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Who: J, Alex and their respective mirrors
Where: All over the place
When: Wednesday night...ish?
Rating: PG-plasmid for plasmid and plasmid. Which means fictional drug references and probably strong language. Enjoy.
Summary: M!Lamb paid a visit to Alex and had some fun with him. Hopped up, he seeks out J to find out what's what.
the Story: Alex feels like his skin is on fire in the best possible way.

He's getting pulled this way and that by the dozen plasmids and tonics now chewing up and spitting out his genetic code. Guess what seems like a good idea? Everything. Guess what seems like a great idea? More ADAM, okay, but also, dropping in on a buddy of his.

How seriously can we take 'buddy'? Well, the strange white wisps that don't really bother him right this second have given him some memories back, and okay, he knows that at one point they were friends. He also remembers bitter arguments at the mansion, and he wants to know what gives.

He may also just be wandering. He can't sit down for more than five minutes.

So, J. This narration can only imagine your delight at the prospect of Alex Kralie turning up at your door. How about an Alex Kralie with wild, hungry eyes and pupils the size of dinnerplates, whose clothes are half-soaked and whose right jeans leg is bloody from the knee down? Or even an Alex Kralie whose bare left wrist is reddened and starting to swell from all the needles jabbed into it, and who keeps snapping the fingers of that hand distractedly?

Or one whose voice, when he knocks and calls out -

"J."

- is oddly discordant, like someone's recorded the voice and then played it back over itself?

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Ooooh, whatever that noise was, it didn't sound good. Wait, it was his name, being spoken by a voice he sort of knows. Maybe he knew it once, but this whole plasmid business put a good sudden stop to that. He growls under his breath. After meeting mirror!Alex, he doesn't want anything at all to do with normal Alex, so he tries to ignore it for a while, but the sound of his voice is so viscerally terrifying to begin with...

Something nags at him. He knows that sort of voice. S'been a while, but he knows what that means. If he could just remember...?

Slowly he works his way over to the closet, pulling out a baseball bat. No, two baseball bats, and then he stands there feeling silly about dual-wielding baseball bats and chucks one back into the closet. "I'm kind of busy," he calls out carefully, trading the wood bat for an aluminum one now, just as indecisive as always. Jesus fuck, J, just fucking pick a bat, this is ridiculous.

"Let me in."

There's a certain tone to his double voice which suggests he can get in, even if J doesn't answer the door. And Alex is pretty sure he can. He doesn't know what plasmid he'd use, but hell, he can try them all.

(Unnoticed by him, a slender white wisp curls its way out of the ceiling and begins to circle down towards him.)

"Fuck you, Alex, I'm busy."

With all the spliced-up psychos he's been getting lately, he's seriously considering a gun. Problem is, he doesn't know how to shoot a gun. He was always shooting film when his family was out at the range, preferring the silence and art of film to the loud noisy blasts of guns.

Well, didn't he ever regret it. And not for the first time in his life, either.

Right as it crosses his mind, he realizes he knows that voice from a game, from a visitor, from an entire fucking condition. No way. Alex's been splicing.

"Oh, shit," he murmurs under his breath, and pulls the second aluminum bat out of the closet again.

"I want to talk!"

He bumps his shoulder against the door, which shakes a little. Then he does it again, harder.

Hah, why hasn't he done this already? J seems like a guy with a lot of answers. He doesn't know why he had cameras, but he does remember charging up J's in the clinic. He doesn't know why they fell out, just remembers arguments. Maybe he was reluctant. Hah, what's reluctance?

(The wisp of smoke circles closer, flitting lazily about as if trying to decide on an entry point.)

"I don't fucking care."

Which, is true. But right now he's more thinking of ways to get out of the room without having Alex see him, and he knows he's got none. Goddamn basement. The mansion must hate him.

Shifting from one foot to the other, he decides to drop the entire bat thing and throws both of them back in the closet, pulling out two fire axes instead. Lighter, easier to wield and much, much sharper? Bonus.

