D E A T H / B E C K O N S

Had he known that she was leaving? Yes. He had. But that didn't mean that it hadn't hurt again. Jasper felt as if he'd finally managed to have her back in his life, only for her to decide to leave. It reminded him of when he was younger, over and over again. "I do not believe that, mother." Jasper admitted to Aurelia with his own smile. Although, the smile did not meet his eyes.

"How did I fair?" Jasper reached down and pulled up the bottom of his pants, showing the discoloring of his ankle. Not only that, but he was much paler than normal -- which was saying something, considering pale was his norm. His eyes were slightly sunken in with dark circles around them. "Look with those special eyes of yours, Aurelia. What do you think?"

#oftragxdy #conversations / aurelia dalton #aurelia ft. jasper

She hadn't expected him to believe her, but time would prove it to him she supposed, "I know," Aurelia murmured, watching him with soft eyes, "but all I can do this time is prove it, hm? You shall see, my darling boy. Nothing will take me away from you again, not until the finality of life comes for one of us, anyway."

Aurelia looks at her son, really looks at him and her brow creases into worry instantly as she tries not to wince at him using her name. She should be used to that by now, instead of hearing the word mom come from his lips. "Will you let me try and speed up your healing? Light has more success with that than the dark." She offers, though she is almost sure that Jasper will deny her request. "Is that the bite of a wolf?"

@oftragxdy

"'Sper," Aurelia called softly, a soft smile coming to her lips as she lay eyes on her son for the first time in at least a year. She had done things right this time, she had told him where she was going and explained why, and why she had to do it. Aurelia had hoped her son would at the very least understand vengeance, and why she had a fiery need for it. The mother had told him what had happened to her when she was originally taken, hoping it would lead to his understanding of why.

"It is done, 'Sper. I will not be leaving again. I heard I missed the fun of the Slaughter Ring this year. How did you fair?"

#oftragxdy #conversations / aurelia dalton #aurelia ft. jasper

feralmenagerie

"As I, as I!" She chirps. "Mousemelon's so cute, hm? Cucamelon, psh. Cute too, but who doesn't love a little mouse?" She takes her things that she's traded for, turning a set of tools over - one old, one not so old. Her eyes fixed on one whose shine seems to sit just beneath an aged patina. It will be scrubbed and scoured to a glittering polish before it sees use, and that alone will be its own small reward. "I do so love market days... and what a clever assortment of things." She motions to the table, deciding to linger a while.

"Are they just things or do they have stories, hm?" She holds up one of the items she's just relieved him of, giving it a squeeze - it scrapes and creaks in her hand, almost making her cringe at its muted harshness, but the smile never leaves, not all the way.

#feralmenagerie #conversations / jack riley #jack ft. mili

"A mouse is indeed a lot better, so long as it's not the type to eat all this good stuff we grow before we can." Jack replies with a chuckle, watching as the woman he traded with looked over her found treasure.

"Mostly they're just things, things that people donate so I can trade them for important supplies. I'm sure they have stories, but it seems by the time they reach my stall the stories are finished and the owners are ready to part ways. Some are just trinkets I find along the way and have no desire to keep for myself." He explains with a soft smile, watching as she fiddles with her new items.

It looks to him like she doesn't have much of an idea regarding the use of any of them, but just picked them because she liked the look of them. The reasoning of his customers didn't matter to Jack, so long as he got something that The Refuge could use in return, or Kochba to buy what they needed.

"An underdog story has always resonated with people—defying all odds and other such heartwarming mierda." Obi laughed, a dismissive wave of his hand. He had never been someone who liked an underdog story, power came with hard work and dedication. But he supposed humans needed their little hopes to survive in the world they were in.

In his eyes if the owner of this event let a human win all it did was shame him, his competition and everyone who competed.

"Humans can be resourceful, but I'd argue the only reason they have survived in this world is because they are needed. Like cattle. Their advantage comes from pre planned attack and setting a situation up for their favour—in a straight 1v1, they are weak and disadvantaged." Obi shrugged his shoulder dismissively. The arrogance of power and age was rooted deeply in the sorcerer.

