He had left Blythe two gas stations back.
Nobody had been able to tell him where he was, of course, just giving him the same kind of dead eyed and knowing stare that came when the universe around you knew that you were a marked man. Keeping public wasn't quite working for him and, instead, William had moved on to trying to keep a low profile. It was starting to get cold, what with Samhain being the final harvest before the sun goes dormant and dies underground. Usually, after the solstice, the assumption is that the sun is reborn and welcomed into the world again. THe sun, here, would not be welcomed again. The sun, here, was like every other star in the sky. Consumed.
The trees here grew straight up instead of widning out and up and out like those spindly things not accustomed to getting the water they need, not accustomed to the abuses of wind and weather. They grew like trees in Virginia grew. (He didn't know much about Virginia, really, except that he had gone with Jenn for vacation and died there. They had been walking to her cousin's house, southern kids don't know how to tell when the ice on a river was thick enough to tread. )
We weren't here to discuss memory, but rather to set a location. William was walking beside the a creek bed listening to the slow draw of its flow. The ground was peppered with either thawing or fresh snow- William couldn't tell the difference, but only knew that it was snow and there. When you're from the south all you know about rivers is the Mississippi and everythign else had to be considered a creek. Even if the body of water was thirty feet across, it was probably a creek.
There was a bridge several hundred yards down the way, well-lit in theory but barely in practice. The bridge itself was lovely, though. Old architecture and rusting metal beams. William continued along his way towards it.
Michael
The difference between a Good Death and a murder is a monumental one and yet it is the most difficult concept for outsiders to grasp. A murder leaves the individual open to reincarnation and repetition of the same disbalancing acts as they committed to land themselves in the crosshairs of the Chakravat in the first place. A Good Death aims to right the wrong. Wipe the slate clean.
Certain creatures are a lost cause. There is no rehabilitating one who has gone through the Caul, no matter what the rumors say; a Marauder can not be brought back to sanity; Infernalists, once pacted, cannot unsign the pact. To say nothing of the Night Folk.
By now, William must be fully aware of the only way to ensure the sun will rise in the morning.
That way is standing before him, at the mouth of the bridge, looking down at the water but aware of his surroundings all the same. He is wearing black trousers and a black button-down shirt, tucked in and belted. His thick black hair is combed in such a manner that it will stay out of his face during physical encounters. His eyes appear black from such a distance, in such lighting.
The figure knows Will is some distance away, and waits to see what he will do. If he will come forward like an individual accepting of his own fate, or if he will make it harder for himself.
William
The water looks deeper than it has any right to be. We all know the subtle change to darkness when you realize how far down the bottom of a riverbed is, but this is different. This has no bottom. The water flows but looking out at it? Could go on forever. Could fall into those spaces that simply are- without end because they truly had no beginning; it was a little like the sky in that way save for one fact.
There wasn't something in the sky. Despite all indications to the contrary, William was set with the awful knowing that there was something in the water. It kept him out; he couldn't find respite in the sky. No answers there. Perhaps that knowing extended to Mike, perhaps not.
When faced with having his being subject to the whims of another in the name of safety versus this? William chose to face the man in the suit instead of riding to Hell in a 2014 Hyndai Handbasket.
He was not so well put together. There's blood on his shirt at the collar, dirt stains. He's missing a couple buttons and he lost his vest back at Sera's party. No pocket watch. No identification. No phone. Just a set of keys he'd grabbed out of the glove box and a pack of cigarettes he'd taken from a guy at a gas station.
william decided he would make this harder for himself, and ran.
Michael
When dealing with a subject who is either unaware of their impending end or has otherwise chosen not to accept it, the best course of action is to set aside all expectations of how human beings, lost causes or not, would ordinarily behave. Even if the being is one's closest friend, a lifelong lover, their child.
This particular individual, he granted a reprieve. William Holmes is an intelligent individual. He belongs to an independent house in a tradition that has stringent standards for even its least prestigious members. He has a heart, and a full one, and he has more often than not sought to be a force of good in the world rather than a force of destruction.
