Nova Mortem

There’s a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly and he thinks if he could just manoeuvre one into place— well then, game over.

[novamortem]

when & where:  council chambers - sometime post ancient appearance... status: open

so many raised voices. so many wide eyes. so many angry words. so much mistrust.

and they’re angry at the wrong thing.  the wrong people.  it’s all just wrong and aeron has no clue how to put things right.  he wasn’t practiced in peace, he was practiced in war. 

fingers trail over the back of feiyans seat in the council chamber.  those - things - tempting each and every one of them to seize it.  he’s tempted to take an axe to it and burn the damned thing.  perhaps it might just be a signal to whatever it was causing such malice among them that - no - whatever the threats, whatever the consequence, they were stronger than words.  they were stronger than hate.  hell, they were stronger than magic.  and he truly has to believe that... that the humanity inside each and every one of them - morality, loyalty, a sense of right - was stronger than...

...them.  those - things... whatever they were.

the thing in the library addressed them as ‘humans’ - inferring quite plainly that ‘it’ was not.

I recall who you were many cycles ago.

but perhaps it had no idea who they were now.  playing on surface fears, shallow intent, harsh threats to get all to be somehow... obedient.  and if that was the case, then perhaps they could just win this after all... because obstinacy, attitude and sheer stubbornness seemed to run thick like treacle through the some of the council.

❝ think anyone has grand ideas of -- claiming this seat? ❞

an offhand comment as he hears someone enter the room.  fingers tapping on that chair loud enough to raise a soft sound.  he doesn’t know who it is - but there’s enough in his tone to at least communicate that while aeron was around - that might be a rather bad idea.

[wnq-movies]

I’m a dirt person. I trust the dirt. I don’t trust diamonds and gold.

Eartha Kitt (via wnq-movies)

[novamortem]

@beer-me-strcngth

the first thing he does when they reach the library is look at the faces around him... wondering where the others are.  why are there so few here --

but his question is answered in the words of the glowing spectre.  they were the ones who decided not to fall for the temptations of their shades - who’d opposed the words, the promises, the tales of things to come.  and after the blatant threat and vanishing of the floaty bitch, he finds himself lingering with bree.  who’d already told him that she was as ready to give in to the words of her ‘other self’ as he was.  aka - not at all.

❝ is it just me or are these... things... more full of shit than before? ❞

he’s pacing now.  perhaps the movement would still his hand.  because he still has his gun and - if he thought it might have done some good, he’d have taken a pot shot at floaty mcfloatyface.  but he doesn’t know enough yet... not enough to know if a bullet would wound - or kill... and more to the point, he doesn’t know what the potential backlash of such violence would be - not thinking about the consequence to himself so much as he was thinking of the others who had been present in the room with him at the time.

❝ one:  this isn’t game of fucking thrones.  we weren’t called here to be subservient to anyone - feiyan brought us here to be equals.  to work together.  i’m not ‘bending the knee’ to that rancid cow. ❞

( ...if you think he didn’t watch game of thrones... )

❝ two:  she’s wrong.  we’re not resisting a grab for power out of fear.  ancient and all powerful my arse.  every single thing we’ve been taught since we got here is about how to respect magic, to learn from it, to use it with some kind of aforethought to the goddamn consequences and - not - to be an outright dick about it... not to... take it for granted. ❞

❝ three:  if she want’s me to ‘succumb to my fear’ she’s going to have to get through my goddamn anger first. ❞

❝ four:  ... ❞

okay.  he’s running out of steam.  the small tirade finally ebbing.  he just... had to get it off his chest and - poor bree was the unassuming recipient of that outburst.  so he just finishes with something of a vague wave of his hand as the words run out - finishing with a heavy breath.  just one freaking day without some otherworldly interruption from some freakish thing from where the hell ever dropping threats and words of doom, death and destruction.  

and perhaps those words wouldn’t have fallen as freely if he’d been with anyone else.  there’s something he hopes is at least a commonality there - the fact that they both think the apparitions are liars to say the least.  even if that’s the single similarity between them - aeron with his gruff ways, looming and stoic, bree with her forever smile, her quick wits and easy breezy way.  why does he say it?  because he remembers their last conversation... coming back more vividly now that the red mist is dissipating...  and shoes.  he remembers the shoes.

finally plonking himself down on the nearest sofa - something to stop that incessant pacing.  followed by a quieter voice... an apology for the outburst. 

❝ sorry. ❞

[novamortem]

theninthcard‌:

danamiri

Her father had always said that there was no pain that strength couldn’t overcome.

Dana’s never been strong, not strong enough to teach–not strong enough to hold anything together. Always the kind of person that cried in the middle of her arguments, and then again as when she felt her points dissolve under the emotion she can’t keep trapped in her chest. There was no strength in stumbling around, in just barely hobbling her way into another day pretending she still remembers what it means to be The Hierophant—as though she ever knew theright answer.

But her father, she remembers, has never felt the crippling state of insecurity. He’d never broken a bone. Never felt a family tear apart from the inside out. He wouldn’t know the first thing about pain or strength.

Maybe Rose was right to run, maybe some pain is simply too great to try and overcome—but when Aeron is in her space, laying Lailani on a bed, she’s beyond grateful she doesn’t need to pursue that line of thought further.

Dana moves like a ghost, one slow stride to the bedside. Her eyes ringed with a lack of sleep as she tries to meet Aeron’s ( looking up would mean she couldn’t look down, and down was where her eyes wanted to be these days ).

Fix.

Ah, that’s supposed to be her job, isn’t it?

She wants to confess she truly can’t fix anything; she can heal skin but the memories remain and the ghost of ache will still stab and all the pain surrounding this place will never leave and shenot some healer she’s just a woman who happens to heal and it’s not fixing it’s more likecovering it up—but she doesn’t. Aeron had always struck her as the strong sort, a person that probably doesn’t cry when he’s trying to explain politics to his conservative relatives.

“Is she—are you okay?” She addresses Aeron first, remembers that there’s a patient and speaks to her. Dana knows it’s a dumb question, she’s the doctor. She should know the answer, and if they’re here—the answer is a resounding ‘no’. But she asks anyway because she doesn’t feel like much of a doctor anymore—much of anything. “I–little owl?” She pauses for a moment, snickers to herself at the choice of words. “I suppose she is..uh..symbolically like an owl–I don’t think I’ve seen Lailani pluck a mouse off the ground in the middle of the night just yet. I—do you give everyone animal-themed nicknames? What do you call people you don’t like? Geese?”

When she feels the weight of a moment pass between her words, she remembers there’s areason why they’re here. “Oh, right, sorry, bleeding–” She begins to look over Lailani, the way a doctor would. “An owl’s flight is silent,” she mumbles, a warm smile directed towards Lailani, ”I thought you might like to know that.” Immediately she presses her palm to the wound, using her other hand to brush away hair from Lailani’s face, the way a mother would. It’s all imitation, it’s always been imitation. “This,” she reiterates, “I can fix.” Magic pours from her chest into her hand, warmth bursting from her palm as she goes through the motions.

Keeping her hand and the flow of magic steady, Dana teases with a soft smile, “now, this is the part where you tell me what happened.”

For one blissful moment - it is much longer than a moment. but she doesn’t have any concept of that - Lailani sees nothing. Dreams nothing. There is no fear or pain or whirlwind of colors in a vision that was not-

Not what? She’s not sure while she sleeps. Best be awake to consider those sorts of questions.

Perhaps that is why she jolts awake in a rush of air, flinching against strong arms and looking up to see Aeron. She assumes it’s him, anyway. Her vision is a haze of disjointed outlines and colors, still warped from the not-quite-vision. Or, as she reaches up to hold her aching head and discovers crimson, maybe a concussion. “Aeron?” she asks in a voice so wispy he likely doesn’t hear, “what- what’s g-going on?”

It trickles back to her in flashes. The dining room. The vision. Falling because it was wrong, it all felt wrong, and she tried to jerk herself out of it and instead her entire body had gone with her. She can’t remember the blood or being rushed out, but those things tangle with the smoke and ash of her foresight and she quiets again, too dizzy to parse through it herself.

She doesn’t even think to argue because Aeron always knows best, even when he isn’t certain. He could have no idea what he just walked into and she would still trust him to find a way out. It’s the sudden shifting and lack of movement that has her spinning in her own head again, but that stops soon enough, and then Dana is there trying to talk to her, and it’s all very confusing.

