Rebels & Mutineers is set in modern day New Orleans, Louisiana. R&M is fueled by player's plots and group input.
Supernatural people have always had their place in society, hidden in plain sight or locked away for their own protection. New Orleans, a haven for the strange and mysterious and a magnet for the supernatural.
Established: Oct. 27th, 2018 Recently Updated Posts && Recently Updated Threads
05.11.19
As the community reels from the untimely death of Lucia Lovelle, life has to move on. Primrose readies for the annual Prom celebration! Keep your eye out for a event board and have fun!
02.27.19
It's not too late to vote for February's OTM winners! The winners for January, keep an eye out on your messages for your winner's graphics for your signature. Already voted? Make sure you check out the Mardi Gras event board! Party up, have a good time, and enjoy!
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Dec 23, 2018 0:39:55 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]This was not how evOlvd dates were supposed to work.
Participant A messages Participant B. They banter back and forth for a period of time. A meets B, they drink, head back to the nearest home, fuck, and never talk again. That was the tried and trued system Carver had grown used since the app had hit the market and before that its plebian counterpart Tinder. He’d had no ulterior motive when he casually swiped through the list of supernatural entities in the New Orleans area
He’d never thought his quest for casual sex would cause his past to rear its ugly head.
He hadn’t recognized her at first. He’d seen a gorgeous woman with dark features who seemed game for a quick meeting. It wasn’t until she had messaged him that he finally began to see the similarities. The pouty lips that seemed to always sneer with disdain. The disinterested eyes that somehow always bore a hint of mischief. She had been smaller back then, they both had. Little more than children trapped in the sterile impersonal hell that was Monroeville. Memories of terrorizing the inhabitants and staff of the hospital came flooding back. In nearly every one she stood by his side.
She had been his companion, his partner in crime, his friend.
Then he changed. He gave up his crusade of pain and destruction as soon as he’d met Doll. The more time he spent with the porcelain-skinned angel the less he saw of Charlie. Carver had sought her out in that time. He tried to roll her into his new group of friends but she was an elusive figure. Eventually, he simply gave up and left the girl behind. He never spared her a second thought. Not when his beloved went missing, not when he finally made it out, not even as he lived through the watered down version of Monroeville that was rehab. Not until he saw those words sprawl across the cracked screen of his phone.
“Tinman!”
No one called him tinman, at least, not to his face. Anyone who had found out how heavy his “tin” fist had been. More than one idiot had found themselves in the Monroeville infirmary for a casual slip of the tongue. Eventually, everyone learned to keep their mouths shut. All except one. Only Charlie has been given that privilege.
He picked up the well-abused phone before him and looked through the string of messages they’d exchanged. I’ll be there around 8, was that last message he’d sent. He’d been sitting at the bar since 7 and already downed several shots to work up a healthy buzz. He’d hoped to run into Declan and seek some words of wisdom or at least a stupid comment or two before Charlie arrived. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting out of this little get-together. “Leave it to lil’miss mind fucker to make a meet’n fuck app so complicated.” Carver bemoaned, slapping his phone down on the counter.
Like most of evOlvd dates Carver failed to dress up. He wore a dark red flannel stained with what he hoped was barbecue sauce and not blood and a pair of jeans that were held together by hopes and dreams. Luckily, he was able to hide most of the faults in his attire with a newly acquired Carthart jacket. Freshly taken from a Walmart on his last excursion across the US. As always, his beard was immaculately groomed and his hair had been combed into some semblance of order. He had no illusions that he looked like a fully functioning member of society. He loathed to put up a false front, especially in front of a friend.
As the clock ticked onward Carver tapped the bar and one of Declan’s associates appeared before him. “Double shot of So-Co, love.” Carver proclaimed watching as the blonde haired woman went about preparing his drink. She passed it across the table and Carver took it, offering a smile as the shot was added to his accumulating tab.
He had a feeling that the tab was only gonna get bigger before the end of the night.
They didn't know it when they turned me loose. I shot the sheriff and slipped the noose.
81 posts
3 likes
Post by Charlotte Rae Devereaux on Dec 23, 2018 6:33:48 GMT
I used to rule the world ● ● ● ●
Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own
Charlie couldn’t explain why she had done it. Unexplainable actions were not a new thing for her by any means, but this time, she really didn’t know. She could not even fathom the reasons that had spurned her on. She hadn’t even looked at the app in weeks, much less actually did anything on it. The impulse to look at it had overtaken her during an errant hour, and after a few noncommittal swipes, there was a familiar face. Underneath the beard, the tattoos, she recognized him immediately; she rarely forgot a face, after all. Before she could think, she had swiped to like his profile.
There had been a moment of mild panic, and dark eyes wide, she had all but thrown the phone into her work drawer. She could not explain that either. It was a big city; it was a big app. The chances that he would come across her profile, then like it, then do anything else were so small that they were negligible. It was a blip, a moment of impulsivity and nothing more. She would never have to deal with the fall out, she assured herself.
She had already dealt with it once before: the fall out when it came to Carver. It had been great at first; she had gravitated towards his manic energy the moment it manifested inside of Monroeville. The indestructible boy, the boy who was metal, the boy who had that black pit in his chest. She had followed him a bit like a lost puppy at first, a bad habit that she still saw in herself. With time, she took a more active role in the terrorizing of Monroeville patients, and that was one role she had never stepped out of. Even when Carver certainly did.
She remembered the day it happened, the day his gaze softened and his fist unclenched. The very air seemed to change that day and so did she. That other girl had come out of the woodwork, it seemed, and it was all instantaneous. She fell into the ranks, and he seemed to stop looking for her entirely. That was also when her true training intensified. She was pulled almost entirely out of the main populace, back to the shadows she had rested in before Carver had come. She became essential to the operations of Monroeville, or so she was told and gladly believed. It was worth it to feel important, and there had been no question of where she laid her bid after that.
