Ivy Langley was dreaming.
She dreamt of her room, her refuge, as she liked it, just slightly in disarray to prove that it was a space where a human being lived and breathed. She sat on her bed, drowsy, heavy-lidded eyes, a spare breeze passing through her curtains and barely ruffling her hair despite closed windows. A scent hung in the air, familiar but not her own. Apple-scented shampoo. She frowned for just a moment before her concern passed. She glanced outside and watched the scenery passing by, moving at speed, a slight vibration rocking the bed. She felt at peace, in that moment, quiet and calm, and she let her eyes slip closed.
She dreamt of a cat. Not her own darling Lion, but another cat, small, cream-point, long-haired. It climbed in her lap. She told it she loved it. It meowed.
She dreamt of explosions in the distance.
She dreamt of pitch darkness, and blinding light, and screeching meaningless noise so loud as to make her head ache.
She dreamt of panic. The sort that so rarely gripped her but on the rare occasion it did it shut her down completely, separated herself from control of her body, fell limp, sought desperately refuge in a bottle because the only way to fight it was to drown. She felt the weight of long nights and empty bottles, regrettable messages, cries for help. But here there was nothing at all, just the cold, and her fingers found no relief as she groped desperately for anything at all to hold onto. After what felt like hours she grabbed at fur, too hard, the cat yowled and ran further away. She began to cry.
She dreamt of a spotlight at the end of a corridor.
She dreamt of endless doors, rows and rows, identical, locked, rattling or dripping or not wholly concealing the sound of screams as she crawled past, unable to rise. She held her breath, not daring to look, not daring to imagine what might happen if one of the doors should open, because all that mattered was the light. She didn’t know what she’d find there, but it would be something, anything more than this, fingers clawing at the rough carpeting barely granting her purchase. She remembered that carpet, instinctual memories from a long-forgotten toddlerhood, tripping and falling and giggling as she pulled herself back up, first steps, her mother laughing and clapping along with her.
She dreamt of an eternity that tasted like bile.
She dreamt of the light, finally, close enough to taste some unknowable freedom. She saw a shape there and knew. For once, she prayed.
She dreamt of a gunshot.
She dreamt of the spotlight, a glowing circle surrounding the already-cold body of a cat. Small, cream-point, long haired. More blood than she thought a cat could contain had spilled, staining her clothing, her hands painted red, she deserved this.
She dreamt of its eyes, still open, piercing, green, judging, familiar.
She dreamt of an endless silence.
Ivy Langley did not wake up, yet. She shivered in her sleep, rolled over, and breathed, unsteady but not overly so. She had had nightmares before. She would have them again.
she’s ripping wings off of butterflies
bury the castle (private)
she’s ripping wings off of butterflies
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
[ B #43 - Julien Leblanc: Start. ]
Julien considered the weapon he'd found himself with. Well, not so much that itself as what it represented.
They were all here for the purpose of killing each other, that much had been made crystal clear. He was quite sure that the outcomes of it would be predictable; some would take to carving through the rest to try and earn their freedom, some would look simply to defend themselves or people they cared about, and some would be stupid enough to judge people for relying on natural impulse in the face of death.
His friends would inevitably fall into those categories too, some being easy to guess at due to their tendencies. Faith would do the best that she could to stay peaceful with others unless somebody came along and coaxed out the worst side of her, or she had to defend herself. Camilla... This would break her one way of another, of that he was certain. Sierra, he couldn't definitively think for, though he hoped she would go the same way that Faith would. And Blaise... Well, they played the game to fulfill their own ends, whatever it might be.
Of course, that wasn't really the heart of it. The four of them, one and all, would see him dead if that was what it took, pretense of care or not. Did he agree with it? Certainly not.
But he understood why. And he understood that he didn't carry fear of an end on his shoulders, even giving thought to what he was. There were worse ways than to go by the hand of a dear friend.
