Completed The Cut That Always Bleeds

[Zael Castomir]

Zael watched the flames flicker and writhe, heard the pops and cracks of the body, what was left of it, as it was burning down to join the rest of the ash in the pit. He felt the heat, but it never bothered him--it was never painful nor uncomfortable. There was a completeness he felt basking in its radiance. He could sit inside of a roaring furnace and just relax and man would it be a fan-fucking-tastic time.

...then do you want to walk around the ranch first? I’d like a good feel of it before our night watch.

"Yeah. We oughta. We'd best get a notion on the layout--where our cow-killer might try to slink along durin the night."

He watched the hunter's body burn a little more. And then a chilling thought slithered into his mind. Fucking Kress, if he had to do this to one of the Kesselrings, burn one of their hollowed out bodies in this goddamn pit, he was gonna--

Besides...

Everleigh, thankfully, interrupted the squall of bitter, unsettling, overly violent imaginings in Zael's head just then.

Yeah. The bet. Moseying around the ranch was prime time for hashing out the particulars of the bet. It was, after all, mostly walking, with just a little dose of assessing the land.

YEW CAN CONTROL FIRE?!

Zael glanced over and saw the young boy, the little blondie. He couldn't help but to be charmed by the boy's enthusiasm, the glint in his eyes as he looked up to him as if he were a big brother. The thought which prompted a snicker from Everleigh, uncharacteristically, hadn't even occurred to him at all.

Zael gave a nod to Ever, letting her know to go retrieve her weapon. He knelt down then, drew his sword, and laid it flat across his crouched knee. "Hell yeah you can, come on over here little man, check this out. Now don't go touchin the edge of the blade--that shit is sharp."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh glanced at the young boy and then looked at Zael. She began walking away to grab her sword but paused, and looked back. The boy rushed over to Zael with unbridled excitement, practically skipping over to him as if Zael had said he could actually have his sword.

“So yew gonna kill the monster with this?” He asked Zael, gingerly placing his fingers on the flat side of the blade. His blue eyes were wide with amazement and that wide smile never left his face. “Can yew put this on fire when yew swing it ‘round?” He asked again, glancing at the burn pit. Everleigh turned her head back, and the moment she realized she had been smiling at interaction between Zael and the boy caused her to frown. She then went to head back to her horse, trying to steal her nerves, trying to think about how that interaction was definitely not cute.

“Papa has a sword tew, but I can’t touch his. His isn’t as cool as this. Yers is way shinier.” It was a compliment, after all, around the age of five, the only differences young children saw in weapons were their obvious appearance. It’s not as if the boy was at the academy. His eyes were glued onto the sword on Zael’s knee and he obeyed, not touching the edge. But his fingers would trail the length of the blade, even felt the hilt.

“But Dimitri gets tew but he doesn’t even like blood or nuthin. He’s afraid of spidurs. And he almost cuts himself one time with the axe when he was choppin’ up wood.” He pouted, before looking up at Zael. “I’m Miklan. Can I go with you and the elf tew get the monster. He killed my favorite bull.”

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

So yew gonna kill the monster with this?

"That's right, little man. This and a bit of fire, and that'll fix that monster right up."

Yers is way shinier.

"You got a keen eye. When you get older and you get a sword like this, you gotta keep it clean and maintained too. Helps keep it sharp and strong. Perfect for slayin anything who thinks us Anirians or our livestock are easy prey."

Zael couldn't help but to smile all through his interaction with Miklan, even as short as it was thus far. He liked kids. He really did. A pall of resigned despondence had a way of sneaking up on him and draping itself across his thoughts whenever he caught sight of the younger Initiates at the Academy, the "fresh recruits," children as old as he was when first he'd been brought, and he always had to re-center his thoughts and his judgments back to what he actually had control over to get out from under it. There was a bright-spirited innocence that children outside of the Academy had that children inside the Academy lacked. The kids outside had such admirably high-spirits. They lived life to the fullest, and they deserved the best the world could offer them before the years started to stack up and the storm of adolescence came. They deserved the best.

Not what he and Ever went through.

Zael reached behind Miklan's head and held it. Looked to the boy with nothing but confidence, an iron curtain of strength that hid all of those inner thoughts. "Na. Me and Kaladriel got this one--we'll avenge your bull. But you listen to me, Miklan, and you listen real good, because here's what you gotta do: you're gonna work hard each day, every day. Work those arms and that chest and those legs until they burn and work em some more. That burn is the feel of your muscles gettin big like mine, you hear me? You do that, you listen to what your Ma and your Pa tell you, and one day, when you're older and you're bigger and you got a sword just like mine, you're gonna kick some monster's motherfuckin ass because there ain't shit it's gonna be able to do to stop you. You got it in you, Miklan. I'm gonna come back and check on you, too. That's a promise."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

If Miklan could write and take notes, he would have, but alas the only thing he could do was stare right into Zael’s green eyes and listen to his every word with all the intensity a five year old could muster. It was clear that he was enraptured by Zael’s stature. It wasn’t just the fact that Zael had armor that Miklan could only dream about, a big shiny sword, had a muscular stature or the ability to use magic. It was the fact that Zael carried an accent to those around Miklan. It was the fact that Zael was blonde, just like Miklan. Ultimately, Zael showed Miklan it was possible for him to become just like Zael: a hero of Vel Anir who was going to slay the monsters.

Even when Zael grabbed Miklan’ s head the boy still didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t leave Zael’s. And why would it? This was a hero!

“Yessir!” Miklan said adamantly. “I already help lots! I get the water from the well and I help with cleaning out the horse stalls and the feedin’ and the weedin’ and sometimes with papa goes huntin’ he lets me carry the wabbits.” It was clear that while Miklan would remember every single word Zael at this moment, he didn’t quite understand everything Zael was saying. Not yet, at least.

“If you call me Kaladriel again I’m gonna punch you in your Adam’s apple.” Everleigh made her presence known. Yes, she had briskly jogged over to her horse to grab her sword, only to sneak back to hear Zael give his words of wisdom to the youngest member of the household. She was rather pleased with how silent she could be at times, although for someone who roamed the academy’s halls at night as often as she did without getting caught, it was a very much needed skill. She stood behind Zael, and there it came! That smile was there.

She turned her head to the side and pretended to cough to cover her face.

“Where’s yer bow and arrows?” Miklan asked Everleigh, who turned back to look at him. She knew she didn’t look as impressive as Zael. Her armor was much lighter, she lacked the man’s overt strength, and really, purple hair and eyes weren’t something people found attractive.

