It's unsettling, taking in Annie's sudden change in physique. Even as a man—as Antonio—he's still shorter than him, though much broader. He fills out the tank top he's wearing perfectly, torso toned while still remaining lean. His face has become wider, more masculine, but still he resembles Annie, still has the same cold eyes and tumbling brown hair pulled back into an intricate ponytail. It unnerves him. "You're a man," he states, words even, if a bit thrown.
"Biologically, perhaps," Annie—Antonio?—affirms, ridiculously amused. "Though I admit, it's no hardship living life as a woman. You can get away with so much more. Womanly wiles are incredibly useful, after all." His eyes take in Mercy appreciatively, their bodies still pinned closely together. He leans down, lips a hairsbreadth away from Mercy's ear. "But, really," he husks, scraping his teeth along the outer shell of Mercy's ear, "being a man is just as much fun. I could hardly give up either."
Mercy grimaces in disgust, pressing his body as far back into the wall as he can. "Sorry, but you'll never be my type," he grounds out, hands clenching into fists at his side.
Antonio snorts at that. "No?" He pulls back, a cruel edge to his smile, eyes alight with devilry. "And what is your type? Tall, dark, and handsome from earlier? My, my, Mercy. Who would have thought you like your men with a dash of honor and a whole lot of repressed anger?" He laughs. "What sort of relationship could you ever hope to have with a Holloway?"
"Shut up," Mercy seethes, fright buried beneath the rapidly rising anger within him.
Antonio smirks. "There's that little spitfire I do so love to antagonize. Ready to come out and play? Your passivity is quite boring, I'll have you know." His hands snatches forward then, threading into Mercy's hair, grip twisted tight, tugging harshly at his scalp.
Mercy glares through a wince. "Let me go," he orders.
That seems to amuse Antonio more than anything. "Or what?" He chuckles. "You're so defensive tonight, Mercy. It's cute."
"I tire of your games and cryptic riddles," Mercy snaps, giving Antonio a harsh push away from himself. The other man stumbles back a few paces, chuckling with beguilement as he straightens out his stature and hooks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Mercy's confidence intensifies the second he's no longer pinned to the wall and he continues boldly, "I've told you there's nothing I can do to help you, yet you refuse to listen. You're playing a dangerous game with players you've yet to fully understand."
Antonio regards him coolly, odd spark in his eye. "Perhaps," he hums. "But my dear Mercy, you're the one foolishly playing the game without first seeing the board in its entirety. A mistake that, I'm afraid, is going to come at a terrible cost."
Mercy's gaze sharpens, but he says nothing, merely turns by his heel and starts to stride off. Antonio's quicker, however, reaching out to snag him by his burned forearm. Mercy winces through the sudden, explosively bright pain and turns to settle a furious gaze on Antonio. "Unhand me," he demands. "This conversation has ended."
"This conversation doesn't end until I say it does," Antonio says, curling his fingers into the gauze of Mercy's bandage, nails sharp. "And since you've been such a disobedient little boy, I wager it's about time I punish you properly, wouldn't you agree?"
"I will defend myself," Mercy warns hotly, what remains of his composure falling apart at the seams.
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Antonio sneers, bones already starting to crack and rearrange themselves, creating a particularly monstrous visage. His shoulders buckle before expanding outwards with rapid force, hips widening, and legs shooting up. His face morphs familiarly, twisting into a heartbreakingly cruel imitation. Here, standing before him, is no longer Annie or Antonio, it's a depraved version of David, distorted with callous eyes and a malicious smile. Antonio laughs with David's face, the sound sickening in its familiarity. "You said I'd never be your type," he says with David's voice, husky and sinful. "I'm afraid you spoke too soon."
Mercy takes a shaky step backwards, teeth grinding against one another. He feels the familiar tingle of his hands icing over, preparing for the worse. Merely staring at Antonio as David is jarring; it throws him off so effectively he doesn't see the attack coming until it's too late.
Antonio whips forward in flash, once again fisting his hands into Mercy's short, coal black hair as he slots David's lips against Mercy's, kiss demanding and far too intimate. Mercy goes to resist, to push against Antonio, but it's David's chest his fingers find themselves pressing into, David's flesh that meets his icy fingers with welcoming warmth. He feels Antonio's hand slide around his waist to his lower back, touch feather light as he traces the outline of Mercy spine upwards. He's so caught up in the moment, in the heat of lips that don't belong to Antonio that he almost gives in, almost allows it to just happen.
