#singerblade

[highmati]

A hooked claw of awareness drags down the back of Rhysand’s neck. It might have broken the skin if it was any louder which is a surprising feat given the source of what splits his attention. Amren is speaking, something poisonous about the weapons they should be wielding, and all this is directed at Cassian who grits his teeth in such a way that suggests he’s unwillingly heard this speech before and he doesn’t want to hear it this time either. His second needn’t say Nesta Archeron’s name to imply exactly to which weapon she refers. Rhysand should say something. / @singerblade

Instead his gaze strays to the dark cloud in the furthest corner of the room where that dagger stroke had risen the hairs on his nape. When he reaches towards the brewing storm of tendrils cloaking Azriel’s mind, he does it with wary gentleness. {You have something to say,} he presses against his Spymaster’s thoughts when the tiniest gap opens for him to do so. {What troubles you? Have you found something? We can circle back to Amren’s piece if you’ve something more pressing to add.}

[axeattitude]

@singerblade: i’d like you to trust me someday.

"uh..." he isn't sure how to respond to that. kerry does trust azriel. he's as sure of that as he is of anything. azriel's earned it, and he's told them as much in his own way. mostly indirect, though in a way that would have left very little question about it.

but azriel doesn't seem to know that when kerry thought they did. it's troubling. kerry isn't sure if it's more his fault that azriel doesn't or if it's azriel's. either option isn't good, and he doesn't know how to feel about one or the other.

"the fuck, az? i do." he says before he frowns and crosses his arms low and loose over his chest. "where are you coming from with this? i thought you knew where we stood."

[heontrix]

PAREKH, AZRIEL , ꜝꜝ “   under   the   circumstances,   i’ve   been   shockingly   nice. — ₍ @singerblade ₎

what would have been the perfect evening for her to relax, had turned into a spontaneous job, stumbling upon a demon attempting to go after some of the kids in the nearby marketplace. it was reflex to immediately jump to the defense, and rumi hadn't connected with the other hunters as frequently as she should have to know whose territory she was in. celine would be so disappointed in her lack of memory, she'd taught her this. killing the demon was easy. bearing the judgement the faceless person before her. she couldn't see them, but the aura was strong enough for her to know that she was being silently chastised. she'd spotted the weapon by their hand, signal enough to know he was a hunter like she was. she'd clearly stepped in it. the global tour was just beginning. huntrix had just left korea a few weeks prior, and were now settling for their shows in india, with a few extra days of exploring in between concert venues. the city had been bustling with activity, to a degree that rumi hadn't experienced, and it only filled her with excitement and intrigue as she took it in. stop by stop, they were strengthening the honmoon, and though the system has its changes outside of korea, music always had power, and the barrier would exist nonetheless. and now she had potentially started off poorly with a fellow hunter. “ i wasn't aware that you walking away in response to me introducing myself was something nice that people did. ” her weapon had dissipated into air as her arms folded over her chest, following him out of spite. “ i recognize you, actually. ” she finally blurt out. celine's training hadn't failed her, and she just managed to recall. “ was i supposed to let the kids get their souls taken ? ”

[altarcup]

spotify ᵒⁿᵉˡⁱⁿᵉʳ ＊ @singerblade & anfIoga ( way out there, 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐧. )

      ❛❛  if you think that 𝑖'𝑚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅, you've got me 𝖜𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌.  ❜❜

[absensia]

Not far away, there was a woman screaming in abject horror and in some distant,  long - forgotten room of the doll’s mind,  there awakened an idea,  yawning and blinking sleepily,  that this anguished and desperate sound was coming from the doll’s own corpse body. The doll did not realize she still had such a scream inside her. It took blood,  did it not?   hot and heavy,  thick and racing,  to scream   — and she’d already been drained clean of it. Plugged me through and through with a little pen knife held in. . .  Oh, but whose hand had it been?   There’d be a collapse of shadows and mortar had rained down on her head,  turning her golden hair to ash. Something in the doll had broken,   perhaps some bone, perhaps the ceramic replica of a heart. Against the cold walls of the dilapidated house of her mind, she watched the shadows play it out again,  the invasion of steel past soft flesh and cotton,  but could not make out the shape of the hand that held the knife. Yet there it lunged again   —   and again,  and again!   The screaming she realized was not pouring from her throat and mouth,  but from the wounds about her torso,  where flesh had been twisted and removed,   twisted and taken away. The doll felt a pressure build and rise.   Yes,  it only made sense:   for if the screaming poured from where she should be bleeding, then the blood would have no choice but to exit

