the panic

[Ethan "Witt" Stalic]

He couldn't breathe. It had been nearly a year since Ethan last used his powers, and he had clearly lost some of his resistance to the side effects over that time. He had intended to deny his powers for the rest of his life, and it had been going so well until the panic attacks started happening. Ethan could have been doing anything at the time, sketching or serving customers with his usual disingenuous smile, the panic attacks would happen whenever they wanted to. They would start with a shakiness, followed by an inability to form words. Shortly after, the hyperventilation and tunnel vision would start, and Ethan would feel he had no choice but to run.

He wasn't sure if he was suffering a withdrawal from not having used drugs, or if it really was just his powers coming back to bite him in the ass, but regardless the fastest solution was to use again. Ethan stumbled recklessly into an alley; he had dropped a porcelain mug of scalding hot coffee on his foot in his panic to escape the cafe, and the pain only heightened his anxiety. He knew there was no sense in trying to fight back the tears – he had no control anymore – and so, with warm tears streaming down his face, he tried to move further, faster. Ethan didn't care where he was going, he simply had to keep moving. After a series of turns, he reached a dead end and though he physically could have turned around, he was trapped.

With a low thud, he collapsed where he stood, wherever that was. He could feel something cool and metallic only an arm span away, and unforgiving gravel against his back. Barely conscious, he used what little strength he had to bury his hands in his pockets, searching half-heartedly for his escape. With only few coins and a crumpled receipt in one pocket, and little more than lint in the other, he began to scream. The panic was too much, and he couldn't find a way out.

[Kazuya "Hakuryu" Tellagory]

“Hey, guy,” Kazuya nudged the curled up kid. “You dead?”

He was used to seeing people flat out on the floor making madhouse noises, or retard noises, from working with junkies – didn't matter how high up the chain he got, there were always junkies, spider-fast and unwashed. This one looked washed. And well dressed. Possibly even respectable and employed. Hmm. The Yakuza nudged the floored guy with the tip of his boot again. He wouldn't normally care about a random stranger, but a well-dressed young guy having a breakdown might be in search of some medication, be that something tame and legal or something fun and exciting. Kazuya could get both of those varieties of things: lots of prescription drugs sold pretty good on the black market, or made precursors for serious drugs. Maybe this kid could afford it, with his not scungy clothing, his not junkie-filth.

Kazuya was in town on business, but business that had been largely concluded: he was coming down off a meth rush that had given him enough power and crazy speed to take down an upstart gang with just his glock and a four by four with some nails driven through. One of the goons had stuck a knife in his leg, which hadn't hurt that much at the time, all amped up on amphetamine as he'd been, but it was kind of starting to tickle now. It had mostly healed up while he was still feeling the effects of the 'Dragon, but not completely. He looked down at his lower leg; there was some blood spotting his jeans. He blinked at it; had been blinking a lot for a while now, and twitchy too, but he was used to that well enough.

“Hey,” he repeated, shaking his bad leg like a cat that had stepped in water to free the denim from the half-healed wound. He could go back to his apartment and do some more meth, and it'd heal. Or, he could avoid the whole junkie thing, not get hooked, let it heal the rest of the way the old fashioned way.

[Ethan "Witt" Stalic]

Ethan's screaming had subsided into broken whimpers, and the occasional moan of pain, when he felt the hard toe of a boot prod his ribs. At first he felt it, but didn't process it, too entranced by the panic to notice the other man's presence. It was only a few nudges later, than he began to hear the other man.
"Hey," the other man had said. If there was any more than that, Ethan didn't hear it. He felt almost comforted to realise he wasn't alone; it was a reminder that he was still on Earth. His senses began to return to him, though only a little, and he clutched for the ground to push himself up.

Slowly Ethan found the strength to push his palms hard into the gravel and bend his knees, so as to climb to his feet. Once standing, Ethan glanced around, disorientated. He saw the other man through his narrowed vision for only a moment before his knees gave way again. His back scraped harshly against the textured brick wall as he slid to the ground and he couldn't help but cry out.