He jerks back suddenly, face red with anger and mortification. "No," he gets out, breath labored as he inhales sharply, gasping for air.
Antonio smirks, the expression disgustingly attractive on David's face. "Don't resist," he urges, hand a tight knot of fingers snared in Mercy's hair. "Isn't this what you want? To be wanted by him?" Antonio's hand skirts around the edge of Mercy's waistband. "I can give it to you, if you want. It would be ... mutually beneficial, you could say."
Mercy's ice cold hands are already tightly tangled in Antonio's tank top and thrumming with repressed power as his face contorts with repulsion. "You're nothing but scum," he spits, whisper carrying only derision.
"I'm quite aware," Antonio coos, hot breath ghosting over Mercy's raw and abused lips.
Mercy captures Antonio's gaze, looks directly into those empty, cold brown eyes that aren't his to imitate, and decides. He reacts swiftly, ice crystals shooting out from his nail beds, sharp and curved like talons. He slashes outwards, shredding Antonio's tank top and leaving behind an array of shallow, angry red scratches.
Antonio steps back with a hiss, hands automatically flying to his chest, further smearing the bloody mess Mercy has inflicted upon him. "So feisty," he muses with a dark chuckle. "I can appreciate that."
Mercy schools his expression, rights his posture, and glares furiously at Antonio. "Never touch me again."
"I'll take it under consideration," Antonio returns with the obvious intent to never consider his demand at all.
Mercy opens his mouth to sneer back in reply, when Bentley's stumbles into the hallway, hair a wild mess and eyes glazed over. "Oh, thank crap, Mercy! I've been looking for you ... uh," he pauses quizzically to stare at Antonio. "David? Uh, what the ... when you'd change clothes... and what the heck happened to your chest?!"
Taking advantage of Mercy's momentary lapse in concentration, Antonio darts forward, steals a hard, brutal kiss, and then rears back to discard him with a hard shove. "I'll be seeing you, Mercy," he promises playfully as he sashays away.
Bentley gapes, beer forgotten in his hand. "Woah ... were you just hate making out with David?"
His ice talons melt, leaving his hands moist and slightly chilled. "Not now, Bentley," Mercy says with a weary sigh.
"How were you hate making out with David?" Bentley continues, bewildered as he voices his thoughts aloud. "I just saw him."
"Bentley, please," Mercy tries, feeling sick while he curses Bentley's horrible timing.
"Man, I know I'm not that drunk," he says, laughing nervously. "Seriously, what's going on?"
"If I promise to explain everything later, will you shut up?"
Bentley blinks, surprised. "Uh, yeah. I can, uh, I can do that," he agrees, frowning.
Mercy wanders into the main foyer of the house, dodging the sloppy drunks and couples canoodling up against walls. Bentley trails after him, diligently remaining silent. Though, as Mercy heads for the front door, he doesn't seem to be able to take it anymore.
"Mercy, uh, where are you going?" he asks tentatively.
"Outside," Mercy says. "It's too hot in here. I can't breathe."
"Probably because you were just sucking face with David," Bentley grumbles under his breath, forcing Mercy to remind himself not to lose his cool again. "Are we leaving cause, uh, I need to—well, I told Spencer that I'd, um, we were going to," he sighs, frustrated. "Mercy I'm way too drunk right now to try and understand you," he whines, reaching forward to touch Mercy's shoulder gingerly.
"I just need to get some air," he says vehemently. "You're not obligated to follow me around like a lost puppy."
"Wha—hey! I thought—... I'm not a lost puppy," Bentley protests, face exposing a soft, hurt rage.
Mercy feels as if he's going to explode. There's too much he hasn't dealt with, too much he can't deal with. He just wants to whip around and punch Bentley in the face, but he knows—he knows—Bentley isn't to blame; that taking it out on him, his only damn friend, is the exact opposite of what he should be doing. But he just—can't. Not today. He can't open his mouth and spill his darkest secrets to a wide-eyed Bentley who is, no doubt, under the influence of alcohol and who knows what else.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs miserably, feeling like a stranger in his own skin.
"Man, it's—okay, I mean, uh, I've been called worse. Are you sure you're okay?"
Mercy forces a smile so fake it might as well have been made of plastic. "I'm sure. I just need to ... not be inside. Don't worry about me. Weren't you saying something about Spencer?" Spencer, who hates his guts but Bentley loves blindly, faithfully, lovesick in the worst way.