“Back at the academy.” Evie said before pausing. “I’m… I’m not really a elf.” She added a bit sheepishly, understanding now why the boy had even asked such a thing. She then leaned over, resting her arm on Zael’s shoulder as she angled her head away from him. A hand went up to hold back her violet tresses away from her ear. “See? Not pointy.” Miklan didn’t look convinced.

“But yer hair and eyes.” He insisted. Everleigh brought her gaze to the ground for a split second. She then stood up, putting her hands on her hips.

“It’s from the magic. It changed me. It can’t be reversed.” A glamor could be applied but they were so expensive, and Evie couldn’t justify wasting so much coin for a cosmetic reason. At least she still had stunning features, even if the hair and eyes seemed to offset it. The suspicious look didn’t leave Miklan’s eyes, and Everleigh at first proffered a smile before dropping it. “Zael, let’s take a look around the farm now?” She glanced back at Miklan who’s face seemed crestfallen. “We need to be back in time for dinner, so we’ll go now and then maybe you can sit next to Zael.” The poison eater said, her words accompanied by a small yet genuine smile.

So Miklan didn’t like her, fair, she looked different. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t want to see more of Zael’s tender side and to see that unbridled awe in the child’s eyes. Really, she was the one profiting from this.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Ever was back. Zael had a few quippy responses he could've said in reply. He usually did, and it wasn't often he was stumped. But here he just glanced over his shoulder and shared that smile he'd given to Miklan. He wasn't stumped, not really. He was just...well damn, how could he put it? Happy. Yeah. Happy. Happy to have been chosen to come on this particular mission.

Ever had to reveal that she was not, in fact, an elf. Showed her ears and addressed the unnatural color of her hair and eyes. Miklan looked a little upset that she was Everleigh Ebersol of the Dreadlord Academy and not Kaladriel Whisperwind of Fal'Addas, so Zael gave his shoulder a pat and said, "You gotta be able to joke with your friends. Keeps things light."

He stood. Rolled his shoulders some. "Yeah. High time we had that look around." And to Miklan, "We'll be back. And you can definitely sit next to me."

They started on their way. The Kesselrings had an impressively-sized ranch, they only had so much time before nightfall came around, but Zael didn't want to get back too soon. Proctor P might want a whole-ass report or something, and then he'd just talk over them the entire time, and the whole thing would just be a damn caravan wreck.

He walked at a leisurely pace, his sabatons hardly making a noise as they passed through the grass, the rest of his armor giving its steady, rhythmic clanking.

"So," he said, looking forward. "The bet."

Subtly, he wanted (more than he didn't want) to direct the course of the conversation away from Miklan and his honest affection for the boy and onto something else. The Republic hadn't really changed shit, not yet--the old paradigm of what a Dreadlord ought to be held the most sway in Zael's mind. And that paradigm abhorred vulnerability.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

It was genuine. That smile. Everleigh couldn’t comprehend why seeing it was now seared into her head. A moment in time she wouldn’t likely soon forget. And it was strange because Zael was always grinning, or smirking, or laughing. But that didn’t compare to that smile. They weren’t the same thing, Everleigh knew that, and it inwardly baffled her.

Miklan was still pouting, but it was Zael’s final words to him that managed to get the young boy back to smiling. Everleigh could see that the boy debated on whether or not he could get away with tagging along. After a moment, it seemed like Miklan knew better, whether because he didn’t want to upset Zael or get in trouble with his parents, the blonde child stayed behind, admiring the fire in the burn pit. As they walked away from him, Everleigh turned her head back to see Miklan once again practice that right hook.

“The bet.” Everleigh said, glancing at Zael. He was looking straight ahead, and really, a part of Everleigh didn’t feel like she was being acknowledged. Talking about feelings? Of course it was still scoffed at back at the academy. They were weapons, and a weapon didn’t need to feel anything, just do what it was intended to do: kill.

Sure, she had witnessed a sweet moment. If it was someone other than Zael, Everleigh would have said something about Miklan being cute or have given him a knowing look. But this was Zael, and while she didn’t feel guilty for eavesdropping, she would grant him some semblance of privacy. He deserved that.

“Ah, what was it again?” In that instant, Everleigh became resolute on her decision and her demeanor changed. She was doing her best to bring forth her cheerful mischievousness and clapped her hands together. “Oh, right. Changing accents. For a week at the academy when we get back. It’ll be hard, so we should each have our own conditions for what happens if we win and if the other loses. Like, you get something you want while I also have to do a punishment. And vice versa. Higher stakes without use having to sell our organs.” Everleigh looked back at Zael, her lips curving up ever so slightly in hopes that this facade helped in making Zael feel more comfortable.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

He appreciated it.

Whether it be true or false.

Zael appreciated it.

"Yeah, changin accents," he said, confirming. And as Everleigh went on and laid out the particulars, Zael's mind shifted back to its more normal state: confident, contented, cavalier. Miklan and Matthias weren't far, but for now he bottled up the Kesselrings and kept them and their familial relations stashed away in a quieter part of mind. He'd have plenty more wrestling to do once supper time rolled around, he was sure.

Zael jerked his head, a satisfied crack coming from the bones in his neck. "High stakes, huh. All hail Everleigh Ebersol, Anirian Queen of Gambling." His tongue traced his bottom lip for a spell. "Well, Your Majesty, allow me to oblige."

A hand rose up to Zael's chin and he cradled it in the nook of his thumb and forefinger, letting out a sagely hmmmm.

"Punishments. I'll just start spitballin some: do Tinker's laundry for a month; tell Charon he can have his way with you for a night; slap Proctors until one of them puts you back in the Box; fart on Ralene and see what happens; embarrassin confession to the whole class; tickle Edric until he puts you into the infirmary; strap a lightning rod to your privates have Vance shock you; wear a bunch of platinum and call Noel "shorty" until she gets mad; kiss Trix on the mouth and try not to die; keep doing a shadow puppet show at Delaney until she chokes you."

He let out a satisfied huff. "Not bad for off the cuff."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

There was a sense of relief as Zael seemed to go back to normal. The slight fake smile actually turned upward even further. She was rather content with her job. It worked. Zael shifted back to his usual demeanor right before her eyes and it caused Everleigh to look ahead and actually look around their surroundings a bit. The men were definitely moving all cattle to the largest fenced off area. Everleigh found it a bit ironic that that area in particular seemed the closet to the forest.

She did glance back at Zael as he spoke, smirking with this newfound title he had created for her. Much better than Kaladriel of Fal’Addas, although she did have plans to use that as an inside joke in the near future.