While he might find some respite in that thought, however, he was an exception to the rule of healthy fear of death, and he had been raised better than to let people who felt creeping dread or melancholy to spiral away without doing something, anything, in case something (or someone) preyed on them yet further. So there was only one thing for it. Julien picked up the duffel bag with what could only be his designation on it before easing the door open, nice and quiet...
And saw Ivy Langley, set down to slumber peacefully where she was. In comfort too, it seemed.
So he set his war scythe down, out of sight. "Hey. Wake the fuck up."
Julien considered the weapon he'd found himself with. Well, not so much that itself as what it represented.
They were all here for the purpose of killing each other, that much had been made crystal clear. He was quite sure that the outcomes of it would be predictable; some would take to carving through the rest to try and earn their freedom, some would look simply to defend themselves or people they cared about, and some would be stupid enough to judge people for relying on natural impulse in the face of death.
His friends would inevitably fall into those categories too, some being easy to guess at due to their tendencies. Faith would do the best that she could to stay peaceful with others unless somebody came along and coaxed out the worst side of her, or she had to defend herself. Camilla... This would break her one way of another, of that he was certain. Sierra, he couldn't definitively think for, though he hoped she would go the same way that Faith would. And Blaise... Well, they played the game to fulfill their own ends, whatever it might be.
Of course, that wasn't really the heart of it. The four of them, one and all, would see him dead if that was what it took, pretense of care or not. Did he agree with it? Certainly not.
But he understood why. And he understood that he didn't carry fear of an end on his shoulders, even giving thought to what he was. There were worse ways than to go by the hand of a dear friend.
While he might find some respite in that thought, however, he was an exception to the rule of healthy fear of death, and he had been raised better than to let people who felt creeping dread or melancholy to spiral away without doing something, anything, in case something (or someone) preyed on them yet further. So there was only one thing for it. Julien picked up the duffel bag with what could only be his designation on it before easing the door open, nice and quiet...
And saw Ivy Langley, set down to slumber peacefully where she was. In comfort too, it seemed.
So he set his war scythe down, out of sight. "Hey. Wake the fuck up."
"Mmph."
Ivy made a vague noise in her half-sleep, dwelling in that in-between place where she was just faintly aware of her surroundings and yet not quite conscious. Her dreams had been terrible, and some unaccountable restlessness kept her from sinking deeper into a proper rest, but still she was tired enough that she was quite unwilling to come to. This bed was terribly comfortable, firmer than the one at the hotel. Softer than her bed at home, though. Her father had some sort of vendetta about soft beds, probably something about his stupid back issues, how was that her problem? She was eighteen and still had bones that didn't ache when it rained.
Whose bed was this, anyway?
She groaned and, unhappy but unfortunately lucid, pulled herself up to sitting.
[G040] IVY LANGLEY: START
The room was... wholly unfamiliar. Well-kept and well-furnished, with a plush carpet in a shade of pink that clashed rather badly with the red comforter she was laying on, but she supposed she wasn't here to judge interior decorating choices. Fuck if she could remember why she was here, though, exactly, her head still clouded by sleep and restless nightmares, images that were hard to separate from reality. Darkness and blood. She shook her head, her hair shaking with it, but the action made her slightly dizzy. She'd recover given a moment, she was sure, as she took a closer look around. A vanity, a wardrobe, what looked like it was probably a closet, a couple of chairs.
Julien Leblanc, standing with his arms crossed, looking mildly annoyed.
The rest of her considerations went out the window immediately. Everything else could wait. Her confusion was replaced by a feeling that was perhaps wholly irrational considering the circumstances, but what did that matter? What did rationality ever matter to anything? All that mattered was the loathing burning like a hot coal in her stomach. Nothing made sense, she didn't know where she was, she didn't remember falling asleep, she didn't know why the fuck he was here, she didn't care, she wanted to hurt him. She'd wanted to hurt him for months.
"You."