"Dumb luck is all that has saved her this far."

#wxldxheart #conversations / oleander visray #oleander ft. oberyn

Leo wasn't much in the mood for deep conversation; he could go back and forth with Oberyn on the topic all day, arguing that the humans here seem to be mostly completely unlike cattle, and if thy were there are always predators that are too greedy to look to the future and see the consequences of indulgence, but he's there to have fun, not to debate the fate of the humans.

"With power comes arrogance - anyone the human beats here tonight, it will be because of that, and her taking advantage of it." Oleander shrugged, sipping at his drink as he looked up to see how the State of Play had changed.

Freyja nodded, over and over again at his words. She didn't want him to be upset with her and part of her -- her whole entire nervous system -- claimed that he was. Her eyes glazed over with unshed tears as she clasped her hands together in her lap, squeezing at her own fingers. "I should have told you. I know I should have. I'm sorry, Malcolm." She whispered as she tried to blink away the tears.

"You... you met him?" Watery eyes jerked upwards to meet his gaze. "He-- yeah. It is. But they... they don't... expect that. From me." Not like the other Demons who's preference was lust. Around Baekyong, she felt comfortable. He allowed her to.

"What if I don't know what I want?" She asked, her throat swelling as her body shook. "I-- I tried to get him to leave. But then... when he wouldn't... it felt so easy, Mal. To just... be who I was when I was there." Maybe that's all she'd ever be, someone who was there to ensure the happiness of others. "And after I felt... dirty. Ashamed. I didn't want to face you, I couldn't--" She shook her head back and forth as her emotions threatened to take over. "I'm sorry."

#oftragxdy #conversations / malcolm davenport #malcolm ft. freyja #event: slaughter ring slasher

"Freyja, you don't have to tell me everything that happens with you, that's not what this is. You're your own person, with your own thoughts and feelings and desires; all I ask is that you allow me to help you, to keep you safe, but even that you don't have to do. It's all up to you and I'd never be mad at you for that." Malcolm knew well enough what Freyja's anxiety was like, how easily it built up inside of her and overwhelmed her system. She didn't need to feel that way about him, Mal would always support her.

"No one knows what they want all the time. It's okay to not know, and to change your mind. If you were fine with him being there at first, but changed your mind, that's allowed." He pauses, smiling at her softly. "Is he still staying there with you? I can make him get his own room, or get him to leave, if that's what you want. Now, what I want," Malcolm hooks a finger under her chin, gently making her look at him, "is for you to stop apologising. It is your life, Freyja, and I won't be a vampire in your life judging your for spending time with demons. I'm a good example for knowing that not all from a species are as inherently bad as the rest."

ofdeathwiishes

And again: people keep forgetting Callum Calder does not work here anymore. This time, people is Nolan.

Callum is leaned against the wall near the back of the Ring, arms loosely crossed, the bruises across his knuckles gone yellow at the edges beneath fresh gauze. There is sand coming in by the bag, glasses being polished, bottles lined up by kind and proof, all of it moving around him with that particular pre-event panic.

He hears Nolan say his name and the Sight flickers. Like bad static at the edge of his skull, like a moth battering itself against a lamp. This is Nolan. This is not Nolan. Something stains the corner of Callum eye, dark and smeared, and it refuses to settle into sense. For one brief, stupid second Cal considers pushing into the Sight and just suffering the cost - migraine or exhaustion or a twelve-hour blackout or whatever the going rate is for knowing too much too quickly.

But he does not. Instead, the list comes easily. Child’s play. Callum once reconstructed a library from sense memory and magic; he can remember inventory.

“All of it's there and the Pixie’s all accounted for.” His gaze moves briefly over Nolan’s face. “Which does bring me to my follow-up question: are you sampling the merchandise, or is this just the face we’re doing tonight?”