“Zael, this is why I like you.” The initiate said, a wolfish grin had appeared and it only grew wider and wider as he listed each punishment. And people thought she was cruel? The idea of losing, of possibly having to face one of these obscene punishments that most definitely would have anyone shaking in fear caused Everleigh’s violet eyes to glimmer in excitement. “Stealing something from Proctor Pallatrix’s office,” she added, “or any serious proctor.” Proctor Palahniuk wouldn’t count, he was too scatterbrained to realized whether he had misplaced something or if it had actually been stolen.

“Licking Bull’s ear, like inside the ear, cutting off Ella’s hair, nonono, cutting off Kalix’s hair. Drawing on Sable’s face with that practically permanent ink that Proctor Novgorodoff has.” The poison eater paused, and looked at Zael. “Although I suppose we have enough punishments, so what if we win? Just the money?” That dangerous gleam of glee was still there as she poked at Zael’s neck. “You’ve been rolling your shoulders and cracking your neck a lot. I’ll throw in a massage as well as coin.” Everleigh grinned shamelessly up at Zael, flashing white teeth. “I’m known for my acute aim, after all, I bet I could hit all your pressure points even through that bulk of muscle.”

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

The proverbial hat was full of potential punishments now. How they went about selecting which ones fit best was another thing, but, of course, they had plenty of time. And not just tonight. Who knew how long it was going to take to flush out the cow-killer and avenge Miklan's favorite bull? They could spark a lively debate about the merits and shortcomings of each punishment, listing them off like they were writing on essay on the whole lot of them--this if they really wanted to and had time to kill.

Small glances around. That treeline at the far end of the ranch was going to be a son of a bitch come nightfall--just a curtain of dark, moons or no moons to splash Arnim with thin silver light to see by.

He returned Ever's look when he noticed it in the corner of his eye.

"Oh shit, a massage, huh. That suits me just fine." Some little nods of his head. Yeah, he liked the sound of that. And, you know, it was funny how brothel whores did things which would make Kristen Pirian faint but at the suggestion of a massage (or even kissing, damn), they shied away and turtled up. So, hold in your gasps folks, but if Zael won this wager that'd be a novel experience for him, an actual massage.

He flexed his arms in curling upward gestures, pretended to be half-strained while saying, "Yeah. You're gonna have a lot of ground to cover playin hide-and-go-pressure-point across this tapestry of excellence, ahhhhhhh."

He smirked, cheeks rising in highly amused fashion.

"Alright. Now if you win..." She'd read him pretty well. What would Ever want?

A moment's thought, and then he got it.

"...I can't say 'no' to you for a week. I'll be your big little minion."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“Whatever you got, Zael, I can handle it, easy.” A faint smirk evident on her lips. “The academy didn’t raise me to be a little bitch.” Far from that. If anything, they had created a monster, someone who practically started salivating at the sight of danger.

Everleigh stopped walking for a second, looking at the back of Zael’s blonde head. She was shocked. Really, because that prize was entirely dangerous in her hands. Or it would be if Zael was someone else.

“Well one massage doesn’t cover that,” a voice in the back of her head told her to shut up. This was a great deal for her! Why ruin it? “And I’m sure you’ve had plenty after your brothel escapades.” Her gaze was straight ahead of her, her focus hard in front. Zael had never shied away from bragging about such experiences, and Everleigh had lied quite a few times on the status of her nighttime affairs. She always claimed she had as much experience as the person next to her. Hardly the case when next to Zael.

“Besides, if you couldn’t say no to me for a week you realize every day I’d have you use your magic to heat up my bath water. And other things like that.” It wasn’t that long ago she was talking to Liliana in figuring out how she could convince Zael to use his fire to give her scalding hot water. Everleigh was used to cold water but scalding hot water that even made her wince in pain when her piercings began to sear her skin? That was a wonderfully delightful feeling she had only experienced recently.

“So, maybe,” the voice was still screaming at her to not complete her sentence. “For one week, I can’t say ‘no’ to you either.” Everleigh looked down at her feet, hiding a rather sheepish look on her face. “I’d like us to be even.”

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Heat up your bath water? Augh, my flames pale at their wasted potential," Zael said, putting on a show of feeling oh so dismayed at the horrid thought, back of his hand pressed to his forehead and all. Would've been a perfect show too if he could actually hide his damn grin.

So, maybe...

Now here's what was called a vicious circle. Zael and Ever, with just a scant few missions under their belts together, already had a penchant for pumping each other up. Upping the ante, to borrow some of Ever's gambling speak. They just fed into each other looking for that sweet sizzle of adrenaline and thrill, and yeah, it was everybody's problem.

So the pot got bigger and the stakes got higher. Can't say "no" to the other for a week.

"Whatchu gettin all quiet for?" She wasn't really, not to any appreciable degree, but she was staring down at her feet as if they were callin' her name. Perfect time to poke at his loveable, squeeze-her-too-tight-and-she'll-rip-a-poison-fart partner in crime.

"You know what I'm gonna do when I win? I'm gonna make you sit on my back while I do push-ups. And you're gonna be doin sit-ups while you're up there."

Zael sucked at his teeth with his tongue, holding on to his topper comment for a few hanging seconds.

"And then I'm count all your piercin's. For documentation purposes. I'm somethin of a scholar, you know."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh chuckled at Zael’s theatrics, giving him a knowing smile. There were plenty of other things she’d ask him to do, but the bath water was the most important thing.

“I bathe every day, you’d have your work cut out for you for that week,” she informed playfully. Initiates weren’t known for their cleanliness, but Everleigh needed to be clean. First, she used whatever her body could produce for her magic. Most of the time it was saliva or blood, didn’t want that caked in on her. Second was because of her piercings— those needed to be clean always. And last, while Everleigh couldn’t brag about having the same level of fitness that Zael had, she was strong, at least when it came to her lower body. Nothing soothed aching thighs the way hot water did.

Although, it seemed that Zael was intent to make her his workout buddy. Fine by her. At least she was on Zael’s back. She was about to crack a joke how she’d work out with him regardless of a bet until he spoke again. Everleigh’s violet gaze flickered over to Zael, for a moment confused why he would even want to count her piercings. Wasn’t he… disgusted by them? She remembered how he acted back on the pirate ship. He seemed to at least be afraid of them.

“A scholar, you say,” a coy smile spreading across her lips. Zael wasn’t serious with this, it was a bluff, Everleigh was eighty-five percent sure of this. Decent percentage really, she had followed her gut plenty of times when the odds were much, much lower. “I could just tell you how many I have, after all, you already know where ten of them are.” Everleigh mused, that impish smile not leaving as she tilted her head up to look at the sky, pressing a finger curiously against her lips.

