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lou-bonfightme · 5 years ago

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we’re no saviors || [merlou]

In which Merida and Toulouse share each other’s memories...[takes place during the memory event.]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- suicide, attempted suicide, thoughts of death, guns, drowning, self-hate, depression, anxiety, anything related to the above]

MERIDA: There was an ocean.

Merida did not know how she arrived here. It was unlike any ocean she’d seen-- the shores smooth as if sculpted by an artist’s hands, as opposed to the rocky beaches of her Northern Scotland. But the waves, like the waves in Scotland, were black. They climbed into the sky and grew teeth, then churned forward, grinding anything in the path into seafoam. The wind whipped, growling with the water. The sky was empty. There were no stars-- that was no moon.

The only light glowed behind her from a window of a faraway beach house, or at least, this Merida had to assume for she could not see the house’s shape. It shined like a candle burning down to its wick. Perhaps it meant to beckon and guide, to warm and to comfort. But Merida did not recognize the light as she did not recognize this beach.

She stood, instead, already in the water. The spray guzzled at her shins. The undertow pulled and pulled at her trousers.

She felt herself moving forward, deeper into the water. It was not just the water that pulled her. It was not just the ocean that longed to answer its hunger, to fill an emptiness.

Merida held emptiness in her too. Where the wolf should be--

The wolf was not there, though. The wolf--

With no moon, perhaps it could not find its way here, to this unfamiliar land, these greedy waves, this cold sky.

She was free, then. Was that why she came here? There were tears on her face, or was that the water? She touched her cheeks as she moved deeper into the water, wiping at the salt and the wind. Just a little farther, and the wolf would never find her again. Just a little farther, and her brother would not find her. Her sister would not find her. Her Maman, her père--

But I don’t have a sister. I don’t have a Maman…

This thought was a whisper, quiet underneath the roaring. A wave smacked against her torso and knocked the thought out entirely.

No one would find her. That was the important part. It would be peaceful under the water. The cold would take her gently.

TOULOUSE: There was someone in the water.

Toulouse didn’t know how he’d gotten here on this familiar shore. The last time he was here, he remembered every decision he’d made that had brought him. He counted them, ran his fingers over them, wrote them out in curling script—these reasons. So that when he made his final one, he would have a good, rational reason for it.

Now, he didn’t know why he was here or why his heart was pounding in his chest as if he had run—but he knew there was someone in the water.

They were barely visible: the flash of their red hair was like a distant ship, slowly moving away from the shore. Their outline blurred into the waves, as if the ocean had already claimed them. But Toulouse knew they were there. He knew—because that person was him. He didn’t know how he knew but he could taste the salt as if he was already in the water. If he closed his eyes, he knew that he’d open them again to find himself shivering in the freezing water. He remembered exactly how cold it was, how the water had moved like a python, wrapping around him. All there had been was the crash of the waves, until there had been a voice—

“Toulouse!” he heard his own voice call—or was it his brother.

Lou looked over his shoulder, as if he would see his brother standing there.

Where was he? He was supposed to be here.

He should be running down the beach, into the waves. He was supposed to pull Toulouse out.

The flicker of his hair grew fainter. If he was to paint this picture, only he would know there was a figure in the waves: thinking about how heavy their shoes were, how strange it felt to walk into the ocean wearing shoes. As if they were going to walk all the way to the bottom and find the strange, wonderful things living there.

Berlioz should be running down the beach now, screaming for his brother.

Where was he?

A wave rose high and smashed around the person in the water and for a moment, Lou lost sight of them. His heart jumped in his chest and he took a step forward.

But—

Should he save them? Did they want to be saved?

If he didn’t try, he would never know, would he?

Toulouse ran down the beach.

“Toulouse!” he called, the fear in his chest not his own. It was a wild, vicious thing that wanted to choke all the breath from his lungs.

He crashed into the ocean and it crashed into him. He had to battle through the undertow towards the figure, whose shape was becoming more solid the closer he came.

“Toulouse! What are you doing?!” he shouted—and he grabbed their arm.

MERIDA: Merida kept pressing on, each step harder to take than the last. But the secret was that she did not need to try. She could stand where she was and feel the sand slipping under her feet. She could wait for the waves to curl around her like a fist and draw her farther out. When it came to dying, this kind was the easiest. That was why she had picked it.

(Except she hadn’t-- a flash of silver exploded like a firework in Merida’s mind. The silver of a gun. Once, she had held a gun like a lover held another’s hand. She’d gone out to the darkest part of the wood. There was no sea-spray, no whipping wind, for the arms of the trees blocked any wind from finding her. Instead, she sank into cold, solid, still earth. She had planted herself there in an unmade grave and lifted the gun to her head…)

But here, the ground slipped. Merida slipped. She slipped into…

Lou. With his eyes closed, it sounded like the ocean was calling him.

Lou. It beckoned him forwards.

Lou. He was almost up to his waist in the water. His heart pounded in his chest. All he could hear was the sound in his ears, it matched the ocean, until he couldn’t tell which was which--

“Toulouse!”

Merida opened her eyes as that name roared through the air, louder than even the waves, no longer just a strange thought in her head. She twisted around as someone clamped her on her arm--

It was her brother. Berlioz. That name whispered into being, just as Lou had been hissed by the salty teeth of the sea. Merida’s mind reeled. The ocean dragged at her feet. She was falling, she was falling-- except she could not land, for Berlioz held her now. He was the last tether to land.

“Berlioz! What the fuck are you doing?” She cried out. Fear lashed through her as another wave rolled over them, nearly making Merida careen forward. She reached out on instinct, gripping Berlioz by both shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

You shouldn’t be here!

But neither should she…

Where …was she…?

TOULOUSE: My brother is not dead, was the first thing he thought as he stared at Merida’s sea-soaked face.

The recognition crashed through him. It was not him at all—but Merida—and he was himself…but he was his brother.

Berlioz! Merida’s voice cracked—shocked, surprised, angry. It made Lou want to shrink away, but he couldn’t. He was gripping her arm. Couldn’t let her go. Wouldn’t let her go. It felt as if his thoughts were not his, his fear, not his.

My brother is not dead.

Yet.

Something twisted inside of him and he grabbed Merida by the other arm too, as if he could hold her in place. Something howled in his chest.

“Mon dieu,” he swore at her. The burning in his eyes was not his, the fear in his heart was not his, but he felt it. It was weeds tangling inside of him, it was as anger, it was relief, it crashed into him like the crash of the ocean around them. A current which did not stop, no matter how he wanted it to. It flowed freely.

“What am I doing?” he shouted over the roar of the waves, his voice cracking with emotion as he clung to her. She could not be pulled away from him. He needed her. “What are you—why?”

MERIDA: It was not her dream.

It was not even her memory.

She was not herself.

These thoughts hit her like waves too. They pounded into her and she nearly collapsed, her knees giving with the weight of the water, the depression, the despair. These things did not belong to her-- but still, these things were familiar anyway. No, this sinking belonged to Lou, but hadn’t Merida fallen to her knees once, unable to lift her head against the weight of her gun? And the churning in her stomach-- this was Lou’s too, but didn’t Merida’s gut turn over and over when she looked in the mirror? When she looked at her own hands and no longer recognized them?

Lou felt like a monster, even without the wolf. But wasn’t she just the same?

Another wave tossed against them. Berlioz was the only thing that kept Merida from sinking, and therefore losing Lou’s bedraggled body to the waves. She clung to him out of some kind of gut-level instinct, and she wished she could unlearn it-- though Merida no longer knew if this feeling belonged to Lou or to herself.

But she could not lose him. Brother, thought Merida, thought Lou, in this same moment, with the same breath, with the same heartbeat. If she could not save herself, she would save her brother (if he could not save himself, thought Lou, he would save his brother).

With both minds and hearts in sync, the waves no longer fought against her. They were not pulling her out to sea; they were pushing her to shore.

Merida let Berlioz lead her back there, step by sinking step, until there was more ground than ocean under her feet.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse held onto Merida and Berlioz held onto Toulouse.

No matter who held onto who, they could not let go. The fear was a vice grip. The love poured through him, he couldn’t turn it off, it was a faucet that had broken. No holding back the outpouring of it. If Merida sunk beneath the waves, Toulouse would be gushing water the rest of his life. He could taste it on his tongue—the grief. Even as Merida stood in front of him, her red hair flickering wildfire, unable to be put out, even by the ocean.

She cried, he cried, and Berlioz cried. Their tears were disguised in the salt water, but Lou knew, the way he knew that this was Merida he needed to save from the waves, from his own memories, that he was crying and that she was crying. If she went under. He would go under too.

(For she was him and he was her.)

To his relief, Merida took a step forward towards him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, pulling her forwards, tripping on the current, on the push and pull of the waves. But he did not let go. He dragged her forward, until they were stumbling out of the roaring, hungry maw of the ocean.

Merida fell to her knees and everything went still and quiet.

She sobbed into the dirt, freshly turned by morning rain. The scent of it filled her nose and she remembered running. Running with bare feet through mossy underbrush just like this, her father lumbering behind her as she squealed with joy.

Her breath heaved with a sob and as she sat back on her haunches, she cradled the gun in her lap.

One silver bullet. One gun. One final kiss.

Monster, she thought.

Mother, she thought—and remembered the smell of the forge and felt the heat on her face.

Her hands shook as she loaded the gun. She held it up to her head, the metal cool in her flushed fingers. It slipped in her fingers and she sobbed harder, the fear spiking hot and fast in her.

Collapsing forward, she sobbed harder, rocking into the dirt.

Toulouse was no warrior, no prince, no woman either—

He was all alone. All alone.

MERIDA: The ocean was gone.

When Merida opened her eyes again, the sea-spray had become the cold wet of spring morning. She took a breath and her lungs filled with tastes rich and familiar to her. She had always known the forest. She could have been born here, just another sapling cradled in cool, dark soil until she stretched up her arms through the leaves, toward the sun.

But she knew this forest in different ways than she knew the forest that surrounded Cawdor--

She had run through here. Not with muddied boots and her wild red hair flowing behind her… she’d run on four legs, claws digging into dirt. She smelled the breaths of the animals and could follow each individual track they’d put down. She had set her own walls in a similar way. Painted it onto the land, not with any colour, but with shit and spit and blood.

And she could smell that another wolf was in her territory. She knew the wolf’s name--had met the female on the run. They’d danced around each other for days now, the wolf pressing ever inward, trying to take more and more land as if she was looking for something.

But something was wrong now. The scent in the air-- opening her mouth, Merida tasted how it had been tinged with the metallic tang of steel. And gunpowder.

She moved toward the scent, weaving through this forest that had taken her when no one else had. She moved with purpose, and she moved with hardly a sound.

She found the wolf on the ground, hidden in the human costume that had never fit it--

“Merida--?” her own name, a question on her own lips.

Merida’s eyes widened and she looked down at herself, not a wolf at all. Just a girl with dirt on her fingers.

TOULOUSE: Merida looked up.

He recognized the man standing over him. The wolf knew it before he did. This was the wolf that they had met in the woods. Had fought with. A flash of black fur, snarls—in his head it echoed more like a dream than a memory.

But, wasn’t this all a dream? A wistful what-could-have-been?

The gun was heavy and cold in his hand.

Monster, he thought, but it was not his own. Merida’s voice whispered through his mind as it had only done once before.

I deserve it. That voice was his, slicing sharp, hitting its mark and making him hunch over again.

The gun slipped from Merida’s fingers and Toulouse felt the fight leave him. It was a fight that he had had over and over with himself, he knew its fire and knew how cold it felt when snuffed out. His chest was a hollow, empty, aching thing and he wanted to howl and howl until this stranger put that silver bullet in his brain.

Perhaps, he should think himself worth more than silver, but he deserved to let the bullet tarnish in the grassy grave of his once-thoughts as he let the earth which he had always loved so much consume him.

“Just shoot me,” he rasped to the man, who was tall as trees, with a face half in dark shadow. His own eyes were bright as the canopy of trees above, tears dribbling down his cheeks.

“I deserve it. Please,” he begged. The plea felt heavy on his tongue and he wanted to take it back. He would never beg. But the fire was gone, he was a monster, and he deserved it, he deserved it, he deserved it.

And then, Merida hunched over and let out another sob. This one almost a howl.

MERIDA: She recognized herself and she did not recognize herself.

This was not Merida-- not this girl groveling on the ground, her fingers shaking with a fear that ruled her. Merida never let her fear win. She never hesitated. If she was going to shoot herself, then dammit, she should take the gun and do it without a single tear in her eye. Do everything with pride, do everything with all she had, even if it left her gasping, broken, bleeding in the process-- that was Merida, for better or for worse, even when it left her all alone.

Though she was alone, wasn’t she? So maybe this hunched creature among the litter really was Merida, the parts of her that was left.

She should end it then. Merida stared at herself and an anger that belonged to herself and herself only rose in her chest. She wanted to grab herself and drag her onto her feet, spit in her face: end it!

Instead, she stared at the gun. Slowly, she reached down and picked it up. It wasn’t so heavy to her. Death was not always heavy. It did not have to have the power of an ocean to claim a life. It could be as light as a feather, as easy as pulling the trigger.

If this broken Merida wouldn’t end it, then this Merida could.

She pointed the gun at herself.

But then this Merida hesitated as well.

Her rage burned itself up so quickly that there was nothing left, and that rage crumbled into ash. Merida’s face twisted. Her hate twisted. It twisted until it was love again, and she could not put a bullet between her own eyes, she could not give this gun back and let herself do the same.

The wind skittered the leaves across the floor and Merida threw the gun away. “No,” she said.

And then she reached down and held herself together in her arms.

TOULOUSE: This was it. Lou closed his eyes, his chest shaking with sobs, and waited. He waited and waited and wanted it so badly, it hurt. He was so terrified his entire body ached with it. He just wanted to stop running, stop thinking, stop worrying and stop making mistakes. The only way he could think to do these things was a silver bullet in his brain. Please, he wanted to be again, please let me die. He was cold and alone, even as his executioner stood over him. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He was always alone. The isolation buried itself beneath his skin and rotted him from the inside out, until he was hollow and aching.

There were arms around him.

There were arms around her.

Together, they held each other, and they held themselves.

He was drowning, tasting the salt in his mouth. Sinking, pulled by the currents until he was beneath the waves. He was being pulled from the ocean. She was digging herself a grave, fingernails pressing into the soil. She was lifting a gun to her mouth, ready to pull the trigger. The gun was given away, the gun was tossed aside. It became a useless thing, an empty threat.

They held each other. They bled together, their memories blurring, the lines between them blurring. Their red hair tangled. Their tears mixed on each other’s shoulders.

And they were not alone.

They had been saved, hadn’t they?

In the end.

#bdrpmerida #merlou #we're no saviors #this is lauryl and i being very #Experimental #lmao #every reply of this was:#i don't know if this worked but #here you go!!#but idk i really like how it turned out #we messed a lot w pronouns #it was cool

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lou-bonfightme · 5 years ago

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Catnapped 2: This Time, It’s Purrsonal || Part Six: If You Do a Bad Thing for a Good Reason, Is it Still Bad? || [Merou]

In which Merida and Toulouse infiltrate the Order Headquarters...[takes place: February 4, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- blood, gore, violence]

MERIDA: They arrived in London early in the morning, shifting back into their human forms in a railway park, dressing quickly in the same clothes they wore the day previous. It was icy, frost on the tracks and crunched on the ground under Merida’s boots. It bit at her fingers, and for the first half hour, Merida found this cold odd and her body’s reaction to it odd, so used to the fur and thick skin of the wolf’s body. This human vulnerability followed Merida as they started walking deeper into the city, when they arrived at the first tube station, when the tube took them underground and the forest was truly far away now, feelin’ like a dream of the wolf’s that ached in Merida, still. It didn’t like the jostle of the cars. The people. The smells-- so many smells, the city like a massive garbage heap to the wolf and to Merida too.

But then, she’d always hated London. Comin’ here those few times a year always put a bad taste in her mouth. It wasn’t just how crowded and dirty everything was, ‘course. It had been the tight braids in Merida’s hair that gave her a bloody headache before she ever arrived in the headquarters. And the corsets she’d have to wear and the damn hoop skirt and the make-up smeared on her face like she was a circus clown. London meant all those things to Merida. It meant plastic, metal, chemical-- Merida dipped into a vat of it.

This time would be quite different in multiple ways, rather obvious to mention. If she left with red on her lip this time, it’d not be from her mother’s lipstick.

One of those differences was that Merida couldn’t get into the Order the same way as well. Usually, they ended up at one of the homes of the Order members who lived in London, where they’d wash, change, and then enter through a secret passageway to the underground.

This time though, Merida kept an eye on the stops on the tube, and then grabbed Lou’s wrist when she saw the one marked in her Da’s journal.

“Here,” she instructed. They hopped off the tube and Merida looked around. Still early in the morning, there weren’t many people up still. Mostly drunks from last night and that would make this all much easier since it meant no questions. When she was certain no one was looking, she hopped down onto the tracks and she and Lou slipped into the gray shadows, like they were rats.

“Stay close!”

She broke into a quick jog, nearly a run. Merida had been up for hours at this point, but it didn’t feel like it. Her heart was keeping pace. The beast in her was alert, letting Merida use her eyes to cut through the dark. Her ears rang with the silence as they listened for the tell-tale signs of approaching cars, and her nostrils flared when she smelled the rats skittering along beside them, but she kept her focus, muttering quietly to herself until…

“Here.” Merida stopped short, panting. She bent down, feeling around the stone of the wall. A few of the blocks loosened. Merida grinned and looked at Lou--forgetting, temporarily, that they weren’t friends, that this wasn’t one of Merida’s private escapades. She was no mischeivous Order girl anymore. The rules she was breaking now, she broke as an enemy.

But for that first second, it didn’t feel like it at all. It felt like Merida was winnin’ again. I found it, Da. Got here all on me own. Think I’m worthy yet?

Merida wiggled the stone out, one, then another, stacking them on top of each other until there was a narrow tunnel, big enough for them to enter if they kneeled down. They’d crawl through here and then it’d expand, and there’d be a ladder down.

Merida told all of this to Lou now. “Soon as we get down that ladder, there will be a guard. I’m hopin’ it’ll be just one, this entrance isn’t used for anythin’ anymore. I’ll disarm him, you make sure the tunnel is clear, aye?”

TOULOUSE: They were wearing the same clothes they’d been wearing yesterday.

Never in Toulouse’s life.

(Alright, that wasn’t exactly true, considering when Lou’s depression laid down heavy on his shoulders and pushed him into the mattress, he often wore the same outfit for days at a time. However, this was in the privacy of his own home and was different.)

Never in Toulouse’s life.

Which, honestly, summed up the adventure down to the tunnel which they were now peering into. Never in Toulouse’s life had he gone on any sort of adventure. Certainly not of his own free will. Swynlake often attempted to force him to participate in adventures, but he never did much in those stupid dreams, except date ill-advised people. Which was less of an adventure and more of a very cruel prank of the town.

He had never in his life hopped onto a train track and gone down those long, dark tunnels. There was no thrill about it for him. He sneered as he stepped in a puddle of god-knows-what (not even his wolf could discern, the smells too overwhelming and all over the place.) This was breaking the law, something Lou tried not to do, as the son of a politician who made laws. Who had instilled in him the civic responsibility sense of being a decent human who followed the rules of society. He did not like the idea of Merida pulling rocks out of the wall and sent a glance towards the arched ceiling, half-worrying that the whole thing was going to collapse down on top of them now that part of its structure had been removed.

Lou did not smile at her as she grinned like a buffoon over her shoulder at him.

If anything, he looked like a wet cat. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was frowning deeply. Not so much at Merida herself but just—the everything of his current predicament.

“D’accord,” Lou responded to his instructions with a nod of his head. That was something he could do at least. He waited for Merida to begin making her way down the tunnel before sighing dramatically, dropping his arms from across his chest and carefully picking his way behind her. For a moment, he wished their telepathy extended into their human forms, so that he could say: I cannot believe you are making me crawl through a sewage pipe. Even though it was not a sewage pipe and was actually rather dry.

Instead, he stewed silently and was glad when there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. He watched as Merida disappeared down the ladder, then waited a moment before following her over. He peaked out into the mostly empty hallway to get his bearings and was that—the flickering of candlelight?

Were there actual torches lit?

Sacre bleu, this Order was legitimately insane.

MERIDA: Merida ducked down and started their descent.

Her heart was calm, her movements swift and graceful-- a grace that had little to do with the wolf and everything to do with the woman, who had to learn how to make herself invisible, because that was the way of this world. It was ironic that this invisibility helped Merida in ways the Order would never have endorsed-- helped her sneak place to place, helped her swipe her father’s journals, helped her find places to hide and practice. So even now, in this world, she belonged only to the parts that were made for the likes of her. The tunnels they would be taking proved that. They hugged the edges of the headquarters, squeezed in between the wide, elaborately decorated, generously lit hallways that Lou and Merida would probably (if all went well) never see. These were paths that were meant to be hidden. These were paths for servants. These were paths for the women.

Merida felt nothing but a deep sense of satisfaction as she used those tunnels now, just as she had always used the Order’s ignorance. She dropped from the ladder with barely a sound and found not even a single guard here. She smirked. Of course not. Of course they would overestimate themselves. And underestimate her.

She would not do the same. As Lou went down one end of the hall, Merida tracked down the other, just enough to confirm that there were no guards. She turned around and jogged to meet him at the other end. Their eyes met. Lou looked bewildered, his nose scrunching. Perhaps at the smell. Perhaps at something else.

She’d laugh at that expression if they had time. But the quicker they did this, the better.

Merida motioned with her hand and they rounded the corner. She hurried down the hall with a hand on her belt, where her dagger rested. Their footsteps shuffled, the only sound until--

Merida reached back and smacked her hand on Lou’s chest.

Footsteps. Heavy. Wearing boots, Merida figured. She looked back at Lou, held a finger to her lips, then held up a hand in a motion that meant, Stay.

And then Merida darted around the corner.

SMASH! The clatter of metal rippled through the tunnels. A man yelped. His cry echoed too, but it was just one moment-- one moment and then it was silent again.

“C’mere, Bonfamille!” Merida called.

When Lou rounded, Merida was wiggling a helmet off the guard’s face. She tossed it to Lou. Her smile stretched over her face-- wolfish, brightening the blue flame of her eyes.

“How do ye feel about playin’ dress up?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse was infinitely glad that there were no guards in the hallway. His stomach was tearing itself apart with nerves, though he did a very good job of ignoring them. He had quite a lot of practice at such things, having been presenting his art for criticism from very young. That foreboding feeling was a familiar companion, as a child he had felt it often; waiting for his father to come home, for the fighting to begin.

This was the same feeling—waiting for the fighting to begin.

