warm; even after showering and wrapping up in his robe he was chilly. Scratch would treat his clothes before attempting to gather any rest, and eventually threw on an undershirt and fresh pair of pants. The only green on him now was his suspenders, which was different than normal- most of the Felt would swear Scratch only owned one outfit. This wasn't the case- he owned multiple of the same style, and then a few different. It was a limited wardrobe, certainly, compromised of all formal articles of clothing, but Scratch worked with it as best he was able. He had a better fashion sense than some in the Felt, at least; they possessed more casual clothes than their green suits, and not all were in the same color. Slick might've been under the impression everything in Felt Manor was green, but a peek into one of the members' rooms would quickly prove him wrong.

  Throughout the process of treating his stained clothes and preparing them for being washed, Doc Scratch could feel one spot on the back of his skull in particular that burned in a way- not with heat, but some similar sensation. A dry burn, as if someone were attempting to drill a hole in the back of his head, and Scratch was vaguely worried about it. He wasn't lost as to why it was occurring, of course- the answer laid on his bedside table, looking entirely innocent and inert. Scratch disliked having that ring anywhere near him- it didn't call to him, but it pulled at him, grated on him like a constant high-pitched whistle were being sounded throughout the room. It was near intolerable, and was making him feel increasingly uncomfortable. Scratch wanted nothing more than to be rid of the ring, but where else could it be kept where others would not fall victim to it? Scratch supposed he could tolerate it until his next meeting with Slick, when he might be able to bring it up.

  2014-09-18 20:35:29
• ●

  After a period of time, Slick was finally able to pry Deuce off of his leg without having another limb severed from himself. He was then eased over to the couch with a helping hand by Boxcars, and sat down on the very edge for a moment before realizing he may end up staining the furniture in his current attire. Carefully, he slid to the floor and sat so he back rested against the bottom of the couch, head leaning back as well with a relaxed huff.

  "... So, care to explain why your body is decorated in the blood that I certainly hope is not yours?" Droog questioned in a slow manner, looking him over subtly as if making sure the crimson fluid did indeed not belong to the Crew's leader. With. Slight nod, Slick confirms it's not his and then figures he might as well get the current weight off of his chest and explain to the three as to what happened to acquire the gore.

  "What happened was, I was sittin' in my room, with that ring-" He starts, making a small circle with his index and thumb curled, and automatically gets a question from Deuce.

  "A ring? Whatcha mean, 'that ring'?" He pauses, then looks almost mesmerized. "Oh golly, were you gonna propose to someone?" He grins excitedly, and it takes about all of Slick's self restraint to not pop him in the back of the head.

  "No, Clubs. The ring he is speaking of was one he received as payment from Crocker." Droog replied in an almost as equally tired tone as Spades Slick looked. The second tallest of the Crew then started to bustle about to go retrieve a wet rag and some clean clothes for Slick, knowing he'd be much too lazy to get a proper shower or bath before passing out in a heavy slumber. Meanwhile, The one on the brink of said exhaustion was explaining to Boxcars and Deuce how he acquired the ring and why he finally accepted it rather then up front take his money. It earned a few questions, though as the two saw the violent man growing impatient, they limited their questions to one or two, then finally ceased heir curiosity as Diamonds came back with the supplies. He handed Slick the wet rag, instructing him to just wipe off his face at least, then tossed him a shirt and pants. He caught both items, grumbling as he started to wipe his face and explain how he had gotten messy in the first place at the same time.

  "The ring, as Crocker said, was fuckin' cursed. It, uh, made me into this... Thin'. I dunno-"

  "Ya mean that dog with the wings? The shit that was tearin' up town?"

  "Yea, that thin'." The three go quiet for a moment, then Droog speaks up.

  "So, as soon as you put on the ring, you basically went hostile?"

  "I'm /always/ fuckin' hostile ya bastard. It was jus', this time, it was different." He rubbed the cloth over his face, grimacing as he tasted iron, and tossed the rag somewhere off to the side before continuing. Deuce was propped up on the couch, Droog in his recliner, and Boxcars sitting on the futon that was on the opposing side of the recliner. The three looked quite intrigued, though Deuce looked more so excited like it was story-time, Boxcars looked slightly confused, and Droog was... Droog. Slick could never pinpoint his emotions.

