It's Not About Control (closed to Dissinger)

[Skie and Avery]

The pub was almost as ill-lit as the library had been. A fire crackled in the hearth and above the main table in the hall, candles hung in iron fittings. It was a dwarven place, and the chairs and tables were heavy and low, much like most of the denizens. The three of them stuck out in their dark corner, literally, towering over the top of the table with mugs the size of their heads before them. Skie had hardly drunk from hers, instead leaving the thick dark stout while she drew spirals in the foam that had sloshed onto the oak tabletop before her.

“You’re quiet. Fallkipus?” Malagaste asked, twisting in his seat. He’d been unable to get quite comfortable since they sat down, though it may have been less about the chair and more about the myriad of eyes watching him carefully from all around the room. Skie shook her head.

“No, not really. I expected as much, honestly. There has never been much information on my father, aside from his great deeds and the rumors of the curse.” She wished she could remember more of the time she’d met him as a child. When she and Avery were young, younger than they should have been to sneak out alone, they’d gone to Radasanth. Instantly drawn to the Citadel, they’d made a room of giant toys. When Devon had come into the room, by chance, their playthings turned against them and in the end, he’d saved their lives and left them with a small gift. What could have been, she thought to herself, if only any of them had known who the others were.

Bitter words Avery had spewed in the past came flooding in. What measure of father had he been without ever being there? Still, Skie held on to the memory, now that she’d found out. It was funny, she couldn’t remember him ever using magic in the Citadel that day. He’d saved them with his sword, and with quick thinking. They weren’t looking in the right place.

"I wonder," Malagaste said, his eyes drifting over the patrons of the bar, "how your mother survived your father. If it is as it is said, and his lovers perished...."

Skie sighed and pushed her mug away. The bitter brew wasn't fulfilling tonight, and as the dwarves around them were starting to pay their tabs and head out, she found that was all she wanted as well. The night's disappointment was looming large over her, a personal cloud that needed to be cleared with sleep. "Well, he didn't love her. My mother was some measure of unlovable," The words were delivered with a laugh, and lightly but after they were said, Skie stood. "I think I'm heading off to bed, guys. I'll see you later."

When the door was closed and the men alone, the dark elf glanced at Seth. "I don't believe that. There must be something else, and the maternal blood is the key. What do you know about her mother?"

"Well, she was a demon," the Lavinian said. "You know how hard it is to win the affection of one. And to seek it... people call me crazy. I find that sort of thing the height of idiocy."

"No..." Malagaste laughed. "Raiaera's favorite human hero and a demon? Never in the seven hells would i have believed a Purifier to lay with Haidian evil."

"You say evil as if it were an absolute. Tell me, am I evil, Mal?" Seth grinned as he pulled his mug to his lips. The elf wasn't sure if it were a smile of merriment or malice, but either way it wasn't benevolent. Nothing about the Lavinian was, and his answer came to him quickly.

"Oh of that there is no doubt." Each word was spoken as if he were driving nails with them. "Do you really not see the depths of your own darkness? Besides, what demon have you ever met that was kindly?"

Seth's hand flew out, slamming something on the table. It cracked on the wood, and when his fist moved to the side, a familiar brand caught Malagaste's eye. The seal of Alerar, the shape, it was too obvious. The Medal of Trestoria. The drow's mouth drew downward in a grimace.

"The Valsharess felt diffeerently," Seth said. "Evil is never an absolute. You cannot put it in a box, for if you do you will find it overflows the boundaries. To many in this world Alerar iis an evil, a decadent people without morals. Attacking Raiaera immediately after Xem'Zund was defeated?" He clicked his tongue with disappointment, grey eyes dancing with amusement as the elf bristled.

After a moment, Malagaste rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Even so, the story doesn't make sense. That girl doesn't have a wicked bone in her body. Does that," he waved vaguely toward the door, where Skie had left, "look half demon to you?"

