strange hungers

(n.) ❝ e · re · trei · a ❞ open / ravage / eat

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date & time: matrix time location: voix corporation hqs with: @pyrecoren

Her mouth was filled with distaste, like bile coming up to her mouth whenever Eliana was summoned to this side of the world. When she was plugged from the obscurity of her desert planet, from the ordinary life of digging holes and callous hands, away from four tiny walls of concrete, the idea of stepping foot in a place like Harbor was beyond her comprehension, beyond anything she could have ever imagined. This much wealth shouldn’t exist in one place, not when half the galaxy starved to death or worked their lives away for scraps of food and called it living. And yet, there she was: surrounded by green when a second ago there was only grey, surrounded by wealth when not even a minute ago a homeless man held on to her leg like veins to earth, begging for a crumb.

When she saw it for the first time, there was no rancor and perhaps there would never have been if not for the way they parade and move her around, like a piece of chess in a greater game; Eliana is simply a pawn, and she knows it, and it stings her tongue and swallows, yet, she keeps quiet, smiling and nodding, taking their orders like commands -- that’s what she was trained to do, after all. If she has to endure all the parties and cynic smiles for a few nights just to keep her hands on the controls of a ship, away in the stars, far away from this place, then so be it.

Finally, the building appeared in front of her eyes. She could see it from miles, a glittering tower in the distance, standing so tall it was almost impossible to see the top. Voix Corporation. Armed men at each entry, men and women entering and going with ease, blending right in the picture. She did, too, no matter how much her feet were starting to hurt from the heels and the tight bodice making it difficult to breathe.

Eliana walked up to the front desk and put on her best smile: the facade started now. “I’m here to meet with-” a pause, trying to find the card between the mess of her purse. “Well, actually I’m not sure who I’m supposed to meet. Commander Prizer sent me, I’m supposed to talk to someone about the new…” another pause, this time longer as she examined the look on the secretary’s face and wondered how much she was supposed to say. “Military related things-” a sigh, a bored look on her face to match the one on the other woman’s “- you know how it is.”

The woman was about to pick up the phone when someone came in the room, a tall figure standing from the corner of her eye. Eliana turned her head in his direction and her heart began to beat faster, suddenly, inexplicably. She was sure she had seen him before, just couldn’t quite place it.

[screaminggoddess]

Bold everything your muse has done:

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

broken a bone | gotten stitches | had a near-death experience | killed someone | tried and failed to kill someone | invented something | been hungover | kissed someone | slow-danced | been in a long-term relationship | had sex | had sex and regretted it | experimented with their sexuality | had a kid | gotten married | received an inheritance | lost a loved one | been dumped | dumped someone | smoked | gotten high | been slipped something in their food/drink | won a contest | won an election | joined a sports team | gone skydiving | gone hunting | been in a band | had a job | been fired | been in a wedding party | owned a pet | seen a ghost | skipped class/work | learned an instrument | gotten a noticeable scar | sued someone | been robbed | been mugged | been kidnapped | been brainwashed/hypnotized | had a recurring nightmare | been bullied | bullied someone | seen someone die | been tied/chained up | shot someone | stabbed someone | saved someone’s life | cheated on someone | been cheated on | had a stalker | been betrayed | been in a fight | been arrested | been to a funeral | had surgery | broken someone’s trust | gotten a piercing | gotten a tattoo | used a fake name | been tortured | been abused | been blackmailed | gotten away with a crime | been in love 

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

Time & Place: 10:48, Harbor. With: @cvairo

What do you bring to someone when you go visit them? What do you talk about with someone you haven’t talked to in a long time? How you face your heroes?

Every sentence was written and immediately deleted from the search engine of her Armlet, the cursor blinking unapologetically at her, blank screen mocking her with its light too bright, the eyes of corporate moguls probably looking at her from the barely visible camera at her wrist. With a sigh, Eliana shot the off the screen and looked at the view that surrounded her, Wrotham laid before her eyes from the window of a multi-leveled building. She should have left minutes ago if she had any hopes of making it on time, but her heart beat faster and the inside of her cheek was hurting from biting too hard, uncertainty holding her in her place.

A few days ago, a message came to her, a name plastered on the screen she hadn’t seen or heard from in a very long time -- Cairo, her first commanding officer, long-retired from a nasty battle wound, asking for updates. On her life, she now knew, not on some military mission she couldn’t possible disclosure. Eliana almost gave in the joke and answered It’s classified, but she learned to choose her words carefully now. Now, she curses herself for ever having agreed on this meeting. If she was being honest, she is yet to understand why she did, in the first place.

Finally, she walked out of her apartment and took the train to Harbor, where she spent most of her days and nights now, much to her dismay. Even after all this time, watching the city-planet transform from cumbersome grey to vivid green felt almost like a miracle; or, as she began to realise, a complete sin.

When she got off the train, she looked to her armlet again. Ten forty eight. She was late. Yet, her pace didn’t quicken, as steady as before, courteously nodding at some of the passersby who recognized her from parties. Then, she watched the back of her head and raven hair cascading down her back. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Eliana said without sounding apologetic, her tone as monotone as possible, the tone of a soldier. “Did I keep you waiting long?” She took a seat in front of the other woman.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

date & time: au! matrix with: @curiouscalculations where: somewhere in open space

Stars peer from the window, the vastness of the sky jumping out in front of them -- where there was once static, there is now clearless. Eliana tightens her grip on the controls, ready to fight or flight should they encounter enemy forces, but with no one on sight, she lets go. There is no one, nothing around. It’s just her, the stars and the planet below them.

And, of course, DATA. “We’re clear.” She speaks to the microphone and sets the ship on auto-pilot, a piece of metal looming in the open. Finally, she leaves the control room and walks to meet her Android, the only company she can rely on when she’s this far away from home and land. And yet, he is just an Android, no matter how much she sometimes forgets it, no matter how much she wishes that was not all he was.

“Do you have the mission plans?” She looks him in the eye, partially as an habit, partially to see if the hue of his synthetic eyes changed at all since last time, before dismissing that thought altogether. If there was something there, it was out of reach, at least for now, and now wasn’t the time to dive into philosophical debates. They had a mission to do. “Let’s go over them one more time.”

[exilevilifyrp]

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

                                                                               file: biography

{ ERETREIA: A girl in FOUR ACTS. }

ACT ONE.

                                                                                             “Godhood is just                                                                                                like girlhood:                                                                                           a begging to be believed.”                                                                                                                                           (x)

When a baby is born in the desert, only the wind owls with the screams and the distant humming of working machines muffles the gasps of the mothers when finally a new life comes to be. When a baby is born in this desert, the cries are not unusual, blending right in with the wilderness of the sand and the unphased faces of the workers who, with their swollen eyes and black circles, are so used to it they no longer care.

Eliana Reyes was born in the desert and she would live by the desert. Her mother’s breasts were sagging with sweat and her father’s arms out-stretched, ready to seize her when she fell. A small, little thing, so small her father could easily hold her with just one hand, blood smeared all over her body like a masterpiece. An omen for what was to come, if there ever was one. Blood would be her constant, no matter how many kisses she received, no matter how much her mother’s tears ran like a river and washed her almost clean. Their whole home, four concrete walls with the modesty expected from corporate workers in a mining planet, was bursting with love; so much love, those four walls couldn’t possibly contain it.

That day, she fell asleep between her mother’s and her father’s body, their warmth lulling her to sleep. And she didn’t cry once, not even when her stomach started to hurt or the few strays of hair in her head started to drip. Eliana slept all night.

———– 

“Eliana! Don’t run like that!”

Her mother could scream against the desert and she would pretend not to listen. She was a wild child, wandering between the barracks and hiding in between the pipes, finding and exploring places no one could reach but her. Places no one else dared to, the few children in the mining colony trapped all day inside their houses as Eliana fled the bored hands of her care-taker and explored the town, curiosity never allowing her to keep still.

“Eliana, you’ll get hurt mija!”

Their care only resulted in giggles and running even faster, away from safety and into the wilderness, until her father caught her by the legs and dragged her back to the house, just in time for supper. No matter how tired they were from working all day in the scorching sun, Mother always had something sweet to eat and Father always kissed her with the same fervour. Eliana was loved, so loved, their meaningless existence was enough, as long as they had each other. As long as they were a family, she would grow and that would have been enough.

———–

“What beautiful girl you have, Antonio. But so wild, so wild, she might one day get hurt.”