“You have always been the type that learns better with a hands on education, with your “don’t believe it til I see it attitude.’ You’d need a private demonstration, though, beecause I think counting them will be easy for you— it’s figuring out where they are that’s the hard part.” Everleigh tilted her head over so she could look at Zael with a coolheaded smirk.

“But that’s if you were going to win. Which you won’t. We already know I’m more willing to do anything to win.” Everleigh was feeling rather proud of herself. She was sure Zael had said that to try and get her flustered, to maybe say take back the week of being unable to say no. Couldn’t out bluff the gambling queen. She wanted that week of hot water.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Yeah. I can figure out where they are." He cocked a confident thumb and pointed it at his chest. "I already got myself a plan."

Man, there was a lot riding on this. Everleigh bathed everyday--a luxury afforded since the Revolution, shit, Zael remembered those dirty dog days in the way back when, Proctors used to just dunk their naked asses in a vat of shared, mildly cloudy water, give em thirty seconds and hard bristle brush to scrub the "hot spots," and then hoist their sopping wet behinds out and kick em along and on their way. Anyway, yeah, she took advantage of the new paradigm as did everyone else with a sound head on their shoulders, so that meant a lot of interruptions to his schedule to go and attend Her Royal Majesty, Queen of Gambling's water temperature. This among all the other miscellaneous tasks she'd come up with. She always had something in the works under the table, so he didn't have much doubt that he'd be enlisted for the lion's share of the leg work there.

Of course, that wasn't gonna happen though. What was gonna happen was a lot of massages. Mm-hmm. Got that right. A week's worth of Ever being unable to say "no" was worth a whole heaping lot of them alright. Seemed kind of stupid to think, like it was in reverse order or something, but, after laying in Ever's lap like it was a pillow, he just couldn't wait to experience the feel of her hands. By the end of it, Zael was gonna be the most limber motherfucker struttin around the Academy grounds. That, and all the miscellaneous stuff he could come up with--the push-up/sit-up routine and piercing counting being two.

Zael shed himself of his western accent and took on an (slightly exaggerated) imitation of Everleigh's own. "But that's if you were going to win. Which you won't. We already know I'm more willing do to anything to win."

They made a turn as the perimeter fence of the ranch curved inward. That treeline was getting closer.

Zael flashed what he liked to call "a big ol' smile." Glanced over to Ever and switched his accent back to normal. "See that? I've been studyin you. My impression's gonna be so good Proctor P's gonna have to turn around to see if it's you or me if I get the jump on him."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh tilted her head slightly at Zael and his rather confident attitude.

“Why on Arethil do you even want to count them? I thought piercings… disturbed you.” Everleigh said, rather genuinely. “Oh, but I guess that’s a good way of getting over your fear of them.” That’s how Zael was, a daredevil, much like she, and if she was afraid of something than she’d do whatever made her scared. Apprehensive about jumping off a cliff? Then jump right off and dive in head first. Worried about what spooky creatures could be in a forest? Walk right in there at the darkest time of night. Fear was a delicious thing to her, and really, a part of Everleigh loved to be afraid.

Because overcoming that fear was such a euphoric rush, she couldn’t imagine anything better.

“How cute,” she quipped to Zael’s imitation of her and without warning a hand reached out and grabbed Zael’s jaw, her fingers deftly applying pressure. She stopped walking, forcing Zael to look at her. She was beaming at him with such a sweet smile, her violet eyes squinting up due to the big smile. “You’re adorable, really, thinking this game is just about who can do a better accent. It’s going to be about how we try to break the other’s character.” The grip on Zael’s jaw lightened up, Everleigh moving her hand down to his throat, caressing her thumb over his Adam’s apple.

“If you’re so confident then surely we can add more fun to this, right, Zael? I want to feel over the moon whether I lose or win,” Everleigh exhaled slowly before smirking up at the young man, “and I think only you could do that. As much as possibly we’re near one another, to properly make sure no cheating is going on. But more importantly… the loser, receives a punishment, pays money, can’t say no and also wears a collar. You’ll be Fido when you lose and I’ll be Mittens if I somehow don’t win. I think a cat suits me better than a dog, don’t you think so?” She said, looking into Zael’s green eyes, her violet orbs as intense as they could be, that smile never leaving her face. Public humiliation. Go hard or go home.

Then just as soon as she had grabbed him, Everleigh let Zael go and looked over at the mouth of the forest they would soon near.

“We probably have enough time to check out the forest a bit, see if we can find any sort of tracks or traces of blood.” Everleigh said, her tone back to something far more nonchalant, her facial features going back into that serious, stoic mask. Poker face. The best thing Everleigh had ever learned to master.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael had one of those tight-lipped, cheek raised, mouth bent like a shallow "V" type smiles. Everybody knew the one, that type of smile you had when you were really trying to hold in both a secret and a laugh. He was loving it. Absolutely loving it. Saying he was gonna count Ever's piercings was the perfect way to get under her skin.

...coincidentally just like those piercings--OKAY! Stop! You're gonna bust out laughing and blow it!

And, well, what could he say? Fear wasn't the right word, but it was in the same park as what he felt about the idea of piercings. Fascination, maybe, some kind of fascination? The idea was just so alien to him, embedding metal into your flesh (was it constantly painful?), and he'd never encountered it until he, Ever, Tinker, and Henk were tossed in a cage on a pirate ship. Actually, thinking about it, why the fuck didn't Noel have piercings? That'd be super useful for her. Or maybe she DID have platinum piercings and nobody knew it. Was this another case for investigator Zael?

Then something extraordinary happened.

Ever grabbed hold of his face and made him look at her, which, hey, he loved this aggressiveness. That shit was thrilling for all the wrong right reasons and all the right wrong reasons. He even got the small feel of her hand pressing into the skin of his jaw--and that was going to feel awfully nice on his back, his arms, his thighs, and all the other tight areas that could use a massage to loosen them up.

But, and here was the extraordinary part, what she said next was like a solid hammerblow to his confidence, like a vicious spider-webbing of cracks up a solid brick wall. Yeah, the wall still stood, but those cracks were a cause for concern, weren't they? Holy shit, Zael hadn't felt this way in a long while. It was just like back in the day when Proctor Pallatrix, Proctor Kellmir, or worse, one of the Proctors who "disappeared" after the Revolution, broke Zael down (with the Box, with Ice torture) after one his little bouts of recalcitrant attitude and got him back in line.