"Go away, Alex. I already got this crap from your friend, Sofia."

"Which one?"

The question is an idly curious one, as Alex steps back from the door and lifts his mended right hand, calling up... electricity? No, that won't help (that was a good one, though). A slimy, vivid green orb? He doesn't even know what that is, still (but it was amazing, he wants to splice with that one again).

He doesn't see the smoke flow into the back of his head in a thin line. He does, for no reason he can think of, recall a broad stretch of grass, throwing a well-chewed tennis ball, and a year-old golden retriever barking crazily as he tears after it. But he dismisses the thought as irrelevant.

"Does it fucking matter? They're both insane."

He wishes he could trick out his fire axes. Make them made of diamonds or studded with rusty nails or something. But he can't, so he fidgets uneasily and starts pulling random, heavy crap out of the closet, stacking it hurriedly against the door.

He doesn't really hope it helps, but maybe it will.

The cement blocks clack as he stacks them hurriedly, unaware of the rhymes in this sentence.

Lolwhat, J.

"The mirror's fucking crazy," and that's said with a kind of animal approval, because apparently fucking crazy gets him this, "but Sof'?"

Hey, here's something that isn't actually making his hand look any different. He can feel the tension of a plasmid in his fingers, some chilly sensation like a breeze in his veins. What does this one do?

"Sof?"

J remembers college with Alex. He remembers everything about it. He remembers when they were good friends.

He misses it more than he could ever say.

But he's bitter now, especially after everything Alex said to him, and he refuses to give in. It's hard to hear him through the tenative wall of cement blocks.

"...You've got to be joking, Alex. Sof is insane. Trust me."

J returns to the closet, standing beside it. When it opens, about 1000 grenades spill out. "...That can't be good."

Alex laughs. He just opens his mouth and goes for it. With no memory of that summer, and the loosening effect of the plasmid high, there's no reason why he shouldn't.

"She's about the most sane person I know. I don't think I've ever once seen her freak out."

He aims down the corridor, pursing his lips with an air of experimentation, and flicks his hand. A violent wind shoots down it, ripping up dust and making doors rattle on their hinges.

Oh sweet.

"Freaking out doesn't mean she isn't insa-"

...That was a loud blast. Uhoh. J braces himself, back against the wall, and more grenades just tumble out of the closet. He hisses at it to stop; it replies with a few more.

Oh well. Hope his aim is good.

"...-ne. _{Please, just leave me alone.}"

He doesn't hear that last bit, not through the cement blocks and the rushing in his own ears. He wouldn't have taken notice if he had.

"Stand back from the door!"

"Wha-"

But then he knows, just knows something's about to go hideously awry.

His mind goes about a million miles an hour and he clambers over all the grenades to the hallway now forming in his room and stretching down. It looks like the hallway from the he'd looked for Alex in, the same he'd seen horrifying video of him sitting in with it...

But he doesn't care. There's a door forming at the end, and a wall, and right to the right there's a staircase to the top floor, the top floor which happens to lead to the first floor of the mansion...

Alex isn't patient. J can't have gotten very far down the stretching corridor before his door and everything in front of it blasts inwards, carried by a concentrated gale. It doesn't go clear across the room or anything, because the cement blocks are damned heavy, but several feet is still plenty of room to allow Alex to stride in unobstructed.

If J happens to glance back, he'll see Alex with a sheen of sweat on his face, staring at his hand and then at the wreckage with awe. He starts laughing again, loose and exhilarated.

"Holy shit."

Nope. Nope. Fuck that. Besides, he's too busy to scrambling up the carpet stairs to care. "_{Please, please lead to the first floor--}"

The stairs are longer than normal, but he's used to the world around him changing now, so he just keeps going. He throws himself down the hallway, against a door, into a -- room. Goddamnit. As long as he expect it to move, it will.