When they had actually matched, the impulse sat heavy upon her again until it settled into a cocky command. Their paths had diverged in the wood, but she was in a good place, a high place. She certainly wanted nothing physical from him, but there was the almost desperate need to flex all the same. She had survived Monroeville too. She had clawed her way through medical school. Monroeville could do a lot, but they couldn’t complete her education for her. She had done that. On her own. And him? He apparently kidnapped kids to bring them down to what she could only assume was Phalanx.
The time was slated for eight, and for once in her life, Charlie wanted to be late. Even though she had not bothered to change out of the sharp work pantsuit, she still took her time to get ready, swapping daily flats for more severe heels and adding a nice, thin-chained necklace in place of her work badge. The suit was comfortable enough, but she was not interested in looking or feeling comfortable. Were she concerned with such, she would have never sent that first text. Even as she smiled with a razor edge, she felt extremely out of her comfort zone.
The doorman of the bar let her in easy enough; she was not an in-frequent visitor of the establishment. The bar was easy to find, and so was the man with the big Carthart jacket and combed appearance. He looked…neater than she had expected, cleaner. She was almost disappointed. “You still clean up well, I suppose,” she informed him as she sidled up to the bar beside him.
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Dec 27, 2018 1:02:28 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]Carver’s shot of Southern Comfort had long been drained and replenished by the time Charlie decided to grace him with her presence. He had watched the clock on his phone, a foreign anxiety building in his chest with every passing minute.
He’d been stood up before. That was the risk of using applications like evOlvd. He’d never been bothered by it. In most cases, he’d pick his phone right back up and begin the process all over again. He had never experienced this building discomfort that radiated from his chest outward. He couldn’t bring himself to text her, he was much too proud for that. So he sat and allowed the tide of emotion to come crashing in.
In a few short syllables, all of his fears were dispelled.
“Ya suppose? Please, I’ve always been the pinnacle of suave. Have you ever met another chrome plated guy with as much game as me?” The woman who sat beside him was not the gangly teenager who lived in his memories. Charlie had the appearance of a woman who had it all put together. She was an odd contrast to the man beside her.
Sophisticated and composed where he was a sloven mess dressed in stolen finery. Their paths had diverged and they had arrived in two very different destinations. They both wore that fact openly. To the outside world, he probably looked like a terrible mistake that she was about to make. Carver wasn’t sure if that was too far from the truth.
“Can’t say that I ever imagined seeing you in a suit. It’s weird.” Carver hadn’t bothered to concern himself with asking her profession when they were texting back and forth. He’d been so keen to set up a meeting that he had bull rushed straight through all of the pleasantries that most would have exchanged. From the looks of her and how at ease she looked in that pantsuit, she was definitely leagues above him as far as where they placed on the socioeconomic ladder. “You look good sans the suit thing.” An inkling of sincerity crept into his backhanded comment as he gestured to the bartender.
“Darling, lemme get a Guinness and whatever the lady wants.” The woman across the bar took a double take at Charlie and Carver. She wore her disbelief openly on her features.
“You sure? Just because she sat next to you doesn’t mean she’s going on a date with you.”
“Wow, alright, first of all, it’s not a date. Charlie here is an old friend of mine. We’re just catching up. Secondly, that was rude as hell.” Carver glared at the woman who laughed off his objection as she poured him a pint.
Carver muttered a string of vulgarities, forgetting the woman beside him and the good impression he was supposed to be putting forward. It was a common course of action for him to swear under his breath when he felt belittled. A trait he'd had since he was a child. His curses fell silent as he nursed his beer.
They didn't know it when they turned me loose. I shot the sheriff and slipped the noose.
81 posts
3 likes
Post by Charlotte Rae Devereaux on Dec 29, 2018 5:08:48 GMT
I used to rule the world ● ● ● ●
Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own
Charlie still had no idea what she was doing, not when she entered the bar, not when she approached the actual bar, not when she said the first thing she had said to Carver in over a decade. She had a vague notion, a vague curiosity about who the man was after Monroeville, but that was all she was going on. Last she had heard of him at the hospital, he had gotten his head on straight and was focused on getting out. She tried not to concern herself with his affairs; he obviously didn’t concern himself with hers. After he actually did, she lost the ability to track him or the events in his life. He became background noise until the day she saw him on the app.
It was strange now to consider how big of a part the tall man had been in her life. A constant companion, then nothing, absolutely nothing at all. It almost didn’t feel real, like one of the prop memories she threw into the lives she messed with. She supposed that was just the nature of people, though. One minute, you were thicker than thieves, the next you didn’t even greet each other in the hall. There today, gone tomorrow, that whole cliché. Tossing one thick curl over her shoulder, the doctor shrugged. “Chrome plated guys are hard to come by, or I’m sure I would have,” she stated as she pulled herself up into the stool beside him. She remembered a toothpick of a boy, all lank with no bulk. He had also been metal for most of the time she had known him, which was why she had uncreatively tossed the name Tinman at him not long after they met. But this Carver was different, older, neater, and made of simple flesh.
He didn’t seem quite so strong now.
“I have to be honest. It took me a while to get used to them, and now they’re all I own. But thanks for calling it weird all the same.” That wasn’t much of an exaggeration; the dark, stiff garments filled most of her closet. She had some comfortable clothes, but they were reserved for her home, where she could expect a certain degree of privacy and solitude. They were ill-suited for outings, where there were too many eyes, too many people. The sharper the lines of her dress, the more at ease she felt. Judging from everything but his beard, Carver must have felt the opposite. “I suppose that’s a compliment. It’s nice to see you without having to wonder if you’re also magnetic.”
Charlie wanted to protest the use of the word lady. She had never felt like one of those, and even in heels, she still highly doubted she qualified for the distinction. The bartender, however, rushed to her aid instead. She almost laughed at the insinuation. This felt absolutely nothing like a date.
