interstellar5555 | I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out

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I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out

Who: Xanxus and YOU
What: after "mysteriously disappearing" guess who's suddenly back
When: 3 December
Where: Pride HQ and around town
Warnings: sighs Xanxus should be his own warning. Mentions of violence, physical injury/torture, branding, drug use, alcohol use, swearing, will add as needed.

I - Pride HQ
They finally let him out of the damn infirmary. Honestly, he probably should have stayed there a few more days, but Xanxus being Xanxus totally ingratiated himself to the nurses by hitting on them and thus, he had been shoved out the door to stop him from harassing them more. No big deal right?

Well, it should be because he's sort of limping his way from the infirmary back to the elevator in not but a hospital gown. But he's not embarrassed at all. No. He looks damn proud of himself, like he isn't wearing more cuts and bruises and stitches than any one person should have. He might even be whistling a little as he goes.

II - Chez Carnie
Shithole sweet shithole. It's sort of nice to get back to this place that he calls home. He doesn't really expect anyone there waiting for him. No...that's not these people. He has a fragment of that memory but he still can't put a face on the owner of those arms in that memory. Besides, he's not falling through this door. He's just going to walk right in as if he hadn't been gone. He's heading straight to his room. He needs his leathers if he's ever going to feel normal again.

III. Some bar in town
Should someone as heavily injured as Xanxus even be walking to some nightclub? Does it matter? Because what does a man want with his first night of freedom after unwilling captivity? Hit the clubs of course. Chicks dig bruises and scars and he can spin a hell of a lie if he wants to. Besides, he's itching for some alcohol that isn't monitored by the label. It's a pretty good chance that he'll be found sitting rather gingerly at the bar nursing a bottle of tequila. He ignores all the questions that might come his way with a "Buy me another drink and maybe I'll tell you."

IV. Wild card
Anything else you want to do, go for it!

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He tries not to wince at the touch. His face is still tender. He's probably got more than just a black eye. His jaw is probably cracked if not broken. But he's a singer, even if just background and he would rather die than have his jaw wired shut. He'll just deal with the pain. By deal with it, he means chemical help back in the Carnival's penthouse. But that means getting himself to that place. It's almost too much. Too far.

"Oh? My phone? Well, I hadn't given you a special ringtone yet so I didn't know it was you. I don't answer calls I don't know." It's the truth but it was also because he hadn't had access to his phone. Sort of hard to talk on the phone when you're getting beaten within an inch of his life.

"I still owe you a song, don't I? And a good time? You mind taking a rain check? 'Rehab' was a bitch."

Tamara's hand quickly goes away and the concern on her face only becomes more obvious. He did not go to rehab, but she doesn't say it out loud. (They are in Pride HQ, after all.)

"A ringtone hmmm? I feel special. But it's fine, you know what they say about absence... just focus on getting better, alright baby?" She would kiss him, but she doesn't want to hurt him.

She'll ask about the real story later on when there isn't all these Pride record people about. Perhaps through text.

"You should. It'll totally be some opera piece. Maybe Questo amor, vergogna mia from Edgar. I might even sing it and record. Because we all know I love the sound of my own voice." He keeps talking right now because it keeps him focused on anything other than how much he actually hurts right now.

"Oh, I'm already feeling a million times better now that I've seen a pretty face. But you know what would make me feel the best?" He reaches towards her and snags a strand of her hair to wrap around his fingers. Fingers that look like someone had tried to break them. "Having a pretty lady help me out of his stupid paper dress. Would you like to do that?" Mostly because he didn't think he'd be able to dress himself without pain for a while at least.

As he fiddles with her hair, she'll gently take his battered hand and kiss his fingers softly. "I would be glad to."

She really does want to help him. Just looking at him makes her feel awful. (And reminds her of dark things that lurk in the back of her head.)

He forces himself not to wince at the little kisses. They're supposed to make it better, not worse, right? People kissing his booboos. He can't remember anyone ever doing that for him. But that can change right here and now. So he sort of smiles at her. "Then it's up to Chez Carnie. I'll even let you pick out my outfit." He leans against her. "Just make sure it's dark. In case I pop my stitches." Mostly because he totally will knowing him.

Tamara nods. "Of course, just show me the way." And she'll walk close beside him, the man looks like he's going to struggle to walk. During any other time a nearly naked Xanxus would be cause for pure, shameless lust. But not now. All those bruises, all those stitches. She can't even tell if the bloodied holes near his veins were an IV being pulled out or a habit.

During this, she remains calm. She doesn't know why this is so familiar to her.

Honestly, the holes are probably from both. The tabloids were right about one thing. He did have a little bit of a drug habit. This was probably going to make it worse, as he turned to chemical help to keep the pain managed. But that's for later, when he's alone. He's not going to shoot up in front of her. Instead, he just leads her first out of the elevator and then to the penthouse that Junkyard Carnival calls it's home.

He will lead her though there too. It's pretty obvious the Carnies live here. It's a mess, like it was hit by a hurricane and a wild party all at once. He ignores it to head to his room leaning a little on her the more walking he does until she's pretty much his crutch.

