RE: MORITURI TE SALUTANT!! [S!4] ROUND 3- OPHIDIAN JADE!
08-17-2017, 05:34 AM
It hurt.
Lavi’s eyes were kind, and warm, and soft, but Sam couldn’t see in them anywhere that the druid understood what was being said here. This was a confession. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; there were supposed to be - fireworks, and confetti, a, a parade, maybe, but Sam remembered that she hated parades, and a great commotion and the roof falling in and a lot of dust everywhere and all of a sudden she wasn’t holding Lavi’s hands anymore, and instead she was under a lot of painfully heavy timber. It wasn’t supposed to be like this!
There were shouts outside, but they all seemed very far away, some part of Sam surmised. Some old, unexcised remnant of Sam muttered under his breath about basements and crush syndrome and men being saved by a cocoon of pianos (did she hear that one right?), but her main train of thought was still riding in circles: “she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not…”
A petal fell through a gap in the broken timbers.
“She loves me, she loves me not…” Sam tried not to cry, or to feel the growing pain in her leg. She’d have to cadge a leg brace from a healthy donor, or something, or at least a really long sock... “She loves me, she loves me not…” It never used to bother him, back then, back when another piece of clothing was another shield behind her and reality, but it bothered her now to lose herself again in other people, other clothes, when there was this great big question to be answered: “She loves me, she loves me not…”
Up above: movement in the faint light filtering down through the wooden ceiling. Lavi’s voice, a murmur. But too faint to be heard. Up above, the flapping of great, majestic wings, though Sam only caught a glimpse of brilliant white. In addition, a brief honking that drowned everything else out for a second:
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
Well then.
…
...”She loves me, she loves me not…”
The obscenities faded into the distance, but the sound of shifting timber intensified. Through an ever-widening gap, Sam saw a faceless behemoth take hold of a squared-off log, flinging it bodily aside. She blinked. No, that was definitely a faceless, dusty behemoth, brown with dirt and splinters. Astride its shoulder:
“She loves me…”
***
Lavi’s golem pulled a delirious, muttering figure gently from the wreckage. Sam’s red eyes were closed, and one of her legs lay bloody and twisted where wood had crushed it. She was still murmuring when the golem laid her on the shattered floorboards before its master.
Acacia stood behind them both, surveying the damage. “We may need you sooner than we thought, girl.” The old druid raised a hand to one of the broken walls, and new growth began to sprout from the exposed wood. She turned away from the rescue team, concentrating on the repairs: “Who could have done this? What was that in the sky? So many questions.”
Lavi ignored her. All her attention was on the quivering body in her golem’s arms. The fine clothes were torn almost to shreds, and pale skin showed through the gaps. It didn’t look as if Sam’s skin had ever seen the sun, she realized.
She was shaking, too, now that she thought about it, as she extended a branch - well, a hand - towards the pale body. The rustling of leaves hung potential in the air, a sound not quite realized. The smell of loam lay immanent on the-
“Just kiss the girl,” Acacia blurted, then finished lamely, “girl.”
“It’s Lavi.”
***
Ruby trudged past the sickly-smelling trees, up towards the partially-collapsed log cabin above her. Even mildly wrecked by the ridiculous swearing bird-god, the hunting lodge stood proud above the rabble below, almost touching the rock roof above it.
Ruby hated it. But this was the address neatly printed on the back of her Acacia-bound letter, so up she went, along the gravel path. The stones were pointy and uncomfortable, and a little plaque professed this discomfort to be therapeutic and acupunctural. Or some shit. Ruby realized all of a sudden that she didn’t care.
As she ascended to the front door, it fell out of its frame in front of her. Little waving twigs flailed in the frame for a moment and then gave up.
She yelled, “Mail call!” and waved the letter in the doorway. Almost instantly, a hand came out and snatched it.
Acacia glowered at the werewolf in the door. “Well, you aren’t a vampire, so let yourself in. Who’s this from?” She glanced at the silver dog-badge. “Marconi?”
“Melancholia Marconi. Who’s that over there,” Ruby changed tacks suddenly, noticing the extra - and familiar-smelling - druid in the room. As an additional effect, she completely lost interest in the letter. “Hello! You seem like you’re having a moment!”
Lavi was.
“I think you ought to cover that one up a little,” Ruby added, now leaning over Sam’s prone body, “also I think I was supposed to kill her?”
Evidently acting entirely on reflex, Sam sat straight up in the golem’s arms, punched through its back and duck-rolled into another room, shedding fabric the whole time. There was a thud and an ‘oof’ as the roll ended with some solid object. The lodge creaked in protest.
