Faltering In Our Uncertainties [Ivan]

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

Although the Underground had very few windows, the schedule of the guard changes was usually enough of a signal to the mutants what time of day it was. Judging by the lack of guards at the moment, most of them were probably enjoying their dinner break, leaving very few to monitor the corridors. Close to late evening, then. Arthur had been alone in his cell for God knows how many days now, not even chosen to fight, though part of that probably had to do with his piss poor behaviour along with the occasional heated verbal exchanges with the guards. He couldn’t help his foul mood; he simply wanted to move about, to see something as simple as the sky again, and to breathe in something other than the grime, the odours, and constant stench of sickness wafting through the holding cells of the Underground. Arthur never did fare well in cages. He wasn’t made to withstand confinement for very long, and so he continued to fade and shrivel in his own, oftentimes concealed way. What made everything worse, of course, was the denial of simple comforts such as fresh clothing, adequate warmth for the harsh winters, and food. Even now, the thought of the guards enjoying a meal caused his stomach to clench. There’s only so much that he could take before being forced into some sort of action, even if it did earn him a thorough beating afterwards. He could easily become the guards' after-dinner entertainment if they happened to catch him wandering  outside his cell. Still, staving the pain of hunger, even for only an hour, would be worth it. Being alone in his cell made this a tad bit easier, not that many mutants would be averse to his plan, but doing anything so blatantly against the rules in front of others was always an automatic risk. Needing hardly any encouragement to follow through, he silently summoned an entity. It took another minute for it to manifest properly before he was able to compel it to release the lock to his cell door and slowly, very slowly force it open. He was aiming to create as little commotion as possible. Even with the door open; however, Arthur waited for good measure, listening for the plausible onslaught of angry shouts and orders to 'stay in his cell,' for the pounding of boots against the cement from guards. Nothing. He breathed a little easier as he stepped guardedly into the corridor. Cautious green eyes surveyed his surroundings. Empty. Calm. Carefully compelling the entity to lock his cell door back into place, as an empty closed cell was a hell of a lot less suspicious than an empty one with an opened door, he began to make his way closer towards the storage areas near the kitchens reserved for Underground personnel. The closer he drew to the kitchens, the more he was able to discern the dull murmur of conversation from the security guards. He took a sharp turn into the nearest corridor, very nearly entering someone's peripheral line of sight as they left the kitchens. Arthur’s mouth curled briefly, the rush of adrenaline warming his blood as he slipped into one of the larger storerooms, housing items that wouldn’t be watched as closely as the other storerooms, most likely items that they’d set aside for the winners of the next arena match. The first thing that caught Arthur’s scrutiny was a satchel containing stale bread on the verge of becoming moldy. Luckily, he didn’t detect any growth on the surface, so he grabbed a small loaf. Tearing off a piece of the tough bread, he slipped it into his mouth. Better to eat some now as opposed to running the risk of being caught and having it pried from his fingers. If he was toying with the prospect of punishment and higher security being placed on his cell, then he’d rather have some semblance of reward for the trouble. He continued to eat torn pieces of bread as he perused the items on the shelves. His attention was immediately drawn towards distinct, attractively shaped bottles in the corner. All of them marked as vodka. Figures. His fingers wrapped around the neck of one of the bottles, already working to remove the seal. One small drink can’t hurt. Three or four swigs later, exquisite warmth was already settling heavily in his stomach, spreading to his limbs. Before he was tempted to finish the bottle, he pushed it back into the empty space on the shelf. As lovely as it sounded, he wasn’t about to drink himself into a stupor when his first priority was to find his way back to his holding cell. He paused for a moment to gather his bearings. The false heat from the liquor did wonders with creating a buffer between his usual morbid thoughts. Between the infested uneasiness, a deeply buried belief that he’d be resigned to waste away in the filthy cells of the Underground for the rest of his years. It’s not likely, considering every mutant seemed to get contracted out eventually, whether they liked it or not, but the thought still lingered. Arthur had his own pride to contend with in either case, a trait that managed to follow him, even when he was abandoned and confined to the trench of society's label as a child. With the half eaten bread tucked under his arm, half hidden from view, he made his way quickly out of the storeroom as soon as his unseen entourage deemed it safe to do so. Now, all he needed to do was to slip through the passageways unseen. He folded his arms in a poor attempt to trap a bit of the liquor-induced heat, the winter chill seemed to radiate off the walls. Warm breath passed his lower lip as he continued forward. He would soon need to turn down the adjourning hallway, though currently had no way of detecting approaching figures from either direction.

words: xx tag: ivan notes: xx

MADE BY HABBUE OF GS

[Deleted]

i read the news today oh boy

M

eandering into places where he wasn't allowed to be wasn't unfamiliar to Ivan. Far too often did he seem keen on being mischievous, even without any intention to risk landing himself in trouble. He never thought ahead when coming across these urges. Consequence was a near foreign concept - what he did was always of his own will and never anything he believed he would be punished for. That was a quality most unfitting of a school guard, but somehow it had carried him through one successful month after the other of not losing his job. He was strangely too good at getting away with some things, even when it came to the Underground.

On some of his visits, he liked to keep wearing his guard uniform. With that gear and his accurate Russian tongue, some of the less dutiful Underground guards did not notice that he was someone entirely different. Perhaps just a new guy. He supposed it wasn't that great of a difference - guards of the Underground and of Weeds both dealt with mutants, didn't they? And Ivan was entirely for the government, if that made for any justification. He had visited the Underground and bantered with the guards here enough times that he knew how to behave, how not to be so subtle when wandering the corridors. He felt that at this rate, he meshed in perfectly. These were all the little facets that would keep Ivan confident while he was here.

