stilljustandrew | (no subject)

(no subject)

*The wake is going on outside, somewhere. There will be glitter, and tulle, and drinking, and funny stories, and general celebration of Meg Giry's life.*

*The thought of being there right now makes Andrew feel sick.*

*He has work to do. His desk is all but invisible under the piles of paper, the stacks of books, the odd dagger paperweight. Angel and his people will be dead in a matter of days, outside time.*

*Anthy's in the cells, and will stay there until they can find a better suspect. She didn't do it. He knows she didn't do it.*

*Andrew sits on the edge of his bed, his hands resting loosely in his lap, and doesn't move.*

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*Still capable of some mischief in a small mean way, oh god --*

What are you doing here, Bowden?

Todd shrugs.

"I felt like dropping by."

Still wearing his shades, he cranes his neck as he takes in the details of the room.

"Nice place. Love the skylight. They're very in this year."

No. No, you do not get to be here--

*Andrew's teeth are clenching almost as hard as his hands, by now.*

You do not get to come in here and talk to me like you don't know what's going on --

Todd - well, you know Todd. He's still smiling.

"Enlighten me, Andrew. Because I get to do whatever I want now."

Why don't you head downstairs and ask Security?

Todd shrugs and takes his shades off, cleaning them briefly on the edge of his blazer before sliding them back on.

"If you don't want to talk to me, I guess I can leave. You just seem like you could use a friend."

You.

Are not.

A friend.

Todd sighs. So difficult, this one.

"I guess you're right. Then I guess you don't need to know who killed Meg."

He turns to leave. Or, at least, makes the semblance of moving towards the door.

*Andrew is very, very still.*

Tell me.

Todd takes his sunglasses off. He moves over to Andrew, seems to hover over him, like he's gained several extra inches he didn't have.

I assure you the lighting is sufficiently spooky. Brings out all the shadows under his eyes and in his cheekbones.

"You were right."

*Andrew nods, very slowly.*

*And then MOVES, unbelievably fast, shoving off the desk behind him and coming at Todd with his right fist raised --*

*-- and with a dagger in his left hand, coming in low while the right hand does its distracting work in the air, coming in from behind his hip and into Todd's gut.*

Todd's neck muscles tense, as does his gut when Andrew shoves the knife in. It sits in there solidly, but...no blood?

Todd peers down at the dagger in his belly, then back at Andrew. "What the fuck are you thinking, you moron?" He finally grins that shiny grin.

"Dead boys don't bleed unless they want to."

He slowly pulls the knife out. No blood, but he licks the blade as if it were there, his eyes sensuously lidded, coy, devious.

*Andrew stumbles back a step in reaction.*

*It doesn't last long. His fist drives at Todd's face again, this time in earnest.*

And this time, Todd vanishes before his eyes. He reappears directly behind him.

"Boo," he breathes. He's always wanted to do that. Blame all that hanging out with Paul and Thom.

*The force of Andrew's blow sends him staggering forward a few steps.*

*He turns around to glare at Todd in bitter fury.*

You're already dead. You're dead and you still won't leave us alone --

What's it gonna take? Silver bullet? Kryptonite? Van Helsing? What's it gonna take to keep you dead?

Todd frowns and folds his arms. "You know, Andrew, I didn't get anything I wanted when I was in this dump. The least I could do was a favor for your girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, I guess."

He leans casually against the door, eyeing Andrew up, daring him to make the next move.

-- a favor?

Todd smiles mysteriously. "Yeah." But he chooses not to elaborate on that. His eyes are cold and distant as he stares at Andrew, yet somehow brighter than they ever were in the living world.

"They're all parading around down there in tutus to 'celebrate' her memory, right? I don't blame you for not joining them."

*Andrew's breath is coming in gulps, hissing through his teeth. He's starting to shake with rage.*

So now what happens?

Todd shrugs, one eyebrow arching. "I guess that's up to you, right? You're the one with all the options. All the choices."

His eyes roll briefly around the room. "I never had many options here."

Well, you already KO'd the option where I kill you, and I don't think you'll go for the option where I get Security in here with enough high-powered mojo to get you down to the cells and keep you there --

*Andrew's a little disturbed, in a distant way, by how level his voice is.*

*Somewhere in the back of his mind he's concluded that Todd's here to kill him. He's confessed to Meg's murder. Surely he can't afford to let Andrew go and tell about it now.*

Todd leans up against the bed, arms folded, looking almost...bored somehow?

"So what does that leave us?"

He looks calmly into Andrew's eyes, smiling.

*There's a pause, and then Andrew returns the smile. It's a dangerously fey look.*

We could always try option one again.

Finding a way to keep you dead could occupy me a good while.

Todd shrugs. "What would be the point? You know I'm dead already."

He squints at the other boy. "...Don't you? I mean, I thought it was obvious."

So very casual.

Undead.

*The tone is one of mild correction, just a little condescending. The face still holds that fey smile.*

The part where you're walking around and talking and killing people? Kind of a giveaway.

Todd just stares at him. His eyes hold nothing. Whatever they hold is not for you.

He has an eerie patience that one supposes only the dead can have. Then again, Todd could always be eerily patient.

At last, Todd sighs.

"Well, now that you know I did it, I guess I'll be going then."

He smiles very pleasantly and turns towards the door. Simple as that, right?

Guess you will.

Guess you'll be coming back later for your next victim, huh?

Todd turns his head briefly to look over his shoulder.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

*The fey look slowly fades from Andrew's face, and he bites off every word when he speaks.*

All I ever wanted you to do was leave us alone.

What I want you to do now is die. Again.

Todd turns around.

There's a blank look in his eye. His face is masklike. Whatever emotion contained inside, there's no way in hell he's going to let you or anyone else see it.

"Here."

He reaches into his white jacket and pulls out an old, worn orange paperback copy of a book. Different Seasons. Stephen King. He tosses it loosely at the bed, but it lands with an even thump.

"See for yourself. I'm done with it."

His hand reaches for the doorway, and when he pulls it open and steps out, it's into a land of glass and mirrors, of sunlight and shadow - far away from this place, closer to his true origins.

Bye bye, Todd-baby.

*He should be worried that Todd's going to come back and kill again, in his selectively physical state, virtually unstoppable.*

*Somehow he isn't. This feels more final than that. This feels like Todd's last word on the subject.*

*His eye falls on the book. No. No, that's Todd's last word on the subject.*

*Almost unable to stop himself, Andrew reaches for the book and flips it open at random. And finds himself staring at the last page of the novella "Apt Pupil."*

*At the last line.*

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