"They're letting you get some air, doesn't mean you've got the run of the place. You'd be surprised how many Changelings get a bit of slack and then try to hang themselves with it."
"It's all just overflow. The young ones, the ones that get dumped here from Portland or Seattle or whatever on the midnight meat trucks? They end up at the bottom of the pecking order in the Ramparts so they start looking for someplace else. So once or twice a year we do the 'hey, I wonder why nobody's ever moved in by that fairy hotel' routine." He shrugs, "whichever ones live -'live' y'know?- we stake out on the rooftops or by the fountain for the sun. We push out warnings to the district before it gets that bad though."
I'm pretty sure enough bullets have always killed vampires? At least for Requiem. You just need enough to overflow from Bashing to Lethal.
[X] Go to the gardens. Practice with your two main Contracts. Your first attempts at Reflections have been clumsy, the most bare bones utility and Communion's been even worse. You're not likely to make massive gains but it'll help take the edge off when you're practicing in class.
[X] Go to the gardens. Practice with your two main Contracts. Your first attempts at Reflections have been clumsy, the most bare bones utility and Communion's been even worse. You're not likely to make massive gains but it'll help take the edge off when you're practicing in class.
[X] Go to the pool. Okay sure you just took a shower and it'd feel a little silly but swimming helps you in a way that's hard to describe. And there's an indoor heated pool just for Lost that doesn't even use chlorine. At the very worst you'll feel better, at best you might clear your head.
Look I know what you're up to and you basically just want to write a Shape of the Water update
These are its names: the Leaden Mirror, the Ashen Court, the Court of Fear. It is the Sphinx in yellow, the human-headed lioness who waits on that desolate road; bearing on her lips a question and an autocannibal tendency. The camera flash that captures the secret world in silver salts. The scholar in the storm-tossed grove, bare branches clawing at an Autumn sky.
Once the courtiers of Autumn were the priests of Typhon; its legates and its lawgivers, caretakers of its culture and the stewards of its soul. A cool hand on a fevered brow, soothing the nightmare-ridden and the despondent. A mailed fist plucking free feckless, fearful dissent and impudent doubt. Agents of an empire that brooked no rivals and no rebellion. Lectors speaking with the voice of the state.
The ruin of Sparker's Bay is thus a personal insult, a monstrous mockery of their grand design. Yet instead of passion and violent action there is only silence. Rumors filter out of a schism in slow-motion: an entire generation of new Changelings methodically forced to the periphery, abandoned in favor of a cabal of radical researchers.
There's something perverse in him: the same feeling that itches in his fingers whenever he passes a fire alarm, the same twitch in his feet when he stands on the curb and watches the cars speed past. The urge to just reach out, just feel the rhythm of the day skip, feel it shatter at his touch. Catharsis in catastrophe. This city is haunted, ruined, rotting in real-time but he can't bring himself to hate it. He can't even bring himself to leave, flee someplace kinder, someplace safer. This is the dying time. Where does he belong if not here?
You can feel them itching inside you: the still closing cuts now half-scabbed over, the skin around all inflamed. The mauling touch of alien laws, unseen umbilicals binding you to alien powers. It's...all just imagination, your Contracts aren't really etched into your body. If someone cut you open they wouldn't find clauses and provisions written on the underside of your chest, score-marks in your ribs and neatly lettered incisions spidering over your guts. Tell yourself that. Whisper it again beneath your breath. But just thinking about it makes it worse, sharpens the background buzz to pins and needles. The sensation crawling through your insides like an army of ants. Clambering over nerves and tendons like they're bridges and highways; marching twenty abreast down your back, a commuter rush steadily rolling down your spine. Making you wince and reach over your shoulders; scratching feverishly, listening to the rasp of black claws on oil-slick scales and coffee-colored skin.
Bit by bit it eases, sweet relief blooming between scapulae. A long, slow sigh escapes you, a lazy shiver rolling through your snakes: their slitted eyes nearly rolling back, their tongues fluttering like little pink pennants. That's better. This is better.
But it's still not enough.
The serpents murmur to you, begging for more attention, plaintively pleading for pets. They're butting against your limbs, your legs, one curling around your bicep, down your forearm, until its heavy head is resting in your palm. Heh, from afar they might look like they're all angles but there's a curve to their jaws, their heads. A cute kind of softness, roundness; beneath the thicker plates, the armored snouts. It opens its mouth, baring curved fangs and rows of smaller, backswept teeth. You tickle it beneath the chin.
Right then, time to dig your nails in.