It pleased him not only to see the mutants at home in their cells, but to see the other areas of the facility as well. Making sure that everyone was doing what they were supposed to - seeing as he certainly wasn't. Moments ago he had wound up by the kitchen area, starting an aimless conversation with two of the guards already in there. Ivan didn't come close to noticing that these guards didn't seem to want to talk to him at all. Escaping a conversation with him wasn't too easy, especially while this pair of men were on break. While it was his own excuse to be social with someone, perhaps it was that half of him didn't want to realize any disinterest in the other party.

Needless to say, the Russian was shooed out of this workplace after a few stretching moments - and that was when it was he who noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. A quick breath hitched once he realized it was another person, whose figure had moved so quickly that Ivan barely had time to notice who it belonged to. Chances were it was someone Ivan had seen before but never actually got to know. The blur of colors that they were wearing did not seem to be guard garb, so perhaps they were a mutant... but they did not seem to be accompanied by someone else.

Ivan paused at that moment, having just barely parted from the kitchen door. He looked away just as soon as the figure had disappeared, checking his bearings to make sure that no one else had noticed. That gaze passed through the door from which he had came, assured that the workers were back to their own business before he would move again. There was another guard nearby and his presence suggested that it was not intelligent for him to pursue the person right away. He would have to pass this off as if he hadn't noticed. Ivan turned ninety degrees and went on walking in that direction, passing the guard with a flash of an acknowledging smile.

At least he knew the outline of the Underground well enough that he didn't expect to find himself lost. It took a little maneuvering around the other corridors before he approached close to the holding cells. It occurred to him that he couldn't possibly know where exactly the sneaking figure was headed, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to continue tracking him. The corridors were rather barren due to a number of guards going to dinner; and the few that were on duty were not enough for Ivan to raise suspicion. So long as he didn't move too fast and didn't look too absorbed in what he was trying to do.

Staying closer to the cool walls of the Underground halls, he finally stopped upon the figure he might have been seeking. It was a man, shorter than he was - but that was common among just about everyone Ivan found. The smile on the Russian's feature suddenly cracked wider. He closed in on the mutant to perhaps catch him by surprise or ensure that he would not run away too quickly. And of course, he saw to it that his voice was soft upon speaking. "What are you doink? You smell delightfully like you are intoxicatet. I bet none off the other guarts gafe you any permission to be, though~"

Word Count: 817
Tags: Arthur Kirkland
Notes:

by worldie for jen

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

It happened quickly, too quickly for any useful reaction. He saw the man in his peripheral vision just as he was about to reach the end of the passageway and stopped altogether, his movement an uneven halt. In that unsteady moment, he could feel the pain that would soon be inflicted for his actions, for his ‘ridiculous, abhorrent’ behaviour as the guards sometimes termed it. Instead of a grimace, his expression hardened. He could feel the sudden slickness of his palms and his pulse rose, a fluttering sensation that felt both sickening and warm with the rush of vodka. His eyes trailed along the man; over his imposing height, over his unique features, particularly the shade of his eyes. And he was sporting a grin, one that Arthur couldn’t quite decipher—wrought from pleasure, some form of amusement, or purpose. A part of him that he didn’t care to acknowledge was vaguely intrigued. Arthur stood his ground, though the muscles in his legs tensed with the urge to retreat back a half step from the approaching figure, cutting off his narrow escape from the passageway, now his temporary prison. Whatever was going to transpire, whether it was to be dragged back to his cell, brought to the guard’s quarters to be subjected to whatever subsidiary punishment they were able to conceive, he knew that he couldn’t prolong the inevitable. What caused Arthur to give slight pause was the softness in the man’s voice, lowered in such a way that seemed to avoid unnecessary attention. At least, it seemed that way. Arthur's pulse slowed and the clamminess of his hands once more could feel the amplified chill of the Underground. His jaw clenched to hide winter's slow crawl against his body—a nasty shiver. The liquor could only go so far to mask that brand of misery. His eyes trailed briefly down the man’s body, noting the Weeds uniform, different, but similar to the Underground guards. Every mutant was painstakingly familiar with the guards of the Underground, for the most part in any case. And this one was unfamiliar; whether agreeably or dreadfully so, he’d soon discover. Arthur’s gaze lazily met with the man’s, the liquor still delightfully warm in his veins, doing wonderful and terrible things with the adrenaline that lingered. The corners of his mouth curled briefly, almost deprecatingly amused, upon hearing the man’s question. ”Feeling human for the briefest of moments, stretching my legs, indulging, testing the ever-diverse boundaries of compliance. Take your pick.” The vodka smoothed his words, though his voice was equally lowered, the usual tone he took with men and women in uniforms softened considerably. Soft tones to avoid filthy attention from the possible presence of guards just outside the corridor, if that even happened to be of any benefit in the first place. A facet of Arthur’s pride was strained with the prospect of possibly being handed over by another—another who inadvertently held power over what was to be done with him. A power that society had deemed his right. Arthur unconsciously bristled at the thought, though it only reflected in the tightening of his fingers against his palm and the stiffening of his jaw. ”Quite delightfully, yes,” he reiterated the man’s words, his tone dry, though the liquor still had given a warmth to his voice that normally wouldn’t be there under such circumstances. His eyes raised to the Russian’s, studying his features, attempting to decipher the motivation behind his smile. Still, he wasn’t intoxicated to the severity of losing the clarity of his thoughts. ”I daresay they didn’t—they’ve yet to realise just how offensively vulnerable their liquor storage is,” a gleam, one almost born of a dare, or even of mischief, crossed Arthur’s eyes. Perhaps the liquor warming his veins emboldened him, pushing him close to the boundary of foolishness. At this point, he didn’t care. A beating was likely at the hands of the guards, regardless of what this stranger decided to do with him. He took a small step closer, whether out of misplaced curiosity or his veiled refusal to appear weak despite the infuriating lack of power on his end and the overabundance of it in the stranger’s. ”I’ve never seen you here before. I’d ask your name, though most would think it highly improper, contracted mutant or not,” the tone in his voice mocked the notion. The corners of his mouth briefly rose; they held a sardonic, dry edge, suggesting that he really couldn’t give less of a care about the twisted standards of what society called propriety. Though it was true. Mutants who dared to be so brazen with ‘normal’ humans, particularly the ones rotting in the Underground, weren’t generally well regarded. The intensity didn’t leave Arthur’s eyes as he observed the man, his liquor infused focus passing over the pale curve of the man’s mouth. ”So? Will you alert the guards? Surely, they’ll be spared of boredom for the next hour, or however bleeding long they’d like to draw out their ‘reprimand.’” Arthur’s tone was carefully indifferent, wording his distaste for the guards to see the stranger’s reaction to him, his voice still lowered in the scarce chance that the man had other intentions.