"You assume there was choice in the matter. There wasn't when I fought her. Take it from me, you can overcome base instinct, but you have to know what's going on first."

"A fight?" Malagaste couldn't hide the pleasure on his face. "Do you antagonize all your friends, Vasvrae?"

"Years ago, I was younger, more foolish. In the Citadel. It ended in a tryst, despite the fact I wanted to murder her..."

The pleasure leeched from the dark face, eyes narrowing. "I see... tricky little thing. So we have a girl with a cursed father, a demon mother, who kisses demons and gives them mortality and can apparently turn the Blood Architect from rage to lust despite how many countless victims have been more unlucky...." For a moment they sat in silence before Malagaste spoke again. "Yes, the key must be the mother's blood. I had suspected lust when I heard what happened in the warehouse and the rumors of her father, but demonic magic? I suppose I should be more cautious when pushing her like I did tonight."

"You weren't as subtle about it," Seth snorted. "Next time try not to knock things askew so I can at least pretend you aren't oozing with rampant weasel lust," he offered as he cracked his knuckles. "Blood only goes so far. It gives us the broad strokes, but lightning struck once and it's more to look at the differences rather than the similarity. Let's look deeper than emotions. Her mother didn't have a soul, kinda hard to manipulate what's not there. There's also the question of bloodlines," his voice trailed off before he sighed. "With demonic blood it could have supercharged the magic in her bloodline. She could be stronger than dear old dad."

"If that were true," Malagaste laughed, "Then you would be dead, instead of just an ill-chosen lover."

"If only it were that simple," Seth said, picking up his mug to drain the rest.

"I would believe it if you said you were soulless."

"You also believe that I am evil despite saving a life just last week and countless others. There's the Medal issue but let's let that one rest. Point is, you've narrowed your view. Broaden it, especially where magic is concerned. Even when I met magic's living embodiment, I couldn't help but feel it was only using things I understood so I could fathom what I was encountering. We have no clue. Training her to use it could be lethal to us, or quite successful."

"I wonder," Malagaste said quietly, "Do you truly see your end at hr hands when she has control?"

"My end is my own. I know where my story ends, and this is just another chapter," Seth said levelly. The dark elf ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath.

"It would be best," he said, "If you wrote yourself out of her book." With that, he stood and left the Lavinian in the pub. He had plans, after all, and they needed to be laid before the Vasvrae dug in any further.

[Dissinger]

The demon let the threat slide off. He had heard the Drow run his mouth for hours yet. Still Seth didn't believe the man had what it took, for if he had, there would not have been the need for threats in the first place. He carefully sipped from his tankard, watching the retreating back of the Drow, the thief's thoughts slowly pickling in bad ale and regrets. He leaned back in his chair before he muttered lowly;

“Watch the guard, he's plotting something. He wouldn't be so smug otherwise.” The words seemed to be spoken to no one, that was, until the slim figure under a cloak nodded. Crimson tresses briefly flashed in the low candle light before they rose up. Seth looked at the figure getting up before he spoke, “Do not kill. He's necessary. At least for now.”

The figure turned to face him before he shrugged. The hood shook slowly back and forth in a motion of disbelief before exiting the tavern, leaving the Thief Extraordinaire to himself. He knew they would listen to his words and follow orders, and so that was one less worry on his mind. His eyes focused on the cup before him, his thoughts drifting as they always did when he drank alone. His eyes closed briefly before he muttered, “I'm losing it. Not even doing my own tailing. Seth Dahlios you're one sad sack of shit nowadays...”

He took a steadying breath, his eyes remaining closed as he continued to drink. He would order more drinks until he was too drunk to care. The sweet oblivion of alcohol, and the thought that he could get home safely were the only things he needed. He didn't need the guilt of abandoning those he loved, or the simmering rage at the one who had reduced him to these tactics. He needed to flood the board with pieces, pieces that would be seen as threats. Threats that would need monitoring. In the end, Skie Dan Sabriel was a means to an end, but if she was a true threat, he could stretch the Cult of Blessed Torture's resources just that much thinner. One more unnoticed action, one more mistake.

