"Well t'en ye gotta stop makin' it so fuckin' easy ta fuck wit'ye."

[+2]

"I’m use to you by now. You can’t bully me into fake laughin’ at ya anymore."

"Who pissed in yer Wheaties t'is morn', Rome?"

The Enemy of Memory || Éire!Flashback || Connor & Murphy

He hadn’t expected the hug, well, it wasn’t that he hadn’t expected it, not really but he was always the one to touch his twin first. He was the one to graze a shoulder, he was the one to look for a gaze, he was the one who hugged. He was the big brother. But Murphy took him in his arms and at first, he didn’t want to move, he couldn’t move, too shocked, not really knowing how to receive this love. But then, he felt it, it was Murph, his twin, his favorite person on Earth. And his arms sneaked around his brother’s shoulders, his nose burying itself in Murphy’s neck. There was no shame to feel, he knew that his thoughts had always run in his twin’s mind and he felt even shittier as he realized that he had doubted his twin even for a second.

His arms tightened and he felt a gut wrenching sob escape his mouth. After that, he couldn’t hold back his emotions and the tears run freely down his cheeks as he let all his frustrations and sorrows pour out. He had been a shitty brother, a shitty twin and a shittier partner. Connor felt like shit because he had put his brother there, in this situation, away from Boston and his friends. But the tears were freeing him and he was oh so grateful to have someone like that, someone like Murphy that he could trust with his life.

Murphy had always believed that he and Connor had been born as twins, because they needed one another. They were one another's balance, grounding, and support. It was very rare that there was one without the other - and there was no one in the world that knew or trusted another more than Murphy and Connor did. It was simply the way they were made and meant to be. For this life - the life of violent justice - or simply just in all the trials that they had faced together. Of course, there had been several times that Murphy had proven himself to be the more brash and playful one of the two - the one that was defiant, more likely to act out -- but there was never a time, in whatever situation that Murphy hadn't been thinking of his brother, his twin, and how to keep him there, safe, and with him. 

Now that their lives had taken them a world away from the life that they had founded in Boston and back onto the greenery of their homelands - Murphy knew that everything would be alright. Even if they couldn't find peace, even if they had to adjust to things again after having such a thundering presence for a streak. They had one another, and no matter what they faced - they would do it together. Arms tightened around Connor, tears welling in Murphy's eyes even before he could acknowledge the the hot sting of them. 

"S'gonna be alrigh' brot'er. S'gonna be fine."

She looked at him, raised an eyebrow for some quick moments, thoughts passing through her mind. It wasn’t her first time. She did killed before. No innocent one was hurt. It was just evil that died by her hands — her gun. But he couldn’t know that, he didn’t know her. And to be honest, no one knew about that. Only her family. “Of course I do…”, she said with certain. She raised an eyebrow once more, not sure if she should admit she already killed someone. Was he an ally or an enemy? “I already killed people…”, she decided to say. If he was bad, she’d kill him too. “Evil people.”, she completed “Good people live. Which one are ya?”, she said with the gun still pointed to him, but not so firmelly.

This woman had already proven herself a rash person, in Murphy's eyes. Not only had she been openly checking a gun, telling him pointblank that she meant to kill someone - she admitted that it wasn't the first time that it had happened. Apparently she hadn't paid attention to media, in the height of the manhunt for he and his brother - and she had no reservations in confessing things to a stranger who may or may not be in the side of law enforcement. Instead of being alarmed at the gun being pointed at him, Murphy found himself annoyed at her recklessness.

"Put yer fuckin' gun down. S't'e worse fuckin' way o'doin' t'is shit."

[+2]

She waited until they had stepped out of the bar before she continued her questions, curiosity once again eating at her. Her steps were a bit unsteady, given all of the liquor in her system, and she reached out towards him, sliding her hand into the crook of his arm. “My hotel is a few blocks from here… There’s a bakery across the street that I think I will need to devour tomorrow.” She couldn’t remember the name of the hotel, but the bakery… “So, us? There’s more than one of you?”

The flex in his arm was almost automatic, as her hand slid against it. More to better support her weight if needed, than any sign of trying to impress her - he wouldn't have known if he did or not anyway, with that act. Still, she seemed as if she could teeter over - and while there was a soft fuzz around Murphy's brain, he was much more stable than he should've likely seemed. Perhaps it was the proclivity to take to whiskey that had given him the advantage in the situation.

"Aye, I know t'e one." Murphy nodded at her description, "Recommend t'e bearclaw m'self." There was a pause, giving the Irishman time to have the corner of his lips hitch slightly at the sudden interest in his brother, "Aye, t'at there are."

