#🞮 — if i could i'd trade my heart for a second brain. ❜ ( edgar. )

[theateared]

@poisonseer-rajaa​

  “ Pure and unbending respect for Mother’s children.” The herbalist bent down to carefully snip a flowerhead with a pair of short scissors.  “ That, and perhaps some mead, from time to time.”

                                                         _____   【 🞮 】   _____

     He stared, wide grin unflinching as he clicked his tongue loudly.  It almost seemed as if he was going to call out a baffled ‘okay!’ and turn tail, though all he did was bend at the waist slightly to get a better look at what he was doing.

     ❝ Very... simple fellow, hm?  I can respect that. ❞   Very  weird  too.   But there must be something more to you.    ❝ Though I was more expecting a book title or something.  C’mon, snips.  Throw me a bone here. ❞

[theateared]

     It had been quite a while since he’d performed such a gesture--  millenniums in fact--  but he still had a good grasp of flowers.  After decades spent trapped in a cycle of buying women he wound up despising bouquets, he knew more than his fair share about flower arrangements.

     I don’t care about them at all, much like most animals, but I know what  looks  good.

     Grace was worth the effort.  He was far past the point of trying to convince himself that she wasn’t.  Even so, as long as the plants appeared elegant and well-chosen, he wasn’t fussed.  It wasn’t as if she would know the difference so long as he didn’t hand her something overtly poisonous.

     ❝ Good afternoon! ❞   he announced as he stepped into the shop, full of arcane energy.  While he wasn’t paying attention, HABIT streaked along the far wall, drawn to something that he himself hadn’t yet seen.   ❝ You sell bouquets, yes?  I’m in the market for something a little...  special. ❞   /   @castavvain​

[theateared]

     ❝ Honestly,  the  irony  is  priceless.❞     /    @poisonseer-rajaa​  ♡’d

[theateared]

     ❝ I just can’t wait t’die. ❞

     Glance.   ❝ Me neither. ❞

[theateared]

     ❝ He may come across as big and intimidating, but there is nobody bigger and      more intimidating in this district than me, and I am on your side. ❞

     Despite his eerie disposition, Edgar had a way of making children feel at ease.  It hadn’t been easy to talk her into discussing her situation with those in power, but he’d eventually convinced her to at least consider it.  When she’d told him that morning that she wanted to give talking to the Sheriff a try, he’d been all too happy to set Moxie in charge of the tavern and take her down to the station.

     He was all too familiar with it, greeting officers merrily despite the fact that he was given a wide berth any which way he wandered.  Eventually, he approached Kuro’s office, knocking  once  before pushing the door open without invitation.

     I do not wait for permission.  I do not require it.  I am not a vampire.

     ❝ Delivery! ❞   he cooed, watching with delight as the man  glared  at him.  Kuro’s intense hatred for him only amused him.  There was little he garnered more satisfaction from than annoying those that disliked him.   ❝ Oh shucks, schnuckums.  Not in front of the kids, though. ❞     /     @castavvain​

[theateared]

     ❝ The cards, the caaards... ❞    Impressively, he shuffled them in a myriad of different ways, deck fluttering like a close-knit flock of birds.  Once he was certain they were entranced by the movements his hands were making, he faced them outward with the intention of ‘showing’ the top card--  only to fire all fifty-two of them into their face.  The caaards.

[theateared]

@castavvain​  said:      ❝ Am I dead? ❞

                                                         _____   【 🞮 】   _____

     ❝ No-pe!  Unfortunately not. ❞      (  He didn’t specify whether it was unfortunate for him or for Killian.  )

     ❝ But being in a graveyard can make you  FEEL  dead, no?     Walking among      ghosts ought to do the trick. ❞

     (  With the way Huron worked, there weren’t that many graveyards.  Peoples’ remains tended to be burned, the only thing left afterwards being their horns.  Even so, a lot of them were buried in  church gardens,  believing that it put them closer to Raku.  In part, he supposed it  could  be considered a resting place.

     Churches fascinated him so.  They were strange buildings with strange auras, and he couldn’t help but feel mystified when in their presence.  I’ve met the one you worship.  He isn’t as kind as you’d think.  )

     ❝ Did you know that there’s a myth surrounding lyes that says we can’t go in      churches?  HAHAHA, how ridiculous, mm? ❞

     (  How could they not be allowed into Raku’s house?  They were Raku’s favourite project.  )

[theateared]

I Will Forgive You. ❜

 Summary:  I can’t allow you to win this particular game of chess, Edgar. Warnings:  None.

