ataraxionlogs | when all of your wishes are granted

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when all of your wishes are granted

CHARACTERS: anybody ⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝
LOCATION: various!
WARNINGS: creepy stuff + other warnings in thread titles.
SUMMARY: couple location starters + open!
NOTES: catch-all for after the network goes down. i don't mind other people using this/starting their own threads for different locations/tagging into this even if you don't intend to rp with severus. go for whatever!

TBA

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Sirius does, in fact, hear the frown, right as he reaches the one of his countdown. And the disapproval makes him grin: exactly the sort of thing that he was looking for. He rubs a thumb against one spot of the mural. The paint is too thick and dried-on to be goopy, but it certainly looks goopy. This reaching arm might have been dipped in something thick and viscous before someone deigned to paint its portrait.

The black hole bit is painted just as thickly. Sirius flips open his penknife and idly scrapes at a bit of it, as Edgeworth talks. He shifts aside so the flakes don't fall onto his boots, with a wry face--though that's more for Xenogen than for the paint itself. Zee no gen. Fuck it. He glances around. Definitely an air of dungeon about the place. It's been ages since he's seen Snape--properly seen him, not just a chance glance after the jump (and thank God those always occur post-shower, which Snape probably skips, ol' greasy). Tyke's ultimatum has actually stuck, but it's irritating, knowing that he's skulking around. And doing a bit more than skulking, and Sirius shudders a little to himself, and desperately shoves away the thought of Remus and the CMO and the girlfriend and the dogs. Space is mad.

"Of course it is," he says, instead, with dark amusement. "Snivellus can't know that the ship is letting people in here, or else he'd have set up all sorts of hexes and traps and things. Probably still has."

Because, you know. He's a bastard. Sirius goes to raise his wand, with the intent to try and winkle out a few of those traps, if he can--to protect Edgeworth, yeah, but also to cock them up and possibly reverse them, just because--

And then he catches sight of the bit of mural at the end. Not black, but suddenly white once more, and red--a figure, and a skull. Charming. Sirius' smile goes more wry again as he steps closer, studying the work. He tosses his penknife in the air and catches it by the handle--tosses it again, and then he steps in and scrapes away a bit of the figure's face. Just a little bit, maybe a thumbnail sized piece. It doesn't come up easily, and leaves behind a little black mark when it does, a blank place without paint, like a pock-mark.

"No sofas here either," he notes aloud, to Edgeworth, carrying on the conversation as he starts in on another little slice. "Or decent armchairs. I'm not surprised. His aesthetic is still stuck in dungeon, it's pathetic."

Edited (t-t-t-typos) 2014-10-30 15:36 (UTC)

It's a bit more than pathetic. It's unsettling. It's evil. Snape is someone who...does nasty things. Edgeworth can still remember the boundless pain of the spell that the man cast on him; he remembers it better than he remembers Arima. He remembers how helpless he was before that magic, and remembers how Snape stood over him, and he thinks he remembers laughter, too, though he's honestly not sure - he's not sure of that - And then later, how Snape had wanted his people to train Edgeworth and his ability, how he'd said that Edgeworth would kill, how he'd kill...

Sirius is still talking behind him, cheerfully cruel. His voice is normal and kind and decent. Edgeworth focuses on his friend, and pushes his hair out of his eyes with his hand shaking only a little bit, and thinks about how nice it will be to settle down in their office after this. Edgeworth fought for so long to keep it looking professional and clean, but Sirius has gradually managed to sneak more and more armchairs and sofas in there...It's terrible, obviously, and quite damages their appearance of professionalism. But it does make it so much nicer to be down there.

They'll be back soon enough. Maybe they can get beers tonight. Maybe Edgeworth can get Sirius started on Snape. He oughtn't, because Tyke wants them to stay away from him, and even though that obviously doesn't mean don't think about him it's still better to stay off the topic, but...Whenever something rattles Edgeworth, it's always so helpful to have Sirius mock it.

