Fleeing their would-be murderers in the Capital, Devi and Ahava wait for an escape and reminisce what they’ll miss most about the city they’ve called home for 20+ years.
More Burn Says the Martyr content bc I need to prove to y’all I’m doing SOMETHING for camp nano rip
DEVI had hoped the Revolution would end the slaughter, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. KIMON has manipulated the death of a prominent magician to kickstart his blood-soaked revolution. In just a few days thousands of ruling-class Magic Insensitives are dead, and Devi might be next.
Devi finds herself on the run with the usurped monarchs, BARACHIEL and DESDEMONA, with only her friend AHAVA to keep her sane. Devi hated the old regime and its tyrannical anti-magic laws, but now she must work with the monarchs to survive a Querevage that has been turned on its head. Hiding together in the notorious Quereven badlands, Devi never thought the horse-sized pack animals would be the least of her problems.
When Kimon manages to find Devi alone - unprotected, vulnerable, desperate - he offers her a devil’s deal, and it may be the hardest choice she’s ever made.
Will she turn over the true monarchs and secure her own safety, legitimizing a government that intends to kill millions, or will she risk everyone she holds dear to keep Kimon from the throne?
= B U R N says the M A R T Y R - camp nano wip intro
G E N R E lgbtqia+ fantasy
S U B G E N R E S abuse ; forgiveness ; betrayal ; hurt & comfort ; found family ; morality ; identity
Devi stood alone in a stranger’s bedroom, staring into a mirror with wild eyes. She knew why she was here: she was going to be killed.
She staggered backwards on unfamiliar legs, hands trembling and vision blurring. Her stomach flipped with the wrongness of it all, and she groaned, nauseous, clutching at her eyes with too-small hands. Fuck, fuck. The strides were too short, fingers too thin, skin too smooth. Everything too--too--
Strange. Foreign. Stolen.
This wasn’t her body. This wasn’t Devi. This was Desdemona, God Queen and bitch almighty. What had Kimon done to her?
She almost laughed, hysteric, but the sound was cut short as she tripped over her own ankles, tumbling backwards onto the canopy bed. The curtains burst apart as she fell through them, before curling back around her like the wings of some great dragon.
With her legs tangled in thick fabric, heart hammering in her chest, Devi tried to breathe and gagged instead, choked by fear and guilt and grief in equal measure. This body wasn’t hers, and her skin crawled as if there were ants buried beneath her flesh. Her ribs ached, her stomach turned, adrenaline roared in her ears.
Vulnerable, something in her pressed, but it was distant beneath the buzz of her scrambling mind. Kimon had--Kimon had--
You are vulnerable.
The thought, and the cold, piercing fear that came with it, crept down her spine like ice water, chilling Devi to her core.
You can’t stay like this.
With a shuddering inhale, Devi blinked once, twice, and dragged her too-light body into a sitting position. Desdemona’s bedroom titled back into vision, partially obscured by the thick curtains cloaking the bed. Vision throbbing in and out of focus, Devi tried to stay grounded as her mind threatened to teeter back off the edge again.
Not safe, a voice thrummed.
How could he? How could he? her heart wailed. Alphonse is dead. I didn’t mean it.
What had Kimon done to her? Why? Why?
Devi twitched her unfamiliar fingers, and nearly laughed.
It’s obvious what he did to her--he decided to improvise and shoved her into Desdemona’s body so he could kill two birds with one stone. Devi had threatened to kill him but she hadn’t thought he’d do this. She’d been… well, not bluffing, she certainly might have killed him yesterday, but he must have known that it was just because of grief. Alphonse--her best friend--had just been executed right in front of her, of course Devi was going to say things she didn’t mean! That was no reason to--reason to--
Devi wanted to sob, curling forward and pressing her face into her hands as grief overtook her. She jerked back almost immediately, the skin on her palm was eerily smooth, like a snake’s. Devi hurriedly sat on her hands and pressed her forehead to her knees, grinding her eyes shut. Tears threatened to prickle out, and disgust flared in her chest. She didn’t have time for tears. She needed to calm down She needed to breathe.
