{ of allergies and stray cats }, [ hunted by: masque ]

[` martinique isabella wyngarde]

I'LL WEAR SHADES ON SUNLESS DAYS,
AND WHEN THE SUN'S OUT I'LL STAY IN AND SLUMBER. OH, ALL FOR THE SAKE
OF FOOLISH LOVE. CAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HOLD YOU AND FEEL SO HOPELESS
I WILL TAKE MY COFFEE BLACK. NEVER SNACK. HANG WITH THE WOLVES WHO ARE
SHEEPISH. FLOW THROUGH THE VEINS OF TOWN - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Today had been a horrible day, all around. Martie hadn’t been feeling quite herself for a while now - since about a week or two after the whole cure disaster, really. She didn’t know if it was just her imagination, really; maybe all humans felt this way? It was like she never had enough energy for anything, anymore, and she didn’t like that one bit. It was bad enough that she had no powers, but now she had no energy to devote to trying to be human. It was a lose-lose situation, when you looked at it. Martie didn’t know quite what to do with herself, and she’d been spending an inordinate amount of time wandering around trying to figure out what the hell to do with herself now. She hadn’t quite figured it out yet, but for now she was just fine where she was. She had a job. She had the ragged stray cat that lived in the alley behind her apartment building - she’d recently decided that she was going to name him Vinnie. It was as good a name as any, and she couldn’t very well run around just calling him ‘Cat’. Martie figured she should probably be at work right then and there, but she’d rather hang out with Vinnie the Cat. How terrible was that? She was turning into one of those crazy old cat ladies, and she wasn’t even old yet. She supposed it helped her case that Vinnie wasn’t really her cat. He was kind of ... communally owned. So there. She definitely wasn’t an old cat lady in the making.

Why was she here, again? Martie knew that she probably shouldn’t be skulking around in alleys, not in her newly-powerless condition. Who was going to stop her, though? She’d do whatever she damn well pleased, and she wasn’t about to let anybody tell her that she couldn’t. She’d always had problems with authority, and that hadn’t really changed much. She might have no powers now, but that didn’t mean that she had to just stop being herself. How sad would that be? It was bad enough that one part of who she was had been forcibly taken away. She wasn’t about to lose anything else. Martie fished in the pocket of her jacket, pulling out a package of cigarettes and a lighter. Stress had always made her feel like smoking, and right now she was as stressed as she’d ever been. “People suck, Vinnie, love.” Martie informed the cat, as if he didn’t know that already. “But I betcha knew that already, didn’t you? You’re the one stuck livin’ in an alley.” Hell, if anybody knew how much people sucked, it was probably Vinnie the cat. Martie was about to take a cigarette from the package when she thought better of it. Fuck, why should she be working on killing herself with those when there were more than enough people around willing to take over that duty for her? She knew that a few of the Resistants at least wouldn’t hesitate. Martie returned her lighter to her pocket and tossed the package of cigarettes on the ground. There. “Somebody else is welcome to ‘em, Vinnie. I feel like shit as it is.” After all, it wasn’t like Martie was addicted or anything. If there were ever a thing that she’d think twice about giving up, it would be drinking, not smoking. Vinnie the Cat knew her whole story, she was sure he understood where she was coming from.

“Some day I’ll come rescue ya, okay, Vinnie? Then, you can come live with me. I just gotta get myself all figured out first, ‘kay? Then it’ll all be okay.” Martie really didn’t know why she bothered with talking to the cat like he could talk back. He was a smart enough cat, sure, but it wasn’t like he actually understood what she was talking about. Hell, he probably just hung around because she’d taken to feeding him whenever she had the spare time. That was how the world worked; if you had something to offer, people (and cats) would stick around. As soon as you didn’t, you were history. Martie figured that she was a pretty good example of that. Once upon a time, she’d had something to offer. She mightn’t have been the most powerful mutant in the world, sure, but her powers had been useful, at least. Now, what the hell did she have to offer anybody? She was a bartended with a bad attitude and a drinking problem, by most accounts, but she supposed that at the very least she had her looks going for her. It mightn’t seem like much consolation to most people, but it was something to hang on to. She scratched the back of her neck, wondering if she was having a mild allergic reaction to something. She was feeling itchy in several places, and that could never bode well. Her hand moved to scratch a spot on her arm, and she glanced down only to discover that a blotchy red rash had begun to form there.

