Yes, I will stand here and burn in my skin. [locked][backdated to 10:50am]
Luke had almost backed out. It rested on the tip of his tongue to say to Babel while he was still human early this morning. He hadn't slept. There was too much that could go wrong, too much running through his head. Babel will be okay at least. She can't die. No matter how wrong this might go. It's the only comfort he has... that and the genuine wish that Arlin may be able to help him. Luke is clinging to that with all the hope and optimism left within him.
The atmosphere in the Tower is... worse than ever. Many are going to the trial, those who aren't are thinking about it, remembering what happened a year ago, feeling the residual pain of it... and for someone perceptive to the emotions of those around him, it's hard to live around. It must be impossible for Babel. He doesn't know how she does it. Luke would be at the trial, himself, if he could, just so he could be there, so he could see Jason- J, again. Instead of being at the trial, however, he's in an empty bathroom of a library transforming out from into human form within a stall. Babel threw clothes that they'd brought with into the stall with him. She smuggled him in kitten form here so no one could see him leaving or anywhere along the way. Hopefully. Assuming they don't already know. Assuming there aren't psychics out there listening for his-
It's hard to breathe. He's been in here too long. He knows that. Babel is probably wondering where he is, worrying. She might even knock soon. He should leave. He should go. His hands are trembling. He hasn't eaten anything today, but whatever is in his stomach has just been flushed down the toilet that he's now sitting on top of. Okay. Okay. Be brave for once in your bloody life. Luke wasn't made to be brave. What would Jack do? He doesn't know. He's not sure that he ever did. It was just something to say, something to shoot for, something better than him, someone to believe in.
He stands, unlocks the stall door, and washes his mouth out in the sink. Luke glances at the mirror and grimaces at his reflection- the terror in his eyes seems ridiculously visible to him in his anxiety and paranoia. If he steps out there in the public, again, everyone will see how easy it'd be to kill him, how it wouldn't much matter to the world at large. Just another whore. Just another dead whore on the streets, and the more he thinks about it, the more he doesn't understand why any effort should be given to him at all. He's been waiting for that ending since he 'chose' his profession.
His heart thuds fast and heavy within his chest. He feels dizzy. His hands cling to the sink and it feels as though that grip is all that's holding him up. It's a client. Be what they need you to be. Don't be yourself. Be anything but. He looks about as sick as he feels, but he raises his chin up, locking his jaw in determination and ignoring the shaking of his fingers.
Luke opens the door to step back into the library, and then heads toward the Philosophy section, knowing Babel will be close behind. For good or bad. Whatever comes of it. This is his one, last shot, and there is no way he couldn't take it.
The atmosphere in the Tower is... worse than ever. Many are going to the trial, those who aren't are thinking about it, remembering what happened a year ago, feeling the residual pain of it... and for someone perceptive to the emotions of those around him, it's hard to live around. It must be impossible for Babel. He doesn't know how she does it. Luke would be at the trial, himself, if he could, just so he could be there, so he could see Jason- J, again. Instead of being at the trial, however, he's in an empty bathroom of a library transforming out from into human form within a stall. Babel threw clothes that they'd brought with into the stall with him. She smuggled him in kitten form here so no one could see him leaving or anywhere along the way. Hopefully. Assuming they don't already know. Assuming there aren't psychics out there listening for his-
It's hard to breathe. He's been in here too long. He knows that. Babel is probably wondering where he is, worrying. She might even knock soon. He should leave. He should go. His hands are trembling. He hasn't eaten anything today, but whatever is in his stomach has just been flushed down the toilet that he's now sitting on top of. Okay. Okay. Be brave for once in your bloody life. Luke wasn't made to be brave. What would Jack do? He doesn't know. He's not sure that he ever did. It was just something to say, something to shoot for, something better than him, someone to believe in.
He stands, unlocks the stall door, and washes his mouth out in the sink. Luke glances at the mirror and grimaces at his reflection- the terror in his eyes seems ridiculously visible to him in his anxiety and paranoia. If he steps out there in the public, again, everyone will see how easy it'd be to kill him, how it wouldn't much matter to the world at large. Just another whore. Just another dead whore on the streets, and the more he thinks about it, the more he doesn't understand why any effort should be given to him at all. He's been waiting for that ending since he 'chose' his profession.
His heart thuds fast and heavy within his chest. He feels dizzy. His hands cling to the sink and it feels as though that grip is all that's holding him up. It's a client. Be what they need you to be. Don't be yourself. Be anything but. He looks about as sick as he feels, but he raises his chin up, locking his jaw in determination and ignoring the shaking of his fingers.
Luke opens the door to step back into the library, and then heads toward the Philosophy section, knowing Babel will be close behind. For good or bad. Whatever comes of it. This is his one, last shot, and there is no way he couldn't take it.