the river rises —

which brings us back to the hero's shoulders, and a gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

[outrancexarchive]

   Barely glancing at his whip — she’d have armour enough to dull one or two strikes before she could draw her weapon — she meets his eyes and keeps any unease off her face.

     “No,” she says carefully, because — she’s not completely sure why but alerting him to the fact that something’s changed is probably a poor idea. “You were looking at me.”

                    She feels sick.

     “My name is Samhain.” He’d known her name before — and tried to kill her, but that seems to have vanished. “And yours?”

[engramx]

"I thought --"

-- he doesn't know what he thought anymore. It's slipped away, and he doesn't feel like he can try and reach it. Shaking his head, he glances down, looks back up at her. "I thought I recognized you."

Never fucking mind. There are a lot of people he thinks he recognizes -- Andras, he thinks his name is, and the demon of drowning from the second circle, and he doesn't know her name -- but he doesn't, he never does. "Silas."

His head still feels strange, in ways he can't fucking begin to explain. "Samhain like the human holiday?" There are souls that require his attention, but he wants to speak to her.

[aleccto]

alone in the wind and the rain you left me it’s getting dark darling, too dark to see and I’m on my knees, and your faith in shreds, it seems

[golddoesnotglittler]

[outrancexarchive]

   Souls coming to the Pit always somehow manage to be less enthusiastic about spending eternity there once they see it.

     Still, they made the deal, this is where they go — she holds her hands open, and they’re forced downwards, scratching at her palms. Something feels like it’s touching the inside of her skull, and she looks up.

     — Silas is staring at her.

     It doesn’t seem malevolent, truthfully — confused is the wrong word, but it’s the closest she can get. There’s an uneasy feeling in her chest, but she meets his gaze, regardless. It isn’t — she doesn’t know exactly (she knows who) what happened to make them stop fighting, but she knows they did and there is very little chance any of them wanted to. And it would be impolite to look away.

     — she keeps her sword in its sheath.

[engramx]

-- everything feel like it's flashing, somehow, pieces of disconnected images managing to get through, and if he looks away from her he thinks he might forget and he doesn't want to forget --

She meets his gaze, and the world snaps back to him.

Fuck. What the fuck was he thinking about?

He's dropped his fucking whip, anyhow, let it slip from suddenly frozen hands to the floor. Jumping from the ledge -- it's not that fucking high -- he drops to the floor, picks it up, finds his eyes returning to her again. The fuck is she? Some reaper?

Might as well fucking find out -- something feels like it's slithering against his skull, and he doesn't know what it is making him feel like this, but maybe it's something to do with her. If he said he wasn't curious enough to want to see, he'd be lying. He shifts his whip to rest against his shoulder, wanders closer. "Have we --" everything seems slightly out of focus, somehow, "-- met?"

[askboxmemes]

Put 'too late' in my ask for a suicide note from my character to yours

[engramx]

Torture is so much more fun when you can sit down for it.

Felix is torturing Belial again, carving runes into him -- he can hear the screams over all the rest. He is sitting on a ridge, lashing a flaming whip at any souls who try and scramble away from the flames, flicking his wrist and leaving harsh marks down them. Fucking wimps. Shouldn't have sold themselves if they couldn't handle the heat.

He is so fucking glad that he started working here, because flaming whips are fucking metal.

Flicking one back into the cluster of demons it ran from, he smirks, looks down, surveys everything else. New souls turn up here more and more -- humans have everything to sell their souls for, these days -- but it's always nice to see the next victim before they get too damaged. Pausing, he narrows his eyes, seeks them out --

(there were swords and blood and so much dark hair and andras with his snake eyes and lucifer, sanguine gaze filled with hatred, demons and reapers and death and he doesn't know how he forgot -- )

-- he cannot stop staring.