Seth didn't need to play the game flawlessly, he merely had to make the next to last mistake.

[Skie and Avery]

The air was chilly at night, especially in the city where the long lines of street flanked by tall stone buildings would usher the wind through, turning drafts into gales at the slightest provocation. Malagaste wore his tailored wool coat, thick enough to hide the knives strapped to his form but fit well enough to hint at them when he moved. He’d stopped by his safe house to grab them when he left the Vasvrae, and he meant what he had said. There was work to be done tonight, and he’d be damned if he let Dahlios take credit.

His boots were silent on the streets, save for a scuff here and there where he maneuvered a crumbling section of sidewalk. The house was in a poorer neighborhood, but secure enough. Not the slums, but not a family place either. An officer’s salary could hardly afford the trifecta – safety, quiet, and upkeep. In the past he’d thought about selling it, but now that he was in Ettermire more often…

As he moved from his neighborhood to the next, not bothering to peer at signage that pointed to the river, his pace quickened. Now and again he would glance back over his shoulder and frown. There was no noise but his boot heel, or the shuffle of the wind pulling at his coat. Now and again the bark of a dog or some muffled voice from a house or another street would pierce the silence. Still, he thought he could tell that there was something else.

Before he reached the bridge and the building that held Skie’s apartment, he doubled back around and cut through an alley. He was used to running through the city, in pursuit of some prey that was usually too unskilled to evade him for more than a few minutes. Once, he spilled into the street, only to find a figure melt away into shadows with a hint of a dark cloak and an errant strand of red hair.

Lips pressed together in a thin line, he stood in the street for a moment. The gas lamps flickered, pooling light in the darkness. Somehow he knew the figure wouldn’t make the same mistake again and the split second he’d gotten would be all that he would get. The hair on the back of his neck were on end. There’d been times he’d been hunting in the forests and got this feeling, as if he were merely a rabbit and some predator in the night was sizing up if he was worth the effort to eat.

When he set off again, he moved past Skie’s apartment and several streets away, where the windows of a single brick home were glowing, the lantern at the end of the stoop illuminating a sign. The smell of baking bread and a strong, bitter brew grew from merely a hint to an overwhelmingly comforting scent as he opened the door and shut it behind him. The figure, if she were still following him, never stepped close enough for him to see her as he watched the lamplight in the street from within.

An hour later, Skie opened her front door to a serious knock. Yawning, she stepped aside as Malagaste strode in, taking the mug he offered her.

“What?” she started but stopped as the elf began to draw her curtains tight, checking for gaps.

“I brought coffee. It’s a dwarven thing, keeps you awake.” He was crouched, violet eyes whisking back and forth as if they were sweeping her street, taking in every shadow, every light. Skie lifted the mug and sipped at it, clutching her robe around her. She’d been in the haze of sleep when he knocked, and the thought of being awake again was slightly soul-crushing. She knew the elf by now, though, and if she were patient he would eventually tell her what was going on.

When he did stand, she sipped again, holding her tongue at the sight of the daggers. He was swaddled in them, the belts that held them in placed draped about him like Yule garlands. For a moment, she started to smile, but when he turned around the smirk melted away.

Beatrix Dahlios watched from the outside, irritated that the curtains had been so tightly pulled. She waited, though, and watched. If she watched closely enough there were still passing shadows to be caught against the pale cloth. No candle had been lit, but the pale moon from the balcony on the other side would likely be enough for her to tell where the two were in the tiny front room. If they moved to the bedroom... well that was another story.

After what seemed like ages, she was bored and willing to go tell Seth that the two were fucking and nothing more when a strangled squeal came muffled from the small apartment. Cheap housing like this had thin walls, and while it sounded like the cry was nearly kept quiet, it would be loud enough to wake the neighbors.

It was nothing in comparison to the brilliant flash of white light that came afterwards, full of heat and the indescribable feel of wild magic.