After a few moments of silence, Ethan looked up at the other man, who still simply stood there looking tall as he undoubtedly was. He recognised this man, despite never having met him before. This man was exactly the kind of person who could help Ethan; the kind who could get him what he needed. Ethan stared up at the other man's rather Asian face and managed to utter a single word: "Di... diaze... pam?"

[Kazuya "Hakuryu" Tellagory]

Oh yeah, the magic words.

Say 'lithium,' and I can make you calm and stable, say 'Flunitrazepam' and summon Hypnos to cast the spell 'roofies'. Say 'diazepam'...

A smile flickered across Kazuya's lips, slow, amused. He looked down at the stranger through wide, messy bangs, standing with his hands in his pockets, calm and unmoving while the kid stood up, fell down again, sat down. Whatever he was doing, or wasn't doing as the case might have been, it was clearly having an effect. Kazuya had a pretty good understanding of which drugs could cause what, but god knew what this guy was doing or coming down off.

Valium was used to treat just about everything and had side-effects some people desired, so, whatever, this guy could have anything. Whatever, he was a customer, he could ask for whatever he wanted; if he lived to buy again, that would be cool, but no skin off Kazuya's back. He was more about the skin off knuckles, usually his, usually when he was breaking faces. The economics, he understood but didn't really have much to do with: maybe he would have liked to, but then suddenly he was taking on men twice his size, and then several of them, and he was a bit too useful to put behind a desk.

“Favourite flavour?” He asked, like this happened every day. There were hundreds of brands of diazepam, in capsules and liquids and tablets, injections... no promises that he could get all of them, but the chance was fairly high. He scrubbed a hand through the back of his hair.

[Ethan "Witt" Stalic]

'Favourite... flavour?'

Ethan frowned. Maybe the question wasn't actually as strange as it sounded to Ethan. He had bought drugs several times before, but never when he was hardly conscious, never from a dealer he hadn't sought out himself. Whenever he had bought drugs previously, they had been given to him as capsules, with no questions as to how he would prefer them. Ethan supposed that as he was now, he wanted whatever would work fastest. Injections, probably. Sure, he wasn't exactly fond of needles, but he needed these drugs to work quickly, and the answer was to put them straight into his bloodstream.

"You got needles?"

[Kazuya "Hakuryu" Tellagory]

“Yeah, I carry a couple in my back pocket in case I get a little nervous,” Kazuya said pleasantly. His pockets were also bigger on the inside and he carried around an infinite stash of valuable and primarily illegal substances in them, when he wasn’t spending his time, you know, looking for stranded junkies who need a fix or … whatever, kids like this strung out in alleyways having a fit. In his time off he was also a major vigilante and helped out at charity events. He dropped his hand from the back of his neck. His leg tickled. If he tried to walk further on it or change gear energetically he’d have to buy new jeans. Bodywash and coca-cola could get bloodstains out sometimes, but he wasn’t big on doing the hard scrubbing.

“Can you walk?” The only drugs he kept on him were a couple of desoxyn tablets in with his gum and his cigarettes. No officer, they’re just medication for my ADHD, you know? They help me concentrate; sorry for the trouble. He reached for one of these now, shaking the 10mg tablet out of a slightly crushed cardboard container and knocking it back dry; when he replaced it he retrieved his gum – a sugary children’s bubble gum which, according to a cheerful cartoon character, tasted like watermelon. He offered the pack to the guy out of good manners. “Car’s around the corner.” It was where he had been going until he’d been distracted by the guy. He was heading back to headquarters anyway, might as well drop this guy off somewhere the drug of choice could be located.

Kazuya knew it’d take a bit for his own meds to kick in, but he could feel the pressure start to build in his muscles, knew he’d be driving too fast because he’d be feeling the restlessness and the grandiosity. Part of it was a legitimate side effect, part of it came with the dragon; it felt like when he was using something uncurled in his muscles, in his chest, and needed out. It was like full-body fury without being angry – although he could get pretty aggressive on a serious dose. He blew a hot pink bubble of gum.

[/blockquote]