Escape? That word does not exist

May 01, 2017:

Nate picks up a wounded and drugged Rose after a heavy metal concert. (This scene happens between the logs 5725 and 5757)

Rose's slum apartment in Gotham

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Deathstroke

Plot:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…

It's invigoraing! Some things.

Getting kicked out of a heavy metal theatre of Chidren of Bodom and Iced Eart…. Is a badge she would wea proudly if she ever got to even get the t-shirt, but she was removed before hand and she cussed about it as she left Mattias behind, but took his fucking Goatwore shirt to staunch the blood from her split brow that had crushed into a heabutt that only left her seeing stars.

…. Or was it the alcohol and LSD? Shit if Rose knows.

The ride he offered declined (not so) politely as she headed down the streets towards….
.. East? West? Northish? To Hell…

Booted feet took her towards the bridge though, where at least there she could get her bearings while ass clad in criss cross laced leather shorts, held aloft only by a twine of a bow at hip plant right into a bench, cigarette that dangles from her lips ashing itself with the jolt of frame as she takes her place there, slowly folding over with the shirt now spread to cover her eyes…
…and she vomits…

But as her spine clad in the leather coat bearing familiar studs, maille and emblems - arches with the explosion upon concrete and between boots, shadows around her shift, the plane rattles, and it makes no difference to her what's going on with the realm around her. She drank too much and likely gave herself a concussion on someone elses head!

That and one hand in likely compound-fractured.

Good night…


Nate has been having a pretty bad week. He literally got kicked out of the world when a crazy Inhuman changed reality and took him several days to return to the right Earth. Then he couldn’t find his girlfriend, as her mind had been altered. Fortunately a visit to Belle Reve revealed that… well, she was supposed to be there, only she wasn’t. Weird. And not being able to read minds made finding anything difficult.

So he flew all the way to Gotham, Rose’s latest hangout, and did a more focused scan. Took a while, but her being drunk actually helped, she is projecting and she is… “Rose, you look like hell,” comments the young man. Part happy to find her, part concerned at her state. But he has seen much worse.

A strong hand holds her shoulder, and he keeps her from stumbling down. “Got really smashed, uh? Ah… hell, what happened to your hand?” That injuries makes it not longer funny, it looks bad.


The blow to her head is making everything blur, and some things remain, others go, others…. Hang on…

Like the hand to her shoulder as she releases the demons onto the Gotham sidewalk that has seen 'worse' days aside from her exorcism. "Meh/beh/.. A sputter and that cigarette is flicked aside to scatter and sparate cherry from butt in a spray of embers before it rolls into a gutter.

A leather clad arm sweeps at her lips and the t-shirt drops, showing the split and swell over her -good- eye while the pached one remains immune to… seeing. Or anything for that matter.
Rose then looks to her hand and lifts a shoulder. "I punched a mother fucker. And he didn't give." But her words and rone lower as she gasts the bloodshot azure towards Nate, remembering and having holes in her brain filled suddenly, rapidly, filling blanks while emptiness is crammed with other.

"I didn't think you were coming back," A shake of said hand and she seeks to rise from the bench only to just…remain… It's best, shit goes sideways. At least for periphery.

*Hurk…*

Goatwhore is about to get vomi—- no she's okay… breatthheee

"Where have yo been?" Ask now, or forever hold your peace.


Nate frowns faintly. “I will keep coming back until you ask me to stop,” he must have told her that a few times, the sentence is familiar. “I love you, you silly bitch,” he adds with a sigh, letting her lean on him. “We need to see that hand; you know any safe place around here?” As for her last question, he shakes his head. If he tries to explain with her being this drunk, they will both end up with a headache.


Rose's weight is left upon Nate that that moment, the fact that platinum is stained pink and is stuck to her brow is of no concern.

Rose looks ate up and spit out… But it is fitting right now. Has been lately. But did he just evade her question? A sidelong look is cast his way and her eye narrows. "No, you have said that before." Rose pauses, igoring the self-pulse her hand has. "I am asking. Ripclaw left, everyone left and I only had my Father, which lead…"

Nate's had a shitty time and so has she. Part of her wanted to punch through the prison plate glass and shake him, but anther part of her wanted to live…
…still..
.. she has the bad fist to show for it.

Rose is not one to press, she gets it, right now. For now.

"Safe around here?" A snort that is derisive and has her withdrawing her own smokes and lighter from her coat.

"My place." Red Hook Apartment. Yep. Good as it gets.