“Well, she’s obviously too skilled for me to kill. Mission accomplished,” Ruby added hastily, and brushed dirt out of all her fur.
Lavi blinked several times, mostly because there was dirt all over her face, but also because she needed a few seconds to catch up with current events. Turnips never had any of these problems, she thought for a moment, turnips just sat there and grew until you needed them to rise up and do household chores.
“Well, I better go report back to my boss, who probably saw all this coming!” Ruby turned to go, not missing a beat when the floorboards grew up to hold one foot in place. “Well, I better stay here a while and rest for a bit! It’s been a long walk!”
”This letter,” Acacia began, waving the sheets of paper, “Melancholia gave this to you personally?”
“Yep!” Ruby tugged at her foot ineffectually. “Swear on this silver badge! Actually, speaking of which, I’ve been considering a change in allegiances, are you hiring and are your badges made of something nicer, like bronze, or something?”
Acacia narrowed her eyes. “House?”
“Vermilsang. Lyconia Vermilsang, at your service, but please just call me Ruby, and could you let go of my foot, it’s starting to get pins and needles?”
“I’ll consider it.” Acacia gestured at Lavi. “Girl!”
“Lavi.”
“Get your… other girl. Melanchoria wants to hunt that bird-thing. She says it’ll wreck the Jade economy if we don’t buckle in and deal.” The old druid looked around at the smashed ceiling. “Wrecked… ha. The old bitch,” she glanced at Ruby, “no offense. The old… oh, mess that. Melanchoria wants to let bygones be bygones, even after what her house did to us; apparently it’ll all come good in the end.”
“Will it?” Lavi asked.
“If we get to the bird first, it will.” Acacia thumped a wall panel, and a hidden shelf emerged, stocked with hunting gear. “House of the Deer,” she spat derisively, as she hefted and sighted down a rifle, “Please. As if we were just going to stand around and be hunted.” She turned to address the motley crew: “Di Capreo-Linae. Remember our name, because it means more than just-
“Doesn’t it just mean ‘of the deer’?” Ruby interrupted. “It’s not that deep.”
Silence.
“Look when you’re a werewolf you tend to learn a lot about taxonomy, okay?”
More silence.
She huffed. “Don’t judge me.”
Lavi’s eyes were kind, and warm, and soft, but Sam couldn’t see in them anywhere that the druid understood what was being said here. This was a confession. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; there were supposed to be - fireworks, and confetti, a, a parade, maybe, but Sam remembered that she hated parades, and a great commotion and the roof falling in and a lot of dust everywhere and all of a sudden she wasn’t holding Lavi’s hands anymore, and instead she was under a lot of painfully heavy timber. It wasn’t supposed to be like this!
There were shouts outside, but they all seemed very far away, some part of Sam surmised. Some old, unexcised remnant of Sam muttered under his breath about basements and crush syndrome and men being saved by a cocoon of pianos (did she hear that one right?), but her main train of thought was still riding in circles: “she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not…”
A petal fell through a gap in the broken timbers.
“She loves me, she loves me not…” Sam tried not to cry, or to feel the growing pain in her leg. She’d have to cadge a leg brace from a healthy donor, or something, or at least a really long sock... “She loves me, she loves me not…” It never used to bother him, back then, back when another piece of clothing was another shield behind her and reality, but it bothered her now to lose herself again in other people, other clothes, when there was this great big question to be answered: “She loves me, she loves me not…”
Up above: movement in the faint light filtering down through the wooden ceiling. Lavi’s voice, a murmur. But too faint to be heard. Up above, the flapping of great, majestic wings, though Sam only caught a glimpse of brilliant white. In addition, a brief honking that drowned everything else out for a second:
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
Well then.
…
...”She loves me, she loves me not…”
The obscenities faded into the distance, but the sound of shifting timber intensified. Through an ever-widening gap, Sam saw a faceless behemoth take hold of a squared-off log, flinging it bodily aside. She blinked. No, that was definitely a faceless, dusty behemoth, brown with dirt and splinters. Astride its shoulder:
“She loves me…”
***
Lavi’s golem pulled a delirious, muttering figure gently from the wreckage. Sam’s red eyes were closed, and one of her legs lay bloody and twisted where wood had crushed it. She was still murmuring when the golem laid her on the shattered floorboards before its master.
