KATJA DE LA CRUZ
Dragon
Posts: 53
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Kit Clarke
Played by:
Ange
Last seen Nov 16, 2024 19:00:56 GMT
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Post by KATJA DE LA CRUZ on Mar 14, 2022 21:56:11 GMT
She hadn’t been in a position to hear when the shit had hit the fan. They’d been on separate sides of the country when it had happened. One world exploding with an IED, another torn apart in a withering hail of bullets. Neither one aware of the other despite their paths having been almost close enough to cross again. If it hadn’t been a brutal case of mutual destruction the untormented one would have known. That was just the way of their world – what had been their world.
Scuttlebutt.
Katja licked the smear of butter from her thumb, pale eyes hitching to the ceiling as there was a creak of some movement up there. One of them. Goddess, that would have been another story that whipped around the camp with the eye stinging blast of a sandstorm.
El Presidente, the Kitten, and his brother all under one roof with her drifting in and out as the whim struck, like it had done last night. Wolf whistles and crude inuendoes filling the air. Overgrown boys with lecherous grins and an unhealthy dose of envious green in their eyes in a camp where men probably out numbered women ten to one. Not as simple as that now, thanks to those dual disasters.
A thin scraping of jelly over the toast, the first bite going down dry enough to leave her feeling the irritation in the scar that sliced across her throat. Katja swallowed hard as she set the toast down. She pressed her palm flat across her throat like she could massage it away. It was like the mark she’d seen carved into Kace’s chest last night as they’d passed each other in the bathroom doorway though, or like the scars that crinkled their way across Damasca’s back and shoulders, permanent reminders of their worlds blowing up. The only one of them not bearing them was Kit. Werewolves healed just about anything physically – mentally was an entirely different fucking ball game.
Retrieving the can of soda she’d plucked from the fridge and the toast, Katja padded into the living room and dropped down on the couch. Bare feet on one arm, her head propped up on a cushion. The t-shirt she’d plucked from Kit’s bedroom floor tangling at mid-thigh. She set the can against her stomach with one hand to pop it open, dark brows furrowing. How did you even start healing the wounds cut through to your very soul when you killed your brother?
Kace had joked about it last night when they’d been sprawled right here. Too soon? Sure as hell fucking seemed it. She’d seen the way Frank had stiffened with each verbal punch and she’d trailed a touch over Kit’s skin every time he had. Pushing hair away from his temples, tracing the shell of his ear, shoving at him with a bare foot some time around three, ignoring the pressure of Frank’s gaze on her back as she’d headed for the stairs. Bernardo could bitch all he wanted about healthy ways to heal – wheatgrass and meditation did nothing when the fire began to burn under her skin.
Katja gulped at the soda, feeling that gritty drag of the scar with every swallow. A witch might have been able to resurrect the dead but even if she could wave her magic wand here those scars weren’t just going to melt away.
Another bite of toast was going down a little easier when she heard the door to Frank’s office open. Apparently there had been little room at the inn for the brother who had risen like Lazarus. Easing herself up on one elbow she met Kace’s cool appraising eyes. ”Wuynus diyas.”
He lifted his chin, hitched his brows at her like he’d find his voice as the hand scrubbing over his face dropped but there was a thump upstairs. El Presidente had been up at the crack of dawn leaving only the ‘night creatures’ behind. Katja took another bite of toast, gesturing around them with it as Kit emerged from the stairs. ”Looks like there’s a full house for breakfast.” And all the makings of an awkward air around the table.
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KIT CLARKE
Werewolf
Posts: 136
Age:
33
Occupation:
Manager at The Ruby Slipper
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Katja De La Cruz
Played by:
Julia
"You make my cold heart warm with a touch."
Last seen Nov 11, 2024 19:01:45 GMT
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Post by KIT CLARKE on Mar 22, 2022 18:06:18 GMT
 ━ nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky ━
Like the night before, when Kace had made that stupid joke that had Kit spiralling, mind dipping into the lowest possible depths. Was he still angry? Did he still hold some sort of resentment? Kit couldn’t blame him if he did; the guilt still wouldn’t leave his own mind despite Kace living and breathing again. He hadn’t even been the one to set up Kace’s revival.
In any case, Katja’s warm breath and skin were at his side the entire time, comforting even if he pretended it wasn’t. He wondered if Frank felt a little left out, or if he had someone else to take care of him now━like Dominic. If the scrappy little fuck ever got over his dead fiance.
Speaking of Katja’s heat, she wasn’t in his bed when he came to consciousness in those few tired moments before peeling his eyes open. Kit flopped over and reached one long arm over the side of the bed, hand hanging off the edge of the mattress, waving it around to reach for… nothing. Kit grumbled and groaned, tuning into every little sound of the house. Toast popping, Frank’s footsteps, the scrape of a butter knife against the grains of bread. Katja was downstairs; he could sense it from her sound, from her lingering scent in his bed━she hadn’t left long before.
Pushing himself up, Kit didn’t bother to put on more than a pair of boxers, blue eyes still barely open even through a morning piss, brushing his teeth and thudding down the stairs. It was a comforting sight, he thought, even if neither of them seemed happy to be there. Katja sprawled out on the couch wearing his shirt, and his brother, no longer a spectre, headed through the open room. Kit grabbed him as soon as they were about to cross paths, pulling Kace in for a hug that was somewhat uncharacteristic for the pair, but that Kit felt was necessary. He clapped his baby brother on the back before pulling away, nodding upwards and grinning at Katja. “Mornin’.” And then he paused, an incredulous look spreading over his face. “A Coke for breakfast?” Not unlike how he’d started some mornings, but today he felt particularly optimistic. Or nervous, maybe, trying to make up for everything.
Moving into the kitchen, he started the coffee maker and motioned to it, glancing at Kace. “You want some coffee?” Trying to smooth things out after last night, perhaps, Kace’s words still tugging hard in his chest. He didn’t bother acknowledging Katja’s comment, either, ‘cause it seemed like a step in the wrong direction.
