Wapun Meadow victorian writer 2 steps away from dying of brain fever

Dated 5/29

“Ai mema we emo. Even from here.” The words for @Vercingetorix was a breath, winging away, back to Drago and Isi, as if just that could beckon their children here. ”Still, I cannot fathom how it must’ve been for you.” Her words were low and heartfelt, yet by no means pitying him. Ears flickered, patient for any sort of reply. 

Meanwhile, wondered how to exactly hobble her way down the way to this stream. She gathered herself up, herbalist-like, since a pursuit for celandine brought her here. So, as if driven by a checklist in her mind, she thoughtlessly turned left—

—and shied away after bumping nose-first into Verx’s shoulder. But I just spoke to him!...and had forgotten he was even there. ”S-sorry.” Operation: Find that Facehad begun once more.

Nowadays, she had to raise her head further back, tilt it some to the right. Then, canting her muzzle a little to the left... There you are, dragă. With her Mission: Accomplished, a hesitant, jocular curl came to her lips— ”Found you,” that smile said. As if Aure could still laugh at herself, but (only now) had become too sheepish to do so.

In the past fortnight, she’d like to think she was getting better at picking out faces. A smug or snide expression would better suit the position of her head. If Aure’d been anyone other than herself, she may’ve looked at Verx just that way after all this time.

But on that riddled face, there was nothing but sweet apology — she’d almost fallen on him, after all. ”What I need should be down there, is all.”

There were two very new things about Aure: her eye was fucked, and she was spitting Trigedasleng like she'd been born kru. And he didn't know which to focus on first.

Instead, he addressed her remark, nodding. It sucked, he said--the absolute understatement of the century. He looked over at her. . .and couldn't ignore the new scarring on her face, fresh and bright. What happened, Aurëwen? Verx asked, voice even softer than he intended. He couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible, even if that was foolish.

And with one question came another, and this one came with a laugh. And who the fuck's been teaching you Trig? he added, smiling despite himself. He had to know, really. Who else could it be but Blodreina? It meant the two were close, at least--that Aure had a friend here.

For now, he'd focus on her. He still hadn't quite worked up the courage to tell her about Blackhead and Rusalka, all that had transpired. All he planned.

The faintest hitch caught somewhere between her throat and lungs at that: “What happened?” And then her heart seized, as it always would, at the sound of her name sifting from his tongue. The gentleness there, how it was practically cradled in his chords— “Verrrcingetorix,” she chirruped, unbidden, if only because she hadn’t spoken his in... hell, a moon, now?

Instead, she eluded his previous enquiry and clumsily continued with, ”Blodreina ste ticha os.” Aure brought her gaze back to meet his own, but found his lingering on the left side of her features. Only hours ago, she’d presented it to the wanlinda’s mate; hours ago, the memory of Verx had grounded her, made her finally look at herself.

And now that he was here, looking at her— at her— this— this was—

Humiliation, simmering and sweltering, enshrouded her from throat to hips in an unforgiving veil. The longer she looked into that broad face, the more she needed to touch, wanted to tell him who it’d been. “Verx, it,” But she was shaking her head, quivering imperceptibly, “No, no, I’m— Verx, I never— it was—“ And then she retreated a pace or two, suddenly, as if she’d thought of darting away, now stilled, rooted in place.

Untapped body trembling with the restraint of telling, breath thinning from her lungs; more vulnerable than even the Diasporians had seen her, and she felt so... livid with herself. “Verx.” His name was so cloying on her tongue, coming out strained, she didn’t know why she kept saying it: Verx, Verx, like it grounded her even as they spoke.

So Aure canted her head to the left, so the more hideous side of herself was temporarily hidden from his view; eyeing up at her inked guardian with such conflict within as a shaky breath receeded from her. “Verx.” Again, like it was the only damn word she’d ever learned; so she closed her eyes, brow furrowing.

Blodreina, duh. His smile grew wider; he was happy, really, that she had found a friend in his niece. Furthermore, that someone was around to give Trig lessons to his kids, too. Little goufas. . .wouldn't do 'em much good not to know it, right? And so he felt they were on the right track. . .

Until she started to stall, saying his name again, and again, and then just. . .petering out. Alrighty.

Aure, he said, exhaling sharply through his nostrils in exaggerated patience. It seemed as if he'd have to launch into his explanation sooner than he thought. Verx looked away, lips tightening. His eyes flashed for a brief moment over the horizon, and then returned to her scarred visage, growing undoubtedly apologetic.

