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B-Bhheec -

[ Rhys is barely clinging to both consciousness and sanity, real and newly digitized fingers scrabbling against the floor. When he's hauled up for a distorted, heinous video selfie however, he goes back to attacking Not Angel's masked face.

If it's the last thing he does it'll feel at least somewhat worthwhile. ]

[Numbly, Beckett reflects that one of the few advantages of being punched in the gut every other week over a prolonged period of time is that you get really good at catching your breath. He's got that routine of steadying himself down to an art. Even manages to seal his expression.]

Rhys, stop.

[He's managing this. He's got a plan. Maybe.]

Now, Beckaroo, I already told you. I got th-- son of a--!

[ That scratching at the mask smarts, goddammit, and it earns Rhys a punch to his far-less-distorted face. Fortunately, Angel's puny skinny wuss arms aren't really made for punching.

She does have a really good set of stranglin' hands, though, which are totes going to come into use if Rhys doesn't cut that shit out. ]

[ Rhys does indeed stop, going limp after the punch for a good while to recover and catch his breath.

After a good bout of coughing he looks at the tablet, eye flickering gold through the haze.

Focus on Beckett's voice. Maybe that'll keep him himself for a little bit longer. ]

[It is a cold and sick comfort - very Norfinbury-appropriate - but the sight of that gold flash marginally lifts Beckett's spirits. If Rhys is changing again, as well, then soon Angel-Jack won't have any call to abuse or potentially kill his counterpart. It's probably Rhys's only way out at the moment.

Of course, he has no guarantee that either of them would change back again. Things in the town often return to some status quo, but not always. And they're running out of time...

What's better? Jackening, or death?]

He's transforming, [he tells Angel-Jack in a low voice, still frozen out of all emotion.] If you hurt him now, your other self will make you regret it later.

[ Rhys being less handsy? Good. Beckett talking like Jack is a freaking idiot? Less good. 'Ooh, he's twansforming' - really? No shit, Captain Fangorious. God.

His sourness may be stemming a little from Beckett's lack of reaction. But hey! There are places to go with that. ]

Hey, dumdum, who d'you think's gonna win if he gets pissy and this comes down to a Jack-off?

[ BAD CHOICE OF WORDS ]

-- y'know, a - a Jack vs Jack situation? Spoilers, dumbass, it's the one with the sick siren powers. And hey, I gotta say - not sounding too cut up about your little situation, is he? Rhysie? Pretty sure he got more butthurt about the book.

'Ooh, the knock-off's got a point there'.

[ HoloJack-in-Dumpy, floating pressed against the ceiling. Trying to stay quiet to avoid his li'l vessel getting shredded and/or Phaseshifted into oblivion, yes, but he can't resist a Beckett Barb.

Get rekt, fangy loser.

Rhys deflates. huffs, whimpers -- decides. Though fog and faded consciousness, weighing the same options Beckett is.

Jackening, or death?

He starts ramming the side of his head against the floor, dragging Angel-Jack down by the tether if he must to reach. ]

[This is not expected. Neither of it. Not Jack mentioning the book, to begin with - it takes all of Beckett's willpower not to physically flinch away from that mention, and his willpower isn't what it used to be, so a visible shudder runs through him. He needs to come to Rhys's aid, but - but.

And not what Rhys starts to do, either. He was not expecting that. One shock on top of another breaks through his composure and he grabs for the tablet, one hand flat against the screen that, of course, he can't reach out through.]

Don't - don't! This could still pass, just like last time! Imagine if it did and she woke to find you dead!

[ The tether around their necks doesn't have much give to it, so Jack is very much dragged off balance. Rude. He barks out a short 'HEY,' yanks back, and attempts to pull Rhys' head clear of the floor. By his hair. Naturally. ]

Nuh-uh, Rhys. We're in this for the long haul. What's a little strangling sesh between buddies, huh? Be a good boy and listen to - to, I dunno, Dadpire? Vampapa? Hell if I know. My point is play nice. You know what happens to people who make my little girl cry. Fangfather? I - god, this is freaking dumb.

[ He rolls his eyes, lazily letting his gaze rest on Dumpy. Just gonna. Give the guy a wave. A very glowy purple wave that should serve as a neat lil warning to any fakey-fake not real AIs. ]

Edited 2017-06-05 20:22 (UTC)

[ MUTTERING ]

'Dadula?' Wait - 'Nosfathertu?' Seriously, I'm - I gotta - why has nobody done these before, they're freaking golden. 'Dad Tepes?'

[ The Very Bluest Jack projects a single, massive hand, middle finger up in defiance as Dumpy smeeps a very confused smeep.

Rhys can feel the mask creeping along his own face and it makes him fight harder, screaming until his already hoarse voice gives way to more coughs and sputters. The burst of energy and panic is short lived and he stops struggling.

Just wheezing now, face a soaking mess. At least Beckett can't see, but he can probably hear. ]

[He's stopped. All right. Beckett can breathe again - a little, if only with the knowledge that he's gotten through to some degree and that Rhys sees his point, sees the hope in it. Not that Beckett is good with hope. But survival, yes.

He snarls at Jack's babbling, flashing fangs almost on instinct.] For God's sake shut up. I know you're jealous of what I have with Angel but this is embarrassing. [He says it without thinking. Isn't she his childe in all but the blood? So there.]

Rhys, breathe. This will pass. It's always passed.

IC Contact - Snowblind

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cw suicidal ideation

cw suicidal ideation

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sort of not here but also totally here just ignore it k

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