Nice to know the owl fact, though. She nods. She wants to say she does, indeed, like knowing that, but her tongue is a little thick and her head really hurts now. And the things she saw, all flooding back again…

Dana’s touch is tender, and so is her smile, and that feels a little odd. Dana usually smiles at her with a barely-suppressed scientific glee, not… whatever this is. But she’s not about to call that out. George still has his sweater, things can’t be too strange around the infirmary. 

“I-I was… I saw,” she chokes out, nerves getting ahold of her voice and making it tremble. “I saw horrible things, I don’t- It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen before. There was so much red. So much fighting. Everyone… We were all fighting like, like animals, no regard for each other’s humanity.” She reaches for anything solid within grasping distance and her fingers curl into he first thing she finds. Maybe the edge of her bed, or Aeron’s arm, she hardly notices. “There was this bright light sometimes, above or off to the side, too hard to look right at, but it was never in the focus of the vision anyway… Feiyan was there, watching us…” 

Watching, unable to intervene, as her beloved family tore themselves apart like wolves at meat. That was what had hurt the worst. That was what had scared her right to her bone marrow and made her try to pull away from the vision. A great sucking resistance, like the vision sealed her in and didn’t want to let go. She squeezes her eyes shut. “It wasn’t normal. It’s not like that, usually. I can- I can stop them if I really want. That one didn’t want me to stop. I wasn’t given a choice. It wasn’t my magic in control.” The words are weird and flimsy as they come out, because what control did she ever really have? But that is all she knows how to say to two people who, luckily, cannot see into her head.

Her hand flutters up to where Dana’s is pressed to her skin, and then away before she makes contact. She wants to sit up, but she doesn’t try. She wants to curl into a ball, actually. Doesn’t try that either. “I don’t remember… It hurt.” Less now that Dana is here, though, or at least the injury does. Her head in general still aches like it’s splitting. She gives the doctor a glimmer of a grateful smile, mostly because she’s noticed Dana seems brighter with a little acknowledgement. “I don’t- Aeron saw. I don’t know what happened? From the room’s perspective, I… was a little in my own… head.”

he’s worried for lani... these visions becoming more imposing, and now violent.  the whole situation escalating with each encounter.  and he’s -- a n g r y -- at whatever it is that played her like a goddamn puppet.  invading and taking over.  whatever it is that keeps twisting the world into the wrong shape and laying it at their feet to hurt and divide them.  whatever it is that was playing magic like a goddamn fiddle out of tune.

however, the snigger from dana at what ere, in effect, words not meant for her just draws a sharp gaze from death.  he finds nothing about this situation -- funny.  he doesn’t think she does either... not really.  this is just an easy distraction from what happened.  tension manifesting itself as hysteria... ( at least that’s what he’ll assume, because if, in fact she was just laughing while one of them lay injured then... he perhaps wouldn’t look so kindly upon the action ).

do you give everyone animal-themed nicknames?

❝ – no. ❞

a short, rough answer.  keeping his response clipped to that single word, lest dana be the unfortunate and wholly undeserving recipient of that anger unleashed - and again, he’s not angry with her, he’s grateful that she’s here, that she’s trying her best to help.

❝ – you got hacked. ❞

replying to the question that comes stuttering from lani’s lips - that’s about the best way he can describe it, moving one hand to pat the top of lanis gently as she asks what happened.  he tries to fill in the gaps, even though the vision sounds an awful lot like the future his own shade had foretold.  

❝ – some vision, another one of those foreboding warnings - we’re all doomed apparently. ❞

he says it with a light shrug.  he never dismisses her power.  but he doesn’t believe that a vision is a sign of what will be.  only what might be.  and there was a shit ton of that around at the moment.  visits from supposed future selves.  lanis power hijacked to deliver yet another message of doom.  

❝ – to be honest, whatever is doing this is using the same tired old schtick over and over.  y’think they might actually be a bit more inventive, huh? ❞

he forces a smile with the words.  trying to make light of something serious.

❝ – they seem pretty damn set on repeating themselves - over and over... and i reckon hijacking your vision is just another attempt to try to achieve what they clearly haven’t so far... ❞

his eyes flick up to dana once more.  wondering how much ‘impact’ the constant messages were having on the others.  were they starting to fall for it?  starting to believe?  or were they - like him - just getting pissed off with the whole sordid affair.  and it’s not just lani he’s addressing in this - but both of them.

❝ – whatever they are - they need us to start fighting among ourselves.  and my guess is, that’s because they aren’t strong enough to do it themselves. ❞

nose wrinkles as he wonders if there’s a way to protect her.  a way to make sure that foresight couldn’t be used like some kind of wonky tv remote, tweaked until it delivered the right kind of signal.  perhaps there’s something in that extensive library.  something that might help ward off those unwanted attacks.  and he would go and look -- after he was certain that she was okay.  that they both were.  everyone left at least shaken from the episode.

❝ – think if i made you a tin-foil hat, that would help? ❞

[novamortem]

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.

Damage (1992)

[novamortem]

suvaris‌:

“Glitter covered…” She trailed off, eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He had a point, one Azra definitely understood intimately. Everyone else’s powers manifested easily and without the requirement of mimicry; entering the lair had opened her up to all sorts of incredible things. Nothing was impossible. That had both positive and negative implications, and currently the council stared down the latter

He looked sincere and there were threads of it his voice, but the words caught in her throat anyway. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, dark eyes flitting to gaze around him, and then she turned slightly in place to give the garden one last glance before she launched into all of this. Azra ran her fingertips on the rock wall again, tiny mountains that had not yet seen weathering by the elements. “I did this,” she said finally as she focused on the tiny bit of dirt that fell from the wall following her touch. “I raised the rocks.” Her hand fell away from the wall and she looked up at him with a frown, a brief pause before she launched into everything else that happened.

“I was out here gardening and… um. Trying to plant some flowers and stuff as a surprise for Eve, and then I saw her. …It,” she corrected, inclining her chin slightly in thought as she did so. “It looked like me? Kind of… I dunno. Disheveled. She was so beautiful, too?” Her eyebrows arched and knitted. Despite the absolute terror the memory instilled, something like jealousy twisted in her stomach at the easy confidence and beauty her double radiated. Azra wanted that more than anything, but not like that. 

“But she offered me power without mimicking–like I could do what you guys do? Without touching anyone? But like…” She shrugged and looked at her feet. “You know when things sound too good to be true. I’ve hurt myself enough with the easy way to know there isn’t one, and so I said that. Like, a lot… and then she snapped? Like changed?” The words tumbled out rockslide-quick now and she started gesturing more frantically as she spoke. “She told me I was helpless and powerless and pathetic and useless and I couldn’t– I can’t–” 

Tears burned behind her eyes unexpectedly and she snapped her mouth closed, jaw clenched. She’d started shaking and only noticed it now, and she folded her arms tightly across her torso in a weak attempt to hide it. “I pushed her, just to get her away from me, my hand touched  her skin, and I mimicked something wild. And it told me that wasn’t mine to take, that it was going to show me my power, not let me use it’s magic or… something… I don’t know. It screamed and jumped and I did this–” She gestured at the wall with a quick jerk of her head. “And then I ran–” Finally, she stopped talking, eyes wide and glossy as she gulped a few deep breaths in hopes to settle herself down. Clearly this was still too near to explain properly.

from the faltering start, the words just speed up, until they’ve gathered so much momentum that they aren’t just words anymore - a stone tumbling downhill, but instead of just gathering moss, this brought with it.  the raw emotion in the words and the tears brimming in her eyes is enough to move the soldier.  a protective nature built into his bones.   

❝ – hey, hey...  deep breath.  she’s not here anymore, it’s just you and me. ❞

one arm extends and he does offer a quick, gentle squeeze around slender shoulders - easily encompassing her small frame before he lets go.  where he’d actually found some manner of amusement in their previous predicament ( if annoyingly being stuck as small fuzzy blobs ), this time, he doesn’t laugh.

