#c owen

[loafofbr3adtm]

hiiii outsiders smp fans 😄🍊🔪

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[pagingdoctorhart]

@bladesandtrades

[pm] So like someone in charge? Good. [d: Don't compare your job to his life] Alright, then I'll let your imagination do the work of whatever threat I could make against you if you change your mind about keeping secrets. Would the shutting up part improve if you had context?

[pm] I've never questioned who was in charge here. I have no interest in ending up like any of those bar fight assholes.

Perfect. I have a very active imagination, so be proud of the various ways you've managed to torture me in my mind. I have no interest in ratting you or your friend out to... whoever I would rat them out to. Besides, your friend seemed cool.

Shutting up has never been my strong suit, but I can say I'll make an honest attempt!

[banisheed]

@bladesandtrades replied to your post “[pm] Don't leave shit at my store. Don't come near...”:

[pm] [d: How the fuck do you not have anything better to do? Don't fae have fucking jobs?] [user is afraid this might come across as actual interest in siobhan] Sounds like you can go die in a ditch. A nice and slow death. [the butler comment didn't make user irrationally angry]

​[pm] Oh, I love a slow death! Are you going to kill me, Owen? I didn't know you felt that way about me. I should tell you I'm not looking for a relationship; I hate to break your heart like this. Although, you're used to having it broken, aren't you?

[ariadnewhitlock]

Don't Go to Bars Alone || Owen & Ariadne

TIMING: Very recent, but before the Goo. LOCATION: The Wormhole PARTIES: Owen @apaininyourneck and Ariadne @ariadnewhitlock SUMMARY:  Ariadne tries to go to a bar (The Wormhole), and meets Owen. :/ This is not a slayer she can charm so easily. They talk, and Owen is Owen. CONTENT WARNING: Implication of a creepy coworker of Owen's but nothing happens. Also mentions of alcohol and smoking.

Ariadne had only gone to a bar to prove something. It was the one that Matty had mentioned, ages ago, and even if she didn’t have the combat boots or leather jacket to really fit in, she felt a desperate need to prove (both to herself and to Chance) that she could go out and do wild things, that she wasn’t some scared little mouse. Her dark-wash jean jacket and some non-pastel-colored dress would have to do the job. Plus, if she was going somewhere completely unlike her, she had to dress like she fit in. She wondered if Celene or Inge would be proud of her embracing a darker side of herself. She certainly felt more mare-like. She hoped they’d be proud. If they were, and if Chance was, then that’d make three whole people who she adored and who she looked up to happy.

Which made her happy. Maybe she’d bring Chance back a snack from the bar. If bars did that. Ariadne wasn’t sure, but she figured that was what this all was for.

She at least knew that she wasn’t supposed to knock at the doors of bars. So Ariadne just entered, and was a bit surprised when she wasn’t even carded. Maybe she looked or seemed older than she thought. Which was fascinating, considering even though she was twenty-one, she was also technically still nineteen, in many ways. The thought gave her an unusual boost of confidence and she went up to the bar and ordered something she’d heard Chance mention before. Taking a sip, she glanced around the bar, before one of the men behind the bar was talking to her again. In a way that she did not so much enjoy. Not a total creep, but there was something about him that was unsettling, though Ariadne didn’t know if that was just the alcohol talking. He’d hit on someone else earlier, and it wasn’t in a sweet sort of way. So, emboldened some combination of alcohol and outfit, she followed him out back, fingers tapping against her thigh. “Hey.” She flashed him a smile, somehow grateful for the choice of red lipstick (which she’d bought after Alex had told her to listen to Taylor Swift, because apparently Taylor Swift sometimes wore that). “You - you know you’re supposed to uh, treat people with respect. I - I’m not sure if I -” she continued, tripping over her words. “You’re supposed to be nice.” 

The man scoffed at her, though not before giving her a once over. Which made Ariadne feel all sorts of icky. So she took a few steps forward. She was supposed to practice her skills and abilities, right? That was the only way she’d ever get better? So she offered him a small smile, internally apologizing in her head to Wynne, who was the usual recipient of those smiles. Though, with them, it was never forced. Ariadne shook her head, forcing herself to focus, before she brought her hand up to his forehead and watched him collapse in a heap. 

Being too busy at work was never fun but still, it was preferable to working shifts with Dave. The guy was a smarmy dick, harsh words coming from Owen who could usually pride himself on being both of those things, but his colleague for tonight was just… pathetic. His attempts at flirting had all the grace of a slap to the face and it was a wonder that he hadn’t managed to scare every single female out of the bar by this point. So when the man proudly announced that he was going for a smoke break, Owen was relieved for a moment of reprieve. Had he mentioned that the guy never fucking stopped talking?

