Never Ending(Feliciano)

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 663

Tags: Feliciano

Day after day the same thing repeated as if in an endless loop. The underground had a schedule of when things would be done and without a single clock in sight the mutants seemed to always know the time by what happened around them. Books or anything to provide entertainment seemed to be rare among the inhabitants of the underground, even guards often were found yawning or antagonizing the mutants to pass the day by. Depending on the day the labyrinth of cages were almost in a hushed silence as if they dared not speak when the mutants seen as something to fear slept. Other days the mutants didn’t need to make a sound screaming from the arena filled the halls telling all the mutants the pleasure humans got from seeing them tear into each other. Often mutants knew who fought that way the crowd cheered and the other sounds coming from the arena.

As a guard came to the cell of a red head he knew today he would once more be a traitor among his kind. Each time he wished to apologize to the mutant but this wasn’t his choice and he was sure they understood he didn’t mean to harm them as he did. This was just the only way of surviving the cruel world in which the mutants lived.
Before exiting his cell he glanced to the Italian that had only recently been moved to his cell the night prior. At least it wasn’t the Italian man he’d have to face in the arena but whoever it was Hamish hoped wouldn’t fight back. If they just allowed him to win with little fight they would be able to avoid the potential damage and escape with minor cuts and bruises. If they fought the Scot would be forced to cut them down until he was declared the victor. The former was what Hamish preferred to happen just because it left the both with relatively little damage.

Entering the arena to begin his show for the humans Hamish forced a smile and turned his attention to the crowd and the other mutant entering the arena. The feeling of calm vanished once he saw who his opponent was. Usually the fight ended with the redhead only coated with a thin layer of sweat but this time would be different. Normally he remembered the battles but his mind seemed to blank, shadows flew around twisting into any shape and striking forward aiming to do as much damage as he could before they could land a hit. It didn’t matter where the shadows struck as long as they met with flesh and stopped the force from reaching him.

By the time he snapped out of it he noticed blood was flowing from a wound above his eyes and he noticed the bloodied form of a mutant laying on the ground. They still managed to breath meaning he hadn’t taken a life but they needed medical care. Blood was splattered all over his pale skin almost as if they were just blood colored freckles. No matter how much he wished to scrub his skin clean he knew better than to show any discomfort while humans watched him. As long as he could remember they all seemed to cheer for him and view him as something that couldn’t be tamed. Not wishing to destroy this view he stood tall smearing the blood from his face with the back of his hand and almost dancing away from the arena.

Guards led him back to the cell and slammed the door behind him locking it into place before vanishing without another thought. Forgetting about his cellmate Hamish began to use his shirt to scrub the blood from his skin not caring about any of his wounds still spilling blood. All he could focus on was getting the other’s blood off himself and forgetting what had happened in the arena, or at least the pieces he managed to remember.

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[Feliciano Vargas]

If the endless distractions made it hard enough to sleep in a normal cell in the Underground, staying in this cell will be all but impossible. His soon-to-be cellmate was gone for the moment, but the 'safety measures' taken to keep the other mutant from lashing out were still in effect; the were so many lights in and around this cell that even with his eyes closed, Feliciano could see them. He'd only been in this room a few hours and already his eyes ached. That, however, could be from the fact he hadn't even had time to say goodbye to Ludwig before the guards herded him away. Apparently he and Ludwig were only temporarily sharing a cell, so that they could find a place more 'suitable' for Feliciano. He wasn't entirely sure where they'd led Ludwig--he could've gone to the Arena, for all his questioning had earned him. Hopefully they were taking his old friend somewhere nicer than these filthy cells in the deepest parts of the Underground, but at the same time he had wanted to stay with Ludwig. It was selfish and he'd already spent the better part of an hour berating himself for that, wanting Ludwig to stick around somewhere so bad just to keep him company, but it's better than not knowing how the blonde was doing. He'd only caught a glimpse of filthy red hair and glaring green eyes as his cell-mate had been led away and he was stuffed in the mutant's cell.

Between tears of frustration and that ever-present brightness, his eyes throbbed painfully and without any foreseeable end.

The door jerked open and he shot upright off his bed, squinting towards the door. That same red head of hair stumbled into the cell. Feliciano sucked in a sharp breath. The man was soaked in blood. The scent struck him like a wet rag to the face and he gagged, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. It was fresh, the sharp tang of iron so strong he could literally taste it upon his tongue. It wasn't all his, either, the brunette could smell more than one intricate scent on the man. The guards didn't spare any time in slamming the cell door shut and hurrying away, leaving the two of them alone.