[Dissinger]

It didn't take long. Even with a goodly amount of alcohol in the Demon's system he was mobile, pushing through the streets with a lethal surety that saw no one step in his path. While the occasional tough would step, they would back down just as quickly with a glance. It wasn't the fact he reeked of alcohol, or the fact he still moved with a steady grace, it was the raw wave of anger that emanated from him. It was an aura of hostility that seemed to shun life itself. A rock bottom no one wished to touch for fear of being drawn down to.

The door burst, there was no other way to describe it. One moment is was closed, the next fragments of wood were flying through the air. Malagaste seemed involved in whatever it was he was doing and barely had managed to turn his head before the cloud of liquor and bad intent fell upon him. Soon he found his face resting against the table as an arm twisted his until the knife that was in it was dropped. Even then the pain that coursed through the arm was troubling, and it was hard to tell if it was broken in the act, or merely torqued to the breaking point.

The eyes of the Demon were a cold dead gray, revealing no hint of life as he looked at his apprentice and spoke, a drunken slur weaving through them, “I told you this could happen. Instead you decide to tempt fate and create moments that you know your magic triggers. So tell me, what did it taste like? Did you like it or was it as sour as this man's attitude?”

Skie danSabriel seemed frustrated with the acts of her supposed mentor. Immediatly she was on the attack, “DO you even hear what you're saying? You've come sweeping in with nothing to find out what's going on, just assuming you're vith'ez right and know best!” She stalked forward an accusatory finger pressing into his shoulder, even as he held the guard down. She seemed to press the point, much like her finger in the hopes of getting through the alcohol haze, “As if you'd know something about tasting someone else, you bitter bastard!”

Seth's eyes narrowed dangerously, seeming to shrink into mere slits in his face. He glowered at her before with a final shove, he let Malagaste go. The Drow seemed to be considering reprisal, but thought better of it, as he brushed himself off and checked for more permanent harm. Finally the Demon spoke, his voice coming out gravelly, “If you think for one second you have what it takes Skie, take that swing. I'll warn you Princess that if you do, you can not fathom the consequences.”

With that last threat he crossed his arms, and waited to see what the half-demon would do to him.

[Skie and Avery]

She knew he’d hit her, of that there was no question. If she let her knuckles fall on cheeks flushed with liquor, he’d retaliate. Seth didn’t take niceties with those he saw as warriors, and it was something she liked about him but found frustrating at times. Rough around the edges was only cute until it sliced your hands. Now he was tumbling in with assumptions, thrashing about in ways that would leave them both a mess in the morning.

Had he even noticed her hands were glowing, or Malagaste’s patient instruction in her ear when he’d crashed through the door? Of course not, and her ire overtook her patience as she stared him down. Her fists clenched, and without caring for the consequences, Skie pulled back for a slap.

She never got the chance to strike before the Demon had her wrist. It felt too fragile in his grip, like the hollow bones of a bird. She flew forward with his pull just as easily as a sparrow might be ripped from a branch in the talons of a hawk. Before she could get her feet back under her, she found herself slammed against the wall. How funny that in just a few moments she was in the same place she’d been, only with the men having switched places.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be struggling so much, just maybe you might have a chance to take me down if you just learned.” Seth’s voice was low and slurred, annoyance seeping into each word. From over his shoulder, Skie locked eyes with Malagaste. Leave us, she mouthed, and the elf hesitated. Before she could try and signal him to press her point, the thief that held her arm against the cool wall attacked.

He didn’t hit her like she thought he would. Instead, his body pressed against hers and before she could think through the miasma of beer that surrounded him his lips crashed into hers. He kissed her hard enough that her teeth pressed into the back of her lips and she thought she’d taste blood.

