(Untitled)

[kingshit_lloyd]

[continued from here]

Lloyd was pretty sure he’d heard something, and that something had sounded a hell lot like a scream. He wanted to believe it had been his imagination playing tricks, the wind howling, or just the island being up to its usual shit, but he wasn’t counting on it

Comments

[the_adversary]

Reluctantly, Flagg made the decision to go the door. He had no idea who it would be, but it would do him good to use the gun, maybe reawaken the muscle memory in his trigger finger that had apparently frozen up in the face of Bateman's idiot laughter. He slipped it into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, patted Glen's hand reassuringly-- I'll be right back-- and headed towards the cellar door.

The lights from the lab barely reached the squat stairwell, and he fumbled a bit before he found the handle, his heart still hammering from the humiliation he'd just suffered. Heaving open one of the cellar doors, his free hand found the gun.

Flagg stared up... at Lloyd. But he didn't shoot, didn't even pull out the gun.

But maybe it was time, after all. Why else would Lloyd be here? And even if it wasn't ka, it was a friendly kick in the ass to do what he should've done awhile ago. Lloyd's reliability as a henchman had long since expired.

But he won't give back the stone. And in Gilead--

Shut UP!, he thought, actually flinching

[kingshit_lloyd]

Lloyd's mouth was suddenly dry. The dread of the spooky unknown was gone, and he was left with a feeling that was a great deal more familiar, but also a great deal more real. This was a hell lot more serious than the usual island fuckery. Seeing Flagg wasn't surprising, though, not in the least; it was just a confirmation of the fears Lloyd hadn't wanted to voice, or even think about.

Flagg didn't seem to be in that great a mood, which was odd, considering how the holiday seemed to be tailorerd especially for him. He looked strained somehow, and even though Lloyd was no Sherlock Holmes, he was willing to bet Glen was stashed somewhere inside the house. It took some self-discipiline to keep his eyes from straying over Flagg's shoulder.

"I'm not--" Lloyd began, trying not to let his nervousness show, without much success. "Costume is kind of built-in," he explained, smiling weakly and unconvincingly. "I just, uh, I thought I heard something. Is everything okay?"

[intrinsicworth]

Glen felt Flagg lift the gun away and watched the man without apparent concern walk away to answer the door leaving his mouth, at the very least, freedom to do what he pleased. He didn't know who to thank for his stroke of luck, but he had a few theories nonetheless. He strained to listen, but with his priorities in order, he only waited until Flagg disappeared up the stairway before he took a breath and began to holler.

[the_adversary]

Up until now, a voice in his head-- maybe Marten, gods, maybe even the King himself-- had been politely tapping him on the shoulder, waiting patiently for his regard, but now it had a hand clamped tight around the back of his neck, actually making him stand up a little straighter. It told him to get Lloyd into the house, before Old Yeller got any more chances and shoot both of them as soon as possible. Get this whole fucking mistake over with, this two-bit, embarrassingly amateur revenge scheme.

But for some reason, Flagg was unwilling to listen to this voice, feeling as stubborn and scared and adrenaline-stung as a child flying in the face of orders from a parent. The thought of actually being caught on the island, stuck here courtesy of some erratic hiccup in the universal works was something he had not allowed himself to fear... and yet he had, from the very first, hadn't he? He was a creature comfortable with the theoretical and the abstract, but nothing had really prepared him for this eventuality. Like his old enemy, he had

[kingshit_lloyd]

Sure, everything was fine. Everything was fucking dandy.

The yell - more of an echo from where Lloyd was standing - might have actually turned him a few shades paler, and he refelxively bit down, with painful results. "Owwshit," Lloyd hissed, wincing hard and baring his fangs while at it. He tasted blood straight away, and while in his current condition it tasted a little bit like chocolate syrup, Jesus it stung. It must have been what? The tenth time it had happened today? "I'm a va-ow-ampire, what's it look like?" he shot back, glaring at Flagg with his face still caught in a half-grimace. He hadn't intended for it to come out all bitchy-sounding like that, but he was nervous as hell, his tongue was in danger of turning into swiss cheese, and this night was one big mess about to turn even messier. Glen was in there someplace, and Lloyd couldn't stop his gaze from going over Flagg's shoulder now, only he couldn't see a damn thing