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Post by John Murphy on Apr 16, 2016 20:09:25 GMT
They hadn't seen it coming, or rather Murphy hadn't. Who knew if the same fate had befallen the others in the group or if it had only been him? One moment he was creeping through the trees on the hunt, the next he was going down. A dizzying blow to the head from behind preceding the fall and everything went black. In and out of consciousness he'd grasped a few vague details of what followed. Aware of movement, travelling, being carried. Or dragged? The heat and harsh brush of sand on his face, swept up in the wind and sticking to his lips. The sound of water and the sway of waves. Eventually, he'd woken imprisoned in a mansion. With Jaha and several others he didn't know. Along with a woman in a red dress.
Next had come the pompous speech, the attempted persuasion, talk of how Murphy should have kept on with the chancellor in the journey to his 'promised land'. I found it, John. It's real... let me show you. And finally, when Murphy had continued to reject and resist, the forced communion. No chance to spit out the pill before it was swallowed down, a hand blocking his breath until he had no choice, and it was done. So it turned out the City of Light was real after all, or an impressive illusion at least. Reality as he knew it fell away and Murphy now wandered this new world.
He found he could move between, back and forth, though he remained limited to this island when in the 'real world'. His intention had been to escape now that he was seemingly allowed free roam, but the desire was gradually ebbing away as he slipped deeper. Despite his initial battle not to give in, Murphy was losing track of the days and weeks as they rolled by, finding he cared less and less about breaking free now that this appeared to be freedom. No pain, it was true. And with no anchor... no Bellamy, he had nothing to hold on to any more. Murphy was lost to the City of Light.
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 16, 2016 14:50:45 GMT
[nospaces][googlefont="Oswald:400"] [attr="class","colors-of-the-sky"] [attr="class","box"]  [attr="class","header1"][attr="style","background-color:#;"]Aaron Miko [attr="class","name"][attr="style","background-color:#;"]John Mbege: Arker [attr="class","main-content"]
John Number Two! I like how Mbege and Murphy were often together in the beginning. I'd love to delve into that friendship a little more as well as how it changed at a crucial time. Bring Murphy his buddy!
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 13, 2016 22:42:46 GMT
Another day, the same as the last. Same as the one before. Same as tomorrow. Everything was as it always was, as it was expected. Nothing out of the ordinary. This 'ordinary' that never really shifted, never really tilted this way or that. Just a constant existence. If someone had asked John Murphy if this could be classed as living, perhaps the answer might be no. As it was, nobody asked and he didn't think to consider it.
There was however an unsettling. Slight and distant, like a shadow just out of view that shifted whenever one tried to look at it. Too subtle to grasp onto and so life went on. Murphy had come to the coffee shop, as he did three days a week. Same place, same days, same time. To sit and read. Although the words failed to sink in. Sure he would register them, could recall it to another, but the meaning didn't break through. The passion in the pages, words meant to stir a response only went in as a mere combination of letters without substance. As if something was missing.
Today he had sat at his usual table, though in a different seat with no real thought on the choice. A coffee and a book in front of him but his attention had drifted to the window ahead, with Murphy peering out at nothing in particular until the greeting from the other drew his gaze. Looking up at the man who had spoken, he studied the other a moment or two before offering a response. "Hey." There was an inclination to say more but no words came, despite the sense he felt that he had much more to say. Instead he found himself extending a leg enough to push the chair opposite out in an invitation for the other to sit. Unsure as to why.
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 13, 2016 22:12:34 GMT
While the other was busy looking as though she'd been caught in the middle of committing a crime, Murphy was enjoying her embarrassment, along with trying to place her name. She was familiar although he didn't know her particularly, but he was certain she was one of the delinquents as he recalled having seen her around camp back in those early days. Albeit, not often. Tara? Tula? She hadn't been one of those who had made herself a problem as far as he could remember. To the contrary, any vague recollection he had was of her actually doing some work. ... Tabitha?
