cursedrp | IC INTRO #1

IC INTRO #1

A Blood Offering

You wake up cozy in bed at the Saturn Motel. As you observe the room you may realize that it looks a little dated. Or, perhaps from your point of view the lamp and TV are wildly futuristic. Or, like Goldilocks, it may seem just right: close to the world you just left behind. Either way, you just had a very strange dream (see the arrival scenario) and now you're here. And you're not alone: there's a bed next to yours and someone else is waking up just like you are.

You can chat for a while if you like, but if you try to leave you'll find the door is firmly locked and no amount of kicking, punching, or hitting it with an object will do you any good. Instead, there's a letter on the nightstand which reads:

"Good morning and welcome to your new home!

You may be wondering why you're trapped in this room. Fear not, the door will open easily if you offer a bit of blood. More than a few drops but not enough to be a serious wound. A handprint's worth will do, let's say, and it only needs to come from one of you.

I'll let you sort that out yourselves. See you on the other side.

Sincerely,
The Mayor"

And indeed, a handprint's worth of blood pressed against the door will unlock it and let you out into the world. Do you volunteer your own blood? Do you take it from the other person by force? It's up to you! But there's no food in here, so you better figure it out eventually.

Roller Rink

As a celebration of your new lives here (and an apology for the whole blood offering thing - they were just testing something out, really) the Mayor has invited everyone to the Crazy Eight Roller Rink for a private, after-hours party.

Attendance isn't mandatory, but it is heavily encouraged so that you can meet your fellow Cursed and know who's in on the whole secret. It'll help you down the line at some point if your Curse gets out of control and you need someone to wrangle you.

As a reward, everyone who shows up and completes at least one lap around the roller rink (you must be wearing skates, but you can crawl the lap if you can't get the hang of them) will receive a free walkman with a mystery tape inside. The color, style, and mystery tape your character gets are up to you.

Mallrats

Everyone loves the mall! Right? Right! And this group of newcomers is lucky enough to be here for the White Pines Mall Grand Opening celebration! Feel free to walk around the mall and partake in sales galore, check out the attractions, or just get to know the layout of the place.

The Mayor has given everyone a gift card for $100 that can be used anywhere in the mall as long as they attend the Grand Opening.

They also strongly suggest that you familiarize yourself with the mall and its layout, just in case you ever get stuck there for a while and have to compete with others for food and resources. But that probably won't happen.

Extra Info

All the same guidelines from the TDM still apply. You can continue your TDM threads here or start new ones! And of course, you can start making your own prompts in the log or network communities at your leisure.

Our first event will be going up in about a week!

Please do not add character tags to any posts just yet, we'll add them to this post manually.

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Acting like a twelve-year-old was certainly a choice that Alec could make right now. He was lucky that as irritated as V was he was still rather patient and more concerned with actually getting the door open. Otherwise, well, these two probably could petty each other to death.

V drew his face into a very carefully neutral expression at the way Alec rolled his eyes. He was catching on very quick to the fact that he was dealing with someone who was incredibly unprofessional and would likely be more or less useless in figuring out what was going on here. While Alec investigated the restroom and closet, V went back to the beds and gave them a once over, then looked over the nightstand. What he'd thought was the usual pad of paper with a pen was actually a little letter to the both of them. He skimmed it, then re-read it closely to make sure he was reading correctly, then finally responded to Alec.

"Needs a blood sacrifice," he said flatly. Yes it was him joking, yes he delivered it 100% seriously, no he didn't expect Alec to be able to tell it was a joke. He didn't even look up to see Alec's reaction.

"That's not happening," he volleys back, and though his tone is equally flat, by contrast he's being completely sincere. You know, on account of the fact that he doesn't think V is joking and he finds it 100% believable that blood would be used as a trigger for a spell or a ward: that's the kind of ridiculous world he's from. He's just unwilling to put his blood into any magic he doesn't understand without someone qualified around to judge whether it's a good idea or not.

And no, that's not just him pining for Magnus to flutter in and answer his questions and fix his runes and whisk him away from this weird little situation.

(Alright, maybe it is that, a little.)

Belatedly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, except the thing he pulls out is a beige monstrosity that looks nothing like the sleek black device he went to sleep with. It's got his lock screen though, and opens up with the pattern he's been using since he last upgraded... "What the hell?" Distractedly, he thumbs through to his contacts, but it won't let him make any calls out to any saved numbers. Only intra-Intelliphone communication, apparently. "Do you have service?" Because having a cellphone itself is a foregone conclusion, obviously.

