[ P ] sin with a grin

Scattered rose petals clung to his earthen furs as the man strode quietly through the Forest. Mismatched eyes constantly flickered around, darting to movement until realization took over and explained the obvious - birds, critters, and gentle breezes moved around him, but it didn't squash the paranoia he always felt when coming back here.

But it was time to restock, and his usual supplier in town was nowhere to be found. After waiting for a few days in their usual spot, the man never showed up, so Matteo had to assume he had either been found out... or worse. No matter, there was plenty of others to bolster his stash of illicit substances. While he was a man who didn't particularly enjoy resorting to such things to subdue his targets, sometimes it was necessary - or simply just easier, especially when he was vastly outnumbered. Work smarter, not harder. He didn't give a shit if someone else judged him for using a "womans weapon" - they were fucking smart to if he was honest.

Regardless.

A quick chat with his father and he learned of a new - at least to him - supplier of all kinds of nefarious concoctions. Intrigued by the vast supply she could have, Matteo thanked him and dipped out, but not before his father warned him. He'd need something of value to her to buy her wares, and she wasn't interested in coins. The look in Lucianos eyes was all the hitman needed to understand.

So he spent a few weeks... gathering. He took odd jobs, or scuffled in a couple bar fights, ensuring to hit them in the face hard enough that teeth flew from their mouth. For the bodies he needed to dispose of, he did so just as discreetly as before, but drained them of their blood first and snapped their teeth and claws from their bodies - it wasn't like they needed them anymore. Once he had a couple small leather bags full and a ribbon of filled vials, he had set out for the Fae Forest.

Unease crawled up from the base of his spine, his skin prickling as if spiders skittered through his fur. His ears swiveled upon his head, straining to hear any noise, but there was nothing. Not even the wind anymore as dusk fell. Fuck. He didn't want to be here this late, but he had been traveling through the trees and bushes for what seemed like hours now, and he hadn't even picked up a scent of another wolf. Where the fuck was he supposed to even find this chick? The bags hung at his side next to the vials, the stench of blood and bits of rotting flesh permeating the air around him.

Finally, he stopped. He stood in the middle of a small cleared area, and his eyes glanced around before looking back the way he came. Was this even worth it? Frustration seeped into his blood, visible by the tension in his muscles before he dropped the bags and vials to the ground as he tried to decide what to do from here.

you said i killed you
haunt me then

—be with me always—

take any form
drive me mad

The forest always gets quiet at night to outsiders. It doesn't much like strangers in its domain, and the foreboding aspect is enough to keep out the faint of heart. For Parathion, the silence isn't a warning—it's a message. One that she's learned to decrypt in her years spent here, each intricacy a little different than the other. This one whispers that someone is in the woods, looking for her. Even White Timber knows how to find her now, guided by the subtleties she's shown him, so whoever is here is a stranger—her least favorite sort of company.

Still, even she has occasional needs, and keeping her association with the Guild benefits her. It's the only reason Parathion cooperates in anything, really. If she has nothing to gain, then she is your enemy.

Ghosting between the trees, her lissome figure ducks and weaves through the thick underbrush, welcoming each vine and branch that trail their fingers along her fur as she passes by. There is no indication of her approach until she wants to be known, and she lingers in the shadows for long minutes once she's neared the clearing, watching the man with manic curiosity. He looks around himself, as though he can feel her eyes on him; Parathion smiles slightly to herself, letting his tension and unease build for a borderline uncomfortable amount of time.

Then, she finally slinks into the clearing.

There is little about Parathion that's immediately intimidating. She's of average stature, her fur long and unkempt—but not dirty, she'll have you know—and she's so lean that her ribs and hips are visible, more prominently in the hotter months when her coat is thinnest. She has no noteworthy scars, and in some angles, she looks more like a feral dog than a wolf. The part about her that gives most pause is the look in her eyes; they're the wildest thing about her, often hungry and disconcertingly cold in a way that suggests there is very little she won't do to get what she wants.

Just now, that sharp stare is trained unfalteringly on the man a few feet in front of her, racing over him in blatant assessment of his person. She doesn't know him, and she doesn't care, truth be told. His only value is in what he can give her. Speaking of... Parathion's gaze flicks down to the leather bags laying at his feet, her pupils constricting slightly, and then her eyes raise to his face again, her head tilting in a subtle invitation. Show me what you've brought.

code // art

There is not much in this world that makes Matteo uncomfortable. He has both witnessed and delivered death, and performed acts that he knew had provided him with a first class ticket straight to hell. He had been splattered with blood that isn't his; invoked screams of agony simply by the use of his own paws, and made demands of those beneath him that were sinister at best.

But there was something distressingly unnerving about a feral ghost of a woman appearing in the fae forest in total silence. The way she stared at him with her frenzied eyes, stripping him down to his bare flesh and bones with just a look. It soured his stomach, curdling whatever remnants of his lunch and made him want to vomit it at his paws. He swallowed the threat of acid and bile in his throat, his gulp louder than he anticipated.

He was frozen, a reaction he was unused to in the presence of another. What the fuck was he doing here?

The hitman saw her eyes drop, noticing his "gifts", before their eyes met again. With a hard look, he lifted a paw and shoved the bags towards her, only hoping none of the vials broke with the sudden jerk of movement - but there was no fucking way he was getting any closer to the white widow.

"Poisons," he stated, trying to keep the tone of his voice even as he was definitely not freaking the fuck out. The second he got what he needed, he would run and not walk away from this hellhole.

you said i killed you
haunt me then

—be with me always—

take any form
drive me mad

She delights in the expression on his face—the obvious discomfort, trying to swallow down fear. He's wise to fear her; many are not so intelligent. She's so much of a ghost that she exists only in whispers on the wind, built on rumors of the witch in the woods. That's how Parathion likes it. She has no interest in friends.

He shoves the bag at her like he can't stand to get another inch closer, and Parathion smirks, holding back the urge to laugh. He's like a nervous pup, trying to pretend he's braver than he truly is, and she sees right through him. "Obviously," she drawls lazily at his clipped request, her attention dropping to the bag at her feet, which she pries open with a claw. She chuckles at the contents. "A bit uninspired," Parathion chides, glancing back up at the earthen wolf with a brow arched. But useful, nonetheless. Claws and bones and blood are always useful to a creature like her.

"Wait here," she commands, vanishing into the underbrush as quickly as she'd come, his bag in tow. Her bag now. Her familiarity with the forest makes the journey back to her supplies an easy one, but she doesn't rush; the man's urge to squirm beneath her scrutiny is too tempting not to play with. Ten minutes pass before she returns. Twenty. It's nearing thirty when the soft rustle of the thickets signals her approach, and much to her amusement and surprise, he's still there.

A similar satchel to the one she'd disappeared with sits between her forepaws, and she tilts her head with a coy smirk. "Are you sure you know what you're doing with these?" she taunts, unable to resist the urge to toy with him just a little bit.

code // art