faderift | MOD EVENT ↠ IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE

"No," she spits, shaking her head violently. One hand becomes a fist, the claws lighting the darkness again--but it isn't pointed at Tessa. It's demonstrative, Laura glaring down at it. Mages do these things, and then bearing them becomes its own sort of mission.

The claws disappear again, Laura peering at Tessa's shadow-darkened face. "Are you?"

There's a right answer to that one, and it has nothing to do with anyone's innate abilities.

She shakes her head too, but slowly.

"Wouldn't be here if I was." Which brings a question to her mind: why doesn't this girl just kill them? Athessa opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of approaching footsteps stops her. Heeled shoes. The rustle of fabric. The clatter of jewelry.

She scrubs the tears from her cheeks as best she can, then springs to her feet just as the door opens, putting herself between it and Laura.

"And what are you doing out here, rabbit?" The woman, a faceless silhouette, breathes out a cloud of tobacco. "You can't lure custom if they don't see you."

Athessa, hands behind her back as if chastened, but fists clenched, looks at the floor between herself and the Madame.

"I...I needed air."

"What you need is to get back in there and do as I say. Now."

The silhouette disappears back into the building, and Athessa affords only a fleeting glance towards Laura before she too disappears.

Killing people is simple: stab, slice, choke, smother. Killing the ones who know everything and do everything and control everything--that is harder. She did that once, and she escaped, but since then, she has seen hangings. In the city, she has been told, people can be found. Bodies will keep coming for her long after she drops from exhaustion. And the only change that will come will make her regret thinking she wasn't fortunate where she was.

Tessa's madam doesn't seem to notice Laura, trying to make herself as small and unseeable as possible. But she does see Tessa, and that is all that actually matters.

Before she knows what's happening, she's inside, too, and the house's owner is drawing her away into another room, saying something about the things she does so well--and she does not recall how she ends up in a corridor after, pulling her gauntlets back up her thin forearms, but she is there, and Tessa is, too. Laura grabs at her shoulder in precisely the way she hates others doing to her, at the soft pale fabric there, and whispers, "Wait."

For what, she's not sure--but she has only had one friend before now, and Kiden is gone, back to the family that loved her. Tessa will disappear, too, if she isn't careful.

The grab startles her, but as soon as she sees whose hand it is, she overcorrects from fear to relief and throws her arms around the other girl. She doesn't know why she does it; she doesn't know her, but she is compelled all the same.

"Laura," she gasps, giving her a squeeze and then stepping back to look at her face. "Laura, we have to get out of here." The urgency in her voice speaks to what happens if they stay, to what Tessa doesn't want to endure again, and for whatever reason, she doesn't want Laura to endure it either.

She goes rigid upon being hugged, not entirely sure why it's happening--it never has before, not like this. The closest she can remember is listening to her mother reading to her, of war manuals and a single fairy tale, and being prodded to sit up, out of reach, when she attempted to lean in against her warmth.

No, Kiden had hugged her once, before she left. She'd promised to come back, that they would go away someplace else, find a way to leave without putting the rest of the Nixons at risk. But she had left.

"How?" The thought of it is impossible. There are dozens of people in this house, hundreds more in the houses and streets outside it, and her procurer knows enough of them to make hiding difficult. However much Laura wants to say yes, now, let's--, she knows it isn't actually an option.

She hasn't thought about how, just that it has to happen. They must escape. Just as her heart wants to leap from her chest, she wants to break free.

"The balcony," she says suddenly, desperate for it to be a viable option. "We can climb up to the roof, and..."

And then what? She has nothing, even if they manage to get away, they're both too distinct to go unnoticed for long.

"Deepstalker will find us." But there's doubt in her voice. She wants to believe Tessa, who looks like she wants it to be true nearly as much. If there is a way--climb up to the roof, run away across houses--she wants it. "Or your--"

Madam. She knows the word, but she doesn't want to say it. Laura glances back toward the room she left, and then away down the corridor toward the great room still bursting with sound and light and people.

Her teeth clamp down around a strangled sob, and she covers her mouth to hold it in. Laura's right. Two against a whole city that wants to keep them shackled, heeled to whoever can pay. Even if they get away, they'd be followed. They'd be hunted. The only way they can stop that from happening...

Tessa finds Laura's eyes again, expression hardening as the idea forms.