All she really wanted was to go back home to Ahava, where she was safe.
The silky fabric of Desdemona’s sleeping pants didn’t do anything to distract Devi from the way she was currently living in the stolen body of a genocidal maniac, but it was better than the mismatched hands. Devi was used to calloused, rough fingers that felt more like stone than skin, not these soft, fragile curves.
She inhaled, the scent of lavender and sleeping herbs wafting off the fabric, and exhaled, slowly. Devi needed to calm down if she wanted to survive. Kimon would be relying on her disorientation when he came to kill her. She needed to get out of here, figure out a plan to disappear--Devi was in danger so long as Kimon knew where she was.
The thudding of knuckles on wood clattered into Devi’s skull and she jerked her head up. Her eyes fixed on the door and panic twisted in her chest. Oh, God. Devi didn’t know enough about Desdemona to impersonate her, she could be caught. She could be killed. Biting her tongue, fear soaking She waited, silently, praying whoever was outside would leave.
Another series of knocks sounded, and Devi bit back a whine.
“Queen Desdemona?” a soft, nervous voice called from behind the door. “Are you alright, Your Majesty? May we come in?”
‘We’? Who the fuck was ‘we’? She batted her confusion aside, something needed to be done about them. Desdemona’s day had to proceed as normal if she was to retain her cover.
“Pro--” Devi choked on her words. The sound was too smooth--supple, nothing at all like Devi’s usual grain. That voice wasn’t hers. Of course not, some part of her chastised, it’s Desdemona’s. She swallowed, coughed, and tried again, rubbing her neck. “Proceed!”
Hopefully whoever was outside wasn’t her murderer.
The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, the carvings on the front of the door glistening as sunlight poured into the room. Devi blinked against the brightness as a team of six women in puffy dresses, cut off at the mid-calf and tied with aprons, puttered into the room. Most of the dresses were simple and brown, but one had a pale blue dress with slight embroidery. The women looked horribly out of place in the red motif of Desdemona’s bedroom, but Devi recognized them immediately. They were the Queen’s handmaidens.
She sighed, relieved, and let the tension go in her shoulders. These women were hand-picked by Desdemona, every single one of them Insensitive. In short, there wasn’t a chance in hell they were working for Kimon.
Blue-dress blinked at Devi for a moment, concern knitting her brows together. Was Desdemona supposed to be doing something? Oh, right. Devi lurched to her feet abruptly, but her leg got caught in the curtain, and she staggered, nearly tumbling to the floor. She could feel her dignity shatter as a worried chitter rose from the gathered women. Blue-dress hushed them quietly, a stern look fluttering across her face.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted with a low curtsey, the other maidens following suit. Devi tried not to squirm, unused to such formalities. “We’ve prepared the outfit you requested for the day, but I’m afraid there are some… pending changes to your schedule that need your approval.”
Devi tried to think of how Desdemona would react to that, but she had no idea, and just nodded gruffly as she was ushered to a small platform in the far side of the room, three full length mirrors around it. Devi had no idea how she missed it earlier. Panic, probably. Devi had only ever been here once, and her mind had been quite eager to find a mirror, any mirror, not necessarily the biggest one.
Blue-dress continued, "Your hunting trip with the Duchess of Merenfelle has been postponed until four, to account for the emergency meeting with the High Court this morning. Travel times have been extended considerably due to the delayed departure." She opened her mouth, closed it again, and then proceeded, a twinkle in her green eyes. "Of course, you could always forego the meeting and leave the High Court to their devices. After all, it would be such a shame to jeopardize your relationship with the provinces over one botched assassination attempt, if you can even call it that."
Blue-dress was obviously talking about the brawl Devi had with Barachiel yesterday. Was it really been serious enough that the Court is gathering to discuss it? Barachiel had been in fights before...
“No.” Best not to interfere with anything, lest she reveal herself. "I think it would be best to stick to the preconceived order of events."