words: xx tag: ivan notes: xx

MADE BY HABBUE OF GS

[Deleted]

about a lucky man who made the grade

I

t joyed him to catch a mutant in the act -- that is, something that he and they both knew they should not be doing. Escaping, sneaking out, attempting to run far from the skirts of Weeds of Tomorrow. That rush of feeling seemed to overlap into the Underground as well -- some of these mutants had not changed their habits since their time at the school, had they? While it was not his place to take action as he would above ground, it still had him overcome with a sense of pride and a terrible smugness to know that he could have the authority if he so wanted to. But here, that was not his intention. As strong as that consequence loomed on him, Ivan was not posed to raise any alarm. He had kept his voice low for a reason.

Perhaps it was because this particular mutant already hinted toward having disdain for the behavior that was expected of him. Each mutant should know, or so Ivan believed, that each step they took out of line meant higher stakes for receiving punishment in the end. As much as he preferred one who know how to behave themselves, it was no less interesting to find someone who cared not for the risks of displaying themselves otherwise. That sensation of esteem of continued to dwell within Ivan -- he had a shameless fixation for disregarding rules just as much as he did for reprimanding mutants for their own rebelliousness.

He had a clearer view of the man's face now, which he was intent to examine. For that brief moment, Ivan had been standing his guard as well. Prepping himself for possible pursuit only heightened his senses. His fingers twitched where they hung idle at his sides, violet eyes straying from the mutant's expression just to travel briefly over his posture. He searched for any indication that the man was nervous -- since the surprise was clear to see on his face. While he hadn't intended to make the man intimidated, he couldn't help but notice that that expression was rather handsome on him.

"Feeling human for the briefest of moments, stretching my legs, indulging, testing the ever-diverse boundaries of compliance. Take your pick." Those words, smooth and free of the strain he was expecting to hear, threw Ivan off for a moment or two. In that time, he had to mentally collect which words he would respond with. Feeling human. Those words sounded incredibly daring to him. The mutant's voice mirrored his quieter tone and was laden with confidence and a foreign accent that pleased Ivan to hear. And of course, violet eyes had caught almost immediately upon that little growing smile on the other's mouth.

"I am sure you haff other chances to stretch your legs down here. Those were all interestink off you to say, though. I am not goink to take them as silly excuses." The Russian was beginning to relax again, returning to the confident state he had originally brought to their confrontation. It might have been the vodka that was luring him, piquing his curiosity about the blond among all of those other qualities. It disappointed him to see that he had not brought a bottle with him, though.

Neither his smile nor his eyes possessed any clarification as to what his intentions were, no, but he knew what he was set on. He brought forth his own amusement when responding to the matter at hand, which was evident in the playful tone of his voice. "Is it vulnerable? Oh, I do not blame you for takink advantage off that. It is not proper off a little mutant to steal from his guarts like that, bot I cannot help bot admire that you woult be so darink to do so. Alcohol most be like a rewart to you." He could almost reflect the mischief that dawned in those emerald eyes. It was hard to look away from them, even more so after the man had decided to lessen the distance between himself and Ivan.

The Russian didn't see any imperfections in asking a human for their name, so he was more than happy to oblige. This was far too opportunistic. "Nyet, I will tell it to you anyway. My name is Ivan Braginsky. You might haff seen me wander by your cells before, since that is somthink I do loff to do -- bot you jost do not remember my face."

Now that the other was in closer vicinity, Ivan was finding it harder to resist connecting to him somehow -- in any way he could. He wanted to encode trust into the banter they had exchanged so far, and to do what he could to prove that he did not plan on turning the mutant in. The Russian lifted one of his hands, clad in his winter gloves and all too certain in its movement, to reach and rest it curiously upon the mutant's cheek. His fingers splayed to stroke gently over the skin there, all too interested in coaxing a reaction -- any positive reaction -- from the man. The look in his eyes was easily intense and expectant. "Please, do not worry. I am not goink to call anyone to take you away. That woult mean missink a chance to meet someone new, da? If we are quick ant do not keep standink here ontil someone fints os, perhaps you coult go back ant show me where you fount the alcohol."