He runs. The Chakravat checks his watch. Then he adjusts one of the watch face features so that--
Well. Will is running. He can't see what exactly he's doing.
But at some point, when he stops running, he's going to have to look back. And then he's going to see that Michael isn't behind him anymore.
William
If he immersed himself in what he was doing, whole-heartedly, he wouldn't potentially find himself being herded in one particular direction or the other. He would move because it was worth doing. Going away fromt her water was subconscious, but understandable. Run towards something instead of nothing (Nothing?). Things like that.
If he focused on running, he wouldn't have to face the idea that he was woefully unprepared for this. (When were you ever prepared?) He went onto auto pilot, ran for what he was certain would take him towards civilization, only to really find that they were in the middle of nowhere. Two gas stations away from Blythe still meant he was a minimum of two gas stations away from people who would remember his face if something seemed amiss.
He wasn't in Denver. Will Wasn't even sure if he was in Colorado anymore, truth be told. He ran until his lungs hurt and his legs ached and the air burned his face. When William looked back, he saw that Mike wasn't behind him. Staying still wasn't an option.
The Hermetic talked to himself, forcing breath into his lungs and pushing out commands to the universe. I need to hide.
[Forces 2: I'M INVISIBLE, CAN YOU SEE ME? Base 3 + 2 + 1 (shit's vulgar) = 6]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (8, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Michael
[anti-magick: it's like countermagick but MEANER.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (2, 2, 3, 10) ( success x 1 )
Michael
Unfortunately for Will, Michael appeared from wherever he had gone the moment Will turned around and realized he couldn't see the Chakravat anymore. He decided he needed to hide, which was smart, but the problem with that plan is that the person from whom he was trying to hide already had eyes on him, and chooses to take the same time that Will takes to set up his next move.
As Will warps light waves around himself to convince the rest of the world that he is invisible, a sharp sting hits him in the neck. It becomes an all-over warmth. That warmth sublimates into a grogginess that he could not fight even if he wanted to: it isn't a chemical entering his body. It's magick. And by the time he has that realization, well, he's unconscious.
Michael steps out of the shadow that had served as his momentary cover, returns the modified pistol he had used to shoot the dart to his holster, and lifts Will up onto a shoulder. Off they go.
---
Before Will even regains consciousness, he hears the Chakravat's warm yet emotionless voice:
"If you try to run again, I'll have to restrain you. Please don't make me regret not securing your arms and legs."
He's lying on a cot. It's not a particularly comfortable cot, but it's better than being strapped to a torture chair.
William
In a best case scenario, William Holmes is a little over one hundred and fifty pounds.
This is not a best case scenario.
He was, for the most part, manageable once he was unconscious.
---
The voice outlined what the rules of this particular engagement would be, what was a courtesy and what wasn't. He was laying down this time instead of sitting in a chair. He could still feel his extremities, so that was a plus.
William tried to push himself up into a sitting position and observe the area around him. Should his body prove to be cooperative, he wouldn't remain sitting for long and would isntead move to explore his surroundings.
"What day is it?"
Michael
They appear to be in a room in a house that, if not actually in Baton Rouge, was built in the French colonial style. Big windows to let in breezes, doors that open (hypothetically) onto balconies that lead around the entire outside wall, allowing inhabitants to roam freely outside without ever really setting foot on the soil.
It would be pleasant on an ordinary morning, the morning after Samhain, were the sun where it ought to have been and the windows and balcony doors open to allow in the air. As it is, Will is allowed off the cot because the room has no other furniture in it, aside from the uncomfortable-looking metal folding chair Mike has placed in front of the only door leading to an exterior hallway.
The windows do not open. The balcony doors do not open. He cannot break the glass. He cannot break through the walls or the floor. If he tries to use Forces, he cannot cause the lightbulb to break. Where they are at now does not have to follow the rules because Will has no control over them. He was not consulted when they were written.
And Mike is sitting in the folding chair, his posture erect and his stance alert, idle in the way Elijah could remember staff at the state hospital being idle. Muscles primed to react to the slightest hint of a patient acting up. He has his fingers knit together, his elbows resting on his thighs, and he's watching Will to see if he's started to come to terms with the finality of the situation.
