Raegan Northland

Blue Ridge Clan

-

Raegan wrinkled her nose at the idea of Axl saying... anything to her family. If they found him here, they’d kill him. Instantly. She wouldn’t even get the chance to hold them off, and he definitely wouldn’t get the chance to think of any ‘creative’ curses. The most he’d manage was a startled yelp before her mother launched herself at him like a homing missile.

“Hm... I don’t think you’d get very far,” she mused, tilting her head as if considering his chances like some kind of sport analyst. “I can only hold them off for so long, and by ‘so long,’ I mean exactly 0.2 seconds. You may need to fend for yourself. Or, you know, make a mad dash for the back door. It’s always open for emergency getaways and pizza deliveries.” She tapped her chin. “Though, my mother isn’t a fan of cursing, directed at her or not. I think she might actually spank you first, then decide how to dispose of the remains.”

They’d still get to him one way or another. And once they were done rearranging his skeleton, they’d move onto her for bringing the young Jager into their home like it was some kind of charity event. How would she even explain it? ‘Oh, yeah, the guy who tried to kill me, landed me on a ventilator for six months, took my voice, and all my remaining ego? Yeah, I let him in for shits and giggles. Thought it’d be a good time.’

Honestly... that wasn’t far from the truth. She did let him in for shits and giggles, and she did think they’d have a good time, but it was more than that. She was trying to claw back something she thought she’d lost for good. When she was with him, she felt like that same dumb teen who made bad choices and laughed about them later. Not all the time, of course—sometimes she’d catch a glimpse of him in dim lighting or mid-dramatic expression and bam—there was that same haunted look from that night. She still didn’t understand why she hadn’t asked more questions. Why she wasn’t locked up at home like she should have been. Why she ran towards danger like an idiot when she should’ve known better.

But now? Looking at Axl, sitting in that unicorn suit, she knew she didn’t have to worry. He wouldn’t lay a finger on her. If she actually thought he was a threat, he wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t have given him her address, even if he probably already knew it. She was done looking at him like a monster. She wanted to see him as something else now—an ally, maybe even a friend. And sure, that was going to be an Olympic-level challenge, but screw it, she was willing to try.

Realizing she’d been staring into the abyss of her thoughts too long, she grabbed the empty pizza box and her plate, setting them aside before pouring herself a drink—her usual Vodka Coke, because, well, she was thinking too much, and thinking too much was dangerous.

At Axl’s joke, she snorted mid-sip, nearly choking. She turned to him with a raised brow, perching on the counter. “Oh, I’ve done it before! Well... mostly fingers. I’ve stitched fingers back on before.” She wrinkled her nose, thoughtful. “It’s shockingly easy to lose a limb. Less easy to reattach one, unfortunately. If it were, I’d have a hell of a lot more patients walking around in one piece.”

She gave a dramatic sigh, then waved a hand. She hadn't read that shit since her early highschook days. “Frankenstein? Pffft. Okay, so basically, this dude Victor got a little too ambitious with his arts and crafts, went full mad scientist, and played Build-A-Bear—except with human body parts. He stitched together a sad little corpse quilt, zapped it with lightning, and boom—instant regret. The poor monster wakes up, gets treated like a walking crime scene, and—shocker—develops some abandonment issues. So, naturally, he copes by going on a murder spree. Classic." She then wrinkled her nose, clarifying. "Yes, I do remember how Frankensteins Monster ended." She tilted her head, frowning slightly. "And yeah, I think there were dead dogs in there somewhere? I remember crying about that part. Honestly, the real horror story is whatever Victor thought he was doing. Like, dude, why?"

Grinning, she glanced down at her phone, tapping a few buttons before a soft whirring sound came from the tiny printer perched on her shelf. A moment later, a freshly printed photo slid out, and she snatched it up like it was a prized artifact. Holding it up proudly, she beamed. “It’s not a bad thing to be remembered as, you know. I personally think this is a masterpiece.” She plopped the tiny photo in front of him, eyes practically glowing. “Behold! The majestic Axlcorn, devouring pizza in its natural habitat.”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of Deadpool, and she found herself grinning in return. Ah, yes, the pure and simple joy of hyper-violent, fourth-wall-breaking cinema. Truly, one of the best things to ever grace this rock they called home.

