wedonot | THIRTY NINE ✖ TEXT/SPAM

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THIRTY NINE ✖ TEXT/SPAM

Tony's in a coma and back on the Barge, just in case anyone's looking for him.

[Spam for Erik]

[As soon as they had stepped inside, Charles had decided he didn't like the Overlook Hotel.

There was no rational reason why, as far as he could tell. It was a nice hotel, and he'd been in many over the years, in New York and London and Paris and several other major cities, and this seemed like the sort of place people would come so that they could brag to their friends that they'd stayed at the Overlook for the weekend, to show they had taste and class and wealth, and they'd continue reminiscing about the dinners and elegant parties and interesting people they'd met here for years to come. This was a place presidents and movie stars would visit, and businessmen and their wives (or mistresses), a place to get away from the troubles of the real world, nestled safely in the mountains.

Despite all that, there was something that just put his teeth on edge, made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and he realized about fifteen minutes after they'd entered the building that he'd been clenching his jaw tightly, and forced himself to relax. This was the first port he'd been in without thinking he'd always lived in the world they'd stopped in since they'd momentarily crashed on a desolate planet and been kidnapped and tortured by a hostile alien species, without their abilities, with his spine still damaged, and with no way to escape. Of course he'd be nervous, especially considering how much time had been spent thinking about all of that recently. He was still getting over the trauma, and this was digging up all sorts of bad feelings associated with that. After a while, the concern would wear off, and he could try to enjoy himself, while still keeping a wary eye out for anything about to go horrifically wrong.

Even if he could let himself relax, he wasn't going to be totally dropping his guard, no matter how long they stayed here. He'd been burned once before.

But the uneasiness hadn't tapered off at all. It had actually gotten worse. He couldn't really come up with a reason why - again, it was a nice hotel, there was no logical reason to be afraid of anything here (yet) - but for some reason, the more they saw of the hotel, the more he felt something unpleasant settling in his stomach, a pinched headache starting to form behind his eyes, and the general sense of foreboding left him distracted, incredibly tense and quiet.

He'd stuck by Erik without needing to think about it, partly because why not, really, but also because the tension meant he was reluctant to let his friend out of his sight for long, which was ridiculous because there was nothing to be afraid of (yet) and Charles' telepathy was completely unchanged by the port. Erik could be anywhere in the hotel, and he'd still know where he was basically instantly. But he'd still stuck close, and his friend hadn't questioned him on it.

He'd been asked a question a while ago, long enough that he really should have reacted to it by now, but he hadn't answered. Erik was staring at him expectantly, but he couldn't remember what he'd asked, and he reluctantly tore his eyes away from the door he'd been staring at - 217, the brass plate on the front said - shaking off the feeling that someone was standing on the other side of the door, waiting for someone to come in and looked over at his friend.]

Sorry?

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[The frown smooths, and Erik arches his eyebrows again. A bad feeling; it wasn't as if he couldn't trust Charles, but there was just - nothing to go on. Erik looks around again, crossing his arms.]

What was wrong with the door? [He nods back toward 217. He couldn't do much with a bad feeling, but maybe some explanation would help.]

Nothing. [The initial answer was just as immediate and firm as the second part, even though he still couldn't really articulate what exactly was bothering him about it.] Don't try to open it.

[He definitely had a headache by now, and he briefly kneaded his temples with both hands. He could read minds. He could tell you what you wanted for lunch or what your favorite book was or what you'd done when you'd hoped no one else was looking back in second grade or convince you to walk off a cliff or shoot yourself or wipe away your memories, but he'd never before walked into a building and felt that there was just something wrong here.] Can we please keep walking?

[His voice was more pleading than he intended it to be, but whatever had caught his attention behind that door, he really didn't want to risk a face to face encounter with right now. Or ever.]

[Strange kind of request, that. Erik reaches out with his gift, fingers just twitching. He doesn't try to open the door, just brushes it, reassures himself that it's there and he can feel it.

It's the pleading tone that makes him give in, and Erik nods, starting down the hall again. If he wanted to get away from the door, they'd get away from the door, but Erik couldn't help the curious glance he shot at Charles.]

You've never felt this way before? That something was just off?

[Charles had been about to grab his hand and tell him to stop, but Erik doesn't open the door and he releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. There was a sudden wave of gratitude and relief, and he followed Erik immediately, still sticking close.]

No. [And he wasn't scared.] It doesn't work like that, I don't know why- [He was cut off mid sentence by a sudden sharp throb of pain, and he felt for a moment like his head was splitting open. Something was coming - something had already come? - like a heartbeat, pounding, one word repeating over and over again in time with it, and that word was REDRUM.

Something very bad had happened here, and whatever it was had a fresh round of victims.