Murphy continued with a few more steps to the rear before he halted again. "I'm very me?" The comment prompted a soft huff in amusement as he went on, turning as he continued his walk. "Well, you're not wrong." The salute got a faint grin. How formal of her, almost cute. Thalia, that was the one. He'd been close enough. The run down of her opinion of him gave him pause, though the grin broadened a touch even as the description bothered him a little. Former second-in-command. Don't remind him. Always survives... no matter how much they knock you down. Well, he couldn't argue with that but that didn't stop a rush of resentment rising up at the mention of it. Not that such a feeling wasn't always there anyway, in one way or another. A part of him and rightly so.
Her concern was unexpected, drawing his attention away from any thought of his past experience and to this odd show of care from the other. Help him out? Since when did anybody do that without hoping there was something in it for them? "Yeah, I wouldn't be so sure about that, they'll keep on thinking they're in control down here no matter how many times they get screwed over. And it'll happen again, trust me... " The Arkers might have adapted somewhat as the camp was becoming more established, but there were plenty who thought they could carry on life as normal down here. Whatever normal might mean. "And nobody offers anything without expecting something in return... " He took a moment to cast a wary glance her way. "... so I'm good. Thanks anyway, Talula." He figured he'd tease her with a mistaken name, since she'd so sneakily followed him, after all.
In fact, she was still following him. Offering comments on him though at least she wasn't being particularly condescending. Yet. Murphy wasn't surprised she seemed to know what had happened at the dropship camp, he guessed all of the delinquents did, but he wasn't in favor of getting into a conversation on the matter. Especially with somebody he didn't know. Save the fact she was one among them, that she hadn't been around a whole lot but when she was, she was usually doing something useful. Always seeming fairly happy about it. The more he thought on it, he recalled several who had snuck out of camp when perhaps they shouldn't have. Trina, Pascal... numerous others at various times. And Thalia. Had she returned injured once?
He let the flashes of memory drift while he listened to her continue before adding a comment of his own. "I don't think it's limited to adults. Take a look around and you'll see who thinks they've got it all figured out. Didn't you learn that back when we landed? It's no different, now there's just more of them." He slowed as they neared one of the fences, hands pushing into his pockets as he angled towards her with a brief smirk. "A lot of mopping, lot of sweeping. Why, you want to swap?"
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 11, 2016 21:30:51 GMT
He waited for some clever retort though he only half expected one, the weight of the shared words and the memories they had unearthed still heavy in the air. So when Bellamy offered only a direction and a guide to the room, it wasn't really a surprise. There was almost a hope the other man would give some surly remark for Murphy to react to, if only to shift them back to what was familiar and out of this limbo in which they both now seemed to be suspended. It was irritating, this uncertainty of which way the conversation would go. Or if this one was over, where the next might begin. There was a chance there wouldn't be another, although despite all that had happened, Murphy figured that was unlikely. One way or another he knew he would eventually have more to say, for better or worse.
It came sooner than expected, with Murphy pushed to break the inconveniently awkward walk to his room. If only he had kept going when he left the Hangar, found somewhere else to rest or headed back to medical in hopes of being left alone. Instead of prolonging this ludicrous interaction with Bellamy. The possibility that Murphy didn't want it to end went largely unacknowledged, a flicker of thought towards it snuffed out before it caught. Why would he want more of this? Still, he spoke up. "So, is this you turning over a new leaf? Should I expect the same from the princess too?"
That was preposterous and he knew it, but he felt the need to include Clarke in his bitterness. The truth was, regardless of certain similarities, Clarke and Bellamy were quite different. And although Murphy might band them together in many ways, it had been Bellamy he had followed to begin with, Bellamy he had listened to, Bellamy who had betrayed his misplaced trust. So it was the other man who was ultimately far more significant to Murphy. More than he was comfortable with, evident in the fact that his inclination to hurt the other had waned so quickly. He continued his attempt to turn that around. "Or is this a special occasion?"
