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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

â??I needed to leave about ten minutes ago,â? he said, watching his own fingers trace the line of Nathanâ??s jaw. The eerie light of the portraits washed out what little color was in the doctorâ??s face making him look decades older the man he had snuck up on earlier that morning. It was an amazing transformation: he could barely recognize Nathanâ??s earlier pleasure in this drawn, haunted face.

But there was something going unsaid; Graverobber watched unevenly colored eyes which still werenâ??t looking back at him.

â??You donâ??t have to tell me the rest,â? he said, voice not unkind as his expression softened just the tinniest bit. He leaned forward in one final attempt at comfort and whispered, â??Though secrets have a way of getting found out. Be careful.â? A quick tug on the ear with his teeth then Graverobber was pulling away, turning to leave.

This time he did remember his coat. He would have no excuse the next time he showed up at the Wallace home.

If he did.

---

Rotti Largo stared at the paper on his heavy wooden desk. No, more like stared through it, right to the actual oak beneath the transparent film. He was dying. Across from him his two sons shifted, one with the nervous energy of a child that had just been found doing something very, very wrong and the other in his usual, preening motions. Carmela, meanwhile, was still.

He was dying.

Perhaps he had that one thing to be thankful for. Her dealer had taken to stalking Wallace and she had no where but the legal routes to get her fix. That was the problem with monopolies, wasnâ??t it? Piss off the only supplier and you were left out in the cold or with some imitation. Not that the GeneCo formula wasnâ??t good: in fact, if you werenâ??t an abuser, it was perfect.

His daughter, however, was a miserable abuser.

And he, he was dying.

The polished elevator doors slid open with a hiss, revealing two figures: one very tall and thin, the other shorter but nearly just as small. The young girl lead her keeper in, helping him past any furniture that had changed.

Taylor Bankole looked as he always did. He had, perhaps, toned down the flamboyancy: with dark blue slacks and a non-floral solid black shirt. The long white coat and feathers that had been braided into his white hair was, perhaps, something he considered to be rather tame. Bankole had gone completely native awhile back, the researcher barely visible beneath the slum trappings. Rotti could see his two boys give each other a look as Bankoleâ??s aid helped him to his seat. They should always be aware that every man could end up on the streets, insane like the old doctor.

Not Rotti Largo, of course. Heâ??d made his fortune and he would end up beneath them. And this colorful scarecrow of a man who had turned milky white eyes onto him would outlive him. The little girl took her place at his side, leaned forward and whispered.

â??Ah, Doctor Bankole,â? Rotti said warmly as he folded his hands over the report. Bankole lifted a hand to silence him and the owner of the largest, most successful company on the planet paused, eyes narrowing. It was days like these he wanted to kill the old man and he looked forward to when he could set Nathan on this husk.

â??My Helen says there is a body on the floor. You should have warned us and we would have waited.â? He cocked his head to the side, motions similar to Magâ??s own slow ones. â??Is there something you needed?â?

â??Several things. Stomping grounds for a few deliquent customers, mostly.â?

â??Things you could have phoned me for, of course. This must be about either the missing eyes or the recent access activities of the public archives.â? A slim brown hand tightened on his shoulder and she leaned in again. The girl, unlike the empty headed bastard, was afraid. Rotti smiled for her. Bankole grinned, showing off discolored teeth in a way that couldnâ??t be called mirthful. â??â??Your smiling faces seem to say soâ??, Iâ??m right, arenâ??t I?â?

Rotti fought the urge to gesture to his Henchwomen. It would be so easy and so very satisfying to end this manâ??s life now but he was still more useful than he was dangerous. That was quickly changing. â??The latter. There have been someâ?¦ suspicious inquires as of late,â? he rumbled. â??Ah. I think thatâ??s our next appointment.â?

"You're double-booking quite a bit today, Rotti. I'd suggest you fire your secretary, but I've seen what happens to former employees, you dog."
 
Nathan's eyes remained on the ground then; the doctor was silent and still as a statue, his shoulders stiff as though he was afraid to move right then - he knew he had made a mistake, telling Graverobber as much as he had, it was information that he had successfully kept quiet for years, only the Largos had known until recently. But now, he had handed the information to a man who worked on the streets, who indulged in drugs and was more than capable of using it against him - a man who had befriended his daughter.

He felt as though he had just given Graverobber enough rope to hang him with, but then, he supposed he'd given him that weeks ago, when he'd discovered who he was, when he wasn't out tearing organs from living bodies. There were plenty of people who would gladly pay for information on a Repo Man, some of the vigilantes who didn't approve of the organ repossession bill - though, Nathan wasn't sure anyone but Largo himself and a few of the other Repo Men actually enjoyed the law.

A small noise escaped him when the teeth met his ear, but he let Graverobber leave without saying another word to him, and he stood in the hallway for a long time after, until Shilo appeared and clung quietly to his waist, and went to her room without complaint when Nathan's wristwatch went off.

And moments later, he was entering Rotti Largo's office; the agony was gone from his face and replaced with his usual hard, cold expression, his stride was fluid and confident - but there was the slightest hesitation when he saw Ray sitting in the seat across from Rotti, and his eyes swept the room, taking in You and the Largo children as well. He ignored it when Luigi sat up tall and grinned at him, and he stepped over the body that was on the floor, unable to help the feeling that something awful had been set into motion.

