nexus_sages | this place needs some mind-control ~

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this place needs some mind-control ~

He'd been drugged.

That was Kilgrave's last coherent thought.

He'd also been choking on something dense and cloying in his mouth, gagging as it was pressed down his throat with sure, quick fingers. He'd tried to yell, to say something but then a syringe was in his neck and the plunger was depressed and he'd lost all the strength in his arms to fight back. It must have been a dangerously high dose, almost on the verge of lethal, because he'd lost consciousness barely a few seconds later, when all of his writhing and screaming had eventually tapered to a stop.

He has no sense of time or distance after that.

Despite the less than ideal circumstances of his departure, Kilgrave wakes up in the Forums slowly, methodically, waiting for the very last of the drug in his system to melt away. He's in no hurry – if they'd wanted him dead he has no doubt that he would be – and he needs his ability to be in full working order before he starts addressing anything else. Regain control. That's the order of the day.

After a few minutes of groggily staring at the sky, not quite able to move, he flops onto his side, his suit jacket bunched uncomfortably underneath him, the tips of his fingers and toes still slightly numb, his extremities in general difficult to manoeuvre and too far away. He digs his hands into the grass for purchase, gritting his teeth as he draws his legs up, trying to get his feet back under him. Some stumbling, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as he squints his eyes against its lurching, and, finally, he's up, wobbling where he stands, bruised and dishevelled.

Jesus, his head hurts.

Will be for days, he imagines, as he presses the heel of his hand against his temple, rubbing in quick, sharp circles.

“This is getting old already,” he mutters, scowling as he orients himself. He turns on the spot, searching for a landmark, anything remotely familiar to clue him in on precisely where he is. There's nothing. He doesn't recognise any of it, even the air here feels different, and all he has to welcome him is the loudest sign he's ever seen in his life. If he could tell it to shut up, he would.

“Oh, good. Nice. Just leave me in the middle of nowhere. Why not? Is this your idea of stopping me, Jessica?”

His snarl melts into a more general concern – if there aren't any people here, he's more or less helpless – and he lets his hands drop limply to his sides, breathing a heavy sigh. “Bollocks.”

[ooc: the deal with kilgrave and what he can do.]

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((Soooo Verity's immune to lies and illusions and attempts at mind control. Is Kevin up for meeting the one person he'll never be able to fuck with?))

[ooc: A world of yes! He'll hate it but that's part of the fun. Expect lots of uncomfortable squirming and, more likely as not, a bit of a tantrum.]

((Oh god, not a tantrum, she's definitely never seen anyone do that around here before *cough*Naugus*cough*.))

There are people here. This one's dressed in a black-on-black ensemble, turtleneck sweater and slim jeans and pumps; the only touches of color are her purple hair and green jade necklace. "Not sure who Jessica is. You want to come and sit down while you get your bearings?" Her tone is patient and gentle, in the way of someone practicing being both. "A lot of people get a bit discombobulated when they first get here."

He's oddly relieved to see her, in a way he's never been relieved to see anyone before. That she speaks kindly to him - she's not to blame, she doesn't know who he is - is just a bonus.

He responds to it, oddly enough. As savage as he's proclaimed to be, as devoid of feeling, he tends to lap up a bit of gentleness when it's offered to him, however briefly. A bit seasick - or should that be landsick? - and still wobblier than he'd like, he stumbles over and slumps down beside her, cradling his aching head in his hand.

"Must've been on hell of a trip to get here," he mumbles, more to himself than to her, "wherever here is."

She's got a hand out if he needs something to lean on. She might be on the small side, but she's stronger than she looks.

"It frequently is," she offers as... well, it's not comfort in the traditional sense, but sometimes knowing you're not alone helps too. Kind of like group therapy, this place. Everyone's got problems. "I've seen people fall out of the sky and land here. You don't look quite that bruised. I've got a first aid kit if you want it, and I can get ice."

After a moment she remembers: "I'm Verity. Yeah, my dad thought he was clever."

"Kilgrave," he says with what should be more of a smile but, given his condition, is really little better than a grimace. "For which my dad took absolutely no responsibility." And he does mean that quite literally.

"But I'll take that ice, Verity, if you'd be so kind? I'm bruised in places I didn't even know existed." Thanks, Jessica. Couldn't have at least handled him a little more gently?

She's heard that name somewhere... but Manhattan's a big place. She's heard all kinds of names, and she rarely bothered to try and remember them. Lucky him that the 616 was so weird that he looks normal to her. "Sorry to hear that."