Instead, she tasted taffy. God, the world seemed so bright and then she was falling into a void, going back to the place where she had power. It had been years since she had been here, out of her body and within arm’s reach of Seth Dahlios’ very soul. This time, however, she didn’t feel herself devour it. It was there to be plucked or protected, just waiting. Was this a sign she was more powerful than when she’d been barely out of the nest and facing Seth for the first time? Or perhaps because the demonic blood in her veins had been purged?

She reached out, barely noticing that her hand was made of pure light. She didn’t bother to wonder exactly where she was. It didn’t matter anyway. Magic didn’t work like that. Instead, she cupped Seth’s soul and brought it closer, peering into it as if it were a crystal ball and she was some roadside diviner.

When she’d seen him before in the shadows of his soul, he was locked in a battle with his past. Now she saw his form, nothing more than made of wisps, kneeling against the pole of a stake he’d been chained to. Figures around him were whipping him, and while no sound existed here, nothing but the movement of light and shadow, she could feel his pain.

“Oh Seth,” she said, her words echoing in her mind as they were lost to the void, letting her eyes move from the central shades of torture and peer into the edges. There was a storm there, an oncoming night. Somewhere in the darkness, she saw herself and probed. What did Seth Dahlios truly hold for her in his heart?

She saw it. A means to an end, the same end that rushed closer with swirling thunder and a darkness far deeper than the shadows that danced in his soul now. She was a stepping stone to a conclusion he’d written for himself long ago. It took great will but she whispered a silent prayer at the soul and released it, leaning back to give it room to wander where it would.

She came out of her trance not knowing how long she’d been gone. Surely not long, the bright light she’d last seen extinguished and Seth’s kiss still pressing against her mouth. Dizzy, the once-demon returned it, noting the bare noise her mentor made. Somewhere between a growl and a strangle, he let her wrist go and wrapped his arms around her, one hand moving to the nape of her neck where he ensnared her hair while the other lifted her jaw with what seemed to be carefully calculated if slightly rushed unkindness. His mouth ducked into the lee of her neck and from over her shoulder she stared down the elf who hadn’t the sense to leave when she’d told him to.

Malagaste had a strange look in his violet eyes. It was confused and amazed. Had he been able to see her spell cast, her manipulation of the soul? Surely not, Skie thought. She’d been alone in that strange silent place. When their eyes met, Skie knew that the Drow had questions and a long list of things he was holding himself back from doing. But she hoped that after their interrupted conversation, he would have the good sense to trust her.

A moment of tension in his eyes seemed to pass, and he turned. He moved through the open, splintered door as quietly as he stalked through Alerian streets, but there were still the barest whispers of cloth moving, a footstep scraping through the debris and it seemed to be the cue the Lavinian had been waiting for. Seth relented, a grin spreading across his face. Thayne, Skie thought. That cocky son of a bitch thinks he’s won, that he shut me up and pissed off Malagaste. No, she would ensure that she had control this night. He would hold her in something more than the calculated regard she’d seen in his soul.

After all, she hadn’t been any demon. She was a succubus and while the blood was gone, the memories remained.

[Dissinger]

Hunger, Rage, Pain, he was hurting. He was in need, he was adrift in a sea of emotion and alcohol. He was drowning in it, part of him was aware of this, part of him was fighting it. That part of him was but a mere voice amongst the storm that had abolished the Lavinian Demon's rationale and logic. He had stormed into the apartment trying desperately to stop Skie from killing someone, and here he was trying to pin her to the wall and show her how much of an animal he truly was. Clothing was being shed as skin touched.

It had been years since Seth had experienced anything close to this much Lust. Part of him had expected Skie to be pumping him with the pheromones her people were known for. A powerful aphrodisiac that would lay him bare before her, plowing her as a farmer the field. He couldn't feel the burning need the desire that overrode instinct that he associated with the use of them. It wasn't like the Citadel, it was like the warehouse. This was just rabid lust, a desire to mark his territory in the most bestial manner possible.