The hotel's hallways have a way of swallowing sound, blurring shadows; a soft blue-green carpet beneath your bare feet, low-burning lights set high on the walls. Sturdy doors the color of iron and storm-clouds and day-old snow lining either side, modern card readers set into gleaming handles. You walk and you can barely hear your own footsteps. You walk and your own breathing is so loud in your ears. You walk and you feel the Imperator Rex perched above you, watching you from the corners of those gently lit corridors. When you first got here it was a weight on you. Stifling, oppressive, slowly squeezing the air from your lungs, pressing your vertebrae together. But after almost a week it's become kinda comforting in its own weird way. Now that the initial shock's worn off you've come to appreciate it. You're in the belly of a great big beast but it's keeping track of you, watching you. If you vanish it'll know. If you're hurt it'll come. You're a guest and it might not accept you, not yet, but you're no longer a stranger.
Honestly a little unnerving when you think about it more than not at all, but compared to the rest of the shit you're working through it's pretty minor. The changes inside you are too many to catalogue now, too many to really comprehend, but you don't exactly have a choice do you? It's not like you can quit, would quit even if you could. And it's never so bad that it just crushes you out, breaks you down past the point where you can't even crawl, where forward motion is utterly impossible.
It helps that some are fun, rewarding in their own way, like looking in the mirror for the first time in weeks and seeing definition where there wasn't any before, twisting and turning and wondering where the lovehandles went. The confidence is probably the nicest: the unconscious charisma you have now, the ability to just say shit and have it roll off the tongue like you intended, without the silent screaming in your head as you desperately wish to take it back a second later. Is this what being high's like? You've never been high before, you've never been compelling much less no-fucking-around entrancing before either. You've never had a guy pant in your ear before, tell you you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen as he pushes a hand up beneath the hem of your shirt, biting back a groan as you squirm against him.
Others are intriguing, engaging. Your instructors have been drilling it into you since day one: don't be afraid of trying new things, don't be shy or fall back on the "I don't know how". People carry back all kinds of skills from Arcadia without knowing it, without understanding it, and anything, any scrap or portion, can help you get by. For all the finery Changelings live fragile lives, not even close to the scariest things out there and one fleeting memory, one raw nerve away from an emotional crash. Cultivating your skills, your hidden talents, can make the world a little better, a little brighter, or just help you out of a tight spot. Glass can cook, you saw him in the kitchen yesterday filleting an entire fish, his motions hesitant but well practiced. Gallow can sing, her voice deep and rich and resonant. You? You can paint a little, draw a little, dance a little (although that one might just be a natural byproduct of balance and grace).
Others are annoying but harmless, the kind of thing you just learn to live with: your skin is more sensitive now, coarse fabrics are irritating, almost painful. You keep forgetting how flexible you are which means you're getting a fresh reprise of puberty as you constantly bump into shit or stretch too far and accidentally slide right out of your seat. Your nails and horns are actually pretty fragile, easy to scuff and chip even if they heal up nearly as fast, you have to constantly be careful not to damage them.
Others...make you stumble.
Scars you don't quite remember getting, old bruises that haven't faded yet. Oh it's just small things. Nothing big, nothing major; no nightmares, no flashbacks. Just a slight tension that creeps up your neck, drawing back your lips in a false smile when you talk to women. Just the steady sizzle in the back of your brain as acid drips past smoking neurons, pooling on your tongue, running out the corners of your mouth every time you speak. Just the long, long minutes you spend after almost every meal. Robes open and palm to your belly. Eyes desperately searching your reflection; straining to see if the fat's coming back, if there are scars on your stomach, hips, haunches again, if your body's splitting to accommodate added weight. Standing there, tracing the hard lines of muscle like you can deepen the definition with the tip of a claw; wondering if they're smaller today than they were yesterday. Whether they've shrunk overnight. Since lunch. Since your last trip to the gym.
You pause at the edge of an atrium, the moon filtering down through great glass skylights, mingling with the electric glow. The floor is black and white checkboard. Potted plants sitting by stone pillars. The doors are the far end are open, shadows crossing back and forth just beyond the threshold, you can hear people chatting, laughing, the clink of silverware against plates. You see Gallow, her broad back to the entrance, talking with the skinny Ogre who got pulled out the other night. You just...watch them, not long, just the space of a few heartbeats. Something queasy, greasy, twisting inside your stomach.
You've always had a bad relationship with food. Considering everything else that's happened to you what a boring, mundane thing to still be fucked up about. But...here you are, heh.
