[something about the way he screams picks and scratches at a still-fresh wound in her heart. the last time she'd been in a position to spare someone like this, she'd been looking down her nose and the length of her spear into eyes not unlike her own. she should've done it then, if only to spare her future self the heartache she feels now. each expression that flits across her face is brief and subtle, her grip going whiteknuckled as she wrestles with each and every last one.
anger. relief. confusion. sorrow. shock. more anger and grief for a man she never mourned. everything but fear and disgust, though... perhaps because it hasn't had a chance to sink in yet. (fear isn't likely, though. she's eaten scarier things for breakfast.)]
Don't.
[she has to force the words out through gritted teeth and around the solid lump sitting far, far back in her throat. she knows what that is too, but like every other complicated emotion she's experienced, morga ignores it.]
Don't you dare lie to me, Hrafn. I'll ask you again — who are you?
[and... you know what? even with the venom and ice laced on her tongue, the spear withdraws by a fraction. her weight eases, but she doesn't remove her boot. not yet. it's not that she's afraid for her safety, but adrenaline is one hell of a thing.]
( honestly, he liked it better when the sharp point of that spear was touching his throat. his skin's tough enough that it hadn't quite broken to bleed with the effort, but a bit more would've done it. instead, she pulls it back, and he almost wants to echo her: don't. put it back. finish it.
but he just... can't. can't say it. not to her. not to—can't say her name, either. can't even think it.
instead, he curls his fingers around the spear, close to the tip. where there used to be long fingers, pale skin, a murderer's brand, there's only claws, scaly talon-like skin, blackened and bent. still, there's something familiar about the particular movement of his hands, how each finger curls one by one until he's gripping it. and about the way his lips pull back in a wince, the miserably guilty way his eyes avert. the piteousness in his rough voice. (she never had patience for that crap, but she isn't she anymore, and he isn't he and nothing is real—) )
I told you: nobody, anymore. If you were looking for someone, I'm sorry to say you haven't found him. You shouldn't be here, you... I... there's nothing here but dreams and monsters. If I close my eyes, you'll disappear, won't you? So just—
[she can feel the weight of his hand — each finger curling around the shaft and strips of leather wrapped under the point as if he were touching her wrist or her arm instead. the only thing is she can't feel-feel it. worse than that, she can feel his stare up until he looks away. it's a look morga has seen before, in the rare occasion that they'd reminisce about the bleaker parts of the past. sometimes it was a look she'd wear too, but she'd never address it herself.]
No.
[as faint as it is, it's in her voice. she's uncertain. in all her years, never has she been involved in something like this. the monsters she knew were hulking, slavering brutes concerned with eating, fighting, and breeding. living. this? oh, this was the complete opposite. for as much as he claims to be a monster, he sure doesn't look like one in her eyes.
her grip relaxes. tightens. readjusts to a different stance, one where her weight isn't behind the sharp edge of the tip. all teeth and no bite.]
I spent three days hunting a supposed beast, and I come to find out he speaks with a voice I haven't heard in months and eyes I haven't seen in just as long. I'm not leaving without answers.
( now there's a familiar expression, more or less: the curled upper lip, a signature smirk. you can almost hear the playfulness in his tone, only it's a shadow of itself now. hoarse and haggard like the rest of him, deformed. you could argue that no matter how much he changes, there's no erasing who he is. julian would disagree. but julian has been through a lot, lived in his own special circle of hell for a long time. it's hard to see past the flames when they're burning that high.
but still. those gunsteel-grey eyes follow the line of the spear up morga's arm to her face again. in spite of the grin, there's still a heavy helping of disbelief, like there's just no way his eyes totally agree with his mind. he never blinks too hard. if it's only an illusion, he... stupidly, foolishly doesn't want it to be over yet. not yet. it's just been so long. )
...Because you should. Anything familiar about me is a, a trick. It's a lie, Mo—it's a lie. You have to know that. If you're the real thing, you would. You'd know that. And you'd finish what you came here to do.
It wouldn't be the first time the "real thing" hasn't had the stomach to finish the job.
[she had a chance to finish it at the masquerade before everything went tits up, but did she take the chance? no. the one who ended up doing it... the thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth and squeezes her heart in heavy chains. no matter how awful of a person montag was, she couldn't do it. she failed him so many times in the past, so... what was one more failure on top of that? it wouldn't be the first or last time she let someone down.]
Though I'm not sure if I should be insulted or disappointed that you think I'd believe that this is a trick. A trick would be the raven I hear squawking speak in your place. A trick—
[she jerks the spear back, though not as rough as she'd like. the motion is almost gentle. or it is, up until she presses the speartip between two of his ribs. it's a bit off, but... it's the same spot she'd taken a blade in the snow. the same day the nature of whatever they have changed in that musty house in the empty village]
Was the stunt you pulled with this. Whatever you're trying to pull here? It's sloppy. My son was a better liar when he was a child.
