calloused: ғᴀᴏʟᴀᴅʜ (30.)
ᴅᴇʀᴇᴋ ʜᴀʟᴇ ♔ ([personal profile] calloused) wrote2019-01-19 03:09 pm
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Derek Hale. Leave a message.

( video / text / voice / action )

confiscated: (⇀ souls that are stolen)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-14 07:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[Tate'd normally fight just for the sake of fighting, or light up anyway once inside the den but today he just... doesn't feel like it. He feels a bit absent from himself and it's not a feeling he particularly likes. It's like he's just died all over again, and maybe he has, but he hasn't found a way to re-root himself in reality. He's hoping that Derek'll be an anchor but the fact Derek mentions he has to talk to him about something does nothing to keep Tate's nerves at bay.

He shows up around six thirty looking more disheveled than usual, hair a bit flatter and a gaunt look to his face; hollowed, somehow, by his unknown absence. He's got a brown paper bag with food he has absolutely no desire to eat but he needed to go through some motions. He slips in through the door like a whisper, a certain blank blackness to his eyes that doesn't go away even when he lays them on Derek.]


I brought food.

[He puts it on the counter, where the strong scent of greasy chinese can waft out of the bag.]
confiscated: (⇀ a time of love)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-14 07:44 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm not hungry.

[He answers immediately, like that's all he has to say - and it could be, if he didn't a moment later hesitate as if drawn back to a part of himself he'd learned to rely on around Derek the last little while. That's the part where he's more open about himself, like he's stirring to make an additional comment because Derek is owed it, just like he's owed honesty and openness.

Tate's a bit displeased still, nose crinkling a bit at the pungent smell of the chicken and he'd rather not even stay in the room but he knows what his answer should be for Derek. And while he's not yet at the point where he wants to eat, he eases into it step by step:]


I feel kind of sick still, I haven't eaten all day.

[He wets his lips, glancing at Derek, assuming it means he's surrendering to it now like a dog with its ears tucked back and tail down in wary submission.]

I don't want a lot.
confiscated: (⇀ the hunters come)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-14 08:13 pm (UTC)(link)
[Tate's silent in a way that's a bit telling about how he feels about the notion of only eating a little, but after a long stagnant pause he picks up the fork. He takes his time to get a plate, meandering around the kitchen like he's drifting along and making no hurried motion to fill up. In fact it's not until Derek offers to make him something else that he teeters over the edge, using his fork to part a bit of rice onto his plate and what you'd consider a morsel of meat.]

This is fine - I'll try.

[He's never quite felt as vividly dead here as he does now, but he supposes he's just forgotten it. It's been two years pretty much since he drifted in and even though he feels bogged down by a persistent fog in his head, he's going to try to shake it off. This isn't the House - he needs to keep moving and not become a forgotten afterthought. He steps closer to Derek, closer than he needs to, side to side as he takes a fortune cookie and tears its packet open with his teeth.]

Where do we eat? Couch?
confiscated: (⇀ and rage)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-15 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
[Tate slinks toward the couch like Derek's shadow, curling up with his heels on the sofa cushion and his body tilted toward Derek on a slant. It's one of those moods of Tate's where he won't outwardly say it but there's a clear want to be touched or held, and he just drops his head to look down at his pitiful plate of food which he pokes at with his fork. He licks a few grains of rice off the prongs of the fork.]

Okay.

[The boat - a place of merciless blood and suffering, and a few experiences he probably should forget about. Being shackled to the brig's walls was one of those things he will just neglect to mention and in time seemingly forget ever happened - if you ignore it long enough it's like it never took place? He spears chicken on his fork.]

I found Noah there, after... I don't know how long I was there. We wanted to get off but didn't really know how until we saw people jump.
confiscated: (⇀ this winter morn)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-15 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
A little. Not bad or anything, but there was a lot going on.

[People were tearing one another apart in a variety of ways, from the more violent to the sadistically sexual and he definitely got some hands thrown his way in such a way he was disheveled long before he made it to the brig to be left to the mercy of strangers. He spins the ring on his thumb and then tentatively eats a bite of chicken, which tastes like nothing in his mouth. It takes a lot of effort to swallow.]

Worst was after we jumped. We did it together, to get back to land. I know how to swim pretty okay and it was like nothing I've ever experienced before. I just sunk down and down.
confiscated: (⇀ lost dreams)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-15 02:24 am (UTC)(link)
I don't know if there was anything you could've done. I didn't even know you were there.

