you've suffered enough

Gabriel de le Poer · 04-07-2011, 01:07 AM

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Private. Backdated to March 31st

Gabriel’s walk was one with purpose, his dust-brown feet moving across the grass and towards the mansion. He had not spoken to his mother since the incident during the blizzard, and he was ashamed of this. It was unreasonable to blame her for what had happened, or to overreact the way he had. Yet the truth of the matter had snuck up on him as violently as the storm. What he had to do now was not how he wished to go about things, but there was a greater need than that of an aging matriarch.

The rabbit in his jaws was fat and warm, swinging with each step he took. His doggish coat worked well against the brown-tan that showed as the snow melted, and gave him an advantage while hunting. It had been a clean kill. A single shake of the head had snapped the neck, killing the stupid thing before it had time to scream. The smell of the dead animal was enough to have him salivating, but the rabbit was a peace offering—one he knew he would need for what was to come.

Quietly, the Aquila slipped into the door of the mansion and began sniffing out his mother. It did not take long to identify her scent and follow it to a nearby room.

Kaena Lykoi · 04-07-2011, 02:24 AM

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The mansion was a foreign and strange place to Kaena. She had not spent very much of her time in Inferni here; the most time spent was with Halo, and even then, they had not visited the woman's room so often. Now the hybrid lived here, and it seemed it would be permanent. She did not dislike this place, of course -- it was quiet in the particular wing she had settled into, and a fair sight warmer and more comfortable than her caves. The warmth and softness of a proper bed was something the coyote woman had understimated, and her bones and joints felt less stiff and achey than they had in many months.

This did not change that she felt spurned, turned away from her clan and shamed in front of them all. She had not been adventurous these last few weeks; instead, she had withdrawn to the mansion, busying herself with the slow move between her cave and this place. The hybrid would not move back to the caves when spring came around again -- shoved away as she felt, her pride would allow her to admit that it was more comfortable here. It had taken some time to get used to the creak and groan of the old house; there was certainly no canorous nature to these sounds, which had jarred her awake in the odd hours of the morning several times over the past few weeks.

There was one saving grace to this banishment -- she was closer to Halo than she had been before, and now that they lived in close proximity to one another, the old hybrid had no reason not to visit her granddaughter. She had spoken to Halo and Halo alone of what had happened and how she felt about this. The silvery coyote's sable ear flicked at a noise within the mansion, and she turned her head to the door, watching as her door slid open. It had been cracked, as was her habit, and she waited, fearless here -- there was no one crazy or stupid enough to march into the D'Neville. His scent entered her nose, and she waited, expectant and uncertain. The anger had faded from her, but she felt a sharp stab of it now, coupled with shame and embarrassment.

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Gabriel de le Poer · 04-07-2011, 06:51 PM

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His entrance was made without announcement, though the door provided this with its noisy creak. Gabriel, distantly, was aware of the same sort of anger and shame that his mother felt. He was still upset by what might have happened, and further upset that she had dismissed the danger as if it was nothing. The wolfish Aquila dropped the rabbit unceremoniously on the floor, amber eyes walled and distanced. This was not a meeting he expected to go well, and had prepared himself for such a thing.

“Here,” he said, motioning to the rabbit and taking a seat on the wooden floor. His large body showed that he did not go unfed; Gabriel was a tremendous hunter in his lupus form, and rarely failed to catch meals. Given his size, he was further able to kill larger animals alone—something the smaller members of the clan had to do without. The winter fur he was still shedding only further added to this illusion, which Gabriel was content with. He hardly looked like a coyote and was certainly as large most male wolves, which had proved to be valuable in combat. So far, he had not suffered a loss more traumatic than being forced to flee.

“We need to talk,” he went on once she had taken the rabbit. It was a peculiar tone; deprecating and almost truculent. This was not a tone he had used with her before, but things had changed.

Kaena Lykoi · 04-07-2011, 07:06 PM

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the sun will never shine on this cold dead heart of mine

Old as she was, the silver-shaded woman did not find herself incapable of hunting for herself. She was selective with her prey, taking more care to pursue those with injuries or illness than she had in her youth. Back then, she was energetic and reckless, and she could occasionally afford to waste energy chasing after prey she could not catch -- now, she was not so lucky. Energy was not such a boundless commodity, it turned out, and the scarred crone found her reserves running low after just a brief chase. Even if she were unable to run, rendered completely useless by injury or old age, she did not think she would starve -- even without the clan's backing. There was always fishing, which was less intensive and -- she thought, anyway -- easier. Perhaps it was her long life near the ocean that had given her to such aquatic skills.

Still, she was not too proud to scoff at a meal, and the Optime woman slid forward, leaning out and reaching for the rabbit. It was not a snatch; instead, she took the limp body slowly and deliberately, still looking at him with her one remaining eye, shaded the fierce gold of a raptor. Though her expression might have seemed indifferent to most, distant and unreadable thanks to the mess of scar tissue across her face, it was likely Gabriel saw through it anyway -- he knew her well enough. There was some strange and almost expectant look lurking there, muddled by uncertainty as to what it was she expected -- a shade of anger and hurt lingered in her half-mast ears, but she was silent, non-responsive other than to offer him this almost patient look of waiting. Whether or not she was his mother, he was the Aquila now, and he had proven through action and duty rather than promise or claim that he was better than her at this métier.

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Gabriel de le Poer · 04-09-2011, 02:08 AM

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Things had changed between Gabriel and his mother the day she had struck him. He had not known it then, for it was a subtle and gradual shift, but things had changed. When she had abandoned the clan, this cycle had only continued on its path and led him to the inevitable end he now faced. Gabriel wondered if she would hit him again; he did not put it past her. This time he would not blame her. What he had done to Samael was vastly different than what he did now.

“After what happened last summer, it’s apparent that you’re no longer as well as you once were.” His voice lacked emotion—it was the voice of a politician, the voice of a man with snake-venom in his bite and violence in his heart. Gabriel was far too cruel for his own good. “You’ve served Inferni well, and it’s now our turn to serve you. This is your choice, of course,” he added, though his eyes and his face screamed otherwise. “There’s still much that you can aid with, especially with the younger members who don’t recognize their potential. I will not require more than this of you.”

His eyes narrowed, challenging her.

Kaena Lykoi · 04-10-2011, 10:37 AM

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the sun will never shine on this cold dead heart of mine

Maybe it was better this way.

It was undeniably better than having clearly failed somewhere -- the silver-hued woman could not recall a specific instance in which she had acted against the interests of the clan, whether accidental or otherwise. There was no example they could make of her, some situation they'd refer to later in history for younger leaders to avoid. She hadn't faltered or floundered in one single instance; her body was simply beginning to decay with age, and it clouded her sharp mind. She knew it, and knew it well -- she did not know she'd failed so miserably in hiding it. Her scarred face was taut now, drawn up tightly in a forced continuation of her indifference. She did meet his eyes, refusing to break his gaze, but there was that same masked indifference there, a hard shield that, in all likelihood, did little to obscure her truer emotions. He knew her too well.

“Then it was my choice,” she replied slowly, her voice so even it surprised the silvery coyote herself. This conversation hadn't happened, or at least it hadn't happened as it just did where others were concerned. The truth of it would stay between them, and after too short a moment there was a hint of pleading in her brow, or very nearly pleading. What did it matter anyway? Whether or not she'd chosen this or had it forced upon her, the end result was the same -- maybe there was simply some faint hope for saving face in presenting it this way, as her own idea and her own choice.

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