  "As soon as I slipped on the ring, it was as if I practically craved blood. I couldn't resist it, the shit was practically callin' my name for fuck's sake. I wasn't even sure why I was so intrigued in it. It was a pain in the ass, 'n' that's all it's gonna be. I practically slaughtered a third of the city, give or take, and I fuckin' burned down Crocker's bar. I don't know what even got into me, I jus'... Wanted everyone to burn, I guess."

  Well, that certainly caused a bit of a silence, the three letting the information sink in as Droog slowly tugged out a cigarette from the box in his pocket.

  "The ring. You keep saying 'it /was/', past tense. Where is it, now I mean?" He asked before sliding the cigarette past his lips, making Slick grimace slightly.

  "... I got in a scuffle with the Felt's leader, 'n'... He took it." Another pause, and this time, Droog sounded more then a bit aggravated.

  "Oh. Well that's just great boss, fucking fantastic." He snapped, scowling a bit. "Do you even know what he'll do with it? He could absolutely come in here and slaughter us now, thanks to your bright ideas. How did he even get the ring if you were oh so invincible? Let me guess, you handed it to him?"

  This is a prime example as to why he didn't want to explain himself. Of course, he argued with Droog that it was out of his hands, since the two had fought, the Felt leader gained the upper hand, and took it. He was careful not to say Scratch's name, knowing well the other's were veiled of it, and couldn't give away that he knew such information.

  Eventually, Slick grew quite pissed, and growled at Diamonds Droog as the two got into a hot argument as to what Spades Slick should have done in his situation. It was as if the havoc in the city in itself meant nothing now; only Slick's mistake in giving up the ring was evident. It was enough to have the corse man cursing more so then usual, standing up and sneering at the taller subordinate before disappearing into his room. Droog was equally pissed, his cigarette burnt all the way down to the filter and not ashes once. Boxcars and Deuce knew better then to get between the two, and stayed silent.

  2014-09-18 23:42:52
• 🌀

  If Doc Scratch were not omniscient, he would have considered figuring out the proper way to remove blood and mud stains infinitely frustrating, and likely would have grown vastly irritated. Fortunately, he knew how they were to be handled, and took care of the respective garments quickly and with little hassle. He was only wearing a thin undershirt with his pants at the moment, so he didn't consider himself in any proper state to go downstairs, much less to the utility room. He was bound to run into someone on the way down there, and he deemed his current state to be one that was not presentable. His hair also looked a mess, and he took the time to run a comb through it, pulling the ivory locks into a more organized arrangement after placing his clothes in the hamper. He'd been going through more laundry as of late, hadn't he? And most of it was a result of Spades Slick's comings and goings. Scratch had no qualms to voice with either of them, so he wouldn't do anything to disrupt the current arrangements they had.

  The First Guardian had followed Spades Slick's confrontation with his teammates in his mind, and, as he'd expected, Diamonds Droog was the one who caused the most trouble after hearing it. Doc Scratch had various reasons to mislike the way the gang's Diamond acted towards his leader; he didn't care if they went way back to childhood or anything, he still found the taller male's disrespectful tendencies to be completely out of line. Scratch didn't want to consider this dislike as any product of his current relationship with Spades Slick, but that was difficult. It was true Slick had been in a "friends with benefits" sort of arrangement with Droog beforehand, which Scratch naturally disliked, but the night when Slick pushed him away was the night dissent had been planted between them. Droog had been more sour since, and some spiteful part of Scratch wanted that- but not at Slick's expense. Scratch cared more for the Crew's leader than he disliked Diamonds Droog, which was good, but he was still wary. Perhaps wary wasn't the proper word- jealous might have been, but there was nothing to be jealous of. Scratch didn't want to label it as being possessive either- as yet he'd done nothing to indicate to Slick something of that nature. He'd seen a bit of it in Slick, last night, alongside a predatory glint in his eye that sent shivers through Scratch, and couldn't say he disliked it from the other man. It was cute he was trying to act that way, considering how much stronger Scratch was.

