RP:You Shouldn’t...

Part of the Vakmatharas' Jar Arc

Summary: Brennia attempts to learn more about that Jar, but as a run in with her ex and turns out to be the lucky winner of another attack.

Twisted Trees

Here the trees are twisted and petrified in agony. Like a haunting horrific nightmare they almost seem to twist and move like serpents. At close examination you can see sick disfigured carved faces pressed into the surface of the trees, blood trickling down the eyes and mouth. As you glance down, you notice that spider webs also inhabit this area. The only way is back to your west. Are you moving in circles somehow?

Daermon was walking along the forest of Vailkrin, having recently been to the barrier where Larewen's sacrifice held back the corruption. He had been looking about the area of the dome, making sure that all was well along the line. He looked like himself now, clean, muscled and full, the only thing left was the tattered duster, and that too would be replaced soon enough. The small feeding on the girl Eva had been the start.

Brennia was watching the spectacle play out for like the sixth time but this time notebook was in hand and she nearly blends in with the dark of night. Her glasses sit low on the bridge of her nose while she writes out the happenings and the song rings out within the area, but she remembers hearing it when the jar was opened and the first night she was drawn to it from the Hanging Corpse. So many emotions come from hearing the song again and a gentle smirk staying on plump lips, but didn’t even change when one of the ghosts rips the Bard's larynx out. That was the darkness behind blue eyes though and things like this never bothered her. She was sitting on the ground looking up at the ghosts play out their last day(s) with her legs crossed Indian style and her wings curved around her like a cloak covering herself up, but it was more for emotional comfort. She was so tranced by the Bards song that she was probably an easy target again.

Daermon made the circle back towards Vailkrin and it was then that a familiar, far too familiar scent caught his nose. With a quickness born of curiosity, he moved through the woods like a phantom, silent, invisible and slowly, silently he came upon a form that he recognized all too well. He leaned against a tree, far enough away to not be noticed perhaps, but close enough that he could watch the same thing she did. "It's cold out here headmistress. Shouldn't you be inside where it's warm?" he asks in a quiet whisper that carried to her ears on the wind.

Brennia maybe flinched, but continued noting things about the spectacle. “Please, Daermon. You are not my student or a guild member - no need for formalities.” Maybe a that slight smirk widened, but she played it off like she was enjoying the show. She stayed seated on the ground and continued in her tired timbre, “and don’t you remember that the cold doesn’t phase me?” She fakes a pout, “forgotten so soon.” A glance at him over the rim of her glasses - of which makes her look even older and a shallow short chuckle about her playful joke. “You seem to be feeling better,” she goes back to writing in her notes as the same cannot be said about herself. “I don’t wish to be going into that old haunt,” you know, the one where they met - The Hanging Corpse, “I’ve had enough memories thrown in my face lately.” It was hard to tell if she was actually bored sounding or just tired. Those sharp ears pick up a different sound within the woods, light steps, painstakingly slow… They were being watched.

Daermon moved to her, crouching down beside, flaring his duster out behind him. "Now who's the formal one Bren?" he says, her abbreviated name sounding very sweet on his cold lips. "No, I haven't forgotten, but what does one say when they run into an ex in the middle of the cool night in the woods?" he says, looking at her notes. "I am. I had a snack with your problem child, then a more...robust meal out here from Larewen Dragana. Well, of a sort." he admits. "As for feeling better, no offense Bren, but you look like death. And the clothes..." he tsked. "You lost your sense of fashion while I was gone." he teases, a ghost of that smile on his stubbled face. Daermon heard the steps too, but he didn't react yet.

Brennia answered his question, “I don’t know, something smoother than that.” She looked regrettable, “yeah… Sorry about her.” And then someone she’s never heard of before and he would feel that jealousy bubble up again while she looked over and up at him, but it fades when she forces herself to look back down at her notes. She shoves the sketching lead to be tucked on a long tapered ear, “that’s what lack of sun does to someone.” She pulls the sleeve of her sapphire turtleneck up to reveal her arm covered in recent scars and a few scabs from an extreme allergic reaction, scars mixing in with the ink of her tattoo. “I can’t read up close without glasses, not well anyway.” Far away though - it was like seeing as a bird and she looked over her shoulder at something she thought she seen. “Some guys like the librarian look…” she trailed off distractedly.