Even so, when the five minute break turned into ten and there was still no sign of return, Owen rolled his eyes. The mention of a smoke had gotten him antsy for one as well and ten minutes was overkill to finish off a cigarette. Stupid fucker was probably out there mourning the lack of activity on some dating app. With a sigh that was closer to a grumble than anything else, Owen slapped the bartop and pointed at one of his regulars. “Anyone fucks anything up in the next five minutes, it’s your ass. Keep ‘em in line.” With that, he moved for the back door, ready to tear Dave a new one. 

“Dry your eyes and get inside, fucker. Break time is-” He paused. The distinct crawl of his skin hit Owen at the same time he saw Dave’s useless body crumpled on the floor, where he looked to be… snoring? Stepping outside slowly, he let the door close behind him and spotted who had to be the cause of the tingling down his back. Not a vampire, but something. “Everything alright out here?” he asked slowly, words tinted with suspicion as he took in the girl. She barely looked old enough to be in here, not that their bouncers really cared enough to card anyone. 

Everything alright out here? Ariadne looked up at the man who’d just exited the bar. Well, this certainly wasn’t at all in her plan for the night. “I - uh, yeah!” She chirped, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, wishing she had bubble-gum to pop for the added effect of seeming normal. Normal, and even a bit clueless. Which normally she wouldn’t relish in, but a collapsed sleeping guy next to her meant that all bets of everything else were off.

“He’s - he fell asleep.” Which wasn’t a lie, exactly. “Or like, fell over, I don’t know. He followed me out here, I just wanted a break for - um - something. Smoking!” Which made her involuntarily gag, but she couldn’t take that back now. “Do - why are you out here?” Which was not the best sort of thing to just ask someone, especially someone who very clearly worked or at least fit in at the bar. “I - does that door lock behind you?” Ariadne sighed. “I - I’ll go now, uh, I should go, yeah.”

Owen had met his fair share of liars, some of them decent, others very talented. This young girl was neither, falling over her words in a painful display of innocence. A less suspicious man might have let her go since she didn’t exactly give off vibes of fear and death but Owen knew what she was. Well, sort of. “Yeah, he does follow young girls outside sometimes” he replied with a glance at the snoring man, leaning against the now closed doors, arms crossing. 

“Nah, no need to rush,” he cut in as she started her attempt to run away, pulling out the pack of smokes from his pocket. “I came out here to do the same thing as you. And don’t worry if you forgot yours, I can lend you one.” Obviously not a smoker, her fingers too clean and her nose too scrunched up at merely the thought. Might be fun to see how far she would take the lie, though. “And don’t worry about the door, we can walk in together once we’re finished here.” Whatever that might entail. 

Lighting up one cigarette, Owen passed it to the young girl before lighting another for himself, smoke swirling around her as he watched intently. “So which is it? He fell asleep or he fell over?”

“That’s not very nice to do!” Ariadne nearly squeaked. “The following girls outside thing.” She wanted to shrink into herself, but now was not the time for that. Not if she wanted to hold her own against anyone who worked in that bar. She was, however, going to mention to Matty that maybe this bar wasn’t so much her vibe. No offense, of course, but she just didn’t love it.

And he had cigarettes on him. Great. Ariadne could think of just about every PSA she’d gotten at school, but she was dead anyhow, so would it do her a great deal of harm? If it got the man to ignore her, to realize that she was just clueless and innocent (however much of a lie that might’ve been), she’d deal. “Yeah, I did realize I forgot, and then I thought I’d look so stupid if I went back in, and then back out so I’d love one, yeah.” And about a whole bag of gummy worms when she got home, to get whatever taste would come all out of her mouth. “Good, yeah, we can walk in. Unless – wait, you’re not gonna hit on me, are you?”

She took the cigarette and held it to her lips, the smell making her fight against wrinkling her nose. “He fell asleep and, uh, then he fell over. Like, boom,” Ariadne half dropped her posture, before looking back over to the man. “I dunno what happened. Sorry, I mean, why.” She coughed, involuntarily. “Thanks for the smoke.” Another cough. “I bet he’ll wake up soon, though.”

Owen shrugged in agreement. “Yeah, he’s a fucking dick.” This whole scenario probably would have gone down a lot different if the young girl in front of him wasn’t, Owen had gathered, a mare. No one would ever accuse the slayer of being a pure hearted saint but stalking down very uninterested girls back into an alley definitely crossed his very blurred line of right and wrong. If Dave had been out here harassing someone instead of snoring on the ground, Owen probably would have fucked him up himself. But since the mare had taken care of that herself…

Her sudden worry was understandable, given that she’d just been followed out here, and very ironic considering that was the last thing she needed to be focused on right now. “Please. I like my women to be of at least drinking age, preferably a bit more.” Watching her fumble with the cigarette was amusing in and of itself, face fighting against the instinct to recoil from the smell. The fumbled lie would have been cute, if it hadn’t been delivered by a mare caught red handed. “Hmm. Guess he was just really tired.”

A pause as the girl coughed, body rejecting the cigarette she obviously had no experience smoking, before Owen took a single step towards her. “So, how long you been a mare, then?”