The redhead seemed as bothered by the blood as Feliciano himself; not a glance was spared his way as he tugged that bloodstained shirt free and began to scrub at his skin. However, the shirt was drenched with enough bodily fluids, both sweat and blood, that it did little to clean pale flesh. The Italian cringed, bloodshot eyes crinkling even more at the sight. "V-Ve, wait," he said hurriedly, scrambling to his feet. "That's not going to work. You'll just smear the blood around and make your shirt even dirtier."

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 547

Tags: Feli sorry it took so long!

The constant lights didn’t even seem to bother the redhead; he long ago became accustom to him causing his eyes able to adjust to the brightness with little trouble. The thought of the lights preventing current or future cellmates to sleep never crossed his mind. It wasn’t as if he wanted the lights either, they often gave off an annoying hum from time to time the sometimes even gave the Scot a headache. Sometimes it seemed the guards would darken his cell as if trying to avoid him getting used to the bright or darkness but nine years allowed him to adjust to the cycle. No one had ever bothered to complain over the lights but he wouldn’t blame them if they hated the light erasing the darkness. Depending on the length of the Italian’s stay in his cell the lights would become normal and when the male was moved it would take time for his easy to adjust to the lack of light again. Along with blinding the mutants within the cell the light also seemed to draw the humans to it like moths to a flame. They all seemed to want to know what was kept in the spot light. Too bad so as long as the light was where Hamish was locked away the humans would often be met with disappointment.

By the time the guards returned into to the cell Hamish cared not for the light or other cellmate, he had to rid his skin of the blood. Why did they fight back? Couldn’t they have just let him take them down with little bloodshed? As long as the blood stained his pale skin he couldn’t just forgetting cutting down another. He had to cleanse himself. Forget the fight, it was over. No more blood.

Feliciano was right with his comment but Hamish continued to try using the soiled cloth to cleanse his skin causing the blood to smear over his freckled skin. Not sure what to do the skirt was discarded, thrown through the bars of the cell. Not sure what to do his hands grabbed for his sheet and began cleaning off the now smeared blood before being used to towel off his hair collecting any blood or sweat that could be found in the red locks. Soon after the sheet was discarded into a corner. His breathing had yet to slow as Hamish’s shock hadn’t faded.

“Ah cannae git it a' aff. Ah kin still reek th' stench oan me.” His voice shook a little and sounded almost like a childish plea to make it go away. Even being the eldest he knew of in the underground Hamish still managed to have breakdowns after the arena matches. A piece of him died each time his shadows cut into one of the young mutants. They all did deserve better.

As the panic continued the male dry heaved, threatening to purge the little food still left in his system. This was not the introduction he had planned for when he met his knew cellmate. His mind didn’t seem to connect how this Italian looked like his former cellmate, Lovino. All he knew was he wanted to sob, before he could shake the thought he felt hot tears roll down his pale cheeks.

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[Feliciano Vargas]

Feliciano tried to open his mouth, object the redheaded man's rough treatment of both himself and his clothing, but a moment's hesitation trapped his words in his throat. To be honest, the Italian would be acting much the same way had he been stained with someone else's blood just like that--no, he'd be acting much, much worse. It's not so bad when he's trying to help people who's been injured, like he has for many of his cellmates over the years, but to be literally stained with the blood of someone he'd cut down? He couldn't even imagine. (It's bad enough to have metaphorical blood on his hands, let alone warm, sticky, fresh blood on them as well.)

But those were thoughts he wasn't going to ponder upon.

With a harsh swallow, Feliciano forced down those words and the growing lump in his throat. Rather than continue, he let his gaze follow that poor blood-stained shirt as it was tossed out into the hall--he could only hope that the guards will bring a replacement. Considering the few scratches and bruises on the redhead, he must've won his fight. That can only mean the guards'll give him special perks, just like every winner in the Arena. Otherwise, the almost grotesquely skinny mutant will freeze.

He couldn't keep quiet, however, when the other gathered up his own blanket and began to use that as a towel as well. "V-Ve, wait!" He pleaded, awkwardly lifting his hands as if to stop the other. However, the brunette couldn't quite bring himself to touch the blood-splattered mutant--the scent of iron was too strong even with that shirt tossed away, and he could hardly stand the sight of blood, let alone the feel of it. The other man ignored him easily enough, continuing to scrub until his skin was an unhealthy pink from friction and his hair was wiped down. Feliciano could only stand helplessly and watch, wringing his hands anxiously. Normally, when he had cellmates that needed help, they were either injured in various levels of severity and too traumatized (or hurt) to speak, or they were nonchalant about the fight, focusing only on how the crowds had enjoyed their actions, even if they hadn't won. Because to do well in the Arena usually meant more likelihood of a contract, which most mutants dreamed of.

