Valentine's Day! It's a day for love, and chocolate and gooey mushy stuff. Apparently it is also the day for panic. The quiet calm of the house is not meant to stay that way, sadly, as a tiny pink wrecking ball comes barrelling through the front door. Ting told her just to walk in whenever, but Dove isn't walking, she's running. She's not just running either, it's more of a blink of vibrating energy. The door is slammed inward as Dove comes Celerity speeds right into the main area, skidding to a screeching halt. "Deckard!" It's a bellowing cry from the tiny Daeva filled with urgency.
Then the woman is dropping, down to her hands and knees, the vibrating energy that was all around her just sapped out of the air, along with what was left of her strength. As her arms and knees impact the floor, things clatter down out of her arms, mirror shards and sea shells making a loud noise as they impact on the floor underneath her body. Dove is drenched from head to toe, though most of it has already frozen on her in little icicles from the cold and the running. Her slender form is trembling in the bowed state, head down, hair mostly frozen in place. Is she cold? Do vampires feel the cold? Why is she shaking? Splat... splat. Little droplets of blood hit the floor. Coming from... her face?
Deckard had been working on some arts and crafts in his room upstairs, his earbuds in and on low volume. It was Valentine's day, as his phone informed him, so once he figured out what that was, there was only one thing to do. Work on some Valentine's day cards! Buying those were for suckers who thought money could buy people. No! He would make his own, from scratch. They were starting to take shape, and for as terrible as Deckard's artistry was, he was hoping his friends would want to frame his work.
The slamming of the door downstairs caught Deckard's attention. He popped the earbuds out and listened. Someone screamed his name...and there was urgency in the voice. Female. Distraught. It was important, and someone had just broken into the home. The voice sounded familiar...not Ting's sing song voice, nor Molly's crass sailor's voice. Who could it have been? Instead of running downstairs, Deckard disappeared in a shower of snowflakes and frigid wind, only to reappear directly in front of Dove. He was standing before her, looking ready to stab someone, his Keystone manifested and in his hand, glowing a cold turquoise light. The ground frosted beneath his bare feet where he arrived, and the air around him was certainly colder than the air that was outside. With eyes darting around, seeing only Dove on the ground, his concern only rose. "Dove? What's going on?" Blood dripping from her face? Deckard wasn't the smartest sausage in the shed, but he knew Vampires only cried real tears when they were fake...so that meant only one thing. She was crying for real. The confusion was readily visible on his face, and he continued to be on guard, as if he were about to come under attack at any second.
It takes a couple of moments for Dove's head to finally lift, and when she does it's clear he was right. The blood streaks down her face from her eyes, the large hazel gaze heartbreaking and raw. "She took them," she whispers in a broken tone. Her body falls back, settling her frame onto her heels with knees still bowed. As she pulls away it revealed the broken shards of glass and the sea shells, now blood splattered. "Ingrid. She took them. They..."
Hands come up to cover her face as she struggles to reign in the emotions, but fails utterly. Her hands are still shaking, entire body shivering as if she very well can't stop. The blood is smeared across her face as she swipes her eyes, staring up at Deckard with that Keystone in his hand. "We summoned her. Sentinels showed up. She offered a --a boon. Told Ting to wear her mantle and strike down her foes. Ting-- she stepped into the circle with her. Molly too. I tried to stop them, I wasn't strong enough to stop them." A sob bellows up, the blood still streaming. She's losing vitae, that can't be good, but she can't seem to stop it either.
"They vanished. All of them. She took them."
At the words 'She took them', Deckard's eyes widened. Dove was crying for real. Even if she was a disgusting corpse, Deckard could read the emotion she expressed. While he wasn't a human lie detector like someone he knew, he wasn't too shabby himself. When he realized that emotion was real, his brows furrowed, and he focused all of his attention on the woman in front of him, and on the objects she carried. He remained still, almost perfectly so, and listened. Intently.
It wasn't immediate. It wasn't instant. But the more Dove explained, the faster Deckard started to breathe. The faster Dove would have been able to hear his heartbeat. His lips twitched. The grip upon Expectation tightened, both of his fists going white-knuckled. It might have appeared as if he were about to go berserk by the time Dove finished...but the strangest thing happened. Instead of lashing out, instead of asking rapidfire questions...instead of acting, Deckard closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. His Keystone vanished, and he stepped forwards to take a knee in front of Dove. He appeared...calm? When he opened his eyes, his visage was a picture of stoicism.