“That dump? Ah well… hang on,” Nate takes her into his arms, and flies upwards, protecting the girl with a forcefield. “I think you are too drugged for a serious conversation, Rosie. So… keeping it simple, something has happened. It was big. Steel City was a graveyard a couple weeks ago and now it is a living city again. Some people have changed… some only a bit, others quite a lot. You got touched by it too, it is a relief you recognized me, really. I was worried for you.”


"Dump?!" Rose's voice squeaks, broken long from the scream and shout of the concert and then how dare he insult her fucking SLUM?!

"You visited me at the prison too… You came after me years ago from…" A shrug of shoulders and when they take off she remembers…. *years ago* their first night out where they were both too fucked up to land correctly after a night at the clubs in New York and introductions of her to…. Was that X-Force?

She does not try too hard, nor does she look down, her head burrows in and her stomach audibly churns as they lift off and then head towards Red Hook. "I'm okay." Maybe? Sometimes… Nevermind the nanobomb in her neck…

Again.


“Sorry, slum,” admits Nate, not sounding very sorry. She screamed ‘slum’ in his mind, otherwise her mind is such a mess he doesn’t know where to start. “I visited you in prison, although not much of a prison, hmm? You didn’t even want to escape.”

Oh yeah, they are always okay. Even when they are bleeding all over each other. “You are okay, but you will be better with that hand bandaged right and some coffee in you. No worries, patching you up is quickly becoming my favorite pastime.”

Memories through her head, but he can barely catch some flashes among the drug/pain haze and the merging of what seem two sets of memories?! Where is Xavier when he needs him?


No he does not have to be sorry in response to her very own sarcasm. But this place is best, it is the worst, and it fits…

When they come upon Red Hook at the ass-crack of dawn it is vacant. Perfect timing to be honest as the stairs are climbed (broken elevator) and the scan of her door allows them inside.
Nothing has changed, in fact a layer of duct shows her lack of presence here, but the ast few weeks have been hell or heaven, but not even Rose knows anymore, she just knows there is a comfort where she is clutched, and the needed heat from Nate's form is absorbed and clutched to in the crinkling of the attire on his shoulder.
…She wanted to vomit again…

"Is it? Or am I just another issue to keep up on?" But as she murmurs it against the over-salivtion she is reaching out to try and find a hold upon a counter…

"I need a sprite… ginger-ale…ale…" Beat, breathe… "The plumbing here sucks."
Inhale…
"Escape? No. That word does not exist. The game is upped in levels. Trust me."


“You are my issue, then,” agrees Nate. Hmm, she must have been travelling. Unlikely there is anything edible in the place. He gets clear water running because he might need water to clean her wounds, but right first of all he drags her to the nearest couch to treat her broken hand. “The whole story can wait until the morning,” glance out, it is morning. “Well, until after breakfast. You are still pretty high,” he taps her brow and half-smirks, “hot mess, as usual.” This time with a side of reality warp. But he grabs her hand carefully and starts cleaning it with telekinesis, trying to figure out which bones are broken and how badly.


"That has not changed then." Rose states dryly as she lowers to a crouch, she looks like she is about to wretch, and with every blink more images flash in her head concussed from heabutting that MotherFucker? Likely, but it seems so real, even as she has fingers burrowed in a t-shirt he wore and offered to staunch blood from letting into her eye.

But the images she sees are far younger her, and do not add up, because where she was..
Where was she, then?

Her spine bows as she keeps back a retch that would spill nothing but alcohol as the drugs are already absorbed, but she keeps it at bay before her other hand is digging thrugh cupbards under the sink, seeking…
Bottles clatter…

But Nate is holding the hand that she is trying to forget, and when he taps her forehead, and starts to try and adjust it into position her teeth grind, her forehead now resting on the cool surface of counters edge while the soles of boots grind and leather moans to keep her positioned and crouched in place.

I messed up again,
when I tried…

"Heavy metal fucked my life," Stated lowly as she rolls to at least prop herself there with him, smiling lightly.

I cracked my head..
..and broke my, heart.

"It's there again…" A pause and she reaches back to rub along the crane of neck. "I'm no hero."..
*Hiccup*


Nate sighs, shaking his head. Then he pulls the girl against him, “relax, whatever it is, I will help you. First your hand, hmm?” The bandages wrap around the fingers firmly, guided by telekinesis. It is not the first time he has to heal that hand, as Rose often punches too hard targets. “Must have been quite the party, next time give me a call. Heavy metal is our thing.”
He wasn’t really paying attention to her words, since she is high, drunk and somewhat incoherent. But now she rubs her neck, a chill goes through his spine. The place where she got when she first arrived to this world. A bomb McCoy and Nightcrawler got off her head.