“Probably,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because the movies started coming out right after we stopped talking? Duh.” She huffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The first one was gold. The second? Chef’s kiss. The third?” She sighed dramatically. “Too PG for Deadpool. Marvel just had to ruin the fun.”

She watched him eye the last slice of pizza like it was either going to kill him or turn him into a god, then grinned. “If you can’t walk by the end of the night, you can crash on the couch,” she offered sweetly, knowing full well that was code for ‘keep eating, I dare you.’ She bought food like she was feeding a starving army because, well, she kind of was. If you didn’t leave movie night feeling like you were about to explode, you were doing it wrong.

When he boasted about not dropping a single speck of grease, she gave him a slow, sarcastic clap. “Look at you go! It’s almost like you’re a fully functioning adult! Who would’ve guessed?” She handed him a paper towel with a smirk, pointing at his chin.

She groaned as he refused to pick a movie. “And all of those were great suggestions,” she huffed, standing up and grabbing his sad, floppy unicorn ear to drag him toward the couch. She grabbed the remote, plopped down with her drink, and started flipping through options. “Alright, here’s the deal. We can watch IT...” she paused, peeking at him for a reaction. “I’ve never seen Lethal Weapon, so that could be fun.” She flicked through more titles. “Aaaannd if we don’t pass out, we can watch Deadpool—because clearly, you need a refresher.”

She cocked her head, waiting for approval, then grinned. “Unless, of course, you fall into a pizza coma first.”

Axl Jager

King Clan

+++

He knew that he'd be dead before he had a chance to say anything- or run- but whatever. Although he didn't exactly want to be torn to pieces, and he would be slightly opposed to it, he kind of deserved it. No, he DID deserve it. Period. So he couldn't get too mad. Honestly, if her family did show up, he'd probably just sit there with a sigh and let them drag out the torture.

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"I agree." He mused, then arched a brow. "Yeah, no. I have no right to defend myself at that point." He snorted. He was in someone else's home and he had hurt their daughter- he was surprised they hadn't found him earlier and turned him into confetti. "My mad dash ain't gonna be that fast after all this pizza." He wrinkled his nose. "Oh, well that's Reassuring. I get a beating before dying. Thanks." He stated sarcastically, deciding to revert to keeping his mouth shut.

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He also knew that him getting caught would be detrimental for her, so he couldn't let that happen. After he was hung over the town like a trophy, they would turn their fury to him. He didn't want that to happen. If he needed, he'd protect her by leaving. He, of all people, knew that sometimes the best thing for the people you cared about was not the thing they liked. Not that he had to deal with it much, since by the time he had matured at all, his real family was a bunch o' crispy potater tots. Although he missed his parents, the only sorrow he felt now was for Sierra. Because of him, she didn't get to live a life. She hadn't felt the joy of gunning a snowmobile down a lake, wind whipping at her clothing, nor had she been able to get her own home and feel proud for accomplishing so much. She was the real reason he was doing this. Of course, he hated Konig for killing his mom, and all that, but at least they had lived, laughed, and loved. Sierra got none of that.

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Axl glanced at her while she was silent, familiar with the zoned out look in her bright blue eyes. He had always found her eyes fascinating- they were so bright, yet they had darker flecks of blue scattered throughout, and the black ring around her iris. Nevermind the fact they usually glowed and twinkled with a happy light. He grinned slightly as she almost choked on her drink, looking thoroughly amused. "Yeah, fingers won't even begin to cover it." He was pretty sure his fingers would be in pieces, too. Not even Victor could sew him back together after her family was done. "So I've heard. I know quite a few people missing fingers." He had long since decided that the pinkie would be the best finger to lose, but it wasn't like you could chose. "I can imagine." Reattatching limbs sounded like something that shouldn't be easy. If you were stupid enough to lose one... suck it up and live with your mistake. Be more careful.

.

"Don't forget the went crazy and locked himself in a lab for months at a time." He offered with a tilted smile. "I always felt bad for the monster. I would be lonely, too." He mused, chuckling quietly at her question about what the guy thought he was doing. "Makes me wonder how authors think some of these things up." What's worse is when you read a horror story, then in the back it says based off of a true story? Yeah, no. He did remember being 8 years old or so and his mom was reading The Exorcist- he remembered her telling Otto that it was so scary she couldn't finish it. She threw it into the river. With that in mind, little evil Axl had pilfered another copy, ran it under the kitchen sink to make it wet, then put it on her nightstand. The scream was so loud his maniacal giggles and laughs were drowned out.