His hand lowered back down after a few more moments, and upon his face still sat a warm smile. That question alone had posed another risk for the two of them -- though something about it just seemed too worth it. That and Ivan never thought much of potential consequences.

Word Count: 960
Tags: Arthur Kirkland
Notes:

by worldie for jen

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

Arthur noticed the way that the man regarded him, with the way that his fingers seemed to twitch as if holding himself back, likely from taking some sort of action, he could only guess. And what, pray tell, was this man’s motivation? Arthur was on the receiving end of too many of the guards’ whims for whatever action or punishment crossed their mind whenever catching him doing something he shouldn’t. Those violet eyes wandered across his face, reflecting a confidence of power in this situation that he was probably used to having. Arthur laughed quietly, low and somewhat without humour when the man suggested that the mutants had other chances to stretch their legs. On the chance that a match was held and if they were even chosen to participate, then of course. ”Yes, when we’re not attempting to draw blood for the audience’s enjoyment, then we do find it rather stimulating to pace in our cells,” the sarcasm was dry, though his tone wasn’t unkind. Most humans he had encountered seemed somewhat ignorant of the way that mutants truly lived in the trench of the Underground than the image they were usually presented with, though he couldn’t be entirely sure how accurately this man truly perceived their situation. That—or he simply didn’t care, in which case, Arthur's tone might have been harsher. Still, the man did seem somewhat intrigued at least by his unconventional excuses. ”The danger in the interesting is better than comfort in the usual, wouldn’t you say?” The corners of Arthur’s mouth curved with the thought, extending the observation beyond excuses, of course. Hearing the man’s response to his own slight mocking of how lightly guarded the alcohol seemed to be in the Underground, a comment that he immediately regretted upon realising that this man very well could inform the guards of this little vulnerability. There would therein end his days of liquor thievery. The playfulness in the man’s tone; however, did ease his worry, but not by much. Arthur’s demeanor changed when called a ‘little mutant,’ as if he were nothing more than a child who had simply misbehaved beneath the weight of his guardian’s demands. His gaze upon the man sharpened into an irritated regard, though he kept his words to himself as the man continued to speak. It was easy to soften his gaze once more when the man admitted to admiration for the audacity of his actions. That certainly wasn’t what he’d expected to hear, especially from a human in uniform. ”I’d say that a bit of stolen alcohol is little compensation for the misery of their company,” Arthur responded, the playfulness of his own tone softening he sharpness of his words and the insinuation behind them. He would accuse the guards of far more injustices, but he knew that was a stupid thing to criticise in front of humans, particularly with visitors that had little idea of what it was like to be viewed as less. There was a gleam in his eyes, born of amusement, with the man’s next statement about regarding alcohol as a reward. ”A vice of mine, probably no worse than any other.” Hearing the man introduce himself as effortlessly as if they were engaging a ‘normal’ conversation was more than welcome, something that likely earned the reward of honesty in return. ”I’m Arthur—though I don’t necessarily expect you to remember it,” a sardonic smile formed, his eyes seeking Ivan’s once more in amusement. There were several mutants in the Underground who seemed to lose their identity with prospective owners, their names and faces interchangeable as mere commodity to be bought and played with. Ivan, however, had ownership to some rather unique features, ones that Arthur couldn’t imagine himself overlooking in the near future. ”It’d be difficult to forget yours. Nevertheless, the Underground is vast and the guards reorder the cells after contracts are formed, so it’s possible that you simply haven’t passed mine.” Ivan also made mention that he loved roaming the halls, a comment that was both somewhat unnerving and curious. ”Oh? And what intrigues you enough to stand to wander these filthy halls—a prospective purchase?” Of course, he had some idea, being that the Underground only housed one such commodity that would be considered 'valuable' in the eyes of society, but the way Ivan worded it made it sound more like simply viewing them was a pastime in and of itself. When Ivan raised his hand, it took quite a bit for Arthur not to flinch away from him, an automatic reaction whenever he’d riled the guards enough to provoke a reaction. His muscles tensed unpleasantly, as if preparing to be hit or grabbed. Instead, the touch was gentle. Very little warmth bled through, but he could feel the texture of the man’s glove as his fingers slowly stroked his cheek. A gentleness that Arthur certainly wasn’t accustomed to, combined with the intensity of Ivan’s gaze, was enough to coax a bit of warmth to his face. Pink touched upon his cheeks and he had to avert his eyes, breaking the connection just as Ivan’s hand lowered, before the colour had the chance to deepen. ”Right then—I mean, yes—of course,” the prior confidence in his speech had wavered. He could only glance fleetingly at the warmth in Ivan’s smile, still waiting for the warmth in his own face to cool. ”Down this way,” Arthur muttered, turning to retrace his steps to the same storage room that he had just very carefully picked through, enough . He kept a frequent glance on the wall, watching for Ivan’s shadow behind his to ensure that he was in fact following him and not leaving to track down the nearest guard. Upon approaching the door, Arthur needed to take a moment to unlock it with his usual method of getting past locks, a trait that he wasn’t intent on disclosing, but needed to perform for them regardless. He felt Ivan’s presence close, and could only guess at the way those eyes continued to observe his every move. As soon as the door was open, he moved quickly, as if stepping into brief safety, away from the possibility of prying eyes. The majority of the stockpiles were food, some of it useless until properly handled, such as bags of barley, flour and salt. Arthur retreated to the corner of the room where he had left the bottle he’d been drinking from minutes ago, only less than a quarter of it had been consumed. Only close inspection upon the seal would have given away its status of being tampered with. It was hiding among the few shelves of vodka, easily missed. His fingers curled around his bottle, pulling it down before forming a firmer grasp over the smooth surface of the glass. ”I’m assuming that this appeals to you,” Arthur turned to glance at Ivan, raising a brow briefly, that same, almost mischievous curve to his mouth emerging. His fingers worked to reopen the bottle, the heavy scent of vodka already enveloping his senses. He didn’t miss the satirical humour in drinking government owned alcohol with a human he’d just met in the sprawling Underground corridors; that alone would alleviate his mood for the rest of the following wretched day. He found a makeshift seat against neatly stacked bags of barley. He rested one leg over the other as he took a prolonged drink from the bottle, his posture more akin to sitting in a proper chair under proper circumstances instead of being less than a prisoner and filching liquor from a storeroom. The false warmth of liquor was once again being rekindled in the depths of his body. His eyes passed over Ivan, the caution in his scrutiny giving away to interest as his fingers briefly brushed along the makeshift seat alongside his, an invitation without words. ”You’re willing to bend the rules for a bit of unusual company and vodka—a mannerism that we seem to share,” Arthur stated, a near smile at his mouth and hints of warmth already touching his tone, a good sign.