She leaned against the bar and grinned at the bartender. “If you’re available later, we could always make it a date. For right now, though, I’ll just settle for whatever he’s having,” she told her as the grin grew too sharp, too toothy. That, and the tirade that poured from Carver, should be enough to make her back away from them, hopefully for the night. She didn’t need others to tell her that she was out of his league; she already knew that. The bartender only appeared once more with Charlie’s beer in hand. The psychiatrist leaned back once more, beer in hand.
“She’s an absolute peach, isn’t she?” On more than one occasion, she had taken such an opportunity to do some subtle mischief. It was nothing to make bartenders forget how many drinks they served her or her face entirely. That had shortened a few of her tabs before. Depending on how well the rest of the evening went, she could think about sparing Carver a bit of the cost. “Good to see your vocabulary hasn’t expanded that much, though.”
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Dec 29, 2018 8:58:34 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]"No problem, that's what I'm here for. To make sure that you don't get a massive ego now that you're all dignified and shit with your suits." He remembered this. The constant bickering back and forth. Arguing so often that Carver was never sure if they were arguing for the sake of it or sincerely at each other's throats. Thick skin was a necessity when dealing with Charlie. In retrospect, Carver wasn't sure how their dynamic had worked.
In Monroeville, he'd made himself out to be some larger than life figure. Anyone who spoke out against him or about him ended up receiving chastising blows and hellish torment until they fell in line. Charlie, like always, had been the exception. She regularly wormed her way under Carver's skin sending him into fits of vulgarity and tantrums that resulted in collateral damage to the hospital. He'd never raised a hand to her, not once in their entire two years together.
At that point in his life, he had no qualms about who he brutalized. Carver had been an equal opportunist in that regard. He could never bring himself to lay a hand on Charlie. He was far too afraid of losing his only form of human interaction that wasn't inflicting pain on someone else.
Carver supposed that he was kind of fond of her too. As their friendship continued his bouts of rage lessened around her and he learned to utilize his wit to fend off her barbs. Their conversations eventually evolved into a verbal fencing match parrying and riposting with comments until there was a clear victor.
Her comment on his vocabulary seemed to have struck home.
"Oh Charlie, love, you wound me with your words. I don't think my poor little heart can take your cruelty. Haven't seen you in over a decade and this is how ya treat me." Carver placed his hand over his heart theatrically as if the woman's words caused him physical pain. As his hand dipped beneath his jacket it brushed against the hidden contents of his coat.
The change started in his hand, spreading like paint spilled on a canvas. The familiar glint of steel appearing ever so briefly on his wrist before disappearing beneath the rest of his coat. In less time than it took for a heart to beat Carver was replaced by a living statue of steel. He peeled back his teeth in what was supposed to be a jovial smile, revealing silver teeth. "If I only had a heart," he playfully sang, taking his beer in his hand once more and knocking back half of its contents.
"I wanted to hold onto that joke until later in the night but I just couldn't help mah self." his voice had taken on a quality that was both tinny and harsh. He let out a distorted chuckle as he leaned against the bar, wood groaning in protest under his increase in weight. "'Sides, I figured you'd be more comfortable talking to this mug instead of my normal one. Bout the same level of handsome.
"And I'll have you know that I've added at least three new swear words to my vocabulary. Learned 'em in college believe it or not." They were there to get reacquainted with each other and Carver figured that he might as well go first.
They didn't know it when they turned me loose. I shot the sheriff and slipped the noose.
81 posts
3 likes
Post by Charlotte Rae Devereaux on Dec 30, 2018 7:57:04 GMT
I used to rule the world ● ● ● ●
Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own
“Oh, bud, you’re a little late for that. The ego came standard with the suits, sorry.” Charlie grinned rather genuinely from behind her beer glass. She had almost missed this: the ability to let herself verbally barb someone and get as good as she gave. Charlie never knew if she had truly what people would have called friends, but this felt like something similar, at the very least. They somehow, despite their disparities, seemed to stand on equal ground. Even though he looked one step up from a vagrant and she had medical school under her belt, it didn’t feel like he would let her get above him.
That should have irritated her. It should have drove her absolutely batty, but it didn’t.
That was a rarity in her life, which went by a strict hierarchy. Jasper was at the top, and because of that, she had to watch herself with him. They had moments, but he had the upper hand at all times, never letting her forget it. Sure, there were other doctors. There was Mary, Viv, and the rest, but they were so far out of the loop, each delusional in their own way. Then there was Palmer, but she doubted even he would have lobbed such expert backhanded compliments her way. Not if he wanted to keep most of his teeth, anyway.
Carver was different; he had never let her get away with it. By the time he had joined the fray at Monroeville, Charlie had had her place in it for almost three years. She had been antagonistic and frankly rather hated. The girl with the quick eyes, who only opened her mouth to start something. The doctor’s pet who was set loose among the general population. Often, people had done their best to ignore her until they were across from her during an early memory session, where she finally had the upper hand.
But Carver was different, right from jump. Carver had settled things with his fist, not his head. What she lacked in physicality, the tinman had more to spare. The two of them were a match made in hell. She had never been afraid of him, and he had never backed down from her. Somehow, they had seemed to the exact right brands of headstrong that let them team up instead of rip the other apart, no matter if they thought about it once or twice. It was truly a beautiful piece of synergy.
One she had lacked forever afterwards, which only reminded her that she had come specifically to not be so friendly. She was in a suit, she was a doctor, she was finally on the next rung. Her sense of equality with him wasn’t supposed to exist anymore, and even if it did, it should have been intolerable Maybe if she just kept repeating that, it would really stick.
“You’ve gotten soft, if that cut that deep.” She let herself relax a little bit more, until his hand went under his coat pocket. She straightened almost immediately in a trained crisis response and didn’t unwind until she started to see the glint of metal overtake his hand. The steel rippled over him in no time flat, and as many times as she had seen his parlour trick, it was still a little impressive. Not that she would have let him know that. Ever.