❝ – you can do what we do.  your magic is just as unique and special as anyone else’s and there’s a reason we’ve been given what we have... so that we can learn to respect it.  so that we can make better choices that those ‘past selves’ did. ❞

he does offer a small nod though at the ‘too good to be true’.  a flicker of relief in his chest when he sees the obvious doubt in her eyes, hears the conviction in her words.  he’s also annoyed - angry...  not at azra, but that these visions are preying on people in the worst of ways.  telling them that they will ‘fail’ - that they’re nothing, useless, impotent - unless they take up the temptation, are lured by those promises of ‘greatness’, of ‘more’.

❝ – and you showed her just how strong you are.  stronger than her.  it’s easy to say yes.  a lot harder to say no.  – power isn’t just about how much magic you have fizzing at your fingertips.  it’s about being true to yourself, and she probably got pissed, because in that moment - she could see that you had so much more than her. ❞

he doesn’t know if she’s listening.  doesn’t know if those words are sinking in or are just bouncing off the wall of emotion that seemed to be flooding from her right now.  but he keeps his voice steady and calm, reassuring throughout.  that no matter the aftermath of the encounter, he believes everything he says - that she made the right choice.  defied the temptation.  stood against that ‘other self’ and defied it, even with all of the magic it presented.  was brave even through her fear.

he finally looks at the broken parts of the garden.  it’s just another casualty of these... attacks.  damage to the wall wasn’t as bad as damage to the mind, or the heart, the play on emotions by toxic visions.

❝ – this is nothing we can’t fix. ❞

❝ – and as for ‘her’ - you did good.  if she ever comes back, you just give her another reminder of how much stronger you are.  let her have another tantrum.  and then we’ll fix that too. ❞

[novamortem]

beer-me-strcngth‌:

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. She didn’t start off threatening. Just sort of went that way when I wasn’t buying what she was selling.” 

Bree took a deep breath, moving forward to stand beside Aeron and lean against the edge of the roof. There was still part of her that wanted to avoid him after the whole catnip thing, but that was childish; they needed to be working together not behaving like children. She glanced up through her eyelashes at him, trying to read his expression and failing. 

“She said a lot of things. Started off by telling me you never get over the whole, uh, catnip incident – which, by the way, was an honest mistake. I sort of forgot that you were a cat and I figured if Billy found it instead of Balfour that it’d be fine. So…you know… I’m, uh, sorry…about that…you were really cute though if that helps. Probably doesn’t. Anyway.” She cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly and turning to look out over the yard instead of at him.  

“But, yeah. There was a request to go join her in Bermuda. A promise of untold power if I wanted it. Told me I should be in charge, which…please, that’s a disaster waiting to happen. Said that I could have access to all the powers of the entire council if I was willing to risk destroying everyone in the process. Also said that Nadine is minutes away from going nuclear. When I wasn’t reacting how she expected she told me I was tame like a puppy and ‘maybe she should take my place’ because she was ‘out of her own friends to drown’ or something like that. So…that was fun. What did yours say?”

aerons lips twist into something of a half smile, half grimace as she calls him ‘cute’.  and she had looked after him in his buzzed up hyper state.

but he puts the words together in his head.  ‘you never get over the whole, uh, catnip incident’  -- which made it sound like he was going to hold some kind of vehement grudge for life when really, it was just a bit embarrassing to be a punch drunk kitten for a few hours.  and then she says sorry.  one simple word that makes the whole thing a wash.  he hears it so very rarely these days and in that he offers a small nod of acceptance in return...

❝ thank you... ❞

❝ ... i doubt i’ll ever forget it - it’s not an experience that’s going to fade fast. ❞

still paled in comparison to some of the other memories jostling for pole position in his head.  in fact, it might just be one of the better ones.

❝ but that’s not exactly the same as forgiving, is it?  at end of the day no one got hurt, no damage, it was an err in judgement on both parts... so... no harm no foul. ❞

and in that he shoulders some of the responsibility for the little ‘incident’ himself.  he’s the one who’d been rambling around the lair in his teeny tiny state.  he’s the one who’d stumbled upon the lure of the catnip.  and in the grander scheme of things, with the danger they seemed to be facing with all of these unknowns... it really didn’t matter in the slightest.  it’s done, put behind them.  

and he knows - that for all bree is a little bundle of constant chaos... she’s also sweet and kind and funny.  that there was no malice intended... he doubts whether she has a malicious bone in her body.  

❝ which means that your - double - was wrong about at least one thing.  so she could be wrong about the rest too. ❞

there’s a moment pause as another, similar tale seeps into the air between them.  aeron taking a rather long breath before he turns to look at her - 

❝ same shit, different face. ❞

a quieter mumble of words, mostly to himself before he explains...

❝ mine said pretty much the same thing, in a different way.  all of these... doubles... seem to be laying down the same schtick... promises of power.  urging people to snatch what they can before it’s seized by someone else.  the whole - ‘rise to the top or run away’. ❞

and death.  of the others - by his hand.  of the people they were supposed to call friend or family.  that part he keeps locked behind his teeth though.  his own shades words of blood still a little too vibrant in his mind.

❝ combative or divisive.  it’s a ploy that’s been used worlds over, bree.  wars, battles, always have the same root - and the easiest way to win, is to get your ‘enemy’ - to fight among themselves.  to destroy each other.  then you just stroll in and pick up your victory from the ashes they leave behind. ❞

❝ whatever it is... whatever they are.  they only ‘win’ if we let them. ❞

the mention of nadine is worrisome though.  it’s the second time he’s heard her name specifically mentioned.  was it just another ploy to get the council to target members, to begin that friction?  or was it a genuine warning that they were the most likely to fall for the temptations offered...?

Justice, Nadine, Marcella, they need to be checked with it. If you see them dabbling in old ways or dealing with creatures that promise them more, you’ve come upon a choice.

he just... doesn’t know what to do.  rely on the strength of those around him and their rejection of those temptations.  at least bree seemed to think alike... didn’t trust ‘it’... didn’t believe...  hopefully she would help convince others of the same.  he’s too ‘heavy’ - too ‘serious’.  where she’s lighter and brighter and quite possibly his opposite in every way.  so maybe those who wont speak to him, might speak to her.  and he’s aware that he’s damping that light with his words, so there’s something of an effort to try to lift the mood...

❝ ...and y’know - if you want... shoes, it’s not exactly hard for me to ‘acquire’ certain goods.  helps when you can swap faces y’know? ❞

[novamortem]

lcnaestclle‌:

Oftentimes, it takes some heavy reminding that she didn’t own the monopoly on the space beyond the highest windows, teetering the edge of the roof whether she bathed in the moonlight above or begged for it to come sooner. A reminder that always seemed to come with a flash of hot anger at the sight of anyone else finding purchase in what might have been her only safe haven here. Too many times, she’d bitten her tongue in the quiet quell of such anger; nobody needed to be on the tail end of such unwarranted fire that burnt within her chest for all too little, but much too brightly for any one specific reason. It was perhaps why she simply didn’t — ever, fly off the handle. There was never an explanation, and the only one she could ever find was one she never wanted to bring to light

It’s a rough sigh, noncommittal and etched to no forcible sense of annoyance, one that blooms and dies within the same breath as she breaches the edge of the windowsil and climbs out as if she’s done it a thousand times before — a number which would only regard her visits to the rooftop in the past two weeks alone. She can breathe again, the evening air enough to spur the reminder that her time is soon; it’s always soon. She never has to wait long, but gods if the days don’t feel like eons.  She’s rattled; shaken from Balfour’s denunciation of the Feiyan that’d seemingly returned to them, it’s the tricks and the lies that promise to unfold beyond the possibility of such illusion; where others might have found shock in the things this Fei had spoken, it was only ever what Jack heard in her mind. Failure.  Golden locks are the only reprieve, at least she knows he won’t pry; though perhaps it isn’t his turn to ask questions as the glint of silver beckons her forward, Jack pausing atop the shingles of the roof in mild awe as realization drags itself across her spine. “— Unless you’re about to put a bullet between my eyes.. or even your own..— Nothing, I haven’t seen anything.” It’s a lie, she’s always lying; she sees more than she ever lets on and even despite her denial, Aeron knows that. “You expecting to find someone worth using that thing on up here?”

❝ plenty people in my life have tried to kill me.  it’d be a really shitty irony if i did their job for them. ❞

it’s true.  bullets and bombs.  war wasn’t subtle when it was trying to take your life.  ( and he has no doubt that she’s seen it.  those bloody battles in his dreams.  the deafening sounds, the prickle of constant adrenalin and a slice of ice cold fear through the heat of burning bodies - the only fuel to keep him alive ). and in so much as he is -- death -- life is one thing he does have a healthy respect for.  including his own.