"Wednesday," says Michael. "The first of November, 2017." He consults his watch without breaking his stance, only moving his eyes. "Sunrise willoccur at seven twenty-nine a.m. At present, the time is five fifty-nine a.m."
William
[Forces 2: break, damn it!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN10 (1, 1, 5) ( botch x 2 )
William
(Oh god, spend a willpower, do NOT get torn to bits in front of Mike because ouch)
William
He tries, though. Mike is sitting bored in his chair If he were in any other state he would have been awed by the kind of optential this place had. Hell, it would have made him homesick, even. He knows this kind of architecture because he'd ripped walls out of places like this and redone roofing on some sort of enforced sobriety march.
Renovations were always fun projects, keeping the bones and the soul of a place while you tore away the parts that were falling apart and needed the help. Restoring what you could salvage and replacing the rest. Maybe it was appropriate to be here. William put his hands on the edges of the window, tried to pull up and found nothing. Tried the doors, even though they wouldn't budge.
It feels like it's been a lot longer than a day. Mike tells him that the sun will be up soon but he's too busy trying to get the door to the balony open. When it becomes clear that it won't give he elbowed the glass pane. Once. Twice. It made all of the sounds that glass was supposed to make except it didn't make the one sound it is supposed to make when you throw your whole goddamned body against it.
He looked back at Mike, body tense and waiting to see when he was going to move. Not if, when. It was going to happen, and since it was going to happen it only meant that he had to try harder because he didn't want to be here. He didn't need to stay here. They had something to do, they had to fix what was happening because-
"Do you see any stars right now?"
He sounded desperate, muttered something and made some intent demand to the light bulbs and blanched. There was sweat on his brows and the air felt wrong. He pushed and the world didn't so much push back as it did slam into him. Black eye for a bad dinner kind of push. Ran-into-a-door-I'm-so-clumsy pushed back. Through negotiation alone did it not strike him immediately. (Maybe it would wait at least until company checked their watch again.)
Stillness didn't suit him, and though he pushed against the windows and tried his exits, he couldn't find them. There was one way in that was viable, and seeing it blocked made him pace. Made him push against the windows again.
"Do you? Or-or the moon? Or- what do you think I did?" as though that would make things make sense, "-because I don't- it wasn't-"
William tried to recenter himself. Okay, if the glass wouldn't break, maybe a wall would. Maybe the floor would-
"How did you know to come here?" like he knew this place.
Michael
Whatever he may look, Michael does not sound bored. Boredom would imply a lack of subjectively sufficient mental stimulation. Like this was supposed to be entertaining. Michael is unemotional. This is a man operating on nothing but logic right now.
He watches the Hermetic protest his current situation. Though it costs him another physical injury, he tries to escape the room. He cannot. A part of him knew that he would not be able to, recognized that Michael was here not simply to end his life but to ensure the damned sun will shine at its appropriate time. Lord knows what that means for the rest of the world. If the sun is only cool in Denver or if the entire planet has stopped turning or maybe Neith was right.
Question after question goes unanswered. Eyes darkened by purpose and an absence of external light remain twined around Will, and when he finally stammers to a halt, Michael draws a patient breath.
"Tell me," he says, "why I'm here."
William
[Matter 2: Let's... uh,... be water. Base 3 + 2 + 1 (because vulgar) + 3 (Because Hahahahahafuckyou), -2 quint = diff 7]
Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 5) ( success x 1 ) [WP]
William
This is not a person operating under logic. This is a person operating under the presumption that he Wants Out Now. One of them is calm, and it certainly isn't William because he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to do anything but Be Here.
The dark-haired man is patient; the blonde man feels like a patient.
"You can't keep me here," he tells Michael. At once defiant (you're not capable) and plaintive (don't do this to me), he encompasses all meanings of the word before finally just laying straight into defiance. When pressed against the wall beings are stripped to their cores.
He is alive today because years ago he insisted to the universe that He Would Not Die.