This, though? These panicked responses were far out of Feliciano's range of experience, and he wasn't sure what to do. The Italian couldn't help a small flinch as the taller mutant spoke, voice hoarse with emotion. "Ah cannae git it aff. Ah kin still reek th' stench oan me."

It wasn't just the other's imagination, like Feliciano was tempted to say it was. He could still smell the blood on the redhead as well, though with his sense of smell he'd be able to catch the reek of iron whether the other was doused in it or had a simple paper cut. However, when the redhead hunched in on himself, torn between sobbing and dry-heaving, the Italian snapped.

How could he just stand here while this poor man was having a breakdown? Just because he'd won his fight, just because there was someone else's blood on him, didn't mean he should have to suffer like this, alone. It was obvious that the other hated the Arena fights, hated them enough that he was breaking down in front of a stranger, and even if he wasn't bothered by the fighting, who was Feliciano to judge? To freeze up in uncertainty and hesitation? No.

It only took a stride or two to approach the other, his own aches, dried tears, and discomfort tossed to the side. It would be difficult to hug the redhead like he wanted, who had to have at least half a foot of height on him, so the Italian went for Plan B. He reached up, standing on his tip-toes, to cup that pale face in his hands. Amber eyes, a bit bloodshot, stared calmly up into piercing green. "H-Hey, it's alright, ve," he murmured, brushing away a few tears with his thumbs. "The blood's almost all gone, si? Just a little water and you'll be nice and clean, and everything will be just fine. You're gonna be okay."

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Every moment the blood remained on the pale flesh it began to thicken and dry. It clung to the skin and seemed to be everywhere no matter how much was removed by the sweat soaked shirt. Red colored freckles seemed to be disguised as blood spatter making Hamish work to scrub them from his skin leaving the spot raw but the freckle remained taunting the ginger as they always had. In the panic Hamish only could see red staining his skin even after he already erased it moment prior. The blood couldn’t be erased no matter how much he scrubbed, it remained no matter how much effort he put forth. Pale skin was rendered raw from the amount of scrubbing before the shirt was discarded. Even with the aching of his skin Hamish only could focus on making himself clean once more by cleaning off any sign of the other mutant.

Forget. He needed to forget the fight. Why was this one any different that the rest of them? Maybe he had killed this mutant. No, no he couldn’t think that. His opponent was a bait mutant; they deserved rewards more than Hamish ever had. Guards often used Hamish to punish the bait that misbehaved by having them thrown into the arena with him.

Panic didn’t fade when his hair had been toweled off using the sheet that was on his bed. Mind racing with thoughts of never being able be clean again partnered with being used caused anger to build within the mutant. Green eyes were hidden by the inky shadows that took over his eyes causing them to appear as demonic orbs in each socket. Light reflected in the darkness but the eyes didn’t appear to move making it impossible to tell where his eyes were actually focused if his head hadn’t turned as he looked around. Some described that as a doll’s that followed you no matter where you went all the while reflecting you within their flawless surfaces.

The plea wasn’t ignored just unheard during the panic as his mind tried to summon shadows from anywhere. Call after call “of save me” were given out to the shadows that begged to wrap around the ginger in an attempt to calm him. Lights bearing down on the two mutants made shadows almost impossible for find but the minuscule amount found stroked at the cheek of the ginger trying to make him feel better.

Shadows didn’t calm Hamish making his eyes return to the normal green that glistened with tears begging to fall. The dry-heaving left Hamish’s stomach felt as if it were churning with him. Even if he managed to expel anything it would be nothing more than bile from multiple days of not eating. The food he’d receive soon as a prize would go to waste as the ginger would find himself expelling anything he ingested. Food given for hurting someone else wasn’t food Hamish was deserving of. The wounded mutant deserved to be given food and cared for. Faced with possible death and yet were willing to fight with hopes of being able to earn the food they craved. Couldn’t the guards just give his reward to the victim?

Hands grasping Hamish’s face reminded him he wasn’t allowed. His entire form jumped and a look of fright was directed toward the Italian before he could realize what had touched him. “It wull ne'er be gaen,” Hamish looked directly at Feliciano admiring the male even if he didn’t agree with their words. “A'm a monster,” it was a breathy rejection of himself that Hamish believed to be true. If he were anything but a monster he’d be able to help the mutant who suffered within the underground. Nine years of being trapped and only knowing love when he was fortunate enough to have one of his few friends around the ginger believed he could at least make others happy. He was wrong. Everyone suffered around him and his affections only helped aid them for only a moment while he began to rot.

Letting his legs give out underneath him Hamish just curled upon himself on the floor no longer caring if the other mutant was there or not. The cell was cold and he had destroyed those he worked to save.