When Merida grabbed his chest and pushed him back, Toulouse felt his heart beating in his entire body. It was a wild, loud thing. The wolf had a hold of it between his teeth. It felt like it was in Lou’s throat. What a pesky thing, that heart, his mortality. He wished the wolf would devour it. That heart of his made him a coward—made him afraid to die.

He flinched at the clamour of armor, the sound of fighting. It only took a second, but it felt like a lifetime. He didn’t move from his spot at the wall, wondering if it had been Merida, in the end who’d been bested by the guard. What would he do if that was the case? The wolf raised its head and Lou knew the answer: he would find Claude, even if he had to rip the throat out of every crazy bastard in this place.

Merida called his name and Lou gave a jerk before sucking in a breath and rounding the corner. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and scowled at her.

“Silver is not my colour. I am warm-toned,” he deadpanned—even though it was true. Toulouse never wore silver jewelry if he could help it. It washed him out. However, the helmet was not jewelry. And he also knew Merida wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, he took it from her delicately and scrunched his nose as he dressed.

“If you thought I was useless to you before, I certainly will be now,” he hissed at her once he finished, sighing harshly. The sound echoed through the helmet and rang in his sensitive wolf-ears. This was going to give him a headache. “What now?”

MERIDA: “Actually, you’re much more useful to me now, mate. Before you were a walking target. Least now if someone tries to stab ye, maybe they won’t poke all the way through.” Merida’s eyes glittered as she said this as if it were a joke.

And maybe it was a joke, though she meant every word. A Toulouse with a breast plate might not die as fast as a Toulouse without one.

She didn’t wait to see how her joke might land (she didn’t have to wait; she knew that this bloke had no sense of humour, having been inside his brain). Merida dragged the Order lackey around the corner instead, grabbing his dagger for good measure. She was back the next second, ushering Lou on.

“Stand on the outside of me, aye? Try to look like ye belong here.”

They twisted down the halls, moving fast. They were still mostly empty. It was almost too easy, thought Merida to herself, though she had a good idea as to where everyone was-- already feasting down in the main halls before the month’s baptisms. An Order full of drunk men with swords, a handful of who were probably shirking these very posts in order to nip the lamb and wet their fingers with wine. Still, twice Merida grabbed Lou and they hid again as a few Knights passed by.

They were getting close now. It was about to get harder. Breaking in had always been the relatively easy part.

Merida paused when the nursery was just up one more hallway. The halls were brighter here, clean and tiled. You could hear the voices of the women not only in the nursery, but in the dressing rooms. Laughter. Singing. Merida could close her eyes and remember herself here, stuck in a chair as her mother tried to tame her wild curls into something presentable. She could remember feeling too big for her own skin. How she’d hated it--

But those songs. That reminded Merida of her mother too, and her chest burned with a yearning that no one ever truly outgrew.

Merida just had to ignore it.

“Alright,” she hissed. “This...this is the hard part. Your cousin should be in the first room to the left. But as you can hear...not exactly alone. There will be other babies too.” She sighed and licked her bottom lip.

“You could play pretend and see how far you get. Tell them that Sorcha, perhaps, sent you to…” the lie trailed off and died in the air. Merida didn’t know how to finish it off. It’d be so obvious, wouldn’t it? What Knight would enter with his helmet down? Why would a Knight come to fetch a babe?

The alternative was Merida kicking the door down, grabbing the nearest lady, and hoping no one screamed.

Someone would scream.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse tried not to let Merida’s morose humor get underneath his armor (quite literally, ha.) He was not so much worried about stabbing as he was the wolf trying to burst out of its new metal cage. It had been restless before, but now, Lou’s hands shook, and he could not tell if it was his own nerves or the wolf just below his skin.

Taking a breath, he did as he was told, because there was no reason to argue. Lou may not trust Merida, but he did acknowledge that she had more experience than him in these criminal matters.

It was silent, but never still. Lou’s eyes darted, looking at every door like it was the mouth of a trap. His ears strained, putting his new senses to as much use as possible, listening for approaching soldiers. (And, honestly, the whole thing was so disorientingly medieval, Lou felt like he had walked into some sort of renaissance faire. (His tantine had loved Renaissance faires, she had found them so creative and quaint. She’d taken him to one once when he was a boy and bought him a sword, which his mother had promptly taken away from him.)

It was with those new ears of his that he heard the women before Merida even stopped them and he felt sick to his stomach again. His gaze slid to hers, though he kept getting distracted every time there was an uproar of laughter or delighted squeals—which was fairly often. It reminded Lou, strangely, of the summer plays. The same kind of frenetic energy sizzled through the air, everyone in preparation.

Pretend…

Well, Lou figured the alternative was Merida doing something—Merida-ish, which would hurt their cause more that Lou attempting to pass as an Order member for long enough to get his hands on his nephew (though, maybe he should give Merida playing pretend more credit, considering she’d lied to Belle for months without detection.) The thought made the wolf whine in his chest.

“I’ll do my best,” Lou said, straightening his shoulders somewhat. “Wish me luck.”

With that, he didn’t waste another moment, the wolf urging him forward. He just wanted to set sights on Claude.

When he entered the room, he blinked a bit. It was much brighter than the hallway. It was immediately clear that he stuck out. All the women were lovely and perfumed, their hair shining beneath the lights. They giggled in corners, doing their make-up, holding babes. There were a few children in the corner, playing with dolls in pretty white dresses. It was clear that he did not belong. Even if he was not a wolf, or an outsider. There was not a man among the entire group. As soon as his presence was noticed, a silence settled. The flurry of activity ended.

Lou hardly noticed any of this—

He had his sights set on Claude, who was sitting on the lap of a woman he didn’t know. He swallowed once. The baby was so close, only a few meters away. Lou could cross the room in two strides and be at his cousin’s side. He kept rooted to the spot by sheer force of will. Even the wolf realizing they were surrounded and had to tread lightly.

“Oi, what are you doing down here?” one of the women, older than most of the rest if he had to guess, snapped at him.

Lou jerked slightly, though the ill-fitting armor gave him away. He reached up and removed his helmet. It was probably a poor move, but he was sweating. He was nervous. But, Lou had been trained for things like this. He was not a warrior, but he had manners.

“Pardon me, my ladies,” he said, roughing up his accent to disguise the French. It was not so hard to sound British, he sounded more British than he would like already on the day to day, having now lived in this country longer than he had ever lived in France. He had to fight to keep his accent, but now, he let it go. If it meant getting Claude back, he’d let it all go.

“I was sent by Lady de Chateaupers,” he continued after a moment, taking his time, “to gather young Claude. His grandmother would like to introduce him to a few other of the lords and ladies.” The lie was as smooth as it could be. He remembered what that vile woman had said: he’s my only grandchild. It felt in character for her to want to brag.

The two oldest women looked at each other. One put her hands on her hips, unconvinced.

“Why send you?” she scoffed.

Toulouse blinked, it was a good question. “I, uh—all the women are busy, of course., in preparation, including Lady de Chateaupers I volunteered. I have many siblings, he’ll be in good hands with me.”

Give him back, the wolf growled.

“Who are ye?” snapped the other matron.

Cannard. Lou had thought to escape without giving a name. “Uhm, Lou.”

“Not your name, boy—your family.” Her eyes narrowed.

The only families that Lou was aware of who were part of the order were the de Chateaupers and— “DunBroch, ma’am,” he said, attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice, surely Merida was getting a kick out of this. “Lou DunBroch.”

“I don’t recognize you,” the woman said bluntly.

“Well, you DunBrochs breed like there is no tomorrow, isn’t that right, Millie?” the woman with her hands on her hips looked over at a young woman.

Millie—the woman who just so happened to be holding Claude—stood up from where she was sitting and wandered a little closer.

Lou could feel his heart in his whole body.

“He does have the DunBroch hair…”

I most certainly do not, Lou wanted to sniff. Merida’s hair was a completely different shade of red than his own. Hers was richer, redder, deeper. His was copper, dark, and earthy.

Claude looked up at Lou, blinking his pretty blue eyes. He was close enough that he could smell him. That soft, sweet smell.

Family, keened the wolf in Lou’s chest.

Lou smiled and reached up to touch his air. “Aye,” he said—trying not to sound to Scottish, he knew he’d never get away with it, but perhaps he had picked up some colloquials growing up.

Millie moved a step closer, peering at him. “Who’s your da?”

Fuck.

A second passed. Then another.

Millie drew back.

Toulouse didn’t think then, the wolf took over in a flash. He reached forward and grabbed Claude by his chunky arm and ripped him out of Millie’s grip. A clamor started at once. The baby began to cry, making Lou’s heart squeeze—hoping he had not hurt him. Millie, to her credit, launched towards Lou, her fingers curled like claws. Lou tucked Claude to his chest with one hand and pushed Millie back with the other. His helmet clattered to the ground.

“Thief!” shouted one woman.

“Help!” cried another.

“Merida!” barked Lou as he started stumbling backwards out of the room.

The oldest woman, who had been hawk-eyed from the first moment, appeared next to him and tried to wrench Claude away again. A growl ripped from Lou’s chest, his eyes flashing, before he could think about it. The woman froze in her shock.

“Beast!” she cried as she recoiled.

“It’s the wolf!”

Someone screamed then, a proper, high-pitched wail, as if she was being pulled apart.

MERIDA: This was a bad idea.

But there were no good ideas here, were there? Sometimes, that’s just how it was. But sometimes, those bad ideas became the best stories. They became the legends that men told over and over as they sloshed their beer and laughed over each other. They became the songs that children learned. The songs that Merida carried with her in her heart, never to fade no matter how far she got from this world. It would still be the fabric she was sewn with. She clutched one dagger, tilted her head, her ears ringing with the voices of her sisters, her aunts, the women who had once raised her too. She hoped this bad idea would work a miracle worth a song. She did not want any of them hurt.

She was listening for something else too. She leaned around the wall, held her breath as the conversation meandered from woman to woman. She recognized each voice enough, but they were not the voice she was listening for.

Elinor. Mum. Are you there? Mum, don’t be there. Please, don’t be there...

And then things started to fall apart, that bad idea a wobbling tower waiting for one last shove, innit? The adrenaline piqued inside her. The wolf was awake, but far away. Merida flexed her fingers over her dagger.

Who’s your da?

Merida darted around the corner at this question and burst into the room by the time the woman had let out a cry.

“MERIDA!”

Merida’s eyes found her cousin’s face in the lamplight-- young, raven-haired Senga. Her bright blue eyes widened. First, there was a flicker of relief, relief triggered on instinct, because before Merida was a traitor, before she was a beast, she was one of them. Senga believed that Merida might save them all.

She remembered that look in her Da’s face right before he picked up his knife.

Merida didn’t wait for the moment to pass. She followed the plan. Their very, very, very bad plan. She grabbed her own cousin, petal-pretty Senga, and yanked her out of the room, knife tip pointed at Senga’s throat. She slammed the door shut and locked it (because yes-- these doors all have locks on the outside. To keep people in as much as to keep them out).

Senga trembled, already sobbing.

“You’ll be fine if ye just do exactly what we say,” Merida hissed. They stumbled, all of them, down the hall. Merida’s ears rang with the sound of the men stampeding down the hall. They were going to collide in the south wing and there was no avoidin’ that.

“I don’t want to be a werewolf!” Senga sobbed. “I don’t want to die! Puh-puh-puh-lease--!”

“Crivvens, no one’s turnin’ you! Shite, Lou, here they come, give her the damn baby!”

And sure enough, they ran into the wing at the same time as the patrol of guards.

Everyone stopped and stared at everyone else.

Merida yanked Senga against her chest, that knife’s edge still at her throat. Wails from the baby filled the air, wails from Senga too. “If ye move a step more, I’ll cut her throat!” Merida threatened.

A man flipped up his visor--”Merida.”

Uncle Domnhall. Well. It’d be strange not to run into a couple of family members wouldn’t it? Merida’s jaw clicked but she didn’t loosen her grip. The rest of the armored men stood stupid-still. She could guess there were all Knights, the lot of them-- the true Princes takin’ the night off for the baptism. Though they could be suitin’ up now, heading their way. The longer Merida waited here, the more she risked runnin’ in with skilled Princes just like Uncle Dom. Could she take Uncle Dom? Maybe. Maybe because of the wolf’s strength and speed. But not even Merida was sure about that.

Merida’s heels pressed back, sliding one, two, three steps. She dragged Senga with her. “I’ll leave her somewhere ye can find her.”

“Merida!” hissed Uncle Domhall again and he drew his sword.

Merida flicked the knife tip over Senga’s chin. Senga shrieked and blood pearled, shiny as rubies. Merida’s nostrils flared. Inside, the wolf’s teeth bared.

Uncle Domnhall’s eyes hardened and in that second, she saw that her threat had the opposite effect. He didn’t believe that she’ll do it-- slit her own cousin’s throat. She might be a monster to them all, but in that moment, Domnhall made a decision based on Merida’s humanity.

He flipped down his visor.

“Fuck.” Merida shoved Senga into the wall and dodged left to avoid Domnhall’s lunge. Senga shrieked.

An order ripped from Domnhall’s lips. “ATTACK.”

The knights surged.

The thing about combat was, it was so fast. There was no thinking. Sometimes you make the right choice and sometimes you make the wrong one, and if you make the wrong one, then that’s the end for you-- no do-overs. Later, Merida wouldn’t remember if it was her years of training after all, if it was her desire to live, or if it was the wolf that directed her dance. But it only took a few seconds:

Domnhall lunged again, swinging his sword. Merida feinted much faster than he was guessing and ducked under his arm as graceful as a ballerina. She thrust her dagger straight under his armpit, between the armor’s plates. Uncle Domnhall howled and Merida swung him into the wall. She grabbed him by the helmet and smashed him into the wall. One, two, three times.

When her uncle crumbled to the ground, Merida couldn’t stop to think about whether or not she’d smashed his skull into little pieces.

Instead, Merida picked up his sword and jumped into the fray.

TOULOUSE: For Lou, time had two speeds and only two speeds: mind-spinning fast and aching slow. He had lived like a scale, attempting to balance between the two for so long he did not remember what it was like not to, for so long that he had not even realized that it was not way most experienced the world. It was exhausting, the constant push and pull. When his mind was working slow, it was like trying to walk through waist deep mud. Every step required more energy than he felt possible of giving. Every word dripped from people’s lips—his lips—like the slow drip of honey. When his world moved fast, Lou felt like he was flying. He always liked these fast-paced ups more than he liked the molasses downs.

Now, the world spun fast, but it wasn’t Lou’s brain making it happen. At least, Lou was quite sure it wasn’t. Usually, when Lou was spinning, spinning, spinning—it was more like soaring. Like rising fast through the sky. Sure, the earth was getting closer, but the trajectory was smooth. It only blipped when he was confronted by someone telling him to stop, telling him he had messed up, that things were wrong. Then, everything accordioned on itself, creating a confusion of thoughts and feelings. He was still soaring, but through clouds that had him turned around: up from down, right from left all looked the same.

That was what the bowels of this Order Headquarters felt like. All the walls looked the same. Every stone. Everything was wrong, unfamiliar. It did not fit into Lou’s brain. Their feet stumbled and tripped together down the corridors. Claude wailed and wailed and clung to the blunt edge of the armour Lou was still wearing. Lou wanted to wish that he was not wearing the armor, so that he could hold Claude close and the babe could feel his warmth and smell his skin and know that he was safe, with family.

Lou did not have time to even think to wish these things. Everything happened so quickly. As the fighting erupted, Lou felt his brain snap into place like a rubber band. As the swords flashed, Lou realized that he was holding a baby and that he needed to do something. Spinning on his heel, he shoved Claude at the woman whimpering on the floor.

“If you run, I will find you,” he threatened, a growl rumbling from his throat.

The woman whimpered and hugged Claude close like a baby doll.

The next moment, Lou turned back to face the soldiers. Two were already on top of him, since his back had been turned. One with a spear that he thrust towards Lou. The same way he’d felt it when practicing with Merida, Lou felt the wolf snatch control, turning Lou’s torso at just the last moment so that the tip of the spear glanced off of the breastplate. However, the impact almost knocked the wind out of Lou, causing him to stumble as the other man’s sword swung. He felt the breeze of it graze over his head.

In the chaos, he tried to remember what Merida had told him. However, he could only remember one thing: Claude. It was an instinct more than a thought, a gut-punch, a rod that straightened Lou’s back and kept him pinned in place.

Reaching as he stumbled, Lou grabbed the spear the one man was holding and with the help of the wolf, snapped it into two. He now had a hold of the sharp end, which he swung in an arch towards the men with a snarl like a cornered animal (which he was). One of the men tripped backwards, perhaps more afraid of the noise than the clumsy brandishing of the spear, but Lou pressed his advantage, stepping forward again, thrusting with the spear towards the soldier.

This left him open to the other man, whose sword slashed again through the air, catching Lou in the exposed arm.

It happened in a blink. It happened in the screeching groan of mangling metal as the wolf burst forth from the man and landed agile on its feet, growling low and harsh as it positioned itself in front of the woman and babe, its tail thrashing. This time, when the braver knight parried forward with its sword, the wolf lunged too, dodging the blade and snapping at the man’s wrist. With a shout, the man stumbled backwards and the wolf, unlike the man, didn’t hesitate to bound forward, grabbing the solider by the shin, its teeth wrapped around the thin metal there, which contorted itself and cut into the man’s skin, the scent of blood filling the wolf’s nose.

MERIDA: They had to get out of here.

Merida’s brain and her body had separated. Her body was acting on a different channel than her mind. It was all instinct for her body, lunging into the thicket and cutting the back of the knees of one Knight, then smashing her body into another so they barreled together into the wall again. She flipped him over her shoulder and stomped her boot once into the bloke’s neck, making him gargle and wheeze. She caught the sword of another and used all the strength of the wolf to shove it off, so hard that the bloke’s weapon was tossed aside. She jumped and kicked him straight in the chest, then spun again and her swords collided with another again.

She did all this as if the fight had been choreographed and all she was doing was following those steps. One after the other, after the other. Slashing, dodging-- she was sword and body.

But while she did these things, her mind spun, not instructions exactly, but-- things she couldn’t ignore.

That they had to go.

That Lou was a wolf now, and he could kill them all, her family--

They were still her family--

That these boys, they crumpled easily because they were young, younger than her. This was not the Order’s best soldiers. She caught the flashing, familiar green eyes of Lionel Simons, who was barely 18. Had he turned 18 when she was gone? Had he failed his first hunt? Lionel Simons might become a werewolf hunter one day and face her, a silver bullet in his rifle, but for now, he was a teenager, screaming, forced into this life the way that Merida had been forced into hers.

These truths made Merida smash and cut, but never kill.

Merida didn’t believe that Lou, his wolf, would do the same.

“NO!” She bellowed it without thinking when Lou’s teeth crushed a boy’s leg. It might have been from her body this cry came from, not her mind.

A flash of her own attack passed through her memory though. The red-hot terror and the crunch of Akela’s teeth. It was the moment she’d died. It distracted her enough that Merida let Lionel Simons slash his sword, and she moved a hair too slow. The tip grazed her, cutting her shirt like butter and kissing her skin with brand new pain.

Merida’s body kicked in again and she swung Domnhall’s sword back at Lionel. Hard. They clashed, and Merida swung a second, third, fourth time, beating Lionel all the way back down the hall before he failed to block her. She crashed her sword into his shoulder plate, hard enough to bruise him and upset his balance. She raised her sword above her head and brought the hilt down onto Lionel’s helmet. He collapsed, whimpering, and let go of his sword--

He was a coward, exactly the kind of Knight she resented because she’d always been better.

He was also, still, just a boy.

“Leave!” she spat at him. “Run! All of you! Do you want to be turned? Do you want to die?” Merida swung her arm toward Lou’s wolf and Lionel, sobbing, scrambled and retreated.Several other boys followed him at once.

Merida spun around and sprinted back to Senga, cowering there, covering the head of little Claude.

“Give me the baby,” she demanded. She wrenched screaming Claude from Senga’s arm. “Run!”

Senga crawled to her feet and tripped her way down the hall.

She spun back to see Lou, and the boy he’d bitten. “We have to go,” she told the wolf.

TOULOUSE: The wolf’s instinct had grabbed a hold of Lou and thrust him into the very back of his own mind. It was almost as if the boy did not exist. There was just the wolf and its desire to protect its family.

The wolf’s ears could hear the sound of screaming, of crying, of Merida’s breath. The wolf’s nose smelt iron, iron, iron. It wanted to taste more of it, the pit in its belly yawning. Its head shook slightly, a growl still in its throat. It wanted to bite through all the mangled armor. It wanted to taste the iron of its enemies’ blood, not the iron of a steel plate.

The bloodlust distracted the wolf long enough for the boy’s partner to pick up the spear from where it lay discarded amongst the shredded metal the wolf had burst from. With a thrust, the spear pierced the wolf’s shoulder. The blood was forgotten in favor of the flash of blinding pain. Throwing its head back, the wolf howled.

For a second, in their conscious, the wolf and Lou tumbled about, disoriented as their shoulder throbbed. Lou’s heartbeat fast in his chest as blood dripped onto the floor. No longer just the boy’s but Lou’s as well. It was Lou who seized with fear, who remembered that sharp, blinding pain—though he had not felt such a thing in many years. Suddenly, he was twenty-one again, laying dying in a dark trailer.

The spear was yanked out of the flesh, causing another flash of pain. The wolf stumbled and half-collapsed as its leg gave out beneath it, the muscles torn. It regained its balance as it retreated, pursued by the other man, whose confidence grew with every stumbling step the wolf took. Once it stood sturdy again, it realized it was much too close to the woman who was holding the babe. Her scent, the babe’s scent wiping the smell of blood from its nostrils. Still snarling, the wolf lunged towards the man, snapping its jaws.

With a shout, the man’s cowardice fled and the man followed it down the hall. The wolf stood panting, its shoulder twitching in pain, blood dripping onto the floor. It took a moment to realize that most of the hall was now still. Most of the enemies gone. But not safe—not yet.

It was then Merida yanked Claude from the girl and his cry rend through the air. Swinging his head about, Lou growled harshly before he recognized Merida’s scent and blinked to see pack, not foe. The growl died in his throat and instead, the wolf looked down the hall towards where the woman was retreating, making sure no others were coming.

At Merida’s command, the wolf’s ears flicked and he looked back at her.

With a huff of breath, the creature padded towards the exit. It could smell the direction to go in. The dampness of the tunnel they’d crawled through on the way here. It looked back over its shoulder at Merida and let out a soft whine.

Let’s go then, that look communicated.

He waited until she was following and then he slipped down the corridor, the torchlight glinting off his golden fur and making the blood on his shoulder garishly bright against the ochre red of his fur.

