Noctisardor Bypass I can't turn back around and doubt my destination
you're the unbreakable heart
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Ooc — Iris
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#1
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It was with heavy steps that Laurel returned to Rivenwood. Many times she had told herself she wouldn't return. What was once a place blossoming with a second chance, now everything here tasted of ash and death. There was an anger boiling inside of Laurel when she thought of what had happened to her. A humiliation, she had told Mahler, yet he clung on to a tattered past rather than wishing to truly step into the blossoming second chance with her. This place was supposed to be her second chance. Now, Rivenwood no longer felt like a place for her, and as this veil was lifted upon her return to its lands, she did not understand entirely why she had decided to follow any of Mahler's instructions. What a fool she was; once more misguided by a man, rather than following her own path.

The only explanation she could think of was that maybe, she had known in her heart that she would run into Merrick's daughter and that she would see her finished at last. That one the children this Wintersbane put into her womb would share the blood that Laurel had freshly on her teeth.

Praimfaya's scent was surprisingly absent from Rivenwood's borders now. Laurel was surprised and wondered if anything had happened to her.

There was a limp in Laurel's step as she made her way into the territory, and her face was covered with caked blood she hadn't managed to reach to wash off her face herself. She had several wounds; the ones on her face hard to see underneath the blood, but a few gashes along her right front leg, shoulder and neck were present enough. Even though she'd been gone for weeks she did not stop at the borders. This was her home, and she belonged here, even though Mahler had stabbed her in the back so badly. Her Indra needed a place to grow strong in, and though she no longer held the connotation that Rivenwood and the Bypass were a second chance for a picturesque fairytale ending to a pretty shitty life — what a fool to believe such things — she knew that Mahler would offer her children a safe place to grow up in, if not only out of guilt. Well, good. Let him feel guilty, he should.

Laurel limped into the territory, towards Birdsong Lagoon, the large lake in the Bypass, a weary look on her bloodied face. She should probably call for @Mahler, she thought to herself, to look at her wounds. Her pride kept her from it though, and as she reached the lake Laurel moved towards the clear water to wash her face there. The cheerfully chirping birds and the sun above her did not match the way she looked nor the whirling storm inside of her head.
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#2
he had waited for her, filling with concern. he had left the bypass and gone to the foothills, but had not found laurel.
he thought of merrick, of ursus, of how she had spoken with such passion. he himself had not yet gone to the valley — and now laurel!
perhaps she had taken it upon herself?
mahler trudged in the direction of the lagoon, frowning. the sight of the birds there usually had the effect of soothing him; he was bemused despite his consternation, that watching the winged creatures should bring him such comfort in his later years.
was he so old?
or was it only the sensation of feeling?
there was blood upon the wind now, and mahler hastened his step —
"laurel!" voice desperate and relieved and strangled;
scarlet in the water, and as he looked more closely, toothmarks in her pretty pelt; fangs had grappled along her hackles;
mahler suffused with wrath and stepped toward her, fighting for control. "let me tend you, laurel. please. and then tell me who did this."
he was stark with horror.
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#3
Presuming that Mahler thought nothing in particular of her — that she was just there, and that was it — the distress that rung in his voice was surprising. She halted, bloodied water dripping down from her face; flinched, almost. The worry in his voice was welcoming on the one hand, like a love that she had never had, but at the same time it made her feel bitter. Why couldn't he have been there before? Why was she not enough, never enough? And why did she even care what a man like him thought of her at all?

Fate had perhaps driven him to show her away, to make her seek out Wintersbane, to bring her into Avicus' teeth and let Merrick's daughter meet her untimely ending. Perhaps... But still, she could not find it in her heart to forgive him now. When she looked at Mahler, all she could think of was what he had made her do; what he had made her ask another man to do.

She swallowed thickly as he asked her to let him tend to her. Of course, the big strong man would step forward to fix everything. But then, she did want that... She did want him to fix everything. She wanted to tell Merrick what she had done to his daughter and then drive him over the same edge, to his doom, and she knew she could not do it alone.

