C*** Drunk Love (Closed)

[Ruby]

Warning: Language and content not suitable for minors.

Prologue

Ruby Winchester was rarely intolerant. She prided herself on overcoming adversity, differing opinion, and cultural divides. Some people, however, managed to push her to her limits.

“He did what?” she snapped.

Duffy looked bashful. He had tried to put his point across for over half an hour. Ruby, as ever, was proving stubborn.

“He killed the girl anyway.”

Ruby pouted. She was not sure what she wanted to do more. Slap Duffy, or drive her sword through the tiefling’s gullet. She slapped the bard anyway.

“Ow!” Duffy cried.

The patrons of the tavern turned attentions to the duo at the centre table. Tankards stilled, wine glasses trembled, and barkeeps polished worktops gingerly.

“Was there any need?” he moaned.

The tavern fell back into its usual swing. The music, which neither had noticed before, became vibrant and jazzy.

“You let Aurelianus kill an innocent and get away scot free?” She leant across the table. Her eyes blazed with inner fire. Duffy, usually oblivious to her power, had to tremble.

He leant back. He knew too well what would happen if he challenged her when she was angry.

“I didn’t ‘let’ him.” He huffed.

“Oh?” she pressed. She folded her arms across her torso.

“Our dearest Luned neglected to mention he was that slippery.”

They continued to stare amidst the hubbub of a Scara Breen evening. They sipped their drinks in silence, the merriment of their afternoon a distant memory.

“We have to find him.” Ruby’s tone suggested this was not open for dispute.

“You say that as if he’ll come running at the first sign of trouble,” Duffy protested.

He picked up his tankard, long empty, and cursed under his breath. When he repeated his statement in his head, he realised how stupid he had been.

“That’s precisely what we’ll do...,” Ruby said excitedly.

Duffy grunted. He ran a tongue over his piercing, counted to ten, and then faced the situation.

“I’m going to regret saying that, aren’t I?”

[Ruby]

C*** Drunk Love

Sequel to The Prayer.

Closed to Aurelianus Drak'shal.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Knife's Edge, Salvar

The pub was swamped with people.

Every colour and creed, every race and profession, all crammed together in the confines of the Wind In The Sails tavern. And, in the middle of it all, sat one cocksure tiefling, shuffling a deck of cards at a small round table.

The half-demon ran a hand idly along the shaved sides of his head, touching the newly inked tattoos running from just above where his hairline would have been, all the way back to the nape of his neck; on either side of the bloody-red crest of quills sat two hydras, inked in black, their three heads roaring at anyone gazing upon them. They were just the newest addition to an already impressive collection of tattoos gracing the warlock's alabaster flesh.

"So," snarled one particularly drunk Orc, "are you in or out?"

Aurelianus looked through the cards in his hand, keeping a blank face as he regarded the other four men sitting at the table with him. Two were humans, trying not to stare at Junior as the animated foetus clambered over its master's shoulders. One was an elf with the habit of adjusting his intricate braids of golden hair when he was bluffing. And the last was a particularly intimidating specimen of Orc, his heavy-lidded eyes hidden under thick brows, growling his words out through a forest of tattooed tusks.

"I'll see your five, and I'll raise you another seven gold," he smirked, flicking the coins into the growing pile in the middle. A small murmur went through the men - two of them had already folded, and were watching the exchange between the snake-eyed rogue and the scarred Orc. Tension was running high as the kitty reached triple-figures.

"I'm out. Too rich for my purse tonight," muttered the slender elf sitting to Aurelius' right. He laid down his cards and left the table, swearing under his breath about what his wife was going to do when she found out how much he'd lost.

"Come on, Varsa. Take him to the cleaners," one of the men urged the green-skinned Orc.

Varsa ignored the human, and laid down his hand showing his prominent tusks in a wide grin. He had four kings, a strong hand.

His gnarled tusks quickly became a feral snarl when the marble-skinned guttersnipe showed his own hand; four aces sat there, mocking the Orc warrior. His eyes narrowed when Aurelius reached out and started counting his winnings, serpentine-eyes dancing with delight at the palpable rage the green-skin was exuding.

"What's the matter, cutter? You're lookin' a little green 'round the gills," he needled, licking his fangs.

