A Gift from Six and Eight (Seven, Victor)

[Asara Willow]

Asara was surprised that Seven had actually cut that little human-bird. She'd not seen humans so dedicated to eachother before. As she watched, her tongue licked across pale lips and collected the warm claret that had spilled there from her bite. It had been a long while since she had tasted human blood. For sure a whole Season had passed, but that hunger still burned at her throat. And Victor tasted sweeter than a large, sweaty farmer. She couldn't kill him, though. No matter what had happened, or what Seven would think of her and what she would think of Seven, she would not kill his human. She wanted to dissuade him from ever hurting her again.

Her eyes flashed between them. Claret blood buzzed in her system, honeyed her tongue and made her shiver. She had to admit, a rodent tasted nothing like a human.

Now, she crouched and flinched as Seven came at her, flailing the knife in wild arcs and flicking blood into the darkness. His display caused her to make her own, drawing back her lips in another hiss. The white ivory was slightly stained with the scarlet of blood, but her venom washed it clean. Victor's screams had elicited pleasure as her dominant reaction, followed right on its heals by the jaws of fear. She watched the display of affection, slanted gold eyes narrowed in preparation of whatever attack thrown her way for her reluctance to leave. She had no desire to. But, if they were going to force her, then she knew what she'd take as she left.

Gold eyes slanted to her things, and past them to Seven's journal, and before they moved towards her, she moved towards that innocuous book that had started so much. If she had to leave, she was taking the book with her.

The Symenestra jumped forward and tossed her belongings off the roof, and then grabbed the book and turned her body to the couple, holding the book close and hooking it with the little hooks on her fingers. She snarled at them one last time, more of a bark than a bite, and spoke one word to Seven and Victor.

"Mine," She said with a hiss.

[Seven Xu]

The moments wrapped in Victor’s trembling form, lips covered in his blood, shuddering and crying into their brief exchange of breath and admiration had done little more than enforce Seven’s decision. The metallic sting of blood and venom was shared on a spark ignited by perverse adrenaline-guided passions and Victor’s goading whispers brought a tightening grin to his quivering lips. They influenced each other, fed off of each other; deeper than the exchange of stormy grey on vermillion or a toothy smirk let on. A word of encouragement traveled under his breath before he had descended again on Asara.

Seven’s wild grip on the blade faltered as Asara lay claim to his notebook—the object that had brought them here; that Victor had injured himself to retrieve; that had ultimately began this descent into chaos. In a mind where the brash Ravokian could do no wrong, the onus of blame lay between the pages of that weathered book. It had done little but cause pain after that woman had gotten her hands on it—it was tainted.

“Take it, I don’t care.” The trembling answer may have come as a surprise even to him moments before, but the bite of Asara’s venom that lingered hot in his mouth combined with festering rage had left him lightheaded and cocksure. Victor’s blood had trickled down his chin, taunting the hunger that glittered in opposing golden eyes. “Just go.”

Seven took a careful step backward, still holding the dagger level with his chest at an arm’s length. Only after the Symenestra crept unnervingly off of the rooftop with that inhuman grace and his beloved notebook would he drop to one knee to inspect the damage she’d done on Victor’s forearm. Again, maybe in vain, he lifted the wound to his mouth in an attempt to remove remnants of venom long absorbed by blood. “I don’t have anything to wrap it with,” the mutter bordered on a second wave of tears. Naturally, he blamed himself for Victor’s injuries. “I’m so sorry for dragging you out here with me.”

[Victor Lark]

Victor’s expectant smile was only allowed a moment to wallow in the prospect of Seven’s rebuttal. The arms that pulled away from his did not thrash out at the offending spider, and the words that fell from bloodied lips struck with hard determination, not anger. Victor frowned at the quaking caution in the book’s abandonment, disappointed more in Seven’s reaction than in the loss of their inanimate prize. He wanted to chase after Asara, or to say something else that would antagonize her further, or to do something that would chance a rise from Seven. But he was too weak. Blood dripped freely from his arm, tainted still by the last remnants of venom, and every piece of him ached. When Seven returned to him again, Victor’s paling face forgot to express anything; his mind was preoccupied in the shock of the rest of his body.

“Mine,” he repeated crudely in that eerie language which he did not know. In mocking the Symenestra, he had inadvertently asserted a sort of victory in their farewell. He rolled his eyes at her before he regarded the touch of Seven’s lips on his stinging, tingling wound. His opposite hand reached to the back of the pale man’s neck in an attempt to lift him from where he bowed, but when his strength failed him the gesture turned to a consoling caress.

Impossibly quiet came the reply, “I have some gauze. Back home, in the trunk. But we don’t need it right now...” His hand slipped down to wrap around his mangled wrist in a futile attempt to apply pressure, but not before it rose to press the tears from the corner of Seven’s eye. As there was no more point in encouraging the anger which had already long dissipated, Victor took to his rightful role as lover, offering up his best reassuring smile through stiff cheeks and heavy eyelids. “Don’t be sorry,” he mumbled on, “Sometimes adventures don’t turn out the way you expect, remember? I had a good time, at least.”

With a tired laugh, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the warmth of Seven’s trembling chest. A deep inhale filled him with a soothing, familiar scent, only slightly marred by the lingering taste of his own blood. His heavy exhale released his newfound fatigue into the cotton shirt between them. “Let’s just stay here tonight, okay?”