Go ahead, she said, her tone cool and withheld, her body language guarded in his presence; her body language screamed that they were many steps back again, to the place where she would not show her true self to him. She wasn't sure she ever could, again. Or perhaps so much had been broken already that it was all she could do from now on, knowing it did not matter, anyway. She wanted to run away — from him, from Rivenwood — but she knew that Indra's heart was beating inside of her soon and she knew that they needed a pack, then. She was not so sure she could give this, him, another chance, but perhaps she could stay, for now.

She swallowed thickly while she waited for him to clean — knowing it would hurt — while Laurel thought what she would tell him. Would she say it was Merrick's daughter who did this? Would it further drive him to exact her revenge and make Rivenwood a safer place for her children to grow up in?
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for a long while, mahler said nothing, cleansing the worst of the lacerations in their way before turning to the water, and using that to sluice over the torn flesh. concerned in this moment about the very objective threat of infection, he muttered that he would return and swept away.
when he had put a poultice onto her open slashes, the gargoyle at last sat back upon his angered haunches and regarded laurel with a very solemn air. he did not ask if she had been with another outside the borders, did not utter wintersbane's name.
he waited to hear who had attacked laurel, hackles bristling despite himself; the man gave a sharp inhale and looked don upon his broad paws, pressed into the mud alongside the lagoon.
surely she had not sought trouble after — a swallow bobbed the column of his throat, but mahler was silent, considering laurel's state grimly in his doktor's mind while lavender eyes sought composure.
he had sent her out, and she had been maimed. unable to keep the blame from his own heart, he suddenly found that all words possible had faded from his mouth.
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#5
Through the treatment, Laurel remained silent. She was guarded and could not keep blame from her own heart as it festered in his. Not for what had happened with Merrick's daughter, for that was what good had come of this. Perhaps in due time, she could come to appreciate what had happened with Wintersbane as good, too, if it would truly bring her what she sought. If it would bring her her sweet sister back. She would not tell Mahler of these plans, of course, because he would unlikely believe them. Some things were hard to explain in words; all one could do was make others see them. Perhaps he would see it — believe it — if sweet Indra was truly reborn. Perhaps then she could share the true story. But not now, for not only would he likely ridicule her for it, but too much was uncertain for now.

When he applied the poultice on the open wounds, Laurel grit her teeth and looked away. Her head was a mess — the outside of it a chaotic reflection of its insides — and she wasn't so sure what she should say to Mahler.

He was silent once his work was done, taking distance. She found it hard to gauge what was going on inside of his head. All she could think of was what she had done. What she had tried to do. How she had failed. What was she to him? Why did he care at all? Was she some charity project; someone whose life he wanted to improve, but by no means of closeness from himself? It was all too vague, to difficult for her to grasp what he wanted from this. What he got from this. If all he wanted was Wylla, someone that Laurel had never even met up until now, then why did he care about others at all?

There were a lot of questions, and being near Mahler only brought them all to light again. She'd been able to forget them somewhat when she realised that she could just not return to Rivenwood after her interactions with Wintersbane. It was only after the fight with Merrick's daughter that Laurel realised that her children needed a safe home, and she could not risk losing them. The stars aligned to well to mess things up now for the rebirth of Indra.

After a long silence she spoke eventually. Thank you. They were hard words to say, and they came out softer than she intended; more caring. Laurel wanted to show him how much she hated him, how much she did not need him! But when she looked at his face, at the anger showing on it and the caring that lay in his features, she could not help but feel something.

Something that confirmed she should've never returned to Rivenwood in the first place, because he would never feel that something in the same way.

