everywhere [ELIOT]

[jake]

"I can feel the fat growing on me," whined a female anorexic patient as she cringed in her chair. "Every day, a little more, I... I can't take it! I need to exercise, please, let me exercise. Can't you see I'm huge?!" She bit her lip, fighting back the tears that welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill out at any second. She shook her head in frusteration.

Jeremiah's eyes softened with sympathy for the girl. He reached over and gave her knobby knee a comforting squeeze only to have her draw back immediately.

"Hey, personal space! We talked about this, Jeremiah. Boundaries. I won't tell you again." The therapist that was running the group session shot him a warning glare.

The nineteen year old Paranoid Schizophrenic frowned before saying, "I'm sorry." His sincere apology was directed at the distressed girl and not the staff member, though. He didnt mean to upset her and felt bad for doing so. He watched her let out a final huff before she rose from her seat and stormed off. Two guards hurried after her.

"Alright everyone, that's enough for today. Enjoy your afternoons." The therapist stood up and the rest of the group followed suit, some patients heading back to their rooms, a few of them wandering off to the rec room, cafeteria, and wherever else.

Jeremiah stepped out of the room and carried on down the long hallway, his mind on the subjects that were discussed in the session. He'd heard about everything from depression, to self-infliction, paranoid delusions about posion in the hospital's water supply, and even cannibalism from one peculiar guy. He couldn't believe how talkative everyone was and how easily they could ramble on and on about their psychiatric issues. Sure, he had joined in the conversations, but he never spoke a word about himself which seemed to annoy the therapist. Oh wait, actually he did say one thing but it wasn't what she wanted to hear. In the begining everyone stood up, introducing themselves and stating their problems. "The name's Zach and I have Bipolar Disorder." "I'm Alexis, I'm suicidal." "I'm Mark and I'm a Klepto." Jeremiah's introduction stirred up some interesting reactions when he said, "Hey guys, I'm Jeremiah and well.. I'm an angel of the Lord!" There were quite a few snickers and in most instances that would have bothered him, but so many of these patients seemed so miserable. He was glad to have been the one to put at least a hint of a smile on their faces, even if it lasted but a moment. The therapist had grown tired of correcting him so she snorted arrogantly instead, instructing the others not to fuel his delusions when they started to throw a few questions his way regarding his self-proclaimed angelicness.

He shoved his hands into the wide, single pocket of his loose jumper, grateful that the hospital staff hadn't stripped him of his street clothes like they had so many others. Mostly the high-profilers. They confiscated the string from around his hood through. Said there was a possibility of him using it as a weapon or to harm himself. So what did they think he was going to do, choke himself with it? Come up behind one of the nurses and throw it around their neck like he was some kind of asassin with a wire? He couldn't help but chuckle softly at the ridiculous thought. Oh well, whatever. He handed the string over without complaint which kind of surprised the orderlies, given his violent history. Maybe the only thing keeping him from being labeled high-profile was his ironically docile attitude. He was pretty easy to deal with after all, at least, most of the time.. Jeremiah turned down a corridor, no real destination in mind. There were only so many places you could venture off to in an institution like this. Exploring was unfortunately out of the question.

[Eliot Holt]

Every day was the same, well, almost the same – especially for Eliot Holt. For eight years, he roamed the hallways of Lucid Manor, not as a patient, but as a security guard to help out when the doctors, interns or nurses needed just that little extra help against some of the patients. For eight years, he watched some people come and go, and others stay for even longer periods, just by the way they acted, and how they acted. Go figure – he worked in a nuthouse, but it wasn’t the typical nuthouse, more like an elusive nuthouse. He couldn’t help but remember how stunned he was eight years ago, walking in and asking if he could help out as a job, and being accepted, first as a junior security member to learn the “ropes” here, and then, after a year, became part of the security team. He was fit, and had managed to morph three different sports into a very powerful defense, and while other guards preferred weapons, like tasers and stuff, Eli had preferred to not use those, and rather take it hand to hand.

He didn’t really care much about the hand to hand combat… well; mostly it was manhandling people and dragging them down the hallway. He was fit and tall, and he worked out so he was on the stronger side, so he could manhandle someone twice his weight. He didn’t prefer to use his karate or kick boxing skills, but he did use them on the occasion, mixing it into wrestling where he’d manage to land on top of some crazed person who was off at the drop of a dime. His focus and determination made him a powerful asset to the security team, and then when the old head of security stepped down, they asked Eliot to take his place. He was a bit hesitant at first, but then he agreed – sure, there might be someone more qualified on the team, but they asked him, not them, and who was he to pass up the chance?