The request gets a nod and a little smile. "Sure thing. I won't be long, the place is just down the road here." Before she stands she takes a moment to rest a hand lightly on his arm. It's meant to be comforting and light enough to not be too bad if there's a hidden bruise under there. "You're going to be okay. This place is weird, but wonderful, and you'll be as happy here as you want to be."

Maybe someday someone will point to this moment as the proof that the Multiverse was better off before she learned to be nice to people. But for right now, she's off for supplies. The little first aid kit she carries around is left behind in her place, should he wish to avail himself of it while she's gone.

He watches her with no small amount of wariness, carefully following every movement of her hand as she rests it gently against his arm. People don't touch him, not without being expressly told to do so. They usually keep their distance, too busy cowering in fear of the next words out of his mouth to dare to take any such liberties with him.

In fairness to them, he does usually punish them for it. She's only lucky that he's not inclined to draw unnecessary attention to himself. Yet.

"Suppose I'll have to take your word for it," he replies cautiously. "I'm a little underwhelmed so far."

"Give it time," she calls over her shoulder. It'll happen to him eventually. He'll see real magic or Groot or whatever the hell Naugus is, and then, the existential crisis. Given all that, she can't blame him for the wariness. She wouldn't have taken this sort of behavior any better not so long ago.

She isn't gone long, and come back with several ice packs and bottles of water. "Here we go. Glad to see you're still upright."

"Just," he grumbles, pressing an ice pack against his temple to soothe this damnable headache of his. "Sod it, when I get back to New York I'm banning the use of all general anesthetic. If people want surgery, they're just going to have to be awake for it."

There's a pause as he cradles his head, so very tired and so incredibly pissed off that he really doesn't know what to do with himself at this point. It seems a bit unfair to take it out on her. "So, I take it you've been here for some time then?"

"Mm, that's a totally reasonable decision." Sass is like, third on his list of favorite things, right? Because she's got loads of it and he'll be in for another dose if he keeps talking like that. Lucky boy.

She sits down beside him again, opening a water bottle for him and then passing him some Tylenol. The sass comes with some perks. "About six months. I moved here permanently three months ago. It's pretty fun once you get used to it."

"...No Jessicas here." Murmurs a concerned voice somewhere in the vicinity of over thereish. As far as Steve can tell, the man just sort of fell into the forums in a heap.

He'd been about ready to go call for help when the guy finally got up.

"Are you okay? You look....not so great."

No Jessicas here. Of course not. She'd have to have been an idiot to stick around. Or suicidal, which Kilgrave has his suspicions about. As for why she didn't just crush his skull between her hands, maybe she hasn't quite given up on him just yet. It's a thought that worth exploring but maybe not just now.

"I've been better," is Kilgrave's more-honest-than-he'd-intended reply as he glances dismissively in Steve's direction. He gingerly touches his jaw - it's bruised at the hinges and there's blood on his teeth from where he'd bitten his tongue - to assess the damage, shakes his head. "Jesus. Right, first question. Where the bloody hell am I?"

It looks rural. He hates rural.

"Uhm...Where aren't you?" Steve gives him a sympathetic glance before hopping down off the bench he'd been sitting at to get closer. This guy really looked roughed up. "D'you see the signs everywhere?"

It's hard to miss the 'Welcome!' signs all around the forum of the Nexus with little pamphlet stations what appear to be every twenty feet or so, damn near.

"This is sort of...uhm...I can't explain it really well. But it's a place in between worlds."

"What, like limbo? They missed a trick with those signs if you ask me," he's surprisingly at ease for having received such... vague information. Information that clearly isn't really sinking in because Steve is obviously joking.

"Enough of this shit now, alright? Just tell me -- hm." Ah, no, no. Bad Kilgrave. He's determined to be patient, not to give himself away, at least until he has a clearer understanding of the situation he's in. He bites his sore lip for a moment, considering his phrasing. "Okay. So. Will you please just explain to me where I am as expeditiously and as monosyllabicly as possible? If you can."

"I've heard it called a multiverse before. People from many different worlds end up here. Different times, different worlds. People, creatures that aren't people. All sorts of things end up here. Some people can get back. Others, like me, are stuck."

For someone who didn't really have a clear grasp of the Nexus, Steve seems to be much better at giving a clearer answer, suddenly. But that really is all he knows.

"You might be stuck here a while too. I didn't see a doorway stick around for long." There's another sympathetic wince before Steve is moving to make sure Kilgrave isn't too seriously hurt. "Do you need medical attention?"

Steve's explanation - which is fuller, yes, but no less confusing - has Kilgrave reaching his hands up into his hair, locking his fingers behind his head.