#bdrpmerida #merlou #catnapped 2: this time it's purrsonal #part six #if you do a bad thing for a good reason is it still bad?#this is a long title but #i couldn't think of anything else okay cool #yay !!#it's done #tech it was done yesterday but i didn't post it for personal reasons

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lou-bonfightme · 5 years ago

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Catnapped 2: This Time, It’s Purrsonal || Part Five: The Strength of the Wolf || Merlou

In which Merida and Toulouse make a mistake...[takes place: February 3, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw: none]

TOULOUSE: They had gotten a late start the next morning and run through the day, but they still had not reached the outskirts of London by the time the sun had dropped over the horizon. The wolves had stopped in a clearing with a brook as the sky turned pink and purple, their noses turned up. Even without a way to properly communicate, Lou knew they were going to have to keep running. And Lou wanted to keep running. The wolf was anxious to be there as soon as necessary. So, his wolf had looked to Merida’s, both their ears and noses twitching, wet tongues lolling from their mouths in panted breaths, before Lou wagged his tail once in silent agreement and Merida bolted off into the trees once more.

Lou followed behind, as he had been doing, not as fast as Merida and even as a wolf, unfamiliar with the terrain. Rarely did he run through the trees back home, on occasion he got the itch under his wolfskin but he was usually perfectly content to follow Hades about the house on full moons, to the point where Hades cursed about almost tripping over him constantly. Which was it’s own form of embarrassing, just like an insatiable urge to run through the trees howling at the moon would be.

Thankfully, the wolf didn’t feel embarrassment. It was only the man, after awakening in his own skin, who blushed at pictures Belle and Hades took on their phones and stories they told him. The same was true now. When they regained their wolfskin tonight, Lou’s cheeks would blush in the dark at the dirt on his skin and his windswept hair; dirtier than he’d ever been before and uncomfortable in such a state. Merida would probably laugh at him, which would just make the blush deeper.

The wolf didn’t care so much about these things. Yes, it still did its best to avoid the muddiest of paths or branches that would tangle leaves in its coat, but that was not its main concern of the wolf. The wolf was thinking first of Claude; second of following on Merida’s tail; and third: of how good it felt to run in the moonlight. His muscles burned pleasantly as he jumped over fallen logs and loped on silent paws through the woods. The temperature dropped as the moon rose in the sky and the tickling wind stroked its fingers through Lou’s fur and made him think of Hades’ doing the same thing and put a longing for home in the pit of his stomach that only served to drive him forward. The cacophony of the woods at night had never been something he paid attention too, but now, he felt the urge in his belly to sing along.

MERIDA: For Merida, there was only the run--the chase.

She was chasing not a little human boy, but the moon.

In the wolf’s skin, everything else dropped away. She was aware of her human self but like always, it was like being underwater, or trapped underground, only a sliver of light available to her. That light was the moon and so Merida craved it too. The wolf followed the moon, weaving from shadow into its light whenever she could, so the red undertones of her coat caught fire. The world was alive like this when the moon washed over it. She smelled every creature that rustled here. Her belly tugged her here and there, mouth salivating for deer, for fox, for the shrews that hobbled out of their holes. But Merida convinced her wolf to ignore it all for the moon. Keep an eye on the moon, Keep her nose turned up toward the moon. Keep going and going, let the chase be the meal, let the burn in the muscles feed her and then send her into a deep, satisfying sleep later, when they curled up among the litter.

That would not be until later, much later still. She pushed and she pushed and if the wolf’s mind wandered, Merida just made the wolf smell Lou at her heel, and then the wolf remembered that she was not hunting on her own, but leading a pack.

The wolf loved that feeling. It was a strange emotion to recognize inside the beast. Merida had only ever felt her hunger and her rage. Those two emotions were never far from the surface, and always seemed to be two sides of the same coin. There was a hunger for meat and rage when her stomach was empty; there was a hunger for outside and rage for being kept indoors; there was a hunger for sex--or at least, for warmth, other bodies curled around her body-- and rage when she was kept alone.

Only right now, under the moon, was the wolf’s appetite finally satisfied. She was well-fed. She was running. She had the world laid out around her and the soil in between her toes. And she was not alone.

The trees thinned, the moon pouring into the forest’s gaps. It flooded everything in pools of white. As they crossed into this swath of light, Merida’s wolf and Merida both paused. Merida could see clearer now. A peace settled inside her. Her nose quivered and she lifted it, then her mouth opened, and she drank the moonlight as she’d drink water. It gave her strength.

Panting with hot breath, she looked behind her to see Lou padding up beside her. In the moonlight, his yellow-white pearled and glistened. Hers burned and burned. She waited until he was beside her and for the first time, her wolf did not bristle, only felt comforted.

She licked her muzzle, then stretched her neck, tilting her head all the way up to the moon, her crown.

And Merida sang.

TOULOUSE: Despite the domestic nature of his wolf, Lou had always loved the woods, the outdoors. His childhood home had been suffocating. Nothing in it was for children, there was nothing to touch, nothing to smear fingerprints on. Nothing was ever out of place. As a little boy, Lou had felt stifled by all of this. It was a rambunctiousness smoothed out of him by time, but once—he had been a little boy who escaped out his window and walked along the Seine. Who caught frogs on the muddy banks of the river and tracked dirt into that immaculate house.

He grew up into someone with an affinity for nature and his walks through Enchantra were his escape throughout adolescence and young adulthood. His bedroom was covered in plants—hanging from the ceiling, spilling over the tops of his bookcase, he had lovingly coaxed ivy around the posters of his bed. He enjoyed helping his Nounou in the garden. He had a special pair of jeans for it: with green and brown stains on the knees.

That was the boy the wolf understood best. It was the boy who appeared tonight and appeared whenever the wolf got the itch to run, to feel the cool, spongy earth on the pads of its paws. That boy was more or less faded from the memory of most, but here in the woods, the wolf and that boy understood each other. The wolf gently took over and showed the boy a new side of the wild.

The woods to the wolf’s eyes were bright in the dark. There was no trouble navigating through the trees, over roots. The greens turned rich and dark. The browns black and fertile. The woods to the wolf’s eyes were lively in the dark, nothing to be afraid of. Rabbits twitched in the underbrush and owls swooped overhead. It was far from quiet.

That was, until he padded up next to the darker wolf, who had stopped in another clearing. When he looked at her and she looked back, their eyes glinted in the dark and there was an understanding there behind them. It ran deeper than human, more instinctual than anything the human could explain.

The she-wolf’s head tilted back and she sang.

Lou’s ears twitched in response and he whined once, soft and low in his throat. There was a hesitation, brief and more human than wolf. The wolf was stronger in this skin, in the night, in the woods. Instinct won, the tug in his gut too strong.

He raised his own muzzle towards the moon, which shown brilliant silver-blue in the sky, and began to sing along. Their howls mingled in the air, their hot breath mingling like mist. The tune was haunting, sad, and beautiful, low and long, like they were calling out across the unfamiliar woods looking for home—both lost, both wanting to be found.

MERIDA: She could not remember if she’d sang before.

There were two different answers to this question. There was the question of the wolf and the question of the girl. The wolf might have sung and Merida might not have known, for there were huge gaps in her life now since the beginning of last year...stretches of darkness that meant nothing to her. Within those gaps, the wolf could have done all kinds of things and Merida wouldn’t have access to the memory. Maybe the wolf bit other people. Maybe the wolf slaughtered a herd of deer and tore them limb from limb. And maybe the wolf had sung a song like this, only more mournful, the notes long and lower. It would be a song about misery and loneliness, for this was perhaps one place where Merida and the wolf understood each other completely.

Merida, though, Merida had never sang. Not until now when the moon beckoned her and the instinct urged. Briefly, she had the thought that she was standing opposite the wolf. She was her woman-self, naked, and the wolf stepped close to her and pressed its wet nose against Merida’s palm, as though asking for permission. The wolf never asked anything of Merida, only demanded and fought and took. But in that thought, Merida touched the wolf between her dark eyes and loved her.

That thought was why, when Merida lifted her snout, the two different answers had become one answer. For the first time, she didn’t feel like two bodies pulling at one. She sang with the wolf’s voice; the wolf’s voice was her voice.

She sang and her heart kept the rhythm when Lou added his voice to the song too. If her wolf had ever sung before, this would be the first time the song was not a sad one.

The notes arched gracefully through the air, long and timorous, before fading softer and softer still. The song fell to silence, but only long enough for Merida to open her wolf’s eyes and see the moon again. Then she howled a second time, pitching her voice as though her song could reach the moon-- as though the moon might join her-- as though the stars would tremble and fall to the earth.

This song went on, Merida not knowing or caring how long. They sang and the night held their song aloft, reminding all the other creatures across the plains and hiding in the trees that the wolves were here. The pack had arrived.

TOULOUSE: As they sang, Lou thought of lullabies.

He thought, most recently, of Belle—who hummed little songs to Opal without noticing she was doing it. Her voice soft and soothing, falling and rising like a little sparrow gliding through the air. Lou often felt his own heart ache at the sound. It reminded him of his own maman and how she had once sung to him. Even as a boy he’d been plagued with nightmares and would creep into his mother’s room and crawl under the warm covers with her, and lay his head against her chest. Her voice was crisp and clear, even in those lullabies like crystal chandeliers and sunlight on the river.

He thought of his brother at the piano. The companionship of Chopin, Liszt, and Debussy, whose presence had floated from room to room like pleasant ghosts, filling the sonorously empty spaces in their home.

He thought of his sister, singing along to old records and forcing him to perform duets with her. Those songs had always been chuckled up with fond laughter.

He thought of his father too, who sang at Christmas Mass, his voice low and modest. Those words mostly lost amongst the choir of piety, but still rang deep and true to Lou, as they stood shoulder to shoulder.

And standing shoulder to shoulder with Merida now, he thought of the wilds of the woods. They were no church or empty house. They were no bed to crawl into and throw the covers over your head. No, when the wolves sang, the world peeled back. The wind carried the melody across the meadows and back again.

Lou thought of all these melodies in his life, old and brand new, and felt them tangling together in his heart. For the moments that it continued, the song unwound itself from his chest and it felt like a confession. It felt like a bloodletting. As if he wanted to sing and sing until his throat was raw from it and he had poured out every ugly part of him. The wolf had no room for ugliness, for doubt or for sorrow. There was only the stretch of land in front, the twinkling lights of the city below, the heavy blue moon above, and the burning wolf at his side.

As the song wound out it’s course and Lou lowered his muzzle, he stood in contemplative silence for a moment. A shiver ran through him and made him shake out his fur a bit, blinking as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. He looked out over the woods, moving in the darkness as if the treetops were clouds.

“It feels so different like this. Beautiful,” he thought to himself, as far as he was aware. It was the clearest thought he’d ever had as the wolf, the truth of it ringing through him—the wolf in satisfied agreement.

MERIDA: When the song was done, Merida licked her muzzle and also looked out on the woods. There was a part of her that was sleepy now. If the song was a lullaby, then it was one she’d sung to herself. Its melody sank into not just her bones, but in her blood, and she wished to follow its trail to some place safe now… a dark burrow somewhere in the woods, underneath the shelter of a tree with hanging branches and thick foliage. Or if she could find an abandoned den of a smaller animal to squeeze herself into, she would.

She didn’t know if this desire for rest now was the wolf or herself. For once, the line had blurred. It made sense if it was Merida, the human, who knew that the dark meant to sleep. The wolf, however, should be more awake than ever.

It could be hunger. All the running and now with this momentary rest, the wolf was feeling the demands of her body. She needed warm, fresh meat to fill the belly. Even a rabbit would satiate-- give her the burst of speed to reach the outskirts of Londontown at last.

She glanced toward Lou beside her and there was an order forming in her mind, not so much human-words as just the thought of hunting. Together, they could accomplish more than a rabbit--

The thought never fully finished forming because in the next moment, there were human-words in Merida’s brain. Loud words. The first that the wolf had ever truly heard like this, and she didn’t understand it, but Merida did--

It feels so different like this. Beautiful.

They were not Merida’s thoughts.

They were not Merida’s words.

They were not in Merida’s voice.

Merida startled. Her head swung and shook as though something had landed on top of her and she wanted to dislodge it. Her paws scraped at the ground as she stepped back once, then twice.

The wolf wanted to snarl at Lou to remind him of his place.

Merida--

Did you say something to me?! She thought back, pushing the wolf’s confusion aside to make room for her own.

TOULOUSE: The peaceful reverie was broken by Merida. Of course.

Lou’s ears flicked and he turned his head towards her, watching the other wolf shake out her fur, as if she’d just climbed out of a river. He blinked and his tail flicked once in confusion. Turning his muzzle, he glanced around them, ears perking forward, making sure there was nothing around them that could have startled her.

But it was just them on this rocky outcropping.

Did you say something to me?! Merida’s voice bounced around in his head and Lou actually yelped a little in surprise. It was a quick, sharp bark, as if someone had stepped on his tail or bit his ear too hard in play.

He’d just—he’d heard Merida’s voice in his head.

Why was he hearing Merida’s voice in his head?!

Oh, fuck, he thought to himself.

“Oh, fuck,” he accidentally said to Merida. “Fuck.”

He’d read about this, because of course he had. Belle had a surprisingly (well, really, unsurprisingly) thorough collection on werewolves and she’d stacked them in his arms the first chance she’d gotten and told him to read. And he had, because he wanted to know, as if there would be some clue within the pages as to what to do next. He perused articles, journals, old books, newer textbooks, memoirs—anything he could get his hands on, anything that Belle had checked for authenticity on. There was not much, to his dismay, and what he could glean from the rest only came in half-truths and hypothesis.

Wolves rarely wrote about the experience of being a wolf.

(Someone should change that.)

But Lou—he’d read about this.

A pack is created when two (or more) wolves, transform together and howl at the moon in synchronization… Werewolves within the same pack have the ability to telepathically communicate when in their wolf-form… Alphas also have the ability to command their pack.

All these thoughts flipped through his brain—Belle and her books—the words written—the meaning of what hearing Merida’s obnoxious voice in his head meant—like pages off a book, quickly turning, until they landed on a conclusion, one singular, clear thought.

“She—you—” he corrected himself, realizing he could think his accusing thoughts directly towards her, “—did this on purpose!”

MERIDA: Merida knew very little about being a werewolf-- at least, on paper.

Her tutelage with Adam, however brief, had existed off the books. He’d talked to her about listening to the wolf, respecting the wolf, but not letting the wolf be in control. You are not two different people, he’d told her but Merida had only shook her head. His words didn’t match with the experience she knew, the one where her wolf’s presence loomed dark and long, a second shadow, not simply a reflection. She tried to tell him. She tried to tell Adam that since the bite, she’d not been alone a day of her life. There was always that second pair of eyes over her shoulder...always those empty pieces of her, as open as rooms, but that she could never enter.

And then, when she dared to let the wolf out--

The wolf pushed her the way she pushed the wolf. So they could not be one in the same. They were constantly battling for dominance; Merida didn’t know any other way.

That was her experience. If she learned anything, it was how to broker a tepid peace….listening to the wolf, yes, even if the wolf’s voice was still different from her own. When Lou invaded her brain then, he dropped an encyclopedia inside it. Bam! It kicked up dust. Words flashed through her brain. Memories, not hers, papers with rubbish titles, Belle’s face, her kind smile, dim lamplight illuminating yellowed pages--

Merida was absolutely stuffed full of these things, much of which she did not understand. The wolf didn’t want it and Merida backed up again, whining high in her discomfort. She shook her head again.

Then her eyes flashed as Lou snarled at her.

“Did what on purpose?!” she snapped back. Her wolf’s retreat ended abruptly. She surged forward those steps she’d lost. “I didn’t know! How could I have known something like that?”

If anyone knew-- it was the wolf, not Merida. But it was the type of knowin’ that wasn’t knowin’ at all, but rather an instinct. To sing, to invite Lou into a pack, perhaps it had all been on purpose. But it had fooled Merida too.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse’s ears flicked back as Merida’s confused thoughts collided with his own. That was what it felt like—a collision. He got whiplash from the impact of it. Was it on purpose? Yes. No. Yes. No. The wolf and Merida argued. He didn’t like it. Not just because his own wolf and he had never argued like that. (Honestly, there had been very few times, now that Lou thought about it, that he hadn’t been of the same opinion with his wolf.)

Lou had never liked arguing. He didn’t like when his friends did it. When he overheard it when he was out and about. Hardly ever engaged with it himself. It always reminded him of slammed doors and the roaring of his father’s voice, his mother’s tears—

As hard as he could, Lou slammed the door on those thoughts. This was not the time. He suddenly felt like he was scrambling, his world knocked off kilter. It seemed impossible that only moments ago, he’d felt peaceful, content, and even beautiful in his wolfskin.

“I don’t know!” Lou growled back at her, his lip twitching. He didn’t back down when she came towards him, even if his tail pressed more firmly to his haunches. “Let’s just—we can figure it out when we return,” he decided. Belle’s face appeared in his mind again. “Belle will know what to do. We don’t have time to figure it out right now. Just—stay out of my head.”

MERIDA: Stay out of my head.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

Merida knew next to nothing. Even with the information crammed in her head, she could not parse one piece of it from the next and certainly not from the rest of Lou. But what she knew enough-- knew right away, if only because the wolf seemed to know-- was that Lou was a part of her now. The wolf wanted it that way. The boundaries of her own mind had blurred and there was Lou inside her walls, Lou, suddenly, in places where even Merida before had not been able to access. Lou had kicked down those doors for her. And so now the wolf was everywhere, and Merida was the wolf, and it was like taking off sunglasses and seeing how bright the world had become.

Is this what you wanted? Was this a reason Merida could never fully access her own body or mind or memory? Was the wolf simply satisfied with a pack and would let Merida do whatever she wanted now?

She could see the wolf’s face in her mind’s eye-- a flash of orange iris. And she knew that wasn’t entirely true. But the wolf was happier than she’d ever been. The wolf didn’t want to stay out of Lou’s head at all.

Merida grunted, growled, and prowled forward. “Try not to give me orders,” she said briskly as she passed Lou. “She doesn’t like that. Stay close.”

The order slipped from Merida as easy as the song had, as she turned her muzzle up to the night sky. She found her direction again, and picked up the journey where she’d left it.

#bdrpmerida #merlou #catnapped 2: this time it's purrsonal #part five #the strength of the wolf #IS THE PACK

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lou-bonfightme · 5 years ago

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Catnapped 2: This Time It’s Purrsonal || Part Four: You Know Nothing, Jon Snow || Merlou

In which Toulouse and Merida begin their journey...[February 2, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw: talk of violence, brief thoughts of suicide/self-harm]

TOULOUSE: They had been running all day. The way to London was to be done by wolf. This was decided in lengthy conversation with Belle and Hades, as they had stayed up late into the night, strategizing. Wolves could not be tracked by train tickets or calls to taxis. Wolves would not be expected. That didn’t mean Lou liked it.

When Toulouse had turned back from wolf to man, he ached in places he hadn’t even known existed. He walked back to the little clearing Merida had chosen rubbing his lower back with one hand and fixing his hair with the other, put off that Belle had tsked at his for trying to take along his hair gel in the small pack. It was enough just to take clothes for the three days they’d be gone. And perhaps a toothbrush. Otherwise, they had to travel light and quick. So, Lou was left disheveled and uncomfortable not just with aches but his appearance as well. He made a face as he sat down on the damp ground, his back pack that Belle had tied to his wolf’s shoulders, now in his lap. He took out his phone to check his messages, but there was no signal. It was freezing and even with having run all day and the wolf’s blood warm in his veins, he shivered miserably.

The wolf was unhappy with the stop too, though not for the same reasons. It wanted to run through the night. Claude had been gone a little over twenty-four hours at this point and to the wolf, that was far too long. To Toulouse it was far too long as well, but he was better at rationalizing the time. Telling himself that this stop was needed, for they had to maintain their strength and also work on building a proper strategy for infiltrating somewhere that had never been infiltrated before.

The wolf did not understand this. It saw only the moon rising once more in the sky and knew that it had been too long. That a pup left alone this long would begin to starve, if it had not frozen already in the winter chill.

It was futile to think as the wolf in the moment, because to give in to instinct was to give in to brashness and brashness would not get Claude back to him sooner.

Though, as much as Lou liked thinking this thought, over and over like a mantra, he did not know where to go from there. He refused to allow himself to be grateful to Merida’s knowledge, but even still, he was eager to hear her plan. Belle had told him to listen to her and he would heed her words; she’d never steered him wrong before.

The bushes rustled, drawing Lou out of his thoughts. He looked up from his phone and turned his head toward the sound so that when Merida appeared, their eyes connected.

"So," he started without preamble, "what is your plan?"

MERIDA: Merida could also run forever.

This was where she belonged. She had always felt that way-- wolf or no wolf. When she’d gone out campin’ with the DunBrochs, when she raced Angus through the hills, the world grew bigger to her, the colours rich and new, the wind like a song and the sky callin’ her name. There was nothing like the fresh air in her lungs. Nothing like the soil underfoot. It didn’t matter if it was the wolf’s skin she lived in or her own. As long as she was on the move, there was a seamless transition between the two. It was easier than ever to remain herself. And the journey ahead did not scare her. It raced toward her as she raced towards it, ready to snap it in between her jaws and make it her own.

When it was time to stop, the race was still alive in her veins. But she used it for kindling. She wasted no time to unhook her own bag and leave it on the ground for the Bonfamille lad to sit near. She grunted that she would gather the firewood and that’s what she did: clomping out into the dark wood and finding the best pieces. She returned with her arms full and the wind tugging at her tangled curls and the tips of her ears. It wasn’t that cold, but it would be soon.

She went to work on the fire, building it in seconds. It felt good. It felt like herself, like she was a child, and this was the job set to her by Fergus long ago while he went fishing with her uncles and Elinor set up the tent with her aunts.

A bit mad to leave a child with a flint and some matches, eh-- but that was the DunBroch way. Even the women were strong, calluses on their fingers and palms, a strong jaw set to the task.

The fire caught and licked the air. Its smoke climbed idly and the glow hit Merida, her rich red hair now orange, even with the dirt and the leaves and the oil from running all day. She sat back and was content to rest for at least this moment.

But the Bonfamille lad wanted a chat.

Well. Not a chat. He’d never voluntarily talk to the likes of her. He wanted details.

She tossed some nettle into the fire. “The best time to attack will be right before the baptism ritual. We’ll have to time it right, but most everyone will be preparin’ for the ceremony. The babe will also be with a few of the Order women. I doubt they’ll have a Knight or Prince with them. They won’t be expectin’ any trouble. So we’ll have to take out the guards in the front, then hopefully I’ll go through the women’s quarters and we shouldn’t have much trouble. Well.” She snorted. “Till they spot the guards at the front. Then all hell will break loose. So. Quiet, fast. No room for error. Gettin’ out with a babe will be ten times as hard as gettin’ in.”