words: xx tag: ivan notes: xx

MADE BY HABBUE OF GS

[Deleted]

and though the news was rather sad

H

e almost didn't know what to expect after requesting that daring excursion -- of course it would have again been rude to him if Arthur decided not to lead Ivan to that storage room, but he wasn't sure whether the other would be willing to take that risk again. It was a heavy risk upon them both, yes, but it was too tempting not to be drawn in. Perhaps he could get a dose of that adrenaline Arthur had been feeling prior to being caught -- it has been such a while now since the last time that he could recall feeling that way.

"Down this way," said Arthur, more clearly than his last sputtered response, and Ivan nodded. He was prepared to follow and count on his steps being as quiet and muffled as he could possibly make them, so as to not alert anyone who came close. He didn't count on that happening soon, anyway -- things were reassuringly quiet aside from the exchange of his and Arthur's voices.

As they went, the Russian mulled over the influx of comments Arthur had made just moments ago, making sure not to forget what was asked of him. Luckily on his part, Ivan did not recognize any trace of sarcasm in what the Englishman had said thus far, so he did not find that worthy of commentating upon. According to him, he was completely right about mutants finding other methods of burning energy and stretching their legs, yes.

But the 'misery' of another's company..? Warm violet eyes were practically boring into the figure ahead of him, walking at just a short distance from Arthur's heels. He figured this would be the best angle to watch him from, just to be sure that Arthur was leading him the right way -- even if it did not allow him to view the man's expression. At least his voice was enjoyable enough to listen to. Still caught on that particular comment, Ivan's head shook. "I onderstant if the guarts are awful to you, bot that only happens when you are misbehavink, da? If a mutant acts nicely, then they will more likely be treatet that way too. After all, it is hart for me to say that company is miserable.. any company is nice so lonk as it is company."

Needless to say, that was probably enough to unmask Ivan's opinion on the matter. He did always try whatever he could to assure mutants that not all humans were loathsome; especially if it meant keeping himself from receiving the blunt of their detestation. Just as Ivan didn't think of all the mutants as one general thing -- like beasts or animals that were all just abominations among society, as others would commonly put it -- he also disliked to hear that humans were viewed as negative beings altogether. 

"Bot, anyway, I am happy to haff ron into you, Arthur. Forgettink names is never somthink I wish to do. If it does ever happen, it will only be a mistake." He had been well prepared to explain why exactly it was he enjoyed the Underground, and now seemed a better time than any to ramble. "Lookink for a purchase is right, bot I will hope you do not think wronk off me so far. I do not think you are filthy jost because you liff in this dirty environment, ant I am not careless when I buy my mutants, either. I do want to care for the each off you ant show you affection, as lonk as you are cooperatiff."

At least he was doing his best to keep his voice quiet as they went, halting altogether once they reached the door of the room they sought. His expression had shifted into something defiant after getting through that, often determined whenever he tried to get his point across that way. After the heavy swing of that metal door marked its opening, Ivan slipped himself quickly inside, albeit less concerned about anyone else now that they had made it there.

Arthur was the first to advance further in, though Ivan remained glued to his stance at the very entrance -- he hadn't ever gotten a good look at the storage area before. An outstretched arm made sure that the door did not remain open, all while his gaze swept over the several shelves of stacked items. A number of them were bland, at least until he noticed just what he was looking for. "I'm assuming that this appeals to you," came the remark that pulled Ivan from his brief distraction. His face was lit again to see that invitation complete with Arthur's sly gestures and a beckoning of alcohol.

Rather than supplying a verbal response, Ivan's feet carried him to where Arthur had situated himself. He had snagged a fresh bottle of vodka from the shelf in passing, lowering himself to rest on the seat designated for him, fit between Arthur's figure and the sacks of ingredients that were beside them. Ivan's eyes lingered once more upon the other's face, only briefly touching upon the smile that had curled his lips before regarding the bottle in his hand. He was hasty with impatience to pry it open, relishing the sharp scent that wafted from both bottles now.

"Your company is not onusual," he muttered next, tilting his head back to take an elongated drink. As per usual, the burn of slightly cool vodka sliding down his throat contented him. That was clear enough to see on his features after he swallowed, lowering his drink down to continue that thought. "Bot I am not disagreeink with you, either. I haff always thought rules are a silly idea; most off them do not appeal to me enoff to want to follow. I cannot say it will ever happen again that I fint soch a playful mutant to enjoy havink a drink with me, hm?"