Her throat was dry, her voice was hoarse. Not particularly threatening. She swallowed spit that tasted sour and tried again.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Ivy made a vague noise in her half-sleep, dwelling in that in-between place where she was just faintly aware of her surroundings and yet not quite conscious. Her dreams had been terrible, and some unaccountable restlessness kept her from sinking deeper into a proper rest, but still she was tired enough that she was quite unwilling to come to. This bed was terribly comfortable, firmer than the one at the hotel. Softer than her bed at home, though. Her father had some sort of vendetta about soft beds, probably something about his stupid back issues, how was that her problem? She was eighteen and still had bones that didn't ache when it rained.
Whose bed was this, anyway?
She groaned and, unhappy but unfortunately lucid, pulled herself up to sitting.
[G040] IVY LANGLEY: START
The room was... wholly unfamiliar. Well-kept and well-furnished, with a plush carpet in a shade of pink that clashed rather badly with the red comforter she was laying on, but she supposed she wasn't here to judge interior decorating choices. Fuck if she could remember why she was here, though, exactly, her head still clouded by sleep and restless nightmares, images that were hard to separate from reality. Darkness and blood. She shook her head, her hair shaking with it, but the action made her slightly dizzy. She'd recover given a moment, she was sure, as she took a closer look around. A vanity, a wardrobe, what looked like it was probably a closet, a couple of chairs.
Julien Leblanc, standing with his arms crossed, looking mildly annoyed.
The rest of her considerations went out the window immediately. Everything else could wait. Her confusion was replaced by a feeling that was perhaps wholly irrational considering the circumstances, but what did that matter? What did rationality ever matter to anything? All that mattered was the loathing burning like a hot coal in her stomach. Nothing made sense, she didn't know where she was, she didn't remember falling asleep, she didn't know why the fuck he was here, she didn't care, she wanted to hurt him. She'd wanted to hurt him for months.
"You."
Her throat was dry, her voice was hoarse. Not particularly threatening. She swallowed spit that tasted sour and tried again.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"Dying."
The lack of realisation did make sense. She had only just woken up, and she had something that she clearly regarded as more important than reflection on her new surroundings in front of her. But that did not change the reality of their situation; the explosive leashes around their necks wouldn't magically disappear and let them free of this place. And he was under no obligation to indulge her hostility.
"So, ah... I'll say it once more. Drink something that isn't wine and wake the fuck up."
Julien had heard a great deal said about Ivy. Much of it was from Faith, however, and even if he knew there was truth to it he'd always taken what she said about the people she hated with a generous pinch of salt. Personally, he'd never had any definitive feelings about her, much like he had for some others of her supposed ilk.
... though that was before she'd torn that rift between them open.
The lack of realisation did make sense. She had only just woken up, and she had something that she clearly regarded as more important than reflection on her new surroundings in front of her. But that did not change the reality of their situation; the explosive leashes around their necks wouldn't magically disappear and let them free of this place. And he was under no obligation to indulge her hostility.
"So, ah... I'll say it once more. Drink something that isn't wine and wake the fuck up."
Julien had heard a great deal said about Ivy. Much of it was from Faith, however, and even if he knew there was truth to it he'd always taken what she said about the people she hated with a generous pinch of salt. Personally, he'd never had any definitive feelings about her, much like he had for some others of her supposed ilk.
... though that was before she'd torn that rift between them open.
Ivy narrowed her eyes. What the fuck was he talking about? There was this tugging feeling at the back of her brain, like there was something she was missing, but she could put the pieces together in a little while, when she was alone, when the elephant in the room fucked off. He just had this aura around him always of intolerable self-righteousness, not in the way that Max did, Max had weird dorky principles and all but he was dead fucking serious about them, Julien was just a prick who thought he was superior because being the world's biggest asshole was, technically, a superlative. Perhaps she was a touch biased, and not working off the world's most diverse data set here, but she was fairly confident in her assessment, anyway, since her assessments were pretty much always right.
She stretched her legs and arms out like a cat, yawning exaggeratedly before smiling a wholly and intentionally insincere smile.
"Julien, darling, you strike me as the sort of person not enough people have told to shut the fuck up."