     ❝ This has gone on long enough, Edgar. ❞

     The lye was sprawled out on the wooden bench closest to the preacher’s podium, wholly inelegant as he stared up at the church ceiling.   ❝ I do agree.  The  damp  in this building has been building up for millennia--  might I suggest a deep-clean? ❞

     ❝ This isn’t a JOKE. ❞

     Raku had not once raised his voice to him  before, and the sheer volume of it boomed like thunder.  The sacred walls surrounding them echoed his disdain clearly, an uncharacteristic hint of malice oozing like pus from his sharp rebuke.  It prompted the lye to sit up slowly, an air of sobriety returning to him as he stared up at the floating deity with a hint of wonder.

     He was a tiny thing, barely reaching the lye’s knee with his ears stood to attention, but the way he hovered over the podium made him look like a Goliath.  Though he hadn’t finished yet, Edgar felt a pit of dread open up in his stomach.

                                                                                                Is this my day of Reckoning?                                                                                 Has the unending dark reached for me?                                                                                       I didn’t even kiss Grace goodbye--

     ❝ I brought you back from the dead for one  very  specific reason, ❞   the God continued.  In the dim light of the church, he appeared different.  Menacing despite his small stature;  eyes a familiar shade of black and red, fingers looking all too sharp as he stared down at him.   ❝ You’re breaking the rules, Edgar.  You’re destroying the natural order.  Do you know what happens when you do that? ❞

     ❝ No. ❞

     ❝ The universe gets angry.  It never forgets. ❞   He moved closer then, floating form seeming weightless as he came to rest in front of him.  Small black hands settled on either side of the lye’s face, cool skin burning tenderly as he gazed into his eyes.   ❝ You can’t do this. ❞

     Edgar scoffed quietly:   ❝ So, what, you’re going to kill me? ❞

     In a soft voice, Raku continued:   ❝ You aren’t supposed to be here like this.  Don’t you see that? ❞   He paused a moment, tucking hair behind his ear gently.   ❝ You did things.  Terrible things.  And you need to be held accountable for that.  And rest assured--  I will forgive you.  I always will.  Even after all this time, even after all the other  countless  people  you’ve killed, and maimed, and tortured , I will forgive you. ❞

     ❝ ... ❞   For a lone moment, the lye looked relieved.  It dissipated in a second as a noise began to build in his throat.  It was low and suave at first, a mere rumble in the dark, before he suddenly  EXPLODED  with laughter, reaching out to wrap a gloved hand in the collar of the deity’s robe, dragging him close--  too close, his nose pressed taut against his, wide grin unrelenting as his frenzied gaze bore into his.

      Without his mouth moving at all:   ❝ You’ll forgive me?  WHAT A SAINT! ❞   He pushed him a short distance away then, standing up from his place on the bench, arms spread wide and long above his head.   ❝ EVERYBODY  MAKE  WAY  FOR THE BENEVOLENT OVERLORD!  PLEASE, HOLD YOUR  PRAYERS  UNTIL AFTER THE SHOW! ❞   Even in a place with no light, he was able to manipulate his shadow into forming a small crowd of people;  people that looked equally as enthused as he did, willowy arms waving frantically, gap-smiles jagged and squirming as if locked in silent cheers.

     This isn’t good...  you’re  stronger.  Much  stronger.

     ❝ Edgar... ❞

     ❝ NO!  HAHAHA! ❞   He snapped his fingers then, the crowd dissipating in a puff of smoke.  As soon as he had started, he had stopped.  Manic joy was replaced by fury in a heartbeat, disposition now solemn and serious.   ❝ You’ll  forgive me,  will you?  Quaint.  Cute.  Very  drole-- ❞

     ❝ Edgar-- ❞

     ❝ I  won’t  forgive you, ❞   he hissed, a clawed finger jabbed in his direction.  God or not, Edgar  refused  to cower.  He wasn’t so foolish to think that he could take Raku in a fight--  and hell, despite his inflammatory behaviour, he was truly trying to avoid one--   but he wouldn’t see himself behaving as a simpering fool either.  I do not  bend.  You do not  own  me.   ❝ For all you’ve  DONE  to me?  Perhaps  YOU  should repent too!  You refused to end my suffering.  You let me travel down this dark path, turn INTO this monster--  you could have saved me.  But what did you do instead?  You left me to rot.  You heard my prayers, and you  IGNORED  THEM! ❞