"I can come back another time if you're busy." Nathan said, deadpan.
 
Nathan wasnâ??t the only man with yards of rope around his neck. Ray shifted in his seat, sitting up taller as Helen leaned over to whisper to him. â??I know who it is, dear,â? he said softly. â??I remember those steps.â? The old man turned cloudy eyes on Wallace, face blank save for a small smile. Under his contacts his eyes had the just the barest hint of green.

â??So you two have already met, then?â? Rottiâ??s voice was laced with a dry sort of humor, and Ray smiled broadly knowing from the way Helenâ??s hand tightened (pinky down hardest) that he had earned a flush from Rotti and the old man chuckled. Largo tended to go the color of a tomato when he was angry, the fat old goat. â??That makes this a lot easier. Nathan,â? he said sweetly. â??I would like you to explain to Doctor Bankole what happens when an outsider threatens such a tight knit community as GeneCo.â?

Ray snorted, resting his hands on the ornate armrests. Real wood and real cloth, too, the sort grown in fields or on sheep and not made in a factory. It was the little things like this that made him hate Rotti. This was money that could be put to environment and social programs and here it was being wasted on the corpulent devil and his miserable spawn.

â??â??Curiosis fabricavit inferos,â??â? Ray grumbled before steepling his fingers in front of him. With the contacts he could barely see more than movement, though the new eyes worked fantastically. â??The data accessed was nothing but old newspapers and tabloids. Certainly not something the great Rotti Largo need fear.â?

â??Why a blind man would want to know about events occurring seventeen years ago is my main question. Donâ??t you think thatâ??s odd, Nathan?â?
 
Nathan clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw popped; so this was it, Rotti had brought him in, taken him away from his daughter, so he could frighten an old man. He looked over to Ray for a moment then, and he took in the sight of the cloudy eyes and it was reassuring to know that the man had the self-preservation to remember that detail - it almost made Nathan believe that Ray would live long enough to get some decent use out of the new eyes that were beneath the milky contacts.

He was silent during the exchange between the two men, and at Rotti's question, he simply stared blankly at his boss, watching the man go from his usual pallid colour to the unnatural cherry red that tended to fill in his jowls every time his blood pressure went up. At times like this, Nathan felt a spike of hope that Rotti would drop dead in front of him; he promised himself that if it happened, he would dance right then and there.

His expression was blank after Rotti's question,

"It's possible Dr. Bankole was doing medical research," Nathan replied mechanically, not giving Rotti what he was looking for right then and feeling a spike of spite towards the man, "I don't believe that's frowned upon by our tightknit community. Even for outsiders."

He heard a soft, muffled sound behind him, and knew Luigi was laughing.
 
The look Rotti fixed Nathan with could have melted ice or perhaps formed it from a glass of water. He looked to Ray who simply smiled vapidly before pulling his body out of his chair. Now he could feel age: somehow over the years it had crept into his bones and muscles and settled like the weight around his midsection. Where had all that time go?

Just yesterday, it seemed, this very office was alive with peals of laughter. Marni had loved to laugh and even Carmela had adored the woman who took away so much of Papaâ??s time. When had that changed?

It was this damned man in front of him, the same that had forced him to kill Marni. And now, here he was, old, dying, and with these failures while he tried to keep his blood pressure low. Life never worked out correctly, even for the richest man in the world.

â??Nathan,â? he bit irritably. â??I have a job for you. And I would like it if Mr. Bankole would accompany us.â?

â??Oh, a show?â? Bankoleâ??s face brightened theatrically as the girl helped him to his feet. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, her pretty face going grim at his words before her hand slipped into his own. â??I do hope you have some sort of set up for the visually impaired.â?

Hmph. â??Visually impairedâ??. Not likely. Those eyes (and he could have one of his boys reach in and pluck off what he assumed were contacts) were top of the line. The man was probably seeing the best heâ??d ever had. â??Iâ??m sure weâ??ll be fine. Nathan, if you would go down and change, we'll meet you presently. I'm sure Luigi and Paviche can help you strap up."
 
Nathan's stomach gave another wrench as he realized what Rotti had in mind, and he found himself suddenly wishing Ray was still blind; over the years, he had become used to having the Largos leaning over his shoulders at the times he had been ordered to do a job inside of GeneCo - even when they were younger, Luigi and Pavi had always shown intense interest in what Nathan had to do, acting as a disturbing peanut gallery when he was elbow-deep in the torso of a still-warm human being.

Amber had never joined them; he supposed Rotti didn't want his little girl to grow up twisted.

He glanced at Amber, who remained motionless on the couch; her expression was almost pained, and he knew right away that she hadn't had her fix lately. He supposed it had to do with Graverobber being otherwise occupied for the last little while, and if the situation weren't so grim, Nathan might have smiled about that fact.

"I can handle it myself," Nathan replied.

"Oh, but we insist-a," Pavi said, appearing at Nathan's left.

"Wouldn't want you getting lost in the building," Luigi added, taking his right elbow, and the two Largos steered Nathan to the basement, even though he knew his way with his eyes closed. What had always struck Nathan as odd was this - ritual - the Largo boys, even when Nathan had made his way to the basement with no chance of leaving their sight, would sometimes insist on strapping on his uniform. This time, Luigi didn't even let Nathan take his own jacket off; he unbuttoned it and wrenched it off Nathan's shoulders, and gave him a sickening sort of smile.

