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Post by John Murphy on Mar 28, 2016 1:04:03 GMT
This was the first time he'd gone along on a supply run and perhaps the first time he'd shown more than faint interest in accompanying the others. Prior to this he'd mostly had little to no interest in visiting the place. It wasn't as though it held any attraction or curiosity for him. He'd seen the assortment of items the Arkers had salvaged thus far, some useful, some downright bizarre, and as far as venturing to the scene of a massacre if the stories where anything to go by... all it seemed to be was a tomb of memories from a battle the Arkers had won.
Deep down he knew it represented more than that. To those who had been held captive and those who had set out to free them, it was not only a location, but a haunting remnant that pursued them wherever they went. This Murphy considered to be the truth certainly with some of the Arkers who had been there, certainly with Bellamy though he had never discussed it with him. Murphy could plainly see how it weighed heavy on his partner, particularly upon his return from supply runs when Bellamy struggled to hold the veil of composure in place. Despite the stories that had drifted through the camp in the time since the events at Mount Weather, some had seemed elaborated, mixed up, and many had simply been too vague to really piece together a true picture of what happened.
Though he had listened to a few, Murphy had placed no real confidence in their validity and accepted only the known details. Many had made it out of Mount Weather and those who had taken them were now dead. All of them. It didn't take a genius to figure out it had been an execution of sorts, but the details were ever shifting. It was to be expected when so many hadn't been there to see for themselves, and most of those who had weren't likely to want to share over and over again. Reliving it. And so he hadn't hounded Bellamy for the tale, knowing that it would eventually come out when and if the other let it.
It was with the expectation of the negative effect of a visit to Mount Weather, that Murphy had watched Bellamy as they'd arrived, as they'd climbed out of their vehicles and headed inside. With a slowed pace he'd passed by the other man and taken in the hollow look of him, but without stopping Murphy had gone on inside with the others to get on with the task at hand. In and out as soon as possible seemed to be the idea and although a few wanted to linger and explore, most of them were eager to leave. Once they did, Murphy had sat opposite Bellamy for the journey home, having kept quiet as others had questioned his whereabouts and left the other to his thoughts while the group made their way back to camp. Thinking that he had caught a harrowing flicker of pain in Bellamy's gaze before the other man had turned away from them all.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 27, 2016 0:21:53 GMT
Captured by grounders, again. That he should find himself in this position after everything he'd gone through, everything he'd survived, he figured might be one of the worst predicaments he could face. If his previous experience of grounder hospitality was anything to go by. Maybe they would kill him soon enough but that was unlikely, particularly since he'd not told them anything of the pill Jaha had given him. And he wouldn't, not yet. Not until he had no choice but to spill everything he knew.
He was half conscious as his captors had thrown him into the cell, one of them having delivered a blow to his head with some weapon or other before they'd dragged him down here. He should have known he'd be caught sooner or later the more he and Emori had targeted those out on the road. It had been fun, and somewhat essential, while it had lasted. He was coming around from his dazed state as somebody pushed at him.
Hearing his name snapped him back the rest of the way, responding with a scramble backwards until he could focus on the one who spoken it. "... Roma?" Great, this day just kept getting better and better. Still, there was a relief his cellmate happened to be another of the Arkers. He'd take an unfriendly delinquent over an unfriendly grounder. His attention shifted to the cell door and he rose to rush to it, tugging at it a few times in a pointless gesture of frustration at his imprisonment, eventually turning back to Roma with a huff. "Aren't you dead?"
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 26, 2016 23:54:11 GMT
"I know," he bit back at Bellamy's last remark, the response out before he could restrain it. Only to disguise his feelings on the matter would he have considered giving no reaction at all but it was too late for that, he had already opened up to it. Murphy could feel the tremor waiting to break out in his words, the uneasy wave of rage and sadness that pushed him to try to hurt. He didn't deserve it? No kidding. "It's taken you this long to figure that out?" Somehow he managed to keep his voice quiet, but it was tainted with bitterness. No, he hadn't deserved it, he didn't need anyone to tell him that.
