hadriel_logs | We Can't Wash These Sins Away

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We Can't Wash These Sins Away

Who: Cal, Flick, Ulaume, and not!Pell
What: Pell's double gets fucked up
Where: The Wraeththu House
When: Jan 21
Warnings: Violence and language. Will update as needed

Something was obviously wrong and it had been for a long time. At least since that misguided party Flick had put on. Maybe before. It didn't matter, did it? Pell had been acting strangely, cold, closed and distant, and, essentially, decidedly un-Pell-like. If that weren't enough to tip him off, the chatter around the city he had a pretty damn good idea why. The entire place was fucked. Compared to that, he himself was downright sane.

Whatever that thing was, it sure as hell wasn't Pellaz. That by itself was a crime worth killing it for. The only problem was figuring out what it had done with the real one. He didn't think he was dead yet, but would he be able to tell if he'd been replaced? He sincerely hoped so or no one would be safe. On the other hand, if he was dead, then he could end the new problem with one bullet.

The rage was blinding--that thing was in their house in Pell's place--and it was like nohar had noticed. Maybe that was because he didn't speak with them about it, but he knew. Flick was too trusting and Ulaume he didn't confer with.

He wanted to storm in and shoot it, but he paused at the door, hearing two voices on the other side of it instead of one. That complicated things. Instead of bursting in and surprising it, then, he'd have to be a little more careful. He just hoped it wasn't Flick. There would be no explaining himself.

He forced himself to open the door casually, gun hidden from sight for the moment. Calm down, Cal. Don't give it all away just yet.

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Flick had noticed that something was off, but not enough for to think it wasn't Pell. Honestly, he thought maybe Pell was going through something and hadn't wanted to talk to him about it. Maybe Cal had told Pell his secret and Pellaz was less than thrilled he hadn't told him first? Maybe he felt their friendship was at stake. Whatever the reason, Flick hadn't wanted to pry. He hadn't trusted him, so he understood why Pell might feel distant and cold.

Still, he made cookies. Maybe that would cheer everyone up. He was lounging on the couch with Lor next to him, a cookie between his teeth, when Cal came in.

Everyhar's favorite. Fabulous.

"Hi Cal. Want a cookie?"

Things were going well. There was no reason to think any of them suspected, and his true sabotage -- the clinic -- was working out spectacularly. He could start working on these three soon. Do more than just act cold and make the offhand comment. Slow and steady wins the race, he reminded himself, and he was trying to keep up the sickening sweetness that Pell normally had. It was exhausting.

When Cal enters, the double is curled up in one of the chairs in the living room, taking a bite of one of Flick's cookies. Which he has to admit are exceptionally well made considering the materials at hand. There's something, maybe he could poison their food somehow...

"Hi, Cal," he echoes, giving a smile and unfolding himself from the chair to greet the other har with a kiss. That's what they do.

They are delicious cookies. He'll have one, thank you, yes. Unfortunately, it's going to take more than a dose of sugar to cure the paranoia scratching at the back of his mind.

He'd have probably put two and two together if he'd been out and about lately. If he cared enough to socialize. Later, he might realize lurking in this house constantly is a mistake.

He hasn't touched Flick's mind in hours either. Sooner or later, he's going to have to explain. Cal barely gets a glance when he comes in.

All of them. It would be all of them. He stiffened when that thing kissed him, hoping it wasn't as obvious as he thought it might have been. Either he had to get to other two to leave (or at least Flick), or he did this in front of them and they just believed that he was crazy. Not that they didn't already.

How it was they hadn't noticed yet was a damned mystery that he wasn't going to bother trying to figure out.

"No," he finally answered, glancing at Flick. How could he not tell?

"What are you doing?" The question was for anyhar to answer, really.

Flick gave a shrug and wished he had another batch of cookies to bake or something to clean, keep his hands busy. Instead, he laced his fingers through Lor's hair, his emotional barometer. Even if Lor tried to keep something from him, if something was bothering him, he couldn't always control his hair. It had a life of it's own, although less so since the Uigenna.

Arching an eyebrow at Cal, Flick looked again at Lor. Alright. What was his problem? Did he need aruna, because wow was Calanthe getting bitchy. Maybe that was the problem with Pell too? Did something happen?