‘No escape.’

‘It is there again.’

Rose was in jail. But now she is free/not-free. “Tell me, I will help you,” he murmurs.


"Some things you can't help." Even as she is tugged against him, her breath hitches in a hiccup, but not one of nausea, it is a silent restraint to keep from unleashing a torrent upon him that would come with a new form of hysteria she has been fighting with nights like these.

Cuz everything just fell apart for me..

"I have to. No heroes… They're worse. I die on my own terms." A shudder of her body against his and just like the time before he found her in Belle Reve, she nearly climbs into his lap, let him hold her hand out and focus on fixing it, she'll fuck it up again, but it is what she is good at.

"My dad is there," She whispers. "I've made friends.." A murmur. ".. I think.. They care.."

A moment of pause and her other hand grips into his clothes. "Stop going away for so long." Because paths and lines are blurring and her head is a mess.


“Stop leaving me for so long,” protests the young man. “Some things I can’t help, but some things I can help. Your feelings maybe I can’t help you with. But those problems I can solve with fighting or hell, I will be there. You came for me when Apocalypse got me, so allow me to return the favor.”

Nate pulls her closer. Her hand is bandaged, immobilized. She heals quick so she will be fine in a few days. If only her mind would be so easily to mend. “I will stay with you tonight and as long as you want. We can talk over breakfast, okay?”


In her mind perhaps weeks have been months… even years. Everything is scrambled, and it is not as eloquent or tasty as eggs at the nearby greasy spoon (literally), but it at least helps shake the alcohol shakes day-after.

Parsing it all is an issue, but nothing is making sense, puzzle pieces need hammered in with an Iron Fist and the whole picture is needing repainted to suit a force-fed (force) of nature. "Breakfast sounds good." Stated as she seems like a child in his lap, that curl of body is fetal with the hand he aligned and splinted clutched to her chest, the other knotted into his clothes, or the fabrication thereof. Just like that, she slept in bouts - moments she woke and would press him back to lay upon that mattress on the floor, but not once did she let him //go.

"… Then maybe we need to stop pushing." A roll of shoulder in a shrug, but there are lucid moments in there despite the fact that another image of self reflect behind closed eyes. The Orange and Black, the bandanna'd mask, the turmoil, and the bitter taste of self loathing…. Its coming back and pushing itself into gaps within her memory, bleeding out like the dagger she thrust into her own eye - instead of it at the hand of Grant while she was trying to be a Hero.

A Hero with fist thrust within her plexus, movements like a blur..
The burning sensation of the inhaler as she breathes in the adrenaline…
..and she wakes up then, gasping and slapping at her shirt and chest like it is on fire.

"Oh My God…" Realization having her gripping her head, fingers locking in her hair at the bangs descent of widows peak. "This is why I drink…" Right? Riiighhhttt…


This is not the first time, and it is unlikely it is the last one, that Nate spends the night with Rose injured or drugged out of her mind on top of him. It is almost pleasantly familiar, despite the awkwardness, sadness and the chaotic buzz of feverish thoughts running through her head. Awake while she half-sleeps, he catches flashes of her feelings and stray thoughts.

A fight with… is that Flash? Which she lost badly. Her father dragging her into some kind of illegal government outfit, looks something the DEO would do. And now the reality shift merging her memories with the native Rose, a girl that plucked off her own eye. All blurry and unclear. He is very grateful when she wakes up.

“Uh huh, we have a lot of reasons to drink, beautiful,” he murmurs in her ear. “Lucky you that don’t have to deal with uncontrolled telepathy when you get drunk. Maybe next time we can o drinking way out of any city, so I can do it properly?” He kisses her brow, “get a shower, I’ll go hunting for breakfast.”


No..
That's not her father, to the right, is Taskmaster, he manned the chopper that lifted her from the clinic after the run in. The one that left Nightwing and his hopes for her dashed like a fit of shattered glass along a wall.
Spoiler and Flash… #WTFEVER.

DEO is about right. Almost. This is backed, and by /same shit, different world/. Her faher being there, though? Is no help, he at least joined her at the bar the day after and really looked at her…
… and something in her broke, -more-.

Fingers flexed in the casting, more like twitched, as Nate comes close again, sometimes she could simply melt into him, or beat her fist against his chest like a war-drum. One or the other! But that is a semblance of love, right?