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 11, 2016 0:34:38 GMT
Bellamy was beginning to sound convincing. Truly convincing. And now Murphy was growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. Accusations he could handle. Complaints, recriminations, but an apology? And no vicious remarks to counter his snapping back at Bellamy. No provoking of the other's 'true' feelings on the matter. Even at the time following the event in question, Bellamy had shown little patience for Murphy's reaction back then. His throat sore from the noose and his calls for justice, and his judge had still spurned him.
Yet here he seemingly continued on the path of remorse regardless of Murphy's response, steady in his regret if nothing else. It was unsettling, unfamiliar and more uncomfortable now Murphy could see the other didn't seem to be ready to take it back. It was real. But who was it for... Murphy or Bellamy himself? To ease whatever weighed him down on the matter, or actually seek some sort of pardon from Murphy? The vague idea that the latter was even possible was disregarded but Murphy abruptly lost his energy for the argument, if indeed it could be called one.
"... Whatever, Bellamy." Dismissive instead of drawing it out any more, he felt the need to get away, heading towards the other man intending to pass right by and out of the Hangar. Too late? It was too late. Too late for apologies, too late to change anything. At least the king had something right. Yet Murphy found himself slowing as he neared Bellamy, pausing with a slight sway as if ready to take off again at any moment while his attention settled on the other. The contempt in his gaze having faltered and faded away now exposed a vulnerability as he studied the older man. Perhaps he was searching for the same thing reflected back. It was short-lived, with Murphy averting and continuing on with his exit out into the hall without a word as he made his way to his room. His room, the location of which he had no clue. Several steps from Bellamy and he slowed to a stop with a defeated sigh, quietly speaking up as he turned to cast a sidelong glance back Bellamy's way. "I don't know where I'm going."
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 10, 2016 22:24:57 GMT
The same as him? It looked that way. They were both clearly sporting numerous injuries evidently inflicted by grounders, both stuck in the grounder capitol and each certainly surprised to see the other. Neither wanted to be there but here they were. Both captured. Both prisoners. Though Murphy wasn't currently chained to a wall he was by no means free. Same as you...
Again, Murphy's gaze shifted to the restraints, following the trail of them from Bellamy's wrists to where they were tethered and back again. They were sturdy, solid. No easy way to break free of them and he knew it. Instead he was playing for time if only a few moments, deciding how he would answer Bellamy's question. What happened? So much. The two hadn't seen each other for a good while, and the events that had led to this flooded his thoughts as if in mental offering to aid an explanation. But Murphy wasn't going to offer up the stories, certainly not right now at least. Instead, he summed up.
"I got caught." It sounded so lacking but it was the reason for his current circumstance. He got caught. He was still caught. Even after freedom was in sight, offered even, and now looking to be distant once again. He wasn't going anywhere for a while, so he offered a little more. "Our grounder 'friends' grabbed me and brought me back here to Titus. Great guy, real people person." A faint sneer showed as he mentioned the now ex-Flamekeeper. "Clarke was here... did you know that? He tried to kill her but her girlfriend got in the way."
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 10, 2016 19:18:54 GMT
Since he'd abandoned Jaha and the quest for his probable make-believe city of light and returned to camp, Murphy had mostly stayed out of the way. In part, because he didn't want much to do with most of the other Arkers for a while. It wasn't as though he felt any deep connection with them, at least that wasn't how he saw it. Only that he was in the best place for him right now. If that changed, he could always leave again and perhaps he would reach a point where it was necessary. For now he'd stick around, albeit inconspicuously.
Despite the half-willing, half-imposed separation from the others, there was a part of him that craved some company at times, tonight being one of those. Although he wasn't ready to admit that and so wouldn't actively seek it out. Just as well it was late when he decided to wander the Ark. Less chance of running into anybody he might actually bother to linger around. He'd be fine alone. Resigned to the fact for now Murphy headed past the entrance to the Hangar along his way, sparing a glance to see who might be inside though he had no intention of stopping. Catching sight of Raven was more reason to head elsewhere, the other being one of those least likely to favor Murphy's company. Now or ever.