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His gaze flitted over to what he decided was a printer after a moment. His eyebrows drew together and he glanced at the picture before gagging. "No, I'm dying. Help." He flopped back dramatically, head lolling. "Axlcorn? I'm scared. Truly terrified." A shudder ran through him as the picture engraved itself very firmly in his mind. VERY firmly. It wasn't leaving any time soon.

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"...trueeee..." He wrinkled his nose, squinting his eyes off into the distance. Oh yeah. The movies had come out right after they stopped talking. How bout that. He never remember when movies came out- though he did distinctly remember the movie coming out and not watching it because he was depressed. (I cannot believe it came out in 2016. I feel so old- that movie is so NEW xD) "they kinda butchered the third. But still, it broke the record with the staggering amount of F-Bombs." He snorted. "Makes me wonder how people watch this with their children." Honestly, the whole suicide I don't give a shit about anything problem didn't help either. Still, it was a HILARIOUS movie that deserved fans.

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He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment at her faux sweet tone. "I will be able to walk, thank you very much. Drive is a different story. I might be pushing the bike home." He snorted. And that would suck- the things tires did not turn easily. He would be getting home one way or another. Maybe not tonight, but if he walked, definitely by the morning. Unless he fell asleep on the side of the road. That could happen.

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"I'm not a fully functioning adult, though. I'm obviously a 14 year old trapped in a 20 something year Olds body." He sniffed. He didn't even want to think about how old he was. He may have forgotten. 20... uh... 6? That didn't seem right. His expression crumpled as she handed him a paper towel. He took it and irradiated all pizza grease from his face.

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"Hey- wait a minute, I'm coming-" He complained standing quickly as to not have the hood pulled over his head again. "You could've just got up and walked to the couch and I would've followed." He huffed, sitting down on the other side of the couch with sufficient room between them. He was going to mentally be thankful it was a three person couch, or he'd be sitting way off to the side in a chair or on the floor. Honestly, the floor would probably be more comfortable. "You've never seen Lethal Weapon? You've NEVER seen LETHAL WEAPON?!" His jaw dropped open. "Stop, stop. We're watching that. You can pick something afterward, but we're watching that." Axl stated firmly. No room for argument there. "It's hilarious. Maybe not Deadpool rating, but really close." He nodded slowly at her suggestion, then threw her an offended glance. "I do NOT need a refresher- I know every word of that movie- but I wouldn't mind watching it again. If I'm conscious, as you said." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm hoping for no pizza Coma. Cross your fingers."

Raegan nodded sagely, lips pursed in agreement. There was no reasoning with people who had already made up their minds, especially not when those people were large, angry werewolves who happened to be related to the very nice young woman you once attempted to murder. There wasn’t exactly a compelling defense for slitting someone's throat, no matter how you spun it.

“Nope, you don’t,” she mused, glancing at him with a smirk. His defense would only worsen if she so much as opened her mouth in his favor. Her family would immediately assume she was under duress, drugged, or suffering from a severe head injury. And honestly? That wasn’t even the most outlandish assumption they could make.

A slow grin tugged at her lips when he mentioned running for his life. Oh, there’d be madness, alright. But dashing? Unlikely. Not after he’d just inhaled half a pizza, and certainly not after she was done forcing the rest of the food on the table into him. If anything, he’d be rolling out of here, not running.

“At least you get a telling-off before you go,” she quipped, tapping her chin in mock thought. “A real proper one, too. The kind that’s so severe you won’t even be cursing in whatever hellscape you end up in.” She snickered. Her mother could scold the sin out of a grown man in under three minutes, and Axl? Well, he’d be easy pickings. Raegan, on the other hand, had mastered the fine art of cursing exclusively outside the presence of Mother Northland. Friends, colleagues, unruly clients—sure. But her mother? No. That woman had a way of making you regret your choices in a way that lingered for years.

And if Axl did get himself caught, hanged, drawn, and quartered— Quick History lesson: you know, they used to do it in that order: first, they’d hang you, but not enough to kill you, just enough to be extra mean about it. Then they’d drag you through the streets so everyone could get a nice look at your suffering before finally—bam! Quartered. Four pieces. Like a really macabre pizza.