She stretched her legs and arms out like a cat, yawning exaggeratedly before smiling a wholly and intentionally insincere smile.
"Julien, darling, you strike me as the sort of person not enough people have told to shut the fuck up."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"That's so, hm?"
The words made his mind turn back to Blaise, for a moment. Even if he knew he wouldn't find any solace in it, he wanted to find them, at least see them once more. Faith too, and the rest. Ivy would feel the same way about Myles, of that he was certain; she despised him for the wrong he'd done to a dear friend of hers, and rightly so.
"Perhaps you're right. But it... fuck it, doesn't matter." Julien turned away from her, going to make for the door. He would retrieve his weapon and leave Ivy to think, and perhaps in time she would find herself that much more grateful for the silence having been filled before. He knew that he would be.
"I'm going to find Faith and I, uh... I advise that you do the same with Myles. Goodbye, Ivy." The handle began to turn.
The words made his mind turn back to Blaise, for a moment. Even if he knew he wouldn't find any solace in it, he wanted to find them, at least see them once more. Faith too, and the rest. Ivy would feel the same way about Myles, of that he was certain; she despised him for the wrong he'd done to a dear friend of hers, and rightly so.
"Perhaps you're right. But it... fuck it, doesn't matter." Julien turned away from her, going to make for the door. He would retrieve his weapon and leave Ivy to think, and perhaps in time she would find herself that much more grateful for the silence having been filled before. He knew that he would be.
"I'm going to find Faith and I, uh... I advise that you do the same with Myles. Goodbye, Ivy." The handle began to turn.
He was so dismissive and it was pissing her off.
Obviously he had no interest in staying here any longer, and frankly it wasn't as though Ivy was unhappy to see him leave, but the least he could fucking do was acknowledge what was happening here. What, he got to talk some nonsense, sweep off what in her humble opinion was a perfectly shaped barb and then just leave? God, she wasn't even making sense to herself, she wanted him gone, anyway, how many times over had she thought that already, but she wanted him gone and suffering. Not that she could do to him what he'd done to Myles; he deserved it, obviously, but she wasn't one to hit someone when her words were so much sharper than her fists. Obviously she hadn't gone for the metaphorical jugular quickly enough. That was a situation easily rectified.
Ivy slid off the side of the bed onto the plush carpet, squishing under her heels. It only occurred to her then that she was wearing shoes, which for whatever reason struck her as the oddest detail she'd yet noticed. There were two bags piled up on the side of the bed, she noticed vaguely, but didn't bother paying them much heed.
Julien wanted to leave, did he? That was fine.
"Whatever you like. But Faith deserves better than you."
Her smile was smug at his back. She barely meant it, but the words still felt like a razor blade between her teeth.
"One day you're going to hurt her. Like you hurt Myles. Because that's the one thing you're good at, isn't it?"
Obviously he had no interest in staying here any longer, and frankly it wasn't as though Ivy was unhappy to see him leave, but the least he could fucking do was acknowledge what was happening here. What, he got to talk some nonsense, sweep off what in her humble opinion was a perfectly shaped barb and then just leave? God, she wasn't even making sense to herself, she wanted him gone, anyway, how many times over had she thought that already, but she wanted him gone and suffering. Not that she could do to him what he'd done to Myles; he deserved it, obviously, but she wasn't one to hit someone when her words were so much sharper than her fists. Obviously she hadn't gone for the metaphorical jugular quickly enough. That was a situation easily rectified.
Ivy slid off the side of the bed onto the plush carpet, squishing under her heels. It only occurred to her then that she was wearing shoes, which for whatever reason struck her as the oddest detail she'd yet noticed. There were two bags piled up on the side of the bed, she noticed vaguely, but didn't bother paying them much heed.
Julien wanted to leave, did he? That was fine.
"Whatever you like. But Faith deserves better than you."
Her smile was smug at his back. She barely meant it, but the words still felt like a razor blade between her teeth.