Mutant or not, a drinking partner -- even if temporary -- was all he needed when drinking for leisure. Between the alcohol coursing through him and Arthur's presence alone, it was enough for him to seek acting less formal than he usually would here.

Word Count: 1022
Tags: Arthur Kirkland
Notes:

by worldie for jen

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

Doing something for the sake of feeling anything else aside from the unforgiving numbness was worth the risk every now and then. The Underground was well suited for perpetual monotony. It would cause anyone to question the sanity of their thoughts and actions. It was likely in that case that Arthur should question his as he led Ivan into his temporary sanctuary, shelved with heavily filled bottles and a promise for an attractive escape, fickle as it was. Hearing Ivan’s comment about the treatment of the guards toward him, he didn’t feel the usual heat of irritation, not with someone who seemed to truly believe it in an oddly innocent way that the man was displaying through his manner and tone. Still, the nearly childlike comment refused to sit well with him. Arthur sighed, soft and short, his voice still low and conversational as he responded. ”Not always. The guards have also been unkind to the mutants who tend to perform poorly in the arena. No measure of obedience can draw their sympathies.” Arthur had never known that variety of cruelty, for he had never been branded as a bait mutant. He held enough wins to avoid the label, but his deviant behaviour earned him very little reward for the effort. The sullen, broken edge of his green gaze would always weigh upon the guards with that same fire of indignation, a different definition of self-preservation, one reserved for his dignity. ”Moreover, if I weren’t ‘misbehaving’ by their definition, I would be an entirely different person—a broken and useless bauble, the ideal purchase for any old lout... And I likely wouldn’t have had the pleasure of getting caught by you under these circumstances,” Arthur’s eyes found Ivan’s briefly, amusement touched his glance as a cynical smile passed his lips. It had never been his intention to make himself appear desirable for the auctions, if anything he did whatever he could to make himself as unattractive of a purchase as he could for any prospective owner. Ivan didn’t seem unkind, at least, thus far. Truthfully, Arthur had very few humans aside from the guards to compare him to. Hearing Ivan’s comment about having any company, whether good or bad, was preferable to having none at all, Arthur’s gaze lowered slightly, a brief heaviness lingering in his chest. It was a feeling he was quite familiar with, one that he frequently tried to ignore before it attempted to consume him. It was an uncomfortable, horrid weight, and it would hurt his pride to admit to such a thing as loneliness. His lips thinned briefly, wondering if Ivan could empathise with that same ugly, inner heaviness. No—I suppose you’re right on that matter,” his response was quiet, as if the words themselves could blend into their surroundings with ease, within the cold and the lonely shadows that grew more intense as they continued along the dimly lit storeroom. Hearing the way Ivan spoke to him was somewhat of a curiosity. The man was well-mannered, almost polite to a point, as if desiring to make some sort of good impression, to expunge the nearly automatic distrust that Arthur had always put forth for any human who happened to cross his path. Hearing him say that he would never be so careless as to forget his name, Arthur gave him another glance, this time his expression softened considerably. ”I suppose, then, in return I won’t forget yours, Ivan.” He listened to Ivan’s explanation soon after, keeping his expression smooth, attempting to reveal any further preconceived notions on the matter. The corner of his mouth rose in the slightest when Ivan mentioned not seeing him simply as just another filthy inhabitant of the Underground. ”And my penchant for ‘misbehaving’? That fails to turn your attention toward better prospects?” He paused, listening for two breaths to ensure that there were no footfalls aside from theirs before continuing, his voice lower than before. ”Tell me, then, Ivan, what do you look for in a purchase?” It was a strange question for Arthur to ask, certainly one that he’d never asked a human before, though the oddness of the situation somehow made the inquiry sound somewhat normal. After presenting him with the alcohol, a hint of amusement rested in Arthur's eyes when Ivan simply advanced, wrapping his fingers around a fresh bottle. There was no need for words. Their mutual longing for the liquor along with that uncovered uncomfortable heaviness while in the corridors created a brief sense of common unity, small and fragile as it was. ”To some, my company would be most unusual,” Arthur responded, bringing one of his legs up on the stack and bent close, as if preserving a small bit of warmth, while steadying the base of the bottle of vodka against his other thigh. He gave a sidelong glance toward Ivan as he took a long drink that spoke of his love for this particular variety of liquor. ”An agreement that I will gladly not challenge—if they did happen to appeal to you, I’d be acquiring a pretty assortment of bruises right about now,” he muttered back, the liquor that he was consuming now mixed with what he’d already consumed earlier were warming his voice, currently in considerable good humour. Arthur nearly wanted to laugh at Ivan’s following comment, only showing with a small, soft snort before raising the bottle close to his lips. ”I’ve been called many things—playful has never been one of them. Nor has anyone ever been willing to dare to have a drink with me, dastardly as sneaking liquor from the storeroom is; I almost want to thank you for the novelty.” There was a mixture of tones in those words, amusement with a hint of sarcasm that slowly bled into a bit of sincere teasing. The vodka warmed his blood and his words became less formal, even the constant stream of cynicism was gently being unwoven among the innocent topic. In all likelihood, it was slim that they’d ever have the chance to do something like hiding in the storerooms with the vodka supply ever again, to have Arthur as a drinking partner again. Ivan may be forced to open his pocketbook if he ever wanted a repeat of this evening. The risks were too great for the both of them otherwise. In that case, it was best to relish what they could for the moment. ”But, no, I suppose not,” Arthur continued, a slightly sardonic response to Ivan’s last statement. After finishing his second drink from the bottle, the pained feeling in his chilled fingers lessening as the false warmth overtook his limbs. ”—not unless you pay for the privilege,” was the lowered, tongue-in-cheek remark, fashioned as a dry jest. He glanced over yet again, his eyes wandering across Ivan’s expression, as if assessing the pieces to a complicated riddle.