He let them tug him around and yank at the straps, cage him into the uniform; this one was different than the one he kept at the house. This one was somehow darker, and it was heavier around the front, so when he moved he acknowledged the weight of it against his legs, and he did nothing when his glasses were plucked off his face, but he drew the line when Luigi's hand moved towards his head, as though to go through his hair; Nathan gave Luigi a look so sharp that the other man withdrew the hand, and instead tucked the glasses into his jacket pocket.

And Nathan moved to the sink, going through his own ritual as he pushed his hair back, and wished he was someone else completely.

But when he stepped into the cold, misty room, he was still Nathan Wallace, and he just wanted to go home.
 
Rotti ushered them into the elevator, a meaty hand on Rayâ??s bony back in the way of a gracious host. â??Our Nathan is fantastic with his work,â? he rumbled. â??Itâ??s a shame you canâ??t see the details of it.â?

â??Yes, well, Iâ??d probably close my eyes.â? Ray squeezed Helenâ??s hand comfortingly as she moved close to him, the clicks of Rottiâ??s twin bodyguards coming to a stop on each side of them. So much for playing the host.

There was the near absent sigh of doors sliding open, then the slow drain of heat out into the colder, underground level. Damp, dry air was still a shock to the slum dwellerâ??s system: Helen and he had dressed warm since Rotti had a predicable stage for his threats, but it was still much too cold for those who were used to the sticky heat that still had yet to break above ground.

The bodyguard on the left pushed him forward unkindly, starting them on the way to the refridgerated room. Rotti led, Ray could hear heavy footsteps in front of them and those same staccato beats of the stiff-limbed Henchwomen behind them. A distinctly Rotti-shaped blob was illuminated by the cool light ahead of them, then the sound of rustling, heavy plastic and they were being shoved into the sub-zero hell beneath GeneCo. The old man didnâ??t have to be able to see to know what it looked like: one trip down and heâ??d had this place memorized, details burned into his mindâ??s eye in a way no amount of time had yet to dull. The figure in the chair was a different story: he could see nothing but the fact the center seat was occupied.

Beside him, Helen sucked quickly and tugged on Rayâ??s hand. He leaned over to hear, â??Theyâ??ve got Lazarus.â? Ah. Now the figure popped into a clear image in his head: the boy was a reedy thing, much like Ray, but there the similarities ended. He was pale complected, with blue eyes and a wide face. Long hair was kept in the common dread lock style, streaked and braided in some places. Theyâ??d worked together before. Lazarus was the sort that trailed after the recently dead, scavenging what was organically useful to sell to back alley surgeons, one of the med-school drop outs that had more conscience than ambition.

â??I donâ??t suppose you have my money, boy?â? Rotti had moved closer to the center sometime when Ray was thinking (he would have been such a good doctor, he would) and there was a muffled response. â??What was that?â?

â??I said â??I hope you rot in hell, you fat cow.â??â?

Rotti had removed the gag, then, and Ray couldnâ??t help but grin. The fat cow bit out to whom he assumed was Wallace (though he hadnâ??t heard the rustle of PVC, so the surgeon and the Largo boys must have beat them down here), â??Make sure you keep him alive as long as you can while you get the intestines. Pretend itâ??s an emergency cesarean, Nathan, if you need the inspiration.â?
 
The chill of the air struck Nathan's skin and crawled beneath the leather and PVC of his uniform, but it wasn't finished - the mask wasn't there to complete it, and he knew that the Largos never gave him the helmet because they wanted to see his eyes, and the look on his face when he killed another human being. Some days he wondered if it was because they were waiting for the moment they could see him break, other days he thought it was because they just wanted to get a glimpse of his monster, so theirs wouldn't feel quite so alone.

But Rotti - he knew Rotti's game, and he knew it from the old man's words; this was punishment, not just for the man in the chair, not just for Ray, but for him as well. This was revenge, because Rotti wanted more people to see what a monster Nathan Wallace could be, because he was aware that every human who knew about the doctor's darkness would just weigh a little heavier on his conscience, make him more unsure of who he was. Nathan didn't want anyone to fear him, or recognize his darkness, but it seemed every day there was someone who was more aware of the thing he kept inside of him, and let out only in the night when he had no choice.

A monster that was never sated, never quiet, except -

- except up until recently, when both Nathan and Repo had been given the taste of sweat, the touch of willing flesh, the smell -

- a shudder passed through Nathan at the most innappropriate time, and he thought about the sound Graverobber had made when he'd come, because the thought of the way they'd been splayed together afterwards caused a warmth in his chest that fought the cold of the room he had been forced into, and he held onto the feeling for as long as he could, until he looked at the man in the chair and knew what he had to do. He allowed the cold to take him over again, as Repo clawed his way through the warmth and took over again, and Nathan felt the hair on his arms prickle beneath the uniform, because there were more eyes on him than usual.

He cast a brief glance in Ray's direction, then back to the knife in his hands while the Largo boys chortled about their father's cruelty. He let his eyes stay on the floor for a long time after Rotti had spoken, and eventually Luigi came up beside him and forced the knife into his hand, giving him a small shove forward, and Nathan took a tottering step towards Lazarus like a kid learning to walk, before he straightened up.