[Seven Xu]

As Seven drew Victor into the embrace, his shoulders trembled. Tendrils of white coursed through streams of ebony and a wilting noise rose out of the crumpled halfblood. As white-hot breath drove through his chest and lips stained with blood left their mark on dark linen, Seven’s mind wandered to the worn trunk that had sat for so long at the end of his bed it had begun to collect dust. “Just tonight,” a mumbled retort found its way across the crown of soft black hair where his lips had remained. “I’m glad you had fun. Lie down.”

He commanded it as if Victor held a choice in the matter; leaning forward, he ensured the Ravokian’s back found the cold stone hug of the rooftop with ease. “Look at you,” Seven mumbled, the pained features of a worried countenance clinging to his words, unable to sharpen them as he so wanted. “You can’t just—you need to listen to me.” Seven’s jacket had melted away and thin fingers fumbled down the length of his spoiled shirt. Where gauze was absent, it would have to do. Thin sleeves sopped up drying blood and wrapped firm around the injured forearm before Seven replaced the jacket on his shoulders. Insofar as he could see, the makeshift gauze would prevent infection and provide needed pressure until they were able to return home in the morning.

A silent exchange passed between two sets of fingers, so similar in color beneath the exhaustion of blood loss and the milky light of moon. There he sat, perched beside Victor’s resting figure, eyelids fluttering under the weight of his sudden exhaustion. The vigil would last until Victor’s breathing grew slow and the dull grey succumbed to the fold of thick black eyelashes; only then would Seven find his own rough bed beneath the upturned bowl of cosmos and offer his failing consciousness to Nysel.

[Asara Willow]

Look at them... The creeping whisper drifted into Asara's mind as she looked down at the sleeping bodies of two males through a golden stare. In one hand was clasped a book, the journal she had claimed before fleeing, and in the other she had carried up two apples. Both had rolled away from a clumsy human earlier and had been, seemingly, forgotten in all the craziness of the night. Aren't they cute? Sitana's voice was a curse in its own. A beguiling whisper that attempted to sway Asara into darkness even when just making a blank statement.

Down below Asara heard Zafkil stir, restless and watchful for any approaching Knight in the alley she had asked him to wait. Earlier, when she'd returned to him with the intent to pack all her belongings and leave, the horse had caught the scent of human blood and had threatened his small Symenestra rider. She had needed ha to assuage his trust in her, assuring him that the human she had bitten was indeed still alive, and he had told her to return the tattered journal. Told, of course, was an understatement. The horse had intimidated her into doing it, even with a broken digit and an already crippled arm.

And now, Asara was here, watching Seven and Victor sleep. They looked unreal, and she was tempted to reach out and touch them, but a growl of hunger from her stomach and a sharp throb of pain dissuaded her from doing so.

You're hungry. Why don't you eat? They are both asleep. Easy prey. One bite and they'll be yours. Asara ignored the whisper, rewarded by sharp blades of pain digging into her skull. Ignoring Sitana was always dangerous in itself. Doing something different from what she wanted was even worse. The girl didn't need to kill someone she suspected now hated her but liked herself. He had been her only friend, and even his human was someone interesting. She didn't hate either of them. She just didn't know what to think of them anymore. Seven had turned on her, threatened her with a knife, and she was certain that if she stayed he would have kept true to her promise and made her leave with more than a broken finger.

The small spider placed down both the book and the apples and circled warily around to Victor's side, the gold eyes running along his body until she came to his arm. It was wrapped firmly in a jacket and the female wondered if that would stop blood from escaping. She had a scarf, a red one she'd found on her person the day she woke up in the Wildlands. A scurrying of feet and hands on a solid roof, then a wall, followed by a quick stirring of clothes being shifted in a bag heralded the sudden disappearance of the little spider. She returned in much the same fashion, a bright red scarf clutched in her hand as she considered Victor's arm. She could tie it there to hold the coat firmly in place, but the hazard of waking him, or even worse, Seven, stopped her. She'd leave it there and hopefully one of these people understood what it was supposed to be used for. Most likely, Victor wouldn't even think it was supposed to keep the coat to his arm. The human was so stupid she'd been surprised he hadn't come running off the roof to follow her.

Now that she had done for Victor what she thought she should, she looked down at both men again. She knew that if even one woke she'd be hurt even more, but she decided to watch them. A part of her suspected she'd never see Seven again, and she wanted to prolong this. If she ever forgot, either by a similar accident that had stripped her mind bare or over time, she wanted to savour the memories while she had them. Few though they were.

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Syna's rise heralded an exhausted Asara's departure. She wanted to be gone before they woke and so she crept to the edge of the roof and down the wall, then stumbled on to Zafkil. The horse made no noise, but the steady clopping of his feet and his heavy breathing began to fade as he took his little spider away to where she could sleep and later hunt.

[Templar]

Asara: Climbing: 5 - Astronomy: 2 - Body building: 1 - Rhetorics: 2 - Unarmed Combat: 3 - Intimidation: 2 Lore: Advantages of being Half Blood Medical: Broken finger. - Recovery time: Several weeks before healed. Longer if used repeatedly. 7: Climbing: 2 - Rhetorics: 2 - Intimidation: 3 - Shielding: 2 - Dagger: 2 Lore: Being Reunited with your loved one - Adorable Intimidation Victor: Acrobatics: 5 - Climbing: 3 - Rhetorics: 2 Lore: Frailty of Symenestra - Symenestra Poison Medical: Poisoned arm: Will hurt for up to a week when used - Recovery time: Around 20 days. Injured shoulder - Recovery time: A week and a half and the shoulder is back to prime condition. Additional notes: Certainly picked up the pace at the end! Excellent thread and feel free to PM me if you feel I overlooked something.