Deckard reached one hand out, slowly, and gently grasped Dove's hand. "Shh. Calm yourself." At those words...something happened. The wild emotions that Dove was experiencing? It became...extremely difficult to feel them. It was as if something was...filtering everything else out, so she could feel...at peace. "Dove. This is important. I need you to focus, and start from the beginning."
The strange thing about Dove is that there's no emotion detection needed. For some reason, unlike any other vampire that Deckard has ever met before, Dove's emotions are on the surface and raw. More exposed than even a mortal's might be. More human than human. The curse of her bloodline. Between the trembling and the vitae rushing down her cheeks, it's clear that she's on the edge of a break, and who knows what happens at that point. Well, she does. It's not fun for the people around her for certain.
More gold than hazel at the moment, Dove's eyes widen as Deckard reaches out for her face. But for whatever reason she isn't pulling away, just staring up at him. He pushes against those emotions, and it's -hard- to push them back. Like they are bound and twisted through her, a part of her that cuts right to the bone. But eventually Deckard makes headway and the pain begins to eb. Dove's expression softens into peace and confusion, the tears finally stopping, the trembling lessening. A hand reaches up to gently rest on the back of his, studying his face. "...how?" It's a miracle.
Rapid blinking as everything floods through her mind now, head bobbing twice in his hands. "Right. Ting, Molly, and I came together to ritual summon Ingrid. She appeared, and was not happy about it. Ting offered to serve her, which was the first time Ingrid tried to get her into the circle. Molly offered to serve in her stead, and I managed to grab them both before they could touch her. But she kept talking. She said that we weren't strong enough to take them alone."
Deckard's breathing hadn't returned to normal, not quite yet...but it was quickly returning to an even pace, Deckard himself unable to avoid the serenity he had forced upon Dove. Even if she was distraught, at no point did Deckard look Dove in the eyes. She simply didn't have the same level of trustworthiness with Deckard as some other people had managed to earn. "It doesn't matter how. What matters is the details." His voice was sharp, cold and to the point. He couldn't be emotional. Not yet. Even if his powers weren't holding the soothing feelings in place, he'd have to compartmentalize until he knew all the details. "Why did you want to summon Ingrid? Why was she upset?" Those were his first questions, the most important ones to give context to the situation of past and future. "Also, you mentioned Sentinel. They arrived? When? What happened to them?" The true enemy. The ones that brought the situation upon the ones he cared about. For all he knew about them, it was nothing compared to what he needed to know. As much as he wanted to ask if Ting and Molly were okay, those questions were pointless. Information, pertinent information, was required to take action.
Having told people not to look in her, or any vampire in the eyes, Dove isn't surprised. Or maybe she just doesn't notice. Whatever the case, for the moment, the calm has settled over her, so she isn't planning on moving away anytime soon. "Summoning to ask questions. Try to piece together more of the puzzle. I think the hope was that she could tell us more about the links to the jewelry and how to free them from Sentinel." Her hand presses on his, keeping it firmly on her face. Keep that sweet sweet not-feeling coming, dead boy! "She was upset because evil monsters tend not to enjoy being called places against their will. I'm guessing, anyway." She nods again.
"Sentinel seems to know when we summon, the same thing happened when Jackson and I called on Elizabeth, Lizzy. The red head. They showed up fast. This time too. It's like they know the moment the summoning happens and immediately suit up to stop it. When they showed up, Ingrid offered power to us. Ting and Molly both jumped into the circle with her to accept it." She lifts her hands, staring at them for a moment as if they betrayed her. "I'm not Jackson, I didn't have the strength to pull them away. It was all I could do to pull free so I didn't end up in the circle too. Then they vanished in a puff of snow and cold." Her eyes lift back to his face. "I grabbed everything I could and hit the water. I swam out of there as fast as I could, hopefully before Sentinel even saw me."
Deckard narrowed his eyes, not bothering to pull away from Dove...not just yet, anyway. He had a feeling that Sentinel, or at least Oracle, had some sort of divination-type powers to scry ahead of time. It was probably how they managed to deal with those Colombian Death Squads so easily. "How did you summon Ingrid?" If Ingrid could be summoned once by a Crone, she could be summoned again. If Ting and Molly were alive, there was the possibility to get them back. All he could hope for was that they'd not be tormented, and move on to deal with the most immediate threat. If Sentinel's goon squad was going to show up everytime something on their radar blipped, it would be more than problematic.