Circling back around, Kit padded into the living room and loomed over Katja, grabbing the back of the couch to steady himself as he leaned down. Stealing a bite of her buttery-jam-ed toast, he grinned, planting a kiss on her lips as a way of a second good morning. Kit stood up again, chewing and then chuckling, “That’s some shitty fuckin’ toast.” He teased, “You want eggs or somethin’?”
KIT CLARKE & KATJA DE LA CRUZ |  |
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KACE CLARKE
Werewolf
untriggered
Posts: 98
Age:
30
Occupation:
Owner of the Diner
Status:
Single
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Nov 6, 2024 20:04:23 GMT
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Post by KACE CLARKE on Apr 22, 2022 19:01:46 GMT
The hangovers he hadn’t missed. Biting like feral skunks and stinking twice as bad when everything you’d drunk last night came wafting out of your pores. Kace buried his head in the pillow, trying not to inhale too hard. It wasn’t like he was trying to make up for lost time, or even drown anything out … it was meant to be a continuation.
He dragged the pillow out from under his head and flopped over onto his stomach on the thin sofa bed. The pillow was dragged back on top, trying to drown out the headache beginning to pound behind his eyes and the sound of other people all around him. Last night had made that part feel normal. Kit, the Peruvian chick he’d apparently known before – in the carnal sense, of course, because Kit didn’t seem to be able to keep his pants on around women – Frank. He was outnumbered by operators but once the liquor started flowing it was no different to those nights on the beaches back home.
Until you opened your mouth about your brother killing you.
Kace exhaled heavily into the thin cotton sheet beneath him, his eyes popping open in the gloom beneath the pillow to fix on a snag in the pillow case. Liquor had loosened his tongue, the crude jokes thrown back and forth like none of them were capable of getting butt hurt about it all culminating in that. He’d seen Frank stiffen, hazel eyes flicking up to meet his for moment as the big guy gulped. If Kit had done the same he hadn’t seen it on the surface but he’d seen Katja curl in, her hand squeezing at Kit’s shoulder, her lips close to his ear as she’d murmured to him. Apologetic little nothings when the real thing should’ve been coming from him. Had Kit stayed awake half the night after like he had?
At what felt like about five Frank had called it a night – a day? – he had to teach, sorry. Like he had to apologise for leaving his guest alone in that nest of bottles. Katja had already done the same, slowly nudging Kit until the two of them had disappeared out of the murky boundaries of that boozy little bubble. Tipping his head back against the couch, from his spot on the floor, Kace had let his eyes slide shut. He heard Frank make his way upstairs, the quiet click of the door. He’d stayed another half an hour, slowly finishing his beer, considering whether the next day would be the one where he finally picked up the damn phone and called Gage. Hey, guess what. A teenaged witch brought me back to life… surprise. It still felt like that to him. Like some minute he was gonna blink and he’d be back to hovering on the other side of that almost impenetrable wall.
Finally hearing someone puttering around in the kitchen, Kace dragged the pillow off of his face and squinted up at the ceiling of Frank’s ‘office’. The spot he tucked away the waifs and strays that seemed to be making a home here – including formerly dead brothers. He tried to stay out of it as much as possible, lingering in the kitchen, the living room for a marathon session of shitty daytime TV. Jobs weren’t exactly knocking down the door when you were newly Lazarus-ed, or when you couldn’t say for certain that you might be heading back west.
Not today. Kace drew a line under the idea as he rolled off of the pull out with a groan. Usually he tucked the thing away but this morning the coffee and Tylenol needed to kick in first. The living room was clear of empties as he opened the office door at least, just not clear of – lady friends? What the fuck was Kit calling them all anyway?
Kace paused in the doorway, meeting Katja’s eye as she propped herself up on the couch. She hadn’t been shy with the eye contact after he’d popped back up, ballsy, probably had to be to stick around his brother. He’d barely dipped his chin and mumbled a ”morning,” at her before Kit was there, lumbering down the stairs and into the room The hug was like a wave, rolling in slow and unassuming until smack. It shoved a lump into his throat before he patted Kit’s back in return and started to push back. ”Coulda showered first Swamp Thing,” he muttered, like he probably wasn’t twice as rank.
He winged a brow at Katja, glancing at the coke and the toast before he padded after Kit. Didn’t seem that bad to him and she obviously wasn’t that bothered, staying sprawled there as the two of them disappeared from sight. ”Sure,” he muttered, digging fingers into sleep crusted eyes before he started tugging open cupboards to look for the store of Tylenol. ”Who made you the breakfast police? You never used to give a shit …” That had been before though. Was the tongue clucking some way of turning himself around now that everything was settled again. Cleaning up his act, fussing over all of them like he could drag them along with him. ”You want me to pour? Cause I’m sure as fuck not touching the eggs.” He’d run a bar, not really a kitchen, and even that was off the cards until he figured out how the fuck he was gonna juggle all of that on top of the shock of … being back. Finding the bottle he shook two of the pills out, washing them down with the dregs of a bottle of beer on the counter. Flat as fuck but doing the job all the same.
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KATJA DE LA CRUZ
Dragon
Posts: 53
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Kit Clarke
Played by:
Ange
Last seen Nov 16, 2024 19:00:56 GMT
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Post by KATJA DE LA CRUZ on May 8, 2022 13:35:48 GMT
You knew almost from birth you were the daughter of a goddess. It could’ve been a story, like the teachers tried to convince all the kids all of these things were but every word out of your father’s mouth was believable, your mama living in a cave under a waterfall, how could you not see that as something so much more than what the others had? By the time tayta – papa – had been killed by those men and they had fled to Lima she’d been so sure she knew everything. Even if she had to keep it to herself after that called had been made to mama to say she had been making things up.
Katja felt a twist in her gut now as she watched a resurrected man – not the first who’d strolled into this house with her there – emerge from the room he’d been tucked into to keep him close after what had happened. Multiple times since that call she’d had her world expanded, her eyes and imagination blown wide open, but it had never been this. She’d never heard of a man – two - literally being shoved back into their bodies like death was merely another obstacle to overcome instead of an end.Would Copacati have done it to bring back her Joao if she’d had a clue about it or was it just the curse of being something that could live almost forever? You left behind the people who had mattered in each of those endless lives.