Now that’s not cool. Martie thought, bringing her arm up to inspect it more closely. Shit. She couldn’t remember having done much different than usual, so she really shouldn’t be having an allergic reaction or anything. Well, wasn’t that just a kick in the ass? She didn’t know how the hell she was supposed to look after a stray cat when apparently she couldn’t even keep herself out of trouble for a couple weeks. If it wasn’t getting shot with the cure, it was being tired all the time. If it wasn’t being tired all the time, it was developing some mysterious rash. Martie didn’t know if she could handle much more of this. What was next? Was she going to discover that the joke was on her and her father was still alive and despised her just as much as he probably always had? That would be just her luck. She figured Regan would have rubbed her nose in that one already, though. Martie heard footsteps - or at least she thought she did - and her head turned. Vinnie the Cat hadn’t seemed to notice anything, but that didn’t mean that nobody was there. “Anybody there?”

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WORDS: 1058 ?!
LYRICS: FOOLISH LOVE BY RUFUS WAINWRIGHT ?!
TEMPLATE: LEENA. AT CAUTION ?!
GRAPHICS: ( WILMETTA! ) @ CAUTION 2.0?!

[` jack cameron macnaughton]

Nighttime was Masque's time. Surely it wasn't something that came as a surprise given his nature, although there were those similar to him that had chosen to come out of darkness. He simply had preferences. He was overall adaptable to most any living standard and was fully capable of living in the light, but he just chose not to when it wasn't necessary. He'd been born to a life wrought with hatred and broken lullabies, a life of hell and darkness. He'd been raised there, he had thrived there. It was embedded into his roots and although there were those that'd have given anything to lead a normal life amongst the damask-tinted world, Jack had chosen otherwise. He was a creature of darkness and in darkness he belonged; in darkness was where he wanted to belong. It sung a strangling bittersweet symphony that could not be found anywhere else on Earth. It spoke to him in volumes and was a comfort to the comfortless, a friend to the friendless, stirring his black blood with the throngs of mayhem and misery, making him come alive. It may have not been much of a life to most, slinking about in shadow like a creature of the night, but for Jack it was everything. It was home.

Being home pleased the monster within, but only to an extent. It required of Jack to appease its dark desires, quench its thirst for blood, never resting, never ending, always wanting. Waiting made it angry, impatient; it wonted and tormented its keeper. Nothing was ever enough for the monster within. It knew not and cared not for sufficiency or peace. It saw only red. It knew only hunger. Jack was entranced by its likeness, and a willing servant to its cause. He could not sleep, nor eat, nor disobey. He wonted only for what the monster wanted, a willful and twisted desire destined to swallow him whole, but Jack knew no regret. He was soulless, mindless to the monster's advantages and decree, domestic, but never victim. It was nature. Right and wrong. Good and evil. His intentions weighed the balance. After all, there could be no right without wrong, no good without evil, no light without darkness. It was as it always had been a beautiful disaster, the perfect imperfect combination that the way of the world rested upon, destroying and thriving. And so it was. And so it would be. Hand-in-hand with triumph and misery.

There was a voice in the darkness, calling to him. Find me, kill me, it said, through muted affirmations. Liberate me said the mouse to the lion. The shadows swarmed and thickened around Jack, each step he took more ominous than the last. The path was lit through shrouded eyes, the way clear. Black folds of cloak swirled about him as he walked. His nails scraped across either side of the narrow alleyway, one or two catching in rigid crooks, but Jack paid no heed. He heard the voice again, paused, and then followed. The voice eventually took shape in the form of a woman. The monster was tempted. Even in the impending darkness she seemed to glow with the likeness of an angel fallen, the poor lost, unfortunate soul. She called out to him again, and this time it was beyond him to forsake the siren's call.

"Little red riding hood, how far you are from home. Your mother forewarned you as all good mothers should not to stray on your way to bring sweets to grandmother on the other edge of the wood. What now sayeth the wolf of whom's path you have tread? 'Better she alive, or better she dead?'" He grinned a malicious grin, taking Martie by the hair to bring her to her feet, before his hand moved to enclose her throat and force her up against the wall. He pressed his face against the side of hers, his eyes closing a moment. He breathed her scent in deeply and sighed contentedly as if given an aphrodisiac. "Martinique," Jack said, his tone velvet. "How ravishing you look, as always." He pulled his face back a quarter of an inch, smiling again that devilish smile. "Have you missed me, my love? I have missed you."