TOULOUSE: Everything about this venture was foreign to Toulouse. When he traveled, he did so in luxury. His family taking business class on trains and planes to Paris. Only taking cars with tinted, dark windows to travel through Paris. He had never gone anywhere on foot for such a long distance and he’d certainly never camped before. Perhaps, if Hector was the kind of man who liked those kinds of things, he would’ve taken his sons out into the woods and taught them how to build fires. That was not the kind of man Hector Bonfamille was. Lou had learned other useful skills from him: how to make a cocktail, how to argue without seeming like you were arguing, how to tie a tie. In their world, these things were as powerful as striking flint and coaxing a fire to life.

While he had not hesitated to ask his question, he was wary of the answer—and rightfully so. Merida’s words had his brow furrowing, for this was foreign too. Lou did not like things he did not understand, and he did not understand battle strategy. He felt useless, a feeling that made him automatically restless. As he sat and listened, his fingers tapped out a quick melody on his knee, a subtle but anxious tic.

He mulled the information over quietly and thoroughly. It was silent except the crackling of the fire. The sun had not yet set, so the forest was lit with twilight—purple settling over the brown forest like a blanket. He wished it felt as peaceful as it looked, the whole forest still and centile. But with Merida and her wolf so close, he felt on edge. With their mission laid out in front of them, looming daunting on that purple-blue horizon, he felt almost hopeless. He wished for Hades, who had experience in these things, who would know if Merida’s plan was good or bad.

As it stood, Lou could do nothing but trust Merida. Something that would not sit well with him, if Merida was anyone else outside his circle, but was made all the more difficult due to her actions—both towards Belle and himself. All he could see when he looked at her was the person who had put him in this position in the first place. When he looked at her, he felt the sudden urge to push her down, like he used to do to Berlioz when his little brother would take his toys. Only now, the action would be with the intention to harm. Still, he had no other choice. If he pissed her off, she’d leave him alone in this forest, without a way to get home and, more importantly, without a way to get to little Claude.

Taking a breath, Lou let it out from his nose and stilled his tapping fingers, curling his hand into a fist. In lieu of his understanding, he did the only thing that he could think to do:

Ask questions.

“How do we know that the baptism is happening in three days? How do we know what time it is happening? How many guards are there?” How can I help? “If there is no room for error, it seems as if you are leaving an awful lot to chance,” he criticized, almost as an afterthought.

MERIDA: Merida’s eyebrow quirked.

She wasn’t doing nearly as much deep-thinkin’ as the Bonfamille lad (which she had a feeling about; just a glance at him and he was all furrowed brow and pursed lip, deep inside himself.) Merida was deep inside herself as well, but her brain was blissfully silent. In the wilderness, Merida was filled with forest-sound instead. That crackling fire, the cricket-song, the wind. She just focused on these things and let them think for her. Her wolf had no complaint otherwise. What was there to worry about at this stage? Just the absolute essentials: stay warm. Stay hydrated. Stay well-fed. Merida could focus on these things and answer these needs more than she could ever answer the yearning of her human-heart, or fill the well of her loneliness. Or silence her darkest thoughts. The ones that came in the shape of a gun and a silver bullet.

She thought such things late at night. She thought such things when the moon waxed and her wolf got louder and louder. Keeping herself alive was much easier when it was broken into the most mundane of tasks. Feed yourself, drink water, keep yourself warm. Do this, make it through the night.

She looked back up at Lou when he began to ask his questions. Merida nearly snorted at him. She swallowed this noise, her eyebrow drawn up instead.

“Tis a reason they came now,” said Merida simply. “It’s close to the end of the month. The baptisms happen every month, for the eligible Order babes born. He would be given a fairy gift if it wasn’t too late. Still an educated guess, but he needs the baptism to be part of the Order properly. They’ll do it sooner than later.” She sighed and leaned away from tending the fire, flicking hair from her eyes.

“There will be least two guards at each entrance. As for leavin’ it to chance-- there’s a difference between room for error and room for improvisation.”

Fergus had said that to her once.

“So we got to keep our advantages in mind, aye? They won’t expect us, that’s one. They won’t expect me, that’s two. And-- they underestimate me. They always have.” Merida couldn’t help but smirk, just a little. Everyone always does. “So we stay hidden as long as we can. Take out the guards quietly, use the ladies’ corridors against them, use their arrogance against them.”

TOULOUSE: Merida’s words were hardly comforting. She spoke with the cocky kind of air that reminded Lou of his more manic moments (not that he’d ever admit to that), moments where he was delusional in his own grandeur and briliance. He didn’t like how it still sounded like Merida was mostly just making assumptions. That much of this strategy wasn’t strategy at all, but flying by the seat of their pants. Lou hated that. He was not a boy to make rash decisions--well, he was, but not by choice. It was his mania that grabbed him in fits of lightning quick choices, ones that inevitably always complicated his life. When he was himself, he was not rash, he was careful and calculated, as was the Bonfamille way. They were snakes, laying in wait. They examined every angle, found the weaknesses, then chose exactly when to strike. That was how Lou dealt with his enemies, and it was always effective. Whereas his manic, split-second decisions always led to a bigger mess--things that haunted him.

The last thing Lou needed was for this mission to haunt him, he had enough ghosts. Not to mention, it was not Lou that was at stake here, it was his little cousin, whose care he was in charge of (self-appointed, of course.) This meant that they needed to be perfect. Every step of this plan had to go exactly as Merida said.

Lou was not confident that it would. However, there also wasn’t time. They would be in London the night after next and they would be running as wolves, unable to communicate for half of that time. Which meant little time to plot, to examine every angle, to strike only when completely and utterly sure that their enemies would be obliterated.

It would be messy.

Not to mention, part of this lack of confidence stemmed from Lou’s own inability to imagine himself doing the things that Merida was discussing. Taking out guards. Infiltrating the Order’s dungeon-like headquarters. These were things that Lou had never considered doing in his life.

“And what happens when they inevitably sound the alarm?” Lou asked, an anxious edge to his voice that he couldn’t hide. “The place will be crawling with trained monsters--against just the two of us.” Really, he thought, they should’ve brought others with them. Hades, for one. Even Peri’s frost magic would be more helpful than not. Not that he would put his friend or girlfriend in the line of fire if avoidable but he couldn’t deny the fact it would be strategically sound.

MERIDA: Merida raised her eyebrows. The answer was obvious. We fight them.

She kept these words inside her, though her other instinct, honestly, was to laugh. Perhaps it was just the glow of the fire, but the Bonfamille lad was looking a little sick. And for good reason. Merida wasn’t under any delusion that this was easy. She knew that Toulouse had little skill; what power he brought wasn’t even his own. It was his wolf’s, and she wasn’t sure what that meant in the end. If she thought too much about it, her stomach curled in discomfort at the thought of bringing a werewolf into an entire fortress full of men, women, and children. She might have renounced the Order but that didn’t mean she didn’t still love its people, at least a little. That didn’t meant that she wanted this curse for anyone else. She’d rather Lou slaughter the Princes than turn them, the way that Merida had been turned, out of revenge. (How else was she ever to love the wolf, knowing as she did, that it was given as punishment?)

This was why she should do it alone. There was a greater chance for her to get in and out undetected. If there were complications, she could handle them quietly. If they got too loud…

Then she failed. She failed, she was slaughtered, it was over. She’d die a Knight though, no matter what the Order thought of her. She’d not turn into the wolf. She’d not let the wolf save her.

But Toulouse? What else did he have?

It was grim. And Merida was scared, but it was a fear she knew how to live with, a fear that had always driven her forward, never backward.

“You’re not expectin’ this to be easy, are you?” Merida finally said, eyebrow still raised. “I dunno wut ye want to hear, min. There’s no gettin’ in and out without fighting anyone, and we can be as careful as we want, but yeah--we’ll be outnumbered and at a disadvantage. All we can do is anticipate it.”

Well, there was one thing.

“But we can take a hostage. Been thinkin’ about that. Adds its own complications, but...we need someone to carry the babe anyway, if not you. I’d strap the lad to me back but somethin’ tells me you won’t like that idea.” Merida tilted her head. “So. Grab a lady of the order. It will distract whoever we fight. They’ll hesitate and I won’t.”

This wasn’t an idea that Merida liked. It wasn’t honorable. It was against the Prince’s Code. And it was also Merida’s last mistake, wasn’t it? Taking Belle?

But it’d give them more leverage and, perhaps, just enough to get out safe.

TOULOUSE: “Yes, because that’s your first instinct, isn’t it?” Lou sneered without thought, his wolf rumbling in his chest.

He hadn’t meant to say it, not really. The agitation had snatched his tongue in its currents. He didn’t like how plainly Merida had laid out the predicament, it made the knot in his stomach tighten, like he was being drawn and quartered, slowly and painfully. It had felt like that since Claude had first been taken. Or it felt like he was a fish caught on a hook, being reeled in, without any ability to fight the pull. Even though they had stopped running for the day, Lou felt like part of him was still running, leaving him out of breath.

As much as the wolf liked the idea of sinking its teeth into all those Order people, Lou was nervous. He was not built for fighting, not the way the wolf was, not the way--he could admit--Merida was.

And, despite his snide comment--he was not particularly against a hostage. Whilst he bulked, generally, at the idea of physically hurting anyone who didn’t outright deserve it (he’d rather see the Order disbanded and behind bars, much more satisfying that way), he also would do whatever despicable action was necessary to rescue his baby cousin. He had already been branded a monster, even before the wolf had taken up residence inside his veins by those who thought him callous and cruel. Besides, taking a hostage may alleviate some of the violence, a concept he was a fan of.

It would work. Lou knew this because only the most vile of people would put violence over saving someone they loved. Even this Order was not full of mindless zombies, as Phoebus’ love for his own aunt proved. A hostage Would work against Lou--if his family was taken, a knife to their throat, he’d be paralyzed and helpless. If it had worked against someone such as Hades…

Lou had thought, only once or twice before of what would have happened if Merida hadn’t had a change of heart, the truth of the alternative to that night so disturbed him--

“It will work,” Lou admitted after a moment of stony silence. The words were weighted heavily on his tongue and he wondered, for perhaps the first time: were despicable things really justifiable by the honor of the reason they were committed? Would this decision haunt him? Would he not be absolved by the steely resolve that he had only done what was necessary to protect his family?

“Especially if we threaten with a wolf bite.” Lou was loathe to turn another, not because he was worried about transferring the curse to someone else--no, that would not be his problem. He was reluctant because he was rather proud of the lack of violence and grief his wolf had so far caused. After a year of living with it, he recognized it for what it was: a defensive mechanism; brutal and instinctual, but deeply loyal and easily controlled if allowed to protect those it cared for.

MERIDA: Lou sneered at her like she was the monster, but he was the one who talked about the bite like it was a weapon.

She wanted to sneer back. And that’s your first instinct, huh?

Merida didn’t.

But she would not do that. She would never. If he wanted to threaten, then let him, but she’d always remember Akela’s teeth and she’d always remember the fear darting through her in those last moments of her humanity. And how she curled up, quivering after, her entire arm throbbing as she thought about sawing it off, knowing it was too late anyway. So much was taken from her in those minutes. Not just her humanity, which she knew, objectively, she still had parts of. The divide in Merida between wolf and human was so strong sometimes she could not think she was all beast. She fought against what the wolf wanted-- she won, these days, more than she didn’t. (The wolf hated it. The wolf made her dream with the wolf’s eyes as revenge. She’d not had a human dream since that day).

And so it wasn’t about her humanity as much as it was about her body. She’d loved her body before, it had been her favourite thing about herself. It was strong and tall, she trained it well. After--

Her body didn’t belong to her anymore. Akela ruined her.

She fought for control every day, every minute, every second, every breath, every heartbeat. Right now, she was fighting.

To do that to another woman? To frighten her so? No. Merida would take a bullet between the eyes first and she’d die with that honor, knowing that she’d at least never be that.

“A knife will do it,” she said. Her eyes remained on the fire, those flames reflected in the blue of her irises. “Order women are soft. And if she has the babe, she’ll want to protect him too, so she shouldn’t fight back.”

Who would it be, Merida wondered. Which one of her sisters would she take and terrify, whose life would she risk for the life of a strange child? Guilt crept along the edges of her consciousness, even though she knew that it was the right thing to do and the Order had sinned first, ripping the babe from what family it had left.

She flicked her eyes up to Lou again. “Though in case she does-- tell me you at least know how to throw a punch without breakin’ ye thumb.”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse stared at the fire too as he listened to Merida and contemplated jumping into the flames. Not, necessarily, to die--but because he wanted to burn this conversation from his skin. He didn’t like the way it settled on his shoulders, or more accurately: like a collar around his neck; one of those medieval torture devices that slowly suffocated you with inward facing spikes.

He didn’t know why this was. Perhaps it was the physicality of it. Psychological warfare you could distance yourself from. He never saw the aftermath of what had happened to Sykes. It had been pushed from his mind. And when he’d helped defeat Bradley, he had watched it unfold from a distance, knowing Bradley was shackled and could not harm anyone ever again. He had never committed an act of violence, not against anyone. He considered himself a gentleman who did not engage in such dastardly affairs, with such dastardly criminals as Merida.

Perhaps she was the problem. He thought this idly, flicking his eyes towards the girl, whose hair was the colour of autumn leaves, who wore it in a tangle about her face. Her nose was sharp and her brow was high, the angles of her face all hard lines ill-befitting a feminine beauty. She looked, to him, the part of the ruffian criminal.

If, perhaps, he was with Hades, and it was his companion that voiced these things, he would not find them so ill-fitting. They would be easier to swallow, because Hades would speak with the gravity of the situation in his voice, but with a steely, passionate resolve that would bolster Lou’s own. With Merida, Lou couldn’t help but sense a reluctance and felt it seep into himself.

Or, perhaps, he simply was not built for battles the likes of which Merida was talking about.

At the mention of a punch, Lou visibly balked slightly. He still remembered the feel of Roscoe’s fist hitting his lip, crunching against his cheek. The bastard’s knee in his stomach. Just the thought filled him with a controlled kind of fury.

“I don’t see why I shall need it,” he spoke plainly, doing his best to keep the distaste for such acts out of his voice. “I will have my wolf.”

The wolf would protect him. It had not failed him so far and Lou found as they set out on this journey, that he trusted it, almost implicitly. If he was not so entangled in worry for his cousin and doing his best to keep the idea of the actual fight far, far away; he would perhaps grow concerned with how fondly he was beginning to think of the wolf. For without it, how would he ever rescue Claude from the clutches of the Order?

MERIDA: I will have my wolf.

How easily he said that.

She wrinkled her nose, not bothering this time to hide the expression. She only turned her face after Lou saw-- and then, it wasn’t to hide, but just because she didn’t want to look at him, this boy who thought of the wolf as an easy solution, when it simply wasn’t. How was she the monster here? It was not Merida who wanted to rely on the brute force, the paranormal strength, of a creature that should not be. Merida was trying to figure out the way to do this as quietly as possible… It was something she’d learned, she realized, from Phoebus. As shit as he was, he’d known something about strategy. And he gave that to her now. Despite the sour taste in her mouth, she was grateful. It was another skillset, just another weapon, like her bow and the sword and her passion and yes-- the wolf.

But the wolf was never first. The wolf…

If the wolf could give Merida anything, the wolf gave Merida a reason to sharpen the rest of her weapons and become deadly as Merida, not as the monster.

“The wolf is the back-up plan, you dolt,” she couldn’t help but say-- whoops. She snorted. “Think it through. If you’re the wolf, you can’t carry your cuz, nor can you hold a prisoner captive, can ye? You expect me to do that-- to carry your cuz, to secure a hostage, and to take out trained Princes? I’m a good fighter, but even I can’t do three things at once. If all hell breaks loose, fine, let the wolf out, hopefully most of the Princes will run screamin’. But you’ll want to be able to defend yeself without it. So. You ever throw a punch?” She cocked a brow as she repeated herself.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse, honestly, wasn’t sure what that expression was for. He just blinked once at her, his brow lowering down over his eyes—feeling slightly abashed and annoyed by this fact. Not that he put much stock in what Merida thought of him, but it was still jarring for him to be on such intimate terms with someone and not know and trust them explicitly. They were embarking on a quest so far out of his depth, they might as well be walking across a thin sheet of ice, and Merida’s presence was no wooden plank laid out across the path to stabilize him.

That look was illustrative of the chasm between them, almost as pronounced as the marked differences in their accents.

He was only further rankled by the patronizing tone of Merida’s voice.

“I do not expect you to do all the heavy lifting,” he told her, his voice cool though his emotions were stirred by the accusation. “You said yourself the hostage is partially in order to carry Claude, leaving me unencumbered. My point was that the wolf is obviously for defense. Why would I need to throw a punch if the wolf will protect me instead? And, for the record, if it was not obvious, I’ve never thrown a punch. I’ve never had the need. I’m not some vagabond,” he scoffed at her, all his bluster insincere, except for the question of his gentlemanly nature. “The first and last person who ever punched me ended up in prison.”

MERIDA: She laughed at him.

She had to. What a pure dolten, sayin’ things like ‘I’m not some vagabond!’ and with such a straight face, too. Think about that! He thought throwin’ a punch was prison-worthy. The look on his face at the suggestion, too, like she’d insulted his mam. This was a bloke who had never so much as been in a bar fight, let alone infiltrate a thousand year old secret society. Bloody hell. Wut sorta poof reports a min to the police after a punch? And he was so proud of himself too, so bloody proud, look at his face--!

She laughed harder, tossing her head back and letting this temporary joy fill her. When she looked back down, her eyes twinkled at him. She didn’t care if she set off his temper or annoyed him. This was easily the best part of her night.

Though really, it basically meant they were doomed. This jessie was going to die. She’d do her best to keep him alive but if he didn’t want to be a vagabond, well!

“Sorry! Sorry, whew, y’just made me whole night.” She snickered, wiping at her eyes. “First and last, he says! Ah,” she sighed out another breathy chuckle. “Well. That won’t do, Mister Bonfamille. Y’can’t go turnin’ into a pony-sized wolf every time someone insults yer ascot. Should at least know how to disarm an opponent. I’ll teach ye tomorrow.”

She flopped back then, putting his hands under her head and looking up at the stars. “I’ll wake ye up an’ we’ll practice before we head out.”

TOULOUSE: Merida started laughing and Toulouse just stared at her.

He wasn’t offended, because why would he care what Merida was laughing about? She was as inconsequential to him as a flea. Actually, less than a flea, because a flea you had to pay attention to, lest you wind up with an infestation.

If anything, it just gave him more of a reason to detest the Scot for being loud and uncouth. It was horribly rude. He would not concern himself with a bruised ego, if she was laughing at the fact someone had punched him, she was no better than a common bully and if she was laughing at the fact he’d never thrown a punch, then let her laugh. If she thought that was funny, she was nothing more than a brute, which didn’t surprise him.

So, he just stared quietly at her, finding her, if anything, annoying the way flies were annoying. Necessary for the environment (in this case, necessary for him) but horrible nuisances.

In that vein, he knew that she had a point and that learning tacticle defenses would be useful, even if he didn’t like the idea of it. His practical side easily outweighed any residual embarrassment he might feel at his lack of knowledge of combat techniques.

“Why not now?” he said, his voice impatient, as he watched her stretch out. “We have to leave early tomorrow if we want to make good enough time to be in London the evening after.” Not to mention, the whole idea put a pit in his stomach that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep with anyway.

MERIDA: Merida had closed her eyes, letting the travel from today sweep over and remind her of her body. She felt all those kilometers traveled in the stretch of her muscles. It was always a little bizarre to Merida, how exercising the wolf exercised her too, as ridiculous as that probably sounded to just about anyone. But for Merida there was still such a gap between wolf and girl. When she lived in the wolf’s skin, it felt like piloting a narrow aircraft, with controls that moved a second before she got to press them. In other words-- like she wasn’t piloting anything at all. Like she was cramped, uncomfortable the whole time. If anything, the soreness that came from sitting in the wolf all day should be similar to takin’ long road trips in a car or somethin’.

But the wolf’s body was her body. The muscles were the same. The heartbeat, the same. The exhaustion belonged to both of them and so did their different urges-- the wolf’s hunger, Merida’s hunger, the wolf’s desire… Merida’s desire.

It was just a mental thing that made it feel strange. But accepting this close connection would be the dirt thrown over the coffin of her old life. She clung, stupidly-- knowing it was stupid. But Merida still couldn’t uncurl her claws.

At Lou’s irritated question, her eyes sprang open again, and her chest rumbled with an annoyed growl, both Merida’s and Lou’s. But she sat up again and looked him square in the face.

“Well, thought you’d appreciate a little laydown, princess,” she mocked him. “But if ye want--”

She pushed up onto her feet and then dragged her dagger out of her pocket. She threw it and it pierced the ground right next to Lou’s boot, sticking straight up.

“Pick it up.”

TOULOUSE: Thing was: Lou wasn’t that tired; which was, frankly, bizarre. To all logic, he should be more exhausted than he’d been since, perhaps, he had been in the hospital that first night. Lou was not unfamiliar with flurries of activity that kept him up for days on end, in a hazy fog of concentration that meant the passing of the sun and moon was all but lost on him. However, those days were usually spent shut up in a room, not running through forests.

Lou was not someone prone to long or strenuous bouts of physical activity, but his body did not know this, apparently. The only indication of today’s trek, all the miles of uneven ground covered at a dead run, was a soreness in his muscles that was unfamiliar but not debilitating.

Rest was the furthest thing from his mind. It was Claude on his mind. It was rescuing him and getting back to their family in one piece. Nothing else mattered. If Lou got any sleep tonight, it would be a surprise. Instead, he felt this a much better use of his time. Those nonstop nights and days of frenzied activity made it natural now for him to push those muscles of his, to try and stop the whirring of his brain. He had no thought for his own wellbeing, nor Merida’s, nor for the fact that perhaps they should rest. His only thought was: I am awake, therefore, there are things that I can be doing to prepare.

So, he ignored her comment and readied himself to argue if she attempted to sleep.

Thankfully, an argument was unneeded and she stood up the next moment.

His eyebrows furrowed as she reached for something in her pocket. He only had a moment to register the glint of light on metal before the knife landed next to him. Instinct had him flinching away, but the wolf steadied him more than he would have been otherwise—the surprise of it might’ve had him lose his balance on the log he’d managed to perch on. As it stood, he only shifted slightly to the side and in the next moment, it was the wolf who had jumped into the forefront, eyes flashing and a snarl ripping from his lips before he could stop it.