Everyone at the city whispered about the Reyes girl. How beautiful she was, with her big brown eyes and beauty mark, how willowy she was, brown hair cascading down her back, just like her mother. But oh, what a pity that she isn’t a good girl, that she doesn’t help her mother but instead disappears with the first rays of sunshine. How sad that she doesn’t join her father working for the corporation and help bring some more money. How sad, how tragic, what a waste that Eliana doesn’t behave like a good girl should. How sad that her parents let her be free while she can.

ACT TWO.

                                                                                 “I call grief my nightwound;

                                                                                                         it evades my holiness.”

                                                                                                                                      (x)

When the first light of the day peeked from behind the dunes, her eyes were already wide open waiting for the clarity of the day to get out of bed and start a new day. The same day, all over again, and yet she wouldn’t get tired of it. Eliana placed her barefeet against the metal of the floor and shivered by how cold it was, sand already making its way in from the holes they couldn’t close.

She looked at the calendar hanging on the wall. Today was a special day. Today was her thirteenth birthday and she knew just what awaited her. By the kitchen table, a book – worn out and dusted, missing a few pages and ripped dustjacket, it read: How to survive in the desert, and with it, a note: ‘Feliz cumpleaños, mi amor. Continua siendo salvaje.’

Her lips turned into a wide smile and she bit her cheek hard, trying to keep her heart from beating too fast, her hands from shaking with the excitement. The Mining Colony was an important world for the corporations, she knew, the machines drilling into the ground so feverishly in hopes to find something more to keep them rich, they didn’t see nothing else. They were only interested in their insides, the place where they knew they could find something precious, carelessly neglecting everything else. Not Eliana. She wasn’t interested in the riches of the world or the precious gems they extracted from the ground – not when they took a piece of her parent’s life every day.

Instead, she ran away, fighting the desert as hard as she could, skinny bones turning hard with every passing day. What it hid from the small town of miners was beyond anyone’s imagination. She pitied those who desired only the life the corporations could give them, and loved her parents much more for understanding her. “You’re destined for bigger things than this, mija. A corporate life doesn’t suit you.” And it didn’t, as any cages madden a wild thing, working at the mines would eventually drive her insane.

Eliana grabbed the book, put on her boots, strapped her canteen to her waist and left, the sun finally peering through the sky and the workers starting to leave for their daily lives. She dodged them through the barracks and finally started to run, the town turning smaller and smaller in the distance, until it was nothing but a shadow in the horizon, nothing but the daunting desert in front of her.

But she wasn’t lost. The landscape changed every night, and every morning she knew it brought her something new, like the ocean brings to the shore, small hands digging in the sand. Sometimes it was rusty metal, pieces of something she had never seen before, other times it were gems, big but tarnished, worthless to the ghuls back in town. This time, the sight in front of her made her halt.

It wasn’t something, not worthless nor hollow. In front of her, walking towards her, was a wolf. Or a dog, or something else Eliana didn’t have the words to understand. It was bigger than a dog, but perhaps even bigger than a wolf – fur so white it stood out against the browns and yellows of the desert, eyes so dark she could see her reflexion on them. She caught her breath before she realized she was already breathless, her whole body trembling but unable to move away, even as the wolf got closer. So close, she could feel his wet nose against her own. Still, she didn’t move, fascination and fear holding her in her place. This was what the desert brought her.

And then, he puffed, warm air leaving his mouth and making her eyelashes ruffle, it sounded like a sound or a warning, like fireworks exploding in the sky or bullets flying. When she opened her eyes again, the wolf was gone but the sound remained.

If not fireworks, bullets. And, as she looked up to the sky, a ship flying at top speed towards her town. That’s when she started to run again, so fast, without ever looking back. She knew she didn’t have to, that she would not find anything behind: not the wolf, if he was ever there, just the unforgiving sand shifting once again, threatening to swallow her whole.

Eliana run, so fast, ignoring the pain that burned her lungs and dried her mouth. She ran until finally she could see it in the horizon: her home, the factory, the barracks. All in flames.

———–

The hovercrafts still loomed the sky, the last bullets and missiles flying off their hod to meet their targets. There was total silence when they left, Eliana taking the dunes as her cover no matter how much she wanted to run towards her parents.

It was dark when they left and there was nothing other than desolation in the air. Her legs still hurt from running too fast and her mouth was still dry, yet she refused to drink from her canteen, her eyes starting to hurt from the wind. She walked between the fire straight to her house, where the darkness of the night cast the silhouette of the flames in incomprehensible patterns. There were bodies on her way here, people she knew and some she forgot. But nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to witness.

The table was set with her mother’s delicious food, waiting, the plate at the end of the table, where she usually sat, fuller than the other two. Her father’s glass was half-full with his favorite drink, staining the metal purple and, by the stove, her mother’s limp body, forsaken on the floor. The stove was still on, still cooking the last piece of the meal, now turned to ashes just as much as the other houses on the streets. Between the smell of burnt brass, Eliana could distinguish a familiar smell. Her mother was cooking her favorite: mooncakes. Peering through the door, she finally saw what could only be her father, only his lifeless hand against the floor.

She couldn’t cry. Her mouth was so dry and her body shook, still afraid that they might be back. She knew they would, eventually; perhaps she should wait for them, wait for their bullets to take her life so she can meet her parents again, hold her mother’s hand and feel their kisses as they sang happy birthday. Instead, a jolt of pain sent her crashing down to her knees, to the floor, trembling even more than before – trembling so much, anyone who saw her would guess she would break and the pieces disappear. She couldn’t cry, so she screamed without making a sound. She screamed until her throat scraped up and the tears finally came, so dry they almost didn’t fell. Still, she cried, holding her mother, waiting until her tears cleaned away the blood like she did for her, once, on the day she was born.

———–

The next morning, she was gone before the sun could come up, her home in ashes.

ACT THREE.

                                                                                 “I aim to be lionhearted,                                                                                but my hands still shake                                                                                and my voice isn’t quite loud                                                                                                              enough.”                                                                                                                     (x)

“Gu ichi meaane, gatki?” “What’s your name, girl?”

The man found her roaming the desert, hair disheveled and skin starting to scrap from too many days in the sun, her last drop of water long gone. At first, she thought she was hallucinating, this being rising in front of her nothing like she had ever seen, different from any human she had ever find. But it wasn’t a human at all and the carriage they drove resembled a cage.

They looked her up and down, assessing just how lucky they were today. “Mu yastri v'aa. My lucky day. You’ll make a fine slave, once we clean you up.”

———–

So she was caged, shackles weighing heavy on her arms and legs as she paraded around a house, still in the desert, but already cleaned up. She was no longer Eliana, certainly not the same wild girl who ran away from her house. Her lips remained sealed, not a single word coming out of her mouth.

But she wasn’t the only one. Every week, a new girl, around the same age, would come to the tent and join her and everyone else who was already there – same confused look on their faces as Eliana the first time she stepped inside. Sometimes they fought but most times they were just glad to have some food and stuff their faces on fresh water.

Eliana, she raged. The shackles were heavy and she missed the sun, rays of sunshine only pouring in briefly when someone entered or left. She missed her family, their loss still painfully tugging at her chest and eating her alive.

Every night, when the sun set and the alien left, she murmured her parent’s name under her breath. “Antonio and Alma Reyes. Antonio and Alma Reyes. Antonio and Alma Reyes” she repeated it like a prayer, hands closed against the sky, rocking herself back and forth with her eyes closed, hoping that when she opened them again, this would all be gone and she would have her family, again.

But whenever she opened them, there was only darkness and an unfamiliar place, greedy alien hands carving its claws on her skin, yelling for her to move, to work harder.

———–

She lost track of the days, feeling them turning into years as her body changed and her hair grew longer, shorter and longer again. Eliana was their favorite slave, the rage in her eyes mistaken for a tamed fire. Should they know what a wild thing she is, they would never had made the mistake of caging her. Men and their pendant habit to underestimate girls.

“Gatki, bring me some more of that salve. It makes my tongue itch for more. Quipdo! Don’t make me carve some more of those lashes on your back.”

She shivered, the blood that once anointed the skin on her back only now starting to heal, her hands tempt to pull at the scabs. She learned to start talking again a few years ago, but never at him. Never at the master.

At the improvised kitchen, she found a knife, forgotten by the cook a while ago. Eliana seized it as soon as she found it and hid it behind the stove, seething, waiting. Until now. They were alone, for the first time in forever, not a single guest in sight. This was her moment.

With one hand, she held the flask and in the other, hidden behind her back, gently caressing the throbbing scars, she held the knife. “Quipdo, girl! Quipdo!” they called even before they knew she was  already in the room.