His words have her looking at him, head tilted up slightly in a crane before she is unfolding from the fetal recoil to (stiffly) try and shake it all off like a gymnast to head for her mini-bathroom. Spare no expense…
It's as shitty as the rest of the place. Crammed together and a stand up shower. Her bank account bolsters for way more, but she hasn't touched anything in -months- now.

Interest accrues.

"I'm not hungry." A murmur as she peels attire free, the leather long clung to cold-sweatted figure is shed and she is as good as leaving a trail to the bathroom.

"Let me know when, I'll let you know if it's a kill-date." A pause then as the pipes groan to expel water from the depths through the head of the shower. "You hungry?"


“Just a short trip to Starbucks, you need coffee,” notes Nate before closing the door. Is he hungry? When is he not hungry? Still, he hurries up to return before she finishes the shower. Fifteen minutes allows him to bring in back two large coffees and matching orange juice recipients. Also a bag full of cookies and donuts. Then he goes looking in Rose’s fridge for something that is not moldy or alcoholic. Maybe bacon? What about eggs? “You know, this morning we are going to look for a better apartment. I know you have cash.”


Rose is a military shower kind of girl, if it was not for the fact she wanted to take her immobilized fist and drive it through the tiled shower wall, the only thing she manages is a feeble slap of palm upon the wet wall with a resounding SLAP!

Showers are the best places to let it all out and have the breakdowns you were hiccuping back the night before, or morning…something. Time blurs anymore. But after a good cry, a bout of vomiting, she washes it all away with a scouring of teeth, a scrub that leaves her rubbed raw, and has her prancing out of the shower wrapped in a towel that bears far more of a thread count than the apartment bolsters affordability.

Creature comforts and all.

Bacon is in the freezer, eggs? Not happening. But there is bread in the freezer as well, some real butter, cheese - a fresh block with a wedge cut off.
It went with the wine!

Plopping down, still dripping from the shower, she tugs that coffee to her like it is a life-line, a bottle beside (where a coffee make should go)of Bailey's is tugged in and poured to mix with the coffee.

"I do not need a better apartment. This is shit, but it works for what I need, I sleep more in a prison cell then here." A mutter and a shoulder lofts beneath the soaked spires of platinum.


Nate sighs, feeling all too easily her rage and frustration. She is too close to his heart and mind. “A nicer place would make you feel better,” he comments. He can hardly afford one himself, though. Maybe he should start working as a mercenary too.

Bacon is okay, he can fry some bacon without blowing up the kitchen. “Why do you return to a prison cell? Your new friends are in that prison?” No, he is not judging, some of his best friends are wanted criminals. Or maybe political fugitives, definitions vary.

There is a matter more important. “Rose, your mind is split, you have the memories of the native Rose in your head. There was a reality warping a few weeks ago, a very powerful Nuhuman tried to reshape the whole world. He pushed me out of the world and he did something to you and a lot of other people.”


"Because we have to… Sometimes." Simple, right?! The way she says it makes it seem so, but her coffee is drank down to make more room for more Bailey's.

Not a care in the world come when Nate starts to cook. She either forgot, or simply doesn't give two shits if the place burns to the ground. Bet's on -both-.

"A what?" Rose sputters a bit as she looks up and Nate and inhales her coffee instead of drinking it trying not to cough out too much with hand clapped over her face. Like an addict about to sneeze after doing a line. PRECIOUS! "Pushed you out? Reshape… The world?" Fingers make a round-global shape, “or just this coast? World melding shit is major league. Is he dead?" mmediately she is rising to look for her phone.
If not the price on his head is likely a payday that could retire her, Harley, Regan… Fuck Slade and Task (j/k)… Bane, ehhhhh…. Alex? Okay maybe enough artillery to just kill Waller so they can all sleep better.


“I have no idea if he is alive, but if he is everyone is going to want a piece of him,” himself included, admits Nate. “And I have no idea how large are the changes, but since only a tiny few seem to have noticed, I think it affected the whole world. Foreign newscast are not reporting anything wrong or different.”

He grabs his coffee and sip, and then reaches for a cookie, flopping down on the couch again and inviting Rose to come to his side. “All that is very interesting, but my main concern right now is you. You were already falling into a depression and now this, I want to help. Please, let me in.”


The towel is clutched to her chest as she is punching key-cdes into her phone, not a site that is only admitted based on a satellite bounce/code…
Rapid fire, thumbs fly over the screen of the cell phone, and a name, place, last-known-location… Pulled up with a few digi-images of ‘Alfie’ and his face contorted, weeping, or distressed…
Rose stares…
…She knows that look.