“He does seem to be rather impolite, yes.” She tugged at her hair, trying to find something – anything, really – to do with her hands because of whatever nervousness being here had inspired. 

“Good for you, I guess?” Ariadne scrunched up her face. “Also you’re not my type, either. I prefer people with – well, who don’t – who have kinder smiles.” That was the most she could manage right now, as far as retorts went. It wasn’t good, even she could tell that, but she certainly didn’t have anything more eloquent or, realistically, better in any sort of way whatsoever. 

“Yes. Really tired. There’s stuff that can make you just collapse, I think.”

Ariadne felt tense, itchy all over. She really was the worst at lying, wasn’t she?

She’d figured she could find some sort of excuse to leave, because she didn’t need or want to go back into the bar, but then the strange tall man asked her something that made her stop cold in her tracks (if she had been in a more humorous mood, she would’ve found the fact that someone like her who was cold all the time couldn’t stop anything but cold). “What? I – how – just over a year.” Ariadne settled her gaze on him. “If I was one, which I’m not saying I am, so…”

This small talk, fueled by panic on one side and curiosity on the other, was humorous but getting a bit old. Owen didn’t have the slightest interest in knowing the young girl’s type, whether it was kind smiles or goddamn tentacles. 

The most interesting question of all garnered what had to be the only honest answer Owen had received this evening. Of course the girl backtracked, but it was done with the same level of expertise as the night’s previous lies, that was to say, zero. The how was interesting to hear - had she never encountered a slayer before? A decent feat if she really had been around like this for more than a year. 

With a sigh, Owen took yet another step to close the distance between them, whipping out a knife from his jacket in a fluid motion. Good thing he’d grabbed it before the smoke break. “I don’t like being lied to,” he said sweetly, knife held down by his side, for now. “So why don’t you tell me what really happened to the snoring shitstain over there and then I can get back to work?”

Ariadne tensed up as Owen took another step toward her. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, or the way his voice sounded. That was a mean sort of thing to think, but she thought it nonetheless. 

Her eyes shot straight to the knife as he pulled it out of his jacket. A curse and a blessing that she had perfect eyesight at nighttime, though Ariadne liked to figure that even if she hadn’t, the knife would’ve still been pretty much entirely visible. 

“I - he fell asleep, okay?” She snapped, more than she would’ve liked. “He – I —” the man knew what she was, and even though Ariadne had never been all too good at guessing games, she had to figure that this also meant that he might’ve at least had a hunch about what she could do. “Fine. I made him fall asleep because I was uncomfortable.” She shrugged, still halfway folding into herself. “I didn’t hurt him, and I’d really really like to leave now.”

Large eyes focused on the knife, obviously, and as so many times before, it was a foolproof way to get anyone talking. Some people required a bit more persuasion and Owen was never hesitant to provide that but the young girl didn’t seem very experienced with all of this. Hadn’t built up a fixed attitude towards slayers. At first lies poured out, words tinted with anger that the slayer honestly hadn’t expected given how this whole conversation had gone so far. Finally though, the glint of a knife worked its magic. 

“Mm, you didn’t hurt him, true,” Owen mused, the distance between them shrinking further. Playing with the knife in his hand, not brandishing it at the mare quite yet, he finally stared her down fully. “But you have hurt people before, I bet. With your freaky little nightmare powers?” There wasn’t really a purpose to this and the girl didn’t really look dangerous but Owen knew that appearances could be deceiving. What kind of a slayer would he be if he didn’t fully assess the danger before deciding whether or not the mare could go on her merry way?

She wasn’t going to cry. Even if this tall grumpy man knew just what she was, and that she had hurt someone. “I – no. I – I don’t hurt people. I don’t like to hurt people. Ever. It’s – I swear.” Ariadne very much doubted that she was proving anything to this man, but now that she was going, she found it exceptionally difficult to put a pause. 

He made her feel tiny. Both of her parents were on the taller side, and she’d gotten that from them, but Ariadne had always figured that she didn’t hold her height nearly as successfully as they did. Though there were a whole heck of a lot of things that she didn’t do as well as they did.

“I won’t tell anybody at all that you brought a knife to work, I just – will be going.” She took a step to the side, toward the street. “Why would you say I hurt somebody? I know – my powers are bad, but I don’t think that’s something a knife can fix.” Ariadne’s eyes narrowed. “So like, stop? Okay??”

It was never really as fun dealing with these kinds, the ones whose necks constricted in an attempt not to cry, who pretended to be strong while lying through their teeth about their nature. Owen much preferred the monsters who bit back, screamed and shouted and fought for their vile way of living. At least right up until the end when they begged for mercy instead. “Ever?” he pushed sarcastically, cocking his head. “You’d be dead if you didn’t feed and I think I already told you I don’t like being lied to.”