  Doc Scratch would resign himself to being something along the lines of jealous, until a more suitable term was found for him. But he was far from catty- he had other reasons for disliking Diamonds Droog, too, and had no intent to take cheap shots at him. He was infinitely above that sort of behavior, and would never stoop so low. He was the omnipotent leader of an efficient organized crime outfit, not some cutthroat teenage girl at a public high school. There was no struggle for attention present- Scratch knew in this instance, he did have that over Diamonds Droog, and to some degree, Spades Slick. Scratch knew he had a certain ethereality, and was for once glad of it. But now he seemed rather weary, and could not argue the fact he was not. He knew that down in the den there was a laid-back conversation happening about his actions and decisions of the night, and Scratch's mouth twisted into a frown. He detested being a conversation piece. Sometimes it was worse than others, but he always knew. It wasn't even gossip, but the way he was regarded was degrading from time to time. Nothing would stop it, however, so Scratch sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, exhaling slowly and looking tiredly at the ring on his bedside table. It almost seemed to mock him, really; he scowled lightly, then turned away. An inanimate object couldn't mock, and he had to stop treating it as if it could.

  2014-09-19 02:16:23
• ●

  An almost awkward air of silence had come from the living room, then some small mumblings that could have only been considered quiet conversation between the smallest and biggest Crew members. Slick only knew of this since, before taking his clothing off, he shut his door with himt of a grumble. To say he was calm would be entirely wrong; more so, he was irritated to a point of mainly silence and occasionally grumblings about how he should knock some sense into Droog like he had earlier, during the scuffle in the classified basement of the hideout. Of course, he doesn't go out there rampaging, nor does he go about kicking things over in his own room to cause more of a mess then what was already present in there. It was all talk and no bite, but that was mainly because he was quite exhausted and didn't have the patience nor will power to control his temper and converse his situation over rationally. He knew if he went back out in the living room, another scuffle or arguement would ensue, and it would be one that would undoubtedly lead to bloodshed. Though it would be much lighter then today's events, it would still add kindle to their fire of resentment for each other.

  He was aware that right now out of all god forsaken times would be the last moment where he needed such aggression a present. He was at a low point in energy, so in turn, he'd give a sorry assed excuse for an arguement back at Doog if he does indeed go back out. Something tells him, however, once Hearts and Clubs start conversing a bit louder and eventually start joking with each other, that Diamonds had retired to his own room. Good, less temptation for Spades to go out there and do something he'd... /probably/ regret later.

  As he peeled off the tattered shirt and pants he had been wearing, he doesn't even bother with throwing hem in the hamper located in his bathroom. Instead, he tosses them in a trash bin that sat directly next to his sketching desk, located adjacent to his piano, where he did most of his plans for heists and meetings. Ever since the shooting at the bank, he hadn't had time to look into another store or building of investment, and considering the shape the town was in now, security would be cranking down on the city and make it difficult to steal a five-cent eraser from the corner store. Except, the punishment for doing anything related to a felony would be punished a bit extensively, since the city really was on a narrow edge at the moment.

  With that in mind, he debates on wether or not to take a shower, and the latter was seeming quite favorable until he remembered he'd be heading out of the hideout later and he didn't need to smell like a morgue. Another article of clothing taken off later, he's in the shower conjuncted to his own room and washing a burnt orange color down the drain. It didn't take as long as one would think to wash off the blood and grime, then dry off and slide on an outfit similar to the one he had formerly been wearing, but the button up having short sleeves rather then long. It was still humid and sticky outside from all the havoc that had occurred, and he didn't feel like getting himself all clammy for the night's tasks. A nap was an order then, but with his aggravation, courtesy Droog, still simmering warmly in his veins, he found it hard to consider sleeping. If anything, he would merely toss and turn until he fell into a fitful sleep, maybe even have quite the bad dreams for a couple hours or so. And only for a couple hours since that's all he can imagine himself sleeping long enough for, regardless of whether or not he needed it. It was no debate that Spades Slick neglected himself a bit, but to him he certainly didn't see it that way. If he wasn't feeling up to do something, he didn't do it, but if so, it was done. Like in Scratch's bedroom, when he had accidentally fallen asleep, it wasn't something he had meant to happen, but he allowed himself to since he was comfortable and didn't have any problems with the matter other then it being in the Felt's Manor.