Blue-dress arched her eyebrows incredulously at Devi. Had that been the wrong thing to say? Eye contact between the two women was broken a moment later when two other maids raised Devi’s arms and removed her top in a swift, smooth motion. Devi bit her tongue to keep from squawking, glancing down at the handmaidens fussing around Desdemona’s chosen ensemble like bees. Thank God Desdemona slept in some kind of bra, or Devi would have immediately leapt to cover herself.
She’d been dressed like this once before, on a diplomatic errand with Amator, though she couldn’t remember which nation it was for the life of her. They had been a very hospitable people. Overly so. This was a plain uncomfortable way to get dressed.
Devi fumbled with the sleeves of a white slip two of the maidens had shoved down onto her head, and found herself unable to identify the material. The only thing she really knew was that it moved beautifully. Desdemona had successfully managed to merge her need for beauty with her pragmaticism, then. After managing to slot her arms into their places, Devi allowed another maid to do the button at the back, carefully trying to balance in this unfamiliar body as her pants were stripped off.
“Is that the only ‘pending change’ to my schedule, then?”
“Oh no, there are others, Your Majesty. Most pressingly, Actin-- Pardon, forgive me. Most pressingly, High General Gemini wishes to speak with you. She’s waiting for you outside right now.”
Devi blinked. Gemini? She knew an opportunity when it bit her in the ass. If she could get a moment alone with her niece than she’d be able to clear up this whole mess. Devi doubted Gemini would knowingly aid Kimon in the murder of her own aunt. Gem probably didn’t know the full story. If she could just tell her…
“Has she said what she wants?” It was getting easier to speak in a stranger’s voice, now. The conversation had helped ease her into it, and now Devi was fond of how effortlessly feminine it was.
Blue-dress side-eyed Devi for a moment as she stumbled into a pair of white, form-fitting pants. “She said you would know, Queen Desdemona, but insisted that it was urgent and could take up to an hour. Barachiel has similarly requested your presence, but he wishes to see you after the meeting, rather than before, but he suggests that he’ll need at least 2 hours with you. You’d have to postpone your hunting trip even further to accommodate that and--” Devi nearly fell over herself again, still trying to put on her pants as handmaidens continued to flutter about her. “Are you feeling quite well? You seem awfully disoriented this morning.”
“Ah,” Devi paused, trying to right herself, desperately trying to think of a suitable lie. “I’m just a bit shaken is all. Barachiel’s near-death experience kept me up last night.”
The maiden squirreled her face up at Devi for a moment, before relaxing.
“I’m sorry to hear that, it must be quite concerning indeed, knowing that you could be the next in a line of attacks. Hopefully the Guard will bring in the criminal responsible shortly. Though,” and mischief tinted blue-dress’s voice, “given their track record they’re much more likely to just get drunk with her, it was quite wise of you to assign some of the Royal Guard to the case as well, if I may be so bold as to say so.”
With talk like that miss blue-dress and Desdemona must have been close, but Devi’s mind was elsewhere. She hadn’t considered the possibility that there might be guards on her tail. Heavens, first Kimon’s forces and now this? Devi was doomed.
The last place she remembered being was Kimon’s safe house. Surely, if her body was still there she’d be dead already, so where was it? Who had moved it? Had it even been moved, or was Kimon just biding his time?
Devi swallowed thickly, allowing for a pair of hands to tuck something like a dress around her lithe torso. Lithe, fuck now there was a word Devi never thought she’d use to describe herself. She’d always been bulky, shoulders too wide set for her tastes and a constant source of dysphoria.
“My,” blue-dress breathed, even as another maiden fumbled with the buttons at Devi’s back, “you do look fine in this attire, Your Majesty. The seamstress did a fabulous job, and the colours you picked are simply stunning.”
Devi flushed under the praise, and allowed herself to glance up and check the mirrors. She hadn’t wanted to look before, when she was less dressed. It felt strangely like peeping.
