Against all things, it is Lars’ proclamations of seeing the spectres of his dead family that snaps him out of his fugue.

“So?” he snarls, more venom in his tone than he intended, volume raising to a yell-- the first time Lars would hear him yell, ever. “You’re not the only one who has lost, Commander. This doesn’t make you special.”

The spell is broken. His hand had slipped down Lars’ forearm and came so, so close to touching his palm-- now it is snatched away, as though the Head Ranger’s touch is toxic.

“It’s none of your fucking business who that was.”

Laurence Anderson
stretch of the imagination

☉

[attr="class","icon"]

Fox finds himself caught off guard for perhaps the first time since boruta maher had chased him through the streets on Aerodactyls.
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He freezes, a rabbit out of room.
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“That… would be strange,” he says, finally, after a long, contemplative silence. Behind his mask, his eyes narrow. “Given the antagonistic nature of our relationship.”
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His words are measured, purposeful, controlled. He is suspicious. He pulls his hand back, slightly.
[break][break]
What’s your game, Anderson?

Fox turns to look back at Lars, who has this weird edge to his voice-- it’s so apparent that for a second Fox is scared Lars has been poisoned, or something similar.

Turning is a mistake because it makes him look at the dream-figure again. “What does it matter?” he asks, voice a bit pained. “It doesn’t. This isn’t real. He is not real. Move on, Laurence.”

But he can’t bring himself to move. He’s looking past Lars, back to where the figure in the labcoat is still smiling at him.

He finds himself wondering, in an inane, far-away thought that swims just beneath the surface, too quick for him to catch and quell, if the figure can hug and it opens its arms.

Fox swallows a sob.

It would be nice to pretend. Even just a little bit.

Laurence Anderson
stretch of the imagination

☉

[attr="class","samknox2"]

[attr="class","samknoxw"]The door is thrown open and Lars is over the threshold, Fox close on his heels. Lars throws a punch into the nose of the first person to turn to them; Fox drops to a crouch and kicks his legs out, hooking the ankle of a brute who is stumbling to his feet and pulling it out from beneath him, sending him falling forward, face busting against the edge of a table.

He’s up on his feet in a beat, pulling something from his pouches: a small flashbang of sulfur and Gogoat’s rue, which he launches into a nearby crowd. The minute explosion had a foul smell and would knock out those in a very controlled area. Then he ducked to the other side, bringing down another brute with a well-targeted throat chop, and more small knockout grenades to their right.

There’s the sound of a Pokeball bursting, and a noise like bones knocking together as a Kingler runs at them, giant claw outstretched.

[attr="class","samknoxt"]
boxing bouncers
Laurence Anderson

[attr="class","samknoxc"]☉

[attr="class","icon"]

“Oh, the nonnas,” Foxed teased, giving the fingers on his outstretched hand a nigh-imperceptible flex, goading Lars into taking it. “Well, I can see where this would be intimidating, given I’m not your preferred partner of a little old Alto Marean lady.”
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Lars’ joking earned him a flat face.
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“No, that’s why I’m asking.” The sarcasm was thick enough to choke him.

Lars finally, finally moves, and Fox has to stop himself from sighing in relief. He continues to pull, setting off at a strict march, away from the man in the labcoat, away from the seam in the earth that continued to spout pink gas, away, away, away; he doesn’t run, because it’s important to stay calm, and increased respiration would mean inhaling more of this-- this shit.

“Stop talking. You’ll breathe it in less.”

“Lachlann."

Fox freezes.

Laurence Anderson
stretch of the imagination

☉

[attr="class","icon"]

“The hokey pokey,” Fox says, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated toss of his head.
[break][break]
“A waltz, you doolally.”
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He gestures with his antlers toward the party.
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“Unless you’re too shy?”

Fox flinches at what Lars says, eyes dropping down and away. The first sign of weakness he’s shown. A crack in the armor.

“Impossible. I have no idea who this person is.” He digs in his heels and pulls. “If you don’t move I’ll leave you here.”

“Ouch. That hurts.” The figment laughs, placing a hand over his heart.

“Move, Laurence.”

Laurence Anderson
stretch of the imagination

☉

[attr="class","samknox2"]

[attr="class","samknoxw"]Fox’s grin is predator sharp in the dark alley, the scent of the faraway sea mixing with the smell of cement and humanity to make something heavy settling down on top of them.

“I’m never unarmed.”

And he reaches over to turn the doorhandle.

[attr="class","samknoxt"]
boxing bouncers
Laurence Anderson

[attr="class","samknoxc"]☉

[attr="class","icon"]

This little tidbit is interesting. Of the Lars before he was Lars.
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“Oh?” Fox asks, turning to face the man proper. “Laurence Anderson, a poet? A veritable bard?”
[break][break]
He extends a hand.
[break][break]
“Can he sing and dance?”

Fox’s words died in his throat. He felt like his lungs were tying themselves up into knots within his chest.

The figure in the labcoat tilted his head, tousled blonde hair shifting over one temple. Eyes crinkling up in a smile. “Lock?"

“No one,” Fox said, and his words were fire. He pulled hard on Lars’ forearm, tugging him backward, wanting to go back the way they came but also keep the Ranger Captain solidly in between him and the dream figure. “He’s not real. We should go.”

Laurence Anderson
stretch of the imagination

☉