#gtrstarters

[damienwilde]

Ushanka and Fur Chaps.

Family gatherings never turned out well for Damien, it wasn’t even a fear or suspicion just a simple fact. No good had ever come from a family member asking him to come over but it was Jules and he’d been keeping his nose as clean as he could possibly get it so he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done to warrant a summons. It clearly wasn’t enough to stop him from worrying and it definitely wasn’t enough to wash away the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach because let’s face it, he’d been blind sighted before and as slow as he might have been to learn he was trying to at least not make the same mistakes a million times over.  Truth be told for someone who’d once lived in his Grandparent’s house Damien hadn’t seen Jules, Nicolo or even Celia in a long time, he hadn’t even been to Venice because he was avoiding it and he definitely wasn’t in the kind of mood where he could fake it and smile around a powerful empath half demon. In all honesty it was the same reason he’d been avoiding his parents and anyone that knew him for that matter because he didn’t need it, he didn’t need to be told that he was an idiot or that he should just get over it and he certainly didn’t need any more people attempting to help or fix something, the situation was what it was and any push he made against it, or anyone else for that matter would only make it worse, Caim had promised him that much a while ago.

His life was his life and he’d learned rather quickly upon return that shit happened so he might as well just take what he could get because he might not have been a fast learner but Damien did know just how quickly everything could change and how much quicker something could be taken away. 

So a gathering, family meeting, orgy or whatever it was Jules had planned for Caim’s home in Russia wasn’t particularly something Damien wanted to attend any more than he liked the idea or wanted to spend the night watching Caim treat Tray as the pet he was but he headed there anyway, late but not too late because he knew better than to ignore a summons from family. That and it was Jules, if he didn’t show then Damien got the distinct impression it would be taken as the insult he didn’t mean for it to be or someone would just come collect him and drag him there anyway. 

With a quick text to Tray that read simply: Sorry in advance. Damien ended up in Russia and using the front door for once, headed inside, pushing his hood down as he went and bruhed freshly fallen snow out of his hair wondering just what the hell kind of trouble he’d gone and gotten himself into now. 

[jettbatmanscottwilde]

Angel Feathers

Irritable was the understatement of the century, she’d have pulled her own hair out if she’d thought that would help at all but as it was Jett probably would have been far more successful trying to tear that blasted feathered wing from her back. Her wings may not have been as unique in the world now that the twins were born Raine sporting just a single one but on the plus side, at least those two girls were never going to have to worry about feathers, stupid, annoying, godforsaken feathers that were currently driving Jett to the point of insanity. 

The warmth of summer was finally beginning to fade and with the change of season her feathers were molting, sleek, smooth feathers beginning to fall out, being pushed free from her skin by ones that would contain significantly more downy fluff than their predecessors for the coming winter and it was annoying the hell out of her. Her wing was covered in pin feathers as the new growth pushed through, they were hard, sharp and poking against skin that was far more sensitive than anywhere else on her body, not to mention the fact that they were itchy as fuck and keeping them hidden only made it worse. Irritated she’d tossed and turned on that bed beside Wolf for what felt like hours just trying to get comfortable before realising she stood no chance at finding it she’d climbed out of bed leaving the sheets coated in fine, tiny flakes of the epidermal tissue that wrapped around the new feathers which had shed with her movements and gave the bed an appearance akin to being covered in a fine layer of snow, or more accurately, what probably looked like a really bad case of dandruff that covered Wolf’s sleeping form just as much as it did the sheets.  

She tried to ignore it, tried not to think about that insatiable itch she knew better than to scratch because she’d learned that lesson the hard way as a child having used the claw of her batwing to scratch that itch and relieve that maddening sensation had only cause her to knick a blood feather that in the end had to be pulled in order to stop the blood flow. Her feathers puffed out and ruffled up, each single movement no matter how minor bringing discomfort with it but that sting of pain was a distraction that provided a new sensation and momentary relief to endless annoyance of itching. 

No, Jett wasn’t just irritated, she was absolutely ready to murder someone and with a loud growl of annoyed frustration she snapped out her wings hard and fast to their fullest expanse and welcomed the immediate sting that came with it, the movement sending what looked like a cloud of dust up around her while feathers still tinged with a faint glow fluttered down to the floor on one side of her. 

[damienwilde]

Russia

When Damien finally managed to to find his way to Russia he had no idea how long had passed since Caim had sent him that video and Tray’s note because time worked differently in some of the deepest pits of Hell even while in other areas it had seemed to almost sync itself with earth now that  they were aligned. Still telling the days apart was impossible and the only way that Damien had made it to breakfast with Chess on his birthday was because he’d set an alarm on his watch. His phone had lost battery and cell service had been unreliable at best anyway but when he’d finally managed to get the power back up and running he’d seen what he’d missed, what had been waiting for him while he’d buried himself so completely in the work Re had given him that for a moment there he’d worried that this was it, that there was no coming back up from the things he’d seen down there not to mention some of the things he’d done in order to get those last few Lost Boys back to the Horned King.

