âare you a top or a bottom?â iâm a threat
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@yulanjie
âare you a top or a bottom?â iâm a threat
bonfiiredâ:
      What an odd one he was, shrouded in a cloud that Inneia couldnât quite pinpoint. Danger and evil seemed to cling to him like a tick but the man himself didnât seem all that evil. It was rather like a shadow, malice following him in his every step and it confused her more than answered any of her question. What surprised her more was that he lingered still after his reading was done. â This city has a habit of circling the same people back together. â She muttered quietly, glancing aside at the crowd of people moving about. â So Iâm sure weâll see each other again in one way or another, Yulan. I run a magic shop two blocks from here if you ever feel like we havenât seen each other in a while. â
   ---he did want to set those cards on fire. obviously, he wasnât angry or even particularly irritated in any similar fashion, he just thought it would be a fun enough thing to do. alas, luckily for that redhead, he had left his lighter at home. instead, he stared at the cards for a few moments, briefly skimmed means of burning them anyhow, but elected that they were all vastly too elaborate for a whim. â oh, yeah. pray that it doesnât, still, â he remarked, and eventually managed to lift his eyes off the tarot. â do i look like iâd come around ? anyway, yeah, thatâll be me, if thatâs all. â
m--artiiâ:
      Hours passed and what was left of his old limbs had long burned into cinders and bones. The bonfire was no longer that in the back yard, but rather a small flame that Mark contained in a circle of stones, feeding onto it every now and then to keep it alive. By morning any evidence of Yulanâs murder would be long gone. In his wait he had prepared a fresh set of clothing for Yulan on the coffee table before the couch and when the man woke up, Mark was seated in an arm chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his phone in the other, looking up the moment he heard the other grumble. â Changed my mind. You owe me twice for this one. â
   yes, he could have sent a text to adrian, but he knew what he thought of getting involved directly with the deaths of other immortals. valentine had been no option, the same went for sam, and auburn, at that--- mark had just about been the first and only one he could think up that would likely do him that favour. however, yulan had only expected to wake up in some bushes, rather than on a sofa. with eyes opening begrudingly, he loosely peered around, and promptly gave another groan. â not the kind of hiding i was going for. â
m--artiiâ:
     He set out immediately after receiving the last pair of texts, though it took him a while before he found the exact alley Yulan meant. A lesser person would have turned at the very smell of fresh blood that welcomed him but Mark had expected as much from Yulan. He wasnât surprised to find him dead already by the time he reached him, he was, however, surprised to find him in pieces. â Fantastic. â He muttered, running a hand through his hair and turning back from the alley. Half an hour later he returned with a half beaten down pick up truck ( and if the missing plates werenât indication enough that it was stolen, the broken window and the crowbar certainly were ) and began collecting what was left of Yulan. With surprising gentle care, he placed all of him at the back seat of the pick up truck and grabbed the barrel of water from the back and washed the alley of the blood. Before setting off for his old house, he texted Adrian, arriving at the suburbs not half an hour later. Yulan was once more carried with care into the house where he laid him down on the sofa before setting to the back yard where he began arranging wood into a bonfire for the rest of his limbs.
   it was just his luck that yulan always came back quickly. pain was something he had long learned to deal with in his very own way, which usually involved a whole lot of groaning and cussing and doing just about anything to keep himself from screaming. he presumed that they had aimed to hurt him enough to make it something that would universally be considered a painful last few hours. some might even let it pass as torture. yulan, however, considered it stalling. it didnât take a genius to notice that they had been chinese, and it was nothing that angered yulan as much as it dully frustrated him. when he came to, a few hours after mark had arrived at his old house, he grumbled quietly to himself and kept his eyes closed, fingers flexing and legs moving experimentally, and a quiet âbloody, fucking hellâ murmured to himself.