The big bastard moved quickly, tossing the table aside and catching the half-demon by the front of his shirt. Gold and alcohol went flying in all directions, but no-one in the bar moved to pick it up. Varsa had a reputation for violence, and no-one wanted to draw his attention. Most of the patrons watched on, hoping for some decent bloodshed, but the smarter ones ignored the tussle and kept drinking. Junior took to the air, hissing viciously at the one man-handling its master, flapping the crow wings stitched into its back and chittering through needle-fangs.

Usually, the trademark bladed armour Aurelius wore would have shredded the bastard's hand for his efforts, but after the shit-storm he'd caused a few weeks back, the warlock insurrectionist was keeping a low profile as he continued his faction's work. Instead, he was wearing what he had dubbed his 'Anarchist garb' - his attire in this guise consisted of simple, heavy-duty clothing; mainly leather or rough-spun materials sourced from many different planes. The clothes themselves were basic, with neutral colours suitable for staying unnoticed in urban or woodland environments, but as a factotum of the Revolutionary League, he had many little tricks to change the appearance of the outfit; from removable sleeves, to a collar that unpinned to become a hood, to the the brown leather jacket that, if turned inside-out, had a different colour on the inside. These were only a few examples of the myriad tricks and trinkets Aurelius used when he needed to give himself a fairly good disguise at short notice. And so far, it had worked well at keeping his anonymity in Knife's Edge.

"You were cheating!" the Orc barked.

"So were you," came the calm reply, Aurelius' eyes shining with mirth.

Varsa growled low, spittle gathering at the corners of the hideous gash he called a mouth. "How do you know?" he demanded, shaking the half-demon slightly.

"Because that's not the 'and I dealt you, mate."

The Orc got closer, his breath rank with the cheap bub he'd been pouring down his throat all night long. "You little bastard! I ought to tear your puny little arms off and--"

"Beat me to death with 'em. Aye, 'eard that one before, mate. So unless you 'ave any better threats, I suggest you take your pikin' 'ands off me." His eyes were cold. "I'd 'ate to 'ave to make you any uglier than the Powers already 'ave."

Varsa sputtered with rage, unused to anyone displaying this level of sheer stupidity to his face. For a moment, he was unsure how to proceed. And then he quickly came to a decision.

The fist crunched into Aurelius' face, sending him sprawling into some of the gathered onlookers in a spray of black blood.

The plane-touched was shoved back to his feet, laughing through the blood flowing from his nose. He spat a mouthful of it onto the worn floorboards, smiling merrily. "Come on, tusker. I 'ope you've got more in mind for me than love taps."

Curling his hands into wrecking-ball fists, Varsa charged with a bone-shaking roar.

Chuckling at the display of fury, Aurelianus snatched a tankard from the table next to him and casually slung it at the Orc. It hit the ground in front of Varsa's boot, spilling cheap ale over the hard floor - the muscled monster didn't have time to slow down before his sole slipped out from under him. It was like watching a battering ram when he hit the table next to Aurelius, taking the wood and everyone sitting behind it to the floor in a bloody and bruised heap.

The half-breed smirked, laughing to himself as Varsa vented his fury on the first poor sod to come to hand. The warlock was distracted when someone laid hands on his shoulders, yanking him back. A vicious elbow was sent whistling back, crunching into the poor bastard's face before Aurelius turned and hammered another bar-patron across the jaw with his fist.

It took a matter of minutes before the bar was turned in to one enormous brawl, with blood, beer and fists flying pell-mell.

Dealing a swift boot to the side of some sod's knee, dropping him screaming to the floor, Aurelianus ducked out the back entrance of the bar, whistling for Junior to follow. The familiar swiftly flapped out into the narrow alley beside the Anarchist, perching on his shoulder again as he quickly modified his clothes. Satisfied, he shrugged his collar-come-hood up over his horned head, hiding his features in shadow.

It took a matter of moments, and by the time the tiefling emerged from the alley, the City Watch were just arriving on the scene. They never paid him any attention as they smashed through the front door with cudgels bared.

The half-demon whistled a merry tune to himself as he casually strolled away from the small-scale riot.

It's been a good night, he mused with a jolly grin.

[Ruby]

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Duffy said flatly. They had been in Salvar all of five minutes, and lo and behold.