( now, would an illusion know that? julian's brow (for what can be seen of it through the feathers and darkened skin that encroach and overtake many of his features now) furrows with consternation. could the devil have imagined it somehow? made it real? but then... why here? like this? in this world that clearly has been turned right-side up again? unless that's a trick, too. how many times did he desperately open doors and fling himself through portals, find himself home and then... it was all a lie. a trick.
but there were tells, he figured that out later. he just had to learn how to spot them. and eventually recognizing the obvious signs of an uncanny unreality only compounded his hopelessness, his fear and dismay. once he began to realize everything around him wasn't really what it seemed, the whole picture shattered. along with his heart. and his hope. so—consternation. searching for the signs that'll prove to him that something isn't right, trying to read between the lines like that spearpoint between his prominent ribs. too thin, all exposed. )
How do you... that trick, that—mark. I can't do it anymore. I gave it up. I gave everything up. Did he—how do you know about that?
[her expression shifts - something between an exasperated grimace and a very, very strained smile. it'd be almost comical if morga didn't have a weapon pointed down to kiss skin and feathers, though maybe that just makes it that much better. or worse. can it be both? it's probably both. jokes were never her forte, which is why she usually left that up to julian.
brushing it aside, morga shakes her head and drops her gaze to the feathers scattered across his sides. at the patches down the length of his torso, to his shoulders... and back to the spot she's "pointing" to.]
You took two blows meant for me. The second only after the fact, but if you didn't I...
[she doesn't know if she'd be standing here today. sure, she'd suffered worse injuries in the past but that had been when she had a full clan to fall back on while she healed. alone? morga probably would've died of blood loss or something else.]
( julian stares and stares. the spear nestled into the groove between his ribs is of absolutely no concern to him anymore. can he even feel pain? does he care? could he bleed enough? would it ever stop? can he die? would he stay dead? all questions he's asked and, one way or another, found answers to. and they don't matter. nothing mattered except... well...
except the very real sentiment that morga's recollections are stirring up in him now. his mouth falls open again, the frustrated search gone from his expression. instead there's only glassy-eyed, horror-stricken, miserable shock. where are the tells? that this is all another big, horrible lie? there aren't any. there aren't any, and nothing morga is saying is untrue. he goes so long without blinking that his eyes start to water up; when he finally does, his tears are very real, very normal tears. no inky blackness, no blood. just regular human tears. )
...I had to.
( it's all but a whisper, agonized. he exhales, then inhales again. lays his hand once again over the end of that spear like if he had a mind to he'd urge it right into his body and push it clear through to his lung, just to feel again the way it felt that day. when he took that pain away like it was his own, happily and willingly. because— )
I wanted you to be safe. It was a small price to pay to— to— no, you shouldn't be here! I don't have that power anymore! I can't protect you! I can't do anything for you—I'm not anything, I'm no one. Nothing.
[that seals it. it's him. this feather-brained fool is actually him, and morga doesn't know if she should be relieved or more angry. so, she settles for both. her lip curls back in a snarl and she removes her foot, raises the spear as if to strike...
only to pivot on her heel and throw it with enough force to embed it into the trunk of a tree with a guttural yell. the birds go silent, and for a good long minute the sound of their breathing is the only thing this forest hears. sometime during this, morga starts to pace to and fro. when she'd gone into these woods, this isn't what she expected. she expected... a bear or something, not...
not whatever this is.
his words echo in her ears, and each time it brings up a new hurt. she doesn't need protection. she doesn't deserve it, not after everything in her life. not when she couldn't protect her own family. her husband. her son. her clan — she was the last of the scourge, but that didn't mean she was so weak that she needed protection. it was her generation's job to protect them, not the other way around.
she can't think straight, so she just... picks a spot and starts from there.]
One. Don't you dare think about running away. I'll track you down and lash you to a tree if you try. Two. Don't ever tell me where I should and shouldn't be. Three. I don't de— need anyone to protect me! And if I did, where the hell were you?! You vanished without so much as a word!
( julian doesn't bother to get up. just stays there on his back in the dirt, his wings crushed uncomfortably underneath him. sprawled out, one hand resting over the place where that spear sat until morga threw it. honestly, he doesn't think he can move. sit up, stand, even crawl, he's just so utterly transfixed. in some ways bad, some ways good. seeing morga, presumably real, even pacing and snarling and infuriated as she is, is so mind-boggling and so relieving, he just... doesn't know what to do but lay there.
it's only when malak lights onto the end of that spear sticking out of the tree with a quiet caw and his feathers ruffled that he does finally move. the way he sits upright is awkward. the way he moves at all is awkward. like he's rusty and badly crafted, made up of spare parts he hasn't figured out how to use all in tandem yet. it's been so damn long, and yet he never took the time to learn this body. i mean, why would he? it hardly matters anymore. )
I was... the same thing. I was protecting you. I was protecting everyone. It was the last thing I could do to be of any use to anybody. As it turns out I... still had more to give. Not now, though. I shouldn't be here, either. If I am, it means no one is safe. This could all be one big trap. You can't even begin to imagine how insidious, how vile—this is bad. This is so bad.
[her pacing stops when malak interjects, and she takes the time to count backwards from ten. rubs at her mouth with one hand, and reaches out to offer the poor frazzled animal a gentle head rub. he can croak and gurgle all he wants, but morga knows it's some form of playful "backtalk." jaeger does it, so why would malak be any different? it also gives her an excuse to avoid julian's gaze until she's good and ready. she angles herself so she can keep him in her peripherals, but that's it for the moment.]