Edited (Why proof read BEFORE hitting submit?? Live a little!) 2022-09-06 18:52 (UTC)

"C'mon, just wants a handprint on the door," V relented, being serious now as he looked up from the note and watched Alec do the teenager thing. He wasn't really expecting the absolutely serious finality that Alec had given in response, as if a blood sacrifice was something that he was used to. It was enough that V wasn't sure if he was returning the joke in the same sort of flat response as a mirror.

As Alec fished his new (awful) phone out and started messing with it, V re-read the note one more time just to triple-check it, glancing up at the question of service. His eyes unfocused in the automatic habit he'd formed when he was calling on his system to throw something into his vision, though his eyes automatically trailed back down to the note. Nothing happened, and he tried again - probably looking stupid at the way he was just sort of staring into the middle distance of a piece of paper - with traces of confusion settling on his features.

His focus returned and his gaze meandered to his thumb, holding the paper, and his eyes narrowed a little as he began to realize why he didn't feel right, why his arms felt so light compared to what he was used to. Why his face hadn't felt quite right earlier, not that he'd paid too much attention to it, possibly why his eyes weren't working the way they should. Would explain why his Agent was unresponsive and he didn't have her nattering in his head, too. He pushed the thought away for now, writing it off, again, as just some final death throe of a man who'd soon be nothing.

He lingered on it only a moment before he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and the hand holding the note fell to his side. V found the same awful corporate-approved beige brick in his pocket - explained why that pocket felt so heavy when all that should have been in there was a cigarette case - and he took a moment to flick through it and check apps, contacts, if he could call someone. None of it was familiar to him and the calls failed for him.

"No service. Don't think we'll have any 'til we appease the door and get out."

Alec clues back in about halfway through V's staring contest with the middle distance, and by the end of it he's giving V an odd look of his own. Okay, what was that?

Then V seems to recover with no comment, and Alec squints but eventually decides to let it fly. Whatever V's problem is, it's going to have to stay his problem. Alec's natural inclination for digging all the way into people's business whether they like it or not only really extends to the ones he actively likes.

Right now, he's too on edge to get started on that. He loiters by the tv for a moment—why is it so big?—before closing the distance between them and extending a hand for the letter. "Let me see that." Once he reads it for himself, he resumes scowling full-force. The Mayor, like in his strange dream. Is it a warlock? Demon? Fae? He feels stupid for not being able to even begin to guess who is behind this and what was done in particular to provoke it. "I don't trust it," he declares, yep, still completely serious. He drops the letter on the foot of the closest bed, and starts on a more concentrated search through the little hotel room for anything long and thin enough that he can try to pry the door open manually. He doesn't think that will work, exactly, but he's got to try because: "I don't know what kind of ward that is, but I'm not putting my blood on it."

The and V shouldn't either is heavily implied, if by tone alone.

V handed the note over without any fuss. He recognized that there was no use arguing with this brat that he was stuck with. Not over something so small, at least. Who got to cut themselves up for the door might be worth the argument. Especially since, of course, V's arms weren't really organic (he had to keep clinging to that hope) and so he couldn't actually bleed from anywhere convenient (he kept telling himself).

"Don't think you gotta trust it," he started as he watched Alec start to dig through the hotel room. V moved out of Alec's way and ended up next to the door, still thinking this was a dream and it wasn't worth spending so much time trying to investigate his way out of what the dream was literally telling them to do to move forward. It was unlike him to just accept things at face value like he was doing but he was too curious to see where this was going to just sit down and do nothing and wait for it to be over.

"Don't know anything about wards or whatever but c'mon. My hands don't bleed and cuttin' me anywhere else would just make it awkward." While he was speaking, V fished a knife out of his pocket. Spring worn, the black blade fell from the handle once V pressed the release button. He wasn't holding himself threateningly or like he would force Alec into anything but he was definitely waiting.

Alec is significantly less threatened by the knife, even though V has it all the way out instead of just putting his hand on it like he did with the gun. Shadowhunters attack each other with live weaponry all the time for fun, V's going to have to get a much bigger blade than that out if he wants to draw Alec's blood.