“What is it?” Ruby enquired. She swilled her gin.

“Look!” Duffy said abruptly. He pointed to the shadows at the end of the road.

When they arrived in Salvar, they b-lined for the nearest inn. They sat down, ordered drinks, and plotted to entice Aurelianus into the open. When they had done, they took a stroll to compose themselves. It had been a while since either of them had partaken in Salvic vodka.

Ruby followed his finger.

“My god…,” she said softly.

The immutable outline of the man they were looking for ran past the end of the road. He ran seemingly from a crowd out of sight, but not earshot.

“It can’t be!” He rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t question it, run!” She broke into a sprint.

Duffy hobbled after her. His cane clicked against the stone. With every pained step, he grimaced. His eyes and piercings flashed silver in the sickly moonlight.

“Hold on!” he shouted feebly. The excess of alcohol in his veins drained all his strength. By the time he reached the end of the road, Ruby was long gone.

Duffy gave up. He slapped his hands on his thighs, dropped his cane with a clatter, and tried desperately to catch his breath.

“She can hold her own…,” he wheezed.

Ruby found herself at a crossroad a moment later. The thought that something was amiss crossed her mind. She straightened her back, tightened her bodice, and turned the way she came.

“What’s the hold up?” she asked. She soon realised she was alone. Her eyes lost their sparkle. Now Ruby was the one hunted.

The shadows cackled.

“He doesn’t change one bit…,” she muttered.

She took a moment to examine her surroundings. The crossroads stood at the heart of the residential district, where Denebriel’s Cathedral attendants lived in squalor. Only the buildings on the corners were grandiose, even with roofs caved in and windows smashed. The moonlight shone on a crumbling fountain.

“I know you can hear me!” she roared. “Come out; come out, wherever you are!” Her words echoed north, south, east, and west.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius had come to like this city, in his few years on Althanas. It wore misery like a shroud, everyone grim of face and bleaker of soul. Chant held that the recent civil war had torn the heart out of the country; and nowhere was that more apparent than right here in Knife's Edge. The Church of the Ethereal Sway had lost much of its power in the region, so they said, but was still tenaciously clinging to life with the skin of its teeth.

The Anarchist intended to help shuffle the sods off their mortal coils... but what he was watching right now was a possible hindrance to that notion.

What the bloody 'ell does she want? he snarled, running his black, forked tongue over his fangs in irritation.

Lurking in the shadows of one of the ruined buildings, his serpentine eyes scanned the chit standing defiantly in the middle of the delapidated square as she turned angrily this way and that. He had seen her before - back during the Lornius Corporate Challenge, he had faced off against her and her team-mate. He recalled the fight fondly, mainly because Ms. Ruby had been stark-naked at the time. It was that thought that had made the warlock burst into involuntary laughter upon seeing her.

But he held his tongue. Usually, one of the people he'd formerly tried to murder appearing fast on his heels didn't bode well. For them or for me.. well, that varies, he chuckled, drawing one of his Baatorian knives as quiet as a whisper. Junior sat on Aurelianus' shoulder, rubbing its tiny scalpel-fingers together as it sniffed the air; the abomination could sense the irritation of its master, but it didn't recognise the scent it was detecting. Turning the stitched sockets to and fro, it hissed quietly and ruffled the crow wings emerging from tiny albino shoulders. It was shushed with a raised finger from the insurrectionist.

A dark smile curled the corner of Aurelius' mouth.

In a moment, he was gone - the half-breed was making the most of his preternatural speed. Junior was sent flapping into the air in a flurry of dark feathers and pale flesh, spitting curses in the Infernal tongue.

Climbing higher, it rose from the ruins of the building, using whatever unnatural senses the maniacal warlock had gifted it.. there!

Ruby whirled on the spot once more, sensing again that lascivious gaze roaming her supple frame. It felt.. violating.

Perched casually on the pedestal in the middle of the fountain was Aurelianus Drak'shal in all his loathsome glory. He kept his knife held loosely in one hand, dangling between his legs as he crouched atop the stone pillar. His other hand rested on his knee as he habitually licked his sharp fangs. He cocked his shaved head, quill-mohawk barely moving, regarding Ruby calmly from his perch. There was the briefest flutter of movement as Junior landed on its usual spot on its father, latching on to the scuffed leather of the jacket he wore.