The thud of feet on the stairs should’ve pushed the thought from her head but it had lodged itself in her chest, lodging like a thorn somewhere that never healed all the way, like the scar on her throat. How did you watch something like this, those little flickers of emotion, of thought, behind eyes they likely thought shielded, those twitches of muscle and cracks in voices they’d probably burn with embarrassment about somewhere. Once upon a time she’d relied on those little tells as much as she had words that babbled out in half a dozen languages.
Her teeth bared at Kit in a smug grin as she eased back on the couch. The red can wiggled in her fingers, narrowed shoulders shrugging against the cushions. You spent years living on the shit they threw into a pit to keep you alive and a coke and dry toast was like nectar, even if it did stick in your throat. ”It was easy,” she drawled lightly. ”Better than a bottle, hmm?” Katja glanced around the room. There’d been no bottles to tip-toe through, either El Presidente or Kace cleaning up some time after she’d tugged Kit upstairs to work those intrusive thoughts about what those usually sure hands had done.
Mouth twitching in amusement, Katja sipped at her coke as Kace trailed out after his brother. There was still a stiffness there between them but maybe like a strained muscle it would eventually ease, the injury that caused it in the first place resigned to dusty old memories that were purposefully left unpacked for as long as possible. Kace’s voice – with its extra hint of Beach Boy – rumbled in the kitchen. That thorn dug less, without the ill timed reminder of what happened it sounded like they hadn’t missed a beat.
Maybe this mouthful of toast went down easier, the grate of crumbs against that scar less sandpaper, more a light reminder that she had a chance to rebuild that same rhythm – even if it was with Bernardo and the Goddess as much as the teams that had almost been hers. Like the sun that had peaked up over the horizon right about the time she’d distantly heard Frank padding back to his room alone, the heat bloomed under her skin, not the raging sort that would consume her and Kit as he reappeared, all solid muscle and bare skin, but something softer.
She hooked a leg around those lean hips as he bent, dark brows hitching as the warm spilled over into that jam sweetened kiss. A hum rolled up in her throat as he pulled away chuckling. Better this morning, she thought, maybe none of that lingering weight in his chest. ”Your brother’s right,” Katja tossed back. She planted bare toes against his equally bare mid-riff and pushed lightly. ”You turned into the breakfast police?” He was right thought, it was pretty fucking shitty.
Katja stuck it in her mouth anyway, rolling up to her knees on the couch to be almost chest to chest with Kit – OK, chest to belly at least. She tipped her face up like she would drag him into another of those kisses but she put the toast in his mouth instead and hopped off of the couch to pad past him. ”Eggs, bacon, hash browns. A little grease on top of the pills to help, hmm?” The colour draining from Kace’s face had her chuckling. ”You want some less shitty fuckin’ toast?” Her coke can clattered down on the counter, her brows rising as she tossed a look back at Kit over her shoulder. She hadn’t intended to volunteer but pitching in felt better than just sitting around on the side lines like some princess.
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KIT CLARKE
Werewolf
Posts: 136
Age:
33
Occupation:
Manager at The Ruby Slipper
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Katja De La Cruz
Played by:
Julia
"You make my cold heart warm with a touch."
Last seen Nov 11, 2024 19:01:45 GMT
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Post by KIT CLARKE on May 26, 2022 21:00:36 GMT
━ nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky ━
Kit put on the coffee like it would make this any easier, and moved to Katja instead━safer, calmer waters, unlike the shark lingering in the kitchen, ready to take a chunk out of Kit whenever he felt like it. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
Breakfast police? Well, he never gave a shit if it was himself, and maybe during leave and just after he’d come home, Kit didn’t care about what they ate, but things were different now. They were all living in this one house like some sorta fucked up, stitched-together family. Like the Brady Bunch. He figured Katja wouldn’t get the reference even if he remembered to use it later, the next time she tricked him into one of those mumbled conversations, using nothing but those lean limbs and the heat of her skin to drag him in.
“I’m just sayin’, y’know, it ain’t enticin’ me to steal any.” He started his sentence looking at Kace, and then grinned at Katja by the end, giving her a noncommittal shrug. The smile was still firmly in place as she rolled up to meet him halfway, and stayed as he bent, though it disappeared when the toast was shoved between his lips. Kit held onto it with his teeth, frowning at the lingering feeling of crumbs scratching his skin. He turned to watch Katja leave him kiss-less and with a slice hanging from his mouth, eyebrows raised. Finally, Kit grabbed the bread and pulled it from his mouth, chewing and swallowing as he walked toward the pair of them.
“Nah, man, I can get the coffee.” Pressing on a polite smile, Kit balanced the toast on top of Katja’s Coke can and almost rushed around them, grabbing three mugs to pour coffee into like he was afraid someone else might get to it first. It wasn’t as if he was ever a huge, inconsiderate asshole, but he was obviously going above and beyond for the simple shit.
Making Kace and Katja’s just how they liked them, he placed their respective mugs on the counter close to each of them, planting a kiss on the back of Katja’s shoulder. “Some less shitty fuckin’ toast would be great.” Chuckling lightly as he straightened up, Kit began to move out of the kitchen, eager to flee to where there was more space. “Plus all that other shit.” Stopping on the other side of the counter, Kit sipped his coffee and squinted at the bitterness in the morning. It reminded him of… Kit pushed it away━he wasn’t exposed to the harsh environment of a warzone anymore; he woke up every day in a marshmallow-soft bed next to a gorgeous woman and padded downstairs to a full kitchen with no sand anywhere in sight.
“You, uh… need me t’do somethin’? Since Kace never learned howta fry an egg, God damn city boy.” Kit teased, grinning into his cup as he swallowed down another big mouthful.
KACE CLARKE | |
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KACE CLARKE
Werewolf
untriggered
Posts: 98
Age:
30
Occupation:
Owner of the Diner
Status:
Single
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Nov 6, 2024 20:04:23 GMT
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Post by KACE CLARKE on Jul 2, 2022 19:53:44 GMT
The strain was still there around the edges, like his puzzle piece didn’t fit entirely back with the others yet. Things had needed to be jiggled to slot him in there, were still being jiggled by everybody who’d even partly mourned him here, everybody whose lives were being adjusted to make room for him again. The jokes felt stilted, stiff at the edges like they hadn’t softened up. In time, Kace told himself as he flipped his brother the bird over his shoulder. It wasn’t like they’d all been sitting there expecting this to happen. Frank, Kit, even Katja and that mouthy kid Frank seemed to have adopted. They had their domestic little set up here and it had been working for them.
