[ you can tell he's feeling more normal this week because the cheeky bastardry comes so naturally now. ]
As I've said, I have placed my trust in you and your understanding of this thing, and I believe entirely in your ability to solve the problem. But the nagging voice of the part of myself you so begged for me to listen to compels me to ask: if it learns from what it absorbs, is feeding it nine distinctly insane and malevolent mage ghosts going to be ... a good idea?
[Get out of here with that logic, he is running on desperation and love only.]
Well, the Core does seem to... [He trails off with a somewhat forlorn frown.] I don't think... they would necessarily survive transmutation with the Core, but their essence, their... power... probably would become integrated into the Core's learning.
So it would follow the same sort of rules. Not evil, but... could potentially be dangerous if in the wrong hands.
[ he pauses, and then goes to pull the amulet off from around his neck, holding it out. the little vial of blood in the middle sloshes around. ]
Could try with a smaller piece of it first. See what it does with it. That has the power of the Mind Rend in it, which I clearly don't need now that I can do it on my own again.
Otherwise, you should hold onto it. Good for you to have a defense of some kind, and it doesn't require any aiming. Just a touch and a thought.
[He looks startled and surprised at the offered amulet. He keeps glancing back and forth between it and Lucien much like Lucien had been doing with him and the Core.
He ventures over, but only to sort of touch it gently in Lucien's hand. Touched, but unsure if Lucien is making the right decision giving it up.]
I thought... you were the one who said it was dangerous to just give away your blood?
[ As he reaches for the amulet, he finds himself frantically knocking on a door instead. The knocker is a face, made of gold and stretched into a desperate smile, and you’re bashing it as hard as you can against the door.
The clearing is calm, and peaceful - or would be, if it weren’t for the two of you careening your way through it. The red cottage sits in the middle of it. A strange sight in the Savalirwood, all things considered. Not much lives in here, let alone has a sweet little home. There’s birdsong, and the sound of a babbling brook, and shouting in the distance as the mercenaries of the Red Debt close in on you quickly. They don’t care that you’re scrawny, 12-year-old urchins, they’ll still slice your throats and leave the corpses in the Jagentoth Tomb as a warning to other upstarts hoping to take a Mardoon job.
“Azrahari! You owe me! You owe me!” And the voice that is meant to be demanding sounds pleading instead, on the edge of childish, angry tears. “Azrahari!”
Cree is tugging at your sleeve, eyes in a panic and claws dug so deeply into the sleeve of your coat that they’re pricking your skin. “Lucien, we have to go! Not in the open! Not in the open—”
There’s a part of you that hopes, maybe, the witch has abandoned this place. You’ve simply come here to cower as you die and maybe it will be over soon. But, mercifully or not, the door opens. Your knees nearly buckle as she emerges from the shadow of the door.
“What an unexpected surprise.” She smiles. Peace. Calm. A natural serenity. The woman is tall, taller than she should be, with an ageless sort of beauty about her. Icy-blonde hair in ringlets gathered at the crown of her head, and two gray horns sweep back from her forehead. Cree’s eyes widen in horror, her head snapping back and forth between the woman and where the two of you had run from. Calculating the seconds until your time is up. “Normally, I only greet visitors with an appointment, but for you... ” Her blue eyes narrow, looking at you, while a hand toys with the gold and silver amulet at her chest, “I could make a rare exception.”
You, however, can only stare at the witch. You can’t decide if you want to run, or vomit. She ruined your life. But she owes you. ]
[The shift is so sudden it startles the piss out of him. He gasps from somewhere inside of the body that's smashing the leering knocker of the door. The feelings don't seem like his own, but they also aren't bizarre. In fact, they are quite, quite familiar, and so he thinks they may be his own anyway.
The woman who answers the door is beautiful in a very unnerving, unnatural way. For some reason... she is familiar, and he tries to parse whether the familiarity it because this is clearly--it is clear, right?--Lucien's memories, or because he had heard something about her once...
Whatever the case, she owes him a debt, and he realizes they have maybe not even a minute to collect on it. So he says the only thing he can think to say:]
[ A smile stretches across her face. She does. She owes you.
“Come in. Make yourself at home.”