"Ah, yeah...," Bentley says, frowning in confusion. "But I haven't gotten to, y'know, hang with you. Spencer can wait." And damn, he looks so earnest it really tears Mercy up inside. But he can't let him be around him when he's like this. It would be far too easy to slip up, to involve him in things he has no business knowing about; things that could mess his life up irreversibly.
"We live together," Mercy says, pointing out the obvious. "Go. I won't be offended."
Bentley frowns, though it comes off more as a pout. "Well, if you're sure..."
Mercy sighs. "I'm sure."
Bentley gives Mercy's shoulder a squeeze, sends him one last, lingering look before stumbling up the stairwell to the second floor.
Mercy scowls after him, metaphorical storm clouds gathering to blacken his mood. He pushes past a particularly inebriated girl and stomps out of the house with an undignified huff. The muggy heat greets him, thick with humidity and the buzzing whir of crickets. He grimaces immediately, stalking across the wooden porch as he unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with agitation to combat the sudden, stifling heat. He's so intent on addressing his stuffy attire, he doesn't notice he isn't alone on the porch until he hears a low, amused chuckle.
He turns his attention sharply to the right, brooding glare ready to be exercised on whoever is laughing at him.
Dominik is leaned back in the sole wooden swing hanging from the porch's ceiling. His demeanor is sanguine and relaxed, a single cigarette held precariously between his lips, cherry burning brightly.
"What," Mercy snaps, in no mood to deal with any one single person, much less the party's self-appointed bouncer.
Dominik shrugs, removes the cigarette from his lips, and exhales. "My apologies," he rumbles conversationally. "You merely looked properly trite." He smiles slow and languid, flicking his cigarette absently over the ashtray lain beside him.
"Yes, well," Mercy straightens out his vest and scowls. "That's none of your business."
"Never said it was," Dominik drawls. He gestures to the left of the swing, moving his ashtray to the right armrest as he says, "Why don't you take a seat?"
Mercy opens his mouth to say something biting, to refuse Dominik's offer, but finds himself saying, "Alright," instead and easing down onto the swing. It rocks back under his weight, but the wood's smooth and the breeze is pleasant so he doesn't find himself too annoyed.
"Bad night?" Dominik asks, taking another drag of his cancer stick.
"No," Mercy tries to retort, but what comes out is a simple, "Yes." He clamps his mouth shut immediately, frowning in confusion and frustration.
He glares accusingly at Dominik, who merely grins. "The smoke bothering you?"
"Yes," he replies rudely, "considering I came out here to get some fresh air. Beyond that, it's unhealthy and will kill you eventually."
Dominik laughs softly at that. "Eventually, huh." He snuffs the cigarette out in the ashtray, turning his dark gaze on Mercy.
Mercy ignores him and lets his thoughts wander. He's had far too much confrontation for one night. He's exhausted, emotionally and physically. He's a proper mess, is what he is. A disaster waiting to happen. Just thinking about Antonio—Annie—whatever, gives him a headache. He has the sinking feeling there's no safe way out of this situation. It seems almost impossible to keep Cerberus out of the equation and that in of itself is enough to throw Mercy into a fit of panic.
Dominik stands suddenly, startling Mercy from his thoughts. He's a tall guy, Mercy notes, well-muscled, with shaggy brown hair and eyes so dark a gold they almost appear brown in the dim lighting of the porch. Mercy frowns up at him. "You don't have to leave," he tells him contritely. "I'd no intention to disturb your peace."
Dominik regards him with soft amusement. "You're troubled," he states. "My presence won't allow you privacy."
"Privacy?" he questions tiredly. "That's not a novelty I'm permitted often." The words are bitter, filled with a lifelong anguish that stems from belonging to a family constantly in the public eye for nefarious reasons. He twists his lips into a dour frown. "Sorry, I don't mean to be so depressingly honest." Especially to a stranger.
"Ah, that would be my fault," Dominik says, his words holding a surprising amount of his own brand of bitterness.
Mercy snorts. "My honesty or my bitterness?"
Dominik chuckles. "Your honesty, though your bitterness I understand." He reclaims his seat on the swing, rocking it more forcefully with his weight than Mercy had. "I cannot be lied to," he admits. "A walking lie detector, or rather, someone who inspires honesty without consent."
It strikes him, suddenly, why Dominik was chosen to ask for their names. One cannot lie to a super whose ability makes others honest.