Between the sound of the flask hitting the floor, a million pieces of shattered glass flying in every direction, the gasp of a dying man was muffled, no time to scream as his fat throat was slashed and blood poured all over the walls, spraying Eliana’s white cloths, crimson.

“We are not things,” Eliana whispered, still holding the knife to his throat, waiting until his gasps turned slower and eventually, they stopped, warm blood dripping from the tip of the knife, mixing with the balm.

———–

The desert was hers again and it didn’t care how ruthless it had been before, it would not be any less today or for the days to come. Her hands and feet were free of the shackles and yet they still weigh her down, a phantom pain preventing her from running, a canteen of water she could only take a sip of every couple hours.

The sun scorched but the moon was not kinder, sending her the chilly wind that clawed at her bare skin like an animal. Until a flickering light appeared on the horizon, the wind pushing her in that direction.

A camp, two tents and only one person on guard. She could feel the smell of a roosted animal at the fireplace and a few canteens of what she could only assume was clean water. She hit jackpot.

“Hey!” the scream cut her off the moment she was going for the canteens, her slender hands grabbing the first two before she had time to think about it and run. Or attempt to run, looking over her shoulder she didn’t notice the wall standing in front of her, bumping against it and landing on the floor. Eliana shook her head, trying to clear the haziness in her eyes. Not a wall, it wasn’t a wall. A gegku towered over her, holding her arms in his grasp. “What do we have here? A thief?”

The camp was starting to wake up and people gathered around, the same amused if not threatening looks on their faces. “Gu ichi meaane, gat-” Eliana cut him off. “- gatki.” She finished the sentence for him, spatting the word like venom, her face adopting the same threatening look. This time, she would not go without a fight.

The gegku studied her for a while, expression impavid for a minute, looking her up and down five times before he burst into laughter. It took her a while to realise it was a laugh, the noise sounding more like thunder and wind during a storm. “I like you, you’re feisty. No one ever tried to steal from me and succeeded, but you almost did.” He raised his brow and studied her face once more. “How would you like a job, Eretreia?”

———–

“Eretreia?”

“It means stardust. That’s what I’m going to call you.”

ACT FOUR.

                                                                              “War ate a girl and spat out a woman.” (x)

The Ravagers. Eliana was in the past, shedding the name like a skin made her anew, a girl turned woman, a woman on her way to be a wolf. She was small and her slender fingers earned her the approval of the commander, holding her in his grasp with a few credits and rusted coins. A baby cub brought up by a pack of wolves: criminals, smugglers, assassins. This was her new family and her new life.

———–

WANTED: Eretreia, for THEFT, ASSASSINATION, SCAMS. DESCRIPTION: Brown eyes, tan skin, long brown hair. THREAT LEVEL: High. Known ties to The Ravagers, it’s believe that she’s proficient in firearms but her weapons of choice are usually melee. LOOKED BY: The Ravagers. Overwatchers and the Military. TAKE: Dead OR Alive. BOUNTY: 5 million credits.

———–

On a far-away planet, a girl sits on a bed wrapped in the sheets of a cheap motel. Next to her, lies another girl, long brown hair and deep dark eyes, caressing the bare skin on the back of the first one.

“Do you always leave?”

Eretreia stands up and looks for her clothes, scattered on the bedroom floor where she left them hours ago. She gets dressed again and looks at the watch.

“Only the ones who cage me.”

She places a kiss on the girl’s lips before getting out of the room and into the hangar, where her ship awaits.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

INNOCENCE DID NOT DIE, IT WAS CONQUERED.

Your parents never perish so Eretreia is never born, forged from fire, sweat and tears. ELIANA REYES remains, and she is nothing but ordinary, the child of two miners in a end-of-the-galaxy planet. Lost, forgotten, oblivious. Nothing ever happens so your heart grows and grows, pushing against your ribcage harder and harder until you can’t breath anymore, the air from the desert suffocating your lungs, the fading colour of your parent’s eyes like a knife. There must be more, you, the dreamer, always musing. I need to find it.

Instead of surrendering to a corporate life or spitting in its hand like others, you hold on tight to their giving hand and you take, you take and you take. They see it in your eyes, the drive, the want: to do more, to be more. For nothing to stop you. They see a soldier before they see a human being, an investment before a child, an opportunity before a daughter – so they approach your mother with a grin and a pat on the back, the words “serving”, “an honor”, “free education” spilling from their mouths like honey. Oh, they know. When you’re stranded on a desert for too long, a single drop of water is enough to make you drop to your knees and worship. All hail the corporations, all hail Korbitron.

Not you, not exactly. You are an obedient child so when your parents send you away from the Mines with tears on their eyes, you clench your jaw and you wave them goodbye, fighting the tears but leaving a promise: you will return, you will save them. And you do, they tell you, over and over again, with every e-letter that arrives: We are proud of you. So you make sure they remain proud.

You find your place amongst the stars, fifteen feet above the ground, mighty behind a ship’s wheel. The best damn pilot in the Confederation, they say. You never prove them wrong.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

STARTER CALL. If you want a personalized starter from Eretreia (or, actually, Eliana Reyes) in the MATRIX/AU WORLD, like this post!

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

pyrecoren:

Pyre let his mind and heart settle as she slipped her hand in his, the warmth spreading through him. He did not fear this effect she had on him; in fact he welcomed it. It was starting to feel like an addiction, wanting nothing more than to see her smile and feel her fire spread through him, setting his senses ablaze. The only thing that scared him about her was how much she was consuming him; sometimes, he started to forget about the importance of the mission, of the duty he had pledged himself to, about the entire reason they had met in the first place. He reassured himself with the fact that they were still a secret, saved for times and places like this. How could they be more important than the mission if they weren’t known? 

“I mean it,” he let out a light laugh, letting her free for a moment to twirl before wrapping his arm around her, his hand splaying against the bare skin of her back. He thought she was pretty too when not all dolled up; he had fallen for her, after all, in leather jackets and boots, when she was free to be herself: the scavenger. Still, she was more than just pretty tonight, and from how he’d seen others stare at her and hold her when they were dancing, he knew he wasn’t the only one who’d notice. “You are… something else,” he shook his head; it was an understatement. One would have to be blind not to think that the girl standing in front of him wasn’t absolutely beautiful. 

“It’s not fair,” his voice dropped, more timid and intimate. Pyre did not want to come off as jealous, not when they were still so new and he did not know if she matched the magnitude of which he felt for her. But, he couldn’t help the tone that came with his words, the thoughts they came after, watching everyone fawn over her and not getting to himself–Kit, the smug bastard. “Everyone gets to stare at you and dance with you, except me.” 

Absentmindedly, his fingers ran over her back, imagining he was tracing one of the faded scars that littered it. Although all of those people could stare at her in this dress, Pyre was the one who had seen her without it. He was the one who had touched every inch he could see, kissed every part he could reach, all while they had been curled up together, nothing between them, his name on her lips. The next time they were together, he thought he’d press his lips to every inch, worship her the way he wanted to, the way she deserved. Pyre wanted her to think of no one in that way but him; he wanted to ruin her for every other person. It was a foreign pull of jealousy, thoughts he wasn’t used to, one’s he couldn’t help. Eretreia was different. 

“Oh, you think?” Pyre let out a sarcastic laugh, glancing down at the green suit he’d gone out for, smiling at the thought of the woman who had told him the same thing. “You can thank Raven for that.” 

He let her pull him down to her, expecting to feel her soft lips on his rather the clanging of their masks together. At the sound of her light laugh, he let out one of his own. “Why did we have to come to a masquerade ball in the first place?” He removed his hands from her, moving to untie his mask, setting it down on the stone wall next to them, moving to reach for her’s, delicately untying it and moving it from her face. “I don’t think we’re supposed to take these off, but…” he trailed off, placing her mask down next to his, looking back at the delicate features staring back at him. “I don’t really care.” With that, he leaned down, pressing their lips together, his arms wrapping back to where they had been around her before. 

His honeyed voice made her smile and she let it, her lips curling up with every word coming out of his mouth, so close she could feel him breath. She felt somewhat ordinary, slipping into a beautiful gown because it was demanded but craving it because Eretreia wanted to look good, for him. She wanted to waltz in front of him and be sure his eyes were on her, all the time, like hers were on him, since the moment she spotted him. This wasn’t her -- clean-faced, no smears of dust or oil, her long hair cascading down her back instead of curled up in a bun, all her softness in complete display, even if her eyes never quite lost the sparkle of danger. This was someone else, yet she wondered. Couldn’t she be both? Ravaging and proper?

