We Become Villains

[Raelyse]

Freedom is a strange thing. Deprived of it for so long, it seems only logical then when it is thrust upon you once again, you would enjoy it. On the contrary, Raelyse was feeling almost sick that the moment he had waited for his whole life had finally arrived. For years, he had suffered under the curse of his Myrusian royal heritage, his legs permanently weakened by the magic that flowed through his entire body every second of the day. A chance encounter had changed all that and now that enchantment was nothing more than a memory. At first, he had acted logically and celebrated. He lauded the occasion with joys that he had never known like jumping and running. Now though, that had been replaced by an inevitable sense of what had to come in the near future.

He had to return to his homeland of Myrusia.

This would not be a big deal any other time. Raelyse had, since he had left, formulated hundreds of plans, thought up thousands of ways that he would finally re-enter his homeland. It was just that he was so naïve that he had never actually researched it, expecting that his underlings would fulfill the task for him. Now, though... his subordinates had been drastically reduced from hundreds in the Grander's Order to zero now that he had left them in the hands of Erik Colthor.

Raelyse took a deep breath and pushed open his window, the scent of the ocean instantly washing over him. His eyes scoured the Radasanth dock from the safety of his inn room. With few sailors knowing where Myrusia and even less willing to sail for it, Raelyse found himself stuck in limbo for the first time in years. Always had someone waited hand and foot for him, so he never had to lift a finger for what he wanted. Now, there was a sense about him that he would never be able to do this on his own.

Without the skills to haggle or the charm to get what he needed, Raelyse had to use alternate means to buy his way home. His only method was violence, to which captains would rather surrender their ship then go anywhere near the dangerous, frozen north of Althanas. To be honest, he found that he did not have the same enthusiasm as he had when he had first left Myrusia. Long had the novelty of leaving the homeland worn off meaning his almost childlike enthusiasm was gone. At least he was still motivated to conquer Althanas one person at a time but now that the goal had changed to a Myrusian return, Raelyse was more than reluctant. He found that his movements were sluggish, his threats and bribes less convincing than they had ever been before. Sighs punctuated his day and he frequently thought of returning to Erebus to resume command of the Grander's Order. From that position, he would be able to carve his visage into Althanas with greater ease.

That was never an option though. Now that the enchantment weakening his body was gone, it was time for the Raelyse that walked Althanas to remove Myrusia from memory. He didn't want it to dominate his thoughts anymore. He wanted so desperately to relinquish his homeland. To be known only as Raelyse of the Bladesingers or Raelyse of the Grander’s Order. No longer did he want to be associated with a frozen nation in the north. He wanted to bury Raelyse, prince of Myrusia once and for all. He wanted to obliterate Myrusia.

And yet, this speech was one that he had repeated many times to himself in his mind, one that had previewed each of his trips to the Radasanth dock in search of any ships willing to sail north. This time, like each of the last, started with some degree of enthusiasm that dissipated by the time he reached the bottom of the staircase. Leaving the inn via the front door to humid Corone only seemed to discourage him even further as his body reminded him how pleasant the weather was here.

Ironically, Prince Raelyse of Myrusia was more than willing for anything that would further himself and now, he was killing him. Sighing, Raelyse trudged on, moving for the dock.

He needed what he had always had: an underling.

(Closed)

[Hashi]

Akai Hashi was a slob. No one denied it. Her sixth floor apartment stunk of old sweat and stale beer. Her trashcan overflowed with all kinds of empty alcohol containers, half filled Chinese take out boxes and old pizza boxes leaned against it precariously. The testament to her absolute lack of desire to change the bag was the fact that a bottle of sake had rolled off the top and shattered and still lay in a sticky puddle at the base. The sink overflowed in a similar manner, filled with forest of dirty forks and spoons that supported a rolling meadow of empty coffee mugs. The coffee maker next to the sink might have qualified as a natural disaster area. The canister of grounds was half open and the contents leaked out. No less than five different kinds of powdered creamer were laying about, all but one knocked over and spilling its contents. Stirring sticks were scattered everywhere, most bent and broken. There were three different pots, all at least partially filled and badly stained. The filters were in a bag stuffed behind the machine and water had obviously leaked inside the baggie and wrinkled the paper.