Mercy smiles, rueful. "Lies are pretty things, aren't they? Much prettier than the truth, though far more harmful."
Dominik hums thoughtfully as he leans back in the swing. "I suppose."
"You said you've met my brother," Mercy recalls, twisting his body to stare at Dominik. "When?"
"A long time ago," Dominik answers, eyes faraway. "He took something from me. Though," he laughs gently, "I don't suppose I'd ever want it back."
Mercy freezes as he echoes, "Took something?"
"Mm," Dominik nods. "A memory."
Mercy all but leaps out of the swing, eyes wide and heart beating faster than a jack rabbit's. "You know," he realizes aloud. "How do you..." his face darkens, etched with fear. "How do you know?"
Dominik doesn't appear affected by Mercy's sudden change in demeanor. "Know what?"
"About my brother's real ability," he says, honest words spilling out of his mouth like burning acid, "No one knows. Not even the government." He staggers back, hand flying to his mouth as horror fills his gut.
Dominik remains maddeningly calm. "He told me." He pauses. "He couldn't lie to me, when I asked."
"And he didn't kill you?" Mercy replies, truly astonished.
"No," he says easily. "Cerberus was quite cordial. He took a memory from me, one I didn't want, in exchange for my silence."
"You're lying," Mercy accuses, hands shaking at his side.
"Perhaps I am," Dominik says, shifting his gaze to Mercy. "But I think you know I'm not."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Dominik shrugs. "Because you asked."
Mercy opens his mouth to respond when the front door slams open, Spencer tumbling haphazardly out of it onto the porch. His eyes dart to Mercy and Dominik as he stomps towards them, seizing Dominik by his shirt and hauling him to his feet. "Where the fuck is Ash?" he asks, words demanding and a bit slurred.
"I don't know," Dominik replies, not phased in the least.
"Well you better fucking find out," Spencer shouts, "Because David's drunker than a skunk and he's lighting shit on fire!"
Dominik frowns slightly. "I thought he gave up drinking freshman year."
"Yeah, well, I don't know what the fuck's his problem tonight. He's been downing shots like they're the goddamn cure to his prissy mood. And now he's lighting shit on fire which is why it's pretty fucking important I find Ash. Like, ten minutes ago!" Spencer pushes Dominik back, releasing him from his hold. "Fucking forget it, I'll find him on my own." He turns, shoulders hunched, to stalk off.
"Spencer, stop," Dominik says authoritatively. "Let me come with you."
"Do whatever the fuck you want," Spencer yells back.
Dominik places an over-large hand on Mercy's shoulder and nudges him forward. "Mercurius, come with us," he says, the statement a demand rather than a request.
Spencer halts in his tracks, whirls around to glare briefly at Mercy, before he fixes his angered stare on Dominik. "Why the fuck are you asking him to come?"
"Do you know any other supers with a water based ability?" Dominik asks. When Spencer glares instead of answering, he continues, "That's what I thought. Until we locate Ash, he can help."
"I don't recall volunteering myself," Mercy interjects. "My presence will only worsen the situation. David isn't... fond of me or mine." He can't help the worry that wells up despite himself. The worry isn't just for David, but for the other drunken students who have, no doubt, stupidly gathered around to gawk. He's seen firsthand how volatile David's ability can prove to be.
"The punk's right," Spencer sneers. "David hates his family's guts."
Mercy winces, annoyed with how deep those words cut.
"David's a hot headed idiot who acts before he thinks, but he isn't outright hateful," Dominik responds dully. "That's the area you excel in, Spencer."
"Oh, fuck you Dominik. I ain't got time to beat your ass right now so you better keep your opinions to your damn self."
"Gladly," Dominik responds, baring his teeth. He treads forward then, compelling Mercy to follow suit. At least, Mercy thinks, he isn't the only person with a particular disdain for Spencer.
Spencer leads them into the house, up the stairs and really, they probably could have found David without much assistance at all. The hallway is crammed with people, ranging from belligerently excited, to too drunk to care, and lastly to those with serious, concerned expressions. Mercy spots Bentley right away, standing just inside one of the many bedrooms, face ashen as he stands there and merely watches.
Spencer beats Mercy to Bentley's side, grabs him roughly by the elbow and jerking him from the room. "I told you to wait outside," he seethes, speech still slightly slurred.