It is casual enough. A stone skipped across water instead of thrown through a window just as Lis rounds the corner and sidles up to their little band of three musketeers (which is generous, considering Callum doesn’t remember enlisting and the musketeers had better interpersonal skills.) Anyway, Lis is doing that thing where she throws herself at Nolan and Nolan is doing that thing where he pretends to give her the time of day and Cal is doing that thing where he knows they’ve been fucking for forever, even without the clairvoyance.

But something Lis says catches. Jittery. All jittery and full of energy. Callum looks back to Nolan - Nolan can be many things. Volatile. Obnoxious. Sentimental in ways he would deny under oath. But there is a texture to him Callum knows, a familiar pressure. Jittery is not one of them.

You wanna watch or something, honey?

Callum’s eyebrows lift a little at the jab. Not much. Enough to count as generous.

“Watch? Nah. Call me when you want me to join.” He pushes himself off the wall, slow and loose, and rolls his shoulder. What's he even doing here? He's supposed to be cleaning up his image, he's the Speaker now. But Nolan is wrong around the edges, and Callum does not have enough proof yet, and there are only so many ways he can stall before he’s handed something more substantial. “Are you fighting tonight?” he asks Lis.

"Good. Perfect." A smile pointed in Callum's direction before it faltered slightly. His eyebrows furrowed -- feigned confusion. "Do you take me as an idiot, Callum?" Nolan asked, his voice harsh as his gaze hardened. "Tonight needs to be perfect. If I were to subject myself to drugs, it would not be."

Fucking idiot. Stupid fucking witch. Nolan sucked in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Compose yourself. Play the part. "If all goes well tonight, I'll ensure you get triple. You are helping me, like old times, after all."

As the human approached, Nolan turned his attention to her and watched closely. They'd seen this done many times before -- a seductive dance that some did. A way to fawn and show interest. Nolan forced himself to keep a straight face as she practically fell over him. The Vampire stood still, at first. Not moving an inch as her skin pressed warmly against his.

Nolan wanted to shove her the fuck away.

The real Nolan, however, wouldn't do such a thing.

So, once again, they played along and wrapped an arm around the human's waist. "I appreciate the offer, darling, but I am not in need of that form of help, currently." His fingers tapped against her hip. "I am in need of Callum's help, though. Which is exactly why he's here." He gave her hip a squeeze before he released her and unraveled himself from her body.

"I don't remember telling you to meet me here." His voice was a mix between harsh and playful as he turned his attention to Annalise. "Assuming things about me again, love?"

@deathbeckons

#oftragxdy #conversations / annalise halstead #annalise ft. callum #annalise ft. nolan #ofdeathwiishes #event: slaughter ring slasher

She smirks at Callum, remembering just why she likes him. He's got snark, and an attitude to boot that was certainly fun to interact with. He asks if Nolan is sampling the merchandise and her brow furrows, because when does he ever? Has the witch lost his mind? It's forgotten though, when he bites back at her, "Aw, Cal, all you had to do is ask. I'm sure Nols and I can squeeze you in sometime." Annalise teased right back, before shaking her head.

"No, no, I'm not fighting. Got nothing I want bad enough as a prize to risk this pretty face for, and I'm already too well-versed in death wishes." Arm wraps around her waist and she smiles, leaning into Nolan even more, though her expression falters for a moment. Darling? Love? When did Nolan ever call her pet names, aside from sometimes babe and baby when he wanted something from her?

Annalise stammers, him putting her on the spot regarding her lack of invite, falling over her words to try and find a reason for him to keep her there, "I know this place like the back of my hand by now, and you know my skills behind the bar are pretty unmatched. Figured I could maybe take one of your worries away so your focuses can be on the more important parts of the event."

She pulls herself away from Nolan, and moves towards the bar, "I can help Cal here distribute the Pixie to wherever you're wanting it and in return, he can help me ensure the bar is fully stocked to my standards," Lis turns to face him again, "because I can already see they've slacked on half your prep work, and I just bet some of the bottles are near empty and barrels needs changing."

