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@windchaser trails after: it is not the first time he has noticed talon sneaking off to god-knows-where and he had been discontent to remain so restless and oblivious . not when he had also noticed their wound . standing over the lip of the nature-dug grave , he looks like a ghost , limned by the light of the night sky and face obscured in shadow . his hat , tremulous in the night breeze , only makes it harder to discern his expression . he moves like a ghost , too — presence only given away as he shifts his feet to get a better look at their side , glistening with blood , a pang of guilt shooting through him as grains of disturbed earth fall into the hole and over the demon curled up like a pill bug in it . they stir , and with little else to do , he speaks , ' … do all demons like sleepin' in holes — or is that just you ? ' there is more of an edge to his voice than he has intended , and his jaw tightens as he wonders briefly if his voice is normally like that , and that it is only now — when there is little else to hear but the chirruping of crickets and the sound of talon's quiet , haggard breaths rising up from the hole — that he is forced to be so acutely aware of a thing he doesn't want to be . he tries again : ' … you're hurt . '

It was a damn pain dealing with the agony of the flesh, all liquid mess and loss of strength. Wincing through the rest of the falling daylight after the entourage's little scuffle was the easiest part. If their blasted curse hadn't eaten away at so much of their shadow, Talon would've stopped bleeding by now. Would've if it was five years ago. Could of had the wound sealed up a decade back. But more importantly, they wouldn't have roughhoused with such a menacing creature to begin with if it weren't for the spontaneous witch and the righteous, haunted gunslinger. It was a lot to preoccupy their mind with while limping through the waning twilight, something to chew on as they barely scanned the cliffs overheard before slithering into the crevice. It's only once their head lands on that dusty floor do they let lips pull back and hiss in pain, curling ever more around themself at the sharp sting.

The suffering either relented or knocked them out cold at a point, because Talon starts at the sound of something more powerful than the breeze above their pit. Blinking back the crust of sleep only to be met with a light dirt shower, claws push them back into the dark corner, and blades cloak their wound before they realise who had disturbed them. The knife held close to their chest remains, but it's purpose is far more a comfort than a threat. They wonder if Yone greets them now with the same look all monsters who meet his weapons are given. The sickly brightness of their affliction fights for the ridges of their sharp features against the brimstone glow. His question garners their troubled lips to grow into a forced smile, cursing internally that they didn't shake him in their stupor over. What, did he have nothing better to do than bother them tonight? "… Just about anywhere snakes will curl up contently. You should ask another's preference before guttin' em."

It would be polite to crawl back out and speak to him there on equal footing. But frankly, Talon didn't owe him the pleasantry. The fresh scabbing would tear with the climb anyway. They knew well what being down here meant, it wasn't the first time they had sought refuge in the hold of the ground. A vulnerable demon was easy pickings for a hunter. And it isn't joy at looking up at the ginslinger that curls lips back and reveals bared teeth. Their hat had been abandoned closer to the opening side, likely when they had fallen in. It leaves hair slick with sweat and plastered across their face, and the eyes beneath the strands, in plain view. Trying desperately to calculate the gunslingers mood and next action. His remark on the obvious leaves them with more questions. "Not surprised you sniffed me out." Brimstone claws clutch at the wound, ichor ripped from flesh and staining both feathers and vest. Such a pain to clean up.

Their back meets the shadowed cliffside, and for a time they only let out hisses of pain. His initial promise reverbs in the back of their mind. The blades of their lashers cannot hold their position any longer, hearing the call of gravity until they rest in the dirt around unsteady boots. To stop from falling over, the hand holding their knife catches the rest of Talon's weight. "If you want to finish the job, you can meet me down here. Otherwise I'm crawlin' back out when I'm good and ready." Only after their grumbling does their vision fall on the holster by his statuesque side, and they remember it's purpose. It wasn't the odds against his draw to their throw that gives them pause; both their aims could hit their mark. It was the fact that one of them could walk away from the fatal hit.

A dry chuckle is all Talon can summon before their weight shifts; the hand holding their side takes on their weight as their weapon is raised, rotating in their grip. They wanted nothing more than to shrink back into the shallow cavern, folding each limb in and wrapping every appendage round tight. Hopefully till they could climb back out.

But such a luxury like rest had always been out of reach for a thing like them.

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no biting

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🗡 will write more between studying and art tomorrow but if you intend to interact with my talon please be sure to read my pages first! they can all be found linked in the header and they contain information important for interactions like talon's pronouns, thanks!

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“But desolation tended to follow in his wake.”