Her den was in no better shape than her kitchen. It looked like it hand snowed old clothes. T-shirts were scattered everywhere. A black denim jacket was slung over the couch, a pair of jeans a few feet away on a loveseat. Two identical red vests draped off the back of a silent TV. Underwear danged from the arms of the well worn lazy boy. Everything that had been on the badly scarred coffee table had been pushed off onto the thin carpet. Old TV Guides made a small pyramid over the remote while two empty bottles of Corona necked, a chipped coffee mug staring at the spectacle. The table was now dominated by weapons. On the far side was a simple lead pipe about the length of an average arm. Beside it was a very odd weapon, a bronze sickle sword with a bit of bloodstained white cloth tied to it. Beside these were a gladius and scimitar crossed one over the other, both hilts still showing evidence of old dried blood that hadn’t quite flecked free yet.

The Djinni herself was actually in Blackfield. It was the first time in over three years that she’d actually had a decent amount of time to spend in the city. Dirty, rotten to the core Little Hell. She still had never been able to decide if the city really existed or if it was some kind of demon dimension. She knew it wasn’t the inside of the bottle. The people here were real, that was obvious. They just weren’t… normal. Then again, who was she to talk? She still had a nasty headache from the previous night. Not from the drinking, or the drugs she’d done on a whim. Not from the loud music of the club she’d stayed at until almost daybreak. Not even from the blare of that truck’s horn. The eighteen wheeler rolling over head had done the trick, however. It’d been stupid. Strike that, it had been really fucking stupid. Her life here had been spiraling out of control after her long absence. Though she stubbornly refused to admit it, something inside the blue haired girl felt broken. Every night she pushed herself to the breaking point to find it or burn it out of her mind. She found herself wondering absently if stepping out in front of a semi while stoned off her ass counted as suicide. Probably not. Just a stupidity death and those didn’t count either way.

Still, she did have some semblance of a routine. It didn’t matter when she woke – Five P.M. two days later in this case – she still went through the motions. She hated gyms. So she did some simple exercises in her rooms. Push ups, sit ups, lunges and the like. There was something that she had learned over the past five or so years that she hadn’t noticed in the previous eighty. Whenever she died, her body reset to its previous state after twenty-four hours. That was part of the terms of the curse. Immortal but not invulnerable. Negative changes in her body were removed when she was reborn. She had no scars from any of her deaths. Despite her random bouts of heavy smoking and drug use, her addictions were wiped clean on death. Her liver was fine, even though she drank enough alcohol to flood Scara Brae. Other changes remained however, as was evidenced by the piercings and tattoos she’d gotten since receiving her curse. If she had her hair cut, that stayed. What she really had started noticing though, was that muscle stayed. Her arms, shoulders and back had gotten pumped when she’d worked as a gladiator. She still had that strength. She’d lost weight and slimmed down on her three year summon. Her legs were still sensuously coiled with muscle from her exertions. Realizing that she actually got to keep those improvements – which she’d previously thought were reset on her death – had pushed her into exercising daily. She liked looking into the mirrors and seeing a body with a flat stomach and taut muscles. It was some absurd corner of her hell turned into a dream come true. Every time she died she lost whatever beer belly she’d started to develop, but the muscle from the sit ups the next morning stayed.

And, for the moment, that was all it took to make Akai Hashi happy. At least, on the surface.

[Raelyse]

Raelyse had always been of the opinion that Radasanth dock was a disgusting hodgepodge of the best and the worst of what all of Althanas had to offer. More often than not, the worst surfaced with only slight grains of the good that Althanas had sprinkled in amounts areas. This was why he found it so hard to navigate, why he found it so difficult to find the help he so desperately needed. This was beneath him. He was a prince, he was a general, he was a leader of a group with more than five hundred underlings. All those were possible because he was talented, gifted and charismatic. His talents were wasted on menial tasks like navigating seedy docks to find even seedier personnel.