"Shit." Shit is right. He's stuck here? With no Jessica, with no home and with absolutely no hope of ever really getting back to them? "Shit!"

He turns on his heel, looking for a door, a portal, whatever it was that brought him here. He has to get back. It's absolutely vital that he gets back where he belongs. "No, I don't -- Just - just stay exactly where you are!" And of course Steve will have to freeze in place, suddenly unable to move his feet.

Kilgrave draws his hands down his face. "No, no, sorry. I mean -- Ignore that. Just - Can you help me find a way back? I can't stay here."

Steve really isn't even conscious of why he stops. He just does, quite suddenly. The concern to check on the man is still there. But by the time Steve notices he's stopped moving, he's already able to again.

Weird, but he hardly even notices because he can move almost immediately again.

"No problem. I know you didn't mean to be short. It's normal to be upset. I was." He still is, if he's honest. "There's a couple people who specialize in portals and doors in between worlds. I have one of their numbers? Let me try to call him."

"Who's Jessica?" The question comes from a brawny, battered, blond man in a purple tee and sweatpants. "Bad breakup?"

"Something like that." A something that is very much nothing like that. Unless a hostage situation counts as a serious relationship these days. "Just when I thought we'd been making progress."

He sniffs and wipes at his eyes to clear the last of the blurriness from his vision, glancing in Clint's direction. "I can't help but feel that this is a bit of an overreaction."

"Eh, I've had worse. It's not like she left you in the middle'a nowhere, right?" Instead, it's the Middle of Everywhere.

"No, it's definitely the middle of somewhere." Assuming she left him here at all. That's beginning to become a distinct possibility. He has plenty of enemies, more than a few who'd see him dead given half a chance. God only knows what happened to him between being drugged and arriving here.

Kilgrave's eye is drawn to a sign. "Where exactly is Nexus anyway?"

Clint laughs. "Damn if I know. You'd hafta get Richards or Strange to explain it. Outside the universe is my best guess. Outside a lotta universes--there's doors here to all over."

"...I've seen worse breakups, but she must have been mad at you." A redhead who looks thoroughly unimpressed with everything going on is watching curiously from a nearby cafe table.

"What'd you do? Cheat on her? Steal her car?"

"What makes you think I did anything?" Especially since he's the one who's clearly been walloped a couple of times judging from the obvious bruising around his jaw, another on his cheekbone. He can even feel a couple of loose teeth if he prods at them with his tongue. "Or, at the very least, anything to deserve this."

He prods at his face for a moment, gauging the severity of his injuries - nothing broken, which in itself is a bit of a miracle - and frowns at her. "Does it matter? I think it still smacks of overreaction, regardless of whatever perceived slight I'm supposed to have committed."

Perceived being the word. To Kilgrave's twisted little mind, he's done nothing wrong.

"No one gets beat that bad without earning it from a woman." Is the redhead's vague reply. "Too much work."

That part is at least true. Whoever beat this guy put some effort into it.

"For what little it's worth, you're safe here."

"Depends on the woman in question, surely." Given that Jessica doesn't have any trouble twisting steel bars into pretzels when the mood strikes, he'd say that she went rather easy on him.

"It hadn't occurred to me to be worried. Maybe I should be."

"No, there's an anti-violence field in effect here. Literally, you're safe. You'd have to give permission to get a haircut here." Natasha shrugs at the last, shaking her head. It makes her job easier, and much much harder at the same time.

"So you can heal up before you attempt reconciliation. Or revenge." Another shrug. Her morality lines are pretty skewed.

"If you're asking that kind of question, the likely answer is 'yes.' From what I've seen, the kind of person who wants to 'stop' another from doing something isn't the kind who's going to show mercy."

A little to his left stands a young woman with dark brown hair swept up with a dark silver hair pin and hell of a lot of not-21st-Century gear on: Leather chaps and a corset over a set of linen pants and shirt, a large number of daggers, and on her belt a rapier, some pouches, and what is most definitely a sling shot. If it looks like she means business, it's because she does. Those crossed arms across her chest and deceptively calm look add to that effect.

"Leaving you stranded here in this place is only a mercy if you're able to find your way back home. But if you're lucky, someone around here will be able to help you out with that."

"Looks like I've found that person," he tells her with a degree of certainty that should be unsettling, that seems to imply she'll help him whether she likes it or not. He straightens the best he can - the ground still feels a bit like sponge beneath him and the heavy feeling behind his eyes hasn't started to ease - and looks down his nose at her. She isn't dressed like anyone he's ever seen before and he looks her up and down for a moment, regarding her array of weapons with no small amount of curiosity. He wonders whether she knows how to use them.