@ofdeathwiishes

reapxer

LOCATION: Somewhere South of the Boneyard STATUS | OPEN

He should be above this. Grave robbing. Or at the very least, he should have someone else do the dirty work. But a job like this couldn't be entrusted to just anyone; and if you wanted something done right - well, you just might find yourself waist-deep in an unmarked grave some idle Saturday night, with no direction, no instructions, just a shovel, a pickaxe, and a client's vague request to disinter an old family heirloom.

Problem was, this client had no idea where the adorning body was buried, only that it was 'over a hundred years ago, somewhere near the Boneyard.' Olin would have told her to fuck off had it not been for the generous deposit she'd pressed into his hand. 'Half now, half later.'

——Clink!

The pickaxe struck metal. Olin straightened slowly, exhaling as he dragged a dirt smeared hand through his hair, pushing back damp strands from his face as triumph curved his mouth into a smile. Finally, after what felt like hours of digging through earth, stone, and clay, he had found something. Just as the vampire lowered to inspect further, the crack of a branch froze him mid-action. Not out of fear, but of predator instinct. His head tilted as eyes and ears searched for the source. Listening. Waiting. Hunting.

It wasn't worrying to know he wasn't alone. In fact, he was almost entertained by the prospect of company. All that digging worked up quite the appetite.

"They say curiosity kills, y'know," he taunted out into the ether, gaze sliding patiently across the shadows. Whether they exposed themselves or remained hidden made no difference to him. In truth, he hoped they didn't come out. He was in the mood for a good chase.

#reapxer #conversations / aurelia dalton #aurelia ft. olin

She had heard her son was fighting in the distasteful annual event that the Slaughter Ring insisted on hosting, but Aurelia didn't wish for her son to see her again for the first time in a year or so whilst he was fighting. No, the reconciliation could wait. Instead, the Fae took care of business. It didn't take her more than moments to reclaim her Speaker seat on the Council, surprised to find it empty considering that was not how she left it, but no matter. She was back now, and she would be doing whatever is necessary to protect her people.

Aurelia wasn't sure what took her to the Boneyard, but considering the reason for her absence from the State she imagined she felt peace when close to death, now. She had found herself close to it more times than she would like to count, and brought people prematurely to their deaths in a more significant measure. They deserved it, that was for sure.

The peacefulness of the night was disturbed by sounds of digging, followed by a metallic clink, and Aurelia instinctively made her way towards the source. She cared little for if the gravedigger heard her, she had no qualms with what he was doing and could only assume he had his reasons.

"Hm, you're right, it can. But I'm just out for a stroll in the fresh night air. You're the one gravedigging; I would assume you're the one whose curiosity has be better of him." The Fae smiles at him, her fingers gliding through the air as the Earth seemingly moves itself from the metal he had mostly unearthed. "Shame I didn't wonder on in a half hour ago, but I'd say finding it yourself gave you a good sense of satisfaction."

sonofbloodandthorns

A slight arch of Heathcliff’s left eyebrow was the only answer he’d given to the warning, which felt more like a command than anything else. That alone was enough to raise spite in the fae on top of being so easily underestimated. Not that he minded the latter that much. In his experience it was always better to be underestimated than to be perceived for exactly what you are - a monster in its own right, not easy to contend with even if one was a demon or a vampire. No false modesty here. Heathcliff could back these claims up should he choose to. It was just that this vampire did not know it yet. In his defense, Heathcliff did not know yet that he was dealing with a Davenport either. “Best than both in the latter, I say.” Heathcliff drawled lazily as he gave the other a very pointed stare, already looking bored with the conversation. He’d dropped his glamoured and illusioned invisibility only for a moment and this was the moment the vampire decided to catch him in. Just proof enough that there was no such thing as being too careful. He could only deadpan at being called desperate and dumb. It was most certainly neither. It was confidence but Heathcliff wasn’t about to argue that with a stranger. As mentioned above, the vampire was better off underestimating him. He just took a step ahead, ready to leave without so much as an explanation or a comment. Time was money and the other was wasting his. However, the vampire just did not seem to know how to let go. A warning was quickly turning into what Heathcliff was perceiving as a threat and he did not like it, not one bit. His head tilted slightly as he looked back to the vampire, dark eyes eerily calm. “Oh? Is that why you pester me? For my blood?” Figures. A vampire will always be a greedy leech. They just cannot help themselves, can they? Heathcliff paused where he stood, not moving further except to fully face the other man with fingers neatly intertwined in front of him, posture casual, glamoured face impassive. Not that his glamour served any purpose anymore - the other had already listened to his heartbeat, smelled the blood running through Heathcliff’s veins. The curse the fae had used to mask it all for this trip to the vampire world had run out, just as his purpose for the visit had come to an end. There was no longer any reason to hide but Heathcliff would still not reveal the other his true appearance. Who was he to see the real him anyway? “I reject the options given and propose a peaceful parting. You keep your life and I keep mine. Fair?” An offer reasonable enough but if the other thought all Heathcliff could do was reason, then he would be sorely mistaken. “What say you?”