"I quite prefer our space," Edgeworth concurs quietly, and then he takes a breath and decides that it's not so bad being down here. His next comment is a little louder. "Here, come over here. I need some light."

"In a minute," Sirius dismisses, distracted--though not unkindly, more in the tone of, oh, hold your hippogriffs, I'm busy. He flicks that next bit of paint onto the floor--another notch out of the mural's face--and starts on a third.

"Who wouldn't prefer our space, anyways." He considers the place where the eyes ought to be, on the face--they could do with some x'ing, maybe, like a scribble he'd do on the margins of his notes. RIP SNIVELLUS. Random acts of vandalism need no real prompting, especially not during an opportunity like this. Twisting his wrist, gently, he levers out that third slice of paint and flicks it to the floor. The cut was a little deeper this time, but he still can't see wall beneath--just more paint. "Can you imagine working in here? And then there's the company."

Deliberately not saying Snape's name. Look how well he's behaving, good dog, et cetera. His penknife scrapes a bit more loudly as he drags it along the side of the mural's face, scratching out a thin line through the white. "I wonder what the incentive is, to stick around."

"I can only speculate," Edgeworth replies. He understands most of the departments, without question. Security keeps them safe; gunnery, little as he likes the mere existence of the department, has the capacity to keep them from external threats; medical is self-evidently valuable; engineering keeps the ship running; science does research into what's keeping them here; agriculture keeps them fed. Xenogen, though? They've always been shifty about their motives. And it cannot be faith in their mission that keeps them here - they work for a self-evident sadist, a rude and cruel man who enjoys the suffering of others. So if it is not for the greater good, and if it is not from loyalty...

There's an uncomfortable, ugly thought. Snape can do the Imperius curse. He's perfectly willing to turn one of those jailable spells against a - what is it that non-magical people are called, a Muggle; why not this other curse? What if he is controlling them? What if there is something darker and worse to the existence of this place? The employees seem largely decent sorts, smart and kind enough; it's not hard to think...

But there's no evidence. None.

Still. Sirius is refusing to come over; it seems he's found something. So Edgeworth turns back, searches for the vague silhouette of his friend. Finds him, and cautiously picks through the tables towards him. Something is occupying Sirius' attention - he looks positively industrious, working at something with a tool in his hand - and so Edgeworth asks him, "What is that? A door, or...?"

"Nah. S' a mural," Sirius answers, without looking around at Edgeworth. He can hear him coming nearer, but he's not particularly fussed. Edgeworth always frowns at him for petty vandalism, and it never goes farther than that. This is more of the same. Someday maybe he'll get up to level sixty and see all of the graffiti that Sirius left up there, when they were spray-painting warnings under orders.

He finishes off the cut down the side of the figure's face, with a flourish, and takes a half step back to admire his handiwork in the weird lighting. "Have you seen these things, they're mad, and getting madder. I'm a little disappointed, 'cos I don't think Sniv did this himself, so I'm not destroying his actual work, but beggars, and choosers, and all."

He reaches out to take a little notch out of the chin, just a flick of paint.

"Stop that." It's not the first that Edgeworth has seen of those murals; nor is it the first he's seen of these new ones, the personalized ones. He has his own, a miserable and cruel sort of thing that made him ill to look at, covered with a blanket back at the security offices. There's nothing to suggest that they're anything worse than innocuous - they're unsettling, but they have yet to do any real harm. But that doesn't mean that they're to be fussed with -

And Sirius has done some real damage to the face of the figure in the center of it. God, with their luck, these things are going to have some mystical property and reflect back upon them all the damage that they do. Sirius will end up with a bloodied, mangled face, all from this ship's foul sense of humor.

So as soon as Edgeworth sees all that damage, he steps in, and shoves Sirius away from it. His face isn't playful; it's not angry, either; it's distressed. Plainly worried.

"Stop. You know full well that when you see something like this from the ship, you should leave it the hell alone. This is how people end up sick or injured."