—then, somehow, the blame would probably land on her. What do you mean she was responsible for the tragic, gruesome demise of America’s youngest future billionaire? That wasn’t a headline she wanted to deal with. If that happened, Konig would personally see to it that both she and her entire family had a very unfortunate accident. If Axl insisted on making these visits a regular thing, she might actually have to tell someone. Just drop a casual. 'Hey, so, remember that guy I used to know? Turns out he's sorry for TRYING TO KILL ME. Oops.' Preferably before her family decided to handle the situation in their own, very final way.

She clicked her tongue. “Yep, fingers.” She had dealt with more detached fingers than she cared to count. It was disturbingly common in the hospital. Some people were lucky enough to have good friends who picked up their severed digits and rushed them in, allowing doctors to reattach them in time. Others? Not so much. There was a concerning number of people who, upon losing a finger, chose to sit around and ponder their life choices instead of immediately heading to the hospital. Like, what are you doing? Why is your first instinct not ‘Let me go fix this’? People are dumb as hell.

Now, stitching arms and legs back on? That was a bit trickier. Sure, if all the important nerves and stuff were intact, it was technically possible. She had once read about an attempted murder case where a woman’s throat had been cut so deeply that her head was almost entirely detached. And you know what she did? Held her own head on until help arrived. “Survival instincts go crazy when they need to,” Raegan noted, shaking her head.

She huffed at his Frankenstein remark. “Oh, please. Victor didn’t fix anything. He made it worse. Guy needed serious therapy before he started messing with corpses.” She smirked. “Me? I just put thumbs back on morons who yank their hands the wrong way and pop ‘em clean off.” People seriously underestimated how much they needed their thumbs. Until they lost one, of course. Then suddenly, it was the end of the world.

When he grimaced at the photo, she frowned and glanced down at it. “I like it. You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” She snatched a fridge magnet—one of many, many ugly ones—and slapped the picture onto the fridge. He could glare all he wanted. She found it objectively hilarious. The broody, tragic werewolf billionaire eating pizza in a unicorn onesie? Priceless.

“Oh, nononono, I liked the third one,” she admitted. “Just…not what I expected. It kinda felt like Marvel was holding up a ‘Please Give Us Money’ sign.” Raegan tilted her head, grinning at a particularly amusing memory. “I watched the third one with my mom in the theater. Never seen that woman look so—” she waved her hand vaguely “—appalled in my entire life.”

Her amusement faded slightly when Axl joked about walking home. She narrowed her eyes. “Walk? Home?” she echoed. “Oh, absolutely not. I’m not letting you push that thing around in the dark while you’re full of food and regret.” If necessary, she’d steal her brother’s car and personally drive him home. He could collect his bike when he was no longer in danger of toppling over like an overfed cow.

She watched him for a moment, then suddenly gasped, her hand landing on her chest as though she’d made a shocking revelation. “Axl,” she breathed dramatically, “you are closer to thirty than you are to twenty. It’s time to get your shit together.”

Which, granted, applied to her too. She was far too old to be hosting movie nights that could feed half the state’s homeless population. Oh well.

Flopping onto the couch, she wrapped herself in an unreasonably thick blanket, pulling her legs up to get comfortable. “I could have let go, but your ear was just so grab-able,” she teased, rolling her eyes as she turned her attention to the TV. She made a conscious effort to keep a reasonable distance between them—partly because she was about to turn the lights down, and the last thing she needed was him breathing down her neck. Just the thought made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t appreciate. No, tonight was about relaxing. Not triggering some inconvenient mental breakdown.

She looked a little surprised at his upset about Lethal Weapon, then let out a chuckle, shaking her head. "Nu-uh. Never seen it." Her brows pinched together in exaggerated confusion, and a slow grin spread across her face—one of those grins people when they were trying to keep a secret. With an affirming nod, she grabbed the remote, scanning through the options. "Is it really that good?" she mused with a teasing lilt. When she finally found it, she shot him a smug look. "See! I made you make a choice! Took the long road, but we got there. Are we watching the old one or the 2016 one?"

