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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [private]  I'm not here looking for absolution; gospel
    #1

    — I'm not here looking for absolution —

    He leaves their children fighting the undead. Leaves and as soon as they are out of sight, he doesn’t think of them again. They have promise, he thinks, but they are still children and thus at risk of being utterly useless. Either they would rise up against his minions and prove themselves at least mildly worthy of his time or they wouldn’t. He didn’t mind much either way. Either way though, he doesn’t dwell on it.

    Instead he turns his attention to the current annoyance on his mind: their mother.

    He wouldn’t have had to set the small army on them if they had simply been able to tell him where Gospel had been in the first place. But they had defied him and he now had to look for her himself.

    Irritated, he begins to walk further into the Cove, wondering why she lived here at all.

    It was no Pangea, he thinks, although even that place was only half worth his time.

    Sighing, exasperated, he finally stops, digging through the earth until he finds a small bird. It cracks through the soil and takes flight in the air above him. With a small noise, he directs it outward, letting it do the dirty work of searching for the leader of this land. He should have done it from the beginning, he realizes, but shrugs it off. He had no way of knowing his offspring would be so infuriating and so useless.

    Content enough with the idea that the small undead bird would find Gospel soon enough and be back with news of her, he comes to rest against a small tree, his hip pressed against the bark.

    Either the bird would arrive or she would find him.

    Both options would work just fine for him.

    STAVE
    Reply
    #2
    BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS
    SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

    She is not much of a leader, Gospel.
    It has never been power that she was hungry for.

    Relevance, perhaps.
    Revenge.

    She has never wanted the world to belong to her so much as she has wanted to watch it burn. Isn’t that what had drawn her to Ghaul? To Stave? Their penchant for destruction.

    But she thinks of neither of them now. Nor does she think of her children, in some dark corner of the Cove, railing against their father’s undead army. Would she be proud to see how valiantly they fought?

    It is the sea that calls to her when the bird comes. Feeble, broken-winged, fluttering through the wind like some freakish thing. And she knows immediately who sent it. She casts a lazy glance over her shoulder, as if she might find him standing there. But she is alone except for the dead thing and some distant shiver that starts in the pit of her gut and splinters outward. A figment of her imagination, certainly, but thrilling all the same.

    She is proud, Gospel.
    Certainly too proud to come when she is called.

    And yet, she goes.
    Follows the dead thing until she finds him leaned up against a tree.

    And she smirks, all venom, curls her tongue sweetly around a fanged tooth and lets it numb her.

    Finally come to finish me off?” she asks. Almost purrs it. Almost bats her sooty lashes.

    But she has never been coy, Gospel. So, she merely blinks at him, tilts her fine head, skirts that narrow gaze down the slope of his shoulder, up the curve of his neck, lands finally on his face. 

    gospel
    Reply
    #3

    — I'm not here looking for absolution —

    It takes longer than he thought it would. Longer than he would have expected. The minutes pass and he grows irritated again, the initial contentedness bleeding from him as he remembers how she has eluded him so long and left him to deal with the annoyance that was their offspring. By the time that she arrives, his mood is black again, his depthless eyes peering out from the tangles of his forelock.

    “Perhaps,” he nearly growls, although he doesn’t move from his spot against the trees. There is plenty of him that is physically imposing, but he has hardly ever lifted a finger in his attempt to harm others. He prefers the use of his gifts. Why bother with the brutish ways of the world when he could simply drain someone dry of their very life force from afar? Why bother ever attempting?

    So he doesn’t, lazily glancing up, tail flicking.

    There’s a moment of silence, Stave in no hurry to answer her. It’s then that he remembers his initial annoyance again and he frowns, glancing off the horizon. “But perhaps our children…” His voice trails off again, his lip pulling down in the corner before he shrugs. “I suppose we will find out later.”

    She would, at least.

    He had not interest in sticking around to find out.

    His attention, instead, draws back to the serpentine woman.

    “Perhaps not though,” he drawls. For a second, he drags his knuckles against the pulse of her life, feeling it ebb and flow. He toys with it lightly, but does not quite wrap his fingers around her throat.

    “How have you been, Gospel?”