She looked away, a dark and guarded frown on her face. I ran into Merrick's daughter, out there. A few seconds of cold silence, before she admitted: I killed her. Words dark and cold. It was easier not to fall back into the role of sweet, dumb, innocent little Laurel who would say anything to please a man, to fit into that perfect role, to not stand out so she would not be hurt by them, now — easier because she knew that she couldn't stay here, shouldn't stay here. It was easier if he saw her dark and twisted and unloveable self. Perhaps it would drive him away, so it was easier to leave. Easier to hate him. Besides — if he did not love her with her mask on, then she knew he would never love her at all.
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merrick's daughter.
slain.
so laurel had found trouble, only from the sound of things, she had been searching for it. tension limned his jaw, suffused mahler's face with a quiet and terrible anger. it was not meant for her, but those who had harmed laurel, and made of her vengeance's knightsword.
mahler worried now that nature had found its place in laurel, and how the trajectory of violence might affect their mother again if she were to succumb to traumas.
life was not often kind to the unborn, nor those who carried them; he saw misery in her, hatred, the ashen scent of darkness that covered the breadth of her face. laurel was tormented.
"vill that be enough for you?" he inquired in a voice that sagged beneath his own collected guilt;
that he had failed her in allowing her to stumble into or seek near-tragedy beyond rivenwood's borders.
"have you had your revenge, laurel?" voice soft, unswaying toward judgement; he only wanted to know that her righteous murdering had lain to rest that chaotic restless place in herself.
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#7
His words were laughably cowardly to Laurel's ears. Had she had enough? Was this her revenge? Of course not! This was not even connected to Merrick's demise. If only life would be that simple. How easy it would be for Mahler to simply say that the vengeance had been exacted and that he need do no more for Laurel's sake. She scoffed at the notion, sharp eyes seeking his and whatever traces of soft thankfulness that had been there before now gone.

Even before she shook her head it was plain to see on her face that it was not enough. Only if he could have been there to watch it, she said with cold words. But it's not just about petty vengeance. Well, perhaps that was a large part of it, but now... now she had a new reason to wish him dead. It's about safety for the children. She looked at Mahler, expression hardened now. She knew that she needed to push him away before he would do anything for her. She'd gotten too close before, and it only drove him into softness and apathy. She needed a warlord, not a weak man who could not make decisions.
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safety for the children.
mahler thought upon the four born to rivenwood, and kept by sequoia. they were safe enough from whatever farce this man, merrick, might force upon them. and he felt frustration rising within him, for laurel's continued allusion and insistence for war to come to them. there had far too much conflict in these past years, and he was weary of it. yet the guilt he had felt around their parting still existed in the gargoyle.
it was replaced with a burning scythe of sudden awareness, that perhaps it was not the already born pups, it was — mahler gazed at laurel, saw the thorns of her gaze and heard the harshness of her voice, seeing in it the protectiveness of a bitter woman meant to become mother again.
words faltered, for mahler did not think he could truly ask if laurel had succeeded in the end of her own humiliation, spurned by him and gone from rivenwood for so long. "any children born here are safe, laurel," he said with a soft insistence. and yet his voice was heavy with an unnamed emotion, a sensation of anger and guardianship toward them all, toward laurel, toward whatever small lives she perhaps carried now.
"you have slain his daughter. he vill come to us for vengeance. and then he vill be crushed."
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#9
Her question was not directly answered. She could see conflict flowing across his face, but he did not voice any of it to her. Instead, at the end of it all, he just said that any children born here were safe. What a bold statement to make, and one that he could not back up in any way! Then he said that Merrick would come here for revenge. Laurel was not so sure of that; how would he know? More words that were meant to soothe here, were nothing but hollow promises that meant nothing because he had already failed to protect her in the first place.

And what if they were not? What if she would find her children murdered by this man, too? What accountability would Mahler even take? He was just spouting out words that sounded good, but gave her no guarantees. At the end of the day, if things would tumble south, it would be her neck on the line and not his. She was the only one who had something to lose from believing in his pretty white lies. He doesn't even know she's dead, Laurel said, her voice echoing how annoyed she felt about Mahler's empty words. She didn't believe his words, that much was easy to tell from looking at her.

It annoyed her, too, that he thought it was all about petty vengeance. A cause that was hers, not the packs. It was a reminder of how she was Laurel, not a part of Rivenwood. Her problems were her own, her problems were just petty vengeance. Rivenwood did not take any accountability or responsibility towards them. Which was fair enough. It was what Laurel was used to from packs. The thing that annoyed her about it was that she thought Mahler was different; Rivenwood was different. Now she felt like a young girl waking up after a magical night with her prince charming, only to realise that he wasn't who he said he was at all. Just a beggar from the streets. How could she have been so naïve to truly think that Rivenwood could offer her a second chance?

There's only one thing you can rely on, dearest. Her frown darkened. One thing that stays the same. She scratched behind her ear after an apparent itch. I'll always be here for you, my dearest.