"One day you're going to hurt her. Like you hurt Myles. Because that's the one thing you're good at, isn't it?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
He froze.
"So that's how it is, hm?"
Julien's grip on the door handle tightened further and further as the words sunk in.
There were so many memories. The first time they met, going shooting with her, those nights where all they did was down beer and talk over movies, celebrating her presidency... He didn't remember exactly when his feelings had started to grow, or when they'd morphed into what they were now. But he knew for a fact that if the time ever came where he needed to lay himself down on Faith's path to a better self and let her walk right on over him, he would do it without hesitation. Even if that love would never be returned. He didn't care.
And there Ivy was, with the nerve to say that to him? Now, of all the times and places?
No.
"You know..." Julien turned back around to face Ivy, and he looked her straight in the eyes as he approached. He wanted her to know what was coming, and feel it happen anyway. "I'll let you in on a little secret." The only trace of anger that showed on him was the hand balling up into a fist.
"Lorenzo, Myles... neither of them actually know why I went off on them like I did. And neither do you." Closer, now. Just a few slow steps further. "It's because I hate people who think they know what I feel, and what I'll do. And, well, when they try and use it to hurt me..."
As Julien felt the punch connect and saw Ivy stumble back, some tiny part of his brain told him it might be the cleanest shot he'd ever thrown.
"Look where we end up."
"So that's how it is, hm?"
Julien's grip on the door handle tightened further and further as the words sunk in.
There were so many memories. The first time they met, going shooting with her, those nights where all they did was down beer and talk over movies, celebrating her presidency... He didn't remember exactly when his feelings had started to grow, or when they'd morphed into what they were now. But he knew for a fact that if the time ever came where he needed to lay himself down on Faith's path to a better self and let her walk right on over him, he would do it without hesitation. Even if that love would never be returned. He didn't care.
And there Ivy was, with the nerve to say that to him? Now, of all the times and places?
No.
"You know..." Julien turned back around to face Ivy, and he looked her straight in the eyes as he approached. He wanted her to know what was coming, and feel it happen anyway. "I'll let you in on a little secret." The only trace of anger that showed on him was the hand balling up into a fist.
"Lorenzo, Myles... neither of them actually know why I went off on them like I did. And neither do you." Closer, now. Just a few slow steps further. "It's because I hate people who think they know what I feel, and what I'll do. And, well, when they try and use it to hurt me..."
As Julien felt the punch connect and saw Ivy stumble back, some tiny part of his brain told him it might be the cleanest shot he'd ever thrown.
"Look where we end up."
He was so dramatic, wasn't he? Not that she wasn't, of course, she wasn't so blind to her own traits that she would miss one so prominent in herself, but she liked to think her words simply carried a certain gravitas fitting of a Langley. Julien was doing his utmost, of course, but his words were...
Ivy lost track as his eyes bored holes into hers. He was angry, yes, that was the intent, of course, so in that way she'd succeeded; she recalled Nick Ogilvie and a thrown cup of coffee, Gaelan threatening to call the police, losers, both. She'd fought and won wars on words alone, and she'd always been pleased when the target of her ire reacted with a temper tantrum. Violence was the refuge of thoughtless idiots who refused to admit their loss. Of course it was occasionally necessary, hence her having requested the help of the Carters for such matters in the past; unfortunately violence was the only language certain individuals seemed to speak. Justified in its own way, she thought. A translation service, essentially.
So she knew the look in his eyes when she saw it. She'd seen it aimed at her before, by boys who'd stare daggers and then walk away.
Julien wasn't walking away.
By the time she realized where he was going it was far too late, and she was cornered, besides, trapped between the bed and the wall, and then
pain crashed through her right eye and bounced around her skull, sending her reeling backward, her feet desperately trying to keep her steady and tangling themselves on the mysterious bags behind her, leaving her sprawled on the ground, staring at a hideous popcorn ceiling and breathing too hard, her eye already starting to swell, what the fuck just happened, she looked up and Julien was still there and suddenly she was more scared than she'd been in her entire life.