"I can draw you a picture of the setup. It was a circle on the beach with the mirror shards, and sea shells and cake. Ting did the summoning. I can write down the words for you. She used her name, her real name, which probably had something to do with it." Dove's eyes close a little as she stays put, finally calming to the point that all of the shaking has finally stopped. It probably helps that her body is starting to thaw. "I can replicate it, but it's going to alert Sentinel. Oracle. Oracle probably, who alerts Sentinel and then tells them where to go." She sighs. "I can try to see if I can look through their eyes, to see if I can see where they are? It'll be difficult without them right in front of me."
Deckard stood, withdrawing his hand from the woman before him. The sensation of calmness remained, despite losing his touch. How did he do that? Taking a sharp breath in, Deckard turned and made his way into the kitchen. "Come, draw the setup. Write down everything related to the summoning." Quickly, Deckard grabbed some blank papers and tossed some stationary onto the island, before moving to the cutlery drawer to withdraw a sharp paring knife. "We do not need to replicate this ritual immediately. We don't know how Ingrid will react, first of all." Deckard returned to the island. "Do you require blood? If you can see through their eyes, I will pay the expense." So that's what the knife was for. He held it to his wrist, ready to slice it open at a moment's notice. "I want to know if they are fine, and where they are."
Dove pulls her hand away from Deckard's as he starts to stand up. It takes a moment for her to pull herself back up to her feet, shaking off the cold. She's starting to drip water as she thaws. But it seems to be the last of her worries. "I don't have them in front of me, so blood isn't going to be enough." She starts to draw everything out for him, fairly talented at it in fact. But then, that's probably not a surprise given her age. "I'm going to have to try a variation of the spell I haven't done before. Which means I will need the knife, because I'll have to cut out my own eye. I'm going to need a tub, too. I'll have to submerge myself in water." Apparently she has no issue cutting off a body part if it means the safety of her friends.
When Dove mentioned that blood wouldn't be enough, Deckard pulled the knife away from his wrist and set the blade down on the countertop. He watched her hands move intently as she drew out the whole ritual, the whole scene. To him, the raw skill was fascinating. Something that Deckard always attempted, but was simply never good enough to reproduce with any semblance of...well, skill. He wasn't envious, since he knew his role in life, and he enjoyed the little macaroni pictures he made. But the time for macaroni pictures was over.
"I will go and fill the tub right now. I will wait with you. Do you require anything beyond the tub and the knife?" The vampire was frozen, or nearly so. He'd be sure only to run scalding hot water. He used it during his training sometimes, but it wasn't something he'd stick around in. For a Vampire though? It'd probably be a nice sensation, almost like the Sun's warming rays upon a mortal's bare skin. While the water began to fill the tub, Deckard made his way to Ting's room to try and find a set of clothes that might fit Dove, as well as a myriad of towels and a bunch of smelly things. What were they? How were they used? Deckard had no idea, and just grabbed a handful of them, whatever they were, and tossed them into the tub. No stinky Vampires around Deckard! They were gross enough as is. With the towels and the clothes laid out nearby, Deckard took a seat near the tub and waited. If she was able to see anything, able to tell him anything, he wanted to be there the instant she knew.
The picture is drawn and the pieces from the ritual, minus the cake, are all set on the counter top. A text is sent out at some point, letting Jackson know that something has happened. But it's a peaceful sort of quiet that's washed over Dove as she watches Deckard get ready for everything. She watches with a curious tilt to her head. There's a silent moment, her eyes narrowing on his hands, which had gripped her face while she was crying those bloody tears. She grabs a washcloth while the bath fills and dips it into the water. Once she's seated, she walks over and reaches out to turn his hands over. She draws the cloth over the dried blood to clean it off. "You don't want to accidentally end up getting that in your blood stream," she murmurs, making sure there's no traces left.
Once that's done, she turns and starts to peel out of the wet clothing, letting them drop to the floor by the tub. There's nothing sexual about it, just a clinical stripping. She sinks down into the water, letting out a slow sigh as she stares down at the knife. "It's going to take a lot for me to heal after this, which I have to do before the ritual finishes. I'm going to need blood." Her eyes turn to focus on Deckard. "Yours would be fastest, but I do have a store in my fridge at the cottage. I won't ask you to let me feed from you, I know that makes you uncomfortable. But I will need you to grab that for me before I can do much more once this is over."
