There's a new world shattering the silence. A new world I'm afraid to see.

[sendmyscourge]

One more midnight passes.

The firstborns are ripped out of their dreamworlds and dropped back into Chicago, disoriented and confused, but otherwise okay. With them, comes the return of all the tech and vehicles that were down while the plagues were going on.

As the sun rises, all that is left of the plagues are the corpses of monster and humanoid,

Comments

[hey_capn_jack]

Not.

Quite.

Right.

J steps forward as soon as he catches the hint that Sark's going to disengage, one hand snapping out and catching the back of Sark's neck. It's not a hard grip, not yet, not if he's not struggling, and had they been two other people with another history and different expressions on each of their faces, it could almost be companionable.

It's really, really not.

"Because for some damn reason," he says, continuing on as though Sark hadn't spoken at all; It becomes my problem, because... " there seems to be some thought left that I'm one of them. There are people who still look for someone I stopped being a long time ago whenever I'm in the same room with them, and I'm not dense, Sark. You think I don't notice what it means to them? When the people who used to love me look over and see this broken thing that I've become

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark's broken a bit too often for his own liking. Not that he isn't broken now, but there's a difference between broken and breaking and he's trying to maintain that slight bit of difference even if it means holding himself up as much as he can, but he lets Suzie have just a bit of the weight, even if it's just enough for her to feel like she's being useful.

It's not fair that she be made to feel useless just because he's stubborn and resisting. The manipulation- as true as it is- isn't unwelcome, it's just that he doesn't want anyone else to pick him up. Not all the way. He needs a part of this to keep going. If it all fades away, then he's left with nothing to drive him and then someone else will kill Clark for him and he can't handle that. He'll turn around and run right now before he lets anyone even think for a moment that they'll take that victory from him

[superiorspectre]

When the kiss ends, when Suzie's had time to process that partial surrender, to file away the things he's communicating and what he isn't, the things she can only guess at, she says two words.

"I know."

Those two words may be breaking her heart a bit, but she doesn't let that show as she unlocks the door, beckoning him into her room.

Once inside, she starts undressing. There's almost something ritualistic about the way she does it, stripping away protective layers, surrendering advantages. She casts a glance over her shoulder at Sark, raises an eyebrow. You're welcome to help if you like, but it doesn't matter one way or the other.

When the clothing's gone, when her hair's tumbling loose around her shoulders, the metal clip that holds it back placed on the desk, she pauses for a moment, one hand on her necklace. After a moment, she slips the cord off, letting it fall on the desk next to he clip

[sarkraticmethod]

He doesn't help. He's not sure why, possibly it's the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that feels like he should be getting out of here, because getting closer to people isn't going to keep Clark away from them, but maybe driving himself underground and away from everyone is exactly what Clark wants.

...He's supposed to not be thinking about that.

He undresses himself, which makes this seem somewhat more awkward and formal than it ought to be and it's aggravating enough that his fingers start shaking and getting caught in the buttons and it's a small mercy that Suzie's not looking at him, except where she probably is.

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing, why he's fumbling and acting like a scared child. It's Suzie. What he's terrified of doesn't exist here and with her. It doesn't exist with any woman. Eventually, he gets frustrated enough with the buttons that he pulls the shirt over his head and drops it unceremoniously to the floor and deals with the pants next until it's all gone, but the scars- the old ones and the

[superiorspectre]

Still. There's a difference between things that are known and things that are felt. There are layers of damage all the rationalization in the world can't touch.

Sark may know he's safe, but the way he's fumbling, he's not feeling it, not completely. Safer, perhaps, but not safe.

With certain lines of work, certain lives, you start to realise that the only time you're truly safe is when you're dead. She can feel that on him now more than ever.

So when he kisses her, she kisses back, matching the desperation at first, and then letting it wind down into something slow and easy. If he needs to prove something he's welcome to, but there's also this -- slow, deliberate sensuality, the process of learning him, softness of skin, the muscle underneath, the way he moves, the way he feels against her