Survival Of The Fittest

[ Julien Leblanc continued from Dress For Success ]

He stirred slowly, enjoying the few moments of being something like free from his own self. Of course, nothing lasted forever.

Julien pushed himself up and out of the chair he'd been resting in, stirring the sunlit nebula of dust around him as he moved through the room to pick up his bags again. It wouldn't do to stay here too long, or else he wouldn't want to keep on dragging himself along like he had to. At least he'd been able to sleep something like peacefully in here, though now his neck hurt.

Good thing he still had some painkillers left. He set his backpack down in the chair he'd just occupied to find them, and the cigarettes too. He still had some more to spare, and whatever helped take his mind off of his body steadily failing him was worth it. Not inside though; from the look of the place, it would be liable to set the fucking house on fire if he lit up in there, so he took what he was looking for and limped his way out of the house. At least he didn't have to put some weight into the door to get it open this time.

((Blaise D'Aramitz Continued From All Eyes On We))

"Let's go house shopping."

They remembered the comments they made that afternoon.

No, no, not that one, look at the overgrowth, no doubt it is infested.

Please, that is hardly a roof, what if it rains?

It won't hurt much longer.

If we die it will not be in that monstrosity, have some self-respect.

You are too drunk, don't you see it is more hole than wall?

You can rest soon.

That one will collapse in our sleep. I would bet you the rest of the whiskey that if we come back here within three days it is a ruin.

Hmm. Good walls. A door. I suppose that is a roof. Little signs of intrusion. Yes, it is perfect. We can't stay here. Others will come.

I will take care of you.

They had avoided this place ever since that night much as they avoided any direct thoughts about what they had done. It had not been a conscious thing; to some avoidance was to see this space on the map and feel a twisting in their stomach until they averted their eyes. They would have to plan a route around it, and if they came too close resist the subliminal siren call to turn their head. If they were successful in time one could imagine that when they went to navigate they would see nothing but empty space over this patch, that the winding ways and blocked sight lines would become habit. It was not so far off from their experience, but Blaise's methods took a step further. Empty space implied an absence they would not have tolerated. When they read their map they did so with such self-deception that it was as if there had been no space at all. When this village did not need to exist, it did not. So was their conduct.

It was not dissimilar to how they had treated Megan for years, and villages could not follow you. The task was not so difficult.

Without the layers of lies there was no reason to stay away. They had wandered through the garden where they had shot Alexander on further east into the neighborhood where Dolly had discovered them and further still until they explored the rows of dilapadated houses with alternate perspective. It could not be certain they were the same homes they had spurned that day but they looked similar enough. If they searched, would they find him? Or would there be anything left to find?

A door opened across the street to put that thought on hold. They started to raise their rifle but it only made it half way before they froze. Two things moved; first their head, tilting to the side, then their eyes, scanning across the ragged figure in cycles to try and square its incongruity with the man in their memory. It was him, yes, unmistakably, they would recognize him as readily as they would remember his name in the droning voice of their announcer. The Julien Leblanc in front of them looked like a thing crawled fresh from a grave, though, which would perhaps explain why they hadn't heard of him in so long. He had done nothing but refuse to die.

That intrigued them in a way they could not articulate. Well. They had nowhere to go. They could wait for it to coalesce. The gun stayed pointed at his legs but they smiled. It did not touch their eyes. "Julien. Were you going somewhere?"

Well, he certainly hadn't imagined this would be on the cards. Though he really wasn't sure what to think about the turn of events, all things considered; Blaise always was expert at sending what could be infuriatingly mixed messages, and despite everything it seemed that part of them hadn't changed one bit.

"And missing out on gracing myself with your presence, Blaise? Certainly not," he said, holding up the hand with an unlit cigarette in it as he downed his painkillers. "Not yet, at least."

Of course, Blaise had also done more than their fair share of killing. Not much ambivalence in that, was there now?