But today was the normal day. Wake up, work out for an hour, shower and get dressed, and head to work. Usually, he worked long hours with the often overtime hours, which made him happy because he did like to work. He enjoyed meeting the new members of the manor, the low profilers who seemed more apt to just walking and not having to flip out on him, to the high profilers who seemed to be relaxed on the occasion, even though they seemed to hate him. He wasn’t exactly a bad guy, but plenty of patients seemed to have put that on him seeing as he was the head of security… and plus, if he was needed and a patient found themselves on the floor with him pinning them down, well, it wasn’t exactly the nicest way to meet.

The majority of today had been, so far, sitting around in the security office and watching the various monitors from the multitude of cameras along all the hallways and rooms and whatever. He had escorted a few new people down to their rooms, and then just happened to end up patrolling. He wore his normal, lightweight suit with the two way radio hooked up to his belt so that he could know when he was needed and could check up on the rest of the security. He had turned through a hallway, the hallway where most of the Therapy rooms were located, and quirked an eyebrow as he saw the young man heading his way through the hallway.

The man was Jeremiah Andrews. From day one, he had claimed he was an “angel” here and he was to save the world from “demons” or whatever. He had – on multiple occasions – tried to “exorcise” the demons in Eliot, something that never really went through any time he tried. The gap between them slowly diminished, and Eliot gave Jeremiah a friendly nod, “Afternoon, Jeremiah,” he stated, gently. He did like talking with the patients, maybe not as a doctor but it didn’t really matter, “Hope you’re doing well today, and not causing too much trouble.” He didn’t particularly have to say that, seeing as he knew that Jeremiah didn’t cause too much trouble besides the occasional “you’re a demon” thing.

[/justify]

[jake]

Jeremiah's steps came to an abrupt hault and he froze at the sight of the security guard. It was him,the demon, but not just any demon. No, this one was different from the rest, much to the exorcist's annoyance. He must have been pretty powerful or something because despite Jeremiah's every effort to send him back to Hell (which pretty much consisted of him trying to attack the guy every time they crossed paths and shouting religious mumbo jumbo at the guy), he just wouldn't leave the body of that man. A stubborn little diabolic bastard, but Jeremiah would defeat him this time. He was absolutely sure of it. This fiend would be ripped from its meatsuit and sent straight back to the flaming pits it crawled out of right here, right now.

His right eye began to twitch and the mellow expression vanished from his face. At that moment he abandoned every last shred of rationality he had, losing his composure and looking more like the Paranoid Schizophrenic he was supposed to be. His insides seethed with anger. How dare that heathen address him in such a casual manner! He should have been cowering in fear while in the presence of a mighty 'angel' like himself, yet somehow he always seemed so.. unaffected, much to the patient's disbelief. It must have been black magic! With a fierce, smoldering glare he lunged at the security guard. His eyes which were usually soft and benign became devoid of anything other than pure, unrefined hatred. It was almost as if Jeremiah himself had been taken over by a demon instead, talk about irony.

"Filthy demon! I order you to leave this body at once in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit! Go now.. I command you, back to your infernal master! Our God in Heaven commands you!" His loud voice echoed throughout the halls, drawing the attention of many. A few patients scurried away while others observed with morbid curiousity from a safe distance because, well, lets face it. Entertainment wasn't an easy thing to find in Lucid Manor. The occasional outbursts from erratic residents was about as interesting as things got.

[Eliot Holt]

Well, to say that every day was just the same old same old would have to be a lie. Only on the occasion did Eliot’s path cross the schizophrenic man, mostly because Eliot wasn’t generally in the mood to be yelled at and cursed as a “demon”. So, when they did cross paths, Eliot wasn’t really expecting anything nice from the young man, but hey, maybe one day, right? He saw all the obvious signs on Jeremiah’s face, the one that told Eliot that this accidental meeting wouldn’t exactly wind up the nice conversation type – the little twitch on his right eye, the loss of the mellow expression, the glare with hate-filled eyes followed by the lunge. As usual, the attack came not too far or few between them. Eliot could remember the first time the young man tried to attack him, it ended up just a bit of a bloody battle, both him and Jeremiah, and Eliot had since then learned to make his moves to make sure that that didn’t happen again.

