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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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Coughing, J stumbles over to the door, slamming it shut. God willing, the mansion somehow helps him out, but he doubts it. Instead, he jogs (very, VERY loose term here) over to the next staircase, panting as he fights his way up.

"Cmon, Alex, please be in your room."

Excuse him.

Using the handle is for losers. A blast of air from below knocks the door off its hinges.

...Alex himself takes a few seconds longer to follow.

ohthankgod he found it. Alex's door is a shining beacon to him...

A shining and slightly damp beacon.

He slams against it and stumbles inside, closing the door behind him.

The room is kind of a mess.

One of the first things you might notice is the bathroom, whose door has disappeared, allowing a puddle from within to darken the bedroom carpet. A small, old-fashioned surgical cart stands just on this side of the doorway.

The cart has long since lost its dozen vials and dozen matching hypos, which are scattered around the floor. They've been smashed open. It's not exactly easy to tell in person, but the reader might be interested to hear that the insides have been licked clean.

Then again, the first thing you notice might be the bloodstains on the bed, and on the floor beside the window. Or indeed the massive, wood-handled, stone-headed sledgehammer which seems to be acquainted with these bloodstains via a smudged trail. There's also a cosh on the bed, but that, at least, doesn't seem to have gore on it.

Or the first thing you notice might be that the room's mirror, the mirror which is the only connection to Alex's double, has been smashed by a heavy, fast, solid object. Oh, that's where the bathroom door went.

". . ."

For a long moment, J just stares at the mess. It's like being home again, but the Rapturian edition. He stumbles forward, not quite grasping everything, and leans down, picking up a shard of the mirror.

"This... really, really isn't good," he murmurs to himself, looking back up at the room again, the shard staying in his grasp.

Someone on the other side of the mirror, who is still frustrated with the lack of visibility (although less so now that the fun seems to be over), listens to this new development with interest.

That's Reg-J, right? That sounds like Reg-J. How vaguely unfair that he gets to see the no doubt carnage-strewn aftermath while Alex doesn't. (He'd cross over, but... he wasn't sure whether Mirror Lamb had gone.)

What's Reg-J doing in Alex's room anyway? Alex had gotten the impression he couldn't stand the guy.

Okay, he'll bite. It's just communicating that'll be the problem. The mirror must be broken over there, because on this side it's like he's trying to look through the compound eye of a fly. Alex scoops a black sharpie out of his closet and starts drawing wide, aimless loops on his mirror, hoping to get J's attention.

What a time for the staircases to give him hell.

What a time, indeed. Because J's eyes snap down to the suddenly glinting mirror, and he drops to his knees.

"Alex? Alex."

There's glass in his knee, now (damn it, J, he's cursing himself repeatedly) but glass = blood and blood = usable ink, so he pries the glass out with a heavy wince and shudder and manages to get enough blood to write "HELP" on the shard.

...is he doing what Alex thinks he's doing?

"Dude. I can hear you when you talk."

Oh yeah, and he writes WHAT'S GOING ON? on his side of that shard, around the blood and backwards so that J will be able to read it.

"You've gone fucking insane, that's what." But he doesn't know that Alex can hear him, so he has to rely on smudging the blood away and trying again.

_{EVE. SPLICING. MIRROR LAMB'S FAULT. CHASING.}

It's a small shard, okay?

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I've noticed more agitated = more cursing.

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