"Yeah, okay," He says, and spares it only half a glance before turning enough to grab the corner of one of the mattresses and hauling it onto the floor. "What does that even mean?" He leans the mattress up out of the way against the far wall, ignoring the spill of blankets and pillows, and joins it with the box spring a moment later. He shoots V another dubious look as he crouches down to squint through the dust kicked up at the black metal frame underneath.

Even vampires bleed from the hands, and they're dead. So do demons, if you count ichor. Honestly, he's stumped.

Still, he is on a mission here and he pushes and pulls at the different sections of the bedframe, trying to find a spot where the screws are loose enough that it can be dismantled without a screwdriver, which he doesn't have. For good measure he adds: "I know enough about wards to know you don't mess with them unless you know how to take them down without being fried." Or unless you're a dashing warlock who has the raw power it takes to just tear them apart and waltz on through, but he doesn't have one of those here either.

In truth, if V wanted to fight Alec he would just go for his gun. This knife was carried as a memento and reminder, not as a weapon - that's what his arms had been installed for. V wasn't a fan of hand-to-hand combat, or anything up close and personal. He wasn't good at it. He hadn't needed to be since he was much younger and prettier.

"Means my hands aren't 'ganic." His annoyance grew as he watched Alec mess around with the beds and do whatever he was doing. Besides, cyberarms, hands, legs, and feet weren't uncommon. Even Johnny had a silver arm prosthetic to replace the arm he lost in the war, and he was practically a fossil. "I cut 'em and nothin' comes out, just damages the synthskin," he continued.

He seriously considered helping Alec with the screws just to watch him try and fail to open the door. It could be kinda funny, honestly, watching this scrawny pretty boy struggle with something so simple as a door.

"Seems simple enough, note is telling us how to get rid of it. Don't think this mayor guy would be tryin' to kill us if part of us bein' here's to try to blend in and not draw attention to ourselves."

Alec mouths 'ganic?! as though he doesn't spew stupid Shadowhunters jargon constantly at people who wouldn't understand, before his attention gets promptly snatched back down to the bed frame where he feels the metal actually wiggle and creak apart at the middle support beam.

Finally, he's getting somewhere.

"Whatever you say," he scoffs like he definitely isn't buying it, and he thinks V's just making up an excuse. Not that he's mad about it, because he really doesn't think doing whatever the Mayor wants is a good idea. Especially if it seems really simple and easy.

No, instead he keeps trying to do things the hard way and grips the slightly loose piece that he found, puts his foot down on the adjoining part of the frame, and pulls his arm up with the same steady pressure that he uses to draw back his bow's string. The screw gives way with an unpleasant metal screech and a grunt of effort, old threads stripping as they pull free, and when Alec stands the rest of the way back up he's got himself a not-quite-crowbar.

Belatedly: "...What?" Wait, that wasn't in the note, the part about blending in. That was in his dream. "Why would you trust the— guy?" sure, "that stuck us here?"

V had a feeling he was going to have to end up proving that his arm and hand were nothing more than robotic limbs attached just above the elbow. It made no sense to him that he'd have to prove something as boring as this but fine. He did decide he would at least let Alec try to pry the door open. If he could avoid having to fuck up his hardware and having to wait for it to self-heal he would certainly prefer that. It'd also be fun to be proven right after being subjected to the horrible fucking metal screech that Alec had just subjected him to.

"What's it matter? Gonna die in here if we can't get out," he said, moving out of Alec's way. "Least if we get out'f here we got a chance to fight through whatever's on the other side of that door."

V motioned for Alec to try his dumb idea, waiting patiently for him to try to pry the door open. V made no effort to help him, nor would he help even if asked. His expression grew smug as Alec continued to struggle to no avail, eventually prompting the question: "Done yet?"

He stood up straight - he might have leaned against the wall while watching Alec struggle - and had to use his self-control not to roll his eyes. "Just to prove I don't got blood vessels in my hands," he started, ending it with a cut across his left palm. He was careful not to cut into the tattoo at the heel of his hand, once his interface to jack into systems. V had planned on immediately shoving his hand at Alec but he found himself stopping. From the moment the blade cut into his hand to the few moments after V had pulled the knife away and he watched the line on his hand grow red he knew something was very, very wrong.