     ❝ That isn’t--  I can’t stop people-- ❞

     ❝ BULLSHIT. ❞   The expletive felt foreign and hot in his mouth, like a ball of molten lava, and he hurled it at the deity with such tenacious resentment that he swore he saw steam when he exhaled.  In a calmer tone:   ❝ You’re God.  You can do anything. ❞

     ❝ I couldn’t save your wife and child.  Peoples’ actions are out of my hands-- ❞

     ❝ THEN YOU COULD HAVE LET ME DIE, TOO. ❞

     The words were unexpected  -  and as such, Raku  flinched.  The whole time, he’d assumed that Edgar expected to live out his perfect life, that he was angry because his slice of heaven had been taken away by somebody else, and his saviour hadn’t been able to intervene...  this was a  different  side of him, one rooted in emotion, one that was aimless and grieving, lost.

     ❝ ... if there was no way for you to intervene, if that is  TRULY  the case, then all I wanted was to go with them.  Even if I’d have had to live through the terrible things that he did to them both, it ultimately wouldn’t have mattered, because I wouldn’t have been alive to grieve over it.  Do you have  ANY  IDEA  how much I  hate  myself  for not being there?  For choosing  WORK  over going home for dinner that night?  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE--?! ❞

     For a moment, the God swore he saw a hint of  something  in the corners of his eyes, something wet and all too human, but when he blinked it was gone, replaced with iron-clad rage once more.

     ❝ Of  course  you don’t.  That’s why you’ll never understand me.  That’s why you’ll continue to villainise me--  continue to demand an apology that you don’t deserve. ❞  Edgar’s smile had vanished, and it made him feel even more eerie;  frightening, even to a God.  In a defeated voice, exhausted and worn:   ❝ ... do with me as you will.  I know that I can’t stop you.  I’m powerful.  I’m the Alpha of my creed.  I’ve achieved great things, stricken fear into so many hearts... but I’m not God.  I just hope, when you vanquish me, when you rid Huron’s soil of my pitiful existence, you recall how much pain you inflicted on me.  How much suffering you put me through.  That you created  this animal that I have become, and that you’re no less guilty of impurity than I am. ❞

     His hands slid into his pockets, back turned to his maker.  There’s nothing left to say.  If it cannot change my fate, then so be it.  At least I said my piece.  

     ❝ ... be ready soon, ❞   Raku said quietly.  Edgar heard, but he did not respond.

     I can no longer keep this a secret from Grace.  Or my creed.  At the very least, I should say goodbye to them.  To her especially--

                                                                     --------    I’m sorry, Gracie.  I’m going to die.

[theateared]

     ❝ Leave  me  be. ❞   He was in a foul mood--  his patience had been abused and he was tired.   ❝ I have no desire to play with you right now. ❞

[theateared]

     Bares teeth, then yawns the sweetest yawn you’ve ever seen.  Give him attention.

[theateared]

     He was desperate, that he’d wholeheartedly admit.  As much as he  didn’t  like  to,  it was the bitter truth.  Why else would he be wandering the streets aimlessly in the hope that somebody out there would  pity  him  enough to give him a scratch behind the ears, or pick him up and take him inside?  Affection.  A feeling of belonging.  A chance at a ‘normal’ life by omitting who he truly was.

                                       Where’s your pride as an Alpha?  Stop being ridiculous.

     That voice was one he knew that he should have listened to, because it was right.  He was being utterly  pathetic,  succumbing to the emptiness inside instead of rising above it like he did every other time.  Even so, there was only so much sex he could have;  so many deals he could make;  so many books he could read, documentaries he could watch,  things  he  could  kill--

     ❝ Myeur... ❞   The only way he’d  kill  this loneliness was by stooping to such levels.

[theateared]

@graceful-cure-swan​   /   cont.  from  here!

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     ❝ Hm...  well I suppose it all depends on what you want out of life, ❞   he replied, taloned digits covered only by black silk scratching his chin theatrically.  She was still young.  If she truly desired to lead like her friend, he was certain that she could still learn.   ❝ What do you think is stopping you from doing so?  Do you prefer not to, or are you held back by something? ❞

[theateared]

     ❝ Learn  to  swim  or  you  will  drown. ❞

[theateared]

@roskaarotta​  said:   " I mean you... don't usually but i don't mind..."

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     ❝ Mm.  Hey, if you don’t mind, I don’t mind.  I’m just saying that in future, a simple ask for a change of pace is all it would take...~ ❞

[theateared]

ii.