I went back to the coast, Aure, he began, in a voice much quieter than anything before. I'm part of Rusalka, now. My plan is to take over, kill Blackhead. Make it a place where our children can grow up and thrive. His ears swiveled back, as if expecting someone to be listening in. I didn't tell you, and I'm sorry. I guess I thought I might jinx it, if I tried to explain before.

They were pressed for time, in more ways than one, she knew; still, his previous keenness had shivered through her. At least it’d helped her along with quieting, anyways; in the lull after he uttered her name, the silver took a steadying breath, eyes carefully crescenting open. When her gaze found him once more, his own studied the horizon. And then he spoke once more.

Eventually, the previous irrationality eased from her figure and stole away the searing warmth of embarrassment from her body. Instead, though, came a warbly confusion to meet his apologetic glance; but the reasoning for it came soon enough. 

Rusalka. 

Plush ears bedded down in a pale ruff, and where once bleary humiliation had been writ upon that scarred face, now there was only consideration; belying an inscrutable gentleness. “You—?” At once, she edged closer to Verx on steadied, coltish limbs — argent eyes passing over that dark face, looking for something even she didn’t know.

Marred lips parted, as if yearning to say something, but she couldn’t find the words to express... what she didn’t know to feel. Perhaps it’d arise sometime soon, when she wasn’t lingering so close to him — but then, Aure turned from him, biting a lip, the inside of her cheek, wavered back a few steps.

Finally, all she could ever come up with through this haze that’s befallen her mind: “Rusalka?” A pause. Then, thoughts stuttering, “I mean— I miss ze sea, and I’ve always wanted our children to grow there. Be born there,” she stept towards him again, her figure hesitant, “and I am glad that you have told me, now.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t form into something coherent. She halted before him once more, her gaze falling to his dark chest as her thoughts listed. At the present, she wasn’t sure what to ask— to even say, aside from, “This plan of yours... is...?” Fell silent, unsure of what she even meant to ask.

It was a lot to take in; he didn't blame her for struggling for words. Actually, she handled it quite well with the response she eventually gave, although the follow-up question was a head-scratcher (hadn't he answered that already?). Still, he let his shoulders fall slightly in some relief, glad that she felt, at least in some measure, the same way. They both missed the sea. And thus, they'd return. He'd make it happen.

It's not gonna be easy, Verx muttered, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. If I fail, I'll have to run for the hills for a little while--and that's if I don't just fucking die, you know, get ripped apart by these assholes. But I have to try, at least. Aure, I've gotta try. It wasn't fair, what they did. We belong there.

He swallowed, unable to meet her gaze. He knew she'd be upset with his frankness, his acceptance of a potential demise. He'd always been that way; death had just been a checkpoint ahead, something mundane, not anything to fear. Everyone died eventually; he'd rather go this way than die from some sickness.

Win or lose, if I get out of this alive, I'll come back for you guys, he promised, looking toward the west. That's a guarantee.

For what it was worth, Aurëwen couldn’t meet his gaze, either; awash in such appreciation and apprehension as her own eyes were. So she kept her soulful, ardent gaze turned from his own — lashes remained heavy on scarred cheeks, hearing him speak of absolute should-it-be death. Fluted ears quivered and fell back, at that, but it didn’t stop her from lingering close when he finished his soliloquy with trying and guarentees. Her throat constricted, just as his had, in the lull that followed between them.

So many things wrested themselves from her cinched heart, clambered up the pale rise of her throat and to her tongue; so many things perfectly suited to her unawares-loquacious self; so many things that would undoubtedly drown this... moment, this... vulnerability, of a sort. But all Aure did instead was to reach up on her toes, of course give a reassuring little nudge to his chin and murmur, “Thank you... Andúril.”

The silver only met his eyes when she was able to step away from him once more — whether he’d reciprocated or no — and spoke once more. Voice holding the same gentleness his had before, “Verx, I... my eye, it... it was him. Days ago.” Ears cast themselves back, and she knew that ‘him’ was nothing to really go on; but the tender glimmer within her argent gaze shuttered, and she could only look away, eyes closing. “Dennan.”

And there it was — and there was her heart, her blood, roaring through veins that burned with shame that had no place, no need to be within her figure. “I don’t... I don’t know where he went, after, I...” As with those seemingly-awkward moments before, it took everything within her to not flit away. ...But it was more than fair, and Verx’d more than finally coaxed it from her, albeit indirectly.

'Him' could be anyone; he felt only confusion until the name slipped from her delicate mouth, and then the anger rose up like a flame. Dennan. His lips curled upward in a snarl, eyes flashing between the horizon and the empty socket marring her face.