He had let Jeremiah tackle him, letting the young man hit his upper body quite hard and sending him down onto his back, yelling stuff about him being a filthy demon and trying to exorcise him, again. He wondered what this man’s thought process was like, and why he thought Eliot was a human that was possessed by a demon, but he didn’t really think twice about it. Not when the young man had landed on top of him. With quick, practiced moves, Eliot had turned the tables, pushing himself slightly up off the ground and twisting, grabbing Jeremiah’s shoulders and twisting him with his weight, sending him crashing gently down to the ground.

It didn’t stop there. It was a full barrel-type roll, a move that Eliot learned all those years ago in wrestling, and proceeded to pin down the younger man’s legs, and his hands found his shoulders, holding him down like that – it left Jeremiah’s hands free, but Eliot didn’t really believe that he could do much being virtually pinned to the ground with one hundred and sixty five pounds of muscle and skin. He didn’t even work up a sweat. He quirked an eyebrow, looking down at Jeremiah with cold eyes, expressionless but in his zone, the “work” space in his head, “Are we really going to go over this again, Jeremiah? I’m not possessed by a demon,” he warned, ignoring the few muted conversations behind and around them as a few other patients watched on. “But, please, enlighten me on how to change for you, even if I’m not possessed,” he stated, coolly, really not in the mood to be “smitten by the devil” or whatever nonsense Jeremiah Andrews threw at him all the time.

[/justify]

[jake]

Okay, what the heck had just happened here? It wasn't supposed to happen like that! Jeremiah in all of his angelic, warrior of God glory, was supposed to completely over power the unclean spirit in possession of that man's body, not the other way around! The nineteen year-old stared up at him in a mixture of awe and bewhilderment, his mouth falling agape. Any onlooker would think that this had never happened before if they went by the stunned expression on his face. Well, you know how the saying goes - the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again but expecting a different outcome. Perhaps that was the reason Jeremiah honestly believed that things would turn out differently this time around. Wait a minute, they would! He wasn't defeated yet and he wouldn't give up. His murky brown eyes narrowed and through gritted teeth he growled, "I will not be fooled by the likes of you, dispicable one! I have a gift from God, you see.. I can sense the evil radiating from your soul, I can FEEL it, I can smell it! My discernment is never wrong!"

A smirk crept over the features of his menacing face and he looked so certain and so confident that he had this supernatural 'ability.' The scent of sulfur filled his nostrils and he grimaced all of a sudden, recoiling from the awful stench. Yep, he could smell the demon alright. In all honesty it was nothing more than a terribly vivid olfactory hallucination but it was more real than any other odor in the area to the medium-profile patient. The smirk faltered and he shifted uncomfortably. He coughed several times, resisting the urge to gag and let his half-digested breakfast spew out from his lips. The self-proclaimed holy man shook his head before clearing his throat. "Your stench is something most foul!"

Jeremiah began to struggled furiously, body squirming beneath the weight of the older man. The schizophrenic was surprisingly strong for a guy his age that didn't even work out, but not supernaturally strong like he wanted so badly to believe he was. It was as if the delusion alone became fuel for his body. It would take quite some effort from the head of security to keep him restrained in this position. "It doesn't matter where I go! School, my dad's church, an insane asylum... you diabolical bastards are EVERYWHERE, aren't you?! Preying on the souls of the pure and innocent! I hate you! Our God the Father hates you! I will destroy you!" He reached up with his free hands and grabbed at Eliot's face, attempting to claw his eyes out or something. He let out a low, dark chuckle, eyes temporarily shadowed by the shaggy brown hair that fell over them in the heat of the moment. "And if your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out. GOUGE IT OUT!"

[Eliot Holt]

Eliot really expected nothing but being attacked by crazed, delusional members of Lucid Manor as part of the “job description”. Most of the local people who he had met, and when he went home for a few days to see his old high school and college friends, they’d look at him with strange, questioning eyes and silent mouths. “Whatever happened to the little boy who wanted to be a physical education teacher?” his mother asked all those years ago when he had turned up for Christmas, still dressed in his work clothes, coming right back from there, “What happened to my sweet little Eliot who wanted to teach others to fight, to run, to get fit and have fun?” Those days, those dreams were gone – he had new dreams now, and he wasn’t going to bother looking back. Why would he look to the past when there were plenty of new things in his future to look forward to? Of course, his future, he figured, didn’t hold being “exorcised” by a young man in an insane asylum.