She shook her head, her fingers tracing the green of his jacket, tight around his shoulders, she squinted her eyes, without thinking, hoping that maybe she could see what those layers were covering. Again, she shook her head and bite her lip, trying not to blush. This wasn’t the place, surrounded by dozens of people, amongst them their crewmates, the people they were still hiding from. Her eyes traced back to his face, finally locking her gaze on his own. “Pyre Coren,” she started, unable to contain the smile on her lips from spreading wider, “Are you jealous?” she teased, hoping he would say yes. Hoping, at the same time, he wouldn’t say anything at all. She was his, yes, but in the solitude of the night, in a hotel in Crest, in the balcony of a fancy party. And yes, she wanted more, but wouldn’t dare say it. 

“You can dance with me, too.” Her teasing smile softened into a timid smile, his hand tracing her back sending a jolt, like electricity, through her body. She longed forward, pressing her body against his, and as the night breeze surrounded them, goosebumps formed on her arms but, that wasn’t why. Her eyes closed for a moment and she took a deep breath, her face hidden against his chest. Pyre was so much taller, when she was around him she felt the urge to crawl against him and take shelter under his warmth, his strong arms around her. If he invaded her thoughts before, now, after they were together, he was all she could think about. How his touch felt against her bare skin, how he touched her places no one else could ever reach, how his weight felt on top of her, how she traced every freckle and every scar, over and over again, with his name coming out of her mouth. Desire burned her chest.

When finally their lips met each other, she held on to her breath, consumed by the feeling of his soft lips against hers, moving in sync, almost too daring when the glass doors were just behind them, their kiss on display for everyone to see. For the first time, she didn’t care. Let them see, she thought as she wrapped her arms around his neck and intertwined her fingers in his hair, holding on until her lungs started to burn and her daring seemed to fade. Eretreia unlocked her mouth from his and licked the remnants of the kiss from her bottom lip, moving away just enough to look him in the eye. 

Eretreia thought about acknowledging the good work Raven had done, choosing the perfect assemble, wondering how she know it would fit him so well but, immediately drove those thoughts away, chastising her heart that began beating faster. Instead, she slithered her hands from his hair to hold his hands, moving one of them to the bottom of her back and holding on to the other. “You’re the only one I want to dance with.” She said, finally acknowledging the party behind the doors, the music that reached them, muffled from the petty conversations and fake laughter.

She bit her lip and looked down on her feet, more for her sake than Pyre’s, hoping not to step on his toes. Eretreia didn’t know how to dance. She had become very good at hiding it, letting those who knew what they were doing guiding them, applying what she knew the best she could. With a blade, she could dance, the heavy metal on her hand weighing her down, tightening her muscles, precision was needed, even if she always ended up being chaotic. But this was nothing like dancing with a blade, and she didn’t want to pretend. This was Pyre and this was intimate, and it made her nervous, in a way only he knew how. A giggle burst out of her lips as she held onto him, moving her hips and her feet from side to side, without leaving the same place, finding a rhythm they could both follow.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

kittybeisel:

date: 31 october 2178                   location: providentia ball, ballroom time: 8:13 pm availability: @ervtreia

He’d expected nothing less from the evening, and the taste of strawberry champagne on his tongue is making him feel downright indulgent. But more than indulgent, he was greedy, and when he sees Eretreia from the corner of his eyes?

He doesn’t just indulge, he drowns. 

Any other person would have been astounded by the girl, a vision in forest green to match the wilderness Kitty known lies in her heart, but Kitty couldn’t help the way the sight of her bare shoulders dragged him in. How he wished to relive the softness he’d once shown her, push away the dark hair cascading down around her and lay his mouth there. Hungry wolf, he knows he must be tame. But the same way he admires the stars from afar, he goes to her and keeps a safe distance.  

“Dance with me, princessa.” He’s not quite invaded her personal space yet, but his extended hand says how badly he wants to, the smile on his face come by grace of an angel despite the devil he’d donned. 

Looking at her now, he hopes that all that has happened will one day cease to matter, hopes that they might somehow find their way back to the affection they’d once felt for each other. Today wouldn’t be that day. Perhaps this year wouldn’t be that time. 

But he’d made something of a profession out of pretending.       

“For old times sake.” 

Eretreia stood in the middle of the room, abandoned by the last person she danced with, three minutes before the song ended. The mask didn’t allow her to see who it was and she wasn’t interested in knowing, eyes and mouth twisting in a smile unfamiliar, she felt her heart beating faster before letting go completely. The evening had barely started but there was an eerie feeling since the moment the Benefactor appeared and disappeared, clinging to her like stardust.

When the last chord of the song ceased and each couple disbanded, nodding to each other and finding new partners, she was quick to leave the dance floor and find solace in the dark corners of the bar, where no one lingered for too long. With her back to the spectacle, hoping it would shield her from any prying hands, she feels someone approaching her; as she turns her head to look, from her shoulder, her heart starts to beat faster without her consent.

She thinks about fleeing but he ambushes her, one hand extended to her. Dance with me. “I would rather dance with the Benefactor himself,” she spits out, venom starting to drip from her tongue, turning heads. Her eyes glance to his extended hand, close enough she can feel the warmth of his skin, the familiarity of his perfume pulling her in like a magnet. She fights against it, holding her ground, the unknown girls next to her almost gasping at her refusal. He looks handsome, the mask adapting to his features like it was made just for him, the black of his suit highlighting his best features; there it is, that pull again, his hand still extended, unwilling to back down. For old times sake.

Eretreia scoffs, searches for his eyes behind the mask and instantly regrets it. It was easier to hate him when he was tired and defenseless, dark circles around his eyes and brittle fragility from travelling in space. Now, all his frailty was gone, no longer the wounded wolf, he was magnificent, imposing in front of her. More curious eyes take in the scene, its prying curiosity making her more uncomfortable than the magnetism of his charm. With hesitation, she finally accepts his hand, his warmth almost burning. Thank the Universe for the mask, she thinks. It helps keep her expression undaunted, even if her entire body is on fire.

“People were starting to look,” she excuses herself, landing her other hand on his shoulder, still keeping a distance between their bodies. Fiercely, she looks him in the eye and without a smile, says: “Nice mask. Fits you perfectly,” she doesn’t say that, when it was time to choose, she held that very mask in her hands and thought about wearing it herself. She doesn’t say: we are the same.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

ravenayres:

kalliawexler:

A plan - though she relished them with feverish fingers, Kallia had long since survived on the tail of chance. She were an opportunist, per say.

“Pull out their tongue, remove their fingers one by one or break each bone in their body until they opt to speak? Really, the options are endless.” All three would appear to be most suitable matters for a blade-less woman. Her thigh was latched with one, but it were nothing other than a miniature dagger suitable only for the notches of their Benefactor’s spine. 

And, oh, how she would so willingly use it.

She eyes the victim in question, perched upon a stool at waist height with a feathered mask obscuring their features. If they had claimed the role of a bird, it would be her to walk with a feline gait. “Hm, a blonde,” she smiles something wicked, lifts a brow to the woman. “Shall we give you a moment, Doc? I’d hate for you to start dry humping their leg before we even gain the information we require.”

“Fuck you,” she set the empty glass down and shivered with the whiskey burn. Raven couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was playing to fast and loose. That the consequences outweighed the benefits; but of course, that was only if they were caught. Which meant if she were going to be roped up into it, she would need to do her part – even this part – to help make sure they walked away unscathed. 

And it made the most sense – in spite of herself – that she be the one to lure the mark away. She understood living military adjacent, she understood the dread of these events, and she couldn’t help but admit that he was, in fact, her type. Raven slammed down a final drink before wiping her mouth and nodding twice, succinctly. 

“I’ll do it, and I say we drug him. It’ll make it easier for us to get this over with quick,” she slipped the small comm into her ear and after checking to make sure it was working, Raven pointed a set of finger guns at Eretreia and Kallia. With a small shrug, she swept her hair over her shoulder and started to make her way towards the mark.

“I’ll get him in the room, you figure the rest of this bullshit out.”

Poison, dagger, katana. Under any other circumstances she would have agreed with either one of them, but the man was no threat, the way he recoiled against the dark and clenched his fist on his side meant he didn’t belong here just as much as any of them. “As much as I’d like to stain the immaculate marble floor of the Benefactor’s home, we can’t make a scene,” her eyes go back to the crowd, specifically the military dogs that huddled around each other, like a pack. “It’s too risky,” she looked at each of her companions, beautiful in their gowns, and searched for their eyes, the only place she knew where to find their truth, the only place the mask wasn’t covering.