Laurel felt her heart harden — it had to, it was the only thing she could do! — and she said, Well, that's okay. I didn't truly expect to get anything better. Laurel stared out at the water, and though she did not say it, she waited for him to leave. They all did in the end, after all. She wasn't sure why Mahler even wanted her here anymore. Maybe he didn't, but he was too polite to turn her away, especially now. She could see the guilt in his eyes, but Laurel could not bring herself to abuse it now. She didn't want men to do things for her out of guilt anymore. She wanted genuine love. And it was clear that that was just another fairytale.

Iliksis was the only one who would ever love her. Who showed her what love and devotion looked like. Twisted, torn; and yet, still more than what Xan or Mahler had given her. The realisation tightened her throat and she continued to look at the lake, pretending to be uncaring.
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there was no forgiveness in laurel.
mahler pushed away from her, and sat there upon the bank in quietude.
"are you vith child?" he asked, finally and suddenly. he did not measure her ears with his explanations, of how he must know for the bettering of rivenwood. nothing with such insult, or what he presumed would be to her.
the words hung between them. he was a man rooted to the earth and she was the gale-wind forcing him into a bend, stripping leaves and small branches in the greatest effort to move him.
but mahler was a marble-carved gargoyle. the greater one attempted to budge him, the more solidly he sat, until not even ice breaking upon the face of his scoured cliffs could engender a notable response.
walls well-honed by his conflicts with wylla closed their thorn-burdened clasps along his shoulders. he seemed to grow more formal, more aloof, until at last he rose to his paws.
"allow me to bring you to your den, laurel, or search a new vone out for you."
mahler; removing himself until he was the nothingness she saw him to be.
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#11
Even her distance brought only more distance from him. Her attempts to allure him drove him away. Her cold shoulder did only the same. It was probably better that way, and yet she could feel panic rise as those grains of sand slipped through her paws, as she lost him. Had she ever had him to begin with? Why did she need this desire to be admired, to be loved? Why wasn't it enough just to be by herself, without anyone to measure her worthiness?

And yet she wanted to be measured, she wanted for the cocoon she'd been in all her life to burst open and to fly into the light for all to admire how beautiful she was. She couldn't do it alone. And yet it was clear once more that the only man who could've done it for her, she had murdered, and now he tormented her rotten insides forever to remind her of that fact.

Mahler did not respond much to her coldness, not other than distancing himself. If he would not fight for her, what did it matter anyway? Laurel's ears splayed and then twitched back into plays at his question. It's too early to tell, she responded. Enough of an answer. Probably, she thought to herself, but that too was hidden in her answer. Enough for him to guess, anyway.

Mahler offered to bring her to her den. She looked at him with eyes ablaze suddenly, a harsh counter from her previous apathy. Why? Why do you care what happens to me? she asked, her words accusatory and harsh; almost as if he had beaten her or spat in her face moments ago. And he had, in some way.
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"because no matter vhat you believe, laurel, i do care for you. it may not be the sort of love you have demanded and begged from me, but it exists all the same." mahler's voice was raw and low, though without malice. he wanted to understand what had harmed her, as much as he desired that she came to comprehend the weight upon him, and how he must put the whole of rivenwood first.
not only laurel. not only himself.
mahler knew in two years' past he would have gone at once to war. but this was not that time. his life was filled with the pains of a long life. and while he knew he was not so elderly, the weariness with which mahler had existed so long had paled his zeal for living.
the gargoyle looked at laurel a long and daunting moment, wanting to tell her the true nature of the illness that rotted in him.
"let me take care of you here. you and your young."
what was it but a final act? mahler felt strongly as though she would throw aside his words again, and prepared.
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#13
To Laurel, friendship was some kind of weird myth. She had almost felt it, a few times here and there; with Valette, towards the end of her life. But Indra, she had always been above all else and to Indra, Laurel had been above all else. That was what she searched for and perhaps that was why she wanted to be loved by men, so that she could know, in her heart, that she was on top of the ladder; number one.

Never mind that that wasn't how love worked; it was what Laurel had fought for her whole life.

It struck at her sense of pride when he said she had begged from him. I never begged, she said pointedly, bristling. Then, she said, calming down again, What does that mean? Caring? What does it -- Get me? Get you? Get him? She shook her head. What is that to you? If not love, then what was it? And what did it entail? Clearly, not keeping her and her children safe. He had sent her away. He had let her get hurt. He had pushed her into something that she did not feel safe or comfortable in. That wasn't caring, none of it.