He wanted to just come out and say it. They were har. Instead Flick just stuffed another cookie in his mouth and mind touched with Lor I think they both need a good roon.

Uh oh.

"You should try one. Flick was baking all morning. And I--" need to get out of here, there's something wrong with Cal's stance, the way he tensed when kissed, that puts the double on high alert. "--have to get to the clinic. Thank you, Flick. I'll see you all tonight."

Or he won't. It might not be safe to come back, unless he's willing to kill them all and that's a bit outright. Maybe he'll sneak back in the night and light the house on fire. A little maiming, a little destruction... couldn't hurt.

For now, though, he needs to bide his time and get away from the sharp-eyed har that's been trying to get into his mind all this time. He strokes Cal's arm as he passes, still smiling, and heads for the door.

It's stiff and unresponsive, not cozy and curling around Flick's fingers. Not very loving, in other words, but neither is it cranky hair.

Finally, he responds to Flick on their private channel. Distracted. Perhaps a little concerned, because the unknown can be bad.

I don't think we should let Pell leave.

Just a feeling, some sort of subconscious intuition, that Pell leaving would end in... something. Another unknown. Not good.

Cal had the same idea, at least, reaching for Pell's wrist as he tried to walk by. He wasn't going to let whatever this was get away that easily. Not when it was right here. He stopped short of dragging the thing farther inside, but what he really wanted to do was kill it. Deep breath. He had things to find out first.

He was fully ignoring the other two now. They could do whatever it is they were doing, he didn't care anymore. If they wanted to leave or if they wanted to stay, it wouldn't make that much of a difference. Not to him, anyway. They might think it made a little more difference than he did.

His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke again, directly to the copycat. His free hand drifted toward the hidden pistol.

"Where is he?"

"I'm sorry... who?"

Fuck.

He's more powerful than any of them, maybe than two of them put together, but all three will be a challenge to escape. His only hope now is that one of the others will take his side, will think that Cal is completely insane and protect him long enough to get away. He makes his eyes go wide with not-quite-fear when he notices where Cal's hand is drifting. He tugs at the hold on his wrist.

"Cal, you're hurting me."

Flick trusted Ulaume's instincts. If he thought something was wrong with Pell, and he shouldn't leave, than Flick agreed wholeheartedly. Lor was much more sensitive than he was at some things. As much as he'd rather purge that part of his life, Flick was thankful for Ulaume's time with the Kakkahaar, it honed his senses, and sometimes the dark was necessary. He'd saved them more than once.

Flick's eyes moved to Pell, warily and he stood up, not entirely sure how to stop him but it looked like Cal had that in hand. Worry moved through Flick, settling in his stomach like a nest of angry hornets. His eyes moved from Cal to Pell and then back to Cal, not understanding.

"Where is who?"

He looked to Ulaume, terrified that it was happening again and there was nothing he could do to stop it. That it was going to be Pell's body hanging from the rafters this time and Cal had finally snapped.

Flick stands up and is immediately yanked back down. Look, he's doing something... although that something is simply preventing the smaller har from doing anything at all.

This feels... right, and it seems like everything is finally pieced together in his mind. Sort of. One thing is for sure, Cal wouldn't hurt Pell. Not ever. Not in any world. And Ulaume's not getting that strange prickling of the senses from Cal.

"Sit."

That was not the response Cal was looking for. His expression went completely blank. He didn't even bother to curb the anger that answer caused. Did it think this was some fucking game?

"That's the wrong answer." Now he did try to pull the clone further inside. He didn't care if he was hurting it--it wasn't Pell. He couldn't afford to have it get away before he found out where Pell was. If he could even get that information.

Without any more warning, he drew the gun, aimed at its knee and fired.

"I'll ask again. Where is he?"

So much for keeping up the act. The double shouts in pain, the leg giving out from under him. The wrist Cal holds flares into bright hot flame, an attempt to get him to let go. And then a low laugh comes from him, his face twisted into a smirk of hate that Pell could never achieve.

"You'll never find him," he pants out. "He'll starve to death before you do."

Oh, no no no no no, this wasn't happening. Why was Lor so calm! The gun and the blood, Flick's stomach churned. He could smell it now, it wasn't the same meaty smell of Orien's body, but similar. The metallic scent of blood and metal. Gunpowder. He turned away briefly, burying his face in Ulaume's chest.