words: 1,160 tag: @jen notes: --

MADE BY HABBUE OF GS

[Deleted]

well i just had to laugh

T

he area felt so suddenly detached from the rest of the Underground. His own and Arthur's voice were the only things that he could presently hear. The storage supplies and goods that gathered around them were still and silent in a way that amplified how isolated the two men might have felt - they were nonexistent to anyone who hadn't noticed their disappearance, present to none other than each other, free to do whatever they might want for the remainder of time that they had left. There was no telling how long said 'freedom' here would last, but each minute that passed, one after the other, felt promising. It was likely a situation in which they would lose track of time, anyway, and for once that did not seem to matter.

Ivan's mind toyed over what he had been told about guards and poor arena execution, even while soaking in everything else that Arthur had to say. He could attest to the fact that a reprimand for imperfect fighting performance did not do the trick. Not physical reprimand, anyway. Being beaten for not doing well in a fight might make him want to try harder, but it wouldn't make him any stronger. "Other owners like a mutant who can win their fights down here," he uttered, meeting Arthur's eye in kind. It was showing through that Ivan did not intend to counter absolutely everything that Arthur told him, since he did not appear to display kindliness toward this particular subject. "We do not want someone who is weak ant loses. I do not know why. If a guart provoket the loser enoff that he became determinet to try harder in his next fight, that coult work. Bot it is not the fault off someone who loses. I do not care about any off that, anyway."

His gaze had broken away, eyes fixating on the floor in a manner that could only appear flattered. Furthermore, the smile that curled Ivan's mouth hinted toward something more bashful, perhaps also proud that he had incited those sort of comments from Arthur. People he caught sneaking around were close to never pleased about it. He was far too used, on a growing count of occasions, to foul language and thrashing from daring students, crying or timid pleas to let them go unharmed.

Cynicism wasn't easy for Ivan to detect in this particular English mutant, but he wasn't yet jumping to conclusion that Arthur wholly trusted him just yet.

"I woult not like even the broken ones are useless. Ones that are broken ant are usually thinkink poorly off themselffs like that are not the ones I woult want to throw away. Even if you were like that, I bet I woult still fint reason to purchase you. I like to try ant giff the more fragile mutants the better attention they shoult be gettink." The littler bait mutants, as they were called, were always a soft spot. Those who actually liked to fight hardly interested him as much.

"I think that coult haff answert your question," he resumed, taking another drink of vodka in the short interval that followed. "Nearly all off the mutants that I see are smaller than I am in a way, so I guess it is silly to say that I look specifically for that. I am more comfortable in the presence of males too, especially since they are goink to come liff with me, so I do not bother considerink any off the females." It slipped his mind after he had finished that statement, but he hoped that hadn't come off to say that he didn't like any females. He could talk fondly to them in their cells, yes, but he wouldn't go beyond that. That alone hinted that Ivan bought his mutants more so for affectionate, perhaps even romantic reasons. 

He looked aside to Arthur once more, vaguely amused that he could pinpoint each moment that the alcohol was influencing him. Ivan would not come near intoxication for a good while, but the warm flush of the alcohol coursing through him was already taking mild effect. His cheeks bloomed a rosy color, mood permanently lifted. "As for you, I am not sure what else you do that counts as misbehavink. I know you like to sneak arount where you shoult not be ant commit theft, bot how am I to know what else you get yourself into~?"

A chuckle fell from the man, beginning to mirror the amused look that he had been presented with himself. Given what he had shared about his opinion toward rules, his next words were purely hypocritical - but they rolled so naturally that he did not seem to care. "It does not matter whether any mutant has hat a history off misbehavink or not. Whether or not they are already obedient, they will be given house rules whenever they belonk to me. I prefer ones that will listen to them, so that I will not haff to bother with any scoldinks."

To hear that his deciding to drink with Arthur - a decision made purely between mere acquaintances - was a rarity, he couldn't help but marvel. "Really? I usually drink by myself too," he was quick to interject. Arthur seemed to be enjoying himself as much as Ivan was.

The bubble of uplifting emotion he had been feeling thus far was momentarily halted by the Englishman's final comment. "Pay the privilege?" Ivan repeated, still holding his bottle of vodka in an inseparable clutch. The rest of its contents would likely be drained in no time. The expression that Arthur searched showed only mild confusion, which had interrupted the fascination Ivan had previously been regarding him with. He presented a touch of disbelief in his next words, but his smile had not failed him yet. "You expect somthink out off me if we ever do this again?"

That sounded like a right challenge, but perhaps not one he would mind taking.