He was relatively cool headed, his eyes softening just a bit as he watched the young man’s eyes narrow, and he growled through gritted teeth about how he wouldn’t let Eliot fool him, and then going on about how he had a ‘gift of God’ and how he could ‘sense the evil’ radiating from Eliot’s soul. It was the same conversation every time they had ran into each other, and Eliot really forced himself not to roll his eyes at the talking man, the one who claimed to be an ‘Angel of God’. “Well, perhaps you’re wrong just like you’ve been wrong the last however many times we’ve had this conversation, Mr. Andrews,” he stated calmly, knowing better than to raise his voice. Yelling was never a way to get people to listen, and it certainly wouldn’t make the younger man focus on trying to not get his way and get the “demon” out of him.

He was quiet as the young man started to smirk before it turned into a grimace. Again, the normal day to day happening whenever Eliot Holt ran into Jeremiah Andrews. He went on about how Eliot had a fowl smell and without any warning, Eliot snorted. It wasn’t a mean snort, and he definitely wasn’t angry, “Yeah? Foul smelling, you say? You shouldn’t be talking. When was the last time you showered?” he stated, level voiced and still moderately calm. He watched as Jeremiah started talking, squirming underneath him with some force, and Eliot didn’t budge. That seemed to really just irritate the young man because he soon grabbed at his face and started to try and claw his way free. Not angry, but a tad bit of annoyed at that, Eliot quickly grabbed both of Jeremiah’s wrists and held them out, shifting so that one knee was pushing against the man’s diaphragm, his arms spread out, pinned at the forearms, just underneath the elbows, legs held down with Eliot’s free leg. He looked moderately annoyed, but when he spoke, it didn’t sound like it, “Yes, gouge out the sinful eye, so that the sinner cannot see the sins that he’s been creating. Granted, being crazy is a sin in olden time, did you know that? And being an ‘angel’ isn’t exactly “sane” on some accounts. There will be no gouging out my eyes, and I certainly won’t let you even try,” he explained, leveled, controlled, not even a bit angry – annoyed wasn’t even angry in his books.

[/justify]

[jake]

Wrong, him? Never. Not this time, nor the last however many times. He had just been unsuccessful when it came to exorcising the unclean spirit, he couldn't have been wrong. Not an angel of his caliber. Eliot was possessed, the voices told him so and he trusted the voices more than he trusted himself. They weren't just voices, after all. They were Heavenly messengers sent to assist him in fullfilling his destiny as a holy hero. Their every sentence, every word was like a choir of angels singing in his ear, nevermind the fact that they didn't actually sing. Just gave him clues and commands. They were his celestial superiors from the world above this one. Anyway, if what they'd told him about Eliot wasn't enough to prove that he was indeed right about him being demonically possessed, his visual hallucinations ability to see the enemy's true face beneath that human disguise was. Oh yes, he'd seen it. Several times, and what a guesome and horrific thing it was! It was a face only Lucifer himself could love. "I think not," he snapped, his false belief seemingly impossible to shake. "I can see beyond that human vessel, you monster! You hiddeous fiend! You're an abomination!"

The remark about him not showering took him by surprise and definately threw him off a bit. His frenzied brown eyes shifted and his brows furrowed. He didn't smell bad... did he? He was pretty sure he was washing himself propperly, but then again, there were times when he did become a little distracted by his mission and.. wait a minute, what the hell?! Now was not the time to be thinking of that! Bloody demon and its mind games. His expression went cold again and he regained focuss. "That's irrelevant," he snarled, fuming with anger and rage. Oh, how he couldn't wait to exorcise this guy. How he wished he could just get it over with right then and there. Why did this particular hellion have to be so fucking difficult? If only he had some holy water or perhaps even a Bible he could use it to whack the monster of a man in the head with. Jeremiah was notorious for beating people with Bibles. They were mighty weapons when wielded by a warrior of God such as himself. Too bad the staff had taken his away some time ago.