He’d almost not come, Damien had almost just turned back around and gone right back to what he was doing, right back to the stench and terror of Hell where around about now he was pretty sure he belonged. He hadn’t, instead he showed up in Caim’s mostly ruined Russian Estate a mess, an absolute mess in every sense of the word. Internally he didn’t even know how to describe what he was feeling anymore. After what he’d felt and then what he’d thrown himself into doing, not to mention making the shameful sobbing spectacle of himself in Hell which probably now just meant no single demon would ever take him seriously or look at him the same ever again without snickering...well...between it all Damien’s insides just felt raw and more confusing than they ever had. As though he’d been sliced into so many times until it was enough for all of his insides to be scraped out, only to be shoved halfway back in leaving him to struggle and frantically try and stuff them all back inside himself before he lost them only to not heal right. Maybe he never would. Maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention and had left one too many pieces of himself behind. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that very moment, that he was there in Russia and maybe he hadn’t completely made the decision to come here but he couldn’t not go there and he knew it even if Caim was right even if doing this made him the worst person alive because doing this, going there, being here, it was not the way to protect Tray. It wasn’t the way he should be protecting the one that had taken his heart even if he’d not just given it to that Snow Leopard but forced it on him. If he was really protecting Tray like every single piece of him wanted to, then Damien would have watched that video, read that note and run as far as he could from that Shifter in the complete opposite direction. 

Knowing it just made him feel a million times worse than he already did.

Still he was there, covered in every single thing one might be expected to be caked in upon a return from Hell and the shadows beneath his eyes and the hard expression on his face showed it too. It wasn’t hard to find Tray and Damien made his way quietly through the left wing, moving with the complete silence only a person that wasn’t human could manage. When he did find that Snow Cat though....

He was sound asleep. 

Damien didn’t wake him but for a moment as he stood right there in the doorway watching him, everything he’d been doing, every terrible, heart shattering thing he felt and every worry in the world faded away into the background. The sight of Tray had a habit of doing that to him, it was what made it so  hard.

He didn’t linger long, not wanting him to stir besides, if that teenager needed anything other than that cat right then it was a shower so the bathroom was where he headed even though he was mentally hating on timezones the entire way there. He kicked off his blood and you-really-don’t-want-to-know-what-else boots in the hallway. An unholy sword, harness, belt, daggers, leathers, shirt and underwear followed, leaving him a nice little trail of scorched, torn, blood and hell stained outfit behind him. His brain just didn’t seem to be operational enough right then to pick them up as he went. For someone who healed and was supposedly immortal, there wasn’t one inch of Damien that wasn’t aching with exhaustion as he flipped the taps and all but fell under the hot spray of the shower.

It was there he finally breathed for what seemed like the first time in weeks and it was there he had every intention of staying until the water might lose it’s heat and run cold, washing Hell from his body.

Wishing it could be so easy for his thoughts to run down that drain along with the rest.

[comet-demonmoth-acron]

Moth on a Mission

Comet would show up in Venice, cloaked in black, carrying two sacks of about the same size and weight. She would slink in the darkness and new found demon taught ways of blending. She’d wait for just the right moment and catch Damien around a corner as Tray ran off pouncing on catnip after some nightingale. She’d appear quickly before him with deliberate steps. 

She’d toss one bag at Damien’s feet and say, “I’d open that before Tray gets back” in an accent touched English, wink, hard direct eye contact with just a hint of amusement ....

Then she’d head off rather quickly clearly on a mission, her actions so precise, measured, and hurried. No time for commentary. 

In the bag Damien would find not only Daniel’s severed head, but the note to Tray confessing feelings, all he’d do if Tray would give him a chance, and of course leave Damien. 

The next bag would be brought to Kay, but didn’t wait for crowds to part if there was anyone around, it was just as hurried. For this was the reason for her haste. She’d toss the bag at Kay’s feet just the same. The urgency was all that filled her face here. 

Then she would inform in broken English, “It takes exactly 2 hours 27 minutes and 43 seconds for Azazel to regain physical form on Earth if destroyed. His discombobulated soul lingers in the spot he’s killed during the process. You have 55 minutes left to box him while he’s hindered.” Then she’d tell Kay where he was. Travel to and from Hell and all she did to get there wasted much of it. She learned all she could learn from her father. She felt there was no more use there. She knew what he’d done with the Anthrax and a great many other things that affected her family and close friends. She’d made her mind up what she was about. There was a determination in her eyes. There was also indifference swept up in cold malice.