This day started out much worse than many of the others. Demoralized, Raelyse had asked in a voice much softer and meeker than what he normally used. He had been ignored by the grimy sailor, who simply strode past him. Sweat and dirt slimed itself onto Raelyse’s clothing as the he brushed past, tainting the otherwise perfect attire. Without a second thought, he grabbed the perpetrator by the sweaty shoulder and pulled him around.

"Excuse me," he said, his tone less than imposing. "I was about to ask you a question. Do you have manners?"

The sailor hesitated for a moment before he laughed, brushed the former prince off, and walked off into the distance. Raelyse let his head sag low before striding off in the opposite direction, ashamed of himself. What was happening to him? He was no longer the confident, intimidating figure that had Althanas quivering whenever he walked past. Had this failure affected him so much?

For the first time in his life, Raelyse had no idea what to do.

He walked for what seemed like hours, past ships where his fine clothes stuck out like a sore thumb among the rabble. Without his straight posture and aura of superiority about him, he drew ridicule from the sailors, who laughed and joked about him. He paid them no heed because it did not take a genius to realize that he deserved it. Raelyse would have laughed at the irony if he hadn't been scared of the sound that would come out. He had bested so many, he had overcome so many obstacles and now he was falling at a task that was so simple in theory.

By the time he reached the end of the dock, his mind was tired from all the thoughts swimming in his head. There was only one ship here and the sailors were nearly done unloading their cargo. Raelyse lifted his head for the first time since that embarrassing incident. His eyes had been transfixed below for so long that he had grown sick of the sight of Ilrathion, his fine sword cane. If anything represented his labor away from Myrusia, it was this enchanted weapon. It didn't seem like he deserved it now. His fingers slid up to its handle, wrapping gently around its comfortable grip. Without a second thought, he unsheathed it slightly, just enough to see the magnificent blade. It was an expertly crafted weapon, flawless in every way. It shone beautifully in the sunlight, reflecting the ship in its metal surface.

Then, he noticed it. A few moments later, he sensed it. And then, after that he saw it.

Raelyse sheathed his weapon and turned around in one motion, shocking the sailor just behind him with such a quick movement. In the open cargo hold, something glinted in the sunlight brightly, despite the small amount of light that reached it there. It almost called out to the former prince, pulling at the magical sense within him that allowed him to sense items of power. He stepped closer, drawing complaints from the sailors. Raelyse ignored them and moved forward, trying to get a better view.

A sailor stepped in his way, his muscular body blocking his view. But Raelyse had seen all that he needed to see. His muse had come. Taking a step backwards, he concentrated for a brief moment before placing his open left hand on the chest of the sailor that blocked his way. The second his palm connected with the chest, the sailor flew backwards, off the dock and into the water. It took a moment for the other sailors to see what had happened, for them to see the magically conjured electricity shoot forward from the palm of the silver haired one and propel their colleague into the ocean. By the time this had happened, Raelyse had turned his left hand on another target, the shiny object in the cargo hold. Focusing on it with his magical sense, he was able to target it and his telekinetic powers sent it flying into his open left palm.

As soon as his slender fingers wrapped around it, his confidence returned. On the outside, it looked as if it was an ordinary silver bottle, finely made but nothing extraordinary. And yet, now that he held it, Raelyse felt as if Myrusia was the least of his aims.

[Hashi]

Mostly done with her ‘morning’ routine, Hashi was finally starting to wake up. Most of a pot of coffee down. A few shots of Jack just to make it worth waking up. Push ups done. Sit ups, check. Leg lifts suck. Lunges made her feel like some kind of teenybopper TV exercise program chick. Shower to clear away the scent of alcohol-laced sweat and that lingering trace of vomit. Her head was still throbbing as she dressed in her usual navy cargo pants and a white button down work shirt she didn’t honestly remember acquiring. She didn’t to tuck in the shirt tails, or fasten the last few buttons on the shirt as she wandered into her filthy kitchen. A quick check of the cabinets and fridge showed she was out of microwave meals and canned foods. She never bothered to keep perishables, since they just tended to rot while she was away and make the place stink even worse.