Eretreia had never seen the inside of a prison but she knew many people that had and given the tales and how effectively she managed to flee its grasp, she wasn’t keen on finding out now, for such a futile mission nonetheless. Only in this situation could she become a voice of reason.

Kallia was a feline figure draped in white and Eretreia still couldn’t contain the wilderness of her shoulders and the clenched jaw, indicating she didn’t belong there. Raven was the closest normal human, gorgeous now that she was out of her oversized sweaters and the liquor still hadn’t reached her brain. Kallia cut her off before she could suggest it, crude words in a form of a tease, sending the other woman spiraling. ‘I’ll do it. You figure the rest of this bullshit out.’

With that, she started to walk towards the target, leaving them alone. Eretreia took a deep breath and checked her earpiece, wondering if she should say anything but opting not to. The looming presence of the Benefactor weighted down on her shoulders, every pair of eyes that lingered too long sending a shiver down her spine. She shook those fears off, scanning the room again, looking past the dancing and the gossip, finding a door that read Restricted area. She nodded towards it, addressing Kallia. “That looks empty, far away from the centre of the room and I doubt any of these sticklers will want to trespass it,” squinting her eyes, the lock on the door drew her attention. “The only problem is…” she looked away, taking in Kallia. “I know that lock. It’s impossible to pick, especially if we want to be stealth about it.” She hoped they would be, at least. Even if most people’s eyes passed through her like they were ghosts, interesting fading when they realised they were not members of the society, important enough to engage, some still lingered. The Benefactor, she knew, still watched.

Next to the door, however, was a duct, big enough for a person to fit. She sighed, an idea flourishing in her mind. She glanced at her crewmate again with an inquisitorial look. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

pyrecoren:

date and location: october 31, 8:42pm, courtyard outside the ballroom/mansion status: closed to @ervtreia

Trying to push his mixed feelings out of his mind after the conversation with Kit that had just ended, Pyre headed out the door, hoping that the path in front of him would hold something–rather, someone–that would disintegrate all the bad in his mind. They had only been at the party for a couple hours, and still it was beginning to be too much, especially with the trouble he always seemed to get himself into. Pyre couldn’t help but feel the need to get away, or perhaps he was just eager to see the girl hopefully waiting to meet him too. All night, she’d been out of reach, and Pyre had to stop himself from staring, from saying anything to her, and from grabbing her away from the other people she was dancing with. It still didn’t feel right for them to come out with what they were, despite how much he wanted to show the world that she was his. 

After a few more steps away from the doors to the ballroom, Pyre spotted her, standing out in the open and facing away from him, the crumpled piece of paper he’d slipped into her hand in passing clenched in her first. A smile broke out across his face at the sight, and his pace quickened. In a few strides he reached her, and when he did he wrapped his arms around her middle, hoping to not startle her, and buried his face in her neck. 

“Hi,” Pyre whispered, pressing a kiss into her neck. “I’m glad you came,” he lessened his grip on her waist, spinning her around to face him. Behind the mask, he could see her eyes twinkling, and if it wasn’t for the masks they both wore, he was sure he would have kissed her right there. Instead, he let his eyes wander, taking in the sight of her so close to him rather on the other side of the room. If he had a hard time peeling his eyes away from her in the ballroom, it felt impossible now. “You look so…” he searched for the right word, biting his lip to contain his smile. “Beautiful. Breathtaking. I wish I had gotten to tell you earlier.” 

The party was bigger, greater than Eretreia was expecting. Aside the golden gowns and lavish masks, fake smiles adorned like pearls, the room was full of distinct people, people she had never seen but heard of or couldn’t quite place. It was surreal, her green gown against her skin and her braided hair felt out of place, the rust that usually gathered under her nails replaced by a polished hue to match her mask. She felt clean and beautiful, something she hasn’t felt like in a long time, not like this, at least -- perhaps never. All she could think about was how much this rag was worth, the money she could gain by selling it to the highest bidder down on Crest. But this wasn’t Crest, and although not so far away, it felt like an entire different planet. Wrotham was a divided capital, a planet of spectres, and it was obvious, no matter how many draped gowns she fit into, Eretreia did not belong on this side.

She would leave, if not for the sensation that the Benefactor was watching, following their every move, her place here still unclear; if not for the curiosity that held her in place, making her eyes widen every time her eye caught something out of the ordinary. They were right in the lion’s den, yet she felt as blind as before, the awaited revelation turning out to be another one of their patron’s games. So, with a hint of desperation rendering her powerless, she found shelter in the lavish drinks served by the bar, every sip adding a pop of colour to her cheeks and a hot sensation she couldn’t shake off.

After so many people stopping her and asking her to dance, she finally found herself alone, looking at the clock and feeling the crumpled piece of paper between her fingers. There was only one person she was interested in finding, one person she wanted to wrap her hands around and slow dance, everyone else fading from view. It was finally time to meet him.

Moving away from the centre of the room, finding shelter in the obscurity of dark corners, Eretreia finally managed to slip away from the main event and find the door to the outside, the cold breeze of the night caressing her with a whisper the moment she opened the doors and stepped outside. There was no one in sight, the sounds of the party muffled by the grand, golden, heavy doors. A semblance of peace, at last.

Everything was dark, the only light coming through the windows and the glass door, casting shadows against the greens of the patio. It was the greenest thing she has ever seen, tall trees and shrubs, plants she had never seen before or even knew existed. Against the grey of the metal she had witnessed the last time she and Pyre were out and about, this was paradise. Its beauty rivaled the desert’s.

Her thoughts were shaken by the feeling of someone wrapping their arms around her waist, making her jump, just slightly, before his familiar perfume invaded her and his warm lips touched the curve of her shoulder. Instantly, a smile appeared on her lips and she searched for his hands on her waist, intertwining fingertips, before she turned on her heels to face him. “Hi,” she answered back, the same softness on her tone.

Eretreia had spotted him before, mingling with the crowd, green velveteen suit and dark mask, his imposing figure easy to spot out even when he was hiding. She would have recognized him anywhere, she thought then, tracing the curves of his muscles in her mind, biting her lip as she found her thoughts travelling to the last time they were together. Now, those thoughts came back to her again and, with the words that left his mouth, she couldn’t help the same hot sensation that invaded her before to rise again, this time harder, making her cheeks burn. She felt beautiful but it was all for him, the same color palette to match. “It’s better than the leather jacket, I guess,” she said with a laugh, swirling on her toes for him to take another look. “You don’t look bad yourself,” her body leaned in closer, arms around him, one hand on the back of his neck, leaning in for a kiss before their masks knocked on each other, keeping them apart. She couldn’t contain another laugh from bursting out of her lips, an effect of the drinks she had and the humorous situation. “These damn masks,” she mused, still laughing.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

LOCATION: Masquerade Ball, ballroom DATE & TIME: October 31st 2178, 10:45pm WITH: Wrotham Sirens ( @kalliawexler & @ravenayres )

The place was unlike anything Eretreia has ever seen. The golden walls shone with encrusted pearls, waiters so well dressed they blended right in, everyone’s eyes cloaked with adorned lace. It was beautiful but shallow, a sense of dread starting to settle as the night moved along and scandals unraveled, gossip dripping out of society’s tongue like honey in a jar. She was starting to suffocate, counting the hours until she could either go back to the Concord or something other than gossip spiked her attention. Her silent prayers were answered.

With a drink in her hand, she played with the glass and its liquid contents, taking a sip absently, scanning the room, until she found the person they were looking for. Strays of blonde hair fell on their face, making it harder to make out their features, added difficulty by the mask that covered all their features; but the way they hide behind the column instead of blending in matched the description. Without taking her eyes out of the target, Eretreia spoke to her crewmates. “That’s the target,” she nodded in their direction, finally moving her gaze and body to face Raven and Kallia. A mischief smile shaped on her lips as she lowered the glass to the countertop, specifically looking for Raven, holding her tongue before saying it’s your type.

“So, what’s the plan?” Finally, adrenaline started to pump in her veins.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

ERETREIA + Providentia Masquerade Ball Outfit

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

pyrecoren:

Pyre was so lost in his own thoughts, his own despair he’d trapped himself in, that he hardly registered her smile–half-thought he imagined it in his melancholy–or her crossing the room to resume her space next to him. Not until he felt her fingertips brush his, a jolt of electricity rushing through him, did he realize she was really there. Eretreia had really come back, a new feeling about her. He couldn’t help but glance over shyly, unsure of what he wanted to see staring back at him. When she finally spoke again, an invitation for him to ask anything of her and receive a truth, he finally dared to look up and into her eyes. There were a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue; how was he decide which to ask first? 