Daermon let out a soft snort, then gave her a sharper look. "I felt that you know." he replies softly, meeting her gaze. "She's another elder, like me. It's a long story, but nothing to spark jealousy, I assure you. No...there hasn't been anyone like that since you." he says, looking past her, around at the trees. "If anyone should be jealous, it should be me. What with your new beau and all." he says, though the tone was light, teasing, but she'd feel it, the soft under current of jealousy he felt. "I don't blame you for it though. Makes it easier I'm sure." he says. Turning his head like he was listening to something, "I'm not saying I don't like the glasses, more the conservative cut to the clothes..." he says, trailing off. "Something is out there." he says softly. "Shhh." he touches his finger to his lips, rising to his feet and casting that gaze out. His hand reached for a sword that wasn't there.

Brennia sighed softly, “yeah. Too bad nothing can be done about that currently.” With his open admission came guilt, “why are you being so… Open and honest with me?” She’s the one hurting him now by not reciprocating his feelings and he seems so okay with it. She stands up and her turtleneck seems to cling to the curves along with the black leggings which are tucked into soft leather boots, “I shouldn’t have come here. It is too predictable. You should go,” she doesn’t look at him because maybe if she doesn’t he won’t feel that it’s a lie. Her own hands reach for her Sai daggers and something shoots out, but the projectiles soar right over her shoulders and to the arcs of each of her wings. “Merde!” She grunts and quickly reaches up to begin removing them, but something was running up behind her and tackles her from behind. Face down and in the dirt, but one of her hands had that Sai dagger out just enough to wound the guy in the gut and he grunts.

Daermon would have laughed at her words had things not suddenly become so serious. She should know why. But then she was being attacked and repelling the man. Daermon stepped past Bren, grabbing the man and hoisting him to his feet. "Anything you want to say to the man, or ask?" he asks over his shoulder, knowing she wasn't fatally wounded from the way the bond felt. His voice was a growl, his eyes bright, glowing in the dark, his teeth were all fangs as the man began to scream and beat on the iron strong arms holding him. "You like hitting women?" the vampire asks. "I like eating pompous little men who hit women."

Brennia’s wings were hurt and she was just so tired anymore physically and emotionally that she actually pulled her legs up under herself into the fetal position and in a whisper only he can hear when he witnessed a losing battle, ‘I give up…’ she shifted the hem of her shirt up to the blue and black tattoo of a lock on her left side. Her two fingers caress over the hole of the lock and she let Raven take over. She sat upright, eyes blacked out, wings shiny and stone, but it was all due to the ink lingering around her like smoke and taking over. Their bond was covered up once more and it would nearly feel as if Brennia was dead, probably, but Raven settles strongly on two feet while sauntering around Daermon and the man. Black eyes catching the icy ones while she reaches a hand in the assailant’s pocket and pulls free a vial of serum. She heard running in the distance and the dual vocals, one sickening - one like a lullaby, sound out, “not so fast.” Three notes ring out sharply from Raven and in the distance Daermon could hear the sound of a crunching spine, but Raven shrugs with a, “whoops.”

Daermon did not like that she had given up, did not like that she had let her darkness free. But, who was he to judge when his own darkness rode on his shoulder? He held the struggling man as Raven did whatever she did to whoever was running. The sound had stopped though. "Questions there birdy? If not, let me eat him so we can be on our way. Not a good idea to let your enemies know where we are after all." he remarks almost glibly, his voice a dangerous growl.

