#convo:pan

[lxstnotalone]

[Once Tink got done with the boy, she watched with a sort of boredom as Pan took over, disinterested in the way that he spoke to her as though teaching a child. She knew it already, she was headstrong and childish just like Peter, and she didn't appreciate someone trying to teach her in the art of spilling blood. So she watched him, a small smirk on her lips, her eyes endlessly empty and rather unimpressed. The boy bled so easily, skin breaking and blood flooding from the wound, Tink ignored Pan's words, blurry and fading into the background as her eyes fixed themselves upon the gush of blood, transfixed by the redness. A sick sort of relief flooded through her as he struggled against death, scream lost in the shards of glass that tore at his throat. The itch had been scratched and fulfillment buried itself within her as Pan grinned at her with sick satisfaction. It wouldn't last long, the joy of a kill, it never did. But for now it felt wonderful.

Looking up at Pan, Tink's eyes darkened slightly, their icy shade lusting for the blood that dripped from his lips. As the boy gurgled, blood spurting from throat and mouth, Tink found her eyes on Pan, and something niggling at the back of her mind, something telling her that this was the ultimate betrayal and that she should care. But she didn't. She couldn't. It was his face, his face that she had loved more than anything for lifetimes and it was covered in blood the way Smee's had once been, the way she had wished to one say see Peter. It looked beautiful on his face, a deep scarlet against the white of his skin. She did not love Pan. She didn't. She loved his face, his voice, his messy hair and his hands. Long elegant fingers with bitten down nails, eyes that stared at her for hours, skin she loved more than even her own. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him.]

"It seems you have." [Tink smiled, of course it had been her who had won, the woman who had dropped a girl from a cliff with one hand, who had skinned a boy's face and wore his blood on her thighs. Tilting her head, she stood and walked slowly toward Pan, blood still dripping down her legs, dress clinging soaked to her from the hips down. The blood was everywhere; her neck, her hands, her hair, her cheeks. It could not be ignored. It glowed like her mad eyes, her whole being glowed like something ethereal, something magical. His tongue ran over his lips and she swallowed with him, lusting for him with everything in her, with the sounds of the dying boy, the stink of exposed flesh tingling in the air. She had wanted this for Peter, she had wanted it dearly. Reaching Pan she ran her thumb over his lips and pressed it to her own, tongue running over the wet skin. She didn't say another word, didn't ask him if it was alright, just did what they had both been denying themselves and pressed their lips hard together, blood mingling on their lips as she forced her lips upon his, fingers pulling rough at his hair, always wanting him closer, closer but only now being capable of taking him without asking. She pressed their bodies together, like she couldn't stand for an inch of them not to be touching, hand grabbing, lips forceful and bloody before finally she pulled away to look at him, heart like thunder against her chest. It felt like kissing Peter, but somehow different. Up close, Tink saw the difference in him, the evil that sat as deep within him as it did in her, the part that understood. She exhaled, eyes wide, dark shadows resting beneath them, a sign of her years old exhaustion. Her tongue ran once over her lips, smiling.]

[lxstnotalone]

[Tink found herself relieved when Pan told her that Peter was asleep, she felt further away from him but at least he didn't know the truth -- that she couldn't keep up with all of his goodness. The boy didn't have a bad bone in his body, he loved with everything inside of him and Tink had an evil rooted so deep inside of her that she felt like a disease standing next to him, like his brain may begin to decay were she to touch him. But being around him felt so good, kissing him was like cleansing a wound. She had been grasping for his love all these years and finally he gave it to her and her alone, so speaking to Pan so tenderly felt like a betrayal, the boy was holding Peter captive inside of his head, trapping him and doing god knows what. But perhaps staying on Pan's side would help her case.] "So long as he's stuck in his head, everything is left for me to fight for. I love him so much because it's the only goodness inside of me. If I didn't love him then I'd be that... that thing I became when Maleficent took my memories." [The night she'd scared Peter so greatly rung clear in her mind everytime she closed her eyes, everytime she wished Peter would touch her with more intensity, kiss her harder than he dared to. It haunted her like Pan haunted Peter, it stayed with her and weighed her down like an anchor. It made her hate herself, it truly did.] "I have to hate you too, Pan. So long as you lock Peter up in his head, I must hate you. And I must always fight you. It's not fair, I know. You deserve to live too. Peter was trying to teach me the value of life before... I do wish it was different, Pan."

