[flashback] slamming doors. (cy & clem)

[Cyrah]

“Then why don't you go sleep in one of their dens,” Cyrah snapped. “Why don't you go charm your way into an even bigger bed, in a place where somebody wants you--” The rest got knocked back into her lungs, when he shoved her, and she stumbled backwards. For once, and surprising even herself, she didn't take a swing. Her hands were too busy reaching back to catch on the edge of the one set of drawers they shared, so that she didn't just slam into it, and then she had to hold herself there for a moment while the pain in her side seared upward. Maybe the cut was deeper than she'd thought. Maybe more sand had gotten into it. Her eyes glazed over for a minute, brilliant and glassy, as the burning sensation flared up one half of her body, and then receded, and her muscles went a little loose. She nearly pitched towards the floor, but caught herself, straightening, and shook herself like she might have in jackal form, a shudder that traced the length of her spine, sent sable curls toppling from where she'd pinned them. She didn't come at him again, just glared at him like she'd like to eat his spleen for supper, and prowled past him to the bed in contest. The way she sat down on it was like a challenge unto itself. “I'm not going to the doctor,” she muttered, indignant. “And you're a cow.”

[Clement Reijnder]

“Go ahead and say it, kid,” he glowered at her, daring her to keep on. “I know you weren’t done. Just finish whatever you have to say to me.”

The concern that he had for her being in pain he was sure to hide this time. They both saw it as a weakness for their own reasons. As he leaned back to watch her, his face was hard as stone despite the fact that the situation had already started to eat him up inside. It was easy to see the future. There was a dance he did when she finally got to him. It happened from time-to-time. She wasn’t the only one to leave.

Sometimes he’d leave. He’d drink. He’d possibly sink himself deep into Mirage. At night he’d sleep wherever he passed out, which was typically no where pleasant. He’d be gone for days. The days, at one time, had stretched into weeks. But sure enough at some point she’d come home to find him passed out in the bed they seemed to constantly be bickering over.

Nothing would be said about it afterwards. At least not by him, and if she brought it up he was sure to let his mind gloss over the fact she was even speaking.

The expression on his face was a warning that his absence was immanent. She could say what she wanted. She could be quiet. He’d be gone the minute she woke up be it day or night. He always ran off when she was sleeping as if he didn’t want to say goodbye.

[Cyrah]

“No,” she said angrily, folding her arms. Bright, eerily pale eyes scowled right back at him, and her bottom lip pushed slightly forward in what would have been a truly profound sulk, if one wasn't aware that she had the propensity to rip his limbs off one by one. It was a dance to which they both knew all the steps, but when he tried to lead, this time, she wouldn't follow. Maybe she'd finally had enough; maybe something had to give. It was different, on this night, maybe only for her, but she didn't just crawl into the bed and deliver him her back. Didn't go to sleep so that he could sneak away. No, if he meant to leave, he was going to do so while she watched him go. She didn't say another word, but nor did she move, just continued to stare at him, impassive and unflinching. Go on, said the glint in her eyes. Slink off like a kicked dog. She knew the slink; knew how it felt. That was why she never wanted to watch him go. But if he was going to act this way, if he was still going to just leave and fuck off for days or weeks and then reappear whenever it suited him, then he would have to do it while she watched. He would have to turn his back on her and leave. She would watch him be that selfish, and completely ignore how cruel she may or may not have been to him for it to have come to this.

[Clement Reijnder]

He stood there, leaning back, one leg crossed in front of the other. She was far enough way that he could relax without fear that she would get across the room before he righted himself. He’d learned the trick the time she’d hit him upside the head and sent him sprawling towards the floor.

He took her in. Looked her over, something troubled and measuring in his gaze. He’d never looked at her like that before – From the very tip of her toes up to the last hair on her head.

There was no way he’d be able to leave. Not with her watching. Not with the chance that he’d look back and actually see what her face would look like as he was going. He imagined it would be cold, impassive, or he’d see actual hate. Or worse, hurt. The situation angered him, made his blood boil. It resorted him to being some caged animal just waiting for the door to be opened.

He pushed off the counter, stalking over to her. His hand shot out to take her by the throat, applying just enough pressure to make it known that he was there, but not enough that it would really hurt or take her breath. He these motions down to an artform. His palm slid up her skin; his rough thumb scraping over to push her chin up. He leaned down until they were practically nose-to-nose, mouth-to-mouth. His eyes didn’t remove themselves from hers.