  He had to wait for a bit then, sitting at his piano and idly going over some pieces he's made himself, and ones he has learned, skimming over some papers in a packet located on said instrument. It didn't take long for the joking words in the living room to turn into snores, the TV making quiet white noise. It was then Slick grabbed his blazer, opting to leave his hat for once since he didn't need it accidentally catching fire on something, and also snagged the box the ring had come in. It was just a matter of sneaking about and quietly making his way out of the hatch then, glancing over at the two forms passed out on the couch and the door with a diamond printed onto it being shut closed.

  2014-09-19 04:55:46
• 🌀

  After a span of several minutes, Doc Scratch found he'd lapsed into some sort of respite, half unconscious and half awake, ears ringing all the while. It was near to maddening, and once his luminous eyes opened again, they flicked to the ring adjacent to him. He was not trying to hide it, and the accessory was a very poor excuse for his telltale heart; he was not mad, however, and would not let the suffering he was under as a result of the ring's presence betray itself. Scratch was sure he was just letting it get to him- the long day had worn him raw, and, like an exposed nerve, he was being oversensitive to his surroundings. Everything seemed a bit too loud, bright, or in some way acute, and the porcelain man had to wonder if this was what a migraine felt like. He'd never had one, so he was unfamiliar with how they felt, but he knew from witnessing a few others that they could make individuals absolutely miserable.

  When a Felt member were ill or ailing, Doc Scratch was usually there to help preside over the treatment process. He didn't worry over contamination, due to the fact he really was sterile. Stitch had less patience but more empathy for those who were physically ill than those who were injured in, say, a firefight. To him, those sorts of injuries were fully preventable. And usually they were, Scratch wouldn't argue with him in that regard. Cold and flu season was a veritable threat then, and winter was usually when Felt activities would begin to decline in frequency. Even more so, this lead to more than one individual asking if Scratch really was a doctor. He preferred to be called Doc Scratch after all. He could only tell them that no, he was not in possession of a doctorate in any field of expertise, but he he was far more capable and intelligent than any other doctor they could come across. That also meant nobody really knew Scratch's first name, not that they hadn't tried to figure out. Scratch was right there with them- he didn't know what it was either.

  'Doc Scratch' was the only name he'd ever been called. Years and years had passed and Scratch still had no alias to call himself besides that which he was given. Nothing else quite sounded right when he answered to it, and the thought somewhat upset Scratch. He wondered what he'd have to reply with if Spades Slick ever asked his first name. He wondered if the other man would even believe him if he said he didn't have one, or that he couldn't tell him. Scratch couldn't shake the vague feeling of distress that plagued him, and dearly hoped Slick would come along soon. He felt like the company would do him some good, however little it was. He might also have been able to arrange something to do with the ring; he wasn't very keen on keeping it near, but also didn't want to bother Slick with getting rid of it himself. It felt sort of hypocritical, saying he could take care of it and then telling the other man he wanted him to dispose of it.

  2014-09-19 18:40:22
• ●

  It didn't take much more then a few minutes to get to his car, and to his relied, his car was still unharmed and sitting promptly where it had been parked. Though, it had a layer of ash covering it, it was nothing a good wash and was couldn't fix right up. The night was was still heavy with soot and ash, and the streets were ridded of the lifeless bodies to either be hurried or identified by their families. That is, if they could find the heads that belonged to a few of the victims, then again they could always use their fingerprints. Either way it would still be quite the task.