A tear was made in a shirt, not that it mattered. It was more clothing in the way, he needed her, he wanted her. She was intoxicating, a drug that he would devour. There would be guilt, there would be the heat of betrayal. He didn't care, he was hurt, he was angry, he was lonely. He kissed her fiercely, only to find her push him away. He growled lowly looking her in the eyes as he saw it, a determined will that would not bend. He wanted that fire, he wanted to devour it.

There was a reason Skie DanSabriel was a lover of his.

The past and the present collided as he began the joust. Both wanted to dominate the dance. It was an intricate fight that saw the two of them suddenly on a bed. The last stitch of clothing on the floor as a final corpse in the crusade. He had fought this battle against few women, and each fight was relished. The bites and caresses. The urges and needs that saw the blankets shoved off the bed. This was carnal pleasure at its basest. Love was a foreign concept to the Lavinian Demon now, a dead notion. This was pure lust, he wanted to devour the purity he detected in the half demon.

He bit into the soft flesh of a breast eagerly causing a gasp to escape the poor girl, unsuspecting of the attack. It gave him the leverage to pin her to the bed before a hungry kiss was stolen from the girl. She was a fighter though, and soon she used her legs to grip his chest and roll him over. Kisses and bites scratched across his chest. He arched into the sensation for once finding the pleasure in the pain that had inundated his life. It was a sensation he had never given into, a base guilty pleasure that brought with it a heady taboo feeling. With her on top he could feel the fight would soon reach its climax, before a second climax could be truly reached.

A hand reached up and grabbed her hair, pulling and baring her throat before teeth sunk into the soft flesh of the neck. A final play in an attempt to be in control for the night. It was hard for him to keep his head together with the alcohol and emotional whirlwind that found itself raging within him. He could feel himself slowly fading as he gave into his carnal instincts, doing whatever was necessary to plow the woman who even now seemed to be recovering from his last assault.

[Skie and Avery]

It was somewhere between teeth that stumbled between bites and kisses that Skie realized she’d needed this. The Beauty wilted without lovers, and while she’d been stripped of her heritage, some things went beyond biology. Loneliness had taken its toll on her more than she’d cared to admit. It made the pain in Seth’s touch and bites more sweet than bitter. When his mouth found hers, she still tasted his soul. She still felt hurt that even deep down at his core, he was using her.

Now, tired of foreplay, fingers brushing over her breasts and pinching the soft flesh to elicit a moan, his use of her was more about immediate pain than any plans he had for redemption. Somehow it made things better. She’d rather be a lover taken as a salve to soothe a lonely pain than a friend allied for some future purpose, for a way to pay debts she’d had no part in owing.

The thief below her had cast aside his propriety and gripped her hips to guide her where he wanted her. They were demons now, he in name, she in birth, but both in actions.

---

Morning seeped in slowly. The sky brightened outside and illuminated her little bedroom. Skie’d woken first, less drowned in alcohol than her lover had been. At first she’d tried to slip away to the bathroom or to fix the door, unsure which was more urgent. When she moved, Seth stirred. She watched as his eyes fluttered, his brow furrowed and he pulled her against him tighter as he shifted.

Eventually she realized that he would wake up now or later, and it didn’t matter if she were the one who did it or it came more naturally. With all he drank, she was sure he wouldn’t be pleasant. As awkward as the morning-after conversation would have been without the beer, a hangover wouldn’t make it better.

When she finally decided to peel herself from his side and slip off the bed, there wasn’t much resistance other than a feeble attempt to hug her and a hitch in his breath. All habit, she mused, maybe from another lifetime when he had a peaceful night’s sleep with his wife. Their night together had been anything but peaceful. The ache between her legs and bruises splashed across her shoulders and hips told a story different than marital comfort.

When she sat at the table with a mug of strong dwarven coffee and stared at the street through the holes in her door, Skie found herself surprised that she didn’t really feel ashamed. She didn’t feel much of anything, except for a growing list of desires. She didn’t want the night to have ruined her training under the thief. She wanted to still learn from him, work with him. Certainly she still wanted to sleep with him. Mostly she wanted to get to a place where he held her as an equal in his very core, and not just a pawn that may or may not survive the chessboard.