Yet Bellamy's words hinted at recompense, both angering and compensating in some small way that Murphy was doing his best to ignore. He didn't want it, it was too late for this, just as it had been before. Regardless of what had happened since, there was not enough left between them to come back from those earlier events. Surely? What was left? Resentment? But something had changed since, there was no veering around that. The decision he'd made at the cliff's edge had been significant, where it seemed more than just Bellamy and the girl were in danger of meeting their end. Much more could have ended, yet hadn't.
He'd tried to push that aside too since it had happened. After all, he'd still returned to the camp and been treated as the same criminal he was seen to be before. How could things have changed at all if nothing had truly altered in the actions of those around him? Sure, he hadn't stuck around to find out for certain but he'd thought it for the best. "So now you've said it... you feel better?" For all his derisive denial, something had changed and now it was evident. In Bellamy's words, in the apparent honesty of them, and in this annoying notion for closure Murphy now found tugging at him. For closure and absolution.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 26, 2016 23:11:36 GMT
Affection was a rare thing before Bellamy and in truth, something that Murphy was even now still growing used to, always battling the faint urge to distrust it along with whoever offered it. But he'd found an unusual sanctuary in Bellamy, the other man providing a strange safety amid so much uncertainty, one to which he loved to retreat. None of this was simple, but occasionally, in times like this moment, it felt like it could be. As if it were even for just a fleeting embrace and reality would soon come crashing in, but remnants of these moments between them had begun to reach into the times apart, like a comfort of memory and anticipation until they saw each other again. Not only to cling carnally but to simply be together.
The physical and emotional sides of their relationship seemed to intertwine more and more each day, pulling them closer along with it. Bellamy's words were like a therapy, the whole man himself in fact, a remedy for something Murphy couldn't quite name, knowing only that he needed it. And here he had it. As they lingered, heads resting together with Murphy watching his partner, a smile picked up as he offered a reply, any thought for making fun vanishing in the warm sincerity of the moment. "Me too."
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 26, 2016 4:42:30 GMT
Lucky. Lucky? That was far from what he was feeling at this moment. Persecuted. Distraught. Furious. What was lucky was that Murphy hadn't fled the tent with Bellamy's axe and launched at a few of his accusers. Sure they would murder him but he'd maybe take one or two of them along with him. In truth, he wasn't going out there, there was no way. Right now he wanted to live and he had to figure out how. Bellamy was right, the crowd were thirsty for bloodshed, more so no doubt since Murphy hadn't yet paid the price. He was still their target no matter what he had to say. Nobody cared, nobody would listen.
Except perhaps Bellamy. He seemed to be considering it, but again, he had considered ending Murphy's life, the delinquent was sure of it. Maybe he would reconsider and see it through this time. Here Murphy was, trapped and waiting on their leader to do something. If he didn't, Murphy would have to act alone although he could see no way out yet. "No thanks to you. If you'd have listened to me in the first place none of this would have happened." He couldn't be sure of that but he was desperate to condemn somebody. Why not the person he'd placed his trust in, no matter how flawed it was, how incomplete. Now here he stood with Bellamy and still alone, glaring at the other with wild hope disappearing fast as the fact sank in. Only averting his gaze and turning away as a rogue tear escaped to roll over his blood stained cheek.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 26, 2016 3:43:09 GMT
As soon as his bonds were cut Murphy pulled at the rope still around his neck, tugging it looser and removing it as swiftly as he could. With an urgency to be free of it despite the fact it was no longer attached to anything else. Once it was off he took a moment to stare at it in his hands before tossing it aside in disgust. He'd kill them, all of them. That was where his thoughts swung now, though he was still gripped by fear and panic, grateful for the tenuous safety of Bellamy's tent. Of Bellamy himself.