In a way it's like meeting up with an old friend you haven't seen for awhile, catching up on what you've missed. Little Levi was never able to quite shake the puppy fat, the soft, swollen stomach. Not in middle school, not in high school, and fuck if he didn't pack it on in college. Burying missed classes and failed tests and botched assignments with cake and greasy fast food and buffet-spreads for dinner. Not great but it was fine. It worked out. He usually threw up a fair bit of it in the end anyway, not every day no but some. Enough to make him feel better about the blondie bars he crammed in his mouth at breakfast. The Ugly Duckling hunched over a toilet, fingers rammed halfway down his throat; scraping the softer portions of his palate until he coughed up as much as he could. Washing up in the sink, teary-eyed and dripping snot and trying to pretend like he couldn't smell the sharp note of bile. Hiking up the hoodie he wore because it blurred the outlines of his body, sucking in his belly, posing and trying to pretend it'd gone down at all. That he'd made some progress. Imagining what it'd be like to be thin, to be strong. To be pretty. To be desired.
By anybody.
...Your hands hurt. You turn them over, gingerly examining the divots your nails dug in the flesh. Torn tissue, not deep enough to draw blood, just enough to look ugly. Turn on your heel, keep walking, past another pair of double doors and down another long hallway. The gardens aren't far, this place is a sprawl but you're learning your way around. Mirrors line the walls here: ornate, antique things, gilded in gold, the surfaces grey, marred by pockets of darker grey. Like static captured behind the glass. Your reflection keeps pace with you, his hands in his pockets. He's smiling the fucker, but then he's always excited about getting a chance to stretch his legs.
The last set of doors swing open on silent hinges, just wide enough for a guy like you to slip through. Lean against them gently, snakes arching their backs, pressing it closed with a click.
The night air is cool against your skin. Hydra-heads curling up around you; mouths parting as they drink it in, relishing the gentle breeze that slips over the high, ivy-wreathed walls. The gardens are closed in on all sides, the Imperator Rex wrapping around the slice of parkland: warding it protectively, jealously. Gnarled tree boughs creak and sway in the wind, banks of flowers rustling, blossoms perfuming the air. Simple stone paths framed by soft green grass still damp from the day's rains. A few benches and a table or two. In the center a pool full of lilies around the base of a statue: a hulking, canine monster with a mane of snakes. Cerberus's heads raised and looking in all directions, lips drawn back over his teeth; the loyal guard-dog.
There's nobody around, it's just you.
The robe slips from your shoulders in a whisper of fabric. You toss it on a bench with a soft thump, crossing to the reflecting pool. Kneeling there on the pavers, reaching out, hesitating for just a second before plunging your hand in.
There's no pain, no hurt, the toll isn't measured in discomfort or suffering. But there is a kind of...sharpness. The sleek, gleaming edge of a fractured mirror, an arc of broken glass. The kind of thing that you touch and don't even realize until you pull your hand away that you cut yourself. That your skin's parting, blood welling up between the layers. Glamour spills out, warm and rich. Your reflection in the water distortion, running like mercury, peeling back in jagged shards as you brace yourself on the edge and pull.
Dainty black nails that could be sculpted out of pearl wrapped around your wrist. Emerald and onyx scales dappling a deeply tanned arm. Your shoulders knotting, a soft hiss escaping your lips at the strain. His horns breaking the surface. His upturned face breaking the surface. You in reverse. You but wrong. You with quicksilver dripping down from your hairline and running to your jaw, sealing away your right eye and webbing out in a mass of metallic keloid to your ear. With a last grunt of effort you turn, hauling the not-you up onto dry land; and he helps now, half-clambering up the rest of the way. A last few long, viscous, tendrils binding him to the pool before they break entirely and the water's just water again.
"Nnnggguuh," he stretches, groaning. Hands on his hips, bending his back until you can hear the wet pop-pop-pop of vertebrae cracking. He keeps the post for a second, single eye half-lidded, before just rounding on you with a broad grin. Silver tongue flashing behind his lips. His voice is yours, refracted and distorted.
"Right so who's taking it fir-ow!" You smack him. And then you smack him again because he deserves it. "Hey quit it!"
And then you pull down the arm he's using to shield himself and smack him a third time because some things should just be done in threes. Your reflection gives you the most mournful, puppy dog look he can manage. Cracked, mercury stained lips pursed in a pout as his snakes curl around his bare chest. Batting translucent membranes.
Yours just look at the lot of them skeptically. He sighs and rubs the back of his head.
"Well fuck me for trying to lighten the mood I guess."
"The mood''s fine, I'm fine."
"Levi honey you spent a solid sixty seconds watching your classmates have a good time from a distance before turning your back to them all dramatic-like. If this were a movie we'd be in dutch-angle and single ominous string territory."