What was their favorite word to describe him again? Professional. Yes, that was it. In their past lives Blaise had considered Julien an unparalleled professional. All the time they spent sparring with him had been exhilarating. There was no one who could engage them on equal footing like he did in large part because few that tried understood that games were meant to be fun. Between them they could spin feints for months without ever touching an idea directly and still communicate it with perfect satisfaction to each other. They would enjoy every moment of it as well. Now when they were being reflective without veils they could say that their relationship was most likely the closest thing to love that they had ever allowed themself to indulge.

Of course with that same honesty they were forced to admit it was not love, no more than the obtuse way they communicated was a display of intellect. Both were hollow. Constructs they mutually created because it made them feel better about the people they were that could not avoid the sucking emptiness they were built to contain. Blaise did not love him anymore than they loved Megan, or Dante, or Parker. It was not real. With extreme vanity they might even suggest that like so many others destroyed as their paths crossed he was in this disheveled state because of a spiral caused by their influence. They were not so arrogant anymore though. They had not so much as seen him this entire time. His decisions were his own. Blaise was not responsible for what Julien had been. Only what he was about to become.

If they were still playing with him they might have smiled more genuinely. One would have to be exceptionally dense to take the comment as sincere by appearance alone; nothing about their bloodied and bandaged body suggested anything approaching grace, and even if he held no judgement for what they had done it would be a mistake far below par to consider their presence a blessing. Julien would know that they knew that, and they would know that he knew they knew, and so on and on and on in the endless string. There was entertainment in it, but they could not find the stomach. Their face face fell. A glance around the area followed. They were alone without so much as an obvious camera, but there was still an urge to make their admission more intimate. To signal that this was between them and that prying ears must put in effort if they wished to join in. "A girl demanded my grace not so long ago," they began in their mother tongue. "She told me my grace was ruin. I slit her throat and she seemed delighted. Is that the grace that you missed?"

Julien joined Blaise in it without missing a beat. "The sort you gave Dante too, I take it? Hardly. But the grace I want never has been the grace you want to give, so I'll settle for rolling along with the tide as it comes."

His mouth still felt a little dry, but the water had helped. Painkillers done with, Julien leaned back into the wall behind him a little more, taking the time to bring his lighter to flickering life so he could smoke as he wanted to. "The battered and bruised look suits you surprisingly well," he said in an even tone, "though in all fairness, it does seem to me like you've not been put through the wringer quite so badly as I have."

The rifle in their hands had helped a great deal with that, he was sure.

"No, not like Dante." Denial came sharp. It was impossible for him to understand how he had insulted them. All else went ignored; comparing appearances meant little to them now. Julien had nothing to offer in that realm. It was impressive to a degree that he was standing at all. That resilience could not be all physical fortitude. Underneath his useless body was some motivation that kept him moving.

"He did not speak the words." They wanted to understand it. "I killed him because I could not save him and because I would not let anyone else have him. I believe he understood." They wanted to provoke it. "She did not earn that. Only a loose thread." And once they understood the shape of what drove him, hmm. "And your girl? That, that, she escapes me. Did you grace her?"

Blaise did not imagine Julien could be derailed. Twisting his purposes into doubt and self-flagellation, that was equally unlikely. So when they found what gave Julien the strength to pretend he was still alive, he would come to intimate understanding of their grace.

"That sounds awfully vague for someone who's usually so sure of themselves." He'd touched a nerve, that much was clear, just as he had aimed to. The two of them alike had deserved better than anything to do with this place, but if Julien had to consider it he would say that Dante at least shouldn't have had to deal with Blaise twisting themselves into a pretzel to justify a sweet delusion. "But it does fit well with how I know you, even if I wish it didn't."

A ring of smoke wisped off into the breeze. "As for the girl I killed, in a way I did. She understood the consequences of what it was she set out to do, and we had a fatal disagreement. It was still... well, my regrets about it are my own, regardless of the right to have them or not." Most likely not, but that didn't mean it wasn't right to have them.