The question fired him up and he stepped in closer. "I told you I didn't do this. Now you're willing to listen to me? After you let them string me up!" He spat out the words in vehement outrage. The only crime here was against him. Yet he was thankful for Bellamy stepping in, saving him from the noose and the crowd, but at this moment he had no other outlet for his anger and so it was directed at their leader. His rescuer.
Gratitude aside, hadn't it been Bellamy who had let it get so far? In Murphy's mind there was no escaping the fact the other had practically dismissed his original claim of innocence and worse still, done it in front of everyone. Not backing him up had been as good as sentencing him right there. Murphy had trusted him and now he would blame him, but Bellamy was also his only chance or so it appeared. It felt as though the other male held his fate in his hands and Murphy despised the knowledge, and was still so oddly thankful for it.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 26, 2016 2:41:14 GMT
What the hell was this? Where had this dizzying change of pace come from? Maybe it hadn't been as sudden as he'd thought and he'd missed some build up to this moment, he was recovering after all. Or had that distinct faltering in Bellamy's composure been the obvious clue that he was ready to offload... something? Atone for his sins here in the deserted Hangar in the middle of the night.
Murphy's gaze held steady on the other man while he'd looked away, however briefly, with a burning anger that was fueled by every flash of memory that now visited him thanks to Bellamy's words. Of the event in question and all that had stemmed from it. These memories were always there with him. Ominous in their presence and haunting him with every step, every breath, every day. They pushed him onward, serving as the motivation for his own survival. It was why he needed nobody, wanted nobody. Trusted nobody. But he'd learned to push them aside enough for them not to pull him down into despair, a path he was unwilling to take easily.
Bellamy had dragged them out into the open to force an acknowledgement together. As much as Murphy wanted to bury it all just below the surface again, now Bellamy had brought it up he hoped it hurt. He found himself willing the recollection to burrow so deep into Bellamy's self-righteous soul that it would be torn apart, the king left slain but existing. Devoid of life but full of regret and guilt and sorrow. For the other's destruction would surely mean some claim of victory over him, finally.
Yet it seemed Bellamy was already halfway there and knowing it lacked the satisfaction Murphy had wished for, the other man's pain doing nothing to ease his own. Instead, the next words from Bellamy's lips only deepened it to a point Murphy would never have believed possible. Two words to awaken depths of misery he hadn't imagined. Two words to pull him down. Two words to offer both a chance to crush the one who spoke them, or to forgive. The idea was distant, too much had happened between them and it was no doubt best left as it was without this, but here it was, in the open. He took a few steps to the side away from the table but halted again. "You're sorry?" Even as he repeated it he felt his voice threaten to crack, but he continued with as steady a tone as he could manage, though it was choked with grief. "What the hell do you want me to say to that?"
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 26, 2016 1:27:09 GMT
The beating, the gag, the binding of his hands followed by more kicking and punching... none of it had been as terrifying as what came next. He'd wondered if they might beat him within an inch of his life before backing off, or if someone might step in to halt the attack before it got that far. But perhaps they would actually kill him. True fear set in as he caught a glimpse of a rope being tossed up, the noose tightening around his neck as he was pulled up to stand precariously on a crate, the only safety between him and the threat of a sharp drop. All this and he was innocent of the crime of which he had stood accused.
They didn't believe him. None of them. Not even Bellamy who he had foolishly expected to back him up, and when he hadn't, that had been the turning point. The moment any small confidence in his own safety had vanished. That their leader, his leader hadn't stepped in to defend him had taken him aback. This self-appointed king to which Murphy had given his loyalty, followed him, obeyed him, and now this... betrayal?
Still he'd pleaded as the crowd had called for his execution, for Bellamy to carry it out. Their leader's name chanted over and over while Murphy too implored him to listen to him instead. Bellamy... Bellamy. Choked words begged through the gag they'd tied faded amid the shouts of the delinquents. All the while Murphy stared desperately at him, losing hope the longer he did. It seemed Bellamy was considering it, working himself up to it. It was over, yet still he begged. I didn't kill him. Listen to me. Unclear and drowned out by the crowd.