❝ this is for... something else. ❞

he doesn’t quite know what yet.  or who.  but it’s something of a solid reassurance to the soldier.  perhaps that’s the reason he’d picked it up in the first place.  to deny the words that came to him from the shade.  to remind himself that whatever - war - might be coming, that he won’t run.  he will -- fight.  with whatever means he can.  mortal or magic or otherwise.

he does know she’s lying. it’s a shame, he thinks... that even now, there’s some kind of need to keep things hidden.  especially now.  when there are forces at play attempting to tear them apart... a time that they need to join together to stand fast and hold.   it’s a shame, he thinks... that of all the people... she, who has seen some of his most intimate fears, the things that plague his nightmares, his hidden secrets... can’t find the freedom... or perhaps the trust... to simply confide in him. it’s a shame, he thinks... that perhaps... those nightmares are once again bleeding into reality.  a reality where he may have to act... may have to... kill...  a nightmare that she can’t soothe.

‘You expecting to find someone worth using that thing on up here?’

❝ maybe me.  other me.  few of us have seen... other selves. ❞

perhaps it would be a mercy in itself to place a bullet into the forlorn form of the shade.  he probably won’t though.  in so much as it had brought words to his ears that he didn’t particularly want to hear -- the shade hadn’t been intent on any actual harm.  but it is the reason he’s up high - one wan eye on the perimeter, trying to find the flicker of flight that betrays the presence of his crow...

❝ and from what i can tell so far, they’re a bunch of bastards for the most part.  whether they’re actually ‘us’ or not, couldn’t say.  but they tend not to come with good news or anything kind to say. ❞

more like the third ghost from scrooge... in his case, quite accurately so.

❝ and... if that vision of fei was anything to go by, and the brat-cat says it wasn’t her, then... maybe these aren’t either. ❞

[novamortem]

 the stain - event aftermath:   @theninthcard & @danamiri

she feels too light in his arms.  as though no weight at all.  something ephemeral, ethereal, ascendant... unreal.

but reality was in the blood red streak, slipping down paper skin.  leaving a stain in it’s wake from a sore and ragged wound.  perhaps it’s an unconscious magic lending him strength - an unthought shift, a transformation beneath his skin to lend fortitude in the moment he needs it most.

None of us are safe from each other.

he already knows they aren’t safe from him.  or so the shade foretold, as though from a state of future unavoidable.   but -- he still can’t bring himself to believe that there’s nothing to be changed.  he still can’t bring himself to believe that these shades are everything they purport to be.  something still so -- wrong -- about the division.  the more and more blatant attempts to drive them apart... to take those already fractured pieces and scatter them to the wind... a mirror to glass.  glass to sand.

None of us are safe from each other.

bullshit. they may not be safe, but they’re only not safe from each other the moment they start buying into that fact.  the moment they start believing it to be the truth... a fact not a prophecy.  yes, he still has the gun, but now - more than ever, he swears to use it to protect them.  against whatever it might be trying to rip them apart.

he didn’t ask for permission to scoop lani into his arms.  and perhaps if there was any magic seeping from her into his past, then it would still be less of a terror than whatever it was that had hijacked her power to deliver another message of foreboding.  any protest would fall upon deaf ears.  in this he was unmovable.  he was taking her to the infirmary and she was going to rest and recover and there was -- NO -- argument to be had about that.  and if anyone thought to try - they obviously thought better of it...

...only one other on the coat tails of death as he ground the hallways beneath the thud of his boots.  one softly stepping, a lilt of something that softly sounded a little like home to his ears in the few words he ever managed to overhear.  the one person who might just be able to do something to make reparation where he could not.  perhaps there’s a small flutter of gratitude in his chest at her presence.

a gentle but firm press of words to lani as the infirmary flickers bright.  stepping over to a bed more comfortable than any emergency room... 

❝ okay, easy now... this is the part where you don’t argue, little owl. just rest, we’re here and we’re not going to leave you, okay? ❞

finally turning to dana with a steady gaze ( a veneer of calm and control that was donned with tantamount ease - it was an expectation, it was the soldier once more arriving to take control )...

❝ and this is the part where you fix this. ❞

fix it. fix what?  there was too much broken to be repaired with the whim of one magic.  but he’s not talking about the whole.  just this part.  this very important part.

❝ can you?  can you fix this? ❞

now, obviously clearer that he’s referring to the wound.  not the shambles left in the aftermath...

[novamortem]

soundsempressive‌:

When he says she’s beautiful, her smile returns, small and sad and like a poem for a lost lover. Evelyn isn’t sure she believes him. The vision had been so breathtaking. The night had seemed to shift around her, like she was the moon cutting through the darkness. Evelyn wasn’t like that. Or at least, if Aeron was right, she wasn’t beautiful in that same way. Maybe in the way that daisies were beautiful –– a sweet kind; one that was there but didn’t demand attention. Certainly not the moon. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly, sadly. “You’re kind.” She doesn’t say anymore about, although a distant part of her wants him to say it again, because it was nice to hear when she felt so twisted about Feiyan and her vision and everything in between.

The smile fades as she listens. Instead, her eyebrows come together and her teeth chew at the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t look at him while he speaks. She lets him have his moment, to say it all aloud, because she doesn’t know if she has yet and she remembers when she told Daniel, she had to hope he didn’t think she was crazy. So she lets Aeron talk to the wind and instead, she looks out at the gardens, at the winding river. The railing of the roof digs into her, uncomfortable, but she doesn’t move.

“Warn you,” she echoes, voice weary, troubled. It was a far cry from her own. More like Daniel’s. She takes a moment to think, like she’s stepping back from a puzzle. “Yes, I mean, okay. So. Obviously when Feiyan disappeared––” disappeared. Like a ghost. The word mocks her. But what else to call it? Feiyan hadn’t left. And if she had, she wouldn’t be in pain. “––when Feiyan disappeared, some people wanted to step up. For the good of the council,” she adds, because it wasn’t fair to talk badly of any of them. “But… there was no real moves to do that. No one has made this wild grab for power.”

Evelyn’s gaze shifts to Aeron’s to study him again. “I think you’re right, you know, that would not be good if we gave into those temptations. But my double wanted me to. She was very sweet about it and made it all about how I needed to fulfil my potential. But I would have never considered it before she started talking all that shit into my ear, like. And––and,” the words fall over themselves as she starts to become animated as she speaks, as if she had taken a step back to study the full painting and not just the small dots of colour. “Dan’s double had talked about there being only one solution to… something. They’re all really vague in the way that they speak. But they’re obviously trying to pull us apart and convince us each to be on their side. To do… what? Manipulate whoever tries to come into power?”

Evelyn pushes herself off from the railing, turning to face Aeron. “Did yours want you to do something? Or did you just… need warning about the rest of us?” The small bit of hurt creeps into her voice. This is her family. Her family, that she loves with all her hurt. And these things were trying to pull them apart. “Mine almost seemed like it came from the past or like it was my first self. But like, Daniel said they shouldn’t be able to do that. I don’t think any of us should be able to walk through time. So I don’t understand what the fuck these things are.”

she says he’s kind. he begs to differ.

❝ no, i’m really not. ❞

perhaps he’s persuaded himself for too long that what he did was kindness.  it wasn’t.  perhaps he’s still letting those words from his shade spin around his head...

The only thing that makes me feel less damned is the hope that they suffered less by my hand than they would have otherwise.

kindness.  --he doesn’t see it.  so perhaps she’ll just take his words for what they are.  not kind.  not an attempt at buoying to her self-esteem.  just honest.

❝ there’s a difference between being the most powerful and being a good leader.  not everyone sees that.  some people think that once they get into a position of leadership, the only way they can retain it is to take power... and more... and more... and sooner or later, the cost of taking that power no longer matters... ❞

at this point, he seems to be talking to his boots.  eyes studying the ground.  the words not wholly referring to the present, but - more a recollection, a reflection of things he’d seen in the past.  other battles.  other wars.

it’s only when that brief silence settles between them again that he seems to realise that he was talking at all.