That thought faded out almost as soon as it occurred, and it would be a while before he remembered thinking it in the first place. His knees had given out his nose was bleeding, and his head still felt like it was going to split in two, but the throbbing had gotten quieter and he unconsciously shook himself, blinking heavily and trying to clear his blurry vision.]

[Christ, something was really wrong, and Erik grabbed for Charles arm as he dropped, crouching in front of him and looking around, bewildered, for signs of danger or help. He stayed alert while Charles struggled, half expecting to be attacked, and he felt down the line of doors, ready to rip them off by their hinges and use them for protection.

But he saw nothing, felt nothing, and eventually dropped his attention back to Charles with a very deep frown.] Your nose is bleeding.

[A beat, then:] And what the hell was that?

[Charles blinked up at him, confused, and brought a hand to his lip, carefully probing the area with his fingers and staring at them blankly when they came away bloody.] Oh.

[It wasn't a bad nosebleed, but he still suddenly felt afraid, and didn't move to pick himself up off the floor, yet.

(this inhuman place makes human monsters)

He shivered and rubbed his clean hand over his eyes, staring back up at Erik and ignoring his question. It was sort of an accident.]

What's redrum?

Red rum? [The bewilderment was on Erik's face, and he tried pulling Charles up by the hand, suddenly very uncomfortable with this whole thing. This wasn't right, Charles was acting off, and he said the building felt wrong, and Erik ought to take him at his damn word on that.]

I only know light and dark. [And he wasn't particularly fond of rum to begin with. So he pulled Charles' arm again, half dragging him up.] Where on Earth did that come from?

[Charles resisted at first, if only because he was still stunned and not really sure his legs actually wanted to function, properly, but that irrational spike of fear made him move to help Erik pull him up, grabbing onto his friend and not letting go until he was sure he wasn't about to wind up right back on the floor.]

I don't know. It was like someone- something was projecting at me, but I don't know what. And I can't quite sense it now. [He tried, forcing himself to calm down and carefully expand his gift, but he could still just feel the other people who'd come here with them and that same distant, quiet, almost unnoticeable sense of wrong that he couldn't quite touch or pin down or even really explain.

He gave up, pulling himself back with a sigh.]

Do you think there's a bathroom nearby? I should probably... [He trailed off, gesturing at his face, trying to force a smile and winding up with a sort of wan imitation of one.] I'm not sure wandering around with blood on my face is really the message I want to be sending people.

[No, but it may be the message he ought to be sending. Erik didn't let go of Charles right away once he was on his feet, not entirely trusting that he couldn't drop again with another...projection.

Although he was wondering if attack was more accurate.

Lifting his head and looking around, he nodded toward the stairs.] Likely one in the lobby. [He paused, for just a moment, then shook his head.]

You're worrying me.

I'm sorry. [He was genuinely apologetic, although he tried to force a little self deprecating humor in his next statement.] I'm worrying myself a little, if I'm really being honest.

[He wanted to reassure his friend that he would be alright, but he wasn't actually sure of that, and he didn't want to be making promises he couldn't keep.] You'll be the first to know if it gets any worse.

[He still didn't move towards the stairs, though, reluctant to wander too far from Erik.]

[Which meant Erik took the first step, hand dropping from Charles' upper arm (though still ready to grab him again).]

Comforting, [he said dryly, and thought I'd rather not see it get any worse. But neither did Charles, he didn't have to be psychic to know that, so he just headed for the stairs quietly, reaching out to feel for metal, checking shapes and locks, looking for a bathroom.]

[He grimaced apologetically and followed him immediately.]

Sorry. [He sniffed, making a face at the pull of drying blood on his lip. His nose had stopped bleeding, but it was still concerning. He'd never had a reaction like that before, and he was worried about what that might mean. He probably wouldn't know if he was having some kind of telepathic stroke until it was already too late to do anything about it.

He pushed the thought away and was silent again as they kept walking. And when a few minutes later, he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, he just tried to ignore it, even if he couldn't help the involuntary shiver that went down his spine.]

[Erik kept watch on his friend from the corner of his eye, not overt in his concern. But it was certainly present. In the lobby, he directed them to the bathroom, opening the door for Charles from a few feet away. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, frowning deeply.]

Do you feel any better? [He wasn't sure he expected the truth.]

[This time, Charles didn't hesitate to leave Erik's side, immediately heading for the sink and washing the blood off his fingers and lip. He still felt off, but wiping away the physical evidence of the incident helped, and he glanced over at his friend with a more genuine smile.]

Much better. Here's hoping that was just a fluke. [He went to dry his hands off, glancing around the bathroom curiously, almost casually, like nothing had happened and he was just admiring the wallpaper until-

There was blood on the wall. A lot of it.]