Jeremiah's jaw dropped when the security guard restrained his arms and rendered them useless. He cringed when he felt Eliot's knee press into his diaphragm and he coughed, wriggling beneath him in obvious discomfort. He tried to summon up enough strength to throw his foe off of him but he could barely manage what little movement he already had. When he realized this, his stomach dropped. How could he, a righetous angel of such intense power and strength, be made so helpless by a pitiful demon? It just didn't make sense, and it bothered him. It bothered him because it almost made him start to question himself. Jeremiah didn't like to question himself, he liked to feel like the superhuman thing he made himself believe he was. He wasn't just an ordinary guy, no.. Jeremiah was special, or at least, that's what he kept telling himself over and over again. Like a mantra. He was special, he was important, he was unique. He was special, he was important, he was unique. Specialimportantunique damnit! When Eliot went on about craziness being considered a sin back way back when and how being an angel wasn't 'sane' according to some people, he tensed up. He hated when anyone suggested he was insane almost as much as he hated evil itself. "D-Don't say that! The Devil is making you say that, it isn't true. I am an angel of the Lord and you shall cower before me, inferrior one, or mark my words I will smite you!" Jeremiah fought against him one final time, giving every last ounce of strength he had, only to fail at yet another attempt. He sighed inaudibly, his muscles loosening. "...as soon as you get off of me." It infuriated him to no end, the way Eliot wasn't aknowledging him as the divine thing that he was and fearing him like he expected him to. His burning gaze bore into the person above him. Then, without warning, the young man spat at his face as a sort of last effort. Perhaps his spit could be holy too since he thought everything else about himself was. Sometimes when in his more extreme psychotic states he even used his urine to bless people with. His 'special' fountain of personal holy water. Anyone sprinked with it should have felt honored because it was very powerful stuff, though he'd never actually used it on Elot. Hm.. it wouldn't be a bad idea to try. Unfortunately, he couldn't unbuckle his pants to unleash the celestial hose of golden purity. Even with that in mind, the spitting was more for spite than anything else.

[Eliot Holt]

Sometimes, Eliot couldn’t help but question why exactly he liked and enjoyed working at a nut house, and sometimes, there were people like Jeremiah who confirmed his questioning. He had wanted to explain to people who asked what he did exactly that there was a “young man who thought of him as a devil and tried to exorcise him”, but he remembered that when he started, he swore to himself that he’d release no details about any of the patients to other people’s ears. Also, most of the stuff that he’d say would be stuff that was purposely not released to the public, and only really for the staff’s knowledge. It was in the job description, really. But really, some of the stories he could tell…

He rolled his eyes in just a bit of annoyance as he had Jeremiah Andrews pinned down, and he was quiet as the young man snapped at him, saying that he thinks he wasn’t wrong, followed by a slew of insults to the “demon” that held him captive, “Yes, I think you’re right. I think there is a demon inside of me, and yes, I do believe that it’s an abomination,” he stated, coolly, playing his cards right. Sometimes, twisting up Jeremiah’s words seemed to make it less chaotic, but sometimes it didn’t always work. There was that one time that it got brutally bloody between them, but that was in the past, and he was hoping that it wouldn’t turn out like that again. It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park with this one, that was. Of course, he couldn’t help but inwardly smirk as Jeremiah did indeed get distracted by the shower comment, and he smiled gently as he announced it was irrelevant, “No, I’m fairly sure it’s quite relevant, Jeremiah. I mean, if you’re an angel then you have to at least be clean. After all, if you’re dirty, you might as well be a demon yourself.”

He wondered for a brief moment what Jeremiah Andrews was thinking as Eliot managed to pin him down. The look of shock passed over his face, the look of being helpless to a mere demon was probably shooting through his head and in his mind at light speed. Eli was quiet as Jeremiah seemed to connect it and again listened as Eliot said something about craziness. Jeremiah seemed to stumble over the first word, almost as if he was uncertain, but Eliot wasn’t going to call him out on that, it was mean. Of course, he could always call out something else, “I’m inferior? I’m sorry, but do you see I have you pinned down, and you’re completely defenseless?” he questioned, once again using the old ‘twist the words around’ way. He watched as Jeremiah squirmed underneath him, and then almost sounded defeated that he’d smite him as soon as Eliot got off of him, “Listen, I’m not going to be getting off of you until I have to walk you to your room,” he stated, calmly, “And you can go quietly with me, or I can drag you off just like it usually happens when we have this conversation,” he quirked an eyebrow, “What’s your choice, Jeremiah?”