‘ I would have never considered it before she started talking ‘

and he has to wonder... is she considering it now?  plant the seed.  kindle the spark.  let something small grow, spread - fester... like a mould... a fungus... a parasite.  the question lingers on the back of his teeth... unspoken, for now.  

‘ Manipulate whoever tries to come into power? ‘

❝ that’s the crux of it.  we shouldn’t be worried about ‘power’ - about more magic.  we can’t forget that we’re more than just... magic. ❞

hence - the gun.  not every problem had a magical solution.  and magic wasn’t the solution to every problem.  not when you were human.  not when you were a complex creature capable of so much -- more -- than magic.  things like compassion and loyalty...

❝ vague isn’t quite the word for it.  even my -- double... ❞

he almost utters the word ‘shade’ - that’s what his mind has named the other him.  the foreteller of horrors.  the bleak and bloody future that awaited.

❝ ...said that he couldn’t tell me more.  i don’t know why.  but... he gave me options.  none of which were enticing to say the least.  he said i should leave.  or make that grab for power.  i have no intention of doing either. i’m pretty sure he already knew that. ❞

because that’s what the other him had done... stayed.  tried to fight.  tried to stand for something.  was there a potential where he didn’t fail...?  where he didn’t have to take lives?  or was there just a pre-destined path... so, perhaps soon... he will become the shade.  visiting his past self to loop like the snake devouring itself.  a never ending spiral of caution followed by death.

❝ he said he came from the future... from our future.  but i don’t know if they can be trusted.  with feiyan gone, who knows what might be leaking into this place - trying to take advantage of us, trying to manipulate. ❞

perhaps whatever it was that had taken feiyan was using - her - power to interfere... after all, who knew each and every one of them as well as she did?

❝ we already know something is trying to... corrupt magic.  the shit that went down with the ley lines for a start.  the next logical step is to remove the next barrier - us. ❞

[novamortem]

beer-me-strcngth‌:

The encounter with her double didn’t shake her as much as it probably should have. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but it felt like an elaborate prank. It wasn’t her, the other entity was too different, too…bizarre. And it didn’t know the lyrics to Abba. One of Bree’s earliest memories was driving to the beach in her dad’s pickup, surfboards hanging out the back, windows down singing along to The Album or Waterloo or any of their other hits. There was other music as well, but Abba was a staple. 

Somehow all the councilors needed to sit down and talk about what happened, figure out what the hell was going on, but she had no idea how to make that happen. So she was sort of waiting for someone else to initiate. Someone with more authority and a chance of being listened to. 

In the meantime, she wandered. Maybe one on one she’d have a chance to talk to a few folks and as a group, they could figure out the next steps. That was how she found herself on the roof. With Aeron. And a gun. Maybe her double was right about him never really getting over the catnip thing…

“What?” she asked, her eyes darting up to his face. “What do you mean, what did I see? Just now? I saw you looking extra broody, which is sort of an accomplishment, so well done. Uh… I saw Azra trying to befriend Balfour. Again. I saw a really cute pair of shoes on my evil twin and she didn’t even have the decency to leave them after threatening me. I’m guessing that’s the one you’re most interested in?”

he still hasn’t forgiven her for the catnip. ...( she’s also not offered anything that might sound even vaguely like an apology for entertaining herself at his expense, but that’s rather by the by )... however -- rather than letting a petty grudge ( composed mostly from his own embarrassment ) slam in yet another wedge ( and don’t they just have enough of those between them right now? ), jericho decides to let that one go... 

...for now.

he does squint slightly as the words tumble out - trying to make sense of the chaos and multidirectional conversation that seemed to be a staple for bree... a snort as she mentions the obnoxious cat.  pain in the arse that it had been since it’s arrival and not so much in the way of ‘helpful’.  ( ...and... he doesn’t ‘brood’... there’s almost a protest about that on his lips ( even if he’s completely wrong ), ) but it dies in the wake of her revelation.  it’s only when she reaches the last part - stating ‘evil twin’, that he does offer a small nod, turning fully and giving her his full attention.

❝ uhuh... that’ll be the one.  shoes...? ❞

he’s not so surprised as those words just keep throwing curveball after curveball... but one brow does lift gracefully into a questioning arc -

❝ she threatened you? ❞

❝ wow, that’s... quite the persuasive tactic.  you okay? ❞

❝ what else... were there promises of power?  or perhaps she told you to leave?  because that seems to be a pretty common thread.  they.... they.... the other, ‘us’ - if that’s what they actually are - seem to be pretty keen on getting everyone of us to pick one or the other... ❞

[novamortem]

soundsempressive‌:

Do you trust her?

Daniel’s words still hung around her, like the velvet cloak fastened at the base of her neck in the pictures of her on tarot cards. No. No. I don’t trust her, she whispered ( not that he could hear it ) every time she remembered how his eyebrows had furrowed when she told him about the vision. I shouldn’t have trusted her at all. But the air had tasted of honeysuckle and the hand on her cheek had been real and she had wanted, so badly, for this to be help with finding Feiyan.

And, to be fair, her double had been right about Marcella.

Her double had told her Marcella just needed a little push, that she did share Evelyn’s feelings. Her double was right. Even in the chaos, the heavy air of the house –– that sense of energy flicking through it right before lightning arched through the sky, a smile curled at the corner of her lips ( hidden, just for her ) at the thought of Marcella.

She couldn’t resent her double for that.

What she did resent, however, was her efforts to drive Evelyn away from the council. That could be the only explanation for why she wanted Eve to take control. Days after Feiyan’s disappearance had shown that making a play for power wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t fair to try to make Evelyn turn on her fellow councillors when her whole life was the council. 

It always had been. And it had been her downfall before, even if she didn’t know it.

As she walked, her fingers curled out while she counted the number of double ‘visits’ there had been. Lailani and Azra, herself, Dan… too many. It only confirmed that her own really hadn’t been an echo from her past. Her visit didn’t make her special.

It was important to remember that.

She wasn’t sure why she was on the roof. Perhaps because, as much as she hid it, it stung to be in her gardens, to apologise over and over to her flowers for all the hurt they had been through –– only to have them trampled and injured again. I’m sorry, she told them, fingers deep in the soil, magic humming in her touch. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. An uncharacteristic edginess made her jump out of her thoughts, shoulders bracing, when she saw Aeron. “Oh hey –– sorry ––” a flickering smile over her lips fell for a moment, as did her eyes when they went to his hands. A thought, the worst possible scenario, made her vision blur. The tension bled into her limbs, panic freezing her, heart pounding too hard. What was he about to–– “Aeron––”

His voice though. It was steady. The look on his face was determined. The tension eased, heart rate subsiding. She hadn’t feared her own life. Only his. A deep escaped her, almost like a laugh, relief washing over her. But… was he really just standing on the roof with a gun in his hand… thinking?

It took a moment, a long one, to register what he was saying. “What––what have I seen? Um, I… I’ve seen Kian making cookies downstairs and Azra in the gardens, like, but nothing else crazy today.” Her eyes flickered to the gun again. Like the hand of a clock making it chime suddenly, her understanding snapped into place. She understood why he was on the roof, why he was holding a gun, what he was really asking her.

“Oh.” Empathy, a tug that made her take a step, then two, towards him, hand reaching out like that might comfort him. “You’ve been visited too.”

The smile, soft and understanding, twisted on her lips again, this time staying. She came closer, patting his arm for a second before bracing herself against the railing of the rooftop, looking out at her gardens, at the river circling around the island. “Mine was really, really nice. And beautiful. Like she had this gorgeous crown of flowers and a really beautiful dress and told me to reach my potential and be who I used to be.” Even now, even with her new understanding of the situation, awe tinged in her voice. “But that apparently involves taking control of the council and being your Great Leader so… you know…. Not sure she had the best of intentions.”

She turned to look at him, eyes darting up to meet his. “Yours? What did you see? Are you okay? After it, I mean.”

it seems like a long time since he’s seen a smile. no less one that managed to convey such patience and understanding.  an empathy that went a little deeper than most liked to portray... something genuine.  something real.  which is more than can be said about the unreality of things spinning around them on an axis so vastly out of kilter that it was starting to make him dizzy.

she states, rather than asks if he’s been visited.  and there’s nothing other than a small nod to confirm her words.

what he does, is listen carefully as she answers graciously.  honestly. wonders if her vision meshes with the one his shade brought to him.  while hers sounds bright and full of promise and temptation, his was dark, blooded, worn and hollow.  is that the difference between those who choose to stand fast and fight, and those who choose temptation over all else.  