He backed against the balcony door, pressed his hands against the glass and tested the strength before placing each hand on the wooden portions of the door. His breathing was unsteady, but damned if he wasn't trying to keep it together. The effect didn't fall apart immediately, if only because of William's insistence on the matter.
Michael
"William."
He doesn't even stand up. He doesn't try to use intimidation tactics as he would if he were dealing with a Sleeper. A Sleeper might have fought to the death to escape, but Michael is not above invoking Mind on a Sleeper who will not calm down enough to face their actions.
Dealing with a prone-to-Quiet Hermetic who will not calm down when called to task for putting out the sun, well, that's a whole other can of worms.
"I am not keeping you here. This is a temporary arrangement. If you don't step away from the wall and work with me on a solution to our dilemma, then I'm afraid I am going to have to kill you."
William
"-I'm going to die either way-" he was quick to reply, "-you're not going to believe me."
Michael
"Try me."
William
"I didn't put out the sun! I didn't make the stars go away it's just- the sun isn't going to come up. The stars aren't going to come back, They've noticedus. Whatever is out there has finally started paying attention and it's all going back-
"Giant crunch from big-fucking-bang- I don't know-"
He pressed his back against the doors and slid away from Mike and into what he was holding onto may well be an exit if he could keep his focus on the effect. That focus, however, was dwindling.
"You don't negotiate with the Void."
He closed his eyes.
"Please tell me that's not real this time... that it's never been real... and... and you're just here about Ned and Margot."
Michael
"This is the last time I'm going to tell you this."
He means it this time. Mike stands up from his seated position and picks up the chair, not to use it as a weapon but to fold is so that he can get it out of the way. He sets it into a corner and begins to cross the room to William.
"I believe you. You didn't put out the sun. The sun is not the issue. The sun will rise when it's supposed to, whether you cooperate with me right now or not."
A tipping point. Will isn't strong enough to fight him off or fast enough to evade him. He's two steps away from being within arm's reach and that amiable, karmically-bound gentleman who sat in his living room two years ago and relieved him of responsibility insofar as the Artist went is now looking at him with the same singular purpose he had once reserved for a Nephandus.
"Step away from the wall, William."
William
I believe you-"You do?"
You didn't put out the sun. (William looked almost relieved) The sun is not the issue (which gave way to confusion)-"Then what is the-"
The sun will rise when it's supposed to, whether you-"-I'm not running, I'm not fighting-"
-cooperate with me right now or not- "what do you want?!"
Step away from the wall.
It's called malicious compliance. Mike told him to step away from the wall, so he did. William made a run for the door.
[Time 3: Haul. Ass. Bro.. Diff 3 + time 3 + vulgar 1 + 3 = 10, -1 quint]
Dice: 3 d10 TN9 (4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Michael
And Michael was expecting something like this to happen.
Ignore everything he might have said or done otherwise to have given off the impression that expectations have no place in a Good Death. At the rate Will is protesting and carrying on, he's beyond help. This isn't a Good Death anymore. It's just a euthanization.
As soon as he sees an opportunity other than the one that has literally been sitting in front of him the entire time, the Hermetic makes a break for the door. Without pausing to do so much as blink, the Chakravat bolts to flank him, then catches the younger, weaker man around the throat and effectively headlocks him.
This maneuver is one William may well have become familiar with if he were ever an actual prisoner rather than a patient. One of his arms ends up behind his back with the wrist wrenched so far up, towards his neck, that his knees decide they don't want to work anymore.
Michael gives a long-suffering sigh as he restrains the Hermetic, taking advantage of his greater size and ability to use all of his limbs to forcibly walk William over to the cot, where he slams him face-down before putting a knee in his back to make sure he doesn't thrash too hard. The Hermetic's arm is still halfway up his own spine.
In a Mindscape, things happen that don't make sense.
In this Mindscape, Michael removes a pistol from his holster, but it was not the pistol he used to fire a dart earlier. This time, it has a 9mm clip in its stock.
The laws of physics just sort of shrug, here. William feels the punch of the bullet, but does not hear the actual shot. It doesn't matter. When he opens his eyes again...
Michael
[AHAHAHA COMMERCIAL BREAK FUCKERS]
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