"We'll...We'll kill them," quiet, barely audible even to herself but they can't be overheard. "We don't have to kill all of them, just the ones who own us. We'll get rid of them, and then we can go far away, where nobody can hurt us anymore." It's a plan. It's a plea. It's the only way.

Laura fails to recognize the look on Tessa's face--but only for a moment. She can smell what it is, she thinks, the agony of fear and sorrow and sex all turned around inside each other. And she doesn't like it in her; it seems wrong in some way she cannot place, Tessa covering her mouth to keep from screaming.

"They will hang us." Or cut off their heads or feed them poison or boil them alive or allow dogs to attack them or make mages send demons into their minds--they will do something, and she and Tessa will be dead. But--

But Tessa can't leave the streets, not the way Kiden did. If she could, she would already have gone home to her family. Laura doesn't know enough about elves to guess why Tessa has ended up here, but she learned just enough to realize there's likely as little for her, out in the world, as there is for Laura herself.

"I will kill them," she says. This way, Tessa will not have to. They will not try to hurt her, if the rest of Cumberland comes for a murderess.

"I'll lure them outside," she offers, after a moment of deliberation. She isn't a stranger to violence, but she's small and easily overpowered. Useless without a weapon. But she can be bait.

The idea of pretending to be willing, pretending to be interested in any of the men here turns her stomach, but she'll do what she has to. Perhaps this one won't want willing, anyway. She won't have to pretend in that case. She can go to him, vulnerable and scared, plead for mercy and protection, the perfect victim for him to take advantage of. And then they'll have him.

"What does Deepstalker look like? I can get him alone, Kändler will follow. We can be gone before anyone knows they're dead."

"The balcony." They can't do this on the street. But--overlooking a courtyard, they can climb down, then over the wall again, and away. If Tessa struggles, Laura will help her, and then she will give Tessa the all-important objective of deciding where they will go. Kirkwall is to the east and Nevarra City to the north, and everything else about the world outside Cumberland, save the estate she came from, is a mystery. Tessa will have to know the correct locations to venture towards. "One at a time."

These are the plans she knows how to make. One and then the other, quickly and so quietly that they do not have time to scream. She gives another glance back to the room she came from, but he must still be bandaging himself. They have enough time for a description of Deepstalker. "He is tall. And--too much hair. Brown. A purple coat."

Laura, having decided they've talked enough to commit to this plan--and frankly, more than she's said all at once in weeks--walks away without preamble. It will only work if she is already on the balcony, waiting.

Edited 2019-11-28 23:56 (UTC)

She's on the balcony, her lower back pressed against the railing. Her plan worked, and she hates it. She hates him for everything he is and what he's doing, can't hear what he's saying but she knows it's nothing good. Deepstalker. He makes her feel like prey, and he's towering over her, cornered her against the railing before the door even closed behind him.

His body is too close, his hand on her throat but not applying pressure, not yet. She knows this game well. It's there to remind her that she's helpless against him. Bastard. Her heart is pounding, breaths coming in shallow gasps, body trembling, and through her fear, she thinks she can hear what he's saying. Scared, little rabbit? Is that the reason they call you rabbits? Or...you know what else rabbits are known for, don't you?

And for a split second, she wonders if Laura is even here. What if she's not? If she's just cornered herself alone with this monster. Open the lion's maw and place your head within.

Laura is there, waiting in the shadows for the opportunity they have planned. The mission is simple: wait for the door to close, then kill him.

But when Tessa comes out there with him, Laura feels something in her stutter. Her breath snags on something in her chest, seeing him loom over someone else. It's seeing herself, but from afar, knowing what's about to happen, nearly feeling his breath on her own skin. She's the reflection in a mirror, dark to Tessa's light, muscles bunching up inside her skin like she's been running for hours.

You cannot fail your objective. If she does, she will have betrayed Tessa's trust--and she'll have to see the results of it, remember every moment of every time it's been her trapped within someone else's grasp. This mission must be completed, or--

She is a third person as she takes a silent step toward him, feeling herself move and feeling certain she isn't doing it. Three people in this plot--Tessa, Laura, and whatever moves Laura's body--and only now does she realize she didn't account for Deepstalker's height, in coming up with a plan. They must do this in a way that will not make noise, and he is too tall for throat-slitting. He'd feel her touch long before her claws cut out his windpipe.

Lungs. His lungs are within reach, if she is lucky about stabbing him. This always relied on luck--she just didn't realize it. Laura waits until she's directly behind him, no longer daring to breathe, to bring out both fists' worth of claws, and then she's stabbing into his back. Four punctures at a time, slicing through muscle and bone, in until her knuckles hit the smooth fabric of his coat, then out again, and in.