He should, maybe, know full well. As a wizard he certainly should know not to mess about with paintings and things that appear abruptly without warning, especially those that bear inexplicable likeness to actual people. And of course then there's the ship, which is nearly famous for coming up with schemes and nasty little tricks very much like this--

But all of that is sensible, and reasonable, and Sirius wants neither of those things right now. "Oh, shut up," he says--still in good humour, but a little irritated. "These things have been around, and nothing's happened with them. Don't be such a girl."

And he shoves Edgeworth back, trying to jostle himself back into place so he can get at the mural again. If Edgeworth had left him alone, his boredom would have quickly overtaken him. But now that the mural is A Thing, he's determined to get a few more scrapes at it in, just for the hell of it.

"I mean it," Edgeworth says, shoving Sirius again in return - this time harder. He regrets at once, as he becomes abruptly aware of the danger here: the knife in Sirius' hand isn't particularly large or sharp, but it's still enough to kill someone who falls the wrong way. To say nothing of the glassware and burners around them, the scalpels perhaps hidden around them, the chemicals - Because wouldn't that be like the ship? To let them kill one another by accident, out of retribution for damaging that painting?

So soon as he's shoved him, and soon as Sirius hasn't died by his hand (and there's a cold sort of terror pervading him now at the mere thought) he steps in, putting his bulk between Sirius and the painting. The amusement is gone from him now; the warmth is gone from him; his lips are thin, and his jaw is clenched.

"These once have us in them. They're not like the others. I'm not being a girl; you're being an idiot. Leave it alone, and let's get out of this damned place."

Edgeworth is actually larger and stronger than Sirius--when he chooses to be. Being punched by him is like getting kicked by a bastard hippogriff, but he so rarely punches, no one actually knows about it. And this isn't a punch, right, this is just being pushed aside--but Sirius stares around at Edgeworth all the same, more dull than offended. Like: you're not actually serious, are you?

But he is, and in earnest, and Sirius lets his eyebrows raise just a little.

"All right," he says, but lest Edgeworth mistake that for actual agreement, he adds, scathingly, "girl. What's gotten into you? Have you got one of these murals hanging around somewhere? Oh, hang on--is it offensive? Is that why you're so fussy right now? Because this--" The marks on the mural, the dark lines scratched out on its face-- "is a joke, Edgeworth. I mean, really."

Overreacting. He doesn't say it. He doesn't have to. Instead, he holds up his hands, like he's surrendering--wand in one, open knife still in the other.

"But if you're actually pretending as if you can order me around, I s'ppose I could be convinced to humour you."

He flinches just a little when Sirius asks whether he has one of them. Because he does. Because he's in it, and Sirius is dead at his feet - Sirius, surrounded by others, a jagged cut through his throat, eyes a dark smudge in his pale face. Nothing that horrible, that sickening, can possibly be a joke. So neither can this.

But it's a question he's not going to answer. He doesn't want to begin to talk about it. Sirius isn't going to find out about it; that mural is going to go away without his friend ever seeing what's drawn there. He will not see.

Yet the reminder of the sight of Sirius like that, laid low, murdered, makes Edgeworth lift his own hands. The motion is a calming one, soothing, trying to get him out of the mean humor he's in. Sirius, as Edgeworth has learned, has his own strange sort of pride; he doesn't back down from a challenge, and when his credibility as a jokester is on the line he fights with more tenacity than Edgeworth does for his professional reputation. If Sirius' pride gets wounded, he may dig in his heels. And if this mural has the ability to harm Sirius, or if Edgeworth's is some prophecy, then...

"Then fine. Yes. I'm a girl. So indulge my girlishness." Even nervous, even rubbed raw by fear, Edgeworth can't say that without a healthy dose of caustic scorn; he can't let go completely of his ego. But he says it. "Look. I don't want to spend any more time in here. I don't want to spend another moment thinking about Snape, let alone fighting over him. And this place reeks of him. Let's just go."

