[ AW ] Hushabye

MERCURY

The lanky creature lounges comfortably atop a stone throne, sheathed in strange and iridescent shades that glisten and glimmer in the dappled light of the Redwood, pale and sightless gaze half-lidded in a bored content as as scarred and tattered jaws crunch slowly on the remnants of a small deer. The skull shatters, crushed between his teeth with an eye rolling down his jaw, hanging from the eyestalk stem that bobs from the side of his mouth and bounces gruesomely against his chest, a thin dribble of brain matter and blood drooling from between his teeth. His shoulders roll slowly, legs drawn up close beneath him before the shift in the wind suddenly brings the scent of another to him. It's almost overtaken by the smell of fresh blood, but...no, there is a scent. He has learned to intimately pick out the different scents of living and dead, the tiny differences in the way smells permeated different bits of air. When one has no vision, they must compensate in other ways.

A soft chuckle rolls from his chest and bubbles out of his lips and he snaps his head back, tossing the remnants of the flesh in his mouth down his gullet like a particularly greedy reptile. He makes no effort to make himself appear more presentable--why, here he is at his best, dressed to the nines in his sunday church-wear. Perfectly well-groomed and coiffed, the silken strands of his coat catching the breeze and breaking his form into wispy lines that make him look effortlessly ethereal even in his most comfortable state. His nails drag across the stone, a creaking scratch like nails along a chalkboard that screeches through the air and causes even the birds to pause in their singing for want of a bit of quiet, and he cocks his head to the side to swivel a tall and bat-like ear towards the source of the scent-- to hopefully catch a sound.
Footsteps. Ah. So it's to be company this fine spring eve, he decides. Before long, the birds resume their incessant warbling, and he deigns to decide perhaps he'll share his meal. After all, never any harm in having company for breakfast.

A fruit bat rests upon his shoulder, flapping occasionally, large eyes blinking almost innocently about the area before flapping off-- delicious bugs are on the menu.

table by rae - image from Pixabay

@Yvaine

Sickness ebbed and flowed, pulled by the whims of the moon like the tides themselves. Sometimes the symptoms wracked her to the core—sores bubbling to the surface of her inflamed neck. It was nothing less than Hellfire. But as winter weeks rolled on, the pain eased, coming and going in bouts of dizziness. She was at the Cailleach’s mercy now, and the reverence that pulsed in her blood placated the monster. There was no question that this was a test of devotion. Of endurance. And the witch would gladly fall at the Winter Hag’s feet, limbs splayed, baring herself in blood and naked flesh. She would not touch a single flake of the Cailleach’s falling snow without anointing herself in the goddess’ oil: hazel and poppy distilled in fresh blood.


Even now, it trailed from her sharp jawline, down her thin (albeit still faintly swollen) neck, over her silky chest. The concoction ended in a pawprint overtop her heart.


The banduri witch wandered now into the eternal autumn, moonbright eyes flashing to and fro. Today, her symptoms were almost nonexistent, but the Diptheria clung to her stubbornly, and she knew it would never relinquish her without a cure. But it was a good day. Perhaps the Morrigan had a sign for her, and she was eager to know if her little Cù-Sìth spread the disease in Castle Stuart as she asked. The Redwood was the land of eternal decay, steeped in hues of scarlet, gold and brown. The banduri walked now through the veil between dusk and dawn, unsure after a long sleep what awaited her. If the Morrigan or Cailleach had a sign for their devoted servant, surely it would appear here.


It was then that the witch heard a crunch, and she turned toward the noise with intrigue. As she approached the other’s perch, she drank in the scent, dampened as her senses were. Water, blood, seaweed, smoke. The perfume was reminiscent of the medicine men of old; but none of the druids lurked in Rionnach since long before Yvaine went into hiding. Her silver eyes narrowed, but a small grin slipped against her dark lips, even before she saw the creature with his fresh kill. The banduri emerged from the treeline and suddenly there he was, slick and bloody and ominous. For a moment, she thought a third Cù-Sìth was sent by the Morrigan, this time to end her. But an observant sweep of her gaze dismissed such thoughts like a thin fog. The pink gore that split his face in twain, revealing an impossibly-wide smile, filled the witch with a sense of awe.