It is messy. She doesn't notice.

She could collapse with relief, knowing that her trust was well-founded, but panic keeps her upright, extends her arms and forces her hands over Deepstalker's mouth to keep him quiet. If the next person through that door isn't Madame Kändler, they're fucked.

Blood runs out of Deepstalker's mouth as it opens behind Tessa's hands in a silent scream. It seeps between her fingers and down her arms in little rivulets, and when even more blood splatters out of the puncture wounds made by Laura's claws, it's all Tessa can do to restrain her reaction to a flinch as the droplets strike her.

"Laura," she hisses when she finds her voice. They won't have time to move the body, there are already footsteps on the other side of the door and they're speeding up and the clack clack clack of that jewelry is almost loud enough to drown out the sound of Tessa's own blood pumping in her ears. "Laura!"

She doesn't hear her name the first time it's whispered. The second time, Laura blinks, claws going away as she stares at the mess of her procurer's back. It's too dark to see what shade his coat's turned, but the smooth fabric has shredded, and everything feels damp.

The last time this happened, there had been a reason. Reis had made bombs that did this to her--worse than this, because when she thinks, in the fraction of a breath after Tessa calls her name, she can remember stabbing Deepstalker--but this had been her. Fear and panic and two years' worth of swallowed anger became pulp on her knuckles.

She would like to vomit. She would like to make the blood on her skin her own, not his. But they have limited time, and Deepstalker's body is still hefted on Tessa's. Laura puts her arms around him, for what she hopes is the last time, and pulls him away from the railing of the balcony, struggling backwards as the still-warm bulk of flesh rests back against her torso. She can feel his blood oozing through her bodice, along the bare skin of her neck, her hair sticking to his wet shoulder--

And the door opens. Laura drops the corpse on her boots, claws flashing out as she turns to find the woman who'd harangued Tessa earlier. The madam doesn't scream or run or turn for assistance, though; after a surprised moment, she takes a step forward, shutting the door behind her, and asks Tessa, "What have we here?"

It takes her too long to respond. She's staring down at the body, bloody fingers gripping the railing behind her tightly as if she can't trust her legs to hold her up. The Madame snaps her fingers.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, girl," It's a warning spoken far too calmly for someone who hasn't seen this kind of carnage before. Tessa's attention snaps-to; and Kändler takes a step closer. "Tsk tsk tsk, you've ruined that beautiful dress I so graciously bought for you. What-ever were you thinking?"

"I...h-he--" Tessa blinks rapidly, trying to clear her vision. Between the blood on her face and the fat tears welling in her eyes, the world has gone blurry.

"It looks to me like you've gone and murdered a very well-known member of society," the Madame doesn't wait for Tessa to try and struggle through an excuse. "And you've landed youself in even further debt to me in the process. My generosity is not boundless. Why don't you try telling me why I shouldn't just turn you in, hm? Your little friend may be the knife, but you're the hand wielding it, are you not?" Another step closer. One more and she'll be close enough for Tessa to grab her, silence her while Laura lands the killing blow.

Tessa looks down at the balcony beneath her feet and mumbles something under her breath. She's told to repeat herself, an order with which she doesn't comply. Losing her patience, the Madame steps closer and grabs Tessa's face with her bony, claw-like hand.

"I told you to look at me--" Her face twists in anger and confusion as she sees the intensity of Tessa's stare, but it's too late for the old woman to react. Bloody hands wrap around her neck in a lunge that topples her over backwards, Tessa on top of her. The elf is not strong; she can't squeeze hard enough to kill Kändler herself, especially not while her hands are shaking so. But it keeps the Madame from making any noise beyond the soft whumpf of so many yards of skirt hitting the floor.

"You...can't touch us," Athessa whispers, trying her best to keep the struggling old woman pinned.

Laura's objective is to hide Deepstalker's body, or at least make sure it is not the first visible thing when the balcony door is opened. But her other objective is to ensure Tessa is not harmed by her madam (and a third, she must not draw attention to us), and that seems more important. Tessa looks as if this is her first corpse; she looks lost, like she was never meant to be in this house in the first place.

And if that is the case, if she is not meant for death and dying and other people's hands, Laura will keep her safe.

