make-up test

Toby sat down. It was a nice trailer, Cecil was very pampered. He casually touched and looked at things. He was pretty sure he'd seen some of this in pictures already, and so had a bit of familiarity, swallowing another giggle. He scrubbed at his face, but it didn't make the smile go away.

He didn't take interest in Cecil's words over his easily reachable stuff at first. He didn't need to answer that. It could be a surprise for later, if he ended up fired. He reached into his pocket to dig out his pack of cigarettes and lighter, shoving the cancer stick in his mouth.

Then, there was a pull. Toby might've not had a drop of consciously usable magic in his body, but he'd been here long enough to have a feel for it. He'd already figured out Cecil had an ability like this, as well, it wasn't exactly a tough and mysterious puzzle. The lurking obsession was clawed back to the front of Toby's mind, loud, making his head ache. He rubbed a temple, and, with eyes on Cecil, took a needy drag from his cigarette.

He'd never really been this close to Lovette, head spinning from the individual focus. He kept to the sidelines of the crowds, hadn't experienced this. He didn't exactly find it pleasant, as his thoughts were already erratic, impulsive, and intense enough. He made a soft sound. The whole situation was… ah, bad, and it felt good.

"That really got to you, huh? …It's true, isn't it?" Toby said, laughing a bit, breath coming out short. "I could be bluffing! I'm just a behind the scenes artist, and you fit as a classic scandalous star, could've logically done anything- or anyone- but…"

"Aha, who am I kidding. What does it matter? You've decided to get rid of me, since I hurt your feewings and all. I've got nothing to hide, and you won't leave things alone when you should." Toby stood up as well. He was nowhere near as big as Cecil was, but he wasn't timid, and not about to stay sitting down for a confrontation.

"The security on social media never keeps you as safe as you think it does. Sad. Corporate surface accounts don't fool anyone with half a brain in their skull and a will to dig, either."

He blew smoke up at Cecil. "Congratulations, though. You make the reward for the effort quite gratifying. A nice thing to waste a relaxed weekend on. Encore."

Toby couldn't have said he'd seen this coming. The wide eyed shock that flashed on his face and the gasp that went with it were all genuine. His cigarette went on the trailer's cushy carpet as he was taken and pushed onto the sofa, going down kicking and squirming. His chest heaved and he choked, trying desperately for breath, heartbeat loud and far, far too fast. He was dizzy and panicked, but his cheeks were warm, so very warm.

He made broken noises, his struggling had weakened and died out, and ha, he was pretty sure he was half passed out, but his pulse never went away. No matter how much his neck bruised or his body slumped, it was still there.

Barely lucid but no longer automatically trying to fight, Toby took that as his moment of peace to appreciate what was happening. Cecil Grey Lovette had tried to murder him. He hadn't heard such a funny joke in… a long, long time… or this much of a turn on. He'd never had a celebrity, one known for their good-naturedness no less, try to kill him. He wondered if this counted as a really, really significant autograph?

It was a shame the bruising would start fading in just a few minutes, if Cecil let up.

Toby had only a few seconds to cough and try to frantically suck in air before he was wailing because his skull was being fucking caved in. At that point, he couldn't see or think anymore, and most of his body was entirely limp. His fingers and toes were still twitching, along with his pulse.

He started healing. Steadily and painfully, head and lungs on fire. He felt sticky and gross, hair clumped with what he presumed to be his insides now on the outside. He shook all over and gave a scratchy, drawn out, pained moan. "Fuuuuuuck. Fuck me, jesus shitty christ on a--" He winced and squeaked, pretty pitifully, as he tried to sit up. "Shit, ah! Owowow. Mmfh…" He bit down on his lip, and gave up on any ideas of being upright.

When things stopped spinning enough for his eyes to refocus a bit, for a split second, he saw something familiar in the scene. His father, first. Ugly fucking mongrel of a man who'd just finished beating his mother to death. She'd been beautiful even like that. Broken and unmoving, everything drenched with blood and all the extra, squishy, crunchy bits to go along with it. Her dress had been wet, clinging to her skin, and even while every color besides red had been washed out, her blond hair had shown through. Toby had gotten it from her. Everything was from her, really, and he held no resemblance to dear old daddy.

He wondered if he looked like her now, and let out a quiet, shuddering breath at the thought. He blinked. Once, twice. Cecil was crying at the sink.