Brennia | The Raven has no issue showing her anger towards Daermon, “I am not your birdy - you incubus!” Her voice seemed to roar, but whisper all the same, “patience. You’ll have your meal, selfish…”A cold glare moves from him to the victim at hand and she commands the assailants attention, “who do you work for?” She wasn’t wasting time and a Bardic spell of cowardice laced under her words causes the guy to whimper and wet himself, “f-f-Flewminati.” She was circling back around behind Daermon and a warm hand caressed through the back of his hair before giving a little tug, but she was back to questioning the man, “is that what this mark is?” She better be careful or he would just have a heart attack as she points to the tattoo marking of their symbol upon the inside of his forearm. All the guy could manage was a nodd, “why are you coming after Smyth or trying to frame Smyth?” When she fixated on the man once more he froze before making to spit at Raven and her anger got the better of her and Brennia. She broke his spine as well with three simple notes in turn paralyzing him, “you better kill him.” With a quickness she moved with a wild focus until she found the partner whimpering on the ground and before he could yell for help she picked him up by the collar and tossed him to Daermon’s feet, “here's dessert.” She stands there. Arms crossed and uncaring that most of her massive onyx stone wings took up the majority of the space in the small clearing outstretched like a bird ready to fight, “well… What are you waiting for?” Holding the archer by his hair while she pulls free one of those sharp onyx feathers and slowly slices the guy’s throat open, but absolutely beaming at the sight of his blood as if she were a kid on Christmas. She obviously hasn’t been released in a long while.

Daermon watched with an almost clinical detachment. He’d long made peace with the thing inside Brennia, but knew that she didn’t enjoy it, or the things it made her do. As the familiar hand touched him, tugging his hair, he growled, a noise no mortal man had ever made. When she was done, the man was brought close and drank dry, not even able to whimper properly with the broken spine. As she sliced open the other, letting the blood drain away, the glowing orbs of the vampire watched, tsking at the waste, a bit of blood dribbling from the corner of his lips. There was loud sounds of popping from the vampire as his body filled out more, the muscles tearing and writhing as his body regained its former musculature, as filled out and strong as he had been before his imposed exile. A lot of blood in a human body after all. He flexed his hand, testing it. “You done with them? Even in Vailkrin, best not to leave bodies lying around. You never know what might crawl in and make itself at home.” he asks, but, if she answered she was, he would concentrate and the bodies would melt away into the shadows, never to be seen again. He pulled out a familiar case of cigarettes and pulled one out, not having noticed the blood that had trickled down his chin, putting the cigarette in the same corner and lighting it.

Brennia | The Raven doesn't keep her eyes off Daermon and the fact he was getting stronger and stronger. “Ohhh, incubus,” she sighs out before tsk-ing her tongue at him and making her way toward the vampire. Yes, she was calling him the male version of succubus because in her option he was the one that sucked the life out of Brennia and extinguished the light, “no… This time you’re going to clean up -my- mess, but first,” she uses that feather dagger and carved the flesh tattoo from the drained man’s inner forearm to store it away. “She won’t tell you what we’ve been through, but I have no issue showing you,” she had left some ink on him when she tugged his hair before and it slithered around to his eyes - entering them painlessly and she begins to hum in order to play him the memories. The drinking, the smoking, the lack of eating, the darkness and so many nights kept at the piano. How this forced Raven to do the only thing she could in order to keep her vessel living and harmonize for once with Brennia, as her crutch. During these visions she stepped very close and looked up at the vampire to gently remove his cigarette and take a hit. Once they are over she was smirking up at him, “you bad, bad man. You should check Brennia into the Inn. Now… When she wakes up you’ve got to remind her of what we learned tonight. Deal?” She reached out and wiped the blood from his mouth before licking it off her own finger with a chuckle, but her eyes returned to blue and Brennia falls - unless she’s caught.

Daermon could have countered, could have shown his own memories of the breakup, the time away. That was the rub. They had both made mistakes, both been hurt, and thus, had both made bad choices. He’d left and she’d withered. She’d lost a year to it, he’d lost somewhere around twenty…which was nothing to an immortal. He didn’t answer though, no. Instead, he caught the woman as she limply dropped, lifting her easily, then carrying her into Vailkrin. He went to the hanging corpse. It was the nearest, safest place he knew. He paid for a room and gently deposited the avian in the bed. He removed her shoes, her coat, making her somewhat comfortable, then, stood guard at the window, watching for any suspicious people coming into the inn. He’d removed his duster, then his blood soaked shirt, cleaned up, then took his watch with a cigarette burning in his mouth while his shirt dried before the hearth. If, when, she woke, she might see his back, so heavily scarred, as before, but now there would be newer marks, fresh scars and burns and even a few clear brands, strange symbols that hurt the eyes to look at. Something had happened in his time away, just as things had happened to her.

