asher_talos | [For Stephen] Fangs make the man (Part Two)

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stephen colbert

[For Stephen] Fangs make the man (Part Two)

[Dated to July 14]

Three days and they were still there. They didn’t feel as foreign as they had when he’d first woken up with them; he’d stopped accidentally clamping down on his bottom lip and tongue, forgetting they were there. They almost felt as normal as ever; natural. Right.

Asher decided it was probably best not to think about how right, though. They were just teeth. Everything that had come with them before didn’t seem to affect him now. No allergic reaction to the sun, no superhuman senses, he’d even checked out as ‘normal’ according to the whitecoats at the clinic: normal temperature, normal pulse, all vitals were decidedly human.

Everything else was just in his head... but he was still afraid of snapping, genuinely worried that he'd cross paths with the wrong person who'd say or do something and flip some switch, setting him off. He didn't want to kill anyone, at least he didn't think he did. Maybe a maiming at the most... Or maybe he just didn't want to deal with the consequences of killing someone. There really wasn't much in the way of consequences back home.

This wasn't home, though.

He'd avoided staying in the Compound for too long for the past few days, but he'd begun to miss his bed. He might have even missed waking up with Chloe's nose in his ear, not that he'd admit it.

After showering and braving the clothing box (which seemed to have taken pity on him today), Asher made his way to the dorm room, buttoning up his shirt then sitting down heavily on his bed. Ruffling his damp hair, he flopped back on the mattress, then grabbed a pillow, placing it over his face.

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Stephen all but stomped his way down the stairs, pausing on each individual step in his boredom. He had even tried to read some book on small town life in hopes of finding something to rant about, but no one would come near him.

When he reached the last step, he let out a sigh and actually pondered taking a nap or something. Anything to pass the time. He almost walked past Asher's bed before realizing someone was on it.

After he jumped in surprise and his heart-rate slowed, Stephen squinted at the figure and said, "Oh, you're back. I was starting to think you vanished."

He may have worried a little.

"I don't have that kind of luck," Asher said as he laid unmoving, his words muffled against the pillow.

Although, vanishing from here didn't mean going home for him. To the best of his knowledge, he died, so leaving here just meant the end of the line. For good. There was nowhere for him to go but downstairs.

His hair didn't stand to fare all that well in that kind of humidity.

"Miss me?" Asher ventured, not quite smiling, but he did snort in a quiet bit of bitter laughter.

"Yes," Stephen replied automatically. Then of course, he realized that that had sounded a little weak, so he added, "I mean, if you were gone, I'd have two giant dogs to watch."

Which was still the truth, so Asher shouldn't be too upset with any supposed lying. Stupid Asher and his weird obsession with the truth.

Asher lifted the pillow from his face, just long enough and high enough so his expression -- which more than clearly read What the fuck? -- wasn't lost beneath it. Then, it was back on his face again.

"And a horse," he reminded Stephen helpfully. Or maybe he should leave Beau to Wednesday. The poor animal might just starve to death, then. "Maybe I should make a Will." The way people vanished around here, it didn't seem like too strange an idea. He was sick of people disappearing: Laura, Mort, Odd and Stormy. Gone. Like they'd never even been there at all. Here, gone was as good as dead.

And he bet none of them had Wills.

Stephen had no idea what that look was for. But he wouldn't mind being left the horse...The horse, he liked. Out loud, even, which was more than anyone could say for the dogs. No, Stephen kept any fond feelings for the dogs to himself.

"Are you planning to kill yourself with that pillow?" he asked, unimpressed. He couldn't see another reason for the way Asher had it glued to his face.

"No. I can still breathe just fine. You're free to try smothering me, though." Free to accept the punishment of a knee to his manhood if he acted on the offer, too.

Despite the show, Asher didn't have an actual death wish, and if he had, death by pillow wasn't his choice way to go. It lacked a certain something.

"Are you afraid of the light?" Stephen guessed next. It made little sense, but who was that to stop anyone?

At least this was more entertaining than his earlier plan of...staring into space on his own bed.

"Yeah... that's exactly it. Hold me?" Though Stephen couldn't see it, Asher rolled his eyes. His hands, however, were still good and visible, so he flipped him off, just in case his sarcasm was somehow lost through the pillow.

Yes, Stephen sure had missed Asher's particular brand of kindness. Luckily, Stephen had had decades of experience in ignoring the things he wanted to pretend did not exist.

So he just asked, "So what the hell are you doing?"

Asher special brand of kindness had been honed over centuries, not just decades. But sarcasm and rude hand gestures weren't even the tip of the iceberg. He'd killed people, and he was willing to bet that any of them would have much preferred being flipped off to having their throats ripped out.

"Lying down with a pillow over my face?" He finally answered. Wasn't that obvious?

He knew it was just his imagination, but he could taste them, taste death, still fresh at the tip of each fang. "Fuck," he hissed quietly, choosing to forget that Stephen was in the room for the moment.