She stifled the emotion quickly. It was evident from pheromones that he was a male, after all. And yet, the banduri was fascinated. She eyed the bat that perched on his shoulder, the crushed skull at his feet, and the iridescent shimmer of his pelt. “Leth-mharbh*,” the witch purred. Her voice, usually brusque and sensual, was huskier thanks to the Diptheria. Her moon-colored eyes stared directly into his white gaze, and the grin widened. “And yet, you look quite alive.”

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Yvaine is infected, so coming in close contact puts other wolves at risk. You can optionally have your wolf infected by interacting with Yvaine and posting in the #outbreak channel on Discord!


@Mercury

*Pronounced "lehth-marv" (I believe); means "half-dead."

MERCURY

The bat flaps back in a nervous circle, wings flapping against the leaves until it lands again and shrieks towards her. STRANGER DANGER, it warns. Not that he cares. He finished the mouthful he has, letting what remains of his meal slither down his gullet before clearing his throat to speak. And speak he does, rising to his feet to regard her with an unseeing stare, "Gu math beò, tapadh leat. (Very alive, thank you.)" he winks-- more than one language has he gotten under his belt. As well-traveled as he is, it is to be expected--not that his guest would know that. Still, he slips from his perch with a fluid grace, leaving behind a smear of black-blood darkness, arterial blood and spray from his previous meal left swathed across the rocks. "More than could be said for you." he can smell the stench of illness rolling off of her-- mingled with the copper tinge of blood and the earthy root of hazel and poppy. A scent familiar to him-- one some of his own family had worn before, a scent Jupiter is fond off. The poppy, moreso than the blood. "So the disease spread physically now, does it? For what purpose should I be seeking counsel from Her?" Her? Indeed, it had been a while since he's mentioned Her out loud, but the most persistent, damnable of goddesses shrieks in his mind and presses for him incessantly to FIND IT. He doesn't even know what 'It' is! How many more lives, more worlds, more places must he travel to slake her thirst?! ....But that's a problem for Future Mercury.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" he asks, brushing forward to better examine her, the tap-tap-tapping of his foot along the ground an obvious assist to the way his ears point and swivel. Perhaps a bat is suited for him after all.

table by rae - image from Pixabay

@Yvaine

The male replied in a perfect replication of the old tongue; but she knew that’s all it was: a replication. There was a unique cadence to his voice, an unfamiliar lilt. His accent was unlike anything she’d ever heard, even if he was great at mimicking her language. She eyed him curiously, for once unsure whether or not someone was a Sassenach. It wasn’t often that the banduri was stumped. The rivers of Rionnach were like her own blood vessels, the earth like her own flesh. She was one with this land, and its roots were hers, crawling like nerves deep, deep into the core of her being. The confusion, and the bat’s sudden shrieks, irked her. Maybe it was only because she was sick.


Or maybe because he pointed it out.


The witch’s eyes widened—in shock, in outrage—but it didn’t matter. The slick creature swept closer to her, moving like a living shadow with the piquante scent of brains on his maw. He knew about the disease even though her symptoms were subtle today. And he asked a question he shouldn’t have known to ask. Yvaine’s hackles bristled as she considered putting this male in his place. Quickly these thoughts came and passed. The tapping of his paws confirmed the cause of his glossy, metallic eyes. He was blind. And then realization snapped into place:


He was a seer.


Anger simmered into low embers, the kind that fueled intrigue and…other, more pleasant, emotions. An amused, wry grin curled against the witch’s lips, and she chuckled quietly. “Yvaine Lusk,” was the answer, simple but incomplete. She strode closer as well, allowing him a “better look” by maneuvering to circle around him. If the leth-mharbh did not move, she would brush her luxurious tail against his flank. “Perhaps She intended our paths to cross,” the banduri replied without even knowing the meaning of his question. But it didn’t matter. She interpreted her own. “Maybe you have the key to…a foreign cure?”


