themusemanor | PSL - John Druitt | Helen Magnus ---> Would you mind if I hurt you?

He was still in the Sanctuary. She knew he was and her jaw tightened in anger at the thought of what he'd done to that poor woman. The whole thing just reeked of Whitechapel and she hated it, hated the memories this incident was bringing up. She'd never expected him to get over his bloodlust, not fully and especially not after what he'd done to the Cabal, but somewhere deep inside her, she'd hoped anyway. She couldn't help but let her heart destroy itself with the hope she still had for him.

"John?" she called out confidently through the halls, clicking the ammo rounds in place as she walked and then aiming her gun in front of her. No tranquilizer rounds this time. She was aiming to seriously injure him because she would never be able to kill him. At least, she knew she could try, but actually going through with it? Who knew?

"I know you're still here. Come out and make this easier on both of us."

But John never made things easy. He certainly hadn't during the first Ripper case and he wouldn't start now. Helen didn't expect him to. She could only hope.

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The ricochet of the bullet didn't even phase him, allowing him to easily tilt his head away from her way off attempt at pistol-whipping him. With her staggering away from him, it was easy to grab her wrist and disarm her, all too much reminding him of doing so to their daughter not long back. These ladies were awfully predictable sometimes.

Tossing away her weapon, John used his grip on her arm to shove her back against the nearby wall, her back hitting the paneling and causing it to shudder. "Now now, Helen, we can't have you waving around such a dangerous toy."

He practically loomed over her, careful not to let her strike at him unexpectedly.

When she didn't feel her gun hit anything, she knew she was in trouble. He pried her weapon away from her with a practiced ease and she watched as he gave it a toss to the side. Helen half-expected it to go off as it hit the ground, but it didn't and she kept her gaze fixed on John. If looks could kill, hers might just.

Her arms were pinned and the wall shuddered as her back hit it, dislodging some of the dust at the top to rain down on them like a fine white mist of sorrow. This was what they'd been driven to. This was what their relationship had crumbled into. She hated it, hated remembering what they'd once had, hated seeing his face and being reminded in such a terrible way of the heartache she'd suffered over a century ago. Resentment bubbled up inside her every time she was faced with his murderous intentions, knowing there was nothing she could do to save him and yet wanting nothing other than to do just that. She knew a kind, gentle, and truly sweet man resided inside John's heart and she couldn't tell if it was his refusal to allow that to show or his persistence in reminding her that he wasn't the same person that hurt the most. Either way, emotional pain tinged the anger and loathing in her eyes. Regret.

Regret that she couldn't shoot him now. She twisted her body under his grip, attempting to either force his body away with hers or get one of her legs up in a position where she could knee him somewhere painful or kick him.

"What do you want, John?" she asked, her voice tight with anger. Whatever game he thought he was playing, she wanted no part of it.

It had been quite a long time since John had had Helen in a position like this. And even now, he couldn't help admiring her face for a fraction of a second. She was still so beautiful, with such intelligence in her eyes and grace in her features. And yet there were so many negative emotions reflected in her irises right now that he could practically read her mind. Anger bubbled inside him, causing him to push her further up against the wall. So be it if he hurt her.

"What I want...?" What did he want. Even he couldn't quite puzzle that out. He wanted her to stop him from what he was doing right now, and yet he was ready to pull his knife on her just the same. "I'm not sure I can answer that just yet."

Why didn't she understand? If she didn't try harder he was going to kill her. And if he did that... John didn't know what could even come after that. His hands shook as he stared down at her, and finally he could stand the rampant thoughts in his head no longer. He threw her to the side, reaching into his pocket for his knife before she end hit the ground.

Helen would have preferred waiting a lot longer for this sort of thing to happen again, but she had no choice in the matter, it seemed. He pressed her further against the wall, managing to twist her arm between them. She winced slightly as she listened to his words, staring him down at his answer.

He couldn't answer? Why couldn't he answer? Surely, he had one, a reason for being there and doing everything he'd done today. Of course it wouldn't be that simple, would it? Things were never simple with them. That was just how it worked, how--

He tossed her to the side as though she weighed nothing and she went tumbling down, hitting the ground on all fours. Lifting her head immediately, she judged what he was doing and how far her gun was. If she absolutely had to, she had a knife in her shoe, but that was a last resort at this point, a last resort she might be bloody close to using.

"Why not?" she called up to him as she attempted to get to her feet. Time to see if he would let her. "Why can't you answer? Surely, you've got some reason for being here, for killing that woman and doing this to me."

It was a terrible idea to egg him on like this and she knew it, but part of her wanted answers while part of her simply no longer cared.

With a ominous little click, the knife John kept in his breast pocket snapped open, the blade glinting in the light coming in from the windows. He stared down at her former fiance, swishing the weapon back and forth ever so slightly. He glanced over, gauging her gun was a safe enough distance away as he began to approach her. Slowly.

"It's not something easily explained, Helen. That woman.... she said something she wasn't supposed to. If she had just kept quiet, it would all have been all right." She'd had to go and point out his darkness, sling it in his face like mud. He'd known he was losing control, even before she spoke, but her words had sent him over the edge.

Part of him hated that it had been that easy. One of the reasons he'd even hurt her to begin with was because it had been so simple for the empath to enrage him so. Just by talking. He was disgusted with his own weakness, and yet he relished the feeling of blood on his hands as he'd ended her life. He truly was a twisted, awful monster.

He was unconsciously giving Helen enough time to get to her feet, despite the fact that he had his knife poised to strike at the slightest movement.

Resisting the urge to reach for her knife, Helen pushed herself to her feet, watching John all the while. She refused to stoop to his level, wouldn't play with knives like he did. She preferred an arm guard and her gun, if she had to choose weapons. Unfortunately, the makeshift arm guard she tended to favor couldn't be made with what she had available, so she would have to resort to using her mind over his and hope that her body was up to the task because her clothes certainly wouldn't be coming out of this unscathed.

"That's no excuse, John, and you know it," she snarled, her voice low and threatening, upper lip curling upwards in distaste. "There's never an excuse to kill. Not the way you do it."

Helen didn't believe in many reasons to end lives, be they human or otherwise, and he knew it as well as she did. The fact that he continuously seemed to forget that and attempted to excuse his behavior to get her to accept what he did, what his very nature had become, angered her beyond belief.

Her eyes were on his knife, warily taking in every move he was making, but she was ready for him to do anything, even attempt to teleport. Making a mental note to find a way to contact Henry and get the EM Shield back up as soon as possible, she took a step back and braced herself for John to attack.

PSL - John Druitt | Helen Magnus ---> Would you mind if I hurt you?

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