"...Nobody asked your opinion," God that sounds lame and limp even to you. He just laughs.
"Fine, fine, fuck it. Hold onto it until your big sad dad boyfriend bends you over another table. Whatever. So~, what are we trying tonight then?"
"Reflections and Communion."
"Smashing your head into glass and screaming at the water! Fantastic. Same warm up?"
You nod slowly, the look you give him absolutely filthy. You know he sees it as he saunters over to the edge of the pond. Tail steadily swishing back and forth, exaggerating the saucy little strut he's doing. He holds out a hand and the surface slithers again. Glamour ebbing out as a long, slender spike rises up from the depths. Detaching, wickedly sharp leaf-shaped blade shining in the light. He rests the shaft across his shoulders and makes an "after you" motion, complete with a half-bow.
Murmur the name you don't know. The memory crawling up, dying, sinking back down all in the same instant. Negative space in your brain. Empty syllables on your tongue. The spear comes between heartbeats, appearing in a rush of displaced air, a crackle-crash as it punches its way into existence. Motes of jade-green light drifting, mingling with the tattered banners of black smoke. You match your reflection's stance and something in you feels better, just a little better.
Both of you take a few steps back.
Both of you spin your spears down into guard positions across your body. He holds his out, offering. You tap the haft of yours to his, solid mercury meeting something glossy-slick, something organic.
A hush descends, a tension in the air as you eye each other. Waiting for the first move.
"Thought anymore about what I asked last time?"
"Remind me, I wasn't paying much attention," you say.
"Don't be catty Levi, it's not a good look on you. You've been here what? A week? The shock's worn off. What's your plan? What do you want?"
Want.
What do you want?
[ ] Affection. More of what you have with Sebastian. You forgot what it was like feeling wanted and it's intoxicating. Sparker's Bay might be a mess but if there's enough people who need you you can make it just fine.
[ ] An outlet. You've been well behaved, you haven't caused any problems, but Christ keeping it all from boiling over is killing you. There's a tension that needs release. You were made for violence and you feel the lack.
[ ] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
Adhoc vote count started by TenfoldShields on Mar 17, 2018 at 11:56 PM, finished with 85 posts and 23 votes.
[X] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
[X] Affection. More of what you have with Sebastian. You forgot what it was like feeling wanted and it's intoxicating. Sparker's Bay might be a mess but if there's enough people who need you you can make it just fine.
[X] Go to the gardens. Practice with your two main Contracts. Your first attempts at Reflections have been clumsy, the most bare bones utility and Communion's been even worse. You're not likely to make massive gains but it'll help take the edge off when you're practicing in class.
[x] Check out some of the framed pictures he's got around. You've been meaning to give them more than a glance but you somehow never got around to it the last three visits.
[X] A light is shining under the door at the end of the hall, you can hear people talking, people laughing, the clink of glasses and the sound of...music? Walk past the silent, half-cracked doors. Go to the party.
[X] Flip your phone open, it's a cheap thing and you kinda hate it but the keyboard lights up and the screen seems to work. The Winter Court saved all the numbers you'd need on it. Dial one. Call someone for help.
"Levi honey you spent a solid sixty seconds watching your classmates have a good time from a distance before turning your back to them all dramatic-like. If this were a movie we'd be in dutch-angle and single ominous string territory."
[X] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
[X] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
Mmmm those body issues. God I love realistic problems with body insecurity. Even if the person in question is a half-fae hydra.
[X] Affection. More of what you have with Sebastian. You forgot what it was like feeling wanted and it's intoxicating. Sparker's Bay might be a mess but if there's enough people who need you you can make it just fine.
Oh sure we could be all high and mighty and say we want something to move forward to, but at the end of the day? I think Levi just wants to feel acknowledged. And that's not a bad thing to want. To love and to feel loved.
Affection is...I dunno, that could cover anything from deepening Lev's relationship with Bas to becoming a motivational speaker/cult leader. None of which really makes me want to put my hands in the air like I just don't care.
An outlet...more violence; more combat, could be anything from trying to sign up as a knight to trawling the streets for random encounter brawls to starting Fight Club in Sebastian's basement. Again, not feeling a spark.
But the way a purpose is worded, I'm picking up politics and intrigue, favors owed and given, mean nothing of that you say and say nothing that you mean...and we're already up to our necks in hidden agendas, things that aren't what they seem, watch your back, trust no one, not even your sassy reflection self, and the mirrors and water/what's underneath your boyfriends house where you feel safe and loved may be the one from The Grudge...