Then the conversation was dark again, more tales of their mutual experiences with death and killing out into the open. Thoughts of what she could have possibly been through to have to live with that kind of sadness and pain raced through his mind. Now, he could have the answers if he desired; they were only one question away. For now, he chose to listen and hear her speak what he needed to hear. The truth was, he wasn’t alone, not in his actions or his feelings. Here was a person before him who didn’t look at him different for the things he did. Instead, she seemed to accept them as a part of him, something that didn’t change who he was. 

His questions and thoughts became lost on him as she inched closer, her hand clasping his. Eventually, her lips hit his, the sensation familiar and chaste. You’re not a bad person. Pyre closed his eyes, taking in everything he was feeling: the way her skin felt on his, warm and soft; her voice, soothing and reassuring, everything he needed and more. You’re not a bad person. He couldn’t help the smile beginning to form at the edges of his mouth, couldn’t help his desire to reach out and pull her as close as he could. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. 

When her lips hit his this time, Pyre was not prepared for the way she crashed into him, her actions more urgent. All sad notions seemed to fly out of the window in that moment, every thought that wasn’t rooted in her–how much he cared for her, how much he wanted her, how much he never wanted this moment to end–was gone as if it never happened. They could dwell on dark topics later, but they had had enough sadness for their one day away from the crew. The crew. It hit him that for the first time they were truly alone, no chance of anyone aboard the Concord walking in on what they were doing. The thought made him lean into her more, his hand leaving her’s to wrap around her waist, the other around her shoulders, pulling her as close as he could. 

He finally found a moment to pull away, his lips trailing instead across her cheek and to her jaw. There was a grin erupting on his face, difficult to control with everything he was feeling. Upon leaving the Concord that morning, Pyre had expected to be nervous for a moment when this time came. Instead, there was no anxiety messing with him, only a smug happiness that spread through his veins. Sending kisses down her neck, quickly and breathlessly, Pyre pulled her the best he could into his lap. At the base of her neck he stopped, looking up at her, a corner of his mouth upturned. 

“So, when you say everything,..” he trailed off suggestively, his voice low and even. His hand at her waist dug into her skin, his fingertips grazing a sliver of exposed skin. There, he held himself, waiting for her to say or do something to assure him that this was what she wanted. Pyre didn’t want any doubts to lay between them, especially after the words they had just exchanged. It had to be right, for both of them.

Everything about the day was lost in this moment, the troubles they encountered and the heavy lump in her heart softening, a feeling of warmth spreading, taking over the sadness. Eretreia had lived so long with her secrets, tongue-tied and twisted, not talking about who she was, who she is, became an habit but this, it felt good. No matter how little she had shown, she was willing to show more, to let him dig between her ribcage, rip out her heart if needed be, just to find all that lies beneath. She was willing. However, in this moment, something else took over her.

I can tell you anything, she had said, and meant it. But when his lips sealed and his eyes looked elsewhere, a deep breath came out of her mouth, the phrenic beating of her heart calming down. He wasn’t leaving, the way his lips accepted hers and his hands searched for her bare skin sent shivers down her spine, a wordless acceptance was everything she needed for reassurance and her lips reached deeper, her tongue searching for his.

All she could think about was to deliver her promise, to show him every inch of herself, bad and ugly, the scars that roughed her skin and the metal lodged around her leg, rendering her something other than human. The flutter that took over her before was lost, replaced by a desire she had never experienced before, something raw and authentic, her whole body vibrating with every touch, unsatisfied, asking for more.

Her lungs started to burn, a sweet pain embraced her but she refused to let go right away, deepening their kiss one last time before finally giving in. Breathless, her lips formed a smile, keeping her eyes closed as his lips trailed along her cheek, her jaw and her neck, goosebumps bristling the hair on her arms. No thoughts came to her, solely the burning sensation that his lips left, awoken only when he pulled her closer and into his lap, her legs wrapping around him.

Finally with her eyes closed, she searched his again, her smile growing wider as she looked him deep in his eyes, giggling at his question. “I meant-” she started, her hands finally taking hold of his shirt and pulling it over his head, taking in the sight of his bare chest for a second, the shirt lost to the floor and her hands eagerly, with uncontained hunger, touching his exposed skin. Her entire body was on fire, a mixture of desire and shame rising to her cheeks, turning them a shade of red. “Everything,” she finally let out, completing her sentence, guiding his hand to meet her naked flesh under her shirt.

Perhaps the incident was but an excuse to finally tell Pyre, a trap that she, at first, regarded as a cage was now starting to look more and more like liberation.

[ THREAD: END ]

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

pyrecoren:

His heart fell as she tore herself from him, getting up and pacing the room. Right now, she could so easily grab her jacket and run out of the door, and a stream of curse words came to mind. He must’ve chosen the wrong thing to say. You idiot. “You didn’t ruin our day,” he tried gently, his voice timid and weak. His body turned to face where she stood by the window, and he sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, twiddling his thumbs. A small smile formed at the ends of his mouth, an action that felt wrong in such a heavy conversation. “At least I got to be alone with you.” Then, and now. “If we hadn’t left the ship, we wouldn’t have gotten that.” And this, now. 

Pyre thought about opening his mouth to blame the surely shifty air conditioning of the Crest and the humid, heavy air that didn’t change much with the seasons. It would have been an ill placed statement; it could come off as an even worse placed joke. He knew why she was sweating–Pyre could feel it too. It was the nerves and terrible tension in the air. It was creeping up his neck and back, setting his skin on fire. The discomfort almost made him want to get up and search for air too, through the window or outside, but if he was to hope Eretreia wouldn’t leave, he could not do just that. 

I don’t want to keep secrets from you. Pyre nodded to himself, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. 

It wasn’t a mistake. His head snapped up to where she was pacing, her eyes looking everywhere it seemed but him. Pyre was doing the opposite, his eyes not able to leave her, watching her closely as she spoke, pouring out the things she’d been keeping in that he had been desperate to hear. He was hanging on her words, hearing each one as if it were in slow motion, careful to catch them all. When she finally finished, stopping and staring at him, he was sure his expression was unreadable. He hardly knew what he was thinking, a hundred thoughts going through his mind. But, there was something in her eyes that despite the level of confidence her words had come with–that doesn’t make me a bad person–he could tell there was more in her tone: something that wanted him to reassure it. For the first time, it crossed his mind that maybe she was the one terrified of him running out of the room and away from her. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice came out breathy and uneven, slightly shaken. He shook his head. This was exactly what he’d chastised her for: an apology with no clear explanation. Gathering his thoughts, he dared to look up, catch her eyes, and continue. “I’m sorry if I made you think that I thought you weren’t a good person because of what happened. Because that’s not true.” It had made him doubt how much he knew her–if she really had the same trust in him that he held in her, but never who she was. If Eretreia was not the person he thought she was, if she did not have the heart and nature that he knew she did, everything had to be a lie. It wasn’t something he wanted to be true, and it wouldn’t be. “You could do anything. And I mean anything,” he added a shaky laugh, awkward if she didn’t laugh with him. “And I would still think you’re one the best people I’ve ever met.” 

“I don’t think I care at all what you’ve done,” they were all different people before this journey, Pyre knew this better than anyone else. How could he ask her to accept the things he’d done if he couldn’t do the same for her? Pyre would be lying if he said that the idea that in another life he could’ve been the one arresting her in the square hadn’t crossed his mind. He was sure that that scared him more than anything else that had happened. “I just want to know them. I just want to know. Everything about you.” 

"I’ve done bad things too,” he added after a moment of silence between them, glancing down at his lap. He was sure he didn’t need to say this. It was natural for him to want to relate to what she was saying, to open himself up in the same way so that she could see that they weren’t as different as she must have thought. More than that, he wanted to say these things. Pyre wanted to express the thoughts that had plagued him his entire career, even more so since living on the Concord with those who had experienced brutality at the hands of those he’d associated with. These were thoughts he’d been too afraid to bring up in sessions with Gus, guilt and pain he’d locked away with memories of his father. These were thoughts he never thought he’d say to anyone; he had never thought he’d ever have someone in front of him who would listen and understand. If that wasn’t Eretreia, who could it be? “I’ve killed too.”

“Three people,” before she could speak again, before she could offer her own response. If he started now, he had to get the words out before they became trapped beneath him once again, a scarred part of him not ever to appear on the surface. “The first one when I was nineteen. He shot a girl right in front of me, then pointed it at the guy next to me, and I just… shot him. I can see their faces still. I know all their names. I never can forget. People used to tell me not to dwell on it because it was my duty–I was protecting other people and myself. That didn’t stop me from feeling guilty.”