[Erik snorts quietly because yeah okay he'll hope that but he sure as hell isn't putting any money on it. And when Charles stops, Erik's eyes follow his. But it's only a wall, with frankly ugly wallpaper. His eyes flick back toward Charles, apprehension growing again.]

Charles?

[He blinked, and the blood was gone. Just clean, ugly wallpaper but expensive looking. No trace of anything.

He shook his head, like that would do any good, and looked over at Erik, eyes wide.]

You didn't-?

[Right, if he wasn't worried before - which he was - he's really fucking worried now.]

There's nothing there. [Dropping his arms to his sides, Erik frowned, stepping into the bathroom and reaching an arm out for Charles' shoulder.]

What was it?

[Charles immediately closed the distance between them, not shying away from Erik's hand, although he does glance back over at the wall, as if expecting the blood to reappear.]

I thought I saw blood on the wall.

[He sounds almost too calm for what just came out of his mouth, even though he honestly felt more than a little panicked. He didn't know if he was hallucinating or actually seeing something that had been there, and had no previous experiences to base this on as something normal that just came along with being a telepath.]

[Erik's eyes flickered toward the wall again.]

There was nothing, [he said slowly, and all the concern was right there on the surface.] I didn't see anything.

[He bites the inside of his cheek, kneading his forehead with the pads of his fingers for a moment, trying to force himself to stay calm and not look back over at the wall. Erik hadn't seen anything. It wasn't real.

Telling himself that over and over again wasn't doing much good.]

I don't know what's happening. [He hadn't meant to sound that scared, because this had never, never happened before, and he didn't know why it was or what it meant.]

[Erik grabbed Charles' shoulder, and guided him out of the bathroom, into the lobby itself so he could sit Charles down on one of the sofas. He pulled a chair over to sit across from him.]

It must be this place, [he said carefully, keeping eye contact. Charles panicking wouldn't help, and keeping him grounded would help.] It's going to be all right.

[Charles didn't protest or shy away from the manhandling and dropped onto the couch with a thud, dropping his head into his hands, pressing the heels against his temples and trying to calm down and locate whatever the hell it was that was causing this. He couldn't sense anything in particular, just a general sense of wrong that settled over him

He looked up at Erik and tried to smile. It felt strained, but he did appreciate what he was doing and saying.]

I know. I'm sorry. [And a little wryly:] I suppose now I know what to expect if I ever find myself in another haunted house.

[Erik snorted, but it was brief, and he kept his eyes on Charles. He was worried, and, abruptly, regretted that he had stopped wearing his helmet. His mouth quirked in case Charles had caught that stray thought, though, and he nodded.]

Maybe you should hang onto my helmet, in case we're ever abruptly disembarked again. [He paused for a beat, finally looking away with a thoughtful expression.]

He didn't announce it at all before hand. We didn't crash again, did we?

I hate your helmet, [he retorted, and even though it was true (and a delicate subject), he was still smiling a little wryly, and clearly intended it as a joke more than anything else. Especially because it might actually have come in handy, here.

Let's just hope we don't need the flight suits too.

That was an interesting question though, and he wracked his brain trying to remember how they'd actually arrived here.]

I don't remember what happened. We were on the Barge, and then we were just... here. And obviously it's not a breach, or we wouldn't remember the Barge at all.

[Fuck those flight suits, he can't believe they actually span universes. He just smiles a little, thinks I know, and leaves it at that. But the smile faded as he tried to remember, too, his mouth twisting a little sourly.]

I'd say at least he had the decency to dress us properly, but. [He doesn't even shrug, because what the hell. It was weird to suddenly be wearing different clothes.]

[Charles snorted, thinking briefly of their first port and how almost no one had woken up in clothes that actually fit or were sensible to wear outside. Things apparently could have been worse.]

That's a fair point. I'm not sure I'd have appreciated wandering around in that snow in my pajamas. [And it probably shouldn't be shocking that he's suddenly seeing the science potential here.] I wonder if this is the final damning evidence that ghosts don't exist in our world.

[Only you, Charles. Erik looks vaguely amused, for the moment.] Unless you've never been anywhere haunted.

[Charles is maybe clinging to that amusement, because if he's really being honest, he's really scared, and this is easier to focus on than admitting to that.] I never told you about the ghost Raven was convinced lived in the study on the second floor of the mansion?

[Erik has no problem with that; when does he ever admit to fear? A smirk tugs at his mouth.] Please don't tell me this was only last year.

No, we were young. I can't say I blame her, a big creaky old house with a dozen rooms no one ever goes in? [Some of the humor falls from his voice as he sort of reconsiders their situation, here.] A bit like this, actually.

[Erik looks around with just his eyes when Charles says it; yes, big creaky house, dozens of rooms no one ever goes in. That seems right.]

Good thing she isn't here, then. Wouldn't want her crying ghost at every sheet covered chair. [Not that he'd actually expect that of her.]

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