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Nikki’s eyes fell open, the quivering of her breath tickling even her own lips. “We have to stop meeting like this.” She whispers, her fingertips pressing tighter into Ren’s hips. The buzzing in her head and the beating of her heart sounding in her ears began to calm, her lips nuzzling into a pale cheek. “Not that I’m complaining, whatsoever.”
She was glaring so hard she was truly surprised a hole hadn’t burned straight through his head at the sheer heat of it. Had she still had her magic, she would have blast him right back to Asgard, but alas, Zelena had made sure she played into her plan. Bitch, she thought with a bitterness it was almost tangible.
"Seriously, Fenrir, get your fucking hands off of me,” seething words of anger came through grit teeth. “I may not have my powers anymore, but I can sure as hell punch you hard enough to break your god damn nose.” God, she was not in the mood for his bullshit. Everyone’s magic little Saviour had enough on her plate at the moment, thank you very much, and he wasn’t helping in the slightest.
Mortal rage paled in comparison to his own, a mere worm to cast naught but the slightest of shadows upon the beast that slumbered within a cage of ancient bone and cursed flesh, serving only the court jester to bring demeaning mirth to a greater form of life. A wicked smirk hung upon bearded lips, blatant refusal etched upon false skin as the wolf only tightened his grip, a calloused paw wending about a feeble wrist in an unspoken warning to broken bone's bane and pain's invitation -- no care was spared to the other's situation, the swan song of an uncertain future trembling within a heroic breast unheard and neglected by chaotic whims. The future of those deemed mere tales in the eyes of children, imaginary truths pressed between the pages of a battered book as though they were simple flowers to be treasured for all time, mattered little to one such as he. Ragnarök would come to pass no matter the witch's intentions, such would be assured, but the matters of Charming life and Snow-kissed family held no sway over a poisoned mind, kindling no flame of empathy within a vicious breast to see a chaotic beast loan helping tooth and claw to vanquishing so prevalent a threat.
"Course you can, sweetheart." he drawled, disbelief the open taunt to rule a silvered tongue. "There's just one problem with your little belief there -- what makes you think I'm gonna let you?"
kissofmistletoe:
”Oh, I would like to see you try,” snorted the stag, the only sign he had listened to the other instead of concentrating on the paperwork in front of him. ”All spawn of Loki’s are monsters, and there is nought in your manner or blood that can change that. You are who you are, and it is something hated.”
Barbed words did little to impede feigned nonchalance, gnawing upon the wolf with all the strength of a toothless pup trying to fell it's parent. His uncle was doomed to spin only the truth, foul verity staining his lips in the place of the harbinger's preferred mendacity, but such things had long since come to be accepted in Fenrir's mind. Who was he, if not a creature to be feared and hated? There was power in terror, and he who could inspire it in all the realms as a whole would surely know no limit.
"I rather think you would, Baldr, but it will be difficult with your head jammed so far up your own arse." A cool response, the simple truth as Fenrir saw it admitted freely and stained with the winter's breath in his veins. "Still I would rather be I than be you -- I can't be killed because your kind have honour and fear to stop them, you can't because your mother went and baby-proofed all the Nine, just for you."
Frustration mixed with annoyance coursed through her. Killian had burst through her office door at the station with a damn near murderous look held in the cerulean of his gaze when he’d growled out that "he took my hook,” which was when Emma had decided it would be best if she handled this. As much as a showdown between the two would have been amusing, it would have likely ended with Hook’s lifeless body in this situation (no matter if he’d admit it or not). Captain Hook wasn’t one known for his level-headedness when it came to his anger; the man went on a 300 year quest to kill his adversary for gods’ sake.
At the wolf’s taunting words she was suddenly extremely grateful that Hook had listened to her and just waited at the loft until she returned with his namesake. There’s no way he would have stood for having his ability questioned (something about pride and pirates and the principle of the thing).
