#writing Spite's influence over Lucanis is scratching my old OC itch I need to get back to the Hunted someday lmao

[midnightwind]

brain worms about how Spite would describe my Rook (Renn) and her magic seized me by the throat so here, not sure where it lines up yet in the greater narrative but I love this funky little demon

Spite's dialogue is in bold as always! Mirenna (Renn) "Rook" de Riva, Dalish mage turned Crow Spellblade

Renn was splayed out on one of the plush couches in the dining room, head propped on the arm of the divan. Her eyes watched the flames of the fireplace dance dully, her fingers flicking a small throwing knife over her knuckles. Back and forth, the metal clicking against her nails, the crackle of the fire quiet and calming. She barely registered the assassin moving about in the kitchen, his quiet bustle lost to her wandering awareness. Until a warm mug of coffee was held before her eyes, causing her to jump despite herself. A Crow was never supposed to be caught unawares. She muttered a curse under her breath, glancing up at the man.

“I figured you could use a cup.” He offered, tilting it towards her invitingly until she took it. “Sleep not working out?”

A low sigh caused her shoulders to sag as she sat up straighter. “No. This place still messes with me. Never dark, time moves weird, spirits everywhere. It should be an awful place for me to be, you know?”

He let out a questioning noise as he claimed the chair next to her couch, cradling his own drink.

“Mm, right. Normal person.” Mostly. She hummed, sipping the coffee. Maker, it was a delicious blend. How much gold did the one cup cost..? “Being in the Fade is a terrible idea for a mage. It's like walking into a starving pack of wolves while waving a leg of mutton. I should be fending off spirits and demons and who knows what else. But for whatever reason, this place is safe. Isolated.” She shivered. “It's worrying. I'm thankful, don't get me wrong, but...”

“A healthy dose of paranoia is good for a Crow.” There was the ghost of a smile curving his lips behind the cup.

“It’s just… I grew up with people saying I was catnip for demons and now I'm sitting in their home and… nothing is happening? Were they wrong?”

“Your magic. Smells like sweet honey. Tempting. Tantalizing.” Spite's rough singsong forced itself through Lucanis’ voice. “But also sharp. Metallic. Like blood! Dangerous. Powerful.” There was a starving, sharp grin on the Crow's face that sent a shiver through her. “Rook smells delicious.”

She blinked at him, watching Lucanis regain control with a white knuckled grip. He looked mortified. A nervous laugh bubbled from her chest. She wasn't sure what to do with that. He set his coffee on the little table between them, burying his face in his hands.

“I can't believe he finally said that.” His voice was so soft it was barely audible, would have been lost to the fire crackling if she wasn't so tuned to listen close to everything.

She couldn't help herself, leaning forward an inch to needle him. “Finally?”

A strangled noise escaped him before he looked up sharply, eyes glowing. “Been saying. Since we met! Lucanis is a coward. Wouldn't say it! Wouldn't let us. Talk.”

“Is it… not how I appear to all demons? Is that what Lucanis thinks?” It felt cruel to pull such thoughts from him through Spite, but it was his own fault. His distant brooding just made her want to tease him too much.

The demon nodded, gleeful to be sharing things his host was surely screaming about. “He likes your scent. A comfort. Thinks you smell like…” The spirit struggled for the words before snapping their fingers. “A storm. Rook born of the storm. He loves it.” 

That caused a happy thrill to wash over her. He liked her. All her efforts to flirt mercilessly with him were working after all. It saved her from an embarrassing conversation with Teia later, at least. Her little internal celebration fizzled as he stood abruptly, swiping his drink from the table and turning towards the pantry. He was running away.

“Wait!” Her voice jumped an octave in panic before she reigned it in. “Wait. Please? I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me. I won't encourage Spite like that anymore. I promise.”

“He's being too active, I shouldn't-” he started, determined to pull himself away.

“Lucanis.” She called softly, watching as the plea caused his next step to falter by a fraction. “You can ask me something mean, balance the scale. Spite wasn't causing trouble, you're still in control.” She was almost babbling now, desperate to find the line that pulled him back to her side. “Things are just weird and confusing and… I’d really like company right now. Your company, specifically.”

“Rook…” There was a restrained agony to her name as it fell from his lips.

“I've never talked with a demon before and got carried away. It won't happen again.”

He seemed to flinch, shoulders climbing ever so slightly towards his ears. A grimace was forming on his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was warding off a headache. There was a moment where it seemed like he would relent, a half turn back towards her, before his jaw clenched.

“Sorry. He’s too riled up. It's better to leave us alone for a bit.” Regret tinged his words, but he walked resolutely back to his room.

As he closed the door, flinching for a second, she swore the air around him seemed to warp. It looked like the air in summer, hot and dancing. It was angrily wrapping around him, an effect lost the second she tried to focus on it before the door clicked shut and she was left alone. She sipped morosely at her coffee, kicking herself.

“Fucked that one right up, didn't ya. Viago was right, you are an idiot.” She muttered, dropping her head back to the arm of the couch with the air of a kicked puppy. Maybe she would have to ask Teia for advice after all.