A shudder of grip, the phone spider-webbing from where fingers form a hooked grip around the screen’s edges, drawing to the center where it pops and sends the entirety to an oblivion.

“He’s dead to me.” Enough said as the burner-phone is shattered in the curl of palam, a strike f match over the friction of shattered platform, a cigarette lit and her palm aflame before it is cast out a window - Opened and slammed shut as cigarette is pulled upon and shutter rattles in closure.

A lift of nicotine to Nate, and she joins him on the couch, tucking back in and against.
The look of self-destruct was shared.
Alfie is safe from her…
Even as the lottery rises.


Nate peers as Rose seems to find the reality warper so easily, but no… she destroyed her smartphone. She goes through a lot of them, really. “Right,” he mumbles, finishing his cookie and wrapping an arm around Rose’s shoulders. “So, your memory might be all jumbled, but your feelings tell me you are my Rose,” and her scars, and her tattoos. “I think I can help you navigate your mind and separate both sets of memories. I’d rather have Jean’s help for it. Or maybe Emma’s. It looks pretty complicated. Well, you are a ‘bit’ complicated, lover.”

He sips his coffee and leaves the cup on the floor. “Or we can take it slowly, and I should be with you all the time the next few weeks. Your new job makes it hard, though. We also need to deal with it, or at least with the implant in your neck.”


In her lean against Nate, Rose is rolling the cigarette between her fingers, watching the plume of smoke rise in tendrils, warped by rotation whie she listens to him and focuses on something calming… Natural.

"Can we fight this?" States as smoke spills from nostrils and lis upn the long exhale, fllowed by another lift to lips, her eye rimmed in red still.

"You have your duties with your X-Men, I have mine now. Would you betray them or do anything that you would think would risk them… All to change a path that you put yourself in, in the first place?" A pause of wavering breath and she looks at him.
"I am who I am, now. The other memories… things… feelings… They may not be mine, but she's a version of me… One my Father approved of…"
"The people also there… they get it… Like your people do, you. Not me.. You. They get Me. I cannot be anyone but me for anyone, ever. But I will not risk anyone for me either. Not you. Not your X-Men, not my friends…" A tilt back and Rose rolls her head against his shoulder, leaving the shower-wet press to darken his attire as she looks up at him from below.

"We all have to evolve, but then… nor now… will I risk innocent people to save myself, lover."


"We can fight anything and my first duty is too you, Rose," replies Nate. "The X-Men only need me when they are in war, anyway. Right now things are quiet and I am of little use teaching kids."

He sighs. "Okay, I… suppose your memories are yours. You can do whatever you want with them. But at least let me help you short out the mess up there. Separate memories, so you can cope with them. Do not become lost to me, please. Without you, I would… I don't know. I think nothing would keep me here." He runs a hand through her moist hair, "and do not let them hurt you. Particularly your father. He has failed you too many times already, and this… new one, what kind of father lets anyone put a bomb in her daughter's head? Do not trust him."


I'm only human,
afterall..

The feel of his fingers through her hair, his words… They draw eyes to a feline close even if lips draw to a thin line and brows furrow to cast shadows over pale eyes. One blue, one white…

"I am not your first duty." The words seem forboding, darker, deeper. "You were brought forth for much more then saving a heavy dirty soul…" Did he forget she saw his birth, his becoming? Helped save him from it once again…?

She remembers, Rose is seeing things in flickers, the longer they talk, the longer he is present beside her…

But his words, as they draw on… A splay of fingers over his chest nd she is pushing up to stare at Nate - eye to eye… "He is my father. He has put me through Hells, I stabbed out my own eye to be like him." That and a drug induced rage….
Right??
Maybe…?

"Nothing I have done has gotten me anywhere aside from pushed further away." A snap of teeth on lower lip and she draws it in. "I am not going anywhere. Not from you, or my team."

A huff of a laugh and she pulls the cigarette from her lips to drop it in an empty beer bottle. "I trust very few people, not even a hand full. He's not in that tiny grip…" But she wants him to be…


“Hush, that is her… the other Rose,” murmurs Nate, pushing that memory back and the one, the other forward. “You lost your eye saving him, fighting your older brother. And you saved him.” That is important. She is the good daughter. He is the father that treats her like shit and put her through Hell.

“I’ll try to help your friends too,” he adds, pulling her close, “but -you- are my first duty. You are my heart; you are the woman I want to be with all my life. You came to save me when Apocalypse captured me without hesitation, despite the odds being impossible. If I can protect you half as fiercely I will die a happy man.”

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