...I'll bite. What did we need protection from?
[of course she has suspicions after everything that'd happened over the last few months, but one can't be too certain these days.]
( it feels wrong to even think of him. does he dare even speak the name? as if he could summon him by uttering it. hey, sometimes he could. or even by thinking it too loudly. in those days when he'd still had any fight left in him, it felt like sometimes it was less alerting him to his presence by thinking too hard and more just... being eternally shadowed. just because things look normal now, though, doesn't mean they are. what if he causes something—
ah, what's the use. fear is as useless as fighting anymore. his shoulders slump with utter resignation. his whole body, his countenance, everything droops like it's being pulled toward the earth. the weight of a thousand burdens. )
Why, from the Devil, of course. Who I'm sure is laying in wait even now, waiting to strike... any minute...
( any second. but nothing happens. not even a breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. even malak seems to sit totally still and quiet, for once. just for a second. )
So long as I gave myself up, he couldn't hurt anyone. That was our arrangement. But now I'm... here.
[a threat both empty and not. it wouldn't do a damn thing to him, she knows it, but it'd make her feel something before she died in the process. and even though the arcana doesn't show his hairy face, she still reaches behind her back to pull out the hunting knife attached to her waist. just in case he had any doubts about it being a terrible joke.]
But... I won't lie, Julian. I'm... a lot of things right now. More disappointed than angry. My son made arrangements with people, and look where that got him. The only difference between the two of you is... you said it yourself; you're here.
( julian's lip curls in that familiar smirk again, only just the slightest bit sardonic. the charm of his expressions isn't necessarily lost because of what's happened to his face, but because of what's happened to him. there's no light, no wonder and life in them. even throughout this entire experience of running into an... to a... to... what is she to him? god, he can't remember. whatever it is, she is, he can't believe in anything too deeply anymore. not yet, anyway. he still just looks like he's expecting to wake up.
the grin fades quick, though. that, madam, he takes offense to. then that curl of his lip is a scowl instead. his feathers ruffle—literally. he looks bigger than he did a moment ago. )
Lucio made deals that only benefitted himself, at the cost of everyone and everything around him. He was, quite literally, a plague. He didn't care who got hurt! I wanted to save everyone! I would've done anything, I'm nothing like him! I— I.
( ...and the heat goes right back out of him. sort of. )
Not that it mattered, in the end. And especially not now. Grateful? You should be concerned. The hell we've got to look forward to would put the hell he invited upon himself to shame.
[her hackles go up, and she nearly postures right back at him. were it a happier situation, she'd have gladly done it to get a rise out of him. but with things as they are, all morga does is raise an eyebrow and fold her arms across her chest. a small part of her wonders if he realizes he's doing it, but... she doesn't bring it up. she lets him go on, and she makes her move to step closer when it starts to look like his feathers deflate.
up close like this is... a little surreal. he looked big while he was on the ground, but sitting? no question about it, he'd tower over her standing up now. at the very least while he's like this, she can still look down. still look him in the eye, except not.]
My son is dead, and when Jæger couldn't find you, I—
[her words soften, and there's the faintest flicker of pain in her eyes. it's there and gone in a blink, but it's there. this isn't how she thought the week would go, but here they are.]
I don't know what happened to the world, but I don't think he's involved this time. Even the magician seems... fine. Or I assume as much.
( dead doesn't mean gone. sure, he has no evidence to offer, because he knows nothing about that snot-nosed count and his ultimate fate. because of him, everything... everything was ruined because of him. none of this would have happened in the first place. yes, it's so easy to blame lucio whether he's here to defend himself or not, but that doesn't seem to help matters much when it comes to holding his own head high. it hardly takes more than morga coming near and peering down at him for his whole house of cards to fold. he curls in on himself. he wilts under her gaze, doesn't meet her eye.
especially not after what she says. the pain on his face lasts much, much longer. he puts his hands over his face, shaking his head back and forth. )
I don't want to... please don't tell me. I don't want to know. About them. About anyone. So long as they're safe, so long as they can stay that way, I don't...
( does he actually not want to know? no, he does. about the apprentice, about asra and portia and mazelinka, nadia, her sisters, everyone, everything—but it's just not for him to know. good news or bad, he gave that all up. it hasn't changed just because his chains came loose. if anything it only makes him more determined to resist. to keep them safe.
julian's hands come away slowly from his face and he stares down at them. )
[julian folding is damn near enough to make morga follow suit. one would think she'd have moved beyond that once montag was grown and away from home, but no. what surprises her is she doesn't reach for him. not like she would monty, anyway. what she does instead is stand by and wait for his frazzled feathers to smooth down, and only then does she roll her shoulder.]
I only assume because I don't know him that well. After that night, I've spent most of the last few months shadowing your family. Just because you made a deal with the Devil under the assumption that he wouldn't hurt them doesn't mean it applied to everything else.
[she's seen the lengths people will go to when they're desperate. comes with the territory of leading the scourge, especially considering the whole bone-picking beetle motif. she knew what to look for, and how to defend against it. sure, nadia and the others were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but... it put morga at ease knowing that they'd have one less thing on their plates to worry about.]