Now he was grimacing at the rumbles of that domesticity from the living room. A handful of years ago he’d have shot back at them that he sure as hell didn’t need to hear all that. Fingers in his ears, humming at top volume despite the fact this was tamer than half the shit he’d witnessed around his brother over the years. Kace raked his teeth over his lower lip as he propped his hands on the edge of the counter and waited for the coffee to drip through the machine. Coffee would wash away the taste of the pills in the way the beer hadn’t.
After a second he straightened up, tossing the bottle of beer into the trash. He puttered around the kitchen, ignoring the sounds rolling in through the living room and the kick in the chest it gave him. Back in LA he and Gage and Ronni had the same sort of easy going on. It didn’t matter which of them was there in the mornings in the apartment above Bodhi’s, or at Gage’s place, or even in the more palatial surrounds of Kamilla’s place. Breakfast around the table, the standard of cooking slowly improving over the years, the familiarity that left his gut aching.
It lurched as the party in the living room started to spill out. He sure as hell hadn’t missed the hangovers on the other side. Kace grumbled under his breath as he watched them pick their way into the kitchen. ”Maybe he oughta police that. Save some fuckin’ arteries around here.” Like two out of three sets in the room couldn’t withstand a fucking nuclear blast. Those pills tried to come bubbling back up, but he swallowed hard, fast. ”Even the shitty toast is soundin’ pretty good.” A crappy hangover remedy, but it might not make a reappearance before mid-morning.
Kit’s butler act meant he could sink down into a chair at the table. He propped his elbows on the edge of it as he heard Katja slot bread into the toaster. Both hands covered his face for a moment, his fingertips grinding into his eyes until the cup was set down in front of him. He squinted at for the moment, mock dubious, but when he took a gulp it was fucking nectar to a stomach that had spent far too much time churning since he got back. Catching Kit hand wringing again, and … ”Fuck you, shitkicker,” he griped with a lot less venom than the words suggested there should’ve been. ”Gimme a grill and I’ll cook you a whole fuckin’ feast.” Taking over Bodhi’s had meant a sharp learning curve there. No more of Kamilla’s hangers on setting out dishes of eggs benedict or prunes in the dining room every morning anymore. It’d been all burned knuckles and bitching from guys who’d drunk down too much salt water to be able to taste anything anymore.
Getting up, Kace elbowed his brother aside. He saw the jab, knew Kit had been pushing him into it the whole time. Katja had already started pulling packages out of the fridge, but Kace slid the drawer open to grab a spatula, a knife. ”Why don’t you park your delicate ass at the table and watch how it’s done, huh?” The sweet smile was aimed squarely at Katja, not the asshole who’d goaded him into cooking.
In the end the easy came anyway. Katja could obviously feel the tension in the air, but she talked over it, slowly sweeping it away into those dark corners again where it couldn’t be seen. ”You wanna burn his bacon?” Kace shot out eventually, glancing over his shoulder at his brother as he rocked the knife back and forth over the potatoes on the cutting board, shredding them down. ”Him bein’ breakfast police and all … fuck!” Who was the asshole now? The sting was immediate, the razor sharp tip of the knife – why the fuck did Frank keep these things sharp enough to slice through oil drums – slicing along his finger. Tears burned as furiously as the cut, his instinct to immediately wrap it in his t-shirt, clutching it towards his chest as the warm ooze of blood immediately started to flood into the worn fabric.
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KATJA DE LA CRUZ
Dragon
Posts: 53
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Kit Clarke
Played by:
Ange
Last seen Nov 16, 2024 19:00:56 GMT
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Post by KATJA DE LA CRUZ on Jul 3, 2022 18:49:50 GMT
Last night she had been the one arched above him. A hand – the one that had towed Kit from the living room and away from the tension in the air that was closing around the two brothers like a vice that would not stop until it had crushed one or both of them – curled around the back of his neck to draw him up, those chestnut strands wrapped around her fingers. Her mouth hungry at his jaw, his throat, his mouth, until she’d felt that tension bleed away from him. A lion tamer’s way of talking his animal down. Goddess, shouldn’t she have had enough practice that way? Katja had heard it all from Bernardo, her mother, before, albeit in a different way. Their nagging voices grating like the toast until finally something began to catch.
There was no nagging last night. Just a gentle pressure, thumbs working tight muscles, sounds of need murmured in his ears in English, Spanish, Quechua, until the still jagged world that existed outside of that bed disappeared for a time. In the dark, after, Katja had listened to him slip under, watching the rise and fall of that solid chest, asking the Goddess – oh how it stung still to look at her in times of need – to heal the remaining wounds. The Goddess had no magic to make such things happen, but a child still looked to her mother.
Now, in the dull morning light, she could see that maybe the wounds had begun to scar over at least. It would take time for the tissue to finish what healing it would manage. Katja’s mouth kicked up at one corner. She didn’t follow where Kit’s gaze had fixed on his brother, only met it when his eyes rolled back to her, his own grin firmly in place. ”Good, more for me then.” She didn’t tell him to keep his thieving hands to himself, just rolled up with the toast between her teeth before she transferred it to his – along with the itch. Later she’d help to scratch it, but not with Kace hovering in the kitchen, looking like he was regretting more of last night than just his comment.
The menu had Kace’s colour draining, that greasy green hue rising above the beard that was shades blonder than his brother’s. Katja chuckled over it, not pointing out that the grease would do more than the painkillers to settle things, especially when you were something that healed almost anything anyway. The look over her shoulder confirmed that Kit was ready to take care of his brother, like all of this made up for the mistake that had put him in jail. She’d have picked up the toast that Kit set down on her can and offered it up, but his offer to make the coffee had Kace tapping out already and settling down at the table. ”It’s a good thing Frank stocked up anyway,” she murmured, setting the pans on the stove to get things going. With more people on the house on a seemingly daily basis, including the brother, sister-in-law and the kid who seemed to have sprouted overnight, it had to be like trying to feed an army, on something better than MREs too.
