#blindmalice

[blindmalice]

Buck nigh pranced, maintaining several paces ahead of Shuck with an exaggerated flourish of his feet. It was only when Shuck answered did he still, manoeuvring his chin towards the other’s voice.

“Well—yeah.” Nonchalant acceptance. He thrust his hand into his pocket, fishing out two obscure, collapsed mounds; the destroyed remains of said eyes that he opted to purloin after scraping them out of their former owner’s sockets.

“… Hey, what do y’think would happen if I put this in m’eyes?”

[malicioushunger-blog]

There’s something amusing about Buck - the way he acted. The way he pranced. The way he tore out eyes with little concern for their owners. But he was also absolutely vile, and Shucks’ lips turned up in disgust when the blind man produces the blobs of ruined tissue. He knew that Buck couldn’t see the judgemental (and frankly grossed out) expression on his face, but he showed it off anyway.  “Ah’ think you’d get an infection.” A simple answer as the werewolf walked, keeping a good arms-width between him and the presented eyeballs. Sure, he’d eat a man - but would he walk around with a pair of eyeballs in his pocket? No. That’s where he and Buck split paths, and Shuck had no intention of indulging the man in his obscenities. Saying that, he couldn’t deny a certain curiosity about the blind mans mannerisms and plans. “- What’re you even gonna do with ‘em?” 

[grahamstreeter]

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[askdusty]

Bed, Wed, Behead: Astarill, Brynvald, Buck

“… Er.” This is an awkward one. Dust sigha, stepping down from the footstool by her cauldron. “Well, as much as I like Buck, I wouldn’t want to wed or bed him. I don’t really want to behead him either, though. Prefer to take him to the Isles, where he might be safer.”

A small smirk hooks the corner of her lip. “As for the other two, I’d wed Astarill. Know him well enough, know he’s a good assistant in the kitchen and good in bed, and what else could I ask for a husband? Which leaves, of course, bedding that curious Nord. He already couldn’t keep his hands off my box.”

[bookofalmsivi]

[ ♡ ! ]

[Mother of mercy.]

Ah.  Hello there, sera, you startled me.  You’re...very tall.  Have some bread, gods bless.

[askdusty]

[ ♡ ! ]

She has no desire to compliment him after what he had done, but she purses her lips and manages. “… He would clean up nicely, in spite of himself, if he let his hair grow in and had a bath.”

[askdusty]

[ ▣ ! ]

He never stopped smiling.

Dust dragged a hand over her face, Buck snoring gently against her, arms folded, scarred lids closed and hiding the hollows beneath. His stench permeated the air - more than sweat and piss and vomit but blood, necrotic flesh, sliding off like cooked meat from bone. It began at his feet and clambered up his calves, now blistering on his fingers, leaving them hot and puffy and vividly pink, blackening around the nails.

She couldn’t imagine the pain he was in, yet he never stopped smiling. Even now a small grin formed as he stirred, shifting against her and chuckling. “Y’still here?”

A pause. He didn’t care about the pain - no, he relished it. Could it be considered a mercy to do this, if he would be happy regardless? But it wasn’t for his sake alone. This disease, if allowed, would take the city as a plague. Already other beggars were left curled up in terror and pain, clinging to their limbs as they seemed to fall apart.

Perhaps she could help them - perhaps. But Buck was too far gone.

A nudge from him brought her back to awareness. “I’m still here.” She ghosted her fingertips over his scalp. The taste of her own potion remained bitter on her tongue, protection from what she needed to face. A sigh.

“I’ve got something for you.”

Eager hands grasped upwards until she met them with an apple, plump and rosy, glossy with poison. He ate without another word, greedily devouring it and sucking the juices off his fingers. Crunches continued for a minute or two, severing the core in half until it, too, disappeared, seeds spat away.

The sedative took him first. A mercy he would never accept. When she felt his breathing stop she stood, gently laying him down. Another haggard sigh before she faced him, or what had been him, finally still.

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

[firsandfletchings]

[ ♥ ! ]

I kissed my step-brother once.

[askdusty]

[ Slurred words! ]

Dust makes a face at the memory, wiping away a trail of water dribbling down her chin. She’ll hate herself a bit less in the morning if she can drink and stop a hangover. “Can still ss-smell him, I feel like. Poor bashtard. Probably mad. Not in th’fun way. In the way that you starve and die ‘cos you see things that aren’t th-th-there, and nobody believes you, and if y’aren’t cute or pretty or gentle-looking you’re dangeroush. Sheogorath help ‘em.”