I like the way things as already set up combine with a feudal Fae political intrigue story more than I do Levi trying to become a Mercenary For Justice or a pop idol.
[X] Affection. More of what you have with Sebastian. You forgot what it was like feeling wanted and it's intoxicating. Sparker's Bay might be a mess but if there's enough people who need you you can make it just fine.
I'd get more specific but there's legitimately too many little things to point out and I'm too lazy so all I can really say is that Levi absolutely deserves more hugs and also Mirror Levi is great and we have to keep him. It's kind of also weirdly great for Levi to have Literally Himself to bounce off of because it seems to shake a lot of shit loose that otherwise wouldn't for various reasons?
[X] Affection. More of what you have with Sebastian. You forgot what it was like feeling wanted and it's intoxicating. Sparker's Bay might be a mess but if there's enough people who need you you can make it just fine.
Sebastian was fantastic and if choices can give Levi and us the audience more of that then yes please with seconds and thirds and sauce on the side. Horrible monsters living beneath the waves poised to overtake the Bay? Eh fuck it, pull a Life is Strange and pile the various love interests into a panelvan then drive away.
[X] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
[X] Affection. More of what you have with Sebastian. You forgot what it was like feeling wanted and it's intoxicating. Sparker's Bay might be a mess but if there's enough people who need you you can make it just fine.
[X] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
[X] Affection. More of what you have with Sebastian. You forgot what it was like feeling wanted and it's intoxicating. Sparker's Bay might be a mess but if there's enough people who need you you can make it just fine.
[X] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
I'm worried that "Affection" might end up emphasizing a bunch of Levi's issues, whereas looking for purpose seems like something that's new to him.
EDIT: Specifically, Levi and Sebastian are kind of adorbz, and I think if Levi is to ever really be happy he needs to learn to be... Fine with things. Having a boyfriend. Making a few friends and accepting that the friend-making process goes a bit slowly when everyone including himself is a trauma survivor. Small things, normal things. Simple relationships.
Affection, to me, opens the risk of him turning kinda crazy about it. Like, this is the first time he's ever felt loved, wanted, right? It'd be really easy for it to become an obsession. "I have this, which I never did before, and it feels so good, I need more of it." Looking for affection for its own sake. Getting people to adore him whatever it takes, whatever role he has to play to please them. Being loved by all.
It's dangerous because he has the potential for it. He clearly got a bunch of social buffs in his time in Arcadia, both of the mundane and magical kind. He could easily lose himself in becoming the idol of the masses. In forgetting to see people as people, rather than as one more hit of populariticaine. In helping them because their gratitude feels good, rather than because helping people is good.
I think he needs to learn to love Sebastian because he loves Sesbastian, not because Sebastian loves him and it's the sweetest of drugs.
Looking for purpose would help with that, it would give him goals, ideals, principles, instead of being kind of aimless like he is now. Now given that he is Levi he could easily lose himself into that instead and grow even more distant from people and lose the progress he made but... Gambles. You gotta make them.
[X] A purpose. Some mission, some goal, some ladder to climb. To be a part of a Court maybe. You're like a wind-up toy, marching forward in whatever direction you're facing. Right now you're kind of just trundling in circles.
I'm worried that "Affection" might end up emphasizing a bunch of Levi's issues, whereas looking for purpose seems like something that's new to him.
EDIT: Specifically, Levi and Sebastian are kind of adorbz, and I think if Levi is to ever really be happy he needs to learn to be... Fine with things. Having a boyfriend. Making a few friends and accepting that the friend-making process goes a bit slowly when everyone including himself is a trauma survivor. Small things, normal things. Simple relationships.
Affection, to me, opens the risk of him turning kinda crazy about it. Like, this is the first time he's ever felt loved, wanted, right? It'd be really easy for it to become an obsession. "I have this, which I never did before, and it feels so good, I need more of it." Looking for affection for its own sake. Getting people to adore him whatever it takes, whatever role he has to play to please them. Being loved by all.
It's dangerous because he has the potential for it. He clearly got a bunch of social buffs in his time in Arcadia, both of the mundane and magical kind. He could easily lose himself in becoming the idol of the masses. In forgetting to see people as people, rather than as one more hit of populariticaine. In helping them because their gratitude feels good, rather than because helping people is good.
I think he needs to learn to love Sebastian because he loves Sesbastian, not because Sebastian loves him and it's the sweetest of drugs.
Looking for purpose would help with that, it would give him goals, ideals, principles, instead of being kind of aimless like he is now. Now given that he is Levi he could easily lose himself into that instead and grow even more distant from people and lose the progress he made but... Gambles. You gotta make them.