And Lazarus looked at him with those wide eyes, and he was young and his hair was striped with colours, and Nathan knew he had to end his life and do it slowly because Rotti had told him to, because Rotti knew what he had done, and it would never go away. He thought about Marni's eyes, and how he would never look into them again.

Butcher.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to be with Shilo, and hold her, and protect her from this, but he would always know that his little girl was being held by a monster, but he was a monster who wanted to keep her safe. And he would. And doing his job meant Rotti would be satisfied and Shilo would be safe.

Keep Shilo safe.

Nathan Wallace dissappeared, and Repo prowled around Lazarus like a shark, circling him once, the knife in his hand twitching and twisting before he settled in front of him and knifed open the man's shirt; Lazarus was surprisingly quiet, though his breathing had changed now, hyperventilating. Scared.

Killer.

The first cut and Lazarus had given up being quiet, because Repo had sliced open the first layer of skin, exposing some of the pink beneath and the blood came a few moments later, streaking down the man's abdomen and sinking into his pants. A second slice went through a layer of muscle and Lazarus was shrieking and kicking and trying to get out of the chair, because the pain was too much for any human being - bile climbed Lazarus' throat and made him froth at the mouth.

When he cut into the abdominal cavity the man was still alive, and he sank one gloved hand in and wrenched bits of him out of the way, dislodging the intestine and pulling it out in a long, pink slippery rope that went across Lazarus' knees, and the man was still breathing.

"Finish it," Luigi growled out, too absorbed in the job, and Repo's face twisted into a horrible expression, a violent, predatorial smile, and he wrenched the knife across Lazarus' throat, spraying his blood across the room, across his uniform and his throat, speckling his silver hair with streaks of warm blood before he cut the surgical tie on the intestine, and then pitched the knife across the room so hard that it stuck into a nearby table. He closed his eyes then, straightening up, his spine cracking one vertebrae at a time, and he took in a breath that came out as a roll of mist from the cold and hot of the room.

Done. Finished.

Monster.
 
Whoops. Seems I had a senile moment and somehow managed to put a post in the wrong RP. Consider this a short commercial break.
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And now, back to our regularly scheduled broadcast!

The first steps were slow, almost hesitant. Ray tried to track the numerous figures in the room. Rotti with his solid footsteps stayed near Lazarus. His boys, the flamboyant one who moved so much his clothing gave him away and the nervous one that tended to have the sound of metal and leather, were close to Wallace. They had pulled back to let the surgeon do his work.

A change. Ray cocked his head to the side, confused almost, as Helen pressed herself to his side. â??Close your eyes, dear,â? he whispered, covering her ear with his hand. There was a change, the old man thought as his surrogate daughter shook like the little girl he sometimes forgot she was: Wallaceâ??s stride had lengthened in a way he wasnâ??t used to hearing. That sparked his curiosity. Why ever would one manâ??s stride change so much. Was it the uniform? The fact that he waâ??

His thoughts were interrupted by screams that grew in intensity quickly. The petite body at his side shuddered and tiny hands slipped under his own to create a better seal. Over the sounds of a man dying a gruesome death he could hear laughing.

Rotti Largo and his brood were laughing.

Ray twisted his face, teeth bared at one of the shapes that had come too close. Heâ??d lost track, couldnâ??t be assed to figure out who exactly it was pushing him forward, but the cruel, high pitched and affected girly giggles gave Paviche away. Helen stumbled, but he kept her close, praying her eyes were closed along with her ears. There was a horrible, wet sound that wouldnâ??t stop: Wallace shoving aside organs and other fleshy things to get at Lazarusâ?? intestines, slimy, bloody cords that hit the floor with a sick â??splortchâ??.

And all the while, the poor boy was alive and screaming and coughing and wailing. The room smelled of all sorts of bodily fluids, worst of all from the gut that now simply emptied out once its lower partner had been removed. He registered Luigiâ??s rough voice, tone like that of a man in the middle of making love not watching some child who had nearly his whole life ahead of him die a gruesome death, but he couldnâ??t understand, not when his mind was revving uselessly. The noise died down suddenly: Lazarusâ?? voice cut out to a gurgle, there was the clatter of metal hitting metal and soon the room was silent save for Helenâ??s soft crying.

A large, meaty hand smacked his back, restarting his brain. â??A shame you couldnâ??t watch that,â? Rotti said pleasantly. â??Nathan does fine work.â?

â??Hopefully he carves you up one day,â? the old man responded dryly, shrugging Rottiâ??s suddenly hideous hand off him. His voice didnâ??t sound right anymore, as if all Lazarusâ?? (God bless his soul) screaming had left his own throat raw. â??Your threat was clear. I understand. No more sticking my nose into the matter.â? Rotti chuckled.

â??Iâ??m glad we understand each other.â?

---

When Graverobber slipped in that morning, Ray was gone. He knew that because he pressed his ear against the manâ??s door and heard nothing even though You and the old man were early risers. Or they were dead, but he would have heard a lot more chatter if they were, so they must be out causing problems for someone else. The bastard might have become more of a homebody in the last few years (age finally catching up to Methuselah), but the two went out sometimes. At least, Graverobber figured they did: he wasnâ??t on the same schedule preferring, after all, to sleep when most contributing members of society got up and went to their desk jobs.

He took a nap just for them.