“But, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret any of them,” his voice was as small as he could make it, and he curled into himself, hoping to make his body the same. “I don’t, and I think that’s what made me feel the guilt most of all. Does that make me a bad person?” 

Every sentence she spoke was a question, little outbursts of courage she couldn’t afford to think through, otherwise she knew she would never say them aloud, would keep them locked until her dying breath. Just another scavenger, everyone would think, and Eretreia would welcome it. There were many things she never wanted to remember, wouldn’t want people to know, until now. Until she met him and his fingertips traced her skin and her heart beat faster than any other time. It must mean something, to want to share everything with him. 

After the last word was out of her mouth, she waited for him to fill her silence, her eyes finally settling on him when he wasn’t looking, afraid to find truth in his eyes and lies in his words. When she dared, she didn’t find anything -- the color of his eyes looking darker than before, the shadows casted by the night no longer seemed to soften his features, instead sharpening the line of his jaw, the creasing between his eyes more pronounced than before. Her teeth held on to the side of her cheek, biting hard, trying to figure out what he was thinking, how he was feeling. It was impossible to tell.

She hadn’t realise how she was holding her breath until he spoke and she almost gasped for air, taking a deep breath, as if her lungs were filled with water, near to drown. I’m sorry. It was something, better than what she was expecting. Her mouth opened, ready to, like him before, assure him there was nothing to be sorry about, no reason to utter such words when she was the one to disrupt the peace but, he continued, before she had the chance to say anything. What followed, dampened the pace of her beating heart and she always smiled, if not for the pain that still tugged at her heart, and how outlandish it would be to bring it to the situation. It was better to hear him talk, each syllable sending shivers down her spine, healing the cracks that started to form around her chest. He was fixing her, all over again, apologizing without even having to.

The best person I have ever met. At that, she couldn’t help but let a melancholic smile appear on her lips, her legs that held her so firmly in one place moving closer to him again, a devastating need to close the gap the incident opened between them. She would never think of herself as good, only apologetic, the things she did were bad, she knew it, and she never took any pleasure in them but she always found excuses to justify them, the only way not to succumb to grief and guilt. I am not sorry I did what I did, I’m sorry they happened in the first place. She was a perpetrator, yes, but never the instigator. Here was this person, the person that consumes her heart and her soul, telling her she was the best person he ever met. 

She took her place back by his side, no longer caring that the closer she was to him, the more she burned. With a look, she placed her hand next to his, slowly brushing their fingers together, pretending it was an accident, acting as an invitation. She wanted to pour herself into his arms, wrap her legs around his waist and hold his face in her hands, until they could finally kiss and be one. Alone. Together. Like that. Words weren’t enough, every one she could think about was not enough. Except one.

“You can know everything about me,” she assured him, eagerness in her voice. “I will tell you,” she nodded, urgency glowing in her eyes. All he needed to do was ask and she will tell. Anything he wants to know, if that makes him stay, the thought that he could still get up and leave hanging in the air. That was the one loss that would forever leave a throbbing wound in her heart. Instead, he showed himself, too. I have done bad things, too.

Her mind raced. She was expecting it, being a cop in Crest was just as dangerous as being a criminal, however different both of those occupations were. Yet, she never thought of Pyre has having done anything bad, not like her, except they both did what they had to. “I have lost count.” Eyes fixed on the window while he talked, taking in all his experiences and comparing them to her own, she knew then they weren’t the same.

“The first kill…” she trailed off, shrugging, “It stays with you. The second, too. But after that, it becomes instinct. It’s you or them.” She squeezed her eyes shut, saying “I don’t remember all of them,” her mouth twitched. I’m a bad person, she almost says with a laugh. “I don’t feel guilty for them, either,” her eyes snap open and she craned her neck, strays of hair falling to her eyes. “You’re not a bad person, Pyre.” At that, her hand moves closer to his, clawing to his fingers, her body following suit.

Looking him in the eye, she lets the magnet of his lips take hold of her again, this time not fighting to get away, slowly but hesitatingly, waiting for him to fall away but hoping he would not. When he didn’t, her lips finally met his, colliding with the softness of a petal, puzzle pieces fitting together. She whispered against his lips. “You are not a bad person,” a small, timid kiss. “You are not a bad person,” she repeated, one more time, eyes closed, resting her forehead against his while her hand travelled to his cheek and caressed him, trailing the line of his jaw. “You are the best person I have ever met,” she mimics his words and finally lets her lips drown in his, taking him for a kiss, all the space between them closed with their bodies.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

pyrecoren:

Pyre gave a hum in response, the awkward silence quickly refilling the space. All to themselves. Them, together. It had been a notion that hadn’t seemed so wrong this morning, when they were freshly healed and happy. Now, it seemed more foreign, a concept more out of reach by the second. And, Pyre hated it. He hated the Overwatcher for ruining the beginning to what was supposed to be a far better day, and he hated more the thoughts that had been running through his mind, suspicions he wanted to chase away. They were things he never wanted to think about her, and yet, they came and went just the same.

Pyre busied himself with taking off his jacket, throwing it on a nearby chair, and kicking off his boots as he waited in silence for her to say or do something. When she did, patting the space next to her on the edge of the bed, Pyre was quick to cross the room and sit next to her. Although he was struggling to see her in the same light as earlier, Pyre still cared for Eretreia. He didn’t want her to leave; he didn’t want to see this day end. He did not argue with the start of her next sentence, though the way she said his name, solemn and sad, twisted his stomach. Pyre much preferred the way it sounded when it came with a smile and a joke.

The way her expression changed with the next words and the ones after made Pyre feel guilty for any idea of her being less than good being planted in his mind. Without thinking, he held his breath and just stared, knowing he had to speak, but not sure what to say. Part of him just wanted the information, information he hoped wasn’t as bad as his worst thoughts had turned them to be. Other parts didn’t want to know, in case they made those worst thoughts come true. It would be easier to wrap her in his arms and whisper that it was okay, even if it wasn’t. If he was sitting next to someone he cared less for, perhaps he would have done just thought. But, what Eretreia meant to him was more than that. With her, he was willing to feel pain, willing to do whatever required risk to remove the thoughts that she wasn’t who she said she was. To remove any secrets that laid between them. She clearly had plenty she’d kept from him; many times he had tried to ask, but ended up afraid, not of the answer, but that she’d refuse to give him any at all. Now, that didn’t seem to be an option.

“Why are you sorry?” his voice came out just as shy as her’s had, barely a whisper in the room they had all to themselves. Once again, the heart had won, his tone gentle and light. He glanced between them, at her shaking hand, and hesitated before reaching out, slowly enveloping his hand over her’s, waiting to see if she’d pull away. “You don’t… don’t be sorry.” He shook his head, knowing his words were coming out wrong in his nervousness. To her, Pyre was sure he wasn’t the only one who was trembling.

“Just tell me, okay?” he waited for her to look back up at him, and before his brain could tell him otherwise, Pyre reached his other hand out, cupping her jaw. The whole day, he had been thinking of what he’d say when and if this conversation came to be. Every time, he’d say something different, and she would react different: run away, cry, be happy. “Everyone has secrets,” he struggled to keep her eyes, to not fall and think of his own. They were all things he wanted to tell her, but pain he did not want to experience. “You don’t have to keep yours from me.”

It was hard to face him, the look on his eyes tugging at her heart, the feeling that her past was laid out so carelessly before him and she couldn’t do anything to stop it taunting her, everytime she opened her mouth and words didn’t come out. She was desperately trying to find the right words, the secrets she was ready to share and the ones she needed to hold on to, for a while longer, those that were harmless but hurt her the most. A sad smile appeared on her lips. “I ruined our day,” she was facing the floor, playing with the fur of the carpet. “I should have told you it was a bad idea to leave the ship,” she shrugged, like a child trying to dismiss the mess they made. She thought of adding ‘how would I know?’ but instead, what really haunted her was, ‘what if that wasn’t your friend?’. By now, she could be locked in a cell, somewhere deep in Crest, waiting for a trail that would never come, another body rotting away, uncared for, a toy for the cops to play. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She would wither, like a flower, without the sun, without the desert and the freedom. She would completely lose her mind.