Word Count: 995
Tags: Arthur W. Kirkland
Notes:

by worldie for jen

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

The peace of the sort of privacy and isolation offered whenever Arthur could slip away from his confinements for a brief moment was a luxury. Even now, sharing his moment with a stranger who still had the power to turn him in, felt like the smallest of intrusions into something that had always been a secret of his. For once, just like he had whilst being treated as something less than human behind bars, he felt scrutinised and vulnerable in a place that used to be a sanctuary of sorts. He wasn’t accustomed to the feeling outside of the usual holding cells, but the vodka helped to ease his unsettled nerves with this unfamiliar situation for the time being. And the conversation had been far from unpleasant so far—there had been no verbal abuse, a muck of insults and slurs, thrown his way, a constant reminder for why he was in here and why the other wasn’t. The lack thereof and having a relatively normal conversation, particularly from a human, was surprisingly enjoyable. Hearing Ivan speak made it perhaps a bit more so. Even with his liquored musings, Arthur found that there was a pleasing tenor to Ivan’s voice, though the words themselves piqued his interest the most. It wasn’t common to hear someone speak favourably toward bait mutants. His gaze settled on Ivan when the man admitted to not finding much approval with the idea of throwing away broken specimens, as if they were speaking about purchases at a shop. Arthur felt his insides bristle slightly when the insinuation of brokenness and fragility was made. He’d never settled kindly on the idea of being broken—the handlers at the Academy couldn’t manage it and Arthur continued to refuse to believe that the guards who staffed the Underground had mangled him in such a way. No, he wasn’t broken. A little damaged, perhaps—but who wasn’t? Arthur thought it best to hold his tongue on the sharper points of his speech. ”Find reason for purchase—" he reiterated a piece of Ivan’s speech softly, taking care to remove the bitterness that lingered behind the words. "—yes, I suppose even the most broken mutant can find some sort of use among potential purchasers.” Broken mutants made for good pets—so compliant. As if getting use out of an old piece of chipped porcelain or a dusty tablecloth. He couldn’t help but to pinpoint the areas of their conversation that quietly undermined the humanity of the mutants housed in the Underground. Then again, not very many mutants thought that way. Arthur was an oddity like that. A defect, in his own way, among his own kind. Still, Ivan’s answers were different from the usual ones he heard. The man desired fragile, broken purchases, if only to give them attention where he thought it was needed. Arthur had a brief mental image of a child attempting to piece together a mangled toy, if only so that it could keep him company in exchange. A small shiver crossed the span of his skin and he couldn’t help the flicker of unease in his gaze with Ivan’s answer. The man seemed well-intentioned, though. At least from what Arthur could gather in the small amount of time they've spoken so far. He took a slow drink from his bottle, considering Ivan’s next statement that hinted at a deeper reason for purchase. ”You prefer the company of men?” There was a slightly hazy quality to Arthur's voice, something that could be blamed on the mixture of vodka and intrigue, though the way he said the word ‘prefer’ made it clear that he meant something beyond simple, friendly company. His eyes passed over Ivan once more, the slightest, devious curl to the corner of his lip. A sound of vague amusement was present when Ivan spoke about misbehaving. Arthur reflected the light teasing with his words, his eyes gleaming and his face warm in a way that only alcohol could achieve. ”I’m not about to recount my sins, so perhaps the only way to know is to witness them yourself,” a ghost of a smile rested on Arthur’s lips, amused with the fact that he had incited curiosity from this man as opposed to the usual frustration that came with the insinuation of misbehavior. ”I do guard my habits rather closely—I’m afraid they’re the only secrets I have left. Everything else is technically on record,” he spoke with a touch of that previous playfulness, encouraged by vodka and the novelty of meeting a human who he dared to say was somewhat enjoyable company thus far. Hearing Ivan’s response regarding his ‘house rules’, Arthur found that he hadn’t minded the statement as much as he expected to. Ivan’s ‘rules’ sounded more like the type of guidelines one would expect to follow as a simple house guest; the unspoken social regulations of society. ”Fair enough,” he replied. ”Regardless of what my record likely states, I’m not pointlessly unreasonable. I follow rules if they’re sensible.” Sensible, of course, by his definition and not by the bigotry of society’s uppercrust. Arthur felt an odd mixture of confusion and curiosity when Ivan admitted to the similar habit of drinking alone. Usually the Englishman only drank alone because it was the most convenient way to steal vodka among these concrete walls, but would he really be any different as he a free man? He couldn’t know for certain, but he suspected that the habit would transcend. Still, Ivan was a free man. He wasn’t restricted by circumstance and chance; that’s perhaps what made the prospect of his drinking alone a bit more miserable. His eyes rested on Ivan in thought, shifting back just a bit from where he was seated so that the curve of his shoulder blades could rest against the cold concrete. His arm brushed against Ivan’s with the movement. As with everything in the Underground, the warmth from it was fleeting. ”Liquor always tastes better with company,” was his quiet response. Sitting with someone in the storeroom, drinking because it felt good, was far better than drinking to ward off the Underground chill or to momentarily lift the misery of his situation. There was a small rush of air through his nostrils, a motion of silent amusement when confusion touched Ivan’s expression at his words. When asked if he expected something from him in the unlikely case that they ever got to do this again, Arthur interjected a quick, ”Hardly. I never expect much from others.” It was spoken so casually, that it may have sounded like it was nothing short of the matter-of-factly truth. ”This is a rare moment. One that likely won’t happen again by chance; I'm sure it'd require loosening my shackles,” his tone was dry, still somewhat joking, using the term ‘shackles’ to describe his imprisonment. However, what had started off as a humourless jest on Arthur’s end was slowly turning into a bit of a challenge. Of course, it was a challenge that he was putting very little credence in, as he still hardly warmed to the idea of being bought. The idea of brief freedom was an attractive one, the notion of belonging to someone for a short period of time never was.

words: 1,222 tag: @jen notes: aaah, sorry this took so loong! orz;

MADE BY HABBUE OF GS