    His lips spread into a wide, cold smile.

    “It’s been so long.”

    STAVE
    Reply
    #4
    BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS
    SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

    She feels some primal thrill just to be near him.
    To know that she is powerless against the terrible power he wields.

    It has never been in her nature to bend. She has always met pressure with stubborn resolve. She is not built to yield. But she has never tried to resist him, Stave. And perhaps this is some unbearable weakness on her part, her eagerness to let him flay her alive, but she wastes no energy on trying to determine exactly what it makes her.

    He toys with her, as he always does. And she takes as much satisfaction in it as he does. The venom, the darkness, the knowledge that he could end her without having to try all that hard.

    He mentions the children and she follows his gaze to the horizon. It does not occur to her that he might have already encountered them, that they are the reason for his irritation. She merely blinks those reptilian eyes and shifts her focus back to his face.

    Would she try to stop him should he try to harm them?
    Would she fight for her children?

    She knows the answer without having to dwell on it. She understands, as he does, that they are old enough now to fend for themselves. Their deaths would be their own responsibilities, their blood on their own hands.

    She feels it again and this time she knows she has not imagined it. So slight that the only damage it does is make the edges of her vision soft as she studies him. Notches up her proud chin but does not immediately answer.

    Remembers how she’d begged.

    Is that why you came?” she asks, “to ask how I’ve been?

    She shifts her weight then, slinks closer by inches. “How disappointing.

    gospel
    Reply
    #5

    — I'm not here looking for absolution —

    She is perhaps the only thing that has ever snagged his attention for long. The only thing that he has touched without killing, although he has come so close with her. It’s a strange, dark thrill and he gladly lets it race through him, touching the corners of him that are so rarely illuminated by anything.

    He closes his eyes as he feels the tides of her against the edges of his mind. As he remembers what it had felt like to drain her nearly dry, to take her to the very edge of consciousness before dragging her back.

    He doesn’t take her there now though, even though it’s tempting.

    “Who are you to judge my reasons for coming?” he asks, his voice hardly raising above a whisper, his dark eyes opening again. There’s no real heat to the question—nothing to speak of any true annoyance to her audacity in asking him. “I certainly have no reason to explain them to you.”

    She slinks closer and he doesn’t stop her, but neither does he move toward her.

    Let her come, he thinks.

    A slight tug against her life force, lingering there, a reminder that he merely close his grasp around it should he want to hold her tongue for good. “You didn’t answer my question,” he asks, crocodile smile widening even further, little warmth sparking into the curve of his lips. “I don’t like being left waiting.”

    STAVE
    Reply
    #6
    BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS
    SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

    She smirks.
    A lethal thing under any other circumstance, certainly.

    But he is one of the precious few who has ever exercised any power over her and she feels no impulse to sink her fanged teeth into his flesh. She is almost subordinate.

    Almost.

    If not for the way she tilts her head, narrows her gaze. She recalls the mare who’d told her that Clarissa had sent her, how she’d questioned Clarissa’s authority to tell anyone to seek her out. She does not think them equals, Gospel and Stave, but they are perhaps more alike than either of them realizes.

    It is almost flirtation, their venomous exchange. The way he smiles at her, cold, insist that she answer his question. She can feel him still, toying with her pulse, making the heart chug something painful as she comes to rest close enough to invite him to sink his fingers into the meat of her heart like he meant it.

    You may not need to explain yourself to me,” she muses, head tilted just so, “but don’t forget that I don’t owe you anything either.

    There that same dark smirk as she considers him a long beat.

    I doubt you’re really all that interested in hearing about how dreadfully alive I’ve been.

    gospel
    Reply
    #7

    — I'm not here looking for absolution —

    He likes the venom of her. How she reeks of death even in life. There is something so beautiful in the poison that drips from her fangs, the way that she could kiss the end into existence—how they could slip into the flesh and bring about oblivion. He likes that she knows it too. That her serpentine eyes are cold with the knowledge of her own toxins, how she would enjoy the death just a little too much.

    It’s perhaps the only reason that he stays.

    The only reason that he showed up at all.