Brennia | When he laid her down the end to her long necklace tumbled out to reveal it was keeping his ring. She slowly woke hours later, but too late to be able to fly back to Schezerade and to her surprise she woke without pain. While she had let Raven take over and those wings turned to stone it gave her a sort of reset. Still a bit dusky looking as far as complexion goes, but she looks well rested and the shine has returned to the feathers of her wings. She felt where the stitches were on that wound that opened back up a few nights back and it was pretty much healed over now along with her palm, but what really impressed her was all the scars, hives and boils from the sun were gone. The smell of smoke caught her attention and she followed it until her eyes were on Daermon’s bare back. She forced herself to look away for fear he would feel that guilty pang once more and she sat up to tuck his ring away back under her shirt. A soft short chuckle, “this room. I started to think the last two years were just a dream…” Silence followed while she secretly felt a temporary longing for that, but that’s impossible now and with what she’s been through she thoroughly understands that. “What happened? It’s gotten harder to remember what Raven does without me.”

Daermon | The vampire had stood, watching, guarding, and silently puffing away on one cigarette after another the whole time she’d slept. That was evident as the ashtray beside him held many stubbed out ends. As she woke, he felt it, knew it from the way her breathing changed to the tilt up in her heartbeat. It was always night here in Vailkrin, but day where she would need to go. He’d had a bottle of whisky delivered at some point and half a bottle and a bit in a glass was left beside him. As she spoke, he kept his watch, nodding. He told her of what had happened when she’d let Raven fly. Finally, he turned enough to look at her, which showed one pale, muscled shoulder. Upon it was something new to her, but looked old, a little faded with time. It was a black tattoo of a bird in flight, beautifully done, excellent artistry, even if it was faded with age. “You won’t be able to go home on your own. Do you want me to travel you there?” he remembered that she had not liked her trip through the shadow plane before. “If not, then at least let me get you some food, something to drink.” he says, turning back towards the window for one more check, then moving to the fireplace to pick up his now dry shirt.

Brennia remained quiet, and nodded, but relieved he was there to clean up the mess because he’s been the only one to understand how to deal with Raven. She slipped herself from the bed and looks out the other window with a sigh knowing she won’t get home unless being caught in sunlight. Brennia doesn’t rightly remember a trip through the shadow plane and only remembers the fact that they used it to get to their vacation destination… Until they weren’t anymore. He’s trying to take care of her and he might feel how she wants that, but her lips and words are stronger than that, “you can travel me back to the college.” Hesitant she neared him if he allowed it as it seems since he’s fed and got strength that he’s more withdrawn. “I think that would be best because otherwise I would have to stay here until tomorrow night and then that means you wouldn’t leave me here alone.” Her hand slowly raised up to trace that long scar that goes from his cheek to his neck before he’s able to get his shirt back on, “and that’s not a good idea.” Silence rests comfortably between them and she remembers something, “what were we talking about before we were interrupted?”

Daermon nodded, understanding her reasoning. “Yes, that would be so awful, staying here, talking all day.” he gave a ghost of a smile, and then froze as she traced the scar on his face, shirt half raised. “You shouldn’t…” he says so very softly, eyes ablaze with that otherworldly energy that drove him, breath smelling of tobacco faintly and whisky. “You were telling me that I should leave when we were interrupted.” he finally answers, so soft, like anything louder would shatter the moment.

Brennia smiled too, in his joke, because he knew that was the exact opposite of why they shouldn’t. She remained close and looked up at him as her hands retracted from the end of his scar as if his flesh was too hot. Speaking just as low, “I’m sorry.” She tries to think clearer as her wings fold tightly against her curvy frame as if she were trying to make herself as small as their voices. She was getting hints of his strength from their encounter and to keep from continuing following his scars like road maps with her fingertips she tucks hair behind her ears. She takes those glasses off finally and fumbles with them for a while and looking at the crack in them, “I shouldn’t have come to Vailkrin knowing I’m a target and that you come to my aid in an instant.” Still talking softly in a near whisper, “I feel like there was something I asked just before that though.” Stunning blue eyes travel up until they find his glacial ones while her free hand fiddles with the ring on her necklace, “is this too much hold over you?” She hopes he will say yes, take it all back and leave her there, but doesn’t at the same time.