[` martinique isabella wyngarde]

I'LL WEAR SHADES ON SUNLESS DAYS,
AND WHEN THE SUN'S OUT I'LL STAY IN AND SLUMBER. OH, ALL FOR THE SAKE
OF FOOLISH LOVE. CAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HOLD YOU AND FEEL SO HOPELESS
I WILL TAKE MY COFFEE BLACK. NEVER SNACK. HANG WITH THE WOLVES WHO ARE
SHEEPISH. FLOW THROUGH THE VEINS OF TOWN - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was honestly a wonder that Martie didn't think twice about being alone in an alley after dark. If she'd really stopped to think about it, she might have realized how terrible an idea it really was. Honestly, she'd been cured for some time, but she still really wasn't ready to face the fact that she couldn't protect herself the way she once had. She'd never been very physically formidable, of course, but she'd at least been able to wreak havoc on people's minds. She missed it more than she cared to admit. There was just something about the security of knowing that if anybody dared to mess with you, you could shut them down so very easily. She couldn't do that anymore. Why was life so unfair? Martie hadn't asked to be cured, after all; she'd even had suicidal thoughts in the days following the incident. If Regan hadn't been at the parade to save her ass, she would be dead right now. Some part of Martie knew that, but she couldn't quite get over herself long enough to thank Regan for it. She knew she should, and somebody ... maybe she would. But for now? For now things would stay as they were, and she would just have to grow accustomed to living as if she were really and truly ... human. There was no other way to do things. She sighed, crouching down to scratch Vinnie behind the ears. How sad was it that a mangy alley cat cared about her more than most people did? She supposed that there were some people, like Julian and Betsy and maybe even Regan who gave a damn about her. But everybody else? She figured she might as well admit that she could be an annoyance, at best.

She really should have known better. Martie had seen enough of the world to know that nobody was ever safe. Even if you were relatively confident that nobody would go out of their way to bother you, you could never be one hundred percent certain. After all, some people wouldn't be able to pass up the idea of causing trouble for a lone woman lurking in an alley after dark. Not that Martie was lurking, per se. She was just ... hanging out. Spending time with Vinnie the Cat, and all. She'd never really been afraid of the dark – or, more specifically, what might be hiding in the darkness. Perhaps as a child she might have had an irrational fear of it, but if she had she couldn't recall it. Nighttime was Martie's time to shine, really. It was when she worked, and when she wasn't working it was when she played. What was there for her to be afraid of? Perhaps she might have been well-served to show a little more fear, when it came down to it. She wasn't a mutant anymore, and she was just as vulnerable as all the other humans. She hated that thought, but that didn't make it any less true.

For a moment, Martie thought that she might have imagined the footsteps. She turned her attention back to the cat, only to hear a soft scraping sound, reminiscent of nails scraping against a hard surface. She tired to ignore the sound, assuming that whomever it was meant no harm to her. It was impossible to tune it out entirely, though. “Come out, already. I know somebody's there.” Martie didn't bother to turn her head to look in the direction of the sound; she was about to push herself to her feet when the sound of a voice reached her. Martie recognized the voice, of course, and she froze in place. There was no way that he could have found her, not here. What would he be doing in this part of town? Martie was about to turn to him to ask just that when she felt a pull on her hair. Damn it, what did he want with her? She rose to her feet, rather than have him pull any hair out by the roots.

Only when she found herself forced up against the wall with his hand gripping her throat did the fear kick in. Fear really wasn't an adequate word; perhaps ... terror might have been a more accurate descriptor. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear herself think, and that was hardly a safe position to be in around Masque. She would have fought, if she thought she'd stand a chance, but there was no doubt in her mind that the outcome would be undesirable if she tried. The sound of his voice in her ear just set her heart racing faster than ever. She would answer his question honestly, and risk the consequences. “Can't say that I have.” She'd thought about him from time to time, of course, but only to pray that a situation like the one at hand never presented itself. “Since when did you give a damn about me, Masque?”

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WORDS: 843 ?!
LYRICS: FOOLISH LOVE BY RUFUS WAINWRIGHT ?!
TEMPLATE: LEENA. AT CAUTION ?!
GRAPHICS: ( WILMETTA! ) @ CAUTION 2.0?!