  Before sliding into his car, he had to wipe off some ash from the windshield of his car, using the sleeve of his blazer to do so and grumbling at the dust that remained on the fabric, even after he smacked his sleeve a few times. After he was sure he wouldn't kill another person in some sort of hit in run accident due to his obscured vision, he got into his Cadillac and shut the door. A few of the roads were currently blocked off, so he would have to take a detour.

  He had to weave around a few chunks of rubble and take a tour around a select few buildings, but it didn't exceed more then an extra ten minutes or so. He had to been pulled over by law enforcement either, seeing that they were still busy with the mauled bodies, and more then likely doing body count of the city. It wouldn't be surprising if a few left town, and as Slick parked adjacent to the Felt's Manor, he found a few cars that were usually present where he parked, to be absent. It didn't strike him as odd though, so he overlooked such a feature and slid out of his car before slamming the door shut (force of habit) and looked around before rounding the car and walking up to he Manor. He had to make sure he didn't accidentally step in a pit of mud as he passed the slightly agape gate and stepped over a few scrapes of mud on the sidewalk.

  He suddenly recalls Scratch telling him of a different way to come into the mansion, but he doesn't quite remember which way he was suppose to enter. He could do like he had the first time and sneak in through the kitchen window, however that was a bit much considering their situation now. So, he settled for circling around to the back, looking at the windows lining the first floor, and paused at the back door that was present there. A part of him was a bit surprised there was a back door to the mansion, but he couldn't place exactly why. Maybe because it seemed too... Normal, for such an abnormal looking building.

  He doesn't move to pick the lock, nor does he lean against the door like a former time he had. Instead, he fumbles with the checkered colored box in his pocket and attempts to relax his nerves. He was always on high alarm on the Felt grounds, regardless of he scenario.

  2014-09-19 22:35:58
• 🌀

  For a short while, Doc Scratch sat on the edge of his bed, feet poised carefully on the frame and not mattress (shoes on the bed were an absolute crime to him, one he would never allow himself to commit), eyes on the green-carpeted floor. It was immaculately clean, just as the rest of his apartments were, and didn't quite show its real age— just like Scratch, one could argue. Sometimes he'd get teased for his age by another, more perceptive or daring member of the Felt; Snowman frequently made empty jabs at him on that topic in some poor attempt to provoke him (they both knew it wouldn't quite work), and Itchy was certainly one to tease him about being old and incapable. Whenever Stitch complained about his age, however, the opposite occurred- Scratch would remind him how old he was in actuality. He was glad he didn't look as old as he was; Scratch didn't even look over his early thirties, and he supposed that was a good thing in some ways. He'd never really considered himself conventionally attractive, especially since that standard was eternally shifting and altering, more the opposite, due to the unnatural skin tone he had, among other things. He'd settle on different, and leave it there. It was amusing, somehow, that Spades Slick had allowed himself enter into a relationship with a man as strange as Doc Scratch.

  Even though he knew Spades Slick was at the door, Scratch almost faced a struggle in rising to his feet, as if there were some delay between his mind and body. After he rose, he slipped on a clean button up, tucking it in and buttoning it up halfway before exiting his room silently. By now the Manor was still, and Doc Scratch went undisturbed as he slipped down to the back door Spades Slick had found his way to. The green mansion actually had very few in and out doors- the front one and the back one Slick was at were the only two that led directly inside. There was a set of cellar doors, which was essentially a dead end; the cellar was filled with old boxes and dust in copious amounts, and the door at the top of the stairwell was always left locked. There was one last hatch on top of the roof, which was essentially inaccessible unless one were exiting it from the attic, so no one worried about it being used as a port for enemies in some invasion. Largely, they didn't worry about assaults on Felt Manor itself at all, and with good reason.

  When Doc Scratch slowly cracked the door open for Slick, he almost appeared to be furtive, which was not the look he wished to convey. He composed himself with ease, however, especially after the scent of the air, crisp with rain and cool with dew, graced him. Or perhaps it was that he'd gotten out of his apartments; fresh air was a good thing, he was sure of that, at the very least. Scratch was very tempted to inquire as to whether Slick had rested up as he had advised earlier on, but decided against that. For some reason he didn't want to bother Slick about it- likely because he knew how the confrontation with his subordinates had gone, and that they weren't exactly happy. Well, Diamonds Droog wasn't. Scratch was sure Hearts Boxcars and Clubs Deuce would be glad to have their leader back and furless, as well as having gotten rid of the threat the ring posed.