He's still out there?! Verx asked quietly, menacingly. His muscles tensed, as if he was about to go after the man this instant. It would be a fool's errand, but he'd do it. He knew all too well the terror Dennan had once brought to Aure's life, and it seemed that the terror wasn't over, yet. The brute had stepped up his game.

If he comes around, show him no mercy, he said coldly, shaking his head. I mean it, Aure--get help if you need it, find backup, and then tear him apart. If I find him before that, I'll do it myself.

He reached out and down with his muzzle, twisting to prod her gently against the large vein in her throat, just under her jaw, where her heartbeat thundered. Get him right here, Vercingetorix muttered, breathing in her sweet scent before pulling away and steadying himself. Blackhead almost killed me, but she was just a little off. If your aim is true, he'll have no chance.

Though she couldn’t see him lean and kneel, the glassy eye tried to track him. “Yes, he is still—“ soft breaths came fast as she tried to ascertain where he was destined to fall into her ...and oh, how she felt it. Him. Aure can only breath in shallow, murmuring rhythms as she tries to regain her own tongue, thick and bloated and voiceless. Her stomach cinched; focus on his instruction wavered.

In the moment he spoke it was as if that selfsame flame licked up the column of her moon throat. Taste me, she wanted to murmur; breath stuttered the same moment his own lungs drew her in; the thrum of her heart only further rouse by the feel of Verx’s words rumbling at her throat. Taste me taste me taste me went the ebb in her vein, her blood; eyes fighting in vain to not shutter; to not spin back into the dark of her head as he touched where she’s always needed him most.

Dangerous, he was dangerous— and he was retreating from her— and she forced her mind to commit those words to memory where the utter want threatened to drown her with long loins all afire, within them and between. “Yes,” she rasped, nodding without quite knowing what she nodded to; voice a little strained; foreign chords a good deal hoarse. All from just— You ruin me— “I will do to him what that harpy couldn’t to you.”

It was a moment of bleary-eyed fierceness, or an attempt at such through the fever he’d just given her ...but the words came out wrong, she realized too late, and she blushed deep all over again.

“Damn, wait— that’s not—“ ruff shivering, “I mean, I’ll kill him. I will kill him.” Had she even said any of that right? “He will learn to fear me.” There! That was much more intimidating, right? As was the way she now gazed with fervent conviction into Verx’s stygian face, right? 

All the while, the temptation to cuff him and coax him and curse him was one and the same. The flame of his at her thighs only ignited further, at war with the same fire in her cheeks— “If you fight, I fight. Me too, dragâ. ...Oh!” See what you do to me? “I haven’t ...told you what he looks like, have I, dragâ?” 

He felt it, too. He might not have loved her like she loved him, but he was still very much still susceptible to the charms of a woman, and a beautiful one at that. No less a woman that had borne and raised his children. His own loins tightened at the desire of her, but he managed to pull away, focusing on business. Blood, not lust. The passion of revenge, not of consummation.

It's fine, Verx shot back, giving her a wry smile. I get it. And I hope you do. Just. . .be careful, Aure. It's not just you to look out for, now. He wasn't comfortable in the least leaving his children to an unknown fate at Diaspora, particularly if they were to end up in the care of Mahler and Stigmata. God, they'd never let him see them again.

He twisted his mouth in thought, finally shaking his head after a moment, unable to come up with a mental picture of the man. You haven't, he murmured. His eyes drifted toward the children, engaged in some play nearby. But hey, let's go spend time with our kids. . .and you can tell me on the way?

An olive branch, albeit a small one. Still, he was trying.

wrap this up?

ye think we’re good w this one
good thread! <3

It was good that one of their minds seemed to be more sounder than the other’s; sound enough to pull away from the orbit of ravenosity, and she felt the all too homespun, about girlish flush to her figure at that — lest either’d be drawn in the wake of ...well, their children romping not so far away.

So towards his other offer, she reined in the tempo of her ridiculous heart, set her slim, jaw and nodded. Business was good. Yes. “Y-yes. Let’s,” a thin little breath stuttered up her throat to clear it, and as to the remnants of the blaze he’d practically kissed to her throat ...oh, it’d flare up when she was sure he would return to them — that love and lust and each aspect in between.

But for now, as she fell into step along his sprig of olive, it ebbed into a simmer throughout her moon figure; and would lurk that way, awaiting him, as they rethreaded their way to their children and spoke of an accursed soul.