Her step towards the street was mirrored by Owen, easily blocking the young girl’s way out. They weren’t finished. “I don’t know, kinda hard to give people nightmares that might kill them when you’ve met the business end of a knife,” he mused, holding the knife higher to drive the point across, dim lights glinting off the blade. “If it’s my job to get rid off things like you, why should I stop?”

“I’m – I don’t – I have to feed yes but I try to do it so that I hurt people the least possible.” Ariadne sighed, “people’ve told me that it doesn’t really hurt. That it’s just a part of what already naturally happens so… like… I might as well.” It sounded like a lie to her, too, as much as she didn’t want it to. As much as she wanted to believe Inge or Leila and tell herself that she wasn’t some sort of freakish abomination. “I’m not trying to lie.”

He wasn’t the sort of person she would’ve been friends with in high school. Even though she was pretty sure they wouldn’t have even been there at the same time because he looked older, and not in a nice big brother way. The thoughts, of course, made Ariadne feel horrible, and so she frowned at him. “That’s a - uh - weird thing to get paid for, and you should stop because I said please.” She took what must have been only a millisecond of distraction to dart around him, in an attempt to get away.

She was meek, frightened and hiding behind excuses that honestly, Owen believed. This wasn’t your regular undead playing coy, feigning innocence but rather, a young girl who actually didn’t want to hurt anyone. Shame she was what she was, then. Not that it was his problem and he didn’t exactly take pity on her for it, but he did take her word that she wasn’t trying to lie. 

The sudden movement was unexpected since she had so far been working with panicked talking and ‘freezing’, so flight wasn’t something he had prepared for. Of course, his only response to anything sudden was, and always had been, fight. As the much smaller form tried to slip around him, Owen’s blade struck, not aiming to kill at the moment but definitely to incapacitate. It slipped into the girl’s side with ease before retracting, now coated in something shiny. It took a second for him to recall why the fuck before a distant bit of knowledge popped up, about the energy or whatever mares had instead of blood. “Gross,” he muttered, much preferring actual blood or the clean and simple dust vampires at least had the decency to turn into. 

She tensed up when the knife entered her side, looking over at the man with wide eyes, ones that she hoped said, why would you do this? 

He called it gross and even if she found the glitter somewhat beautiful, sometimes, Ariadne couldn’t help but agree with him. She was something gross, and her hand found the cut on her side quickly, hoping that it wouldn’t have done too much to damage her, but unsure, considering she hadn’t actually ever been stabbed before. “Why did you –?” She backed away from him. “That was very mean.”

Which was a given, at least to her, though Ariadne wasn’t sure if it was just as obvious to her companion. “You could’ve just left me alone. I was just leaving.” She didn’t like how much she whined. “Your friend is fine. I didn’t feed from him.” Ariadne took another few steps away for good measure, before squeezing her eyes shut, picturing her bedroom, and projecting away.

Inge would be proud, she was certain.

[slaved-violetevans]

Cont’d from here

That’s so sweet of you to say, Mister Owen. I am always happy to be useful. Even more so when it’s of use to you. Do I get any hints? 

@owenepierce​

[loafofbr3adtm]

he that is truly dedicate to war

hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself,

hath not essentially but by circumstance

the name of valour

[loafofbr3adtm]

honey, i'm making sure the tables made

we can celebrate the good that we've done

i won't lie if there's something still to take

there is ground to break, whatever's still to come

[banisheed]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Fable Blades PARTIES: Owen ( @bladesandtrades ) & Siobhan ( @banisheed ) SUMMARY: Owen and Siobhan make a deal. CONTENT WARNING: some references to past emotional abuse (vague)

The fact that Owen was slightly more used to fae now, was forced to work with them closely on a regular basis, did absolutely fucking nothing to stem his worry about this thing he had planned. Planned was generous, actually, Owen had more so stumbled into this situation because he was a fucking idiot that now needed to clean up the mess he had accidentally made for himself two fucking years ago. Working with fae didn’t mean that he was regularly exposed to their fucking tricks, thankfully, and other than the run in with the tricky faun in the woods and then the deal made with Siobhan, Owen had been lucky. Also cautious, after Siobhan, the fae that he was now willingly walking into another deal with. 

Well, maybe. He hadn’t fully excluded the possibility of slicing her head clean off since that would also do in keeping her quiet. But Owen had learned some new things about fae these last few months, including that they were, in all scenarios, slippery fucking bastards. There was no chance in hell he was letting this insane woman, fae or not, get the drop on him. 

To his advantage, she had agreed to meet him at Fable Blades. Owen had made sure to keep all projectiles out of easy reach, leaving the only blades on display the ones practically dripping with iron, both regular and cold. It definitely bothered him not knowing what sort of vermin Siobhan was but maybe this meeting might reveal some things. Owen would hate to waste a valuable dispellate for nothing. 

He was waiting in front of the store’s counter when the fae arrived, her disgustingly smug features immediately putting Owen on edge, his crossed arms crossing even tighter across his chest. “I’m not agreeing to any deal unless the terms are clear and I say I’m happy with them, got it?” Owen greeted, voice deadpan. “And don’t fucking touch anything.”