#sonofbloodandthorns #conversations / thaddeus davenport #thaddeus ft. heathcliff

"Fae blood clouds the judgement," Thaddeus starts, a smirk coming to his lips as he looked over the other, "besides, we have one of those on tap. Is he why you're here, I wonder? Trying a little rescue mission?" In his understanding, the little Fae at Bite was there completely of his own volition but he could see why there may be some misunderstanding there. If there was trouble brewing on that little ones account, Thad may just have to have a word.

He watches, for a moment, and despite the fact that this one can clearly take care of themselves considering he's still alive, Thad's intuition tells him that trouble, directly at the least, isn't why he's in the Darklands. The Davenport mulls over his offer, and simply nods, "I can accept your terms; you seem... well-rounded. Ballsy. I like that, the type of people that deserve to live at least a while longer. But..." He trails off, eyes sticking to the stranger Fae like he might just disappear right in front of him. "I do have to ask for an answer about my Fae question. Need to know if trouble is coming to my family's business, and if so, get him to deal with it. After all, free will is a glorious thing and that little one has it in droves."

Thaddeus starts off towards the border of the Darklands, gesturing for Heathcliff to follow. He may as well escort him out of vampire territory whilst they had this conversation, so he could make sure no one else got their fangs into the Fae that had piqued his interest.

Selene considered the perimeters and her options to obtain the blood requested. The SRS was certainly a place where blood was plentiful, Selene could feel it staining the sands of the arena, it wouldn't take much magic to syphon it from the contestants spills, but that would be a mix of all sorts of creatures, not what was being requested.

For a brief moment she let her eyes fall away from the demon before her and to those around her, there were a few humans here and there—whether they were staff from one establishment or another, or wherever else they'd come from, she could pull blood from them.

At the mention of her soul, Selene's gaze returned to Azagi and she shook her head. "My soul isn't on offer, collateral or not. I'm not that desperate for your help." She said plainly. "But I'm also not interested in betraying you over a little blood." She shrugged. It left the cards of whether or not to trust her in Azagi's hands, Selene was certainly not just a pretty face though she often let others believe she was.

"You can watch me get you the blood if you're that worried about me tampering with it—but in return for me helping someone you, then you have to help someone for me." Selene offered, both of them looking to make a temporary ally not in their own interest.

#wxldxheart #conversations / azagi rabaz #azagi ft. selene

Her jaw clenched at being denied her failsafe, but at this point, Azagi was almost desperately out of options. She didn't want to cause a scene by dragging a human away; she didn't have the time for that, and it wasn't worth the risk.

"Fine," Azagi growled, "But if you do betray me, I will make you wish you had sold your soul away." She wondered who was so important to the little witch that she would risk any sort of deal with a demon, but she didn't much care. The wrathbearer would do what was needed for the few she cared for.

"Who do you need me to help, and how do you want me to help?" Azagi's version of help, and another person's version of it, could be so very different. Making sure this person is not sad anymore would lead to death - they could feel no sadness, if they were dead, or void of a soul.