I feel like you might be taking this in the other extreme direction and building Sebastian up a bit too much? Like, absent the conventions and cliches of telling a story it's not like we Know that Sebastian is going to be the now-and-forever love interest of the whole thing and trying to focus on loving Sebastian first could also turn into "THIS IS MY ONE EMOTIONAL CONTACT" *breathes into paper bag* about as easily as the 'idol of the masses' eventuality if not moreso because setting up a concert stage where other Changelings can throw their panties at him is a mite more visible and thus preventable than just developing an unhealthy personal relationship.
I dunno, maybe I'm rambling and making no sense. My view is that we shouldn't put so much emotional stock in Sebastian because he's just one guy and it's not fair for him to take the whole load (like he did last night 'eyooo) (and also it's possible his apartment is going to vore him in a minute) so either way Levi should be diversifying his social portfolio instead. And hey, maybe he can in turn make more people happy like he made Bara Daddykink Cleric Beast happy!
The wind whispers past your ears, ghostly fingers plucking your long bangs, ruffling your dense, soft hair. Mussing up that black, spiky mess even as it drinks some of the heat from your body; easing the fever in your skin. Your snakes stretch out, relishing the feeling of the night air on their hide. Armored plates and bony backs gleaming like oil slicks, their bellies emerald and jade. They flutter like scaly pennants from your shoulders; living banners, luxuriating in their freedom, a little sick of being huddled beneath a shitty hoodie and a hotel robe for most of the day. Take a deep breath, ribs visible beneath taut, tanned flesh. Moonlight spills down the planes of your body: dripping down your spine, your sternum, staining the dense brawn of your chest and pooling in the shallow valleys that separate your stomach muscles. It's a little like armor in its own way.
"Heh," he says, "narcissist."
And then he just moves. From guard to lunge. Guiding the mirrored haft with a palm as he powers it forward with his hips, with his torso; twisting into it, stepping forward and thrusting it ahead.
It's funny huh?
You can feel it, feel the part of you in your head that would flinch back. That would recoil from "sharp shit flying at your face". And it's not gone, not exactly, it's just...ground down, worn away. The nerve turned into a nub. Something else stitched in its place. Your spear whips across the space between you in an arc, striking his with a sound like cracking glass. Batting it away as you move in, rolling your wrist, setting it spinning like a helicopter blade in your hand. Coming up leveled at that hollow at the base of his throat. That little sunken space, framed by tendons and arteries. Tap it to his neck as he stands frozen. As he huffs, puffing long locks out of his eye and straightening up.
"So what's got you so worried?" You ask as the two of you return to starting positions.
"Don't be dumb."
"I'm sexy, I'm not smart."
"C'mon man, knock it off. I know you, I know what's going on in your head. You don't need to do this shit."
You grin and it's equal parts spiteful and self-conscious. The two of you slip back into guard positions, first you then he a fraction of a second later. The same motion just slightly out of synch.
For all that you're playing with sharp-edged shit it's really not about beating each other bloody. It's not even about winning, not really. It's about practice, flexibility, control. Loosening sinews in you back and releasing the tension in your limbs. About taking this half-understood memory, this instinct and making it something more than blind reflex. Slowing down every action, every reaction, until you can go frame by frame and see how it fits. See how it works.
How you work.
but you don't work do you
You move at the same time. And it's so lazy, so lethargic, that it's almost dreamlike. That kind of casual, almost contemptuous speed that's hard as hell to gauge because it seems like it has no real force, no real attention and then whoops there's a spike sticking out of your skull. Graceful doesn't mean gentle. Restrained doesn't mean relaxed. You know this. You understand this. He pins you in place this time: you break it and flurry, a small storm of flashing jabs but then he just drives the point into a ground and vaults over them all. Whipping his body around in midair, bringing his spear overhead and down on you. You catch it against the green-veined haft of your weapon but it's still enough to make you stumble back, tail lashing out for balance.
And then you feel the the razor edge against your Adam's apple and just like that it's over. He lets it drift up, makes you tip your head back, your distorted reflection captured in one scarred over, silver socket. You try to brush it away and he just smacks your knuckles and leaves it in place.
"Levi," he says gently, soothingly, your own voice fractured and fucked up, "we're gonna talk about this."
Silence. You mumble something that sounds like "join a Court" and you can both hear the question-mark.
"C'mooon, where's that confidence man? What is it. You. Want?" He prods you with every period. Just a bit, just enough to make the skin dimple, just enough that you can feel the emphasis.