She could be useful.

"Tell me," he begins, those two ominous little words, "where am I? And be specific."

Edited 2015-12-03 04:40 (UTC)

Ha. Can she use them? What does he think she is, a city guard? Nothing she wears is for show - at least as far as her weapons are concerned.

"I'm afraid I'm the worst person to answer that. My world, it... it doesn't have the right words for it." She shrugs, catching herself from continuing on about herself rather than answering his question. That therapy she's going through is slowly going to be put into real world practice. "From what little I do understand, this place is what's called a 'multiverse,' which seems to mean it's a place where multiple worlds meet. I've met people here from the same planet at different points in time and from similar points but different realities."

It's not much of an explanation and she knows it. She frowns thoughtfully for a moment before adding, "It's as if this place touches everywhere and everywhen at the same time, which can lead to multiple versions of the same person being here without any negative consequences."

It's almost as if she's speaking with a reflection of herself. That compulsion to do as he asks without him actually asking. She's never felt anything quite like this - and that makes her much more intrigued than unsettled.

Edited 2015-12-03 06:05 (UTC)

Multiple versions of the same person? Now, isn't that just a chilling thought? Kilgrave's not sure what he'd do if he encountered himself or how he'd react. He's not entirely sure he'd even be immune to himself, given that he's never come across anyone with a similar ability, however hard he's looked. It might even be interesting, if a little terrifying. He's never lost control before, at least not in any way that seemed to matter.

"Depends on what you mean by negative consequences. I wouldn't care to meet another one of me down a dark alley," he says absently, turning to look about the place, half-expecting to see an identical version of himself walk around the corner. "How do I get out of here?"

"Given the state you're in, I'd say most people don't want to meet you in a dark alley." Her expression remains calm, but there's a flash of mischief in her eyes as she says that. The taunt is there and she can't let the opportunity slip by.

"Since you don't know how you got here, you'll need help getting out. There are a few... people around here who specialize in making or finding portals to other world." Why the hesitation with the word people? The slightly pursed lips suggest at least one of the forementioned portal makers don't meet her quality standards.

"They'll want something in return from you for their services. One asks for a handshakes and a promise that you won't come after him if things should go awry, but I call bullshit on that. There's more to it, I can feel it." Ahh, so that's where the sour look comes from. "The other often asks for a single hair from your head, for some sort of spell to find the portal and... I don't even know what else." Beat. Slight hesitation. Let's not mention the last one - he hasn't exactly offered his services to the Nexus as a whole. "But it's up to you to decide if you'd like to speak with either of them."

Because while finding someone a way home is a very appealing idea, this odd sensation washing over her as they speak begs for more investigation. And that means keeping him here a little longer.

Wow, a new person! And one who looks so wholesome and good. I mean, he's wearing nice digs, and he's talking about how determined he is not to be stopped. Those are good qualities, right? He's probably worth greeting, at the very least.

Harrowheart's severed, floating hand reaches into the breast pocket of his blue flannel shirt and comes back with a cigarette and a book of matches. He strikes a match, lights a cigarette, and offers it to the new kid on the block.

"You an Earth guy?" he asks as he eyes the man appraisingly. "You look like an Earth guy."

Floating hands. Right.

Kilgrave stares at them for an indecently long time, bent over his knees as he waits for some of the dizziness to fade away. He should question it. He should ask how or why the man - creature? Thing? Whatever. - even exists except that Kilgrave has seen far too many strange and impossible things in his life to bother.

It leaves him momentarily stunned but no more than that.

"Astutely put, yes," he eventually replies, eyebrow raised. "Which implies that you're not, of course?"

Harrowheart laughs and nods his head. "I'm from a little hellhole called Azeroth. I love it 'cause I'm from there, but it ain't worth the trip."

Since Kilgrave didn't seem interested in the cigarette he decides to take it for himself. He puts his between his own lips but doesn't seem too intent on actually smoking it.

"You ever been to New York? That's where all the Earth folks here are from. All but two, anyway. I really wanna see it. It sounds so cool, all those tall buildings and lights and phones..." He squints thoughtfully, eyes staring distantly through Kilgrave as he imagines this mystical New York world. A few seconds of this pass before he finally takes notice of the state of Kilgrave's face.

"Look at those bruises, man. Sheesh," he says with a little whistle. "Want some ice on that, bud?"

One of his hands floats ominously nearer to the man's face.

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this place needs some mind-control ~

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'Would you kindly...?'

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As if I'm not Netflixing this show as I post...

I binged watched it and regret nothing :3 Enjoy!

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