She opens the door further, and you and Cree go sprawling in. Catfolk like her should have better balance than this you think.
“Dear child, dear child … it’s good to see you. I’m not surprised you remembered the way.” You grimace as she runs a hand over your head, one hand curling briefly around a horn. She isn’t wrong, a well-practiced path through the forest. She’d ruined your life, and made you ruin others. “What do I call your friend?”
“Nothing.” You spit out, before Cree can speak. “You don’t need to know her name.” Cree wisely shuts her mouth. Taking the hint. Better for a hag to not know your name.
The witch laughs. “A touch rude, but I’ll allow it. You know, I was thinking of poor sweet Elric the other day … ” But you’re ignoring her as you drag Cree over to crouch beneath the sooty window, keeping your eyes glued to the floor. Everything in here remains exactly the same as it had been, then. Dark and swept-clean except for a black crocheted rug on the floor. A grate sits over the fireplace: tongs, shears, a hammer, and a collection of unsettlingly large needles. None of it has changed. Not the medicinal scent of bark tannin, the earthy smell of leather, or the eerie quiet punctuated by the occasional startling pop of the fire.
You turn Cree roughly by the wrist so she’s looking out the window, hoping she doesn’t notice. By now, you can see the approaching mercenaries - six of them well-armed and in thick red leathers, and one (the one you had ambushed, or, failed to ambush really) looking roughed-up, weaponless and bedraggled. The Red Debt. No wonder the job was paying an entire gold piece. You’d been expected to rob the gods-damned Red Debt. They probably never expected to have to pay up. Still, you don’t feel confident about much, but you do feel the witch will protect you. She owes you that much.
She steps back outside, as calm and practiced as ever. There’s a brief conversation. the mercenaries are stupid brutes, but even they know a woman alone in the Savalirwood is likely not someone to be trifled with. You're trying not to watch, counting stitches on the rug.
It’s too late to stop Cree from looking as Azrahari lifts the amulet and whispers a single, guttural word. The Red Debt fools who had taken a good, long look at the amulet go still, and then shiver. One of them groans, and then all of them in turn drop to the ground. Clothes and skin. Whatever bones, guts, and spirits had been within vanished, leaving nothing but loose, deflated piles of flesh, clothes, leather and armor. The last mercenary screams in terror.
Cree shoots to her feet, backing away from the window and yellow eyes reeling. You stand up to reach for her, try and keep her head down, but it’s not quick enough.
She’s noticed the high shelves running along every wall.
“What is this place?” Cree whispered, flashing fangs as she tried and failed to tear her eyes away from the rows and rows of large, still puppets. Too realistic, too ghoulish, to be stitched from yarn and fabric and beads.
Lifeless now, but not always so. She looks at you in horror, betrayal, shaking like a leaf. “Lucien … “
You aren’t able to answer. The witch, dragging the last mercenary still alive by the collar of her coat, re-enters the cottage.
“Bracing, I know.” Azarhari coos. “The Hollowing is not for the faint of heart.” She strokes the amulet with a thumb as she tosses the mercenary - a girl, a dwarf, not that much older than the two of you - to the floor.
You stand up on shaking legs. “Tell us where you buried the goods, and we’ll let you go.” You don’t look at Azrahari. You already know it’s a lie and you don't need to see her sickening smile to confirm that.
“P-please,” she cowers on the floor, not even attempting to crawl away, only staring in horror at the witch and her amulet. “Please don’t do to me what you did to them … "
Azrahari taps her foot on the floor, impatiently. “This young man asked you a question.”
“Switchback C-Cave. There’s a pile of rocks outside. You w-won’t miss it.”
That’s enough for Cree. She flees, hurtling over the girl and out of the door and past the carnage. Probably for the best.
You hazard one last glance back at the witch. Maybe it should have occurred to you sooner that she might not let you leave, as she had all the other times before. This time, as the others, you had led people here for her. Just like your Da had instructed, all those times before. Your parents had owed, but you had paid the blood price. Elric was nothing, then, an empty puppet who could barely grunt a few words. Aldreda was too young, too gentle and naive. Easier for you.