She remembered blood and bits of broken skull and brain matter but she didn't remember why.
She was on the floor. She needed to not be on the floor. She was whimpering, she realized, but didn't know how to make that stop, so she forced her lips to make the word "don't" as she grabbed at the side of the bed, trying desperately to pull herself up to standing. Where was there to go? Maybe he'd just leave, maybe that was enough for him, but he wasn't gone, not yet, "please," she mumbled shakily, it hurt.
Ivy lost track as his eyes bored holes into hers. He was angry, yes, that was the intent, of course, so in that way she'd succeeded; she recalled Nick Ogilvie and a thrown cup of coffee, Gaelan threatening to call the police, losers, both. She'd fought and won wars on words alone, and she'd always been pleased when the target of her ire reacted with a temper tantrum. Violence was the refuge of thoughtless idiots who refused to admit their loss. Of course it was occasionally necessary, hence her having requested the help of the Carters for such matters in the past; unfortunately violence was the only language certain individuals seemed to speak. Justified in its own way, she thought. A translation service, essentially.
So she knew the look in his eyes when she saw it. She'd seen it aimed at her before, by boys who'd stare daggers and then walk away.
Julien wasn't walking away.
By the time she realized where he was going it was far too late, and she was cornered, besides, trapped between the bed and the wall, and then
pain crashed through her right eye and bounced around her skull, sending her reeling backward, her feet desperately trying to keep her steady and tangling themselves on the mysterious bags behind her, leaving her sprawled on the ground, staring at a hideous popcorn ceiling and breathing too hard, her eye already starting to swell, what the fuck just happened, she looked up and Julien was still there and suddenly she was more scared than she'd been in her entire life.
She remembered blood and bits of broken skull and brain matter but she didn't remember why.
She was on the floor. She needed to not be on the floor. She was whimpering, she realized, but didn't know how to make that stop, so she forced her lips to make the word "don't" as she grabbed at the side of the bed, trying desperately to pull herself up to standing. Where was there to go? Maybe he'd just leave, maybe that was enough for him, but he wasn't gone, not yet, "please," she mumbled shakily, it hurt.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"You think I'm going to hurt her, huh? Going to kill her?"
Dazed, reeling, pleading for respite... All those biting barbs had abandoned her now that she had been taken out at the knees abruptly, reduced to a shaking wreck trying to raise herself to stand again. Julien didn't find any sympathy for Ivy in him; all the events leading up to this moment had been fault of the both of them, but he would still end it here and now.
He stepped over the bags on the floor, presumably hers, and drew closer once again. The first kick, though painful, would only wind her and keep her down.
"Fuck you."
The second would sting further, landing in the exact same place. But it didn't stop there.
"You hear me? Fuck you!"
With the third, Julien felt the snap as a rib gave way before him, saw her face contort into agony and heard the piercing scream. Damage done, he stepped away from her, seeing no need to go any further.
Dazed, reeling, pleading for respite... All those biting barbs had abandoned her now that she had been taken out at the knees abruptly, reduced to a shaking wreck trying to raise herself to stand again. Julien didn't find any sympathy for Ivy in him; all the events leading up to this moment had been fault of the both of them, but he would still end it here and now.
He stepped over the bags on the floor, presumably hers, and drew closer once again. The first kick, though painful, would only wind her and keep her down.
"Fuck you."
The second would sting further, landing in the exact same place. But it didn't stop there.
"You hear me? Fuck you!"
With the third, Julien felt the snap as a rib gave way before him, saw her face contort into agony and heard the piercing scream. Damage done, he stepped away from her, seeing no need to go any further.
Kill her?