    The second time they crossed paths, she was much more presentable.

    Or at least, ever the skewed individual, that was how  Edgar  would have described her.

    He’d tracked something into the depths of the forest, though by the time he’d wound himself through the thick bracken and brambles overhead, his kill had been stolen--  or, that was the word  he  would use.  In truth, she’d merely been hunting the same thing from the opposite way; though they’d met in the middle, she had ultimately been closer to it.

    “Oh?”   he asked, standing in the mouth of the clearing, watching her feed.  The sound of his voice was like a bolt of lightning;  it caused her spine to straighten, tail automatically coiling into a defensive position before she turned around to regard him, her fur matted with blood.   “That was mine.”

    “Was,”   she said, a paw swiping across her face to rid it of as much gore as possible.   “Past tense.”

    He should have been annoyed, should have displayed his dominance in a fit of rage, but he felt his mouth curl into a grin.  Who  are  you?  I  like  you.

    This time, when he took a step closer to her, she didn’t retreat.

    “It isn’t wise to hunt alone,”   he remarked, ears stood tall.  They hadn’t picked up on any other sound as he’d entered the clearing, giving him the solid impression that it was just the two of them there.  It hadn’t taken as long as one might imagine for him to learn the ways of the wild. Some would argue that he’d been an animal long before he’d occupied the body of a lye.   “Where are your creedmates?”

    “I don’t have them,”   she replied, voice unflinching.  Even so, he could smell it:  that hint of trepidation;  the apprehension that accompanied a lone soul in the midst of a confrontation.  It led him to a startling truth:  she really  didn’t  have anybody to come to her aid.  The thought made him grin wider, approaching until he was sitting beside her.  A crooked leg of the dead separated them, though the gap was small, barely mindful.

    Up close, she looked all the more intriguing to him.  He could see small indents in her ashen fur, proof of teeth and claws, and the hint of  multiple  different scents clinging to her had him assuming that she was either a whore  or  she’d had a close shave with an unsavoury group of lyes.  Whatever the case, she had wound up injured, small and kitten-esque even in  his  wake. What interested him the most, however, was the patterns in her fur.  Though the area around her mouth had taken on a crimson sheen, the light grey mark resembling a heart beneath her eye drew him in.  He realised with some amount of intrigue that she had a similar marking on her chest;  it lined it attractively, the sides curving behind her legs, leaving her underside an adorable grey.

            You had a Signature*…  but something clawed over it.  Did  you  do that?

    “ … you truly don’t belong to anyone?”   he asked, one paw settling atop the carcass he’d been dead set on since noon.  When she didn’t respond, his claws sank in, drawing meat from the fleshy body, teeth bared in a wide smile.   “Nobody to come and help you?”

    “I don’t need help,”   she spat back with a glare.

    “Why are you so aggressive?”   he quizzed with a chuckle.  “I could kill you for commandeering my kill, you know.”   Come the end of things, she could do nothing to keep him from feeding too.  If she struck an issue with his imposed sharing methods, she knew it was likely that she would face the wrath of a far stronger lye.  Even his  expression  was enough to put her on edge...  though she didn’t want to bend to his whim, she also didn’t want to annoy him too much.  After eating her fill, Grace stood up from her spot, taking a few calculated steps away from him.

    “You can have it,”   she commented dismissively.  At the very least, the  illusion  of choice was there.  She watched his head swivel in her direction, black sclerae seeming all the more dark when accompanied with such a ghoulish smile.  

    Why do you look like that?  What are you so  damn  happy  about?

    “What an angel.”       “Don’t call me that.”     “Struck a nerve, dear?”

    She’d been doing so well.  Though cold and unresponsive, she hadn’t revealed her  anger  until then.  It caused her face to slacken, the uptight scowl there melting into a resigned line.  Part of her  wanted  confrontation;  awaited the swift pierce of his claws and teeth with breath so bated that it made it feel perverse.  As tough as she was, she was certain that he didn’t miss the hint of anguish she carried along with her like a small block of concrete, like a stone in her pocket, its weight manageable but present nonetheless.  It followed her cleanly, even as she turned her back on him and left.  

[theateared]

To clarify, Edgar’s 99% of the time accepting as fuck of gifts, even though he never receives them, and accepts them with a certain grace  -  even if he really  hates  what you’ve given to him.  However, Damon being Damon, he will be fucking rude--