"Long time no see, luv," he smiled amiably. "Though I remember seein' more of you last time," he added with a cheeky wink. "What can I do you for this fine evenin'?"

[Ruby]

“Aurelianus…,” she seethed. She was at wit’s end. He had taunted her to breaking point. The dark made matters worse. “We have business to attend to.”

The tiefling cocked his head and chuckled.

“Oh aye?”

“You had your chance to ‘pluck’ me on. Like most men,” she folded her arms across her chest, “you squandered that opportunity.”

“Oh,” he leapt. Junior leapt with him. “I don’t want to pluck you.” His boots slammed onto the cobbles. “It’s too late in the evening for foreplay,” he said with a wink. Ruby shuddered. “What are you really ‘ere for?” Junior returned to his shoulder.

Ruby dropped her arms to her side. Aurelianus thrived on odious remarks and uncivil wit to get his way. She would not fall foul of that. Not again. She did not need armour to shield herself from the likes of ‘Iharkav’.

“Salvar,” she said sullen. She glared, eyes narrowed into accusatory orbs. She waited to see what he had to say for himself.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The half-breed sneered, first at the use of his real name, then more at the mention of the ride back East of where he stood now.

He allowed his Hellspawn gaze to scan the shadows, trying to mark any other sod hiding. He couldn't see, smell or hear anyone else nearby. But that didn't bring the peery tiefling any closer to relaxing. Keeping his knife held loosely, the green-steel catching the sparse light of the square, he fished inside the leather jacket. With a happy little grin he produced a cigarette, clamping it between his lips and lighting it with a puff of Hellfire.

The Cager bristled at the tone the chit used, meeting her glare with one of his own. Junior, sensing the tension, let out a sound somewhere between a shriek and a whisper.

"Aye, that's where we are," he smirked. "Nothin' gets past you luv."

Ruby continued to glare at him, not taking the bait, and obviously not appreciating the tiefling's sense of humour. Blowing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils, the malcontent sighed and shook his head in exasperation. What is it with this place? Does it breed these miserable leather'eads or what? He strolled casually - not using his unnatural speed - through the knee-deep pool of water left in the fountain, small critters in the water darting away from the bow-wave he was making. With a small hop and a splash, he cleared the lip of the fountain and stopped directly in front of the spellsinger.

"What about it?" Aurelius asked, genuinely curious.

Of course, the idea that anyone could have a moral objection to his actions never once crossed the planewalker's mind - he had been given a goal and had achieved it, regardless of the obstacles thrown his way. Hells, he had bled to succeed in that bastard of a job; his left arm was still pained from where a stray crossbow bolt had impaled the bone and the hole left in his shoulder by a demon-spawn's bone-spike had only just healed up. Aye, he mused with a wry grin, it was a bloody good ride.

"I penned the witch-'unters in the dead-book. What's the pikin' problem?" he snarled, his tongue once again running over his fangs as he let more smoke coil from his mouth.

His good mood was quickly disappearing.

[Ruby]

“The problem is, ‘cutter’, you also killed that girl.”

He likely saw her as collateral. A mistake, perhaps, but not one to dwell on for long. He and his pet made quote the duo, and Ruby struggled to remain angry with them for long. They had a perverse charisma that made her teeter between friendly and violent.

“Pffft, innocent.”

“She did not deserve to die!”

“Who does, luv? If it wasn't for me killin' 'er, your boy Duffy would be a deader instead.”

Silence descended over the fountain square. The moon began to rise, its pearl light dancing over the murky cityscape. Wisps of smoke continued to curl and unfurl away from the tiefling, and fire continued to dance in Ruby’s sullen eyes.

“You have a choice,” Ruby trailed off. She unsheathed her blade. “You can either pay for the crime in a courthouse.” She doubted he recognised any authority other than his own.

“Or?” he asked. He sniggered at the mention of a court. He unsheathed an abyssal knife and loosed hell-fire along its blade.

“You pay through me,” she said sternly. She levelled her blade to his strange companion. It twitched. Aurelianus snarled. “I’m ‘‘appy’ to wipe that smirk off your face any which way.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The tiefling swallowed the Hellfire back down with an effort, and ran his black tongue across his fangs angrily, snake-like eyes never blinking, never once straying from the arrogant bitch in front of him.