Then he saw it, Pell's face twisted and Flick understood. That wasn't Pell. Understanding didn't stop the shock and the shaking and he shivered besides Ulaume, clutching his hand. That wasn't Pell, but it looked and sounded exactly like him. He couldn't do this.

Fuck. Right. Sitting and watching may be an option for a thing like him, but not Flick. Who is quickly being guided up and hopefully out of the room, if the other har's legs remember how to work.

They ought to guard the door. Someone may have heard the gunshot. His mind is open now, supportive. A calm presence. Not Pell, not Pell, it says.

He was only vaguely aware of other movement behind him and a vague thought that maybe he should have removed the other two from the room before he started the shooting. It was too late now, although he did risk a meaningful glance to Ulaume. He was fairly certain the double wasn't going anywhere, but he couldn't be perfectly sure of that. He didn't even know what it was.

But Pell was still alive. That was a relief.

"You underestimate me, beast." Another shot aimed at the other knee. "You're running out of limbs, creature. What did you do with him?"

Another scream at that, but one of rage as well as pain. "Kill me if you wish. He'll only suffer more for it. And so will you."

The door to Flick's room, where he assumes Ulaume was headed with him, slams shut. It won't open for them if they try, and the double's eyes are alight with power. "Why don't you two stay? Watch him torture me some more."

Flick graciously took what support and love Ulaume had to offer as he was guided up almost out of the room. The smaller har was shaking, his muscles contracting as if cold. Flick refused to turn around. He wasn't going to watch this. Instead he just sank to the floor.

His mind connected with Lor's.Not Pell. He gave Lor a nod. He'd have to be alright. Right now, Lor was needed over there. Cal needed Lor's darkness. He'd happily crouch on the floor and cover his ears for now. Try and forget. Try not to be.

Nope. Not to his and Flick's bedroom. Towards the door of the house, of course. There will be busybodies along, he's sure. Gunshots are loud and now there's been two. He's the only one who'll have the sense to explain.

Besides. To hell with what Cal needs--what Flick needs is to also get out of the house. Not to watch this. So, that's where he's still hauling the smaller har, away from the scent of blood.

He laughed at the threat; it sounded crazed and insane even to him. He would suffer?

"I've suffered already. What could you possibly do to me?" He only hoped that he couldn't kill Pell from here on the floor, that the bleeding would distract him.

"Do you still think you can make it out of this? Do you think I won't hunt you forever? I've already got my teeth in you. And I won't let go."

"Be him."

He curls in on himself on the floor, seemingly from the pain. When he looks back up he's the very picture of fear, eyes wide and watering. "Cal..? Cal, what are you doing?"

Meanwhile there's an invisible vice around Cal's wrist, of the hand holding the gun. Any movement and it'll snap.

Flick covered his ears as Not Pell changed tactics. That was too cruel. He's ever so thankful now for Ulaume's matter of fact attitude and quick thinking, and how he's forcibly hauling Flick toward the door.

Now with two gun shots he could smell the blood stronger now, and didn't dare look over to see Pell lying there in a pool of his own blood. He wouldn't be able to take it.

It sure as hell doesn't make him pause. Hardly the first time he's heard someone begging for mercy. Good thing, too, for he's not losing his head yet.

Out the front door, which he shuts behind him. He guides Flick to one side, attempting to get the panicky har sitting down. Smell that relatively fresh air? No blood. Isn't that good?

It worked--for half a moment it worked. He hesitated, almost convinced. All the warnings they'd all flung at him, the fears that he was well and truly insane, came back to him. What was he doing that was Pell oh god how had he done that to him?

At least until his resolve returned and he glared once more.

"Enough!" It was over. He was going to kill it. He tried to aim the pistol at its head with one quick motion--

--and screamed as he felt the bones in his hand snap. He dropped the gun (that was very, very bad), but he couldn't hold on to it any longer.

Shit.

Not!Pell moves with lightning speed, picking up the gun and reeling back, the fake tears falling down his cheeks. He aims at Cal's left knee; an eye for an eye and all that. There's no hesitation, and the shot can be heard clearly outside.

"Why would you want to hurt me, Cal?" He sniffles, still feigning fear. "What did I do?"

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We Can't Wash These Sins Away

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