“Know this: I owe you nothing now.” All traces of civility and gentility erased from her tone, a hissing quality to it instead. “You destroyed one of my finest creations, child. Do not find yourself in this part of the Savalirwood again, Lucien Tavelle. Consider that warning my generosity.”
You look at her. Fire burns in your gut, and you gesture to the dwarven girl, who's now sobbing in heaving gulps. “What will you do with her?”
It doesn't matter. You aren't going to trade your life for hers. You don't know what your destiny is, but it isn't here, an empty sack of skin on the floor of this hut. A puppet. Still, something like pity aches in you.
“Little fool.” She smiles, and tilts her head to one side. “You already know.”
You don't wait longer than that to turn tail and run.
He's left staring into the middle distance with his mouth slightly open, the weight of the amulet in his palm much heavier than it had been before. His fingers curl over it regardless.
He's not entirely sure why his eyes burn; the water swells up in them, but doesn't really fall. When he glances down, his bottom lip pinches beneath his top teeth in an effort to somehow stay as detached as possible which is difficult. Maybe it's the leftover desperation and fear, like a nightmare. Maybe it's watching people get scraped clean from the inside like a cantaloupe.]
Sorry.
[The apology is more for his reaction, of course, than it is for being forced to perceive something private. It's not unlike stepping on consecrated ground with shoes on. Blasphemous, shameful.
The knuckles of the hand gripping the staff can't turn white, so it's the hopping currents of energy that give away how tightly it's clenched. He curls the amulet idly against his chest like a keepsake.]
I saw... Sorry.
[Well, now he can see why Lucien had been so addled before, too.]
[ it's all very disorienting, yeah. at least lucien has seen this as it happened as well, eyes more watching the amulet than anything.
he's not as good at comforting touch, but he'll reach out a hand to gently place it over viktor's, where he's clenching the amulet. maybe a little bit shamefully. ]
[His previous words feel kind of in poor taste after all of that.]
Good.
[He pushes Lucien's hand back, but only so he can step forward and wrap that arm around Lucien's neck. He hugs Lucien tightly to himself, keeping the staff out of the way, clutching the amulet in his fist.]
You were young. I know if you had the power, you would have done things differently.
[ well, maybe. but it’s a joke lucien keeps making himself so obviously he is participatory in that bad taste himself. even worse taste, because he HAS fed people to a hag.
anyway it’s nice he believes that. he thinks so, but he doesn’t know the way he would deal with it now would be much better. leaning into the hug, nodding slightly. ]
Not cursed or anything either, unless you consider my blood cursed.
[He knows Lucien maybe would because... he would have, too. Done things differently. If he hadn't been crippled and cast aside as a child, if he had not been terminally ill at what is meant to be the peak of life.]
You aren't the only one with cursed blood.
[He loosens his arm and draws back, but not away. He runs his thumb over the amulet in his hand between them, and then he puts it on. It's out right now, but he will probably hide it later between his skin and his clothes because it is now very important to him.]
We're going to change the world, Lucien. The two of us, the right way. We're going to make it better for the people who come after.
[ very sexy and goth to carry around a bit of your boyfriend’s blood, yeah. anyway he can Mind Rend (non-fatal only) now if Scien is really annoying him.
Lucien’s gaze flicks to the Hex Core in its housing again when viktor says change the world. It’s certainly idealistic. He’s never been an altruist, and has only ever done much of what he’s done in the world for a select few people he cares about deeply and the bare basics of survival. A deep and unsettling rage against a system that takes crippled children and mangy orphans and builds empires on their backs. And when those efforts began to fail, his option was to destroy the world for its sins instead. molly has always been the balance to that. leaving things a little bit better, as a balance to leaving it a little bit worse. so despite all his grandiosity he’s not actually certain of his own resolve to change the WORLD. they are both the scarred and sewn-together ghoulish creations of a cruel and violent reality, and any world they create will bear those scars too, won’t it?
still.
there probably is a lot of good in a world where viktor has some peace and time to do the things he wants to do. big or small. it sounds kind of nice to think about getting to see that. he wouldn’t mind seeing it a little better than he left it. or maybe that’s the mollymauk thought he can’t quite separate from his own at this point.
but speaking of small steps: ]
Amalthea seems to believe it will be possible to retrieve Cree. I don’t know the mechanics of it, exactly, but I suppose I have to take her at her word. [ amalthea is not one of the super science types but he still believes her. ] She doesn’t have to come with us, or anything. Might be better for everyone if she doesn’t - I just … owe her a fresh start somewhere. She can take it or leave it at her will. She’s a talented cleric, however.