The first thing that was wrong was that the blade cutting into his hand hurt, which it shouldn't. Even in V's dreams (nightmares) he didn't feel pain because he didn't remember what it felt like. He was aware of the pain and that it hurt. Hell, he was aware that this hurt like a bitch because he'd gone so long without feeling it, but it was just that: he was aware of it. It didn't feel like the pain belonged to him, just like he was seeing his own hand bleeding and he was not connecting the dots that the blood was his. The pain was away from him like the way air was electrified before a storm and the blood just... Couldn't be his. This wasn't his hand, wasn't his arm.

He was also distantly aware of the panic that he rightfully should have been feeling but it also felt very far away and like it perhaps wasn't actually his. He could see the way his vision was getting spots and the edges were turning black because of his panic, he could feel his heart rate picking up as adrenaline started to push through his body, but he just couldn't react to it. None of this was a dream, it was all entirely real, and he had no fucking clue whose hand he'd just cut.

V had no clue if Alec was even trying to talk to him. He probably was, honestly - going on about how V had tried to lie his way out of being the one to cut himself, or something. It didn't matter. The body he currently inhabited - not his, it couldn't be, these weren't his arms - moved. It was clear he was going to finish what he started and press his hand to the door unless Alec moved to stop him - which he'd very easily be able to do if he wished.

Obviously, Alec knew V would bleed the second he drew the blade across his palm, and after a few minutes of his completely futile struggling with the door (by the end of which the metal frame is starting to warp a little where he has it wedged into the crack between the door and the wall for leverage instead of the other way around) he's in a bad enough mood not to try and stop V's little demonstration. Not that he was in a great mood before obviously, but now he's sweating.

Except, maybe he sorta did expect V not to bleed after all that confident posturing? Because the red spills out and it sends a jolt of shock through Alec, his expression of annoyance shifting quickly into alarm before he can clamp down on his own reactions. Not that V is paying attention or anything. He drops his makeshift crowbar and grabs for the knife to yank it out of V's other hand because he obviously can't be trusted with it, and V— just lets him? That's somehow equally worrying. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snaps, annoyed but (against his will) growing increasingly concerned as V neither answers nor moves at all. He is definitely having a crisis of some kind, but as to what's causing it, Alec couldn't say. Cuts lead to bleeding? Everyone has blood vessels in their hands, if they've—you know—got hands? What's not clicking? He stares at V staring at his palm for a few seconds too long and decides that obviously he's going to have to be the one to fix this.

"Do not move," he commands, pointing an accusatory finger in V's general direction like V has listened to a single thing he's said so far, and makes a beeline back across the room to the bathroom cabinet. If there's a first aid kit anywhere in the room, surely it'll be in there? But of course, it's not. There's just a few little complementary soaps and shampoos. Alec hurriedly washes his own hands in the sink to get off all the dust and grime from pulling the bed frame apart, planning to shred one of the sheets so they can wrap that giant, nasty cut and stop the active bleeding, but by the time he turns around V... has his bloody palm pressed against the door. "Damn it, seriously?" V had a point earlier, about it being better to fight through whatever's on the other side of the door than just rot in here, but still. Alec is back at his side immediately, gripping his wrist and then using it yank V around and shove the man bodily behind himself while he's still too out of it to protest (and while Alec still has his knife.) Maybe they haven't gotten along so far, but that doesn't make it any less Alec's job to stand between other people and danger.

Danger is a strong word for what's happening here, of course, considering a big fat load of nothing appears to have changed. That's a minor detail. After a moment of hesitation, Alec adjusts his grip on V's knife to a less defensive one, and lets go of his wrist so he can twist open the knob for the door. It gives with absolutely no resistance, clearly mocking him, and the walkway beyond is completely (almost comically) empty.

Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Hey, quick question though: "What the fuck?"

In the same way that V was aware of his panic, upset, and pain, he was also aware of the fact that he had to figure out how to get through this and start functioning again. If there was danger, he would hardly be able to live with himself if he was worthless in a fight and had to be defended like some damsel in distress. This was the worst trauma response that V had ever had and he had no clue how to interrupt it.

Alec gripping his wrist made V find the ground below his feet, a good start to pull out of this dissociation. V focused on that contact, working hard on trying to associate that touch with something he was actually feeling. He kept all of his feelings pushed out as far as he could but he was coming back into his body and the smarting of his hand grew a little closer to home. He still struggled to identify it as his but he felt it. His breathing started picking up as the panic he'd previously been aware of also grew close, and he had to make a concentrated effort to slow his breathing and steady his hands now that they were starting to shake. His hands curled into fists and clenched to force them steady as Alec opened the door.