He halted as Raven called out his name, even though he'd passed out of view from where she sat, catching the subtle telltale slur in her voice. Leave it alone. Just keep on going. Ignore her. Not likely. Her comment tugging at him to throw her a response, he backed up to bring himself to the entrance, swinging to face her as he took a few steps inside. "Only one taking shots right now is you, Raven."
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 9, 2016 20:04:13 GMT
Five days. He'd counted five days in here and still the door was locked and he could find no other way out of the bunker. It had been stupid to think he could actually relax for even a minute without it all going wrong. Murphy had barely settled, barely had a chance to process the event of the 'welcome' video, before he'd become a prisoner yet again. Exhausted, after hours spent each day trying to escape, he'd dozed occasionally only to spring up and try again. But he had made no progress without managing to put any significant dent in the door. Now he'd drifted into a restless half-sleep, sat on the floor and propped up against the side of the couch.
The voice calling out jolted him awake. A moment to gather his bearings and Murphy was on his feet, sprinting to the stairs and up as quickly as his legs could carry him. Running straight into one of the last people he would expect to see. Staring in momentary bewilderment he pushed past her to try the door again, fingers already sore from previous attempts now grasping again to try to pry it open. Futile. Finally giving in, Murphy ceased, head pressing to rest against the door as he composed himself. Making some vague effort to steady the frustration and anger rippling beneath the surface as he eventually turned his attention to Clarke. "How did you get it open?"
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 9, 2016 18:22:16 GMT
The first question went unanswered while Murphy continued to simply stare at the other man. What was he doing here? What was Bellamy doing here?! If the grounders had caught Bellamy, what did that mean for the others? It was unlikely anybody would come for Murphy... but for Bellamy? Surely they wouldn't let him rot in here without an attempt to break him out. The thought prompted equal parts hope and dread. Hope there would be a rescue and Murphy would slip out in the midst of it. Dread he would be left behind anyway. Dread they would screw it up. He brushed away the notion of either, his attention snapping to the chains as they rattled when Bellamy stepped forward, the second question soon drawing his gaze back up again.
"... Are you?" The only response he could think to offer to such a question directed his way, the repeated inquiry sounding just as odd thrown back to Bellamy. Stranger still was the sense Murphy cared at all, yet his gaze fell once again to the chains as if he were considering how to loose them. Without anything to use as a tool he had no idea, the same shackled predicament revisiting Murphy whenever the 'commander' felt like imposing it. At least he wasn't being kept down here, for the moment. Though maybe it would have ultimately proved to be the better scenario if he had been.
Having halted his approach he moved again to close the last few steps, bringing him to stand in front of Bellamy. So many questions but Murphy found himself caring more than expected about the answer to the one he'd bounced back. Though he already knew it. Still, he let it hang between them waiting for Bellamy to speak again, and finding some remote and pitiful relief that he wasn't alone in Polis.
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 8, 2016 23:53:26 GMT
Mate: Bellamy Blake - Do I need to explain? >> Date: Thalia Tait - *swit swoo* *wink wink*Shovel: A.L.I.E - Or drown. Whatever works.(not sure how this works... takes lead from Thalia Tait) |
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 7, 2016 19:15:22 GMT
A monster. What classed as a monster? Who among the Arkers could be called one? There had been more than enough candidates for such a title. Other delinquents. Finn. Clarke. Jaha. Bellamy. Murphy himself. Were they all monsters or merely people making decisions... making choices for better or worse? Perhaps what set apart and defined a true monster was in the detail of motives, the impulse that drove a person forward one way or another. Maybe a monster to one was a savior to others, so who decided which they truly were?