Of course, the answer wasn’t as verbal as Eliot would’ve pleased. Without any warning, Jeremiah Andrews spit at him, the spit landing in his face, the only reaction Eliot gave was a bit of a flinch, his eyes closing as to not get the germ-infected saliva in his eyes. It was one thing to be spat at, but another to get sick and have to take off work. He opened his eyes, not caring about the spit on his face as he looked down at the young man with dark, cold and yet demonic looking eyes – hey, if Jeremiah wanted a demon, he’d get it… just not in the same exact way he wanted it, “Alright. We’re going to be dragging you off. Perhaps I should notify your doctor about how violent you’ve been getting,” he stated, taking Jeremiah’s wrists in both his hands and forcing them together, holding them tightly as his knee dug into his diaphragm just a little more. His now free hand went to grab the two way radio on his belt, “You still have time to change your mind, Mr. Andrews, but once this call goes in, you’ll definitely be sorry.” He wasn’t kidding, either.

[/justify]

[jake]

So the demon actually came out and admitted what he was. Confirmed the darkness that this security guard, Eliot, harbored deep beneath the human exterrior. This was.. new. Jeremiah had encountered several demons in his day and there weren't any of them, not a single one, that ever even came close to admitting to him what they were. They would lie to him until the bitter end, insisting that they had no idea hat he was on about, that they were only people. He always wondered why they held on to their facades when they obviously knew he could see right through them. The only logical explanation he could come up with was fear. They were lesser demons trembling in the presence of one of Heaven's finest servants. They knew he could smite them without even breaking a sweat. This one was different. His actions made it apparent that he didn't fear the psuedo-angel. There was a brief look of astonishment that took over the features of Jeremiah's face.

He clenched his teeth. "How DARE you compare me to the likes of you. I am the only clean thing in this hospital," he muttered, not using the word 'clean' in a physical sense but more on a soul level. The outside didn't matter. He believed that his body was nothing more than a vessel he was using to walk among the humans in physical form. Although he did his best to take care of it, he didn't expect it to be immaculate like his 'true' form was. When Eliot twisted Jeremiah words around he twitched in annoyance. "It would appear that I'm defenseless.. for now, but the power purity far exceeds that of which is evil. Satan must have sent you here specifically to keep me detained in this.. this purgatorial prison." That last bit was spoken with venom dripping from his every word. He didn't belong here and he wanted to, no, needed to go or else the world would fall apart without him to defend it from these abomidable forces. Now he knew for sure that demons were in on his captivity. "You are differen't from the others. He's given you a lot more power but know this, it doesn't make you invincible. I will exorcise you and I will escape this place. Maybe right now but one day I will. Until then, your days are numberd."

Jeremiah's smirked wryly after the spit hit Eliot's face. Now he was just being difficult. Just because the demon seemed to have the upper hand did not mean he had to submit to him. It would be complete and utter blasphemy if he did. Even if he couldn't do anything at the moment his animosity would linger on. The smirk disappeared at the sight of Eliot's cold eyes. He stared directly into them as if to show his resistance. His lips pressed together thinly when he threatened to inform Jeremiah's doctor about his violent behavior. That was the last thing he needed right now and without thinking he said, "NO!"What if his doctor decided to medicate him even more than he had already? There werent any obvious signs on his face but the idea of that horrified him. He wasn't blind. He saw what those drugs did to the patients here, how it made those sharing the same diagnosis as himself forget who they were and what they believed in. It was a form of brainwash and he feared that if given enough of it, he too would forget and start to think that he was just a normal person again without a divine mission. So far the medications hadn't had that effect but they were making it more difficult for him to hear and communicate with his heavenly superiors. Sometimes, much to his dismay, he couldn't make out what they were saying and he decided that the drugs were to blame. He flinched when his wrists were suddenly forced together and the other man's knee pressed further into his diaphragm. He shook his head before looking away."Don't. That.. won't be necessary. I'll go." His tone seemed to have lost its holier-than-thou grandiousity.

[Eliot Holt]

Eliot Holt couldn’t help but snort and roll his eyes, almost in amusement as Jeremiah continued to speak about how clean he was, about being the only “clean” thing in this hospital, followed by how purifying and whatever else and how Eliot was sent by Satan to keep him detained, “Yeah, and Satan has told me to make sure you can never reach your full potential, and God has told me to make sure you do,” he rolled his eyes, feeling the younger man squirm underneath him. The words he spoke about being detained were said with so much hatred, so much venom – Eliot was sure if the kid was a “snake being” rather than an “angel”, Eliot would be dead from the poison laced words. But, thankfully he wasn’t a snake being and was just a crazy young man who thought he heard angels and thought Eliot was a demon, so he was safe again for the time being. He started to go on about how Eliot was different from the others and how his days were numbered and whatever, and Eliot snorted, “I’ve been here a lot longer than you have, Jeremiah, and trust me, my days aren’t as numbered as yours,” he said. He wanted to add “At least I don’t have to pop three hundred pills a day” but hey, that was on the mean side, wasn’t it?