[ viktor has a lot of impressive sounding options already it seems like, though. ]
[They can teeter together on the precipice of staying good people, or becoming bad people. Sometimes, you simply stay on that precipice forever, rocking back and forth, never stepping back and never falling over.
The amulet of boyfriend blood is his to covet always.
His eyes lift to study Lucien's face, and he follows the gaze to the Hex Core before looking back again.]
I could have never even... dreamed of a day where so many people were able to... just bypass something like... illness, death. [He's overwhelmed by the possibilities.] We'll get Cree for you, Lucien. It's alright.
If you want her to come with us, that's okay, too. She's your... friend? I can't possible ask you to come with me to a world belonging to a friend and not extend to you the same courtesy.
If we're able to do that, it'd be her choice. She's followed me enough places.
[ friend seems a understated word for it. extremely codependent platonic queer-bond vibes. though shamefully on lucien's part I think cree is a little more soul-bonded to him than he is in return. always his shadow.
reaching over to tuck some of viktor's hair behind his ear, studying his face in return for a moment. ]
The tucked hair looks like it doesn't want to stay, looping around his ear, fluffy. Probably because he has this stimming habit Lucien may have spotted where he twists the hair around and around his finger idly when he's engrossed in something, studying it, working. He's trained the thing to be unruly.]
[ his fluffy hair is really adorable though, and his stimming habit is going to help lucien's curly hair routinue so much. the subreddit will be envious.
poking a gentle claw against one of his moles. ]
Aye. The glint. Cree always said not everyone can see, but it's a shine. As likely to be a blessing as a curse. Bristling with destiny. A shiny coin, but one the Matron of Ravens is like to notice, hm?
[Unlocked the secret to a good curly hair routine: have a partner who will twist them all repeatedly because they always have to be doing something with their hands.
That eye squints closed briefly.]
Not sure if I really want to be a shiny bauble for a, um, raven matron...? Sounds ominous.
[ he sort of chuckles at this reaction, because it is very dramatic and he did it that way to be dramatic. pulling his hand out of biting range. ]
And fate, of course. The Claret Orders are big fans, considering the legend goes that she's the originator of Blood Magic. So they were always on with the prayers and such.
Don't make that face, I'm not particularly religious myself.
[The bite Lucien deserves is lost so quickly in his brain.]
You could have lead with that part, Lucien. I can't say I'm a fan of the idea of being plucked out of the cosmic soup by a matron of death and fate just because I shine once in the light.
Honestly, can't people just live their lives normally without all that...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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...Yes, Lucien?
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As I've said, I have placed my trust in you and your understanding of this thing, and I believe entirely in your ability to solve the problem. But the nagging voice of the part of myself you so begged for me to listen to compels me to ask: if it learns from what it absorbs, is feeding it nine distinctly insane and malevolent mage ghosts going to be ... a good idea?
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Well, the Core does seem to... [He trails off with a somewhat forlorn frown.] I don't think... they would necessarily survive transmutation with the Core, but their essence, their... power... probably would become integrated into the Core's learning.
So it would follow the same sort of rules. Not evil, but... could potentially be dangerous if in the wrong hands.
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Could try with a smaller piece of it first. See what it does with it. That has the power of the Mind Rend in it, which I clearly don't need now that I can do it on my own again.
Otherwise, you should hold onto it. Good for you to have a defense of some kind, and it doesn't require any aiming. Just a touch and a thought.
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He ventures over, but only to sort of touch it gently in Lucien's hand. Touched, but unsure if Lucien is making the right decision giving it up.]
I thought... you were the one who said it was dangerous to just give away your blood?
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he'll push it forward more insistently. ]
Yes, well, it is dangerous. You're going to do god's knows what with it. [ ... ] I told you that I trust you. I'm yours to do with as you wish.