Zael's first thought after what Ever said: FUCK. He hadn't even thought of that yet, trying to break her character. She was already one step ahead. And this was just what she was letting him know about on purpose. Hell, if fire powers inspired directness, poison powers inspired deviousness, and yeah, in that latter category Zael was sorely lacking. It wasn't like he could just haul off and punch Ever's teeth in to solve the problem. He needed to be more clever than that. But hey! Brighten up, bucko. Isn't that what the limitations of your Martial Fire fostered in you? No chucking fireballs and calling down firestorms like a regular pyromancer, nope, had to find other ways, more inventive ways, of maximizing his potential. Channel that same cleverness here!

Zael didn't know how his face looked during all of that, but, once Ever's thumb ran down his Adam's apple, his engaged smile was back.

And that vicious circle got to spinning again. Just like always, that real fear of losing, that hammerblow to his confidence robbing him of his self-assured thoughts on the matter, made the whole damn thing so much more exciting.

"You're fuckin on," he said. "But, on one condition: you know that's some horseshit, me a dog, you a cat. You ain't slippin that by me. Either we're both dogs or we're both cats."

Choices, choices, on Ever's part. Either she'd be a dog if she lost, which she obviously didn't want to be, or Zael'd be a cat, which (aside from the humiliation and all) would actually be kinda awesome, and naturally was the reason Ever tried to sneak that one through for herself. Fucking Mittens. So, either one of those amends or that part of the deal was off the table.

Zael placed a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword--a sort of ingrained reflex--once he looked ahead to the looming trees coming up quick. "Yeah," and with mock exasperation he said, "I guess we have a job to do and all."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“We can both be cats,” Everleigh said easily. The only reason why she had suggested for Zael to be a dog was because Fido was just a dog’s name, a boy dog’s name. Mittens just seemed more female by nature to her, although, Everleigh did think she was more cat-like than dog-like.

“I like cats better, anyways. I can’t wait for you to be my “little pet” for a week. I’ll make sure to take great care of you, though, don’t worry.” The genuine glee was clear in her tone, her violet eyes sparkling. “But having you wear that collar though? Cherry on top of my sweet, sweet victory.” She looked over at Zael, eyes briefly roving over his torso. “Maybe just in the collar.”

Everleigh couldn’t place how or why exactly, but she knew she wasn’t the only one who appreciated the fact that Zael was never shy to take off his shirt. She had seen him shirtless a few times just walking around the academy grounds, and before the revolution Everleigh was sure she had seen Zael butt-naked. But the last year, something about Zael had changed. Or maybe it was just that she had start to notice him.

The massage suggestion was intentional. Everleigh secretly wondered what it would been like to feel his back, to press her fingers up and down along his spine, to slide her hands between his shoulder blades, knead that smooth, broad curve of his shoulder where it connected to his neck—

Everleigh blinked. Was she… drooling?

She shook her head a bit. It was only because they were nearing that small yet ominous wood, she was just preparing herself to enhance her weapons. That was all.

The wood was a cacophony of different sort of trees. Everleigh already saw birch and beech trees, pine trees, small firs and even maples. Gimlet gaze was glancing down at the little man and cow made path they were on. She wasn’t a hunter, and while she did have some tracking skill, it’s not like she had years upon years of experience like that group of hunters most likely did. At the mouth of the wood, Everleigh paused, feeling cool air seeming to greet her bare face.

The poison eater was suspicious. It’s not like this was some massive forest, if there was anything hiding in there it wouldn’t be hard to find it. But what if her and Zael walked through and found nothing? They knew that the perpetrator wasn’t some senseless beast, there was far too much planning involved with that doll. Blood magic was being used, what form of it, Everleigh couldn’t tell. She also couldn’t say for certain that the mastermind was just one person— they could be looking at a small group of people who wanted to kill cows for whatever reason they had.

She unsheathed her sword, and with practiced, fluid ease, brought the length of steel to her mouth, her tongue darting out and quickly coating it with a measure cadence of long, wide licks.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Good. Both cats. That was a win. Zael would've thrown both of those out the window and suggested they be honey badgers if they lost, but: A, that was hardly a punishment; B, there was no way they could get away with acting like honey badgers for a week and not have one of the Proctors literally kill them.

"Oh yeah? Look at you." He swished a hand down and then back up, indicating the whole of her body. He was getting excited, and some more of his accent was coming out. "You're right. You're gonna make a great cat. And you forgot the bell on the collar. Trust me, I won't. Everybody gonna know when Mittens is comin round the corner. I'm gonna toss you a ball of yarn and all I'mma hear is: ring-ring, ring-ring." He sized her up. "And you'll look real good after I paint some tiger stripes on you."

Zael couldn't place how or why exactly, but, in more recent years, he had begun to notice, really notice, the Academy girls he had been around this whole time as an Initiate. Not in the same way he noticed the denizens of those brothel visits. There was an obvious difference of circumstance: the women of the brothel treated him like a transaction, like a pouch of coin, through their honeyed words--not that he blamed them, he knew the score. Bottom line: Academy girls, girls his age and of his world, were beautiful in a way which set them apart from the prettiness and sickly sweet allure of the prostitutes. Yet the Academy was supposed to be impersonal too. The Proctors (at least before the Revolution, and still to some lesser extent now) would beat your ass if you so much as said "Hello" in too genial a tone.

Now Ever might've said the heated bathwater thing and meant it as a punishment, and maybe, in some small way, the fact of being forced to do it would make it so. But, really, above that piddly complaint would be the satisfaction of actually doing something nice for someone. Genuinely nice, and not involving beating their face in and then telling them what they did wrong in that round and helping them back up to their feet for another go. Yeah that was good and all, fights and fighting, absolutely. But this would be a novel niceness. And, thinking again on how Academy girls were different, oh, maybe Ever might need some help washing her back, huh? Why, yes ma'am, what kinda gentleman would I be if'n I turned ya down? Lemme lather up my hands, run em nice and thorough down your lovely contours, glidin right over the smooth ridges of--

Zael blinked. Was he...biting his bottom lip?

He shook his head a bit. C'mon man, get a hold of yourself. What? Scared of cow-killing freaks up in that wood? Nonsense, just worried about the Kesselrings' livelihood. That was all.

Zael drew his sword in an unintentional (but awesome sounding) chorus with Ever as she drew hers.

He twirled the weapon once in his hand. Said, "We see anythin, I'll light it up," referring to his sword. Better to save the magic until (if? when?) they saw something. And no need to make themselves big, bright, and obvious until then too.