( julian's chin jerks up sharply, eyes wide and kind of shocked, glassy again. not unlike the way he'd looked up when she'd tackled him to the ground in the first place, just unfathomably stricken to see and hear everything in front of him. then—something like pain, again. only more touched. he forgets to blink and his eyes well up as they dry out, so that his tears cut a few more icy streaks down his face when he finally does inhale again, open and close his eyes, speak. )
You stayed? You looked out for them? I...
( he'd like to reach out. get up and hug her, if he were himself, the old julian. any sort of julian, really, but he just isn't anymore, is he? instead he puts his arms around himself, shivering like he's cold. )
[it comes off as an accusation, but morga really only means to make an observation of it. her face softens again, and after a long few seconds of wrestling with herself, she offers him her hand. fingers slack, palm up, and it's just. there. she won't force him to take it. not unless she feels he needs the contact.]
Surely you know by now that I'm not so heartless.
[could she be cruel? absolutely. but julian's family has never done anything to deserve her ire - the opposite, really. for as much as morga tried to keep her distance, they still welcomed her with open arms. even with the knowledge that she had been lucio's mother... morga doesn't understand it.]
( he "just" what? he just... didn't expect it, maybe. listen, morga has never made any secret of not being one for the hustle and bustle of vesuvia, for one thing. and for another, it's the way she phrased it. the way she said she watched out for his family. as if it was a favor for him, specifically. for the others, too, of course. obviously. but she could have said it any number of ways. any number of ways that wouldn't send a lance of guilt and gratitude straight to his heart.
he might even smile if not for the guilt part, how it wins out in the end. it always wins out in the end.
julian's gaze lingers on morga's outstretched hand, hesitant. when he finally does take one arm from around himself, he reaches out hesitantly—and stops when he gets a look at the difference between the two of them. he can't touch her with those ugly, horrible talons. shaking his head, he draws his hand back again and finally manages a crooked... well, "smile" is stretching it, but it's something. )
I'm grateful, that's all. I didn't have any way to know if anyone was even still... ah, well. It doesn't matter now. You kept them safe. You... did what I couldn't, I suppose. What I tried to do. You win again, hmm?
[morga exhales slowly, and she hopes the disappointment doesn't show on her face when he pulls his hand back. it's... there, but it's hard to keep everything in check. but she doesn't withdraw her own. no, she keeps it out and open, even curls her fingers by a hair in an invitation of sorts. things would be so much easier if she took a page from monty's book and wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve around people outside of the clan. so, so much easier.
she was brought up differently. this is all she knows, and she may as well be pulling a dragon's tooth by trying it any other way. yet she still tries.]
Look. I didn't know what happened to you. I didn't know where the hell you went, only that you were gone and the world was filling up with monsters I'd only heard of in myths and legends. I had to do something. I couldn't...
[her eyes close and she takes a breath. saying it out loud makes it seem so... wrong. but if she doesn't say it, she never will.]
It was all I could think to do. To honor you. To keep what you had left alive and in one piece while I could.
( it shows. a little. maybe. julian tells himself that isn't what he's looking at, that he only wishes anyone would still feel the way about him that they did before he became a monster. and then he feels guilty for wanting that. guilty for the very notion of thinking he has any right to drag anyone down to his level. his eyes dart from her face to her hand, still held out. not insistently, but it may as well be. she wants him to put his hand in hers, and shouldn't he obey?
maybe, but it's better if he doesn't. it's the right thing to do not for her to have to feel how he's changed. still, miserable wretch that he is, he can't hold out forever. eventually, once he's stricken emotionally enough by the things that she says, he swallows and extends his clawed hand one more time. and this time he finally does lay it against her palm. the second they make contact he's crushed by guilt and regret, glancing up apologetically and then looking away again, hangdog, ashamed. )
Honor? Me? Oh, Morga, I don't deserve your honor. I don't deserve a second thought of yours or anyone's. I'm sorry... I only left you with more burdens.
( what hits him harder? the physical contact, or how he finally, finally says her name out loud? both. who knows. whichever, it makes his brow crease like he's weathering a painful blow, his voice low and rough. )
All I deserve is exactly what I got. But not you. Not any of you.
[his hand is both rougher and smoother than she was expecting. his palm and the underside of his fingers aren't even close to what they once were, but they've a sort of softness to the skin. and — gods — it nearly dwarfs her own. her fingers curl around his with only a heartbeat of hesitation. too fast, and she worries she might scare him off. too slow, and... well, probably the same thing. after another, she brings her second hand up to join the first and she moves to sit cross-legged before him, bringing his hand down with her. it's easier to look at him like this on equal ground.]
People don't always get what they deserve, whether it be good or bad. And those who think themselves undeserving are often more than those who believe they deserve the world simply because of... whatever else. Status. Position.
[carefully and oh-so-slowly, morga turns julian's hand over in her own. her fingertips brush against the rough scales across the top of his hand, while her thumbs work their way across his palm. it's... surprising to be sure, but with how often she has handled Jæger's talons? it doesn't shock her as much as it ought to. this is sort of the same thing, only more "human" and, well. much, much bigger. if she had to guess, she'd guess they were almost as large as a bear's paws. not as wide, but long. yet however big they are, she shows no fear or disgust. and why should she be afraid?]