Daermon lets out a quiet sigh, still so near, yet so far, and it was his turn to fail and brush a bit of her hair back, tucking it behind a pointed ear. He was still so hot from the man he’d drained. “You asked me why I was being so open and honest with you. I didn’t get a chance to answer. I would have thought it an obvious one…” he says, meeting her gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be open and honest with you? It might be easier to lie, but that’s not me, and it used to not be you either. Is that what you want?” he asks, gently touching her cheeks, making sure her eyes stayed on his. “Do you want me to lie? To tell you that I don’t love you still? To tell you that seeing you doesn’t hurt me? I could lie and say this tattoo isn’t for a reminder of you too. I could say yes, it’s too much hold over me, and take it all back.” his words are so soft, his hands shaking on her flesh. “Is that what you want?”

Brennia swallowed hard, lower lip trembling, trying to keep it together and tears rim her eyelids as she looks down at his collarbone trying to nod yes to all of his questions. Her brow crinkles with hurt when she looks back up at him and she shakes her head, changing her mind. In her defense she’s never said outright she doesn’t feel these things, but that she just cannot say which and a tear or two streak down over his hands. Her stomach lurches as if she’s missed a step on stairs and she forces herself to take one step back from him, or try. In order to wipe her own tears and whisper, “could you please send me to o-“ she catches herself, “my home, Daermon.” She rips her gaze away from him and hands trembling before she places them at her waist.

Daermon | The room was silent for many minutes. “You wanted to know why I was being so open and honest?” he asks, pulling his shirt on the rest of the way as he moved to collect his duster. “Because you won’t be. Because after everything, you can’t even look me in the eyes and just be honest. I don’t want you to leave your boyfriend, to renounce him and take me back. I wouldn’t make you do that. I would hope you’d know that.” he was soft, his voice almost seeming fragile. “We can’t even be in the same room and talk honestly and I think that hurts more than anything else. How will we ever be anything to each other, even friends, when you can barely look at me?” he asks, his things collected. “I’ll take you home now.” he says, opening his arms. If she remembered, she’d have to hold him to make the trip, lest he lose her in the transit through the shadow realm. He’d always been very adamant about the hard hold she’d need. “I’m sorry. It’s the only way to guarantee a safe trip. I know you don’t want to be in my arms.”

Brennia’s wings showed she was visibly upset as they seemed to wrap around herself lovingly, “I can’t…” Her voice trails off before she let out a shaky sigh to continue. “I can’t stand here before you and tell you…” One more time closing the distance between them and her hands hold the side of his face as more hot tears stream down her face, “I still love you. I still hurt so deeply to see you and not because I’m concerned about you. Because I’m still wildly drawn to you. I cannot look at you and tell you all of this because - just look at what you’re doing to me.” Watery eyes connecting with his and those dark wings curving around him too, “this cannot be said without me wanting what I cannot have.” It looks like she was leaning up in attempts for a lip kiss, but it took everything she had to pull her wings behind her and lower her hands when her forehead fell to his shoulder instead. “I’m ready to go,” was barely whispered while her arms link around him.

Daermon held her for a moment, tender as he’d ever been. “Bren…my birdy. You’ll always be mine on some level, always. I’m still draw to you, too. You know it.” his words were soft, only for her ear. “But we are both strong enough to not act on it. If you want me in your life, you must bear the pain as I do. We ruined this, together. Together, we could cobble something working together. If you don’t think so, then I’ll stay away. But you must decide that course. You are the one with everything to lose…” he says, and his love, his worry, his everything could be felt in that most vulnerable moment. “Hold tight to me.” he whispers and closed his eyes. The shadows seemed to bubble and stretch until it enveloped them. The trip was short, but so very cold, one moment, warm, the next, well below zero and the moment after back to warm as they formed in the basement of the college. One second of freezing, of voices that seemed to cry and moan, and they were in her basement. Daer had picked somewhere he’d hoped would be empty, no one to see them as he opened his eyes and took in the space.