He had suggested going to call Jeremiah’s doctor, his free hand grabbing the two way walkie talkie he was supposed to have to keep in contact with security and the staff in case anyone was needed, and the “NO!” that came from Jeremiah’s lips made Eliot quirk an eyebrow, “No? No what? You don’t want me to drag you off to your room, or you don’t want me to contact your doctor?” Either way, whether or not Jeremiah Andrews wanted it, Eliot Holt would have to contact his doctor and explain what had happened, so he would at least let the boy have his thoughts on his own little freedoms. He quirked an eyebrow as he watched Jeremiah give in and say that he’d go by himself and he studied the young man for a minute, “Oh? So if I let you up, you won’t try to attack me again?” he questioned, letting the silence fill the air. After a moment, he looked dryly at Jeremiah, “One chance. If you try to attack me or try to run, I will have you on the ground again in a heart beat,” with that warning said he gently off of the younger male and pulled him up to his feet, watching his every move carefully.

[/justify]

[jake]

A vein throbbed visibly in his forehead when the man let out another snort before rolling his eyes. Was this situation humorous to him? It wasn't to the psychotic patient restrained beneath him. Oh, how Jeremiah wished the tables could be turned. He'd relish in showing this 'demon' a thing or two about respecting higher beings, put him in his rightful place. He was tired of making a fool out of himself with each time he had failed to do so. His mind suddenly froze after Eliot said that the devil told him to make sure that he couldn't reach his full potential, and that God had told him to make sure that... he did? Was Eliot trying to imply that he was on both sides? Befuddlement took over and he opened his mouth several times before he could actually form a single word. "What do you mean, God told you to make sure that I do?" If the man was being sarcastic or patronizing it went completely over Jeremiah's head. The nineteen year-old blinked in surprise when he heard that this demonic imposter of a security guard's days weren't as numbered as his. That sounded like a threat. He made an attempt to arch himself as upright as he could, his head lifting an inch or two from the floor. "What are you implying? Is something going to happen to me?"

"My doctor.. don't call him," was how Jeremiah responded when asked to specify what exactly he was saying 'no' to, being dragged off to his room by Eliot or Eliot letting his doctor know what he had been up to. He was on enough medication as it was, he didn't need any more. To him, the antipsychotics were like kryptonite. Would he try to attack Eliot again if he did decide to let him up though.. that wasn't a question easily answered but if the opportunity did happen to present itself, then yes. Jeremiah probably would try to attack him yet again. The problem was that he truly believed, with every fiber of his being, that he was doing the right thing. Sparing Eliot would be the wrong thing to do in his warped mind because the man was supposedly possessed and capable of all kinds of attrocities like any other demon. Jeremiah wouldn't put it past him to be 'feeding' off the poor, vulnerable souls here in the mental hospital since he did say he had been here long before Jeremiah, which was probably a long time. He didn't respond to that question, only stared up at him with his sharp, disdainful eyes. He knew how much the Lord despised a liar's tongue so he would be making no promises. He swallowed hard, allowing the other to pull him to his feet. As soon as he was standing upright he made a quick move to jerk away so that there was a bit of distance between the two of them. He let out a long, exhasperated breath before rolling his shoulders back. It felt good to be out from under Eliot's impressive muscular weight. Any longer and the preassure on his diaphragm might have started to constrict his air flow. The first thoughts that entered his mind, predictably enough, were something along the lines of 'now that im free, how can I try to exorcise this guy again?'

[Eliot Holt]

A smile appeared on Eliot’s face, not one of amusement, but of mysteriousness, almost like he knew something that Jeremiah didn’t. It was true, in fact; Eliot Holt knew enough to get through the day without most problems – with the occasional one here or there that he’s called to – but then there were some like Jeremiah that he just had to adapt and act like he knew more. In this case, he had purposely spun a web of lies and said that God had sent him here to watch over Jeremiah, and that was something that seemed to make the younger man more complacent, more willing to calm down and just listen to what Eliot had to say. But, of course, Eliot wasn’t going to say that he lied; oh, no. Eliot would drag on the lie and make him believe it. Honestly, it was the only way he could settle down Jeremiah Andrews, that was for certain, “See, I can’t tell you that. It’s something you’ll have to find out on your own,” he stated, smugly. It was true, in at least one little aspect, but the rest, well… he honestly didn’t care. For the next question, though, when Jeremiah asked if something was going to happen to him, he simply shrugged his shoulders, “That’s another thing I can’t answer. I guess it’ll depend on if you try and continue to exorcise me,” a sigh escaped his lips, almost inaudible unless someone was actually really paying attention.