Regret, that was a tell. It ruled out a number of possibilities. His position was exposed to a degree, at least in as much as what he was projecting on to them. He believed them uncertain. Vague, that was a more accurate translation.

"I murdered Dante."

They would correct that error in his understanding, not because they owed him truth but because it seemed important. It was not something they spoke of in so many words but there was a sense of fantasy on his part that they were alike. No, no, that was revisionist. It had not be fantastical once. There were a great many similarities in the way they approached the world.

"I put him to sleep to comfort him and shot him with his own pistol. Because I am selfish. I destroy-" And they paused, because their instinct was to say they destroy what they cannot have but that was another revision. Twisted as it were there was purpose in it. "Everything I touch." That was more honest. "There is no better reason."

Blaise envied his cigarette. With more plentiful supply they would join him. Their conversation would be full of statements they were in the habit of punctuating with smoke. "I do not regret it. It is what I am. So your regrets and your..." Natural enough that when they waved over his person it was with their left hand as their right held the gun, but there was a certain poetry to gesturing with their missing digit. "You disappoint. I thought you were, mm, I don't know. Not what you have become. I don't have a name for it."

"Come now, we both know that's bullshit. I could call you callous, but reckless? Certainly not. How much did you try to actually help him, I wonder?"

What Blaise said came as little surprise. They'd always had a corrosive edge to them, so somebody being eaten away by it was more a matter of when than if; Julien was capable at avoiding it, but it had come easier at some times than others and this wasn't one where he could bring himself to care about it all that much any more. Things were different now, after all.

"And shall I take that to mean you intend to destroy me as well? If you do, I'm afraid I'll have to continue disappointing you," he said, letting out another breath of smoke. "Killing me certainly wouldn't be beyond you, yes, but it would hardly be much of an achievement. Besides, we both know those things aren't one and the same.

He had a point. Several if they were to be lax. He still did not understand, but they were starting to; under however he chose to dress it up Julien was driven by stubbornness. He had a will and a way the world would bend as long as he was in it and going back and forth with him verbally was as futile as ever if their aim was to convince him. Words suited other goals better. "I gave him a home. Got him drunk. Made certain his last thoughts were of family and friends that would not suffer like the rest of us. Is that help?" To that Blaise offered a shrug. "I did not do it for him. It made my lies easier. But..." They nodded in contemplation. "If you understood Dante, though, and his pain? Yes. You might consider it help."

They studied him carefully. Julien was not known for his ability to shut his mouth. As with all else they'd offered he would have a retort that would skim the bare minimum needed to suit his point from their words. When it started to form on his lips, they took the shot they had been aiming into the leg he'd been favoring. Straight to the kneecap. At this distance it was difficult to miss, not with so much time to steady and size him up through distraction. Doubtless with those last comments he had been expecting them to go for the kill if they were going to act at all. Hesitation meant that they wanted something from him, yes? Or would he be so stupid as to believe they could not bring themself to hurt him? No. He knew a version of them too well for that. He did not know them. Close enough, though. Close enough that as they made their stride to the doorway they wondered if he could have seen this coming all along but been powerless to stop it. That he had accepted if they would wound rather than kill he could not stop them, and it would not mean anything so different beyond duration.

Without a leg to stand on he had fallen. They gave him nothing and took nothing in response before they slammed the stock into his head. Neither it or the crack as he hit the wall would kill him, but they would put him in a more...agreeable position.

He was right after all. There was a vast difference between death and destruction. A little extra time would not bridge it.

So they would take more. The process to come laid out in their head as readily as any fabrication, but with all the materials they would require little more than an arm's length away. There was only one question in their mind: how the fuck were they going to move him?

They sighed and went to retrieve their rope.

Well, fuck.

See it coming or not, that didn't make it hurt any less. And it hurt a great deal alright.