— Tanith Lee, from Delusion’s Master

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The small bag of sweets are placed down on his desk like proof of a committed crime, though noticeably lighter than it was when received. Talon allows this to be their announcement of arrival into his office, though it would have been impossible for them to sneak in... It seems that the assassin had finally caught the Grand General in a time when he was free for visitors. And that would be their excuse as to why these little gifts had been accepted for so long.

"Why are you giving these to me?" To the point, but more quizzical than accusing.

    A THICK STACK OF YELLOWED PAPER obsured them from his sight, at first; lists of names & dates in numbers many of their world’s languages would lack the word for. He had been meticulously tracing each one with the tip of a claw protruding from gloved fingertips, as if to mentally cross them out ( or perhaps, to maintain his focus before such a bulky wall of text ) Therefore, when his gaze lifted from the papers, it was with considerable frustration. But furrowed brows loosened upon note of the intruder’s face and his expression held a softer note when traversing over the pouch that now sat on top of his work. A thin layer of dust sat on every surface of the room except that portion of the desk where documents lay.

   Their accusatory tone was promptly dismissed. Or, rather, Jericho turned his attention to the bag without addressing the insinuations that were left hanging between them - Talon’s suspicion & the complaint behind it. Clawed digits reached for the bag, emptying its contents on the desk. Bits of caramelized fruit, chocolate covered raisins & a type of colorful candy they said was made from pure sugar. All of it seemed rather flamboyant to Jericho. It was not to his taste, nor particularly nutritional. The premise of ‘candy-making’ was still rather new within the Empire’s borders, a foreign trade appropriated but the merchants in Prime as a means to milk the remaining rich of the capital. He could recall how many times some pompous aristocrat walked into his office to bribe him with a box of sweets & chatter his ear off. Well, at least someone was appreciating them.

 ❝ I see you have been enjoying them. Good. ❞ He commented with a smile, but it felt icy - as his glare was still inspecting a candy bead he’d held up in the light. Its gleam stole the raven’s attention, waking it from its perch across the room. It bobbed its head curiously. ❝ I purchased them from a new store down in the market district. They sell, and I quote, ‘delicacies’. ❞ Contempt hid under a sardonic chuckle. ❝ Back in my day, white bread was a delicacy. ❞ The piece held between his fingers was then put aside, apart from the others. Not long after, there was movement from the bird to draw closer. The General’s gaze turned to Talon now, frame leaning back, upright on his seat. 

 ❝ But it is always good to support a local business. Please, have a seat. ❞ His palm gestured to the ones available, ruffling the smooth texture of his dark cloak - and for a moment, a glimpse of something bright beneath it could trick the eye. In his office, apart from the scent of burnt out candles & freshly printed paper, there was also a peculiar aura; as if the room was cluttered yet vacant all at once. As if the walls had eyes. Jericho seemed nonchalant, if not a little mischievious, however. ❝ Fidel. Since you cannot guard the door, do me the kindness and close it. ❞

  His guard nodded, trepidation visible even under his helmet. He quivered a 'yes sir' before scurrying over.

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rell vc do you actually need to eat or do you just like to

Vile acid sizzles beneath the critter's carapace as it comes in contact with a blade more heat than steel. The odour is acetic enough to burn nostril hairs, and whatever isn't vaporised drips, held far out of range and bores into the dirt below. The vermin could be found just about everywhere nowadays. Showing up in hordes as the food chain hierarchy shortened year by year. These days it was easy enough to simply sit around and wait for one to come crawling a little too close… The trick was to avoid getting splashed with their explosive death rattle. And bypassing it completely left more to chew on.

Cooking from within with the blade stuck in it, Talon sat around their meal defensively, lips parting to fight back the salivating as they waited. When it was time, cruel claws dig into the weak spots between segments until the exoskeleton broke free, clean or shattered, they cared little. The head is removed from the thorax first, and with hands preoccupied, they dig fervently into the meat found within, teeth first. When the majority of the body's insides had been licked clean, the head was next. Chewing on the tongue and spitting out tomina, Talon ponders both the collection of eyes and the mantle of horns, wondering which they should go for next.

They notice the witch's approach, slowing their feasting and instinctively guarding their meal by curling inward. They usually tried to eat when she was asleep, or preoccupied with the gunslinger teaching her another trick. Or if nothing else, further away. Talon had never shared a meal, with another. Something primeval warning them of what the scarcity of food does to the desperate. This had been the closest to eating in the camp they had done, just out of the firelight. Suffice enough to be left alone but silently reassuring that they weren't going anywhere. Unless one of their companions needed their attention. And recently, it seemed a necessity every evening to bother them with a question or a task.