“Say it,” he whispered dangerously. “Don’t be a coward.”

Give him reason to leave.

[Cyrah]

When his fingers curled around her throat, her hand snaked up and grasped him by the wrist. Her eyes blazed back up at his, but she didn't shrink from him. Nor did she lash out at him. One knee had jerked instinctively upward, like she'd kick him in the crotch if he squeezed her throat hard enough to inspire a counter-attack, but her toes simply pointed, and then she went still. A blush crept up the high slopes of her cheekbones, either because she was furious, or because he was close to choking her, or because he was just so damned close. And the way he'd looked at her – she wasn't sure if he meant to eat her or set her on fire or some combination of both. The color dusted the golden skin of her face with a pale, nuanced rose. A delicate flare of her nostrils, but still she said nothing. He must have thought she was a moron; did he expect her to actually ask him to stay? Or scream at him to leave? Either would have betrayed a desire for his presence that she simply did not have; would not allow herself to have. She wasn't like the rest of her family; she would not be like them, panting after the heels of humans, longing to be loved, to love back. Cyrah didn't need that sort of sappy, self-effacing bullshit. She had her scales, her weights and measures, her belief in a system that took life and replaced it over and over again, and none of it for the sake of love. Death didn't care if you had family or friends or someone to cherish your memory, and neither did Cyrah. In the end, she just murmured a belittling, “Woof.” And let him make his own petching decisions.

[Clement Reijnder]

His hand shot down to the knee quickly, a natural enough reaction to a leg jerking upwards. He dug his fingers into the skin and muscles, though it could have been a much crueler touch. They both knew him capable of it.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said quietly, still not moving from where he was. In fact, he may very well and slipped just a touch closer to her. His voice dropped down into a rough whisper, “Kick a man like a dog enough times and eventually he’s going to bite back. Eventually he’s going to play the part…”

He was drunk, and he was tired. He felt like he was watching himself from out of his body, unable to control what he was doing. As if he was possessed by something… He’d heard of that happening to men. Ghosts. In the morning he’d blame it on ghosts.

His hand snaked up her leg. It wasn’t too daring of a move; his fingers had only slithered a few inches, but it was probably enough to make her uncomfortable. They rested, going back to pressing the tips on her skin.

Sweeping in, he bit onto her lower lip. His eyes stayed on her, watching, curious as to where she’d attack. He knew she would. She was far too proud not to. He pulled back, scraping his teeth along the skin.

He was pretty certain that she was going to kill him, but damned if he wasn’t going to go down with a story to tell.

[Cyrah]

She'd stiffened by a fraction when his hand caught her knee; she could feel his fingertips digging bruises into her skin, and she may have inhaled a bit sharply when he extended his reach. It was much closer than he'd ever gotten to her before – much closer, in fact, than anyone had ever gotten without losing appendages. Her eyes searched his for a moment, after he spoke, but she could not have said what she was looking for. A reason, maybe, some sort of apology or even understanding, like all this time they'd really known what it was all about – but they didn't. And she saw nothing in the cool blue of his gaze but anger – which, she supposed, had been rightly earned. “Well if you act like a dog--” she started to say icily, her voice just a rasp between his fingers. But he leaned in, and the rest of it got swallowed down beneath her surprise. When his teeth scored her bottom lip, she wasn't breathing. Had held her breath out of simple shock. And her eyes watched his right back, widening a little, the anger replaced by uncompromising confusion. And then her other leg lashed out and she drove her heel straight into his balls. With a twist and a guttural growl, she wrenched away from him and scrambled off the bed, but didn't stop there. Bare feet smacked hastily across the floor and she tore the nightgown off as she went, a blur of light already snapping and sparking around her. The bloody bandage was left, like an accusing finger, pointing in the direction the jackal had thusly bolted, straight through the door and out into the unrelenting night beyond. That was how she fled him the second time. THE END!

[Spavento]

Cyrah +2 Empathy +1 Rhetoric Clement +1 Medicine +2 Empathy +1 Interrogation Additional notes: I loved the scene guys. I really feel like I got to know the characters relationship much better. Please let me know if you had other ideas for what they might have picked up in XP for this scene.