Zael started toward the wood, his armored boots crossing the threshold from the ranch's grassland to the forest floor.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

The bell was a nice touch, Everleigh would give Zael points for that. She hadn’t thought about attaching such a thing to the collar but the moment they got back from this mission she absolutely would be doing such a thing. And maybe procuring a ball of yarn. Not for Zael to throw, for her to throw, and perhaps use for other things. She was smiling, a brief chuckle leaving her lips at Zael’s promises.

She was right to do such a grand wager with him. This might be the most fun she’d have all year.

As Zael stepped into the wood, Evie followed suit. She was two solid steps behind him, her footsteps hardly making any noise. The nice thing about light armor: less weight, less crunch underneath. Also meant if she got sliced by a sword she’d probably be a goner.

As the initiates traversed further into the wood it would become increasingly obvious that this wood was too dark and too cold and it was unnaturally so. There weren’t any signs of blood or bone or other gristle, at least none that could be found by Everleigh’s gimlet gaze. The forest floor was so thick with lush undergrowth that possible footsteps couldn’t be found.

“It’s so quiet,” Everleigh whispered. The biggest warning the initiates would get. There was no bird song, no scuttling around from squirrels in trees, not even the sound of a buzzing fly or bee. The silence was consuming everything it felt like and Everleigh wondered if Zael could even hear her or if the forest had sucked her voice out as well. She listened, focusing a bit harder, hoping to pick something up other than the monotonous padding of their feet.

Then a subtle fog began to form up ahead, low and hazy. It seemed to stay around a certain perimeter before quickly building into a massive wall of fog. Trying to see what was beyond that perimeter was impossible without having to go through it. Everleigh stopped walking, staring at it, trying to figure it out. It was caused by magic, that much could be attained from how peculiar it was for fog to be here right now. She looked at Zael. He was technically the captain, she’d let him decide, although a part of her— maybe the dauntless daredevil part— was hoping Zael would keep moving forward.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Here's a story:

So the motherfuckers Zael had to begrudgingly refer to "mom" and "dad" loved to send little five-year-old Zael out to gather firewood. They didn't give a damn if it was dark and their little boy was still afraid of it. Fuckin' good reason too--you know how dark it got, really got, when neither Lessat nor Pneria was there in the night sky? And Arethil was full of monsters, actual monsters that loved the taste of scared human child, lest you forget. Out Zael goes one night. Dark as all hell. And you know what? It sounded exactly like this. Which was to say, it didn't sound much like anything other than dead quiet. No animals, no insects, not even a little breeze, nothin but the tiny snaps and crunches of Zael's tiny worn shoes on the forest floor. Wanna guess what happened next?

Nope, no fog. But Zael would swear to his dying day that he both saw and heard something out there. And, doing what any smart, self-preservation minded five-year-old would do, he screamed his head off and hauled ass back home...an ass that was promptly beaten red by "dad" for not bringing back any firewood.

This time around, Zael was a lot bigger than he was at five years old. And he had a hearty appetite for revenge, and not to mention the gosh-darned kindness to let some cow-killing fiend here in Arnim substitute its miserable existence for the thing he'd sworn to witness back in Tarrow.

"Now there's a sight," Zael said of the fog. "You'd think somebody in Arnim woulda noticed somethin like this."

Maybe, dark or no dark, they didn't want much to do with this little patch of wood.

He tossed a prompting glance to Ever. "Time to figure out if College Magic is worth a rat's ass." Every Dreadlord learned a suite of potentially useful utility spells. Sure, the College Magic wasn't as fun as honing one's own special magical talent, so not everybody paid it the same amount of mind. A detection spell might prove useful here, maybe picking up movement or traces of a suspected discipline of magic. That's if it worked--the low-level stuff they learned wasn't guaranteed to work in every case.

"If not," Zael smirked, "I'll investigate it with my face."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“Yessir,” Everleigh said brightly, before elbowing Zael’s side with her elbow. “But let’s keep your face intact, yeah? I enjoy my eye candy.” Ever was rather decent with College Magic. It’s not like she was away studying at Elbion but there were quite a few things she realized she would need to be versed in. Specifically arcane elemental arts, especially those dealing with air and water which were great conduits for her own personal magic. She had actually practiced one spell so often, a very simple and benign one that only increased the output and range of a single breath, to enhance her poison breath, that now she didn’t need to think twice about it.

Man, oh man, was Zael so lucky to have her by his side.

Everleigh took a deep breath, holding up a hand, her index and middle finger crossing over each other. She repeated the same action with her ring and pinky finger but bent these two together, her thumb bending as well. She closed her eyes for a moment, quickly chanting the spell she had learned years ago, still remembering the page she had seen it on. She chanted the words, quickly yet enunciated each other perfectly. The fizz of magic could be felt, pooling in between her crossed finger tips, a ball of lilac-colored light that quickly formed an image of a venomous snake eyes.

She pointed down at the fog and whispered, “Seek.” A flash emitted from that ball of arcane energy, diving straight in to the fog. And then it was completely silent. Everleigh didn’t blink, seeing and not seeing, feeling and not feeling, but knowing, always knowing.

She was mapping out the area surrounded by fog in her head, and as this detection spell was reaching it’s climax, getting closer to that center, the poison eater gasped. The spell broke. Her violet eyes were wide in shock when she looked at Zael.

“I’m sorry.” Everleigh said in tandem with pushing him out of the way. Lightening fast a bloody tendril appeared, wrapping itself around Everleigh’s hand, and her fingers. A snap could be heard and Everleigh sucked in air through her teeth knowing that her index finger was broken. Not even a half-second later, hundreds of bloody tendrils emerged from the fog and wrapped themselves around Everleigh’s limbs and torso. Faster than one could blink, the violet-haired initiate was pulled into the fog without a sound.

She didn’t know when she had passed out or if she had ever passed out but when she opened her eyes she was lying in long grass. A breeze blew over her face and her nose wrinkled up at the unmistakable smell of a tannery.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Eye candy. Now that brought a big ol' smirk to Zael's face. Hey, if he was a glutton for anything, fighting and compliments were definitely (and appropriately) dueling for the honor.

Ever's seeker spell went in, and a long enough while passed before anything tangible happened.

"Ev--?"

The last thing he expected was for Ever, out of nowhere, to push him. And that's the thing with being caught off-guard--your balance was all wonky, your brain had a split second to recalibrate itself, and your footing nine times out of ten had an impolite meeting with some rough part of ground. For a lean girl who was shy about singing the praises of her upper-body strength, she'd managed to get a good clean shove on Zael--conspiring with gravity helped, top heavy as Zael was, heh.