In the reflection before her stood Desdemona wearing a vivid royal blue dress that parted down the middle, licking down her sides and exposing white pant legs. Gold embroidery fluttered up the front of the close-fitting toppiece, matching the floral gild on the sides of the black riding boots. Sapphire earrings flashed from the sides of her face, and she couldn’t remember when they’d been put in. It was a simple outfit, in comparison to how many layers usually made up a High Court ensemble, but it fit her body like a glove, glittering in the dim light. Devi felt euphoric, giddy. She almost wanted to laugh. Normally Devi hated mirrors but…
Her hair was unbrushed, there wasn’t a dab of make-up on her face, she hadn’t even showered, this wasn’t even her body, but Devi had never felt prettier than in this moment. She looked gorgeous. Devi looked gorgeous. Hah! Who knew Desdemona could enjoy colours besides red?
She was shuffled off the platform and presented with a pair of black leather gloves that shone like ichor. They were symbols of wealth, of royalty, of death, and as she tugged them on, the tender innards slipping along her skin, the hair on the back of Devi’s neck prickled. They fit Desdemona’s bloodstained hands perfectly, dark as death and black as the void and glimmering like wolves’ eyes. As beautiful as this wealth was, these riches had been bought through genocide, and the realization of that came crashing down around Devi, pulse in her ears. This was the body of someone who had slaughtered thousands for their own benefit. And now Devi was someone who had slaughtered thousands for their own benefit. The face she wore was that of a murderer. She was the monster under the bed. The creature waiting in the dark.
Shaking under the weight of sins that were not truly her own, Devi flexed her fingers, expecting her soul to suddenly pry free of the bloodstained cage she found herself in. The gloves curled with the movement, the leather soft, sturdy, but with the slightest hesitation. A tension to it, like the gloves knew she wasn’t really who she claimed she was--a stolen crown uneasy on the head of a false Queen--and that cocktail of guilt and displacement made her vision lurch and head spin, even as a set of rings was nudged in her direction.
Devi mindlessly shoved the gold over the gloves, barely able to keep her fingers steady enough to put them on. But the simple action was soothing enough, and she was able to focus on the glimmering metal and richly coloured sapphire until the tremor left her hands and her heart regained its rhythm.
She didn’t even have a moment to breathe as she finished with the last ring before she was being tugged back towards vanity, the handmaids having no patience for her. In her peripheral, she could the women arming themselves with glittering palettes of makeup and finely-carved combs. Desdemona must have been fast to get ready, having memorized a routine so foreign to Devi. She’d known the Queen, once, but only in passing. They’d exchanged barely six words in total but anyone could recognize the intelligence and determination of the young advocate, campaigning for the rights of Magic Insensitives in a nation full of superstition and stigma. Amator had spoken highly of Desdemona, Barachiel even more so.
The beheading had been a surprise.
In a rush, Alphonse tumbled back into her mind, and with that all grief and memories that came with it. As images of his execution--of pummelling Barachiel, of threatening Kimon--flashed through her head, she blinked away tears and fixed her blurry vision on blue-dress. It was hard to do with people tugging her head every which way, all trying to get a better angle--but eventually, she met the woman’s eye.
Smothering the emotions threatening to spill from her lips--can’t grieve, not here, not now, not safe--she forced out, “You mentioned Barachiel wanted to meet with me?”
“To finalize his last will and testament, hopefully,” muttered one of the handmaidens to Devi’s left. Her mouth went dry. Was he really--?
At least he was still alive, at least you didn’t kill him.
She wouldn’t have known what to do with herself if she had. Devi couldn’t be made a murderer again.
As if sensing her turmoil, blue-dress coughed twice into her fist, unsubtly, and the handmaiden responsible for the comment immediately apologized with a curt bow.
“It’s about Gemini’s eventual ascension to the throne should anything… untimely… happen to him because of the attack. It’s all just review, of course,” she hurried, as if to prevent Desdemona’s temper from snapping. “He has perfect faith in your previously drafted documents regarding her status as his heir.”
“Then why on earth does he want to go over them?”
Devi winced as a comb was ripped through her hair. She was almost insulted on Desdemona’s behalf, had they done something wrong the first time? Had Barachiel suddenly decided he didn’t want Gemini as his heir?
