[ P ] no luck, no love, no gospel

there exists a tipping point—

Abraham may be able to cleanse the blood from his paws, but it stains his soul. He tries not to think about it—how each name had a life and a family and a purpose of their own. If he lingers on such details, he will be lost, and he cannot afford to be a ghost to his cause. Slipping away from Rionna, mission completed, had been a simple enough task, but he is wise enough not to return due north. He’s always had a fondness for Mirror Lake, anyway. There is something about it that eases the weight from his shoulders, and it is a familiar comfort that draws him now.

The late afternoon sun is warm upon the splotchy pattern of his fur, and the frigid cold of the water contradicts it as the assassin pads into the shallows. He lingers there for a time, letting the water lap gently against his legs and belly, and then he ventures deeper, fully submerging himself with a long exhale. Abraham does not resurface until his lungs burn and black begins to crowd the edges of his vision, and even then, his return is slow and purposeful rather than frantic. His muzzle breaches the surface and his nostrils flare with a large intake of breath, and the rest of his face follows. He lingers there, with only the top half of his skull breaking through the water whilst the rest of him remains below—not hidden, for the glassy appearance of the lake does not permit such a thing, but he appears…relaxed.

All but his eyes.

His eyes are sharp and calculating, scanning the treeline with the practiced observation of a man who does not like to lower his guard. He may allow his body and his thoughts to float—drifting in a rare moment of peace—but his senses are a natural accumulation of caution that has grown in abundance over the years. Caution is what keeps men like him alive.

"speech"

—between gods and monsters

code // art

@Iola

I

ola watched with a sense of intrigue as the splotched stranger surrendered himself to the tranquil embrace of Mirror lake. He was calm, at first, moving slowly to allow the cold water to cleanse his fur and envelop his limbs. Then, he plummeted beneath the lake's surface, and for a moment she pondered the thought of if he would return.

The uncertainty of the moment grew her closer. Like a shark drawn to blood, the shadowy woman moved through the thick brush of the coastline until she was just along the border. If the man wished to make himself an easy resource, so be it. But alas, and much to her disappointment, he broke through the surface and took a breath once more. 'What a shame.' She thought, a slight frown pulling at the corner of her lips.

With a quiet step, Iola approached the water's edge, her pelt swaying gently in the breeze. "Caution," She began, her voice carrying a hint of empathy, "It's a constant companion, isn't it?" She could see the way he was on alert, the way he would let his body rest, but not his mind. It intrigued her to no end: what would a man like him have to fear?

She paused to fix her eyes upon the tree line from where she had emerged, mirroring his vigilant observation. "Wish to indulge me on what keeps you from fully enjoying this fine day?" A glint of curiosity shown brightly in the woman's magenta orbs.

@Abraham

there exists a tipping point—

Movement draws his attention with the sharp snap of his eyes; Abraham is otherwise still. The she-wolf of merging grays and whites watches him intently, as though he is some strange fascination, and he meets the intensity of that gaze with an unreadable expression of his own. There is a stern neutrality to Abraham that seems not practiced, but inherent—as though it would take him effort to smile or frown or offer anything in between.

At first, he does not respond to her rhetoric; Abraham simply blinks slowly and evenly, and a large part of him hopes that she realizes he is no great fascination and will turn tail and leave. Something, however, gives him the impression that she would rather try to get under his skin—a futile effort, but one he has found that strangers pursue more often than not. There is something addictive, he supposes, about driving a wedge into the cracks in one’s armor. It is not a fascination that Abraham shares, but it is one he has encountered more often than not.

And there it is—will he indulge her? He would rather not. The assassin sighs softly before he lifts his skull the rest of the way out of the water, rivulets of liquid dripping from his chin in a quiet melody. "At the moment," he says flatly, "you." It’s not entirely true, but she has certainly managed to intrude on his feeble grasp at calm, and he doubts he will find it again anytime soon. There is no indication that he shares her same intrigue; Abraham is prickly at best, and lacks a desire to build friendships or carry on with meaningless conversation—which, in his opinion, is most conversation.

Iola is going to have to try much harder than that if she wants something from him.

—between gods and monsters

code // art

@Iola

T

he man's response was infuriating, to the say the least. It was fine response, one she perhaps deserved, but rather boring when one took a moment to ponder it.

"At the moment, you." He had responded.

Iola's lips curled upwards ever so slightly as the man's words reached her ears. The twitch was small, barely noticeable, and it took only a moment for the woman to silence her expression back to something more neutral. Her mind, however, surged into a fit of rage. Her paws ached to reach forward and slam the man's crown back beneath the surface of the water, to hold it there until his struggle ended, to sit and watch until the bubbles has ceased emerging to the surface.

She blinked, slowly, clearing the thought from her mind. That was no way to think of this stranger! Though, it was the more fun option to be had...

"Hmmph," The soft hum came at the realization she'd given this man's statement nothing in return. Perhaps, he'd like that. To think he had stumped her enough to send her the other way, tail tucked between her legs with embarrassment. What a moment of disappointment he was in for.

The shadowy woman moved again, closer to the water's edge, closer to the man. The waves of the lake lapped at her toes gently, wetting just the surfaces of her paws. It was peaceful, truly. She could see why he'd come here for a moment of quiet, to think and be alone. None the less, she was here now, and she had no intention of leaving so soon.

"I don't mean to be a bother, I assure you." She echoed across the distance. Her eyes were wide, big and bright; feigning sincerity and innocence with each bat of an eyelash. "I just hated seeing someone out here by themselves... so lonely... You look like you need friends." Her head cocked to the side in curiosity. Words lingered in the air, laced with sincerity and mischief. The gleam in her eyes contrasted the genuine look of concern of her features: she couldn’t care less about this man’s companionship… she just wanted to play.

@Abraham

there exists a tipping point—

She is quiet for long enough that he thinks maybe, just maybe, she will be easily deterred. It's wishful thinking, and never really takes root—Abraham has never been much of a dreamer. He just waits with that patient and steady calm to see what she does, and it's almost like a daze has come over the she-wolf before she perks back up and makes a noncommittal noise, coming closer to the water's edge rather than moving away.

Abraham sighs.

"I don't mean to be a bother..." He arches an imperious eyebrow, but still he waits, as though he has an endless reserve of patience. She goes on, blathering about how she hated to see someone so lonely, and he can't quite tell if she's playing a game or if she's truly dim-witted. Either way, he thinks if she won't leave him alone—then he'll play.

"Lonely?" Abraham echoes with a clinical tilt of his head, eyeing her as though he doesn't understand the word, or how it associates to him. And in a sense, he doesn't. Sure, he understands the concept just fine, the craving of a sense of family, a sense of belonging—but it's abstract to him, something not quite tangible. Most emotions evade him in this way, as though he might see them through someone else's eyes.

Never once taking his focus from the ash-and-stone wolf on the beach, he makes a slow and purposeful ascent through the shallows, ignoring the tickle of cool water sluicing off his coat. Abraham does not try to avoid the doe-eyed woman, but instead heads directly to her, cutting a path through the water with cool intent. Everything about his movements are precise and controlled, without haste or threat or fear.

Abraham just...is.

He stops mere inches before her, his sharp gaze of mixed teals locked intently upon the somewhat unsettlingly bright fuchsia of hers. "And you want to be my...friend?" he asks in a low voice, a hint of his canine poking out as though he's considering a smirk. It's an odd premise to stand on to get his attention—but now that she has it, Abraham is curious about what she intends to do with it.

—between gods and monsters

code // art