#misericordel

[machiot]

@misericordel sent:

"marni!!!!!!!!"

veyle shouts almost at the top of her lungs, running and jumping into her embrace."i'm so happy to see you!!" she sobs and— oops. people are staring now.

She did think about leaving when the lights went out, tucking her tail between her legs and escaping before the nerves of being back in such a dim environment can claim her. After all, what is there to gain from being here? She danced a little, she ate food, she begrudgingly said hi to people. It's not like she really needs to stay for the whole night. As frustrating as it is, the chances of anyone noticing or caring that she'd turned tail were pretty low. If she leaves now, she could—

A singular voice disrupts her train of thought, followed by the warmth of a human body crashing into her.

"Lady Veyle?!"

Marni, who is still in the single digits in terms of hugs experienced, has no clue what to do with her hands in this moment. Even putting aside her status, when she thinks about what she'd done to her brother(?) on the other side of the mirror, a pang of guilt freezes her hands in the air.

Here's Veyle happy to see her again, meanwhile she'd messed up again while she wasn't looking.

"When did you, I mean..." She's never quite known what to do about other people's tears. What is she supposed to say here? "Huh? Missed... me?"

[astralend]

@misericordel ⎛ sc. ⎠

lacking power was something the dusk god had never truly experienced until his arrival in the city of spirale. while he'd never admit it, such a concept was rather terrifying. the last time he'd been so acutely aware of a corporeal body was before his world seemed to fall apart. before lucilius showed his true colors ⎛ or maybe before he was willing to really look at the other astral with eyes unclouded. maybe he did have a flaw from the start- his devotion and desire to be just as his predecessor was. a pair with his intended other half. lucilius was supposed to be his dawn. ⎠- it had been in the otherworld where he had been forced to drag his injured body back to the astral researcher and demand a primal beast's core.

perfect in spirit, but a corporeal form was always vulnerable in some way.

now, he quietly wished that shalem was here. that she would guide him as she once had when he was still adjusting to existence around him. he'd been stripped of his grand powers only to be left with a weak healing factor.

he'd made his way to a secluded area to give himself time to think.

after a while, someone else joined him. a small girl with long hair. a timid looking thing- but that didn't mean that she was harmless. appearances could often be deceiving. ❝ ... have you also come here to think? ❞

❝ there is much about this city that i must learn. ❞ for what was a god without understanding of the realm he would rule? to take his rightful place as a supreme deity, beelzebub would need to understand those who would worship him. a god was meant to be present- to be adored, not to be a distant thing lacking responsibility. ⎛ wasn't that the difference between himself and lucilius? between himself and bahamut? but first, he would need to build himself back from the ground up. ⎠

[rafent]

warning — sender presses a knife misericorde against receiver's neck as a warning. (something something other lady veyle)

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 — accepting

Skewering contours, tall ceilings and macabre architecture dimly lit from within, a smile nowhere; if not for its stained glass, Destinea Cathedral would be the closest to home the remnants of long deceased Gradlon would ever come. Similitude only embellished by the dagger held to his throat by one who shared, even if only hypothetically, his own blood.

Rafal's eyes slid downwards to Veyle, unamused. To the Fell Heir, the threat of this sibling was simply another facet to immersion, a familiar fixture of the kingdom that would never again come to life. Tension of such precarious, paper-thin disposition between brothers and sisters, sisters and brothers, that a single careless finger nail might run it through beyond repair.

And faced again with the struggle of life and death and domination among their kind, it was not fear that Rafal felt or was returned to. Younger, shorter, and thoroughly audacious; Veyle's crimes to the only and rightful successor to Father's legacy. His thin lips twitched furiously around silent words.

You little shit.

"I suppose you mean to intimidate me. Would you be satisfied with a lie? That I am positively quivering right now, on the verge of a desperate plea?" His steady glare spelled that he was no such thing. Instead his step paved forward, testing, and more than that: knowing. "Or perhaps, little Veyle, the truth would assist you more."

Rafal laughed unkindly.

"Father would not be pleased if you laid a finger upon me. You are a Defect, are you not? Unable to awaken Emblems, unable to fill a role." Unspoken knowledge, that which was spoken and purred anyways. "Not like I can."

[machiot]

a kiss to their lips, smiling (doomed yuri :D) — "oh marni, my perfect little hound." lady veyle smiles, father's crown fixed perfectly atop her head. horns uncracked and perfectly intact, fell princess leans forward and presses her lips crudely against marni's own. "you'll keep being my good little knight, won't you…?" formed as a question, there is only one answer to be given. otherwise, death at her father's hands is the girl's fate.

her heart beats— aches at the thought of marni dying by her father's hands. a fragment of defect so deeply imbedded into her that it may not be plucked out.

chaste kisses

It is a privilege and honor of the highest degree to serve Lord Sombron’s daughter. Like an expensive collar placed around her neck, it shows everyone just how favored she is. See, look, she’s one of the chosen ones. She’s special. She’s the favorite.