“I can assure you that it’s nothing more than his usual paranoia,” blue-dress deadpanned, with all the enthusiasm of a woman who truly needed a drink. “He’s convinced himself someone edited the documents last night, though to what ends even he doesn’t seem to know and--” she cut herself off, “Well, I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Devi managed a frown around the brushed assaulting her face, getting better at the act as time went on, watching the application process out of the corner of her eye. Loathe as she was to admit it, Barachiel’s paranoia usually had some merit to it. If someone had edited Gemini’s inheritance rights, why? And who? And did it have anything to do with Kimon? Was Gemini going to be alright?
Devi wasn’t given any more time to dwell on it, as the handmaids whisked her away from the vanity and back to the full-length mirror. One quickly draped a thick cloak around her shoulders, securing it high around her neck.
It had the same gold embroidery dripping down its collar and shoulders that the dress had along its front. She swallowed against the stiff fabric, but it felt weightless as she moved her arms. Devi winced as her hair was yanked at again, before relaxing as it was released, the maiden fussing with it letting her hair fall down her back again.
The women stepped back with finality, checking over their work. A heavy silence sat in the room as Devi dragged her fingers through the newly made ponytail at the base of her head. Desdemona’s hair was straighter than she was used to. It was coarser than Ahava’s, too, the strands wiry against her palms, but the texture was an interesting change from the poofy bundle she was used to. Devi tugged her hand free, suddenly missing her usual face and appearance. Desdemona was beautiful, that had never been up for debate, but Devi didn’t feel like herself in this body.
As her eyes rolled down her reflection one last time, golden thread glittering in her peripheral, Devi wished she could look this pampered in her own form. She imagined meeting Ahava on the ballroom floor of some great gala, chandeliers glittering above them, each wearing the finest silks and the most vibrant jewels. Somehow Devi suspected that no matter the occasion Ahava would still find a way to sneak in wearing an ill-fitting tunic and muddy boots. The corners of Devi’s mouth twitched up at the thought, even as she tried to stifle the fond smile building in her chest. A sigh of relief lifted from one of the maids, and the gaggle began to shuffle out of Desdemona’s bedroom.
The last in the precession was blue-dress, but she paused just before the exit, the door swinging shut in front of her.
“Should I tell the high general that you'll be able to see her, my Queen?”
“Yes, please.”
“And King Barachiel's request?”
Guilt and grief roiled in her stomach. Even if she was able to pass for Desdemona in front of Barachiel, Devi didn’t want to see him. He reminded her too much of her crimes, too much of her inability to save Alphonse.
"I'm afraid I won't be able to indulge him today."
A smirk danced across blue-dress's lips.
“I hope you have fun on your hunting trip, do try not to shoot another Courtier this time.”
Devi couldn't help the smile that tumbled across her face. That sounded like a story she’d like to hear.
“I'll do my best.”
Blue-dress smiled fondly at her, before slipping out the door. It was strange, the notion that Desdemona had friends.
Devi sighed into the empty room, the click of the door marking her isolation. It was silent as death without the handmaidens. Gemini was waiting outside, and with her came escape, so long as Devi could find somewhere private to tell her. The handmaidens had been safe, what with their close relation to Desdemona, but the Royal Guard was more ambiguous. There were more of them, less carefully screened, which meant there was more of a chance some would take bribes, or be sympathetic to Kimon, or take the opportunity to murder the Queen themselves.
Devi wrung unfamiliar hands together. She missed being herself, missed Ahava. Being Queen was too stressful, she’d never even wanted to be involved in politics, much less rule a nation. Much less be the target of an assassination.
There was no use standing in the room, waiting, and steeling herself Devi swept towards the door, cape tugging delicately at her shoulders as it trailed behind her. With a beat of hesitation, she turned the knob, the ornate mold pressing into her palm. As it clicked open, and light filled Devi’s vision, a horrible feeling filled her gut.
book one: run says the devil | wip page | wip tag | get added to the tag list
In my continuing attempt to not succumb to the overwhelming desire to eat 48 billion fudge brownies rather than write procrastination I’m going to be posting daily quotes from my current draft of Burn Says the Martyr (sequel to Run Says the Devil)! These will be tagged “#bstm:nano” if you want to block the tag.