Kit had the coffee poured fast, setting it down at her elbow, before his lips found her shoulder and that warmth spread like silk under her skin. Katja reached back a hand, smoothing her hand up and down the warm, bare skin of Kit’s hip. ”Sulpay.” That quiet murmur of gratitude that broke off into a snort. So ready to throw his brother under the bus before he scooted back out of reach. Just like a big brother knowing the younger one would swing at the outrage. Shitkicker? One a little lost in translation. She winged a brow at Kit in question as she spooned butter into the skillet to melt for the eggs.
Katja’s smirk tugged crookedly at her mouth. She tugged open the fridge, retrieving the eggs, the bacon, leaving Kace to get to work on the potatoes. ”It looks like he’s out to prove you wrong, hmm?” Pale eyes rolled from Kit to his brother, a low sound rumbling in her throat. The bacon was put in the oven to cook, the eggs cracked into a bowl to be whisked up before she added them to the pan. Kace went to work beside her, the conversation slowly ticking back and forth without last night’s strain until Kace had worked himself to take the jab back. ”Depends … how complimentary he is about the chef here.” The spatula she was working through the eggs was aimed back at herself. She was about to beckon Kit in with it when she heard Kace curse. ”What did you do? Kace?” His name was snapped out, her hands on him, pushing him back from the counter before the knife even stopped clattering across the cutting board.
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KIT CLARKE
Werewolf
Posts: 136
Age:
33
Occupation:
Manager at The Ruby Slipper
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Katja De La Cruz
Played by:
Julia
"You make my cold heart warm with a touch."
Last seen Nov 11, 2024 19:01:45 GMT
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Post by KIT CLARKE on Jul 5, 2022 17:39:40 GMT
━ nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky ━
That earned Kace a middle finger━with a smile, at least━as Kit sat on the other side of the counter, lips curled under that mound of beard. He knew Kace wasn’t useless in the kitchen, he couldn’t be, but Kit never had much attention to spare after he got back. He was too busy reeling from what’d happened, adjusting after getting plucked out of a warzone and plopped in California. And what a shitty State to get stuck in, too. He’d just wanted to be with his brother.
Turns out that Kit was the worst thing for him.
But it was better now. He sighed softly into his mug, then nodded as he swallowed a mouthful. “A feast don’t count if it tastes like shit. Bet all you can grill is tofu.” Kit chuckled. In any case, his brother was getting to work, and all Kit had to do was supervise and sip his coffee━didn’t sound like such a bad trade-off, huh?
“He can try,” Kit quipped, blue eyes jumping from Katja to Kace and back. “You don’t know what you’re in for; I tried to stomach the shit at his bar. If you’re ever in Cali, avoid Bodhi’s.” Their mom got it in the end, half the ownership transferred to her after Kace’s death. Kit hoped Gage just bought her out but, knowing what sort of bitch she was, he figured she still had her fingers in it.
Another wave of guilt came, and Kit thought━briefly━that Kamilla would love Katja… simply ‘cause she carried on the tradition. Y’know, if she ever got over the fact that her firstborn stabbed her baby to death.
Breathing slowly once more, Kit only half-heard the comment about his bacon. He shot them both a slanted smile anyway, pretending he was still here for this conversation━by the time Kace swore, he was, and no amount of breathing techniques could prepare him for what came next. Immediately jumping to his feet and ready to help, Kit rushed around the edge of the counter, barely feeling the way it dug into his hip… especially when he saw the blood.
His vision got bright, like suddenly they were on one of those movie sets Kamilla adored, a hundred lights burning her retinas. He hadn’t realized he’d frozen a foot or two from Kace, and couldn’t feel the counter in his grip━not even when his fingers cramped from how hard he held it.
They were in Kace’s apartment again. It was dark save for the TV’s flickering light, bathing the bedroom in a cool glow━enough for Kit to see what he’d done. His eyes ticked up from his bloody hands to Kace’s shirt, and he saw both images melted together, past and present, but it all became… now. Kace was bleeding out. Kace was dying again, and it was Kit’s fault━it wasn’t a mistake the first time; he was just dangerous.
Glowing blue irises slid down, his shaking hands raised for inspection. He couldn’t see how they really were━clawed, but unblemished by blood. Instead, Kit was holding the kitchen knife, the one Kace was just using to chop potatoes━the one Kit had murdered him with. Again.
Kit flinched away from the knife, and it clambered to the floor, disappearing as fast as it’d come, leaving him to grab at his own chest like that could stop his heart or force his breaths out more easily. He gasped once, twice, maybe three times, and then he was stepping back, trying to move because that was supposed to help. The body’s stress response━his therapy was somewhere in the back of his mind. Maybe he was running from Kace, from what he’d done, but maybe he was trying to get better. Either way, Kit’s legs wobbled and ceased to hold him, letting him fall. His ass hit the floor hard, sending a spark up his spine, another bit of breath exiting his lungs. It snapped him back to reality━if only for a moment.
“Sorry, sorry, fuck…” A few more curses rolled out, those muscular limbs seemingly doing nothing to get him up, especially not as he groped uselessly at the floor. “I didn’t mean━it was an accident━Kace,” He cried for his brother like he had then, cradling the body of the man his little brother had become. He was the little kid whose hand Kit had held after their parents told them they were splitting up, and the boy Kit squished in a bear hug until his tears turned into fits of laughter. He’d killed his best friend, the brother he was supposed to protect, and it didn’t matter if it was happening now or years ago. It happened.
Kit raised a trembling hand, motioning to the blood stains, whimpering, “I didn’t mean to━” As if apologies made a difference when the damage was done. He spotted his claws this time, and quickly curled his hands into himself, squeezing his fists so tight that they went through the skin. Blood pooled in his palms and dripped down to the tile between his legs, bringing some form of comfort━of steadiness. It hurt, but Kit knew that meant one thing: he wasn’t hurting anyone else.