+++

A small smirk crept onto his face as he heard her snort. Per usual, amusing her was his top priority, but it was funnier when he didn't actually try to. Honestly, his brain worked in mysterious ways- he amused himself sometimes. Particularily because he tended to speak aloud to himself, even when he was alone, and he'd catch himself saying completely random things that didn't correlate whatsoever with what he was thinking. But yeah... waddle. He didn't even want to try to imagine the carnage. It'd be like in the movies where he'd crawl halfway out the door, coughing on his own blood, just to be grabbed by the ankle and hauled back inside kicking and screaming for another round of You-Vile-Evil-Cruel-Parasite-Tried-To-Kill-My-Daughter-And-You-Will-Now-Pay. Yeah. So much fun.

All he could try for was not ruining her beautiful white carpet. It was almost blindingly white. If he peered at it for too long he may not be able to see in the dark... ever again. It was horrifyingly clean and every step he made caused more fear to grab his heartstrings as he wondered which one would be him somehow staining the carpet, probably by pizza crust grease. Ohhh the horror. She'd kick him out faster than he could realize what he had just done. Then he'd feel guilty for damn months, because literally- she named the frickin' vacuum cleaner that made sure the carpet was spotless.

Axl opened his mouth to defend himself before realizing he has no defense. "... Okay, for one, have you ever met any person who would go up to me and tell me off for anything? Besides your terrifying mother? And for two, quite accurate, I'm loving the grudge you have built against Konig and will encourage you to keep it up." He grinned crookedly, looking thoroughly amused. No one - but him - ever dared to insult the great billionaire in any way, so he was relishing in the fact that she didn't seem to mind. It was quite refreshing and well accepted, honestly.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure with me she'd skip the healed part. And the dinner part. And the waking up part. It would just be beat the living daylights outta me and then realize I'm dead and be like 'whoops, didn't mean to do that yet, should've waited till I found the cow whip'." He snorted, shaking his head slightly. Man, he was walking a tightrope. One wrong move and he would plummet to a painful and not so quick death.

His eyebrows drew together as she started describing how actually cursed her mother was, and he decided fearing for his lifeblood was a good idea right about now. "I don't doubt that, okay? Stop scaring me." He made a face. "And why the microwave?" A shudder ran through him as he envisioned her mother just APPEARING outside of the microwave. Yeah, he wasn't sleeping tonight. Before this he thought he wasn't scared of anything, but holy hell. "I can confidently say mom-radar is the best superpower on the planet, and that I now am a believer and will not misbehave." His tone was joking, but yeesh. If he didn't want to die- yeah, that sounded bad... if he didn't want not to die? No... point was, he was okay with dying, and if he wasn't, he would've high tailed it out of here by now. Pizza and stuffed stomach and all, gone faster than thought humanly possible.

"Oh! That is good. Makes me feel much better that I not only am a horrible person but will also traumatize someone in my untimely passing! Yay!" His voice was dripping with so much sarcasm it was almost palpable. "Great to know that I've not only hurt you in many other ways, but even after I'm dead I'd still be doing a good job. Don't get too attatched- I would not want you shedding even a singular small tear." He huffed. "Then I would feel even worse." It definitely did not make him feel better. For most people it would, sure, but putting it bluntly- if he did die, he wanted her to forget about him and have a very happy life. Like, immediately. No mourning necessary. Good riddance.

"A robot would be much less stinky. How do you think he finished sewing it up? I could understand if he suspended the body parts in a type of liquid or chemical chamber that would cancel out the stench and perhaps preserve them, but when he does take them out to sew them back together.... what then? Gas mask?" He mused, eyebrows knitting together slightly in an expression of deep thought.

"Life, yes.... but digusting, attatchment issues life. And I would NOT want him to be my doctor. 'Yes yes, this is a completely normal routine.' Kindly makes me fall asleep so it won't hurt. I wake up hours later. WHERE IS MY HAND?! 'I need it. Sorry! Bai!'" Axl spoke the scene aloud, a hand waving in a dramatic gesture. "Think he got the body parts from live people or an old fashioned morgue? 'What are you doing in here?' Victor, with a knife, looking like a deer in the headlights, leaned over a day old body. 'Uh... I need... this... finger.' Person who caught him. '....' They back out slowly and run.'" He wrinkled his nose in half amusement half disgust. "Or even worse. Victor just goes up to a random persona and cuts their finger off, then runs away laughing like a maniac. They didn't put that in the book. Genius indeed." He sniffed.