Nothing happened. Well, the door opened, and it opened smoothly - like V had thought it would - but nothing jumped in to attack, there didn't seem to be a trail of corpses and blood outside. V didn't bother to peek into the hall - he'd let Alec have those honors. V did straighten up and relaxed his fists, finally willing to face the smarting of his left hand as he cradled it with his right hand.

"Fuckin' told you," he said. His voice was thin despite the attempt to be tough. He was still very clearly shaken. V turned away from Alec and went to the bathroom to rinse off his hand. He glanced in the mirror just long enough to see his eyes were flashes of green before he forced his gaze down and away from the mirror. He couldn't. He refused. He coughed lightly as he turned the water on and hissed through his teeth as he dunked his hand under the water. He'd cut way deeper than he'd needed to because he hadn't expected it to matter. It made his mood sour, to say the least.

"Can I have my fuckin' knife back?" He didn't know what exactly Alec was trying to get at with his own question but he had no intent on mentioning anything about himself to him.

At first while V is busy with the tap, Alec doesn't answer. He looks up and down the hall, knife still in hand. When still nothing happens—no noises, no sharp ozone smell of magic, no trails of ichor or anyone milling about that might be a demon in disguise—he reluctantly hauls the bit of bed frame over and uses it to wedge the door back against the wall. He wants to be very certain it won't swing shut and trap them in again.

He turns and squints at V's back, his downturned face in the mirror: bright hair and strange tattoos, the glinting metal of a lot of jewelry in his ears. Sure, Alec may have spent most of his life pretty isolated, but even lately he hasn't met anybody who looks quite like V does. He's forcing himself to stop trying to figure out what to make of that, as he knows that just because V has gone back to snippy responses doesn't necessarily mean he's not still in that weird freak-out state. Alec doesn't really care what he's going through (yet), but he doesn't make a habit of ditching... mundanes? In sketchy magical situations. Not since Simon, anyway: look how that had turned out. (And is this guy even a mundane? He doesn't really seem like it, what with being armed and talking about how he's incapable of bleeding.)

"You need to wrap your hand," he says instead of offering back V's stuff, but by you he apparently means we because he immediately kneels next to the bed he didn't just throw onto the ground, tossing back the covers to start cutting strips out of the fabric with the knife. He hasn't necessarily done a lot of first aid—thank Runes for that—but he hasn't done as little as most Nephilim due to his bad habit of avoiding healing his own cuts and scrapes if he's feeling particularly stressed and looking for an outlet. But that's neither here nor there. "Water won't stop the bleeding."

It was true that V wasn't quite back to where he should have been. He was staring down and watching the red ooze out of the wound and wash down the drain. It occurred to him that he had to do something about the wound to stop the blood and he looked carefully at the wound, trying to decide if he needed to stitch it up. If he was lucky the front desk might have a clothing repair kit, and he could surely get his hands on a lighter. He'd made do with a safety pin and floss before, he could make it work again. His thoughts were interrupted as Alec spoke.

He could feel the venom filling his mouth as he was ready to spit some sarcastic response back to Alec but he bit his tongue. The longer he was away from his knife and the way his hand was starting to throb was really wearing his temper thin but he recognized how unfair it was to take it out on Alec, especially when he was only trying to help at this point.

"You're right," he admitted. While Alec was busy cutting strips of fabric, V looked around the bathroom and found the pile of towels that hotels always give and grabbed a washcloth from the stack. He folded it and pressed it against the cut - he may have never been trained in medicine but he'd tended his own wounds enough to know what to do in many cases. He offered his hand up to Alec whenever he was ready, wincing more than he should have as the other man tied his hand up.

"Thanks. Woulda been a real bitch to tie myself." V knew that he could have gotten it on his own eventually but Alec really sped things up.

V's acquiescence goes a long way to mollifying him, and Alec finally makes more of an effort to get his own attitude under control as well.

Still, he isn't 100% sure how to retract the blade again and he doesn't want to look stupid struggling with it, so he just flips the knife around until he's got the flat of the blade pinched between his fingers. He trades it handle-first into V's free hand at the same time that he tugs the sliced up one close enough to get to work. He pulls the bandages tight, winding the cloth around itself at first to pin it in place, and then progressing methodically up the palm, over both the cut and the strange markings there. His fingers are heavily calloused—from the bow and swords and everything else—and he's not really gentle, exactly, but hopefully the fact that he works efficiently and without making a fuss is enough to compensate for that.