Their past was full of violence and resentment but Murphy couldn't say if he would have ever thought Bellamy evil with any solid conviction. People did what they did. If any of them were villains, maybe it only meant they all were. The philosophy of the matter was pushed aside. He didn't care about an authentic definition, only what he thought about it, about. Was Bellamy a monster? No. Even if he convinced himself to the contrary and would no doubt go on and continue to do so indefinitely, apparently with some persuasion for Murphy to do the same. All Murphy could offer was what was true for him. "Yeah, well... " He offered a light nudge of his cheek to Bellamy's as they rested together. "... never really been one for doing what I'm supposed to do."
That Bellamy cared at all or had even shared this with him meant more than he could explain, words to express the prominence of it sure to evade him if he had tried. But he felt the moment called for some emphasis of his stance on the matter, as if it could beat Bellamy's doubts and self-hatred into submission. Perhaps not possible but Murphy would give what little he could to the cause regardless. With a slight step to steal any small distance left between he pressed his chest to his partner's. A firm touch yet light enough so as not to lean against, head dipping to brush his lips to the curve of Bellamy's neck. Closeness offered in absence of a kiss.
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 7, 2016 18:49:10 GMT
He was losing himself in the rhythmic slip and slide, in and out, eyes closing as Bellamy urged on with his fingers curled tight in Murphy's hair. Assuring and wholly arousing to have the other essentially guiding, needless but pleasing nonetheless. The restriction of it was light, lacking the prompt for an irrational or otherwise reaction to practically being held in place. Somehow, it felt almost secure. Murphy brought his hands around to curve at the backs of Bellamy's thighs in a bid to loosely hold the other put, until the pull back of his head focused Murphy's attention upward.
A run of his tongue between his lips was interrupted by the eager kiss, with Murphy meeting with equal urgency even as he was pushed back down to the bed. The abrupt flip of their positions drew a brief hum against Bellamy's lips in amusement, the younger male's hips shifting a fraction in search of a brush against his partner. Once Bellamy spoke, he stilled before offering a smirk in triumph at the admission while he enjoyed the satisfaction that came from such a confession, whether or not it had already been clear. Though his expression eased into one of true appreciation, of momentary awkward happiness soon tempered by a lazy grin. To hear Bellamy say so, no matter what had already transpired between them in evidence of the fact, was another step. Frightening and exhilarating.
As much as he took the words to heart, Murphy couldn't resist a playful counter. "Yeah?" Balance adjusted, he slid a hand down to grab at Bellamy's thigh sliding his hand beneath and higher, as much as he could considering their position, to grab and squeeze. "Maybe I want you first." Despite his suggestion he pulled back, nudging his way from the other's hold to retreat from the bed and lose the last of his clothing. Wasting no time he climbed again over Bellamy, lingering partway to dip and close his mouth over the other once more, one slide of his lips and he withdrew to again settle in a straddle.
Too keen, perhaps. The thought crossed his mind, those same doubts that reared up at every turn, that maybe he should curb and control himself instead of this wayward exposure of his cravings. But he was too far gone, too swept up in the rousing presence that was Bellamy. Now... his? It was possible though he was still reluctant to claim it out loud and barely in secret, as if declaring it himself would shatter it all. At least these acts were those in which they could more easily brush away the reservations, inhibitions slipping away as lust bloomed. Murphy positioned himself precariously close but halted there, that familiar smirk returning as he edged away again.
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 3, 2016 5:26:54 GMT
He should have made a break for it alone. Waiting for Clarke had been a mistake and he should have known it. He did know it, yet still he'd lingered as she flitted from one part of Polis to another. They had even had assistance for their imminent escape, urged by Titus and Roan to leave. Instead they'd stayed in grounder central. He had stayed and for what? He should have fled alone and now the princess had left him.
Left him in the hands of Titus. The same man who had tortured Murphy mere days ago, had tried to murder Clarke, incompetently, instead slaying his own commander. The same now inconveniently dead Titus. By his own hand, no less. Where did that leave Murphy? After being used as a distraction he was now passed off to someone evidently worse. With all that had happened following the previous commander's death, this new leader's dramatic entrance and claim to succession had made it clear she wasn't one to be crossed. That didn't stop Murphy from intending to if he only had the chance. For now he was stuck here. Still. Inexplicably kept alive for now and being ordered around by a new tyrant grounder as she planned to solidify her ascension and the sky people's demise.