Marni has her family and Lord Sombron’s favor. If not for the burden of knowledge, she would want for nothing else.

She knows now, though. That even if Lady Veyle squints her rubied eyes at her and purrs, she’s doing little more than going through the motions. She presses her lips to Marni’s, but the action lacks warmth. It’s little more than a means to an end, half reward and half tightening the chain of an attack dog predisposed to acting out. No matter how favored it is, there’s no point in wasting affection on a hound only trained to be as vicious as possible unless you need to make sure it won’t bite you instead.

Well, it’s not like Marni knows what it feels like to be kissed affectionately to begin with.

The perfect little hound rolls over and exposes her stomach even to the snake flaring her hood. Even she has enough discretion to know when to not push her luck. Only well-trained in the best of circumstances, she keeps her mouth tightly shut even when she feels a fanged smile against her lips.

“…Yeah, got it, Lady Veyle,” she says, hands tucked behind her back.

She doesn’t always bother with her title, disrespectfully dropping it as she pleases, but she dutifully says it now. They are not friends, but rather liege lady and knight. Master and dog. Dragon and human. God and mortal. Victim and perpetrator. Or was it perpetrator and victim?

Lonely kid and lonely kid.

“I’ll stay with you,” Marni promises, guilt constricting her neck and making it hard to swallow. “I am one of your knights, after all, Lady Veyle.”

Not the knight she chose herself, but the one assigned to her. Even so, the least she can do is remain by her side after all of the misery she caused. Even if Lady Veyle tightens her collar tight enough that it strangles her, Marni has no right to complain.

[rafent]

the boundary of friend and foe or ally and enemy does not pop in her mind now that she sits in the medical tent, taking a well needed rest after a surprisingly intensive fight. she does not think of how she is a blue lion in the moment, and she does not think of how rafal is a black eagle in the moment.

still, she approaches him a bit apprehensively. she’d begun to understand him a little better ever since their patrol mission in the winters, but there still felt a lack of camaraderie between them somehow. they are not yet friends, and she’s sure he doesn't consider her a sibling yet either. still, roads to friendship were naturally bumpy. she would not give up that desire just yet, so she steels herself for a lackluster response. “rafal. you’re back from the battlefield.” she comments, voice the slightest bit on the quiet end.  “did you have the  healers look at your wounds yet…?”

Eagle. Lion. Deer. These several designations could not have been more useless to Rafal, one who regarded each victory and defeat on the field to be personal. Had he won, it would have been on his own power. And even if he'd lost - which he did - insisted his sole responsibility just the same. Healers? That word held no value, either; plurality owed itself to little application when Poe alone had done the lion's share of work, though he was neither pedantic enough nor so eager as to correct it.

"I have. The worst of my injuries have passed, though I have seen no shortage of better days," he responded, rigidly, and by no willing intention. The process of healing for a battered nose projected a certain nasal quality when speaking. Nevertheless, dignity remained intact, and when coolly shuttered eyes next peeled to regard her properly, they would see a Fell Child relatively healed albeit marked by incriminating signs of exertion.

An even greater fact to be discerned above them all.

"You." Carmine focused on Veyle, interested. Neither mocking nor cruel but incisive; those who entered into the medical tents belonged to two identical outcomes; excess time on their hands and total loss. Anyone truly victorious would have no moments to spare. "If you are here, then victory was not your outcome. Who was it that reduced you to defeat? Should you be inclined, you may say so with transparency."

Attention accommodating, expression neutral, and tone level - a mild showing of Rafal by all notes of comparison. His next words extended a gnarled overture, friendliness, not that many were capable to deduce it as such, or that this attempt at 'friendliness' had adopted the right form to begin with:

"I could destroy them, if you like."

[rafent]

Sparkling Water — "rafal, try this!" veyle is quick to hand him a glass of sparkling water, just like the one she had enjoyed with lilith earlier. "it's water, but it's spicy! it's really good!"

"No."

Tight lipped, there could be no straighter line than the firm set of a mouth yielded by Rafal. A resounding rejection laid itself at the younger dragon's feet as he looked down at her- a familiar face so much as it occupied the same living space during his time at the Somniel. A deceased sister, too; though never met personally, marked altogether by many similarities to the Veyle of his world so far as the living Mauvier- the Hound- had told. Perhaps one too many.

He ignored the bubbling vessel of water, more interested at the chance to speak to one who has evaded him like a ship in the night. To satisfy the reasonable curiosity toward a common ground that hung between them, dangled over them in the whispering gossips and furtive glances of others. "You are a daughter of Sombron just like I am his son. Both fallen to a spell and his service to the great detriment of others. How does one do it, gamboling about with such a. . .carefree smile—should your attitude not reflect a life spent in atonement?"