Not a particularly long nap; he was, after all, a busy man with all the Zydrate gathering and cock sucking. Rayâ??s makeshift office was still empty when he headed down and out, which might have bothered him if he cared what happened to the old man. Instead, he dug through the manâ??s desk for some change and found a candy bar instead. Graverobber pulled it out and examined it thoughtfully before pocketing the candy.

Nathanâ??s neighborhood was a lot more lively during the day in its own sleepy suburbs sort of way. People who couldnâ??t afford the requisite body guard at night could walk the dog or the kids while it was still light. Graverobber, with his ratty jacket and oxygen-deprived complexion, got more than a few nasty looks from the miserably bland inhabitants as he strolled along. The doctor would probably be getting a strongly worded e-mail from his local neighborhood watch, he thought as he let himself into the Wallace home (which managed to look sad and slightly haunted even in the daylight).
 
Shilo stared at Graverobber like her father did sometimes; she was holding a banana at the time, however, so it was a little less intimidating - that, and the ruffles took away from the expression as well.

"You're back," she said, and then realized she was stating the obvious, so she shook her head and then moved across the living room towards Graverobber, eyeing him for a long moment - he was as dirty and unkempt as ever, and for some reason this was reassuring for Shilo. Reassuring enough that she took a step forward, and hugged Graverobber very briefly around the waist before stepping back,

"Want a banana?" she asked.

-

Repo stood there for a long moment after the kill, steam rising from the still warm body in front of him, the abdominal cavity split open like a gaping mouth, the cut disturbingly precise even with the wide, hard slashes that the surgeon had made; he could feel the droplets of blood on his eyelids, and when he opened his eyes, he felt it smear across his skin, and could feel it rolling down his cheekbones, could feel the extra weight of gore and blood on his gloved hands.

For a long moment, he felt as though he was standing alone in a vast, empty, cool space - white on white, just him and the blood and Repo, and nothing else.

And then the sobbing was the first thing he heard, and the sound of a woman's pain wrenched him back into reality so suddenly that he actually lurched from it, and he slowly turned around, his pupils in small pinpricks that made his eyes look unnatural, but when he looked at Helen, his expression was suddenly human again. He immediately dropped his eyes to the floor and something horrible squished beneath the thick sole of his boot as he walked, leaving bloody shoeprints across the pristine white; he ignored the laughter of the Largo boys and jerked his arm away when Luigi patted him on the shoulder, as though congratulating him for a job well done.

He couldn't bring himself to look at either Ray or Helen, but he paused near them for a moment, as though about to speak - but he he thought twice and continued on out the door. He stripped out of the uniform, and Luigi appeared beside him again like a grinning little cockroach and Nathan did his best to ignore the Largo boy as he pulled off the boots, put his jacket back on - but then he looked up, and found Luigi was holding his glasses out for him.

For an instant, Nathan saw something strange in Luigi's eyes - he almost looked human for a moment as well, but it was gone so quickly that the doctor couldn't be certain. He took the glasses and replaced them on his face, which was still spotted with blood even when he was ushered into the GeneCo car, and driven back to the Wallace home.

His insides felt as though they had been filled with ice as he entered in through the gate and up through the front door.
 
Instead of answering her, Graverobber ruffled her hair (setting the wig askew, of course, because the way she straightened in such a serious fashion made him smile) and plucked the banana from her hand, quickly replacing it with the candy bar as if he were some spectacularly odd Indiana Jones.

The sound of delight she made was worth any tongue-lashing heâ??d get from the father, he thought as he peeled the banana carefully, adroit fingers managing to reveal the fruit though this was only the fourth or fifth banana heâ??d ever seen in his life.

Upstairs, Shilo launched into a breathless explanation of the magazines, summarizing and remarking on everything she had read. Her words got even more fast as she worked through the candy bar and Graverobber had to wonder if he had just given her more sugar than she generally had in a week. Thank God he hadnâ??t found the old manâ??s stash of energy drinks; the kid might have had a heart attack. All of the magazines were marked with color-coded stickies that she used to reference various fashions and celebrities. Graverobber mostly spent the time lounging on her bed, nibbling on the banana as she had a very seventeen-year-old sort of attack: he had, after all, managed to bring a zine with a special on Blind Mag, her favourite, and most of her unending monologue was filled with rather girlish squeals over what Mag was wearing and the rumors of her personal life.

Neither of them heard the front door even though they left Shiloâ??s door cracked for it.
 
At first Shilo held the chocolate bar by the end of the wrapping between her thumb and forefinger as though it was something she had to inspect for filth before she allowed any more of it to touch her skin. She looked at it as though she was unsure if she was supposed to just hold it or actually eat it, but she quietly read the label, and her big eyes flicked from the chocolate, to Graverobber, and back again.

"This is candy." she said accusingly, as though Graverobber had just tried to influence her to snort meth. She considered the candy for a long moment, letting it sit in her palm as she stared down at it, and her expression slowly shifted to one of curiosity - this was filled with all of the ingredients that sent her doctor father into a rant about poor food choices and the need to properly fuel the body. It was fructose and corn syrup and chocolate - and not the bitter, dark stuff that she was allowed to have sometimes, this was the chocolate that had been watered down with milk and sugar and cream.

The label told her it was very, very bad for her, and her father had always told her to read the labels. And she had.

As politely as possible, she opened it up and took an inquisitive bite of it, and her eyes bugged out.