The twins were very much a like just as they were different- this technology bullshit was one prime example. Rarely was Connor a full on ignorant bastard, however- his dear brother was having to put up with the brunt of such a thing in that moment—

   ”Why no’? S’ fuckin’ broken.”

He was well aware that technology and his brother didn't mix. Time and again, there were clues, comments, and slew of discarded items that all had simple, fixable problems. Still. This was fucking insane.

"Oh m'fuckin' --" Murphy stopped himself, taking a step back from the computer and ran a hand over his mouth, "I'll fuckin' take care o' it."

sortalike7-eleven has found the coyote.

"Oh," She gives a little grin. "Yeah- No, it didn’t. It’s right here. She, rather. I like to be called she. Don’t worry- I don’t think you’re going to be trying to do something stupid like this guy, so I think we’ve got no quarrel, yeah?" She holds out a slim, corpse cool hand. "Invidia, NG, whatever you like."

There's a moment, just before her words settle in. Then, as they do, Murphy has to do a sort of double take upon the woman, uncertain if he heard her correctly. "Wait... " His brow furrowed, even as he raised his hand to shake hers, "Ye... did t'is?"

Unneeded? Perhaps, seeing as how they’d been previously going at it, but still, it seemed only proper to ask. Of course, it was also a good idea to ask, just to make sure he was still on board with this. If he hadn’t been, she’d stop, they could stop and go from there.

But he gave her permission, so it seemed that things were still a go. With his help, Wynter carefully helped him out of his shirt, the dark fabric tossed aside. Oh…Oh dear…She’d just unwrapped the most amazing gift ever. His chest was perfect to her, despite the scars. Scars and tattoos were just marks of character, reminders of the past, besides, she had her own, so how could she possibly judge him for his?

Pale, nimble fingers traced along the lines and dips of his muscles, mapping out the flesh of his chest, his shoulders, his arms…The very tips of her fingers found the scar on his arm, soon to be replaced by her lips, the young woman pressing a tender kiss to that scar of his.

It was honestly surprising to her, how bold she’d gotten since they’d started this. Perhaps it was because she felt so comfortable with him, perhaps it was because of the hidden feelings she harbored for him, though they weren’t all that hidden now, were they?

Murphy was not used to such a delicate touch upon him. The lithe movement of her fingers made the Irishman swallow hard, his eyes closing - just allowing the sensation consume him. He had never known something so raw, so beautiful as a moment like this. Somewhere, deep within the back of his thoughts, the nerves still quivered - but each breath, each beat of his heart, each moment that passed it was stilling, quieting and being replaces with something greater. Unexplainable - Murphy had never known a feeling like this before, but it was warm, and bright and wonderful. He wanted his own fingers to trace over each of her curves with the same delicate touch that she was granting him. He wanted to explore all the things that he had shied away or been closed off for so long. With her.

Eyes opened again, as he felt her lips press against the marred skin of his arm. How she had seen anything passed him as a killer, Murphy still hadn't quite figured out. There was a massive part of it that didn't make sense to him. Perhaps it was because he had never thought that this was something he would have in his life. Romance and love didn't exactly mix with the life of a vigilante. Each day he feared that someone would find her - something would happen that he couldn't fix - but each day he fell more and more in love with her. There was no way that he could ignore this. No looking back, no stopping. She was in his veins, his head, his heart.

His hand raised, fingers tucking under her chin and urging her face gently upwards so that his lips could claim hers. There was a passion in his kiss, lips parting and his other hand urging her closer to him, forgetting all the lingering reservations.

Of Men and Elves || sortalike7-eleven

Two weeks…Two weeks of tracking and yet the small hunting was no closer to its prey. Oh, but this was no normal hunting party, and the creatures they were hunting were not the normal game. These were elves, elves of Rivendell sent forth on the orders of Lord Elrond to hunt down a party of orcs that had been spotted on their borders. Normally they would have no problem catching up to a group of orcs, they never seemed to be in much of a hurry, but this particular group seemed to be moving as if they had whips to their backs.

Most unsettling, to say the least. Why were they in such a dreadful rush? Hopefully the party would find out.

One of the group paused, noticing something strange in the trail left by their prey. “Hold fast…” she murmured, crouching down to examine the odd print in the grass. “That is no orc track…I believe we are not alone on this hunt.” She added, pressing her fingers to the print. Human by the looks of it, and it was faint…A ranger would know to tread lightly, would keep to the shadows of the orcs whilst in pursuit.

