semifreakingnormal | Entries tagged with actual alpha

[Okay. He learned from the last time. He doesn't have to apologize. That doesn't mean he's not struggling with the memories of what he did.

Scott's eyes aren't quite red rimmed, but he is far from relaxed. It's obvious he's broadcasting from the infirmary: there still some structural damage around as the Admiral slowly fixes things.]

I'm, um.

[Sorry sorry sorry sorry. He swallows it back, draws in a shaky breath.]

I'm in the infirmary. [He looks around over his shoulder.] Obviously. I know there's not a lot the doctors can do for people who are death tolling. But one of the things I learned at home can help. I can take away pain, when I touch people. So, I'll - I'll be here. I'l be around. Just let me know if you're hurting, and I'll make it better for a while.

[He doesn't mention that he takes the pain on himself. He hopes Stiles and Dean won't say anything, either. It feels like penance, though that's not the only reason he's offering. If he can help people and feel like he's scouring away his guilt, well...then he's going to.]

[Private to Peter]

You were right. I'm definitely thanking you after.

Are you okay?

[Spam for Stiles and Lydia]

[He's been at her bedside in the infirmary since they reappeared back on the Barge, waiting for her to wake up. He knows she will. Knows it deep in his gut, because the Admiral hasn't failed them like this. He won't leave her there, and he won't leave her dead.

There's a whisper of doubt in his thought, and he's doing the best he can to banish it. It leaves his throat and mouth dry, and he doesn't know what to do.

Looking over the bed at Stiles, he draws in breath to say something, anything, but he can't. It wasn't him, but he remembers tearing her throat out, he remembers Stiles' face when it happened, and he has to look down at his hands again.]

[He's been back about an hour, just sitting in his room. It's not that he doesn't want to be here. He does. He needs to be here, to make things right again, and still all he wants is to rewind the clock, to go back to weeks ago, before their darkness spilled out into the world. Everything had looked bright. Okay. And now...

Now he understands why Stiles didn't want him to go back. Nothing will be like it was. Not until he saves Allison.

And he can't do that by letting people think he isn't here. He gets up, splashes water on his face, stares at himself in the mirror until he thinks his expression is normal. It's close enough. Drying off, he goes back to sit on the bed and picks up the communicator. When it clicks on, he smiles, and it's still Scott underneath, even if it's not quite as bright. He's older, though, only a year but it feels longer. His hair is shorter, he looks stronger. He's trying to hide the rest, and doing a decent job of it. But only decent.]

Hey, guys. I'm back.

[He waves his free hand. Semi-awkward Scott McCall is still under the new haircut! And is that a tattoo peeking out from under his left sleeve?]

So, did I miss anything good? I think...I was a troll, the last flood. How long ago was that?

Are none of you losers actually weirded out that we heard from the Admiral? I mean, when's the last time this asshole sad anything? It's like radio silence for months, and then oh hey, keep an eye out kids? Lame.

But at least he's back to putting on the food, right? I was getting so sick of waiting on you freaks to bring stuff back.

[He's tossing a lacrosse ball at the ceiling, laying on his back on the bed. The ball hits the ceiling methodically, dropping back into his hand, never interfering with how he holds the communicator in his other hand. He looks, unsurprisingly, very bored.]

And this flood is weird. I'm starting to think we should put a game together.

[He smiles, and there's a hint of fang pushing past his lips.] Who wants to play chase the inmate?

[Private to Daneca]

Come make out with me. [Or slap him. That would be super okay too.]

[When the feed clicks on, Scott's in his room. It's mostly the same, but most of the posters have been pulled down. He doesn't see the point in giving a shit about human bands, or actresses. He's more than that, now. He's better.]

What's up, losers.

[He's lounging on his bed, and space is clearly visible out the window behind him. He doesn't notice it anymore. He also looks bored, which is mostly his usual state of being. Noticeably, however, are his teeth: they aren't prominent or protruding, but they are longer, sharper, than any normal human's.]

I don't think I've mentioned it lately, but you assholes stink. You should seriously be showering every day. Like, twice a day.

[He reaches over to his nightstand, grabs a lacrosse ball and begins throwing it above his head and catching it. Catch is more interesting than all of you. Obviously.]

So who's making a bid for the Admiral hat? We might as well keep track. Cassel, you can keep the books, right? [He smirks, looks back at the camera to arch his eyebrows.]

We should start a betting pool. I'm putting money on Arthas, before next weekend.

[He wants a list of people to offer the Bite to. A list of potential packmates. A group of people he could steal power from. Then who knows? Maybe he'd be the Admiral.]

[Private to Daneca]

[He pays a little more attention now, even smiles a very normal, human smile.]

Hey.

Wanna make out?

[....Yes.]

Scott McCall

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