bonfiiredâ:
       â Not at all. â She responded, placing her cards back at the edge of the table and smoothing out the wrinkles on the cloth. Witch burning was still a topic that struck her with nausea. There had been a period of time where fire struck fear in her veins, when the very symbol of her holiday had her spiraling into panic but these days, fire grew into comfort once more. It was the smell of burning flesh that got her, really. â Anyway, it was a pleasure reading for you. Nameâs Inneia. â
   why was he this way, anyway? a part of him kept pushing, told him to do more, be more extreme, drag something out of her, some sort of reaction, just to see how much of an impact he could have. he liked to terrify, but only truly hurt the nastiest mortals he could find. this one clearly did not make the cut, but there was still that subtle temptation to step out of line more. â yulan. iâm sure iâll see you around. â
bonfiiredâ:
      She had worried. His cards werenât good and nothing she spoke of was flattering and more often than not they left with their own thoughts thrown at her. The words she got in turn, while threatening to her personally, were nothing short of relieving and she smiled as she snatched the cards off the table. â People stopped believing in witches, thankfully. â She answered in turn; and as tragic as the loss of her craft was, she was glad that the collective majority of the world decided witches were frauds. It made life much easier. â Or people realized how inhumane it all was. I suspect it will all be back in a couple of centuries, itâs usually the case. â
   oh, witches were frauds, no doubt about it. â wouldnât that be exciting, â he mused faintly, and leaned forward to rest an elbow on the surface of the table, and his head atop his palm a moment later. for the first time, he gave the other a proper look over. it seemed much more entertaining to achieve a certain reputation with the pagan folk than merely being the cityâs weirdo, as he was to most. he was, after all, dangerous, and quite enjoyed having to spend little effort on maintaining that image.Â
bonfiiredâ:
       â Yeah, I can see the Towerâs influences here. â She peered back at the cards with mild curiosity. They were quite something to piece together, and without additional minor arcana cards to paint the picture for her, Inneia had to grow rather literal. The Devil was him, that one was rather obvious to her but it was the combination of the other three that boggled her, specifically since the World seemed to be surrounded by such negativity, such delusions. â Clearly you had everything you needed to turn your life into completion. â She began, resting her elbows onto the table and propping her chin on her threaded fingers. â You had the opportunity, the time was right as was the place but you didnât really believe it. Your lack of faith in the world and in yourself caused you to spiral back to the very beginning. Itâs a never ending cycle; you constantly cling to the negativeness in your life, you donât do anything to shake your addiction of self sabotage and you are your own undoing. You bury all that shit and then you wonder why every aspect of your life turns to shit. â
   she was wrong, but as close as they tended to get. he had fought tooth and claw to regain his sense of self in the beginning, but tragedy followed tragedy and he had, unfortunately, learned from it. those like him had no place that was simply given, they had to take it. he supposed he could have lived to be like biyu, a snake in the worst interpretation of the term, but he had a mind of his own, and did not succumb to the will of those willing to slice his throat out of fear he might sully their legacy. he presumed the cycle she spoke of was a tad too literal. â didnât they used to burn witches? wonder what happened to that, â yulan mused, then nodded. â fairly close, iâll give you that. â
bonfiiredâ:
      â Mhm. And you know what kind of reading you want, too. â A smirk curved her lips at his blatant lie but Inneia, after centuries of being burned ( sometimes literally ) over her curiosity, knew when to not stick her nose where it didnât belong. Still, her eyes remained firmly on the cards and when the Devil card fell out of the deck, she hummed, surprised and set it to the side of the table. Taking the deck back into her hands, she split it into three piles in front of her and drew a card from the top of each. The Star, reversed, the World and the Moon, like wise reversed stared back at her. Inneia blinked in surprise and drew the Devil card above the three, looking up at the stranger with a raised eyebrow. â Seen this cards often, then? â
   â threeâs a decent number, â he mused faintly, without much effort poured into his evident lies. when the shuffling was done and over with, he leaned back in his chair, shoulders rolling back and hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. he failed to regard the cards, and instead settled his eyes firmly on the woman reading into them. â occasionally. sometimes some tower, sometimes a fair few swords. that kind of shit. â
bonfiiredâ:
      She was not worried about the cards; they were of course, not the first deck sheâs had and certainly not the last. But so many of the modern witches she met these days revered the cards as something holy, as what brought the message rather than the tool they were. Still, she watched with a keen eye as the man shuffled her deck, her eyes following his hands with interest and while he shuffled, she heard herself asking: â Youâre familiar with the cards, arenât you? â It was the confidence with which he handled them that had her ask the such as most her customers that were unfamiliar with them looked at them with a sense of awe and giddiness. Patiently, she waited until he was done shuffling.
   obviously he had received his fair share of readings, but he had always mocked them. wherever they drew their messages from, something or someone liked to remind him of his cursed soul. he thought he might as well do whatever at this point, anyway. something along the lines of the world never having done him any favours, either, or somesuch. â nah. three cardsâll do. â he gathered them together, tried to merge them into a pile again, and saw a card flicker out. with a mildly amused hum, he regarded the devil, snatched the card up and loosely flung it onto the centre of the table, before offering the rest of the deck over.
bonfiiredâ:
      The old witch smiled and picked up a worn and old looking set of tarot cards from her side and while their colour was fading, the images still stood out vastly and uniquely from any other â perhaps it was time she touched up on it. Without hesitation, she looked the stranger over; his red attire would have caught her attention regardless of what she was doing, she decided, and yet the stranger didnât really seem like the type top drag attention to himself. She handed the deck over to him. â Shuffle it for me, please. Just spread the cards on the table and move them around. â
   he knew those cards well-- in fact, he had been all over those european witches back in the day, given some enjoyed burning him the way they did them. tarot cards and reverence were a strange thing, and he had elected that no, he knew those ghosts, he knew what waited for him if he were to pass on, finally. none of it had anything to do with fancy cards drawn by women who barely scratched the surface of what they thought to master. he snatched the cards, shuffled them swiftly and with a strange certainty to his fingers, and moved them across the tableâs surface as told.
bonfiiredâ:
       Inneia smiled politely and pointed at the chair opposite of her. There was a table between them covered with a dark, silken cloth with various symbols sown into the fabric. â I think Iâll manage, the cards donât exactly give out the gory details. â Not that she thought him to be particularly gory. Mortals tended to be entirely too dramatic for their own good. â Have a seat. â
   â always thought that was a bit of a design flaw, â he remarked, and went ahead to plonk himself down unceremoniously-- which was difficult, being dressed head to toe in red and acting as if he was non-chalantly more energetic than ought to be healthy.
bonfiiredâ:
      â I donât suppose I can interest you in a free-of-charge tarot reading? â
   â sure, if youâre not the faint-of-heart sort. â
   â oh, yeah, capes were in for, like, five minutes, the other day. â
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