from her mouth, bloody spittle sprang forth as Charlotte woke herself up in a violent coughing fit.   The force of the cough pained her,  seizing intercostal and thoracic muscles,   and refused her any release. Something,  it seemed,  needed to get out before she would be allowed to draw a breath in.   More blood,   more spit.   It all had to go.   With what little presence of mind she had,  Charlotte lifted her left shoulder,  wanting to get herself onto her side;   it all had to go!   But there was a void to her right and the agent would fall,  crying out as she did, both from the sudden descent and the sudden searing pain this small action caused.   There was no catching herself as she rolled right off the backseat and into that cold, dark space that delineated the back of a car from the front. No safety features down here.   Just a bit of dust and now,  me,  my blood,   and I.   “   Fuck.   ”   Her arm had twisted beneath her and her head forcibly turned so that the car could add insult to injury in the form of a bruise,  right smack on the cheekbone of her pretty face. The agent rolled her gaze about, straining the limits of the muscles that held her eye - ball in place,   until it landed on the driver. She could make out little more than a long torso and a hand on the wheel. “   Hey. You’re not taking me to a hospital,  are you?   ” / @singerblade

[axeattitude]

@singerblade: how many fingers am i holding up ? / morbid curiosity.

harsh afternoon sunlight slants through the newly parted hotel window curtains, and kerry flinches and covers his face with his hand to guard against the bright assault. every sound seems like a jackhammer to his skull, his mouth an arid and cottony desert.

azriel's just done what was asked of him, but kerry's coasting on a come-down. the fresh torture of wakefulness veers him towards a craggy irritation.

that the time of his flight could be changed doesn't matter. seems secondary, behind the want for a few more moments of dark quiet in the downy embrace of a comforter large enough to envelop him twice over.

it's secondary even to the brief urge to grab the nearest pillow and throw it at azriel. knowing it'd be thrown back twice as hard and with better aim is the only thing that stills his hand.

"m'up, m'up, just... put the fuckin' fingers away. gimme a second," he mumbles, but it almost sounds like a plea. or an appeal to azriel's sympathy.

he stirs. it isn't without reluctance. "you're a heartless bastard for openin' the curtains."

[axeattitude]

@singerblade: what are you working on ? / morbid curiosity.

sitting in the warm light of another boutique hotel's balcony, kerry looks up at azriel as he brushes his hand across the graphite-smudged page of a worn sketchbook. the detritus of an hour or a few mired in attempts at creativity dot the tabletop - a half-finished cocktail with another empty glass beside it, a tablet propped in its case with a dark screen, scrap paper covered in scribbles. a guitar is carefully propped against the empty chair to his left.

it's messy, in a controlled way. these impromptu sessions usually are.

"just doodling, seein' if it stirs up anything. have a couple ideas that are comin' to me visually but getting fuck all otherwise," he says. he twirls a mechanical pencil, sighs, and then scratches out an arc of cross-hatch shading.

he's trying to be slow and steady with this, let it come as it wants. it's driving him up a wall. it takes more effort than he wants to think of.

"but... ah, shit, i don't think i'm going to get anythin' else out of this today." he closes the sketchbook and tablet, piles them together, and pushes them aside with the pencil. his cocktail calls to him more.

[axeattitude]

@singerblade: where have you been ? / morbid curiosity.

as kerry slips into the backseat and tugs the door closed behind him, he meets azriel's eyes in the rearview mirror and grins mischievously, unabashed. on request, azriel had been waiting for him. four slow hours had since passed.

he'd been dropped off in a japantown alley, and picked up at the same one, theatrically secretive about it all. maybe kerry should have given him a timeframe and left him with something more concrete besides i'll text you i'm okay every hour. which, really, is the least he could've done.

still, he'd texted. four, one for each hour. it's all azriel got out of him. there could have been more. there could have been less, too.

azriel sounds both bored and curious. left with four hours on his hands and nothing to do but wait, kerry would be too. often he doles out some version of an answer to satisfy that curiosity, either tailored minorly or not at all. sometimes he doesn't. this time, it's the latter.

"eh, around," he answers unhelpfully. "i wasn't rollin' around in the gutter somewhere if that's what you're wondering." then, slightly apologetic, he tacks on, "didn't mean to take so long though. time flies, or whatever the fuck."