Then, another thought. ‘You could have put him in danger. You could never see him again.’ She swallowed, this last one even more daunting than the thought of never seeing the desert again. She shook her head, finally, coming back to the present and taking her eyes away from the floor to see him, truly see him. The night sent shadows of purple and pink to his face, half-light and half in the dark, the curve of his full lips casting a quirky shadow over his chin. Eretreia moved closer, her own lips longing for his again but, she didn’t have the right to kiss him, to feel his touch. Not yet, anyway.

Eretreia broke the spell, getting up from her place at the bed and walking to the other side of the room, closer to the window, feeling her whole body on fire. “It’s really hot in here, isn’t it?” she mused, before opening the window and let the breeze of the night cool her body; as soon as it was gone, she was on fire again, the blood on her veins boiling beneath her skin, her heart hammering on her chest. She started to pace, hands on her hips.

“I don’t want to keep secrets from you,” she didn’t dare look at him, pretending she was talking to herself. Until this moment, while she knew very well who Pyre was, she never really gave any consideration as to why he wanted to become a cop. Most kids who grew up on Crest hated them, wanted nothing to do with them, fell on their youth to become criminals. Like her. But Pyre was a cop, their convictions still firmly implemented. Eretreia was an outlaw. She wouldn’t deny it. “It wasn’t a mistake. I did those things, they want me for a reason-” two reasons, she thought, but now was not the best time to say it. “- I break the law. Constantly. I’m a scavenger, I dealt with very sketchy individuals all my life.” At that, she stopped pacing and finally looked at Pyre again. “That doesn’t make me a bad person.” Her statement took the tone of a question, and she looked at him for the answer. “I did what I had to do to survive.”

With a sigh, she added, her heart still relentlessly beating, so hard she feared it would burst right out of her chest. She was sure the Overwatcher’s reports didn’t include all the bad things she has ever done, good, bad and ugly. “I stole and I scammed and I-” a pause “-killed. I don’t regret it.” The last sentence came out before she could stop it, her jaw tightening with the memory. The reflection caught on the mirror showed a different person, someone who opening their heart and, with blood stained hands, telling come see inside.

[ervtreiaarchive-blog]

kittybeisel:

She saw through him, of course. The people he cared about always would.

It’s odd, the strange sense of pride that he feels swelling in his chest when he realizes that she sees right through him, that she sees the way he masks his misfortunes with charming words and a husky voice. Kitty could always count on Eretreia to see him for who he was, even if that was a scary thought. Family, after all, was like that – no matter how you betray them, they will know all of your weaknesses, all of their sensitive spots. It didn’t matter that his voice held always held a carefully crafted warning: contents under pressure, handle with care. At any moment he might snap, at any moment he might get angry with the questions, get frustrated. 

And yet, she pokes the sleeping beast anyways. Business wasn’t going well, huh? She should know better by now, he thinks, but they’ve been apart for too long (or perhaps not long enough by her standards) and if there’s anything he deserves from the young woman it’s her anger. But Kitty has never been the most rational of beings, and despite having forfeited all rights to her smile, to her happiness, to her laughter, Kitty nearly gets angry. When he sees her eyebrows arch, he wants to rip from her throat that haughty veneer and teach her what it is to have respect. Nearly. And though the thought crosses his mind, he quickly banishes it and slumps slightly under the weight of discomfort and unease. He did not much like being seen so clearly, being understood by someone who did not consider him an ally. He nearly ruined his place here before it had even started. Foolish, he mentally scolds himself. She makes me foolish. 

He does not appreciate feeling weak. 

Then her chest rises unevenly, joltingly, and any other eye might not have picked up on it, might not have noticed the shift in her muscles. At this he smiles, because suddenly he understands. I make her weak. More than immediately he realizes the affect they have on each other, immediately sees though the anger that she casts in his direction. As much as his twinkling eyes were a form of defense against the charms she wasn’t even aware she had, Eretreia herself was hiding behind easy emotions; anger and frustration made to mask the truth of the matter – Kitty had once been family. 

Now wearing hooded eyes he would attribute to his exhaustion rather than the fact that he was feeling particularly clever, he trails along a half-step behind her as she points down the various corridors. 

That’s the door for the Quarters, she says, and he nearly taunts her by responding Can I assume you’ll be sleeping there as well? but she’s moving on too quickly, in much too much of a hurry for this tour to be over before it has even really begun, and Kitty finds he cannot get a word in edgewise until, finally, she pauses outside of a door Kitty really has no interest in.

Or, he hadn’t, not until she says troubles like there’s a story to it.

“Troubles?” he half hums, casting his gaze towards the door. Beyond it he hears the tell-tale sounds of a monitor beeping. He considers for a moment the brief flash of fear he feels rumble through his chest. What was he getting into here? But he does not voice this fear, and instead opts for compassion. Given her anger,  he figures this will serve him better. “Are you okay?” he says, dragging his gaze away from the unfriendly doorway and back towards Eretreia’s face. Once it lands there he studies it, really drinks her in for just a moment. Now that he really got a good look at her, he could see the tiredness that colored the lines around her eyes, could see the slight slump to her shoulders she would always get when bad things befell their missions. 

“What happened? Is that why you look so exhausted, princesa?”

He can’t tell what is worry for her and what is worry for himself. 

Eretreia was convinced she would never see Kit again, let alone share such a close space with the man that betrayed her, trust and body, to the highest bidder, all for his own, selfish reasons. Some scars could heal but when one is open so suddenly, all over again, it’s hard to stop the bleeding -- and Eretreia was bleeding every step she took and with every word she spit out, hoping they would injure him, to make him bleed like she was. 

Wrapped in an armour of flesh instead of metal, it was harder to hide that the anger was, instead, pain, and the chills that almost made her quiver were the wounds she needed tending. By him. The inflicter of the pain should also be the one to heal them. She scolded at her own thoughts, the idea that Kit would ever see past his own ego was laughable, a near impossible feat. The only thing closer to it was that he looked just as miserable as she felt. A darker thought passed her mind: I wish it was because of me.

She did not dwell on her thoughts, drowning in melancholy stirred her attention away and, as she looked over her shoulder, she could see something changing in his demeanor, a smirk appearing and disappearing just as quickly, the glint of his eye shining brighter. Her heart picked up, beating faster for a second before she turned her back to him, once again, the easiest way to not let him see the effect he had on her. Anger was weakness, she knew, and no one made her as angry as Kit. (No one made her as weak.)

The door to the medical bay was starting to fade from view, her pace quickly hastening to turn the corner and no longer see or hear the moaning that rumbled within its walls. Out of sight, out of mind.

The way he echoed her last word made her stop on her tracks, just around the corner, her legs sore from walking too fast, her breath starting to sound uneven. She closed her eyes and took a breath deep, the cracks on the armour starting to show, widened. The task was supposed to be simple: welcome the new crew member, give them a tour of the Concord, send them off to do their own business; but from the very first moment the doors to the space pod opened, it was clear it would be far from easy. The Universe was crafting a greek tragedy out of her life. Eretreia wondered what could she have done to disturb the peace.

What happened? he asked. Is that why you look so exhausted, princesa? At that, she finally turned to him, her eyes narrowing and her posture regaining its hardness. She didn’t think the question was meaningless, certainly couldn’t be compassionate. It was a taunt. It was his way to flaunt his smirk again, this time without caring that she saw it, puffing his chest as if to say: ‘I see you. I win.’ She wouldn’t let him win.

“I-” she poked her chest, “- look exhausted?” her eyes took him in, looking him up and down while laughter burst out of her lips. She was well-aware of the dark circles forming beneath her eyes, how her skin, usually shining, was dingy and dry; but this wasn’t the time for vanity, the sudden self-awareness that she didn’t look as good as he did turning her cheeks pink. Despite the weariness that came with travelling the way he did, Kit was still the same imposing figure in a room, all eyes on him. “I’m fine,” the laughter vanished, replaced by a straight line, jaw tight. “Don’t pretend you care about me, meapilas.” She bared her teeth at him, shaking her head and turning away, the heart she so promptly calmed down before now refusing to settle down. The armour fell, she was his to take in and see, if he dared.

Eretreia still needed to show him the next corridors but her heart didn’t calm down and her hands started to shake, for anger or something else, she couldn’t say. “Feel free to explore the rest of the ship,” she looked at him, locking on his eyes for a second before looking away, clenching her jaw. “Careful not to open an airlock door and die, Kitty,” his name on her tongue felt heavy, this way, after so long without thinking about it or utter it. So long, after she first called him Kitty, and he smiled and started using it with pride. So long, before, when they were family.

Without facing him again, Eretreia left him behind in the corridor, walking away from his sight and the task, the notion that she would see him again, every day, setting her heart aflame.