KACE CLARKE | no notes. |
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KACE CLARKE
Werewolf
untriggered
Posts: 98
Age:
30
Occupation:
Owner of the Diner
Status:
Single
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Nov 6, 2024 20:04:23 GMT
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Post by KACE CLARKE on Jul 25, 2022 19:21:21 GMT
The bird he flipped back at Kit was automatic, the corners of Kace’s mouth tipping up under the scruff of the beard he hadn’t bothered stuff whacking since he got back. Maybe under all those sharp edges and splinters that had them recoiling at the first prick of pain there was something left of who both of them had been before Kit had gone off to war. The assholes who’d tumbled out of Kamilla’s trashy ‘mansion’ and on to the beaches, the brothers who woulda stood back to back against any damn thing – an impossibility in the end when the threat had come from inside.
He tapped the knife against the chopping board, a little rap of it in habit, before he started to shred the potatoes down. He’d take the peppering of Kit’s shitkicking against his shoulder blades and man he’d toss it back, at least until something stuck a little too hard again. There was no real knowing where those soft spots were until you hit one and then everybody stood around stiff and hurting, seeing how much they were gonna bleed before shit healed over just enough again.
Blue eyes ticked from Katja and back to Kit, Kace’s upper lip curling before he shook his head. Even if he put a fucking award winning plate in front of him Kit’d still have to give him shit about something on it, just because. ”Fucking tofu? The man wouldn’t know decent shit if it came smothered in truffles. You wanna go there, my place is pretty stellar.” Too many years of eating crap out of little foil containers while the army slowly eroded his sanity. Was a family breakfast meant to fix that alone with everything else? Naw. Maybe this shit just came down to time now, for both of them, before a different family, one that knew the truth about the scars they bore and handled it anyway.
Maybe it would last just long enough for karma to kick him in the teeth again. Kit had been zoning out to something, his family hazy around the edges, he had been too, too fucking much considering what he was doing. Not bad, not bad, not bad. He tried telling himself that over and over. It was just a sting, the warmth welling through the white fabric nowhere near as bad it felt. Just had to get it under the cold tap to get the bleeding to stop, a band aid, maybe Katja kissing it better and he’d be fucking fine. This wasn’t a knife to the chest.
Kace’s eyes teared up as the sting intensified, his body twisted as he tried to nudge Katja away from it. He’d dealt with worse in those first few weeks at Bodhi’s, even before that when a bad trip off the board would tear you up and leave a yard of skin somewhere if you weren’t smart enough to go full suit. Still, the ooze wasn’t stopping. ”I just slipped, it’s nothing, I’m fine. I’m fine. Fuck.” The curse slipped out as Kit stumbled up. A lumbering bear balling in to stare at him from a foot away, looking at him, through him, caught in something that wasn’t happening here. ”Kit? Hey man, you fucking with me?” It was obvious that he wasn’t, not when he was staring down at his hands, reaching for the knife he’d cut himself on.
Throat going tight Kace took a stumbled step back himself, the uninjured hand coming down to grip the edge of the counter, the other curling tighter in a slippery grip around the bloodied t-shirt. Warmth seemed to drain from his face, skin suddenly going pale against the dark gold scruff of beard. ”Get him,” he said weakly to Katja as both the knife and Kit clattered down. The usual blue of Kit’s eyes had given way to that glow, the one Kace had never seen close up, only from the distance of that veil between them as Kit had turned month after month.
Katja was already dropping to her knees beside him, hands reaching for those bulky biceps, trying to draw Kit’s hands into her own, like she could somehow squeeze what was happening back out of him – just like she’d done when he’d put this into fucking motion last night. Kace felt the greasy slick of sweat gathering into his spine as Kit whimpered, raising a hand towards him, his own blood staining his own fingers as he clutched his hands into fists.
He felt like his legs might be giving out as he slid down the cabinets himself. The curses fell thick from his lips but Kace was muscling his t-shirt off over his head, tossing it away to hide the blood stains, t0 reveal a chest untouched. His hand was still slicked with blood but he held it out like he was trying to soothe a frightened dog. ”You’re right man, I was an accident. I had it. See, not you, you didn’t do anythin’ this time. It was all me bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass and not makin’ you do this. You’re gonna make it all next time, you hear me? You’re not gettin’ out of it asshole. You’re on KP duty.” They’d all live on dry fucking toast to avoid this, seeing their redwood tumbling down, shaking, bleeding, fucking broken by the worst mistake he’d made in his life, the one they were meant to be putting behind them now.
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KATJA DE LA CRUZ
Dragon
Posts: 53
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Kit Clarke
Played by:
Ange
Last seen Nov 16, 2024 19:00:56 GMT
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Post by KATJA DE LA CRUZ on Jul 25, 2022 20:03:23 GMT
There were moments when she’d wondered just how much of that Kit she’d known remained in him. What he was meant that he’d look the same no matter what had cut through him, but Katja didn’t need to see the damage to know it was there. It lurked beneath the surface like shrapnel, either sealing itself off, healing up, or festering, waiting to burst through to the surface and open up another bloody, stinking wound. Last nights resurfacing had been massaged away in time, seeming to have disappeared by this morning. Seeing the brother’s toss insults back and forth at one another you’d never believe the way things had been just a few short hours before. Not unless you’d seen it with your own eyes.
Katja hummed lightly, watching them both in those quick darting glasses as she stirred the pats of butter around. Maybe the wounds that were left would heal with enough time, but she knew that for now neither one of them was out of the woods. Something would twinge, that quick little shock of pain enough to leave you curling in around it, trying to stop what felt like the very core of you from opening up. Every set of feet that marched into this house seemed to understand that, all except for El Presidente’s niece, the only one of them would hadn’t been incised with her own wounds yet. ”Cast iron stomach,” Katja reminded the Kitten with a jab of the butter coated wooden spoon. ”I’m sure once you get a beer or two you it’s charms are barely noticeable.” The stabbing hadn’t happened there, would it still feel like some sort of home for Kit? His shithole to return to, or would it be like her village, forever tainted with something they’d fled to escape?