Toby propped himself up a little on his elbows. He had to squint, thanks to his glasses having fallen off his face before (and probably getting covered in gunk), gaze sweeping over the trailer. It was fuzzy, but he in no way needed clear vision to take in such a bold mess. He sighed.

"For fuck's sake… okay, okay. Where are your cleaning supplies? Got any plastic bags?" His voice was strained, raspier than ever. He talked, though each word hurt. "Don't just cry, you absolute manchild. I have more of a right to that than you after that, but I'm not the type for tears. You definitely need a shower, and to trash those clothes, but there's shit that'll linger too much the more you put it off with no cleani--" A small coughing fit. "I can't get up yet. It'll be a bit, with how you fucked me here, so I can't do this for you. Get it together or you'll be in serious trouble."

Toby watched Cecil busy himself with cleaning, golden eyes dull. He fumbled for his glasses from the floor- filthy, unsurprisingly- as his head pounded, internal magic buzzing to fix him, adding supernatural help for damage that would render a normal human utterly braindead. The open wound was still there, he could feel it when his hands hovered near it, and the literally murderous pain was the biggest hint.

Without his power he wouldn't be thinking or speaking at all, that was for sure. He didn't have pain immunity, either, but he had built up a practiced tolerance simply from repeated incidents. This pain was still intense, and he was trembling, but he could at least have the barest of functioning. He was getting a little more perky. Maybe.

"Better," he said, when Cecil was done. He had to crane his neck to see him go over to his bed, but that at least made him realize it was only sore now, the easier thing to heal. He touched it lightly, then took his glasses and waved them around. "I know you're moping, but can you wash these? I'm pretty blind. Ah… on second thought, help me up. I need to use your fancy trailer shower. See, I'll be less scrambled later if I can bathe before everything closes up, and it's already--"

Toby's vision went all spotty for a minute. His glasses slipped out of his grip, and he hoped he hadn't heard a cracking sound. He clutched at his head, disoriented, and whimpered. That was some of his skull reforming into the right shape and wholeness. He forced his eyes open again, just like his body was forcing itself to mend.

"Can't leave like this. It'd be suspicious even if I wore a hat and got less bloody clothes, since I'm in obvious pain and can't stand straight on my own. In your haste to remove my presence, you got me stuck in here longer." Toby made some clumsy attempts to unbutton his shirt and pants, though they didn't go well, his limbs weren't cooperating. He usually would've been fine with staying icky, but he truly didn't want Cecil to be caught. Toby was very good at not getting caught in things, when he put his mind to it. His mind (and body) that was currently straining and protesting being used, sure, but he couldn't care less.

It was funny that he was acting more the part of accomplice than victim. He wondered if he was still getting fired.

Toby stared at Cecil. He knew leering when he saw it, because he was all too familiar with being the one to make others uncomfortable with it. He would've liked to dwell on this more, but he hissed when he was picked up. He scrabbled a bit at the man's shoulders for a grip, clinging. He ignored it when something, who fucking knows what, got shaken off of him, unbothered by it.

He examined himself in the vanity mirror, over Cecil's shoulder, when passing by it. Ah. Spitting image. He really did look just like her.

Toby's head knocked back against the shower wall, slumping and biting the inside of his cheek to muffle another pained sound. He opened one eye to follow Cecil's movements as he helped him out of his nasty clothes. "Thanks," he said, a bit of ironic humor in his tone. Acting grateful after what'd just happened. Ha. Not that he really felt anything towards it, past interest. Had Cecil done this before? It at least seemed fair to guess he hadn't gotten an immortal surprise with it, if that was the case.

There was a moment of silence as Toby assessed Cecil's flushed face, too focused in on it to register the question. His eyebrows furrowed, then raised, his mouth in an 'o'. He laughed, then coughing up a little blood. "…What the fuck is wrong with you, Cecil Grey Lovette? D-do you want to violate me right now, while I'm half-dead, even more repulsive than usual, and vulnerable? Defile your stalker?"

His breath hitched. He smiled, biting his lip and shaking his head as he averted his gaze. "I mean, hey, not like I can protest, can I? I'm at your mercy here, all yours. Not that you've been very merciful…" His voice went a bit lower, softer, "Not that I've asked for any mercy…"