"But David—"
"I don't give a fuck about David's idiotic ass, I told you to do something, so go fucking do it before you get hurt."
Bentley's face contorts with rage. "I'm not the one who's a norm," he shouts, struggling against Spencer. "What right do you have to order me around?"
Mercy doesn't hear what Spencer yells in reply because he's suddenly confronted with the bright, swirling flames eating up everything in the room. David's in the epicenter of the firestorm, sitting on the only piece of furniture not currently on fire, a ratty looking couch with scorch marks. He appears despondent, listless as he sits there, arms lit up like fireworks.
"Mercurius."
Mercy blinks, eyes wide as he glances at Dominik, who's frowning at his side. "Right," he says thickly, concentrating all his energy on the matter at hand.
He strides forward, the comforting feeling of his ability thrumming through his body, coiling down his arms and completely icing them over. He stops several paces from David, who doesn't even seem to see him, and kneels down. He presses his frozen hands flat against the ruined carpet. Ice spreads out rapidly from his touch, layering the entirety of the floor before extending to the walls and the ceiling. His ice overtakes David's fire with ease, melting at the touch and turning to water, which in turn neutralizes the burning heat with a hiss of steam.
Once he's finished, he gets up from his knees, very aware that David's arms are still aflame. No matter how despondent the man, he knows better than to discard his caution so prematurely.
All has gone quiet behind him.
He ignores the sudden silence to take a step towards David. "David," he reprimands tightly, ready for the worst. "Letting your arms continue to burn so idiotically is dangerous."
David looks up, sepia eyes muddled with alcohol and incomprehension while hot flames continue to lick down the length of his arms. "Mercy," he replies, Mercy's name a jumbled exhale on his heavy tongue.
Mercy hesitates before responding, "Yes."
David begins chortling, the noise intelligible. He lowers his head into his burning hands, though the flames do little to hurt him as they're just as much a part of him as the rest of his body. "No, no," he mumbles incoherently into his palms. "Not anymore. I ruined it, I ruined it."
Mercy knits his brows together, confused as he presses another foot forward. He's standing so close to David now that if he wishes to, he can reach out and touch him. So he does just that. He covers David's hands with his own, pulling them away from his face to entangle their fingers. The frost surrounding Mercy's hands counteracts David's fire, snuffing it out gently, but effectively.
David remains passive, looking at Mercy as if he's just a figment of his imagination. But, most importantly, his arms don't relight.
"I'll handle it from here," a voice says from behind him.
Startled, Mercy jumps away from David, releases his grip on David's hands, and turns to see Ash standing behind him, frown marring his ordinarily pretty features. Not knowing what to say, feeling odd and out of place, Mercy retreats a few paces, allowing Ash to slide in and brush his slender hand across David's forehead. David relaxes immediately, slumping forward into Ash's chest.
"Gees, David," Ash murmurs at David, who's gone still against his chest. "You sure know how to ruin a party."
David mumbles something inaudible.
"Well, who wants to take this troublemaker home?" Ash asks, twisting his head to look at the people crowding the entrance to the room.
"I'll do it," Dominik volunteers, stepping into the room for the first time. "Spencer, you as well."
Spencer, who's reclining lazily up against the door's frame, as far away from Bentley as he can possibly manage, looks beyond irritated. "Fuck off, I drove myself here, I can drive myself home."
As Dominik walks past Mercy, he spares him a passing glance. "Ash, drive Spencer's car back." He glares dispassionately at Spencer. "Spencer, come help me carry David."
"Che," Spencer exhales, lumbering over to begrudgingly help Dominik. He tosses his car keys at Ash, who catches them easily, and slings one of David's arms up and over his shoulders, mirroring Dominik.
"Wait," Mercy says before he can stop himself. "What if he starts lighting things on fire again?"
Spencer glares at him, Dominik chuckles, and Ash sighs from behind him. "I neutralized his ability," Ash replies, carding a twitchy hand through his long blonde hair. "He won't be lighting anything else on fire for the rest of the night."
"I see," Mercy says, moving hastily out of their way.
"You should get going too," Ash tells Mercy as he breezes past him to trail after Spencer and Dominik.
Once they're gone, Mercy stays a minute to collect his thoughts before moving to exit the room. He finds Bentley just outside the doorway, curled up into himself, his back to the hallway wall, looking properly miserable. Mercy exhales heavily. "Come on Bentley, let's go."
There's a pregnant pause before Bentley mutters an affirmative, "Okay."