Then she's turning the knife towards herself. The blade curves under the eye, a sickening slicing sound hitting the air as she severs the group of nerves behind the eye itself. The eye falls from the socket and immediately begins to turn to ash and fall into the water. Dove's head tilts back, letting the blood pool into the empty socket. Then she submerges herself in the water. The water quickly becomes a bloodied mess, and Dove is gone for atleast a couple of minutes as the eye begins to re-form. By the time she resurfaces, a fresh eye has been grown, and both are wide and pure white, with no hint of iris or pupil. "They're alive. Safe enough. It's winter wherever they are. There's a stream and snow. I can sketch it if you give me paper."
Deckard remained seated by the tub, simply waiting for Dove to do her thing. When she washed his hands off with the washcloth, mentioning he didn't want to get any of her blood into his bloodstream, he nodded slowly. "I know what it does." Unfortunately, he knew all too well. But that was maybe a story to recant another time, when things more important to the 'now' weren't in progress.
When Dove stripped down, Deckard didn't seem to care too much. He didn't make an effort to look away, or to scan her too closely, his own lack of interest in Vampires readily apparent in his lack of reaction. Clinical, one could say. When she mentioned she was going to need blood, Deckard didn't hesitate. "I'll give you mine. Don't be alarmed when you discover what happens." His friends were too important to be nitpicking and squabbling over a little blood. Sure, it was disgusting, but Deckard have never been fed off of by a Daeva. That was going to be a bit of a doozey for him to come to grips with.
When she emerged from the water, speaking of what she saw, Deckard was attentive. He also happened to have been prepared, pulling a notebook out from under a towel, holding it out for her to take, along with a pencil. "Please." He asked, the concern in his voice very real. The eye stabbing thing and the blood magic? Zero fucks given.
His tone, the words, they sink in somewhere in Dove's mind as something to poke around with later. But for right now there are more important things at hand, and she's focusing there. Reaching out to grab a towel, she quickly dried off her hands enough to take the paper so that she can start sketching. Her eyes are still that pure white as she draws the wintery scene of where the girls currently are. There's a pause for a moment, a slow smile starting to etch itself across Dove's lips. Affection? It's hard to tell exactly what that expression is. "Ting is collecting glass shards and building snowmen. I can't hear her, but I think she's singing too. So you know she's safe enough. Or very foolish. Probably both." She finishes drawing, her voice distant as the pad of paper is clumsily offered out. Once free, her hands reach slowly around, searching for something. Deckard's arm. She grips it softly, head tilting. She can't see him, obviously, since her eyes are elsewhere. Pale as she was before, she's even more so now. "Are you sure?"
Well, Dove is hysterical, for most that would probably mean there’ a real problem, to someone who knows her like Jackson, it could just be a day ending in y. Still, a situation, he can only imagine with the things going on, so his bike is heard fairly quickly outside of Ting’s place. Pulling up, the engine’s rumble can be heard and then shut off. He approaches the door calmly, instead of barreling through the door. Knocking even, again. If there is no answer, he just lets himself in after a moment because situation. Then he feels that. The calmness. It doesn’t overly affect him, Jackson is generally calm, until he isn’t. But it does stir his beast into a little growl before he steps inside. Eyes go around the place, searching. He doesn’t call out, instead walking in further, searching for sounds, voices, commotion. What exactly is a situation?!
Deckard watched in rapt attention as Dove drew out the scene she saw. Listened to her words. "You said you were seeing through their eyes...you're watching through Molly's. That means she's also...maybe not well, but fine. Alive." Both of his friends weren't being actively tortured in a most horrendous fashion, which was positive...at least that Deckard could tell through the drawing and through Dove's words. When she latched onto his arms, he rolled his eyes. "Just fucking get it over with. Take as much as you need." Deckard? Had a. Lot. Of. Blood. She'd probably be full well before he had to worry about anything.
"I'm sorry." Clearly Dove knows that this isn't fun for him, and the guilt is obvious in her tone. But it's this or crawl her way home until she can get some blood for herself. "Also, thank you." Lips pull back from her fangs as Dove sinks them into Deckard's wrist to drink. The Kiss is immediate and intense. A Daeva's bite is filled with lust and passion that can curl through a person in a slow boil, but a Tianpan Xiao's kiss comes stronger and harder, like a scalding fire that threatens to overwhelm every nerve in the body.