Greyson just gave a hum, not agreeing with the demon because his statement still stood. Fine print was twisting a deal into the contract-holder's favour, using the pressure of desperation to ensure you got the better end of a bargain. But he knew there was no point arguing semantics with Azagi, he was just a stubborn in his position as she was.

The bar they entered meant little to the Commander, he'd frequented many across the state over the centuries, less so since taking up his position—but he knew as long as drinks were served, it was good enough.

He ordered a simple vodka soda, watching the bartender pour their drinks before turning his gaze to Azagi when she spoke. "Hardly a rumour." Greyson shrugged, picking up his drink and taking a sip when it was set in front of him. The Prince had never tried to hide his rebellious past nor was he particularly ashamed of it.

"Alike huh? So you were a big party girl before getting the stick of responsibility up your ass too?" Greyson smirked, his words lighthearted for now—if the demon wasn't too easily offended.

#wxldxheart #conversations / azagi rabaz #azagi ft. greyson

She thought on his words, mulling them over as she took a sip of her drink, as she watched the Merfolk. "I suppose I was, though our responsibilities are not the same. There are lesser demons, you know. Those who are desperately trying to claw their way out of the depths and become like me. When I first got to this world, yeah, I partied it up. I didn't do much else before all this drama between the Merfolk and the Demons." It was then that she started to revel in the war of it all. Azagi had always been an angry person, but she had soaked in her sin within the midst of parties - those who were drunk were easily swayed, and some needed no swaying at all.

"I don't know who murdered your mother, little prince." Azagi paused, wondering if he would understand what she was saying. "I'm not saying I know everything, or even that I know all the demons' motivations and pasts, but my kind are... similar to one another. I would expect that if I knew the demon that did it, I would know who did it. Doesn't that trouble you? Isn't it strange? In all this time, we've been fighting one another, but we haven't had an actual conversation about it."

Azagi drinks again, "Are you open to that conversation, Greyson? If you can't trust what I say, I'll happily find a witch to cast a truth spell on both of us."

Her bottom lip quivered as his hand reached out and grasped hers. Part of her wanted to pull away from him. Not because she thought he'd harm her but because she thought that she didn't deserve his touch. She'd ignored and avoided him for over a week, now. "You should be mad. You shouldn't even want to touch me. I've-- he..." He's been in my bed. In my room. The room you trusted me with and allowed me to move into.

"Oh." She muttered softly and then nodded. "Yeah. Yes. He... ah-- isn't like the others. He's never really hurt me. He was... one of the only ones that were actually nice to me when I was living in the Compound." He'd bring her gifts -- treats, really. And maybe it was just so she would comply, but Freyja had enjoyed most of her time with Baekyong. "He wasn't invited, though. He found me. I tried to get him to leave but he wouldn't." Maybe she should have tried harder. Maybe she should have told Malcolm, who could have helped her.

"No, no. He's not. And he left the other day. I just... was afraid of what you'd ask or... insist on... if you were to smell him on me and in my room."

#oftragxdy #conversations / malcolm davenport #malcolm ft. freyja #event: slaughter ring slasher

He listened, relaxing only slightly when she stated she wasn't in danger. The thought of a demon finding Freyja still had his back up, and the fact that she hadn't come to him about it made him worry that if she ever was in some sort of trouble, she wouldn't come to him then, either. Malcolm sighed softly, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand in an attempt to soothe her.

"You're safe, that's all that matters. But if someone comes again and you don't want them there, regardless of if they're nice to you, you just need to come and tell me, and I'll have them removed. I--" Her words had the cogs in his mind turning, the demon with a mix of sulfur and familiarity in his scent back at Firelight; he should have known then that the familiarity was Freyja.

"I think I met him. He was wandering my halls in nothing but a sheet, which he then removed. A little thing of a demon whose sin is clearly lust?" He asked, but now that he had placed the scent, he didn't really need the confirmation.