—

Siobhan adored Owen: he was pathetic, and she liked that in a man. Unlike Emilio, Owen had a sense of humor. Emilio’s sense of humor had died just like he did—which was a joke he would never laugh at. Sure, Owen had tried to stab her, but Emilio actually did. She was still recovering, emotionally and physically. It’d really hurt her that it wasn’t a fun stabbing; she’d never had an unfun stabbing before. Except for— Except for— “Fuck!” Siobhan snapped her hand back, shaking it out. The old scar across her palm looked a little red. She stared at the door handle then she leaned over, peering into the glass at Owen’s smug, gangly body. “Blessed Mother smite that bastard.” In less religious terms: die. Siobhan didn’t like Owen anymore. 

She slipped her gloves on and stepped inside, hissing. “Your door bit me.” But her sour mood was undone by the glorious sight of various pointy things. Some people called them weapons, at that moment, Siobhan thought of them as future-pins inside her future-pincushion Owen. She grinned. “As your best friend, do I get a discount?” She leaned over the display when Owen’s annoying prattle interrupted her. He went on and and on and on and then ‘don’t fucking touch anything’. Siobhan turned to look at him as she spat on the display glass. “I didn’t touch it,” she said. 

“You’re not going to say ‘hello’?” She straightened herself out, tugging her jacket into place. “Ask me how my day was? Apologize for this hostile environment?”

—

A small blessing in this raging dumpster fire of a situation, watching the fae jerk her hand away from the door and glare in Owen’s direction. “Oh no, I forgot to warn you about that?” he asked, barely bothering to feign innocence they both knew was nonexistent. Sadly, Siobhan’s displeasure didn’t seem to last long, her unnerving eyes starting to roam the walls with an obvious appreciation. “I wouldn’t sell you a fucking butter knife even if you scooped out your own heart as payment,” he informed her with a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes, which tracked Siobhan’s every single movement. Obviously and with good reason, he didn’t trust the bitch. 

His eyes narrowed further when she spat on the display like a petulant child, jaw clenching as Owen scraped at the bottom of his reserve patience. There hadn’t even been a lot of it present to begin with, not for this fae in particular. “You’re disgusting,” Owen told her plainly, dispelling the thought of how easy it would be to cross the distance between them, carve out her tongue with cold iron, see her try to spit on his things after that. A deep inhale, a reminder that trying to stab a fae of unknown origin was an easy way to get into trouble, maybe even of the ‘dead hunter’ kind. 

“This is me being courteous. Let’s get to the point so I don’t have to spend longer than necessary looking at you.”

—

“How do you expect to make money with that attitude?” she asked. “No wonder you dress like…” Siobhan dropped her eyes to his shoes, making a show of panning up his body with a practiced look of fashion-based contempt. “...that.” There wasn’t anything wrong with the way he was dressed, but there didn’t need to be anything wrong with it for her to find something wrong. Whatever this skill was, if it could be called a skill at all, she’d named it after her mother. “Disgusting? I prefer ‘eccentric’.” 

Siobhan’s smile twitched; Owen was tightening up like a coil under pressure. She could get him to spring at her; he’d always had the wind-up nature of a toy. Find the key on his back and turn and turn and turn. Maybe that was what that old vampire lover of his had liked. In the park, when she’d bound him into sharing the truth about all his murders, he’d mentioned killing for her. She thought it was romantic. No one ever killed for her sake, she was always doing her own killing. Except for now. Owen was going to kill Flappin’ Flann for her. He would prove that she was still someone worth doing the impossible for.

…By virtue of being so annoying that he simply had no choice. Siobhan was starting to think this wouldn’t help her self esteem as much as she dreamed it would. She pulled the wanted poster of Flappin’ Flann out of her pocket and slid it on the counter, around her spit. “Animal tracking wasn’t on my fae curriculum, too busy with learning how to be better than everyone else,” she said. “That’s where you come in. You find it. Then I scr—” She snapped her mouth shut. “Handle it. Then you kill it. Then I take the reward. Then we live happily ever after. I’m seeing two kids and an adorable shih-tzu in our future.”

—    

Owen’s skin prickled as the fae’s disapproving gaze looked him over, which was a stark reminder of how much he disliked the woman, never one to shy away from any sort of once over, appreciative or not. It might have had more to do with the fact of how much she might see, considering the information she knew. Sure, she only spoke of disagreeing with the way he dressed (which was bullshit, Owen knew he looked damn sharp) but he wondered what other disapproving thoughts went through that insane head. Not that he cared. One day he’d drive a knife through it and then it wouldn’t matter what had or hadn’t passed through that fucked up mind. “Oh no, are all fae born without taste? That’s so sad.”