Dove's eyes widen as she drinks, only taking from him what it took for her to heal. Clearly she could take more, but there's no chance that she's going to take advantage of the situation. She pulls back from his wrist with a sudden gasp, her eyes starting to glow blue. She clamors back in the tub for a moment, knees to her chest as she stares in wonder around her. "Sin Eater." Ghosts. All the ghosts! "Did one of us kill you?" That would make so much sense. The glowing eyes turn to look at Deckard, head tilting.
Jackson can hear the sounds coming from the Bathroom. Clearly whatever is going on is happening in there.
What was it with that disgusting Vampire and trying to be all nice and stuff? Ick! Thankfully, Deckard couldn't really express being disgusted with the aura of calm that was surrounding them. Everything changed the moment her fangs sunk into his flesh. His concentration on maintaining the aura of serenity over the home ceased entirely. There was no way he'd be able to hold onto that, with the Kiss of not just a Daeva, but the most passionate Bloodline of the Daeva. His eyes lit up, and he gasped. It was going to be extremely awkward in a few moments when Deckard realized that some of his blood had voluntarily moved to an area that he'd never have expected to in the company of icky Vampires. Veins in his neck bulged, his muscles tensed, and he began to shake a little, making some...intense breathing noises.
Once she finally let go, an eternity later for the Sin Eater, he stood up and backed away rather quickly, knocking over the stool. "Witch." He said immediately. Clearly he enjoyed himself, considering the situation below his waist, but the aftershock was real. And Deckard was not happy. And for Dove? Neither was the amorphous void on the ground near the tub. It was a miniature black hole with fur and claws, and...the teeth. There were so many teeth, all glowing a cold turquoise colour. It had dozens and dozens of mouths, each gnashing and biting, and it made its way slowly towards Dove. "To think you'd let her do that to you, boy. How far have you fallen?" Its voice wasn't normal. No human vocal chords could reproduce how it was speaking. It was as if bones breaking and tissues wetly snapping and tearing were somehow making the words. Jackson wouldn't see, but Dove would. The maliciousness that it exuded was...disturbing. "Why not barbeque her? You know you'd like to. Make her ashes into a paste for your precious friend to bake into a cake, hmm? Would you eat her then?"
Deckard, of course, wasn't aware that she could see him, and he became very defensive. "None of your fucking business how I died." And then Jackson was there. "Fill you in?" Oh, perfect timing to not only be angry, but have a rage-boner. Great. "Long story. Ask your girlfriend." Deckard snarled.
What a terrible terrible time for that whole calm thing to slip away, because now? Seeing that terrifying beast crawling towards her, now she's terrified. There's only so far she can go in the tub, however, trying to press herself into the tile itself as it starts to snarl. She's staring right at it, those glowing blue eyes wide in terror as she claws at the wall behind her. "J-Jackson," she yelps, waving a hand in his direction in quiet plea for aid. But she yanks the hand back a moment later, not wanting to let it get too close to that -thing-.
There's a flinch as Deckard snarls at her, and here she thought they'd made some progress. But then, he got what he needed from her, right? Why be nice anymore. Or that's one of the thoughts in the thunderstorm of wild emotion that has suddenly come crashing back down around her all at once. Anger, fear, worry, sadness like waves crashing over her. Her arms start to wrap around her tiny form as she makes herself into a ball, the red starting to swell in her eyes again.
Perfect time for the calm to drop indeed, with a Gangrel and a short fuse. Except, it seems not to affect Jackson at all. There’s no visible change, except perhaps when he glances down at Deckard’s problem. A grin forms on his face, and it sounds like he briefly chuckles. “You might want to get that checked out.” The snarl doesn’t get what one might expect from Jackson, an equally aggressive response. Instead it gets a neutral look. “I was actually talking to her. I needed an intelligent response.”
Eyes flicker away from Deckard, seemingly quite unworried about the man and his anger. And then he’s watching Dove flip out. He may not know anything about Blood Magic, but he knows the signs of it’s use, he’s seen her do it enough. But he also can’t see what she’s seeing, so he might be taking it for a side effect of the same thing, or who knows what she might have touched or tapped into. “Oh Dovey, what the fuck is going on?” He moves forward, past Deckard to sit on the step. Stepping on, or through Gnaw, unknowingly. He rests with a seat on the bathtub. “What have you been up to, hmm?” He does have enough compassion, at least, to do something very odd. He puts a hand around her neck. Yeah, that’s weird. Stroking along the artery there like he’s looking for a snack.