Pushing his way through the debris and back into the hallway, he rams into another, different door, opening into a closet with another door and cursing loudly. "If this door doesn't open to the first floor, I'm moving," he hisses to himself, reaching for it.

Wait, is J running away? Is he running a-fucking-way? Seriously?

"Hey! Don't run away from me!"

He starts sprinting towards those stairs too, suddenly incensed, and flicks through his plasmids until the familiar thick icicles burst out of his skin.

He thrusts his hand out in front of him. The reason he wants J to stop doesn't really factor into how he tries to get J to stop. A burst of white flakes spirals towards the young man, sending thick ice and spiderwebs of frost climbing the stairs a little way behind his heels.

"H-holy shit!"

The carpet gets a little wet from the residual and he panics, diving into the door in the closet, slamming against it and- coming out in the basement hallway.

Weird, but not unwelcome weird.

J starts booking it down the hallway, fully aware of the fact that he's 1) barefoot, 2) in his sweats and pajama shirt, 3) looking like he just rolled out of bed (which he had) and 4) swinging fire axes around while he runs.

He hopes no one minds, sprinting up the stairs. Where's Alex's room again? ... Oh yeah, the tenth fucking floor.

Gritting his teeth, he tries to sprint faster towards the staircase leading to the second floor.

"What the hell, J?" Louder: "What the hell?"

COME BAAAAACK.

Alex is lagging behind, not out of tiredness but because he's distracted by his own plasmid. That was a fucking good one too. The only fear he has - and it's barely a fear, wasn't even a worry at the very peak of the high - is that he won't be able to get more.

...He knows it won't work, it didn't work before, because he only learned about plasmids in the mansion - but he has to try the closet. So Alex isn't right on J's heels, but when J returns to his room he'll find a few generic jars thrown impatiently onto the floor.

Don't think that Alex isn't following, though. He comes pounding up the stairs as J reaches the other set.

"You're fucking insane!" he screams back, and then he trips.

Oh, fuck. He tripped.

Scrambling up again, he uneasily runs for the next staircase. He doesn't even know where it is exactly but it's gotta be somewhere close, right? "What the hell do you even want?!"

Insane?

No, he's not insane. He's buzzing, hot and loud and high. Wasn't there something about not splicing too much? Whatever, he's got this.

"I told you, I wanna talk! What's your problem?"

Alex reaches the hallway, spots J, and lurches sideways a little before running towards him, wild-eyed and uncoordinated.

"You're blasting doors down with gigantic gusts of wind!"

It's hard to keep calling back and running all at once. J stumbles, leaning against a wall for a second, panting. "A-and you're blasting ice at me, and you're chasing me up stairs. There's no way you just want to talk."

Slowly, he starts jogging again, slipping into an empty room. Time to cheat out. A staircase appears before him, leading to a door in the ceiling, and he huffs up it. "Besides, I told you I was done. I don't want to talk to you."

"You won't stop running," says Alex, as if that explains everything. He doesn't throw any more ice, though, despite having a clear shot until J runs into the room. Is that a flicker of doubt?

...a second later he's sure that no, it wasn't, because hah, doubt? What's doubt?

Alex chases J through the door, gradually closing the gap between them. See, he's been flat-out racing. But he hasn't been conserving his energy, and it'll catch up to him soon. Just because he feels superhuman doesn't mean he is.

The door won't open. Fuuuuck, fuck fuck fuck. He throws himself against it and it snaps open after a second, but the physics have him all fucked up and he flies out into the hallway of the ninth floor, slamming against a wall and losing breath.

"I- ... w-... _ow."

Aaaand just about here, halfway up the stairs, is where Alex gets a stitch.

He slows, swearing under his breath, then tries to speed up again, but - ow. So he's forced to stop and bend over his knee, forcing out the worst of the pain. Hell, it should only take him a moment. It's far from the most hurt he's undergone today.

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I've noticed more agitated = more cursing.

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