He planted his feet on the ground again, steadying himself, his shaking fingers digging into the rough bark of the rotting tree. The wolf settled after a moment, but now Lou was concerned: how was he supposed to spar without the wolf bursting forth from his skin?

Reaching over, he yanked the dagger easily from the ground and stood. He adjusted the unfamiliar, heavy weight in his hand. Lou was used to the light cedarwood and horsehair of his paintbrushes. The blade glinted again in the firelight as Lou turned it over in his grip, eyeing the handle—it was beautifully carved. And he wondered briefly with a kind of morbid fascination, that deadly beauty.

When he looked up at Merida again, he sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Lou was nothing if not a dutiful student. His mother, he suspected, had not imagined him applying such a doctrine to something like combat, but still, it would serve him well.

“How do I hold it?” he asked, his fingers flexing around the handle once. His cheeks pinked slightly, but otherwise his features were set with determination.

MERIDA: Holding it was not the point.

She wasn’t planning on teaching the Bonfamille lad how to use the dagger. When you put weapons in the hands of those who had no idea how to use them, those weapons became more dangerous than useful, and one night of lessons would not change that. Give Lou a gun, he’d get it taken from him and then a bullet through the skull. Give him Merida’s arrows-- well, that idea was so hilarious she wouldn’t even finish it. A dagger was perhaps the most innocent thing if only because its reach was not great and if Lou could get close enough, perhaps through his werewolf’s strength, he could disarm, grab-- stab. Anyone could stab.

But it was the disarming that was the focus, the most important skill. Disarming an opponent might not stop them, but it did stop you from being dead. Merida’s most important job, besides retrieving the wee lamb, was to make sure Lou was not dead.

“An opponent will come toward you holdin’ it like a hammer. Most likely. You’ve held a hammer, aye?” One eyebrow twitching up again-- if his answer was no, she’d not be surprised, though that was an additional point in the This poofter is going to die column.

“So, like this--” she mimicked the fist and stretched out her hand so he could see her thumb wrapped around her other fingers. “Lock the wrist, hold it out-- come toward me and thrust it forward-- I’ll show you how to stop it.”

TOULOUSE: To the hammer comment, Lou just gave Merida a look. One which, he assumed, would become typical of their partnership. It was all raised eyebrows and pursing of the lips. A subtle blend of offense at the jibe to his intellect and the answer “of course” clearly marked. Therefore, a response was not deigned with a response outside of the look described.

He had handled hammers before. It was not his main medium, but Lou enjoyed a bit of woodworking. Whittling was something he actually did in his spare time quite frequently, when his fingers needed to move. It was more physical and satisfying than doodling. He had also completed larger projects that, yes, involved using a hammer. He was, after all, the defacto stage manager for Swynlake Community Theatre Summer Productions.

Anyway. Suffice to say he had sufficient experience wielding a hammer.

Just not as a weapon. Something that still settled uncomfortably in his stomach and was the reason his hold was so hesitant as he flipped the blade around and held it gingerly for a moment before his grip tightened with determination.

His wolf watched warily but did not feel as if it was considering interfering. The wolf knew the value of play-fighting the same way the man knew the value of learning what Merida would teach. It did not mean either of them liked it, though.

Lou moved forwards at a walk—his steps were confident, but slow, not at all the way an enemy would approach. He did as Merida instructed though, even baring down on her when she reached up to grab him. Lou felt the wolf in his moments but he didn’t try to push it down, if anything, he felt its instincts would only be an asset in keeping him alive.

MERIDA: Merida had never taught anyone but herself.

She only knew, then, how she had learned. She had learned by throwing herself at things. She watched, she absorbed, and then she charged, doing her best to play-act her father and her uncles and all her cousins. She thought be big! and be loud! and she was those things-- fast, strong, furious all at once. She got knocked down more than not, at least at first. But soon she learned how to fall down. That was always the first step.

She could only hope that Lou was smarter than he looked--smart in this specific way, that is. She had no doubt the lad could quote Shakespeare to her, point at paintings and talk about light or pastel or whatever bollocks his kind got their pants twisted around.

But could he pay attention when it mattered? And could he take a punch?

It took brains as well as guts.

And so when he swung, she caught his his wrist-- “Pay attention,” she instructed.

The rest happened fast.

She yanked him toward her, directing his arm down so the knife tip was pointed away. Her other hand smacked into his inner wrist and forced his grip to loose. The knife dropped-- Merida caught it, and in the next second, she’d pulled him close, the tip pressed to the boy’s neck.

“See what I did there?” She said, cocking an eyebrow. “Ye want to control the arm-- and target the wrist.”

She let go, still holding the knife. “I can come at you now, nice and slow if you’d like.”

TOULOUSE: Pay attention.

Two words all the Bonfamille children knew and knew well, though they were more accustomed to the short, quick "Regarde!" It was, perhaps, one of the first things they learned how to do. Pay attention to these names, these faces, how to use silverware, minding manners, singing scales, holding paintbrushes and dutifully learning the colours and strokes and techniques. Pay attention to the way your father sets down his bag when he comes home or the way your mother’s voice raises. Lou had been waiting and watching his whole life.

He was a quick study—and in this it was no different.

It was almost amusing, actually. Lou realised, as Merida grabbed his wrist and shoved the butt of her hand into it, that she was going for a pressure point. And Lou knew this because he knew all the muscles in the body—he could recite all three hundred and so by name and show you where they were. He had been able to do this since he was young: first for art, then for his brief foray into medicine, and now, he recognized how helpful it would be in a fight.

He was so focused on the learning that even the wolf was quiet as Merida manhandled him, pulling and then pushing and pulling again—bringing the knife to his chin.

Lou thought again of his father—and when he had first taught him how to shave; a proper shave, with razors thin and sharp.

"Regarde, Toulouse," he had said, "or you will hurt yourself."

When Merida and Lou parted, he blinked and rolled his shoulders. The wolf inside him shook out its fur.

He nodded once, expression drawn and concentrated.

One of his feet slid back slightly as Merida moved towards him, shifting his weight. She moved slow enough that Lou could easily gauge when she was within reach. He grabbed her wrist, just like she had done to him. As soon as their skin connected, Lou felt a jolt inside of him, as if his muscles had just spasmed uncomfortably. Almost instinctively in that same moment, he recognized the wolf’s power behind his own grasp. He yanked Merida forward, smacking the knife out of her hand with a quick jab to her wrist.

He fumbled the knife as she dropped it. Even with the speed of the wolf, the movement was awkward if unpracticed.

Lou scrambled for it anyway, blood pumping as if in an actual fight. Half kneeling, still holding onto Merida’s wrist with one hand, he managed to catch it just before it hit the ground. The tip pressed into the soft earth right by the toe of Merida’s boot. With a tilt of his head, Lou shifted the knife just slightly so it rested at the top of Merida’s shoe, pressing against her Achilles’ tendon.

"It’s not the neck," he commented with a shrug as he squinted up at her. A little smirk crept into the corner of his mouth. "But it’d do in a pinch, no?"

MERIDA: He could be worse.

In a real fight, she’d be much faster and stronger. In a real fight-- a Knight, a Prince, they’d know different techniques to stop this simple disarm, or to block the other attack. It begged the question what the point would be then, teachin’ Lou even the barest of basics when the enemies he’d come up against had years and years of trainin’. But something was better than nothing. Maybe they’d get a bunch of jessies who slept on their hand-to-hand (many of the Order boys did, whereas Merida had loved every second of her stolen lessons) and Lou would be able to stick the knife in a couple of tendons.

Or maybe he’d get stabbed or slashed. That was much more likely, and unfortunately, Merida knew that a stabbing or a slashing would waken the wolf. If Lou didn’t die, he’d kill others. It’d be a blood bath in those tight, dark corridors. Merida did not want a blood bath. For multiple reasons.

“In a pinch, aye. Though, you got to be faster,” she said. “If I were a real enemy, I’d smash yer nose into yer brain with my knee and you’d be a goner. Don’t make ye self vulnerable like that. Y’want to be facin’ yer foe, guard your body, aye?”

She grabbed his arm and hoisted him up, snatching the knife from him too.

“Now, I came at ye straight on the last time, but this time, ‘m gonna aim lower and slash ‘cross--”

She demonstrated the movement, a slash that would travel diagonal, from Lou’s hip upwards.

“When ye stop me this time, grab my wrist and bend the arm backwards, instead of dragging me forwards.”

She reached forward, grabbing Lou’s wrist and forcing it back, twisting it painfully so it was hooked behind Lou’s back. “From here yer gonna want to get your opponent to the ground as quickly as possible. How do you think I should go about that, eh, Bonfamille?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse wrinkled his nose as Merida pulled him to his feet. He yanked his arm out of her grasp, the touch of her fingers sending sparks down his spine that he didn’t like, not at all. Those hands of hers had held a knife to Belle’s throat before. Who knew what else they had done.

Not to mention she was criticizing him, which Lou did not take kindly to at all. He could argue with her—even thought about it, that argument of his half-formed. Of course he’d gone slow, because they were practicing. She’d been slow too. Of course in a real fight he’d have to think much faster than he had, he knew that, obviously. (Of course, in a real fight, Lou had no idea how fast he would think or if he would be able to come up with something like slashing an achilles’ tendon—or if it would be random, flailing slashes, with the desperate hope something would land. Or, even worse: his wolf’s tooth, his wolf’s claw bursting forth to protect its very human, very weak other half.)

Merida didn’t give him time to form his argument. The moment he was on his feet, she’d swiped the knife from him and was slashing it through the air. She grabbed his arm, a shot of pain bursting in his shoulder as it twisted unnaturally. Despite himself, the wolf woke up at that and the power—and speed of what happened next was out of his control. He wretched his wrist from her grip with a snarl and elbowed her hard in the stomach.

“Don’t,” he growled at her, “do that again.”

What he meant was take him by surprise like that. He was perfectly aware that what she was teaching him was valuable but the wolf would not tolerate any actual harm. And Lou felt the manhandling unnecessary. He lifted his trembling hands, rubbing one over the other to stop the tremors, breathing in once, deeply. When he let it out it was a puff of white in the cold, dark air.

He eyed her warily again—the momentary ease of something akin to camaraderie once again lost as the man and the wolf remembered: enemy.

“By kicking in the back of their knee,” he answered her question after a moment, still rubbing little circles into the palms of his hands; massages he had been taught to relax the muscles after long hours of painting. “That’s how I’d get them to the ground. Or by continuing to wrench their arm out of the socket." This was said dryly, the distaste for such an action clear in his voice. However, he knew either method would be effective. One could not fight with a torn ligament or dislocated shoulder, thought the torque to accomplish either would need to be considerable.

MERIDA: Guess who wasn’t a good student?

Merida grunted at the smack to her stomach and her own eyes flashed-- her wolf awake too.

It thought about grabbing Lou, kneeing him hard in the groin to reduce him into mewls of desperate fetal pain, writhing on the ground. Where she’d kick him again, smash her fist into his face, keep him pinned until he held up his trembling hands and showed his belly in complete submission.

She would remind him. Who she was. The strength of her wolf, her determination, her ferocity, much greater than his. She could smell that on him and had from the first moment she had met the wolf in person. His beast was placid and defensive. It only ever showed its teeth when danger had already invaded its territory.

Unlike Merida’s wolf, so restless, always dreaming of running and running-- craving new land for its kingdom.

Merida ignored all of this. She blinked once and her jaw clenched, then ticked, and she swept her messy locks back from her face, a movement that was human and so it reminded her of her human parts...this hand, that hair, her naked skin. She would not be like Lou, growling like an animal. She would be in control.

You hear me? She thought to that wolf of hers. You show me your belly. I’m the alpha, not you.

(We’ll see about that, whispered the wolf, though it sounded like a growl.)

“You realize I’m tryin’ to help you, aye? I can’t help you without showin’ you. And you can’t learn without doin’. But you’re also not going to save yer nephew if yer wolf tries to bite my face off,” she mouthed off to Lou. “Now do you want to keep goin’ or do you want to sleep? We’ve got a long run tomorrow.”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse scoffed. It was an ungentlemanly sound, but well suited to present company.

“Right, like you have such impeccable control.”

He knew as well as she did how false that was and how hypocritical it was for her to say it. She had been the one to turn him into a monster such as he was now. Not to mention, he could feel her wolf the same way she could feel his. And hers was a proper beast, volatile and wild. It was one of the reasons he didn’t trust her, more than a simple grudge for past actions.

Honestly, the comparison made him feel better about his own wolf. His wolf had never damned anyone to this life. He had only ever chased people way, had only ever involuntarily turned in order to protect the ones he loved. (Okay, so, maybe the Bradley thing had been a touch overreactive, but that had been before his first full moon; he could be forgiven a minor hiccup.) The wolf’s docile nature was not something to be ashamed of, but proud of. Lou’s body may be home to a beast, but how often had Belle and Hades told him: you’re still you.

Toulouse felt like himself as he stared haughtily at Merida. He felt superior to her, he felt justified. His footing was so rarely sure, especially these days, but he knew his cause was noble, even if the means were unsavory at best. And, above all, he felt his determination like a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards his goal. It was good to have a goal, Toulouse had always been better with one. lt was how he was raised.

“You can show me without actually hurting me,” he snipped back. “I can’t blame my wolf for wanting to protect me from you. Now, was I correct in my hypothesis on how to take the enemy down from the position you showed me?” he asked, impatient with this interruption and cutting off further argument. They did not have time to argue, as Merida said: they had to save Claude, above all else. Nothing else was important. Lou committed this mantra to memory afresh.

MERIDA: Another scoff.

You can show me without actually hurting me-- she almost pitched her voice to be nasally and uppity, to mock him like they were kids playing at a game, instead of adult monsters training for their hunt. Thankfully, Merida knew better. Lou wasn’t her cousin and would probably throw an even bigger fit. He was incapable of having fun, of that she was sure. He was incapable of fun just as he was incapable of taking even a little bit of pain-- of having his fur literally ruffled-- his clothes wrinkled, a speck of dirt on that pressed collar.

It’d be a shame when he inevitably perished, if only because it was a shame when pretty things died.

“Anyone ever told you pain was good for ye?” she said in response, tossing her hair. She was getting sick of it now, and she dragged it all the way up, twisting it into a messy, tangled knot on top of her head, securing it with a few ties. “I barely touched ye, Princess. But alright-- you ready for me to go again? I’ll come at you, you twist my arm. Let’s see if ye can make me whine. I’ll do it without the knife. That oughta comfort ye.”

And then Merida launched herself at him, mimicking the slash much faster than she had the first.

TOULOUSE: Contraire to what Merida might think, Lou was not the type of man to be bothered by being called Princess. (Well, if only in the very French aversion to Royalty kind of way.) He thought there was nothing wrong with not liking pain. And it wasn’t even him who had protested, really, but the wolf and he was not about to chide it for protecting him.

Besides, Lou had dealt with plenty of pain in his life—and the pain of his loved ones—and he didn’t know if he agreed with her assessment that “pain was good for you.”

Of course, he wasn’t going to rise to her feeble bait, but he still pursed his lips slightly. All he did was nod at her instruction and brace himself for impact.

She came towards him quick, her arm slicing through the air. Lou blinked and stumbled back a step on instinct, even though he knew he was supposed to be reaching forward and grabbing her. It was the wolf that again jumped to the forefront. Its quick eyes followed the path of Merida’s upswing and Lou managed to reach out and grab her arm. It was not as close to the wrist as he would’ve liked in order to get a proper angle, but it would get the job done. However, he had knocked himself off balance stepping back and Merida put up a bit of a fight, which he hadn’t expected.

It made it harder for him to wretch her arm around and by the time he managed, he was proper annoyed. She had never answered him about how to get an opponent to the ground—but he decided to take a stab (not literally) at it anyway. Pushing his knee into the back of hers, he made her stumble. What he did not account for was the fact he still had a hold of her arm and stumbled too, knocking into Merida and throwing her off balance until they were a pile of limbs on the ground.

MERIDA: His instincts weren’t good.

You couldn’t teach instinct. This was the most worrying thing of the whole lesson thus far. If Merida was more wolf than girl, fine-- but Lou was more man than beast and the man wasn’t made for this sort of thing. He’d told her upfront as much and she had no reason to doubt him. But he showed it over and over. He showed it in split-second hesitations, which was all it took to snatch the advantage back. Being a good warrior was half skill and half all guts. When you missed the guts, it didn’t matter how well you could swing a sword, if you thought about swinging it too much.

Instinct. It was something Merida had. It was why she’d argued again and again for her place in knighthood. It didn’t matter the sex, but the guts, and Merida. Had. Guts.

This time, when Lou hesitated, she showed him just a taste of that hesitation. She did fight back. Her eyes flashed and she wrenched her wrist. Lou looked panicked and angry and annoyed and just about every other shade of emotion besides the one he needed to win.

They toppled alright, but by that point, Merida knew the fight would be hers. She wrenched her wrist again, kicked her legs up from under him and pinned Lou, straddling on either side.

“Not bad,” she said with a shrug of the shoulders. “I mean. You would’ve died, but at least you made it annoyin’ for ‘em. You got to be more confident, Princess. Here I thought that’s what yer Bonfamilles were known for.”

She pushed off of him and spread her legs wide. “Shall we try that one again?”

TOULOUSE: Lou had no idea how he’d somehow wound up underneath Merida, considering the fact he’d fallen onto her back. The world turned, something in his back pulled, and suddenly he was staring up at the smoke of their fire wafting towards the trees.

The wolf growled, but it was more a grunt of indignant displeasure than anything particularly threatening. Perhaps the wolf had realized it wasn’t going to best Merida and didn’t feel particularly enthused to try. If she was a real threat, it’d be different, but the boy and the wolf had decided that—perhaps, that was not the case. Their guard was not down completely, of course, it would much more than one day of amiable silence for trust to be built, if there was even a possibility for a foundation. However, ever practical, Lou knew that what Merida was teaching him was valuable—and whatever her motives for accompanying him on this trip, she was useful and would not be useful if he snarled and snapped and ran her off.

While he might not have the urge to rip her face off in a beastly show of dominance—he wasn’t happy about being pinned to the ground. He’d not wrestled like this since he was young and even then, Ber had never been much of a playmate in that regard. Sometimes, his father, in his most fatherly moments, used to get down on the rug and wrestle with him or throw him squealing with laughter into the waves at their beach house. But Lou had quickly had to outgrow such instincts. They didn’t befit a Bonfamille.

The Bonfamille qualities involved being poised and collected and, yes, confident.

That comment did make him narrow his eyes slightly. Annoyed both at the insinuation that he was a coward (even if he was, no one wanted to be called one) and not upholding his family name.

Lou got to his feet as graceful as he was able to manage and brushed off the front of his sweater pointedly. His jeans were hopelessly dirty and he thought with secret despair about how there was no way Belle would’ve ever have thought to pack him a stain remover pen or lint roller.

No matter. Lou nodded his head once more at Merida’s offer to go again. This time, knowing what to expect, he planted his feet firmly. If asked, he would never admit to Merida’s irksome words winding like a vine down his spine and strengthening his resolve, but there was a determined draw to his brow as Merida moved towards him this time.

The wolf drew forth into Lou’s fingers as Merida lunged. His eyes flicked to where her hand would end up, not where it started. This time, he managed to grab her by the wrist, though as he twisted, he lost a bit of his grip trying to adjust. It was sloppily done, but he managed to yank Merida around, bending her forwards slightly as her arm bent at an awkward angle.

Perhaps, if he was Hades (or even Belle (the woman had a vicious streak he knew)), he’d take some pleasure in even the slight discomfort he caused Merida. Instead, he found the feeling of her tendons stretched beneath his grasp unsettling. He tried to ignore it, even if he hesitated again for a split second before wrenching her wrist further up her back so she’d twist and stumble. With her own forward momentum, he forced her to her knees.

Lou stumbled just slightly, having overextended himself. He let Merida go, lest they repeat the same mistake from before.

“Better?” he asked, his voice in a soft pant, irritated at once at the tone. It was conditioned in him to look for approval from teachers. Apparently, that included criminals teaching him how to hurt people.

Merida did not give him time to think on it much. She nodded, quick and sharp then came at him again, arm raised, knife glinting…

#bdrpmerida #merlou #catnapped 2: this time it's purrsonal #part four #you know nothing jon snow

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lou-bonfightme · 5 years ago

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Catnapped 2: This Time It’s Purrsonal || Part Three: The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend || Merlou

In which a desperate Toulouse seeks help in the unlikeliest of places...[February 1, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- self-loathing, thoughts of suicide and self harm, these two are really a pair]

TOULOUSE: Toulouse stood, staring up at the Best Castle’s imposing silhouette.

If he was here for other reasons, he’d find the sight tragically beautiful.

As it stood, he could not find beauty in the ivy or the crumbling grey stone, the same colour as the sky, so that it all melted together if you looked up high enough, the snow falling in perfect flurries, obscuring the view. This was a tragedy, in and of itself, because Lou had always been curious about the castle in the woods, as many were. He had simply never made it out so far, as it was well hidden. Lou may explore the forest at his leisure but the only time he tread off the beaten path was at the beckoning of fairies. He knew better than that, otherwise. Not even as a wolf did he venture deep. Most of his full moons were spent curled up on the Acheron’s rug. He had no desire to run through the woods like an animal. Hades had once joked that he had somehow been turned into some kind of weredog--not a wolf at all.

Still, he had found it relatively easily. With Belle’s directions and his wolf’s instincts, which told him to just go to the part of the forest he was least comfortable. Standing at the gate, he wished he had not denied Belle’s offer to accompany him, although he knew it was for the best. If this went the same way his last meeting with Merida DunBroch had gone, well, he didn’t want Belle getting in the middle of it. Because she would get in the middle of it. And get herself bitten in the process.

No, this was better.

Toulouse was in no danger here. What was the worst Merida could do to him? Kill him? His wolf was smarter than that, it’d run before it came to that. In the meantime, it stayed close to the surface, waiting and watching and already very much wanting to leave. Lou ignored it, though not in a harsh way, the way one ignores a pup looking for attention. Though, he listened to it too. If Lou had learned anything in the past year, it was to listen to the wolf. It knew danger than Lou ever would. And here, danger lurked around every bush and tree.

Even with his strength, Lou had to shoulder the gate open somewhat so that he could slip through. He climbed the steps slowly, sure that if Merida was home, she would’ve already heard him. Or smelt him. Still, he knocked. Merida may be a beast, but Toulouse still had manners.

He stepped back and waited, clasping his hands together behind his back so that he didn’t fiddle with them. His shoulders squared and he kept an ear out for any sounds coming from behind him. It was a cowardly thing to do, sneak up on someone like that, but Lou put nothing past Merida. She was a coward, as far as he was concerned.