But this tinman form reminded her too much of the young Charlie she had been, when people spat her name like chewing tobacco. At least when they did it now, there was a Doctor title in front of it and they didn’t dare do it in front of her. It was meant to be a gesture of comfort, but it only brought up the fact that he had changed out of that form, had left it and her behind. She hid a scowl with her glass. “You know, your signature look really should have been the scarecrow. Too bad we could never find any straw.”
“I appreciate you trotting out your best material for me so early in the night. Really laying out the old red carpet for me.” His voice was deeper but more familiar. She sneered a little bit more boldly than she had planned to. “You still sound like a garbage disposal, though.” Her comfort was a double-edged sword that worked against itself. She tried to find it again by shifting in the barstool, but it was gone.
She briefly wondered if the stool beneath him would snap a leg and send him tumbling down. That prospect was, at the very least, humorous, but so was the idea of him going to college. “A college man? They let you in?” She made her best appreciative face. “I never would have guessed. Where did you go?”
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Jan 3, 2019 1:52:17 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]"Was that your attempt to say I need a brain? Dorothy, I'm disappointed in you. That joke was much too easy. Whoever you've been verbally sparring with must be pretty lackluster compared to me. We're gonna have to get your edge back." Carver chortled, sounding nearly identical to the household appliance Charlie compared him to. He wore his mirth openly as he took a sip of his dark beer.
"Surprising, yeah? They actually let me around civilized folk. I spent a couple of semesters at LSU. Was studying inorganic chemistry. Thought I could make some fancy new polymers or alloys. Seemed like a pretty good fit considering my unique insight into that sorta thing. Wasn't properly prepared for college though.
"Between Monroeville and all the shite schools, I went to I wasn't ready for college courses. I made good enough grades but I had to work my arse off to get'em. Eventually, I just burned myself out. Started partying, missed a buncha class, found out how awesome coke and heroin are." Carver had told his story so many times that he was numb to its telling. It wasn't a sob story or a plea for sympathy and he didn't portray it as such. Not that he expected that sort of treatment from Charlie. It was simply his story.
He always failed to mention the real reason why he fell apart. It was a secret held tightly in his hand and he'd only revealed it to one person. Monroeville and all of the horrors contained within had broken him.
It was funny, in a way. They were very much like the elements he poured over as a student; Astor, Charlie, and himself.
All people were.
They each had their own unique properties: strengths and weaknesses. Some, when introduced to pressure, distorted and then elastically rebounded. Others gave away, molding to the new shape forced upon them. Some simply broke. That was the thing about steel. The stronger it was the more force it took to break it. The harder it was the more pieces it shattered into.
Ash had been released from Monroeville and done something good with his pain, something beautiful. Charlie, from the looks of it, was successful and if not happy at least content with life. Carver hadn't done either. He broke and it took him a little over a year to realize it. He spent the next three years trying to put himself in the ground and exorcize his demons with needles and pills. He'd almost succeeded too. That was another property of his, however.
He was resilient.
He was ashamed of what he'd done. Ashamed of how far he'd fallen but proud that he'd been able to pick himself up and begin the process of putting himself back together. It didn't matter who they were he would never allow them to use that against him. That was part of the reason he was so willing to reveal himself to Charlie. Another was that he genuinely wanted to reconnect with the woman. She'd been his anchor at the beginning of his sentence and, looking back, he might have been her's. Things might have turned out differently if he'd tried harder to keep her in his life. They might have turned out better.
"I kinda faded in and out for a couple years before I went to rehab and got right. Funny, kicked the drugs but couldn't kick the drink or the cigarettes." Carver raised his glass and gave it a little shake donning a lopsided smirk. "Did some odd jobs working as labor or muscle before I ended up back here.
"Ran into ol'Astor and he gave me a job kidnapping children all across the country and some parts of Canada. Spend most of my time on the road which isn't so bad. I'm not the kinda guy you want around kids. Fuck, I'm not the kind of guy you want around most people." Carver's grabled words hung between them for a moment as he thought upon his past and his present. Laid out it was an ugly, sordid tale but it was his.
"So, Charlie girl, whatcha been up to the last sixteen or so years, eh? Dyin' to hear your story."
They didn't know it when they turned me loose. I shot the sheriff and slipped the noose.
81 posts
3 likes
Post by Charlotte Rae Devereaux on Jan 6, 2019 5:21:42 GMT
I used to rule the world ● ● ● ●
Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own
Charlie gave her eyes a very obvious roll and let out a rather exasperated sigh. It wasn’t like she had much practice talking to people in anything less than a professional manner anyway anymore. “I couldn’t risk your soft-heart breaking. Give me time to get accustomed to you as this stand-up college man you claim to be,” she retorted, taking a sip from her own glass. It was..not great, but there was never any accounting for taste. Had there ever been, they probably wouldn’t have crossed paths to begin with.
Hearing he went to college was surprising. She remembered the hot-head metalhead, the one who wantonly smashed lunch trays in people’s faces. Even though she had only been in her college’s cafeteria a few times, she doubted that sort of stuff would have been allowed at LSU. Inorganic chemistry. That was pretty impressive; she was rather amazed that he made it more than one semester period.
That was another difference between them, she supposed. When she started batting Team Monroeville, the hospital had stepped up too. She got taught actual shit, instead of whatever educational program they threw in front of the general population. It had been another way to separate her from them, she knew, but it had served its purpose. “Heroin and coke, huh? That’s some hardcore shit, Tinman.” That was all she managed to say on that matter. It wasn’t surprising. Quite a few of the Monroeville “success” cases ran into trouble adjusting to the real world. Without Monroeville, she had watched former patients crumble in on themselves, turning to anything that simulated the drug cocktail that had made the years before pass.