This... You didn't deserve to have this happen to you. No one does.
[but especially not him. a kind heart was supposed to get people killed. not... tormented by a fiend. not like this.]
( morga may not show disgust or fear, but julian hardly expects her to show it. while not truly unflappable, she's a hard one to make flinch. a tough cookie, as they say. it'd only make sense that she'd face this as deliberately and pointedly as she does. brave, undeterred. a warrior, a paragon. that's his morga. he'd forgotten. in his mind's eye, he'd pictured everyone he loved afraid. hurt, lost, and scared. as much as he tried to convince himself he'd done the right thing and that they'd all be living happy lives, safe and sound, free and unburdened... all his moments were filled with dread, in reality. even morga. cornered and afraid, defenseless. unable to save herself. and no one to step between her and certain danger this time. he used to picture it all the time... when he could remember.
it's fine. he wears the disgust for the both of them. the shame roils off him, but in spite of everything he can't bring himself to continue to look away. that just makes it worse, that he doesn't have the good sense to pull back and stay away. that his eyes fix on their hands with such desperation, such a painful need. no one has touched those awful hands of his since they became what they are. big with viciously thick, sharp, curved talons at the end, the knuckles of his fingers knobby and bent. just like a bird. the shorter, thicker feathers are course and almost sharp, but they become softer and softer as they travel up his arm. for safety's sake he tries very hard just to hold still, even though all he wants is to squeeze tight. )
This is exactly what I deserved. If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, you see? Or all of you. After everything I've done, or... didn't do, it's fitting. And I wouldn't take it back. Not after finding out the rest of you didn't have to suffer like I did. Or do. Depending. It isn't so bad now, although I don't know how you can stand it.
[the only thing that slips out is a non-committal grunt, her brows knitting together as she slides her hands along the length of his fingers. she keeps her touch light, even as she squeezes the padded tips between her thumb and index... and then she slides them further forward, hooking them into his talons as easily as she would jæger's. they certainly put the eagle's to shame, though she wouldn't say it within earshot of the bird. not when he has a flair for the dramatics himself behind closed doors. that had been a side he'd only started to show julian and now... it'll be an adjustment period for everyone. no doubt he'll be even angrier than morga was. is? was? it's not important.
she's so engrossed in what she's doing that she's only half aware of the endearment falling from her lips. somewhere down the line she'd gotten so used to hearing things like it from julian that she started slinging them back. how much was genuine and how much of it was in jest was still unknown, but it's out there.]
You've forgotten who my closest friend is, kära. You're simply... bigger.
[her thumbs run down the smooth surface of each talon, stopping before she reaches the ends of them. back up, down, and then to the tops of his fingers once more. she turns his hand, holding it and inspecting it with nothing but neutral curiosity on her face. everything about it is unfortunate and if she had the power... it'd still be julian's choice, not hers. but it's not the worst thing she's seen. magic took all shapes and forms, and it wasn't uncommon to hear tales of other warriors in other clans taking the form of great beasts in the midst of a fight. they were few, though, and as such were better served to live only in those stories.]
Does it bother you? Having me look at you like this?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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anger. relief. confusion. sorrow. shock. more anger and grief for a man she never mourned. everything but fear and disgust, though... perhaps because it hasn't had a chance to sink in yet. (fear isn't likely, though. she's eaten scarier things for breakfast.)]
Don't.
[she has to force the words out through gritted teeth and around the solid lump sitting far, far back in her throat. she knows what that is too, but like every other complicated emotion she's experienced, morga ignores it.]
Don't you dare lie to me, Hrafn. I'll ask you again — who are you?
[and... you know what? even with the venom and ice laced on her tongue, the spear withdraws by a fraction. her weight eases, but she doesn't remove her boot. not yet. it's not that she's afraid for her safety, but adrenaline is one hell of a thing.]
no subject
but he just... can't. can't say it. not to her. not to—can't say her name, either. can't even think it.
instead, he curls his fingers around the spear, close to the tip. where there used to be long fingers, pale skin, a murderer's brand, there's only claws, scaly talon-like skin, blackened and bent. still, there's something familiar about the particular movement of his hands, how each finger curls one by one until he's gripping it. and about the way his lips pull back in a wince, the miserably guilty way his eyes avert. the piteousness in his rough voice. (she never had patience for that crap, but she isn't she anymore, and he isn't he and nothing is real—) )
I told you: nobody, anymore. If you were looking for someone, I'm sorry to say you haven't found him. You shouldn't be here, you... I... there's nothing here but dreams and monsters. If I close my eyes, you'll disappear, won't you? So just—
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No.
[as faint as it is, it's in her voice. she's uncertain. in all her years, never has she been involved in something like this. the monsters she knew were hulking, slavering brutes concerned with eating, fighting, and breeding. living. this? oh, this was the complete opposite. for as much as he claims to be a monster, he sure doesn't look like one in her eyes.
her grip relaxes. tightens. readjusts to a different stance, one where her weight isn't behind the sharp edge of the tip. all teeth and no bite.]
I spent three days hunting a supposed beast, and I come to find out he speaks with a voice I haven't heard in months and eyes I haven't seen in just as long. I'm not leaving without answers.