MERIDA: Several days ago, Merida had gotten a text on her phone-- a cryptic message from Lachlan, her cousin. At first, Merida thought she’d officially lost it. Her lonely, pathetic, depressed brain had conjured up exactly what she wanted to see and she was hallucinatin’ Come home messages. But when she’d clicked it, it turned out to be very real after all, no cliche message of love or support, but a vague warning delivered from a cousin whose loyalties, he felt, were probably still an obligation: a warning that the Order was returning to Swynlake.

Merida asked him why. Asked him for how long. Asked him if they were finally comin’ for Merida, to hunt her down. She’d not gotten any reply.

And so Merida had locked herself in the castle. Perhaps Lachlan had hoped she’d run. Perhaps the Order hoped to lure her wolf out and play duck-duck-goose in the woods. But if the Order was here for her, she’d force ‘em to come to her territory. So she waited, feeling the wolf grow restless under her skin as she paced in front of the windows and sharpened the knives in the kitchen.

They never came. As far as Merida knew, at least. The days passed and Merida was untouched. No other messages came her way through Lachlan. It was as though she were as good as dead to them all yet again, and now her pathetic, lonely life could continue with no interruptions. Meetings with Rogers, workin’ at the gym, hacking down shite meals of beans and mash till her wolf’s stomach demanded she go out for a fresh kill…

Until Merida got a visitor after all.

The visitor was Toulouse Bonfamille, and as soon as he was on her territory, the wolf sensed him. Merida’s stomach revolted as the wolf tried to shove its way to the surface. Shut up, she thought back to it, breathing deeply even as she gripped at a doorframe like she might punch holes into it. But the wolf did not shut up. Toulouse Bonfamille knocked on the door, and the wolf wanted to howl.

At first, Merida figured-- well, maybe he’d leave. She stayed quiet and tense. But the pressure in her stomach grew, the wolf trying to break through.

“Fine, fine--” Merida snarled out loud, like she was actually talking to someone. She listened to the wolf, stalking toward the door so she could defend her land.

She dragged the heavy door halfway open and looked out at Toulouse. His wolf smell, this close, was overwhelming. She tried to ignore it anyway.

“Think your the last wallaper I’d expect comin’ t’see me,” Merida grunted. “Whit ye here for?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse wanted to sneeze. That was the overwhelming…sensation he had standing on Merida’s doorstep. He was ignoring the wolf. The wolf was not happy about this, but it was content enough to wait and watch. Its only thought was on Claude. It could make friends with its enemy, if it meant getting him back. On that Lou and the wolf were in an agreement. (The wolf and Lou were, more or less, in agreement on most things these days.)

Which meant the wolf was still and silent inside him. Lou felt it watching, but he encouraged the wolf’s vigilance. He had no idea what to expect of Merida DunBroch.

They had only met a handful of times--outside of their infamous meeting--as two of the only consistent visitors at the Acheron cottage. Lou had thought little of her, and not in the degrading way, but quite literally. He knew her as Belle’s friend, he was glad for Belle to have a proper friend during that awful winter, the way he was a friend to Hades. (Until he wasn’t, thanks to the woman on the other side of the door.) He had simply had no opinion of her outside of this, except perhaps that she was loud and took up space in a way that Lou had always found rather abrasive.

And now: he knew so much about her, but nothing at all, all at once. It was as if he had seen a reflection of her in a pool, but when he looked up to catch a glimpse of the real thing, she was already gone.

She’s a coward, answered the wolf to Lou’s idle musing as he waited on the doorstep. Lou thought he might, perhaps, agree; considering that Merida had yet to show her face. He was about to give up, turn around, when he heard the scuff of shoes coming from the other side of the door. It was muffled, but his senses were all tuned high—on alert.

The girl on the other side of the door was not at all what Lou remembered of the bright-eyed, sharp woman he’d known, albeit vaguely, before. Her hair was dull, her eyes sunken and suspicious. He didn’t have time, really, to react to her general disheveled appearance.

Instead, he had to try and understand the garbled English that came out of her mouth. At first, he thought she had suffered from some sort of stroke.

Wallpaper? Lou had never heard anyone referred to as wallpaper. He supposed, it was perhaps an insult. Though, Lou quite liked a good wallpaper.

His own brain lagged as it tried to dissect the inflection of Merida’s words, his eyebrows knit together. If this any other situation, he’d probably answer back with a “pardon moi?” just to be both cheeky and condescending.

As it was, they did not have time to argue proper grammar or punctuation.

“Trust me, if I had another option, I would not be here.” The distaste and malice in his voice was not concealed, he hadn’t even tried. “Your Order kidnapped my nephew,” Lou said bluntly. “And I need information from you to get him back or I will make sure you are run out of this town quicker than you can blink.”

MERIDA: The Order hadn’t been here for her at all.

The information smacked into Merida and she wrenched the door open wider without even thinking about it. For once, her wolf fell silent-- or rather, it was Merida, the girl, who roared to life. The Order was her blood, not the wolf’s. It didn’t matter that she’d been cast out, nor that she’d never fit in the first place. When she dreamed, it was still her home that she saw. It was her castle, her brothers, Da and Mum and Angus-- the dungeons, the huge, drafty ballroom where the Order gathered twice a year…

Funny what sticks in the memory after the bridge to the past has burned down. Funny what you miss. Merida had always hated the gatherings and the old creaking castle she knew one day she’d be forced to inherit and upkeep. Now though, these were the things that came back to her, twisting in her brain so they shined brighter. Every time they did, her gut lurched, like the wolf was trying to expel her leftover love like spoiled meat. Because it was all a lie. All a lie, never for her, a sham from the start.

Still, knowin’ the Order had been in town-- in a way, that danger had made her feel like more herself. She wanted them to come hunting for her if only so she’d see some of her family again. Let them point their swords and arrows. She’d take it like a welcome. That is, she would have, if they would have come for her.

But they didn’t. Perhaps they hadn’t even remembered-- perhaps they no longer cared.

It hurt nearly as much as her own da telling her to run. Peeled back the wound.

In front of the Bonfamille boy, Merida just swallowed down the hurt, even if she was too late to hide her shock. She tried to gather herself and piece together what he’d said. Now, different parts of her past trickled back...not memories cast in rose glass, but bits and pieces from months ago, about Phoebus, and that’s right, he’d had a woman-- she’d been pregnant.

Now, the child was gone. Merida hadn’t even realized the child was born. She had a...what would the child be? A third cousin? A second, twice removed?

“You don’t have to threaten me,” said Merida after a beat. She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “You can come in. Ask whatever ye want-- I told Belle I’m on her side and I meant it. That’s who sent ye, isn’t it? Belle?”

Despite herself, Merida’s heart clenched hopefully. Even if the Order, her own family, had forgotten her-- Belle hadn’t.

TOULOUSE: Merida’s eyes bugged wide in a kind of shock that Toulouse thought would be hard to fake. Though, he was a connoisseur of the opposite: of concealing emotions. So, he could not really say, what real shock looked like, as his own graced his features so seldom that he would hardly recognize real from fake. As it was, Toulouse was on guard towards considering anything that Merida did truthful. He kept, at the front of his mind, what she had done to Belle. Not solely the kidnapping, but everything before it: how she had lied about being her friend for so long, how thoroughly Belle had fallen for it. How thoroughly Hades had fallen for it.

There was not a single part of Merida that he could trust.

He looked into the dark, cold castle that would hardly protect from the chill, as the winter wind whistled through it. It was tempting to deny the offer and stand on the stoop. He was not planning to stay long. Just get the information he needed and leave. There was not a moment he could waste; he had already wasted so many. Arguing with his siblings, trying to plan with Hades and Belle. Every moment was precious. Besides, he didn’t want her to see him hesitate. The wolf could not sense any danger and for the moment, that was good enough for him.

Toulouse stepped over the threshold with a frown situated clearly on his features. He took off his gloves, as was polite when entering a building, putting them in his pocket before removing his hat, running his fingers over his hair out of habit more than anything else. He was not looking to impress Merida.

“She sent me because you have information that I need. We will speak no more of her.” His voice was flat and final. Belle’s name on Merida’s tongue made the wolf in his chest want to rip that tongue right out. How dare she even mention Belle. To give his hands something to do, so that they wouldn’t quiver, he fiddled with the rim of his hat.

“Some woman named Sorcha and a man named Silas came to the house claiming to be his grandparents,” he started in a clipped tone. He did not, necessarily believe, at face value, that those two had been Claude’s true grandparents, and he assumed it would be pertinent for her to know the information. He didn’t even know if those were their real names, but it was the only information he had to give. “We sent them away and the next day—” his voice caught slightly on the emotion, even though he tried to smooth it out “—they broke into my house, assaulted my nounou and my sister, and took Claude.”

His gaze felt sharply on the woman. “I need to know where they would have taken him and I need to know how to get him back.”

MERIDA: The Order was not a big organization, but it was strong-- even in its disparate pieces across the rest of Europe. And so Merida knew these names. She’d know them even if they were not distantly related to her, even if all she knew was where they were from, and what sort of achievements they had to their family name, evoked with just the mention or with a flash of the crest. That missing entered her again and in the same breath, a bitterness. She did not want to miss that world or feel pride in her own family’s sigil. Not when they turned her out, or endangered children, and-- it seemed-- kidnapped them.

And at least in this way, Lou’s news reinforced that Merida had done the right thing. She didn’t need that reinforcement, really. No matter how lonely she got, she’d never go back. She couldn’t go back if she wanted ‘course, so that made the decision easier.

But--in Swynlake, where she was still criminal and that was all that people were seein’-- that and the wolf--

It felt good to know herself to be somethin’ else. And right now, her face reflected her revulsion at the news that Silas and Sorcha would act so dishonestly. Attack both an elder woman and a younger girl? Snatch a child from a crib? These things held no honor. They were not the Order that Merida had believed in, at least, not its best parts-- the pledge to protect the innocent and uphold the codes of the best of Great Britain, in the time of the chivalrous.

She was not surprised, though. Perhaps a DunBroch, leadin’ a mission, would go about such things differently. But Phoebus’s family had always been much like him: slippery like a sea serpent.

“The babe is not yet a year old?” she said it like a question and raised her eyebrows, though she did not need to wait for Lou to confirm to know it was true. She could do simple math. “It’s important for an Order child-- especially a boy-- to be baptized in the Order’s stronghold by the sittin’ King before he’s a year. It’s usually done much sooner than this so I imagine they are takin’ him to the headquarters. Probably. And then--” she frowned.

“They’ll be takin’ him back to Denmark. To be raised there. Well, unless they want to hide ‘im, then he could go to any number of families, least till he’s older. If they believe ye a threat, that could be the case.”

Her frown deepened, her next words catching on her tongue. It was not good news. She knew that Lou did not trust her either (her wolf could smell it, like it could smell his wolf, and remained wary) and she didn’t want to deliver it. But she couldn’t lie.

“You’ll have to break into the headquarters before they move him. It’s… no one’s ever done that before,” she hedged. “And many of the families will be gathered there. For the ceremony. It’s-- you’ll probably die,” she put it bluntly. “Sorry. I think it’s important you know that. ‘M not tryin’ to discourage ye, I just-- I almost died escapin’ out me own home. They’ll kill you much faster.”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse raised a slight eyebrow at the question, but nodded slightly—even though, apparently, it had been rhetorical. He was wondering what on earth it had to do with anything. Was a toddler less of a concern to her than a baby? Did the Order gobble up children like trolls from folktales told to little ones to get them to behave? Lou would not be surprised. Everything he knew about the Order he loathed. He loathed that they had hurt Belle and Opal (for he was of the opinion, much like Hades, that that ordeal had had a great deal to do with Opal’s early delivery.) He hated them for turning his aunt into someone he did not recognize. For killing her too, for killing his little niece. (It was easier to blame them than leave it a blameless death.)

The Order was nothing but death and destruction.

He pushed away his questions and simply listened. The story Merida wove was like something out of a fairytale. With kings and ceremonies and strongholds. It sounded so farfetched that he hardly dared to believe it. However, he reminded himself, he was standing in a castle right now. His best, most dear friend, was the king of Underworld. He had attended a magical wedding. There was a wolf, whose heartbeat was Lou’s own.

His world—no matter how he disliked it, no matter how ill-fit—was this world now, full of shadows not of his own making. Of the sort of villains that were truly dangerous. Lou had long ago learned how to handle the villains of the world he had been from, ones with silver tongues and distracting, glittering jewels. He did not know how to handle a true villain.

Though, he couldn’t help but snort at Merida’s warning.

I am plenty prepared to die, he thought to himself and he knew it was true. The idea didn’t make him afraid. In fact, there was a reckless part of him who almost wanted it. It wouldn’t be dishonorable if he was killed trying to get his baby cousin back from the clutches of some medieval organization. He’d die a hero. Honestly, it all sounded rather pleasing to him.

There was only one problem: if he died, would Claude be rescued? Lou did not care about whether or not he died in vain, he always imagined that was how it would be in the end. Unless he was dying to escape the pain of this life, the weight of this life. Then it wouldn’t be in vain at all. The darkness and stillness would be peaceful and welcome. But, if he was dying trying to save his baby cousin, he would want to know his baby cousin would get out. He had to remind himself this was not about him dying, it was about saving Claude.

“Thank you for the warning,” he told her drily, looking towards her. “Isn’t exactly useful, though, is it? Tell me where this headquarters is and tell me how to get Claude out alive. If you do not, I will simply find another way.” And Lou was confident in that. Perhaps, not in himself, but in Hades? In Belle? Oh, they were clever when it came to magic and mayhem. They would find a way to fix this.

No matter where the Order hid Claude away.

MERIDA: Merida nearly rolled her eyes at him. She thought about it. Normally, she would. But she saw somethin’ here that she hadn’t had before, and even Merida was wise enough to know that she couldn’t fuck it up--

That thing was a door.

No, it was not a door that would take her back. There was no going back. But she hoped it would be a door forward, into becomin’ something more than the woman who kidnapped Belle, the liar, the criminal, the girl from the Order-- and the wolf. Merida desperately wanted to be Merida again. To find a way to build somethin’ out of the debris of last year. Since that day, she’d been stuck in the same place, unable to do anything but tread water. Run in circles. Survive, but barely.

If she helped now…

Well, maybe nothing would change, who was she kidding? But at least it was the right thing to do. At least it would give Merida another chapter. Instead of stealing a baby, she was saving one.

“I’ll tell you all I know, I told you I would-- I’ll do me best,” she reiterated. “ I can tell you what kind of things to prepare for-- the weapons they’ll have, the defenses, who will probably be there, who won’t. I can tell you the entire place is underground, and there’s tourmaline everywhere. Magic will be useless. Stay down too long, and you’ll start to go topsy-turvy yourself.” She was thinking of Hades-- because naturally Hades, she assumed, would go. He’d have no fire though, no way to move things. Neutered like that, he’d die in a heartbeat, because his weakness was the same as all Magicks’ weakness-- his ego. Without his powers, he had no skill or strength.

One look at the posh biscuit of a boy in front of her, she reckoned the same thing.

“I can even try to draw ye a map if ye like. But I’m no artist.” She swallowed. Her fingers flexed. She looked Lou in the eye. “I’m a warrior. So if you want to know how to get your cousin out safely, without taking a silver bullet between the eyes… you take me. I can lead you in. I can get you out. I know how to fight ‘em-- and I’ll beat ‘em too.”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse knew that Merida had a point. For in the same way she was not an artist, he was not a warrior. In fact, Lou hated the idea of violence, if he was honest. He didn’t have the stomach for it. Would he kill someone that threatened his family? Yes, but only as a last resort. He much rather liked playing these things in a courtroom, where there were rules and things were civilized. Where he could feel much more smug and righteous about putting some asshole behind bars. To him, that was more satisfying than killing someone, than hurting them in any sort of physical way.

However, Lou had seen firsthand how the Order circumvented these laws. They were a force greater than the law, which meant that they deserved worse than the law.

Besides, Lou was well aware of the fact that if he did take them to court properly, his status as a wolf would jeopardize his family’s ability to keep Claude in their custody. No judge in their right mind would give a baby to a werewolf. Not even a Swynlake judge.

So, they would have to do this the underhanded way. Lou was not a fan of this, but Hades had been right when he said the police would be no help. And Lou was not going to waste time cutting through bureaucratic tape when his cousin’s future was at stake. Which meant, yes, Lou was outnumbered and woefully unprepared.

He still did not trust this woman.

It didn’t matter that there was an echo of her that he felt in himself. She had been chased from her home, he had been barred from his. The town was against both of them. The only difference was: Merida had been the one to turn his life into this, she had dragged him down to her level. Merida was a criminal, Toulouse had never hurt anyone in his life (not in the way Merida had.) The only reason they were on the same level was because society no longer cared that Lou was good-looking, well-dressed, wealthy, eloquent. All the tools he had spent his life building no longer mattered, because when they looked at him—

They saw Merida.

“Why should I trust you?” he scoffed at her. “What’s to say you’re not the one who puts an arrow in my back? Who holds a knife to my throat and uses me in exchange for your own clemency? If what you say is true, in these catacombs I would be entirely at your mercy and considering your history, those don’t feel like very good odds.”

MERIDA: Merida didn’t have a good answer for him.

She wished she did. Merida hated this question. This new version of her life was defined entirely by it, and there was no way to overcome it. It didn’t matter that the RAS believed in her (not that anyone knew). It didn’t matter that she’d helped keep Hades out of jail, that she’d freed Shuck (they focused, instead, on how Merida had been the cause of the trial in the first place). It didn’t matter that she held a steady job now and followed all of Swynlake’s rules. Merida could try and she could try, but she was still just a criminal in the eyes of the town, and most importantly, in the eyes of Belle. Nothing would ever change that.

Truly. Merida had stopped believin’ otherwise. It was freeing in a way, even if it didn’t stop her from missin’ Belle quite awful. Sometimes she caught herself reaching for her phone, a thought in her mind that could only be shared with Belle alone. But she stopped herself these days. She reached less and less. And when she thought of Belle, she tried only to wish her happiness and her daughter good health.

Belle didn’t have to forgive Merida. But--

She’d like someone to.

Merida wished she could answer his question with a question-- how will I ever prove myself trustworthy if no one gives me a chance? The retort bit at her tongue. She pressed her lips together, then licked them. Still, no answer. Maybe she’d just let the Bonfamille boy walk away, take his distrust elsewhere.

If she did that, the wee one would surely be lost.

Merida took a breath. “You don’t. There’s no clemency there for me, though. There’s nothing for me to bargain, I’ve already told most of the Order’s secrets to the police to put Phoebus away so as far as they’re concerned, I’m good as dead. I’d offer you something to hold over me to ease your mind, but I’ve nothing left here either. So--I can do nothing but give you my word--not as one of the Order, because I’m not anymore. But as one of you. A wolf.” Her chin tilted up as she met his gaze again. “It’s that, and the truth that I know-- I was raised in the Order and I would not want a child raised there, either.”

TOULOUSE: There was a part of Toulouse who was more convinced by Merida’s explanation of how the Order had sworn her off, how she had betrayed them. If someone had done similarly to him, he would probably scorn them too. However, the shrewd politician in him saw only the betrayal, only the disloyalty of someone who would throw the institution they had grown up in away just to save their own neck.

He was not moved to pity by her declaration that she had nothing to give him. If anything, it made him more cautious. A person without anyone or anything was a dangerous one. Lou could only imagine what his life would be if his family had turned his back on him, after he had been bitten. If he did not have them; did not have the Acherons and Periwinkle. He could scarcely imagine it, because if that was the case for Toulouse, he would cease to exist. He would become vicious, he would not care about someone coming to his door, looking for help. He would turn them away or he would kill them, if only for a way to feel something, anything at all.

Though, perhaps, he understood the scorn.

They had turned her away first, so now she had turned away from them. Lou thought he would do much the same and he thought, briefly, of his tantine. How wretched she had made him. How vicious he had felt whenever in her presence, like his intestines were an ouroboros, devouring itself. He had not once begged for her love back. He had looked at her the way she had looked at him: like a stranger, like a monster. But, he also knew that if she had ever given him a hint or a hope of redemption; if she had smiled at him or spoke to him sweetly, he would act as a man dying of thirst. He would have fallen to his knees and begged.

He wondered if the same would happen to Merida. If the Order smiled at her and said: we will love you again, just kill the wolf. Would she do it?

Did Lou have a choice, even if that was the truth of it?

His gaze found its way back to her properly when she spoke of that wolf—those wolves—their wolves. He wanted to snort at her, to snarl and snap.

What good is the word of a wolf?

We are not the same.

The wolf felt differently. Lou felt it stir in his chest. It was watching, it was listening, and it was silent. He heard no protest from it, and he realized that since they had stepped into this castle and Merida had started explaining, the wolf had settled.

Despite himself, if he trusted anything’s instincts, it was his wolf’s. His wolf, which had disliked Edgar from the start. Who had been restless in his chest ever since the de Chateaupers had shown up at his door. The wolf who was kind and gentle towards those he loved, but who had wanted to rip Bradley’s throat out with a lust that startled and disturbed Toulouse.

The wolf wanted Merida to help. The wolf reasoned Merida was their best chance. The wolf reasoned that if Merida came along, Hades would not have to; which meant one less person Lou loved in danger. The wolf pointed out that if Merida died, it would not matter. Not at all.

“Fine,” Toulouse settled, feeling somewhere inside of him that he was agreeing to much more than a quest to save his nephew. His weight shifted, one foot to the other. “You can come along, but we will do this on my terms. It is my family in danger, and I do not trust you. This does not mean anything, and if I catch wind of you using it to gain pity or an audience from Belle, or anyone else I love, I will find a way to put you behind bars where you belong. Are we agreed?”

MERIDA: Merida could argue. Normally, she would-- call Lou stubborn and stupid to think he had any sort of experience to demand terms of his own. She could see this mission laying itself out in front of her now: Lou making bad call after bad call, Merida correcting him only when he begrudgingly asked for her help. Time wasted, shortcuts and advantages lost. Honestly, she should do the whole mission on her own. She didn’t need some upper-class nosh bumbling around and making a fool of himself. Making a fool of himself on a journey like this would put them both in danger.

But she could no more say she should do this alone than she could that he needed to listen to the likes of her. It was as Lou said: he did not trust her. Merida was reasonable enough to know she’d feel the same way if in his shoes. And so Merida had no real argument. She had no real choice.

But Merida was used to that. What choice had she ever had, especially over the past year? She’d always done exactly what she had to do to survive. To stay true to herself. And that’s what she would continue to do. She had nothing but herself anyway. No friends, no family, no reason to even exist.

But she had her heart, and she would not betray it.