What the pikin' 'ell does she know? She wasn't bloody there!

His knuckles cracked as his grip around the Baatorian knife tightened, the blade quivering with Aurelius' barely suppressed rage. He didn't like people telling him what to do; that much was obvious for anyone who'd ever met the Anarchist. But to give him free reign on a ride, and then to try and punish him for getting the job done!? His blood was roaring in his black veins, standing out in stark contrast to his alabaster flesh.

Junior hissed malevolently at the leveled blade, the sutured sockets of its eyes locked on to Ruby. It couldn't "see", in the conventional sense, but the familiar still knew it was being threatened. The sable pinions on its tiny albino back flapped furiously.

Aurelianus was dangerously quiet for a minute, not moving a muscle as he glared at the spellsinger over her extended sword. Water dripped from the edges of his clothing in a steady staccato rhythm.

"So," he started, voice strained with fury, "you think you've got what it takes to bring me down?" The half-demon took a few deep breaths, the corner of his right eye twitching almost imperceptibly. He started pacing on the spot, his gaze never wandering from his soon-to-be opponent.

But, he forced himself to calm. If he wanted to gut the smug chit, he had to keep his wits about him.

His trademark smirk returned slowly, fangs glinting in the moonlight. He nodded gently, almost to himself, thoughts tumbling around his brain-box in rapid succession. His green-steel knife twirled over his fingers in a flourish, as Aurelius evidently came to a decision that pleased him.

"I'll tell you what, luv," he smiled, inhuman eyes dancing with amusement, "if you can beat me, I'll 'and m'self in to the 'proper authorities' as quick as you please". The warlock spat to clear his mouth, the words disgusting him like his actions disgusted others. Aurelius was still pacing, his posture becoming more relaxed, his viciously serrated knife held loosely down by his side. His free hand ran over the shaved sides of his head - it was becoming a habit for him now, touching the three-headed hydras inked along his skull.

"The law-dogs in Corone are barkin' for me 'ead as it is." The delicious memory of why sent a shiver up the Anarchist's spine.

Ruby hesitated, obviously canny enough not to trust the tiefling. She kept her sword trained on the malcontent.

Drak'shal rounded on her suddenly, a wide, razor-edged grin splitting his white face. The half-breed leaned in closer to her, resting a fingertip against the tip of Ruby's sword - a small bead of black blood welled up around the tiny hole, running down the plane-touched's finger to disappear under the edge of the fingerless leather gloves encasing his hands.

"But if I win," he hissed sibilantly, his eyes finally leaving the chit's own to wander lasciviously over her body, "then you owe me a favour. I'll come to you, at some point soon, and ask you for somethin'- your 'elp, your money, your blood- and whatever I ask you for, you'll pay the music and give me it. No questions, no declinin', no trying to 'ide from me."

Aurelianus took his finger off the end of the sword, holding it up for Junior to lap at the inky blood with its tiny tongue. The warlock ran his forked tongue over his fangs again. He twirled the Baatorian knife in his hand slowly, the green-steel of the blade catching the odd flicker of light.

"We 'ave a deal?"

[Ruby]

“You’re in no position to barter.” Her tone was malefic enough to invocate the hells. “On this one occasion,” she jabbed a finger, “I’ll give you a chance.” She held every confidence she could beat him.

“A chance?” Aurelianus appeared to like the sound of that. He continued to smile. He continued to exude arrogance. He continued to make every inch of Ruby Winchester’s skin crawl.

“It comes with an amendment to the wager.” She was not going to let it swing that heavily in his favour. After all, marching into a sheriff’s office did not mean he would then stay there. On the other hand, she was no fool. She could promise a favour for eternity. She never had to fulfil it.

“You do want to let me skewer ya?” His eyes gleefully widened.

“No,” she said flatly. He wished. “If I best you, you come work for me. If you best me, I know a lovely woman who could show you a thing or two, and we forget this happened.”

Aurelianus narrowed his cruel eyes at her, and for once, he looked at her face, and not her chest.

“That it?”

“If you’re game, I am.” It was Ruby’s turn to smile now the gin was out of her system, burnt to vapour by adrenaline.