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( now there's a familiar expression, more or less: the curled upper lip, a signature smirk. you can almost hear the playfulness in his tone, only it's a shadow of itself now. hoarse and haggard like the rest of him, deformed. you could argue that no matter how much he changes, there's no erasing who he is. julian would disagree. but julian has been through a lot, lived in his own special circle of hell for a long time. it's hard to see past the flames when they're burning that high.
but still. those gunsteel-grey eyes follow the line of the spear up morga's arm to her face again. in spite of the grin, there's still a heavy helping of disbelief, like there's just no way his eyes totally agree with his mind. he never blinks too hard. if it's only an illusion, he... stupidly, foolishly doesn't want it to be over yet. not yet. it's just been so long. )
...Because you should. Anything familiar about me is a, a trick. It's a lie, Mo—it's a lie. You have to know that. If you're the real thing, you would. You'd know that. And you'd finish what you came here to do.
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[she had a chance to finish it at the masquerade before everything went tits up, but did she take the chance? no. the one who ended up doing it... the thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth and squeezes her heart in heavy chains. no matter how awful of a person montag was, she couldn't do it. she failed him so many times in the past, so... what was one more failure on top of that? it wouldn't be the first or last time she let someone down.]
Though I'm not sure if I should be insulted or disappointed that you think I'd believe that this is a trick. A trick would be the raven I hear squawking speak in your place. A trick—
[she jerks the spear back, though not as rough as she'd like. the motion is almost gentle. or it is, up until she presses the speartip between two of his ribs. it's a bit off, but... it's the same spot she'd taken a blade in the snow. the same day the nature of whatever they have changed in that musty house in the empty village]
Was the stunt you pulled with this. Whatever you're trying to pull here? It's sloppy. My son was a better liar when he was a child.
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but there were tells, he figured that out later. he just had to learn how to spot them. and eventually recognizing the obvious signs of an uncanny unreality only compounded his hopelessness, his fear and dismay. once he began to realize everything around him wasn't really what it seemed, the whole picture shattered. along with his heart. and his hope. so—consternation. searching for the signs that'll prove to him that something isn't right, trying to read between the lines like that spearpoint between his prominent ribs. too thin, all exposed. )
How do you... that trick, that—mark. I can't do it anymore. I gave it up. I gave everything up. Did he—how do you know about that?
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[her expression shifts - something between an exasperated grimace and a very, very strained smile. it'd be almost comical if morga didn't have a weapon pointed down to kiss skin and feathers, though maybe that just makes it that much better. or worse. can it be both? it's probably both. jokes were never her forte, which is why she usually left that up to julian.
brushing it aside, morga shakes her head and drops her gaze to the feathers scattered across his sides. at the patches down the length of his torso, to his shoulders... and back to the spot she's "pointing" to.]
You took two blows meant for me. The second only after the fact, but if you didn't I...
[she doesn't know if she'd be standing here today. sure, she'd suffered worse injuries in the past but that had been when she had a full clan to fall back on while she healed. alone? morga probably would've died of blood loss or something else.]
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except the very real sentiment that morga's recollections are stirring up in him now. his mouth falls open again, the frustrated search gone from his expression. instead there's only glassy-eyed, horror-stricken, miserable shock. where are the tells? that this is all another big, horrible lie? there aren't any. there aren't any, and nothing morga is saying is untrue. he goes so long without blinking that his eyes start to water up; when he finally does, his tears are very real, very normal tears. no inky blackness, no blood. just regular human tears. )
...I had to.
( it's all but a whisper, agonized. he exhales, then inhales again. lays his hand once again over the end of that spear like if he had a mind to he'd urge it right into his body and push it clear through to his lung, just to feel again the way it felt that day. when he took that pain away like it was his own, happily and willingly. because— )
I wanted you to be safe. It was a small price to pay to— to— no, you shouldn't be here! I don't have that power anymore! I can't protect you! I can't do anything for you—I'm not anything, I'm no one. Nothing.
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only to pivot on her heel and throw it with enough force to embed it into the trunk of a tree with a guttural yell. the birds go silent, and for a good long minute the sound of their breathing is the only thing this forest hears. sometime during this, morga starts to pace to and fro. when she'd gone into these woods, this isn't what she expected. she expected... a bear or something, not...
not whatever this is.
his words echo in her ears, and each time it brings up a new hurt. she doesn't need protection. she doesn't deserve it, not after everything in her life. not when she couldn't protect her own family. her husband. her son. her clan — she was the last of the scourge, but that didn't mean she was so weak that she needed protection. it was her generation's job to protect them, not the other way around.
she can't think straight, so she just... picks a spot and starts from there.]
One. Don't you dare think about running away. I'll track you down and lash you to a tree if you try. Two. Don't ever tell me where I should and shouldn't be. Three. I don't de— need anyone to protect me! And if I did, where the hell were you?! You vanished without so much as a word!
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it's only when malak lights onto the end of that spear sticking out of the tree with a quiet caw and his feathers ruffled that he does finally move. the way he sits upright is awkward. the way he moves at all is awkward. like he's rusty and badly crafted, made up of spare parts he hasn't figured out how to use all in tandem yet. it's been so damn long, and yet he never took the time to learn this body. i mean, why would he? it hardly matters anymore. )
I was... the same thing. I was protecting you. I was protecting everyone. It was the last thing I could do to be of any use to anybody. As it turns out I... still had more to give. Not now, though. I shouldn't be here, either. If I am, it means no one is safe. This could all be one big trap. You can't even begin to imagine how insidious, how vile—this is bad. This is so bad.