"Giving people what you think they need over what they say they want isn't always helping them, Blaise." Julien turned his head to the side as much as he could manage to spit out a glob of blood; slowly, so it didn't become too much for his rattled brain and leave him throwing up over himself. "I feel like it's, ah... safe to say I'm an authority on that particular matter, you know?" He could feel the blood streaming down his face, out of the ragged hole in his knee, a cherry on top of all he'd been through so far. The stickiness of it was just a touch worse than shattered bone screaming in torment, in its own little way, for just how much the pain didn't actually matter.

It wasn't to be the end of it after all, he was sure, going by the way he'd been bound to the chair and how Blaise wasn't waiting there to greet him when he'd finally woken up, the only sign of their presence being footsteps in another room. No way out of it either; he'd been in a harness enough times to know when he wasn't struggling his way free, and even if he did somehow manage to escape from this he wouldn't be able to walk at all, let alone move fast enough to actually get away.

Fuck.

When they decided on this course of action they had to consider the possibility that he would escape. That is why his hands and feet had been tied first with speed that came only with practice. It was more than possible that he would wake from the blow before they decided what to do with him and they did not want him to have much means for struggle if he did. By the time he started showing signs of life again though they had found the ratty chair, and with no small amount of effort managed to drag him into it. Ropes around its back secured his arms to his torso and his head and neck to the chair itself. One more tied his leg at the calves to the chair's base. It would not be the most creative set of knots they'd ever worked on him, they would need more far more versatile arrangements of rope for that. it would do for these purposes though.

It was unclear how long he had been awake when he called out to them, not only because they were uncertain how long they had been tending the fire but because he could have used any length of time to try and figure a way out. Yes, even bound like poultry before a holiday feast Julien was capable. He had been strong once and still probably as clever. Some fragment of their lingering impulses hoped that he might set himself free. Not out of compassion for him, certainly not. It was not the fatalistic curiosity that allowed Joanne to lay hands on their gun either, or the false confidence that assured them the boy Parker had assaulted would not shoot them. Call it an investment, perhaps. They planned to put a lot of time into Julien now, and if he managed to jump the first hurdle between him and freedom, well. He would not get away. Without legs and the gods only know what else he would not be able to make it far or pose much in the way of a threat to them. The attempt, though, would tell them that there was still some competence behind his bullheadedness. They would know before they put anymore effort in that he had something worth taking in his spirit. If Julien had already been reduced to his worst, weakest self then they might well leave him in the chair to rot in his own filth.

He was awake when they came back inside. Whether he believed he could debate his way out of this situation or he was stalling they were inclined to indulge him, so they waited outside the bedroom. "I already confessed. I was not trying to help him. You dwell on an argument that you have already won and you miss the point. I repeat myself: I murdered Dante. He didn't ask me to kill him. I chose not for him, but for me. I hope that settles it, because I am not interested in what happened. Let us speculate on what might have, if you please."

They rounded the corner with the spear unfolded. Their hands were insulated from the handle with old clothing they had gathered, while the tip of it glowed with heat. It had spent some time warming in the fire they had made outside, long enough that they were certain it would take skin and flesh on contact. "You have suffered a lot. Dante had only the one injury, in his leg. Half, no, less than half of what you bear, but he was weak. One day, maybe two, and he would have asked for his release." A window for rebuttal opened in their mind and they waved a finger. "Ah, but for a clarity that does not forgive me. I didn't care then or now. You on the other hand...after all you've been through, I'm sure the thought still hasn't come to you. So I'm curious." They waved the tip to the right of his face. "Where is your line?" They waved it to the left. "When will you beg for death?" It hovered between his eyes, just over his nose. "We will know it together. Do you have a preference where we start?"

Glowing heat washed over Julien's face as Blaise held the spear up close to him. He didn't follow it with his eyes as it swayed, staying focused on their face; seeing what awaited him wouldn't make facing it any easier, after all. "So, ah... this is how it's to be, huh?"