Acacia stood behind them both, surveying the damage. “We may need you sooner than we thought, girl.” The old druid raised a hand to one of the broken walls, and new growth began to sprout from the exposed wood. She turned away from the rescue team, concentrating on the repairs: “Who could have done this? What was that in the sky? So many questions.”
Lavi ignored her. All her attention was on the quivering body in her golem’s arms. The fine clothes were torn almost to shreds, and pale skin showed through the gaps. It didn’t look as if Sam’s skin had ever seen the sun, she realized.
She was shaking, too, now that she thought about it, as she extended a branch - well, a hand - towards the pale body. The rustling of leaves hung potential in the air, a sound not quite realized. The smell of loam lay immanent on the-
“Just kiss the girl,” Acacia blurted, then finished lamely, “girl.”
“It’s Lavi.”
***
Ruby trudged past the sickly-smelling trees, up towards the partially-collapsed log cabin above her. Even mildly wrecked by the ridiculous swearing bird-god, the hunting lodge stood proud above the rabble below, almost touching the rock roof above it.
Ruby hated it. But this was the address neatly printed on the back of her Acacia-bound letter, so up she went, along the gravel path. The stones were pointy and uncomfortable, and a little plaque professed this discomfort to be therapeutic and acupunctural. Or some shit. Ruby realized all of a sudden that she didn’t care.
As she ascended to the front door, it fell out of its frame in front of her. Little waving twigs flailed in the frame for a moment and then gave up.
She yelled, “Mail call!” and waved the letter in the doorway. Almost instantly, a hand came out and snatched it.
Acacia glowered at the werewolf in the door. “Well, you aren’t a vampire, so let yourself in. Who’s this from?” She glanced at the silver dog-badge. “Marconi?”
“Melancholia Marconi. Who’s that over there,” Ruby changed tacks suddenly, noticing the extra - and familiar-smelling - druid in the room. As an additional effect, she completely lost interest in the letter. “Hello! You seem like you’re having a moment!”
Lavi was.
“I think you ought to cover that one up a little,” Ruby added, now leaning over Sam’s prone body, “also I think I was supposed to kill her?”
Evidently acting entirely on reflex, Sam sat straight up in the golem’s arms, punched through its back and duck-rolled into another room, shedding fabric the whole time. There was a thud and an ‘oof’ as the roll ended with some solid object. The lodge creaked in protest.
“Well, she’s obviously too skilled for me to kill. Mission accomplished,” Ruby added hastily, and brushed dirt out of all her fur.
Lavi blinked several times, mostly because there was dirt all over her face, but also because she needed a few seconds to catch up with current events. Turnips never had any of these problems, she thought for a moment, turnips just sat there and grew until you needed them to rise up and do household chores.
“Well, I better go report back to my boss, who probably saw all this coming!” Ruby turned to go, not missing a beat when the floorboards grew up to hold one foot in place. “Well, I better stay here a while and rest for a bit! It’s been a long walk!”
”This letter,” Acacia began, waving the sheets of paper, “Melancholia gave this to you personally?”
“Yep!” Ruby tugged at her foot ineffectually. “Swear on this silver badge! Actually, speaking of which, I’ve been considering a change in allegiances, are you hiring and are your badges made of something nicer, like bronze, or something?”
Acacia narrowed her eyes. “House?”
“Vermilsang. Lyconia Vermilsang, at your service, but please just call me Ruby, and could you let go of my foot, it’s starting to get pins and needles?”
“I’ll consider it.” Acacia gestured at Lavi. “Girl!”
“Lavi.”
“Get your… other girl. Melanchoria wants to hunt that bird-thing. She says it’ll wreck the Jade economy if we don’t buckle in and deal.” The old druid looked around at the smashed ceiling. “Wrecked… ha. The old bitch,” she glanced at Ruby, “no offense. The old… oh, mess that. Melanchoria wants to let bygones be bygones, even after what her house did to us; apparently it’ll all come good in the end.”
“Will it?” Lavi asked.
“If we get to the bird first, it will.” Acacia thumped a wall panel, and a hidden shelf emerged, stocked with hunting gear. “House of the Deer,” she spat derisively, as she hefted and sighted down a rifle, “Please. As if we were just going to stand around and be hunted.” She turned to address the motley crew: “Di Capreo-Linae. Remember our name, because it means more than just-
“Doesn’t it just mean ‘of the deer’?” Ruby interrupted. “It’s not that deep.”
Silence.
“Look when you’re a werewolf you tend to learn a lot about taxonomy, okay?”
More silence.
She huffed. “Don’t judge me.”
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