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...I'll bite. What did we need protection from?
[of course she has suspicions after everything that'd happened over the last few months, but one can't be too certain these days.]
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ah, what's the use. fear is as useless as fighting anymore. his shoulders slump with utter resignation. his whole body, his countenance, everything droops like it's being pulled toward the earth. the weight of a thousand burdens. )
Why, from the Devil, of course. Who I'm sure is laying in wait even now, waiting to strike... any minute...
( any second. but nothing happens. not even a breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. even malak seems to sit totally still and quiet, for once. just for a second. )
So long as I gave myself up, he couldn't hurt anyone. That was our arrangement. But now I'm... here.
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[a threat both empty and not. it wouldn't do a damn thing to him, she knows it, but it'd make her feel something before she died in the process. and even though the arcana doesn't show his hairy face, she still reaches behind her back to pull out the hunting knife attached to her waist. just in case he had any doubts about it being a terrible joke.]
But... I won't lie, Julian. I'm... a lot of things right now. More disappointed than angry. My son made arrangements with people, and look where that got him. The only difference between the two of you is... you said it yourself; you're here.
[alive.]
I should be grateful for that, at least.
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the grin fades quick, though. that, madam, he takes offense to. then that curl of his lip is a scowl instead. his feathers ruffle—literally. he looks bigger than he did a moment ago. )
Lucio made deals that only benefitted himself, at the cost of everyone and everything around him. He was, quite literally, a plague. He didn't care who got hurt! I wanted to save everyone! I would've done anything, I'm nothing like him! I— I.
( ...and the heat goes right back out of him. sort of. )
Not that it mattered, in the end. And especially not now. Grateful? You should be concerned. The hell we've got to look forward to would put the hell he invited upon himself to shame.
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[her hackles go up, and she nearly postures right back at him. were it a happier situation, she'd have gladly done it to get a rise out of him. but with things as they are, all morga does is raise an eyebrow and fold her arms across her chest. a small part of her wonders if he realizes he's doing it, but... she doesn't bring it up. she lets him go on, and she makes her move to step closer when it starts to look like his feathers deflate.
up close like this is... a little surreal. he looked big while he was on the ground, but sitting? no question about it, he'd tower over her standing up now. at the very least while he's like this, she can still look down. still look him in the eye, except not.]
My son is dead, and when Jæger couldn't find you, I—
[her words soften, and there's the faintest flicker of pain in her eyes. it's there and gone in a blink, but it's there. this isn't how she thought the week would go, but here they are.]
I don't know what happened to the world, but I don't think he's involved this time. Even the magician seems... fine. Or I assume as much.
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especially not after what she says. the pain on his face lasts much, much longer. he puts his hands over his face, shaking his head back and forth. )
I don't want to... please don't tell me. I don't want to know. About them. About anyone. So long as they're safe, so long as they can stay that way, I don't...
( does he actually not want to know? no, he does. about the apprentice, about asra and portia and mazelinka, nadia, her sisters, everyone, everything—but it's just not for him to know. good news or bad, he gave that all up. it hasn't changed just because his chains came loose. if anything it only makes him more determined to resist. to keep them safe.
julian's hands come away slowly from his face and he stares down at them. )
You assume...?
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I only assume because I don't know him that well. After that night, I've spent most of the last few months shadowing your family. Just because you made a deal with the Devil under the assumption that he wouldn't hurt them doesn't mean it applied to everything else.
[she's seen the lengths people will go to when they're desperate. comes with the territory of leading the scourge, especially considering the whole bone-picking beetle motif. she knew what to look for, and how to defend against it. sure, nadia and the others were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but... it put morga at ease knowing that they'd have one less thing on their plates to worry about.]
I can promise you that they're safe.
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( julian's chin jerks up sharply, eyes wide and kind of shocked, glassy again. not unlike the way he'd looked up when she'd tackled him to the ground in the first place, just unfathomably stricken to see and hear everything in front of him. then—something like pain, again. only more touched. he forgets to blink and his eyes well up as they dry out, so that his tears cut a few more icy streaks down his face when he finally does inhale again, open and close his eyes, speak. )
You stayed? You looked out for them? I...
( he'd like to reach out. get up and hug her, if he were himself, the old julian. any sort of julian, really, but he just isn't anymore, is he? instead he puts his arms around himself, shivering like he's cold. )
I don't know how to thank you.
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[it comes off as an accusation, but morga really only means to make an observation of it. her face softens again, and after a long few seconds of wrestling with herself, she offers him her hand. fingers slack, palm up, and it's just. there. she won't force him to take it. not unless she feels he needs the contact.]
Surely you know by now that I'm not so heartless.
[could she be cruel? absolutely. but julian's family has never done anything to deserve her ire - the opposite, really. for as much as morga tried to keep her distance, they still welcomed her with open arms. even with the knowledge that she had been lucio's mother... morga doesn't understand it.]