Siobhan wasn’t just eccentric, she was strange in all the worst ways and, Owen had to regularly remind himself, dangerous. She hadn’t really done him any physical harm up until this point but that day back in the park, her blade pressed against his pulse point, Owen had seen the willingness to maim reflected clearly in her eyes. Not just a willingness but a longing. A familiarity with the process. 

With a weary sigh, Owen shuffled half a step away from Siobhan, looking at the poster she had brought along. A shitty picture of a shitty creature that Owen still didn’t quite believe was real (there were so many bullshit fucking cryptids in this town). Sure, tracking had been a part of Owen’s curriculum, both for the human kind of hunting and the more violent kind, but that still didn’t mean he liked where this was heading. Especially not when Siobhan cut herself off from saying something, receiving a very suspicious look from Owen. He knew better than to try and get a straight answer from her. Hopefully, she’d slip up again. As soon as he knew what flavor of manipulative bastard he was dealing with… “I’d rather kill myself than get a shih-tzu,” Owen deadpanned, not even touching the joking notion of having kids with this fae with a ten foot pole. 

“Say you’re not full of shit and this thing actually exists. I kill it. We still haven’t talked about your end of the deal. I was thinking you let me take your head clean off in exchange but we can workshop it.” 

—

“How would you know?” she asked. “Do you know other fae? I thought I was the only fae in your life.” Siobhan tried to pout; every time she brought her lips down, they pulled back up. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” She shook her head. “But you’d look so cute with a tiny dog.” She was picturing it. “Honestly, it would suit you. Could you imagine a little chihuahua curled up under your arm?” She could. Her gaze—previously full of disdain—was transformed into a look of glittering imagination. She could see it all: white tank top (important), tiny adopted dog with one eye (it needed to be a sad one) in one hand, bloody knife in the other hand. Now that she was looking at him, in fact, those sunken cheeks were really quite attractive; almost like a corpse. Now if only he was actually one… 

Siobhan tilted her head. “We have to hope The 3 Daggers isn’t full of shit. Although, I’m sure it is.” She’d never been, but lurking around Gatlin Fields when she’d lived there had revealed the bar’s identity to her. What could be more tempting to a fae than a place they weren’t allowed to enter? She’d found the poster in the trash outside, in a moment she would not like to recount to Owen. Enough rumors linked together to tell her that Flappin’ Flann was still very much alive and the bounty still very much existed. She didn’t know why the poster had been thrown out—if it was from a hunter who asked for a copy only to realize it was futile, or if the one posted inside had gotten so old it needed to be replaced—but now she had it and now she wanted Flappin’ Flann. 

Imagining herself walking into the bar with Flappin’ Flann’s head over her shoulders made her smile. What could be more alluring than an impossibility? Or several, all stacked up? The bar, Owen, Flann, her? Siobhan loved a narrative. “I’ll never speak to you again: not in person, not online, not in letters. Silent as bone.” If she needed to speak to Owen again, she’d have to use an intermediary, but why would she ever need that? What she stood to gain was greater than whatever annoying Owen could give her. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

—

Oh, Owen knew other fae, out of necessity more so than longing - he’d cut ties with the more casual encounters when his life had started to consist mostly of hanging around with the undead, finding that to be enough non-human exposure. How would Siobhan feel about that fact, if she knew that his intimate encounters didn’t just apply to the things he’d been raised to kill but also her species. His curiosity was obviously not enough to reveal that information to her, Siobhan already had way too much knowledge on him without Owen willingly providing more. “I know all sorts of people, if they can be beneficial to me.” 

SIobhan was eyeing him again and it made his skin crawl just the same as before, even if her gaze was less judgemental now and more… well, harder to fucking read. Fucking fae and their chaos. “Keep your deranged little chihuahua fantasies in your pants,” Owen huffed, turning his attention back to the crumpled poster that had seen better days. Where the hell had she even gotten this? Stolen it off another hunter? By force? Not that Owen could pass judgement on wounding other hunters. “Most of them are definitely full of shit but the bounties usually check out,” he sighed, wondered if a hunter or two got the hiccups. Carefully, Owen folded up the worn paper, sliding it into an inside pocket of his jacket. 

With a grimace, Owen turned his attention back to the fae who was smiling. His chest constricted - anything that brought Siobhan glee had to mean trouble for him. No backing out now. His eyes narrowed and his ears perked as the drafts to a deal were laid out before him. Almost good enough. “And the shit you know about me so far? That doesn’t go any further.” A pause. “Has it gone any further?” The possibility that she might have run her mouth before this, had been given more than a year to go wild with the most intimate details of his sordid past, hadn’t properly crossed Owen’s mind before now. He’d meant to deal with this woman soon after their first meeting but thanks to another bitch in his life, had gotten a bit preoccupied. 

—

There was something different about Owen, it was unmistakable. The rust was washed off of him. Unbound by the chain of a fae bind, free from a forced vulnerability, inside the safety of a place he knew, Owen was different. Siobhan was proud of him. She’d only met him that one time, but still, it was like watching a dirty child grow up into a washed adult. Yet, which one was more Owen? This man here or the man-full-of-smoke that she’d met? How could one weigh versions of the same person? Which one made Owen more real? If she peeled this Owen back, would she find the other one boiling underneath him? And what did you get when you peeled that one back?

