Atrophy || Calloway and Harlee.
Harlee crinkled her nose and giggled. The two of them made an unlikely pair of companions. She lifted her mug of tea and took a sip. It was still hot. It burned her tongue. ”Tastes good,” she said. She didn’t want him to know that she’d burned herself. That would be embarrassing, especially considering he had told her to be careful. She placed the mug back down on the countertop. ”Is there more sugar, though? I like my tea really sweet.”
The kitchen was quiet and Harlee was beginning to feel awkward. There wasn’t much for her or Calloway to talk about. As far as she was aware, they had almost nothing in common other than the fact that they lived in the same hideout and were kidnapped and sent to the same work camp. They had a scar in the same place but even those looked different. She admired the perfect and faded line down his arm. ”Your scar’s so much nicer than mine,” she commented. She wanted to reach out and touch it and see if it was raised like hers was but she thought that would be rude or a little two weird. She held out her arm to showcase the uneven mark where she had cut herself open to grab it out. ”How did you get yours so perfect?”
Calloway nodded, turning to rummage through the cupboards, until he’d located the small, silver sugar shaker. He slid it over to Harlee, and then laced his fingers together. He stood in silence, and then his eyebrows raised, an expression of pleasant surprise emerging. “Ah, well thank you,” he murmured, as he extended his arm, rotating it and looking at the scar in all light. His eyes drifted to hers. It wasn’t as bad as some he’d seen, but it certainly shouted inexperienced. Calloway pursed his lips, in thought. “For one, I used proper surgical instruments,” he mused, and then continued “And for two, I’ve been doing things of this nature for a long time, so I guess practice makes perfect”. “How did you even get yours out?” he said, reaching out to tap the puckered skin on Harlee’s arm.
Handsome Devils Club // Marlon & Calloway (P)
The best part about Avalon, Marlon thought, as the two of them walked along the docks, salty seaside air blowing around them, was getting out of it. How Calloway had acquired a yacht, he had no idea, but it was a blessing. The two of them would travel to the coast whenever they needed a break from the rest of the Crybabies’ and the world’s idiocy, and take the boat out to where sea and sky were the only things that surrounded them.
The yacht was perfectly sized; big enough that it was luxurious and didn’t make you claustrophobic, and small enough that it didn’t need a crew. There wasn’t much to crash into in the middle of the ocean either way, so for the most part, Marlon and Calloway would put her on autopilot while they were doing other things. It was a relaxing holiday, and a break that Marlon looked forward to every time it came around. The fact that Calloway tended to be far more tolerable than the rest of them by a long shot was an extra bonus as well.
“What did you name her again?” Marlon said, shooting Calloway a glance as they stood there in front of the boat. “I keep forgetting.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He never forgot; he just found the name immensely amusing.
A glorious day, really. Calloway loved trips like this. Ones where he could get away from the irritating wasp nest of Crybabies. He hated wasps. Constantly buzzing, stinging. Without actually producing honey, or anything of use. Nature’s way of laughing in people’s faces. Today was fantastic. Marlon was similar to Calloway, in terms of mentality. Which made being with him a lot less stressful, than being with the others. So they’d chosen to go out on the yacht. A lovely little thing, that would lead to a day of quiet. The thrum and rumble of the city muted, at least for a while. They both stood in front of the boat, and Calloway turned his head to Marlon.
"I christened her Ye Olde Bitch of one Marlon Presley," Calloway retorted smoothly. An ongoing joke and too much alcohol had resulted in that ridiculous name, actually being painted on the side. It didn’t matter, he found it amusing enough. Calloway cracked a smile "Great name, I think. Really suits her". He started climbing aboard, and closed his eyes as a gust of wind blew in his face. How much he needed to get away was indescribable. Calloway let out a sigh of relief.
Atrophy || Calloway and Harlee.
Harlee ran her index finger around the lip of the mug a few times and stared down into her tea. She wasn’t sure she wanted to answer Calloway about her no longer existent relationship with Kid. It was still fresh, still painful. But he was being nice and he had made her tea so she felt like she sort of had to answer him. ”I need to be on my own right now,” she said softly. She dipped her finger into the tea and then popped it into her mouth to get a little taste of it. It was still too hot to drink. ”I just, like…I love him and all. Really. I just don’t think he really understands what sort of place I’m in after the camp situation and other life issues I’ve got going on. I don’t know.” She shrugged.
Harlee peaked up at Calloway. She didn’t want to be annoying with her girl troubles and her silly relationship problems. After all, Calloway was the person who had flat out said the thing he disliked most about her was that she didn’t seem to have any goals. She felt like harping on and on about her ex-boyfriend sort of fell under that category. It was stupid teenager stuff. Goalless stuff. And she didn’t want him to judge her or think very little of her. She wanted to be grown-up, at least in Calloway’s presence.
He nodded at appropriate moments, using previously acquired knowledge of what people liked to see when they wanted someone to listen. Although a little hypocritical, Calloway hated it when he was talking, and his audience - whether it be one person, or several at a pathetic dinner event his parents had organized - didn’t pay him attention. He leaned forward on his elbows, eyebrows drawing together slightly. A sympathetic smile formed on his face, and he shook his head slowly. “You’re young.We all are. And I won’t try and convince you that you don’t know what love is, or whatever the typical speech of this nature suggests. But I will tell you, that you have a lot of time. So if you need space, I say who gives a damn. Do what you want”.
Calloway laughed in disbelief. He was having difficulty with the fact that he’d just offered some sideways-sort of life advice. To Harlee. Harlee, whom he could barely tolerate before the camp. Absentmindedly, he scratched at the faint scar near his elbow, and shook his head again. What was the world coming to.
When I’m Small || Rocky and Calloway
When the man tapped her cheek, Rocky stirred a little. Her body was constricted, not able to move more than several millimetres. His hand felt both hot and cold against her thigh and the girl’s eyes fluttered open, trying to make sense of where she was now. Her back was pressed against something cool and hard but there were pieces holding down her limbs. She was staring up at a dark ceiling and Daniel was reciting some odd poem of sorts.
Suddenly, Rocky saw the hammer. When it swung down, the Rag Doll scrunched up her face in pain and grit her teeth as best she could. A desperate growl escaped from the back of her throat. She couldn’t give in yet. She was strong, right? As the man twisted the nail, the blonde girl grimaced some more and grunted. Rocky was too busy trying to wiggle, unsuccessfully, to hear what Daniel was going on about but she caught certain words and her empty stomach growled. The Rag Doll turned her head to face him, not prepared to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower.
He hit the nail in again, until it was buried up to the head, in her leg. Calloway twirled the hammer in his hands, and used the forked ends, to yank the nail out. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, coating his skin in the girl’s blood. He extended his arm, and let the nail drop. It pinged, and he closed his eyes. Calloway reached for another tool, to test the waters with. He pulled out a scalpel, dangerous and surgically precise. “How about a game of x’s and o’s?” he purred. Calloway pushed up her shirt, looking at the stab wound from earlier. Her stomach exposed, he set to work.
Carefully, he sliced four lines into her abdomen, in the shape of a grid for naughts and crosses. He wondered if it was possible, to create conjoined twins through surgery. Probably. Skin graphs and stitching along the hips, would most likely work best. And then, the issue of keeping the patients immobile until things healed. How long would rehabilitation, and adjusting to having another person attached to oneself take? Calloway considered things, as he cut in an X, in the centre box. “Your turn,” he laughed. He wiped away blood, smearing it everywhere.