Alight in the darkness, Talon's sight is fixed on Rell and her question. If they focused, they could feel another gaze searing into them. Could have looked back at him with the slightest turn of their head. Clearing their mouth with an ample gulp, any juices not yet licked clean are wiped away onto feathers. There is an unfriendliness in their tone not used toward her before. "... Do you enjoy eating? Or do you ingest to see another day because it's what your functions require?" Blades slither through the sand around their seating, agitated by the disturbance. Their food was getting cold. Once certain she wouldn't physically disturb their meal, Talon's attention returns to the severed parts held in each hand, contemplating their next mouthful.

"Find out yourself if you can starve a demon." Crunching down on an appendage with multiple rows of teeth, their cursed shoulders turn away from her to make clear the conversation was over.

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You are a better knife than you are a person.

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enjoy the sidelines, talon. someone has to fill them.

"You're so driven to drag every teaching of his through the mud." His words are clear in their mind. Repeated as a mantra to their work. Their way of life. The greatest assassins do not seek out glory. Have no need for recognition. The shadows are a protective veil, always holding an unknown danger, and a tight leash. How infuriating it was to watch on as she seemed intent on marring every lesson they had both been honed with. And continue to avoid comeuppance.

"At least consider the spotlight for what it truly is; a target."

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🗡 deleted a post i didnt mean to from my drafts but i cant remember what it was so we press on 🫡

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"A map will suffice." More than so, and the company of the bounty hunter wasn't expected. A glance to the side gives away the wonder if the asking price will be an exorbitant; but she seemed a reasonable woman, all things considered. Their scar had stopped bleeding now, too.

"Were there any other dangers, besides the traps and the large... moving statue?" Although their eyes narrow, it is out of worry for how many more dangers this buried grave could hold than a lack of belief. So many strange things get buried away, and most should stay there.

The only reason the Battle Mistress herself didn't fight then to the death, was to get some information on the woman that killed her. She needed to be ready for a possible comeback. If she did, why couldn't the other woman?

It didn't matter to Sivir that they wanted to save their sibling, nor did she have any interest in helping. Naturally, the question annoyed her to some extent. "I can sell you a map, but that's it. I don't intend to go back to that place ever again."

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@weldfists continued from here 🗡

Talon isn't the kind of person to approach anyone out of their way, let alone in a gym. It was partly why they searched for the time they would be the most isolated in the gym, so little, unnecessary interactions could be avoided. It was fine when he entered, their alone time was disrupted, but with minding his own business it meant they were left otherwise undisturbed. Despite the setting being his natural habitat, the sighting of a brick wall of a man in the flesh wasn't something that happened every day.

So it's almost comedic when simply approaching him causes a visible jump of surprise. Doing him a service, however, Talon's reaction only involves their brows raising, which are quick to settle back into their default furrow. Curious eyes scan over the other exerciser, pausing as they stare above his eyeline and watch an earbud be removed. Features twinge upon realising that this conversation was going to become drawn out. Not just from having to repeat themself; Talon quickly remembers that most people enjoy something called 'chatting'. After shifting their weight and taking a breath in preparation, they try once again. "Just, wondering if I can borrow a phone charger. If you have one."

From holding the corners of their pant pockets, a hand rises to their hairline, combing drenched strands back and beneath their hood. The dead phone in their other hand is glanced down to before their attention returns. Head tilting into the headphones now uselessly resting around their neck in agreement. "Focus is important."

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Affection Language

a knife called grief

You have left your house, you have left those people behind, but what are you going to do about the memories which have taken root in you? You can run but not without them. You want someone to sit with you on this cool marble floor while the sun burns everything. You want them to cut your rotten heart and theirs too. You want to sit with it in front of you, let them see you with all your flaws, which haven’t been your fault but you have been made to believe so, and you want them to love you anyways. Because you know you’d do that for them.

tagged by: @nameaprice feel free to fill out too

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With heavy lids finally closed, the assassin's head hits the desk with a solid thud, scribbled maps and stolen documents scattering at the impact. The final parchment of notes they had been studying was still held limply between fingers, unkempt locks now nesting between their arms. Exhaustion had finally caught up to them.

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"The empire spreads like an infestation."

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#𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅. private   ,   independent   ,   mutuals   only dual muse blog for   𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒂 ft. 𝒎𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒂 . of riot’s  𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄. warbound   by   Nöemi . arcane compliant   with   some   headcannon   based   elements. medium   to   low   activity. ( 30+, she / her )

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🗡 before i start writing a thing does anyone have requests on how i tag gross descriptions of food/eating or eating bugs?