He gave her a blank look, huffing quietly. "I-" While he was trying to figure out what to say, he heard the comment about eating pizza like a toddler, and his expression morphed into highly offended. "ExCuSe mE. I do NOT eat pizza like a toddler. I am highly sophisticated and pizza grease gets everywhere. You should be proud it's not on the onesie, not tearing me down." He complained indignantly. How dare she.

"That cannot be considered art. If it ever ends up in a museum, I am buying that museum, burning it down, and taking the picture's ashes, putting them in an urn, and telling people I'm scattering my dead uncle's ashes so they leave me alone while I dump them in a forest somewhere." He mused, sounding like an evil villian calculating a careful plan to destroy the thing they hate most in life. He was being very over dramatic and would never burn the picture, even if it did end up in his hands. Honestly, he'd rather frame it. First time he was back at Raegan's house. Relationship is healing. Kind of. On the right track. It was a special memorial that he didn't love but cherished all the same.

He nodded as she spoke about Wolverine, 100% fully agreeing. "He did look mighty unhappy for most of it, and I much prefer the X-Men Wolverine. The one who actually died and had a daughter. Also, his daughter was awesome- like, come on. How could you ask for anything better than a little maniac with killing machine claws and a dark sense of humor?" Axl chuckled. He wouldn't have ever watched it with his mother even if she was still alive, but she obviously didn't think of that part of it. When she started speaking again, he slowly shook his head and shrugged, looking absolutely clueless. "I have no idea, sorry. I'm not a good person to ask- go ask someone who actually does think he's hot as a burnt pistachio and maybe you'll get a better answer. I think he looks like someone who got repeatedly thrown in a fire and squished udner a very big boot with deep tread, but that's just my opinion and I happen to be a very straight person who doesn't give a flying pigeon what any man looks like." He stated, mentally contemplating where in his mind he pulled flying pigeon out of. Ohh the mysterious of life. If only he could solve just one of them.

"I could blend in just fine, thank you very much. And I would probably just go in the clothes I came in, like a sane person, but yeah." He wasn't weird as hell so he did have his thin sweatpants and t-shirt on under this, because duh, so he could just go in those if he needed to. Didn't really want to, though. Brrrr. It was maybe 50 degrees out right now, so if he jogged the whole way, he'd be perfectly fine, but it would get colder throughout the night, and he wasn't gonna jog all the way back.

"I understand that, but this is 'murica. I have free will." He sniffed haughtily, blending a perfect southern accent with a british like upwards nose turn to make a comedic figure. "Hey, I never claimed to have the maturity of a person my age. I may just be a toddler trapped in this husk. You never know." He pointed out. "I do like apple sauce a little more than your normal human..." He mused afterward with a supressed grin.

"Sparkle pony?" He gasped in mock offense, hand flying to his heart- and almost accidentally smacking himself in the face with the hoof like thing flopping off of his wrist. "I am very useful and totally not a sparkle pony thank you very much." He stated as he stood and scanned the room for a light switch before walking over, turning it off, and returning to his spot. The glow of the TV easily let him not crash on the way back. It was still rather bright in there.

Since he hadn't watched this movie in at least a year, he may not have fully remembered the beginning, and after a moment of silence, he had to duck his head to stop himself from laughing when she finally spoke. "I never said the beginning was my favorite, okay? Have patience." Once the scene finally did shift to the cops, he regained his composure and glanced back up. It would all make sense later, but yes, of course all good movies had to start with a terrible scene. And the saxophone. Holy hell he forgot about that. Way more amusing than not.