The two of them had been in situations like this a time or two before, and he had to wonder if they noticed that there was something like irony in their final meeting being a twisted mockery of better times too. He certainly hoped so. "I've endured most of this for days on end, Blaise," Julien looked down at himself as he said it, "and nothing you could have put me through before would have been enough to break me. That isn't going to be any different even here and now." He started to feel the pace of his heart picking up and pain lanced through his tattered hands as he balled them into fists, the anticipation of what was to come starting to really take hold of him at last. "So pick your fucking poison and let's get this over with, shall we?"

Poison would have been preferable, in its way; at least that way he'd hopefully have the time to find himself somewhere solitary and keep his end all for himself. Or the gun, even; dying at the hands of someone he cared for... well, there were few better choices he could think of, were all the pieces to fall into place. There were worse fates than being left in the past without further ado. But no, Blaise couldn't simply get it over with. They had to indulge the compulsion to strip him of his dignity, hollow him out and leave him a pleading wreck before he died. Too bad, really. They'd lost the right to unravel him the moment they put him in this fucking chair.

Good. Good. He did not flinch at the heat or the blade. It was a test for them both. Julien positioned himself as survivor. Blaise as destroyer. Perhaps it was not immediately obvious but they were both pushing boundaries here. All Blaise had done to this point had been acts of impulse, distant or sudden or both in a way that was largely easy to detach from as they passed. What they proposed to do to Julien required deliberation. Each moment would be experienced together, and the pressure was on them to make it memorable. Too light a touch and it would do little but disappoint him. Too hard and they might kill him, he was such a fragile t-no, no. They were slipping into theatrics to protect themself. They would not allow that. Blaise was not an expert at torture who could callously walk the line. In their chest their heart was pounding away, surely he heard it, surely he knew? If not their heart beat then their sweat. The quiver in their hand perhaps. Any tell would reveal this was not sadistic revelry. To take him over the edge of what he could survive they must go over the edge of what they were capable of inflicting, and they were afraid. Beyond afraid to the point of disgust.

Natural instinct was to cover up their discomfort with more theater. When one saw a scene like this acted out there was always a great deal of monologuing, trite back and forth of the we are not so different variety or assertions of dominance in the captor/captive dynamic. They might have tried that once. If anything crept into their face or voice to dilute their hesitation, though, it was disappointment. Tension leaving their shoulders, a slight frown on their face. A sigh slim enough to be a breath before they spoke. "It is not a game. I take no pleasure no matter the outcome." Satisfaction came in many forms. It would not make them feel better for Julien to suffer. His confession could not fill holes they left gaping with neglect for years on end. To see him die unbent, unbroken despite it all though, that might tear a new one. Forcing him to pass as they would in a sense soothe that lack before it occurred. That was the closest they could come to satisfaction now. Their face traded places with the spear in front of his. "I have nothing. I gain nothing. Do you understand? I am only offended that you pretend to be different."

Blaise leaned away from him. "Speak the words and I will end it."

The flat side of the spear pressed down on his nose with a sputtering crackle.

It felt like his teeth might break apart beneath the tension in his jaw, and the pain was written all over Julien's face. The searing agony left a familiar watery haze over his eyes and in his mind, though one that would dry out soon enough even if he didn't blink it away, and the heat crept under his skin to linger there and take its best shot at driving him fucking crazy all on its own.

"Nothing, hm...?" He had to take talking slowly, work through it all and try his best not to clamp down on his own tongue as he talked. "Like fuck. You gain the memory of seeing me broken." Or at least, they'd think they would. Needless to say, Julien was fully planning on doing his very best to disappoint Blaise, whatever other sadistic ideation might be forming in their mind as they went. This was only the beginning, after all. Of course, he knew full well what that would mean for him as well.

But thinking of the imminent future would only push him further towards wishing to be spared what it might hold, and that just wouldn't do. He would simply have to keep on coping with now. "Though, ah... Have to say, you almost did me a favour. Now I don't have to deal with the lovely scent of burning flesh," he said, unable to help the smile on his face even as it hurt to do so, "and you do. You're sweating more than I am too and yet you're, hah... you're not even the one getting roasted."

And yet you're still here, doing this to me. The smile didn't reach his eyes.