Taking care of her... Oh, how she longed that someone would. But it was growing clearer every day he would not -- or perhaps, could not.
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"it vas a beg. vhen you vere not in your right mind, laurel. it vas not who you vould have vanted to be. and it was not somevone i vould have let you become." mahler's voice was crisp directly back, but his eyes held no true anger.
"it means i cannot protect you from your vants or your choices, only that i can provide a safe home vhen you return." he did not know why she defended so against him still. and yet mahler did understand, in some way, and stood back.
mahler, misrepresented in her eyes, and with only himself to blame. 
"and because it is the correct thing to do, laurel." and she maybe would not like the sound of that, but he did not intend for there to be any insinuation that he meant his care as charity.
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I said I did not beg, Laurel said, ears falling back and teeth bared in uncharacteristic aggression all of a sudden. A warning; if he further pressed the subject, tried to get his right, then she would lash out. She did not want to do it, but she knew that she had to protect what little shreds of dignity she had left at any cost.

She scoffed when he said he could not protect her from her 'wants and choices', only to provide a safe home. Why? Why, why, why?

Soon, he explained — because it was the correct thing to do. She could not help but wonder if that was why Reek kept her around when he had children of his own with his new mate. She could not help but wonder if that was why Valette took her in and allowed her to live in Easthollow for so long. She could not help but wonder if that was why Xan eventually accepted her companionship, eventually decided that he should love her after all the misery that he put her through.

She didn't want to be the correct thing to do. She wanted to be loved, and once more it was clear that he would never be that in any capacity. Laurel could feel her heart bleed at the dagger that he once more thrust into it, and she could feel herself harden. She visibly stiffened at his words. Just a piece of advice for when you see your Wylla again, women don't exactly like being 'the correct thing to do', she sneered at him, and Laurel turned partially away from Mahler. She felt extra vulnerable in her wounded state. I thought I'd found an honest, caring man when I moved to Rivenwood, but what a delusional dream it was. The hurt resounded in her words. She wanted to believe him. She wanted Mahler to be her friend. But instead, he made it very clear that he was just some sort of twisted caretaker that let her stay because it was 'the right thing to do'. Well, fuck that.

She turned away, her eyes shimmering with raw pain that could easily turn into anger should he stop her. She needed to cry, and this time she wasn't planning to do it on his shoulder; she would do it alone, like she had all her life, like she was meant to.
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"i care for all of rivenvood, laurel, not just you."
mahler's voice was heavy and wounded as he spoke once more, chastised. and rightfully so. what had moved him to argue with her at all? the graf was ashamed, mind adding it to the collective lists of reasons as to why he should not act in this way.
it chafed him also that she should have been so correct about wylla. they had not even met and laurel had humbled him.
mahler was embarrassed and frustrated and helpless beneath the weight of his own self-righteous indignation.
it hung about him like a cloak as he cleared his throat and stood.
mahler wanted to tell laurel that he did not think she had long to suffer in his company.
he wished to wait and be an escort all the same, but the firelick of her tongue had singed him clean through. mahler turned, as he had done many times before, turned and departed the lagoon, soon disappearing among the treeline.
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Finally, he relented, with final words uttered. He cared for all of Rivenwood. Well, that was great. So if she were to leave the pack, then she did not matter at all anymore. It didn't surprise her, but instead confirmed some of her darkest insecurities and fears and feelings. Those she would never share, at least not directly.

She was glad that he understood her hint and that he left, because then at least she did not feel as though she was chased from her place at the Lagoon. She liked it here; or, well, she had, once. Now she was not so sure. Yet, she had little choice now that she was likely with child. She needed to stay here, at least until the children were well enough to travel. Then she would see what life brought her. Where life brought her. Right now, she felt as though trapped in a golden cage, with a caretaker who said that he loved her and cared for her, but only with hollow words born out of duty. Not with any sort of feeling.

When Mahler was out of view and earshot, finally did Laurel break down to tears. She threw herself down at the waterside and allowed her tears to spill into the water. Her body ached with every sob, but she could not help but cry, ugly and loud and pained. It was a bomb that had been a long time coming to burst now, and this time there was no one on whose shoulder she could cry about it.