Most of them ended up dead under an underpass somewhere. She was...not displeased that Carver was among the sect that had survived that transition. She had transitioned so slowly that she was pretty sure they still watched her; anything too drastic and the choke chain would have tightened.
“Well, we all need our redeeming vices, I suppose. Alcohol and cigarettes are the lesser of those evils.” She couldn’t imagine any of her vices being redeeming, but the sentiment still stood. She threw back a sip of her own drink as he continued on with his life story.
“Astor?” She knew the man ran Phalanx; it had been easy to keep tabs on him. He made big waves in their community, even if she still remembered him as the wolfman she had driven up the wall for the time their paths crossed in Monroeville. He had always been more of Carver’s friend, a sort of segue before their bond had dissolved completely. “You must have weakened his head after all those blows. I can’t imagine lunch trays and metal fists to the face are great for cognition.” I’m not the kind of guy you want around most people. She could drink to that; she had never been fit for cohabitation with humans.
“Well, in comparison to detouring to heroin and coke for a while, it’s rather tame.” She shrugged slightly and swallowed more of the beer. “To begin with, I got my high school diploma from Monroeville and went to UNO here in town.” She didn’t want to tell him that she was technically still living in Monroeville at the time, so she plowed on. “I did my four years, got my BS in chemistry, then went straight to Tulane for medical school.”
She leaned back in her stool, putting her own life in order. It sounded so dry when next to his, but she couldn’t exactly tell him about the extracurriculars she had engaged with along the way at Monroeville. She barely wanted him to know that Monroeville had paid for the whole thing, effectively buying her a thousand-times-over just so she could work there legally. Just so she could have a fancy title and an office with plush white chairs. Bitterness flicked over her face, but it felt so natural she didn’t even bother to conceal it.
“I did their Psychiatry and Behavioral Science program, did the whole bounce around residency thing, but ended up at Monroeville for most of it. That’s where I did most of my residency afterwards, too. Hell, I’m still there.” In more ways than one, but she just took a sip of beer and grimaced. “I took over Dr. Lockett’s office, if you remember him after all that shit you put in you. He was the one with the red hands who always smelled like VapoRub.” He hadn’t been her psychiatrist; she had no connection to the man other than the office.
She barely had any connection to anyone anymore. Such things had never suited her. They were messy, made things complicated. “But yeah, that’s pretty much it. Got a fancy degree, bought a bunch of suits, make sure everyone calls me Dr. Devereaux. Ended up with all that ego you always warned me about.”
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Jan 7, 2019 23:49:16 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]“Well, lookie you then, I guess you earned the right to a little bit of ego. Y’know, being a doctor and all. God, I hate to actually be sayin’ this but I’m actually kinda proud of ya. Ya always was the smart one out of the two of us.” Carver was proud but not too proud to admit his own shortcomings compared to Charlie. She had always been the thinker of the two, the brain behind the brawn.
Her machinations and connections had kept the two out of facing any serious repercussions from the staff. Carver’s bullish demeanor and fists had kept them from dealing with the rest of the general population. In their youth, Carver had often called her a parasite. Their relationship had been closer to something symbiotic and it was only now, sixteen years later, that Carver could admit that to himself. It was only now that he could tell the girl who had been his only friend in his darkest days that he was proud of her.
Carver said he didn’t know why he agreed to the meeting but deep in his subconscious he knew. He wanted absolution and if he couldn’t do that he wanted to apologize. For two years the two had clung to each other desperately more so than they would care to admit. Then, in the span of a few weeks, the two were nothing to each other. Carver had tried to find her and pull her along into his new group of friends. He searched for her high and low, tearing Monroeville asunder. When he found no trace of her he gave up. He severed all ties with her and cast her aside as he felt that she had done to him.
He never spared her a thought since that day. Not until she messaged him and all at once sixteen years of postponed guilt and regret crashed in on him. What kind of friend was he to just abandon her, in Monroeville no less? It had been selfish of him to leave her alone. At the time he thought that her connections and whatever favoritism the staff showered her with would keep her safe. Safety did not ward off loneliness and was no substitute for human contact. He’d blocked her out and forgot about her to avoid the crushing weight of his guilt.
She’d done fine in his absence though. Flourished where he had floundered. Charlie had made something respectable of herself. She was strong enough to remain in their place of torment. Carver didn’t think that he’d be able to do that. Just the notion of stepping foot in those sterile halls produced a knot of apprehension in his gut and set his teeth on edge. There were too many bad memories in that place. Ghosts of friends still haunted it’s halls and regrets of actions not taken.
“Dr. Lockett, eh?” Carver thought back on the days before the two went their separate ways. “I remember that asshat. He kept saying that I had intermittent explosive disorder, kleptomanic tendencies, and issues with displacement. I still maintain that he was a crotchety bastard who needed to get laid and move out of his mom’s basement. He didn’t like that. Face got as red as his hands and he’d have me escorted out of his office.” Carver shrugged at the slight he’d given the man all those years ago. He still held that belief to this day.
“I mean, yeah I like hitting people and okay I might have knicked a few things here and there but displacement? That’s totally uncalled for. My anger is usually placed properly like nine times outta ten.” Carver’s eyes narrowed as he recanted his own psychological profile and he looked toward Charlie. “You aren’t gonna psychoanalyze me are ya? Because I’ll tell ya right now, I’m much more well adjusted then I used to be and I ain’t gonna pay you to tell me what’s wrong with me. I already know what’s wrong with me.”
They didn't know it when they turned me loose. I shot the sheriff and slipped the noose.
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Post by Charlotte Rae Devereaux on Jan 10, 2019 4:34:54 GMT
I used to rule the world ● ● ● ●
Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own
Charlie peered at him a little queerly over the rim of her beer glass, as if it took her a minute to realize he was being serious and genuine. It had taken her a minute, as she tried to sift through what particular motivations he could have. “Uh, thanks. I’m...proud of you, too, I guess? You’re still alive; that counts for something,” she returned as she set her drink back down. It wasn’t news to her that she had been the smart one. She knew, if it hadn’t been for her, Carver would have punched his way into permanent solitary. Not that she wanted to bother taking credit.