I missed yesterday but here’s Nov. 2nd!
“ It made Devi want to curl up and cry, the idea that she could scare Ahava, frighten her, chase her away, without even trying to, without even meaning to. ”
= a-z challenge for R U N says the D E V I L
= ask or interact here to join the T A G L I S T
= word count: 403
= T R I G G E R W A R N I N G for mentions of suicide & death
= likes/reblogs greatly appreciated
What looked like the remnants of a fight marred the path to the clinic, spiraling out of the Blind Owl and spilling onto the street like eviscerated intestines. Soldiers and drunks alike milled about; red dripping from the latter’s lips like booze, matching the stains on their knuckles. The guards eyed Devi suspiciously, recognizing the Devil with ease. In an alley, tucked next to the bar, lay a crumpled lump of blanket. A body. Right across from the clinic.
Fear yanked at Devi’s knees as she approached one of the guards standing by the corpse.“What happened?” she asked, throat dry.
He looked at her with some disdain, silent even as he sneered.
Devi gestured at the body with her foot, hands tucked into herself for warmth. “A patcher?” She didn’t get an answer beyond the slightest twitch in his gaze, and panic latched onto Devi’s heart. Was it Ahava? She prayed it wasn’t a tell. “I’m Insensitive, same as you. Just curious, is all.”
The guard sighed. “A riot started and the witch got caught in the center of it—they were pretty much torn to pieces. Can’t say they didn’t get what they deserved, though. The folks we’ve asked say they were practicing.”
Practicing. God, it couldn't Ahava under that blanket, could it? She was smarter than that. Had her eyes faded yet? Was Ahava safe? Where was she right now? The clinic?
Devi tried to hide her panic even as she looked back at the clinic. No light came through the shuttered windows. “Are they an Aeran patcher?”
He grunted. “No idea. Their eyes were gouged out.”
Devi nodded numbly, before turning away from the scene, heading towards the clinic. First Barachiel and now this? Her skin itched, fists clenching by her side as Devi did her best to keep walking forward, rather than running back to the corpse to rip off it’s blanket, claw at its face until it told her the truth. Was it Ahava?
What would the doctor’s face look like, gold eyes hollowed out by violent, indulgent fingers? Blood dripping from dark pits and claw marks down her cheeks. Would there be bruises on Ahava’s knuckles, signs that she died fighting? Or would she be barely recognizable, just a body beaten and bruised and torn; limp as a doll? Would she cold, skin pale and unfeeling beneath Devi’s calloused fingers? No longer sunlight, no longer warm.
Please, Devi thought, as she tried to stifle tears, please let her be alive. Devi didn’t know what she’d do if Ahava died. Maybe she’d kill herself.
The clinic door was locked and the windows were bolted and Devi didn’t have a key. Too bad for Ahava. Devi began pounding on the door with vigour, not quite desperate enough to start yelling yet. She was scared, yes, but attracting the attention of the Guard wouldn’t help anyone.
There was the sound of movement from inside the clinic, followed by the flashfire light of a lantern being brought to life. Devi heard a thud, several small things clattering to the floor, and Ahava cursing loudly.
The Devil quietly thanked whatever gods existed for saving the doctor.
“Who is it?”
Devi took a moment to collect herself, feeling impossibly shaken as her breathing came in uneven, relieved gasps, wet with grief. “It’s Devi.”
Thanks for asking! (And for waiting) Loving the idea for a more lighthearted piece so I hope you enjoy this blurb featuring Devi and Ahava.
19. “According to this survey, most people agree you are, in fact, a gigantic asshole.” - Prompt list (send one in!)
Word count: 749
Devi sat in the clinic’s med bay, nursing a cheap beer dragged over from the Blind Owl, Ahava’s sat on the counter, dark glass glinting in the moonlight. It was strange to not be the one getting patched up but Devi had the night off and Ahava was always up late, consistent as the moon. So when Devi couldn’t sleep - adrenaline burning in lungs, expecting a fight, twitchy as an insect - Ahava’s seemed the logical place to go. The night was softer there.