"We're not fighting over him," Sirius says, irritated, "honestly--"

But the comment on hygiene (in this case, poor hygiene resulting in foul smell) amuses him, the way it's always sure to amuse him--predictable in that, too, like always. And it helps that Edgeworth calls himself a girl, however sarcastically he says it. Both are enough to soften him a little, though not quite enough to outright banish his irritation at the interruption.

With a sharp sigh, he drops his arms, both wand and penknife at his side once more. "Well, at least you've admitted it--" Girlishness, that is-- "--but it's not really an excuse for you acting so crazed over this. You're taking this far too seriously."

He doesn't start toward the door, or anything--Merlin knows where that will actually take them to--but he's not trying to get close to the mural or making the effort to carve anything at it, either. Not yet.

"Well - " He's making headway. Sirius has lost some of the danger in his expression; he's less defiant, less bullishly hostile. And he's not brandishing that knife any longer. There's still that chill Edgeworth feels whenever his adrenaline is going, but the danger at least seems less imminent. And so a little bit of the urgency fades from his voice; he swallows, and then tries to coax Sirius, using their friendship as leverage. (Hoping that won't rebound viciously on him.)

"It's my right to take this far too seriously." He sets his shoulders, gives a little nod, and tries to keep this from sounding too much like a lecture. Tries to keep this from sounding too much like a challenge. "You tell me to lighten up all the time, and I try to do so. So I've earned the right to tell you to get serious a few times. This is one time. I'm - taking it from the bank, as it were."

Right. Make it sound like an exchange. That'll save Sirius' face. That will make it so that he's just indulging his crazy friend. God willing, that will work.

"Come on. I don't want to be here any longer."

"That doesn't even make sense. And anyways, I'm quite Sirius." Se-ri-ous, Si-ri-us. Still not really funny, but Sirius still makes the joke.But that's a good sign, for Edgeworth. It's well known that Edgeworth is overzealous in so much, and bothered by so, so much, things that don't bother anyone else at all, things that no one loses any sleep over but him and him alone. Add this one to the list.

Except there is a small and petty part of Sirius that hates to be told no. Put it down to base rebelliousness, put it down to a wealthy childhood--it doesn't actually matter why he's so very resistant, only that he is. He looks over at the defaced mural, marked with scratches both shallow and deep. Merlin, but he hates Snape.

"One more," he announces, and drags the knife across the general middle of the figure's face, eye and bridge of nose and eye again. Satisfied, Sirius steps back, like an artist that's just finished a particularly good painting. "Think I should sign it, so he knows who's done it?"

But he doesn't. Instead, he turns and shoulders past Edgeworth. "Come on, then, don't piss yourself. Let's go."

He starts forward at that last cut, and his hands itch to grab Sirius' arm and yank it back - but fear holds him back. Fear keeps him from doing it. The sight of Sirius dead in his mural, dead by violence, and Edgeworth clearly responsible - It is most likely a taunt from the ship, and yet it's enough to stay his hand. Cowardly, he lets his friend do what he will.

And then, finally, Sirius is willing to go. Finally. Edgeworth feels ill, a little unsteady on his feet, as he turns and follows Sirius. Is he being foolish? Is he being irrational? He thinks about what an impartial observer would say about this - thinks about how the Miles Edgeworth of two years ago would view the Miles Edgeworth of now - and knows that the younger Edgeworth would be ashamed of how paranoid and superstitious he sounds. That younger Edgeworth would not approve of this vandalism, but from the perspective only of order and decency; he would scorn anyone who was afraid.

Then again, the Miles Edgeworth of two years ago was also a blind idiot.

All he can do now is hope that there are no consequences for this. That Sirius does not end up wounded or killed by the ship for his...insolence. Only once, only fleetingly, does he think to worry for Snape - and he'll regret that later, feel monstrous for the fact that his mind was only on his friend and never on his enemy.

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when all of your wishes are granted

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