What he said—that he knew all sorts of people if they were beneficial—nearly made Siobhan laugh. She thought about his vampire ex, and all the things he said he did for her. The Owen she knew—briefly, like a knife whipping through the air—wouldn’t know a benefit if it choked him. She let him have it; for all she knew, maybe he was right. Maybe he’d really turned those tables around and now he was the one that people did things for. Or was he still scrambling around like a dog looking for a leash? She supposed that he’d never tell her. The mystery of Owen would have to die. 

But Siobhan didn’t want to let it go. “Why, Owen, would I blab around town about your most intimate secrets? Would I tell people that you spent—what was it? Months? Years?—as a poor, little guard dog? Owen, I don’t kiss and tell.” Which was mostly true; Siobhan revered honesty. Owen might’ve been bound to her to expose his secrets but Siobhan respected how deeply it’d hurt him to do it. Even someone like her had lines she would never cross; even someone like her had values and morals and okay, at least partially she hadn’t said anything because it was more fun not to. Siobhan wasn’t interested in simple undoings; any feckless ne'er-do-well could break something, only deft hands could dismantle. Owen knew that. After all, it’d happened to him. 

To be skilled at this, one had to respect what they were doing; one had to understand it. Siobhan knew how much that information hurt Owen, Siobhan saw how much he hated sharing it with her, Siobhan knew that it was infinitely more dangerous for him to never know what she planned on doing with his secrets (nothing at all) or if she’d already released them (she hadn’t and wouldn’t). She smiled; Owen thought so lowly of her that she wouldn’t even have to lie about it. “Your secrets are completely safe with me! Have I given you cause not to trust me? I am a fae after all: lying isn’t fun for the digestive system. Oh, but I suppose that means that maybe if someone asked… Maybe I could’ve…” Siobhan waved her hand. “I’m sure it’s fine. Do we need this to be a part of our wonderful, friendly deal?”

—     

It seemed a pointless thing, these attempts at proving… something to a fae Owen barely knew from a crowd of fucking leprechauns. What did it matter that an insane, tricky fae like SIobhan thought of him, even if piecces of it might be based off the most delicate of truths? No matter that someone so chaotic and unpredictable was one of only four people in possession of the knowledge that Owen Lundkvist had, at one point, had a heart. She seemed so morbidly interested in it, too, or maybe just in the discomfort she managed to evoke in him by pulling at those strings again and again. Never speaking to Siobhan again, about this or anything else, couldn’t come soon enough. 

His jaw was set as she yammered on, so fucking theatrical and for what? Her words wouldn’t have been any less infuriating if she just spoke like a normal person - Emilio’s jabs about Owen’s metaphorical leash had hit hard enough and those had been very straight to the point. At least Siobhan’s words were slightly more dull, not sharpened by the knowledge of the last year. Oh, she definitely would have enjoyed being in the know about that, too, Owen was sure. To learn that he’d not escaped his unwilling position as a guard dog without a very steep price, all of it laced with pain and humiliation. A small blessing, one that provided him with just enough relief not to decapitate Siobhan where she stood (or die trying). “I’m not gonna pretend to know how that cesspool you call a brain works,” he bit back, going for nonchalance and failing quite spectacularly. Resisting the urge for murder was about all the composure he could muster under siege from Siobhan’s one woman show. 

“You seem like a masochist, probably like the pain of lying,” Owen argued, finally cracking under the pressure of her game and rounding the counter to put some space between them, find something to do with his hands. He picked up the blade he’d been assessing before her arrival, a curved knife with an intricately carved wood handle, not an iron one but one that would be just as satisfying to drive between her ribs anyway. Letting the light glint off it, Owen gave himself a beat to think this over. It didn’t seem like he was entering a deal that would come back to fuck him completely dry and unprepped but again, this was only his second deal with a fae ever and the first one hadn’t been great. 

“Yes,” he finally decided, resting the tip of the knife on the counter between them, trying to read from Siobhan’s eyes whether or not this was somehow all a plan to screw with him. They were entirely undecipherable. “You don’t talk to me again, at all, by any means about anything. You don’t talk about me or the shit you know about me to anyone. If I kill this… Flan creature for you.” His throat felt tight, probably a sign that this was a bad idea but Owen was too far in it now, too riled up by Siobhan’s taunting that she might just let his dirty little secrets slip if she felt like it. 