Deckard didn't understand what Dove was so afraid of. Suddenly she was freaking out, and then Deckard's concern was back...sort of. He was still angry about the Kiss, previously unaware that he'd have a full body orgasm that...he simply couldn't break out of. She made him want to have his blood stolen from his body. Gnaw revelled in Deckard's pain and confusion. They shared their souls, and some things were simply intuitive. It climbed up onto the edge of the tub at Dove's feet, barking in it's disgusting voice. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The man before you could light you on fire from anywhere in the world...return your bones to the earth for me to chew on. Oh, how it would be so easy..." Gnaw, on the other hand, knew all too well that he was visible. "Would it scare her to know you could kill her, and everyone she loves with but a thought? Oh, boy, if only she knew..." The creature started to crawl overtop of Jackson, who remained oblivious. Was it going to eat him? Hard to tell.
"People...keep barging in...to my home." Deckard said, staring daggers at Jackson. When he looked down at his junk, Deckard looked momentarily confused, before also looking down. Instantly his attention shot towards Dove. "What did you do to me witch?" He had to know. Before he went on a crusade against Sentinel, he had to know he wasn't under some sort of spell.
The closer Gnaw got to Dove, the more she's curling in on herself, the tears streaming down her face again as the barrage of fear dances hand in hand with the rest of the emotions swirling through her. Only Jackson's hand seems to snap her out of it, if only a little bit. The touch on her throat is leaned into, big eyes staring up from the knees that are currently crushed against her face. "You don't see it?" It's obvious that he doesn't see it now, especially when he doesn't notice that the thing is starting to climb on him.
But that's the one emotion that will out-trump all other, every time. Love, protection. It triggers the mother deep down inside of her. "Get off of him," she snarls, looking past Jackson towards his shoulder. She wraps herself around Jackson, eyes blazing as her hand swats out towards the creature. If it were a normal ghost, that slap would land. But one connected to a Sin Eater? "Stay away from him." Dripping wet, barely tall enough to face to face Gnaw with him on Jackson's kneeling shoulder. She doesn't look very scary, she never really does, it's a curse.
"It's just a counter-balance so that the bite doesn't hurt. It's part of my blood. Just go jack off while thinking about murdering vampires, or whatever gets you off and get this -thing- away from Jacks before I get angry." Snarl snarl, awww she's trying. "There are more important things to do."
Gnaw began to cackle, biting at the woman's hand whenever it came near. It was like a jackal, or a hyena...if they were getting butchered while still laughing. It took Deckard a few seconds to click into what he was seeing. Then his expression turned from anger to surprise. "You can see it?" Instantly Deckard pulled Gnaw back into his body, no longer a trace of the Geist anywhere to be seen. It looked very much like the monstrosity was sucked in through the pores in Deckard's skin.
When that realization was over and done with, Deckard's eyes narrowed. "I would have liked to know beforehand what would fucking happen." Anger was rising again, as was a pair of balled fists. Instead of venting his frustrations, he closed his eyes and breathed. "Yes, there are more important things to do. More important things." He repeated those words, almost like a mantra, till he was as cool as a cucumber. Then Jackson opened up his big ole' mouth. "This is Ting's home. But it is also my home. I am pretty sure I live here." Anger rising, again. More breathing exercises. "Dove. We need to strike at Oracle. We must find a way to do so. Cut out the eyes, and the hand cannot be guided. Once that is accomplished, we will retrieve Ting and Molly." Deckard cracked his neck and walked over to Jackson, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Deckard's grip was...unusually tight. It was like a golden eagle grasped his shoulder. "Out of respect for Dove here, I will ignore everything you just said, and ask that once she's decent, you both leave. I'll speak with you both...later. Right now? You both need to leave." Was his grip...warming up? It started to feel...almost scalding. Until it was later peeled away by a growling Jackson like it was nothing more than a feather. A hot feather, sure, but a feather nonetheless. Still, his point was made, and off they went, leaving Deckard to stand in the bathroom. The moment they were out of the house though, he clutched his hand and whimpered. “Son of a bitch…”