[It would be wrong to substitute Pan for Peter, no matter how dearly she missed him or wished for Peter's arms wrapped around her. She would give anything to be with him for just a moment, to hear his voice speak thick with sleep. She did not know that it was possible to lose one person over and over and still somehow survive. The fight was far from over, Tink doubted that it would ever end. She did want to pretend, she wanted to push the furniture away and hide in the darkness of the bedroom of a long gone Lost Boy. Pretend Peter was with her once more and ignore the fact that she felt no guilt whatsoever, and she was sure Pan didn't know the meaning of the word. Wordlessly, she pulled the furniture back and gently slipped through the door, not allowing it open enough for him to run past if he was in fact tricking her. Locking them in from the inside, Tink slid down the door, barely seeing Pan on the darkness. She watched him for a moment, he looked so afraid to her wide eyes, so tired. He looked sad.] "Come here." [She said it in the voice she gave Peter when he was afraid, the voice that was both motherly and loving. She pulled him into her arms, rested her chin on his head and soothingly ran her fingers along his back.]

[lxstnotalone]

@pan

[Pan was such a disgusting thing, as mad as Tink but not as brilliant, he was the blood beneath her nails and the dirt that stuck to her bare feet. Peter was everything though, he was her raised chin and the clarity in her eyes, her straight spine and the power in every stride she took, she must get him back, for without Peter she was just a killer, a girl who needed to spill blood for such little reason. At least she could fight for him, she could take care of him and forever keep him safe. What else did a girl like her have to fight for? Tink never had much else, she couldn't really remember life before Peter. She had been a fairy, had lived several lifetimes in her tiny form but she could not recall a family. The day that Peter ran away from his parents and their planned out life for him was the day that Tinkerbell found that family she couldn't speak of. Tink was the type of person to protect her family and this intruder on his mind was the greatest threat. He was but scum.

Pan, perhaps, would argue that she too was scum, the type of lowlife that slipped through the town like a ghost, leaving corpses in her wake, counting bodies like sheep as she so often did say. But Tink thought too highly of herself to hear such words. The entire island whispered her name with fear and hatred, her rebel army had disliked her, she'd eluded them, but they respected her for he carried herself like a queen and she walked like a warrior. Tinkerbell, was not scum, and what use was love when one could be feared? Tink had all the love she needed in Peter, and now the devil himself looked at her through such large and childish eyes. If Peter was in there too, he was watching. And what was life to Peter but a game? And what was she? She was a hero.

With a grin she jumped backwards, hopping from the chair and landing on her feet, the bear skin rug tickled her bare toes. With her hands on her hips she watched Pan with a playful expression. Perhaps he could see the hatred behind it. She didn't care, this was for Peter. She wore her face the same way that Peter often had when fighting Hook, with just the right amount of mischief that the boy should recognise on her features. Hopping up on the chair again, this time both feet on either arm of it, she grabbed the sword hung on the wall and jumped back down, pointing it at Pan with a smug expression that was nearly implanted on Peter's face when they used to roam the island freely. Tink saw through Pan's games and they both knew it, for if he was anyone else his liver would be slippery on the floor by now. But Peter would not see the savage in Tinkerbell, he would see the heroic girl he thought her to be, the girl who swash-buckled with the best of them and never backed down against the most villainous men. A smirk on her face, she paced cockily in front of him. One girl was worth twenty men.]

"Torture you? Why that is a coward's solution! Only pirate's torture didn't you know, silly boy?! No, no. Pick up your weapon and fight me like a man! I will not stop until Peter is mine again and you are but a forgotten memory!" [She grinned at Pan, gave him a look that only he would understand. She had won this round, Peter would not think badly of her and the girl could play him at his own game. She would play him at his own game, and she would beat him too.] "This is a dangerous game your playing, Pan." [She hummed her words in a sing song voice.] "And I always win the games that I play."