She is already coming closer when the madam closes her hand around Tessa's chin, edging back toward the door in hopes that she might be able to stab her from behind again--more carefully, for fear the claws might go all the way through her and catch Tessa, too. But she dives when Tessa does, falling into a crouch at the woman's head, looking down at her through blood-matted hair.

The madam's mouth is moving, but if she's forming words rather than gasps for air, Laura doesn't know what they are. She wouldn't care, even if she did. Forcing her hand over the madam's mouth, pressing it down flat and hard enough that it's hard to bite or move her head, she murmurs, "Move your hands."

Her claws are shining above the fingers of her other hand. This will be the quickest way.

She does as she's told, for once, and shifts to grab the Madame's wrists and still their desperate clawing motions.

This is it. This is it. We're almost free. Tessa bites her lip, but doesn't look away. She's going to watch this crone get what's coming to her.

The woman struggles harder when Tessa's hands come away from her neck, enough so that Laura is tempted to break her neck instead. But her claws are already out, and she's already slicing two deep lines into her throat. This is rote, simple and painfully familiar--but in a distant way, the first throat she's slashed in years.

It takes little time for her to bleed out. Laura chooses to watch Tessa instead of the madam, judging by feel when it's safe to pull her hand away from the dying mouth.

Kändler's struggling stops before her heart does. A moment that Tessa watches happen, confirmed by the weakening pulse in the woman's wrists. It's only after there's no doubt that she's dead that Tessa looks up at Laura, meeting her gaze.

They did it. They really did it! Sure, they're on their own now, but better that than property, right? Tessa smiles through the shock in abject wonder, and then the door to the balcony crashes open and everything goes black.

-

Athessa jolts awake, hair clinging to her sweat-dappled skin. She's on the floor of the group quarters, blanket and sheet tangled around her legs. It doesn't look like she woke anyone up when she fell, a mercy for which she breathes a sigh of relief. Just a dream. Just a fucked up, shitty dream.

She realizes she's awake when her fists hit wood, a piece splintering into her knuckle. It takes a moment to reorient herself: all six claws gouging the door to her room, no one attacking, only Laura herself kept off the ground by the thickness of the wood she leapt at. Without much care, she makes the claws disappear, dropping back to the stone floor, and feels over her front, just in case.

Nothing. Deepstalker did not die that way. She cannot wear his blood when she killed him months ago. It is a dream, the kind she has heard people talk about lately: someone wanders in and sees things, things they recall after. Something in the Fade is broken, someone said. Which means--she freezes.

Laura hurries back to her bedside table and grabs her crystal, pacing around and around in the small space, and sends a message to Athessa. Her voice is still sleep-thickened, rumbling like a growl. "Do not tell anyone."

Athessa's crystal had been hanging from the corner of her bunk, and when she fell, it fell too. Without looking away from the middle-distance (a.k.a. the ceiling), she reaches over and grabs it.

"Right back at ya, kiddo," She scrubs a hand over her face and leaves it covering her eyes. "But it's--that's not how it happened anyway so..."

"I know." There is too much inside her suddenly, lightning moving through her flesh, but if she leaves her room, she might be overheard. The temptation to climb up to the top of the Gallows and breathe in the cold winds blowing off the sea must be resisted.

Instead, she circles her room, hardly noticing anything except the feel of walking. And she waits for Athessa to say something else, if she will; her own thoughts are trapped someplace between her mind and her mouth, refusing to come free in a way that does not hurt.

"It's not really anything I want to talk about, anyway, but--" Finally picking herself up off the floor, Athessa pauses to kick free of the covers and dig through her pack for elfroot and papers. "You don't have to tell me about what happened to you if you."

She hopes it comes across nicer than she thinks it sounds. Laura can talk to her, of course she can. After that ordeal...Athessa's probably one of the few people in Riftwatch who'd understand. Really understand. But she can also not talk to her, and Athessa won't hold it against her.

Laura does not know what to expect, in this hazy middle-of-the-night conversation; she is still working the sliver out of her skin, still trying to remember how to be awake and listen and speak. She might be asked questions. She might be shouted at. Everything is possible, and all of it raises her hackles.

Being told she does not have to say anything, however, is a surprise. Laura keeps walking, keeps digging at the wood in her hand--fingernails here, not claws--and squints down at the crystal, as if that might make everything clear.

She does, she knows, have to say something. The only communication they have is sound. Her voice is that selfsame snarl, more breath coming into it this time. She is breathing faster than before, walking around and around, and she does not know why. "I killed him. Not like that."

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