He had never felt such relief as he did with his fall to the ground, the rope cut by Bellamy's hand with the other male pulling him up after an order for the delinquents to back up. With the gag pulled from his mouth Murphy gasped for breath, the noose still tight around his throat but its purpose thankfully unfulfilled. He fought angry tears while Bellamy addressed the crowd, frantically fighting back the show of weakness and dread, glad to escape their gazes as he was led away and towards Bellamy's tent. Any moment, he thought, any moment they would seize him again, finish what they started. And he would fight, hands bound and body bruised, he would fight and likely die for certain this time.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 25, 2016 23:50:12 GMT
How was it that this, not a first time for such contact, could still feel new and yet offer soothing familiarity both at once? The combination was exhilarating, now he'd appeased the need to feel something deeper that had already entwined itself with his other needs some time ago. Now realized, now accepted, it was near to overwhelming. An abrupt urge to push the mutual embrace to more hungry grasping was tempered by the gentle touch to his cheek.
Chased with a kiss... another and another. A trail from lips to cheek to neck. The nip of teeth coaxed a tilt of his head, skin pulled taut beneath the other's lips in silent appreciation and a hope of more. Indulging in this rare affection he felt fixed where he stood, swaying faintly as Bellamy moved with the heat of his mouth arousing a desire to react. The longing to do so in happy conflict with the temptation to let the other continue a while longer without interference.
The decision to move it along was made for him and he readily obliged. Stilling at the whispered words, he delayed only long enough for the nip at his ear along with the suggestion to prompt a grin. Barely a moment more and he leaned away, retreating as he locked his gaze on Bellamy. Two fingers hooked into the front of the other man's pants to tug him along as Murphy backed up towards the bed, although he was already making quick work of the fastening as they moved.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 25, 2016 22:08:04 GMT
Not exactly the response he'd expected, but again Bellamy was going on with the vaguely subdued approach, verbally at least. The other was right. As little as Murphy had seen so far, the somewhat ramshackle camp he'd left was now clearly more in order. The medical bay for a start, where he'd been checked out before when they'd first been brought back here, was now functioning as more than just a temporary setup. Just as well as they had more patients too. In fairness, at first glance it seemed the Arkers had made a fair amount of progress in the time they'd been down here. Perhaps things were different under the surface.
With a few moments to consider the offer of a meal, Murphy eventually declined with a shake of his head, the decision made for him by that now familiar wave of sickness rising up once again. He definitely needed sustenance, but maybe it would be better to wait until he was certain he could keep it down. Dominating the hunger was fatigue, even after the rest taken in the medbay bed, weariness still reached every part of him yet his mind was awake. Alert as much as it could be and possibly more than was necessary considering he was in the camp. But being among his own people didn't exactly equate to safety. Murphy knew that well.
Still, he was worn out and glad of the seat at the table while he watched Bellamy right back, the other remaining standing a short distance away. Ever the man of duty in one way or another, stood as if he was dormant and waiting to leap into action whenever it came. That was how it appeared to Murphy, but there were cracks in the veneer, or rather a slipping of the mask of composure threatening to fall away completely at any moment. He had seen it before but it was different now. Heavier to carry, harder to keep in place?
Whatever it was, Murphy was deciding whether or not to question about what had gone on in his absence, the planned strike on Mount Weather and how it had turned out. Maybe the answers, if given, would go some way to explaining the perceived shift in Bellamy. What exactly had happened? Where was Clarke? What of the others who had been trapped there? And the Grounders? In truth, Murphy didn't care as much as perhaps he should, or so he maintained in his own thoughts. He figured it was curiosity that had him wanting to know and nothing more.