And then he demanded that he didn’t want his doctor called, and Eliot Holt chuckled a little, “Then when I let you up, we’ll head to your room and none of this will be talked about,” he stated. In the back of his mind, he’d have to tell Jeremiah Andrews’ doctor anyways, as he “still believed he was one of God’s angels and still constantly tried to exorcise him believing there’s a demon inside of him”. Really, the stories he could write and sell… maybe he would, with just names modified and… he snickered to himself at his chain of thought before turning to look at Jeremiah as he distanced himself from Eli, and seemed to automatically get lost in thought. Eliot rolled his eyes and stepped forward, “Well? Start towards your room. I’m following to make sure you get there,” he warned, nodding a bit.

[jake]

Vague. Why did Eliot have to be so vague? He wanted to know more when Eliot had told him that he had been sent here by the heavenly father to watch him. Didn't he know that he'd be thinking about this for days now, dwelling on it for ages without even thinking for a second that it may have been complete and utter bullshit? Jeremiah wasn't hard to manipulate if you knew what strings to pull or in this situation, how to word things. He wouldn't try anything now, at least not for a while. The temptation was still there but he would control it until he could figure things out. He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain relaxed even though the slightest thing could probably make him fly off the handle again. The threat Eliot had made about alerting his doctor about his recent violent behavior kept him in check too, if only for the moment. He felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders when Eliot told him that none of this would be talked about.. provided he behaved himself and headed back to his room like a good little compliant patient. Jeremiah believed him but he knew that he was on thin ice.

The young man released a sigh of irritation in response to Eliot's order. He ran a hand through his hair, unconciously smoothing it out before taking his first step. He moved forward, trying his best to ignore the stares he was getting from other residence who'd witnessed his psychotic outburst. It never felt good to be put on display, especially if he managed to humiliate himself. Or.. Eliot humiliated him, rather. He wouldn't have felt the least bit embarassed if he'd succeeded in the exorcism he had attempted. Every now and then he would glance back at Eliot with a contemplative look in his eyes. He was still pondering what the man had said. After a few minutes of walking he reached the doorway of his room. What a shame. The day had only just begun, or so it seemed, and he was already being sent back here. It didn't seem fair to the patient. He stopped, reluctant to step through the doorway, a small frown forming on his face. He turned to face the man behind him, feeling like a child who was being put in time-out. He couldn't see why he had to go back to his room. "Do I have to?"

[Eliot Holt]

He was satisfied when Jeremiah fell quiet, probably trying to digest what he had said earlier, and became compliant and just simply walked to his room. Eliot simply ignored the looks that he and Jeremiah Andrews got as he picked up the boy and set him on his feet and started the long, almost painful walk towards the young man’s room. The patient was quiet, which was strange – usually, when Eliot led Jeremiah back to his room, the younger man complained about everything, but today, the young man simply gave Eliot Holt inquisitive looks, cast over his shoulder as the walked, almost as if he was lost in thought. Eliot thought it was good, that was, until they had reached the door to Jeremiah’s room.

He looked at the door, before turning to Eliot, almost with a pleading look, before saying “Do I have to?” towards the eight year experienced security guard. Eliot quirked an eyebrow and simply gave the door a push, side stepping around Jeremiah, “Sorry, kid, but it’s for your safety. I’ll come let you out in a few hours, you know, and if you don’t try to attack me, maybe you’ll be able to spend the rest of the day out of your room, okay?” he stated, hoping that at least Jeremiah Andrews would cooperate just the tiniest bit today, and he’d actually finish his day before lunch without many more mishaps. But, he knew that the boy would eventually find the thoughts in his head more interesting than fighting against him. He gave a sigh and a gentle push to Jeremiah’s back, into his room, “I’ll be back soon. Behave yourself.”

And with that, Eliot shut the door behind Jeremiah before the young man could protest and attack him, and sauntered off to tell Jeremiah’s doctor.

---END THREAD---