"I wouldn't insist on anything; it's your life, Freyja. But if you had wanted him out, I'd have gotten him out. If you had wanted him to stay and me to stay out of it, I'd have stayed out of it."

"All very theatrical, seems fitting for Merfolk, they are dramatic." Obi laughed, his eyes tracking the fight. It was a ruthless one at least, entertaining, and what a finishing blow.

Oberyn rose a brow when the other mentioned he'd bet money on the unhinged fae from the first round before the sorcerer couldn't help his laugh. "The one who can't function without a line of pixie? Truly a waste of money." He shook his head before he conjured himself a glass of brandy, settling back into his seat more comfortably. "A vampire? Reasonable choice, safe odds." Obi mused casually.

When asked if he was a betting man, the sorcerer shrugged. He had more than enough money to waste on bets that who won or lost really didn't matter. "Perhaps if there had been a half-decent sorcerer in the ring I might have wagered on them. Alas, I think it likely one of the demons will take the title. Although it would be hilarious if that human girl took the crown, an absolute mockery to all who competed." Oberyn laughed.

#wxldxheart #conversations / oleander visray #oleander ft. oberyn #event: slaughter ring slasher

"I would argue that I didn't know that, but I suppose I did know that." Considering his first and only interaction with the other Fae had involved the drug, but he wasn't here jonesing for more - clearly Jasper had his own problems. "I thought so. Seems to be a decent choice." He spoke, looking at who the Davenport was up against. A wolf, he was sure, Thaddeus could handle himself against.

Hm, the stranger is not a vampire, but maybe a sorcerer. He has a familiarity about him, but Leo brushed it away; it wasn't important.

"I almost bet on her," The fae grinned, looking back to the other instead of the ring, "I like an underdog, and the creatures we share our spaces with are so quick to count them out of a fight. They haven't survived this long without being able to fight to the death."

"Just because I don't have a soul to lose doesn't mean a demon wouldn't twist a deal." Greyson shrugged. However she tried to spin in the Commander just wasn't convince a demon, least of all Azagi, would make any sort of deal with his people that didn't ultimately end in disaster.

He listened as she talked about extending an olive branch and his sister turning it down. Greyson didn't blame her, you didn't try an amend ancient feuds when you were at your most vulnerable, placing your trust in a people who had been your enemies. The Prince doubted every word, even the empty platitudes towards his pride. "I'm sure you'll find a new branch to offer when the timing suits you." Greyson replied, not about to believe that whatever game the demon was playing was now over.

Greyson had to force his eyes not to roll when Azagi seemed intent on lingering—the Commander hadn't actually intended to take a day of shore-leave, he had business to attend to. But no matter, if he had to simply give the demon the runaround for the day, then he would. "Then I hope you like bars." The Prince shrugged, heading towards the nearest establishment he could get a stiff drink—he was going to need one.

#wxldxheart #conversations / azagi rabaz #azagi ft. greyson

"There's no twisting, Prince, just fine print that people tend not to ask about. When people are making deals with us, it's usually in the most desperate moment of their lives; they don't care about the consequences, and that's their downfall." She was sure he would do the same if a demon deal was ever the only option to save his sister or his Kingdom, but there was no point in trying to beat that point home. They never believed it until they were in the situation themselves.

Greyson didn't believe her, and that was to be expected, and at his words, she simply shrugged. Perhaps she would, or maybe the time for an olive branch would never come, and they'd be stuck in a back-and-forth tit for tat for the rest of their long lives. Only time would tell.

"How did you know? They're some of my favourite places." Bars were always steeped in sin of every kind, and a favourite spot of people looking to go and blow off some steam. It was almost the perfect feeding ground for her. She followed him to the nearest bar, ordering herself a bourbon over ice, glancing towards him.

"Rumour has it, the Forgotten Prince used to frequent bars quite a lot until his calling came for him. Used to be a party boy, little prince? I can see it, underneath that hardened resolve. We're more alike than you think, you know."