"Why? Does it smell good?" Why not give it one more guess?

At Asher's next little exclaimation, Stephen blinked, took a step back. Whether that meant that Asher's lack of patience had just run out even more, or if it was, say, an invite, Stephen didn't want to be around for it.

And yet. He found himself asking, "Um. You okay?"

But he stayed poised to run if need be.

"Like Febreze..." Asher said flatly, having absolutely no idea what Febreze even smelled like to begin with. Why did the simple act of lying down merit a game of Twenty Questions with this man?

Tossing the pillow aside, he contemplated putting the pillowcase over his head as he sat up, but then remembered that he wasn't a pussy and shrugged with a mental fuck it. He couldn't do this all day, every day, so why do it at all? If he started wearing pillowcases over his head, the Island's .2% population that wasn't white, might begin to think that he was organizing an tropical branch of the KKK.

"No one here is 'okay'. And if anyone tells you they are and you don't automatically write them off as a pathological liar, then you're guilty of being just as big an idiot as they are."

Stephen enjoyed Febreze. If Asher's pillow really did smell like that, Stephen would join him.

Naturally, he wanted to argue with Asher's point, but it was pretty true. Who here was okay? Stephen sure wasn't. But it still didn't really answer any questions. Stupid, frustrating Asher.

"Are you any less okay than normal?" he asked, squinting at Asher's face. Maybe he had been horribly deformed or something...

More questions. Or, a question slightly altered and resubmitted, really. But still.

"I'm... not sure just yet," Asher said slowly, considering each word as he said them and just how sincere the statement as a whole had been. Nearly three days now, and he honestly had no idea.

"I'm tired of thinking," he announced mostly to himself as he scrubbed a hand through his nearly dry hair again. "You ever... ever wish for something only to end up getting it and then--" Wondering if you were going to start picking off islanders by the dozen?

Yeah, that would go over well.

"Never mind..."

From what Stephen could see from the distance he was maintaining, Asher looked the same as usual. But he was clearly losing it.

And yeah, Stephen usually didn't regret getting the things he wanted - which was obviously what Asher was thinking about - but there was that one thing...

"Um. Once?" He had never seen Asher so...thoughtful. Usually he was just snappish and sarcastic. It made Stephen a little less inclined to be his normal self.

"What was it? The something," Asher asked, staring up at Stephen expectantly. He sort of doubted it was anything even remotely like what he'd been given, for the second time, but it didn't hurt to ask. Unless it was something completely stupid, then, yeah, it would probably make his head hurt. A lot.

Ordinarily, the tattoo on his wrist was enough of a reminder of Danica, and of home; it was usually covered beneath long sleeved shirts and blazers for most of the day, so it wasn't like it was constantly staring at him. But the fangs were there, right there, and it didn't seem like they would be going anywhere anytime soon.

There a bunch of superficial things - that car that got bad gas mileage but no air conditioning, the third marble statue at the bottom of the stairs, his iPhone with its horrible battery life. But there was a tiny part of him that said if he said any of those, Asher might hurt him...

"...Hiring my building manager?" It was true, for a couple of reasons. Not particularly ones Stephen wanted to discuss, of course.

Asher stared. And then he stared some more. Then he blinked.

"Yeah, that doesn't help." At all. Maybe even a little less than that. "You suck at this," he said, though he wasn't even sure what this was, let alone what Stephen could have done to make it suck less. It was just easy to blame him.

Well, Stephen wasn't about to admit the reasons why he regretted that! It wasn't a damn truth-telling day, after all.

"I didn't know we were playing a game," he said with a touch of annoyance. "Your cheerfulness should have given it away, though, I guess."

He was about to back away again because he had some self-preservation skills, when something kinda-sorta-maybe caught his eye. "What's that?"

"It's not a fucking game," Asher snapped, glaring at him. It was probably the island's idea of fun, but it sure as shit wasn't his.

There was nothing the least bit enjoyable about being dicked around by a sad spit of land that had a worse sense of humor than King did. "What's what?"

The snapping just made the Thing that caught Stephen's eye more apparent. He edged forward, just a tiny bit.

"Your mouth..."

Asher sat a bit straighter at that, setting his jaw tightly and narrowing his eyes in warning. The ice was much thinner than usual.

"Stop staring."

Stephen blinked, put his hands up in a sort of surrender that still managed to be defensive. "Just wondering. You're acting..." Weird? "Like something happened. That's all."

He quite obviously stared at a point on the wall behind Asher.

"...I'm dealing with the aftermath of hiring a building manager," Asher said in his ever sarcastic tone. Stupid Stephen and his stupid unhelpful past which made for stupid metaphors.

Somehow, Stephen assumed Asher was not talking about, say, hiring a guy and liking him despite all reason not to and treating him like shit even while sleeping with him and actually feeling bad about it and therefore treating him like shit even more.

Just as an example.

"About your...mouth?" Stephen asked hesitantly, still not looking at Asher.

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