“We are indeed alone. No one will be able to catch up with us.” One of the others scoffed. The fool.

“You do not give due credit to the rangers.” The one known as Wynter muttered. “They have a lead on us, by perhaps half a day.” She added, standing. “But they’ll have more if we keep standing here, idly chatting.”

The party was off once more, each running at a pace impossible to all but the fair folk.

Surprisingly enough, they managed to catch up with said group by nightfall, and not for any reason they could have foreseen. It seemed that there had been a skirmish. The bodies of orcs were scattered across the field, as well as a few fallen rangers it seemed. The survivors had set up camp near a rock formation, their small fire a beacon in the darkness.

The others of her party were ready to turn back, as it seemed their job was finished, but Wynter was not interested in turning back just yet, not until she knew that all of the beasts had indeed been slain. She approached the camp, the she-elf moving silently towards the human encampment.

“Greetings.” She murmured, approaching the group of men huddled around the fire. The strong stench of blood hit her nose, the metallic scent thick in the air. Too fresh to be from the battle, no…they had wounded brothers. “I suppose we have you to thank for dispatching our prey…But at what price?” she asked, taking a few more steps forward, but careful to respect the perimeters of their inner circle.

The skies at twilight had been painted vivid hues of crimson that night. Not with just the rays of the dying son, but of fallen enemies and slain brothers. It was in general, that rangers kept to themselves, and many preferred to travel alone along the plains and hills of whatever lands they had found themselves in. This small band, however had formed, in order to track down the seemingly more developed orcs that had been across the valley. They had no orders, no arrangement made by a King or Lord to dispatch the creatures - only their own loyalty to the lands on which they thrive. Alliances always would side with the Earth, and orcs, along with those that they obeyed had a certain proclivity for destroying it.

They had known that the fight would be harsh. In the days of tracking, they had concluded that it was nothing short of a dozen or more orcs. Brutal in their means of fighting, with less tendency to tire as a man would, and little to no hesitation in the offensive strikes - it would take fierce counter attacks, and lithe footing to ensure survival in the fight. Most of them did. But as with any battle, there would be casualties, there would be pain and mourning. Not of the orcs, but those whose valiant deeds were simply not enough.

Numbers had dwindled, and the choice to help those wounded to be patched up and healed before burying their companions, had come with making a camp, a fire, and gathering what supplies they could in their surroundings. Murph had been sent to find healing herbs - one of the men having a deeper cut against his shoulder that needed to be packed and wrapped lest he lose the use of his arm. Quick in his gathering, Murph had returned to the camp light-footed, sensing that they were no longer alone. Free hand on his dagger, his blue eyes narrowed, assessing the situation, before circling to come back where he could provide the most defense, if it were needed.

The soft voice was what had thrown him off. Feminine and strangely melodic to his ears, Murph tilted his head slightly, curious what elves would want with them at all. Ah. The orcs where what they were after. Still, they should've simply returned to Rivendell, and not bothered with engaging in any contact. Normally, that was the preferred way of the elves, who thought that men were going to be the bane of the world. But this she-elf was addressing them... was that concern in her voice, over their battle worn brothers?

"We knew the risks." Murph spoke up, coming from the shadows of where he had been watching, when no one else had answered her. Handing off the bundle of herbs, he took a step closer towards her, noting the others that stood with her, not looking nearly as appreciative, or concerned, as she.

Last Ones Standing • Connor & Murphy

To question what they had done was like questioning God. Had Connor done that before? No. He had to keep pulling himself away from doing so. It was just as natural to accept the pressing closer as it was for Murphy to do so in the first place. The Gaelic spoken was something he believed. He was just being needy to being utterly and pathetically, in his eyes, honest.

Through the barred windows he heard the faint sound of chanting. Clear that a crowd had gathered, suppose that whole ‘under ground following’ coming into effect. With a few more showered places of affection in the form of him placing lips in rhythmic pecks along the bridge of Murphy’s nose he was gingerly slipping off the hospital bed the next moment. 

Blue eyes took their time to cast over his shoulder with a raised brow. A silent way of telling the man on guard that they were going to move again. Nothing to be alarmed to and wit the confirmation of a head nod he made his way to peer out the window and out onto the prison yard. The cluster of fellow incarcerated criminals peering up at him had the knowledge of why he was here well up inside of him. A corner of his mouth raised as he wagged a finger at the men below. It was his belief in what they do that eased him. Gotta have fucking Faith and believe. Plus the strength of his brother he felt the worry melt away behind that tight wall he has erected in his core—

    “I t’ink we’ll be jus’ fine.”