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Don't make it sound like I'm going to feed you to a hag.
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The clearing is calm, and peaceful - or would be, if it weren’t for the two of you careening your way through it. The red cottage sits in the middle of it. A strange sight in the Savalirwood, all things considered. Not much lives in here, let alone has a sweet little home. There’s birdsong, and the sound of a babbling brook, and shouting in the distance as the mercenaries of the Red Debt close in on you quickly. They don’t care that you’re scrawny, 12-year-old urchins, they’ll still slice your throats and leave the corpses in the Jagentoth Tomb as a warning to other upstarts hoping to take a Mardoon job.
“Azrahari! You owe me! You owe me!” And the voice that is meant to be demanding sounds pleading instead, on the edge of childish, angry tears. “Azrahari!”
Cree is tugging at your sleeve, eyes in a panic and claws dug so deeply into the sleeve of your coat that they’re pricking your skin. “Lucien, we have to go! Not in the open! Not in the open—”
There’s a part of you that hopes, maybe, the witch has abandoned this place. You’ve simply come here to cower as you die and maybe it will be over soon. But, mercifully or not, the door opens. Your knees nearly buckle as she emerges from the shadow of the door.
“What an unexpected surprise.” She smiles. Peace. Calm. A natural serenity. The woman is tall, taller than she should be, with an ageless sort of beauty about her. Icy-blonde hair in ringlets gathered at the crown of her head, and two gray horns sweep back from her forehead. Cree’s eyes widen in horror, her head snapping back and forth between the woman and where the two of you had run from. Calculating the seconds until your time is up. “Normally, I only greet visitors with an appointment, but for you... ” Her blue eyes narrow, looking at you, while a hand toys with the gold and silver amulet at her chest, “I could make a rare exception.”
You, however, can only stare at the witch. You can’t decide if you want to run, or vomit. She ruined your life. But she owes you. ]
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The woman who answers the door is beautiful in a very unnerving, unnatural way. For some reason... she is familiar, and he tries to parse whether the familiarity it because this is clearly--it is clear, right?--Lucien's memories, or because he had heard something about her once...
Whatever the case, she owes him a debt, and he realizes they have maybe not even a minute to collect on it. So he says the only thing he can think to say:]
You owe me.
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“Come in. Make yourself at home.”
She opens the door further, and you and Cree go sprawling in. Catfolk like her should have better balance than this you think.
“Dear child, dear child … it’s good to see you. I’m not surprised you remembered the way.” You grimace as she runs a hand over your head, one hand curling briefly around a horn. She isn’t wrong, a well-practiced path through the forest. She’d ruined your life, and made you ruin others. “What do I call your friend?”
“Nothing.” You spit out, before Cree can speak. “You don’t need to know her name.” Cree wisely shuts her mouth. Taking the hint. Better for a hag to not know your name.
The witch laughs. “A touch rude, but I’ll allow it. You know, I was thinking of poor sweet Elric the other day … ” But you’re ignoring her as you drag Cree over to crouch beneath the sooty window, keeping your eyes glued to the floor. Everything in here remains exactly the same as it had been, then. Dark and swept-clean except for a black crocheted rug on the floor. A grate sits over the fireplace: tongs, shears, a hammer, and a collection of unsettlingly large needles. None of it has changed. Not the medicinal scent of bark tannin, the earthy smell of leather, or the eerie quiet punctuated by the occasional startling pop of the fire.
You turn Cree roughly by the wrist so she’s looking out the window, hoping she doesn’t notice. By now, you can see the approaching mercenaries - six of them well-armed and in thick red leathers, and one (the one you had ambushed, or, failed to ambush really) looking roughed-up, weaponless and bedraggled. The Red Debt. No wonder the job was paying an entire gold piece. You’d been expected to rob the gods-damned Red Debt. They probably never expected to have to pay up. Still, you don’t feel confident about much, but you do feel the witch will protect you. She owes you that much.
She steps back outside, as calm and practiced as ever. There’s a brief conversation. the mercenaries are stupid brutes, but even they know a woman alone in the Savalirwood is likely not someone to be trifled with. You're trying not to watch, counting stitches on the rug.