And she wanted a new door.

[Dissinger]

Seth moved out of the bedroom, his feet sliding across the wooden floor. Each step was a soft thud, emphasizing a lack of grace and a boorish disposition. His eyes were half open not even registering much, even as a knife lazily twirled in fingers. It was the rote ritual that got him through the morning that caused him to move to the balcony of the apartment. The blade held to his throat before it was drawn across the flesh, sheering through the burgeoning hair. He diligently worked the blade with a careful grace that saw him pull skin taut while drawing steel along flesh.

Task accomplished he moved back in and sat down on a chair with a heavy thud. The knife hitting the table with a clatter that caused the Demon to flinch. He saw a mug of black liquid before him, and vaguely remembered Alerar held a drink that boasted making one more awake and alert. He grabbed the cup and sipped at it, another look of displeasure to cross his features before he heard the words; “Good morning...”

They rang in his head causing the thief to wince once more before he grumbled, “Not so loud.”

“Last night-”

“Was my fault,” Her eyes seemed to study him, drinking in the details of the man before he sighed and continued, “I let my loneliness and pain get the better of me. I pushed myself on you, and you didn't kill me for it. I suppose that's professional courtesy? Or did you learn to control your magic enough to not try and eat my soul this time?”

He could see her bristle at the question, and she seemed ready with a retort before she saw the softer look in his eyes. Gone was the look of a man seeking to avoid the world around him. Gone was the look of a man at his wit's end trying desperately to peace some semblance of his former life back together. The look in his eyes was one of interest and concern. It was the look a man gave his equal on the battlefield. A look of camaraderie underlining the concern that snaked through every word.

“I...I'm not sure. It was different last night...” She said softly. Seth nodded before he sipped the cofee some more. A pained look crossing his face at the acrid taste of the beverage. Looking upon his protege he gestured at her.

“Go on, different is good. Different means you are maturing and we may be closer to control,” He explained. Her look seemed guarded from previous gazes. He understood finally, there was an elephant in the room to address, and its name was the thayne blessed sex they had the night before. He looked at the door a soft snort of mirth escaping, “I don't think you have to worry about me going this time. I need you, and I dare say you might even need me.”

[Skie and Avery]

She didn't expect him to say anything to soothe her wounds. The Seth she knew was brutal and blunt, not fettered by niceties to his associates or friends. It would have been easy for her to just accept that what he was saying was the truth - hell he probably thought he meant it. But she'd seen a glimpse of him again. The soul didn't lie. It couldn't.

"So, where do we go from here?" Skie asked when they were on their second cups, now awake and relaxed enough to think to douse them with the sugar cubes Skie kept near the iron stove

"The library was a bust," Seth said. "and any other such plan will be one as well. We're going to have to experiment. So little known about your dear old dad and you are... different."

"Different is good." Skie said quietly, sipping at the coffee, echoing his words from before. Seth shrugged. Well, maybe someone whose soul she almmost ate would feel differently. At least she didn't kill him.

"I don't think sex or love or any of that shit is the key. What have the main uses of your powers had in common?"

"I mean... there was kissing both times," Skie said, looking pointedly at Seth. She'd used her pheremones as a last ditch effort to survive him in the Citadel those years ago, and found herself at the mercy of lust with her childhood friends in the warehouse when she'd turned them mortal. In both cases the magic stirred when lips were locked. It didn't seem like such a bad spell regeant to her.

"No, both times you thought you were going to die."

"So," she asked, arching a brow, "We're going to get me almost-killed a bunch until we understand what happens?"

"As hilarious as that would be," Seth snapped, crumbling even more sugar into his drink, "the Lornius company is coming to Alerar. Let's poke them."

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Congratulations!

Skie and Avery receives 1650 EXP and 130 GP!

Dissinger receives 2030 EXP and 120 GP!

This thread will now be submitted to the workshop for peer review!