Axl Jager

King Clan

+++

Axl noticed immediately that she was studying him, or at least vaguely watching him. He had gotten quite intune with people doing that, as he had to be three steps ahead of every person in the business industry. He overthinking brain immediately started listing all the things she could be thinking about, from bad to worse. He was mentally planning being kicked out, honestly. It didn't take him more than 3 seconds to partially convince himself that he was doing much more harm than good just by sitting here, and that he shouldn't be trying to be anywhere near her. Maybe if he let her get on with her life it'd be fine? Ten seconds in and he was having a small mental crisis. Per usual, when he did this, a headache immediately started pulsing at his temples. What could he do to be better, how could he make this easier, was the best thing to pull away or should he stay where he was, would she appreciate it after a little while if he disappeared entirely, should he just limit how much he saw her, could he even do that without mentally breaking down? What if she was spiraling back to that night, what if she was realizing how much of a mistake she was making by letting him anywhere near her. When she looked at him, did she feel fear? Was he just a monster, was she just pretending to be okay even though she was shattered inside? Why was she even allowing this all to happen if it hurt? Did it hurt that much, or just was it just on the edge? Was she reminded of that night yet it wasn't bad enough that she couldn't bear it? The way she was looking at him... he couldn't tell if deep down she truly hated him and this was all a facade, or if she was just normally traumatized by everything that had happened. It ... it scared him, not being able to read her, or know. She usually wore her heart on her sleeve, at least in his eyes. She was easy to read and he could practically read her thoughts most of the time... but not right now. She was looking at him like he was a dangerous storm, broiling at the edge of becoming a world changing event yet not quite there. Was he? No... yes? He wouldn't ever try to hurt her again- he would kill himself before hurting her. That was the very blunt truth. But what about others? Yes. He was a disaster waiting to happen. An unstable person, on the brink of insanity. Why he wasn't in an asylum yet, he could only guess to be Konig's money or his uncanny ability to hide every emotion- most of the time. The thoughts were slamming into his skull by now, the throbbing increasing slightly as his mind threatened to implode. How could he sit here knowing how he obviously must've been making her feel? He had tried to kill her.. if he were her, he'd be much worse off than this. Was she that bad, and hiding it? Why, why, why? So many questions, an insane lack of answers.

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His head tilted just slightly and he blinked once before his mind truly registered her words and the headache ebbed slightly. She had spoken. She didn't sound horribly terrified. That was a good sign. Right? Or was she completely hiding it? His fingers twitched against the arm of the couch in helpless, silent agony. If only he just knew... at least something helpful. "... Good to know I have options if I ever want to be told off..." He answered quietly, tone holding a soft joking lilt to it, though he was partially preoccupied with clearing his mind. Holy mackeral... he was snowballing, bad. He had learned that much from that stupid ass therapist. Snowballing = bad.

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His eyes finally flicked to her as her eyebrows drew together and she looked both slightly concerned and a bit pissed, then commented about Konig. Ah, yes. The perfect man to put that expression on anyone. "Good point. And answer... he's not a normal lunatic." He offered helpfully. Konig was a much worse lunatic. And Axl would've much preferred kidnapping.

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He snorted quietly at her response about her mother de-limbing him. He had always wondered what it had felt like- not. He did not really want to be de-limbed, but to be fair, he did kinda deserve it. "Wellll... I'll... have to try not to piss her off... any more." Yeah, no. He was dead. He made a face, looking mildly concerned. "Meeee neither. Good observation." He mused drily. He had successfully started focusing on the conversation- not on everything else. He didn't need to be questioning everything he had ever known.

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Axl wrinkled his nose slightly and grumbled quietly. "You're mother is a terrifying figure." He responded. Raegan wasn't scaring him, but the thought of getting personally de-limbed on her white carpet was. "If you said kettle or fridge, I'd be less worried and more concerned." He pointed out. "And that wasn't a hard question. A hard question would be something like why do we exist. That would be considered hard." One of the 7 or so questions that all humans asked. He had read many studies on those. For ... no reason. Except that he really would love those explained, because they weren't helping him much.

.

Aaaaaaand just like that, he was horribly overthinking again. Why had he said that. Why had he joked about that. He wasn't really joking about it, was he? No- yes? He was stupid as fuck, apparently- why couldn't he just keep his big mouth closed? Keep the trap shut for three seconds and try not to make everything worse, like he always seemed to do. She just froze, completely blanked, obviously wasn't thinking good things, and he was ready to grab a frying pan and hit himself in the head. No Rapunzel necessary, no sirree. He could do it himself juuuust fine. He mentally cursed himself out for being an idiot, his blood boiling as if trying to melt his skin from the inside out- and yet it was only mental. Minds were a complicated maze of emotion and logic, and his logic was painfully telling him that he should've just SHUT UP.