It was a rhetorical statement, drawn out by the fell heir's difficulty in comprehending their vastly differing approaches to the high ceiling of their sins. Was it anger and judgment that compelled him? Awe? Perhaps, even. . .envy? Shaking his head, he snatched her other hand with a tight clench- two vines springing forth with flowers.

"There. Your ulterior motive for this encounter is abolished."

His painted lie was necessary. They were made of different cuts if her joyful approach toward him offered any indication; speaking with him would pollute her as it did the Divine One. A dilation of his round pupils flared at her sharply, snakelike, slitted to the points of an emotional draconic nature. Tinkling with the sound of baubles and quick feet, the bubble of space around him was cleared by humans in timely fashion like mice scattering at a stomp. Though it also only that. An empty threat. "—now leave."

[aliberation]

"uhm, sister!" veyle clenches her fists in front of her chest, brow furrowed in concentration.

"chrom.... really really likes you! and he respects you as the divine dragon!" cheeks flushed, for a moment veyle sits in silence breathing heavy. that should be enough to get alear to say something right?

".... okay, bye!" she runs off before alear can even ask for clarification.

"Oh, Veyle! I was looking for you-" Well, she doesn't even get to finish her sentence before she hears the declaration from her; it brings an expression of confusion that lingers before she lets out a laugh, a dismissive wave of her hand following. It's cute that her sister is so invested in their friendship, and honestly... she's a little thankful. "Pfft. Of course he likes me! We are friends...."

[rafent]

❰❰ PIN ❱❱  — (what that sword beat axe do) it happens only after she’s trained her eyes to follow his fighting style. veyle sees the gap that the heaviness of an axe allows for— a small point of vulnerability that could only be taken advantage if both mind and body were quick and wasted no time. her body moves on instinct, brandishing misericorde in front of her with a serious expression.

she flips and tumbles out of the way of his would-be counter— there. with her strength unchecked, veyle pins him to the ground with her hands holding misericorde downward to his neck. she breathes heavy, draconic gaze trained hard on his own. fell child versus fell child, and veyle comes out the winner. 

of course, this is only a training exercise. 

veyle pulls back as soon as she realize she’s got him pinned, misericorder’s blade gone from his neck. “are you okay, rafal?” she says with a worried gaze and equally worried tone— betraying her cutthroat actions from just moments ago. “i didn’t accidentally nick you, did i…?”

𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 — accepting

In another world, there would have been no greater normalcy than the struggle for survival between two children of Sombron. No greater oddity than a friendly spar with all strength in check. Still, against Veyle—sibling of the Divine Dragon—Rafal restrained himself in the manner appropriate of both the denizen of a new, more peaceful world and the debt he must repay. It would not do to return Alear's generosity with harm inflicted upon their other half. No matter the skin of ghosts that she wore.

An impressive clash between absolute strength and wily agility; contained within its cavity was a smaller, lesser seen battle. Once axe and dagger gleamed, Veyle ceased to be, and another face with eyes like his threatened to supersede her. Not purple and mystical like mage but crimson and bloodletting like pure fell. More than once Rafal blinked away the image of a nondescript sibling and forced the grip on his haft to loosen. They were not fighting to destroy one another. This was no sibling of his that should demand it.

. . .This was no sibling of his that should demand it. On that reminder, a wide swing of hatchet steel left him wide open, a door swung open for the opportunistic entry of several shades and visiting thoughts. How many had been the siblings who chased him to the near edge of demise? How many the lives he'd taken and spilled, reduced to subfusc eyes of dying light and foaming mouths pleading to be let alive? A Fell Dragon's relationship with his kin was tumultuous; so rarely did it end as peacefully as Veyle and Alear's, or with such hopeful redemption as Nel and Rafal. Many more would retire their conflict only when one among them ceased to be,

—lying deathly still and stunned like so.

". . .!!" Rafal roused from his distraction and found himself grounded and disarmed. The cool edge of a dagger hauled him forcibly to reality, the shock of its ice juxtaposed with a curiously hot sensation. He pressed his fingers to his neck only to soon pull them away. The resulting emotion? Nothing short of fuming. "The only accident that has occurred here is your victory."

An abrupt rise placed him on his tailbone, then promptly onto his feet. Downed by a younger dragon whilst thoughts of an earlier, younger age terrorized him - the last time he'd tasted wounded pride of such proportions had been as Nil. It was only Rafal whose furious response brewed now. "Your concern is laughably hypocritical. You moved to kill, of that there is no mistake. I shall commend you on that drive alone, Veyle—of begetting the result you so viciously desire! However, in success there will be no repeats. Enjoy this moment while you can."

Victory. Defeat. Was it truly about that? Known alone to the answer, the male stormed away; a picture of disturbance, his painter not so much a girl but the tall and haunting shadow of times past. His fingers red and faintly wet.