Would there be anywhere not tainted with the memories by the time they were done cutting fresh wounds into themselves? Not at the rate they were going in this house.
Grabbing for a kitchen towel, Katja tried to wrap it around Kace’s hand but he was already fending her off, his hands snarled up in a t-shirt that was blooming red. She had a hand on his forearm, was trying to work his hand loose when the three of them ended up snarled up in a knot, all clustered around that bloody centre. ”Where’s your first aid kit?” The words slipped out sharp towards Kit, but a glance aside seemed to confirm he wasn’t hearing. She knew what it was like to suddenly slip into that void. Like the world had shifted on its axis and you weren’t seeing what was an inch in front of your face. In a pit thousands of miles away she’d fought her mother’s hands, trying to evade the cruel weapons of the men who’d tortured her again and again, fighting those hands as they’d gripped and lifted.
Kit was there, but he wasn’t, his hand reaching for the knife that gleamed ruby red with Kace’s blood along its edge. Katja went to grip his hand, to stop … she didn’t know what, but he was seeing it through the glowing blue eyes of a man who’d taken a life long before he’d cut his brother. The knife clattered to the floor, taking Kit down too just moments later. Thumping down so heavily she was sure she could feel it through her bare legs. Cursing again in Quechua, Katja bent next to him, knees on the tile, her hands sliding over Kit’s skin like they’d done the next before, only there seemed to be even less flex to that stiff body now. Her palm smoothed over his back. She nosed at his temple, trying to give enough sensation to draw him back but when Kit came it wasn’t to melt into her, just to see what he had done to his brother all over again.
Her hands slid lower, down the length of one muscle roped forearm. Slender fingers closed around Kit’s wrist, trying to work their way into the snarl of his fists to loose those claws from where they were shredding his own palms in the tightening ball of all that tension. ”Let me see,” Katja whispered so close to his skin. ”Let me see you both. Look at your brother, chatashka. Look and see, he’s fine, see. He’s OK, he’ll heal.” Only this wouldn’t, not really. Pale eyes ticked up from the blood stained skin of Kit’s palm as Kace tried to joke through it, like those brotherly threats would break through whatever spell had worked its way over Kit. The scars would remain, just fading in time, until all that was left was that ghostly reminder of the pain that had been.
Tagged: KIT CLARKE * Word Count: 792 Translation: Lover |
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KIT CLARKE
Werewolf
Posts: 136
Age:
33
Occupation:
Manager at The Ruby Slipper
Status:
It's Complicated
Partner:
Katja De La Cruz
Played by:
Julia
"You make my cold heart warm with a touch."
Last seen Nov 11, 2024 19:01:45 GMT
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Post by KIT CLARKE on Aug 15, 2022 14:32:09 GMT
━ nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky ━
Fucking shell-shocked was what he was, and Kit was fucking tired of it. Just tired, why did it have to happen when he’d seemingly righted all his wrongs?
Why was he cursed to relive this moment again and again when its outcome was reversed? He knew having Kace back didn’t erase his guilt, though, especially when it was mentioned so flippantly.
The knife━not the one Kace had sliced himself with now, but the actual murder weapon━appeared in his hands, and when it landed on the floor it was gone. He remembered how it did the same once he’d come to, after he gutting Kace. He saw it fall, not onto the kitchen tile like it did in reality, but onto the dark floor in Kace’s bedroom, back in that apartment. He was back in that apartment; they both were, sliding to the floor while Kit panted wildly, heart thundering over what he’d done.
Kace was innocent. He wasn’t healing because he wasn’t a fucking murderer, even though Kit had killed to defend his country. Did it believe in him? He was sitting on linoleum in Virginia━did it believe in him? He was working at a fucking club when he could speak five languages and operate specialized machinery. He’d trained and organized other soldiers on the use of highly complicated technical equipment and was responsible for communications at all times and on all missions. He’d pulled his team out of an explosion that’d blown up most of them and permanently disabled what was left.
But here he was, sitting on linoleum in Virginia, taken down by a splatter of blood on a t-shirt.
The only people who believed in him lived in this house. Most were circled around him now, not in the dark bedroom illuminated only by a TV screen, but in this kitchen. He could still smell the coffee, the eggs, and the rest of the uncooked breakfast still in its packages. He could hear the pan sizzling around yolks that would likely be overcooked soon. He could feel Katja’s touch.
When sight failed him━when his brain short-circuited and forced him to see things that weren’t there━Kit knew he could use these tactics to pull him back to reality. Fucking psychologists.
Finally, he could hear them. Kace showed him his chest, bare in terms of blood, and a hand with only one superficial slice. He bled like a stuck pig, but Kit could see for himself that it wasn’t deep. It wouldn’t kill him, not again. His little brother was cracking jokes that wouldn’t get any laughs, which meant he was still breathing, and Katja was soothing him, begging him to look at Kace.
Kit couldn’t see anything but Kace.
Slowly, his glowing gaze slid sideways to her, then faded to its usual blue as he made eye contact. He glanced to where she was circling his wrists and finally allowed his claws to retract, though the pain had done well for keeping him tethered to the Earth. To them.
The half-moon-shaped wounds healed almost instantly, but Kit was left with the blood pooled in his palms. He leaned into Katja, silently thanking her for all that she’d done, for not leaving when so many people would’ve. Women he’d kept in his bed before her arrival in Mystic Falls liked to flee when nightmares slid in. They tried to help at first, of course, but soon realized they were way out of their depth and escaped while they still had the chance.
Katja didn’t. She stayed. She always had, even from the beginning when he’d first started to turn.
Kace didn’t run and hide, either. Even though Kit had murdered him once before.
Finally looking at his brother, Kit blinked slowly, clearing his vision. He slid closer, carefully, on the tile, shifting onto his knees once he was near enough. Lifting a hand, he took Kace’s wrist lightly━just as Katja had done to him━and inspected the wound. Black veins began to crawl up Kit’s arm as he took some of the pain from his brother━the least he could do, he thought━and leaned in, pressing the top of his forehead to Kace’s. With his free hand, he closed his palm around the back of the other man’s neck and held him there in a loving gesture, almost as if they could meld their minds together.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” Shifting in, he moved his hand to wrap his arm around his brother, hugging him close. “I’m the reason you missed out on so much. Even if you’re back now, you still… there’s so much shit to go through and deal with. I’m so fucking happy you’re back, but that ain’t gonna erase what happened, and I know that. I’m so sorry,” The final apology came out as a broken plea, a crack in his voice as he clutched his brother to him like they were still little kids━like Kit was terrified to let him go. He was. He always had been.