Admittedly, he's mostly just using bandaging V as an excuse not to start down a new spiral based around the fact that the ward or spell or whatever has clearly been broken, but his runes are still dormant and nothing feels right. "What normally happens when you do... this?" He'd seemed so confident! Alec is still baffled.

V's press of the button and flick of the wrist so that the blade slid back was habit and smooth as the knife found itself back in one of the pockets of V's jacket, hidden away somewhere safe. It wasn't lost on V that the knife had only ever been used to hurt him but he didn't let his mind linger on it. He focused, instead, on the roughness of Alec's fingers brushing over his skin before it was covered, gritting his teeth with each application of pressure. Even as out of practice as he was in dealing with pain he took it well - no bitching, no angry looks. His discomfort was very clear but he wouldn't mention it.

"Nothing. I could cut all the way up my forearm'n peel the skin back and you'd see metal and the routing for the hydraulics underneath." He paused, uncomfortably sitting with this fact and how it hadn't actually happened for just a moment. "Don't normally make demonstrations 'cause the synthskin healing back together takes time and I don't like messin' up expensive purchases." There was heavy resignation in the way V was speaking now.

"Doesn't matter. What the fuck are wards?"

V is dealing with the pain like a Shadowhunter would, and it's probably at least a little bit fucked up that that's finally what makes Alec's shoulders start to release tension as he finishes tying off the bandage. Well, that and the fact that still nothing dire has come through the open door.

But at doesn't matter Alec immediately wants to protest anyway. He had machine arms? Why did this guy have machine arms? Who could make machine arms? How could any of that possibly not matter?

And moreso, why does he not have machine arms now?

But he's not stupid: V has so far dodged every single question about himself, and only answered about his hands because Alec wouldn't stop asking. He didn't even give his name back earlier. Alec steps back out of V's personal space, running his palm over his own arm—across the angelic power rune that has been there since he was ten—smearing it with a bit of red from handling V's still sluggishly bleeding cut. The skin there is... smooth, more than it should be: like a completely healed tattoo, rather than slightly textured skin that's been burned black with divine magic. What if his body has changed, too? What if it's not the room, it's them?

Unsettled, he shakes his head, casting a glance over at the open door again, letting go of the urge to interrogate V further. He doesn't know the guy. Let him keep his secrets. "Magic— spells usually. To keep stuff in, or keep stuff out." His nose wrinkles slightly, and he admits: "I've never seen one like this before." Not that he's an expert on any kind of magic that's not Nephilim magic—even after a couple of dates with the city's High Warlock, who does very much enjoy showing off—but still.

V had managed to separate out the fact that he was literally missing pieces of himself in such a way that he could keep talking about it if Alec made him - he could understand if someone had no familiarity with cyberware (somehow, but maybe people from rural places were out of the loop) they might be confused at the idea, and the natural curiosity they may have about such a thing.

It didn't stop the overwhelming sense of relief that he had when Alec chose to answer his question instead. He was grateful his focus could shift away from himself. At this point he was looking down at his now-wrapped hand, examining the work and almost regretting that Alec had pulled away already. His touch was something to focus on and ground him in the present but it wasn't something he would chase.

"Magic?" V scoffed at the thought. Magic was a thing for that stupid elf MMO people liked to play. It didn't actually exist. Unless you were willing to count Misty's tarot cards and her readings but that was less magic and more like some astrology horoscope thing - general enough it could apply to anyone off the street, and Misty'd come to know him well enough she could personalize it to make it feel more real than it was. That Alec was suggesting that magic was the cause of their problems was absolutely ridiculous.

"Surely you don't think I'm some kinda moron - magic's not real." V did not falter as he said it but he also knew that he certainly had no other explanation as to how the door wouldn't budge until he put blood on it. He could explain if it were some sort of biometric but to make an entire door a blood-based biometric made no sense, and then there was the issue of him suddenly being fully organic. Not to mention he was dead, he'd given his body away to someone else.

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IC INTRO #1

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in ur defense reading is hard cryinghowie

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v told alec he was right, alec will never let him live it down, more news at 11

hdu alec would never be so petty (...he would)

hey alec stop asking about v's body parts that aren't his kthx

never

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