[Until after, at least. Maybe if he had found Derek it would've been something different - he would've had someone to help him, even. He looks sidelong at Derek like he might be thinking about that in particular but he doesn't say anything. He just stabs at another small piece of chicken off his plate and avoids putting it to his lips.]

When I - when I went under, I...

[Tate stares blankly, fork drooping back down to the plate. He stares off to the distant wall of the den, blank and unfocused. He doesn't quite flinch but it's like there's something plaguing him, and he rubs at his eye before clutching the side of his head almost as if pain is shooting through it.]

I saw stuff. I can't - I can't make sense of it. Even when I try.
confiscated: (⇀ let me hate)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-15 04:25 am (UTC)(link)
I - I don't know.

[Tate repeats a little louder, almost slipping into a frustrated tone. It's not that he doesn't want to figure out the flashes of color in his head but every time he tries to there's something that blends everything together in his head and makes him a bit sick from trying to keep it all separate and apart. He clutches his hands into his hair, grimacing with his eyes closed and his body hunching forward. He heaves a breath and his fork falls from his plate, off his lap and onto the floor.]

Everything is - any time I try to think, it hurts. Nothing makes sense when I try to talk about it. It's in my head and I can't fucking get it out!
confiscated: (⇀ the pain beyond measure)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-15 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
I just want... to be able to make sense of it.

[He's so caught up in his own upset that he doesn't have the foresight to see what kind of a danger it would be to have Derek peek into his head. One wrong memory and everything he's built here would unravel as violently as all the lives he once snuffed out. But Tate's still suffering in his own head, starting to rock gently, but he breathes in deep at the contact from Derek and slowly relaxes. He's still tense, muscles tight, teeth clenched together and his fingers still gripping into the curls that halo his head.]

It's in my head and I can't even talk about it. I want it out. Take it out.
confiscated: (⇀ mind playing tricks)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-15 06:13 am (UTC)(link)
[He's not ready - he's still caught up in the whirlwind in his head that even after Derek moves, it's not until he's squeezing his shoulders that he really realized where he went. Tate is hunched forward just a bit and tries to correct, leaning back against the support of Derek's hands before slanting forward again on second thought. His heart flickers in its beat and he turns to look over his shoulder, vaguely present but also - rightly apprehensive.]

Do I need to do anything? Should I- do anything?

[Close his eyes. Take off his shirt? Hold his breath or count to twenty?]

Don't count down or anything. Just do it.
confiscated: (⇀ one sight too few)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-16 03:50 am (UTC)(link)
[Tate murmurs something of an 'okay' but aside from feeling Derek's grip tighten he's woefully unprepared for the feeling of his claws gliding into the back of his neck. It's like a jolt and Tate lets out a softly strangled noise, back rigid and his lips parting in a silent gasp as all breath in his lungs is extinguished in the quickest of moments.]

Sh-Shit.

[He scrunches his eyes closed and grits his teeth, trying to focus on the memories in question as if it might help Derek find them somehow.]
confiscated: (⇀ and mine in time)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-18 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
[Tate doesn't know how to properly describe this moment, and that's strange considering all that he's been through - including a merry amount of deaths. But he tries to keep himself focused, to fish through the mess in his head for the haunting images that blur and move before his eyes but fail to escape him in words. He almost relives the moment of suffocating on jet black water, and flashes of other memories come in through association. Fading in and out of consciousness with drugs in his system. Choking on a mouthful of blood as a room full of SWAT warily watch him fall.

He panics and thinks of something else in the half-heartbeat his mind skipped to that, realizing he can't remember what the other memories were. They're gone, like a dream he stirred from - they aren't recorded anywhere in recent memory. He opens his eyes, looking up, feeling oddly... strange about that. Did he make the right decision?]


D-Derek?
confiscated: (⇀ a black net of sky)

[personal profile] confiscated 2020-09-18 04:32 am (UTC)(link)
I...

[Derek's looming over Tate as he pinches together his brows, feeling a bit heady but unsure - clarity is quick to return to him and he looks up at Derek with wider brown eyes than usual. He's softer around the edges, a little more present now that he can stop fixating on what he couldn't see, share or control. He's more alive but still a bit dead around the edges, gray circles under his eyes as he reaches back to touch his fingers to his neck and brings them back wet with red.

He stares at the blood on his fingertips, not all that concerned either. The wound will heal in ten minute's time but Tate's just searching again for the memories that were taken from him. He shakes his head, dismissing the notion that Derek hurt him. It hurt, yes, but it was for the best.]


I feel better. Because of you.

[He looks up again.]

Thank you.

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