Some idiot punk, fresh from a bar fight sat in the chair as Ahava ground together some herbs, gold eyes flashing with irritation. Two other casualties from the same fight sat outside in the main room. Their soft bickering fluttered against Devi’s ears.
“This is going to sting like a mother fucker,” Ahava announced, idly, “but it will stop the burns from getting any worse if you’re consistent with it.”
The patient - Adeinn? - didn’t seem too enthusiastic about that, his shadowy silhouette hunching in the tiny chair as he made a face.
Devi, out of the loop and curious for a story, leaned forward in her chair. “Burns?”
Adeinn squirmed sheepishly.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Ahava shot, before turning to Devi. “Play nice, adjya, can’t have you harassing my paycheck.”
“Oh, like you’re not curious.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
“I don’t mind telling the story,” Devi could see the glint of a smug smile spreading across Adeinn’s face, “especially not for two lovely ladies such as yourselves.”
“Another comment like that and I’ll hit you,” was Ahava’s only response.
His smile faltered. “Jeez, sorry…”
“The story!” Devi pressed as Ahava huffed.
“Okay okay, so I’m sitting in the bar, minding my own business.”
“That’s how all bar fights start,” Ahava grumbled under her breath.
Adeinn scrunched his nose at her, before rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I’m minding my own business, and Jasper comes in - big blond bloke - and his brother Jacob - bigger blonde bloke - they’re twins.”
“Is Jacob the evil twin?”
“Devi!”
Adeinn laughed at Devi’s comment despite Ahava’s chiding. “He is the evil one; a fucking patcher!”
Devi felt her mouth go dry. Patcher was a disgusting word for magician and Ahava, a non-practicing magician herself, tensed in Devi’s peripheral. Devi’s shoulders stiffened as Ahava just stared dead-eyed down at the mix, her gentle stirring grinding to a halt. God, she hated these anti-magic pricks.
The patient, oblivious to the sudden tone shift, continued on undeterred. “So we’ve been rough ever since I found out Jasper’s brother was, well, like that and he actually had the nerve to be like ‘you’re a giant prick’ and ‘what’s your fucking problem’ like he doesn’t know what my problem is. So obviously I told him to go fuck himself which only made him more pissed. And, well, next thing I know a goddamn lantern’s being smashed in my face.”
He stretched in the chair, staring up at the ceiling as he groaned. “What an asshole.”
“I hope you don’t mind my saying,” Devi hissed lowly, “but I think you’re the ‘asshole’ here.”
“Hey, you can’t say that I’m a paying customer!”
Ahava shifted as if to turn to him, but stopped, staying fixed at the counter instead. “Devi can say whatever she wants - she doesn’t work here.”
“Then what’s she doing in the med bay?!”
“Moral support,” Devi said, taking a sip from the previously forgotten bottle of beer she was holding. It was lukewarm at this point but she drank anyway. She had badass appearances to keep up, damn it, couldn’t blink in the face of the enemy.
“She translates my anger,” Ahava elaborated, finally allowing herself to turn around and lean against the countertop. “For example, I too think you are an asshole.”
Devi hummed in solidarity, nodding.
Adeinn blubbered for a bit. “Oh fuck you guys too. No better than the jackasses out there. I’m not an- an asshole!”
“Oh, Really?” Devi mused. “Because according to this survey,” she gestured between herself and Ahava jerkily, “most people agree you are, in fact, a gigantic asshole.” She took a swig.
He blinked at Devi, before jerking to face Ahava. “And you’re going to let her say that to me?”
Ahava shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Bitch. I should have taken my money somewhere else.”
The doctor’s stare was cold as ice. “Yeah, you probably should have. Now get the fuck out of my clinic.”
I know this isn’t necessarily nanowrimo based but are my babies gonna be /okay/ ;-;
im always down to answer questions about the gang!! I’m going to need you to define “okay” but i can guarantee at least half of them are alive next book o w o