[` jack cameron macnaughton]

Jack found it extremely fascinating that, despite what seemed like all odds when it came to her, Martinique had somehow managed to survive so long. It wasn't just under the circumstances either, but in general, and he found himself curious as to how she'd managed such a feat. She was one of those types - and he'd seen it few times before - that was consciously aware when voluntarily heading into a potentially dangerous situation, looking for danger, as it were, but when it came to putting herself in a situation where danger was likely to find her at some point, she seemed blissfully unaware. He was convinced this wasn't what she'd intended when she'd decided to linger in a dark alleyway, but that was exactly what served to prove his point. How could one search for danger, knowing what one would find, but in the meantime not be aware of dangers that lurked even when one was not looking for them? It was really, well, common sense, wasn't it? It was something Martie seemed to lack, as even if she were some poor, young innocent, a poor, young innocent still had enough sense to not sit in a dark alleyway playing with fluffy kitties. She was like a big four year old - he wouldn't argue that logic as she had always seemed to act less than her age and that was partially what had made her so useless to the Resistants - but if there was one thing Martinique Wyngarde wasn't, it was innocent.

Had Martie been some truly innocent child, Jack could understand where common sense may have faltered, for the innocent where so benign and trusting, but knowing that she wasn't, even if she pretended to be, it only left two possible theories as to why she was foolish enough to linger in the shadow where danger lurked. One, she was a complete and utter moron. Jack, himself, was rather partial to this theory. What little he did know of Martie, he knew her to be promiscuous. She used her beauty, her body to get places in life she otherwise might have never gone. Some may have considered this ploy rather smart, and perhaps in a way it was, but in his opinion, it was all she could do. She knew how to use that pretty little mouth of hers for one thing and one thing only. It was rather pathetic when he thought about it. She'd been given a gift once in her life. Her ability, it may have been useful, but she had never developed it to its full potential. She'd laid it to waste in favor of using matter over mind. Perhaps he'd had some sort of expectations when it came to her, but it was obvious they were misplaced. Without waving a dollar in her face, he supposed he couldn't very well expect much more from a whore. The sight of her disgusted him, and not only for that reason, but also because she had thrown away her ability. She was undeserving of such power, and he held no sympathy for her having lost it.

His second theory was that she was drunk. It would've explained a lot, at least, and considering the frivolous lifestyle she had chosen for herself, it seemed like the most likely option. Jack hadn't decided yet if she was honestly unafraid, or whether she was putting on a brave face just for him. If she was drunk, her inhibitions were non-existent and she was putting on a show just because her currently inebriated state was allowing her to feel no fear, no pain. However, he was very close to her and detected no sign she'd brought even a single beer to those lips this night. It was as he had expected, and he knew that she knew the bravest face in the world wouldn't save her. That was what made it so sweet, the intoxicating smell of fear. "Pity," he said simply, when she remarked that she hadn't missed him, his tone chilling. "So formal? I'm crushed. Thought we'd be past that by now, my dear."

He thrust a hand between her clad legs, palm against wall, raising her well off of her feet. He leaned inward again as if to kiss her, his face hovering not a quarter inch from hers. "Such sweet, warm breath. I will almost miss it." Jack flashed a toothy smile. "What, no kiss good-bye?" he added, smile falling into a scowl, malice in his dark eyes. He moved a hand to encompass her throat, enjoying a moment or two of watching her struggle, before promptly throwing her lithe form savagely into a bunch of crates a foot or two away from where he stood. "You'll have to do better than that," he laughed darkly, clapping his hands once and hunkering forward slightly to see her more eye-to-eye. With a distinct condescending tone, as if he were addressing a child, Masque added: "I think this is the part where you run."

[` martinique isabella wyngarde]

I'LL WEAR SHADES ON SUNLESS DAYS,
AND WHEN THE SUN'S OUT I'LL STAY IN AND SLUMBER. OH, ALL FOR THE SAKE
OF FOOLISH LOVE. CAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HOLD YOU AND FEEL SO HOPELESS
I WILL TAKE MY COFFEE BLACK. NEVER SNACK. HANG WITH THE WOLVES WHO ARE
SHEEPISH. FLOW THROUGH THE VEINS OF TOWN - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Perhaps Martie's survival thus far had been against the odds. It was true that sometimes, she did stupid things, and thus far it really hadn't caught up with her yet. She'd survived this long, somehow, and when it came down to it she'd just been very lucky. She was always aware when she rushed into a dangerous situation intentionally, but it was times like this when common sense deserted her. She kept forgetting that she wasn't able to protect herself anymore, that her powers wouldn't be there if she needed to defend herself. She was basically defenseless without them, and she still hadn't really fully grasped that yet. She'd felt perfectly safe lounging around in a dark alley talking to a stray cat, and that was ... almost frightening. She'd done it before, and no harm had come to her, and she'd simply come to assume that she would always be so very lucky. Perhaps it was incredibly stupid and naive of her to think so, but such was the way her mind worked. Part of her still wanted to believe that she could still look out for herself, if it came down to that. Of course, that part of her was wrong, but she would be the last person to admit it. She would likely keep on living as though nothing and nobody could touch her ... until something (or somebody) came along and proved otherwise.