The muffled noises from outside of the prison walls weren't something that was normal, Murphy could assess that much. While he could quite make out in clarity what they were saying, it was in the same cadence every time. If he were to focus on it for a moment longer, the chant would become clear -- but that wasn't what was on his mind at the moment. When Connor had shifted off of the bed, his eyes had gone to the guard, watching as the man nodded to them, his finger off of the trigger of his gun.

Shifting, testing the weight against his leg, Murphy stood from the bed as well, a slight limp from the pain that radiated up his calf, but he joined Connor at the window of their room. Around in the courtyard, there was no activity going on - not one inmate playing on the courts, or dealing out smokes like they were king of the castle. Instead they were all standing in their clusters, staring up at the pair of them, now, knowing who they were.

Once at the window, the chanting got clearer, and Murphy put his hand on Connor's shoulder, leaning in a bit more, his other hand forming a gun to point it at the inmates in his own silent telling of they weren't afraid of a bunch of jackasses welled up with them.

"Aye. Jus' fine, brot'er."

[+1]

Van watched impressed the ease Murphy had in doing this. It took her a very long time to learn how to do the lift. She came from the woods, this was the city and the whole experience has been complete culture shock. It was a sweet relief when she’d finally been able to do it.

She stood comfortably next to Murphy in the lift, noticing his coat still around her shoulders. She felt warm against the stale, still cold air of the building. She blinked at his question and cleared her throat. “Um, Philosophy actually. I know it’s not exactly practical and not the best way to utilize a free Harvard education… but it’s mine. You know? It’s all I got now,” she finished softly. 

He gave sort of a half-turn to look at Van more properly, when she had answered him. While he hadn't attended a fancy college, he had no degree that would allow him to have a corporate job starting at top notch pay or any of that, he knew enough to get him by. Knew skills and traits, that he had been taught throughout his life that were more practical in his eyes, than knowing college level trigonometry or being able to recite law practices. However, her answer had surprised him. Philosophy wasn't something that one heard often, in an answer of studies, and Murphy had to take a moment to let it sink in.

"If it's w'at ye like t'ough, nothin' wrong wit' t'at." He mused for a moment, offering the blonde a small smile, "W'at do ye wan'ta do wit' it, after?"

YeAh, that’s the problem, his work destroys me. I’m hangin on as best I can but you guys are promised a good hereafter. The bed I gotta look forward to is bein blasted to atoms by an angel for killin my boys

Murphy's left eye twitched slightly, as he furrowed his brow, in attempts to understand the vast entirety of the situation. "So w'at happens ta him, if ye die?"

Tea and the offer of an entire day spent in pajamas, all whilst snuggling in bed. Could Murphy be any more perfect? The young woman smiled, pale, chilled hands wrapping around the mug of tea. “I think that would be a lovely idea.” she confessed, taking a long, careful sip of the steaming brew. “I can’t say I have any pressing matters that need to be addressed right away, so I think this might be doable.” she added.

Besides all that, she’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. The fact of the matter was, she was running out of time with Murphy. The doctors had given him a year at most and the days were slipping by at a rather alarming rate. She had to take advantage of every day that she had with him, especially a day where they could just lounge around and pretend that nothing was wrong, that there wasn’t a death sentence looming over Murph’s head, that she wasn’t going to have to let him go, even if she could fix all of it….No, she couldn’t let her mind stray down that path. That path lead to heartbreak, to tears…No tears were allowed today.

"Maybe I’ll actually be able to finish that book I started two months ago." Wynter mused, breaking the silence and the rather gloomy path her mind had started to wander down.

In truth, Murphy simply wanted time with Wynter. The warm moments where they could forget - even if only for a little while - that it was all against them. So what would've seemed like a lazy day to anyone else, even to Murphy, had he been asked a year or so prior, it was something that he now coveted deeply. Just having the opportunity that both of them could be relaxed, and not worry. There was never any part of Murphy that wanted Wynter to have to deal with any of his mess. Not him being a Saint, not him being sick. As hard as it was for him, some days, it had to be tenfold for her. Or Connor. Murphy never meant this for either of them, and as much as he didn't want Wyn to use her powers to save him - he didn't want to leave either of them just yet, either.

Blowing lightly against the rim of his mug, to cool the liquid inside, Murphy took a tentative sip. Deciding that it wasn't going to scorch his tongue, he took another before licking his lips, and smiling at Wyn, "Aye, I know ye keep meanin' ta finish t'at up. Could read it t'gether if ye wanted." He suggested, setting his cup down on the nightstand beside him, and shifting so his back was against the headboard.