And twenty minutes later and halfway through the chocolate bar, Shilo was wriggling around her room like an inchworm, flailing and enthusiastically recounting the magazines that Graverobber had given her even though she couldn't quite figure out why she was so excited about it, or why she couldn't seem to lower her voice anymore. At one point she was even hanging off of Graverobber's back while she jabbered on about how awesome chocolate was.

She didn't hear her father come in, but when he appeared in the doorway she was standing on her bed, bouncing around so hard that her wig had tilted on her head, and Nathan could only stare, his eyes shifting slowly from his daughter, to Graverobber, to the pile of magazines. And when Shilo finally realized he was there, she slowly stopped her bouncing, and stared back,

"Dad," she gasped, staring at her pale, ill-looking father, "You're bleeding."

Nathan slowly raised a hand to his face, and realized he still had dried blood flecking his skin,

"It's not me, honey, i'm fine," he assured her, though his voice sounded strange, "Marcus, I need to speak with you."
 
The whole thing was rather cute. You didnâ??t really like Graverobber and most women Shiloâ??s age didnâ??t hang on him quite like that, so the experience left him feeling like some sort of favoured uncle. He might have even given her a bear hug when she came too close, holding her until she giggled and wiggled away. Maybe. Though if she mentioned to anyone (well, to her father, who didnâ??t need to know that Graverobber was both ticklish and prone to giving sequestered-away daughters hugs). His stained lips were curled up into just the hint of a open, honest smile.

Even when Nathan appeared.

The dealer-turned-babysitter leaned back, long body stretched out lazily on Shiloâ??s very clean bed, a man shaped stain in Nathanâ??s girlâ??s otherwise very feminine and innocent room. â??Early morning house call, Nathan?â? he asked, pulling himself up into a sitting position. His coat made him look lankier as he gracefully got to his feet and slid close to the father.
 
The look on Nathan's face was unamused, and his paleness seemed somehow emphasized by the smears of blood on his skin; he didn't even blink at he watched Graverobber stretch out on the bed. Shilo stood nervously beside the scavenger, her eyes shifting between the two men as though unsure of what she should be doing.

"He looks pretty mad." Shilo said, out of the corner of her mouth, trying desperately to remain still, but finding her hands were twitching and shifting nervously, just the way that Repo's did when he was a little over-eager to get to his work, like he had done that night in the alleyway while circling Graverobber like a shark.

"I'll see you downstairs." Nathan said flatly, leaving the room and heading down the stairs.
 
The kid was right: Nathan did look pretty mad, and Graverobber wasnâ??t exactly sure why. Oh, he knew the man had reasons to be angry at him. There was the fact that he had assaulted him just that morning, though the sounds the doctor made while Graverobber had blown him hadnâ??t be that angry. There was also the fact that he had held him down until he confessed to some of his demons. And then, of course, there was the fact that Shilo was twitching and jerking like a crack head due to the illegal chocolate he had brought into the house.

It was better to say that Graverobber wasnâ??t exactly sure which was the reason Nathan was mad.

â??Heâ??s probably just tired. He didn't sleep well last night.â? Graverobber bowed to Shilo then disappeared out her door to follow Nathan. An early morning repo job? Harsh. He couldnâ??t imagine that Rotti had his number one Repo Man out in the light, so it must have been at the biotech castle. No wonder he was so cranky. Nathan didn't turn to the bathroom as he had expected, instead veering down to the basement lab. â??Nathan?â? he asked softly, confused as he moved past the fireplace and down into the doctorâ??s sub zero hell.
 
Nathan bypassed the bathroom; he wouldn't wash off there, he didn't like blood in his house - sticky, messy stuff that only belonged in the cold of his workshop, where he could hose it down and not worry about there being residue left in the sink for Shilo to see, to sink into the porcelain and wrap the house in decay. Blood didn't belong in the house with Nathan Wallace, it belonged in the cellar with Repo.

He moved down the stairs silently, slid open the fireplace and stepped into the chilly laboratory; he went across the room, wrenching the wheelchair away from the drain where he had left it last time, and he moved it towards the doorway, his expression stern as he waited quietly for Graverobber - and he heard him before he saw him. Yes, the scavenger sounded confused, and he should - this was a different sort of response from the good doctor, and he waited until he saw Graverobber's feet, and then he moved quickly. Incredibly light on his feet, Nathan took hold of one of Graverobber's arms, his other hand on the man's throat, and he practically threw the scavenger into the wheelchair, using so much force that the chair rolled back several feet, though Nathan was quickly following it in a few long, fluid strides.

Deft hands grabbed hold of one of Graverobber's wrists and forced it against the arm of the chair, practised fingers yanking the leather strap over his limb, tying it into place; Nathan was silent the entire time, his jaw set as he took hold of the man's other arm and strapped it down.
 
Graverobber didnâ??t even have the sense to struggle until Nathan had one strap on him and by then it was too late. He hadnâ??t expected this; in truth, he hadnâ??t known what to expect. Had the good doctor gone down to let out his demons where his little girl couldnâ??t hear him? To yell and hit things like Graverobber did when he was very, very angry and no one was looking? Or did he have another shrine set up to his dead wife to go throw himself down in front of and sob?

He really should have remembered that chair.