He knew an apology didn’t fix everything, either, but he’d still shower them on his baby brother until he couldn’t speak anymore. None of it would be enough, but Kit would try every damn day.
KACE CLARKE | mb end here or w Kace? whatever u wanna do |
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KACE CLARKE
Werewolf
untriggered
Posts: 98
Age:
30
Occupation:
Owner of the Diner
Status:
Single
Played by:
ANGE
Last seen Nov 6, 2024 20:04:23 GMT
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Post by KACE CLARKE on Aug 23, 2022 18:23:40 GMT
Would a cut finger ever just be a cut finger again? Could some little slip happen without it immediately shoving Kit to the edge of a precipice?
Kace could feel his own blood warm on his skin, his stomach churning as much from the sensation now as from the hungover that lingered like a green gilled wraith. Katja tried to make a grab for him, but he wasn’t the one floored by this. He knew what it was, could see that he wasn’t about to bleed out on Frank’s tile floor. It wasn’t cheap carpet under his feet, soaking up the blood that pulsed out of his chest, through the clamp of Kit’s hand. Not that hsi brother was capable of that now. One look at the blood stain on his chest and Kit was in the grip of something else.
A riptide - invisible and vicious - running through their lives. Coming back to life had dumped him right into the middle of it. You didn’t know til you kicked out whether you were still caught in it, didn’t know until it grabbed you and pulled you down again whether you’d sink or swim.
Kit was right in it with him, the way he always had been, but now it was Kit sinking into that dark water that swirled with blood red threads.
Katja was already reaching out, sinking down next to Kit, wrapping herself around him in a way that had his throat thickening. She was saying something, words he didn’t understand, wasn’t sure Kit himself could understand, but maybe it was a siren’s call to lure them both out of this. If it was her intention, it wasn’t fucking working, not all the way. He wasn’t a werewolf - at least he hadn’t killed anybody to trigger it in him the way Kit had - but he didn’t need to be one to see the dark drops of blood hitting the tile beneath Kit. ”You’ve gotta stop man. Kit, you need to loosen up before we’re both messin’ up the floor,” Kace growled low. Frank was probably grumble either way, but he’d mop it up when they weren’t all staring into Kit’s abyss.
Siren’s calls, jokes. All of it was just meaningless in the place Kit had sunk to. The past, all that trauma, clinging to his mind like water stuff and both he and Katja were swimming down, trying to pull him back. Down, down he went, until his ass was on the tile and the cool wood of the cabinet doors was pressed against his shoulder blades. Kace tossed the t-shirt aside, blood running in a fresh line down his palm but not down his chest. That pale barrel of ribs – free of his usual year round tan – rising and falling heavily, bordering on a sob of relief, when Kit met his eye. ”That’s it man. Trust me, I’m alright…” That was pretty far from the fucking truth but it was enough for now. They weren’t gonna be bathed in blue and red lights at any second, Kit wasn’t gonna be bundled in the back of a patrol car. No bars, no morgue, no reaper lurking like Death himself, waiting.
The stuff let go, the rip-tide’s hold loosening. The red still stained everything, smeared on both his and Kit’s hands – like a fucking comment on their shared guilt. Katja was pressing her lips to the top of Kit’s head, her arms sliding around him as her eyes met his. Kace nodded almost imperceptibly to her. Would he have been able to calm Kit the same way without her there? A buffer between the two of them.
Eyes, blue as his own, surrounded by those tangles of beard and hair, met his. Kit blinked, like he was suddenly aware of himself again and then he was sliding forward, Katja releasing him. She stood behind the two of them, touching Kit’s head lightly, a reassurance he guessed before she slipped out of the room. Kace swallowed hard as Kit’s fingers closing around his wrist, sandy brows beetling together as black veins suddenly started to crawl up Kit’s arm. ”What the fuck’s that?” he rasped. Something, some gift in the pile of shit being a werewolf seemed to entail, the pain retreating, like a wave suddenly rolling out beyond view.
The tension melted out of Kace, leaving him sagging into his big brother. Their brows rested together, his hand finding the side of Kit’s head as his brother’s found the back of his neck. Holding the two of them there together like Spock pulling off some sorta Vulcan mind meld – images of it flickered in his head like that old TV in his room back in Texas, blue light flickering in a different way to the one that had killed him.
”Hey, man. Stop.” There was a bite to that low voice, not razor sharp like the blade that’d sliced his finger, but enough to cut Kit’s guilt off. ”If you’re apologising, then I need to. You didn’t start this, man. I did. I cost you so fuckin’ much ‘cause I didn’t think. I was fuckin’ stupid and you paid for that.” Kace rested his chin on Kit’s shoulder, the hand that wasn’t still dripping – which was fucking weird without the accompanying pain – clapping Kit’s back. ”I forgive you. You hear that? I’m not blaming you for any of it, except for this…” That same thin, gruff thread of humour worked through his voice as he twitched his wrist in Kit’s hold. ”You helped me get back. I get to be here with you, that’s all that matters now. Love you.” The words were a blade in his throat. They’d never exactly been Kamilla’s thing, not in a way she honestly meant it. They’d always torn their way out of his own throat, bloody, threatening to stain the waters, but now they were salt in the water, cleansing those wounds that were still gonna ooze blood for a long time to come.
Sniffling faintly, Kace looked up at Katja as she padded back into the room with the first aid kit in hand. He pulled back the hand from Kit’s back knuckling under his nose as he looked up at her. ”You gonna kiss it better?” A normal brotherly jab that eased the pressure in his chest. There was still so much else to be patched up, but for now those gaping wounds were staunched at least.
Tagged: Katja & KIT CLARKE (The End) * Word Count: 1079 |
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