Undecided as he was to ask, all notion of inquiring about Mount Weather vanished when Bellamy spoke up again. Murphy's gaze having drifted to glance around the Hangar now snapped back to the other man before he froze still. I should have stopped them. The words seemed to cut, heard once before and spoken by the same man. His judge and would-be executioner who had allowed the noose around his neck. The same man who could have stopped it with a single command. The words first spoken when Murphy had repaid the gesture with a noose around Bellamy's. Now he offered them again?
A sick joke, surely. So out of place and unforeseen. Murphy went on staring while a cold fury rippled through him. Had Bellamy been referring to something else and not even realized the words he'd chosen? Applied them to another matter without knowing, or worse, fully aware? That would have been bad enough but Bellamy was still focused on him, the words seeming free of deceit, full of honesty, directed as they were the first time. So much so that Murphy finally tore his gaze away for a few seconds, absently picking at a loose thread from the bandage on his arm and silently cursing the wet glaze of his eyes. Angry and confused he slowly pushed to stand, easing from the seat but lingering there as he brought his attention back to the other man, fighting through a hundred responses, bitter and heartfelt, desperate to find one that hid his emotion. And failing. "... Float you, Bellamy."
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 24, 2016 23:49:31 GMT
There was his confirmation, though by this point is wasn't so much as necessary but rather craved, to seal and somehow etch their commitment on each other with a kiss. More than that, with every part of them if Murphy could have it his way. A nonessential affirmation of the emotional with the physical. An act that may have happened anyway even as they'd argued regardless of the severity of their dispute, though it would have lacked the thrill of this new revelation between them. Instead, everything was heightened. It seemed Bellamy shared the intention, with the contact now broken and Murphy raising his arms as the other man tugged off his shirt, followed by his own.
Thankful for the recapturing of the kiss now quelling a moment's impatience at the loss of touch, Murphy once again pressed in as Bellamy did. Deepening the kiss and tongue searching, as if he could seek out a taste of the earlier words and revel in the flavor, swallow up their memory to keep it a part of him. It was special. Despite an insistent part of him that begged for retreat, as if in warning of inevitable calamity should he hold on. To Bellamy, to the chance they'd given each other. But it was too late, he had already taken the step and grasped a hold, dubiously but tenaciously. He wasn't letting go.
At least that's how it felt right now, their actions mirroring his state of mind as his hands were swiftly on Bellamy again. Roaming up along his sides before he pressed himself to the other, the warm slip of skin on skin helping to satisfy the need to be so close. Prompting a yet more ardent kiss paused only briefly with a soft bite to the other man's lip, and soon reclaimed.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 24, 2016 22:58:01 GMT
Murphy may have still more or less been working with only one eye, but he could see right away the anger in Octavia's. He figured that could mean one of two things. Either he was right and Bellamy had his little sister practically imprisoned 'for her own good', or she was furious at the very suggestion of it. Perhaps both were true. Bellamy may not be her keeper, but that didn't mean the leader didn't consider himself to be. Murphy knew he more or less did. Back when they had landed Bellamy had made it clear Octavia was off limits, and when his warning went unheeded, he'd taken action. Atom had been on the receiving end and served as an example to anyone else who had aspirations to get close to Octavia. Yes, he was his sister's keeper, no matter her rebellions.
He didn't vocalize a contradiction, not wanting to enter into a debate about something that in all honesty he didn't care about. All he knew was that Bellamy did what he wanted, imposed his own rules where he wanted, after claiming they needed none. His own set of twisted morals. Murphy decided Octavia must be on the wrong side of those at the moment. He wasn't sure if he'd been expecting her question but regardless, it took him aback for a few seconds. Not so much that she had asked, but more that he had to answer. Remaining silent he looked to his torn fingernails, discreetly, almost secretive as he did so, but eventually spoke up. "Grounders happened. They didn't like me very much..."
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 24, 2016 22:17:02 GMT
The good luck quip had him huffing a quiet laugh as he watched the girl climb into her own... soon to be his car. Even so, he appreciated her confidence, as misplaced as it no doubt was tonight. Murphy watched her as she focused on making sure she was ready, his gaze eventually drifting to look over the impala one last time before they began the race. When he returned his attention to the girl, she was staring right back at him.