And so down he went, branch snapping to announce his fall and leaves crunching to announce that his ass had reached its destination.

But jokes and mirth went up in smoke in the proceeding moment.

"EVERLEIGH!"

Zael scrambled to his feet, his efforts pacing him about in a wide half-circle as he did. "Oh you motherfucker," he said of the fog, the tendrils, the thing or things which lay beyond.

With his boots firmly on the ground, her swung his sword out to one side and flames exploded into being upon the blade. "You wanted to pick a fight..."

He swept a hand down over his face, and his Fire Helm roared to life in the wake of the motion. "But you forgot me!? ME??"

Zael was angry. Actually, truly, angry. He could feel the surge of it in his blood, the spikes of it driving themselves into his muscles, the tremor of it in his skull. He hadn't felt this way in a good few years. Not like this. Always it had been his way to deflect the fear, irritation, disdain, disgust, sadness, frustration, and yeah, anger, all of the emotions which twisted the heart in bitter grasps both hot and cold, into motivation. Into confidence. Into power. He bodyslammed what he didn't want and what he wanted to avoid into what he did want, into what he should embrace, by shifting his judgments, his mindset, from one that was detrimental into one that was empowering. So that he could be better. So that he could make everyone around him better by being that bright torch in the pitch dark.

Thinking of the Kesselrings, thinking of Miklan, and thinking foremost of Everleigh, it wasn't so today. Today, here and now in this particular moment, his anger burned with an intensity to swallow the sun.

"I'M the thing YOU should fear!"

A jet of fire shot from Zael's back and propelled him into a great leap, and he sailed like a blazing star into the fog.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

The fog had been disturbed. The ripple of power, the feel of heat where things should be cool. They needed things cold. They need others to stay away. Of course it wasn’t like that they didn’t expect people to investigate. Mother did say that it was inevitable. And really, when people had come to investigate it was really just a lovely surprise. They needed more after all. More to grow stronger. More to make Mother happy.

And they knew, they really did know, really, really, really knew that when those two had stepped inside that they weren’t like the others. Yes they were smaller. Yes there was only two compared to five. Yes, they were going to be an issue. But had stood out. One more than anything else.

Afraid of forests. Afraid of darkness. Or used to be afraid. It was through that fear that they could do it. The other one didn’t feel fear. Because of the one with them, because of trust. It was simple. Take the strong one, yet the weak one feel despair, then take that one, too.

“Oh, no, I missed.” They whispered, looking up at their elder sister. “Do we want this one? Do we…?”

“It’s okay, Denial, the stage has been set,” elder sister replied, “if they’re angry then they’re under my control.” Magic began to dance around elder sister’s fingertips. “They can go to the same place together.” The scent of iron grew stronger.

---

When Zael entered the fog, ablaze in fire, the bloody tendrils were there. Waiting. Prepared. And the fog grew, being a thing of magic and far from anything natural. And with the fog was the scent was blood, iron thick and heavy. Yet there was a sweetness to it, a sugared-vanilla or perhaps a burnt caramel that began to waft around.

Where Zael had entered the forest floor was completely drenched in blood, fresh and old, and he may have caught sight of a massive pool of blood, hundreds of gallons of blood swirling together. In the pool heads of animals could be seen, viscera and gristle from all unfortunate creatures, their crimson-stained bones floating about.

The scent smell grew thicker, heavier.

“Why should we fear you?” A whisper, gentle, sweet, saccharine by all accounts. It echoed all around, the hundreds of blood tendrils rippling. “An unwanted bastard child? Your father was right to have left you.” Then the tendrils struck, liquid then solid, wrapping around him, more and more covering him, and if Zael dared to open his mouth, the blood would rush inside. The taste wouldn’t be metallic, instead, it would taste like sickly sweet caramel and vanilla with far too much sugar.

A magic to put one to sleep, a magic to completely consume the person’s mind. When Zael would stop moving only then would the tendrils drag him into that deep swirling pool of blood.

---

Everleigh slowly sat up, her head barely beginning to feel better. Her vision was slightly blurry but one thing soon became evident to her as another breeze blew past her: her hair wasn’t violet. It was black. She grabbed one of the strands, inspecting it closer and gasped. The color and shine of obsidian. Just like her mother’s. But what of her eyes? Her eyes!

It was then that she looked over, seeing Zael sprawled out next to her. She frowned. Had he… always been there? Why had she felt like she was all alone when she first woke up? She leaned over to him, placing two fingers underneath his jaw, along the side of his neck.

A sigh of relief went through her, his heart was still beating.

“Zael? C’mon, time to wake up,” she said, her hands on his shoulders, shaking him. He needed to get up. They had to get up. They needed to—

What were they supposed to be doing again?

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael's sabatons splashed down in the puddles of blood in the surreal forest shrouded by the fog. His anger had kicked open the door for his magic to run amok and he let it. His veins were glowing orange with flames, steam was hissing violently as it vented out of his armor, the ground at his feet glowed with bright orange fissures for several meters around, and flames coiled like ephemeral serpents up his legs and down his arms. His anger had him and he gave himself completely to its burning grasp.

It was the exquisite combination of everything. The little things: Proctor P's annoying ass diatribes, being pushed by Everleigh, the fact that this wood and this stupid fog made him remember that one night, among plenty of other little things fresh from the present or nagging him from the past. And the big things: the way Arnim reminded him of Tarrow, the forlorn joy of seeing a loving family and wishing he could have had the same, the gall of this monster to have killed Miklan's favorite bull, and mayhap most of all, that Everleigh had been taken and that she was somewhere in here and that he didn't know where or even if she was okay.

So the rage came. The same rage which had fueled his rebellious attitude in the old days of the Academy. The same rage which he had to temper and control lest the Proctors torture him to death or just dispose of him outright.

"WHERE ARE YOU!?" Zael roared, slashing his sword at anything in front him, the blade and the arcs of fire streaming off of it slicing clean through tree after tree.

Why should we fear you?

Zael flung out a hand blew apart a tree with a point-blank blast of fire, its splinters and debris like shrapnel to the bloody tendrils behind it. Through the liquid tendrils they flew. "COME ON OUT HERE! I'LL SHOW YOU!"

Your father was right to have left you.

Zael was stomping forward, advancing toward the blood lake, carving a path of destruction but exhausting through his reservoir of strength and magic quickly. Carelessly. "TO HELL WITH HIM!"