He stomach grumbled audibly as she dug out her wallet and keys. She stuffed them into her pants pockets as she made her way through the junk-littered floor to the door of her apartment. She made it about ten steps down the hall before realizing she’d forgotten to lock the door. She paused a moment and almost didn’t go back, after all she was only stepping out for food. Though, knowing her own luck she doubled back and locked the door securely before hurrying back to the elevators. The broken speakers on the ceiling of the elevator car piped in badly buzzing muzak that Hashi still found herself idly tapping a toe to as the ancient elevator car shuddered its way down six floors. When it finally dinged on the first floor she had to wrestle with the ancient sliding grate to get out, stepping up over the almost six inch lip where the car sat too low at the stop.

The road outside was bustling with activity, the after work rush only just beginning to taper off. The streets would be deserted in a few hours when the sun when down but most of the citizens of Blackfield felt a false security in the light of the day. Hashi shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants as she waded upstream against the flow of people heading home from work. She didn’t own a vehicle. This was the kind of city where you didn’t strictly need one if you didn’t mind paying cabbies and stayed the decent side of town. In Hashi’s case, she simply couldn’t afford one. Keeping her tattoo parlor open took almost all of her money, and the shitty ancient apartment ate up the rest. It also didn’t help that she was forced to pay most of her bills in yearly increments to keep from losing everything she owned every time she was summoned away. And the manager of the parlor when she was away, Marc, could only be depended on to take care of so much in her absence. Though Marc pretty much owned the shop now. After she’d vanished for three years, he’d taken over in everything but name. The only reason he kept using her was that he had a rap sheet and it was easier to use her felony-free name for official things. Not that Hashi minded, that just meant that the shop would be taken care of. She was now more of a guest star tattoo artist than the owner. Which, to be honest, she liked better.

It took almost half an hour for Hashi to thread her way through the crowded sidewalk up to her favorite restaurant. It was a quiet little mom and pop Italian place that served the best honest-to-god pizza pie on this side of town. Some of the blue blood places made a pizza so delicious that could change your religion, but those were defiantly out of the djinn’s price range. She was perfectly contented with Antonio’s.

The small bell over the door jingled merrily as the blue haired girl opened the door and stepped inside. She could hear Antonio in the back yelling at one of the waitresses to go seat the new arrival as Hashi loitered by the ‘Please wait to be seated’ sign. His daughter yelled back something insulting as she opened the door to the kitchen and stomped out. She was wearing a short black miniskirt, knee high vinyl boots and a white v-neck blouse with a black apron tied over it. She also completely bleached a stripe down the center of her scalp a very unnatural platinum and a circular band-aid covered the stud of her nose piercing.

“Hey, Bianca, I see you dad drafted you again today.” Hashi greeted the other girl with a sympathetic grin.

“Yeah, yeah. One of those bitches my dad hired called out. You know how it goes.” The waitress waived a hand dismissively as she fished a pen and pad out of her apron. “Table or booth today, Blue?”

“I’ll take one of the window booths.” The djinn answered, already heading that way. She slid into the cracked leather bench as Bianca scribbled down the table number.

“Same as always?” The waitress asked, already writing the order down.

“You know it.” Hashi replied with a chuckle, lounging back in her seat. “One supreme with absolutely everything and extra anchovies.”

“And a beer?” Bianca didn’t even bother to look up to see the blue haired girl’s nod. “Be right out, you weirdo.”

The djinn chuckled to herself as she watched Bianca’s sashaying ass disappear back into the kitchen, the waitress already yelling the order to her father. Too bad the girl was jail bait and her dad was an overprotective bear of a man with strong connections. Otherwise Bianca would already have experienced Hashi’s unique brand of hospitality.