If there had been any derisive thought in his mind prior to this, that he might almost feel bad for killing that pretty smile when he won, it was gone now. Along with said smile. Now she fixed him with a stare of such resolute ambition that he didn't respond for a moment or two. Okay, maybe she was serious. Maybe she meant business. Maybe there was a little more to this than he'd even suspected. All the more reason to win, and he was certain he would. Perhaps the look she was now throwing his way was merely nerves.
Whatever it was in aid of, he found it more appealing than her whole kittenish act until this point. Sure it seemed she was attempting to glare a hole right through him, but it was sort of hot. Bold. Real. Finally, he granted a wicked grin in response accompanied by a rev of his engine endeavoring to provoke, if indeed she was serious. If he shook her up a little along with the potentially anxious state she might already be in, her failure would be all the more priceless. But there was no real evidence of any apprehension as far as he could see, so he focused on the road ahead, the task at hand and what would come for him at the finish line. Delicious victory. The flag dropped and he hit the gas.
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 22, 2016 0:03:15 GMT
"Yeah... " He gave a nod as he headed further into the Hangar. When he'd woken in the medical bay, the plate that had been brought to him before he'd passed out had been set aside near the bed, along with another cup of water. As unrecognizable as it was, he'd eagerly swallowed it down chased with the water, his hunger bypassing any unpalatable aspects of whatever it had been. "Some grey thing... maybe it wasn't food. Tasted better than a mouthful of sand." He gave a shrug as he joked, momentarily considering the fact he could still feel sand stuck to his skin here and there.
Easing down to sit at a table with a slight wince as he settled, he scanned the Hangar once more before his gaze rested on Bellamy. He looked hollow somehow. Or not hollow, more misplaced. Out of sync in some strange way, and if Murphy wasn't mistaken, he appeared discreetly caring? It wasn't that Bellamy was incapable of that, far from it, but towards Murphy? Not so commonplace. Usually the opposite in fact, although the other had taken him in, helped him to medical, made sure he was seen to right away, and now here he was asking if he'd eaten. Maybe it was just small talk.
That didn't fit with Bellamy either, he wasn't one for mindless chitchat. If he had something to say, he would usually come out and say it, in Murphy's experience. Or at least keep it to himself, but let it be known he would come down on you like a ton of bricks if you pushed him the wrong way. Murphy's thoughts momentarily shifted from Bellamy as a faint wave of nausea passed over him once again, but it was gone just as quickly, and since Bellamy had mentioned it he considered if it might now be due to hunger. Despite his meager snack. "Why, do I get a welcome back meal?"
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Post by John Murphy on Mar 21, 2016 21:51:33 GMT
"Good. You're better off as far away as you can get from him and anything he has to offer. He should have stayed put on his magical island... " Even if he had escaped the island with Jaha and the others and had been glad to leave it. An escape for him at least, but a journey and a purpose for Jaha who had been on his way back to 'his people'. Clarke's question brought his attention back to the grounders and along with it, the peril of their current situation. Not that he had forgotten. Nor the torture Titus had inflicted in his quest for answers. "His guards or whatever they were grabbed me out on the road, brought me back here and he got to work." His wounds were still fresh, body aching from his capture, but whether it was a blessing or not, it hadn't been the worst he'd been through.
"I was stealing but only from people who'd have done the same to me. Food mostly... " He trailed off, his comments merely granting a little explanation rather than any defense, considering he figured he had absolutely no need to defend his actions. It was survival and he was still here. "He seemed more interested in you than me." As Clarke spoke up about moving faster, he picked up his already quick pace, though he almost slowed again as she continued. Instead, he gave a light tug on her sleeve as if to urge her along too. "Believe me, I've got no plans for that. How about we just help keep each other out of a cell? Or a grave."
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