  "You found another door." Scratch said quietly, smiling minutely. "He can be taught after all." He'd wait from cues from his late night visitor to invite him in. Slick was welcome to stay as long as he liked, and Scratch was more than capable of playing things by ear in this area.

  "All joking aside, I am glad you came." Scratch's voice was lower than normal, and one could only guess it was to keep his chances of awakening some other Felt member as low as possible. One may or may not have been correct, if they cared to look into it, but Scratch would not disclose his reasoning either way.

  2014-09-20 05:50:52
• ●

  Up until this point, Slick had grown accustomed to the door being opened within a second or so, or the green entryway already awaiting him to enter. However, his time standing at the back door took, not a substantial amount of time of course, but at least a more noticeable amount of time to open. He should have grown uneasy at that, however didn't and instead wiped it off of his shoulder as he blamed it upon the new route taken by his choice of accessing an entryway other then the front door. As the door first cracked open, Slick almost stepped back. For a fleeting moment there, he almost thought someone else had opened the door and was coming outside for a smoke or maybe to look over the city for a minute or two. To his sudden relief however, as soon as he saw the porcelain man was the one opening the door was questionably, he relaxed more so then he really should (ever) on Felt grounds. It was noticeable as well; his shoulders slouched slightly and his arms went a bit slack, giving an almost comfortable demeanor about him.

  A small and quiet mix between a scoff and snort could be heard from him as he was greeted with an amusing observation from Scratch, the first smirk of the day curling his own lips upward. In response to such words, he cocked his head to the side slightly.

  "Woof." It was a bad impression of a dog, however he didn't particularly care, which his tone signaled at since it was almost flat and obviously in a playful manner. As soon as the word left his mouth, he stuck out his tongue and scoffed.

  "I said I would; I don't make promises and don't keep 'em... Most of the time." He added the last part with a bit of nonchalance, shrugging one shoulder, but continuing to quickly override that fact.

  "We should really talk 'bout that ring. Not only that, but, uh..." He pauses then, and actually takes in the other's appearance for a moment.

  Doc was usually, as far as Slick could tell, calm and collected. Not only that, but he seemed to run on pure life itself to keep working efficiently. He recalled waking up in bed with him, and the other man didn't look groggy even in the slightest as he had presumedly awaken in sync with Spades Slick. Now that he thinks about it, he doubts he's ever seen the man look anything even remotely related to exhausted, or if he did, it was immensely difficult to spot.

  Now, however, he gets the slight uneasy feeling that something may or may not be wrong. It could have been Doc Scratch was just a bit tired after the day's events, which was entirely understandable since Slick was in that same boat currently. But, what was odd, was it wasn't as if he gave any solid evidence that he may be in need of a nap, it was more so the way he had acted slightly off and the halfway buttoned green shirt only furthered this hypothesis. Of course, he could be reading into it way too deeply and was overreacting over something that was nothing, which now would be a good time to stop doing. But, the feeling still remained, more in a lingering sense though.

  "-I brought the box for it. Dunno what help it'll do, but I don't need the shit if I ain't got't'a ring to put inside it, y'know." Another shoulder shrug, and he shifts so he forearm could come up and rest against the doorframe, leaning on it slightly.

  "S' are we gonna talk inside, or am I gonna get the shit eaten out't'a me by these fuckin' mosquitos? I'm up to keep whatever is inside me, inside me, but yeah, I'm a flexible man." Such flexibility is probably one of the biggest lies he has allowed to slip from his fangs and form into words. However, he knows this fact is already known by most everyone.