Hashi was allowing herself a moment to dwell on that particular fantasy when she felt a familiar feeling. A wave of goose bumps along her skin and a tingling pull along her scalp. Rising quickly form the booth she made her way through the tables to the back and stepped into the tiny, grimly little bathroom and closed the door behind her, already feeling the familiar pull…

“Hey Blue, we’re out of anchovies. I can run down the street and grab some from that Asian market if you don’t mind waiting. Blue? Hey, Hashi, where’d you go!?”

Hashi sighed at the muffled voice as she faded from existence, a flash of light filling her vision and smoke burning her eyes. Her masters always had such lousy timing.

“Dammit, I really wanted that pizza…”

[Raelyse]

The bottle sent out magical signals to Raelyse, making him feel nervous and excited both at what the magical item would do for him. He had never seen or heard of anything like it before, but something within him told him that it would help him. Every moment that his fingers remained wrapped around its slender frame reassured him as a feeling of relief swam over him.

The Myrusian didn't have much time to enjoy these strange feelings because the sailors had charged upon him, angry. Stealing part of their cargo and sending one of their own careening into the ocean probably wasn't one of the wisest moves. As he saw their burly frames and makeshift weapons, he realized that maybe it wouldn't make such a difference. It could even be… fun.

“What’s about cha?” the first one asked in his thick accent, a lead pipe held tightly in his right hand.

Raelyse smirked for the first time in days, turning around slightly and placing his precious silver bottle behind him. He took a few steps forward, shifting his weight to his right foot. He lifted his cane off the ground, twirling the ornate item before the gang that was forming before him.

“I saw something that I liked. I’ll tell you what, though. I’ll let you have it back, if you can get past me,” the Myrusian goaded, smiling all the way.

The sailors must have not thought too much of him though. Dressed in noble clothes and with a frame that was hardly intimidating, they would have probably thought that he represented a punching bag that they could take their stress out on after a long sail. And he had nowhere to run. The bottle, about a foot behind him, was on a dock and the sailors had already formed an impressive barricade ensuring that the only way for Raelyse to escape was to throw both himself and his expensive clothes into the ocean. As the first of them charged, they would never have thought that escape was pretty much the last thing on his mind.

A lead pipe swung his way, but Raelyse gracefully dodged, twirling his body around to dodge the oncoming attack and with a flick of his wrist, send him falling over the dock and into the ocean with a telekinetic shove.

The sailors exchanged frightened looks, wondering how they had somehow managed to forget the magical talents that could so easily dispatch them. A few fled into the storage room where they were keeping the cargo, realizing the spoils from their journey more important than preserving pride.

“Alright, let’s make it fair,” Raelyse said, condescendingly. He lifted his left hand, took a few steps forward and twinkled his fingers playfully in front of those remaining. Magical sparks of lightning danced off his fingertips, mimicking his tone. “No magic.”

Before they had a chance to respond though, the Myrusian shifted his weight backwards and placed both of his hands on his cane, his left hand grabbing the top of it and the right wrapped around the centre of its shaft. “Just weapons, right?” he asked playfully.

As those words left his mouth, Raelyse unleashed Ilrathion, unsheathing the sword cane and sending blinding light flashing into the eyes of all those who glanced upon it. Only the Myrusian was immune, even those across the port had to avert their eyes from the impossibly bright glow. The sailors who had thought themselves brave now retreated foolishly into the cargo room, leaving Raelyse alone, finally.

He was about to gloat, celebrate the return to his former self, the one that ostracized the weak. The chance was stolen from him however for as soon as he turned around, to glance upon his prize. Raelyse wanted to telekinetically summon the bottle to his hand once again, but he found that he could not.

A few moments ago, Raelyse had celebrated how an enchanted silver bottle was the solution to his problems. The bottle was now thrown to the far reaches of his memory, replaced by the exquisite female specimen that now stood before him. He should be worried where his prize was, he should be wondering where she came from but somehow, all he could manage was an uncharacteristically awkward chuckle.

“Where’s my bottle?”