Her lips pressed in a stiff line as her arguments stayed inside. She buried her desire to scoff at his threats, to sneer and let him know that she was not afraid of him and his petty methods of waging wars with his parents’ coin purse. She ignored the wolf too, whose presence in this room loomed larger than it ever had. It wanted to make Lou’s wolf listen, if not to reason-- then instinct. The wolf knew where to go, what to do. The wolf wanted to lead.

Instead, Merida nodded once, quickly.

“Agreed.” Her lip twitched. Almost a smile. Not quite. “Then I suppose you’ll tell us when to leave, Chief.”

#bdrpmerida #merlou #catnapped 2: this time it's purrsonal #part three #the enemy of my enemy is my friend #proud of this title

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phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Horsenapped [Part Two] *** [Ghostbusters feat. Saddle Club]

In which Merida and Phoebus enact their plan...[takes place: January 15]

@heart-of-dunbroch, @trip-downtheriverstyx, @labellerose-acheron

[tw -- so many things. violence, kidnapping, gore, lots of talk and thoughts of murder, self-harm, just anything you would expect from a kidnapping okay it’s a lot. if you want a synopsis hmu bc phoebus is Truly Awful]

PHOEBUS:

The night had finally come.

And none too soon. Phoebus knew that the sheriff was getting suspicious, his plans derailed by the lunatic woman in the back of his car, who was glaring consistent daggers any time he looked in the rearview mirror. This town was too small to move the way he wanted or needed to. However, he knew they would all be thanking their unsung hero when Phoebus vanished after putting a bullet into Hades’ temple.

It was a good thing too for this town was too haunted. Even now, he could feel Clemens’ ghost closer than ever, breathing down his neck. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the same cold expression on Belle’s face on Clemens’. If he blinked too long, they shifted--one to the other, his victims. His collateral damage, for yes, Phoebus knew that Belle would die by the end of this too. That was his secret, his burden to bare.

Whatever was inside of her was stronger than some succubus. Was stronger than some lower tier demon. She may just be a poor Mundus woman that had been seduced and tricked, but there was no way to keep her alive--and the baby could not be born. It would be too dangerous. Sure, they would try the exorcism, but Phoebus knew that it wouldn’t work. The thing growing inside of Belle was evil in the purest sense, just as a babe was good in the purest sense.

The whole family needed to be extinguished, snuffed out like a candle. Their bodies buried in the Catholic cemetery so that they could not rise again. (This only worked on demons, for the record. Anything else in a Catholic cemetery could very much rise again.)

“Get her inside,” Phoebus instructed Merida, even if he didn’t need to. She was doing a very good job. And of course she was--he would not have included her if he did not trust her implicitly. If he did not think she was up for the job. (He had tried to recruit Phillip but the worthless boy hadn’t answered his phone. No matter, Merida was worth ten of him.)

The old wooden doors creaked, but opened easily. It was not locked, Phoebus knew that it would not be. There were a few votive candles flickering in their containers, but besides that nothing moved. Moonlight spilled through the stained glass, but otherwise it was dark. The shadows did not stir here, however. There would be no ghosts.

“Seat her in the pew,” Phoebus told Merida, gesturing to the last row, right in front of the altar. Phoebus moved towards it, striking a match laying near one of the candelabras and lighting it. The flames jumped to life, casting a golden glow over Belle--though she still looked white as a sheet, sweat beading on her brow. He had not realized quite how sick she was. Perhaps that would work out well for him. She’d never survive the exorcism in this state.

Collateral damage indeed.

“I really am very sorry about all this,” Phoebus cooed at her, taking a few steps closer.

Belle’s eyes flashed. “Stay away from me.” She wiggled her shoulders, even though it was very clearly a feeble attempt to get away.

“Do you have your phone, love?” Phoebus reached forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, but Belle jerked her head away. He let his hand drop with a little frown. “I fancy a chat with your demon husband. Merida, check her pockets.”

MERIDA: Merida tasted bile, seeing Phoebus touch Belle like that. The urge to grab his wrist and twist it-- knee him in the groin just to watch him whine like the pig he was-- nearly overwhelmed her. She clenched both fists and bit down hard on a growl that threatened to come outta nowhere--

She imagined her fangs ripping out his throat.

It scared her. Scared her enough that Merida didn’t step forward or mouth off at all, but she stepped back, swallowing the growl roughly as the world tilted around her for a moment.

She’d not felt… for so long, there had been nothing but fog. The fog only lifted in her dreams, and so she had believed the curse was contained there and in a longing she’d never answer. But here it was, a second from ripping through her skin. Merida breathed in. She still had her knife. She could press the tip of it into her wrist, just enough to draw blood and silence the howling.

But she didn’t want to draw Phoebus’s eye or his suspicion. She’d been dead lucky so far that she’d managed to evade his scrutinization and she knew it was only because he was obsessed with this mission instead.

So Merida breathed and let Phoebus get away with his behavior, even if she wanted to bite off his hand too.

She swallowed again, took another second, and then moved forward, keeping her eyes off Phoebus as she dug through Belle’s pockets. She didn’t look Belle in the face either. There’d be no point. She already had Belle’s hatred slashed into her, a different kind of knife.

She got out the phone and handed it to Phoebus. “She won’t call ‘im,” she informed him, knowin’ enough about Belle to know that. He might as well not waste his time.

(And she didn’t want to see him-- touch her. Taunt her. Hit her. Merida had meant what she said when she pledged herself to protect Belle. That loyalty churned through her, nearly as powerful as the urge to maul Phoebus in front of them both.)

PHOEBUS: “She’s right,” Belle threatened, lifting her chin. Her eyes flashed, glinting like a flash of lightning.

It was admirable that she looked so brave. None of her bravery mattered, however. It didn’t stir Phoebus’ heart. He cared for nothing except the fact that Clemens was far from this place. That his ghosts could not enter here. Neither could Hades’. It was blissfully, peacefully quiet. He could pause properly for the first time in days. Everything was falling right into place. The only possible contingency was—Hades not coming. Hades, the ever-practical, heartless demon, not coming for his little Mundus wife. The theory as to why he would? If not for her, for the demonspawn. Whatever he was cooking in Belle’s womb meant something to him. The evil there he had spent all this time tending to.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking you to,” Phoebus told Belle with a saccharine smile.

“Passcode?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because otherwise I’ll have Merida cut off one of your pretty little thumbs to use to open it. And it would really be a shame to rob a mother of one of her thumbs.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Zero five zero six,” Belle finally said.

Phoebus typed in the code and opened her contacts. Hades was right there at the top. He pressed his name, holding the phone up to his ear and rocking back on his heels slightly. It rang and rang and rang and rang.

Voicemail.

Phoebus scowled and hung it up before redialing.

Voicemail.

“What kind of man doesn’t answer his phone when his wife calls three times?” he hissed in annoyance, shooting a glare at Belle as if this was her fault.

“A demon,” Belle said plainly, but as Phoebus turned to look at her, there was a twinkle in her eye.

“Bitch,” Phoebus snarled back. His gaze snapped to Merida. “Let’s get your knife on that pretty neck again. I’m no photographer, but the glint of light off the blade against that pale skin? The contrast will make for a beautiful picture.” He held up the phone to get a better shot, waiting for Merida to do as she was told, his gaze drilling into her until she moved so he could make sure nothing that would identify Merida was in the frame. He smiled again, feeling giddy and light.

So close. A year of work. So close.

“Smile.”

Click. Went the camera shutter.

“Perfect, thank you, ladies,” Phoebus complimented them both as he opened Hades’ contact once again and sent the picture, along with a text: You have twenty minutes.

Then, he ambled towards the pew and sat down next to Belle, heavy enough to shake the bench and make Belle wince. “You want to take bets on if he shows or not?” He tilted his head a little, close enough that his breath stirred strands of Belle’s hair. Close enough to see the sweat in her hairline, the blue veins along her cheek. She really was tragically beautiful, wasn’t she? If only Phoebus had gotten to her before that demon.

She didn’t look at him. This time, she didn’t even flinch at his proximity.

Phoebus turned his head to look up at Merida, giving her a broader, more genuine smile—manic, some might call it, but Phoebus would just say: triumphant.

MERIDA: Merida still clutched the knife in her hand.

She clutched it as though it were a long, black claw extending from her knuckle. Her eyes drank in the sight of Phoebus’s jugular. A voice inside her, animal and wordless but a voice nonetheless, told Merida that if Phoebus touched Belle again, she would slice her claw across that throbbing artery and paint the pews with his blood.

Her gut told her there were things he was not telling her, there were lies her mentor had weaved thinking her a simple woman, not realizing that Merida had become something else-- and she could smell his lies like she could smell the sweat on the back of Belle’s neck.

HADES: Across town, Hades’ phone buzzed again and again. He ignored it with great difficulty--mostly because this meeting had gone on too long and he was bored out of his brain.

On the third ring, though, he began to worry. It was a scratch-scratch-scratch in the back of his brain.

It buzzed again and under the table, Hades slipped it from his pocket and turned it over. Belle’s name lit up the screen. A text.

He opened it quietly there at the table, then calmly turned off the screen, and pocketed the phone again.

“I have to go,” said Hades abruptly. He smiled at the board members and said as his explanation, with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Pregnant wife.”

He gathered his things and walked out the door. As soon as it was shut behind him, Hades broke into a run, and halfway down the hall, vanished into shadow.

MERIDA: “So nice of you to text the address!”

Hades’ voice rang through the cathedral in ominous echo and Merida whirled round to see him there at the end of the long aisle, door open from where he’d stepped in. It had been only six, seven minutes since Phoebus sent the text. A nothing amount of time if you asked Merida, and so the sight of him kicked up her adrenaline and she clenched her knife.

The wolf laid back down to make room for her instead-- warrior, knight-- a girl who knew supernatural when she saw it, let alone sniffed it.

Hades strolled down the aisle. “You’ll move away from her now, the two of you. I’m not your average demon.” He lifted his hand and the flame licked the air. “My powers work just fine here.”

PHOEBUS: It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, as it should be—according to Phoebus and the rest of the Order. Guns were messy, new-fangled things. Swords were cleaner, more holy. They had ancient rites written into them. However, sometimes, guns very much came in handy—according to Phoebus and not the rest of the Order.

A bullet could incapacitate a demon far better than a sword, enough that an exorcism could be performed on the prone body before it had time to re-awaken. A bullet could make a demon think twice about attacking.

It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, but if you were a police officer, with access to the gun safe—it was very easy.

Phoebus had not expected Hades so quickly. He had thought that he would skid into the cathedral at the last moment, making for a lovely dramatic entrance—if he deigned to show up at all. If he didn’t, well, it would be back to the drawing board. But Hades manipulation (devotion?) to Belle was one of the things that made this case so strange. Phoebus had never seen an incubus or demon act that way towards the object of its manipulation. And he had seen this story play out time and time again.

Which was why he’d decided on the cathedral. Everyone knew that demons’ powers did not work on holy ground.

So, when the little blue flame jumped into being—Phoebus’ eyes went wide, but they narrowed just as quickly. An unforeseen hurdle, but no less. Hades had come for Belle, which meant she or the baby meant something to him. And that was all the assurance that Phoebus needed. Now he knew that Hades was not completely powerless too. If he was a demon, he was a very stupid one. He could’ve hid that fire until the perfect moment.

Phoebus was not going to let him get that chance.

Roughly, he grabbed Belle by the bicep and dragged her up out of the pew. She stumbled, but Phoebus’ grip on her arm was strong enough to keep her upright. He pressed her flush against his own chest. His other hand twisted behind his back to the gun, which he pulled from its hiding place and pushed against Belle’s temple in one swift motion.

“Would you like to test them against my reflexes?” Phoebus snarled. “Now, play nice and perhaps we will consider letting your little pawn go.”

HADES: His eyes flicked, once, to the shadows on the ground. Then up again, his flame still flickering in his hand. Otherwise he was stone still and silent as his brain churned. It ran quickly through all the scenarios--

He could grab Merida. Hostage for hostage.

He could try to shadow-jump and end up behind Phoebus.

He could burn the fucking cathedral to the ground.

None of these options guaranteed Belle’s safety. It took a twitch of the finger and the gun would go off and Hades didn’t know if he could bank on Phoebus not being a complete monster and shooting a pregnant woman-- considering he’d already kidnapped her and had a gun loaded to her head. She’d be dead in a second, their daughter dead several minutes after. He could not enter Limbo; he knew there was no Limbo here.

Surrender was option four, one Hades rarely entertained, but this time it floated so easily to the top of the list.

And Hades got-- calm. The blue flame flickered again, but grew low, its eerie light drawing itself back…

Merida, however, wasn’t so calm.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed at Phoebus. “He’s here, isn’t he? It worked, he came, let Belle go!”

His fire jumped back to life. Hades raised his eyebrows. “Trouble in the ranks, Officer? Did your lackey not read your memo?”

“You shut it!” Merida snarled.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus could taste the victory on his tongue.

How the Order would praise him. Taking out two demons at once? It was almost unheard of more or less on one’s own. (Merida half-counted, she was but a Knight and a woman besides. Everyone would know that this was Phoebus’ triumph.) Most demons took a group to kill, if there was more than one, and only experienced demon hunters managed without assistance to take down one demon by themselves. Though, of course, one of those demons was enwomb and there would be the death of a Mundus on his hands, but if he could take down whatever the fuck Hades was? (Clearly a level four, at least, perhaps a five—Phoebus had no idea if ‘opening the Gates of the Hell’ was even quantifiable.) The Order would sing his praises.

It was the perfect hunt to round the year off with (even if a few weeks late), just in time for the Tourney to choose the new king. Phoebus the Demon Slayer would not entertain much opposition.

And what was more—if he won King, perhaps Clemens’ ghost would be put to rest, since his death would not have been in vain.

Phoebus could see all of this right in front of him as he watched Hades’ flame diminish. He could see in the demon’s eyes that he was calculating, and he knew that it was hopeless. If he wanted to save his little wife—or his demonspawn—the only way to do so would be surrender.

His eagerness was so tangible, he almost felt trigger happy with it. He just needed Hades to take a few steps forward, right into range—so that he would not miss. Phoebus could already see the finish line, see passed it to the Tourney and his victory there as well. Could see himself being crowned King, Duchess his Queen. (Even if it was really his father would be crowned, Phoebus’ delusions of grandeur did not stop at murdering Belle. No, they ran far deeper. A father was not so different from a cousin, after all.)

Belle trembled against him, her hand squeezing pathetically weak at the wrist wrapped around her shoulders. “Hades,” she whimpered—sounding scared for the first time.

The demon’s name was hidden beneath Merida’s growl. Phoebus snapped his head towards the girl, his lips turned immediately into a scowl as from the corner of his eye, he saw Hades’ flame jump higher, banishing the finish line to the shadows, the demon’s hope restored.

“He hasn’t surrendered yet, you idiot girl,” Phoebus snarled at Merida.

As quickly as he glanced at her, he looked back at Hades—making sure the demon hadn’t taken another step on his watch. “So, surrender, and we’ll let her go.”

“Hades, d-don’t listen. He’s lying,” Belle said, her voice cracking, but it was stronger than he suspected, since he could feel her shaking.

“Shut up,” Phoebus hissed, lowering his head to press his cheek to the top of her head, the muzzle of the gun still flush with her hair. “Not another word.”

HADES: Of course the man was lying. Villains always did-- Hades should know. He was one.

But he didn’t have any bargaining chips of his own. Phoebus had cornered him. Phoebus had outsmarted him. There was no point trying to deny it, though to Hades’ meager credit it was Merida in the end who had outwitted Hades-- Merida who was a plant and a spy, her duality more clever than he would have ever thought of such a girl, who had a rough, loud laugh and the kind of straightforward nature he’d never expect to be a cover for this. Phoebus had failed, in the meantime, to stay hidden.

It was Merida who fooled them. And Merida now who might be the wild card and Hades’ only chance.

His eyes once again darted from Phoebus and Belle to Merida, the girl looking surprised-- unhinged. Something was going on under the surface between Merida and Phoebus, a slip in floorboard, a knot Phoebus, himself, did not see.

“I’ll surrender when you stop putting that gun to my wife’s head. Because if you’re going to murder her anyway I might as well set the both of you on fire now. Belle can take a little heat,” he said.

Merida’s eyes widened at that. Ah yes, she cared about Belle. Or the baby-- either way, she wasn’t entirely heartless.

Hades smirked. “Hand her over to your personal assistant to hold onto and I’ll come to you, hands up, no magic.”

And then you can shoot me, Hades thought, as he eyed that gun.

Or you can try.

PHOEBUS: Now, Phoebus didn’t know if Hades’ threat was real or not, but to him—he’d be willing to take the chance. Hades had come all this way, somehow arrived in record time, for his little wife. Phoebus would not put it past him to light her on fire, but he hadn’t yet. He cared. That was why he was still here. That was why his flame had flickered low and Phoebus had almost had him in his clutches just a moment ago.

It didn’t make any sense, but there was no time to wonder.

If anything, it just worked to his advantage.

His head tilted, lifting up off of the top of Belle’s, as if he was considering.

“And why should I trust you? If you’re so eager to set your wife ablaze, what is to say as soon as she’s out of my grasp, you don’t use your magic on me—uncaring if she gets hurt or not? Maybe I should just do away with her now and shoot you next. Plenty of bullets for that.”

HADES: “Then I definitely will set you on fire. You’ve seen me spontaneously combust an entire river before. Distance isn’t a challenge,” he taunted and glared, and he knew he would. If Belle dropped, the church would go up. It’d take a blink and the sound of his heart breaking. Broken hearts made excellent kindling.

“Enough!” Merida barked. Her wild eyes were darting back and forth between Phoebus and Hades. He noticed how knuckle-white she’d gone, gripping the knife.

Her eyes settled, though, on Phoebus-- not him.

“Stop usin’ a pregnant mundus woman as your hostage and puttin’ her unborn babe in danger! That’s disgraceful and you know it! Face him like a man-- fight him like a Prince!” she declared and pointed Hades’ way. “We never talked about ye puttin’ a damn gun ‘gainst Belle’s head!”

“Yeah Phoebus, c’mon mate. Let’s solve this like men. Which I guess means hitting things with big pointy sticks,” mocked Hades. He snuffed his fire but spread his arms.

He knew it made himself an even larger target. So did the mocking.

But even just as second with that gun on Hades, instead of Belle, earned him a second more than he had now.

And who knows? Fates have pity on him, maybe the shadows would take Hades before the bullet did.

PHOEBUS: At first, Phoebus glared at Hades. Blue to unearthly blue. His threat would not go unheeded. Phoebus knew that demons had no morals or honor and nothing he said could be trusted, but he also knew they had irresistible bloodlust and it would not be above him to set him aflame with a thought.

He had to recalculate. Phoebus has not planned on Hades having his magic. He was supposed to be near-incapacitated by the holy ground. He wasn’t. The bastard still had his pyrokinesis. Perhaps his telekinesis too. Phoebus couldn’t be too sure.

His hand adjusted its grip on the gun as he thought. Recalculated. It would be best to shoot Hades first. Belle could not defend herself. He could give her to Hades and shoot them both as they turned to leave.

And then, Merida snarled.

Phoebus’ gaze snapped towards her, his own face twisted in fury. The dumb bitch was making this ten times more difficult. Phoebus should’ve known that this would be the case. What he got for working with a woman to start. She had played house with Belle, had gotten her here, but he should’ve made her leave. He saw that now. Mistake after mistake. He was supposed to be cleaner than this. Better than thing.

Hades spoke again and Phoebus’ head whipped back towards him, though he was half-paying attention to Merida again.

“Shut up, the both of you. Or I swear on the Lord I’ll shoot her right now.” His head shook like a dog with water in his ears. “This girl is far from innocent, Merida. She carries an unholy, powerful spawn. It goes against God and all that is good. It’s not a baby, it’s a demon. Getting rid of them is what we planned. Now stop your whinging and help me kill the bastard. Or are your weak emotions going to take over? We don’t have time for a woman’s remorse. Princes do not have sympathy for women who lie with demons.” His hand knitted in Belle’s hair, yanking it back so that she cried out.

His attention snapped back to Hades. “Who would you rather go first? You or her?”

MERIDA: She carries an unholy, powerful spawn.

It’s not a baby, it’s a demon.

Getting rid of them is what we planned.

Phoebus had lied to her. With each one of his spitting words, he revealed those lies as a cold crept over Merida, a feeling she’d had before, a feeling, sometimes, she felt she had been born with. It came from looking someone face-to-face and watchin’ them let you down. Her father had let her down before in a manner quite similar. Her uncles, her cousins, her friends. Everywhere Merida looked for someone to believe in her, she only found liars and cowards.

And so it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt inevitable. Phoebus had lied. He had never intended to try to save Belle at all, she saw it clear-- he’d shoot Belle in the head as soon as he could, then wipe his barrel clean and go have a beer. He thought that made him stronger than her.

It actually just made him stupid.

That wild, savage voice in her quieted then. It did not growl, it did not snarl or ask for Phoebus’s blood. It was Merida who was in complete control then, the same sort of control she had when she laced a bow and locked eyes on her target. It took a crack eye, a steady hand, and an instinct to know when to let the arrow go.

Merida laced her arrow now as she sucked her teeth like the annoyed, wild girl who showed up to Phoebus’s practices and mouthed off. She glared-- rolled her eyes-- scoffed. “I’m not weak,” she retorted and let Phoebus think he’d won her.

“Well then. If I really get a choice--” started Hades, drawing Phoebus’s eye back to him.

And that was the moment Merida released her arrow. She moved with the strength and speed of a wolf. Her hand grabbed the barrel of the gun and shoved it to the ceiling as the other twisted Phoebus’s wrist. It was enough to give Belle a second.

“RUN!” she hollered at Belle.

BELLE: There was little Belle could hear over the sound of her heart beating, her blood rushing in her ears. Since he had arrived, she’d not taken her eyes off of Hades. He’d barely looked at her—and she knew why—but she’d drank him in, so close, yet so far. She wished he hadn’t come. She was so glad he was there.

For once, she didn’t know what to do—how to save them. Any of them (her, Hades, Opal.) The desperation clawed at her heart, but between the panic and the tourmaline and the adrenaline, she didn’t have thought in her head besides please. She didn’t know who she was asking. Some long-dead god? Some fate? Some destiny? This couldn’t be theirs, she thought. They had suffered too much for this.

And then, she thought, that she hoped Hades died first, if it came to it. She’d rather save him from the pain of losing his wife and daughter. At least she’d only lose him. Opal would survive longer than her, at least she could give her that.

It should make her calm, she supposed, but that was not how she felt. She felt like exactly what she was—trapped, helpless, useless, so stupid.