Being friends with him had had other advantages; he pulled his weight. She had been too small to do much more than talk a big game, and until he had shared his knowledge, she had only instinct and scrap to work with when it came to an actual fight. He had brought the physicality and more than his fair share of bad ideas. For her part, she hadn’t felt too bad about relying on him to fight her battles for her until people stopped bothering to pick them. His friendship had made her feel a bit invincible, which made his absence afterwards feel all the more acute. She had tried to pass it off to herself that she missed having an enforcer, that physical presence beside her, but by the time she realized it was closer to real friendship, her bonds with Monroeville’s staff had already been solidified. Everything else felt like deadweight.
It would have happened either way, she told herself. She liked to think that she would have chosen Monroeville over any attachment if pressed hard enough. After all, she had done that with her own parents; why should anyone else be special? It might have been...harder to accomplish that with Carver at the height of their friendship, but she had been all but pushed into the shadows surrounding him seemingly overnight. It was for the best after all, she supposed. She would have never been allowed out of Monroeville if not. She wasn’t like Carver; she hadn’t been thrown into Monroeville because her powers were out of control. No, they had put her in there to contain her, and proving herself useful to them had been her only ticket to the bare modicum of freedom she enjoyed.
Having a crew had felt a lot like freedom; it was still more than she had. She tried to take a sip of the dark beer, but it turned sour on her tongue. Why had she even agreed to this farce anyway? Why had she opened this door to the closet of her past? There was very little solace to be found in her own emotions, but she had already known that. All she was doing was reminding herself of her own shortcomings. She had the suit, but Carver had true autonomy. He had been all over, and she couldn’t remember the last time she got out of the city, much less the state.
But that way was a dead-end road of thinking, and she could sit there and ruin her own night out or put it aside. She went with the latter and conjured up the image of Dr. Lockett she remembered as a teenager. She smirked; she could practically see Lockett reading off Carver’s psychiatric battery in his vaguely stuttering tone only to be told by the lanky teenage bastard that he needed to get laid. “I think that’s where he finally keeled over too, in his mom’s basement. He probably thought about what you then too.”
“But not to beat a dead horse, but I’m still going to have to uphold his diagnosis, Tinman.” When he looked at her more pointedly, she raised her hands in an acquiescing gesture. She didn’t have enough time in the world to even begin to analyze him; she only hoped he would return the favor and not poke and prod her too deeply. “My psychoanalysis service ended a few hours ago, and trust me, you couldn’t afford it anyway.” She regarded him a little bit more openly. “I guess Monroeville is good for one thing: it lets you know exactly what the fuck is wrong with you. And I’m sure we’ve both got some long lists.” She raised her glass as if in a toast before forcing a swallow down.
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Jan 21, 2019 20:55:49 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
“Really? Damn, I guess I have to add clairvoyance to my superpower resume then. I called that shit like seventeen years ago.” Carver gave a shake of his head, his steel mane of hair shifting with every slight movement. “Course, I also said he was gonna die in some freak autoerotic asphyxiation thing. Apparently, my fortune telling abilities need some work.” The Tinman chuckled at his own joke as he turned in his seat to face Charlie. It had been ages since he’d imagined the middle-aged man who had tried to set him straight. In retrospect, Dr. Locket had made an honest attempt to help Carver. His approach was simply all wrong and Carver, even in his later years, could not find it in him to say anything nice about the psychiatrist.
When Charlie proffered a toast Carver clanked his glass against her’s. “To being royally fucked up.” He pounded the remains of his Guinness before slapping the glass on to the counter. Fucked up, he thought as he looked at the bottom of the glass. No matter how much he had seemed to drink that day there was no escaping the feelings of guilt that swam in his gut. It was his real reason for being here and as much as he just wanted to revel and party it up he wanted to confront them. Charlie should have hated him, despised his very existence. If Carver had been in her shoes he wouldn’t have been able to meet with her. Not without having a few choice words and possibly a slap or two ready. He spun the glass around absentmindedly as he worked up the courage to open his mouth.
It wasn’t often the boisterous bruiser was at a loss for words but this wasn’t a situation he often found himself in. He inhaled deeply, trying to chase away the rising anxiety. He huffed and nodded solemnly to himself. “Fucked up,” he repeated aloud, the glass still spinning in his iron grip. The light reflected in its clear surface played across the dingy bar, sparking off his silver skin every few rotations. For quite some time it seemed as if he’d forgotten how to speak allowing the silence to grow almost uncomfortably long. “It was messed up of me to do you like I did, Charlie.” his grating voice was low, almost impossible for anyone but the woman beside him to hear. He’d said the words but they didn’t feel right.
He’d admitted nothing.
“It was messed up of me to just up and leave you like I did.” he tried again his voice no less confident this time. He felt vulnerable, like an idiot for bringing up something that she had seemed to not give the slightest damn about. He needed to do it. He needed to be utterly transparent with her. She’d been his friend. Was still, somewhere between all of the things that happened, his friend.
He hadn’t realized that he’d changed again. That the steel persona he adopted was crumbling away, replaced by the clear and crystalline form of the glass he was holding. The transformation rippled throughout his being. It was a far cry from the homogenous monochrome color of the steel he mimicked. Every single color, every defect in his skin was brightly colored making him look as if he’d just stepped out of a scene of stained glass. He always lost control when he was stressed. It was something that had plagued him since he’d gained his powers. Something he’d done frequently in the nightmare of Monroeville.