You spin your own lance and smack the tip away, glaring. He lets it fall this time. "I don't know!? A title! A Court! A fucking…" the word trails off into a hissing, half-choked snarl of frustration, your serpents jerking once, their bodies curving, arching. Jerking again and writhing, rubbing against each other. "A way forward? Give me a ladder to climb and I'll climb it. Give me a path and I'll follow it. I don't care how hard it is but now I feel like I'm just stumbling in circles. I need- need something to focus me."
The other you considers this, scratching his throat with a crooked talon. The edges of the nail are metallic, black oozing, bleeding into something more like mercury. It makes a scraping, almost squeaky sound as it digs into his skin.
"Summer then?"
"I don't know."
"One of the Noble Orders?"
"I don't know."
"Well what about starting your own? Entitlement I mean, teacher said you just need like, what is it? Five people and a mission statement? Fuck you've got that right now. Why not just-"
"I. Don't. Know! I-" Skin stretched over your knuckles, the bone clicking, popping. Hand shaking. The sleek, organ shaft of your spear digging into your palm so hard going to leave a purple-red imprint. You can feel it can't you? How hungry it is. How much it wants to be used for something more than this, more than just some easy sparring. How much it wants to sing, to soar, to slice into his chest. Into your chest. Into the slick, scarlet heart. Rupturing cardiac muscle, rending red tissue, on its way out the back. As it fills every vein with poison.
It'd be easy, it wouldn't even cost anything. Not like it did on the beach. Because you'd-
be hurting someone you actually liked
The fever breaks, the fury subsides and it's just you. Just you standing there, shoulders slowly going slack, head hunched down as you stare at the weapon in your hands. Look away, lean back, brush your knuckles against your jaw and sniff as you let it dissolve into smoke and emerald light. Tendrils of oil and green fire flowing back beneath your scales, bloating the veins of your arm. Turn your hand over, you can see flecks of light as they work through your veins. See the shimmer as your Mask settles, frayed edges weaving back together.
"I know why," he says and there's no mocking tone to his voice now, the sly, shit-eating smile faded away entirely. His expression serious and something- something else. Looking at you with something like sympathy, something like pity, the kind of look you give a hungry alley dog that keeps backing away, snarling, not understanding that you just want to help. To share some food. He -hah- mirrors your motion. The reflection-weapon melting, turning from solid to viscous, silvery slime that seeps between his bones. Spreading over his naked torso like a virus. Congealing into a shimmering scar between the radius and ulna. "I know why you can't pick I mean."
"Why." You say flatly.
"S'cause you're a sadist."
You blink. Whatever you were going to say escapes in a hoarse half-laugh. More bemused than amused. "W-what? Fuck you I'm sweet as Hell in-"
"Nah nah not like that! Mean, if anything you're probably the opposite in bed. You really liked it when Sebastian got a little rough huh?"
You wheeze, the sound exhausted, grateful, frustrated, confused; some mix of the four, something in between. You open your mouth and fuck you can feel the fangs coming out but he just holds up his hand. He continues and you let him.
"Any second of any day you can just...kill someone y'know. Maim them, cripple them, pump them full of poison until their veins clot solid; it's always there you always have that option and you always kinda want to," fuck he sounds almost apologetic as he spreads his hands, the bearer of bad news just passing on the message "And then there's that thing you do. That weird little whisper in the back of your head, telling you just how to dig your fingers in and break someone apart. Remember the beach?"
You remember the beach.
"Felt good huh?"
You were too scared to really enjoy it but there was something right about it wasn't there? Something that felt like it fit, like a little piece of yourself just popping in place.
"This is why you want a purpose but you want someone else to pick it for you. It's the same reason you're probably going to break up with Sebastian in a few weeks. Because you care about him, because you know what you're like, because you want him to be happy and you know you're going to slip up. You'll get angry and fuck up. And you can't exactly make shit better after you tell him that he should be grateful 'cause you're the only one who wants him. That he doesn't have a family anymore. Just you."
"I wouldn-"
"Pft, yeah you would. You'd regret it the instant you said it. You'd try to take it back. But you would. And for a second? When you saw him start to crack and come apart? You'd enjoy it."
There's silence in the courtyard. Your serpents hover around you, it's strange. They're not sure if they should touch you, hug you, close around you, or keep their distance. Weird thing to wonder considering they're tied into your back. The other-you presses on and in that distortion of your own voice there's a kind of gentleness. A sort of kindness. You can't even muster up the energy to hate him for it.