Selene tilted her head slightly at the demon's response—because when it came to demons, it was always something of your own given first. "A powerful enough sorcerer knows blood is always available, you don't need to keep a jar of it on your person." She shrugged one delicate shoulder, trying not to let her gaze slip back to the match below even if it was all she could think about.

While blood-magic wasn't her specialty, she could use it if necessary though she was far from an expert at the craft, not like some of those that lived in the city. She'd felt Zane's power first hand, and she knew of others by reputation. But should the need arise, she could certainly pull at the blood of others.

Selene was cautious to make any kind of deal with a demon, she wasn't a fool by any means necessary—not with the way she'd been raised. But she also knew opportunity when it presented itself. "Many things, curses, hexes, shadows, flames. But if you want blood, that could be arranged." Selene answered. "But that depends on what you can give me in return."

#wxldxheart #conversations / azagi rabaz #azagi ft. selene #event: slaughter ring slasher

"What I can give you in return depends on the potency of the blood you can give me. It needs to be human; it needs to satiate a vampire. To heal them." Azagi replied, looking over the woman and wondering if she and her magic were dark enough to take what was needed to get her what she wanted in return.

"What is it that you want? I'm sure that we can come to some sort of arrangement, one that leaves you with your soul intact, with a little betrayal clause. You know, if the blood you give me does harm instead of helping, your soul is mine. Normal failsafes." The demon wasn't dumb enough to blindly trust the first witch she'd stumbled upon, but she was desperate. She hoped that the little clause in their deal would have her thinking twice about betraying the demon.

ofdeathwiishes

Strange thing, realizing a man can split his life clean in two and still be expected to keep walking straight. There is Jack before the Slaughter Ring, and there is Jack now.

Ward stands in the bleachers with the rest of the crowd roaring around him, the sound gone distant and tinny in his ears, and stares down into the ring at the man he had - what? Trusted? Counted among his own? Called comrade, if he was feeling generous and stupid in equal measure?

Magic sparks off Jack like a struck match in dry grass. Ward is on his feet before he remembers deciding to move.

“What the fuck,” he says. He has spent the whole event posted up beside Ophelia, watching too much and then - Jack. The curse falls easy off his lips. Easier than it ought to. But then, most things come easy when a man is busy trying to keep the whole goddamn place from sinking by stuffing his hands into every leak he can find.

Jack. Lis. Axel.

His mind kicks from one to the next like a spooked horse in a stall. Ward's is already moving when Annalise catches him first. Gets a hand on him. Pulls him aside, just far enough from the crowd that the world narrows down to her face, her hand on his arm, and the tight, careful concern in her eyes.

She sees it. Of course she sees it - that gut-shot look on him.

For one second, Ward cannot tell if she saw Jack. Cannot tell if she has come to talk about Ophelia. That is a whole other can of worms sitting heavy in the dirt, and he has not yet found a way to look down the barrel of it without feeling something in him kick back.

Then she speaks: I miss you.

Ward looks at his sister and feels something old and sore twist under his ribs. Annalise, standing there with all that care on her face, like she has not learned better yet. Like he has not given her every reason to stop trying.

He should talk to her more.

The thought comes plain and brutal, with no room for his usual dodging. He should ask how she is. He should tell her he is sorry. He should say that every ugly thing he does, every line he toes, every order he carries, has her name buried somewhere in the reason for it. He should tell her that he misses her too. But Ward Halstead has never been much good at standing in the open with his heart in his hands and his mind is constantly, constantly on every danger in the room. Right now that danger is Jack. “Lis,” he starts, and his voice comes out rougher than he means it to. He stops.

Did she know? About Jack? If she knew before him, then that is not her failing. It is his. Another hole in the fence. Another wolf already through.

Ward’s jaw works once. He looks back toward the ring, where the truth of Jack is still ringing in the air, bright and wrong and impossible to unsee.

When he looks at Annalise again, the expression on his face is strained into something almost calm. Almost. He scrubs a hand over his face and a “I'm fine - just.... that fucking liar" escapes him.