Innocent? That was something that Martie hadn't been in a very, very long time. She might playact or pretend sometimes, but there was no undoing some of the things she'd done. She was a grown woman who at times acted startlingly childlike, but she figured it had long since ceased to surprise those who knew her well. She simply didn't like to think ahead too far, the way some people did. She preferred to live in the here and now – especially when her future was so uncertain. She didn't know where she would be in a week, or a month, or a year. For all she knew, she could drop dead any day. And so, she tried to live every day to the fullest. She was only going to live once, so why not make the most of it? Then again, her idea of 'making the most of it' was looked at by most people as being a waste of a life. She liked working in a bar and having meaningless flings and ... the thrill of it all. She didn't want to get old and boring and respectable. Besides, she'd always managed to get everything she needed, one way or another. It was harder, without her ability, but ... she was still the same Martie, wasn't she? Sometimes, she felt a little empty without her powers. Something was missing, and it didn't feel right. She'd been living under the assumption that the feeling of wrongness would go away, but it hadn't – not yet. Would it ever? Perhaps she hadn't developed her powers to their full potential, but she liked to think that that didn't mean her losing them was fair or right.

Contrary to Masque's theories, Martie was sober. If she'd been drunk, the whole situation would have been much more bearable. She wouldn't have cared so much about what happened to her. The gut-wrenching terror that she was feeling would have been considerably less; hell, she mightn't have been afraid at all. She'd never been quite this afraid in her life, and she'd never forget it. If she lived, of course. Martie knew enough about him to know that he likely wouldn't hesitate to kill her. The only question was – would he do it? She found herself wishing that somebody would come along and save her, but she knew that there was probably nobody nearby – and if there were, it was probably nobody that would be too concerned with what was happening. Martie just stared up at him, his tone sending an involuntary shudder down her spine. She didn't like the sound of it, not one bit. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that Masque meant business, and that was very bad for her. She would have said something, but speaking really didn't seem like a wise decision at the moment. Even Martie had some common sense.

Ow. Martie was lifted off her feet, leaving her legs dangling rather uselessly in the air. She was in something of a daze as he leaned in, his face so close to hers that they would have been touching if she'd moved so much as a fraction of an inch. No kiss goodbye? So, he really did mean to kill her, then. Martie liked to think that he was making some sort of sick joke, but ... that look in his eyes said otherwise. She wanted to say something – she was about to open her mouth to do so – when his hand closed around her throat and the terror kicked in all over again. She attempted to fight his hold, but without her powers she was all but useless. He was bigger than she was, and stronger than she was. She had no chance. She was almost relieved when he threw her, if only because he wasn't touching her and that meant she had a fighting chance. Martie hit the crates and tried to ignore the pain that the impact caused. Damn it, that hurt! She lay there, dazed, for a moment before she came to the conclusion that she wasn't seriously injured just yet. Alright. That meant that she could still get away. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and she was sure that he must be able to hear it from where he was standing. She pushed herself to her feet as he informed her that 'this was the part where she ran'. He didn't need to tell her twice. She picked up one of the crates, glaring at him. The distance between them had made her feel brave again, and she was going to make the most of the situation.

“You want to kill me, you creepy bastard? Go ahead and try.” Martie really shouldn't be pushing her luck, but ... she could never seem to quit while she was ahead. She threw the crate in his direction with as much force as she could manage. “Fucking asshole.” And then ... she was off like a shot in the opposite direction. She would have been faster, if it weren't for her shoes. Running in heels wasn't an easy task.

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WORDS: 1103 ?!
LYRICS: FOOLISH LOVE BY RUFUS WAINWRIGHT ?!
TEMPLATE: LEENA. AT CAUTION ?!
GRAPHICS: ( WILMETTA! ) @ CAUTION 2.0?!