"And that's the same reason you want someone to take you, guide you, shove you somewhere so you can start walking. So it won't be your fault. You have rules and you can play by them. So that any fucked up shit you do is just in service of that."
"Make me sound like I'm some fucked up monster," but you are. You are. He's not wrong you know you are. And the anger's gone, it can't help you, the bonfire down to a few smouldering coals and a pile of ash. The acid slowed to a few vivid green trickles where once it was a steady flow. You try to smile, play it off and it dies on your lips. You can't look at him.
"Well yeah but you're not as bad as you think you are either y'know?"
"Shut up." Sullen, petulant, all you can really manage.
"No no I mean it! If you were really a monster then you wouldn't care about this. You'd just bob your head and go 'sure'. I know because I care about this too and I'm just you," he rubs his neck as he takes a step forward, measuring your reaction. Then another. And another until he's there and he's putting a cool hand on your shoulder. Drawing you into a ginger, gentle hug. Like you're the one who'll shatter. Like you're the one who'll collapse back into quicksilver if he squeezes too hard. "Look: there's nothing wrong with wanting to break shit because of what happened to you. The world's not fair. Awful stuff happens. Wanting to hurt it because it hurt you is natural. Wanting to drag people down to your level is- I mean s'not good but it's human. And you are still human."
"I'm not angry about fucking Arcadia," you mumble into the crook of his neck.
"I wasn't talking about Arcadia," he murmurs back.
The two of you just, stand like that for a bit. His arms around you, your forehead against his collarbone. He gives you time, lets you fight down the hot prickle of tears, the sharp-edged feeling in your throat that you can't quite swallow down. And he just holds you, chest to chest, snakes butting against their reflections, one of yours absently coiling around his leg, until the sensation subsides too. He pats you on the back, on that strip of scales running the length of your spine.
"Right, let's go summon some demons and then go play video games."
You scrub your eyes and take a shuddering breath that…
"That sounds nice," you say.
The pool of water waits. You've been anxious and avoiding this, sticking instead to the more mundane applications and even then it's been faltering, halting, clumsy. You're afraid to commit. To beckon in these things that you know, you know are so much like you. But your reflection is right, you shouldn't put this off anymore.
Summon a retainer:
[ ] A small band of footsoldiers. Individually rather weak but adept at pack tactics. They are flexible, fast, and vicious.
[ ] A pair of powerful men-at-arms. Huge and hulking their strength is in their defense and they lack speed. Implacable.
[ ] A single Knight. A martial aristocrat among the spirit courts that pledge fealty to The Deep. Skilled, smart, and very proud.
Pay with:
[ ] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.
[ ] Your remaining store of Glamour. You'll have to harvest more but there are plenty of human hotel staff and escorcelled mortals around, and responsible cultivating is permitted.
[ ] A secret from your past. Angry and bitter and hey you've got plenty there. You'll still know it but whisper in the pond and The Deep will know it too and do with it what it wills.
Adhoc vote count started by TenfoldShields on Apr 24, 2018 at 1:45 AM, finished with 13 posts and 12 votes.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.
[x] Your remaining store of Glamour. You'll have to harvest more but there are plenty of human hotel staff and escorcelled mortals around, and responsible cultivating is permitted.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.[X] A single Knight. A martial aristocrat among the spirit courts that pledge fealty to The Deep. Skilled, smart, and very proud.
Adhoc vote count started by TenfoldShields on Apr 26, 2018 at 2:19 PM, finished with 16 posts and 15 votes.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.
[x] Your remaining store of Glamour. You'll have to harvest more but there are plenty of human hotel staff and escorcelled mortals around, and responsible cultivating is permitted.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.[X] A single Knight. A martial aristocrat among the spirit courts that pledge fealty to The Deep. Skilled, smart, and very proud.
[X] A single Knight. A martial aristocrat among the spirit courts that pledge fealty to The Deep. Skilled, smart, and very proud.
You always want to get your most capable person first. Then later on you give them more responsibilities gradually, establish an heirarchy of power and clear working relationships.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.
Not just the deep. Its good to take part in the community and help keep our public works in working order.
[X] A pair of powerful men-at-arms. Huge and hulking their strength is in their defense and they lack speed. Implacable.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.
[X] A single Knight. A martial aristocrat among the spirit courts that pledge fealty to The Deep. Skilled, smart, and very proud.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.
[X] A pair of powerful men-at-arms. Huge and hulking their strength is in their defense and they lack speed. Implacable.
[X] A promise of service, Sparker's Bay has plenty of public parks and fountains that have gone neglected. A few hours work cleaning up one is sure to make The Deep happy.