The question was less hopeful than probing. It could well be that the blind seer was a sign from The Morrigan. But Yvaine would rather know if the male was a Sassenach. She had a hard time believing the fae would bestow that honor on a native who was not female.

table ; bunny

@Mercury

MERCURY

The bat shrieks aloud, its little cries growing nearly monstrous-- followed by a wave of clicks as it swoops down to nestle itself into the fluff of his locks. His near lion-like mane provides a perfect housing for the little hellion, and he barely even shakes an ear at it as it nestles in, its wee head following Yvaine on a swivel as if it didn't trust the ground she walked on. But that is the bat's problem, not Mercury's, as he is interested. Curious. "And who is the She you speak of? Surely it is not mine, I've yet to find someone else who hears her voice as resounding as I. There are other Hers. To which one do you sow your loyalties?" the question is off-cuff, and he doesn't pull away from her even though she moves closer. He builds an image of her in his mind-- hmm. Anointed. Woods-dweller, forest child. Mountain air, summer sweet, death bitter. A witch, like the mother of his children before her. A wildwood woman who bathed in moonlight and blood in equal measure.

But her probing does spark a note of surprise in him. A cure? He buffs his nails against his chest, sitting back on his haunches to think for a moment,"None that I can think of just yet," he admits. "Several treatments, none permanent. I am a seer, not a medicine man." He admits, a brief shrug of one shoulder rippling languidly down the rest of his form,"And unfortunately, She does not deem it necessary yet to tell me what Her divine plan is. How She deigns to expect me to simply obey Her without clarification is maddening." S I G H. But again, that is a problem for future Mercury. But perhaps this Yvaine has a point. Maybe their paths were intended to cross all along, and he pauses to regard her once again, his head on an owl-like swivel to follow her, unblinking even as he speaks,"Though perhaps I am simply not looking hard enough. I am Mercury." Finally, manners. "Were I back home, I'd be able to scry a thing or two. But here, there is no still water." So..he would help her find a cure? That seemed to be the implication--if they were set on this path by whomever, whatever, he is not one to deny it, even if he thinks the course is a lesson in futility.

table by rae - image from Pixabay

@Yvaine

The bat demanded attention, but Yvaine refused to tear her gaze from the leth-mharbh for even one second. It could cry and cower all it wanted; if it weren’t clinging to a larger predator, the witch would have snapped its little bones and used its wings for a new poultice. She didn’t disdain its existence, rather, it simply didn’t matter to her. All life was cyclical. Its time would come.


She did glance away, for the briefest moment, as she passed the stone perch where Mercury left his meal. A gift, or a kill? If the blind man was adept at hunting, the witch would begrudgingly respect such skill. However, the distraction was fleeting and she circled around to his front just as he reclined. All the while, those eerie eyes followed her, and if it weren’t for the exposure of his giant fangs, he would look a lot like an owl. Instead, his grotesque smile reminded her of blood-suckers in ancient lore. Her grin widened ever so slightly.


“So a goddess speaks to you?” the witch purred. Yvaine waited to answer his question until she answered hers about the cure. She couldn’t deny her pleasure when her instincts were confirmed. He was a Sassenach and a seer. Moonbright eyes flickered along his poised frame as he spoke. With his abilities, Yvaine could accomplish so much more. This encounter had to be fate. Even if she was perturbed by his gender, the goddesses smiled fortuitously on the land of eternal autumn.


For a moment, Yvaine wanted to speak, but had to let her throat rest. It was dry and hot, but the demon wasn’t ready to breathe flame. She needed a cool touch to convince the seer they should ally. Slowly, she inhaled the scent of poppy and let it unfurl like a miasma through her lungs. “If there is any still water left in Rionnach,” ( that is to say, if the Mainlanders hadn’t stamped all the earth dry with their clobbering paws ), “I know where it would be. The Morrigan guides me.” Yvaine tilted her lovely head, gauging this ‘Mercury’s’ reaction. “She is a Phantom Queen, ever-watching, casting spells from the realm of the fae. She has sent me many signs.” The witch took a bold step closer, breathing in his smoke. “I believe she led me to you. Who has your loyalty, then?”

table ; bunny

@Mercury