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( he "just" what? he just... didn't expect it, maybe. listen, morga has never made any secret of not being one for the hustle and bustle of vesuvia, for one thing. and for another, it's the way she phrased it. the way she said she watched out for his family. as if it was a favor for him, specifically. for the others, too, of course. obviously. but she could have said it any number of ways. any number of ways that wouldn't send a lance of guilt and gratitude straight to his heart.
he might even smile if not for the guilt part, how it wins out in the end. it always wins out in the end.
julian's gaze lingers on morga's outstretched hand, hesitant. when he finally does take one arm from around himself, he reaches out hesitantly—and stops when he gets a look at the difference between the two of them. he can't touch her with those ugly, horrible talons. shaking his head, he draws his hand back again and finally manages a crooked... well, "smile" is stretching it, but it's something. )
I'm grateful, that's all. I didn't have any way to know if anyone was even still... ah, well. It doesn't matter now. You kept them safe. You... did what I couldn't, I suppose. What I tried to do. You win again, hmm?
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[morga exhales slowly, and she hopes the disappointment doesn't show on her face when he pulls his hand back. it's... there, but it's hard to keep everything in check. but she doesn't withdraw her own. no, she keeps it out and open, even curls her fingers by a hair in an invitation of sorts. things would be so much easier if she took a page from monty's book and wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve around people outside of the clan. so, so much easier.
she was brought up differently. this is all she knows, and she may as well be pulling a dragon's tooth by trying it any other way. yet she still tries.]
Look. I didn't know what happened to you. I didn't know where the hell you went, only that you were gone and the world was filling up with monsters I'd only heard of in myths and legends. I had to do something. I couldn't...
[her eyes close and she takes a breath. saying it out loud makes it seem so... wrong. but if she doesn't say it, she never will.]
It was all I could think to do. To honor you. To keep what you had left alive and in one piece while I could.
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maybe, but it's better if he doesn't. it's the right thing to do not for her to have to feel how he's changed. still, miserable wretch that he is, he can't hold out forever. eventually, once he's stricken emotionally enough by the things that she says, he swallows and extends his clawed hand one more time. and this time he finally does lay it against her palm. the second they make contact he's crushed by guilt and regret, glancing up apologetically and then looking away again, hangdog, ashamed. )
Honor? Me? Oh, Morga, I don't deserve your honor. I don't deserve a second thought of yours or anyone's. I'm sorry... I only left you with more burdens.
( what hits him harder? the physical contact, or how he finally, finally says her name out loud? both. who knows. whichever, it makes his brow crease like he's weathering a painful blow, his voice low and rough. )
All I deserve is exactly what I got. But not you. Not any of you.
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People don't always get what they deserve, whether it be good or bad. And those who think themselves undeserving are often more than those who believe they deserve the world simply because of... whatever else. Status. Position.
[carefully and oh-so-slowly, morga turns julian's hand over in her own. her fingertips brush against the rough scales across the top of his hand, while her thumbs work their way across his palm. it's... surprising to be sure, but with how often she has handled Jæger's talons? it doesn't shock her as much as it ought to. this is sort of the same thing, only more "human" and, well. much, much bigger. if she had to guess, she'd guess they were almost as large as a bear's paws. not as wide, but long. yet however big they are, she shows no fear or disgust. and why should she be afraid?]
This... You didn't deserve to have this happen to you. No one does.
[but especially not him. a kind heart was supposed to get people killed. not... tormented by a fiend. not like this.]
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it's fine. he wears the disgust for the both of them. the shame roils off him, but in spite of everything he can't bring himself to continue to look away. that just makes it worse, that he doesn't have the good sense to pull back and stay away. that his eyes fix on their hands with such desperation, such a painful need. no one has touched those awful hands of his since they became what they are. big with viciously thick, sharp, curved talons at the end, the knuckles of his fingers knobby and bent. just like a bird. the shorter, thicker feathers are course and almost sharp, but they become softer and softer as they travel up his arm. for safety's sake he tries very hard just to hold still, even though all he wants is to squeeze tight. )
This is exactly what I deserved. If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, you see? Or all of you. After everything I've done, or... didn't do, it's fitting. And I wouldn't take it back. Not after finding out the rest of you didn't have to suffer like I did. Or do. Depending. It isn't so bad now, although I don't know how you can stand it.
( touching him, that is. gross. )
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she's so engrossed in what she's doing that she's only half aware of the endearment falling from her lips. somewhere down the line she'd gotten so used to hearing things like it from julian that she started slinging them back. how much was genuine and how much of it was in jest was still unknown, but it's out there.]
You've forgotten who my closest friend is, kära. You're simply... bigger.
[her thumbs run down the smooth surface of each talon, stopping before she reaches the ends of them. back up, down, and then to the tops of his fingers once more. she turns his hand, holding it and inspecting it with nothing but neutral curiosity on her face. everything about it is unfortunate and if she had the power... it'd still be julian's choice, not hers. but it's not the worst thing she's seen. magic took all shapes and forms, and it wasn't uncommon to hear tales of other warriors in other clans taking the form of great beasts in the midst of a fight. they were few, though, and as such were better served to live only in those stories.]
Does it bother you? Having me look at you like this?
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