“I tried to find ya. I gave up though. I shouldn’t have. I should have kept lookin’ for you even if you didn’t want me to find you. That’s not what friends do. I was mad and hurt. Mad that you didn’t want to try and I just decided, ‘to hell with you’, y’know? After all that we went through and everything that you did for me I just…” Carver’s voice cracked and he stopped, reigning in his emotions. He’d never been this candid with Charlie before. They didn’t apologize to each other. They just pretended that they’d never gotten into an argument and went on like everything was fine. It was how they worked.
“Dammit, I know that we don’t do this kind of mushy stuff. I just, I needed to tell you that. Even if you didn’t need to hear it I needed to say it. I’m selfish like that. I guess at the heart of it all I’m trying to say that I’m not gonna pull that kind of shit again. I’m gonna be in it for the long haul this time. No vanishing. I know this isn’t much but I remember that you used to like these. Hey Beth, can you bring out that thing I gave ya?”
The woman tending the bar looked at the crystal golem and nodded, sensing the drastic change in atmosphere. She nodded and placed a large brown bag before Carver without a word. He nodded his thanks as he took the bag and pulled out it’s contents and placed them on the bar. Before Charlie sat two emrald green boxes, the words “Barbie” and “Wizard of Oz” displayed brightly on their fronts. Contained within them respectively was a small plastic representation of Dorthy and the Tinman.
“It’s not much. It’s pretty fucking pathetic when you think about it but it’s all I have to give. That and an empty promise.” Carver shrugged as he took the bag in his hand and crumbled. “I was gonna get you the Wicked Witch but I figured I should try and be nice while apologizing. ‘Sides we’re more like those two. Lost in Oz and all that.
You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy this time, Charlie-girl.”
They didn't know it when they turned me loose. I shot the sheriff and slipped the noose.
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Post by Charlotte Rae Devereaux on Jan 29, 2019 5:48:52 GMT
I used to rule the world ● ● ● ●
Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own
“It wouldn’t take a genius or an act of God to call that one, Tinman. You’re not that special.” Charlie took another sip of her beer, void of enjoyment for the action. It was still pretty damn gross. “You can just add that to your laundry list of things to work on. It gets longer by the second.” She felt the metal-faced man turn to her, but her gaze stayed over the bar. She swirled what remained in her glass. What a world away the past was; it felt like one of the fake memories she was always getting better at stitching into the blank places. She knocked back another awful swig and turned to him, their toast meeting halfway.
To being royally fucked up. They both still seemed to be, that was for damn sure. The demons they had made friends with barked on their hills. Her antisocial tendencies, her compartmentalization, the way she tended to broker her loyalty to the highest bidder who promised her a little bit of freedom. Carver didn’t have the market cornered on awful decisions, but he seemed to be much more open about it than she was. Perhaps that was their biggest difference, not the clothes or the loyalties but their acceptance. She didn’t want to unpack her shit; God knew there was a lot of it. She didn’t want to get stuck in some awful walk down memory lane. Her glasses were far from rose-colored, but there wasn’t enough awful beer in the world to make her dive back in.
Fucked up. Yeah, that was certainly one way to put it.
Yet somehow, she always seemed to up back on that path, back in those clothes borrowed from the hospital, back to being all knees and elbows and a mouth drawn tight and rueful. God, this was a fucking mistake, wasn’t it? She was chasing her tail. It was messed up of me to do you like I did, Charlie. Oh no. Abso-fucking-lutely not. Her fingers flexed on the dark glass in her hand, drummed in sharp staccato. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want his apology. Up and leave you like I did. He seemed far away suddenly, like they were drifting even though they sat utterly still on the barstools. Memories shuffled through her, unbidden. The knob knees, the violence of a life under lock and key, their separation. The clip show of the past snuck up on her. The beauty of his change was lost on her. Stained glass or not, she wanted to throttle him, to see if all that brilliant glass could shatter against the floor.
What did he want? Her forgiveness and his absolution? Did he want to know that he was forgiven? They didn’t do this, whatever the fuck this was. He didn’t apologize to her, and she certainly didn’t respond to it with a hearty handshake and a “That’s fine, buddy.” She had absolutely no idea how to respond, what to say or do. For once in her life, she had no easy come-back, no gut reaction but to stay absolutely still as though it would all fade away around her. She swallowed and let go of her white-knuckled grip on the beer glass, her hand falling into her lap before it could form into a fist.
“You’re right. We don’t do this shit, so why the fuck are you doing it now? You on some step of the program where you need forgiveness?” The words came out like ground glass; their voice boxes seemed to be at battle for most strained voice of the night. She snapped back into the moment, to the feeling of her nails squeezed into her palms. Before she could protest any further, Carver was calling over a bartender named Beth, to retrieve something behind the bar. Fuck. What the fuck was he even doing?
Her entire being was screaming mayday long before the brown paper bag was placed in front of her. By the time the contents were revealed, she wanted to immediately leave and pay her tab later. He couldn’t be serious. The plastic and vinyl miniatures were there to drag her back again to that place when they had bought her loyalty. Permanently painted smiles that had been handed to her since she had done her first sessions with the hospital. He had somehow remembered her collection, after all the shit he had done to his brain. Lost in Oz. Oz felt more real than the bar at the moment.
“You’re like a fucking STD, Carver. You show up out of nowhere, won’t leave, and stir up a bunch of fucking shit. Ridiculous.” This was a goddamn olive branch. There were so few in her life. Fine. “What are you even hoping for, Carver?” She could play ball.
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Mar 5, 2019 22:38:41 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]Carver had no idea how Charlie might have reacted to his olive branch. It was the first time in their unconventional friendship that either of them had ever tried to apologize. When the curly haired viper spat out her venom he could hardly say that he was surprised. He was sure that she saw his apology as some kind of pity or slight. The glass golem’s nostrils flared, frustrated that his attempts at apologizing where so easily rebuffed. Here he was baring his soul to the woman and she fucking called him a disease. His pride wouldn’t let him ignore that deliberate insult. He’d been called worse in his time. Charlie had called him worse but the timing had magnified the power of the words.