  2014-09-20 08:15:11
• 🌀

  While it was true the route leading to the back door was marginally longer than the one that led to the front entrance, that was not exactly Doc Scratch's reasoning for for taking as long as he did. He wouldn't reveal that, however, so as not to worry Spades Slick or, dare Scratch even consider it, make him think the pale man was being slovenly. That was one thing Scratch would have utterly detested, along with being called a liar, so he would do his best to seem the opposite of both whenever it was possible. He was glad Slick was more relaxed, however; Scratch wanted the opposing mobster to be comfortable in his presence. Slick being tense and stiff was an accident just begging to happen, and Scratch would do what he could to help him wind down. His body language read as more lax than before, and also told the Felt leader that he hadn't noticed anything wrong with him. Scratch didn't think there was, anyway- he was just a bit stressed, that was all. Slick's deadpan imitation of a dog, however, brought a small smile to him.

  Fortunately, Spades Slick did wish to discuss the cursed ring that had caused the most recent and devastating cluster of events to transpire. Doc Scratch would have brought it up himself eventually, most likely during the course of their conversation, but it was good Slick wanted to get the matter discussed and done with. Perhaps after that rather heavy subject was off of the table, they'd both get some time to let things cool down and straighten up in their respective circles, so to speak.

  "The box." Doc Scratch echoed, blinking. "Very good of you to bring it, I dislike letting things just sit around, and though I am not in possession of a great amount of jewelry, loose rings are just asking to be lost." And they both understood why the ring couldn't be lost track of; if someone else slipped it on, there would more than likely be a replay of what had already happened. Scratch was not about to let that reoccur, especially not to some unwitting Felt member. Thankfully no one ever went into his bedroom, so it would be safe there on his nightstand while they conversed, and more than likely longer.

  "Of course, please forgive me." Scratch said softly, stepping to the side and holding the door open for Spades Slick. After the other entered, he was quick to close the door as silently as possible. The room the door led to was not exactly a kitchen; it did not possess a refrigerator, but it did have a sink, counters, and cabinets, along with a small circular table off to the side, a few chairs pushed in along it. Scratch himself considered it more of a pantry; where dry goods could be kept. There was absolutely no reason anybody should come in at this time of night anyway, so they would be fine.

  "The ring was left upstairs, in my own room." Scratch said, running a hand through his still-damp hair. He felt a bit clammy even now, which certainly wasn't optimal by anyone's measure, especially his own. "There it will be safe. No one would dare go inside without my express permission." He smirked to himself, mostly because Slick's remark about being flexible reminded him of their very first meeting, when he'd said he was the same. But it was true when applied to Scratch, as he was sure Slick had noticed by now; true in various senses of the word, to be blunt. But that wasn't a bad thing at all, Scratch happened to think. He was sure the other man would agree.

  2014-09-20 18:36:56
• ●

  As soon as he was allowed in, he slipped the checked colored box from his pocket and held it loosely between his fingers, palm faced downward and arm limp at his side.

  "I'm kinda surprised ya didn't get rid a' it yet, if ya want me to be honest. I mean, if there is any possible way for the damned thin' to be rid of... Y'know, Crocker didn't seem too enveloped in the ring when we conversed 'bout it." Slick knew he didn't have to explain who Cocker was and how he was tied to the falling events, knowing well enough that Scratch would be aware of him.

  "If anythin' he seemed pretty damned happy to give it 'way. Another thin' is, I didn't necessarily /want/ to put he damned ring on..." He holds up the box in the flat of his palm. "Until I took it outta this. Dunno if that means anythin', but I get the feelin' it'd be a poor move to throw this li'l shit out in the trash." He gives a subtle shrug then, putting the box down on the table that the room provided and did a quick look about the space. Like he did with every room he was introduced to, he scanned it and kept note of where everything was placed and how the room was organized.

  It wasn't as if he would use the information for later advantages, seeing that he didn't particularly wish for the Manor to burn down to the ground as much as he formerly wanted a few weeks ago. Though, the feeling still lingered, it wasn't as intense nor complicated to resist.