For a moment, he thought this would turn into some sort of rough, angry sex, something Graverobber wouldnâ??t mind at all, but those rough fingers were put pressure on his neck, forcing him back into that damned chair. And Nathanâ??s face was still bland, just like before, when he had hosed him down and threatened to let him freeze.

Mini-Graverobber did not approve though Nathanâ??s long, confidant strides, the ones he usually associated with Repo only, were sending inappropriate shivers down his spine. â??What the fuck are you doing?â? he spit, too late to get away from those clever, quick fingers restraining his other arm. He twisted even though he wasn't completely afraid.

He must have gone off the deep-end. Nathan wouldn't kill him now, not when his kid had saw him mad before, even Nathan couldn't come up with an excuse for that, he'd only be able to punish him. And part of Graverobber was looking forward to that.
 
Nathan silently pulled the straps tight, moving down to Graverobber's legs, yanking the hard leather binds around his ankles, effectively holding all of his limbs in place before he dissappeared behind the man; there was the brief sound of cabinets opening, and then he came around in front of Graverobber again. He hadn't met the other man's eyes then, just like the last time, it was as though Graverobber had dissappeared while he did his work.

In his hand, he was holding a stiff steel-and-leather neck corset, the one he had used on many patients in the course of his Repossession career - he had quickly discovered it was effective in preventing the struggle that could come from the momentum between the head and shoulders, because even when the limbs were all strapped into place, there was still a great deal of power that could come from the rest of the body. He had also discovered it created a new sort of terror in his patients, it made them feel more closed in, and prevented them from seeing anything below their line of vision, kept them from being able to track where he was, what he was doing.

He grabbed hold of Graverobber's jaw then, forcing the man's head back so he could jam the prop into place, moving around behind and strapping it into place, connecting it to the back of the wheelchair to keep him from pulling forward, just one of the many features Nathan had installed into his workshop. It had taken years to get the chilly basement to work to his best advantage, but he had learned from every assignment, until the basement was the most efficient death trap possible.

He closed and bolted the door, pushing Graverobber away from it and then locking the chairs brakes into place; he dissappeared again then, crossing the room, and there was the sound of the faucet running as Nathan removed his glasses and began to carefully wash his face and hands.
 
Graverobber settled back when Nathan finished, flinching away from his bonds. They were heavy on his limbs and neck, and the last damned thing simply wouldnâ??t let him move his chin. He couldnâ??t even track the doctor as he disappeared to the other side of the room, though he tried to listen to keep tabs on the man.

There was the sound of running water and Graverobber closed his eyes to hear better, to fight off that sudden wave of panic that started as a heavy filing in his stomach and clawed out to his limbs. He was intimately aware of how little movement he was allowed, how vulnerable he was and how even Nathanâ??s little girl couldn't reach him now.

â??This is what you get,â?? he thought to himself. He had no information to barter, no sex to allure the older man with. Graverobber cringed. Sleeping with the man had been a dumb idea: now that heâ??d gotten his one sexual activity for the decade, he could pay the dealer back for all the other infuriating nights.

â??Nathan,â? he called sweetly, voice only slightly shaky. â??Itâ??s not polite to keep your guests waiting.â?
 
He took his time; silently scrubbing scalding hot water over his skin, removing every speck of dried blood from his face and neck, and the few drops that had splattered onto his ears. He looked at his own pale face in the mirror and frowned at it while he ran his fingers through his hair, arranging it back to its usual, neat position.

The cool of the room moved beneath the neck of his jacket then, and he found himself thinking about Helen's sobbing, and the horror on her face because of what she had seen - he would have traumatized her. She had experienced life on the streets, but he could be sure that she had never witnessed a man being murdered, and especially not that level of brutality; later in life, he was sure she would be a jaded woman, if she didn't break from what she had seen.

He shuddered as he remembered the way the Largo boys had been laughing; he knew that Repo had smiled too - he had felt the horrible expression pulling at his own face even though he had no control over it then, he could just linger in the background while the monster did the work he couldn't bring himself to do.

These days, he was feeling less like a human and more like a monster; he felt like his control was slipping away, and there was so little he could cling to to stay stable. He couldn't keep bringing his misery home to Shilo, it wasn't fair to her.

He just wanted -

- warmth.

He turned then, watching the rainbow-coloured cords of Graverobber's hair for a long moment before he appeared again, his fingers sweeping along the back of the wheel chair, ghosting over the shell of the scavenger's ear, and he stood in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest, adjusting his glasses irritably. There was no sign of the earlier mess; no blood, not a hair out of place, only the prim, proper father, complete with his dark, tailored suit.

"You've stalked me, drugged me," Nathan said flatly, "You've broken into this house multiple times, scared my daughter, took the job Rotti Largo offered you, and you've been pushy and innappropriate every step of the way. Even now, you're bringing - trash - into this house and influencing my little girl."

Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced one of the gossip magazines that Graverobber had brought; Shilo had left it laying around earlier, and he had instantly known where it had come from. To make a point, he rolled it up and smacked Graverobber in the side of the head with the magazine, and then a second time for good measure.
 
The man tied up in the chair also wanted warmth, but for entirely different reasons. Limbs that were forced into stillness lost heat very, very quickly especially as his accelerated heart pumped blood all through his body in a vain attempt to prepare him to run. Someone should tell it to give up and conserve heat. Someone should also tell his body, he thought as he shuddered when Nathanâ??s fingers just barely traced his ear, that this was not a good thing.