It’s too late to stop Cree from looking as Azrahari lifts the amulet and whispers a single, guttural word. The Red Debt fools who had taken a good, long look at the amulet go still, and then shiver. One of them groans, and then all of them in turn drop to the ground. Clothes and skin. Whatever bones, guts, and spirits had been within vanished, leaving nothing but loose, deflated piles of flesh, clothes, leather and armor. The last mercenary screams in terror.
Cree shoots to her feet, backing away from the window and yellow eyes reeling. You stand up to reach for her, try and keep her head down, but it’s not quick enough.
She’s noticed the high shelves running along every wall.
“What is this place?” Cree whispered, flashing fangs as she tried and failed to tear her eyes away from the rows and rows of large, still puppets. Too realistic, too ghoulish, to be stitched from yarn and fabric and beads.
Lifeless now, but not always so. She looks at you in horror, betrayal, shaking like a leaf. “Lucien … “
You aren’t able to answer. The witch, dragging the last mercenary still alive by the collar of her coat, re-enters the cottage.
“Bracing, I know.” Azarhari coos. “The Hollowing is not for the faint of heart.” She strokes the amulet with a thumb as she tosses the mercenary - a girl, a dwarf, not that much older than the two of you - to the floor.
You stand up on shaking legs. “Tell us where you buried the goods, and we’ll let you go.” You don’t look at Azrahari. You already know it’s a lie and you don't need to see her sickening smile to confirm that.
“P-please,” she cowers on the floor, not even attempting to crawl away, only staring in horror at the witch and her amulet. “Please don’t do to me what you did to them … "
Azrahari taps her foot on the floor, impatiently. “This young man asked you a question.”
“Switchback C-Cave. There’s a pile of rocks outside. You w-won’t miss it.”
That’s enough for Cree. She flees, hurtling over the girl and out of the door and past the carnage. Probably for the best.
You hazard one last glance back at the witch. Maybe it should have occurred to you sooner that she might not let you leave, as she had all the other times before. This time, as the others, you had led people here for her. Just like your Da had instructed, all those times before. Your parents had owed, but you had paid the blood price. Elric was nothing, then, an empty puppet who could barely grunt a few words. Aldreda was too young, too gentle and naive. Easier for you.
“Know this: I owe you nothing now.” All traces of civility and gentility erased from her tone, a hissing quality to it instead. “You destroyed one of my finest creations, child. Do not find yourself in this part of the Savalirwood again, Lucien Tavelle. Consider that warning my generosity.”
You look at her. Fire burns in your gut, and you gesture to the dwarven girl, who's now sobbing in heaving gulps. “What will you do with her?”
It doesn't matter. You aren't going to trade your life for hers. You don't know what your destiny is, but it isn't here, an empty sack of skin on the floor of this hut. A puppet. Still, something like pity aches in you.
“Little fool.” She smiles, and tilts her head to one side. “You already know.”
You don't wait longer than that to turn tail and run.
It fades as quickly as it started. ]
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He's left staring into the middle distance with his mouth slightly open, the weight of the amulet in his palm much heavier than it had been before. His fingers curl over it regardless.
He's not entirely sure why his eyes burn; the water swells up in them, but doesn't really fall. When he glances down, his bottom lip pinches beneath his top teeth in an effort to somehow stay as detached as possible which is difficult. Maybe it's the leftover desperation and fear, like a nightmare. Maybe it's watching people get scraped clean from the inside like a cantaloupe.]
Sorry.
[The apology is more for his reaction, of course, than it is for being forced to perceive something private. It's not unlike stepping on consecrated ground with shoes on. Blasphemous, shameful.
The knuckles of the hand gripping the staff can't turn white, so it's the hopping currents of energy that give away how tightly it's clenched. He curls the amulet idly against his chest like a keepsake.]
I saw... Sorry.
[Well, now he can see why Lucien had been so addled before, too.]
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he's not as good at comforting touch, but he'll reach out a hand to gently place it over viktor's, where he's clenching the amulet. maybe a little bit shamefully. ]
... If it helps, she's very, very dead.
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Good.
[He pushes Lucien's hand back, but only so he can step forward and wrap that arm around Lucien's neck. He hugs Lucien tightly to himself, keeping the staff out of the way, clutching the amulet in his fist.]
