milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

adam young,
mordred

(no subject)

*Adam's sitting on a bench in the corner of the bar, his legs drawn up to his chest. He's sipping from a mug of coffee, and reading a book. If you ask, he might tell you what it is. Maybe.*

Summary: Adam and Mordred talk. Adam gets upset, Mordred takes advantage, and Adam Is Bad. Ooops.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Her name's Kassandra. Very pretty, but I don't think she's quite all there.

"Ah, another insane one. Excellent. I seem to collect them."

*Adam can't decide whether to grin or frown.*

Collect?

"Well, kind of. The crazy ones seems to gravitate towards me. For instance, my mother is insane. So is my semi-adopted mother here. And my boyfriend. And most of my friends here."

"So, collect."

Well-

*well, what. Good for you? Good for them? That's nice? So sad? Adam sighs.*

That does seem like quite a collection.

"Indeed. No collections of your own?"

Of people? No.

"Of anything else?"

Well... I don't know. Games. Magazines. Toys, when I was younger.

Mordred looks amused.

He's more of a sadistic, manipulative bastard then the Antichrist. Way to go, Mordred.

What?

*he sighs again. Just because he could control his friends didn't mean he was collecting them.

Right?*

"I'm more of a bastard then you, this amuses me."

Maybe I'm just a more selective bastard. There are better things to do with powers than collect people.

He lights a cigarette, eyeing Adam as he takes a long drag.

"Collect 'em and throw 'em way," he says, half in sing-song. "Like a boy-prince with his toys."

Why would you throw people away?

"Cause I got bored with them, see?"

But they're people.

There is something not very nice in Mordred's eyes, something cold and cruel and sadistic.

Something to do with a fifteen-year-old boy stabbing an unarmed man as he slept.

"Exactly."

*Adam doesn't say anything, but the table starts shaking, and Mordred's hands are warming up - to a rather uncomfortable level.*

hands covered in blood, blood to take back control from a boy who had none, none please don't don't please

Calmly, he raises the cigarette up to his lips again, and just watches.

*And his feet now, too. Hotter and hotter until it feels as though he's standing on coals*

what do you think of that, boy? Think your father will do anything? Lets break a finger, one by one...

"Is there a point to this, Adam?"

He's not screaming, not wincing, not doing anything.

*Adam shrugs*

Not really.

*Not really. Yes. Maybe. No. It's anger, pure and simple, though he can't quite explain it.*

"Then why are you doing it?"

Calm, amused, mocking as hell. Don't show it hurts, don't show what they did, just bite your lip and and accept the punishment for being captured, accept the shame and lack of control

need it back!

*Adam shrugs. He does that a lot.*

I was bored.