—

“That makes two of us: I don’t know how my brain works either,” Siobhan said, even if she thought calling it a “cesspool” was a little harsh. It was more like a bog, one of the old and stinky ones. She smiled, she really couldn’t stop smiling at him. This was all just so lovely; who didn’t love a plan that went according to…well, the plan. Not that she had a real plan for this part, exactly. Still. Owen wasn’t stabbing her, and maybe he was calling her a bitch only once or twice in his head. She assumed that was an upgrade from their first meeting. “Masochist?” She touched her chest. “Me?” Siobhan considered it as though he wasn’t just trying to annoy her. She supposed that she did sometimes seek out pain; it wasn’t her fault it so often followed fun. “Coming from the king of masochists, I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Then she frowned. Then she couldn’t stop frowning. The plan was not going according to the nonexistent plan. “By any means?” She didn’t like that. It used the fae no-no words: you didn’t make a promise with any or all or every or always or never. Those sorts of things almost always got tangled up later on. Siobhan knew better but her eyes were stuck on the knife. Owen didn’t like her. Owen was cautious. Owen would know if she tried to wiggle out of the words with some creative synonyms. Perhaps I am a masochist, she thought. 

“I won’t talk to you again, by any means, and I won’t talk about you, to anyone, if you kill Flappin’ Flann—while I watch—and leave the body for me.”  Siobhan pulled her glove off and held her hand out. “Deal? No, it does not count if you shake my hand with the pointy end of your knife there.” 

—

At least she was willing to admit her insanity - was that better? Looking the problem so blatantly in the eye and continuing to let it fester? Owen was quick to banish the thought, definitely not because he wasn’t willing to admit to his own madness and subsequently face it. Hypocrisy truly was an artform. “That must be because it doesn’t,” Owen sniped but it all felt a bit pointless with the bitch smiling so genuinely back at him. Even the endless and quite frankly, aimless insults thrown back and forth between him and Emilio felt more satisfying than this, and those really weren’t all that satisfying as they dragged on. His eyes narrowed at Siobhan’s new title for him - he really fucking disliked it when the fae had a point. “The closest you’re going to get to one.” 

Finally, a shift. Owen had rarely been so fucking pleased to see another person’s displeasure painted so clearly across their face. Like a funhouse mirror, the second Siobhan’s smile dropped, his lips quirked upwards. Maybe she was faking it, playing up how little she wanted this deal for his benefit but… well, she really had been honest with him up until now, brutally so. Not to say that Owen believed anything that left her mouth but, gun to his head, he would have been inclined to label it as truth rather than lies. So the way she was carefully mulling this deal over, hesitant much like Owen had been, made the slayer feel more at ease. It probably shouldn’t have but it did anyway. 

He’d never listened so intently to a couple of sentences in his goddamn lives as when Siobhan regurgitated the details of their deal back to him, looking for any hidden meaning, an intonation that might fuck him over. Chet would have been proud, maybe even Eve, aside from the obvious misstep of making a deal with a fae in the first place. It was simple, no room for fine print or tricks. If Owen managed to kill this creature that maybe probably existed, he would never have to worry about this wretched creature holding out her hand to him again. 

The knife clattered to the counter and Owen accepted her hand, grasping it with more force than was entirely necessary because the handshake in and of itself was unnecessary to the deal, so why not use it to inflict pain. Even if it had practically been established that Siobhan enjoyed it and fuck, she really was in his damn head. “Deal.” Yanking his hand away, making a show of wiping it against his jeans, Owen jerked his head towards the door. “Get the fuck out of here. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for the hunt.” 

—

Owen’s hand wasn’t soft but she’d expected that; he was a man of hard edges. She thought of those optical illusions stairs, the sort that lead down and down and in on themselves and down and around impossibly for infinity; all straight lines, corners and right-angle turns. A jumble of points leading somewhere her eyes could never follow. Siobhan wondered if someone ever had managed to follow Owen’s pointy stairs all the way down; she was feeling romantic. Perhaps it was Owen’s hand crushing hers like walnut and the imprint of his calluses that the grip gave her. Or maybe it was thinking of his old vampire lover—the mystery Owen would never let her solve. Or, instead, it was simply the sort of mood she’d been in this year. Fae magic flicked between them, a kick in her chest that fluttered away without ceremony—magic never felt like much to her—and she mourned what could have been a long and fruitful antagonist relationship. 

Now that Owen—someone she had never given more than a passing thought to—could potentially go away from her, she wanted to keep him. Siobhan hated this habit of her mind: to desire suddenly what was being denied. She wanted him to ask her to say, as though he would, and it was the fact that he wouldn’t that she wanted it all the more. She wanted to be his friend, because he hated her, and because she liked that. She’d wanted this deal and now she wanted to put it all away. Siobhan liked to collect impossibilities. 

“Don’t miss me too much!” Siobhan turned and waved at him, blowing him a kiss. “Don’t—” Siobhan hissed; whatever charming retort she had planned (and it would’ve been very charming, thank you) died in her throat. “Your door bit me again!” she called out as it swung closed behind her. “Get rid of the stupid iron!” she said. She pulled on her gloves and walked away, unconvinced that Owen had heard her and convinced that he wasn’t listening, anyway.