He could have thrown it in her face that she found him. That she was the one who came crashing into his life like some kind of memory erasing wrecking ball. He didn’t though. Instead, he downed the dregs of his drink and pushed the glass across the bar. He turned to face Charlie now, suddenly finding the courage that he had been lacking before her outburst.
“No, no steps, no program,” Carver said, “Doing this of my own volition. I’m just trying to say sorry. I don’t know why that’s such a big fucking deal. It’s the damn elephant in the room but I must say we’ve done a spectacular job of skirting around it for the last, what, fifteen minutes? I don’t know how you thought that it wasn’t gonna come up.” He was surprised at how even his voice was as he tried to rationalize his apology. Trying to hold back his own wounded feelings was a losing battle, peppering his explanation with a healthy amount of vulgarity and imagery. He wondered how many people ever had to defend their actions to give someone a gift or to apologize. It was certainly a first for him. To be fair, he hardly ever apologized to anyone. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last sincere apology he’d made in the last decade. That possibly explained why this one was falling apart so quickly.
“It’s like we both walked into the bar and it was on fire and tried to see how long we could go before mentioning how hot it was.” Carver’s crystalline eyes rolled in his skull at the snide comment. So far his apology was going absolutely fantastic. He was beginning to regret even trying to make an attempt to repair his relationship with Charlie. Apparently, she had been content to ignore the fact that their friendship had simply dissolved overnight and was more than happy to gloss over that slight inconvenience. Maybe, once upon a time ago, he could have just left it be too. He looked to the painted lips of the dolls and felt their presence rather mocking in that singular moment.
They also served as a reminder of simpler times and why he even began to set things right.
He sighed, realizing that he was beginning to escalate the situation with his half-assed explanation. Knowing Charlie, Carver’s words would only embolden her to do something rash. As smart as she was Charlie was a fan of taking the nuclear option when things weren’t going her way. Carver was of a similar mindset which explained why they so often butted heads. They were older now, they needed to resolve these things in some healthy manner.
Charlie was a psychiatrist for god’s sake. She should have been on board with his attempts at reconciliation. The subject matter must have been too close to see that so it fell to Carver to try and be the rational one. A job he’d always failed at. He was willing to try though.
But dammit if this woman didn’t make it damn near impossible.
“Look, all I’m sayin’ is that what I did was pretty shitty and I feel bad about it. I don’t need you to say you forgive me or anything like that. I’m doin’ this for me. So just take your damn dolls and drink with me.” Carver muttered the words as he turned away from Charlie and propped his head up with his fist. He looked toward the empty glass in front of him and found himself oddly not wanting a refill. Whatever he got would just taste like piss in his current mood.
[attr="class","ditags2"]word count ✖Charlotte Rae Devereaux✖ Lemme know if I need to make any changes
They didn't know it when they turned me loose. I shot the sheriff and slipped the noose.
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Post by Charlotte Rae Devereaux on Apr 12, 2019 1:56:22 GMT
I used to rule the world ● ● ● ●
Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own
Charlie had carved out a space for herself a long time ago. It was a cold and barren one, but it was relatively safe. She had done her best to excise the parts of her that knew how to respond to heartfelt apologies or gifts. It made the rest of life easier when she didn’t have to worry about this type of thing, when she could go from working in her office or the basement, compartmentalize those actions, then return home to a quiet, cold apartment where no one depended on her for little more than her biweekly takeout call to the local Chinese place. It was quiet, it was sterile, it was rote. It was a life but only barely, but it felt a little bit like hers. It wasn’t complicated, and there was nothing she wouldn’t give to press the reset button and just go home.
Technically, she could. It probably wouldn’t take much to erase all traces of her from his memory, at least after the text she sent him. It wouldn’t extend too much of her energy, and she could even erase all traces from his phone, if it was unlocked. It was easy; she had done it more times than she cared to count. She had gotten so used to making herself a ghost that it wasn’t even novel anymore. It was a part of her non-life, she supposed, nothing more than a tool.
His defense of his apology was admirable, and in his flustered state, she could see the echoes of the kid he had been, the one who barreled through problems instead of letting them stand in his way. But she wasn’t the girl she was any more than he was truly that boy. They had grown up, grown apart. People left behind parts of their lives all the time, and his apology only reminded her that there were people she should probably owe the same to. It wasn’t as though she was about to go around and make them, and it made her feel small and embarrassed, cornered in a way.
Even if she was unwilling to take the steps he was taking, she knew the cost behind them. She took in a deep breath and let it out through her nose, trying and failing to expel her stress with the action. “I’m not naive, Carver. And I’m not a robot. I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing.” She took a long sip of her drink to clear her throat and hopefully her head. “It just seems a little...unnecessary to apologize to me. Monroeville is designed for at least some people to leave it; your departure from my life was just sooner than I thought it would be.” Oh that left a bad taste in her mouth and did little to bring herself out of the corner. She scowled. “Besides, it’s not too late to actually set the bar on fire, if you really wanted to. I always carry a matchbook in my clutch.” She tapped the folded purse as if to prove her statement.
She moved the dolls to under her barstool, ignoring the relief of having them out of sight and out of mind. She had half a mind to leave them, but if she knew the hard-headed Irish drunk, they’d end up back to her somehow. There was very little she felt was outside of his wheelhouse. He was one of those loose cannons, always had been. Some things, no matter what, could never seem to change. “Fine, Tinman. I’ll take them, and I’ll drink. But no other promises,” she informed him with a roll of her eyes.
As if to prove her point, she took another sip of her drink and tried to relax the icy rod in her back. “They don’t really let you ferry kids around the states unsupervised, do they?” She couldn’t see it, but she couldn’t not see it. Helping gifted kids was a world away from helping her terrorize them in Monroeville.
