01 | holo | location: sanctuary | Remember when you were a madman?
Kobra screams and whirls around, gun raised and ready to shoot. He's faced with nothing but bare walls and deafening silence, the cutting sounds of ray guns only a faint memory in his ears. He stares, wide-eyed and breathing harshly, at the spot where moments ago his brother's lifeless body fell to the floor. He's not there. Neither is Korse and
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"What." His voice comes out all croaky and Kobra stops, swallows again. How can this be? His eyebrows furrow and all of a sudden his expression is guarded again, not showing a flicker of emotion.
"What kind of bullshit is this?" Kobra hisses, brandishing his gun like it is going to help. What fucking sick trick of BL/nd is this? It's cruel and Kobra wants to smash things, shoot things, anything.
"You've got no right to do this," he whispers, eyes dark. "Stop playing fucking games. You've got no right to pretend to be him."
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"No game, Kobra, it's Party," He says automatically, and then pauses to think. Because if Kobra is half as scared as he was when he came here, it's going to take more than a simple verbal reassurance. He gets off the hood of his car and forgets the spraypaint, opening the door and shoving himself in as fast as he can go.
"When you were 7 you saved up your allowance money to buy me a hamster cage for my birthday." That seemed like so long ago. And it was-so very, very long ago. "You gotta believe me, I don't think BL/ind. is the worst thing out there anymore."
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Despite his suspiciousness, Kobra has grabbed the tablet, eyes glued to his brother's face. He's supposed to be dead, but he doesn't want to believe it. He needs his brother and he wants to give into the hope that he's alive.
"Where are you? Where am I?" he asks, his heart still beating too fast, palms sweaty.
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"Dragon," The answer is automatic, and Party can't help the slight upwards grin he's still got. Kobra's here. Kobra's here and that's fucking beautiful, because even though it won't change anything and his brother is better off in the zones there's a big, huge chunk of Party that's a selfish mess. He needs familiarity and nothing is more familiar than blood. Kobra's here. Everything is going to be alright now.
"Alright, Killjoy," There's a certain uplift to his voice, he's excited and the screeching of tires as he burns rubber to head to Sanctuary is audible. Party's a shit driver anyway, but God help anyone that tries to tell him that. A regular motorbaby.
"Try not to kill anyone just yet. I'm on my way, you gotta know--we're out of the frying pan and into the...under ground dome we can't get out of." That sounded lame, but he was trying. A sharp turn to the left and he nearly takes out an Extra, cutting through an alleyway. "Aliens, Kobra. Fuckin' aliens."
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"What the fuck happened?" Kobra asks, trying to keep breathing evenly and calmly. It won't do him any good to freak out right now, alone locked up in a room. "You were dead. You were fucking dead, what happened?!" He's close to yelling now, his emotions getting the better of him, almost sending him to his knees when his strength seems to drain out of his body. "What the fuck happened, Party?! Fucking tell me!"
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"That nasty clap on Victory Mile must of cycled your pistons, done your head in a real bad way. I wasn't dead, car just flipped, that's all." Another squealing of tires. Party's face is hard and concentrated as he drives, glancing over to the tablet. There was still a huge swell of happiness. If Kobra was by his side, they could blow up the fucking world together.
"You're here for someone's experiment. Some hamster aliens, or that's what I've been told. There's loads of other people from different places that got themselves in this mix-up. Personally? Don't trust a single one of 'em, but if we're all tryin' to bust out here might as well throw our lot in with them." There's no 'my' anymore. It's not Party anymore. It's Party and Kobra, and he's grateful for that.
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"Where are you?" He asks again, voice laced with desperation now because for some miraculous reason Party is alive and he needs him here right now because he feels like he's drowning. Everything is too loud, blood rushing in his ears.
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"They're fucking tracking us, you know. Like rats. Like they did in BC. No meds, just those bracelets." He taps his own metal one against the steering wheel, a little clink sound proving his point somehow. But he doesn't want to talk about that, just like he's purposely ignoring the fact that Kobra seemed to be losing it so much he thinks Party's dead.
"Been here a month, little more. Most people here? Asleep on their feet if you ask me. Don't bother escaping. Half of 'em are going guano and the other half like patronizing me."
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"Fuck them," he hisses. Nobody patronizes Party Poison. Nobody. "All fucked up ritalin rats, I tell you. Where are you?" Kobra asked again, the "why are you taking so long" clear in his tone.
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"I'm on the other end of the city, it's gonna be a bit. You..."
And, softly: "I needed you here."
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"I need you. Always." Usually Kobra isn't one for emotional talk, but this is different. This is...Party was shot. "You said you'd never leave," there's only a hint of anger in Kobra's voice, but it is dangerous enough. Once the spark is there it's only a matter of time until the explosion.
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Party considers driving through a wall to get there faster, but he's already gunning his baby as fast as he can, already nearly taking out a few Extras. They're not human, so he doesn't really care. All he cares about is Kobra.
"Just go straight, keep following that hallway. You'll get out." And there's a slight addition to that sentence, but it's all in the way Party sets his jaw and looks pointedly away. He caught the tone--there was no way he couldn't. An unsaid I'm sorry clung in the air of the car like Fun Ghoul's cigarettes.
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"Okay." Kobra's still got his gun raised as he walks down the hallway, prepared for attacks. You never fucking know what BL/nd might come up with next. "Are there dracs here?" he asks, trying to control himself, keep from running or screaming or shooting the next object to cross his path.
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This is what it looks like when Party's flighty paranoia is triggered and he can't drive fucking fast enough, dammit, until--there. Tires screech as Party does a piss-poor parking job and slams down the horn.
"M'outside. Keep. Going. Straight," He says and that's it, he's turned off the tablet and got out of the car, holding his breath. He doesn't even care his mask is off.
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Kobra stumbles outside and it's too bright and it smells all wrong. It's not home, it's not anywhere he knows. But there's the Trans Am and there is his brother, bright red, disheveled hair and a stance full of attitude. He's there and he's breathing and he's alive. Kobra isn't sure what to do with himself.
In the ends he decides for stalking over, anger finally boiling over and making his skin feel too tight. "You moron! You're the biggest fucking twat I know. What the hell did you do that for? You promised, you promised you wouldn't get yourself ghosted and then you have to go and pretend to be a stupid fucking hero and let him do that you!" By the end of it he's screaming and he doesn't care. So what if they attract attention, it won't matter. Kobra's in the mood for a clap anyway. His ( ... )
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