His golden eyes turned to her as he forced his expression into something normal, which didn't last long. It melted into something more like very hard to recognize very well hidden sadness... and maybe a bit of goofy gratefulness that he really didn't want to leak out. His expression softened a tiny bit more as she said 'under all the abs and trauma' because, yeah, very accurate. His eyes practically turned into dark melty chocolaty pools of golden brown overwhelming happiness at her last sentence, his demeanor cracking slightly. Damn it, he was failing. He didn't even know if he could respond to that without a wimpy voice crack or two. So he didn't. He couldn't muster up the emotional energy to combat the extreme thoughts flying through his mind to form a coherent and collected sentence, so he refrained from letting that drain him.

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What he could do was focus on something lighter. A joke. He could do jokes. "I dunno... maybe it's easier to bring 5 different people to life as one than bring one back to life?" He mused, forcing himself to contemplate this to distract him from other matters. "Eugh- stop. I don't need this after all that pizza." He made a slightly disgusted face. "Victor was insane, the monster was lonely, we've summed up the book. Time to move to a different one. Like Harry Potter or something that can't have body parts being sewn together." Granted, it was... Harry Potter. You could still go wrong. "Or... uh... Cinderella or something. Can't go wrong with that, right?" His nose wrinkled. ".... Or if we're goin' Disney princesses, Rapunzel. No limb cutting off there, just frying pans and a very sassy chameleon." Axl grinned slightly. Pascal was his FAVORITE character in that child film- he watched it with Sierra when he was what, 7? And goddamn that little thing had some spunk.

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He pinched the bridge of his nose with a badly hidden chuckle as he envisioned his described scenes. "If it was just a flu jab, duh, I'd be leaving. I could be bleeding all over the floor and he comes at me with a needle and I'm hightailing it the other way. I'd rather lose and arm and bury it than let him steal it." He snorted.

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"No no, the only thing I need you to be proud of me for is keeping both your carpet and the unicorn onesie very clean. That is it. No other accomplishments are amazing enough to be mentioned." He responded in a serious manner, though his eyes, per usual, told the tale that he was joking.

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"I am NOT a toddler, for the last time. I may be as MATURE as one but I am obviously not one." Considering he had his driver's license, he was labeling himself as not a toddler. Teenager, sure. Not a toddler. He sighed in a 'man you're insufferable' way at her sparkly well behaved toddler comment, but didn't bother arguing. She'd win.

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He glanced at the picture again, smiling slightly. "Alright, alright. No destroying the picture. But don't put it in a museum. And I don't think we have to worry about that QUITE yet, but I'll keep it in mind." He snorted. There was a 99.99999 percent chance he died before her, so she may have to face the wrath of her family members and make them do it or make a random stranger do it. "Also... how do you think that would work? Me at the funeral, very recognizable, makes sure you're buried with this random picture. Your entire family all in one place, flabbergasted that I had enough gull to be within 100 miles of them. I'd probably die the same day, but I wouldn't get a burial." He huffed. Totally not fair. She needed to find someone more suited for that Job. Someone who wasn't labeled Kill on sight by her family.

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"Hey- hey! I'm not a manic killing machine. I cannot deny the claws or dark sense of humor." He would argue the case that he was not MANIC though. Or a killing machine. His eyebrows lifted slightly and he let out a snort of laughter at her accusatory words about Ryan Reynolds and him not thinking they were hot. "Wow, okay then. Well, I am not normal, and sorry to have offended your core beliefs about Ryan Reynolds." He grinned slightly. "And... no. I don't know how to answer or help. Especially when I don't find him hot in the first place, let me remind you. I am pleased to be called the first guy you've ever met that wouldn't be gay for him, using your words." And if not for Reynolds, for no one. He was safe from that, at least.

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He arched an eyebrow and sighed dramatically. A second later, chaos ensued, and she completely lost it laughing. Honestly, he couldn't help but smile, because wow. She was amused, to say the least. Win, apparently, even though he did just accidentally whack himself in the face with a unicorn hoof. He begrudgingly accepted the blankets that got chucked at him, pleased with his very successful attempts to take up less than the whole cushion he had been assigned. "Comfort should not be legally required- that's way too hard." He commented with a slight snort, but did peer at the shadowed side of the couch to find the lever to cue the leg rest to appear.

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He bit back another grin at her muttered words, shaking his head slightly. "I forgot about that part. I tend to forget what I have no interest in." Since the actual good part of the movie hadn't started at that time, he never remembered that scene. He usually never paid attention, anyway.