    Still, he can only take quite so much flirtation so there is a sharpness to the curve of his smile when he levels his eyes with her, staring at her without noise for several moments. “You owe me nothing,” he echoes and to the casual listener, it may almost sound like he was agreeing with her—musing the idea.

    But she knows him well enough to know that he’s never quite so kind, so agreeable.

    He doesn’t feel the need to elaborate further, merely tilting his head ever so slightly.

    “I don’t know where you would get that idea,” his voice is cold, empty and flat, but his smile grows wider, creating an odd kind of conflict on his features. “I love hearing all of the mundane details of your life, Gospel.” He looks at her, as if prodding her on. “Please, do tell me all about it.”

    There is another brush of fingers against her life force, as if for emphasis.

    As if reminding her that despite the words, he is not making a request.

    STAVE
    Reply
    #8
    BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS
    SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

    She remembers quite vividly how he had taken her to her knees.
    How the ecstasy of it had been far greater than anything that came after it.

    It licks at her psyche like a drug now, itching into sharper focus with every subtle tug. It almost draws her to him. It almost curls her around him. It almost makes her beg.

    But she is a proud thing, Gospel. And she will not grovel now and she is certain that he would not ask it of her. What an unattractive thing, she thinks, all that weakness. There is no room for it here in this darkness, the charged air between them. She presses her tongue against a fanged tooth and lets the venom chase a tremor through her.

    She does wonder what he’s playing at, why he presses her so insistent for an answer. It feels like a game that she will almost surely lose, but she merely watches him a beat longer and then tilts her head, flashes him a viper’s smile. If it is a trap then she will go willingly.

    Perhaps this is her cross to bear, how terribly easy it is for him to sway her. If only because she is still chasing that ecstasy.

    I’ve been fine,” she says. “And you, Stave? How have you been?

    gospel
    Reply
    #9

    — I'm not here looking for absolution —

    He would not respect her if she begged, even though there is something of an addict shining back at him when he watches her. Something that craves the hit of death he offers her—the way that she practically leans toward it, as though the gravity of the promise was enough to be her undoing.

    He would not respect her if she begged—

    but he would not come back if she did not want it.

    What an interesting web the two of them weave.

    His smile is cold and empty, but he does not deny that he has come here of his own accord. That whatever exists between them is an interesting enough premise that he does not turn his cheek toward it completely.

    Still, he baits her, toying with the viper as though hoping to find the edge of her fangs.

    “Fine,” he repeats, his voice cold and heavy on his tongue. “How thrilling,” his lips peel into a smile and he makes a motion. “Come, come. Why stand so far away?” He ignores her question about himself entirely, brushing it aside with the arrogance of someone who has never needed to answer to another.

    “And the children? They have been raised well?”

    He waits, his face composed into this mask of faux interest, the poisonous sides of it leaking through the darkness of his eyes, the place where all humanity bleeds away, leaving them cold and empty.

    “They most certainly wouldn’t not know who I was,” his voice trails off as he looks way and back to her.

    “That would be foolish, indeed.”

    STAVE
    Reply
    #10
    BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS
    SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

    Perhaps the thrill lies in the fact that he is the only one capable of eliciting these things from her.

    She is subordinate to no one. Not even to Ghaul.
    She serves no one. Except, perhaps, herself.

    And yet.
    She feels some flicker of irritation in the very pit of her gut when he mocks her, just as she had suspected he might. But there is something in that cold smile that keeps her rooted there when she could just as easily leave.

    She is not coy, Gospel.
    But there is some thrill in knowing that he has come looking for her. And whether he chooses to bury her or not, she can siphon some sense of that early ecstasy from it.

    She resists him for only a moment. Stays stock still, studying, before she finally relents and sinks closer. She makes no attempt to touch him, though there is some curiosity about how he might respond. Would he react the way she wanted him to? Wrap his cold fingers around her pulse and squeeze? Or would he refrain simply because he knew it would delight her?

    The children. “I have raised them the best way I know how,” she muses but does not elaborate. There is no telling what that might mean. She does not tell him of the gifts she had asked for them, sees no purpose in it.

    She tilts her head at his implication, the stirrings of a smirk tying up one corner of her dark mouth.

    I expect that the children care as much about you as you do about them.


    gospel
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