His foot dug into her side, knocked her breath out of her and her body back to the floor. She didn't know, she didn't understand, she curled up in a ball, there was nowhere else to go. It hurt. It hurt so much and she couldn't see past it but her dreams were coming back to her and she was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, they weren't dreams, but she didn't want to think about it, but it would explain everything, wouldn't it, the unfamiliar room and the bags she'd tripped over and the murder in Julien's eyes
but the second kick hit her side and none of that really mattered. She was present, here, in this moment, and so was he, and she could feel the bruises blossoming across her side as she tried her pitiful utmost to edge away from the source of her suffering. All that greeted her was the wall. Cornered. Cornered and alone. Her vision was blurry, whether from pain or tears she couldn't tell, not that it matter, nothing really mattered but this and making this stop and she looked up and Julien was still there with not an ounce of pity in his eyes.
She opened her mouth to say anything at all when his foot connected a third time and all there was left was screaming.
His foot dug into her side, knocked her breath out of her and her body back to the floor. She didn't know, she didn't understand, she curled up in a ball, there was nowhere else to go. It hurt. It hurt so much and she couldn't see past it but her dreams were coming back to her and she was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, they weren't dreams, but she didn't want to think about it, but it would explain everything, wouldn't it, the unfamiliar room and the bags she'd tripped over and the murder in Julien's eyes
but the second kick hit her side and none of that really mattered. She was present, here, in this moment, and so was he, and she could feel the bruises blossoming across her side as she tried her pitiful utmost to edge away from the source of her suffering. All that greeted her was the wall. Cornered. Cornered and alone. Her vision was blurry, whether from pain or tears she couldn't tell, not that it matter, nothing really mattered but this and making this stop and she looked up and Julien was still there with not an ounce of pity in his eyes.
She opened her mouth to say anything at all when his foot connected a third time and all there was left was screaming.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
The pain had rendered Ivy incapacitated, for now at least. Julien left her in the corner, considering her in abject silence for a few long moments. Again, the impulsive rage had overcome him. The more things changed...
He retrieved the war scythe from where it had been concealed.
"Hm." His end would be a violent one, of that he was certain. Such was in his nature, after all. He tested the blade by flicking his thumb over it in just the right way; of course, it was razor sharp. Even with how long the whole thing was, it felt light as well. So he gave it a little twirl, hand over hand, and was something close enough to pleased with the results. Julien hoped that he wouldn't have to use it, but hope and dead men walking didn't often mix.
"You should find Myles, when you can move, and see him while you can." That was the only good that he could leave behind him here, by his reckoning.
When he tried it once more, he actually got the door open this time and departed without looking back.
[ Julien Leblanc continued elsewhere. ]
He retrieved the war scythe from where it had been concealed.
"Hm." His end would be a violent one, of that he was certain. Such was in his nature, after all. He tested the blade by flicking his thumb over it in just the right way; of course, it was razor sharp. Even with how long the whole thing was, it felt light as well. So he gave it a little twirl, hand over hand, and was something close enough to pleased with the results. Julien hoped that he wouldn't have to use it, but hope and dead men walking didn't often mix.
"You should find Myles, when you can move, and see him while you can." That was the only good that he could leave behind him here, by his reckoning.
When he tried it once more, he actually got the door open this time and departed without looking back.
[ Julien Leblanc continued elsewhere. ]
He said words, she thought, but she didn't hear anything.
The screaming gave way to sobbing. She clutched at her sides to hold them together but that hurt worse and she'd heard it, she swore, a crack, something was broken, every breath felt like a hot knife, she curled up on the floor and didn't move. She didn't hear him leave, but when she dared to open her eyes he was gone.
She took a deep breath, on instinct, relieved. The pain ripped through her chest and everything went dark for a while.
>> Ivy Langley continued, temporally, in the world is spinning but only in grey
The screaming gave way to sobbing. She clutched at her sides to hold them together but that hurt worse and she'd heard it, she swore, a crack, something was broken, every breath felt like a hot knife, she curled up on the floor and didn't move. She didn't hear him leave, but when she dared to open her eyes he was gone.
She took a deep breath, on instinct, relieved. The pain ripped through her chest and everything went dark for a while.
>> Ivy Langley continued, temporally, in the world is spinning but only in grey
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."