His Adamâ??s apple bobbed under the heavy, stiff leather that kept his head up. Most people, he imagined, were not as sexually attracted to their torturers. Most people didnâ??t have Nathan Wallace tying them into chairs.

Graverobber wasnâ??t sure if he was lucky or not.

â??Your little girl likes me,â? he started to say, but then Nathan was swatting him with the multicolored, glossy things he had brought for said little girl, and Graverobber was honestly shocked into silence.

But only for a second.

â??What the fuck is that for?â? he cursed, arm jerking in his restraints as he attempted to protect his face. No good. Graverobberâ??s low voice devolved into a series of rather creative (if improbable) curses. â??Nathan, let me the fuck out of this chair right now.â?
 
Graverobber had good reason to be nervous; even after all of the aggression they had released on eachother in the course of the last few weeks, even after Nathan had strapped Graverobber down twice before, the situation had never looked quite this grim - because the last time he'd had Graverobber in the chair, it had been clear that Nathan had no intention of killing him, just making him learn his lesson. On the couch, though it had ended with him poisoning the scavenger, he had never made a move to end the man's life - but this was unpredictable, because Graverobber no longer knew what the doctor was doing, or why he was doing it.

He watched the expression of shock appear on the man's face from the strike in the head with the magazine, and something about his struggling and swearing made Nathan bring his fingers to his mouth in an expression that looked almost thoughtful, but in truth, it was because he was trying to pin down a smile that was threatening to show.

"No." Nathan said, "But you're right - Shilo does like you, even though you just fed her pure sugar."

One side of his mouth twisted, his brows furrowing as though he was thinking that part over as well, and he whacked Graverobber in the head with the magazine for a third time, as though to make him pay for giving his sick child junk food.

It was true, though, wasn't it - Shilo liked Graverobber, if her enthusiastic chatter was any indication, though that may very well have been caused by the massive amounts of sugar in her bloodstream. It was times like those that reminded Nathan of how much his little girl hadn't experienced - but she would also get to experience the crash that came afterwards, so he was secure in the knowledge that she wouldn't be quite as enthusiastic about that much sugar in the future.

He moved his mind back to Graverobber, watching the way the man twisted and twitched against the bonds, understandably annoyed by the restriction.

How awful for him.

Nathan didn't feel the least bit guilty, however, because as far as he was concerned Graverobber deserved this sort of torment, and he moved around behind the other man, leaning an elbow on the back of the wheelchair, picking up one of the cords of coloured hair, inspecting it for a moment with his chin on his hand.

This time around, he would have plenty of time - now that he wasn't hosing the man down. He leaned in then, his voice in Graverobber's ear, breath warm,

"You've cause a lot of trouble for me." he said flatly.
 
â??It wasnâ??t pure sugar,â? he responded indignantly. There wereâ?¦ other things. Like anti-oxidants. And fake sugar. And probably insect legs. Besides, outside of a few diabetics, too much sugar never killed a kid. She certainly seemed fine, all excitement and joy and everything. Heâ??d brought fucking joy to a child. Nathan should be thanking him. He was like Santa.

A very dirty Santa that flitted between arousal, fear and irritation, though mostly the last one.

The third swat sent him into another cursing fit that involved more of Nathanâ??s mother than was probably possible. He bitterly hoped she was dead, because the doctor had snapped him right above the eye and nearly left a paper cut on his eyelid, even though he had cringed away from it. Unevenly colored eyes were still watching him with a sort of disinterest when he looked up, squinting in preparation for another whack.

But it never came. Instead, Nathan circled around behind him, and his blue eyes stayed focused on the trim form of the doctor until his head hurt from strain. This was another time that he wished he could sit his body down for a chat because when Nathan bent forward to speak in his ear he couldnâ??t help but squirm.

It wasnâ??t just the heat that did it, though the other manâ??s breath was hot in this cold room. The doctor had a pleasant, breathy voice when he wasnâ??t ripping people apart for their innards, the sort that didnâ??t sound as if he always knew how to engage his vocal chords when he was speaking. It was a gentle, almost sweet voice that Graverobber wanted to hear turn hoarse from screaming not from Repo clawing his way back to the front. (Oh, God. What if Repo took over now? Graverobber would be gutted, skinned, and tanned, though perhaps not in that order)

â??You liked some of the trouble,â? he responded slyly, fingers curling as he tried to talk himself out of the chair. â??I can almost still taste you.â?
 
Nathan tutted softly,

"Language," he said, his voice almost sing-song, taunting as Graverobber snarled and cursed in the chair, a string of expletives that made Nathan suddenly unable to hold back the smile, though he was pleased to be out of the other man's line of vision at that point; he was sure that there was a level of sickness to what he was doing to the scavenger right then, but somehow the doctor found he wasn't bothered by it -there was something appealing about the way the man was squirming.

Though, he could hear that tone of voice, the silky one Graverobber used whenever he was trying to talk his way out - Nathan had heard it enough times at that point to know what it meant.

He moved back around in front of Graverobber then, his expression back to the deadpan one, but there was a peculiar look in his eyes then, and they flicked over the other man's face.

"You're a problem." he murmured, even as his hand moved down and he moved his palm between Graverobber's legs, massaging him firmly through the material of his trousers.
 
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