Brennia did as requested a little too willingly and only kept her face buried in his neck, not because of fear, but she was still pretty raw emotionally. Once she was in her home she stumbled into a raw marble wall and wiped her face. She felt so weak, she said all that because she was weak and she let Raven out because she’s weak now. This angers her and hurts her all the same time as she barely rasps out in a whisper, “thank you.” She sniffles and attempts to step around him so she could briskly walk, nearly run, away.

Daermon died a little inside every time she cried. When she pulled away, wiping her tears, feeling so weak, it nearly crushed him. It dawned on him that this was his fault. He’d helped bring her to this. They shared things equally, but gods did it hurt, just as it hurt her to think of what he’d gone through. His eyes steeled as she went to brush past, to run, to flee, but his hand was faster, closing on hers, holding, and keeping her at arm’s length. The strength was just shy of being painful, but he held her looking at her. So many thoughts whirred through his mind in the moments between the beats of a heart. His hand dwarfed hers as he pulled at her. If she came, he would pull her to him, arms wrapping around, if she resisted and pulled away, he’d let her go.

Brennia resisted his pulling half heartedly while a frown turns those plump lips down and she was whispering, “don’t. You shouldn’t…” She ultimately gave in and found herself pulled back to him and took in the scent of old leather. Her arms found themselves around his shoulders, but she dared not look up at him and opted to keep her forehead on his collar. “I’ve been fighting for my life this past month. Forgive me for being so weak.” He probably remembered her as a decent sparring partner, but she’s been too busy to keep up her training. “What was that bird tattoo?” She asked - still so quiet as if it would hurt to talk louder.

Daermon held her gently, like she might break, merely holding her against him, her soft form against his hard. “No…I shouldn’t.” he agrees softly. “I would forgive you for anything. But you must learn to forgive yourself. You always did struggle with that.” he admits with a small, private smile. His hand brushed along her wing, the feel so familiar, so necessary under his fingers. “It was a memorial to you. The only ink I’ve ever had. I got it on a world like ours, but not quite after I left. It’s a little faded with age obviously.” he says, pulling back enough to shrug his duster off, the shirt following suit for her to better see it. Even faded it was clearly something that a master did. “As I said…time moved differently in those other lands. They didn’t have magic ink there. So my body has slowly been purging the ink for twenty years or so.” he says, smiling sadly. “I don’t know what compelled me to get it. We had spilt, I was drunk, miserable, lost in a different place and I saw the shop. The man who did it was amazing. His work had such life to it. I saw the bird…it reminded me of you, so I got it.”

Brennia’s wing so sensitive and responded to his touch as if it were thirsty for his attention. She wiped her eyes, but when she looked upon the tattoo her cheeks darkened and she smiled. When she reached up to touch it she saw the ink swirl on her arm, “no,” she whispers with hesitation, but then her fingers went numb and then her elbow did too as it bent to caress over the tattoo. Some ink left her skin and sunk in, bringing it life once more and the birdie gives a few blinks before fluttering its wings on his arm, but stopping soon and returning to a renewed brilliance. Brennia was confused as to why Raven would do this, was it for herself or for Brennia? Was this some sort of acceptance? Being so shocked she looked up at Daermon, but now she definitely tried to practically run away from him because what.in.the.actual.F!?

Daermon | The elder vampire was so shocked by the way her ink acted, he actually didn’t stop her this time. All he could do was watch her flee. He sighed softly, shaking his head as he turned and pulled his shirt back on, then slipped into his duster. He pressed his will against the bond, a soft whisper into her panicked mind. ‘Good night Bren.’ he whispers, the feel of her wing, how she’d responded to his touch fresh in his mind as he closed his eyes and left the college by way of shadows. He didn’t have anywhere to stay, so he’d been camping in the woods near where she’d been in Vailkrin. It was close to Larewen’s sacrifice and he was studying it to help the other elder. She’d feel the sudden distance in the bond as he travelled away, but the more time they were spending, the more the bond was reopening. He’d told her once before, the bond would be permanent barring death. Like a path through the jungle, it could grow over, but never could it fully vanish.