❝ you don’t need a crown and a dress.  you’re already beautiful. ❞

that’s his own honesty.  beauty was in paintings or in flowers or in a sunset... things you could see or smell or touch.  but in people, beauty took on more than just a visage.  it wasn’t the trimmings.  evelyn was already beautiful, outwardly... but it was the inner beauty that made the difference.

Not sure she had the best of intentions.

well... at least he wasn’t the only one who had doubts over the intent of those dopplegangers.  whether they were a true version of the future or something else, just trying to trick them onto a path of destruction.

( is he a little relieved at that?  that there was at least one other person who was questioning?  he doesn’t trust his shade... but he doesn’t wholly disbelieve it either.  there’s nothing that it had said that would be so far fantastical that he couldn’t imagine it as the truth...  ).

❝ there’s a difference between taking control and being given control so... i’d stay -- stick with your instincts.  mine was... ❞

foreboding.  tales of death.  a fractured, broken creature with haunted eyes and a broken soul.  he doesn’t want to go into the specifics... of how it had foretold of his bringing the end to some of them.  which ones, he doesn’t know.  but he does know the face of a man with the weight of lives on his shoulders...

❝ ...here to warn me. ❞

perhaps evelyns beautiful vision was from a time in the future before his.  before it all turns bad and bloody.  or perhaps neither of them were a true aspect of what was to come.  

he seems to suddenly remember about the gun... safety is on and he tucks it away into the back of his jeans.  why the gun?  he’s still not sure.  perhaps he’d take a pot shot at his own crow if he catches sight of it again ( probably not though... ).  or perhaps it’s because the thing that seems to be the danger here isn’t the magic.  it’s the people.  fallible and fragile and flawed as they all are - including himself.  and sometimes... magic wasn’t the solution to everything.  

❝ about those - temptations.  he said that if people give into them... try to start taking more power... then it ends... badly.  i don’t know if i believe everything he said... but i think i believe that much.  ❞

[novamortem]

suvaris‌:

At his attempt at a joke, Azra managed a weak smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Not that it mattered–he wasn’t looking, and soon after, neither was she. For a few long moments, she strained to catch anything out of the ordinary within the garden, a sign that this would happen all over again and she’d be trapped here, this time without a source of magic that exploded to life with every panicked thought that crossed her mind. Even still, nothing happened. It hadn’t since that day, which was both comforting and disconcerting at the same time.

“Something happened,” she said, then began to worry her lower lip between her teeth. She walked until she reached a lower portion of the rock wall and carefully stepped over it with one hand atop it to keep herself from losing her balance should she catch her foot. The memory of that sort of power on-demand seared itself into her memory, though the thought wasn’t necessarily a positive one. She’d ruined Eve’s garden again, trashed part of the lair, and nearly hurt both herself and Mitch with it. Not to mention, there was the possibility of what the others might do with that sort of power. She didn’t have a right to decide for them, in her opinion, but she did know that whatever offered it to her wasn’t her friend.

“If I tell you, do you promise not to… not to make fun of me or… I don’t know. I’m not crazy,” she continued carefully, her dark eyes finally returning to meet his. “But I think it’s important.” There was also the fact that apparently Mitch saw his own duplicate–older and skinnier, he’d explained–which meant perhaps she wasn’t just losing her mind. Or, perhaps all of them were collectively. They did talk to a cat on almost a daily basis.

❝ – az -- a little while ago we were both kittens afraid of getting stoned on bree’s catnip.  i think it’s fair to say that since i came to the lair and met all of you that i’ve been pretty good at suspending belief about stuff that would sound, to any other person out there... ❞

one hand waves vaguely at toward the boundary of the lair.  the city beyond.  the people going about their normal, everyday lives - separate from the magic but not wholly apart from it.

❝ – ...like glitter covered whackadoo. ❞

he closes the distance with a final few steps.  looks down with a small nod and only the slightest hint of a soft smile on his face.  his encounter with the shade of himself had left him reeling - not so much from the encounter, but from the implications.  of what might be to come... but those things would never manifest... there wouldn’t be the promised, bloodshed... if they managed to halt it in it’s tracks... but that wasn’t just on him.  it was on all of them.

however - he can’t help but wonder at the ‘something happened’ and the talk of crazy whether something similar might have happened to her.  some haunted shade or vision of ‘more’.

❝ – yes.  i promise. ❞

and there’s enough sincerity in that that he hopes it comes across.  after all, the only way forward - avoiding the vision of the future that he’d seen... or at least, the words of it told to him by - himself... is if they’re honest.  if they can somehow figure out how to work together.

❝ – whatever it is.  i’m listening. ❞

[novamortem]

mitch-nom‌:

the house was too empty and too loud, walls that threatened to trap stretching on for miles, the juxtaposition aching in his molars and itching under his skin. too many reflections for someone who wants to shatter mirrors, opposite and the same and he thinks he’s been looking at through the universe through refracted glass.

maybe that’s what he thinks, if he lets himself think, but he doesn’t, just knows that the power, that constant electric hum that sometimes drives him even more mad, is restless in his bones, calls out for an open field and the stars.

he doesn’t know any, unfortunately, so there’s no direction for the static to go, and he flees the echoes of the floorboards to the roof, to the few stars that can be seen through the light pollution.

still, too crowded, too hollow, and aeron is already sat there, turned to face him.

he’s human shaped, this time, thankfully. mitch has seen in the corridors, in the brief meetings, refuses to linger for another chat after the world trip fiasco. neither of them had been on their best form, but the memories that had surfaced were refusing to sink back down, every other conversation like a ripping bandaid. 

he goes to disappear again, leave the man to brood, but he’s already engaged in conversation, so he stills, leans forward to balance on his toes.

“ what do you mean? “ he sees too much, refuses to see anything, warped reflections glinting in the corner of his eyes. “ what did you see?” 

perhaps he doesn’t need the gun.  he’s half tempted to grab mitch and dangle him over the edge of the parapet ( if he didn’t think that the teleporter wouldn’t just zip off to places other, then he might just actually make a move to do just that ) because its - f r u s t r a t i n g - that even with everything going on, there’s still this precious fucking dance.  guarded and cautious and tiptoeing over broken glass and... to be quite honest, aeron is sick of it.

❝ what i mean is what i said.  what did you see.  i know that people have been receiving ‘visitors’ - mostly themselves. or a supposed ‘future version’. ❞

it’s spoken flatly. no outward anger in the words.  but no humour either. sure, some of them might be young but  ( no matter what his shade may have said ) - they’re not ‘kids’.  this isn’t some playground banter with the whole ‘i will if you will’ or ‘you go first’ bullshit.  this is important, defining, worrying.  and potentially disastrous - or will be, if some of them couldn’t get the fuck over themselves - actually attempt to be vaguely helpful.

❝ i asked you a question.  either answer it or don’t.  it’s that simple. ❞

he’s half expecting another parroted ‘well i asked you a question’ -- but before mitch decides either way, he lays it out...

❝ we’re neck deep in shit here.  so either we work together to figure it out - to help each other.  to survive whatever is coming.  or again... we don’t.  i get it.  you’ve got issues.  throw a rock in this place and try to hit someone who doesn’t.  i’m just saying that if we don’t at least - try - to deal with these things together, then nothing gets better...  it just gets worse. ❞

❝ so, what’s it gonna be? ❞

[novamortem]

Location: Lair - The roof With:  OPEN STARTER - @ anyone  tw: firearms/gun

he’s made his way up to the roof of the lair...  a vantage point from which to keep watch ( for that damned evasive crow ).  though the message from the shade had been clear - it wasn’t necessarily ‘outward’ that he should be looking.  whatever was coming their way wouldn’t corrupt from beyond, but from within... 