  A part of him wants to lean a bit on the table, so he does, not at all intending to break the furniture, but more needing a bit of support at the moment. If scratch were to bring up the topic of how much sleep he had gotten, Slick would not answer. Not only because he didn't wish to worry the other about his sleeping schedule, but also because he didn't have much to say on the matter. He didn't want to bring up his reasons for not taking a rest for a couple hours or so, and saw no need to. If anything, he would keep his mouth shut on the entire matter and stick to their current topic of conversation. Though, it is a bit hypocritical of him to still feel that the other should have gotten rest as well, even if he didn't need it as much as Slick (or so he claimed earlier).

  Something was still nagging at him though; the fact the other had told him that he'd "never" kill Slick was still... Worrisome. It wasn't as if it should have rubbed him the wrong way, but it mostly unsettled him more then anything else, even if the one word was meant for him to feel reassured. He could never tell what the other was planning, though he may have an idea of the outer shell, he certainly didn't own the whole picture. An uneasy feeling tells him that most of the time he may not wish to know the pale man's plans either, though where that comes from he isn't too sure of. As far as Spades Slick was concerned, Doc Scratch was entirely harmless unless provoked, as most beings were. Where, Slick could snap within a seconds notice (if any warning at all) and vary among how hostile and violent he may be in a reaction to what had been told to him or occurred in front of him. It could range from a toddler's tantrum, to a full blown massacre.

  2014-09-20 21:23:06
• 🌀

  When Spades Slick laid the black-and-white-checkered box on the table, Doc Scratch looked at it with mild curiosity, resisting the urge to pick it right up and inspect it. It appeared to just be an ordinary ring box with no special properties at all, as anticlimactic as that was. Still, he was glad the other man had the sense to bring it with him. Slick certainly didn't seem the type for jewelry, though Scratch himself wouldn't mind a ring with a more official bearing- and no ill effects for the wearer, of course. A seal ring or something of a similar nature. Doc Scratch was, without a doubt, a man with rather refined tastes. It wasn't as if he wanted or needed to be frivolous or egregiously fanciful, he simply enjoyed things of a finer quality. Scratch was sure that he came across as a bit, well, over the top to Slick, and most others, and while he could be very aristocratic at times, at others he could be nothing if not sociable and urbane. It could not be said that Doc Scratch ever misbehaved. Well, not publicly, anyway. The Felt really did label Scratch as something of a stick in the mud- a eunuch, for lack of better terms. Ineffectual and pale and adverse to things they'd consider fun. They were much more off base than they thought they were.

  Even more so, Doc Scratch was crafty; he had snuck around behind his subordinates' backs, it was true, sometimes for his own ends and, in the more recent past, with Spades Slick. He knew he shouldn't have been doing it, but he still did, and without them knowing. That revealed a lot more of the man than one would assume at first; he was capable of arranging and conducting events and occurrences without anyone ever knowing it had been him behind them. When he'd said he'd never kill Spades Slick, it was entirely possible he'd meant it wholeheartedly. He could always arrange it to be an accident, or have someone else do it for him- and even then that assassin might not even know they were doing Scratch's dirty work. That was perhaps the man's most frightening quality- his power and influence, and how it vastly extended that of anyone else. His connections were extensive, and if he wanted Slick dead, he would be, without question. He certainly wouldn't be in the Manor and he certainly would not have been romantically involved with Scratch at all. He would have been nothing, gone before he had ever been a problem.

  Doc Scratch slowly moved to stand opposite Spades Slick, over an arm's length away, at least, arms wrapped around his own chest. He wasn't about to inquire as to whether the Crew leader had rested like Scratch suggested, not only because he already knew, but because he knew Slick would groan and gripe about it. It was best not to grill the man over it and just gently nudge him when it was possible. Scratch couldn't rid himself of the almost parental mindset he sometimes had; it was a bit silly he would let himself fret over others, who were decidedly more mortal than he could be considered. Even now, he cast his gaze to Slick and examined him silently.

  "Can I get you anything?" Doc Scratch asked him quietly, almost afraid to disturb whatever rumination the other man was currently involved in. But so long as he was under Scratch's roof, he was under his hospitality as well.

  2014-09-21 03:59:17

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