You were young. I know if you had the power, you would have done things differently.
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anyway it’s nice he believes that. he thinks so, but he doesn’t know the way he would deal with it now would be much better. leaning into the hug, nodding slightly. ]
Not cursed or anything either, unless you consider my blood cursed.
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You aren't the only one with cursed blood.
[He loosens his arm and draws back, but not away. He runs his thumb over the amulet in his hand between them, and then he puts it on. It's out right now, but he will probably hide it later between his skin and his clothes because it is now very important to him.]
We're going to change the world, Lucien. The two of us, the right way. We're going to make it better for the people who come after.
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[ very sexy and goth to carry around a bit of your boyfriend’s blood, yeah. anyway he can Mind Rend (non-fatal only) now if Scien is really annoying him.
Lucien’s gaze flicks to the Hex Core in its housing again when viktor says change the world. It’s certainly idealistic. He’s never been an altruist, and has only ever done much of what he’s done in the world for a select few people he cares about deeply and the bare basics of survival. A deep and unsettling rage against a system that takes crippled children and mangy orphans and builds empires on their backs. And when those efforts began to fail, his option was to destroy the world for its sins instead. molly has always been the balance to that. leaving things a little bit better, as a balance to leaving it a little bit worse. so despite all his grandiosity he’s not actually certain of his own resolve to change the WORLD. they are both the scarred and sewn-together ghoulish creations of a cruel and violent reality, and any world they create will bear those scars too, won’t it?
still.
there probably is a lot of good in a world where viktor has some peace and time to do the things he wants to do. big or small. it sounds kind of nice to think about getting to see that. he wouldn’t mind seeing it a little better than he left it. or maybe that’s the mollymauk thought he can’t quite separate from his own at this point.
but speaking of small steps: ]
Amalthea seems to believe it will be possible to retrieve Cree. I don’t know the mechanics of it, exactly, but I suppose I have to take her at her word. [ amalthea is not one of the super science types but he still believes her. ] She doesn’t have to come with us, or anything. Might be better for everyone if she doesn’t - I just … owe her a fresh start somewhere. She can take it or leave it at her will. She’s a talented cleric, however.
[ viktor has a lot of impressive sounding options already it seems like, though. ]
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The amulet of boyfriend blood is his to covet always.
His eyes lift to study Lucien's face, and he follows the gaze to the Hex Core before looking back again.]
I could have never even... dreamed of a day where so many people were able to... just bypass something like... illness, death. [He's overwhelmed by the possibilities.] We'll get Cree for you, Lucien. It's alright.
If you want her to come with us, that's okay, too. She's your... friend? I can't possible ask you to come with me to a world belonging to a friend and not extend to you the same courtesy.
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[ friend seems a understated word for it. extremely codependent platonic queer-bond vibes. though shamefully on lucien's part I think cree is a little more soul-bonded to him than he is in return. always his shadow.
reaching over to tuck some of viktor's hair behind his ear, studying his face in return for a moment. ]
She'd like you I think. You've the Glint as well.
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The tucked hair looks like it doesn't want to stay, looping around his ear, fluffy. Probably because he has this stimming habit Lucien may have spotted where he twists the hair around and around his finger idly when he's engrossed in something, studying it, working. He's trained the thing to be unruly.]
Glint...?
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poking a gentle claw against one of his moles. ]
Aye. The glint. Cree always said not everyone can see, but it's a shine. As likely to be a blessing as a curse. Bristling with destiny. A shiny coin, but one the Matron of Ravens is like to notice, hm?
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That eye squints closed briefly.]
Not sure if I really want to be a shiny bauble for a, um, raven matron...? Sounds ominous.
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Only the goddess of Death.
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Goddess of what?!
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And fate, of course. The Claret Orders are big fans, considering the legend goes that she's the originator of Blood Magic. So they were always on with the prayers and such.
Don't make that face, I'm not particularly religious myself.
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You could have lead with that part, Lucien. I can't say I'm a fan of the idea of being plucked out of the cosmic soup by a matron of death and fate just because I shine once in the light.
Honestly, can't people just live their lives normally without all that...
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