...in which they were suddenly their own worst enemy.   not all.  not each individual... but some... the potential to succumb to temptation.  to whispered promises - or lies...  to glean a glimpse of things that could be - corrupt power - if they just took that step over an invisible, intangible line.

he’s still looking for the crow.  wondering if it was still there - trapped in a hellish limbo of a torn and blooded future, but thrown into the past to watch as mistakes were repeated.  perhaps he’d been angry, frustrated, perhaps throwing the lamp at the damn thing ( at the haunted version of himself ) might have been the best option.  but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to violence toward those hollow eyes... the eyes of death who had -- once again -- held the bodies of the dying and the dead...  who was so familiar with that violence that he’d used it... in ways he can barely fathom right now.

however.  there is something in his possession currently that he hasn’t picked up for... some time.  something he’d sorely hoped never to pick up again.  a solution to a problem that hadn’t presented yet.  a scythe in the hand of the reaper that walked among them.  -- a gun.  and while the soldier in him is both careful and competent... the human in him knows the complexity of physical ease and moral difficulty that pulling a trigger presents.  does he - once again - steep his hands in blood so they don’t have to...?

after all.  magic was one thing. but those who wielded it were still distinctly human and very, very mortal.

it’s... just in case.  right? it’s a precaution. it’s entirely possible that he’s playing into the self same purported ‘future’ that his crow had foretold... by picking this up, events are set into motion - he’s already making choices that... he doesn’t want to have to make.

the problem is -- he doesn’t quite know who he’s trying to protect... from who... or... what.

so for now - the gun idles in his hand ( with no actual intent, it’s simply... there ) as he tries to think his way through an impossible fog of unknowns.  safety on.  but loaded, oiled, ready... 

just.  in.  case.

it’s not until he hears a scuff behind him that he’s half turning, a question already in his eyes, no hesitation on his lips... always to the point.

❝ what did you see? ❞

because, after lani’s vision... and then his own ‘encounter’, with everyone jumping at shadows... he’s damn sure he’s not the only one... 

[novamortem]

[ future-self event thread with mods of @arcanacouncilrp  - tw: death ]

At first glance, the room is the same as it looked when he left. Clean lines, no surface too cluttered, neatly made bed. For someone as observant as Aeron, though, that isn’t enough to put him at ease. There’s a presence in the room with him when he enters. If he tries, he can catch the faintest scent of ozone lingering in the air. Perched on a curtain rod half obscured in shadow is a crow with haunted eyes. It watches Aeron carefully, distrustfully, like it knows him but does not anticipate what he will do. After several heartbeats, it opens its beak and speaks in a perfect recreation of Aeron’s voice:

“I’m here to warn you.”

he’s never been great at birds. the crow though, is the easiest.  perhaps it’s something to do with being an omen of ‘death’ or… some other mystic type shit.  this one though, is not a random bird.  it’s ‘his’ bird.  ‘his’ form.  something he recognises quite intimately.  but this version seems… polluted.  the sleek blue black of those wings looks - greasy - dirty oil slick staining a puddle on a filthy street.  like it… he… has spent his time pecking eyeballs out of corpses.

assessment: 1)  it’s him.  or an apparition of him.  or something like that… impostor ( irony coming from someone who’s entire basis of magic was changing his appearance ). 2)  there’s a flicker of doubt.  he’s pretty sure this is reality.  there’s no gunfire echoing in his ears, no blood that he can see.  he’s not relapsing or having a flashback. 3)  he doesn’t trust it.  he doesn’t like it.  he’s pretty close to throwing the lamp from his nightstand at it.

❝ uhuh. ❞

shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed, as though the - other him - is nothing more than a blip.  curbing the instinct to act, to react… for now ( though the lamp is still a viable option ).

❝ very ominous. ❞

there’s a hike of brow, tongue pulling over his teeth with a click.  if it is – him – then he would know that he’s not a fan of pissing about.  less about pulling punches, more about getting straight to the damn point.

❝ so…? ❞

The crow watches with one beady eye as Aeron absorbs the information. The warning, as it were. If a crow can look indecisive, this one does, but eventually he spreads his wings and descends from the window, dropping neatly to the floor on human legs. It’s a quick transformation, one that speaks of mastery over his talent, though he hasn’t used that apparent skill to hide time’s ravages to his appearance. His eyes are sunken, his face gaunt. Under his ragged black great coat he wears only dark colors, though none of them are dark enough to fully conceal telltale stains splashed across them. He might as well be wearing his old uniform. His hands shake every so slightly. If not for the haunted expression in his eyes, he would be a perfect mirror reflection of Aeron. Time had clearly not been kind to this version. 

“War is coming,” he says, holding Aeron’s eyes with a look that says your suspicions are true. 

“Like none you’ve seen before. I’m here to warn you, because…” 

He clenches his teeth, a muscle in his jaw jumping. 

“I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. I only made things worse. You deserve to know what’s coming.”

oh. so that’s why he was the one to get the death card. he might not be the traditional apparition of a reaper, but what aeron gazes upon now couldn’t be anything but… d e a t h.  when the ‘other’ aeron retakes his human form, it’s a cracked reflection through that oil slick shimmer.  distorted and fractured.  stained and broken.  he imagines that if he looks closer, he might even see hairline cracks in his counterparts skin, a porcelain vase filled with nothing more than a haunted, bloody void.

but he got what he wanted.  – straight and to the point. even if it’s not what he actually ‘wanted’.  the soldier who sought nothing but peace.  who had seen enough bloodshed to last him more lifetimes than he’s had reincarnations.  the spectre of himself delivers the one message he doesn’t want to hear – one that sends a chill down his spine, cutting at each and every nerve along the way.

❝ war is always coming. ❞

but the words sound weak, even to him.   he lacks the one thing he so often relies upon in front of the others – conviction.  but if this is truly him ( and his doubt in that fades with the haunt in the others eyes ), then there’s no need for the soldiers charade.  it’s one thing to think of a happenstance.  it’s another entirely to look upon the aftermath of something that hasn’t yet come to be.

❝ i don’t deserve anything.  i think we both know that. ❞

but he’s not about to deny what’s in front of his eyes right now.  while he might not deserve it, he goddamn wants to know.  even if the tremor in the others hand isn’t in his right now - he can’t help but feel that… fear… a knot deep down.  a lifetime of trauma unravelling.  

…keep it together.

❝ okay.  if you made it worse, then tell me how i can make it better.  if you came to warn me… us… then there has to be the possibility to – change something.  otherwise… why would you… i… we…? ❞

The reflection, if that’s what he really is, averts his eyes when Aeron speaks, instead looking off into some memory of his that renders him visibly nauseous. As if Aeron’s as-yet-untarnished situation pains him. Perhaps the pain comes from remnants of hope, or perhaps there are none at all. 

“You’ve already seen lines being drawn,” he says, surety in his voice like he remembers being there in Aeron’s place. 

“Salma, Daniel, Kian - you know the tension in the air. So much more waits in the wings.” 

He clenches and unfurls his fists. 

“Plenty of other Councilors have more fight in them than they let on… And that’s before the rest comes.” 

He looks to Aeron again, his eyes half wild. 

“There’s so much to magic you don’t know. We didn’t, either. It tore us apart by picking at our desires and fears. Everyone wanted more. More magic, more power. I tried… to reason with them.” 

He shakes his head at his own misguided decisions. 

“Interfering only made it worse. You can’t fight this war, Aeron. It’s coming no matter what you do, and it’s safer for you - for everyone you care about, and so many others besides - if you just… Don’t.”

he’d thought, at times.  that he was truly ruined.  by the things in his nightmares.  the flickers of flashbacks in his waking moments.  but he isn’t.  not compared to the spectre of himself that stands before him now.

–You can’t fight this war, Aeron

it’s all he’s ever done.  fight.  so what does he mean… they can’t fight?  or they can’t win?

❝ when were we ever – safe? ❞

there’s no turning this off.  no ‘not being’ what he is.  

❝ and when did we ever just – not? ❞

moments.  plenty of them.  when he could have walked away.  turned his back on people, places, promises.  could have shimmered into a crowd and never returned.  be somewhere else.  become someone else.   but there’s nowhere you can go.   and no one you can be.   to escape yourself.

one hand swipes over his face.  almost surprised that he can’t feel the sharpness of his own bones beneath his skin.

❝ and if we don’t fight.  what then?  it happens anyway?  people don’t stop just because there’s no one standing in their way.  you know this.  i know this.  you’ve seen something - you’ve done things.  you made choices.  and you know that i can’t choose that… i can’t just… walk away.  i won’t. ❞

❝ so either - help me - make better choices.  help me - understand what’s coming… or… i guess i’ll be here at some point, looking at myself.  through your eyes. ❞

“I’m trying to help you.” 

