to betrayal, my gunslinger;
Posted by Ilium on December 9, 2008, 10:45 pm
64.13.13.50
- "Most of them don't know it was me," she says coldly, staring him down with eyes like chips of hard jade. One hound twines close to her legs, unforgiving Golem-rock; even Ilium wants to go to Betrayal, to feel the cold caress of the lightning shard, the icy anger lurking in his skin. Each stone muscle is tense, and she grinds rocky teeth as she holds her ground, resisting. This shard will be her undoing, she thinks sadly, if she tries to save him. She wants to, so badly: beneath the hazy blind obedience in her mind lingers a desperate, aching desire to drag him back to the surface. Night Walker, so long ago, had done the same -- but he was stronger, and he was not bound by half-willingly accepted shackles.
But it is never quite that simple.
- At once, his influence is gone. His hold on her, on her slavering Pack, snaps like a brittle hair. Ilium is so startled that she loses the Golem; soft silver-black fur erupts over stone until she is only Ilium again, a shimmering darkness. Luckily, her hold over the Hounds is always iron-firm, else they might have turned on Betrayal the moment his hold over them vanished (they, unlike their mistress, realize immediately what had happened). Instantly they form a loose circle around the black-and-white gunslinger, filling the air with sepulchral snarls and deep growls. "Enough!" snaps the huntress, and they quiet, staring at him with hungry eyes while Ilium regards him with a weighing gaze.
- Then -- perhaps unexpected by Betrayal, but only natural for the wildflower mare -- she steps into the growling circle and moves to him. The Hounds part quietly for her and close the circle behind her immediately. She doesn't know how it happened, but he has no influence over her any more. Indeed, she feels her lightning swell in strength, and she reaches out with that pale yellow power to hold him in place (she doesn't want him to run, and risk her hounds hunting him down). "Betrayal." She murmurs the word with a quietness, a tenderness, that's reserved for him alone. She knows he will hate her for it, but she pulls close and runs a soft muzzle down the icy crest of his neck. Somehow she knows he won't attack, and even if he did, she knows he is powerless against her right now.
- Wary of lingering too long, it's clear that she will leave soon. But for now, she strokes his neck with a simple kindness, ready for flashing teeth or hooves but unafraid. "You can't turn back now, can you?" It's a true question, a sad one, as she lingers against the coldness of his body. "I..." she pauses, laughs a little, a quiet rough sound. "I wish I could save you," she admits, knowing he will only throw venom at her, knowing he will hate her all the more for what she does. But she can't help it, drawn irresistably to the vulnerability that only she sees. Soon, the huntress will gather her hungry hounds about her and leave the darkening forest: but for now, she holds this weakness of his against him, and at last, murmurs "I could love you." It's eerily similar to the last thing she said to him before becoming his slave. He would never be like Anatole, her beloved firestarter; but, somewhere entirely different, she aches for the doomed Rogue.
[HOLY MUSE BATMAN. so, uh, I think we can just make this little conversation exist outside of his plague-infection and imminent ophelia-biting, heh.]
ILIUM
the thickets darkening, the ravines ugly -- |
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