Belle wanted to live, she wanted to meet their daughter, she wanted Hades to meet their daughter. The idea that any of that wouldn’t come to pass froze her with fear, kept her perfectly still. The muzzle of the gun was cool against her head. She could smell whiskey on Phoebus, beneath the scent of his awful cologne.

And she could hear her heart beating fiercely in her ears. Not yet, not yet—it woosh-wooshed.

Something jerked—and for the sharpest flash of a second, Belle had thought the gun had gone off, she thought that she’d feel the impact and then—nothing.

“RUN!” was what she heard instead, the command like a bolt of lightning striking through her.

It was just enough to propel her forwards as her heart clenched in her chest. Her wild gaze searched for Hades, but the darkness of the Cathedral bled around her, the edges going fuzzy. She stumbled one, two steps, her legs like jelly, barely listening to her brain. She couldn’t breathe. Before she could stop herself, she was pitching forwards, heading right for the stone floor.

Behind her, the gun discharged, and stone rained down over them all like snow.

PHOEBUS: “NO!” bellowed Phoebus, just as Merida slammed into him. His hand clenched instinctively as he braced himself to throw her off. And normally—he would be able to throw her off. He had wrestled with Merida since she was a tot, and more so recently. He knew exactly how much strength she had. He had trained her himself.

This was not her normal amount of strength.

His eyes went wide as his body stumbled from the sudden impact and Merida peeled his arm off of Belle as if she was opening the lid of a can. Belle managed to slip from his grasp and Phoebus’ face twisted in anger.

The gun went off much on accident as Phoebus tried to jerk his hand back and away from Merida.

“What are you doing, you bitch?” he snarled, practically spitting in her face. “I’m not the enemy. You’re going to get us both killed!” His knee came up to her gut, his hand twisting out of her grip as she bent to the pain of the blow. He reached up and snagged the gun from his other hand, waving it wildly about, attempting to find Hades in the chaos.

MERIDA: Her own strength surprised her. Like thunder, it roared through her muscles and then exploded, Phoebus’s hand jerking up farther than she anticipated, his wrist in hers feeling strangely thin and fragile, reminding her more of the horsehair of her bow-- bendable, pliable-- than bone. Though she knew it would snap if she twisted just a touch more. And that surprised her too, knowing she could break his wrist. She could break a man’s wrist before-- but this-- this would be easy as breathing.

It surprised her and so did the gunshot. The echo of it rattled through her eardrums, much too close for her liking. It jolted the beast inside.

The beast didn’t like the sound of guns.

The smell of gunpowder made her face twist and her eyes glint.

She barely felt the blow to her stomach, just bent to it as bodies do. It was all instinct. Action, reaction. The gun tore from her hand. She heard the sound of something falling and knew it was probably Belle, Belle not safe, Belle one second away from a bullet put through the brain.

She got her foot between Phoebus’s and she tripped him. The two of them fell with a thud of their own. An animal snarl rose from her lips as she reached for his hand again, to pin the wrist, to squeeze with sheer force the gun from his hand--

Her other went to his neck. If she couldn’t get the gun, she knew who could.

The necklace’s chain snapped as easily as a wrist could.

HADES: Merida had whirled on the man and with her action, the tension in the cathedral had shattered. Its pieces went everywhere-- Merida onto Phoebus, the gun pointing at the ceiling, the bullet discharged somewhere into the walls, Belle stumbling like a blind woman away, and Hades going straight for her too.

She fell. Phoebus and Merida fell. Hades arrived a second too late to catch her but reached down for her anyway, hoisting her roughly to her feet. His hands went straight to her face, his palm smoothly over her tangled hair and pale skin. His eyes conducted a wild, but thorough search of her face for blooms of bruise or blood. But she was untouched, except for the damage of the tourmaline.

“We have to go,” he said to her. As much as he wanted to inspect the rest of her, to sit down and to hold her, there was no time.

And then the gun went off a second time, Hades’ flinch turning quickly into action as he twisted Belle around so she was behind him and shielded.

BELLE: Belle barely felt hitting the ground, her conscious flickering in and out for those few seconds—though instinct had her flinging her arms out to try to catch herself.

What she did feel, however, was a hand on her bicep, jerking her back to her feet with force. For a few moments, she thought it was Phoebus. He’d thrown Merida off and come for her again. And next, he was going to put a bullet through her temple. She lurched, trying to pull away on instinct, even if it meant crashing back down to the ground.

But then—a hand touched her face and she knew that hand. Blinking, she took in Hades’ features as they came into proper focus and she felt some part of her unclench. She wanted to fall into him.

Safe. Safe. She was safe. Opal was safe.

And then, the gun went off again—that semblance of safety ripped away as swiftly as it came. Hades pulled her towards him in a split second, before she could even register what had happened. She stumbled and tensed, her heart jumping right back into her throat.

The echo of the shot petered out and Belle looked up at Hades, her hand reaching for the collar of his shirt, searching his eyes—looking for any trace of pain. “Are you--?” was all she could think to say, the terror had her by the throat.

PHOEBUS: The bullet whizzed right passed the couple, shattering into a column nowhere near them. Only three bullets left. And now—there was no breath in his own lungs, the fall having knocked it out of him. Merida’s fingers brushed his throat and he thought in the confusion, that she was looking to strangle him.

It was much, much worse than that—

He felt the chain of the necklace snap. “No!” he snarled again, his stomach twisting—for the first time that night—in fear. The necklace was his protection. With it, he was immune to the telekinetic tricks of demons. Nothing could touch him. Now, he was exposed—and Merida knew it.

“Traitor!” he snarled at her and thrashed—trying to dislodge her from his hips. His free hand went to her own throat, he’d kill her if he had to. The Order would understand. They did not take kindly to traitors. He should have expected no less from a woman. It was not often that they had loyalty or nobility or common fucking sense.

His fingers wrapped around her neck and they squeezed.

The pain in his wrist would not alleviate, but he refused to drop the gun. It was his only defense against the spectre now. If he could just get Merida off of him—there was a bullet for each of them.

One for the traitorous cunt.

One for the delusional bitch.

And one for the demon responsible for it all.

MERIDA: Merida used to wrestle with her father. They were games of pretend: Merida three times her size and her father the rambunctious pup who showed her his belly, there on the green of Cawdor gardens. She’d climb all over him and shout with the force of her lungs her victory. With her fists raised high in the air, she’d declared herself king-- king of fathers and king of Cawdor Castle.

She knew that he had let her win those games. Now-- this wasn’t a game and Phoebus wouldn’t let her win. But she knew how to fight. If wrestling had taught her anything, it was how to want something so badly, you would fight for it.

So Phoebus thrashed and she steeled her thighs around him. He discharged the gun again. The cathedral echoed with that iron sound. Merida banged his hand back with her own so hard she imagined the itty bitty bird bones of his knuckles crunching into grains of sand.

She raised the necklace away from him with her other hand. He flailed to catch it and when he didn’t get it, his thick fingers found her throat.

Merida choked. Her breath squeezed in her belly, her lungs bursting. And in between her ears it wasn’t the ringing of the gun anymore, but the howling begun, growing louder and louder, closer and closer--

She flailed her hand and threw the necklace behind her. “It’s-- the-- necklace!” she tried to rasp the answer. Her hand now free, she reached for Phoebus’s hand around her neck.

And she fought. She fought to peel every one of those fingers off her, with a strength she knew was not her own, but the beast’s.

She watched how his eyes bulged, reminding Merida of prey.

Her own flashed as her mouth twisted in a snarl.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus watched, his own eyes bulging as Merida pulling his fingers from her neck, one after another. It shouldn’t be possible. Men were stronger than women, just by default. It was the way their bodies were made. Not to mention, Phoebus had been training almost his entire life. Over twenty years—he never missed an exercise. He worked hard every day to keep himself in the best shape possible. He was strong.

Merida was not this strong.

And still, she peeled his fingers back one by one, like snapping the strings a guitar.

It shouldn’t be possible—but it was.

Phoebus’ brain was attempting to recalibrate. If he could not defeat her by brute strength, he could certainly outsmart the dumb broad. This was a lie he told himself, for he knew Merida was sharp as a tack—but he was smarter, older, had been doing this much, much longer. Merida was all brawn. Phoebus was all brains. It was what he had always excelled at. This was why he was glad to fight demons, not dragons.

She peeled his fingers from her throat, but she needed both hands to do it.

Which meant that Phoebus had one shot.

Surprisingly, shooting someone at close range was at times more difficult than at a distance. It could be hard to get the angle correct. But Phoebus knew he needed to get her off of him if he had any chance of taking care of what he needed to. If he could just destabilize her at least, then he could deal with the Acherons—and Merida later.

With a twist of his wrist, Phoebus aimed the gun up and towards Merida, the shot loud and echoing once again.

Blood splattered on his face and he heard Merida give an inhuman growl. The next moment she had sprang off of him.

The moment after that, Phoebus had also jumped to his feet.

He spun on his heel to find the Acherons again. “STOP!” His voice boomed through the nave of the cathedral. “I swear to God I will shoot either of you.”

HADES: The first shot didn’t hit them. He waited for the sharp bite, but it never came. The scuffle behind them continued, Phoebus snarling and Merida gasping. She said something about a necklace, but--

“I’m fine. Let’s go!” Hades hissed. He grabbed Belle’s hand and yanked her into motion.

They stumbled into a clumsy, staggering run, Belle still weak and sick and very, very pregnant. Feet pounded anyway. Down the aisle, halfway to the door, Hades’ eyes scouring the shadows and wondering, wondering if he could take Belle with him--

Another gunshot. Hades flinched and looked over his shoulder. He saw Merida stumble back only to collapse out of view.

He felt a flicker of something in his chest, but didn’t have time to consider what it was. Because Phoebus scrambled up and pointed the gun at them again.

Hades once again shoved Belle behind him. He obeyed the order, his feet, heavy as concrete as he stared back at a manic Phoebus. He looked more monster than Hades ever had-- hair wild, uniform crumbled, and blood spattered across his front.

But he didn’t have his hostage anymore. And Hades remembered what Merida had gasped. Necklace, she said, and Hades decided to take a chance, based on an inkling in his stomach that felt exactly like his sixth sense.

He waved his hand and ripped the gun from Phoebus’s hand. It flew across the church and got lost in one of the pews. Phoebus looked startled. Then scared. Hades smirked.

He reached forward and grabbed Phoebus by the throat with his magic. With his hand extended out, fist white-knuckled with his grip, he moved forward, back down the aisle and toward the choking Prince. Who was the devil now?

“What do you think of me now?” Hades snarled. He forced Phoebus to his knees as he got closer and closer. The candles on the altar lit a ghostly blue. “Do I look like the demon yet? Am I the devil?” He wrapped his powers so thickly and tightly around Phoebus that he couldn’t move his arms.

He arrived in front of him and leaned down so he could spit directly in his face.

“I’m something so much worse,” he told him. And he contemplated Phoebus’s death--Hades’ most familiar friend standing next to them both. He sensed there was a choice here when sometimes there was not. To choke, to burn, to slice Phoebus open--to spare him-- Death waited, silent and patient, for Hades to decide.

Behind him, a different creature rose from the shadows.

PHOEBUS: The gun sprung from his hand as if attached to a string. Phoebus stumbled, more on instinct than anything, as if he had just received a blow. He thought that he might be able to bluff. Hades knew that Phoebus was immune to telekinesis but didn’t know how. Phoebus could hope that Merida had not been able to convey her message. Whether through sheer luck or the sense of some otherworldly creature—Hades called his bluff.

And Phoebus felt the cold trickle of fear. It started as a quiet thing—as silent as a prayer.

Invisible fingers closed around his throat and Phoebus’ hands came up at once, clawing at the nothing of it, desperate and instinctual. He was dizzy even before Hades shoved him to his knees. His brain confused at that point—unable to feel what was choking him, unable to understand why that was. Hades looked just as terrifying as Phoebus knew him to be—that unearthly blue fire bouncing off the stained glass, turning the Cathedral dark instead of warm. Or, perhaps, that was just the blackness creeping into the sides of his vision.

BELLE: Belle had stumbled to a pew as Hades moved off. She got her hand around the side of it and leaned over for a moment, attempting to catch her breath. Realistically, she knew the threat was gone now. Phoebus was unarmed and unprotected from Hades’ powers, which meant there was no way to overtake him.

Still, the fear rushed through Belle. She was dizzy with it. Could feel her hands shaking. So, she pushed back up and gripped at the back of the pew, trying to find the spirit inside of her that had faced off with murderous muses and dragons and shadow creatures galore. She couldn’t find that girl. Instead, she found another as she watched Hades force Phoebus to his knees. She found a vicious, vindictive woman—who wanted to watch Hades snap Phoebus’ neck.

The thought didn’t even startle her. She didn’t look away. Instead, she stood taller. Her gaze was hard and cool. For a few moments, there was no sympathy in her heart, only the thirst for revenge. And not just for this incident, but all the ones that had come before. Belle could see it all now, clicking into place. Phoebus, the officer who had arrested Hades. Phoebus, the officer who had been the first to show up after Shuck’s collar had come loose. All the rumors kicked back up and swirling around Hades. Rumors that had died down considerably when Hades had won his seat on the Board.

Their lives—Hades’ life—potentially ruined by someone who was going to murder him and her and their unborn child in cold blood.

Belle had no sympathy for him.

However, her gaze fell softly on her husband. Even from a distance, even though he kept it contained to the thunderous tilt of his brow—she could see the fury etched into every line of his body. In that same moment, Belle knew that she would not allow her husband to kill Phoebus in cold-blood. (no matter how delicious the sound of Phoebus’ neck snapping would sound in the echo of the cathedral. Later, it would haunt them both.) She knew Hades had killed before--she knew that he had killed just like this, not under threat of attack, but because of his fury. Belle wouldn’t let him this time and she would not have let him if she had been there before.

And this was not because of some higher moral obligation. No, Belle was woman enough to admit that. It was not because there wasn’t some riotous, monstrous part of herself that wanted Phoebus dead. It was not because she thought Phoebus worth saving.

But because she knew that Phoebus’ death would do nothing to clean up their reputation in town. If Hades wanted to salvage any of that, they needed to play the victims. Which meant keeping Phoebus alive, taking the moral high ground. He was just a Mundus anyway. If he was put in jail, there would be little risk of him leaving. He was no longer a threat. It was better to keep him alive. Phoebus was the one who was going to kill them, not the other way around.

“Hades,” she called—her voice soft but ragged--she knew he would hear her regardless.

Don’t. He’s not worth it.

This was what she was going to say, but movement caught her eye.

In the blue of Hades’ candlelight, Merida’s fur shone black—but Belle knew who and what she was at once—and she was stalking right towards Hades.

“Behind you!” she called then, her voice much louder.

Her gaze turned frantically towards the wolf and she moved from the pew into the aisle again, as if she would be able to run fast enough to do anything at all. She knew she couldn’t. Still, she gathered what little strength she had.

“Merida, no!” The command bounced around the walls of the cathedral, echoing much louder than Belle herself was.

HADES: Hades turned at Belle’s voice and had approximately half a second to react to the werewolf that had fucking materialized out of nowhere.

Okay, realistically, in the next five seconds, he’d put together the werewolf was Merida all along. But at first, all he saw was animal and all he thought was animal. The wolf hulked, massive, its fur a rustic red-tinted penny colour with eyes like molten lava. It dripped blood. Hades barked in shock and he literally collapsed back onto Phoebus as the creature lunged with a terrible cry of its own.

His magic lashed out. It grabbed the wolf like it had grabbed the gun and flung the creature into the altar, knocking the whole damn thing over. The werewolf snarled then screeched with pain. When it got up again, it scrambled on clumsy legs like it didn’t know how to use it.

And then it bolted down, toward Belle.

“Belle!” he cried out and was about to toss the wolf against the pews.

But the wolf streaked past Belle, straight for the open door, and out again.

Now it was Hades turned to scramble off Phoebus. He twisted around, grabbed the dazed, gasping corrupt cop by his ruined uniform and then punched him once across the face. It was surprisingly more satisfying than he thought it would be, for someone who had never had to throw a punch before. His knuckles crunched cheekbone. It hurt, but Hades liked it.

He then let Phoebus fall back onto the ground. He got up the rest of the way and jerked Phoebus’s hands above his head in mock surrender.

“You didn’t mention you were working with a fucking werewolf. What the fuck?” Hades panted. He twisted half-round to look at Belle. “Are you okay?”

BELLE: Merida lunged and Hades knocked himself backwards, toppling him and Phoebus both to the ground and out of sight behind the pews. Belle felt her heart jump into her throat the moment Merida’s paws left the ground, her heart sinking—helpless once more—into her stomach.

But Hades managed to toss her into the altar with an awful crash. There was just a moment, just a moment of respite (though, Belle’s heart clenched in her chest at the sound of Merida’s whine—though she wasn’t sure why, she had no pity for the sorrowful, hateful creature.) Then, Merida got up and shook herself off and barreled towards her.

Though this, at least, Belle was not afraid of. She had been stared down, stalked by a werewolf once before. She knew the look in their eye, hungry and focused. As Merida neared, she knew that was not the case—her head was shaking back and forth like she was attempting to fix a ringing in her ears. So, Belle’s heart jumped back into her throat but she did not flinch as the beast blew passed her, fast and powerful enough to ruffle her hair and clothing.

She turned to watch it go, wondering what would become of the girl. If she cared, it was only because there was a rogue wolf on the loose. When all this was over, she should probably call Adam and give him the heads up, (When all this was over, she would forget.)

Her reverie was broken just a moment after it had started (another moment of respite gone), when she heard flesh against flesh and turned—startled—back to Hades and Phoebus. Her breath caught in her throat just before she registered that it was Hades who had thrown the punch, Hades who was still in control of the situation. For a second, she had thought—

Phoebus’ manic laughter filled the cathedral, bouncing off the walls and making Belle shiver and her stomach sicker. She clenched white-knuckled at the pew and wanted to beg for him to stop. But Belle had not begged with a gun to her head and she would not start now.

Instead, she looked to Hades and nodded her head slightly—making her way back towards him slowly, her whole body trembling as the adrenaline began to eek out of her.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, though it was not wholly the truth. “We need to call the police, Hades,” she told him. “I-I don’t know where my phone is. They—” her voice caught, strangled as her throat closed, “—took it.”

HADES: The wolf-- was gone. Phoebus-- had lost. Was manic and laughing, unhinged as Hades expected he had always been under his uniform. And Belle was okay.

For a brief second, Hades just let out a breath and enjoyed that fact for what it was: Belle was okay. Yes, she was still pregnant with a baby that was sucking all of her health from her. Yes, she had been kidnapped and all his fault again. Yes, she’d been held at gunpoint. Knifepoint. The nightmares would keep them both awake.

But in that second, she was alive. Alive, standing, still pregnant, her hair a tangled mess but otherwise alive. If he could just hold onto that, maybe he’d make it to March and see the other side of this.

But he couldn’t. Hold onto it, that is. There was a list of things to do tonight, from the police to the Board to scheduling an appointment with Hera to check the baby-- couldn’t be too careful. And so the second ended and Hades had to go on. That’s how you made it to the other side anyway. Not by holding your breath and waiting for things-- but by going on.

“I’ll call,” he said. He still had his powers wrapped tightly around Phoebus, a hand out to keep it that way while the other dug into his pocket. “Is Opal kicking? Can you feel her?” he asked Belle as he dialed.

If she was kicking, then, at least… at least it would be one good thing.

BELLE: Hades asked about Opal and Belle blinked a little. It surprised her—though, guilt nipped on her heels the next second. In her mild defense, she had just been kidnapped and held at both knife- and gun point, betrayed by someone she had thought of as a dear friend. (For the second time in a handful of months, though really, Berlioz’s betrayal seemed meager to all of this.) In her mild defense, Hades barely took an interest in the baby these days outside of making sure Belle was as comfortable as possible.

So, yes, she blinked a little, and then—with a jolt, realized she hadn’t felt her at all since—the car? Or, perhaps, when the gun had pressed to her temple. She couldn’t remember when the last time was. And Belle, you know, was very diligent at measuring her kick count every day—and Opal was always delighted to participate, if you caught her at the right time. Which was just about now. If Opal wasn’t tap-dancing on Belle’s liver, something was wrong.

Something might be wrong.

Belle put a hand to her stomach, and for the first time in several minutes, focused on her daughter in more than the abstract “save her life” kind of way. She held her breath for a moment, two—

There she went, kicking right against the bottom of Belle’s stomach. Belle’s hand arched down towards the movement as the relief washed over her.

She heard Hades’ voice speaking to the emergency operator, so she took the moment to edge her way back into a pew and sat down, her hand pressed against her daughter’s foot, like she could hold it already. She wished she could count all of her toes.

Belle watched Hades hang up the phone and turn towards her. “She’s—she’s fine, I-I think. Tap-dancing, a-as usual.” She smiled just a little and wanted to reach out for him, but she was terrified for him to come any closer whilst he still had Phoebus in the grip of his powers. Realistically, she knew Hades could probably hold Phoebus steady from across the cathedral and not simply a few pews away, but she did not want to risk it.

Instead, she just slumped down and tilted her head back, looking towards one of the stained-glass windows. A pietà. Belle looked away.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus gave up fighting rather quickly. It was no use against the invisible binds around him, stronger than any rope. Rope, he could wiggle his way out of. Magical binds that defied the logic of physicality? It was impossible.

So, instead, he was quiet and still. He did not try to fight. He began to plot.

In truth, it was not going well. He knew that Hades was too dangerous a target now. With a hunting party, perhaps they would catch him. There was no one Phoebus trusted enough to be smart and steady, to bide their time and strike when the moment was right. The Order was full of impatient, amateur assholes just looking to make an easy kill. Fine. Let Hades live and destroy this town. The people in it were idiots for living within its borders.

His planning turned towards the future. Getting out of prison. He was confident it would happen. Swynlake was not quipped to handle a trial of this caliber. He would be outsourced to a proper jail, a proper prison. A different court system entirely. One that was not magick-friendly. One that would sympathize with his position. His family could hire a perfectly powerful lawyer. He could get acquitted. He could have a vastly reduced sentence. He could break out. The Order knew enough people in the prison system. It was how they continued to operate the way that they did. He was confident he would not be in jail long.

Which left—Duchess. Would she wait for him? He prayed she would. Phoebus would still give her the big beautiful seaside house. A wedding that he would let her busy herself with planning whilst he was dealing with the red tape. He would take care of her still.

Phoebus hardly noticed the handcuffs going onto his wrists or being jerked to his feet. He stayed stony and silent as he left the sanctity of the cathedral and was shoved into the police cruiser, the red-blue lights flashing like the sun spiraling through stained glass.

#bdrphades #bdrpmerida #bdrpbelle #ghostbusters #artemis and apollo #phoebelle #horsenapped #heh #good times

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