He sighs, all the fight in him long gone. He looks the part of a soldier but the set of his shoulders, the trembling in his fingers, all point to a man made captive. 

“There is no stopping this. Everything is outside your control. The Council aren’t the only ones fighting, and when the others come… They will make you choose.” 

He shudders. His voice drips with guilt. 

“Join the war, even only to stop it, and you will be forced to pick a side. Some of the Councilors are still barely more than kids. Standing opposite kids in war? The only thing that makes me feel less damned is the hope that they suffered less by my hand than they would have otherwise. All in the name of power and magic beyond their wildest dreams, or some shit.” 

He looks at Aeron, broken, beaten, ghostly. 

“There’s nothing you can do, Aeron. Just leave while you can. Your only other option is to submit.”

there… in that moment… he truly doesn’t recognise the man in front of him

❝ it’s never been about ‘control’.  it’s always been about doing the right thing. ❞

a bristle - an anger - something bubbling up inside as the spectre brings up kids at war…

…how old were they when they first were sent into battle?  sixteen.  younger still by almost a decade than most people in the lair.  how old were the fighters they came face to face with then?  the footsoldiers.  the cannon fodder.  no older than him.  maybe younger.  with as much fear and fight in them.  and he had killed them.  lives cut short with the bloody roar of war in his ears, the screams of the wounded and dying.  the subtle silence in the aftermath.  only then realising that you were still breathing - hardly believing it… the guilt, the terror, the eternal stain on a soul - no matter how old… of taking anothers life.

it’s a strike - a hand shoved into his gut, grabbing his insides and twisting cruelly to think that he’s the one who brings – d e a t h.  to them.  the people he might call friend.  somehow, he isn’t surprised.  

❝ you seem to have gotten real good at talking about what i can’t do.  not what i can.  so if you want to avoid this - if you want to change my future, your past.  then tell me what’s coming. don’t tell me to run.  don’t tell me to surrender.  tell me what the fuck it is and – S T O P – ❞

❝ – with the fucking pity party.  because while you might have given up on yourself - no matter what, what we have to do, what it does to us - we have never - EVER - given up on them.  ❞

“What if the only right thing there is to do is go?” he asked, a sharper edge to his voice. 

“I’m not saying it’s admirable, or good. I’m not saying anything I’ve done is good. But when your options are that limited? Doing nothing is better than bowing under pressure.” 

He clenches his fists at his sides. 

“Things not of this world are coming. I can’t tell you much more than that.” 

He looks almost apologetic, like he wants to tell. Like he knows it would make all the difference, but the words won’t come. 

“They know of magic you cannot fathom, and they shared that knowledge with the others - and some took the bait. Fell prey to mistakes our originals made. I didn’t want to give up on them, and truly, I never did. Maybe… Well. I have no proof things would go better for you if you did, so I won’t tell you that.” 

He shakes his head again, his eyes darkening under the shadows of his memories. 

“Run. Surrender. I don’t know what else there is for you to try. Seize the magic before anyone else, I suppose. Try to fight the fight all on your own. But I don’t see that as anything other than suicide.”

❝ – what if?  uhuh, and ‘what if’ it’s not. ❞

he’s irritated.  he’s fed up of people not pulling their goddamn weight and right now, the main culprit seems to be himself.

❝ – then what’s the point?  really?  why are you here?  who exactly do you think you’re helping?  what do you think you’re changing?  because so far you’ve given me a grand total of jack-shit to go on.  other than ‘run away’.  which, if you are me, you know won’t happen anyway so… what.  is.  the.  point.  of.  this?  ❞

his tongue clicks across his teeth, he can’t even feel sorry for this supposed other version of himself.  because he never has before and he doesn’t understand when the hell that might have started.

❝ – timing is impeccable by the way.  you couldn’t have made it a few weeks ago?  because if there are things coming.  as you say.  then now might be just about the perfect opportunity to sow a few seeds.  plant a little doubt.  start a wheel spinning in a certain direction. ❞

less convinced.  if this is really a future version of himself then he doesn’t understand the aversion.  even with the guilt of death on his hands ( something neither of them are unfamiliar with by this point ), then he would know the only way to plan a counterstrike is with some kind of viable intelligence and so far, there’s nothing… concrete.  just vague references to horror and war… again… not unfamiliar.

❝ – if you really want things to be different.  then give me – something. ❞

…or take your own advice.  and run.

He's silent for several beats, the quiet stretching between them, separating them. They are not the same, that is apparent. This version of Aeron couldn't look any lonelier if he tried, though, and that's probably for the best. Wallowing is not helpful for either of them. 

"There's more to magic than just our powers," he says at last. 

"Magic is part of this world. Everyone should be able to access it with the right tools. But... The Council can't handle that kind of free power. Justice, Nadine, Marcella, they need to be checked with it. If you see them dabbling in old ways or dealing with creatures that promise them more, you've come upon a choice." 

He shrugs one shoulder. 

"Stop them. Learn the new magic for yourself. Leave. Whatever you think is best. I couldn't help myself, so... maybe you have a point. I may not be of any use to you." 

With that he heads toward the door, his eyes downcast. He's broken, caved to the monster he thinks he is, or to those who attack from the outside - who's the say which is worse? At the door he stops, his voice low. 

"I never tried to take charge. Never thought myself worthy of leading or organizing them or, whatever it is they wanted. I doubt you want that. I guess the only other option I see is to try to intervene in the magic yourself, before it can worm its way into their minds and poison them... But it's a tough thing, to work alone."

[novamortem]

suvaris‌:

DATE: July 6th, late afternoon. LOCATION: The garden @ anyone

Everything looked the same as it had over two weeks ago, sun-drenched and exploding with life with no parallel on earth. The most beautiful place she’d ever seen with one notable exception: the jagged ridge of solid rock that ripped through the center of the otherwise serene garden, a great scar of brown and grey amid a sea of dazzling, endless color. This was the first time Azra dared visit the place since she spoke to the monster with her face. She feared if she returned on her own, it would appear again, violent and angry with intentions of making her suffer for her misstep. 

Azra stood on the edge of the garden, shoulders lifted tensely as she held her breath and waited for an ambush that never happened. Time ticked on but nothing appeared, and so her shoulders dropped and she tentatively stepped closer to the ridge of sharp rocks. Where she managed to mostly repair the damage she did to the lair itself, she couldn’t bring herself to fix this too, and so it remained, a permanent, ugly monument to her own cowardice. She deserved it, in her mind.

Hesitantly, she reached towards the wall and brushed the top ridge of a lower portion with her fingertips. Sharp and rocky, nothing unusual save its very sudden appearance. The last time she was here, frost licked the top in spindly white patterns, and the cold air stung with every inhale. Now with the temperature in the mid-90s and DC’s natural humidity, the rocks felt hot to the touch, sun-warmed and absent of any evidence of their frigid beginnings.

A sound behind her caught her attention and she whirled, ready to bolt, only to recognize the approaching figure. “You scared me,” she said, her voice weaker than she would have liked.

❝ – i scare a lot of people.  can’t for the life of me figure out why. ❞

it’s spoken with a slightly wry turn to his words - idling at the edge of the garden for a moment, eyes not cast in azra’s direction just yet.  as though he’s looking for something on the periphery

                  --( actually, it’s exactly that - considering that’s precisely what he’s doing... watching out for that flicker of a shade, a black smudge, oil slick wings - a crow... his crow... and it was probably something that would be considered the height of madness if he wasn’t 100% sure that it had actually happened.  )--

everyone seemed more and more on edge.  with each passing event, there’s another thing going awry in the world of magic - in the lives of the magicians - in the root of this thing that they’re all somehow tied to.  but he remembers the words of the shade... that power is poison... not the magic, but the temptations that surround it.  even the names of those who might be most tempted... names he doesn’t utter, but bares careful mind to.  even if he doesn’t know absolutely what’s coming - only the warning that something - is - coming, he daren’t take any chances.

however --       -- there’s nothing on the periphery... no sign of ‘another’ aeron... 

...but no - he thinks she might be lying.  not outright, but certainly in part.  he’s not the one who scared her.  she’s scared - of that sudden, unannounced presence.  as though she might have been expecting another -- less welcome one.

❝ – you sure? ❞

a hike of brow as he finally turns to look at her - 

❝ – what’s got you so skittish? ❞