Where Killian would have likely started shouting at his double and advancing with the intent to injure him, Emma simply rolled her eyes, keeping her anger at bay. Upon meeting the Asgardian, Emma had learned not to let his words get to her, at least not too much. He excelled in getting under others’ skin, and she’d decided on a ‘take no bullshit’ policy with this particular trouble maker. “Bite your ankles? I’m not the one that shares genes with the canine species,” she scoffed. “Look, I’m really not sure how the hell you even got his hook, but it’s safe to assume there was some breaking and entering involved, not to mention theft,” she continued, realizing this probably wouldn’t work. “So unless you want to get charged and taken into the station, I suggest you give it back. Now.” Worth a shot, she supposed.
Had empathy become the wolf, bringing roiling discontent and raging superiority low to see some measure of understanding rule a chaotic mind, mortal frustration would surely have cowed him, seeing a great head lowered and childish apologies brim upon truthful lips, but Storybrooke would have no such luck. Calloused fingers only tightened about the smooth metal, a childish petulance soured until it could only be named refusal guiding ancient movement and knifing mind, surging within his veins as easily as his brother's venom would the skies come the time for Ragnarök's bloodshed. Some would argue a child yet lingered within chaotic tissues, citing his fate as little beyond the tantrum of a child to foolishly believe itself wronged by those who only wished for the betterment of it and the world about it, but Fenrir would no sooner agree with such insights than he would don a thousand wards and name himself Baldr.
"You might not share genes with a dog, Saviour, but you might wanna take a look at your parents," a feigned wince pulled upon bearded lips, though no being could truly deny the viscous venom of cruel mirth boiling beneath the wolf's skin, "Followin' each other round like little lost pup's gotta give you some indication your bloodline's more'n just a bitch in name." That which once had been pain turned only to a grin, a breath of harsh laughter ghosting across bared teeth and moving to accost a slandered mortal form. "Ooh, you really think that's gonna work on me? Intelligence, Swan, you might wanna start usin' it. There ain't no cage that can hold me and if you think I'm gonna make like a good little harbinger and come along willingly, you're gonna want to think again."
—— Her fingers splayed, prelude to spread hand shrug that’s more cant of head than roll of shoulders — his sort of lazy drawl isn’t her forte so she chooses bonhomie instead. “I don’t know that chasing your own hind parts in a circle counts as better things. ”
---- Though defence was a game rarely played by the wolf, a shield left to rust and branded of little use in the face of tooth and claw's gleaming blade, it sprang easily to a silvered tongue, gilding drawled words with all the finesse of Asgard's treasured blacksmiths hard at work upon princely armour. A smirk pulled easily upon bearded lips, mirth's hands insistent upon seiðr-wrought features as dark eyes clashed against the warrior's form. "Oh, well I'm sure you know all about chasin' tail, Sif," he drawled, a breath of laughter lingering upon bladed words, "How is Thor these days?"
She stepped back, “Sorry. I just wanted to know what was wrong, okay?” She raised her hands to show she meant no harm.
"And what makes you think I'm gonna tell you, hm?" Harsh words, raw with abrasive venom, tore harshly from a disguised throat, a growl rumbling low in his throat and serving a fitting backdrop to so clear a display of bestial anger. Fenrir's demands did not end, however, for the end of one saw the birth of another upon a furious silvered tongue, "What makes you think I'm gonna tell you anything, mortal? Wolves don't give a shit about the opinions of sheep and gods don't bow to the demands of one little human just 'cause curiosity's got the better of 'em."
"Shut it, wolfie," she growled. "The past is the past, nothing you can say is going to change who he is now." Jade eyes were shooting daggers at the man before her, so like Killian on the surface, yet so, so different where it really mattered.
"Is that so?" Honeyed words fell easily from grinning lips, a subtle venom lingering in the shadow and howling to course throughout righteous veins. To taunt the beloved Saviour whilst both his piratic counterpart and her own supposedly heroic parents loomed throughout the town about them was perhaps a foolish move, but the wolf cared little for the daggers in her gaze nor the blades so many a denizen was surely yearning to see driven through his flesh -- he was a god amongst mortals, what hope did they have of donning Silence's mask and ending him before his time was truly upon him? "You can't tell me you've never thought about it before, Swan, it's written all over your face. Everyone leaves the poor wittle pwincess lyin' in the dust -- your parents, your kid's father, your little Sheriff -- what's stoppin' dear little Killy from bein' any different?"