The tendrils came at him, became solid, and he slashed them off and blasted them apart, incinerated them with flames and obliterated them with explosions. But he was an uncontrolled bonfire, his fuel finite.

"COME HERE! FIGHT ME! I CAN TAKE IT! COME ON!"

The tendrils were legion, and he was one man mishandling a great yet not fully realized power. Once roaring flames began to shrink and wither. And as his arcane fatigue mounted, so too did the strain upon his body. His swings carried with them still a powerful vengeance, but steadily the time between each increased, more and more.

When his Fire Helm flickered and disappeared, his magic no longer able to sustain it, when he was left open and panting with exhaustion and fury, the supernatural blood had its way in. His last thoughts were as embers, drifting up into the air carried by a wind before their small brilliance faded away.

* * * * *​

The fire had started from an accident, and the dry interior of the mill had seen it spread with frightening speed. The smell of burning grease for the mill wheels choked the air along with the acrid smoke. Someone had fouled up: the second barrel of grease wasn't grease at all, and that's what had caused the explosion.

Zael was trapped under debris which had tumbled down from the explosion. The fire was everywhere, closing in. He was so small that all the millers hadn't noticed him down there.

Dad came stumbling out of the storage room. Dazed and bloody, palm pressed to his head. A swell of radiant hope crushed the fear and panic in Zael's heart, and for the first time in his life he smiled with joy at seeing his father. He was saved.

He reached out his hand.

"DAD!"

His father glanced his way, coughing from the smoke. They met eyes. A pained look came over his father's face, as if a dagger-like decision had stabbed him through the gut. Then his features shifted, as if he was somehow happy for the pain, as if his were the willful hands upon that dagger.

He turned and hurried from the mill.

Zael's outstretched hand slowly sank to the floor. There it came to rest.

"...dad?"

And the fires were all that were left.

* * * * *​

Zael awoke with a start. A weak start, a groggy start, but a start, the last vestiges of his rampage surviving to this moment to burn themselves out.

He breathed rapidly, and for a moment, he couldn't remember if he had been in the foggy forest or in the burning mill. A big sigh, and his breathing steadied. He didn't have a clear sense of his surroundings yet, but he heard a familiar voice. His vision centered on--

"Ever, there you--"

His brow furrowed, looking at her hair. Her eyes. That little spark of anger was at his beck and call, ready to flare up again.

"You're not Ever," he said, his tone dangerous.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh looked down at Zael, worry etched over her face. The way he jolted awake, she could feel the tension within him beneath her hands. His green eyes had darted around and she knew that he too had to get a sense of his bearings as well. She had placed a hand to cradle his jaw and cheek, a gentle thing, something she was mimicking that she saw others do when their comrades were coming to. She knew it was supposed to help orient them, or at least, that seemed to be the reason for it.

Gray eyes widened in a moment of confusion. She closed her eyes, a needling in the back of her head beginning to form as he spoke. A slight whimper, memories flashing yet so fuzzy, but for fuck’s sake, did it have to hurt the way it did? She closed her eyes tighter, wanting to remember more than just the feelings within her— everything was fine, but then it wasn’t, she had to keep Zael away and then there was that pain, the pain from— she looked at her hand, at her index finger. It was broken.

Everything rushed back and the poison eater gagged slightly, turning away from Zael. Nothing came out. Her body was just in shock for a moment. Memories still fuzzy but… well, Everleigh was a smart girl. She could piece together most things. And one thing she knew was that Zael was exhausted. And his tone suggested not to prod him.

She raised both hands up over her head, and looked back at Zael.

“First, my hyperactive firecracker, I wasn’t born with purple hair.” She refrained from rolling her gray eyes. “Sheesh, it’s like you really believe I’m Kaladriel Whisperwind of Fal’Addas.” She said, raising a dark brow questioningly at Zael. “If you remember when we first met my hair was black. Remember? I told you my name was Everleigh and you said “EHVARLEEE?! Yer name is tew long immah jus’ call yew Ever” and then we hardly spoke again until after my hair changed.” The story was important, had to get Zael to relax and know that two little cosmetic changes didn’t mean she was no longer herself.

“And you really did never say my name again and— no, that’s wrong, you did. Recently.” She frowned looking down at Zael and it was then that she began to remember more. She was pulled into the fog, there was a whisper in her ears, a sweet smell, and then, before she went under, she heard Zael shout her name and…. Her eyes narrowed. “Idiot.” She said, her voice soft, a slight waver. She didn’t sound mad, rather she sounded disappointed, frustrated. “Idiot.” She repeated and shook her head, a slight tremble coursing through her. “It wanted you, not me. I was trying to…” she trailed off.

She had wanted to protect him. But the reason, now that she thought of it, was so incredibly stupid. So incredibly unlike a response a dreadlord should give.

“If you give me your hand, I can easily prove it’s me.” Everleigh said, her voice indifferent, her gray eyes losing emotion. She had to get it together. There was one thing she had to take care of, no matter what. Right now, she needed to be goal-oriented and emotions just got in the way of that.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Did he trust much of anything inside this fog? No. Everleigh was in here somewhere, that much he knew and could trust, but other than that? They didn't have any direct evidence that this entity menacing Arnim had employed illusions or some other magical trickery, but he just didn't know and couldn't be sure.

All he knew was that the girl before him didn't have the purple hair and purple eyes he'd grown used to, that color which screamed Everleigh more than anything else really could. And that was really enough for his anger to latch on to. How fucking dare this entity not only try to trick him, but try to do it with a botched recreation of Ever?

His nostrils flared, and his brow only slightly relaxed when "Everleigh" recounted the old story. Yeah, he remembered. He remembered seeing her back then with the black hair and gray eyes she had now. He remembered those particular details and he remembered his thick ass Tarrow accent back then, before he let it mostly erode away, sounding just like that. He couldn't explain how an illusion would know all that. Still, it wasn't quite enough to quench his anger and the mistrust spawned from it.

What really got to him, what really wedged itself like a foot between a door and a jamb, preventing his anger from shutting her out completely, was that slight waver. She called him an idiot, twice, and in her voice the first time that slight waver and in her body the second time a little tremble.

Genuine. These little things. They struck him as genuine.

It wanted you, not me.

This was tucked away for the immediate moment.

Where Everleigh was confining her emotions, caging them up and not allowing them to have sway over her, Zael was still very influenced by his own--his anger was but smoldering embers, yet still they retained a certain heat.

Zael sat up slowly, intense glare never departing from her gray eyes. In a languid, arching motion he presented an armored hand.

"You do somethin I don't like, you're dead."

Everleigh Ebersol