02-09-2018, 05:42 PM
The door to the bathroom slammed into the latch behind him with the thud of cheap plywood slapping a bad frame. The level of his gaze surveyed the shit hole that he found himself in. Literally. Two urinals, one obscured by a middle-aged guy standing in front. One private stall. A dirty porcelain sink. No windows. Graffiti decorated the tile. A narrow mirror was chipped.
He grabbed the guy mid-stream, digging deep into the soft flesh of his shoulder. "Get the fuck out,"
he growled and practically kicked him out of the bathroom. Ryker locked the door on his heels, turned and examined his soiled clothes.
His jeans were soaked to the skin beneath. He looked like he'd pissed himself. He fluffed his shirt, fluttering air against his abdomen, but it too was beyond saving. He stripped of the leather jacket to drape it across the stall door, lip curling at the dark circle on one sleeve. Obviously that wasn't acceptable. At least the data stick was dry. Even with the Power, he wasn't sure it could be saved if it had been soaked with vodka.
The noise of the bar beyond filtered through the thin door. That soft asshole was on the other side knocking at the wood, "SHUT UP!"
Ryker yelled. If you have to piss that bad, use the fucking women's room, he thought. He pinched his eyes together and took a breath. There was only one answer. The power. Pull the liquid out of the cloth. It had to work. In solitude, he sensed the answer.
That light of fire and brimstone was always there, floating in the back of his mind. But it was no more reachable than yanking on the stem of his brain. He tried to seize it, just in case it worked. Someday it would, he was determined, but there was no getting to it now. Not yet. For a moment, a flicker of fear touched his expression. Or maybe anger. Or maybe something else.
Whatever it was, he would not allow it to take hold. He pulled a switch blade, flicked it open, and put it to his arm in one fast, clean, easy slash. He cringed, but the sting would fade fast. It always did.
In its place something far more terrible took over. The light flooded his bones until the pain on his arm was a dull and distant memory. Reveling in it was joy and life, and he took a deep breath, relishing in the fire.
With it in control, tendrils of the light plunged into his clothes, wringing the fibers of liquid. The darkness faded and a puddle of vodka pooled at his feet.
He was finished by the time the pain on his arm subsided. The light disappeared then. A bittersweet departure, one last burst of power flashed the switchblade with flame, sterilizing it before it disappeared into it's pocket again.
He pressed paper towels to his arm until the bleeding slowed, pulled his coat back over his shoulders and emerged from the bathroom only to find the face of one pissed off fat man. Ryker just stood there, staring at him, silently asking him to give him a reason to put him down. The fat man skulked aside, and returned to the bathroom when Ryker departed, probably to slip on the vodka and break his fat ass. Ryker didn't stay to find out.
He returned to the bar to find his beer bottle confiscated. His seat at the bar was also taken. His gaze fell on Bravado and Chaos, still lingering together. Go ahead little spider. Waste your time, he thought and turned his attention elsewhere.
He found an empty table near the corner, and flagged Kat down to get another beer.
He grabbed the guy mid-stream, digging deep into the soft flesh of his shoulder. "Get the fuck out,"
he growled and practically kicked him out of the bathroom. Ryker locked the door on his heels, turned and examined his soiled clothes.
His jeans were soaked to the skin beneath. He looked like he'd pissed himself. He fluffed his shirt, fluttering air against his abdomen, but it too was beyond saving. He stripped of the leather jacket to drape it across the stall door, lip curling at the dark circle on one sleeve. Obviously that wasn't acceptable. At least the data stick was dry. Even with the Power, he wasn't sure it could be saved if it had been soaked with vodka.
The noise of the bar beyond filtered through the thin door. That soft asshole was on the other side knocking at the wood, "SHUT UP!"
Ryker yelled. If you have to piss that bad, use the fucking women's room, he thought. He pinched his eyes together and took a breath. There was only one answer. The power. Pull the liquid out of the cloth. It had to work. In solitude, he sensed the answer.
That light of fire and brimstone was always there, floating in the back of his mind. But it was no more reachable than yanking on the stem of his brain. He tried to seize it, just in case it worked. Someday it would, he was determined, but there was no getting to it now. Not yet. For a moment, a flicker of fear touched his expression. Or maybe anger. Or maybe something else.
Whatever it was, he would not allow it to take hold. He pulled a switch blade, flicked it open, and put it to his arm in one fast, clean, easy slash. He cringed, but the sting would fade fast. It always did.
In its place something far more terrible took over. The light flooded his bones until the pain on his arm was a dull and distant memory. Reveling in it was joy and life, and he took a deep breath, relishing in the fire.
With it in control, tendrils of the light plunged into his clothes, wringing the fibers of liquid. The darkness faded and a puddle of vodka pooled at his feet.
He was finished by the time the pain on his arm subsided. The light disappeared then. A bittersweet departure, one last burst of power flashed the switchblade with flame, sterilizing it before it disappeared into it's pocket again.
He pressed paper towels to his arm until the bleeding slowed, pulled his coat back over his shoulders and emerged from the bathroom only to find the face of one pissed off fat man. Ryker just stood there, staring at him, silently asking him to give him a reason to put him down. The fat man skulked aside, and returned to the bathroom when Ryker departed, probably to slip on the vodka and break his fat ass. Ryker didn't stay to find out.
He returned to the bar to find his beer bottle confiscated. His seat at the bar was also taken. His gaze fell on Bravado and Chaos, still lingering together. Go ahead little spider. Waste your time, he thought and turned his attention elsewhere.
He found an empty table near the corner, and flagged Kat down to get another beer.