For now. That was all he had to go on regarding his own survival. It wasn't good enough. He would be out of here the next chance he had, a certainty if only given the opportunity to breakout. If not, he would have to make his own. His resolve was tainted with the distinct possibility that he would die here, either during an attempt to escape or whenever the new commander felt inclined. But not yet. Besides, he had been given more orders. A sky person had been captured and Ontari had decided Murphy should be the one to bring her information on Skaikru's current dealings, or perhaps just to test him in some way. As if he had any loyalty to either side. He spared a thought to who it might be. Clarke? Unlikely. Ontari would have taken her head already and paraded it, no doubt. Octavia? For all he knew she was a grounder herself now, she had been well on the way after all. It would be a guardsmen perhaps. Strayed too far.
He did as he was told, no use in rejecting and no other choice with two grounder guards marching him to a dungeon. They'd have no doubt dragged him should he have stalled. Murphy had half expected to be taken to the same room in which he'd been held, but when he was led elsewhere, he figured Titus had kept him in secret. Nobody else had come by, no grounder guardsmen or other prisoners. It made sense, he hadn't wanted anyone else to know. A shove sent Murphy into the dungeon, catching himself with a hand to the wall at his side to save a fall. He muted a response as the door slammed shut anyway. Now he turned to seek out the captive, peering to the farthest wall as he took a few tentative steps. Once he focused on the man he knew him instantly. Cut and bloody, tied up. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen him that way before. But it was the ex-leader's eyes, seeming to Murphy to be lit up with desperation and despair in the dim light, that he recognized him. "... Bellamy..."
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Arker | Delinquent
"Told you I'd survive."
Personal Text
Single
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Pariah
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JJ
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Sept 22, 2024 11:18:11 GMT
Tag me @jmurphy
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Post by John Murphy on Apr 3, 2016 3:01:08 GMT
The movement was met with a moan of approval, in chorus with Bellamy's. The sound escaping the other man though Murphy was offering no intimate touch in return, only worked to stoke his arousal, evidenced with a brief shift where he sat with a jut of his hips to push into Bellamy's hand. His partner was doing perfectly well without the assistance, yet the firm caress prompted another, with Murphy's palms now pressed to the bed for leverage until Bellamy abandoned the attention below and pushed him back.
Willingly, Murphy lay back without resistance tempted to pull the other man with him, but Bellamy was swift to resume. The delicious heat of his mouth coaxing the surging warmth low in Murphy's stomach to twist in pleasure, so that a word came near to breaking free. An exhale to breath out merely the first syllable, but the younger male bit down hard on his lip before he could form the other's name. For what reason, he couldn't quite decide. But insecurity lingered to plant doubts and warnings, that despite what he had given of himself, somehow a simple word would threaten to give it all to Bellamy.
He wanted to... with any crooked reasoning otherwise sweeping back with every slide of Bellamy's lips around him. The groan from his partner drew one in return as Murphy's mouth fell open once again, fingers curling to grasp at the bed as his hips bucked upward. Once he settled back to the bed his hands were at his pants, already low but attempting to push them lower still intent to remove, hindered in the position but loathe to halt the pace. He resigned to try to kick off his boots until Bellamy had him arching up once more, only for Murphy to abruptly sit up.
The reluctance to ease his partner's mouth away, aching for it once he did, yielded to the desire to hold on a while longer. To take a taste in return. Once Bellamy leaned back he was urged to stand, Murphy encouraging him to straighten up before his hands slid down to finally expose. One languid trail of his tongue along and he closed his lips around. Slow to slide down as if to appreciate every inch, working on taking it all until a soft wet choke marked the victory. A moment or two to enjoy and he pulled back and away to gasp a breath, reclaiming once more as he settled into a steady rhythm.
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