"All right. Closet is right there. I'm getting the first aid kit and redoing some things. So, paper gown comes off." When it does, she'll see just how badly he had been tortured.

His usual scars are there. The old ones from when he was supposedly burned alive on stage, but now, on top of those, there are new scars. Deep slicing cuts as if someone took a knife to him, trying to get to all those places he wasn't marked up yet. There are angry weeping cigarette burns littered down his body. Bruises bloom everywhere in the shape of fists and shoes and what might be a baseball bat. From his face all the way to his ankles. His ribs are bandaged but the bruising there is the worst. They're probably broken. His kneecaps are swollen, like that bat had been taken to those too.

The damage continues. Rope burns around his neck like a noose had been tied there and lacerations on his wrists and ankles from zip ties he was held with. Some so deep near his wrists that any deeper might have killed him. The stitches and staples in his flesh are too numerous to count. Not just the front but the back. There's a bruise in the center of his back in the perfect shape of a woman's boot and below that, right at the top of his tailbone is a brand. A thick, angry searing brand of Predator's logo, cooked into his skin for eternity.

It's a miracle he's functioning let alone moving around as much as he is. It says something about both his stubbornness and his pain tolerances. In fact, he's frowning...even pouting looking at his first aid kit. "Man...someone used all my bacon bandaids..."

It's an unusual sight, seeing a tiny, soft 5'1 woman be a living, walking crunch to a 6'2 man that is a pillar of muscle. But she manages it.

Before she goes over to the closet to pick out some thing for him, she undoes the ties that closes his paper gown. She has to catch her breath at the sight of all those wounds. It nearly makes Tamara sick to her stomach.

A whisper escapes her mouth. "Who did this to you?"

But she's seen these before...

"Whatever hell they give us, we give it back... thrice-fold."

Images flash in her head, a pale blonde's face covered in heavy bruises and the sight of a man enduring something similar to what Xanxus went through. All done by a group of women that looked just like the blonde woman.

But at Xanxus was luckily to get out of the torture session alive. The man was strung up like meat and had whatever working taken out of him. The floor was awash with so much blood it looked black.

Tamara is just standing there in this terrifying reverie. "...I'm sorry, I'll go get your things."

He was waiting for her to freak about it. He knows what he looks like. The fans see a lot of him already. He doesn't hide his many scars from his supposed stage accident. But this isn't old scars. This isn't some accident. This is fresh and this is focused. It's purposeful. Someone, a few someones, had wanted to make certain that he hurt.

He looks away, trying to find some sort of acceptable bandages. He was stuck with the boring flesh colored ones that were shades too light for his tanned flesh. Find those and try to ignore the fact that she's staring. He tried to make a joke about it.

"Hey, I know I have a giant dick and amazing to look at but it's cold as fuck and I really would like to put something on." He pointedly didn't say who did this.

She wishes she could just focus on that, but look at all the wounds... all the damage. And he's avoiding talking about it, how horrible could these people be?

Immediately she goes into the closet to find something dark colored for Xanxus to wear, it isn't too hard. The man loves him some leather. So she chooses a black shirt made of a thin material, leather pants, and boots.

She comes out with the clothes, trying hard not to look at him. "I'm back."

He's gotten some bandaids slapped on and is working on wrapping his ribs up. He seems to know what he's doing for the most part. Probably from his one too many bar fights. He looks up to see what she grabbed. It sucks that he has to wear a shirt. He rarely ever does, but until he heals, he doesn't want too many people seeing this mess.

"So I see. You think you can put your finger right here while I ties this off?" He is sort of fumbling with the chest wrapping.

"Sure." Tamara puts her finger right where Xanxus asks. She tries not to focus too much on the wounds, tries not to wonder out loud to him about why he's not telling who... or what did this to him.

He accepts the finger to tie himself off. It's pretty obvious that he's pretty used to patching himself up. Most likely it's because he gets into so many brawls at the bars. Or maybe it's because he had been critically injured before, but whatever it is, he's pretty good at this sort of thing.

"Done..." He's going to try to put clothes on now but it's harder than hell to do and it's fucking embarrassing to struggle in front of Tamara. "Shit. I remember why I hate goddamn shirts now..."

"I am here for a reason, Xanxus... besides to shamelessly ogle you." Xanxus is far too heavily injured for Tamara to do that, but he's not the only one that can joke here.

"Let me do what I came here here for." She might try to assist Xanxus with his clothes if allowed. Pulling cloth over battered skin, buttoning buttoning, holding out pant legs he can step in them. (Also balancing him because it's hard for him to walk.)

He'll allow her. He'll bitch about it under his breath but in the end, he really has little choice in it. It's either let her help or go around naked until he's feeling up to trying again. He really doesn't want to go around like that for once. The Carnies have already suffered enough. They don't have to see this shit more than they have to.

In short order, with her help, he's actually fully dressed. It's strange as hell to wear a shirt but he puts up with it. Instead he just looks down to the woman and mutters a soft thank you. It's barely audible since he's not used to thanking others for anything.

She hears it. All that matters the marks are covered.

"You're welcome." She says quietly.

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I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out

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TW: body horror

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