[11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

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Re: [11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

Postby Tungsten Phillips » Sat Sep 25, 2010 8:32 pm

He shook his head immediately, honest as always. "No. I didn't lie to you. I never said he was my boss." She was turning into something bewildered and wounded, and that was his fault, that he had turned something beautiful into a feral, hissing animal. "I don't lie to you. I never have." He had nothing there to rely on but the truth, the sincerity in his brown eyes and the weight in his chest, slowly drowning him. Suddenly, for no reason his normally calm mind could think of, it seemed very important that she knew he had never lied to her.

The other question was much easier to answer, and there was nothing but a dead calm in his mind now, the end of the road after the storm of confusion and momentum. His shoulders were slumped as he stood before her, still nude, his body criss-crossed with old scars and burns. His eyes, watching her from his half-hung head, were infinitely sad; he was a dog with its tail between its legs, or a wolf whining on his belly, or a rat watching the trap crash down. His voice was steady and soft when he spoke.

"Walter Black," he said.
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Re: [11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

Postby Mila » Sat Sep 25, 2010 9:27 pm

There was a hesitant calm that washed up and over her, leaving lingering paranoia. She wanted this - this not being angry with him. Mila watched his need for her to believe him and couldn't help but to give in to it. She didn't know what to believe anymore she could let it be this way for now.

She reached out, wanting to comfort him, but before she had the chance, the two most terrifying words she'd ever heard froze her in place leaving her jaw, pinned exactly where it had stopped in mid-motion. Her arms moved cautiously to shield herself as though she accidentally stepped too close to a dog known for being ferociously deadly.

Simultaneously she was stricken with guilt. Her eyes flashed to the city's skyline. It was her fault. Everything that happened here was entirely her fault. She couldn't keep the pain and the confusion and fear from her face. Mila had been at the forefront of the destruction of one of Walter Black's greatest armies. She shifted her eyes but not her face so that she could pre-empt his attack. Her face was sunk with grief and disbelief. "Please tell me this is a bad dream, and that you're not standing here now to slaughter me the way your sect is capable?" Her words held no weight. There was no plea in the sounds. Even if she were to escape unscathed, her heart could not. It felt like it would bleed out, covering the cement where she stood.

It didn't feel much different, than having your mind conditioned and then undone.
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Re: [11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

Postby Tungsten Phillips » Sat Sep 25, 2010 9:41 pm

It would have been easier to stay a rat. He would have understood the caution, smelled the fear; he would have disappeared into the night. But he was not a rat, not entirely; he was Tungsten, and Tungsten could not, somehow, after all the years of ignoring and ignoring and ignoring, ignore this woman's anguish. She was Mila. She was no longer the enemy.

"No," he said, all the emotions running out of him like water down a sewer grate, released from the safe, comforting floodgate they were normally penned up behind. "It's not a dream. You can wake up from dreams." He felt his nakedness acutely and wondered how she could fail to see every part of him because of it, as if he were transparent as glass. The rubble of the shelter around them echoed the rubble of his carefully-maintained defenses, unbreached for years.

If he had been a wolf in truth, he would have whined in his throat. Rats had more dignity. She was holding herself as if he were going to launch himself at her, and he was standing like a saint waiting for stoning. "I won't hurt you," he said, though it was like reassuring someone that he wouldn't tear the sky down or drink the ocean. The new and strange thing in him that was neither beast nor man wanted to go forward to her, to wrap her in his arms and bury his face in her hair, but he didn't. He couldn't, not now.

It was, and always had been, her choice. Now, at the very end, he could not bear to take it away from her.
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Re: [11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

Postby Mila » Sat Sep 25, 2010 10:04 pm

Mila had always trusted the wrong things. Here and now, she trusted he would not kill her. She relaxed where she stood. For a moment she saw only his body. She began to weep. It was a dramatic display of pain, but she stepped closer to Tungsten to close the gap. "Tungsten, when I said I loved you I meant it. Now I don't know if anything you felt for me is real." She drew him close and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly, as though he might try to let go.

She spoke softly since her face was buried at his neck. "Now, even if I do go with you, Walter Black will execute me on sight, or I'll be another pawn of another sect. At least the anarchs haven't used me yet."
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Re: [11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

Postby Tungsten Phillips » Sat Sep 25, 2010 10:17 pm

He did nothing for a moment, a stone statue of a man where she held him, trying to comprehend her. She was not smashing his brains into pulp, her small fists crunching the bullet-hole in to fold on itself. She was not running into the empty streets of Chicago, and she was not vanishing into the dark. For a moment, he was utter stillness, and then he wrapped arms around her and held her with a fierceness he had never before allowed himself, and he put his face into her hair and it was right and it was good.

His nose and lips nuzzled her hairline, left kisses at her temples, and for a few seconds he didn't worry about the inevitable moment it would all fall apart. He nuzzled her face, felt the blood of her tears on his own cheek, and smoothed them away. "We are all used by someone," he said into her skin, into the sweet dead scent. "Camarilla, Anarch or Sabbat. You choose who you believe will use you for what you want." He wanted to explain, to make her understand, but he doubted she could. She was too far gone in the Camarilla and Anarchs to hear with unbiased ears.

He cupped her face in scarred hands, for once forcing her, however gently, to look at him. Brown eyes were no more or less human than they had been half an hour ago, when ignorance had stretched amiably between them. "I told you, I never lied to you," he said, something desperate in him begging for understanding in her, for belief. He had never said it before, but, as he had known from the beginning of the evening, there was no other time. "I love you, Mila," he said simply, and it was no more demanding than it had ever been. His crooked, sad smile lifted his face. "But rats don't get to love princesses. It spoils the fairy tale."
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Re: [11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

Postby Mila » Sat Sep 25, 2010 10:34 pm

Her eyes met his gaze more than willingly. Her bottom lip quivered with frown. "I have only ever wanted freedom. You are the closest I have ever gotten to it." He said that he loved her, and it satisfied something that thirsted to hear it.

"But rats don't get to love princesses" But, why? Who says? "I want to go with you, Tungsten. If you dare try to leave without me now, so help me I will undo the earth on whatever path you take."
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Re: [11/1 Sun] Old Dogs

Postby Tungsten Phillips » Sat Sep 25, 2010 10:41 pm

It was unexpected and glorious and her own free choice. "I know better than to argue with my princess," he said into her mouth in a murmur, and he kissed her with a heat that was finally, brilliantly uncontained.

Tomorrow night, he would still be what he was, and she would still not understand it; he would still have to scurry away into the darkness and the next city and the next. But he could tell her, and she would hear him, and there would be eight legs in the dark instead of four. He swung her off the ground, arms locked around her waist as he kissed her, and ran blind through the piles of debris until he reached the back exercise yard, where he had spent many days while she was gone, and where there was still smooth ground and clear sky.

He left his clothes and shoes in an unimportant heap in the dust.
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